AJECS 087 Horst - Studies in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 2014.pdf

Studies in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity

Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums

Founding Editor Martin Hengel † Tübingen Executive Editors Cilliers Breytenbach, Berlin Martin Goodman, Oxford Editorial Board Lutz Doering, Durham – Pieter W. van der Horst, Utrecht Tal Ilan, Berlin – Judith Lieu, Cambridge Tessa Rajak, Reading/Oxford – Daniel R. Schwartz, Jerusalem Seth Schwartz, New York

VOLUME 87

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/ajec

Studies in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity By

Pieter W. van der Horst

LEIDEN | BOSTON

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For David T. Runia in friendship

∵

Contents Preface ix Acknowledgements x Abbreviations xii 1 The Site of Adam’s Tomb 1 2 Bitenosh’s Orgasm (1QapGen 2:9–15) 6 3 At Abraham’s Table: Early Jewish Interpretations of Genesis 18:8 21 4 Moses’ Father Speaks Out 30 5 Philo and the Problem of God’s Emotions 37 6 Two Short Notes on Philo 47 7 Philosophia epeisaktos: Some Notes on Josephus, Ant. 18.9 54 8 Biblical Quotations in Judaeo-Greek Inscriptions 66 9 Did the Gentiles Know Who Abraham Was? 80 10 The Provenance of 2 Enoch 69–73: Jewish or Christian? 95 11 Greek Philosophical Elements in Some Judaeo-Christian Prayers 100 12 Mystical Motifs in a Greek Synagogal Prayer? 111 13 A Qedushat ha-Yom in Greek 123 14 The Jews of Ancient Phrygia 134 15 Judaism in Asia Minor 143 16 Samaritan Origins according to the Paralipomena Jeremiae 161

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17 The Myth of Jewish Cannibalism: A Chapter in the History of Antisemitism 173 18 Porphyry on Judaism: Some Observations 188 19 A Short Note on the Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati 203 20 Consolation from Prison: Mara bar Sarapion and Boethius 209 21 Cyrus: A Forgotten Christian Poet 220 22 ‘Without God’: Some Notes on a Greek Expression 230 23 The Omen of Sneezing in Pagan Antiquity 240 24 Pious Long-Sleepers in Pagan, Jewish and Christian Antiquity 248 Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst, 2006–2013 267 Index of Ancient Sources 281 Index of Modern Authors 296 Index of Names and Subjects 304

Preface When I published my volume of essays, Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context, in 2006, its opening sentence was: “This volume is the ninth, and probably the last, in a series of volumes with essays that I have written over the years” (p. 1). I can now gratefully say that it was not the last but the penultimate one. The deterioration of my eyesight that induced me to write that sentence in 2006 has by now brought my research activities almost to a standstill, but even so I have been able in the years 2006– 2013 to publish a number of papers a selection of which is reprinted in this volume. This volume does not make any grand claims about the thematic unity of its chapters. Rather, like the 2006 volume, these 24 papers cover a wide range of topics, all of them concerning the religious world of Judaism and Christianity in the Hellenistic, Roman, and early Byzantine era. They reflect my research interests in the six or seven years since my early retirement in 2006: Jewish epigraphy, Jewish interpretation of the Bible, Jewish prayer culture, the diaspora in Asia Minor, exegetical problems in the writings of Philo and Josephus, Samaritan history, texts from ancient Christianity which have received little attention (the poems of Cyrus of Panopolis, the Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati, the Letter of Mara bar Sarapion), and miscellanea such as the pagan myth of Jewish cannibalism, the meaning of the Greek expression ‘without God,’ the religious sneezing lore of pagan antiquity, and the variety of stories about pious long-sleepers in the ancient world (pagan, Jewish, Christian). Where necessary, some of these papers have been updated. Otherwise, the essays have been left as they were originally published, even if that inevitably implies a certain degree of overlap between some of the chapters (e.g., 11–13, 14 and 15): each essay should be able to stand on its own and be read in its own right. The author is grateful to the publishing houses that gave him permission to reprint the studies presented here: E.J. Brill, Cambridge University Press, Eisenbrauns, Walter de Gruyter, Peeters, the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, and the Society of Biblical Literature. I owe many thanks to Dr. James N. Pankhurst for his never failing willingness to remove the solecisms from the English of my articles. Finally, I thank the editors of Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity for their willingness to accept this volume for publication in their series. Zeist, October 2013

Acknowledgements 1.

‘The Site of Adam’s Tomb’ in: M.F.J. Baasten & R. Munk (eds.), Studies in Hebrew Literature and Jewish Culture Presented to Albert van der Heide on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Amsterdam Studies in Jewish Thought 12), Dordrecht: Springer, 2007, 251–255 2. ‘Bitenosh’s Orgasm (1QapGen 2:9–15)’ in: Journal for the Study of Judaism 43 (2012) 613–628 3. ‘At Abraham’s Table: Early Jewish Interpretations of Genesis 18:8’ in: Henoch 32 (2010) 420–427 4. ‘Moses’ Father Speaks Out’ in: A. Hilhorst, É. Puech & E. Tigchelaar (eds.), Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 122), Leiden: Brill, 2007, 491–498 5. ‘Philo and the Problem of God’s Emotions’ in: Études platoniciennes 7 (2010) 171–178 6. ‘Two Short Notes on Philo’ in: Studia Philonica Annual 18 (2006) 49–55 7. ‘Philosophia epeisaktos: Some Notes on Josephus, a.j. 18.9’ in: M. Popovíc (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives ­(Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 154), Leiden: Brill, 2011, 311–322 8. ‘Biblical Quotations in Judaeo-Greek Inscriptions’ in: B.J. Koet, S. Moyise & J. Verheyden (eds.), The Scriptures of Israel in Jewish and Christian Tradition: Essays in Honour of Maarten J.J. Menken (Supplements to Novum Testamentum 148), Leiden: Brill, 2013, 363–376 9. ‘Did the Gentiles Know Who Abraham Was?’ in: M. Goodman, G.H. van Kooten and J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten (eds.), Abraham, the Nations, and the Hagarites: Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Perspectives on Kinship with Abraham (Themes in Biblical Narrative 13), Leiden: Brill, 2010, 61–75 10. ‘The Provenance of 2 Enoch 69–73: Jewish or Christian?’ in: Henoch 33 (2011) 97–101 11. ‘Greek Philosophical Elements in Some Judaeo-Christian Prayers’ in: Sacra Scripta 7 (2009) 55–64 12. ‘Mystical Motifs in a Greek Synagogal Prayer?’ in: D.A. Arbel & A.A. Orlov (eds.), With Letters of Light. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls, Early Jewish Apocalypticism, Magic, and Mysticism in Honor of Rachel Elior (Ekstasis 2), Berlin/New York: ­Walter de Gruyter, 2011, 254–264 13. ‘A Qedushat ha-Yom in Greek,’ in A. Atzmon and Tz. Shafir (eds.), Ke-tavor be-harim: Studies in Rabbinic Literature Presented to Joseph Tabory, Alon Shevut: Tevunot Press, 2013, *41–*53

acknowledgements

14.

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‘The Jews of Ancient Phrygia’ in: European Journal of Jewish Studies 2 (2008 [2009]) 283–292 15. ‘Judaism in Asia Minor’ in: M.R. Salzman & W. Adler (eds.), The Cambridge History of Religions in Antiquity, Volume II: From the Hellenistic Age to Late Antiquity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 321–340 16. ‘Samaritan Origins according to the Paralipomena Jeremiae,’ in: J. Patrich, C. Bottini, L. Perrone and D. Chrupcala (eds.), Knowledge and Wisdom. Archaeological and Historical Essays in Honor of Leah Di Segni, Jerusalem: Franciscan Press, 2014 17. The Myth of Jewish Cannibalism: A Chapter in the History of Antisemitism, Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, vol. VIII no. 3, Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 2008 18. ‘Porphyry on Judaism: Some Observations’ in: Z. Weiss, O. Irshai, J. Magness, and S. Schwartz (eds.), “Follow the Wise.” Studies in Jewish History and Culture in Honor of Lee I. Levine, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2010, 71–83 19. ‘A Short Note on the Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati’ in: Zutot: Perspectives on Jewish Culture 6 (2009) 1–6 20. ‘Consolation from Prison: Mara bar Sarapion and Boethius’ in: A. Merz & T. Tieleman (eds.), The Letter of Mara bar Sarapion in Context, Leiden: Brill, 2012, 193–204 21. ‘Cyrus: A Forgotten Christian Poet’ in: Greece & Rome 59 (2012) 193–201 22. ‘ “Without God”: Some Notes on a Greek Expression’ in: J. Dijkstra, J. Kroesen & Y. Kuiper (eds.), Myths, Martyrs, and Modernity: Studies in the History of Religions in Honour of Jan N. Bremmer (Numen Book Series 127), Leiden: Brill, 2010, 379– 391 23. ‘The Omen of Sneezing in Pagan Antiquity’ in: Ancient Society 43 (2013) 213–221 24. ‘Pious Long-Sleepers in Antiquity: Pagan, Jewish and Chrtistian,’ in M. Kister, H. Newman, M. Segal, and R.A. Clements (eds.), Tradition, Transmission, and Transformation, from Second Temple Literature through Judaism and Christianity in Late Antiquity: Proceedings of the Thirteenth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, Jointly Sponsored by the Hebrew University Center for the Study of Christianity, 22–24 February, 2011 (Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah). Leiden: Brill, 2014

Abbreviations AB ABD AGAJU AJEC AnBoll ANRW BJS BKAT BS CCSL CEJL CIIP CIJ CJZC CPJ CRAI DACL DDD DJD DNP EncJud FAT GLAJJ HTKNT HTR HUCA IJO JAJ JBL JECS JIGRE JIWE JJS JPS JQR JSHRZ JSJ

Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary Arbeiten zur Geschichte des Antiken Judentums und Urchristentums Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Analecta Bollandiana Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt Brown Judaic Studies Biblischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament Beth She‘arim, inscriptions from Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum Corpus Jüdischer Zeugnisse aus der Cyrenaica Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres Dictionnaire d’Archéologie Chrétienne et de Liturgie Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Der Neue Pauly Encyclopaedia Judaica Forschungen zum Alten Testament Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Neuen Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis Journal of Ancient Judaism Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Early Christian Studies Jewish Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe Journal of Jewish Studies Jewish Publication Society Jewish Quarterly Review Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Zeit Journal for the Study of Judaism

abbreviations

JSJS Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements JSQ Jewish Studies Quarterly LCL Loeb Classical Library LSTS Library of Second Temple Studies Mnem Mnemosyne NTOA Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus OCD Oxford Classical Dictionary OTP Old Testament Pseudepigrapha PACS Philo of Alexandria Commentary Series PG Patrologia Graeca PGM Papyri Graecae Magicae PL Patrologia Latina PLRE Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire PW Pauly-Wissowa’s RE, see RE RAC Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum RB Revue Biblique RE Reallexikon der klassischen Altertumswissenschaften REG Revue des Études Grecques REJ Revue des Études Juives RevQ Revue de Qumran RGG Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart SBLEJL Society of Biblical Literature: Early Jewish Literature SBLSCS Society of Biblical Literature: Septuagint and Cognate Studies SC Sources Chrétiennes SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum SNTSMS Society of New Testament Studies Monograph Series SPhA Studia Philonica Annual STAC Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity STDJ Studies in the Texts of the Desert of Judea SVTP Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha TSAJ Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism TWNT Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament VC Vigiliae Christianae WUNT Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament ZPE Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

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The Site of Adam’s Tomb Although the major ancient Jewish Bible translations, the Septuagint and the Targumim, render Joshua 14:15 relatively literally, at least without major deviations from the Hebrew text, the Christian translation made by Jerome around 400 ce, the Vulgate, does deviate from the biblical text at a major point. In this modest contribution, I will argue that it is precisely this Christian translation that incorporated Jewish exegetical traditions. In the Masoretic text of Joshua 14:14–15 we read that Hebron became the portion of Caleb because he was loyal to the Lord. ‘The name of Hebron was formerly Kiriath-Arba; he [Arba] was the great man among the Anakites’ (v.15, JPS). Targum Jonathan has: ‘The name of Hebron formerly was “the city of Arba;” he was a great man among the giants.’1 We see in this translation that Kiriath-Arba, originally ‘town/city of the four (clans),’ was taken to mean ‘city of (a man called) Arba’ because the immediately following phrase ha‌ʾadam hagadol baʿenaqim huʾ seemed to require that ‘the great man’ refers back to an immediately afore-mentioned person, who must be Arba. This interpretation of the Hebrew original seems to make sense, but the LXX translator has a different view. His rendering is: ‘The name of Hebron was formerly “city of Arbok;”2 it was the metropolis of the Enakim.’3 So this translator changed ‘the great man’ into ‘the metropolis’ because, taking Kiriath-Arba to be a toponym, he had to do away with the great man – a great city fitted the context much better. So far so good. But now Jerome’s Vulgate: nomen Hebron antea vocabatur Cariatarbe; Adam maximus ibi inter Enacim situs est4 (‘Hebron was formerly called KiriathArba; Adam, the very big one (or: the greatest), lies buried here among the Enakim’). That Jerome took the Hebrew ʾadam to mean not ‘man’ but Adam here is evident also from some passages in his other works: In his Quaestiones 1 Text in A. Sperber, The Bible in Aramaic II: The Former Prophets, Leiden: Brill, 1992, 26. Translation by D.J. Harrington & A.J. Saldarini, Targum Jonathan of the Former Prophets (The Aramaic Bible 10), Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1987, 40. 2 Varia lectio: Arbo. The letter k in Arbok renders the Hebrew ʿayin. 3 On this translation see J. Moatti-Fine, La Bible d’Alexandrie 6: Jésus ( Josué), Paris: Éd. du Cerf, 1996, 176. 4 Text according to R. Weber (ed.), Biblia sacra iuxta Vulgatam versionem, vol. 1, Stuttgart: Württembergische Bibelanstalt, 1969, 306. Several manuscripts have instead of inter Enacim the reading in terra Enacim (he lies buried in the land of the Enakim).

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Hebraicae in Genesim, he remarks on Gen. 22:3 (‘Sarah died in Kiriath-Arba’) that the LXX with its ‘city of Arbog’ makes nonsense of the text (Arboc enim nihil omnino significat, ‘Arboc actually signifies nothing at all’), It is called Arba, Jerome says, because four great figures from the past lie buried there, namely, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob ‘and the head of the human race itself, Adam (et ipse princeps humani generis, Adam).5 He adds that ‘this will be shown more clearly in the book of Joshua’ (14:15, of course). The other passage is in his famous Epistula 108, where in 11.3 he tells how his rich Roman lady friend, Paula, in the course of her long pilgrimage through Palestine, also visited Hebron, haec est Cariatharbe, id est ‘oppidum virorum quattuor,’ Abraham et Isaac et Jacob et Adam magni quem ibi conditum iuxta librum Hiesu Hebraei autumant, licet plerique Chaleb quartum putent, cuius ex latere memoria demonstratur (‘This is Kiriath-Arba, that is “the city of the four men,” Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Adam the Great, who was buried there according to the book of Joshua, as the Hebrews say, although there are many who think that the fourth man is Caleb, whose tomb is shown nearby’).6 And there it is: Hebraei autumant, ‘the Jews assert so.’ Here Jerome makes clear what is behind his translation and interpretation of this biblical text – it is Jewish exegesis.7

5 Text in P. Antin, S. Hieronymi presbyteri opera I/1 (CCSL 72), Turnhout: Brepols, 1959, 28. Translation by C.T.R. Hayward, Saint Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995, 56–57. 6 Latin text (with Dutch translation) in P.W. van der Horst, Paula in Palestina. Hieronymus’ biografie van een rijke Romeinse christin, Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2006, 60–61. Translation (slightly corrected) by J. Wilkinson, Jerusalem Pilgrims Before the Crusades, Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 2002, 85. See also H. Donner, Pilgerfahrt ins Heilie Land. Die ältesten Berichte christlicher Palästinapilger (4.–7. Jahrhundert), Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1980, 159–160. 7 In his translation of Eusebius’ Onomastikon, Jerome gives similar information (which is not in Eusebius’ text): ‘Arboc: In our codices it is written corruptly Arboc, but in the Hebrew codices it is Arbe, that is, four, because there the three Patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are buried, and Adam the Great, as it is written in the book of Joshua.’ For text and translation see R.S. Notley & Z. Safrai, Eusebius, Onomasticon: The Place Names of Divine Scripture, Leiden: Brill, 2005, 7, and G.S.P. Freeman-Grenville, R.L. Chapman III, J.E. Taylor, Palestine in the Fourth Century A.D. The Onomasticon by Eusebius of Caesarea, Jerusalem: Carta, 2003, 13. For other passages in Jerome about Adam’s tomb see see J. Dochhorn, Die Apokalypse des Mose. Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar (TSAJ 106), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005, 171 note 36, and R. Ginzberg, ‘Die Haggada bei den Kirchenvätern und in der apokryphischen Literatur,’ MGWJ n.s. 7 (1899) 69–72. It would seem that in this respect Jerome had altered his earlier belief that Adam’s tomb was at Golgotha; see his Epistula 46.3 and the comments in Hayward, Saint Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis 183.

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Naturally, the question that arises is: Can we confirm this claim from Jewish sources? Yes, we can indeed. In the late (eight to ninth century) rabbinic midrash Pirke de-rabbi Eliezer (PRE) we read that Adam says he wants to be buried in the double Cave of Machpelah. The text then goes on to inform us that Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sara, Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob and Leah were all buried in that cave. ‘Therefore it is called Kiriath-Arba (city of four) since four couples were buried there’ (ch. 20)8 This text postdates Jerome by some four centuries, but we get very close in time to this Christian scholar when we see that the source upon which the compiler of PRE drew most probably was the much earlier midrash Bereshit Rabba, which dates from the early fifth century (and Jerome died in 419 ce). There we read in the rabbis’ comments on Gen. 23:2 (the verse about Sarah’s death in Kiriath Arba): ‘It [the city of four] had four names: Eshkol, Mamre, Kiriath-Arba, and Hebron. Why was it called Kiriath-Arba? Because four righteous men dwelt in it: Aner, Eshcol, Mamre, and Abraham; and four righteous men were circumcised in it: Abraham, Aner, Eshcol, and Mamre. According to another interpretation, four righteous men were buried in it: Adam, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Four matriarchs were buried in it: Eve, Sarah, Rebecca, and Leah’ (58:4).9 This passage teaches us, among other things, that the element ‘four’ in the biblical text was variously explained of different persons and events.10 From a perhaps even earlier period we also have a testimony in the Talmud, b.Eruv. 53a, where the name Kiriath-Arba in Gen. 23:2 is explained by R. Isaac (ca. 300 ce) as ‘the city of the four couples,’ namely Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebeccah, Jacob and Leah. Exactly the same tradition, again attributed to R. Isaac, is reported also in b.Sotah 13a.11 We may also reach back to the time before Jerome with Targum Neofiti, where Gen. 23:2 is translated as follows: ‘Sarah died in the city of the

8

9 10 11

G. Friedlander, Pirke de-Rabbi Eliezer, New York: Sefer Hermon Press, 1981 [repr. of the 1916 edition], 148–149; also M.-A. Ouaknin & E. Smilévitch, Pirqé de Rabbi Eliézer, Lagrasse: Editions Verdier, 1983, 120–121. On this passage in PRE see now also the recent study by E. Grypeou & H. Spurling, The Book of Genesis in Late Antiquity: Encounters between Jewish and Christian Exegesis (JCP 24), Leiden: Brill, 2013, 50–54. Translation (slightly changed) by H. Freedman, Midrash Rabba: Genesis, vol. 2, London: Soncino Press, 1939, 510–511. See Hayward, Saint Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis 182. Cf. also the story about R. Bana’ah in b.BB 58a, where it is told that he went into the Cave of Machpelah and saw the bodies of Adam and Eve. A similar story is told about Abraham finding the bodies of Adam and Eve lying on their beds in the Cave of Machpelah in PRE 36.

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four Patriarchs.’12 It is clear that by the time of Jerome the Jewish tradition about Adam’s burial in Kiriath-Arba was already in existence and it is more than probable that this Christian scholar had indeed learned about it from his Jewish compatriots – Jerome lived in Palestine uninterruptedly for some 35 years, from 385 till 419 ce.13 How did this tradition about Adam’s burial in Hebron come into being? The origin of this exegetical tradition is to be sought in the fact that the Bible does mention the burial of the three Patriarchs and their wives in Hebron/KiriathArba (Gen. 23:19; 25:9; 35:27–29; 49:29–31), but that the explanation of this toponym as ‘city of four (persons)’ required one more great name (of a man or a couple). We learned already from Jerome that according to some exegetes this fourth person was Caleb, understandably enough since he was mentioned with honour in Joshua 14:14, the passage immediately preceding the verse about the former name of Hebron, Kiriath-Arba. And in the Talmud we read that according to others Esau had laid claim to the fourth burial spot, but to no avail (b.Sotah 13a).14 It was the text in Joshua 14:15 (iuxta librum Hiesu) that spoke of ha-ʾadam ha-gadol, ‘the great Adam,’ in connection with Kiriath-Arba, which dispelled the doubts among Jewish exegetes (Hebraei autumant): it was Adam who, together with the three great Patriarchs, could make up the four needed to explain the name of the city. And this influenced the way in which Jerome translated the biblical text in his Vulgate. We do not find this tradition in pre-rabbinic sources (e.g., Josephus does not refer to it), neither does it occur in the earliest reports of Christian pilgrims to the Holy Land in the fourth century. The earliest pilgrim to tell us about a visit to Adam’s grave in Hebron is Bishop Arculf who mentions his trip to the tomb of the Patriarchs and Adam in his De locis sanctis 2.10.6 (primi parentis sepulcrum, as he calls it; CCSL 175, p. 210), written around 675 ce. The fact that the tradition about Adam’s tomb in Kiriath-Arba never became the dominant one in either Judaism or Christianity has to do with the fact that it faced strong competition. There were also other Jewish traditions about the burial of Adam and Eve: e.g., in the Greek Life of Adam and Eve (also known as the Apocalypse of Moses) we read in 40.6–7 and 43.1–2 that Adam and Eve were interred on the same spot in

12 13 14

M. McNamara, Targum Neofiti I: Genesis (The Aramaic Bible 1A), Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1992, 120. Targum Neofiti may date from the 2nd or 3rd cent. ce. See on Jerome’s long stay in Palestine J.N.D. Kelly, Jerome: His Life, Writings, and Controversies, London: Duckworth, 1975, 116–332. See J. Jeremias, Heiligengräber in Jesu Umwelt, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1953, 96–97.

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the earthly paradise from where God had taken dust in order to form Adam,15 a tradition found as early as the second century BCE in Jubilees 4.29.16 In Judaism the tradition that finally became dominant was that the place where Adam was buried was the Temple Mount; in Christianity, however, that place was identified as Golgotha.17 But that is another story.

15 16 17

Note that the Palestinian Targumim on Gen. 2:7 state explicitly that this was the site where later the sanctuary would be built. See Dochhorn, Die Apokalypse des Mose, 538–542. Both traditions are discussed at length in J. Jeremias, Golgotha, Leipzig: Eduard Pfeiffer, 1926, 34–40; p. 39: ‘die Verlegung [sc. of Adam’s tomb from the site of the sanctuary] nach Hebron erklärt sich daraus, dass man Anstoss an dem Gedanken nahm, das Heiligtum mit Leichenunreinheit in Verbindung zu bringen, und dass auch in der Zeit, als der Judenschaft das Betreten Jerusalems verwehrt war, das Bedürfnis nach einem der Verehrung zugänglichen Adamsgrab herausbildete.’ See also his Heiligengräber 98; and esp. W.H. Roscher, Der Omphalosgedanke bei verschiedenen Völkern, besonders den semitischen, Leipzig: Teubner, 1918, 25–48 (repr. in his Omphalos, Hildesheim: Olms, 1974).

chapter 2

Bitenosh’s Orgasm (1QapGen 2:9–15) When asked by her anxious husband, Lamech, who is the begetter of their newborn child, his wife, Bitenosh, reacts with the enigmatic remark that he should remember her “pleasure” (1QapGen 2:9–15). In this short contribution, I will argue that knowledge of ancient Greek theories of spermatogenesis and embryogenesis may shed light upon this curious utterance by Noah’s mother in the Genesis Apocryphon from Qumran. In her seminal study Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren der Antike und ihr Nachwirken, Erna Lesky describes in detail how ancient Greek philosophers and physicians developed various theories about the coming-into-being of human seed (sperma) and of the embryo.1 For the early Greek philosophers, the traditional notion of embryogenesis created a theoretical problem in their doctrines of heredity. This problem arose from the observation that the widespread notion that the father alone makes the child and provides the substance for its coming-into-being and development could not explain why children often resemble their mothers. This traditional theory is clearly worded, for instance, in Aeschylus’ Eumenides (657–661), where the god Apollo says: This too I will tell you – and mark the truth of what I say: She who is called the child’s mother is not its begetter, but only the nurse of the newly sown embryo. The begetter is the male, and she as a stranger preserves for a stranger the offspring, if no god blights its birth.2 Aeschylus here reflects the common assumption of the absolute superiority of the male role, a theory that had obvious implications for the evaluation of the position of women.

1 E. Lesky, Die Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren der Antike und ihr Nachwirken, Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur, 1951. 2 Translation (slightly adapted) by H. Lloyd-Jones, The Eumenides by Aeschylus. A Translation and Commentary, Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall, 1970, 51–52. Cf. also Euripides, Orestes 552–553.

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Alternative views, however, were developed by several Presocratic philosophers.3 This is stated clearly in a doxographical account in the third-­ century ce grammarian Censorinus, De die natali 5.4: On another point as well these authors [namely, the philosophers] have divergent opinions, namely whether an embryo originates solely from the seed of the father, as Diogenes and Hippo and the Stoics have written, or also from the seed of the mother, which is the view of Anaxagoras, Alcmaeon, Parmenides, Empedocles, and Epicurus.4 The authors mentioned here as defenders of the view that female semen is also needed to form an embryo were not the only ones nor were their theories uniform. What they had in common, however, was that, by analogy with male ejaculation, they assumed that it was during orgasm that female seed, too, was emitted, although internally into the uterus. There existed at least three different theories on the coming-into-being of human sperm: (1) the encephalo-myelogenic doctrine; (2) the pangenesis doctrine; and (3) the hematogenic doctrine. The encephalo-myelogenic doctrine5 holds that there is a continuum of “brains – spinal marrow – sperm”; hence “sperm is a drop of brain,” as Diogenes Laertius (8.28) presents Pythagoras’ view. And the Pythagorean Alcmaeon of Croton is reported to have said that sperm is enkephalou meros (“part of the 3 Apart from Lesky’s classical Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren, the reader can also consult shorter presentations in, e.g., Th. Hopfner, Das Sexualleben der Griechen und Römer von den Anfängen bis ins 6. Jahrhundert nach Christus I/1, Prague: J.G. Calve, 1938 (repr. New York: AMS Press), 1975, 132–136; E. Lesky and J.H. Waszink, “Embryologie,” RAC 4 (1959) 1228–1242; H.-J. von Schumann, Sexualkunde und Sexualmedizin in der klassischen Antike, München: UNIDruck, 1975, 102–104; G.E.R. Lloyd, Science, Folklore and Ideology: Studies in the Life Sciences in Ancient Greece, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983, 86–94; J. Blayney, “Theories of Conception in the Ancient Roman World,” in The Family in Ancient Rome, ed. B. Rawson; London: Routledge, 1986, 230–236. See also in general M.-H. Congourdeau, L’embryon et son âme dans les sources grecques (VIe siècle av. J.C.–Ve siècle apr. J.C., Paris: Centre d’histoire et civilization de Byzance, 2007; L. Brisson et al., eds., L’embryon: Formation et animation. Antiquité grecque et latine, traditions hébraïque, chrétienne et islamique, Paris: Vrin, 2008. 4 N. Sallmann, ed., Censorini de die natali liber, Leipzig: Teubner, 1983, 8 ad loc. gives the pertinent references to the fragments of the authors mentioned. 5 Discussed by Lesky, Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren 9–30; but see especially the extensive discussion in R.B. Onians, The Origins of European Thought about the Body, the Mind, the Soul, the World, Time, and Fate, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1951 (repr. 1988), passim. A concise doxographical account of several theories on this matter is to be found in Aetius, Placita 5.3–5.11 (in H. Diels, Doxographi Graeci [4th ed.], Berlin: de Gruyter, 1965, 417–422).

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brain”; Aetius 5.3.3 = 24A13 D–K).6 Although this theory was rather quickly superseded by the pangenesis doctrine, its influence is noticeable in Plato’s Timaeus. In Tim. 77D Plato speaks of the “generative marrow”, and in 91A he says that “marrow (myelos) runs from the head down the neck and along the spine and has, indeed, in our earlier conversation been called seed (sperma)” (referring back to 73C and 74B). And although Aristotle spoke out strongly against this theory, which gave an extra impetus to its decline, even in the imperial period it still had some adherents, albeit by then in various amalgamated forms. This doctrine in principle leaves room for a female contribution in the process of conception, the brains-marrow-semen continuum obviously not being restricted to males. And, indeed, we find that several of its adherents adopt the epikrateia principle as far as heredity is concerned. The principle of epikrateia (predominance) is best illustrated by the short statement in Censorinus, De die natali 6.4: “Alcmaeon said that the sex of that parent would be realized [namely, in the embryo] whose semen was most abundant [namely, in coition]” (24A14 D–K). That is to say, if the woman’s sperm prevails in quantity, a girl will be born, and if the man’s, a boy. This principle, that the seed of either parent can be “overpowered” or “dominated” by the other’s seed occurs with various modifications in several ancient theories of sex differentation (again, in spite of Aristotle’s opposition to every double-seed-theory; see especially De generatione animalium 1:20).7 The existence of female semen and the occurrence of female ejaculation is the necessary basis of the epikrateia principle and is affirmed by authors like Parmenides (28B18 D–K), Empedocles (31B63 D–K), Democritus (68A142 D–K), and several Hippocratic writers (see below). Let us look briefly at two theories concerning sex differentiation that imply a double-seed doctrine. According to Empedocles, some parts of the embryo had their origin in the man’s seed and others in the woman’s seed. However, he seems to have combined this with a theory about the determining influence of the temperature of the seed (or the uterus).8 A late summary (in Censorinus, De die natali 6.6–7) schematizes this theory as follows: 6 The fragments of the Presocratic philosophers are quoted according to the edition by H. Diels and W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, Berlin: Weidmann, 1951–1952 (repr. 1996) (henceforth D–K). 7 For example Gen. anim. 1:20, 727b33–37: “Some think that the female contributes semen in coition because the pleasure she experiences is similar to that of the male, and also is attended by a liquid discharge; but this discharge is not seminal.” 8 The relevant fragments are 31A81, 31B63, 31B65 D–K.

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Mw + Fw > Mm Mc + Fc > Ff Mw + Fc > Mf Mc + Fw > Fm (M = male; m = resembling the male parent; F = female; f = resembling the female parent; w = warm seed; c = cold seed; > indicates result) Even though this tradition might not fully go back to Empedocles himself, it gives a fairly good idea of one of the ancient Greek theories of sex differentiation and heredity. Parmenides’ view on this matter is different, because his is a combination of a double-seed doctrine with a theory about left and right to the effect that the sex of the child is determined by its position in the left or right part of the uterus (right for males and left for females).9 A later modification of this theory by Anaxagoras (59A107 D–K) seems to have introduced the idea that the sex of the embryo was determined by the part (left or right) of the body from which the seed had been formed. This results in the following schema: Mr + Fr > Mm Ml + Fl > Ff Mr + Fl > Mf Ml + Fr > Fm (M = male; m = resembling the male parent; F = female; f = resembling the female parent; r = seed formed in the right part of the body; l = seed formed in the left part of the body) Anaxagoras brings us to the second theory concerning the origin of semen, the so-called pangenesis-doctrine, of which he is the auctor intellectualis (see 59B10 D–K). This theory was refined in the school of the atomistic philosophers. According to Aetius (Plac. 5.3.6), Democritus said that sperm is formed from all parts of the body, like bones and flesh and sinews (68A141 D–K). He is quoted as saying: “Coition is a slight attack of epilepsy, for man gushes forth from man and is separated by being torn apart with a kind of shock” (68B32 D–K). Each seed contained within it a complete set of those parts necessary for the development of a child. He believed that in women, too, sperm was formed from all parts of the body. Aristotle tells us that the epikrateia principle was an important factor in Democritus’ embryological system: Democritus of Abdera also says that the differentiation of sex takes place within the mother; however, he says, it is not because of heat and cold that one embryo becomes female and another male, but that it depends 9 See O. Kember, “Right and Left in the Sexual Theories of Parmenides,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 91 (1971) 70–79; G.E.R. Lloyd, “Parmenides’ Sexual Theories,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 92 (1972) 178–179.

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on the question which parent it is whose semen prevails – not the whole of the semen, but that which has come forth from the part by which male and female differ from one another. (Gen. anim. 4.1, 764a6–11 = 68A143 D–K) The pangenesis doctrine was the dominant theory in several Hippocratic writings, especially in On Airs, Waters, Places; The Sacred Disease; On Generation; On the Nature of the Child; and On Diseases IV.10 A few quotations will suffice. On Generation 8.1–2 says: “Sperm is a product which comes from the whole body of each parent. (. . .) [The child] must inevitably resemble each parent in some respect, since it is from both parents that the sperm comes to form the child.” On Diseases 4.32.1 says: “The sperm, coming from all parts of the body both of the man and the woman to produce a human being and falling into the uterus of the woman, coagulates.” An interesting new feature is that the author of On Generation stresses that “both male and female sperm exists in both partners” (7.1). This thesis, in fact a principle of complete parity, results in the following schema: M+/F+ > M M-/F- > F M-+/F+- > M or F M-/F+ > F or M

M+/F- > M or F 

(M = male; + = male determining sperm; F = female; – = female determining sperm; M or F / F or M = depending upon the epikrateia) The third theory, the hematogenic doctrine, holds that semen originates from the blood. In fact it is nothing but blood in a certain state of coagulation. It is not certain who the author of this theory was.11 It was already held by Diogenes of Apollonia (64B6 D–K), but it was Aristotle who promoted this theory to its influential position,12 which it held until far into the Middle Ages. Aristotle’s De generatione animalium, book 1, is our main source for his ideas on spermatogenesis. Of course, the basic principle is his teleology. Aristotle holds that the woman contributes to the embryo nothing but hylê (matter) – that is, she is the causa materialis – whereas the man contributes telos (end), eidos (form), archê tês kinêseôs (source of movement) – that is, the causa finalis, the causa 10 11 12

See I.M. Loney, The Hippocratic Treatises “On Generation”, “On the Nature of the Child”, “Diseases IV”, Berlin: de Gruyter, 1981, esp. 19–22. For discussion see Lesky, Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren 120–125. See V. Happ, Hyle: Studien zum aristotelischen Materie-Begriff, Berlin: de Gruyter, 1971, 746–750.

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formalis, and the causa efficiens. This male contribution is semen, but the female contribution is not semen but menstrual blood (ta katamênia). Semen is a residue of food. The body converts food into blood by means of a process of “concoction” (pepsis). Blood is the substance from which flesh, bones, and so on come into being. Because in childhood all (food >) blood is needed for the growth of the body and its parts, no semen or menstrual blood is produced. Once the body has become full-grown, it produces a residue of blood (< food), and in a process of further concoction, this residue is transformed into semen or menstrual blood. The essential element in this process of concoction (food > blood > semen) is bodily heat. Because males have greater bodily heat than females, males’ blood can be “cooked” enough to reach the stage of semen; females can never reach this stage and hence can produce no semen, only (menstrual) blood.13 In the process of fertilization the semen brings form and movement into the matter of the menstrual blood. The state of aggregation of this blood changes only by the impact of the greater heat of the semen, “for the menstrual blood is semen not in a pure state, but in need of working up” (Gen. anim. 1.20, 728a26). Only semen in a pure state can “inform” the powerless female matter so as to make it develop into an embryo. It is clear that in Aristotle’s version of the hematogenic doctrine, the female contribution to embryogenesis is very much reduced as compared with the pangenesis and the encephalo-myelogenic doctrines and that orgasm as the moment of emission of female seed plays no role here.14 The great and influential physician Galen tried to combine Aristotelian elements with insights of Presocratic and Hippocratic writers as regards embryology.15 Galen assumed on the one hand that women did contribute their own sperm, but on the other hand he followed Aristotle in attributing a much lower value to this contribution: female sperm is by far less perfect, thinner, and colder than male sperm; it serves only as food for the male semen in its development into an embryo (see for all this especially Galen’s extensive treatise De semine). As a real eclectic, Galen tries to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. Nonetheless, despite Aristotle’s influence, Galen ­maintains 13 14 15

Happ, Hyle 747, puts it concisely: “Die Katamenien sind also sozusagen ‘halbgares’ Sperma, das Sperma ist ‘gares’ Menstruationsblut”. See J. Morsink, “Was Aristotle’s Biology Sexist?” Journal of the History of Biology 12 (1979): 83–112. See R.E. Siegel, Galen’s System of Physiology and Medicine, Basel: Karger, 1968, 224–230; M. Boylan, “Galen’s Conception Theory,” Journal of the History of Biology 19 (1986): 47–77; J. Kollesch, “Galens Auseinandersetzung mit der aristotelischen Samenlehre,” in Aristoteles: Werk und Wirkung (FS P. Moraux) (ed. J. Wiesner), Berlin: de Gruyter, 1987, 17–26.

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the concept of female sperm: pseudôs legetai to monou tou patros einai to sperma (“it is false to say that sperm is only from the father”; De sem. 2.1), and he transmitted his theory to many a writer in the Middle Ages.16 The material surveyed so far covers the period of roughly 500 bce to 200 ce It has shown us that throughout this period a theory about female semen had its place side by side with a theory that denied females a contribution to embryogenesis. We have seen that all three theories left room for one form or another of a double-seed theory. Even Aristotle, the most staunch opponent of the idea of female semen, did not deny that a woman contributed her katamênia to the embryogenesis and that this menstrual blood was in fact from the same origin as male semen, albeit that it had stopped halfway in its development into semen “pur sang.” We have seen that many philosophers, physicians, poets,17 and others held that the contributions of men and women to the formation of a fetus were strictly equal. If we want to suggest that the author of the Genesis Apocryphon was influenced by such a theory, we will have to demonstrate that a Jewish author could have known it, either because it had penetrated into early Jewish circles or because similar ideas were already current in Jewish tradition itself. In the Hebrew Bible we find only one single text that could perhaps be interpreted as implying a theory of female seed. This text is Lev 12:2: “Say to the people of Israel: If a woman tazriaʿ and bears a male child, then she shall be unclean seven days.” The word tazriaʿ is the hiphil form of zrʿ (to sow), a causative form which is used in the Hebrew Bible only here and in Gen. 1:11–12, where it is said of plants in the sense of “produce seed, yield seed, form seed.” When a form of zrʿ means “to become pregnant, to be made pregnant,” it is always the Niphal form that is used (for example in Num. 5:28; Nah. 1:14).18 Because the Hiphil form can hardly mean anything else than “to make seed,” commentators have got into trouble over this verse and proposed emendations of the text, because they found the thought expressed impossible.19 But one should 16

17 18 19

The famous physician Soranus, too, takes an eclectic position: females as well as males emit sperm (Gynaec. 1.30–1.31), but female sperm does not contribute to the formation of the embryo (Gynaec. 1.12). See O. Temkin, Soranus’ Gynecology, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1956 (repr. 1991), 12–13. Lucretius is a case in point. Both the Samaritan Pentateuch and the LXX seem to have read the Niphal form tzrʿ in Lev 12:2 as well, but that is clearly the lectio facilior. See, for example, A.B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel 2, Hildesheim: Olms, 1968 (repr. of 1909), 40: “Bei der durch zrʿ ausgedrückten Handlung kann das Weib nur

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beware of overhasty ­conclusions and leave open the possibility that the author of Lev 12 may have meant what he seems to write, that is, that a woman can produce semen.20 But that remains uncertain. We shall see later, however, that this is exactly what the rabbis understood this biblical verse to mean. However, before looking at the rabbinic evidence, let us cast a quick glance at earlier postbiblical Jewish material.21 The earliest postbiblical passage to be quoted is 1 En. 15:4, where the Ethiopic text runs as follows: “And you [i.e., the Watchers] were holy ones and spirits, living forever; but you have defiled yourselves with women and with the blood of flesh you have begotten (children); with the blood of men [or: after the daughters of men]22 you have lusted and you have done as they do, (producing) blood and flesh, (which) die and perish”.23 The expression “with the blood of flesh you have begotten children” could seem to be a reference to an Aristotelian theory of the katamênia (menstrual blood) as one of the two components in the generative process, but it is more probable that “the blood of flesh” refers here either to humans (who are “flesh and blood”), with whom the angels should never had had sexual intercourse, or to the fact that the angels had sex with women during their menstruation (hence “defiled yourselves,” cf. 10:11). However, it seems certain that Aristotle’s theory of the katamênia as one of the two components in embryogenesis was known in Jewish circles in view

20

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22 23

als der passive Teil gedacht werden; vgl. Num. 5:28. Aus diesem Grunde ist für das hier unmögliche tazriaʿ entschieden tivra’ zu lesen” (!). See A. Kunz, “Die Vorstellung von Zeugung und Schwangerschaft im antiken Israel,” ZAW 111 (1999) 561–582, esp. 566–567. He states that Lev 12:2 proves that there was not a uniform theory of embryogenesis in ancient Israel. “Der mit tazriaʿ umschriebene Vorgang umfasst sowohl Schwangerschaft als auch Geburt. . . . Wenn dagegen in Lev. 12:2 eine Rolle der Frau als ‘Zeugerin’ des Foetus hervortritt, die sprachlich an die Samenproduktion der Pflanzen nach Gen. 1:11 erinnert, dann muss zumindest die biologische Funktion der Frau während der Schwangerschaft ins rechte Licht gerückt worden sein” (567). M. Stol, Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting, Groningen: Styx, 2000, 7, states unequivocally that Lev 12:2 implies that the woman actively contributes her own seed. A very short and incomplete survey of this material can be found in H.J. Cadbury, “The Ancient Physiological Notions Underlying John I 13 and Hebrews XI 11,” The Expositor (ser. 9) 2 (1924): 430–439, esp. 433–434; also in Lesky and Waszink, “Embryologie,” 1241. On the text-critical problem here see M. Black, The Book of Enoch or 1 Enoch (SVTP 7), Leiden: Brill, 1985, 152. Translation (slightly adapted) by G.W.E. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001, 267; see also E. Isaac in The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (ed. J.H. Charlesworth), Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1983, 1:21. The passage refers, of course, to Gen 6:1–4.

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of Wisdom 7:1–2: “In my mother’s womb I was sculpted into flesh during a ten months’ space, curdled in blood by virile seed and the pleasure (pageis en haimati ek spermatos andros kai hêdonês) that is joined with sleep.”24 David Winston rightly points out in his commentary that the author here reflects passages like Aristotle’s Gen. anim. 1:19–20 (see above). The same probably holds true for 4 Macc 13:20: “There [in their mother’s womb] do brothers abide for a similar period and are moulded through the same span and nurtured by the same blood and brought to maturity through the same vitality.”25 And we should add here a passage from Philo, QG 3.47: “The matter of the female in the remains of the menstrual fluids produces the fetus. But the male (provides) the skill and the cause. And so, since the male provides the greater and the more necessary (part) in the process of generation, it was proper that his pride should be checked by the sign of the circumcision.”26 And compare also his Opif. 132: “The menstrual blood (ta katamênia) too is said by scientists to be the bodily substance of embryos.”27 These passages all clearly use Aristotelian terminology or show reminiscences of it, so one cannot but conclude that at least this form of the hematogenic doctrine of seed was known in educated Jewish circles. And it has been suggested that it is against this background, too, that one should consider a passage in the New Testament, John 1:13, about children of God “who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.” The expression “were born of blood” (ex haimatôn egennêthêsan)28 is best explained against the background of an Aristotelian katamênia theory. Be that as it may, the evidence for knowledge of (originally) Aristotelian theories in Judaism does not prove the existence of a theory of female semen. As far as I know, there is no direct evidence for that outside rabbinic literature, unless one takes the fact that the Judaeo-Christian author of the Epistle to the Hebrews speaks about Sarah’s seminal emission (11:11 katabolê spermatos) to be evidence of pre-rabbinic knowledge of a double seed theory among Jews, 24 25 26 27

28

Translation by D. Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon, Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1979, 162. See also his commentary at 163–164. Translation by M. Hadas, The Third and Fourth Books of the Maccabees, New York: KTAV, 1953, 213. The translation of the Armenian version is by R. Marcus in the LCL edition. Translation by F.H. Colson and G.H. Whitaker in the LCL edition. See the comments by D.T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria: On the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses, Leiden: Brill, 2001, 317–318. For the plural haimata cf. Euripides, Ion 693 allôn trapheis ex haimatôn, and see, besides the commentaries on John 1:13, especially Cadbury, “The Ancient Physiological Notions.”

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which I think is highly probable.29 However, it should also be borne in mind that knowledge of Aristotle’s ideas very probably implied knowledge of the ideas he combatted so firmly, that is, knowledge of double-seed theories. It may be pure coincidence that these theories are never (or hardly ever) mentioned, for we do meet them often in early rabbinic literature. In the Talmudim and Midrashim, we find the same variety of opinions as in Greek (or Latin) literature. Of course, there is the traditional theory that the woman does not contribute anything to the formation of the embryo, for example in Lev. Rab. 14.6.30 That there was indeed Greek influence on rabbinic embryology31 is proved beyond any doubt by several passages, of which I will quote only the most illuminating.32 The Aristotelian position seems to be reflected in the short remark in b. Ketub. 10b: “It has been taught in the name of Rabbi Meir: Every woman who has abundant (menstrual) blood has many children.”33 A combination of an Aristotelian and a double-seed theory (as in Galen) is found several times – for example, in a baraita in b. Nid. 31a: Our rabbis taught: There are three partners in (the conception of) man, the Holy One – blessed be He –, his father, and his mother. His father supplies the semen of the white substance out of which are formed the child’s bones, sinews, nails, the brains in his head and the white in his eye. His mother supplies the semen of the red substance out of which is formed his skin, flesh, hair, blood, and the black of his eye. The Holy One – blessed 29

30

31 32

33

I have argued this long ago in my “Sarah’s Seminal Emission: Hebrews 11:11 in the Light of Ancient Embryology,” in Greeks, Romans, and Christians: Essays in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe (eds. D.L. Balch, E. Ferguson, and W.A. Meeks), Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990, 287–302; reprinted in my Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction (2nd ed.), Leuven: Peeters, 1998, 221–239. See J. Feliks, “Biology,” Enc. Jud. 4:1019–1033; I. Simon, “La gynécologie, l’obstétrie, l’embryologie et la puériculture dans la Bible et le Talmud,” Revue d’histoire de la médecine hébraïque 4 (1949): 35–64; J. Preuss, Biblisch-talmudische Medizin, Wiesbaden: Fourier, 1992 (repr. of the 1911 ed.), 434–504 = Biblical and Talmudic Medicine (trans. F. Rosner), New York: KTAV, 1978, 375–431. Greek influence on rabbinic anthropology in general was proved long ago by R. Meyer, Hellenistisches in der rabbinischen Anthropologie, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1937. Some passages are discussed by F. Rosner, Medicine in the Bible and the Talmud, New York: KTAV, 1977, 173–178. Cf. also D.M. Feldman, Birth Control in Jewish Law: Marital Relations, Contraception and Abortion as Set Forth in the Classic Texts of Jewish Law, Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press, 1980, 132–140. Several passages are also mentioned in B.H. Stricker’s monumental work De geboorte van Horus, vol. 2, Leiden: Brill, 1968, 121–124. I use throughout the Soncino translation of the Talmud and Midrash Rabba.

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be He – gives him the spirit and the breath, beauty of features, eyesight, the power of hearing, the ability to speak and to walk, understanding and discernment. Almost identical passages can be found in b. Qidd. 30b, Qoh. Rab. 5:10, 2, et ­aliter. The Aristotelian element is, of course, that the menstrual blood is regarded as the female contribution to the embryogenesis, whereas the fact that the katamênia are explicitly called semen here classes these statements with the double-seed theory. The double-seed theory is also explicitly referred to in b. B. Qam. 92a, where the rabbis discuss the fact that in Gen 20:18 (“For the Lord had closed up all the wombs in the house of Abimelech”), the Hebrew text has two forms of the verb “close’ ” the absolute infinitive and the finite verb (MT has ʿatsor ʿatsar): Rabbi Eleazar said: Why is “closing up” mentioned twice? There was one closing up in the case of males, semen, and two in the case of females, semen and the giving of birth. In a baraitha it was taught that there were two in the case of males, semen and urinating, and three in the case of females, semen, urinating and the giving of birth. Rabina said: Three in the case of males, semen, urinating and anus, and four in the case of females, semen and the giving of birth, urinating and anus. Interestingly enough, within the framework of a double-seed theory, the rabbis developed their own variant of the epikrateia principle. This version simply held that if a man emits his semen first, the child will be a girl, but if the woman emits her semen first, the child will be a boy (see, for instance, b. Ber. 54a, b. Nid. 70b–71a, etc.).34 This theory of crosswise sex determination was supported by an exegesis of Lev 12:2 and Gen 46:15 (Lev 12:2 being the only biblical text discussed above). In b. Nid. 31a we read the following discussion: Rabbi Isaac citing Rabbi Ammi [or: Assi] stated: If the woman emits her semen [Hiphil of zrʿ, as in Lev. 12:2] first, she bears a male child, if the man emits his semen first, she bears a female child; for it is said: “If a woman emits semen and bears a male child” [Lev. 12:2]. Our Rabbis taught: At first it used to be said that if the woman emits her semen first, she bears a male child, and if the man emits his semen first, she bears a female child, but the Sages did not explain the reason, until Rabbi Zadok 34

These and other passages are discussed by Rosner, Medicine in the Bible and the Talmud 173–175.

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came and explained it: “These are the sons of Leah whom she bore unto Jacob in Paddan-Aram, with his daughter Dinah” [Gen 46:15]. Scripture thus ascribes the males to the females and the females to the males. This last sentence makes clear how Gen 46:15 was understood: because this biblical text speaks of “sons of Leah” and of “his daughter Dinah,” Scripture implies that the fact that sons were born was due to Leah and that a daughter was born was due to Jacob. This fact, combined with the datum that the unique Hiphil form of zrʿ in Lev 12:2 is taken to imply female seminal emission, seems to lead inevitably to this specifically rabbinic doctrine of sex differentiation. The obvious problem of a double pregnancy with both a male and a female embryo was elegantly solved as follows: “It may equally be assumed that both [man and woman] emitted their semen simultaneously, the one resulting in a male and the other in a female” (b. Nid. 25b and 28b). It may be clear that this concept was not the fruit of an indigenous development of Jewish ideas about semen, nor was it the result of exegesis of Lev 12:2 and Gen 46:15. The fact that these biblical texts are only adduced in a context of discussion of epikrateia as the dominant principle of sex determination makes it highly probable that these biblical passages were only taken into service a posteriori as a scriptural prop to this theory. The Greek theory had probably already been adopted by the rabbis before the exegetical justification was there. It seems to me that in this respect, too, the rabbis were indebted to Hellenistic culture.35 Against this background, the at first sight odd and enigmatic remarks by Lamech’s wife in 1QapGen 2:9–15 become understandable.36 In the story, Lamech gets very worried on seeing his newly born son Noah.37 His anxiety about the conception of his son is caused by the fact that the baby strikes him

35

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For another example in the field of Jewish embryology see P.W. van der Horst, “Seven Months’ Children in Jewish and Christian Literature from Antiquity,” in my Essays on the Jewish World of Early Christianity (NTOA 10), Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1990, 233–247. For Hellenistic influences in the Dead Sea Scrolls in general see, e.g., M. Hengel, “Qumran und der Hellenismus,” in Judaica et Hellenistica. Kleine Schriften I, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996, 258–294. On Noah birth legends in Qumran see J.C. Reeves, “Noah,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. Lawrence H. Schiffman and James C. VanderKam), New York: Oxford University Press, 2000, 612–613. On the motif of worrying patriarchs see G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Patriarchs who Worry about Their Wives: A Haggadic Tendency in the Genesis Apocryphon,” in George W.E. Nickelsburg in Perspective: An Ongoing Dialogue of Learning (eds. J. Neusner and A. J. Avery-Peck; JSJS 80), Leiden: Brill, 2003, 177–199.

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as more than just a human being.38 “I thought in my heart that the conception was (the work) of the Watchers, and the pregnancy of the Holy Ones, and it belonged to the Nephilin, and my heart within me was upset on account of this boy” (2:1–2)39 Lamech’s suspicion is that his wife, Bitenosh,40 committed adultery with the “sons of God” from Gen 6:2, which would imply that he is not the father of the child. He then asks his wife to tell him the truth under oath. “(8) Then Bitenosh, my wife, spoke to me very harshly . . . (9) and said: ‘Oh my brother and lord, remember my sexual pleasure! . . . (10) in the heat of intercourse, and the gasping of my breath in my breast.’ ” And a few lines further on she repeats emphatically, “(14) Remember my sexual pleasure! . . . (15) that this seed comes from you, that this pregnancy comes from you.” In both line 9 and line 14, the Aramaic word ʿadinti occurs, rendered by most translators as “my sexual pleasure.”41 It is cognate to the Hebrew ʿednah, which occurs only in Gen 18:12 where Sarah laughingly says to herself, “After I have grown old, and my husband is old, am I to have pleasure?” (NRSV).42 In view of the fact that line 10 of our text explicitly speaks about “the heat of intercourse and the gasping of my breath in my breast,” there can be little doubt that the word ʿadinti refers to Bitenosh’s sexual pleasure, more specifically to her orgasm. How could Bitenosh think that a reference to the pleasure she experienced when making love to Lamech would allay his suspicion? That could only be a convincing argument if that pleasure entailed the conception of their child at the moment the two of them (and no one else) were together. Since the author implies that Bitenosh’s argument did convince Lamech, he must have 38

39 40

41

42

It is highly likely that before column 2 the text contained some information about Noah’s extraordinary appearance and behaviour at his birth such as we find in 1 En. 106. See W. Loader, The Dead Sea Scrolls on Sexuality, Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2009, 288. Translation by F. García Martínez and E.J.C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, vol. 1, Leiden: Brill, 1997, 29. On the name Bitenosh (also in Jub. 4.28), its spelling and meaning (“daughter of man”), see J.A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave I, Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1971, 82–83. See “my pleasure” (Fitzmyer; Vermes); “my voluptuousness” (Parry and Tov); “meine Wonne” (Maier); “mijn seksueel genot” (García Martínez, van der Woude, Popovic). K. Beyer, however, translates “Schwangerschaft” (Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer [Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984], 652), probably because Palestinian Aramaic ʿdy means “to be(come) pregnant”; see M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, Bar Ilan: University Press, 1990, 396–397. But this translation would make nonsense of the text. I doubt whether Gen 18:12 implies the same as what I will argue for in the passage in 1QapGen under discussion.

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meant her reference to her pleasure to be a conclusive argument. So “pleasure” must here definitely be something much more specific than just the fact that Bitenosh had a pleasant time with Lamech when they begot Noah. That is to say, most probably Bitenosh here refers to her orgasm on that occasion. The fact that not only Lamech but also Bitenosh had an orgasm at that moment is taken as a proof that it is the two of them together who begot the child.43 That can only be the case if the female orgasm is here regarded as the event during which she emitted her own seed into her womb where it mingled with Lamech’s seed so as to form the beginning embryo. It is only a double-seed theory that can explain why Bitenosh here takes recourse to an appeal to her moment suprême (to which Lamech was witness!) as a cogent argument. This implies that the author of the Genesis Apocryphon was acquainted with what were originally Greek theories of embryogenesis (in whatever diluted form) in which the female orgasm was seen as the internal ejaculation of her semen. Otherwise Bitenosh’s words would not make any sense.44 The fact that, after having said again in 2:14 that he should remember her orgasm, in 2:15 she emphasizes that “this pregnancy comes from you,” serves to underline that the child is a product of their “common enterprise,” and not of anyone else. It is fascinating to see how an originally Greek scientific concept here serves to allay the anxious suspicions a biblical hero.45

Postscriptum

In a recent article, Ida Fröhlich addresses, inter alia, the problem of Bitenosh’s “pleasure” and seeks a solution in a direction very similar to mine.46 She, too, argues that the background of Bitenosh’s reaction is to be looked for in a Greek 43

44

45

46

Cf. what Aristotle says in Gen. anim. 1:20, 727b33–37: “Some think that the female contributes semen in coition because the pleasure she experiences is similar to that of the male.” And see the reference to “pleasure” in the quote from Wis 7:2 in the text (above). Also Hippocratic texts refer to female “pleasure” during conception, meaning her orgasm. It would certainly go too far to suggest that the emphasis on the heat of Bitenosh’s orgasm (2:10) is to explain the fact that the child is a boy, in the sense of Empedocles’ interpretation of the epikrateia principle (see above). Our thesis is indirectly supported by the fact that some Dead Sea Scrolls authors were obviously acquainted with Greek physiognomical theories; see M. Popovic, Reading the Human Body: Physiognomics and Astrology in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Hellenistic-Early Roman Period Judaism (STDJ 67), Leiden: Brill, 2007. I. Fröhlich, “Medicine and Magic in Genesis Apocryphon: Ideas on Human Conception and its Hindrances,” RevQ 25/98 (2011): 177–198. This article came to my attention only

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double-seed theory. However, I think she goes too far when she supposes that the author of 1QapGen was acquainted with “some Greek systematic ­tractate” (188). I find no reason for such a proposal. It is much more probable that double-seed theories had become part and parcel of popular culture and enjoyed a much wider circulation than just among scholars.47 Furthermore, although Fröhlich has a good sense of the medical models behind ancient pregnancy theories, she does not make sufficiently clear that it is female orgasm, interpreted as seminal emission, that plays the pivotal role in all these speculations.48

47

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after the present paper had been written. I am grateful to Prof. Fröhlich for being so kind to send me a copy of her article. Lesky, Zeugungs- und Vererbungslehren 62, points out that passages in Varro, Pliny the Elder, and Horapollo indicate that these theories had become popular lore. We could add the passages in Heb. 11:11 and 1QapGen 2. I owe thanks to Eibert Tigchelaar for valuable critical comments on the first draft of this article.

chapter 3

At Abraham’s Table

Early Jewish Interpretations of Genesis 18:8 In memoriam Martin Hengel

Introduction It is common knowledge that for both ancient Judaism and early Christianity, the Bible (i.e., the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament) was God’s revealed word and that implied that it was infallible and did not contain any superfluous word or even letter.1 Every detail in Holy Scripture was relevant. And, of course, it was unthinkable that what Scripture said would be at variance with the commonly accepted tenets of the Jewish or Christian belief systems. In this article it will be briefly illustrated how such a paradigm worked in practice. The interpretation of some details of the meal scene in Genesis 18 by early Jewish (and some Christian) exegetes is our point of departure. The story of Genesis 18 is well-known. Abraham sits at the entrance of his tent and when he looks up he sees three men standing in front of him. He greets them and, as a paragon of hospitality, he invites them for a meal. He then chooses a fine tender calf and has it prepared and served to his guests. While the three men enjoy their meal, Abraham stands beside them (vv. 1–8). Then follows the famous scene with the laughing Sara and the annunciation of the birth of their son Isaac (vv. 9–15), whereafter the men continue their journey to Sodom, the city for which Abraham pleads pardon (vv. 16–33). Chapter 19 begins with the mention of the arrival of ‘the two angels’ in Sodom. In this short contribution I will mainly focus on the Jewish exegetical vicissitudes of v. 8, which runs as follows: “He [Abraham] took butter and milk and the calf he had prepared, set it before them, and remained standing near them himself under the tree while they ate.” It is this verse that evoked a great 1 For the assumptions underlying ancient Jewish exegesis see J.L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: A Guide to the Bible As It Was At the Start of the Common Era, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press 1998, 1–41, esp. 14–19. Ancient Christian parallels to Jewish exegesis are frequently adduced by Kugel. Some others can also be found in M. Sheridan, Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture; Old Testament II: Genesis 12–50, Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2002.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004271111_004

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amount of exegetical ingenuity among postbiblical Jewish exegetes. I will restrict my discussion to two issues that played an important role in the exegetical debates: that of the eating angels and that of the (non-)kosher nature of the meal Abraham served.

Eating Angels

When one looks up Gen 18:8 in the versions of the Targumim, the ancient synagogal translations into Aramaic, one discovers that the translators rendered the sentence about the eating of the meal by the three men as follows: “It seemed to him that they were eating,” or “they were giving him the impression that they were eating and drinking.”2 Also the rabbinic midrash on Genesis says about this verse that the three men only pretended to eat but in reality did nothing of the sort (Bereshit Rabba 48:14). What is going on here? At the beginning of the story we are told that Abraham, when he was sitting in the entrance of his tent, saw ‘three men’ (18:2). Of these very same men it is said later that they continued their journey towards Sodom (18:16), but still later that “the two angels arrived in Sodom” (19:1; the third ‘man’ was YHWH himself; see 18:17–33). On the basis of this last statement the early Jewish interpreters concluded that the ‘men’ of Gen 18:2 were angels3 and hence they translated that verse accordingly: “He saw three angels in the likeness of men” (Neofiti 1

2 Targum Pseudo-Jonathan has the first version, Targum Neofiti the second; Targum Onkelos, however, follows the Hebrew text. For a synoptic survey of the various versions see A. Díez Macho (ed.), Biblia Polyglotta Matritensia, series IV: Targum Palaestinense in Pentateuchum, vol. 1: Genesis, Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, 1988, 110–111. Translations can be found in M. McNamara, Targum Neofiti 1: Genesis (The Aramaic Bible 1A), Edinburgh: Clark, 1992, 104; M. Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis (The Aramaic Bible 1B), Edinburgh: Clark, 1992, 67; R. Le Déaut, Targum du Pentateuque 1: Genèse (Sources Chrétiennes 245), Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1978, 186–187. For a concise commentary see B. Grossfeld, Targum Neofiti. An Exegetical Commentary to Genesis, New York: Sepher-Hermon Press, 2000, 157. For good general introductions to the Targumim on the Torah see U. Gleßmer, Einleitung in die Targume zum Pentateuch, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1995; P.V.M. Flesher & B. Chilton, The Targums: A Critical Introduction, Baylor University Press, 2011, 69–166. 3 And so did several of the Church Fathers, e.g., Augustine, De civitate dei 16.29. See E. Grypeou and H. Spurling, “Abraham’s Angels: Jewish and Christian Exegesis of Genesis 18–19,” in The Exegetical Encounter between Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity (eds. E. Grypeou and H. Spurling), Leiden: Brill, 2009, 181–203.

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and Pseudo-Jonathan).4 Now there is an old Jewish tradition that angels do not eat, so the story about the angels’ delicious meal at Abraham’s dish had to be translated accordingly. I call that tradition ‘old’ because it is not only the late antique Targumim and Midrashim that reflect this idea. We see the same interpretation already in the final decades of the first century ce in the way in which the historian Josephus renders this story: he, too, says that Abraham saw three angels who, when they were served a meal by Abraham, “presented to him the appearance of eating” (Antiquitates Judaicae 1.197).5 Still earlier, in the second or third decade of the first century ce, the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria writes that it is a great miracle that those who do not eat and drink (scil., angels) were able to give Abraham the impression that they did eat (De Abrahamo 118). And in his Quaestiones in Genesim 4.9, Philo says that the words ‘they ate’ (in Gen. 18:8) should definitely not be taken literally but rather in a symbolic way: it is an indication of the fact that angels promptly understand and agree with those who call upon them and put their trust in them.6 In yet another Jewish document, that probably dates from the same period, the Testament of Abraham, the ‘three men’ are interpreted as three of the four archangels, one of which is Michael who asks God just before their mission to Abraham what they should do if the always hospitable Abraham would offer them a meal. God then says that he will send them an “all-devouring spirit which will consume from your hands and through your mouth everything that is on the table” (Test. Abr. 4.7–10).7 It is probably not coincidental that the author of the book of Jubilees, when rewriting this story, simply omits the whole episode (ch. 16) so as to avoid the problem of the eating angels. With Jubilees 4 Targum Neofiti has this preceded by a considerable expansion of v. 1: “Three angels were sent to our father Abraham at the time he circumcised the flesh of his foreskin. The three of them were sent for three things because it is impossible for one angel from on high that he be sent for more than one thing. The first angel was sent to announce to our father Abraham that Sarah would bear him Isaac; the second was sent to deliver Lot from the destruction; and the third angel was sent to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah.” 5 See L.H. Feldman, Flavius Josephus: Judean Antiquities 1–4, Leiden: Brill, 2000, 75. 6 Text and translation in Ch. Mercier & F. Petit, Quaestiones in Genesim III–IV (Les oeuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie 34B), Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1984, 170–173. 7 See the comments by D.C. Allison, Testament of Abraham (CEJL), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2003, 143. It is interesting to see that this version is found only in the longer recension of the document; the shorter recension has God only say that Michael should simply eat what is put before them (4:15 at p. 126 of Allison’s translation). On the differences between these versions see also K.P. Sullivan, Wrestling with Angels: A Study of the Relationship between Angels and Humans in Ancient Jewish Literature and the New Testament (AGAJU 55), Leiden: Brill, 2004, 189–191.

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we are again further back in time, to the middle of the second century BCE.8 So it is almost certain that the motif that Abraham’s guests do not really consume the meal Abraham offers them dates back to pre-Christian times.9 Apart from interpretations of Gen. 18:8, the motif that angels do not eat occurs also elsewhere in early Jewish literature.10 One could take the words spoken by an angel to Samson’s father Manoah in Judges 13:16, “I will not eat your food,” as a proof that this idea was already current in biblical times, but this is not certain.11 Be that as it may, in post-biblical literature there is no doubt that this belief was widely accepted. To mention only a few examples, in the book of Tobit (third to second century BCE) the archangel Raphael discloses towards the end of the story his identity to Tobit and Tobias whose company he has shared for a long time and he says among other things that he ate no food all the time and that what they saw was only a vision (12:19; note that in 6:6 Raphael and Tobias had been eating fish together according to some textual witnesses).12 From the beginning of the second century BCE there is a passage from Ben Sira in which he says that the heavenly bodies created by God “do not grow hungry or weary” (16:27), which implies that they did not eat. Presumably the idea behind this is that the heavenly bodies are angels.13 From a much later time, the early rabbinic period, we have the haggadic midrashim on Numbers and Deuteronomy. In Num. Rabba 10:5 we read about the above mentioned text in Judges 13:16 that the phrase “Manoah did not perceive that he was the angel of the Lord” implies that, if Manoah had known he was an angel, he would not have offered him something to eat, because he did know that ‘eating in heaven’ is unthinkable. And in Num. Rabba 21:16 the rabbis discuss Psalm 50:12, where God says, “If I were hungry, I would not 8

9 10

11 12 13

See J.C. VanderKam, “The Origins and Purposes of the Book of Jubilees,” in Studies in the Book of Jubilees, eds. M. Albani, J. Frey and A. Lange (TSAJ 65), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 997, 3–24. Cf. also G.F. Moore, Judaism in the First Three Centuries of the Christian Era (3 vols.), Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1927, 1.405. D. Goodman, “Do Angels Eat?,” JJS 37 (1986) 160–175, offers the most comprehensive treatment of the material. See also F. Siegert, Drei hellenistisch-jüdische Predigten II (WUNT 61), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992, 253–255; and Sullivan, Wrestling with Angels 179–195. See G.F. Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges, Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1895, 320–321. Cf. also Judges 6:21–22. For the text-critical problems in both verses (in the light of the new fragments of Tobit from Qumran) see now J.A. Fitzmyer, Tobit (CEJL), Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2003, 207, 297–298. See P.W. van der Horst, The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides (SVTP 4), Leiden: Brill, 1978, 163, esp. 186–188.

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tell you.” This is the occasion for thematizing the topic of ‘eating in heaven,’ and the rabbis finally agree that in heaven no one eats, neither God nor the angels. A decisive role in this discussion is played by Exod 34:28, “Moses stayed there with the Lord forty days and forty nights, neither eating nor drinking.”14 The same theme is also discussed in another midrash, Deut. Rabba 11:4. It is precisely the verse just quoted from Psalm 50:12 that forms the point of departure for a sermon in Pesikta de-Rav Kahana 6:1 that is by and large identical to what we found in Num. Rabba 21:16. Likewise Exod 34:28 is the starting point for the haggadic reasoning in Pirqe de-Rabbi Eliëzer 46 in which it is taken for granted that angels do not eat (in the previously mentioned passage in Bereshit Rabba 48:14 it is Deut 9:9 – “I remained on the mountain forty days and forty nights without food or dink” – that plays a similar decisive role).15 Why would angels not be able to eat and drink? Does the Bible itself not say that in the desert the people of Israel ate “the bread of angels,” i.e. manna (Psalm 78:24; cf. b. Yoma 75b)? Although this text seems to imply that this heavenly bread was similar to earthly bread, the very expression ‘bread of angels’ led many early (Jewish and Christian) interpreters to assume that angelic bread is a class of its own, which was often seen as nothing less than the ambrosia of the Greek gods.16 The great difference with human food is that the latter always produces waste matter in the form of excrements and urine, whereas angelic food never produces anything so base (it is possibly for that reason that in Joseph and Asenath 16 it is said that an angel eats honey which was believed to be wholly absorbed in the body without producing waste). The idea that such holy and pure creatures as angels would produce excrements was unacceptable to Jewish believers.

14 15

16

See E.E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (2 vols.), Jerusalem: Magness Press, 1975, 150. Cf. further Apocalypse of Abraham 12:2 and 13:4; Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Gen 19:3; b. Bava Metsia 86b; b. Bava Batra 10a; b. Sota 49a; Avot de-Rabbi Nathan (A) 43. Some rabbinic texts in which it is argued that angels do eat are mentioned by Allison, Testament of Abraham, 143 note 31, and Goodman, “Do Angels Eat?” 173–174. Allison (ibid. n. 30) points out that in Luke 24:36–43 Jesus proves to his disciples that he is no spirit (= angel) by eating something. See e.g. Sap. Sal. 16:20; Ps-Philo, De Sampsone 14; b. Yoma 75b; 5 Ezra 1:19; etc. (in Vita Adae et Evae [Latin] 4:2 and b. Sanhedrin 59b Adam and Eve are said to have received food from angels in Paradise). For further discussion see P.W. van der Horst, “Sex, Birth, Purity and Ascetism in the Protevangelium Jacobi,” in A Feminist Companion to Mariology (ed. AmyJill Levine; Feminist Companions to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings 10). London – New York: T. & T. Clark, 2005, 56–66.

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Also some (Gnostic) Christians found it such an unpalatable thought that Jesus would have produced excrements and urine that they thought up the theory that Jesus ate and drank in such a special way that his body never produced such filthy matter (see Valentinus, fragm. 3 in Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 3.59.3).17 The same applied to Jesus’ mother, Mary, who became a goddess-like figure in the course of the first Christian centuries. That is the reason why in the Protevangelium Jacobi she is repeatedly said to have received food from the hand of an angel (8:1; 13:2; 15:2), by which the author undoubtedly implies that she ate angelic food. It is clear that here an originally Jewish motif was taken over in early Christianity. Even in the late-fourth-century Ambrosiaster we still find an echo of the debate on angelic food: “What is the meaning of ‘Man has eaten the food of angels’ (cf. Exod 16:14–15) when angels do not need food since they are by nature spiritual and derive their strength only from the spirit?” (Quaestiones Veteris et Novi Testamenti 20).18 God-like beings, and especially the heavenly ones, do not defecate because that would impair the holiness and purity of God’s heavenly dwelling. According to some radical Jews, the Essenes, this even implied that God’s earthly dwelling, the temple in Jerusalem, should also be kept clean of human waste. In their ideal world, all toilets would be banned not only from the temple but even from all of Jerusalem to a location far away from the holy city.19 According to Josephus, the Essenes emptied their bowels far from their place of settlement (Qumran?), which they probably regarded as a substitute temple, and even then saw to it that all traces of their defecation were made invisible so as not to offend the deity (Bellum Jud. 2:148). It is probably no coincidence that the early Christian desert fathers, who tried to keep alive on an absolute minimum of food and drink, said that what they strove for was living like an angel (bios angelikos).20

17 18 19

20

See B. Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures, Garden City: Doubleday, 1987, 239. See the discussion in G. Rinaldi, La Bibbia dei pagani II: Testi e documenti (La Bibbia nella storia), Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniane, 1998, 148. Temple Scroll (= 11Q19–20) XLVI 13–16. See H.K. Harrington, “Purity,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls (eds. L.H. Schiffman and J.C. VanderKam), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000, vol. 2, 726–727. See K.S. Frank, Angelikos bios. Begriffsanalytische und begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zum “engelgleichen Leben” im frühen Mönchtum, Münster: Asschendorff, 1964.

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Kosher Food?

A second aspect of the story of Abraham’s meeting with the ‘three men’ is the seemingly rather embarrassing statement that after having prepared the meal, Abraham “took butter and milk and the calf he had prepared and set it before them” (Gen. 18:8). We have to establish here that this meant that the great patriarch of the Jewish people did not keep to the rules for kosher meals! According to Jewish tradition, milk and meat are not allowed to be eaten together in one meal or even put upon one table. But according to the biblical story, Abraham’s heavenly guests were not in the least worried about Abraham’s behaviour. Not even YHWH himself, who was one of the three, complained that the patriarch had trampled on the rules of kashrut. How is that possible? One should realize that Jewish readers who are wont to read biblical texts through rabbinic lenses, have a problem here. We should therefore look at the ways the rabbis dealt with this text. To begin with, however, one should bear in mind that the term kosher occurs only very rarely in the Hebrew Bible and that, when it is used, it is not in connection with food but in order to indicate that something is fitting or proper or right (see, e.g., Esther 8:5).21 Kosher as a term for pure food or food combinations is the product of a much later development in the rabbinic period. In Jewish documents of the centuries between biblical and rabbinic literature, for instance in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the word kosher is not used in the later rabbinic sense. That is not to say that in those centuries there were no rules for what we now call kashrut. These rules existed already in biblical times, but they consisted almost exclusively in prohibiting certain kinds of meat (pork, or the meat of animals that had been found dead etc.).22 The prohibition of certain combinations of food is by and large of later rabbinic origin. As is well-known, the rabbis explained the biblical injunction not to boil a kid in its mother’s milk as evidence of the prohibition of a combination of milk and meat. From the fact that this prohibition occurs three times in the Bible (Exod. 23:19; 34:26, and Deut. 14:21), the rabbis concluded that it was a rule of the greatest importance and for that reason they based a considerable halakhic system upon it. Most modern interpreters of the Bible reject this early rabbinic interpretation as historically improbable. However much uncertainty there may be as regards 21 22

See D.J.A. Clines (ed.), The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vol. 4, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998, 471. For more details see G. Schramm, ‘Meal Customs (Jewish),’ ABD 4 (1992) 648–650.

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the original meaning of these biblical passages, it is most probable that this rule is directed against a specifically Canaanite religious ritual in which a kid was indeed boiled in its mother’s milk (as is apparent from Ugaritic texts).23 The prohibition stresses that the customs of the people of Israel should not assimilate elements from its pagan environment. It evinces a conscious resistance against the fertility rituals of Israel’s neighbours, as is also the case with various other rules in the Torah, but it is not about a combination of milk and meat which is not forbidden explicitly anywhere in the Torah. It is for that reason that the author or redactor of Genesis 18 can allow Abraham to serve a meal of meat and milk to his high guests without any concern. How did the rabbis judge this scene? In their ideology the rabbis assumed that the halakhic rules developed by themselves had always been valid throughout history. In the midrash on Genesis, however, the verse with the controversial scene simply seems to be ignored (Bereshit Rabba 48:14); the only question raised is why Abraham did not serve bread as well. There is no further word on Abraham’s problematic behaviour as far as kashrut is concerned. This could be for two reasons. It could be that the problem is ignored because it was too embarrassing, just as Josephus in his rewriting of the Bible simply omits the embarrassing story of Israel’s worship of the golden calf in Exodus 32. It could also be, however, that the rabbis did not see a problem in the passage at all and therefore felt no need to address it. The Targumists translate the text literally, whereas at other places they do not shrink from rendering texts very freely and adapting them to their own ideas so as to make offensive passages in the Bible more palatable. So we must conclude that they too had no problem with this text. The explanation is probably to be found in the fact that the rules about combining milk and meat were not yet as hard and fast in the early rabbinic period as they were later. In the Babylonian Talmud (Chullin 104a–105b), one sees the rabbis debating the question of how much time there should be between the consumption of milk and the eating of meat. They do not agree in all respects but what is striking is that there are rabbis who argue that there need not be any time in between if only between the two sorts of food one flushes one’s mouth with water or cleans it with a piece of bread. It is very probable that the authors of the midrash and Targumim assumed that Abraham’s guests simply kept to that rule. On this view it becomes clear why in the above mentioned midrash the rabbis only wonder why Abraham did not serve bread. Their answer is that that was so self-evident that it did not have to be mentioned 23

See, e.g., B.S. Childs, Exodus, Londen: SCM Press, 1974, 485–487.

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explicitly in the biblical text (Bereshit Rabba 48:14).24 There is the solution: a piece of bread makes everything kosher at Abraham’s table!25 When in the late Talmudic or early medieval period the rules for the combination of milk and meat had been sharpened and the stricter form had been declared binding, the problem of the text of Gen. 18:8 returned inevitably. It is for that reason that in a later homiletic midrash (Pesikta Rabbati, sixth to eighth century), in a debate about not boiling the kid in its mother’s milk, the rabbis have God rebuke his angels who object to God’s wish to give the Torah to Israel instead of to them. God angrily says to them that they (the angels) would uphold the precepts of the Torah mich less strictly than the Israelites: “When you were sent to Abraham, he brought milk and meat to you at the same time, and you ate both together!” (Pes.Rabb. 25:3; also Midrash Tehillim 8:2). Israel never would do such a thing.

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It is striking that the great third-century Christian scholar Origen takes it for granted that Abraham served the calf and at the same time with it bread (Homilies on Genesis 4.1). The fact that according to the biblical story Abraham did not follow the (later) rules for kashrut is the reason why some groups of Christian Jews in Israel reject these rabbinic rules as non-biblical.

chapter 4

Moses’ Father Speaks Out In the Bible, Moses’ father Amram does not speak. He is mentioned as a second-generation Levite, the son of Kohat and father of Moses, but otherwise he is “a biblical figure without a narrative.”1 He appears mainly in late genealogical lists (Ex. 6:14–25; Num. 26:58–59; 1 Chron. 5:24–29), but is not even mentioned by name in the story of Moses’ birth where he is only referred to in passing as ‘a man from the tribe of Levi’ (Ex. 2:1). This unsatisfactory situation is remedied drastically, however, in post-biblical Jewish literature. There we see Amram gradually coming out of the shadow and becoming a personality, and a strong personality at that. Actually, what we witness is the making of a hero. The first time we find signs of Amram’s rise to importance is in the book of Jubilees (ca. mid-second cent. BCE) and the Dead Sea Scrolls. In Jub. 47.9 it is stated that Amram taught Moses writing. This may at first sight look like a current topos in ancient biography, but in view of the by then widespread tradition that Moses was ‘educated in all the wisdom of the Egyptians’ (Acts 7:22; cf. Philo, Vit.Mos. 1.23–24; Ezekiel Trag., Exag. 36–38), it may indicate that there was also a counter-tradition in which Moses did not have Egyptians as teachers but only his Hebrew father, for to learn writing of course implies here the ability to read Hebrew and thus to learn the contents of the writings of the great patriarchs and of the heavenly tablets which play such an important role in Jubilees (e.g., 8:2–3).2 In other words, Amram here enables his son to imbue himself in the ancient traditions of his own people.3 There are several Dead Sea Scrolls which mention Moses’ father.4 No less than six copies of an Aramaic document with the title The Book of the Words of the Visions of Amram were found in Cave 4 (4Q543–549), showing “that the 1 J.W. Wright, ‘Amram,’ ABD 1 (1992) 217. 2 See K. Berger, Das Buch der Jubiläen (JSHRZ II 3), Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1981, 539–540 note a. J.L. Kugel, A Walk through Jubilees (JSJS 156), Leiden: Brill, 2012, 194. 3 It is interesting to compare here the Preface of the much later (4th cent. ce?) Sefer ha-Razim which mentions Amram in a chain of tradents of knowledge of mysteries contained in a book revealed to Noah. Amram passes on this secret knowledge to Moses, Moses to Joshua etc.; see M.A. Morgan (transl.), Sefer ha-Razim. The Book of Mysteries, Chico: Scholars Press, 1983, 19. 4 For a survey see M.E. Stone, ‘Amram,’ in L.H. Schiffman & J.C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, 2 vols., Oxford: OUP, 2000, 1.23–24.

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work must have had some importance for the Qumran covenanters.”5 The text dates from somewhere in the second century BCE, possibly slightly later than Jubilees. It relates Amram’s words spoken to his children on his deathbed. This deathbed setting, typical for the Testament genre, makes one expect that the title would rather be Testament of Amram, but apparently the author wanted to emphasize the importance of Amram’s visions, as Josephus does later as well (see further below). Unfortunately, great parts of the text have been lost due to the fragmentary state of the manuscripts. In what survives we read among other things the following.6 Because of a war between Egypt, Canaan and the Philistines, so Amram tells us, his wife Jochebed was far from him in the land of Egypt while he was in Canaan, but although she was not with him for a very long time (41 years), he did not take another wife (4Q543 fr. 4; also in 4Q544 fr. 1, 4Q545 fr. 1a–1b), so he is a person of great faithfulness and righteousness. In the next fragments we are told that in a vision Amram sees two angels who had authority to rule over humankind. They ask him which of the two he wanted to be ruled by. One looks like a dark serpent with multicoloured clothing, the other has a laughing or happy face (but the colour of his clothing is lost in a gap) (4Q543 frs. 5–9; 4Q544 fr. 1). Apparently these two angels have a dispute over Amram (see also 4Q547 fr. 1–2 col. III 10–11). The latter, brighter one is asked for his name by Amram and says that he has three names (4Q543 fr. 14). Unfortunately we do not learn these names, although one of them may be Melchizedek, since the other one, who is the ruler of darkness, is called Melchiresha (4Q544 fr. 2).7 This dualism of light and darkness is of course well-known from other Dead Sea Scrolls as well, but it is not confined to the sectarian documents among them.8 Further we find in several of the fragments a marked emphasis on the importance of the Levitical priesthood of Aaron, Amram’s second son (4Q545 fr. 4; 4Q546 fr. 11; 4Q547 frs. 6 and 9), an element that links the document to two other Qumran documents, Aramaic Levi and the Testament of Qahat, writings 5 Stone, ‘Amram’ 23. For the editio princeps see J.T. Milik, ‘4Q Visions de ‘Amram et une citation d’Origène,’ RB 79 (1972) 77–97, but now rather E. Puech’s edition in DJD XXXI, Oxford: OUP, 2001, is to be consulted. I also consulted the edition in K. Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer, Ergänzungsband, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994, 85–92. 6 I use here The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader, edd. D.W. Parry & E. Tov, vol. 3: Parabiblical Texts, Leiden: Brill, 2005, 412–443. Note that the Visions of Amram are here categorized as belonging to the Testaments section. 7 See P.L. Kobelski, Melchizedek and Melchiresha, Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1981. F. García Martínez, “4QAmram BI, 14: “Melki-reshaʿ ou Melki-tsedeq?,” Revue de Qumran 12 (1985) 111–114. 8 Stone, ‘Amram’ 24.

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that were composed ‘in order to legitimate the priestly line and its teaching.’9 Finally, some fragments have Amram address his children with admonitions about the eschatological fate of the sons of light and the sons of darkness: the former are destined for light, goodness and safety, the latter for destruction (4Q548 fr. 1–2). Thereupon ‘he departed to his eternal home’ (4Q549, fr. 2, 6). The difference with the silent Amram in the Bible is marked. He now has become a character of his own. The next document of relevance to our theme is the Pseudo-Philonic Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum from the first century ce. In ch. 9 of that work,10 the author retells the story of Exodus 1–2, with some major additions. After the king of Egypt had decreed that all sons born to the Hebrews should be thrown into the river, the Jewish people gathered together and decided not to beget any offspring anymore. Amram, however, raises a strong protest. He says that sooner will the universe be destroyed than the people of Israel, that the covenant of God with Abraham will be fulfilled, and that for that reason he will beget children with his wife, no matter what the others have decided, for God will not forget his people forever. He exhorts others to do the same and not to cast away the fruits of their womb. “Who knows if God will act zealously on account of this to free us from our humiliation” (9.6). God is very pleased by Amram’s words and responds as follows, in an interior monologue: Because Amram’s plan has pleased me, and he has not put aside the covenant between me and his fathers, behold therefore (ideo) now, he who will be born from him will serve me forever and I will do wonders through the house of Jacob through him and I will perform through him signs and wonders for my people that I have not done for anyone else. And I will place my glory among them and proclaim to them my ways. And I, God, will kindle on his behalf my lamp to reside in him, and I will show him my house that no one has seen. I will reveal to him my majesty and statutes and judgements, and I will kindle an eternal light for him, because I thought of him in the days of old, when I said, “My spirit will not be a mediator among man forever, because he is flesh and his days will be 120 years.”

9 10

Stone, ‘Amram’ 24. See also André Caquot, “Les testaments qoumrâniens des pères du sacerdoce,” Revue d’Histoire et de Philosophie Religieuses 78/2 (1998) 3–26. For an elaborate commentary on that chapter see H. Jacobson, A Commentary on PseudoPhilo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum, Leiden: Brill, 1996, 400–430. At pp. 104–106 one finds Jacobson’s English translation, which I will use when quoting from the text.

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The story then goes on to tell that Aaron and Mirjam were born, that Mirjam had a vision one night in which she saw an angel who predicted that her mother would give birth to the future leader of the Jewish people. When Moses was born, they placed him in an ark at the edge of the river, whereupon the elders of the people quarreled with Amram, saying that it is exactly for this reason that they had said that it would be better to die without children than to cast the fruit of their womb into the waters. But this time Amram did not respond to that, or: did not listen to them11 (9.12–14). This is a highly significant passage for a number of reasons. Firstly, as we will see later, in rabbinic midrash Amram is always presented as taking part in the celibacy plan proposed by the elders of the people; it is only here that he opposes it. He does so ‘by virtue of his absolute, unyielding and uncompromising confidence in God.’12 Secondly, the text explains why Moses is chosen for his exalted role in the future history of Israel, a question never answered in the Bible. Because Amram had behaved in an extremely faithful and trustful way, God rewards him by choosing his son to be the saviour of his people.13 As Howard Jacobson reminds us, ‘Amram’s speech here against the decision to become celibate is paralleled in other midrashic texts by Miriam’s speech against such a resolution. While the substance of the two speeches differs greatly, the rhetoric and the effect are quite similar (see e.g. Sotah 12a).’14 Thirdly and finally, the emphasis on the fact that Amram’s stance and plan please God puts him on a par with the great patriarchs. Josephus too devotes much more attention to Amram than the biblical text does. In Ant. Jud. 2.210–217, he introduces him as one of the well-born among the Hebrews, a man who feared that the cruel measures of the Pharaoh would entail the extinction of the entire Jewish people. His wife being pregnant in the present dangerous situation, he desperately prayed to God imploring him to deliver his people from the prospect of destruction. Out of compassion God appeared to Amram in a dream and urged him not to despair because he would keep to the promises he had made to their ancestors. God reminds him of everything he had done to Abraham, Isaac and Ishmael, and Jacob who arrived in Egypt with only 70 souls while by now they counted more than 600,000. “And now be it known to you that that I am looking after the common welfare of you all and your own fame” (2.215). He then announces that his soon to be born son will deliver the Hebrews from their bondage and be remembered so 11 12 13 14

On the translation problem here see Jacobson, Commentary 426. Jacobson, Commentary 404. Jacobson, Commentary 404. Jacobson, Commentary 404.

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long as the universe shall endure, even among foreigners. That is the favour, God says, that will be bestowed upon Amram and his posterity, and he finally adds that his other son will be so blessed that he and his descendants will hold the priesthood forever.15 This passages shows similarities to several elements we have already met in earlier sources and will meet again in later sources. First, there is the element of a heavenly vision or dream granted to Amram. This is strikingly reminiscent of what we saw in the Qumran document mentioned earlier.16 Again this element underscores the great divine favour Amram receives. Other favours that God bestowes upon Amram are that one of his sons will be the one who liberates his people from bondage while the other and his offspring will be priests forever. Secondly, the fact that Josephus introduces Amram as one of the well-born among the Hebrews is parallelled in both Philo (Vit.Mos. 1.7: ‘His mother and father were among the noblest of people’) and rabbinic literature where he is called the leading man of his generation or even the head of the Sanhedrin (Ex. Rabba 1.13, 1.19; b.Sotah 12a).17 The fact that Amram is said to have prayed to God prior to his fathering a new child makes clear that Moses’ birth actually had been ordered by God. Whereas in Pseudo-Philo’s LAB 9.4 it is Amram himself who admonishes the elders of his people not to despair of the future, in Josephus it is God who does so to Amram. We now turn briefly to the role of Amram in rabbinic literature. Targumic material about Amram is scarce, but what little there is certainly deserves our attention. Here we meet the motif of Amram’s divorce from Jochebed. In Pseudo-Jonathan on Ex. 2:1, the biblical verse where Amram is introduced as a man from the tribe of Levi but not mentioned by name, we find the following rendition: Amram, a man from the tribe of Levi, went and seated under the bridal canopy and in the wedding chamber Jochebed, his wife, whom he had divorced because of Pharaoh’s decree. Now, she was a hundred and thirty 15 16

17

For an elaborate commentary on this passage see L.H. Feldman, Flavius Josephus, vol. 3: The Judaean Antiquities 1–4, Leiden: Brill, 2000, 190–193. In rabbinic literature Moses’ birth is predicted not in a vision or through a dream but through a prophecy of Miriam; see Sotah 12b–13a. But in LAB 9.10 Miriam does have a predictive dream about Moses’ birth. Cf. Matt. 1:20–23. Cf. Eccles. Rabba 9.17.1. In Gen. Rabba 19.7 Amram is reckoned among ‘the seven righteous men’: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Levi, Kohath, Amram, Moses. Cf. also Lev. Rabba 1.2, Num. Rabba 13.2, and in quite another sense Num. Rabba 3.6; Song of Songs Rabba 5.1.1; Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana 1.1.

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years old when he took her back. But a miracle was performed for her and her youth was restored just as she was when she was young. The same Targum again refers to this tradition in Num. 11:26, where after mentioning the two men who had remained behind in the camp, the prophets Eldad and Medad, the meturgeman adds that these were the sons of Elisaphan bar Parnak: “Jochebed, daughter of Levi, gave birth to them for him at the time when Amram her husband divorced her and to whom she was married before she gave birth to Moses.” These curious statements deserve some comments. As James Kugel has shown, it is the biblical text of Ex. 2:1 itself that gave rise to the motif of Amram’s divorce.18 When the text says, “A man went out from the house of Levi, and he took a daughter of Levi,” the question that arises is naturally: Why say first that he went out of the house of Levi and then add that he took a daughter from that very same house?19 Amram’s going out from the house of Levi and only then marrying someone who is from the same house of Levi seems to imply that after his going out he returned and then married her. Moreover, since the story is taking place in a time that the house of Levi had not yet developed into the tribe it became later (Levi was Amram’s grandfather, so only at a remove of two generations), ‘house’ (beyt) could be taken to mean Levi’s immediate family, maybe even the actual house in which this family lived. In addition to that, since the immediately preceding verse mentions Pharao’s decree that every son that is born should be cast into the Nile (Ex. 1:22), going out to get married would not seem to make much sense since their offspring, if male, would be drowned. But the next verses (2:2–3) state not only that the mother did conceive and bear a son, Moses, but also that the boy had an older sister, Miriam, who, then, must have been the fruit of a previous marriage. Out of all these considerations developed a tradition to the effect that Amram had changed his mind about married life. At first he was married to Jochebed, Levi’s daughter (and it was then that his son Aaron and his daughter Miriam were born). Later, however, when Pharaoh decreed that the newborn boys should be killed, Amram separated from his Jochebed 18 19

J.L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible. A Guide to the Bible As It Was at the Start of the Common Era, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 1998, 524–526. Most of the current translations render wayyelekh ʾish mibbeyt Levi by ‘a man from the tribe of Levi went and . . .’ but the rabbis try to make sense of the somewhat cumbersome wording of the whole phrase by reading the text in a different way, as sketched in the following part of the main text.

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lest they have a son who might fall victim to the decree. It was then that he “went out of the house of Levi,” leaving his divorced wife behind. Still later, he thought better of his action, and returned “and took [back] the daughter of Levi [his former wife]”.20 It is this exegetical tradition that we find reflected in several rabbinic documents. The Bavli records it in Sotah 12a–12b, which says, commenting upon Ex. 2:1, that Amram, having heard the decree of the Pharaoh, thought that begetting children would be labouring in vain, so he divorced his wife. But then his daughter Miriam criticized him saying that he was even more severe than Pharaoh because the king’s decree involved only boys but Amram’s decree involved boys and girls! She added further arguments, which convinced Amram, so he took back his wife. This minor critical element of Miriam’s chiding her father is one of the nice and unexpected traits of this haggadic tradition. The tradition is also hinted at in Bava Bathra 120a and it is further found in a long exegetical chain in Num. Rabbah 13.20. In Pesiqta Rabbati 43.4, we read that, as soon as Amram heard the decree of the Pharaoh, he ordered the Israelites to divorce their wives. But when his six years old daughter Miriam reproached him saying, “Father, Pharaoh is kinder to Israel than you are,” he brought her before the Sanhedrin (of which he himself was the head) where she repeated her words. After a debate between the members of the Sanhedrin and Amram, he gave in and took Jochebed back (the description of the scene is much more detailed than in this brief summary). In conclusion we may say that Jewish exegetical tradition over some eight centuries promoted Amram to the status he was thought to deserve, that of a heroic figure and the worthy father of his son, Moses.21

20 21

Kugel, Traditions 525. How this remarriage is to be reconciled with the biblical prohibition of marrying the same woman twice is still unclear to me (see Deut. 24:1–4). In spite of his rise to fame in the early post-biblical period, we do not find the name Amram very often used among Jews in that period. Tal Ilan lists some 17 instances in her massive Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity, I, vols. 1–4, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002–2012. The same is to be seen in the very sparing use of the name Moses among Jews of later antiquity.

chapter 5

Philo and the Problem of God’s Emotions Philo being the Platonist he is, it is to be expected that the biblical notion of a God who has strong emotions would constitute a great problem to him.1 As is well-known, the two cultural traditions that merge in his religious philosophy, the Biblical and Jewish tradition on the one hand and the Greek philosophical on the other, speak a widely different language as far as the emotions of God or the gods is concerned. Philo’s ingenuity is indeed great enough to find a solution of sorts to this problem, but – as we shall see – it is a far from unproblematic enterprise. In order to make clear what the difficult task was which Philo faced, I will first present a brief sketch of the two diametrically opposed positions in the two traditions, and then I will show how Philo tries to create a synthesis between these antithetical positions, a task for which he was well equipped as a ‘Bindeglied’ kat’ exochên between the Jewish and the Greek traditions.2 On the motif of God’s emotions in the Old Testament – grief, joy, regret, jealousy, but especially anger – I will be brief since texts containing that motif are so numerous and well-known that a succinct review suffices. Let us begin with the most debated motif, that of God’s anger. When Moses asks God at the burning bush to send someone else to the Pharaoh, God’s wrath was kindled against him (Exod. 4:14). In the story about Israel’s sin with the golden calf, it is God’s burning wrath that threatens to destroy the people so that Moses beseeches him to turn away from his wrath and spare the Israelites for his Name’s sake (Exod. 32:10–12). God’s wrath is kindled in the story of Balaam (Num. 22:22), at Israel’s idolatry with Baʿal Peʿor (Num. 25:3–4), at the sin of Achan (Josh. 7:1, 26), at the worship of Baʿal and Ashera by the people 1 This contribution is a thoroughly revised and much expanded version of an earlier article, ‘Philo of Alexandria on the Wrath of God,’ in my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context (WUNT 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 128–133. 2 H. Frohnhofen, Apatheia tou Theou. Über die Affektlosigkeit Gottes in der griechischen Antike und bei den griechischsprachigen Kirchenvätern bis zu Gregorios Thaumaturgos, Frankfurt etc.: Lang, 1987, 108, rightly remarks that Philo, in view of his boundary position, seems to be predestined “einen ersten Harmonisierungsversuch zwischen dem weitgehend apathischen Gott griechischer Provenienz und dem mitfühlenden und durch die Menschen und ihr Schicksal betroffenen jüdischen Gott andererseits vorzunehmen.”

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(Jud. 3:8; 10:7; cf. Ezek. 7:3; 14:19), when Uzza took hold of the ark to prevent it from falling (2 Sam. 6:7), when Zedekiah did what was evil in the sight of the Lord (2 Kings 24:19–20), etcetera. The author of 2 Chronicles has the burning wrath of the Lord play an even more frequent role than was already the case in his sources; in the books of the great prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, the theme of God’s wrath against Israel is a constantly recurring motif (Is. 20x, Jer. 24x, Ez. 11x); and the minor prophets also speak about God’s wrath (15x in total).3 Sometimes God’s wrath is kindled spontaneously, without any discernible reason, as in 2 Sam. 24:1, where God, in seemingly unmotivated anger, incites David to count the people (it is perhaps partly the unmotivated nature of this wrath that induced the later author of Chronicles to replace ‘God’ here by ‘Satan’ in 1 Chron. 21:1). God’s wrath is directed not only against his own people or members thereof (e.g., Hosea 5:10), but also against the heathen nations (e.g., Exod. 15:7; Jer. 10:25; Job 21:20), especially in eschatological utterances of the prophets, e.g., Is. 13:3, 5, 9, 13; Micah 5:14, Zeph. 2 (cf. in vv. 2 and 3 the expression ‘the day of the wrath of the Lord’); also in Ps. 2:5, 12.4 But God can also rejoice over his people (Zeph. 3:17; contrast Isa. 9:17) or over his own works (Ps. 104:31). In other circumstances, however, he regrets that he has created humankind (Gen. 6:6–7),5 he repents that he has made Saul king over Israel (1 Sam. 15:11 and 35) or that he has sent a pestilence upon Israel (2 Sam 24:16; cf. Amos 7:3.6; Jonah 3:9–10 et al.).6 Elsewhere, God declares emphatically that this time he will not repent or relent (Jer. 4:28; 15:6; Ezek. 24:14; Zech. 8:14), implying that he is capable of repenting or relenting. Finally, a well- known motif is of course that of God’s jealousy: In the first and great commandment he demands that he alone be worshipped to the exclusion of all other deities (Exod. 20:5; Deut. 32:16.21; Nah. 1:2); in Exod. 34:14 it is even stated that his name is ‘the Jealous God.’7 The number of instances and references could be multiplied ad libitum, but this small selection suffices to show that the motif of God’s emotions is not limited to just a handful of authors or layers of tradition in the Hebrew Bible. 3 Statistical data from G. Sauer, ‘ ʾaf,’ in Theologisches Handwörterbuch zum Alten Testament 1 (1971) 221–222. 4 For further discussion see E. Johnson, ‘anaph,’ in Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament 1 (1974) 348–360; G.A. Herion, ‘Wrath of God,’ Anchor Bible Dictionary 6 (1992) 989–996. 5 Note that this biblical text is the point of departure for Philo’s discussion of God’s unchangeableness in Quod deus sit immutabilis. 6 For an extensive discussion see H. Simian-Yofre, ‘nacham,’ in Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament 9 (1998) 340–355, esp. 343–350. 7 See E. Reuter, ‘qana,’ Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament 13 (2004) 47–58, esp. 53–57.

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On the contrary, it is a conception shared by all authors: their God has the ability to get enraged or grieved about matters displeasing to him or about situations in which his love is hurt, and he can regret things that he has done. No one denies him such emotions or passions, the less so since one believes that the flipside of God’s anger is his love and his compassion. This picture does not change essentially in post-biblical Jewish literature. In rabbinic writings God’s emotions are spoken of as freely as in the Hebrew Bible, and in most of pre-rabbinic literature, including the Dead Sea Scrolls, Jewish-Hellenistic literature, and the New Testament, the situation is not significantly different.8 Initially, the situation was not different in Greek culture either. As is well-known, in Homer, Hesiod, and the early tragedians, the emotions of the gods are taken for granted and spoken about in a way that is not essentially different from that of the biblical authors (apart from the difference between monotheism and polytheism). But at the end of the sixth and during the fifth century BCE, in Greece a critical attitude towards the traditional stories about the Olympian gods arose, especially in philosophical circles.9 Xenophanes of Colophon (ca. 570–475 BCE) played a seminal role in this movement.10 A central element in this criticism of traditional mythology was the concept of (what would later be called) to theoprepes, ‘that which is fitting to a god or worthy of a god’ (in Latin, dignum deo).11 There was a growing awareness that human 8 9

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See the survey by E. Sjöberg and G. Stählin in the Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament 5 (1954) 413–419. A good instance is Sir. 5:6–7. For a survey of the first philosophical criticism of popular religion see the still valuable work of P. Decharme, La critique des traditions religieuses chez les Grecs anciens des origines au temps de Plutarque, Paris: Alphonse Picard, 1904, 39–63. A fine study of the theology of the major Greek Philosophers is L.P. Gerson, God and Greek Philosophy: Studies in the Early History of Natural Theology, London – New York: Routledge, 1990. For a good and recent overview see G. Betegh, ‘Greek Philosophy and Religion,’ in M.L. Gill and P. Pellegrin (eds.), A Companion to Ancient Philosophy, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009, 625–639. See for his fragments H. Diels & W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, vol. 1, Berlin: Weidmann, 1951, 113–139 (nr. 21). Extensive discussion in J.H. Lesher, Xenophanes of Colophon. Fragments: A Text and Translation with a Commentary, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992. O. Dreyer, Untersuchungen zum Begriff des Gottgeziemenden in der Antike, Hildesheim: Olms, 1970 (pp. 20–24 on Xenophanes). Even though neither the Presocratics nor Plato used the term theoprepes (which became current only in the Hellenistic period; but see Pindar, Nem. 10.2), I retain this usage, not only for the sake of convenience and clarity but also since it is already adumbrated by Xenophanes’ own use of epiprepein in exactly this theological context in fr. 21A26 DK: “Always he [God] remains in the same place, moving

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affections and emotions, such as jealousy, lust, and anger, were unfittingly and unjustly ascribed to the gods in the mythological tales of the tradition (e.g., by Homer and Hesiod). An effect of this idea also outside of strictly philosophical circles, as far as the concept of divine pathê is concerned, can already be seen in Euripides when, in the final scene of his Bacchae, he has Cadmus say that it is not fitting (prepei) for gods to be like mortals in matters such as fits of anger (1348; cf. Hippolytus 120). It was especially Plato (who wanted to banish Homer’s poetry from his ideal state; Resp. 377d–398b)12 whose great influence made the idea of the theoprepes into a central theological notion in the period after him, the Hellenistic-Roman era. His theory of the essential and absolute goodness and unchangeability of the divine world,13 in which there is of course no place for emotions such as wrath or jealousy, conquers the intellectual world, albeit slowly, and becomes an unwritten dogma of the religious philosophy of later antiquity. Initially this influence limits itself to the world of philosophical and religious thinkers, as is apparent from authors who are contemporaries of Philo in the wide sense of the word, i.e., from the third century BCE to the third century ce. For instance, Epicurus writes in the very first sentence of his Kyriai doxai that what is divine cannot be moved by either wrath or grace (neque ira neque gratia), and Cicero, who quotes this sentence, adds that if we would take that into consideration, all fear of the power and anger of the gods would be banished (De natura deorum 1.17.45). Dispelling the fear of the wrath of the gods was one of the major motives for Lucretius to write his De rerum natura (cf., too, Plutarch’s De sera numinis vindicta, esp. chs. 12 and 20). The Stoic position, again as worded by Cicero in ND, is similar; there Balbus states that myths have been a fruitful source of false beliefs and superstitions: We know what the gods look like and how old they are, their dress and their equipment, and also their genealogies, marriages and relationships, and all about them is distorted into the likeness of human frailty. They are

12 13

not at all; nor is it fitting (epiprepei) for him to go to different places at different times” (transl. by G.S. Kirk, J.E. Raven and M. Schofield, The Presocratic Philosophers, second edition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983, 169–170). For defences of Homer against Plato’s criticism see Heraclitus, Probl. Hom. 6ff. and Maximus of Tyre, Orat. 18.5 et al. E.g., Phaedr. 247a ‘Jealousy has no place in the choir divine’; Tim. 29e ‘[The demiurge] was good and the good can never have any jealousy of anything’; Resp. 379b1 ‘God is really good and should be spoken of accordingly.’ See M. Bordt, Platons Theologie, FreiburgMünchen: Verlag Karl Alber, 2006. For later echoes see, e.g., Plotinus, Enn. 1.1.2; 5.9.4.

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actually represented as liable to passions and emotions – we hear of their being in love, sorrowful, angry; according to the myths, they even engage in wars and battles, and that not only when as in Homer two armies are contending and the gods take sides and intervene on their behalf, but they actually fought wars of their own, for instance with the Titans and with the Giants. These stories and these beliefs are utterly foolish; they are stuffed with nonsense and absurdity of all sorts (Nat. deor. 2.70).14 Sextus Empiricus, finally, says that it has been a dogma of all philosophers that the divine cannot be subject to emotions or passions (apathes, in his Pyrrhoneiai Hypotyposeis 1.162).15 I specifically mention here also some philosophers who do not (or at least not strictly or exclusively) belong to the Platonic tradition in order to demonstrate that this concept was certainly not restricted to the inner circle of Platonists. In a sense, Philo himself belonged to these philosophers,16 although one could debate the question (and it is a much debated question indeed!) whether Philo is a philosopher practicing exegesis or rather a philosophically-trained exegete. Be that as it may, it is clear in what field of tension Philo had to move and it is important to see how he solved the problem of the conflict between the two traditions he stood in, not in the least because his solution would turn out to serve as a model for the way in which later philosophically-trained Church Fathers would tackle the same and similar problems. To put it another way, the hermeneutical key designed by Philo would have a far-reaching influence on later Christian theology.17 We can observe that for Philo the concept of the theoprepes, the dignum deo, had become a dogma to such a degree that in fact the thought that the biblical texts mentioning God’s emotions could have been meant literally by

14

15

16

17

Translation by H. Rackham in the LCL edition. Valuable comments in A.S. Pease, M. Tulli Ciceronis de natura deorum libri tres, vol. 2, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968 (repr. of the 1958 ed.), 734–736. Cf. Pyrrh. 1.154, “Whereas it is customary with us to revere the gods as being good and immune from evil (apatheis kakôn), they are represented by the poets as suffering wounds and envying one another.” That Philo had predecessors in this respect is clear not only from the fragments of the Jewish exegete Aristobulus but also from some passages in the Epistula Aristeae, e.g. 253– 254 (‘God governs the whole universe . . . without any anger’). See D.T. Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature. A Survey, Assen: Van Gorcum – Philadelphia: Fortress, 1993.

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their authors does not even cross his mind.18 To be fair, he does occasionally fall back on this biblical usage when, for instance, he says that some people provoke God’s anger by their wicked lives and that we should always avoid that (De somniis 2.177–179), or when he says that the annual inundation of the Nile brings about a rich harvest for the inhabitants of Egypt unless God’s wrath about their sinfulness prevents this from taking place (Vita Mosis I 6). But these are sporadic exceptions, and they are no more than momentary concessions to biblical usage. For when the issue becomes crucial, Philo expresses himself in all clarity: “God is not at all susceptible to any passion (or: emotion) ­whatsoever” (Quod deus sit immutabilis 52). We use to think of the blessed and the immortal in terms of our own natures. For in words we do shun indeed the monstrosity of saying that God is of human form, but in actual fact we accept the impious thought that he is of human passions. And therefore we invent for him hands and feet, incomings and outgoings, enmities, aversions, estrangements, anger, in fact such body parts and passions as can never belong to the Cause (De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini 95–96).19 For “the nature of God is without grief or fear and wholly exempt from passion of any kind, and alone partakes of perfect happiness and bliss” (De Abrahamo 202; cf. Quod deus sit immutabilis 59). Here we see Philo fully as the Greek philosopher he really is.20 But if this is Philo’s deep conviction, how, then, does he cope with the many biblical texts that speak of God’s wrath and other emotions? “Why then does Moses speak of feet and hands, goings in and goings out, in connexion with the Uncreated? (. . .) Why again does he speak of his jealousy, his wrath, his moods of anger and the other emotions similar to them, which he describes in terms of human nature?,” Philo asks himself (Quod deus sit immutabilis 60). The answer lies in his concept of a pedagogical principle that the later Church Fathers would dub synkatabasis or condescensio, that is, ‘descent’ (in the sense of ‘accommodation’) to the level of understanding of the person(s) one wants 18 19 20

See H. Braun, Wie man über Gott nicht denken soll, dargelegt an Gedankengängen Philos von Alexandrien, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1971. Similar statements in Confus. 98; 180–182. Cf. Fuga 66. Note that the title of the last mentioned treatise – hoti atrepton to theion – sounds like a philosophical program. See W. Maas, Unveränderlichkeit Gottes: zum Verhältnis von griechisch-philosophischer und christlicher Gotteslehre (Paderborn Theologische Studien 1), München etc.: Schöningh, 1974, 87–99.

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to educate.21 In a programmatic passage, Philo formulates this principle as follows (here I briefly paraphrase Quod deus sit immutabilis 61–69):22 A lawgiver who aims at the best must have only one goal before him, namely to benefit all those whom he wants to reach with his laws. Those who have a gifted nature and have had a thorough education and schooling will not feel inclined to ascribe human features to God, “initiated in the infallible mysteries of Being” as they are. The saying that “God is not as a man” (Num. 23:19) suffices for them. There is, however, also another category of humans, those whose nature is more dull and tardy and whose education or training has been insufficient and who are for that reason incapable of a clear vision, and these are the people who need a physician who will devise a therapeutic treatment proper to their condition in order to improve them. The situation is also comparable to that of an undisciplined and foolish slave who needs a strict master who threatens him and scares him in order to keep him under control. In such situations, untruth (ta pseudê) is sometimes the only means to benefit them if they cannot be brought to wisdom by means of truth. When Moses ascribes to God the human attribute of anger evoked by sin, that is only a metaphor. What he wants to say is that all our deeds are reprehensible if they are the fruits of emotions and passions, but laudable if they are the products of our insight and knowledge. But it is also an elementary lesson for all those who can be brought in line only by threats. “This is the only way in which the fool can be admonished” (68). It is for that very reason that, apart from the text about God’s not being like a man (Num. 23:19), there is also another text that seems to say the opposite by stating that “the Lord your God disciplines you as a man disciplines his son” (Deut. 8:5), a saying that is directed at the fools.23 This demonstrates that God links two principles, fear and love. “To love him is the most 21

22

23

On this topic see the old but still valuable study by H. Koch, Pronoia und Paideusis. Studien über Origenes und sein Verhältnis zum Platonismus, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1932. Also H.M. Kuitert, Gott in Menschengestalt: Eine dogmatisch-hermeneutische Studie über die Anthropomorphismen der Bibel (Beiträge zur Evangelischen Theologie 45), München: Kaiser, 1967. See the commentary by D. Winston and J. Dillon, Two Treatises of Philo of Alexandria, Chico: Scholars Press, 1983, 307–311. Also Dreyer, Untersuchungen zum Begriff des Gottgeziemenden 128–135. For other discussions of these seemingly contradictory biblical texts see Quaest. in Gen. 1.55; Somn. 1.237; Deus 53–54. In no less than eight passages Philo comes back to these verses and to other biblical phrases that seem to portray God as a man on the one hand (Deut. 1:31) but to deny that on the other (Num. 23:19). Compare also 1 Sam. 15:29 with 1 Sam. 15:11 and 35, and note that here, in one and the same chapter, God is said both not to be as a man that he should repent [v. 29] and to repent that he had made Saul king

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suitable for those into whose conception of the Existent no thought of human parts or passions enters, who pay Him the honour meet for God (theoprepôs) for His own sake only. To fear, however, is most suitable to the others” (69).24 John Dillon has rightly remarked, “The verb paideuô in Deut. 8:5, which the LXX is using in a “vulgar” sense to translate the Hebrew yassêr, meaning “to punish, discipline,” Philo takes in the classical sense of “educate,” which enables him to see this passage as alluding to the educational purpose of Moses’ anthropomorphic references.”25 It is clear that, according to Philo, quite often God, as in a pedagogical situation, has to descend to the level of children or uneducated slaves in order to bring them to insight, obedience, and the right way of life. In De somniis 1.234– 237 Philo puts it in a slightly different way: It is for those who lack the necessary wisdom that Scripture presents God in an anthropomorphic way (He is ‘as a man’); hence the biblical passages about His bodily parts, His movements, His anger and wrath, even His weaponry. But that is not language in which divine truth is conveyed, for its aim is solely the useful effect of that language upon people who still have to learn very much. Unfortunately, there are people who cannot but imagine God as a kind of human being, with all limbs, movements, emotions, and weapons. We can only be grateful if they can be brought to lead a somewhat more sensible life by inspiring fear into them, says Philo. But to Philo himself God is ‘not as a man’ but the immutable Highest Being “free from grief, exempt from fear, and totally immune from passion of any kind” (Abr. 202).26 Here Plato prevails over Moses.27 Plato’s doctrine of the absolute immutability of God prevails over Moses’ anthropomorphic conception of a passionate

24

25 26

27

[v.11; v.35]]). This kind of contradiction was not embarrassing to Philo because it fitted into his ‘pedagogical’ theory. On this passage see also J. Dillon, ‘The Nature of God in the Quod Deus,’ in Winston & Dillon, Two Treatises 217–228, esp. 220–222. At p. 220 Dillon rightly remarks that sections 51–69 of Deus “constitute one of the most comprehensive attacks on anthropomorphism, and explanations of anthropomorphic terminology, surviving from antiquity (Cicero’s De natura deorum 2.45–72 being another, from a Stoic perspective).” Dillon, ‘The Nature of God in the Quod Deus,’ 220. On Philo’s view of anthropomorphism also Dreyer, Untersuchungen zum Begriff des Gottgeziemenden 124–135. It is unclear what this notion of the essential non-impressionable nature of God implies for Philo’s idea of prayer. On Philo’s concept of prayer see J. Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria (TSAJ 84), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001, 101–141. Cf. the remark in H. Kraft & A. Wlosok, Laktanz: Vom Zorne Gottes, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1971, XX: ‘Philo hat auf das Alte Testament dasselbe Verfahren angewandt, mit dem schon die alexandrinischen Homerexegeten die

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deity. And it is exactly for that reason that Philo has become so influential, not in Jewish but in Christian circles. It is no coincidence that it is two Alexandrian Christian scholars in whose works one finds the first clear traces of influence of Philo’s synthesis of biblical faith and Greek philosophy, namely, Clement and Origen.28 In Clement’s Stromateis 4.11.68.3 we hear a clear echo of Philo when Clement says that no one should think that the Bible talks of real objects or events when it speaks of God’s limbs, movements, wrath, and threats; this is to be understood allegorically. Similar statements are found in Strom. 2.16.72; 2.18.81; 4.23.151 (theos de apathês athymos te kai anepithymêtos). Philo’s voice is heard even more clearly in Origen’s work, for instance in his polemics against the pagan philosopher Celsus. When Celsus ridicules the anthropomorphic ways the Bible speaks of God,29 especially his wrath and threats, Origen argues as follows (Contra Celsum IV 71–72): Just as parents adapt their language to the level of their children’s capacity of understanding, so does the Logos of God. The words that Scripture puts into God’s mouth do not correspond with God’s real nature but with the human capacity of understanding. The so-called wrath of God, says Origen, has in the Bible only one purpose: the correction of men’s behaviour.30 That must be clear to anyone who sees that the Bible attributes David’s being instigated to count the people of Israel to God’s wrath in one book (2 Sam. 24:1) but to the devil in another book (1 Chron. 21:1). Like Philo, Origen, too, refers to the seemingly contradictory texts in the Bible where God is pictured both ‘as a man’ and ‘not as a man’ (Deut. 1:31 and Num. 23:19).31 For similar statements see also CC 6.61–65; Princ. 2.4.4; Hom. in Num. 23.2; Hom. in Jerem. 18. That both Alexandrians knew Philo is beyond any doubt; his influence is discernible everywhere. One can gauge here how welcome Philo’s solution of the problem of God’s emotions was to these Platonizing Christian theologians.32

28

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30 31 32

Epen ihres eigentlichen Inhalts beraubt und daraus heilige Bücher der Gotteserkenntnis gemacht hatten.’ Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature 132–183. H. Chadwick, Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition. Studies in Justin, Clement and Origen, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966, 31–94. On Celsus’ and other anti-Christian polemicists’ criticism of the biblical idea of God’s passions see J.G. Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004, 143–145, 291–293, 302–305. In his Homiliae in Ieremiam 18 and 20 Origen even speaks of apatê (pia fraus, pious deceit) on God’s part in this connection. See the discussion by Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature 176. See M. Pohlenz, Vom Zorne Gottes: Eine Studie über den Einfluss der griechischen Philosophie auf das alte Christentum (FRLANT 12), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1909, 29–39;

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That half a century after Origen the Latin Church Father Lactantius, the only ancient Christian author to devote a complete treatise to the topic of God’s wrath, De ira dei, came to a completely different point of view, is a fascinating topic. That, however, should be dealt with elsewhere.33

33

Runia, Philo in Early Christian Literature 174–178 (et al.); also the contributions on Clement and Origen by E. Osborn and R. Heine in P.M. Blowers (ed.), The Bible in Greek Christian Antiquity, Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1997, 112–148. For a valuable short sketch of Lactantius’ view see Pohlenz, Vom Zorne Gottes 48–57. Also Kraft & Wlosok, Laktanz: Vom Zorne Gottes, XIX–XXV.

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Two Short Notes on Philo In these short notes I will react to two articles in the 2005 issue of the Studia Philonica Annual. The first one is Frank Shaw’s study of Caligula’s employment of the name of the God of the Jews,1 the second is Allen Kerkeslager’s long contribution on the question of the (according to him non-existing) role of three influential Greeks in the violent events of 38 ce in Alexandria.2 I In his fine study, Shaw discusses the meaning of the at first sight puzzling sentence in the Legatio 353, where Philo has Caligula address the Jews as haters of the gods, οἱ θεὸν μὴ νομίζοντες εἶναί με, τὸν ἤδη παρὰ πᾶσι τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνωμολογημένον, ἀλλὰ τὸν ἀκατονόμαστον ὑμῖν. He wonders what is the right translation of these words since the existing modern translations disagree. Colson, for instance, renders: ‘. . . you who do not believe me to be a god, a god acknowledged among all the other nations but not to be named by you.’ But, e.g., Pelletier has: ‘vous . . ., les gens qui ne veulent pas reconnaître que je suis dieu, moi qui suis déjà qualifié ainsi auprès de tous les autres hommes, mais qui croyez en celui que vous ne pouvez nommer.’ Shaw states the problem as follows: ‘Are the two phrases beginning with τόν . . . to be understood as modifying the με just before them? Do both grammatical units simply refer to Gaius in an instance of the sort of parallelism of which English speakers are so fond?3 (. . .) However, there is another possibility, that of understanding the second τόν . . . clause as not parallel to the first, but as speaking of the Jewish God’4 (34–35). Shaw then goes on to demonstrate at length on the basis of a host of literary material that the second option is the most probable and that Gaius here referred to the God of the Jews. His is a convincing case.

1 F. Shaw, ‘The Emperor Gaius’ Employment of the Divine Name,’ SPhA 17 (2005) 33–48. 2 A. Kerkeslager, ‘The Absence of Dionysios, Lampo, and Isidorus from the Violence in Alexandria in 38 CE,’ SPhA 17 (2005) 49–94. 3 This is the position of Colson, and also of Smallwood who has: ‘I, who am acknowledged as a god among all other nations by this time but am denied this title by you.’ 4 This is the position of Pelletier.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004271111_007

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What Shaw fails to do, however, is simply to have a look at the grammatical side of the problem. If Philo had wanted to have the emperor say that he is ‘a god acknowledged among all the other nations but not to be named by you,’ he would have written: . . . οἱ θεὸν μὴ νομίζοντες εἶναί με, τὸν μὲν ἤδη παρὰ πᾶσι τοῖς ἄλλοις ἀνωμολογημένον, τὸν δὲ ἀκατονόμαστον ὑμῖν. If both parts of the sentence after με would refer to the same person, usually the μὲν . . . δέ construction would be employed.5 Since Philo here does not use this construction but employs ἀλλά after a negation (μή) instead, he certainly has the two parts of the sentence refer to two mutually exclusive entities.6 So the opposition is here between μὴ κτλ. and ἀλλὰ κτλ.: . . . θεὸν μὴ νομίζοντες εἶναί με (. . .) ἀλλὰ τὸν ἀκατονόμαστον ὑμῖν (‘you who do not recognize me as a god . . . but (only) the one that is not to be named among you’). So I fully agree with Shaw’s conclusion, which he reaches along a completely different path, but he could have underpinned and strengthened his case by this grammatical observation. II Allen Kerkeslager’s article is a very acute attempt to prove that the three Greeks who play such an important role in In Flaccum, Dionysius, Lampo, and Isidorus, were not at all involved in the violence of 38 ce for the simple reason that none of them were in Alexandria in that year. This is certainly contrary to the current opinion7 and it must be said that Kerkeslager has a good case here. Even so, there is much to be criticized in his argument. In this short contribution I will point out some of the weaknesses I see in his position. To begin with, Kerkeslager claims that ‘Philo never says that our trio had a role in plotting the violence’ (53). And he is right in observing that in §20 Philo ‘invokes the names of our trio only in the plural in a type of grammatical construction used to refer to three categories of people, not three

5 See, e.g., R. Kühner & B. Gerth, Ausführliche Grammatik der griechischen Sprache II: Satzlehre, vol. 2, Darmstadt: WBG, 1966 (= repr. of the 1904 ed.), 266. See, e.g., Lycurgus, Contra Leocratem 5 εἰδὼς Λεωκράτην φυγόντα μὲν τοὺς ὑπὲρ τῆς πατρίδος κινδύνους, ἐγκαταλιπόντα δὲ τοὺς αὐτοῦ πολίτας. 6 See Kühner & Gerth, ibid. 282, who say this construction is used when ‘das eine neben dem andern nicht zu gleicher Zeit bestehen kann. Dies geschieht wenn eine Negation vorangeht und wir übersetzen dann ἀλλά durch ‘sondern,’ als: Οὐχ οἱ πλούσιοι εὐδαίμονές εἰσιν ἀλλ’ οἱ ἀγαθοί.’ 7 Including mine in my Philo’s Flaccus. The First Pogrom (PACS 2), Leiden: Brill, 2003.

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­individuals’ (53),8 but he overlooks that in §18 Philo says that Flaccus recruited as his advisers ‘those who had been his declared enemies from the beginning.’ This is clearly echoed in §128, where he certainly does speak about the three persons concerned and says that they were ‘people who had been his [Flaccus’] most bitter enemies for the greatest part of the period that he had been the governor of the country.’ So it would seem that Philo does say, however implicitly, that Isidorus, Dionysius, and Lampo were (among) his advisers. Kerkeslager says that ‘[t]his inclusio suggests that Philo inserted the[se] names . . . into Flacc. 18–21 to dramatically foreshadow the denouement of Flaccus’ (54). And so ‘[o]ne must conclude that Philo’s allusion to our trio in Flacc. 18–21 was purely rhetorical and dramatic in design; the actual enemies of Flaccus described here are unnamed and unknown’ (55). But it has to be kept in mind here that it is unlikely that Philo would make up a situation in the recent past that most people in his environment could immediately unmask as unhistorical. Philo wrote In Flaccum in 39 or 40 ce, that is, so shortly after the events of 38 that they were still fresh in the minds of most of his readers. As I have argued, Philo would have made a fool of himself if he had too drastically distorted the facts, or invented them, because he would never have got away with a complete invention of ‘events’ that most people knew had never taken place.9 It is like the case of the community of the Therapeutae in De vita contemplativa, often thought to be no more than ‘a philosopher’s dream,’ but where Joan Taylor has rightly stressed that, if Philo would have wished to picture a Jewish utopia, he would not have situated it in a place (at Lake Mareotis) where every fellow citizen could check his veracity, so Philo could not possibly be making up this community out of thin air.10 So it is not just gullibility when scholars believe that Dionysios cum suis played a role behind the riots of 38. But the question is: how? The great problem here is that Kerkeslager has proved beyond reasonable doubt that in 38 this trio was not in the city: Dionysius was probably dead already, and the other two were in Rome. Time and again he emphasizes that for that reason they could neither have been Flaccus’ advisers nor played a 8

9 10

In my translation, ‘popularity hunters such as Dionysius, document tamperers such as Lampo, and sedition leaders such as Isidorus’ (Philo’s Flaccus 58). For the phenomenon of using a personal name in the plural to designate a class of people (Διονύσιοι for ‘people such as Dionysius’) see B. Gildersleeve, Syntax of Classical Greek, Groningen 1980, 23 (§46: Plural of proper nouns). Philo’s Flaccus 12. J.E. Taylor, Jewish Women Philosophers of First-Century Alexandria. Philo’s ‘Therapeutae’ Reconsidered, Oxford: OUP, 2003, 3–20. See my review in Gnomon 76 (2004) 634–635.

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leading role in the violence. ‘Our trio is completely absent from Philo’s major descriptions of the violence against the Judaeans’ (57). That is true, but how relevant is it? Two things should be kept in mind here. First, regarding their advisory role as depicted in Flacc. 18–21, most probably Philo has telescoped some events here. The three persons concerned had indeed tried to incite Flaccus to take measures against the Jews (to demote them in their social status) or at least not to interfere when others would take anti-Jewish actions. They did so already before Dionysius’ death and Isidorus’ and Lampo’s move to Rome, that is, before Gaius’ ascension to the throne in 37. They had many followers in Alexandria who cherished the same anti-­Jewish sentiments. It was these followers – ‘popularity hunters such as Dionysus, document tamperers such as Lampo, and sedition leaders such as Isidorus’ – who most probably were Flaccus’ real advisers after Caligula’s rise to power. So the trio was in an indirect sense still advising Flaccus via their followers. That would explain why Philo does not mention them directly in §18–21 but only in a way that suggests their lasting influence upon Flaccus. It was this lasting influence that made him mention them at this point.11 Secondly, Kerkeslager suggests by means of expressions such as ‘leading the violence’ or ‘directing the violence’ that the trio should have been present in the city if they are to be regarded as the masterminds behind the pogrom, whereas they were demonstrably absent. That is a misunderstanding. The leading figures among their followers could easily have ‘led the violence,’ if ‘leading the violence’ is an appropriate expression at all. In a pogrom, once the violence has been triggered by whatever cause (here the appearance of Agrippa I with his bodyguard), ‘leading’ or ‘directing’ by highly placed intellectuals is no longer necessary. The mobs usually know where to go and what to do; the aristocrats remain at the background and do not meddle in the actual fighting and killing. If, as Kerkeslager himself argues, it was Flaccus who was ‘directing the’ violence – which, in his opinion, is confirmed by the outrages against the Jews on the emperor’s birthday – this governor may have implemented what his advisers suggested to him.

11

Kerkeslager, too, is aware of the limits imposed upon Philo’s freedom to invent nonhistorical situations; see his remark on Flacc. 6–7 in ‘Absence’ 56: ‘But it seems unlikely that Philo would have conceded any praise to Flaccus at all if there were no grounds for it.’ Cf. also ibid. 59: ‘Philo’s effort to transform the role reversal during the trial of Flaccus into a fitting retribution for the attacks on the Judaeans in 38 would have been more persuasive if he could have cited the action of Judaean accusers during this trial.’

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But, says Kerkeslager, neither Dionysius nor Isidorus or Lampo were anti-Semites or Jew-haters,12 which makes it improbable that they would give such anti-Jewish advice. This is special pleading. Anti-Jewish leaders of the Greek Alexandrians do not fit into Kerkeslager’s picture. But what does the evidence tell us? It is not only Philo’s remark in Flacc. 21–23 that Flaccus’ advisers were outspokenly anti-Jewish; there is more. In Legat. 354–356, immediately after the remark by Caligula mentioned above in the discussion of Shaw’s article, Philo has Isidorus say: ‘My lord, you will hate these Jews here, and the rest of their compatriots too, even more when you learn of their ill-will and disloyalty towards you. When everyone else was offering sacrifices of thanksgiving for your recovery, these people alone could not bring themselves to sacrifice. When I say “these,” I include the other Jews as well’ (355; transl. Smallwood). It is important to see that Philo’s picture of an anti-Jewish Isidorus is confirmed by a pagan source, CPJ 156 (the so-called Acta Isidori et Lamponis),13 a papyrus that deals with a lawsuit that Isidorus launched in 41 ce against the Jewish king Agrippa I (not in itself an anti-Jewish act). Here we read that Isidorus says to the emperor Claudius: ‘My lord Caesar, what do you care for a twopenny-halfpenny Jew like Agrippa?’(356b I 16–17). And further on he adds: ‘I wish to retort in connection with the points you bring up about the Jews. I accuse them of wishing to stir up the entire world. . . . We must consider every detail in order to judge the whole people. They are not of the same nature as the Alexandrians, but live rather after the fashion of the Egyptians’ (356c II 21–26). The remark about living after the fashion of the Egyptians is, in the mouth of an Alexandrian Greek, an utterly negative qualification.14 Much could be said of this passage, but it suffices here to notice that Philo’s two remarks about the anti-Jewish sentiments of Isidorus cum suis, are here corroborated on unimpeachable authority by one of the non-Jewish (or rather: anti-Jewish) Acta Alexandrinorum. So there can hardly be any doubt that the trio cherished anti-Jewish sentiments and favoured anti-Jewish activities. Isidorus and Lampo could certainly have exercised their influence on the events in Alexandria by means of their figureheads. The ‘absence’ in Kerkeslager’s title was only an absence in corpore, but there was almost certainly a strong presence in mente.

12 13 14

‘Absence’ 61: ‘[T]he sources dealing with our trio did not attribute them with this role [sc. of anti-Semitic gangsters] because they never had such a role.’ See the edition with translation and commentary in V.A. Tcherikover & A. Fuks, Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, vol. 2, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1960, 66–81. See M.R. Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001, 45–74.

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Let me finally deal with some less important details in Kerkeslager’s study which are debatable.15 He tries to corroborate his argument that Dionysius was executed before 37 by means of an identification of Dionysius with a certain Theon who is said to have been executed as were Isidorus and Lampo (CPJ 159b IV 5–7), but this is very speculative. Kerkeslager speaks of ‘texts suggesting that Dionysios and Theon may have been names repeatedly used by one particular family among the Alexandrian elite. These texts might suggest that Dionysius can be identified with an executed Theon from this family’ (65). But this cannot be regarded in any sense as evidence that the two were identical and certainly does not confirm Dionysius’ ‘absence’ from Alexandria in 38. To be sure, I do grant Kerkeslager that Dionysius may well have been dead by 38, but this specific argument is weak. In his long paragraph on the chronology of Lampo’s career, Kerkeslager notes the efforts at restriction of the offices of Alexandrian magistrates to a period of one year, and it is clear from the evidence that there were repeated attempts to impose such a one-year limit. In reality, however, many magistrates managed to retain their official positions for a much longer time. Even so, in his chronological calculations Kerkeslager takes it for granted that the shorter term applied in the case of Lampo, but without adducing any supporting evidence. Another more serious flaw in his chronological musings is his calculation of the duration of Lampo’s trip to Rome: ‘[A] trip from Alexandria to Rome typically required as much as two months or more’ (71), but this is simply not true. It would usually take two to four weeks, depending upon the weather and other circumstances.16 Again, this does not reflect much credit on the outcome of this chronological exercise as a whole. But I repeat that I do agree with my learned colleague that Lampo most probably was not in Alexandria in 38. In the long section on Isidorus (74–92), Kerkeslager at a certain point comes to the following conclusion: ‘One point that now appears certain is that the seditious activities of Isidorus and his consequent departure from Alexandria date to well before 38. They had nothing to do with the violence in 38’ (78). One cannot but agree with the first sentence, but hardly with the final one, at least not with the word ‘nothing.’ Isidorus’ giving of advice to Flaccus, which, as I argued above, did take place and was anti-Semitic, had everything to do with the pogrom of 38. It is for that very same reason that I cannot agree with another speculative conclusion: ‘His [i.e., Isidorus’] wrangling against Judaeans 15 16

That many of his statements are debatable is indicated clearly by Kerkeslager himself in his frequent use of the verb ‘might’ and of phrases such as ‘This would suggest . . .’ See my Philo’s Flaccus 116 and the literature cited there. The time span of 2 to 4 weeks is confirmed by the expert opinion of Professor Fik Meijer from Amsterdam.

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in imperial hearings was driven more by greed and simple patriotism than by anti-Semitism’ (92). This having been said, I want to emphasize again that, despite the above criticisms, I think Allen Kerkeslager’s study17 is a very learned, original, and impressive piece of scholarship, and I want to thank him for this opportunity for debate.18

17 18

Soon to be followed by its companion piece ‘Agrippa and the Mourning Rites for Drusilla in Alexandria,’ forthcoming in JSJ. [It appeared in JSJ 37 (2006) 367–400.] I thank David Runia for his comments on the first draft of this paper.

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Philosophia epeisaktos

Some Notes on Josephus, Ant. 18.9

When Josephus writes about what Morton Smith nicely called ‘the troublemakers,’1 i.e., the Jewish theocratic guerilla fighters in Palestine before 70 ce, he twice calls them ‘the fourth philosophy’ (A.J. 18.9; 18.23). Realizing that this numeral is not really informative, on the first occasion (18.9) he adds the qualification that they form a philosophia epeisaktos, in Louis Feldman’s translation ‘an intrusive school of philosophy.’2 In this short paper I will not deal with the question of whether or not we should identify this group with the Zealots, or the Sicarii, or both.3 Neither will I deal with the pernicious role(s) these ‘troublemakers’ played in the run-up to the great War of 66–74. My sole aim is to try to clarify Josephus’ curious terminology with regard to this group of Jewish theocratic insurrectionists. What exactly does he mean when he calls them, using a unique terminology, a philosophia epeisaktos? First, why would Josephus call a bunch of revolutionaries a philosophia? The simple answer would seem to be that he had presented the other main Jewish schools of thought (or sects) as philosophical movements as well (see B.J. 2.119; 2.166; A.J. 18.11; 18.23) so as to provide them with a Hellenistic dress, and here he simply does the same for a fourth group. But that does not solve the problem of why he used this terminology for Jewish religious movements in the first place.

1 M. Smith, “The Troublemakers,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 3: The Early Roman Period (eds. W. Horbury, W.D. Davies & J. Sturdy), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999, 501–568. 2 In vol. 9 of the LCL edition of Josephus, p. 9. W. Whiston simply omits the word epeisaktos in his translation, as does H. Clementz. F.J.A.M. Meijer and M.A. Wes aptly render it as: ‘een ons vreemde geestelijke stroming.’ 3 See on that matter, e.g., D. Rhoads, “Zealots,” ABD 6 (1992) 1043–1054; also G. Cornfeld et al., Josephus: The Jewish War, Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1982, 143–144; M.A. Brighton, The Sicarii in Josephus’s Judean War, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2009. One of the classic studies of Judas the Galilaean’s fourth philosophy remains M. Hengel, The Zealots: Investigations into the Jewish Freedom Movement in the Period from Herod I until 70 AD, Edinburgh: Clark, 1989, 76–145. But see also, for a radically different interpretation, M. Smith, “Zealots and Sicarii: Their Origins and Relations,” HTR 64 (1971) 1–19, repr. in his Studies in the Cult of Yahweh, vol. 1, Leiden: Brill, 1996, 211–226.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi ��.��63/9789004271111_008

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In order to understand this move, we will have to review briefly the semantic history of the word-group philosophia-philosophos-philosophein.4 According to a rather consistent Greek tradition that goes back to the fifth century BCE, Pythagoras (second half of the sixth century BCE) was the inventor of these words.5 This tradition has it that Pythagoras called his own teaching philosophia, not sophia (wisdom). For he criticized the so-called Seven Wise Men, who lived before his time, and he said that no one is wise, being a human person, and by reason of the weakness of his nature he often does not have the power to bring all things to a good end, but he who emulates the way of life of a wise man could more fittingly be called a lover of wisdom (philosophos).6 Another version has it that he was the first to call himself a philosophos because, he said, no one is wise (sophos) but God alone.7 To skeptical minds the historical veracity of this tradition may not be beyond doubt, but it is certain that the first time we find an author using the word philosophos, is in a fragment of Heraclitus (flor. ca. 500) where he says that philosophoi must be enquirers into many things (22B35 DK).8 But it may be the case that Heraclitus ridiculed or criticized Pythagoras’ use of the word philosophos since the same Heraclitus says elsewhere that the learning of many things (polymathiê) does not teach understanding, for if it did, it would have taught Hesiod and Pythagoras (22B40 DK). Be that as it may, the word (or rather, word-group: philosophos, philosophia, philosophein) is there, at least from the beginning of the fifth ­century, and it is clear that it does not yet have the technical sense of 4 For a succinct survey see O. Michel, “Philosophia,” TWNT 9 (1973), 169–176. For bibliography on the word group philosophia-philosophos-philosophein see esp. P.B. Colera et al., Repertorio Bibliográfico de la Lexicografía Griega, Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1998, 513a. 5 See A.-M. Malingrey, “Philosophia”: Étude d’un group de mots dans la litérature grecque des Présocratiques au IVe siècle après J.-C., Paris: Klincksieck, 1961, 29–32; W. Burkert, “Platon oder Pythagoras? Zum Ursprung des Wortes ‘Philosophie’,” Hermes 88 (1960) 159–177; now esp. Chr. Riedweg, Pythagoras: Leben – Lehre – Nachwirkung, München: Beck, 2002, 120–128. 6 Diodorus Siculus, Bibl. Hist. 10.10. 7 Diogenes Laertius, Vitae philos. Prooemium 12; for other versions see Cicero, Tusc.5.8–9; Jamblichus, De vita Pyth. 12[58].1; Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.61; Augustine, Civ. Dei 8.2. 8 See the comments in G.S. Kirk, J.E. Raven and M. Schofield, The Presocratic Philosophers, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983 (2nd ed.), 216–218. H. Diels & W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, vol. 1, Berlin: Weidmann, 1951 (6th ed.), 159, suggest that the word philosophos is “vielleicht Heraklits Schöpfung.”

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the term philosophy (systematic, rational, and critical thinking) as we use it in our time. In the fifth century BCE it was the sophists who claimed to teach sophia, which was of a practical nature,9 while their opponents such as Socrates claimed to teach philosophia. It is in this century that the word philosophia began to develop new meanings (including ethical aspects: how to lead a good life), and this was also the century in which critical thinkers developed a form of philosophy in which traditional religion was subjected to an incisive Religionskritik, when the first atheists in history appeared on the scene.10 In Plato’s work, however, philosophia is the search for metaphysical truth and as such is never disconnected from an ethical way of life coram deo. For Plato there is a fundamental link between striving for truth and educational and political action.11 It was also Plato who divided philosophy into three parts: logic, ethics, and physics. Aristotle uses the term philosophia for comprehensive scientific research, in which the first philosophia is the science devoted to the divine unchanging transcendent being, and the second philosophia is the science devoted to the sensory phenomena. Here we see that for the most influential philosophers of classical Greece, theology and ethics were part and parcel of philosophy. In the Hellenistic period, too, ethical and theological questions belonged to the domain of the various philosophical schools (Stoa, Epicureanism, Academy, Peripatos, et al.). ‘This accounts for the strong ethical emphasis and, to the modern mind, disconcertingly close connexion between philosophy and religion in nearly all the thinkers of the period.’12 Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus, for instance, is a prime example of Stoic religious philosophy.13 One should also 9

10 11 12

13

Malingrey, “Philosophia” 40–41, rightly stresses the practical nature of this ‘wisdom’ and calls it “un mélange de prudence, d’habileté, de souple adaptation (. . .) un guide précieux dans toutes les circonstances de la vie.” See my “The First Atheist,” in my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context (WUNT 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 242–250. As Malingrey, “Philosophia” 53, puts it: “Philosophia = effort moral.” That is why for Plato philosophers were the ideal rulers. A.H. Armstrong, “Introduction,” in The Cambridge History of Later Greek and Early Medieval Philosophy (ed. A.H. Armstrong), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967, 5. It is also in the Hellenistic period that Greeks begin to regard ‘barbarian’ religious thinkers such as the Brahmans in India, the Druids in Gaul, and the Jews in Palestine as ‘­philosophers.’ See Michel, TWNT 9 (1973), 175–176. See J.C. Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus (STAC 33), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005. For Stoic theology in general see K. Algra, “Stoic Theology,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics (ed. B. Inwood), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003, 153–178.

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realize that for the Stoics theology is part of physics. And by both the Stoics and most other schools philosophy is viewed increasingly as the road to a right way of living.14 Moral perfection has become the goal of philosophy. Even though the various philosophical schools often were bitter rivals, this emphasis on an ethical way of life, on moral action, and piety is what they had in common. As Waszink says, in this period the term philosophia ‘indicates a coherent system of thought or belief, a Weltanschauung, irrespective of whether it should be qualified as mainly philosophical or mainly theological in the modern sense of the word.’15 This was the situation in which Jews came to be acquainted with Greek philosophy. In view of this situation, one should not be surprised that Jews who were steeped in Greek culture saw fit to enlist the word group philosophia-­ philosophos-philosophein in their service and use it as a self-designation.16 We see that happen for the first time in the Letter of Aristeas, probably from the second half of the second century BCE. In that document we find, apart from the regular use of our word group for Greek philosophers and their activities, a striking passage in which it is said that the Torah (nomothesia), because of its divine nature, is a very philosophical work (31). And further on in this document, we find one of the Jewish scholars stating that in order to achieve the goal of philosophy, namely, to live a good life without being carried away by one’s passions, one should serve God (256). As Anne-Marie Malingrey rightly remarks, the Letter of Aristeas ‘fournit le premier témoignage d’une étape où les mots du groupe de philosophia sont appelés à exprimer une attitude intérieure dont les composantes partiennent à l’Hellénisme et au Judaïsme, mais qui offert comme un premier essai d’une synthèse future.’17 With this ‘future synthesis’ she, of course, alludes to the work of Philo of Alexandria.

14 15

16

17

See, e.g., Tad Brennan, The Stoic Life, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005. J.H. Waszink, “Some Observations on the Appreciation of ‘the Philosophy of the Barbarians’ in Early Christian Literature,” in Mélanges offerts à mademoiselle Christine Mohrmann, Utrecht: Spectrum, 1963, 41–56, here 41. Christians from the second and later centuries (and even some of their opponents) did the same; see for some instances A.J. Malherbe, “ ‘Not in a Corner’: Early Christian Apologetic in Acts 26:26,” The Second Century 5 (1985/86) 197 note 20; P.W. van der Horst, “ ‘A Simple Philosophy’: Alexander of Lycopolis on Christianity,” in Polyhistor: Studies in the History and Historiography of Ancient Philosophy Presented to Jaap Mansfeld (ed. K.A. Algra, P.W. van der Horst & D.T. Runia), Leiden: Brill, 1996, 313–314. Philosophia 77.

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Philo, himself a Platonist philosopher, uses this word group very frequently (philosophos 52x, philosophein 62x, philosophia 102x).18 He, too, uses these terms with reference to Greek philosophers, but for Philo himself eusebeia is the proper goal of philosophy and for that reason he regards Moses and the Jewish Patriarchs as the real philosophoi (see, e.g., Mos. 2.211–216, Opif. 8, Heres 301, Cont. 26–28, Mut. 223, Congr. 79–80). On the basis of a survey of the evidence from Philo, David Runia concludes that “philosophia in Philo has a broader sense [than in pagan Greek literature], including the quest for God and study of the Law,”19 and, one may reasonably add, also living according to the Law or practising the Law. Philo also calls the Word of God the true philosophy (Post. 102). There is no doubt that for Philo philosophia consists primarily of (Jewish) theology and ethics. In this respect he builds upon the foundation laid by Pseudo-Aristeas.20 Before we turn to Josephus, let us have a quick look at one of his contemporaries, the author of 4 Maccabees. In the opening words of his book, this Jewish author boldly introduces his work as a philosophôtatos logos, a thoroughly philosophical argument. But in what follows it becomes clear that, in spite of all his philosophical (esp. Stoic) terminology, his message is that true philosophy is living in accordance with God’s Law. The evil tyrant objects that someone who clings to the Jewish faith cannot be a philosopher and calls it a nonsense philosophy (5.7, 11) but his steadfast Jewish opponent rebuts him saying: ‘You mock at our philosophy and you say our living according to it is contrary to reason. Yet it teaches us temperance so that we rule over all pleasures and desires’ (5.22–23). And that is what God’s Law is about. ‘Could anyone who lives as a philosopher according to the full rule of philosophy, and believes in God, and knows that it is blessed to endure any pain for virtue’s sake, fail to control his emotions for the cause of his religion?’ (8.21–22). This last quote makes clear that the willingness to endure martyrdom for one’s faith is also part and parcel of this Jewish philosophy. It’s time to turn to Josephus. The relevant material is more modest than is the case for Philo (philosophein 17x, philosophia 10x, philosophos 10x).21 Several 18 19 20

21

See P. Borgen et al., The Philo Index, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans – Leiden: Brill, 2000, 354. Here references can easily be found. D.T. Runia, On the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses (PACS 2), Leiden: Brill, 2001, 203; cf. ibid. 297. For a few other passages in the Pseudepigrapha in which the word group occurs see A.-M. Denis, Concordance grecque des Pseudépigraphes d’Ancien Testament, Louvain: Université Catholique, 1987, 778. These references do not yield anything of importance to our topic. See K.H. Rengstorf, A Concordance to Flavius Josephus, vol. 4, Leiden: Brill, 1983, 307.

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of these passages refer to Greek philosophers and their activities, but some refer to Jewish persons or groups and their ideas. It is no surprise to see that Josephus says about his Antiquitates Judaicae that these are a translation of the Jewish sacred scriptures that he, ‘a priest by ancestry and steeped in the philosophy contained in those writings’ (C. Ap. 1.54), has made. Here we see again that this term is borrowed from the Greek tradition to strengthen the Jewish equivalent.22 In C. Ap. 2.47, Josephus again speaks of ‘our laws and our ancestral philosophy,’implying that these laws (the Torah) are part of this ancestral philosophy (patrios philosophia). And in A.J. 1.25 he says that a profound inquiry into the books of Moses is a ‘very philosophical’ enterprise (lian philosophos). Other passages could be added but these suffice to demonstrate that Josephus, too, uses this word group in order to characterize Judaism and its beliefs and practices. It is, therefore, not unexpected that Josephus, when he describes the ideas and practices of the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes, states that ‘three forms of philosophy are pursued among the Jews’ (B.J. 2.119).23 As Mason (ad loc.) remarks, here philosophy is not a system of abstract thought but much more a way of living inspired by the Jewish faith (the ‘ancestral philosophy’). But then, there is suddenly a ‘fourth philosophy,’ one that is qualified as epeisaktos. None of the other philosophies receives this qualification. What exactly does it mean? ‘Intrusive,’ is Feldman’s translation. The Greek-English Lexicon of LiddellScott-Jones lists as English equivalents ‘brought in from outside, alien’ and helpfully mentions as opposites oikeios and autochthôn.24 Lampe’s Patristic Greek Lexicon adds ‘adventitious’ and also informs us that some Church Fathers use the word epeisaktos for heretical doctrines. But instead of looking at what the lexica tell us, it is better to review a (limited) number of actual occurrences. Of course, we should begin with Josephus’ own use of this word. Apart from the passage under discussion, he uses it three times. In B.J. 4.661, when describing Titus’s itinerary during his trip from Alexandria to Caesarea in 69 ce, he says that Titus arrived at Ostrakine, a place without water so that the inhabitants had to use water which was brought from 22 23

24

Thus J.M.G. Barclay, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, vol. 10: Against Apion, Leiden: Brill, 2007, 40. See the note in S. Mason, Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, vol. 1b: Judean War 2, Leiden: Brill, 2008, 96. As usual, Mason translates ‘. . . among the Judeans,’ but that does not make sense here. Josephus uses philosophia for Jewish schools or movements again in A.J. 13.289; 18.9–11, 23, 25; Vita 10–12. In A.J. 8.44 he says that King Solomon ephilosophêse. See also the entry on epeisaktos in R. Renehan, Greek Lexicographical Notes: A Critical Supplement to the Greek-English Lexicon of Liddell-Scott-Jones, vol. 2, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Rupprecht, 1982, 69.

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­elsewhere (epeisaktois hydasin).25 In A.J. 8.194, a passage about King Solomon’s foreign wives, he says that in his latter days Solomon began more and more to show disrespect for his own God but continued to honour the gods that had been introduced (epeisaktôn) by these foreign wives.26 Finally, in A.J. 15.332, a passage about king Herod’s building activities in Caesarea, he says that the construction of the city’s harbour was very notable because ‘he got no material suitable for so great a work from the place itself but completed it with materials brought from outside (epeisaktois) at great expense.’ Here the word epeisaktois (neuter plural) is used without a noun to designate ‘imported materials.’ Though the instances are few, they make clear that the word epeisaktos in Josephus ranges from neutral (water or building materials that are not from the place itself) to critical (the gods of the foreign wives that Solomon should never have married). Let us check this result against Josephus’ use of the verb from which epeisaktos is derived, namely epeisagô. He uses it five times. Only two of them are relevant and will be considered briefly. In A.J. 12.26, in the middle of the long passage in which Josephus paraphrases the Letter of Aristeas, he has King Ptolemy Philadelphus say that he would set free not only the Jews brought by his father and his army, but also those who had been previously found in the kingdom and also any who were subsequently imported (epeisêchthêsan). Here we see the neutral usage.27 In a story about a conspiracy to murder Herod, Josephus says in A.J. 15.281 that the conspirators thought it a sacred duty to undertake any risk rather than seem to be indifferent to Herod’s forcible introduction (epeisagonta) of practices not in accord with [Jewish] custom, practices by which their way of life would be totally altered. This is clearly an instance of the pejorative use of this verb. When we now look at evidence from other authors in the centuries around the turn of the era (taken in a wide sense: from the fifth century BCE to the fifth century ce), we find further confirmation of the semantic aspects of epeisaktos that we found in Josephus.28 In the translations, sometimes paraphrastic, of

25

26 27 28

O. Michel & O. Bauernfeind, Flavius Josephus: De bello judaico – Der jüdische Krieg, vol. II/1, München: Kösel Verlag, 1963, 105, translate as follows: ‘Die Einheimischen müssen es [Wasser] von anderen Orten herbeischaffen.’ Literally it says ‘those [gods] of his alien marriages (or wives).’ Other instances of this usage are A.J. 16.85, 17.309, and C. Ap. 1.304. The Thesaurus Linguae Graecae lists 537 instances, the vast majority being from Byzantine authors. I have selected only some illustrative instances from the fifth century BCE to the fifth century ce.

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the following passages the various renderings of epeisaktos are highlighted by bold italics.29 The earliest instance is Euripides, Ion 589–590: They say that the Athenians are not an imported race but a race born of their own soil (autochthonas). Note the opposition to autochthôn here. Plato, Cratylus 420b1: Eros is so called because it (desire) flows in (esrôn) from without (exôthen); this stream is not inherent (oikeia) but is an influence introduced through the eyes. Note here the opposition to oikeios. There are several instances in the Corpus Aristotelicum (both Aristotle and Pseudo-Aristotle). Ethica Nicomacheia 1169b26: A supremely happy man will not need friends of the pleasant sort, or only to a very small extent, for his life is intrinsically pleasant and has no need of extraneous pleasure. De partibus animalium 672b18: The diaphragm serves to divide the region of the heart from the region of the stomach, so that the centre wherein abides the sensory soul may be undisturbed and not be overwhelmed, once food is taken, by its up-steaming vapour and by the abundance of heat then superinduced. De generatione animalium 724b33: Nutriment is introduced (into the body) from without. Problemata 885b19: Persons who are cold, owing to the fact that their body requires heat introduced from without and derives it chiefly from movement, cannot digest their food while they are at rest. Problemata 955a22: Men sometimes commit suicide after drunkenness, for the heat of the wine is introduced from outside, and when it is extinguished, the condition which leads to suicide is set up. De mirabilibus auscultationibus 836b23: Here wheat is found resembling neither the native sorts, which people use, nor other kinds that are imported, but possessed of a great peculiarity. Demosthenes, De corona 87: Philippus saw that all the people used mostly imported grain. Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotheca historica 3.17.4: The Ichthyophagi (in SouthEastern Persia) mainly eat the fish they catch, desiring in addition none of the imported pleasures. 12.14.1: (an adespoton quote from a comedy about a man who forces a stepmother upon [epeisagôn!] his own children): It’s a bane that he has brought from an alien source upon his own affairs. Dionysius of Halicarnasssus, Ant. Rom. 6.17.4: The gods, hearing this prayer, caused the land to produce rich crops, not only of grain but also of fruits; moreover, they caused all imported provisions to be more plentiful than ever before.

29

The translations are either taken over from existing ones, although frequently somewhat modified, or they are my own.

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Heraclitus, Problemata Homerica 70.7: He (Odysseus) prevailed also over Circe’s drugs, using the depth of his wisdom to find a remedy for the ill effects of exotic delicacies. Musonius Rufus, Discourse 2.7: If the whole notion of virtue had been acquired from outside ourselves and no part of it had been given us by nature (physei), . . . Note the opposition with physei. Quite some instances occur in Plutarch, Josephus’ near-contemporary. Here follows a selection. De recta ratione audiendi 38D: Impulses towards pleasure and feelings of suspicion towards hard work are not of external origin (thyraious) nor imported products of the spoken word, but indigenous (autochthonas) sources, as it were, of pestilent emotions and disorders. Quomodo adulator ab amico internoscatur 68E–68F: Only very few people combine success with insight; most people in a situation of success need thoughts from others to be introduced from without in order to gain insight. Quaestiones conviviales 643F: Table fellows need to be treated equally, and this need is natural (physei) and not made up, fundamental and not a novelty introduced from elsewhere by fashion. Quaestiones conviviales 676E: You exalt the pine as the ancient crown of the Isthmian games and consider it not as a new importation but as a heritage from our fathers (patrion). Quaestiones conviviales 746D: Plato lays down two principles of action in every man, the one an inborn (­emphytos) desire for pleasures, the other an acquired belief that aims at what is best (see Plato, Phaedrus 237D). De sollertia animalium 975F: Land animals have to some extent been imbued with human manners by reason of their close relationship, but sea creatures, set apart by mighty bounds from contact with humans, have nothing adventitious or acquired from human usage and are uncontaminated by foreign ways (akratos allotriois êthesin). Bruta animalia ratione uti 989B: Temperance (sôphrosynê) is a curtailment of the desires that eliminate those that are extraneous or superfluous, and discipline in modest and timely fashion those that are essential (anankaias); cf. also 989F and 991D. Non posse suaviter vivi secundum Epicurum 1092E: What is good about real and pure joy and delight is that it is proper to the mind and really ‘mental’ and authentic (gnêsion) and not adventitious. Pollux, Onomasticon 9.22: An overcrowded city is in need of imported food. Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus 2.22.2: When in the evening the temperature drops, we should support the diminishing warmth with some extraneous heat by drinking a bit of wine. Cassius Dio, Hist. Rom. 60.11.2: Practically all the grain used by the Romans was imported. Iamblichus, De mysteriis 5.10: The creator would not, surely, have provided for all other living things, naturally and from their own resources (emphyton),

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an abundance of the daily necessities of life, while to demons he gave a source of nourishment which was adventitious and dependent on the contributions of us mortals. Constitutiones Apostolicae 7.1: There are Two Ways that differ widely: The Way to Life is a natural one (physikê), but the way to Death comes from ­elsewhere – it does not exist in accordance with God’s will but is the result of the machinations of the Adversary. Nemesius, De natura hominis 41 (p. 119 Morani): Human powers differ from dispositions in the fact that all powers are natural (physikas) but dispositions are acquired. Note in the latter three instances the opposition to physikos and emphytos. Theodoretus, Historia religiosa 9.8: A saintly woman, after being healed by Peter the Galatian, washed off her make-up and rejected all extraneous ornament.30 This is a long and not very exciting list, but it has hopefully made clear what the semantic range of epeisaktos is. Its most basic meaning is ‘imported,’ from outside (nutriments) or from elsewhere (people, grain, and building materials). From there it develops the meaning ‘not belonging to us, not intrinsic, strange, alien, unfitting, forced upon someone, unnatural, inauthentic,’ (note the many cases of opposition to physikos, emphytos, autochthon, oikeios, gnêsios), and thus it gets its pejorative or, so to speak, ‘xenophobic’ overtones. So when Josephus states that his ‘fourth philosophy’ is epeisaktos, he wants to emphasize that, unlike the three other philosophies (Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes), this one shows characteristics that are intrinsically un-Jewish. The group’s adherents want to force upon the Jewish people ideas that are essentially alien to its tradition. What is it that he is referring to? Josephus does not leave us empty-handed here. On the one hand he says that in most respects the fourth philosophy did not differ from that of the Pharisees (A.J. 18.23), but on the other hand he explicitly calls it ‘an innovation and reform in ancestral traditions’ (tôn patriôn kainisis kai metabolê), which in his mouth is a very negative characterization.31 What is this ‘innovation and 30

31

When going through the Patristic material one is tempted to take into account also the passages about the parthenoi pareisaktoi (virgines subintroductae), the virgins that were smuggled into monastic communities by monks or lived with monks, but the prefix para adds a notion of secrecy and surreptitiousness that epi does not have. What both words do have in common is the element of ‘strange import.’ The situation is complicated by the fact that in Bell. 2.118 Josephus only says about the fourth philosophy that it is quite unlike the others, but I assume that in this passage

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reform’? Josephus highlights the rebellious mindset, the revolutionary spirit of the group, or what he also calls their ‘almost unconquerable passion for liberty’ (A.J. 18.23: dysnikêtos tou eleutherou erôs). In what sense was a strong desire for liberty, i.e., liberty from foreign domination, an innovation of the ancestral Jewish traditions?32 Josephus states clearly that according to this new movement, payment of taxes to the Romans was totally at odds with the Jewish ideal of theokratia (note that in C. Ap. 2.165 Josephus himself coins that term in order to designate the Jewish statehood). This was a religious objection because no one had ever raised a voice against paying taxes to Jewish rulers. But Romans were pagans, and Judas the Galilaean, the founder of the group, as a religious teacher insisted that paying taxes to a pagan ruler was a grave sin since ‘God alone is their leader and master’ (A.J. 18.23). This stance ‘appears to have had no precedent in Israel’33 or, as Josephus says, it was ‘a philosophy of unprecedented nature’ among the Jews (B.J. 2.9). When in previous centuries the people of Israel was subjected by foreign rulers – whether they were Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, or Greeks – the general attitude of their religious leaders was that this was the way that Yahweh punished his people for their sins and so must be endured. Thus ‘withholding of tribute from the foreign ruler was an act of rebellion against Yahweh.’34 The stern judgment of the prophets Ezekiel and Jeremiah on King Zedekiah’s withholding of tribute from Nebuchadnezzar illustrates this perfectly.35 And after the exile this position remained the same. Also the Roman conquest of Palestine in 63 BCE was seen as a divine judgment (see, e.g., Ps. Sol. 17). Josephus himself repeatedly says that it was God’s will that the Jews would be subjected to the Romans. We do not know of any protest against paying taxes to foreign overlords before the beginning of the Common Era. So when in 6 ce, at the time of the census of Quirinius, Judas the Galilaean raised his voice against this practice, and thereby raised the standard of revolt against Rome, this was a radical innovation (patriôn kainisis kai metabolê) indeed. This religiously inspired refusal of paying taxes to Rome was the

32

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Josephus is focusing solely on the political aspects of the groups. See L. Feldman, Josephus in Modern Scholarship (1937–1980), Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1984, 659. For what follows I have learnt much from the comments by F.F. Bruce, “Render to Caesar,” in Jesus and the Politics of His Day (ed. E. Bammel and C.F.D. Moule), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984, 254–257. Bruce, “Render to Caesar” 255. Bruce, “Render to Caesar” 255. See Ezek. 21:25–37; Jerem. 27:4–15.

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distinguishing feature of the fourth philosophy and Josephus rightly called it epeisaktos, alien to the Jewish tradition. The zeal for independence that the adherents of the fourth philosophy conceived as a duty to God was seen by Josephus and others as rebellion against God. In spite of the radical newness of this idea, the movement became popular36 (if only for economic reasons) and, probably fanned by messianic expectations, gained enough momentum to plunge Palestinian Jewry into great misery in the years 66–74, as Josephus does not fail to emphasize repeatedly. All this is not new, but it is worth pointing out how well Josephus summarized, or encapsulated, the whole problem of this breach of tradition in a single pithy word, epeisaktos, ‘foreign to our national tradition,’ i.e., ‘un-Jewish.’ 36

A.J. 18.6: ‘The populace responded gladly.’ 18.9: ‘They had won an abundance of devotees.’

chapter 8

Biblical Quotations in Judaeo-Greek Inscriptions Introduction A striking difference between ancient Jewish and early Christian inscriptions is that in the former one finds only very few biblical quotations (and allusions), while in the latter they are abundant. It is the purpose of this short contribution to present a survey of the relevant material in the Jewish epigraphical record and then to compare it briefly with the situation in Christian inscriptions. Let us begin with a demarcation of the material. First, I will not (or only minimally) deal with Jewish inscriptions in Hebrew, Aramaic, or Latin, I will limit myself to those in Greek, which form the vast majority (at least some 75 percent of the material but probably more). Second, I will also limit myself to the almost one thousand years between Alexander the Great and Muhammad; medieval material remains outside the scope of this article. Third, I have to limit myself to published material, although well aware that there is a significant amount of evidence that still awaits publication. Fortunately, the situation has dramatically improved as compared to twenty-two years ago, when I published my Ancient Jewish Epitaphs,1 a book in which I still had to rely mainly on the outdated edition of Frey2 and a handful of later publications (mainly in a wide variety of journals). In the decades since Frey, but especially in the two decades since my own book appeared, an impressive series of major publications of Jewish inscription corpora saw the light and they form the basis of the present investigation. These are (in chronological order): the Greek inscriptions of Beth Sheʿarim by Schwabe and Lifshitz (cited as BS II);3 those of Egypt by Horbury and Noy (cited as JIGRE);4 those of Western Europe (but Rome

1 P.W. van der Horst, Ancient Jewish Epitaphs: An Introductory Survey of a Millennium of Jewish Funerary Epigraphy (300 BCE–700 CE), Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1991. 2 J.B. Frey, Corpus Inscriptionum Judaicarum, 2 vols., Rome: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana, 1936–1952; reprint of vol. I with a Prolegomenon by B. Lifshitz, New York: Ktav, 1975). 3 M. Schwabe & B. Lifshitz, Beth Sheʿarim II: The Greek Inscriptions, Jerusalem: Massada Press, and New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1974. 4 W. Horbury & D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt, Cambridge UK: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

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excluded) by Noy (cited as JIWE I);5 those of the city of Rome by Noy (cited as JIWE II);6 those of Eastern Europe by Noy, Panayotov and Bloedhorn (cited as IJO I);7 those of Asia Minor by Ameling (cited as IJO II);8 those of Syria and Cyprus by Noy and Bloedhorn (cited as IJO III).9 For North-Africa apart from Egypt we have Lüderitz’s edition of the inscriptions of ancient Libya10 and Le Bohec’s edition of the evidence from the rest of North Africa.11 Unfortunately, for Israel itself, apart from the above-mentioned volumes on Beth Sheʿarim and the partial collections of synagogue inscriptions by Roth-Gerson12 and of the ossuaries by Rahmani,13 we still have to rely partly on the outdated Frey until the full results of the new Israeli project Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/ Palaestinae (CIIP) have been published. Recently the first two volumes (out of ten) came out, covering the material from Jerusalem and (mainly) Caesarea.14 We now have at our disposal some 3500 Jewish inscriptions from antiquity, most of them in Greek, but only very few of them containing biblical quotations. Let us have a look at the evidence.15 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

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D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe I: Italy (excluding the City of Rome), Spain and Gaul, Cambridge UK: Cambridge University Press, 1993. D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe II: The City of Rome, Cambridge UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995. D. Noy, A. Panayotov, H. Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis I: Eastern Europe, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. W. Ameling, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis: Kleinasien, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. D. Noy & H. Bloedhorn, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis: Syria and Cyprus, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. G. Lüderitz, Corpus jüdischer Zeugnisse aus der Cyrenaica, Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1983. Y. le Bohec, ‘Inscriptions juives et judaïsantes de l’Afrique Romaine,’ Antiquités Africaines 17 (1981) 165–207. L. Roth-Gerson, The Greek Inscriptions from the Synagogues in Israel, Jerusalem: Yad Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, 1987 (in Hebrew). See also F. Hüttenmeister & G. Reeg, Die antiken Synagogen in Israel, 2 vols., Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1977. Y. Rahmani, A Catalogue of Jewish Ossuaries in the Collections of the State of Israel, Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1994. H.M. Cotton, L. di Segni, W. Eck, B. Isaac, A. Kushnir-Stein, H. Misgav, J. Price, I. Roll, A. Yardeni (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae, vol. I: Jerusalem, Part 1, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2010; Jerusalem, Part 2, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2011; W. Ameling, W. Eck et al., CIIP, vol. 2: Caesarea and the Middle Coast, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2011. It has to be borne in mind that the CIIP project includes all epigraphic material, not only Jewish but also pagan and Christian evidence. My survey in Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 37–39, is now, after more than 20 years, partly outdated. The title of the essay by S. Cappelletti, “Biblical Quotations in the Greek Jewish Inscriptions of the Diaspora,” in N. de Lange, J.G. Krivoruchko and C. Boyd-Taylor eds.,

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The Evidence16

JIGRE no. 119 (Antinoopolis in Egypt; second cent. ce or later) has a free rendering of 1 Sam 25:29 in Hebrew. Although it is not in Greek, I do mention it here because this is the earliest instance of a quotation of one of the two most often cited biblical texts (the other being Prov 10:7; see below). The MT version has, ‘(If anyone sets out to pursue you [i.e., David] and seeks your life,) the life of my lord will be bound up in the bundle of life17 in the care of the Lord.’ Here Abigail (the speaker) is using a metaphor denoting God’s protection and a long life on earth, but in postbiblical Judaism the expression came to signify eternal life in the next world.18 Hence our inscription is a wish for the deceased Egyptian Jew Lazarus, ‘May his soul rest in the bundle of life.’19 This expression will, with slight variations, become a standard formula on gravestones in the Middle Ages (usually in an abbreviated form). Here we have the earliest attestation of this usage.20 As we will now see, it soon turns up in Greek as well. BS II no. 130 is a third century ce inscription from the famous catacombs of Beth Sheʿarim (Galilee) with a very free rendering of 1 Sam 25:29 in Greek. It begins with the wish of the son or daughter (or both), ‘May your portion be good,21 my lord father and my lady mother,’ but then it continues with the words, ἔσηται ἡ ψυχὴ ὑμῶν ἐχομένη ἀθανάτου βίου. Schwabe and Lifshitz translate, ‘May your soul(s) be bound (in the bundle) of immortal life.’ But one may wonder whether this is correct; is this really a free quotation of or an allusion

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Jewish Reception of Greek Bible Versions: Studies in Their Use in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Texts and Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Judaism 23), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009, 128–141, is misleading since she deals only with Prov. 10:7. I will not bother the reader unduly with the wide orthographic variety (spelling ‘errors’) in the inscriptions since they are irrelevant for my purposes. Hence I will present the inscriptions in their ‘correct’ form, except when matters of orthography have implications for the interpretation. For orthographical problems see the treatment in my Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 22–37. Hebr. we-hayetah nephesh ’adoni tserurah bitsror ha-chayim. This can be seen, for instance, in the Targum to 1 Samuel where ‘life’ is translated as ‘eternal life.’ For rabbinic references see U. Fischer, Eschatologie und Jenseitserwartung im hellenistischen Diasporajudentum, Berlin: de Gruyter, 1978, 232 n. 64. Nuach naphsho bitsror ha-chayim. Exactly the same Hebrew variant is found in a bilingual Greek-Hebrew epitaph from Taranto of uncertain date (fourth–sixth cent. ce?); see JIWE I 118. See O. Eißfeldt, Der Beutel der Lebendigen, Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1960, 28–40; K. Berger, Die Weisheitsschrift aus der Kairoer Geniza, Tübingen: Francke Verlag, 1989, 179–180. On this εὐμοίρει formula see my Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 120.

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to 1 Sam 25:29? Let us first see what the LXX rendering of this text is (unfortunately, Aquila and the other versions of ‘the Three’ are lost): καὶ ἔσται ἡ ψυχὴ κυρίου μου ἐνδεδεμένη ἐν δεσμῷ τῆς ζωῆς.22 The rendition of this verse in our epitaph has only one word in common with the biblical text, ψυχή, but βίος may naturally be taken to be the equivalent of ζωή. And the strange ἔσηται is no doubt an error for ἔσται.23 When we realize that the adjective ‘immortal,’ like the added ‘eternal’ in the Targum, represents a common Jewish interpretation of this biblical text, the only thing left to be explained is the form ἐχομένη, here in combination with a noun in the genitive. The medial verb ἔχεσθαι has a very wide semantic range, and combined with a noun in the genitive, it can mean: ‘to cling to, to lay hold on, to clasp one’s hand on, to border on’ (LSJ s.v. C1–2). Schwabe and Lifshitz (ad loc.) refer to Euripides, Ion 491, where the chorus sings that they would prefer to cling to a happy life with children (βιοτᾶς εὔπαιδος ἔχοιμαν). And in the NT, we have Hebr 6:9 where the author says he is confident of better things ἐχόμενα σωτηρίας, things that belong to salvation.24 There can be little doubt that ‘holding fast to immortal life’ is here the same as ‘being bound in the bundle of (eternal) life.’25 So we may reasonably conclude that the author of our epitaph indeed freely quotes, or alludes to (the dividing line between these is often opaque), the text of 1 Sam 25:29. We cannot but concur with Schwabe and Lifshitz when they say, ‘It is evident that we have here, in Greek guise, an early form of the benediction for the dead, implying a prayer for the eternal life of the soul’ (116).26 Even though in the Middle Ages and later 1 Sam 25:29 will become the favourite biblical quotation on Jewish tombstones, we see that this popularity had a very modest start in late antiquity.27

22 23

24 25 26

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There are no significant variants in the manuscripts. The Vulgate has: erit anima domini mei custodita quasi in fasciculo viventium. It could be taken as a scribal variant for ἔσσειται, which had a similar pronunciation, but that is a dialect form only used in poetry. See for the many variants of forms of the verb εἶναι also F.T. Gignac, A Grammar of the Greek Papyri of the Roman and Byzantine Periods 2: Morphology, Milano: Cisalpino-Goliardica, 1981, 400–408. BAGD s.v. 11a gives several more instances and states that ‘the “to” of belonging and the “with” of association are expressed by the genitive’ (422b). Contra van der Horst, Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 119 n. 19. That 1 Sam 25:29 was seen as referring to eternal life can also be deduced from JIWE I no. 129 (Taranto, seventh–eighth cent. ce), where the Hebrew text has a significant expansion: ‘May his soul rest in the bundle of life and his spirit be for eternal life.’ Soul and spirit are identical here. Noy includes in IJO I a Latin epitaph with the formula abligatus in ligatorium vit[a]e (no. 197 from Merida), but it is from the Middle Ages (ninth cent.?).

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We now turn to Prov 10:7, the other biblical verse that will gain a great popularity in the Middle Ages and modern times, and that was also beginning to be popular in late antiquity.28 I leave aside the five instances of this quotation in Hebrew on tombstones from Southern Italy (four from Taranto, one from Oria, all from the fifth to eighth cent.)29 and turn to the Greek instances. The Hebrew text of Prov 10:9 runs: zekher tsaddiq livrakha. The LXX has: μνήμη δικαίων μετ´ ἐγκωμίων. And Aquila renders more literally: μνεία δικαίου εἰς εὐλογίαν.30 We have three instances from Rome, all from the third-fourth cent. ce. Interestingly, none is identical to any of the others. JIWE II no. 307 follows the LXX but with two subtle corrections: μνήμη δικαίου σὺν ἐγκωμίῳ. The LXX has two plurals, against the Hebrew text, and the engraver seems to have corrected the LXX here so as to make it more in agreement with the Hebrew,31 although it should not be excluded that the change may be due to the fact that it is the epitaph for one man, a teacher of the Law (νομοδιδάσκαλος) whose name is lost. It is to be noted that we have here (as elsewhere) a clear case of the use of the LXX by Jews long after the translation of Aquila had been brought into circulation. In recent years it has gradually become clear that the still current idea that the Jews abandoned the Septuagint after the first century ce and lost interest in ‘the Three’ in later centuries (in order to return to the use of the Hebrew text only) is badly in need of revision.32 Even though Aquila 28

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Note that in the late antique rabbinic midrash Genesis Rabbah 49.1, Rabbi Isaac says about Prov 10:7, ‘If one makes mention of a righteous man and does not bless him, he violates a positive command. What is the proof? “The memory of the righteous shall be for a blessing” (Prov 10:7).’ JIWE I, nos. 120, 122, 131, 133, 137. No. 120 is bilingual and adds the Latin version: memoria iustorum ad benedictionem. Note that the Vulgate has: memoria iusti cum laudibus; on this difference see below. In a sixth-century trilingual epitaph for Meliosa from Tortosa in Spain (JIWE I no. 183), the Hebrew has the feminine form of ‘the righteous one’ and the Latin and Greek translations render the verse respectively with benememoria and πάμμνηστος. On Aquila see briefly but instructively J.M. Dines, The Septuagint, London – New York: Clark, 2004, 87–89. The change of μετά to σύν is a change for the better because σύν more clearly expresses the idea of accompaniment, at least in classical or classicizing Greek. See also Cappelletti, “Biblical Quotations” 136–137. See esp. the various contributions in the volume edited by N. de Lange, J.G. Krivoruchko and C. Boyd-Taylor, Jewish Reception of Greek Bible Versions: Studies in Their Use in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Texts and Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Judaism 23), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009. Also T. Rajak, Translation and Survival: The Greek Bible of the Ancient Jewish Diaspora, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009, esp. ch. 9.

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gained a certain currency, his translation certainly did not oust the LXX from all Jewish communities.33 JIWE II no. 112 has the text in its Aquilan form: μνεία δικαίου εἰς εὐλογίαν. It is the epitaph of ‘Macedonius, the Hebrew from Caesarea in Palestine,’ as the text says. His provenance from this city, a center of rabbinic activity, may help to understand why he, or rather his relatives, used the Bible translation preferred by the rabbis. Interestingly enough, the third instance, JIWE II no. 276, has a mixture of the LXX and Aquila’s translation, with a contribution from the author of the epitaph himself: μνήμη δικαίου εἰς εὐλογίαν οὗ ἀληθῆ τὰ ἐγκώμια (‘the memory of the just man is for a blessing, whose laudations are true’). Here μνήμη is taken from the LXX, δικαίου from Aquila, εἰς εὐλογίαν also from Aquila, οὗ ἀληθῆ is an invention of the composer of the epitaph, and τὰ ἐγκώμια is based upon μετʼ ἐγκωμίων of the LXX.34 Whether this is a conscious harmonizing of both versions or that the engraver knew both versions and mixed them up when quoting from memory, is very hard to say. Be that as it may, it would seem to indicate that in the fourth century in the Jewish community of Rome both the LXX and Aquila were in use side by side.35 The final instance is from Crete. It is the epitaph of a remarkable woman, Sophia from Gortyn, here called ‘leader of the synagogue’ in Kastelli Kissamou where she was buried (in the western part of the island) in the fourth or fifth century ce (IJO I Cre3).36 It is a free rendering of Prov 10:7: μνήμη δικαίας εἰς αἰῶνα (spelled as μνήμη δικέας ἰς ἐῶνα). The words μνήμη δικαίας suffice to identify this phrase as an adapted quotation of Prov 10:7 in its LXX, not Aquilan, version. If, however, one were to take the words εἰς αἰῶνα to be a variation upon the Aquilan εἰς εὐλογίαν, we would again have a mixed quotation of LXX and Aquila, just as in the case of JIWE II no. 276 above, but that must remain 33 34 35

36

It is striking that in a Hebrew epitaph from Beth Sheʿarim, BS III 25, and in IJO no. 133 we have zekher tsaddiqim livrakha, possibly influenced by the plural δικαίων in the LXX. See my Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 37–38. Cappelletti, “Biblical Quotations” 131, points out that in LXX Esther 2:23 ἐγκώμιον stands for berakhah. See M.H. Williams, The Jews among the Greeks and Romans: A Diasporan Sourcebook, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998, 121. At p. 43 Williams surmises that in JIWE II no. 253 (Rome, third-fourth cent. ce) the words μνεία τοῦ μελλονυμφίου could be taken to be both a variant and an incomplete citation of Prov 10:7: ‘The memory of the bridegroom-to-be (is for a blessing).’ It seems more natural, however, to take μνεία here in the sense of ‘tomb’ (memorial). See the discussion of this inscription in my “The Jews of Ancient Crete,” in P.W. van der Horst, Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context: Selected Essays on Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity (WUNT 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 24–26.

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­ ncertain. However that may be, it should be noted that here, too, as in the u case of the bundle of life in 1 Sam 25:29, the element of eternity seems to be imported into the OT text in which it originally had no place, a phenomenon that can be observed in many a rendition or explanation of biblical texts in postbiblical Judaism. But that is not certain. As Joseph Park says, ‘It is possible to take this formula as simply declaring or wishing that the deceased is never to be forgotten.’37 However, he, too, suggests that ‘the meaning of the words εἰς αἰῶνα does not seem to be exhausted by a merely thisworldly remembrance.’38 We now turn to less common quotations. First there are the famous epitaphs of two young girls on Rheneia (the small burial island of Delos) with prayers for vengeance, IJO I Ach 70–71 (second–first cent. BCE). The text of the two stones is identical except for the name of the girls (Heraclea and Martina).39 In the opening lines the composer of the epitaph calls upon God Most High (ὁ θεὸς ὁ ὕψιστος), ‘the Lord of the spirits and of all flesh,’ to take action against the murderers of the innocent girl concerned. The phrase ὁ Κύριος τῶν πνευμάτων καὶ πάσης σαρκός is an almost literal quotation of Num 16:22 and 27:16, both of which have ὁ θεὸς τῶν πνευμάτων καὶ πάσης σαρκός. The minor change of θεός to κύριος ̨ was probably caused by the fact that θεός had already been used in the immediately preceding words of the invocation and the writer wanted to avoid repetition. The ‘spirits’ in the quotation undoubtedly are angels here, since a few lines further on it is not only the Lord himself but also ‘the angels of God’ (10) who are called upon to revenge the child. In Jewish epigraphy this is a unique quotation.40 Another unique case is IJO I Mac13 from Thessalonica (fourth cent. ce). It runs: Κύριος μεθ’ ἡμῶν, which the most recent editors claim to be ‘a paraphrase of the LXX text of Ps 45:8 and 12.’41 The text of these identical Psalm verses is: Κύριος τῶν δυνάμεων μεθ’ ἡμῶν, ‘The Lord of hosts be/is with us.’ I find this a dubious case. The stone was found in an ancient Christian cemetery, and the sheer fact that a menorah has been painted in red on the wall of the 37 38 39

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J.S. Park, Conceptions of Afterlife in Jewish Inscriptions, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000, 142. Park, Conceptions, 142. Still a good discussion is A. Deissmann, Licht vom Osten, Tübingen: Mohr, 1923 (4th ed.), 351–362; see also my Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 149. The most recent treatments are IJO I, 235–242, and my commentary in P.W. van der Horst & J.H. Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek (CEJL), Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008, 135–143. Interestingly enough, the same quotation functions also in a number of medieval Christian epitaphs from Nubia; see A. Lajtar and J. van der Vliet, Qasr Ibrim: The Greek and Coptic Inscriptions (Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement XIII), Warsaw: University of Warsaw Press, 2010, nos. 18, 19, 22 etc. IJO I, 94.

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tomb does not make the inscription Jewish. Moreover, the formula has not been attested elsewhere on Jewish monuments, but ‘it is frequently found in Christian inscriptions,’ as the editors admit. The phrase ‘the Lord be with us’ sounds too much like a traditional Christian liturgical formula for us to take this inscription to be Jewish without great hesitation. Another unique quotation from the Book of Psalms is an inscription from Nicaea (modern Iznik) of uncertain date (imperial period or late antiquity), IJO II no. 153. The marble stone is not a tombstone but probably part of a synagogue building. The inscription renders Ps 136:25 as follows: δίδους ἄρτον τῖ πᾶσι σαρκὶ ὅτι εἰς ἐῶνα ἔλεος αὐτοῦ. The LXX has: ὁ δίδους τροφὴν πᾶσῃ σαρκὶ ὅτι εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα τὸ ἔλεος αὐτοῦ. Most of the deviations from the biblical text are minor except for ἄρτον. But since bread was the most usual kind of daily food in ancient Anatolia, it is quite understandable that someone who quotes from memory uses ἄρτος instead of τροφή. But there is an even easier explanation. Origen records in his Hexapla the variant reading δίδους ἄρτον, so that we may assume that, even though we do not (yet) possess ancient manuscripts with this reading, it nevertheless did exist (it may have been Aquilan, but we cannot know for sure). Here our inscription uniquely confirms the Hexapla.42 Since this inscription is a very rare case of a biblical quotation in a non-funerary but rather in a synagogal setting, it may be possible that the Psalm verse quoted was part of the Greek liturgy of the Jewish community in Nicea, but that is impossible to decide. A unique quotation of Isa 40:31 is found in a synagogue inscription from late antique Caesarea (probably the fourth cent. ce). It is an inscription on a floor mosaic with the following text: οἱ ὑπομένοντες τὸν θεὸν ἀλλάξουσιν ἰσχύν, ‘those who wait for God shall change (= renew) their strength.’43 Except for a δέ after 42

43

See F. Field, Origenis Hexaplorum quae supersunt, vol. 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1875, 290. C. Zuckerman, “Psalm 135:25 in Symmachus’ Translation on a Jewish Inscription from Nicaea (Iznik),” SCI 20 (2001) 105–111, argues that the text in the quotation follows Symmachus, but with weak arguments. See also the brief discussion in F. Millar’s review of The Cambridge History of Judaism IV in JJS 59 (2008) 124, and in S. Fine & L.V. Rutgers, “New Light on Judaism in Asia Minor during Late Antiquity,” JQR 3 (1996) 6–7 (their list of biblical quotations in Jewish inscriptions at p. 8 is not without errors). Unfortunately, I have not seen A. Salvesen, ‘Psalm 135(136):25 in a Jewish Greek Inscription from Nicaea,’ in G. Khan (ed.), Semitic Studies in Honour of Edward Ullendorff, Leiden: Brill, 2005, 212–221. I used the edition in F. Hüttenmeister & G. Reeg, Die antiken Synagogen in Israel, vol. 1, Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1977, 84, no. 7 [but see now also the recent re-edition in CIIP II 61–62, no. 1142]. This is probably the only inscription with a biblical quotation in Greek from Palestine; see C. Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001, 412–413.

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οἱ, the text is identical to that of the LXX. It is hard to say what the function of the inscription was; perhaps it was liturgical, or perhaps it was part of a formula for the dedication of the synagogue floor of which it was a part. A quite different category of material is found in a type of inscriptions discovered only in Phrygia.44 Three are from Acmonia (IJO II nos. 172–174), one from Apameia (IJO II no. 179), and one from Laodicea (IJO II no. 213); all date from the third cent. ce. They are different from the other inscriptions for two reasons. Firstly, they do not quote a biblical text but do explicitly refer to biblical passages. Secondly, three of them are unique in mentioning a biblical book by name. All epitaphs in this category contain curses against those who illegally bury a person (or persons) in the tomb which was not destined for them.45 IJO II no. 172 states that Titus Flavius Alexander prepared the tomb during his lifetime for himself and his wife Gaiana, and then continues, ‘If someone opens this tomb after the interment of me, Alexander, and my wife, Gaiana, all the curses that have been written (γεγραμμέναι) against his eyes, his entire body, his children, and his life will befall him.’ Here, the ‘written curses’ are not yet specified, but the other inscriptions leave us in no doubt about where they were written. IJO II no. 173, after a similar text about whom the tomb is constructed for, states that ‘if anyone after their burial . . . inters another corpse or causes damage by way of purchase, there shall be on him the curses which are written in Deuteronomy’ (γεγραμμέναι ἐν τῷ Δευτερονομίῳ). And IJO II no. 174 states about such a person that he ‘will be accursed and as many curses as are written in Deuteronomy, let them be upon him and his children and his grandchildren and all his offspring.’ Similarly, IJO II no. 213 threatens the person who opens the sarcophagus in order to bury someone else in it that he will be struck by the curses written in Deuteronomy. And when in IJO II no. 179 it is said in a threatening tone that if someone tries to bury another person in the same grave, ‘he knows the Law of the Jews!,’ we may be sure that the curses in Deuteronomy are meant. There can be little doubt that the curses referred to are those in Deuteronomy 27 and 28, esp. 28:22 and 28–29:(22) πατάξαι σε κύριος ἀπορίᾳ καὶ πυρετῷ καὶ ῥίγει καὶ ἐρεθισμῷ καὶ φόνῳ καὶ ἀνεμοφθορίᾳ καὶ τῇ ὤχρᾳ, καὶ καταδιώξονταί σε ἕως 44 45

On Phrygian Jewry in general see my introductory article “The Jews of Ancient Phrygia,” European Journal of Jewish Studies 2 (2008) 283–292; also elsewhere in this volume. A good study of this material is J.H.M. Strubbe, “Curses against Violations of the Grave in Jewish Epitaphs from Asia Minor,” in J.W. van Henten and P.W. van der Horst (eds.), Studies in Early Jewish Epigraphy, Leiden: Brill, 1994, 70–128. A short but good discussion of these inscriptions is P.R. Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor (SNTSMS 69), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, 60–69.

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ἂν ἀπολέσωσίν σε. . . . (28) πατάξαι σε κύριος παραπληξίᾳ καὶ ἀορασίᾳ καὶ ἐκστάσει διανοίας, (29) καὶ ἔσῃ ψηλαφῶν μεσημβρίᾳ ὡσεὶ ψηλαφήσαι ὁ τυφλὸς ἐν τῷ σκότει, καὶ οὐκ εὐοδώσει τὰς ὁδούς σου. Καὶ ἔσῃ τότε ἀδικούμενος καὶ διαρπαζόμενος πάσας τὰς ἡμέρας καὶ οὐκ ἔσται σοι ὁ βοηθῶν (‘May the Lord smite you with distress, fever, cold, inflammation, murder, blighting and paleness, and they shall pursue you until they have destroyed you. . . . May the Lord smite you with insanity, blindness and astonishment of mind; and then you will grope at midday, as a blind man would grope in the darkness, and you will not prosper in your ways; and then you will be unjustly treated and plundered all your days, and there will be no helper’). This grim picture of divine vengeance could of course be evoked only in the minds of those who knew what ‘the curses written in Deuteronomy’ were. So one might infer that the imprecations were directed primarily at the coreligionists of the dedicators. Or did they assume their pagan fellow Phrygians to have knowledge of the Bible as well? One feels inclined to believe so in view of the formulation of IJO II no. 179, ‘if someone buries here (another person), he knows the Law of the Jews.’ The fact that here the law referred to is so explicitly identified as ‘the Law of the Jews’ may indicate that the writer, when formulating the epitaph, had non-Jews in mind and supposed they knew this Law. (Cf. also JIWE I no. 145, from Sicily, where the husband of the deceased says: adiuro vos (. . .) per legem quam Dominus dedit Iudaeis, ne quis aperiat memoriam . . . ‘I adjure you by the Law which the Lord gave the Jews: let nobody open the grave . . .’).46 Be that as it may, even though we do not have here biblical quotations in the strict sense of the word, these inscriptions fully deserve to be mentioned because by their precise reference to a specific book in the Bible, actually even to specific chapters in that book (Deut 27–28), they evoke the contents of the biblical curse verses which then need not be quoted anymore. Two other inscriptions which evoke (or refer to) rather than quote biblical passages are IJO II nos. 175–176, again from Phrygian Acmonia (third cent. ce). They clearly refer to Zech. 5:1–4. The first one is a lengthy epitaph of Titedius Amerimnus, in which it is said that he has restored for himself and his wife 46

W.M. Ramsay, The Cities and Bishoprics of Phrygia, vol. 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1897, 538, makes the implausible suggestion that “the law of the Jews cannot here be the law of Moses (. . .). It seems to be a special law peculiar to Apameia, apparently some agreement made with the city by the resident Jews for the better protection of their graves.” That some pagans did indeed ‘know the Law of the Jews’ is apparent from a non-Jewish inscription from the Greek island Euboia that combines pagan curses with those of Deuteronomy 28; see for the details L. Robert, “Maledictions funéraires grecques,” CRAI 1978, 241–289, here 245–252; Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor 68–69.

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the tomb of his grandfather, and then the text continues, ‘If somebody buries someone else, may he receive the treacherous blow of the unexpected sort which their brother Amerimnus received. And if one of them is not afraid of these curses, may the sickle of the curse (τὸ ἀρᾶς δρέπανον) come into their houses and leave nobody behind.’ The second inscription ends in an almost identical way, also with the wish that ‘the sickle of the curse’ may enter the house and leave nobody behind. Τὸ ἀρᾶς δρέπανον can hardly be anything else than an allusion to the LXX version of Zech 5:2–4, where, in the Hebrew text, the prophet sees in a vision a scroll (megillah) flying around, but where the LXX has δρέπανον for megillah, obviously because the translators read maggâl (= sickle). This sickle could be taken to be an instrument of God’s curse and of divine vengeance by the Phrygian Jews who engraved the stone since the biblical text itself interprets the sickle as ἡ ἀρὰ ἡ ἐκπορευομένη ἐπὶ πρόσωπον πάσης τῆς γῆς (5:3), that will punish every thief and perjurer with death (and cf. also Joel 4:13 LXX!). Interestingly enough, this is again a testimony to the use of the LXX which differs here so much from the Hebrew text. Aquila is apparently unknown to these Phrygian Jews, but if not unknown, at least not used.47

Samaritan Interlude

By way of interlude, I wish to draw attention to the fact that there are also early Samaritan inscriptions with biblical quotations.48 Most of them, however, are in Samaritan Hebrew. For instance, JIWE I no.153 from Syracuse (uncertain date [late antiquity]) has a quotation of Num 10:35. IJO I Ach50 from Corinth (fourth cent. ce or later) is an amulet with quotes of Exod 15:3; 15:26; 38:8; Num 14:14.49 IJO III Syr4 from Tyre (fourth-fifth cent. ce) is an amulet quoting Deut 33:26 47

48 49

Whether two inscriptions from Acmonia which threaten the tomb violator with the curse, ‘may an iron broom enter his house’ (SEG 6.171–172), should be taken as substitute formulas for ‘the sickle of the curse’ (thus Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor 76) remains very doubtful. Ameling does not include them in IJO II because he, like other scholars, does not regard them as Jewish; see his discussion in IJO II 345–346; also Strubbe, “Curses against Violation of the Grave” 121–123. On Samaritan inscriptions see R. Pummer, “Inscriptions,” in A.D. Crown, ed., The Samaritans, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989, 190–194. On Samaritan amulets see R. Pummer, “Samaritan Rituals and Customs,” in Crown, The Samaritans, 650–690, here 652–654, but esp. Pummer, “Samaritan Amulets from the Roman-Byzantine Period and Their Wearers,” RB 94 (1987) 251–263, where he plausibly argues that probably some of the Samaritan amulets were made by Samaritans to be used by Jews and Christians. On biblical quotations in Jewish amulets see, e.g., E. Eshel,

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and Num 10:35. And IJO III Syr42 from Damascus (third–fifth cent. ce) is an amulet with quotations of Exod 15:3; Num 10:35; Deut 33:26 and Deut 6:4. We see that the most favourite text is Num 10:35, ‘Advance, O Lord, may your enemies be scattered and may your foes flee before you!’ The apotropaic character of this verse is clear. So is the case with the other favourite, Exod 15:3, ‘The Lord is a warrior.’ The combination of these verses with the beginning of the Shemaʿ in IJO III Syr42 is intriguing. But we will have to leave a discussion of these inscriptions to others since it is Greek material that is our topic.50 We have only one Samaritan inscription with a biblical quotation in Greek, a dedicatory inscription, possibly from a synagogue, in Thessaloniki, IJO I Mac 17 (fourth–fifth/sixth cent. ce), with a long quotation of Num 6:22–27 (between two berakhot in Samaritan Hebrew).51 The body of the text is the well-known priestly (Aaronitic) blessing, with a dozen deviations from the LXX that probably derive from a Samaritan revision of the LXX (not necessarily from the Samareitikon, if that ever existed);52 it is much closer to the Hebrew than the LXX version. In view of the major role (high)priests played (and play) in the Samaritan community, it is not surprising that this biblical text was chosen for a synagogue inscription.

Final Observations

We return to the Jewish inscriptions. Biblical quotations appear almost exclusively in funerary inscriptions, hardly in other epigraphic material. As we have seen above, apart from some other isolated quotations (and the references to Deuteronomy), only two biblical verses seem to be highly favoured, 1 Sam 25:29 and Prov 10:7, the two verses which remained the most popular in epitaphs

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H. Eshel, A. Lange, “ ‘Hear, O Israel’ in Gold: An Ancient Amulet from Halbturm in Austria,” JAJ 1 (2010) 43–64. Another interesting aspect of this material that we have to leave aside here is that it testifies to a sizeable Samaritan diaspora; see my “The Samaritan Diaspora in Antiquity,” in P.W. van der Horst, Essays on the Jewish World of Early Christianity (NTOA 14), Fribourg: Universitätsverlag – Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990, 136–147, which updates and corrects A.D. Crown, “The Samaritan Diaspora to the End of the Byzantine Era,” Australian Journal of Biblical Archaeology 2 (1974) 107–123. See, besides the discussion in IJO I 100–105, esp. E. Tov, “Une inscription grecque d’origine samaritaine trouvée à Thessalonique,” RB 81 (1974) 394–399; also G.H.R. Horsley, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, vol. 1, North Ryde: Macquarie Ancient History Documentary Research Centre, 1981, 108–110. See E. Tov, “Die griechischen Bibelübersetzungen,” ANRW II 20/1 (1987) 185–186.

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in medieval and modern times as well. To begin with the latter, with the possible exception of the epitaph of Sophia of Gortyn (IJO I Cre 3) with its unique εἰς αἰῶνα formula at the end, the other instances ‘seem generally limited to a type of “memorial” immortality, since the blessing in this case regards not the deceased but his or her memory.’53 That is different from the ‘bundle of life’ inscriptions which quote 1 Sam 25:29. We have seen clear instances where the motif of the binding of the soul in the bundle of life was used in an eschatological sense. It expressed a belief in afterlife (of whatever nature) by eschatologizing a biblical text that originally had nothing but a this-worldly reference, a way of reading that is very familiar in early Jewish exegesis of the Bible.54 Finally, the differences from what we see in early Christian Greek epigraphy are great, even if we leave New Testament quotations out of account.55 There one does not encounter Prov 10:7 or 1 Sam 25:29, neither Zach 5:1–4 or Deut 27–28. What strikes one at first is the great predominance of quotations from the Book of Psalms (with a remarkably high concentration in Syria and Palestine).56 For instance, in church inscriptions one often finds Ps 118:20, ‘This is the gate of the Lord; the righteous shall enter through it.’ On lintels of houses a great favourite is the apotropaic Ps 121:8, ‘The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in.’ On tombs it is more difficult to specify a clear favourite, but Ps 91:1, ‘he who dwells in the shelter of the Most High,’ scores high (as it does, by the way, in Jewish amulets and magical books).57 Another favourite is Ps 29:3, ‘The voice of the Lord is over the waters.’ About a third of all Psalms are represented in epigraphic quotations.58 Apart from the Psalms, Isaiah is the best represented book in Christian epigraphy. ‘Quotations from the New Testament are nearly three times less (!) frequent than those of the 53 54 55

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Park, Conceptions, 143. The phenomenon is too common to need illustration. For an early but good collection of evidence see L. Jalabert, “Citations bibliques dans l’épigraphie grecque,” DACL III/2 (1914) 1731–1756; but see now esp. the exhaustive collection and study by A.E. Felle, Biblia epigraphica: La Sacra Scrittura nella documentazione epigrafica dell’ orbis christianus antiquus (III–VIII secolo), Bari: Edipuglia, 2006. For biblical quotations in Christian papyri, see G.H.R. Horsley, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity, vol. 2, North Ryde: Macquarie Ancient History Documentary Research Centre, 1982, 157. Jalabert, “Citations” 1746. See also D. Feissel, “The Bible in Greek Inscriptions,” in P.M. Blowers, ed., The Bible in Greek Christian Antiquity, Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1997, 289–298. See, e.g., B. Rebiger, Sefer Shimmush Tehillim (TSAJ 137), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010, 333. Felle, Biblia epigraphica, 522–524, lists hundreds of instances of Psalm quotations in inscriptions.

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Old Testament and none of them enjoy as privileged a use.’59 The great popularity of the Psalms in early Christianity is also reflected in various literary sources (including the New Testament). Especially in monastic literature, but also elsewhere, the book of Psalms is quoted or alluded to much more often than any other biblical book.60 Through its prominent role in the liturgy, the Psalter provided the believers with a rich resource of praise and prayer. They probably knew the Book of Psalms much better than the rest of the Bible, mainly thanks to the liturgy. This is one of the reasons that in this respect the early Christian ‘epigraphic habit’ (Ramsay MacMullen) is markedly different from that of the Jews (in the synagogues, as far as we know, the Psalms did not play as prominent a role in the liturgy as they did in the church). There are many more reasons for these differences, but to investigate these falls outside the scope of this article.

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Feissel, “The Bible”, 294. See my “The Role of Scripture in Cyril of Scythopolis’ Lives of the Monks of Palestine,” in J. Patrich (ed.), The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church from the Fifth Century to the Present, Leuven: Peeters, 2001, 127–145, for further references, see also J. Gribomont, “Psaumes,” in A. di Berardino (ed.), Dictionnaire encyclopédique du christianisme ancien, vol. 2, Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1990, 2137–2139.

chapter 9

Did the Gentiles Know Who Abraham Was? Introduction Sometime in the second half of the second century ce, the Platonist philosopher Celsus published his Alêthês Logos (True Doctrine). In this attack on Christianity, he also dealt very critically with the Greek Bible, including the Jewish part of it, the Septuagint. In one of his critical passages, he remarks that circumcision did not originate with the Jews because this custom had been taken over by them from the Egyptians. In his refutation, written not long before 250 ce, the formidable Christian scholar Origen states that it is better to believe Moses “who says that Abraham was first among men to be circumcised” (Contra Celsum [henceforth: CC] 1.22).1 The mention of the name of Abraham then induces Origen to make a brief excursus in which he adds the following words: Many also of those who chant incantations for demons use among their formula’s ‘the God of Abraham’; they do this on account of the name and the familiarity between God and this righteous man. It is for this reason that they employ the expression ‘the God of Abraham’ although they do not know who Abraham is (CC 1.22).2 This is an instructive passage in that we learn from it (1) that the expression ‘the God of Abraham’ (or, more probably, in its more extended form, ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’)3 was used in exorcisms 1 The translation is by H. Chadwick, Origen: Contra Celsum, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965 (2nd ed.), 22. The Greek text I used is the Sources Chrétiennes edition by M. Borret, Origène: Contre Celse, 5 vols., Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1967–1976. On this passage see J.G. Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism (STAC 23), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004, 102–103. 2 In his Dialogus cum Tryphone Judaeo 85.3, Justin Martyr says that demons cannot be exorcised in the name of kings or prophets or patriarchs but only in the name of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. 3 This biblical formula plays a prominent role in the theophany to Moses at the burning bush: see Exod. 3:6, 15, 16; 4:5; it is found in the form ‘the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel’ in 1 Kings 18:36; 1 Chron. 29:18; 2 Chron. 30:6. It is often found in post-biblical Jewish prayers of which the best known instance is the berakhah Avoth of the Shemoneh Esreh; see M. Rist,

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by non-Jews and non-Christians in Origen’s lifetime, and (2) that Origen thinks that the exorcists who do so have no idea who Abraham was. As to the first point, later on Origen says that the Israelites trace their genealogy back to the three fathers Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he continues: Their names are so powerful when linked with the name of God that the formula ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’ is used not only by members of the Jewish nation in their prayers to God and when they exorcise demons, but also by almost all others who deal in magic and spells. For in magical treatises it is often to be found that God is invoked by this formula, and that in spells against demons His name is used in close connexion with the names of these men (CC 4.33).4 And as to the second point, after the passage just quoted Origen continues: We ask all those who use such invocations of God: Tell us, sirs, who Abraham was, and how great a man was Isaac, and what power was possessed by Jacob, that the name ‘God’ when attached to their names performs such miracles? . . . [But] in answer to our question no one can show any history as the source of the stories about these men (CC 4.34).5 And, finally, in yet another passage (CC 5.45), Origen stresses that it would make a spell useless and ineffective if one were to change the names of the three patriarchs into their supposed Greek translations resulting in the formula ‘the God of the chosen father of the echo, the God of laughter, and the God of the man who strikes with the heel’ (etymologies of the names that Origen found

‘The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob: A Liturgical and Magical Formula,’ JBL 57 (1938) 289–303 (ibid. 293–295 on Samaritan use of the formula). Cf. also Philo, Abr. 50–1. For a NT occurrence see Acts 3:13. 4 See M. Smith, Jesus the Magician, London: Victor Gollancz, 1978, 73. 5 In this very same passage Origen also says that the formula ‘the God who drowned the king of Egypt and the Egyptians in the Red Sea’ was also widely used by pagans to overcome demons; see P.W. van der Horst, ‘‘The God Who Drowned the King of Egypt.” A Short Note on an Exorcistic Formula, in: A. Hilhorst & G.H. van Kooten (eds.), The Wisdom of Egypt. Jewish, Early Christian, and Gnostic Studies in Honour of Gerard P. Luttikhuizen, Leiden: Brill, 2005, 135–140, reprinted in my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context. Selected Essays on Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity (WUNT 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 280–284.

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in the works of Philo).6 Interestingly, Origen adds the warning that the words “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” are effective only if pronounced in Hebrew. This passage makes unambiguously clear that Origen himself was convinced of the efficacy of this formula in the fight against demons. But we will leave it at that and let our agenda be dictated by the first two passages which inevitably raise two questions adumbrated already above: (1) Is there independent proof that gentiles used the formula ‘the God of Abraham (and Isaac and Jacob)’ for magical purposes? (2) Is Origen right in saying that these gentiles had no idea who Abraham is? The answer to both questions will turn out to be a qualified yes.7

The Magical Papyri

As is well-known, the importance of Jewish elements in Greek magical papyri should not be underrated: in approximately one third of the rites and charms Jewish elements are detectable.8 Not only are Iao and Adonai and Sabaoth invoked more frequently than most other deities, except Helios, but also Moses, Solomon and the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob figure in several passages in these papyri, and “angels, archangels, cherubim and seraphim abound.”9 All these biblical names seem to have become elements of a “transcultural magical lingo,” as Morton Smith has dubbed it.10 Also the strange sounding voces magicae or nomina barbara11 may in some cases have a Hebrew 6

7 8

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See Chadwick ad locum (300 notes 2–4) for references to Philo. For Abraham as patêr eklektos êchous see, e.g., De gigantibus 64 and De Abrahamo 82, with the comments in D. Winston & J. Dillon, Two Treatises of Philo of Alexandria (BJS 25), Chico: Scholars Press, 1983, 271, and esp. L.L. Grabbe, Etymology in Early Jewish Interpretation: The Hebrew Names in Philo (BJS 115), Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988, 126–127. For a brief general survey of the role of Abraham in early Jewish, Christian, and GraecoRoman sources see Th. Klauser, ‘Abraham,’ RAC 1 (1950) 18–27. See M. Smith, ‘The Jewish Elements in the Magical Papyri,’ in his Studies in the Cult of Yahweh, vol. 2, Leiden: Brill, 1996, 246–247. Note that this implies that in two thirds of the material no Jewish influence at all is to be detected. On the importance of Jewish elements see also Th. Hopfner, Griechisch-ägyptischer Offenbarungszauber, 2 vols., Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1974–1983 (corrected reprint of the edition of 1921–1924), 2.31–33. W. Brashear, ‘The Greek Magical Papyri: An Introduction and Survey; Annotated Bibliography (1928–1994),’ ANRW II 18,5, Berlin & New York: W. de Gruyter, 1995, 3380– 3684, here 3427. Brashear’s book-length article is the best introduction to the study of Greek magical papyri to date. Smith, ‘The Jewish Elements’ 245. For an extensive list see Brashear, ‘The Greek Magical Papyri’ 3576–3603.

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or Aramaic background.12 Even if that is not the case, sometimes alliterative hocus-pocus of several hundred words is simply called Hebrew by the magicians themselves.13 This has to do with the great reputation of Jewish magicians and magic in late antiquity.14 Jewish and biblical elements, names, motives and formulas were borrowed freely because they were believed to be exceptionally potent and effective. It is, therefore, not strange that, if one moves from pagan magical texts to Jewish ones, one often does not have the feeling of moving to a different world. If syncretism is to be found anywhere, it is in the world of ancient magic.15 The only thing that mattered there was that the spell worked. And apparently spells with the formula ‘the God of Abraham’ (or, more probably, ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’) did work. When we take a look at the corpus of Greek magical papyri in the edition of Karl Preisendanz (PGM),16 we find several instances of magical recipes containing that formula.17 E.g., PGM IV 1227–1264 is a spell for driving out demons. Although it is part of a pagan handbook for magical rituals,18 it contains several elements of both Jewish and Christian nature. In half Greek and half Coptic it invokes ‘the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of 12

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16

17 18

For instances see C. Bonner, Studies in Magical Amulets, Chiefly Graeco-Egyptian, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1950, 187. But see also the caveat by G. Bohak, “Hebrew, Hebrew Everywhere? Notes on the Interpretation of Voces Magicae,” in S. Noegel, J. Walker, and B. Wheeler (eds.), Prayer, Magic, and the Stars in the Ancient and Late Antique World, University Park, Pa.: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003, 69–82. In PGM V 115–116 even the Egyptian name Osoronnophris (= Osiris Wennefer) is said to be ‘the true name which has been transmitted to the prophets of Israel’! For Hebrew in Coptic magical papyri see A.M. Kropp, Ausgewählte Koptische Zaubertexte, 3 vols., Brussels: Fondation Egyptologique Reine Elisabeth, 1930, 3.218. See for literature Brashear, ‘The Greek Magical Papyri’ 3426 note 222. M. Simon, Verus Israel. A Study of the Relations Between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (AD 135–425), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986, 339–368. J. Gager, Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1972, 134–161. Sometimes it is impossible to decide whether a magical papyrus is of Christian or Jewish provenance; e.g., P.IFAO iii 50 in R.W. Daniel & F. Maltomini (eds), Supplementum Magicum I, Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1990, 49–52 (no. 19). Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die griechischen Zauberpapyri, 2nd ed. by K. Preisendanz & A. Henrichs, 2 vols., Stuttgart: Teubner, 1973 (orig. 1928). For an English translation see H.D. Betz (ed.), The Greek Magical Papyri in Translation, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986. For Christian instances of the formula see, e.g., Kropp, Ausgewählte koptische Zaubertexte 2.165 and 236 (nos. 45 and 71). See P.W. van der Horst, ‘The Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM IV) and the Bible,’ in his Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context 269–279.

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Jacob’ but also Jesus Chrestos (sic) and the Holy Spirit (1231–1234). Because the pagan elements are not very prominent in this case, one may wonder whether we may have here an originally Christian magical recipe taken into service by the pagan compiler of the handbook, perhaps because it contained the formula ‘the God of Abraham.’ In PGM V 459–489, however, we have a very clear-cut case: After some vague allusions to the biblical creation story the text goes on calling upon ‘the god of gods’ who is called both Iao (= YHWH) and Zeus. Then follows a long list of nomina barbara or voces magicae with the word Hebraïsti prefixed. This string of holy nonsense19 is certainly not Hebrew, except for four words in the middle (479–480): barouch Adônai elôai Abraam = ‘Blessed is the Lord, the God of Abraham.’ There is little reason to assume that the writer of this charm understood this Hebrew phrase, but the fact that the name of Abraham occurred here in a setting of a “transcultural magical lingo” that he took to be Hebrew (correctly, in this case), apparently sufficed for it to be included in this spell. Another case is PGM XII 270–350.20 It first describes a ring of a special stone of which it is said that “it makes men as famous and great and admired and rich as can be” (270) and “it also works for demoniacs” (281). When its bearer wants it to work one of its miracles, he/she should say a spell that consists mostly of the usual abracadabra, in the middle of which we suddenly come across the names of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (287, spelled as Abraän, Isak, Jakkôbi). Here we see that the mere mentioning of the name(s), without the words ‘the God of’ being prefixed, was deemed sufficient to be effective.21 The fact that the names are here part of a string of nonsense words (such as Nouchitha, Nêphygor, Katakerknêph) makes one suspect that the compiler of the spell had no idea of what these names stood for and perhaps even thought they were deities.22 In another spell, PGM XIII 734–1077, we find Zeus and Helios mentioned side by side with the names of Egyptian gods and of Iao Sabaoth. It is a clearly polytheistic text with again several strings of nomina barbara. In the middle of one 19 20 21 22

See P. Cox Miller, “In Praise of Nonsense,” in A.H. Armstrong (ed.), Classical Mediterranean Spirituality: Egyptian, Greek, Roman, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1986, 481–505. For PGM XII and XIII, I consulted the new edition by R.W. Daniel, Two Greek Magical Papyri in the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1991. The same applies to PGM I 219 where the words Ambrami Abraam occur in a string of voces magicae. Klauser, ‘Abraham’ 20: “In diesen Texten [= PGM] ist ‘Abraham’ oder ‘A[braham], Isaak und Jakob’ vielfach als Name des Judengottes verstanden.” For Jacob as a deity in the PGM see G. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic: A History, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008, 199.

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such series, containing words with many Egyptian elements, we suddenly read: “I have received the power of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (815–817). Here again we find only the names of the patriarchs (God not being mentioned), but the formulation indicates that the author knew that these names referred to powerful persons (or deities). The quasi-Egyptianizing setting, however, makes one doubt whether the author had any notion of the biblical provenance of these names. This impression is further strengthened by the fact that later on in the same spell there is an isolated notice (in a list of supposedly secret writings) to the effect that something (but what?) is explained in the Law in Hebrew as follows: “Abraham, Isaac, Jacob” followed by a list of voces magicae, most of them being permutations of the divine name Iao (975–978). It is extremely doubtful whether the magician had any idea of what the names of the three patriarchs stood for. Neither did the author of the spell in PGM XXXVI 295–311 who mentions Abraham in the midst of a series of nomina barbara.23 Not from PGM but from the Supplementum Magicum is the following material. No. 2 is a silver amulet against fever in the form of a triangular tablet inscribed with the following text: “I call upon you, who are over the air of the ocean, obach, and by babarathan baroch Abraham sabaraam, protect him who wears you from fever and everything (else) etc.”24 Here the easily recognizable Hebrew words barukh Avraham (blessed be Abraham) leave little doubt that the author of this spell had no idea what these words meant. For him it was as much sacred abracadabra as the immediately surrounding words. To put it in the words of Gideon Bohak, “When powerful formulae moved from one culture to another, and into the hands of people who had no firm grasp of the culture whence they came, such misunderstandings, transformations, and creative reconfigurations were almost bound to happen.”25 In no. 29, another amulet against fever, we find an invocation of ‘the Lord of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,’ but we leave this case out of account because the surrounding text with quotes from both Psalm 90 and the Paternoster make clear that here we 23

24 25

See on this latter spell also Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic 204–206. PGM VII 315 too lists the name Abraham at the beginning of a list of nomina barbara. There are two more passages in PGM where Abraham or the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are mentioned, namely XXIIb 6 and XXXV 14, but I leave them out of account since these spells are almost certainly of Jewish origin and probably did not undergo recasting by pagan magicians, as far as I can judge; on the former one (XXIIb) see now the commentary by Judith Newman in P.W. van der Horst & J.H. Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008, 215–246. R.W. Daniel & F. Maltomini (eds.), Supplementum Magicum, vol. 1, Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1989, 7–8 (no. 2). Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic 200.

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have to do with a Christian charm.26 Finally, attention should be paid to the famous love charm on a lead tablet from the necropolis of Hadrumetum (near Carthage) in which a woman named Domitiana invokes inter alios ‘the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob’ (albeit in a very garbled form)27 in order to induce a certain Urbanus to take her as his wife.28 Although the religious affiliation of the writer cannot be determined with certainty, I think it most likely that this is a case of “a pagan writer using a magical recipe which was originally composed by a Jewish practitioner.”29 This quick overview of the evidence from magical papyri and amulets,30 limited though it is, does make clear that Origen informed us correctly when he stated that his non-Jewish and non-Christian contemporaries used the formula ‘the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob’ for exorcistic and other ritual purposes. His observation that these pagans, in spite of their use of this formula, did not know who Abraham and his son and grandson were, would also seem to be confirmed since none of the passages from the magical papyri gives any impression that the authors knew more than just the names of the patriarchs.

26

27

28

29

30

It is also no. LXXXIII in Betz, Greek Magical Papyri 300, where Roy Kotanski describes it as “syncretistic rather than distinctively Christian.” In vol. 2, no. 75, line 21, of the Supplementum Magicum (1992), Daniel and Maltomini supplement a lacuna in the papyrus as b[arouch Abram], but that is no more than a conjecture. In no. 88, line 11, the name Abraham does occur but without context because of gaps on both sides of the word. The spell seems to be pagan. The text reads the names as Abraan, Iakou, Israma. One could take Iakou to be a form of Iakoub (Iakôb), but the fact that the garbled form Israma must mean Israel (= Jacob) makes it more probable that Iakou is a mistake for Isakou, the genitive of Isakos, so that we have the traditional order of the names of the patriarchs. The heavy garbling of these names makes it less probable that the author was Jewish. Text, photo, translation, and commentary in A. Deissmann, Bibelstudien, Marburg: Elwert, 1895 (reprint Hildesheim: Olms, 1977), 25–54; see also L. Blau, Das altjüdische Zauberwesen, Budapest: Landes-Rabbinerschule, 1898 (reprint Westmead: Gregg International Publishers, 1970), 96–112; J.G. Gager, Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from the Ancient World, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992, 112–115. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic 211. See also A. Bernand, Sorciers grecs, Paris: Fayard, 1991, 299–302. For (Jewish and Christian) epigraphic attestations of the formula “the God of Abraham etc.” see A.E. Felle, Biblia Epigraphica: La Sacra Scrittura nella documentazione epigrafica dell’ orbis christianus antiquus (III–VIII secolo), Bari: Edipuglia, 2006, nos. 234 and B1083. For depictions of Abraham sacrificing Isaac on three magical gems see C. Bonner, Studies in Magical Amulets Chiefly Graeco-Egyptian, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1950, 171, 226–227.

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The Literary Sources

But this is not the end of our investigation. There is other evidence than the magical papyri that can inform us about the extent of the knowledge gentile authors had about the patriarchs, Abraham in particular. It is thanks to the comprehensive magnum opus of the late Menachem Stern that this evidence can easily be surveyed. In the Index of his valuable work, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (henceforth: GLAJJ),31 he lists several passages from ancient authors that mention Abraham. Let us take a quick look at them in order to see whether these pagan intellectuals were better informed than the magicians. We follow a roughly chronological order.32 We have to begin on a sad note because one of the earliest Greek writers to mention Jews at all, Hecataeus of Abdera ( floruit ca. 300 BCE), is said by both Josephus and Clement of Alexandria to have written a work about Abraham, a work, however, that is now completely lost.33 But there is some consolation to be found in the fact that most modern scholars take this work (if it existed at all) to have been a Jewish apologetic forgery,34 and this is almost certainly the case. Next comes Hecataeus’ slightly later contemporary, the Babylonian priest Berossus who, according to Josephus, “mentions our father Abramos, though he does not name him, in the following words: ‘In the tenth generation after the Flood among the Chaldeans there was a certain man, just and great and expert in heavenly matters’ ” (Ant. Jud. 1.158). This passage is left out by Stern who thinks that “it is doubtful that the righteous man experienced in celestial affairs . . . can be identified with Abraham.”35 And, admittedly, it might be that Josephus indulges in wishful reading here, but one may also rightly ask: who other than Abraham could be meant here by Berossus? If he did refer to Abraham here, one should note the intriguing fact that Berossus depicts Abraham as “a man experienced in celestial affairs,” that is, an astrologer,

31 32

33 34 35

M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 3 vols., Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984. L.H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993, 530–531 note 1, gives a (long but not comprehensive) list of passages in pagan authors where Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, David, and Solomon are mentioned. The best study to date is J.S. Siker, “Abraham in Graeco-Roman Paganism,” JSJ 18 (1987) 188–208. See Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae 1.159; Clement Alex., Stromateis 5.14.113 = Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 13.13.40. See the survey in L.H. Feldman, Flavius Josephus, vol. 3: Judean Antiquities 1–4, Leiden: Brill, 2000, 59 note 511; also Stern in GLAJJ 1.22 (‘a product of Jewish religious propaganda’). GLAJJ 1.55.

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a motif that was destined to have a long history.36 Be that as it may, we have to wait till the first century BCE in order to find the first certain reference to Abraham, namely in a work by the renowned rhetorician Apollonius Molon (GLAJJ no. 46). Josephus presents him in his Contra Apionem as a fanatic Jew-hater, but the fragment of his work that was preserved by Eusebius (via Alexander Polyhistor) “does not show any marked anti-Semitic features.”37 There we read that the man who survived the Flood (Noah) came with his sons to Syria where, after three generations, Abraham was born, whose name signifies ‘the friend of the father.’ He was a wise man and went to the desert. He took two wives, a local relative of his and an Egyptian handmaid. The Egyptian woman bore him twelve sons, who emigrated to Arabia and divided the country between themselves; they were the first kings over its inhabitants. Hence till our days there are twelve kings among the Arabs, all of them namesakes of the sons of Abraham. Of his lawful wife one son was born to him whose name in Greek is Gelôs (laughter = Yitshaq [Isaac]).38 Abraham then died of old age, while to Gelôs and a native woman there were born eleven sons, and a twelfth one, Joseph, whose grandson was Moses (ap. Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 9.19.1–3).39 This curious hodgepodge of biblical names and motives combined with non-biblical data makes it quite certain that Apollonius did not have any first-hand knowledge of the Bible. There are simply too many glaring mistakes to make that probable. What we have here is second-hand information based on hearsay, but it should immediately be added that here for the first time Abraham is mentioned by name, as is his son Isaac (albeit in an interpretatio graeca), and also his two wives, Sara and Hagar (albeit without their names). Moreover Abraham is called a wise man and nothing negative is said about the patriarch at all. This is certainly an indication that Apollonius had made some effort to get acquainted in a serious way with biblical or Jewish traditions. The first-century BCE polymath Alexander Polyhistor (already mentioned in passing) is the first pagan author who provides us with evidence of exact knowledge of the biblical Abraham stories. This is not surprising if one real36

37 38 39

See, e.g., G. Mayer, “Aspekte des Abrahambildes in der hellenistisch-jüdischen Literatur,” Evangelische Theologie 32 (1972) 118–127; J.H. Charlesworth, “Jewish Astrology in the Talmud, Pseudepigrapha, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and Early Palestinian Synagogues,” HTR 70 (1977) 183–200. R. Leicht, Astrologumena Judaica: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der astrologischen Literatur der Juden (Texts and Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Judaism 21), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2006. Stern, GLAJJ 1.148. On Gelôs-Isaac see J.G. Gager, Moses in Greco-Roman Paganism, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1972, 19 note 9. On this passage see Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament 11–12.

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izes that he is the author of a work Peri Ioudaiôn in which he presents his readers not only with biblical information but also with large chunks of text from the writings of several postbiblical Graeco-Jewish authors.40 This voluminous writer and compiler is the main source for our knowledge of much of the early Jewish-Hellenistic literature. Eusebius, who heavily drew upon Polyhistor, informs us that after having presented excerpts of several authors (such as Eupolemus, Artapanus etc.) on Abraham, Polyhistor himself adds the following: “Shortly afterwards God commanded Abraham to bring him Isaac as a burnt-offering. Abraham led the child up the mountain, piled up a funeral pyre and placed Isaac upon it. However, when he was on the point of slaying him, he was prevented from doing so by an angel, who provided him with a ram for the offering. Abraham then removed the child from the pyre and he sacrificed the ram” (in Eusebius, Praeparatio Evangelica 9.19 = GLAJJ no. 51a). This is purely biblical information, so we can conclude that here we have the first undisputable case of a pagan author who has read the Bible. His information is factual and correct. It is, therefore, somewhat disappointing to see how the next author who mentions Abraham, namely Nicolaus of Damascus, a prolific historian and friend of Herod the Great, who was active in the decades around the turn of the era, deals with the first patriarch.41 He says that Abraham, after having left the land of the Chaldaeans with an army, became the king of Damascus, but that not long thereafter he left with his people for the land then called Chananaia but nowadays Judaea. He then adds the notice that “the name of Abraham is still celebrated in the region of Damascus, and a village there is called after him ‘Abraham’s abode’ (Abramou oikêsis)” (quoted by Josephus, Antiquitates Judaicae 1.159–160 = GLAJJ no. 83). The Bible does not refer to Abraham’s stay in Damascus, let alone his kingship over that city, but it should be added that there were several early Jewish traditions about Abraham as king (albeit not of Damascus).42 The main point, however, is the positive tone in this short account: traditions about Abraham as a king are taken into the service of Nicolaus’ glorification of Damascus, the city where he had lived all of his life. And of course his patron Herod would be pleased to learn that even

40 41 42

On Alexander Polyhistor see E. Schürer, A History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, transl. & ed. by G. Vermes et al., vol. III/1, Edinburgh: Clark, 1986, 510–512. On Nicolaus see J. Malitz, Nikolaos von Damaskus: Leben des Kaisers Augustus (Texte zur Forschung 80), Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2003, 1–5. See L. Ginzberg, The Legends of the Jews, vol. 5, Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1925, 216 note 46.

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today Abraham’s name lives on in the name of a village near Damascus called Abramou oikêsis. From roughly the same period is another text that speaks of a connection between Damascus and Abraham, namely the Historiae Philippicae of Pompeius Trogus of which only the excerpts in Justinus’ Epitome have been preserved. It is a rather muddleheaded account to the effect that the origin of the Jewish people is from Damascus. Its first king was Damascus after whom the city was named. “After Damascus, Azelus, and then Adores,43 Abraham, and Israhel were their kings. A felicitous progeny of ten sons made Israhel more famous than any of his ancestors” (Epitome 2.1–4 = GLAJJ no. 137). Israel is here of course the third patriarch, Jacob (Isaac is overlooked). All we learn about Abraham is that he was the fourth king of Damascus, a motif very similar to what we have just found in Nicolaus, although not identical because Nicolaus knows of Abraham’s Mesopotamian origin. Also what follows in this short excerpt does not inspire much confidence in his knowledge of biblical stories, e.g., when he says that Moses was Joseph’s son (2.11).44 In the work of the second-century ce astrologer Vettius Valens we find two very brief references to Abraham as an astrologer (2.28–29 = GLAJJ 339–340), a motif also known from Berossus (and see below on Firmicus Maternus and Julian). Not the slightest critical note is found here, on the contrary, the phrase ho thaumasiôtatos Abramos is an unequivocal expression of admiration. In the final decades of the second century ce, the Platonist Celsus launched his attack on Christianity in his Alêthês Logos. In it, he also ridicules as utterly absurd the begetting of children when the parents are too old, and Origen rightly surmises that “he obviously means the case of Abraham and Sarah” (Contra Celsum 4.43).45 Even though Celsus’ knowledge of the Bible is considerably less detailed than that of the other great anti-Christian polemicists

43 44

45

According to Stern (GLAJJ 1 p. 339), “These names stand for Hadad and Hazael, both well known from the Bible as kings of Aram.” I leave out of account as not informative the short note in Stephanus of Byzantium’s Ethnika to the effect that the second-century ce historian Claudius Charax states that the name Hebrews for Jews is derived from the name Abraham, an etymology already found in the second-century BCE Jewish (?) author Artapanus, fragm. 1 (= Eusebius, Praep. Ev. 9.18.1). In his brief discussion of this fragment, Stern (GLAJJ 2.161) points to the fact that according to Josephus “a public document of Pergamon, the city of Charax, of c. 112 BCE, refers to ancient relations between the Jews and the city in the time of Abraham, who is called pantôn Hebraiôn patêr (Antiquitates Judaicae XIV, 255).” On this passage see G. Rinaldi, La Bibbia dei pagani II: Testi e documenti, Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniane, 1998, 124.

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(Porphyry and Julian), this very brief passage is a correct summary of the story in Gen. 18. An interesting case is another Platonist, this time from around 300 ce, Alexander of Lycopolis. Alexander mentions Abraham only briefly, when he states that the Christian doctrine that Jesus Christ “gave himself up for the remission of sins has a certain plausibility in the eyes of many people46 in view of the stories told among the Greeks about some persons who gave themselves up for the safety of their cities; and also Jewish history furnishes an example of this doctrine in preparing the son of Abraham for sacrifice to God.”47 As I have argued elsewhere, in his anti-Manichaean treatise Alexander demonstrates that “he had some knowledge of the Bible but it was not extensive. . . . It cannot even be excluded that all the biblical references in his work are based on hearsay, not on his own reading. The (only?) biblical books he appears to have had some knowledge of were Genesis and the Gospels (as usual among pagan authors with some knowledge of the Bible). . . . But this knowledge apparently did not inspire him to vehement attacks on the Bible, in sharp contrast to Celsus, Porphyry, and Julian.”48 It is not unimportant, however, to notice that Alexander mentions Isaac as an example of ‘people giving themselves up’ for the sake of others, whereas the biblical story portrays Isaac as the completely passive object of God’s command and Abraham’s obedience. The motif that Isaac volunteered to be the sacrifice God wanted to have and that he did this for the welfare of the people of the Jews is found only in postbiblical Jewish sources of the Roman and Byzantine periods. I would submit that Alexander was acquainted with Jewish haggadic material, either oral or written, or perhaps with Christian variants of these haggadic interpretations.49 From the first half of the fourth century we have the writings of Firmicus Maternus. Obviously we will only have a brief look at the work he wrote in his pre-Christian period, the so-called Mathesis, a handbook for astrologers 46 47

48

49

But not of Alexander himself. Contra Manichaei opiniones24, transl. by J. Mansfeld and P.W. van der Horst, An Alexandrian Platonist against Dualism: Alexander of Lycopolis’ Treatise Critique of the Doctrines of Manichaeus, Leiden: Brill, 1974, 94. P.W. van der Horst, “ ‘A Simple Philosophy’: Alexander of Lycopolis on Christianity,” in K.A. Algra, P.W. van der Horst & D.T. Runia (eds.), Polyhistor: Studies in the History and Historiography of Ancient Philosophy Presented to Jaap Mansfeld on his Sixtieth Birthday (Philosophia Antiqua 72), Leiden: Brill, 1996, 313–329, here 328–329. For Jewish haggadic material see van der Horst, ‘A Simple Philosophy.’ For a fascinating example of these Christian variants see P.W. van der Horst & M.F.G. Parmentier, “A New Early Christian Poem on the Sacrifice of Isaac,” in A. Hurst & J. Rudhardt (eds.), Le Codex des Visions (Recherches et rencontres 18), Genève: Librairie Droz, 2002, 155–172.

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(not at his De errore which is from his Christian period). Here again (as in Vettius Valens), Abraham is mentioned as a great astrologer and writer on astrological matters, in line with Nechepso and Petosiris, Orpheus, Critodemus and others (Mathesis 4, Proem 5; 4.17.2; 4.17.5; 4.18.1 = GLAJJ nos. 473–476). The emperor Julian, known as the Apostate, devoted a couple of lines to Abraham in his anti-Christian work Contra Galilaeos.50 In the first fragment, the fact that no less a person than Abraham chose to be an alien in a foreign country is used as an argument against the Christians’ abandonment of Judaism (209D = GLAJJ no. 481a = fr. 49 Masaracchia). Why they should have adhered to their Jewish origins is made clear by Julian in the second fragment, where he stresses the great importance of sacrifice by saying the following: I will prove in a few words that Moses himself thought that it was necessary to bring fire from outside (for the sacrifices), and even before him, Abraham the patriarch likewise. . . . I am one of those who avoid keeping their festivals with the Jews; but nevertheless, I always revere the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. . . . They revered a God who was ever gracious to me and to those who worshipped him as Abraham did, for he is a very great and powerful God, but he has nothing to do with you [Christians]. For you do not imitate Abraham by erecting altars to him or building altars of sacrifice or worshipping him. For Abraham used to sacrifice even as we do, always and continually” (343D, 354A–C = GLAJJ no. 481a = fr. 83, 86, 87 Masaracchia).51 Then follows a long passage about Abraham as a practitioner of astrology, augury, and other forms of divination, motifs that we know from several Hellenistic-Jewish writings and that were also partly found in the works of Vettius Valens and Firmicus Maternus. Aside from that, however, we see that Julian’s portrait of Abraham as one who sacrifices to God is biblical (see, e.g., Gen. 15 and 22), something not really amazing since this pagan emperor had had a Christian education. A curious testimony of the admiration for Abraham on the part of pagans is a much-discussed passage in the fourth-century Scriptores Historiae Augustae. Here we find in the Vita Alexandri Severi the curious notice that the emperor 50 51

The best edition with commentary is E. Masaracchia, Giuliano Imperatore: Contra Galilaeos, Roma: Edizioni dell’ Ateneo, 1990. On this passage see Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament 275–280, 295f.; also briefly his The Interpretation of the New Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism (STAC 3), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000, 323–324.

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Alexander Severus (222–235 ce) had a private sanctuary in his palace in which he kept statues of deified emperors and also of certain holy souls among whom were Apollonius (of Tyana), Jesus Christ,52 Abraham, Orpheus, and others of the same character (29.2 = GLAJJ no. 522).53 Whatever one wants to speculate about the historical value (or lack of it) of this curious form of syncretism, it is certain that our fourth-century author did not deem it impossible that Abraham would be worshipped alongside other deified or heroic personalities. Finally, in the first half of the sixth century, we find in Damascius’ Vita Isidori the notice that Proclus’ successor as head of the Platonic Academy in Athens, Marinus, once had once belonged to the Samaritan community. He “originated from Neapolis [Nablus] in Palestine, a city founded near the so-called Mount Argarizon [sic], where there is a most sacred temple of Zeus the Most High, to whom Abraham, the ancestor of the ancient Hebrews, was consecrated, as Marinus himself used to say.”54 But Marinus gave up the Samaritan creed since it deviated from Abraham’s religion, and hence he fell in love with paganism (fr. 97A Athanassiadi = GLAJJ no. 548). Because this confused and suspect piece of information does not teach us anything about pagan knowledge of Abraham, we will leave it out of account. What we have seen in these (non-magical) literary witnesses is that, although Abraham was not widely known, all authors who mention him had a positive evaluation of the patriarch. He is seen as a wise and just man, who was also a ruler, with expertise in astrology. He came from somewhere in the East (Syria or Mesopotamia), a factor which always contributed to a person’s prestige in literary circles of the Hellenistic and Roman eras, and, possibly for that reason, “Abraham was not so closely identified with the Jews  . . . that the pagan criticism of the Jews ever rubbed off on him.”55

52 53

54 55

Here the author adds: ‘according to a contemporary writer’ (quantum scriptor suorum temporum dicit), as if to express his doubts about it. As Stern ad loc. remarks, it is striking that the immediate collocation of Abraham and Orpheus occurs also in Firmicus Maternus (see above in the text). One of these two texts may depend on the other. Sikes (‘Abraham’ 197) wrongly states that this passage deals with Julian the Apostate. Translation by P. Athanassiadi, Damascius: The Philosophical History, Athens: Apamea Cultural Association, 1999, 237 (slightly modified). Sikes, “Abraham” 208.

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Conclusions Although I do not claim that this has been an exhaustive presentation of the evidence, I am confident that at least the most important pieces of our evidence have passed review, however briefly. Let us now try to draw some conclusions. These conclusions are bound to be tentative since most probably more evidence has been lost than preserved. What we do have, however, only partly confirms what Origen asserted about the total lack of knowledge about Abraham among the gentiles. As we have seen, he was certainly right as far as the practitioners of magical rites and exorcists are concerned (and that is probably what he primarily had in mind). In the magical texts, as we have seen, one does not find indications that they were acquainted with anything more than just the name of Abraham and sometimes even did not know whether it was the name of a human person or a deity. But in the case of the literary evidence, the picture is different. To be sure, there too we find some quite ‘wrong’ information: Abraham as king of Damascus, as father of twelve sons, etc. But we also find relatively well-informed statements, although hardly before the first centuries of the Common Era. It is a striking observation that, unlike in the case of Moses, by and large both the well-informed and the less well-informed authors held Abraham in high regard. Why were they more critical of Moses than of Abraham? Was it because, unlike Abraham, Moses was always seen as the lawgiver of the Jews and for that reason as the founder of the Jewish way of life that was so often derided and despised by the Greeks and Romans? This question certainly deserves closer investigation. As was to be expected, the opponents of Christianity, who had read (parts of) the Bible for polemical purposes, were better informed than most others (except the Alexander who is rightly called Polyhistor). In this respect the fact that the evidence from the greatest adversary of Christianity, Porphyry, is lost, is regrettable because he differed widely from both Celsus and Julian in that he had a remarkably positive view of Judaism56 (but perhaps he just did not have reason to mention Abraham). Be that as it may, the limited evidence we have allows us to say that there were some pagan authors who had a good knowledge of the biblical evidence, but it is a reasonable guess that this knowledge remained restricted to only a handful of pagan intellectuals.

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See my “Porphyry on Judaism,” elsewhere in this volume.

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The Provenance of 2Enoch 69–73 Jewish or Christian?

Contrary to what used to be the case a century or so ago, in our days almost everyone agrees that there is no compelling reason to separate the final chapters 69–73 of 2Enoch from the bulk of the book. It is no longer regarded as an appendix that was added by a later hand. As a consequence, the question of how the presence of two superhuman heavenly highpriests, Enoch (chs. 1–68) and Melchizedek (chs. 69–73), within one document can be justified, is sometimes answered by positing that they could “share the stage” because the continuity between the reverence shown for Enoch and Melchizedek is found in their shared roles as exalted priestly mediators. When almost everyone agrees that the book is a literary unity and that there is no valid reason to assume that chapters 69–73 are from a later, let alone a Christian, hand, it is hard to maintain a dissenting position. But, for the sake of the argument, let me play the devil’s advocate and try to defend a dissenting position (in which I do believe!). After 68 chapters which deal solely with Enoch, there follow five chapters dealing with Methusalem, Nir and Nir’s wife, Melchizedek, and Noah. Only chapters 71 and 72 deal with Melchizedek, that is 2 chapters over against 68 on Enoch (not exactly a sharing of the stage). These final chapters come after an elaborate description of Enoch’s second and definitive departure to heaven formulated in a way that is typical of a book ending not a chapter ending. After ch. 68 readers don’t expect anything to follow anymore. That chs. 69–73 sometimes refer back to events described in chs. 1–68 is no argument for unity, because anyone who wanted to add to or correct the contents of the book could easily create the impression of continuity by harking back to themes and events mentioned earlier in the book itself. But apart from these general considerations, there is more. The most recent translator and authoritative commentator of 2Enoch, Christfried Böttrich, says about the final chapters (and I now quote him in full): Die eindeutigsten Spuren christlicher Bearbeitung finden sich in 71, 32ff und 72, 6f. Beide Zusätze stammen offensichtlich von einer Hand und lassen das Interesse eines Redaktors an einer Melchisedek-Christus bzw. einer Adam-Christus Typologie erkennen. Dem Melchisedek des slav. Henochs, der eine völlig jenseitige Figur bleibt, wird nun der Priesterkönig von Salem zur Seite gestellt. Beide fungieren als personeller Angelpunkt zweier Priesterreihen, die offensichtlich für zwei heilsgeschichtliche © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004271111_011

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Epochen stehen und schliesslich in Christus ihre Erfüllung finden. Zwar wahrt der Redaktor die urzeitliche Perspektive des Buches und vermeidet sorgsam jeden Anachronismus – die jenem letzten beigefügten Attribute verraten seine christologische Absicht jedoch deutlich genug.1 I could not agree more, the more so when Böttrich adds that in ch. 73 the tradition of Christian Byzantine chronography has clearly left its traces and that “der Sprachgebrauch die Distanz zur jüdischen Tradition klar zum Ausdruck [bringt].”2 For that reason I very well understand why Annette Steudel in her article on Melchizedek in the Encyclopedia of Dead Sea Scrolls speaks about chs. 71–73 of 2Enoch as “a clear Christian interpolation.”3 Great, therefore, is the surprise when on the next page Böttrich states that there can be no doubt about the literary unity of the book as a whole and that chs. 69–73 certainly are an integral part of the whole work. “Vor allem lässt sich der immer wieder angesprochene christliche Charakter des Abschnittes nicht bestätigen.”4 This position (with which even Böttrich’s main opponent, Orlov, agrees)5 can only be maintained on the assumption that, once you have removed the Christian interpolations, what is left is the Jewish Grundschrift. But that is a deception. When I was working on my commentary on the Hellenistic synagogal prayers (the Seven Berakhot for Shabbat) that have been incorporated in a christianized form in the church order called Apostolic Constitutions, one of the greatest challenges was to separate the Christian additions from the Jewish Vorlage.6 Previous scholars optimistically said that the Christian interpolations were easily discernible (“through Jesus Christ our Saviour” being an obvious case) so that after deleting them you could be pretty sure that you got the Jewish text of the blessings as they were then current. But in 1985, the American scholar David Fiensy discovered that large parts of the text that was supposed to be that of the Jewish berakhot contained the syntactical peculiarities and the

1 Chr. Böttrich, Das slavische Henochbuch (JSHRZ V/7), Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1995, 804. 2 Ibid. 805. 3 A. Steudel, ‘Melchizedek,’ EDDS 1 (2000) 535–537, here 536. 4 Böttrich, Ibid. 806. 5 See, e.g., A.A. Orlov, ‘Melchizedek Legend of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch,’ in his From Apocalypticism to Merkabah Mysticism: Studies in the Slavonic Pseudepigrapha (JSJS 114), Leiden: Brill, 2007, 423–439. 6 See P.W. van der Horst and J.H. Newman, Early Early Jewish Prayers in Greek (CEJL), Berlin – New York: W. de Gruyter, 2008, 1–93.

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­ referred vocabulary of the compiler of the Christian church order.7 He deleted p all passages that conformed to that criterium and what was left was very little, only a handful of short phrases that demonstrably belonged to the Jewish Urtext of these blessings. In my own translation and commentary, I marked all passages that were undoubtedly Christian by using italics, all passages that were undoubtedly Jewish by using bold type, and all the rest by using normal type. ‘All the rest’ is: the more than 90 percent of the text of these prayers of which it is impossible to determine whether it is of Jewish or Christian provenance. This ‘rest’ shows no traces of Christian provenance, but that should not make us believe that it is Jewish material. In a recent book, James Davila has made it painfully clear that in antiquity there were indeed texts of which we know for sure that they were written by Christian authors but which do not show any traces of Christian belief even though they sound very biblical.8 We cannot take them to be Jewish because we know their authors so we are on safe ground here. But what to do in the case of 2Enoch? We are not in a position to check whether the syntactical peculiarities and preferred vocabulary of the author differ from that of the presumed interpolator because we have only a late translation in Slavonic. Is the style of the author of chs. 1–68 identical to that of chs. 69–73? We don’t know. Is the style of the blatantly Christian interpolations in chs. 69–73 different from the immediately surrounding text in these final chapters? We don’t know, because we don’t have the original text. When Böttrich argues that on the basis of all the textual evidence there can be no doubt that the Melchizedek story is an integral part of the book,9 it should have been added immediately that this verdict does apply to the late (Christian) Slavonic translation, but that it cannot automatically be assumed to apply to the supposed early Jewish original because we have no means of knowing how drastically the text may have been altered in the many intervening centuries. So what can we say? We cannot say that, although there certainly are Christian interpolations in the final chapters, the ‘non-Christian’ rest is Jewish. That would be too naïve after all that we have learnt in the past 7 D.A. Fiensy, Prayers Alleged to Be Jewish: An Examination of the Constitutiones Apostolorum (BJS 65), Chico: Scholars Press, 1985. 8 J.R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJS 105), Leiden: Brill, 2005, 75–119. 9 See his ‘The Melchizedek Story of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch,’ JSJ 32 (2001) 446–449; also his ‘Die vergessene Geburtsgeschichte: Mt 1–2 / Lk 1–2 und die wunderbare Geburt des Melchisedek in slHen 71–72,’ in H. Lichtenberger und G.S. Oegema (eds.), Jüdische Schriften in ihrem antik-jüdischen und urchristlichen Kontext (JSHRZ/St. 1), Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2002, 222–248, esp. 224–225.

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decades from the debates about the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, the Lives of the Prophets, the treatise Joseph and Aseneth, the Lives of Adam and Eve, the Hellenistic synagogal prayers, and so on. Moreover, nobody knows how to draw a sharp line between a Jewish text that has undergone a (slight or heavy) Christian reworking on the one hand and a Christian text that is based on Jewish motifs on the other.10 And this should admonish us to be modest in our claims. In his OTP translation and notes, Andersen, who does believe that the final chapters are an integral part of the book, nevertheless does not fail to note that the closest parallels to the story of the conception and birth of Melchizedek are found in the second-century Christian Protevangelium Jacobi.11 There Mary’s mother Anna is an old but childless married woman. Her husband Joachim is a priest. They live in isolation from each other and do not engage in sexual intercourse, and while Joachim is in the desert for 40 days to fast and pray, Anna becomes pregnant. When Joachim hears about this, it is all explained to him by an angel. The child that is miraculously born, Mary, is precocious; etc. All these strikingly close parallels to our Melchizedek story strongly suggest the possibility that this apocryphal gospel may have been the model for the chapters 71 and 72 of 2Enoch. The often heard objection that a Christian author could never have given Melchizedek parents since the NT Epistle to the Hebrews clearly states that he was ‘fatherless, motherless, without genealogy’ (7:3), is groundless. Apart from the fact that it is unwarranted to say that an early Christian (or Jew, for that matter) ‘could never have said or done’ this or that (how do we know?), the early Christian document usually dubbed The Story of Melchizedek (that we have in Greek, Coptic, Syriac, and Arabic ­versions) does precisely that: it mentions Melchizedek’s parents.12 I for one am not convinced that the final chapters of 2Enoch belonged to the original Jewish text. Quite apart from the vexing problem that we are at several removes from the supposed Jewish original in Greek or Hebrew because we have only late manuscripts of a late translation, there is the additional 10

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That 2Enoch 69–73 is based upon a wide variety of Jewish haggadic and halakhic motives is not to be denied, but that is a phenomenon that is even observable in the Gnostic Nag Hammadi treatise called Melchizedek (NHC IX 1). F.I. Andersen, ‘2 (Slavonic Apocalypsee of) Enoch,’ OTP 1.204–205. See Chr. Böttrich, Geschichte Melchisedeks (JSHRZ.NF II/1), Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2010; S.E. Robinson, ‘The Apocryphal Story of Melchizedek,’ JSJ 18 (1987) 26–39; also M. Poorthuis, ‘Enoch and Melchizedek in Judaism and Christianity: A Study in Intermediaries,’ in M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz (eds,), Saints and Role Models in Judaism and Christianity (JCP 7), Leiden: Brill, 2004, 117–119.

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problem that one cannot easily assume that a Jewish author could seriously consider the possibility that two highpriests could ‘share the stage’. Jewish highpriesthood always was an undivided function. Eternal highpriesthood in heaven – forget it if you want a part-time job for it is certainly not a task to be divided into two halftime jobs, or even two fulltime jobs. In none of the other Melchizedek documents does he have a competitor or colleague. So I venture to doubt whether the modern debate about the provenance of the final chapters of 2Enoch sufficiently takes these problematic aspects of the matter into consideration. Whether I am right in my criticism can perhaps only be judged by Enoch, or Melchizedek. Or both?

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Greek Philosophical Elements in Some Judaeo-Christian Prayers An intriguing set of ancient prayer texts is to be found in the 7th book of the Apostolic Constitutions (hereinafter: AC), a late-fourth-century church order, most probably compiled in Syrian Antioch in the 80s of that century.1 In AC 7:33–38 we find six prayers in Greek that are now generally regarded as christianized versions of six originally Jewish prayer texts, namely, the first six of the Seven Benedictions for the Sabbath morning service. The existence of these benedictions is attested already in the earliest rabbinic literature (Mishnah, Rosh ha-Shana 4.5; early third century ce)2 and they consist of the first three and the last three benedictions of the Shemoneh Esreh (the Eighteen [Benedictions]), also called the Tefillah (= the Prayer par excellence), plus a middle benediction for the sanctification of the day. So the first prayer (§33) corresponds to the first benediction of the Eighteen Benedictions, Avoth; the second prayer (§34) to the second benediction, Gevuroth; the third prayer (§35) to the third benediction, Qedushat ha-Shem; the fourth (§36) to the extra middle benediction for the sanctification of the day, Qedushat ha-Yom; the fifth (§37) to the seventeenth benediction, Avodah; the sixth (§38) to the eighteenth benediction, Hoda‌ʾah; the seventh prayer is lacking for unknown reasons. Scholars are unanimous that these now Christian prayers were originally the Jewish Seven Benedictions for the Sabbath and this conviction is based on the fact that not only every single one of these Greek prayers has some verbal correspondence with its Hebrew counterpart, but also that their order corresponds exactly. To give just one clear instance: the second prayer, in AC 7:34, ends with a clause in which God is called “the reviver of the dead” (ho zôopoios 1 The most recent and best critical edition of the AC is the one by M. Metzger, Les Constitutions Apostoliques, 3 vols. (Sources Chrétiennes 320, 329, 336), Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1985–1987. Vol. 3 contains the Greek text and French translation of book 7 into which the prayer texts under discussion here have been incorporated. The most recent commentary is by P.W. van der Horst & J.H. Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek (CEJL 6), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008, 1–93. A good study of the AC is E.M. Synek, “Dieses Gesetz ist gut, heilig, es zwingt nicht . . .” Zum Gesetzesbegriff der Apostolischen Konstitutionen, Vienna: Plöchl-Druck, 1997. 2 See P. Fiebig, Rosch ha-Schana (Die Mischna II/8), Giessen: Töpelmann, 1914, 101–102 with notes.

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tôn nekrôn) just as the corresponding Hebrew benediction (also the second one, Gevuroth) ends with praise of God as mechayyeh ha-metim (“the reviver of the dead”). As one scholar puts it, “The verbal similarities and equivalents would be striking enough if they appeared in isolated prayers. But, coming as they do in a prayer collection and appearing for the most part in their proper order, they constitute a convincing corpus of evidence to suggest that AC 7.33– 38 is a Greek version of the Hebrew Seven Benedictions.”3 It is unknown when the Greek translation and Christian revision of these benedictions was undertaken, but according to most scholars that must have taken place between 150 and 350 ce, most probably in the third century ce.4 There is no consensus, however, regarding the degree of christianization of these prayers: Some advocate a maximalist position and see the hand of the Christian compiler only in the few patently Christian passages (Kohler, Bousset, Goodenough); others advocate a minimalist position and believe that only a few scraps of the Jewish Grundschrift have been left unaltered by the Christian compiler (Fiensy); and again others steer a middle course (Van der Horst). Since for the purposes of this article it is not necessary to distinguish between the Jewish Vorlage and the Christian redaction, we will leave this problem at that.5 After all, in most of the cases to be discussed it is almost impossible to make this distinction. The aim of this contribution is to demonstrate how in some of these originally Jewish prayers, with all their biblical ideas and phraseology,6 we find quite a number of elements and concepts that have their origin in the Greek philosophical tradition. Since most of these philosophical elements are found in the second and third prayer (AC 7:34–35), we will mainly focus on these two texts and refer only occasionally to the other ones. We will also refrain from commenting on the non-philosophical parts of the prayer texts; for that the 3 D.A. Fiensy, Prayers Alleged to Be Jewish. An Examination of the Constitutiones Apostolorum (BJS 65), Chico: Scholars Press, 1985, 134. For earlier scholarship see K. Kohler, “The Origin and Composition of the Eighteen Benedictions with a Translation of the Corresponding Essene Prayers in the Apostolic Constitutions,” HUCA 1 (1924), 387–425; W. Bousset, “Eine jüdische Gebetssammlung im siebenten Buch der Apostolischen Konstitutionen,” in his Religionsgeschichtliche Studien (ed. A.F. Verheule), Leiden: Brill, 1979 (originally 1915), 231– 286; E.R. Goodenough, By Light, Light. The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935, 306–358. 4 For details about the dating see Van der Horst & Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek 21–27. 5 For details about these problems see Van der Horst & Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek 48–59. 6 See J.H. Newman, Praying by the Book: The Scripturalization of Prayer in Second Temple Judaism (SBLEJL 14), Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1999.

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interested reader may be referred to the recent commentary by the present author (see note 1).

AC 7:34

After the opening formula of address,7 the body of the prayer (§1–6) consists mainly of a praiseful listing of God’s acts of creation, patterned upon Genesis 1, but with deviations in the order of the acts8 and in a strongly hellenised form. §7 gives expression to the feeling of inadequacy to describe properly the greatness of God’s creation. The closing paragraph (§8) hints at the story of Adam and Eve’s disobedience in Genesis 3 but adds that instead of punishing them with eternal death God promised them resurrection and eternal life. It is in the paragraphs with praise of God’s creation that we find most of the Hellenistic philosophical motifs. In AC 7.34.5 we read: Thereafter the various kinds of animals were formed, those on dry land, those living in water, those traversing the air, and the amphibians; and the skillful wisdom of your providence imparts to each of them the corresponding provisions. For just as she was strong enough to produce different kinds (of animals), so too she did not neglect to make different provisions for each. This paragraph is a free rendering of Gen 1:20–25, but here with a special focus on God’s πρόνοια (the term occurs three times); note that where the translation speaks of “corresponding provisions” and “different provisions” for each animal, the Greek has κατάλληλος πρόνοια and διάφορος πρόνοια.9 This non-­biblical emphasis on providence in creation has its background in a Greek motif current since Plato (Prot. 320d–321e): each living being has received its own equipment (often called “weapon”) to defend itself. It is also used by Jewish authors such as, e.g., Philo (Somn. 1.103, 108) and especially Pseudo-Phocylides, Sent. 125–128:

7 This address is Jewish from the start but immediately christianized: “Blessed are you, O Lord, King of the ages, who made all things through Christ.” 8 On these see Bousset, Gebetssammlung 455–457. 9 On pronoia in Hellenistic and Roman philosophy see M. Dragona-Monachou, “Divine Providence in the Philosophy of the Empire,” ANRW II 36.7 (1994), 4417–4490.

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God allotted a weapon to each: he gave the capacity to fly to birds, speed to horses, strength to lions, self-growing horns to bulls, and stings to bees as their inborn means of defense, but reason10 to humans for protection.11 Whereas in Jewish and Christian writings it is usually God or his providence that has endowed humans and animals with their “weapons,” in Greek authors it is nature. See, for instance, the popular Platonist philosopher Maximus of Tyre, Or. 20.6: Just as nature gives different animals different forms of protection, adapted to the preservation of their own particular kind of life – strength to lions, speed to deer, hunting ability to dogs, the ability to swim to aquatic species, the power of flight to the inhabitants of the air, and lairs in the earth to reptiles – so too it has a gift for humans, though in other respects they lag behind all other creatures. They are physically the most feeble and the slowest runners, unable to fly, bad runners, and incapable of digging lairs. But what God [= nature] gave them, to balance out all the other creatures’ abilities, was reason (λόγος).12 That “the skillful wisdom of your [God’s] providence” is said to have accomplished all this may be seen as another way of saying, “You, o God, have done this in your skillful and wise providence,” but it should be noted that ever since Prov 8:22–31 the personified Wisdom of God was seen as an agent in creation; note that in the next paragraph God gives orders to Wisdom in the creation process (cf. Wis 9.2 “By your Wisdom you fashioned man;” 11Q5 26.14 “By his Wisdom he established the earth;” Genesis Rabba 1.1 [with a reference to Prov. 8]; Targum Neofiti on Gen 1:1 where “in the beginning” is rendered as “by Wisdom”).13 Moreover, the order given to Wisdom in the next paragraph (6) is in the form of a quotation of Gen 1:26 (“Let us make man”), which 10 11

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Or: speech, λόγος. For many more details see S.O. Dickermann, De argumentis quibusdam apud Xenophontem, Platonem, Aristotelem obviis e structura hominis et animalium petitis, diss. Halle, 1913, 48–73; A.S. Pease, M. Tulli Civeronis de natura deorum libri III, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1968, II 875–878; P.W. van der Horst, The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides (SVTP 4), Leiden: Brill, 1978, 199–201. Translation by M.B. Trapp, Maximus of Tyre: The Philosophical Orations, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997, 177–178. Cf. also Plutarch, De fortuna 3 (98C–E); Cicero, Nat. deor. 2.127. For further references see J.L. Kugel, Traditions of the Bible: The Bible As It Was at the Start of the Common Era, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1998, 44–45, 63.

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d­ emonstrates that in the ongoing debate on the plural form of the verb (“let us make”) in this verse among ancient Jews and Christians, our author has it refer to God and Wisdom.14

AC 7.34.6 As the goal of your creation you formed the rational living being, the world citizen, having given an order to your Wisdom by saying, “Let us make man according to our image and likeness” (Gen 1:26). You presented him as an ornament of the world, you shaped a body for him from the four bodies, you created for him a soul out of nothing, you bestowed upon him fivefold sense perception, but over the senses you placed the charioteer of the soul, the spirit.

“As the goal of your creation you formed the rational living being”: That humans are the goal (or end, τέλος, in the sense of “final work,” cf. Philo, Opif. 77) of creation, an “ornament of the world” (κόσμου κόσμος) – implying that everything in the cosmos has been created for the sake of humankind – is a common notion in pagan, Jewish, and Christian antiquity.15 That this human is also a rational living being (λογικὸν ζῷον)16 is a typically Greek philosophical concept, developed especially by the Stoics (see, e.g., SVF 3.95, 169) and taken over by hellenised Jews such as Philo (e.g., Leg. All. 2.75).17 “World citizen” (κοσμοπολίτης): That humans are citizens of the whole world is originally probably a Stoic idea (but see Diogenes the Cynic in Diog. Laert. 6.63),18 although the Greek term κοσμοπολίτης is scarcely found outside Philo and Christian writers depending 14 15

16 17

18

See A.F. Segal, Two Powers in Heaven: Early Rabbinic Reports about Christianity and Gnosticism (SJLA 25), Leiden: Brill, 1977, esp. 121–134. See the discussion of this motif in the chapter “Der Mensch als Telos der Schöpfung” in A. Kallis, Der Mensch im Kosmos: Das Weltbild Nemesios’ von Emesa (Münsterische Beiträge zur Theologie 43), Münster: Aschendorff, 1978, 81–90; D.T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria on the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses, Leiden: Brill, 2001, 248–249. Note that for “living being” the Greek has the same word as for “animal” in §5, zôion. See M. Pohlenz, Die Stoa. Geschichte einer geistigen Bewegung, 2 vols., Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1948–1949, 1.88, 2.52. On the Stoic background of some other elements in this prayer see also the remarks by P. Wendland, “Zwei angeblich christliche liturgische Gebete,” Nachrichten von der Königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Philologisch-historische Klasse aus dem Jahre 1910, Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1910, 330–334. Pohlenz, Die Stoa 1.137; 2.75.

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upon Philo; see his Opif. 3, 142.19 “You shaped a body for him from the four bodies”: The use of σώματα (bodies) in the sense of ‘elements’ is typically philosophical, see, e.g., Pseudo-Philolaus, fr. 44B12 D–K; Aetius, Placita 1.3.22 (p. 288 in Diels, Doxographi Graeci); Julian, Or. 4, 132c. ‘Element’ is a rather unusual meaning of the term σῶμα, but the author preferred it to the more common στοιχεῖον (used in the very same context in AC 8.12.17) because he indulges in wordplay here: κόσμου κόσμος . . . ἐκ σωμάτων σῶμα. The theory of the four elements (earth, water, air, and fire) has a Greek philosophical origin.20 The concept of four elements (or ‘roots’) as the constituent parts of all that exists was probably developed first by Empedocles, see frgs. 31B6, 17, and 18 D–K.21 “You created for him a soul out of nothing”: most probably a reference to both Gen 2:7 and the (Christian?) doctrine of creatio ex nihilo.22 In a typically Greek philosophical way the author “draws a contrast between the corporeal origin of the body and the incorporeal origin of the soul.”23 This we also find in Philo, e.g., Opif. 135: He [Moses] says that the sense-perceptible and individual human being has a structure which is composed of earthly substance and divine spirit, for the body came into being when the creator took clay and moulded a human shape out of it (Gen 2:7), whereas the soul obtained its origin

19 20 21

22

23

Runia, Philo of Alexandria on the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses 103. See F. Krafft, “Elementenlehre,” DNP 3 (1997) 978–980. See W.K.C. Guthrie, A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. 2, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965, 140–143; M.R. Wright, Empedocles: The Extant Fragments, London: Duckworth, 1995, 22–30. The idea of creatio ex nihilo is first found in Christian writers of the second century (Tatian, Theophilus); in Judaism it appears not before the Middle Ages. 2 Macc 7:28 cannot be taken to imply this doctrine; see J. Goldstein. II Maccabees (AB 41A), Garden City: Doubleday, 1983, 307–311; D. Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon (AB 43), Garden City: Doubleday, 1979, 38–39; W. Grosz, “Creatio ex nihilo,” RGG 2 (1999), 485–487 (lit.). But see now P. Schäfer, “ Bereshit bara elohim: Bereshit Rabba, Parashah 1, Reconsidered,” in A. Houtman, A. de Jong, M. Misset-van de Weg (eds.), Empsychoi Logoi: Religious Innovations in Antiquity. Studies in Honour of Pieter Willem van der Horst (AJEC 73), Leiden: Brill, 2008, 267–289. G.E. Sterling, ‘ “The Jewish Philosophy’: The Presence of Hellenistic Philosophy in Jewish Exegesis in the Second Temple Period,” in C. Bakhos (ed.), Ancient Judaism in its Hellenistic Context (JSJS 95), Leiden: Brill, 2005, 148 (131–153). Sterling rightly points out the parallels in Philo (Opif. 146, Decal. 31, Spec. 1.294) but takes our whole passage in AC to be of Jewish origin, which is very doubtful.

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from nothing which has come into existence at all but from the Father and Director of all things.24 Note that in both Philo and our prayer the soul is said to have been created out of nothing, stressing its incorporeality or immateriality. “You bestowed upon him fivefold sense perception” (αἴσθησιν πένταθλον): sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch. The idea of the five senses, too, has a Greek philosophical origin,25 but it was well-known to Jewish and Christian intellectuals as well; see, e.g., Test. Rub. 2.3–9; 2Enoch 30.9 (the five senses are mentioned again in our prayers in AC 7.38.4). “But over the senses you placed the charioteer of the soul, the spirit” (νοῦν τὸν τῆς ψυχῆς ἡνίοχον ταῖς αἰσθήσεσιν ἐπιστήσας): The image of the charioteer of the soul derives from a famous passage in Plato, Phaedrus 246a–b: Let [the soul] be likened to the union of powers in a team of winged steeds and their winged charioteer. Now all the gods’ steeds and all their charioteers are good, and of good stock, but with other beings this is not wholly so. With us men, in the first place, it is a pair of steeds that the charioteer controls; moreover one of them is noble and good, and of good stock, while the other has the opposite character, and his stock is opposite. Hence the task of our charioteer is difficult and troublesome. Philo, too, refers frequently to this Platonic image, e.g., in Sacr. 45, Agr. 72–73, Migr. 67, Leg. 1.73; 3.118, 128, 134, 136, and elsewhere. The idea here is that the rational part of the soul (ψυχή), namely the spirit (νοῦς), enables humankind to take control over the irrational parts, the senses and their perceptions, that might otherwise lead to sin.

AC 7.34.7 And besides all that, o Master (and) Lord, who can adequately describe the movement of the rain-producing clouds, the flash of lightning, the

24 25

Translation by Runia, Philo of Alexandria on the Creation of the Cosmos 82. Ibid. 326 on the philosophical background of the concept of an immaterial soul. D. Andriopoulos, Sense and Perception in Greek Philosophy, Athens: Library of Philosophy, 1975. A brief survey in S.A. Harvey, Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination, Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 2006, 100–105 with 278–282.

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clap of thunder, (all of them) for the production of appropriate food and a harmonious blending of the air. Here the Greek philosophical (or cosmological) element is the statement that all meteorological phenomena work together in order to produce “a harmonious blending of the air.” The expression κράσις ἀέρων παναρμόνιος has its scientific background in the idea that the air (= “climate” when in the plural)26 in which humans live is crucial not only to their physical but also to their spiritual and moral wellbeing. A balanced climate (Philo calls it εὐκρασία ἀέρων [a good climatological mix] in Virt. 154) is necessary in order to further that wellbeing. See, e.g., the highly influential (Pseudo-?)Hippocratic treatise On Airs, Waters, Places 12.3; Plato, Tim. 24c (“[the divinity] chose the spot of earth in which you were born because she saw that the happy temperament of the seasons in that land would produce the wisest of men”); Aristotle, Politica 7.7 (1327b); Pseudo-Aristotle, Probl. 14 (909a–910b); and compare Strabo’s remarks in Geogr. 2.5.14 and 6.4.1 (where κράσις ἀέρων occurs as well, just as in the present prayer).27 This ‘environmental theory’ was widely held in intellectual circles in antiquity (and long thereafter) and also influenced the author(s) of our prayer. The statement that God sees to it that there is a harmonious climate for his people to live in is, therefore, much more than just a meteorological remark, it is about God’s care for a good spiritual and moral state of mind. 1.

2.

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AC 7:35.1–2 Great are you, O Lord almighty, and great is your power, and of your understanding there is no measure. O Creator (and) Saviour, you who are rich in favours, patient and bestowing mercy, you do not withhold salvation from your creatures. For you are good by nature, yet you spare sinners and call them to repentance. For your warnings are full of compassion. How could we subsist if you were to demand us to be judged quickly, when after having experienced so much patience on your part we are scarcely able to free ourselves from our weakness? Your power is proclaimed by the heavens and your steadfastness by the earth, even though it is shaken because it is hanging upon nothing. The sea, that in its raging waves shepherds an innumerable company of living See LSJ s.v. 2, in fine. The best treatment of this ‘environmental theory’ to date is B. Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004, 55–109.

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beings, is bound by the sandy beach and trembles before your will, and therefore it compels all to cry out: “How great are your works, O Lord! You have made all things in wisdom. The earth is full of your creation (Ps 103[104]:24).” The prayer opens with praise of the Lord’s great power and goodness (§1). This power and glory are proclaimed by heaven and earth (§2), the angelic world (§3), and the people of Israel (§4). §5 summarizes the theme of nature’s and humankind’s recognition of God’s great power. Gratefulness is the only fitting answer to all that (§6). The next two paragraphs (§§7–8) again give examples of God’s unlimited power and greatness, §9 stresses his uniqueness, and §10 gives further praise. The structure of this prayer is a bit rambling, perhaps due to its interpolatory character. The identification with the Qedushah (i.e. the repetition of the now expanded third benediction of the Amidah in an antiphon between cantor and community) is based mainly upon its third position and the fact that in both texts we find the striking combination of quotes from Isa 6:3 and Ezek 3:12. 1.

“You are good by nature” (φύσει γὰρ ἀγαθὸς ὑπάρχεις): In §7 God’s goodness is called χρηστότης but the meaning is the same. God’s goodness is mentioned passim in the LXX and often in Jewish prayers (Dan 3:89 LXX; Ps. Sol. 5.2; Pr. Man. 11).28 That it is God’s very nature (φύσις) to be good is, however, a typically Greek idea. “A belief in the inherent goodness of god or the gods was widely shared by the Greek philosophers.”29 See, e.g., Plato, Resp. 379b1, Tim. 29e1–2.30 This idea was also adopted by Jewish and Christian philosophers such as Philo (e.g., Conf. 180–181), Clement of Alexandria (e.g., Strom. 5.1.4.2–4), and Origen (e.g., CC 5.12), although the

28

H. Löhr, Studien zum frühchristlichen und frühjüdischen Gebet: Untersuchungen zu 1 Clem. 59 bis 61 in seinem literarischen, historischen und theologischen Kontext (WUNT 160), Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2003, 236, has many more instances. See also Josephus, Ant. 11.144, with the comments in T. Jonquière, Prayer in Josephus (AJEC 70), Leiden: Brill, 2007, 188–191. J.H. Lesher, Xenophanes of Colophon. Fragments: A Text and Translation with a Commentary, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992, 84. See F. Solmsen, Plato’s Theology, Ithaca – New York: Cornell University Press, 1942, 68, 138– 139, 149–150. W.J. Verdenius, “Platons Gottesbegriff,” in La notion du divin d’Homère jusqu’à Platon (Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique 1), Genève: Fondation Hardt, 1954, 239–293. The best recent treatment of God’s essential goodness in Greek philosophy is M. Bordt, Platons Theologie, Freiburg & München: Verlag Karl Alber, 2006, 95–135.

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rabbis and other Jews retained the biblical idea that both good and evil come from God’s hand.31 The beginning of §2 presents the translator with a problem. Σοῦ τὸ κράτος ἀνήγγειλαν οἱ οὐρανοὶ καὶ ἡ γῆ κραδαινομένη τὴν ἀσφάλειαν ἐπ’ οὐδενὸς κρεμαμένη is problematic (as the medieval copyists already found; see Metzger’s apparatus criticus) in that the function of the accusative τὴν ἀσφάλειαν is unclear. Most scholars (see also the above translation) take it to depend upon ἀνήγγειλαν with γῆ as grammatical subject, but Fiensy takes it to be an accusativus respectus and then wonders whether “the earth is shaken with respect to security or does it hang upon nothing with respect to security?” (67 n. 3). He opts for the latter, but that is more forced than to take it as the object of “proclaimed,” though the problem remains that one expects a different word order in that case (κραδαινομένη after τὴν ἀσφάλειαν). I strongly suspect that κραδαινομένη is a corrupt doublet of κρεμανένη and should be deleted: “Your power is proclaimed by the heavens and your steadfastness by the earth, even though it is hanging upon nothing.” The idea that the earth is hanging upon nothing has a Greek cosmological background.32 See, e.g., Anaximander, fr. 12A11 D–K: “The earth stays aloft, not supported by anything but staying where it is because it is at the same distance from anything” (quoted by Hippolytus, Ref. 1.6.3). Anaximenes, fr. 13A7 D–K, says the earth is a flat body riding upon the air (quoted in Hippolytus, Ref. 1.7.4). Cf. also Plato, Phaedo 108e–109a; Aristotle, De caelo 294b13–21. The idea is that of a disk-shaped or drum-shaped earth held in place by free suspension in the air.33

This survey is brief and far from exhaustive, but hopefully it suffices to give the reader an impression of what kind of philosophical themes play a role in these prayer texts. The fact that several originally Greek philosophical notions are found in these prayers does not prove in itself that the compiler(s) of the 31

32 33

See H.-J. Becker, “Einheit und Namen Gottes im rabbinischen Judentum,” in R.G. Kratz & H. Spieckermann (eds.), Götterbilder, Gottesbilder, Weltbilder, Band II: Griechenland und Rom, Judentum, Christentum und Islam (FAT II/18), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 153– 187, esp. 175–178. On the way philosophically educated Jews and Christians tried to cope with the biblical notion of God’s anger see my “Philo and the Problem of God’s Emotions,” elsewhere in this volume. See M.R. Wright, Cosmology in Antiquity, London – New York: Routledge, 1995, 39–41. It should be borne in mind that in antiquity cosmology was part of philosophy. The biblical idea is more that of a round disk floating upon a vast extent of water or standing upon pillars; see R.A. Oden, “Cosmogony, Cosmology,” ABD 1 (1992), 1162–1171, esp. 1167–1168.

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­ resent texts had read the works of Presocratics, Plato, the Stoics and the like. p That seems unlikely in view of the fact that here the influence of philosophical ideas is too general and superficial to make that probable. Rather we may assume that the compilers and/or redactors of these prayers had access to doxographical treatises in which the teachings of the great philosophers and their followers were summarized, often in a simplified form. This doxographic literature was the source of philosophical knowledge for many educated Greeks and Hellenized non-Greeks in late antiquity.34 A good example of such a ‘schoolbook’ from roughly the time of the Christian redactor of the prayers in AC is Sallustius’ Concerning the Gods and the Universe.35 But more generally it was the so-called Placita (δόξαι) literature that was the source of the more popular knowledge of philosophical topics. If the philosophical elements in our prayers are part of the Christian redaction, we need not be surprised about that, since it is well-known that from the second century ce onwards there had been a strong current of Christian theology in which Greek philosophy, especially Platonism, determined the shape of both the exegetical and the dogmatic discourse (Justin, Clement of Alexandria, Origen etc.).36 But also if the philosophical elements would belong to the Jewish Urform of the prayers, we should keep in mind that in Judaism as well there had been a venerable tradition in which Jewish theologians had tried to create a cultural synthesis between their Jewish faith and Greek philosophy. Of course, Aristobulus and Philo are the first names to spring to mind.37 To be true, we have no information about Jewish intellectuals in the centuries after Philo who were well-versed in ancient philosophy, but it would be unwarranted to assume that Philo was the last Jew with this kind of interest. One can only say that the rabbis, who became gradually more and more dominant in the centuries after Philo, were not interested in preserving Jewish writings in Greek. Note that Philo’s works were only handed down in Christian circles. The same applies to the prayers in AC: the rabbis would certainly not have been interested to see these originally Hebrew prayers in a ‘modernized’ Greek dress. It is only the fact that they were incorporated in a Christian church order that saved them for posterity. 34 35 36 37

See D.T. Runia, “Doxographie,” DNP 3 (1997), 803–806; also J. Mansfeld, “Doxography and Dialectic: The Sitz im Leben of the ‘Placita’,” ANRW II 36/4 (1990), 3057–3229. See A.D. Nock, Sallustius: Concerning the Gods and the Universe, Hildesheim: Olms, 1966 (orig. 1926). On these three theologians see H. Chadwick, Early Christian Thought and the Classical Tradition. Studies in Justin, Clement, and Origen, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966. See Sterling, “The Jewish Philosophy” 131–153.

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Mystical Motifs in a Greek Synagogal Prayer? Introduction The work called Apostolic Constitutions (henceforth: AC) is a late-fourth-century church order, most probably compiled in Syrian Antioch in the 380s.1 Its eight books deal with a wide variety of subjects: Christian behaviour, ecclesiastical hierarchy, widows, orphans, martyrs, schisms, the eucharist, prayers, ordinations, discipline, etc. It has long been recognized that many of the prayer texts in books 7 and 8 have Jewish precedents and that several of these prayers even have a Jewish Vorlage. There is a consensus nowadays that the six prayers in AC 7.33–38 are christianized versions of the first six of the Seven Berakhot for Shabbat.2 There is no consensus, however, regarding the degree of christianization of these prayers: Some advocate a maximalist position and see the hand of the Christian compiler only in the patently Christian passages (Kohler, Bousset, Goodenough); others advocate a minimalist position and believe that only a few scraps of the Jewish original Grundschrift have been left unaltered (Fiensy); and again others steer a middle course (Van der Horst). But apart from that point of disagreement, all scholars agree about the existence of a Jewish Vorlage for these six prayers and they have good reasons to do so. Every single prayer text in AC 7 has at least one verbal parallel to one of the Hebrew Seven Benedictions for Shabbat. To give just one clear instance: the second prayer, in AC 7.34, ends with a clause in which God is called “the reviver of the dead” (ho zôopoios tôn nekrôn) just as the corresponding Hebrew berakhah (also the 1 The most recent and best critical edition is the one by M. Metzger, Les Constitutions Apostoliques, 3 vols., Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1985–1987. Vol. 3 contains the text and French translation of book 7 into which the prayer texts under discussion here have been incorporated. 2 K. Kohler, “The Origin and Composition of the Eighteen Benedictions with a Translation of the Corresponding Essene Prayers in the Apostolic Constitutions,” HUCA 1 (1924): 387– 425; W. Bousset, “Eine jüdische Gebetssammlung im siebenten Buch der Apostolischen Konstitutionen,” in his Religionsgeschichtliche Studien, (ed. A.F. Verheule), Leiden: Brill, 1979 (originally 1915), 231–286; E.R. Goodenough, By Light, Light. The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935, 306–358; D.A. Fiensy, Prayers Alleged to Be Jewish. An Examination of the Constitutiones Apostolorum (BJS 65), Chico: Scholars Press, 1985; P.W. van der Horst & J.H. Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek (CEJL), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008, 1–93.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004271111_013

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second, Gevuroth) ends with God as mechayyeh ha-metim. As Fiensy rightly puts it, “These verbal similarities and equivalents would be striking enough if they appeared in isolated prayers. But, coming as they do in a prayer collection, and appearing for the most part in their proper order, they constitute a convincing corpus of evidence to suggest that AC 7.33–38 is a Greek version of the Hebrew Seven Benedictions.”3 It is unknown when the Greek translation and reworking of these berakhot was undertaken, but that must have taken place between 150 and 350 ce, most probably in the third century ce.4 The third prayer in this collection (AC 7.35) stresses God’s holiness and his being praised by holy ones in the Trisagion, Israel’s liturgical union with these holy ones, God’s kingship, and it also has the characteristic combination of quotes from Isa. 6:3 and Ezek. 3:12. These elements qualify it as the Greek parallel to the third berakhah of the Seven Benedictions, Qedushah. As we shall see, the Greek form displays several elements that occur also in liturgical texts from Qumran and in Hekhalot treatises. In this contribution, I will first present the entire text of the prayer in AC 7.35 in my own translation. In this translation, the patently Christian elements are italicized, the phrases that arguably belong to the Jewish source are in bold type, and what remains in regular type is the category of dubia.5 In the then following explanatory notes I will refrain from discussing at length the problems of how to disentangle the Jewish Grundschrift from its Christian redaction and I will focus mainly on §§3–4 because these paragraphs form the most important section for our purposes. It will be shown that here we have an originally Jewish text in which, even after its Christian reworking, several ideas and elements in the phraseology stand in a tradition that dates back to the Second Temple period and later resurfaces in Jewish mystical treatises from late antiquity.

Translation of AC 7.35 (1) Great are you, O Lord almighty, and great is your power, and of your understanding there is no measure.6 O Creator (and) Saviour, you who

3 Prayers 134. 4 For details about the dating see van der Horst & Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek 21–27. 5 For the arguments underlying these distinctions the reader is referred to my elaborate commentary in Early Jewish Prayers in Greek. 6 Cf. Ps 146[147]:5.

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are rich in favours, patient and bestowing mercy, you do not withhold salvation from your creatures. For you are good by nature,7 yet you spare sinners and call them to repentance. For your warnings are full of compassion. How could we subsist if you were to demand us to be judged quickly, when after having experienced so much patience on your part we are scarcely able to free ourselves from our weakness? (2) Your power is proclaimed by the heavens and your steadfastness by the earth, even though it is shaken because it is hanging upon nothing.8 The sea, that in its raging waves shepherds an innumerable company of living beings, is bound by the sandy beach and trembles before your will, and therefore it compels all to cry out: “How great are your works, O Lord! You have made all things in wisdom. The earth is full of your creation (Ps 103[104]:24).” (3) A fiery army of angels and intellectual spirits say: “Only One is holy to Phelmouni” [or: ‘. . . say to Phelmouni: “Only one is holy” ’] (Dan 8:13), and the holy seraphim, who together with the six-winged cherubim sing for you the song of victory, cry out with never-silent voices: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Sabaoth, heaven and earth are full of your glory! (Isa 6:3).” And the multitudes of the other orders – angels, archangels, thrones, dominions, principalities, authorities, and powers – say with a loud voice: “Blessed be the glory of the Lord from his place (Ezek 3:12).” (4) Israel, your earthly assembly (that was taken) out of the nations, emulates the powers in heaven day and night when it sings with an overflowing heart and a willing soul: “The chariot of the Lord is ten thousand-fold thousands of thriving ones; the Lord is among them at Sinai, at the holy place (Ps 67[68]:18).” (5) Heaven knows the one who fixed it upon nothing, in the form of a vault, like a cube of stone,9 the one who united earth and water with one another, the one who poured out the air that nourishes living beings, and conjoined fire with it for warmth and comfort in darkness. One is struck by the choir of stars that points to the one who counted them10 and shows the one who named them, as do the living beings to the one who 7

8 9 10

The inherent goodness of God’s very nature is not a biblical but a Greek philosophical idea (see the chapter “Greek Philosophical Elements in Some Judaeo-Christian Prayers” elsewhere, in this volume). The idea that the earth is hanging upon nothing has a Greek cosmological background (see the chapter on “Greek Philosophical Elements”). See Isa 40:22 and Job 38:38 LXX. Cf. Ps 146[147]:4.

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gave them life and trees to the one who makes them grow. All these things which have been made by your word manifest the strength of your power. (6) For that reason every human being should send up from the bottom of his heart a hymn (of thanks) for all that to you through Christ, since it is thanks to you that he has power over all things.11 (7) For you demonstrate your goodness by your benefactions, and your generosity by your deeds of compassion, you the only almighty one. For when you want to do something, the ability to do it is yours. For your eternal might cools flames, muzzles lions, tames sea monsters, raises up those who are sick, overturns powers, and overthrows an army of enemies and a people that is counted among the arrogant.12 (8) You are the one who is in heaven, the one who is on the earth, the one who is in the sea, the one who, though being in finite areas, is himself infinite.13 “For there is no limit to your greatness (Ps 144[145]:3).” For this oracle is not ours, Master, but your servant’s, who says: “And you will know in your heart that the Lord your God is a God in heaven above and upon earth below, and there is no other beside him (Deut 4:39).” (9) For there is no God except you alone,14 no holy one except you, Lord, the God of knowledge,15 the God of the holy ones, the Holy One above all holy ones. “For the holy ones are under your hands (Deut 33:3).” (You are) glorious and highly exalted, invisible by nature, and inscrutable in judgements. Your life is in want of nothing; your continuity is unchangeable and unfailing; your activity is untiring; your greatness is unlimited; your beauty is everlasting; your habitation is inaccessible; your dwelling place is immovable; your knowledge is without beginning; your truth is unchangeable; your work is unmediated; your power is unassailable; your monarchy is not in need of a successor; your kingdom is without end; your strength is irresistible; your army is great in numbers. (10) For you are the Father of Wisdom, the one who as a cause founded the creation through a mediator, the supplier of providence, the giver of laws, the fulfiller of needs, the avenger of the ungodly and the rewarder of the righteous, the God and Father of Christ and the Lord of those who are pious towards him, whose promise is reliable, who is incorruptible in his judgement, whose opinion is immutable, whose loyalty is unceasing, whose 11 12 13 14 15

Cf. Gen 1:28. For the various motifs in this line cf. Dan 3 and 6; Jon 2; 2 Kings 5 and 19. Again a typically Greek concept. Echoes of Isa 45 etc. 1 Sam 2:3 LXX.

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gratitude is eternal, through whom every rational and holy creature owes you worship worthy of you.

Comments on §3

In this paragraph God’s holiness is emphasized as in the Qedushah. ‘The fiery army of angels and the intellectual spirits say: “Only One is holy for Phelmouni” ’ (καὶ στρατὸς ἀγγέλων φλεγόμενος καὶ πνεύματα νοερὰ λέγουσιν· Εἷς ἅγιος τῷ Φελμουνι). Other translations have: ‘(. . .) the intellectual spirits say to Phelmouni: Only one is holy.’ The Greek is a quote from Dan 8:13, where the visionary sees angels (‘holy ones’) and hears “a holy one speaking and another holy one answering a certain one,” where the Theodotion version has the words quoted here, εἷς ἅγιος τῷ Φελμουνι = ‘one holy one (said) to Phelmouni.’ The Greek translators (both Theodotion, Aquila and LXX)16 seem not to have understood the Hebrew palmoni, ‘a certain one’ and hence transliterated it. Be that as it may, both in the Hebrew and in the Greek biblical text ­palmoni/Phelmouni is the one addressed, but in the context of our prayer that is probably no longer the case, since the word order seems to militate against it: λέγουσιν “εἷς ἅγιος” τῷ Φελμουνι would be very odd Greek. However, the alternative is also problematic for it is hard to discover what the composer of the prayer could have meant by “Only One is holy to Phelmouni.” The whole phrase is probably to be attributed to the compiler, since in other passages where he inserts quotes from Daniel, he uses the Theodotion version as well.17 The angels are here called a ‘fiery army’ (στρατὸς . . . φλεγόμενος) because angels were often thought to have a body of fire (on the basis of Ps 103[104]:4 ὁ ποιῶν τοὺς ἀγγέλους αὐτοῦ πνεύματα καὶ τοὺς λειτουργοὺς αὐτοῦ̈ πῦρ φλέγον).18 ‘The holy seraphim, who together with the six-winged cherubim sing for you the song of victory, cry out with never-silent voices: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Sabaoth, heaven and earth are full of your glory!” ’ (ἅγιος, ἅγιος, ἅγιος Κύριος Σαβαώθ, πλήρης ὁ οὐρανὸς καὶ ἡ γῆ τῆς δόξης σου). Apart from some minor elements, the passage does not show traces of the compiler’s vocabulary and hence most probably was in the source. The words ‘the song of victory’ (τὴν ἐπινίκιον ᾠδήν) do appear in other early Christian liturgies as well and may 16 17 18

See J. Reider & N. Turner, An Index to Aquila, Leiden: Brill, 1966, 249. Fiensy, Prayers 177, gives references. For a discussion of this motif see S.M. Olyan, A Thousand Thousands Served Him: Exegesis and the Naming of Angels in Ancient Judaism (TSAJ 36), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1993, 29, 71–73.

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have replaced another expression in the source. That seraphim and cherubim are mentioned here in combination has to do with the fact that seraphim are mentioned in Isaiah 6 as the six-winged angels who sing the Trisagion that is quoted here and that the angels who are mentioned in the context of Ezek 3:12, quoted immediately hereafter, are identified as cherubim in Ezekiel 10 (the same combination occurs in 2Enoch 21.1). The quote of Isa 6:3 is not exact, for the Hebrew and also the Greek versions of the biblical text have only ‘the earth is full of your glory’ (not: heaven and earth), but most early Christian liturgies have the formula with ‘heaven and earth are full of your glory.’19 So ‘heaven and’ may also be an addition by the compiler.20 The various versions of the Qedushah (known as the Qedushah de-Amidah, the Qedushah de-Yotser, and the Qedushah de-Sidra)21 always follow the biblical text, so the ­probability 19

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See on this change E. Werner, The Sacred Bridge: The Interdependence of Liturgy and Music in Synagogue and Church during the First Millennium, London: Dennis Dobson – New York: Columbia University Press, 1959, 282–287. At p. 285 Werner asserts that the Targum on Isaiah demonstrates that the reading ‘heaven and earth’ has a Jewish origin, but this reading is not found in any edition of Targ. Isa. What he probably means is that the Thrice Holy is diversified in the Targum as holy in heaven, holy on earth, and holy in eternity (‘And one would receive from the other, saying “Holy in the high heavens, the place of his residence, holy on earth, the work of His might, holy in eternity! The Lord of Hosts! The splendor of His glory fills all the earth!” ’), but that is not the same as the formula “heaven and earth are full of his glory.” On the many variant forms in which Isa. 6:3 is quoted see also J.H. Newman, “ ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’: The Use of Isaiah 6.3 in Apostolic Constitutions 7.35.1–10 and 8.12.6–27,” in C. A. Evans (ed.), Of Scribes and Sages: Early Jewish Interpretation and Transmission of Scripture, vol. 2 (LSTS 51), London – New York: T. & T. Clark International, 2004, 123–134; A. Baumstark, “Trishagion und Qeduscha,” Jahrbuch für Liturgiewissenschaft 3 (1923): 18–32; I. Gruenwald, “Angelic Songs, the Qedushah and the Problem of the Origins of the Hekhalot Literature,” in his From Apocalypticism to Gnosticism, Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1988, 145–173. Note that Isa 6:3 is also quoted partially in the angelic song in Rev 4:8. In the formulation in 1 Clem. 34:6 πλήρης πᾶσα ἡ κτίσις τῆς δόξης αὐτοῦ the words ‘the entire creation’ could be taken to be the equivalent of ‘heaven and earth.’ For further discussion see A. Baumstark, “Trishagion und Qeduscha”; Newman, “Holy, Holy, Holy”; also D. Flusser, “Sanktus und Gloria,” in O. Betz a.o. (eds.), Abraham unser Vater: Juden und Christen im Gespräch über die Bibel. Festschrift für Otto Michel, Leiden: Brill, 1963, 129–152. esp. 131–132. See also W.C. van Unnik, “1 Clement 34 and the ‘Sanctus,’ ” in his Sparsa Collecta, vol. 3, Leiden: Brill, 1983, 326–361; B.D. Spinks, The Sanctus in the Eucharistic Prayer, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, 25–54; L.I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years, New Haven-London: Yale University Press, 2000, 540–544. On these three forms of the Qedushah see Spinks, Sanctus 39–45; I. Elbogen, Der jüdische Gottesdienst in seiner geschichtlichen Entwicklung, Hildesheim: Olms, 1967 (= 1931, 3. Aufl.), 61–67; E. Werner, “The Doxology in Synagogue and Church,” in J.J. Petuchowski (ed.),

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that the compiler added the words familiar to him from his own Christian liturgical tradition seems to be great.22 Some scholars, however, argue that the formula ‘heaven and earth’ in quotations of Isa 6:3 occurs in early Jewish sources as well, e.g., Test. Isaac 6:5, 24; 2Enoch 21:1.23 These documents were preserved in Christian circles, however, and may thus have been altered so as to make them conform to Christian liturgical usage. Yet it can certainly not be excluded that the formula ‘heaven and earth’ does derive from a Jewish source since one of the Hodayot from Qumran clearly alludes to Isa 6:3 with the words, ‘Your holy spirit (. . .) the fullness of heaven and earth (. . .) your glory, the fullness of . . .’ (1QH VIII 12 [formerly XVI 3]). Moreover, both the (admittedly later) Old-Slavonic and the Hebrew versions of the Prayer of Jacob have ‘heaven and earth’ in their quote of the Trisagion as does the longer recension of 2Enoch 21:1.24 On balance the overall situation remains too uncertain, however, to justify printing the words ‘heaven and’ in bold type as having belonged

22

23

24

Contributions to the Scientific Study of Jewish Liturgy, New York: Ktav, 1970, 318–370, esp. 334–349; M. Nulman, The Encyclopedia of Jewish Prayer, North Vale: Jason Aronson, 1996, 188–191; R. Elior, “From Earthly Temple to Heavenly Shrine: Prayer and Sacred Song in the Hekhalot Literature and its Relation to Temple Traditions,” JSQ 4 (1997): 217–267, here esp. 233–234 n. 36, 255 n. 73. Contra Fiensy, Prayers 178, who appeals to Flusser for his position, but Flusser, “Sanktus und Gloria” 132 n. 2, says about AC 7.35: “[D]a das ganze Gebet christlich überarbeitet ist, könnte natürlich das Trishagion an den christlichen Ritus angeglichen sein.” In the same note Flusser tentatively suggests that perhaps originally ‘heaven and’ figured in the Qedushah but that the text was later corrected towards the biblical wording. That must remain speculation. See also H. Lietzmann, Mass and the Lord’s Supper: A Study in the History of Liturgy, Leiden: Brill, 1979, 674. See Chr. Böttrich, “Das ‘Sanctus’ in der Liturgie der hellenistischen Synagoge,” Jahrbuch für Liturgik und Hymnologie 35 (1994/95): 10–36 (with the criticism by H. Löhr, Studien zum frühchristlichen und frühjüdischen Gebet: Untersuchungen zu 1 Clem59 bis 61 in seinem literarischen, historischen und theologischen Kontext (WUNT 160), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003, 383 n. 96). See R. Leicht, “Qedushah and Prayer to Helios: A New Hebrew Version of an Apocryphal Prayer of Jacob,” JSQ 6 (1999): 140–176, esp. 151 and 175. The Slavonic Text is to be found in the second chapter of the Ladder of Jacob; see H.G. Lunt, “Ladder of Jacob,” OTP 2:401–411, here 408; the Hebrew version was first published in P. Schäfer & Sh. Shaked, Magische Texte aus der Kairoer Geniza, vol. 2 (TSAJ 64), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997, 27–78. It is also to be kept in mind that the expression ‘God of heaven and earth’ occurs already in Gen 24:3 and Ezra 5:11, and that the designation “God who created heaven and earth” occurs passim; see N.C. Habel, “Yahweh, Maker of Heaven and Earth,” JBL 91 (1972): 321– 337. Note also Jer 23:24 “Do I not fill heaven and earth?, says the Lord.” For other ways of quoting Isa 6:3 in free and inexact forms in ancient Jewish documents see Böttrich, “Sanctus” 29–32.

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to the Jewish source. Another difference with Isa 6:3 is that the biblical text describes the praise of God by angels in the third person (‘his glory’),25 whereas here it has become a direct address of God in the second person (‘your glory’), a trait more often seen in Christian versions of the Trisagion.26 ‘And the multitudes of the other orders – angels, archangels, thrones, dominions, principalities, authorities, and powers – say with a loud voice: “Blessed be the glory of the Lord from his place” (Ezek 3:12 εὐλογημένη ἡ δόξα Κυρίου ἐκ τοῦ τόπου αὐτοῦ).’27 It is precisely this combination of quotes from Isa 6:3 and Ezek 3:12 (and their distribution over two different groups of angels) that is the characteristic core of the Qedushah and is to be found as early as the Tosefta treatise Ber. 1.9 and also in later Hekhalot treatises such as 3Enoch (Sefer Hekhalot) §2, Hekhalot Rabbati §197, and Maʿaseh Merkavah §555.28 Even though this is now generally regarded as a proof of the origin of this prayer as a form of the Qedushah, it should be noticed, however, that in the same period that the AC were compiled, the Antiochene Church Father John Chrysostom quoted this very same combination of biblical verses in his first sermon against Christian judaizers (Adv. Jud. 1.1 [without ‘heaven and’]). This observation cannot fail to make the communis opinio somewhat less certain. It is counterbalanced, however, by the striking fact that, whereas the biblical text of Ezek 3:12 does not explicitly state that it is the angelic beings who recite the blessing, this is made explicit in the Targum to this verse (by adding we’amerin), exactly as is done here in our text (λέγουσιν). 25 26

27

28

Thus also in the prayer in AC 8.12.27. The two recensions of 2 Enoch 21.1 also vary between ‘your glory’ and ‘his glory’ (see Böttrich, “Sanctus” 19). See Böttrich, “Sanctus” 12; Newman, “Holy, Holy, Holy” 124. This feature, however, is also paralleled in the Hebrew and Slavonic versions of the Prayer of Jacob; see Leicht, “Qedushah” 175. On the question of whether or not the reading with barukh (blessed) is a scribal mistake for berum (on high) see D.J. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot. Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision (TSAJ 16), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988, 44–45. See E.G. Chazon, “Human and Angelic Prayer in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in E.G. Chazon (ed.), Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 48), Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2003, 42–43. Cf. also her “The Qedushah Liturgy and Its History in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in J. Tabory (ed.), From Qumran to Cairo: Studies in the History of Prayer, Jerusalem: Orhot, 1999, 7–17. On the antiquity of this combination see also the discussions by D.K. Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers in the Dead Sea Scrolls (STDJ 27), Leiden: Brill, 1998, 138–146, and Spinks, Sanctus 53–54. For its occurrence in Hekhalot literature see, e.g., M.D. Swartz, Mystical Prayer in Ancient Judaism. An Analysis of Maʿaseh Merkavah (TSAJ 28), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1992, 129 (on Maʿas. Merk. §555–556), and my book Het boek der hemelse paleizen (3 Henoch), Kampen: Kok, 1999, 37 with n. 16 (on Sefer Hekhalot 2).

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Lists of angelic powers are to be found in both early Jewish and Christian sources (e.g., 1 Enoch 61.10, 71.7–9; Test. Adam 4; 1 Ptr 3:22),29 so the phenomenon in itself does not point in a certain direction, but the sequence of θρόνοι, κυριότητες, ἀρχαί and ἐξουσίαι seems to be too much of a quote of or allusion to Col 1:16 to go unsuspected. Since ‘archangels’ further appears only in the compiler’s material, we may conclude that the whole list is his work.30 Fiensy’s attempt to save ‘angels’ and ‘powers’ is not convincing since after ‘the multitudes of other orders’ it would be futile to name only two. Bousset, too, thinks the list of angelic powers may may derive from the Jewish source (with reference to 1Enoch 61.10) and suggests that Col 1:16 may draw upon such a list, but that is not convincing.31 The concept of an angelic liturgy has ancient roots and is attested in many early Jewish sources, especially in a wide variety of apocalyptic and mystical documents (2Enoch 8.8, 17.1, 20.3; 4QShirot ʿOlat ha-­Shabbat; 11Q5 xxvi [Hymn to the Creator]; and passim in the Hekhalot literature).32

Comments on §4

This whole paragraph derives from the Jewish source, apart from the phrase ‘with an overflowing heart and a willing soul’ (καρδίᾳ πλήρει καὶ ψυχῇ θελούσῃ) which “looks like a stock phrase since it appears in AC 8.6.12 and 8.16.5” (Fiensy 178).33 The formula ἐκκλησία ἡ ἐξ ἐθνῶν may look like a Christian formula at first sight, but it may also be an expression for God’s having chosen Israel from among the nations (cf. bachar banu mikkol haʿammim); the expression remains of doubtful provenance, however. The epithet ‘earthly’ (ἐπίγειος) is added here in order to stress that the people of Israel forms the earthly counterpart of the heavenly powers (= the angelic orders) in their common liturgy which is conducted in unison by angels above and the people of Israel below. Ἁμιλλωμένη usually means ‘competing, emulating,’ but here it indicates that Israel strives to join in and keep in harmony with the angelic choirs in their heavenly liturgy.34 This motif of the coordination of heavenly and earthly 29 30 31 32

33 34

See Fiensy, Prayers 69 n. 9, for other references. Moreover, ‘angels’ is text-critically uncertain. Gebetssammlung 437. Fiensy, Prayers 69 n.10, gives more references (but not all of them relevant). See now especially R. Elior, The Three Temples: On the Emergence of Jewish Mysticism, Oxford – Portland: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2005, 165–200, 232–265. But cf. already 2 Macc 1:3 καρδίᾳ μεγάλῃ καὶ ψυχῇ βουλομένῃ. For the variant forms of joint human-angelic liturgy see Chazon, “Human and Angelic Prayer in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls” 34–47 (there older literature).

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l­iturgy, of the united praise between the earthly and heavenly communities, is well-known in the early history of Jewish worship. It occurs already in the Qumran Hodayoth and in 4QShirot ʿOlat ha-Shabbat.35 See, e.g., 1QH 11.21–23 “He [a purified human being] can take a place with the host of the holy ones [= angels] and can enter in communion with the congregation of the sons of heaven [= angels]. You cast eternal destiny for man with the spirits of knowledge [= angels], so that he praises your name in the community of jubilation.” From the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, e.g., 4Q400 2 1–7 “. . . to praise your glory wondrously with the gods of knowledge [= angels] and the praiseworthiness of your kingship with the holiest of the holy ones [= angels].”36 Cf. also 4Q401 frg. 14 and 4Q503 frgs. 7–9, 11, 15, 30. The motif occurs in rabbinic literature as well, e.g., b. Hullin 91b: “The ministering angels do not begin to sing praises in heaven until Israel sings below on earth.”37 It is moreover a recurring theme in the later mystical Hekhalot literature;38 see, e.g., Hekhalot Rabbati §101: “Within the 185000 parasangs no creature can approach that place, because of the 35

36 37

38

See C. Newsom, The Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1985; now also her new edition in DJD XI: Qumran Cave 4: VI, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998, 173–401; L.H. Schiffman, “Merkavah Speculation at Qumran: The 4Q Serekh Shirot Olat ha-Shabbat,” in J. Reinharz and D. Swetschinski (eds.), Mystics, Philosophers, and Politicians: Essays in Jewish Intellectual History in Honor of Alexander Altmann, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1982, 15–47; Chazon, “Human and Angelic Prayer” 43–45; Chazon, “The Qedushah Liturgy” 10–11; also P. Schäfer, Rivalität zwischen Engeln und Menschen: Untersuchungen zur rabbinischen Engelvorstellung (SJ 8), Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1975, 36–40; Schäfer, “Communion with the Angels: Qumran and the Origins of Jewish Mysticism,” in P. Schäfer (ed.), Wege mystischer Gotteserfahrung – Mystical Approaches to God, München: Oldenbourg Verlag, 2006, 37–66. For the debate on whether or not the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice are mystical songs see also E. Hamacher, ‘Die Sabbatopferlieder im Streit um Ursprung und Anfänge der jüdischen Mystik,’ JSJ 27 (1996) 119–154. The best recent introduction and survey is Ph. S. Alexander, The Mystical Texts (Companions to the Qumran Scrolls 7), London & New York: Clark, 2006, esp. 13–73. Translation by F. García Martínez & E.J.C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition, 2 vols., Leiden: Brill, 1997–1998, 1.167 and 2.809f. By quoting this passage from the Talmud I do not imply that I see the rabbis as a conduit between the people of the Dead Sea scrolls and the Hekhalot mystics. I agree with Halperin and Elior that they were not. See Elior, “From Earthly Temple to Heavenly Shrine”; Elior, The Three Temples 232–265; Swartz, Mystical Prayer in Ancient Judaism, passim. Note what Swartz says about the role of prayer in Merkavah mysticism: “The prayers which formed the basis for Maʿaseh Merkavah were not meant primarily to lift the worshipper from earthly contemplation to heavenly ascent, but to express his participation in an earthly liturgy corresponding to the angelic liturgy” (ibid. 7).

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spurts of fire which dash forth from the mouths of the Cherubim and Ofanim and Holy Creatures while they are opening their mouths to say Qadosh when Israel says Qadosh, as it is said, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts, the whole earth is full of his glory.” Cf. ibid. §260.39 What Daniel Falk says about the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice could equally be applied to the community behind the present prayer: “[T]he group behind these songs felt the Sabbath to be an occasion on which it was especially suitable to express unity between the earthly and heavenly community in worship by reciting descriptions of the angelic praise with heavy reliance on the visions of Isaiah and Ezekiel and focusing on the themes of God’s holiness and kingship.”40 The quote from Ps 67[68]:18 (“The chariot of the Lord is ten thousand-fold thousands of thriving ones; the Lord is among them at Sinai, at the holy place”) also plays an important role in early Jewish angelological and mystical speculations, if only because God’s chariot (rekhev) is prominent in this verse.41 We find this passage quoted in, for example, Sefer Hekhalot (3Enoch) 37: “He [God] has the chariots of twice ten thousand, as it is written, ‘The chariots of God are twice ten thousand, thousand of angels.’ ”42 But cf. also the angelological discussion of this verse in Pes. Rabb. 21.8. Conclusion By way of conclusion I wish to address briefly the question of whether what we have here is a mystical prayer. The question mark in the title of this contribution already indicates my strong reservations in this respect. There can be little doubt after the previous paragraphs that several of the motifs found in this synagogal prayer play a prominent role in the mystical texts of late antique Judaism. But our prayer does not give us any cause to think that this Greek form of the Qedushah had its Sitz im Leben in mystical circles. Not only the fact that the other Jewish prayers in AC 7.33–38 do not display any mystical 39 40 41

42

Cf. also Apoc. Abr. 17. Falk, Daily, Sabbath, and Festival Prayers 145. See also B. Nitzan, Qumran Prayer and Religious Poetry (STDJ 12), Leiden: Brill, 1994, 276–282, 367–369. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot 143–149, 288–289, 316–318, 501–504; also Olyan, A Thousand Thousands Served Him 50–51. On divine thrones and chariots see V.D. Arbel, Beholders of Divine Secrets: Mysticism and Myth in the Hekhalot and Merkavah Literature, New York: SUNY Press, 2003, 112–117. On this translation of this Psalm verse see Ph. S. Alexander, “3 (Hebrew Apocalypse of) Enoch,” in OTP 1.308 note c.

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elements militates against this conclusion, the prayer itself seems to give indications that the ‘mystical motifs’ did not function in a mystical Sitz im Leben. The most important indication is that §4 says, “Israel, your earthly assembly, emulates the powers in heaven day and night when it sings.” The fact that the text so emphatically states that it is Israel on earth (ἐπίγειος) that coordinates its praise with the liturgy of the angels in heaven (κατ‌�οὐρανόν) seems to preclude any notion of a mystical ascent to heaven where the believers join the angels in their heavenly liturgy. What Esther Chazon states about 4Q503 also applies to the prayer under consideration, namely, that it “lacks merkavah speculation, is completely devoid of any mystical form, content, or function and fails to reveal priestly roots. This finding indicates that joint praise was not limited to the context of merkavah mysticism.”43 This sober judgement of an expert in the early history of Jewish prayer and liturgy confirms my impression that the ‘mystical’ elements in our prayer are of a literary nature: They take up motifs from a prayer tradition that in some of its phases may have had a mystical nature. But in the synagogues of Syrian Antioch, where these prayers functioned on the Sabbath in the period when the compiler of the Constitiones Apostolicae adopted and adapted them in order to obviate the needs of his judaizing Christian parishioners,44 these ‘mystical’ phrases were probably no more than literary remnants or echoes of a mystical tradition that had its earliest attestations in the Dead Sea Scrolls and later resurfaced with new mystical potential in Merkavah circles.45

43 44

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“The Qedushah Liturgy” 16. See P.W. van der Horst, “Jews and Christians in Antioch at the End of the Fourth Century,” in S.E. Porter & B.W.R. Pearson (eds.), Christian-Jewish Relations Through the Centuries, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000, 228–238. See R. Elior, “The Foundations of Early Jewish Mysticism: The Lost Calendar and the Transformed Heavenly Chariot,” in Schäfer (ed.), Wege mystischer Gotteserfahrung – Mystical Approaches to God 1–18.

chapter 13

A Qedushat ha-Yom in Greek In the year 1997, I was a member of the research group on the early history of Jewish prayer and liturgy at the Institute for Advanced Study of the Hebrew University. By the end of that year, Prof. Yussi Tabory, one of our number, edited and published a volume of essays written by the members of that group.1 Since I was hesitant to submit my paper, afraid as I was that it would be premature to publish it since I was only a beginner in the field, Yussi kindly prodded and encouraged me to do so. The article that was finally published in that volume was a preliminary commentary on the first of the six originally Jewish prayers that have been incorporated in a christianized version in the late fourth-­ century Apostolic Constitutions (henceforth AC).2 In the meantime the project I started there, a commentary on a series of Graeco-Jewish prayer texts, has been completed in co-operation with Judith H. Newman and it appeared in 2008.3 As a token of gratitude to Yussi Tabory for his support, I want to offer him a brief commentary on the fourth of the six prayers in the AC, namely 7.36, an early Greek version of the Qedushat ha-Yom. I do not need to repeat here the history of research on these prayers; for that the reader is referred to my above-mentioned article of 1999 and the book of 2008. Suffice it to say here that there is a communis opinio among scholars that the six prayers in AC 7.33–38 are christianized Greek versions of the Seven Berakhot for the Sabbath: 7.33 corresponds to Avoth, 7.34 to Gevuroth, 7.35 to Qedushat ha-Shem, 7.36 to Qedushat ha-Yom (this prayer will be dealt with in the present article), 7.37 to Avodah, 7.38 to Hoda‌ʾah; the seventh benediction is lacking. These prayers were adopted by judaizing Christians in Syrian Antioch in the second half of the fourth century ce and incorporated in their christian-­ ized form by an anonymous compiler in a church-order, the AC, in the 80s of that century. There is no communis opinio, however, concerning the degree of christianization of these prayers or, to put it in other words: there is a contro-­ versy about the question of what belongs to the Jewish source and where the 1 J. Tabory (ed.), From Qumran to Cairo: Studies in the History of Prayer, Jerusalem: Orhot Press, 1999. 2 ‘The Greek Synagogue Prayers in the Apostolic Constitutions, book VII,’ in Tabory (ed.), From Qumran to Cairo 19–46. 3 P.W. van der Horst & J.H. Newman, Early Jewish Prayers in Greek, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004271111_014

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Christian additions or interpolations begin and end. In the earlier phases of research an optimistic maximalism reigned supreme: scholars such as Kaufman Kohler, Wilhelm Bousset, and Erwin Goodenough were convinced that the Christian elements were few and far between and could easily be detected and removed,4 More recent scholars, however, especially David Fiensy, have dem-­ onstrated beyond reasonable doubt that the hand of the Christian compiler is not only to be seen in blatantly Christian interpolations (“through Jesus Christ” etc.) but also in very many passages that do not look Christian at all, yes that even make a very Jewish impression (such as the importance of study of the Law).5 In the present contribution it will be demonstrated how difficult it is to distinguish sharply between tradition (the Jewish source text) and redaction (the Christian reworking) in these prayers. Let me first present the text of AC 7.36 in a new translation, in which bold type is used for the words and phrases that I will argue belong to the Jewish source, italics for the patently Christian phrases, normal type for the intermediate category of dubia.6

Apostolic Constitutions 7.36 (1) O Lord almighty, you created the world through Christ and you have instituted the Sabbath in memory of the fact that it was on that day that you rested from your works – for training in your laws. You have also ordained festivals for the gladdening of our souls, so that we may be reminded of the Wisdom created by you. (2) How for us he submitted to birth through a woman, how he appeared in (this) life manifesting himself in his baptism, how he who appeared is God and man, how he suffered for us by your consent, and died, and arose by your power. Therefore, when we celebrate the feast of the resurrection, we rejoice on that Sunday over the one who conquered death and brought to

4 K. Kohler, ‘The Origin and Composition of the Eighteen Benedictions with a Translation of the Corresponding Essene Prayers in the Apostolic Constitutions,’ HUCA 1 (1924) 387– 425; W. Bousset, ‘Eine jüdische Gebetssammlung im siebenten Buch der Apostolischen Konstitutionen,’ in his Religionsgeschichtliche Studien, Leiden: Brill, 1979, 231–286 (origi-­ nal from 1915); E.R. Goodenough, By Light, Light: The Mystic Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935, 306–358. 5 D.A. Fiensy, Prayers Alleged to Be Jewish: An Examination of the Constitutiones Apostolorum, Chico: Scholars Press, 1985. 6 The edition of the Greek text underlying this translation is the one by M. Metzger, Les Constitutions Apostoliques, vol. 3 (Sources chrétiennes 336), Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1987, 82–86.

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light life and immortality. For through him you have brought the gentiles to yourself in order to make them a special people, the true Israel, loved by God (and) seeing God. (3) For you, O Lord, you also led our fathers out of the land of Egypt, and you saved them from an iron furnace and from clay and the making of bricks, you redeemed them from the hand of Pharaoh and his underlings, and you led them through the sea as through dry land, and in the desert you sustained them with all sorts of good things. (4) You gave them the Law of the ten words spoken by your voice and written by your hand. You commanded them to keep the Sabbath, not in order to give them a pretext for laziness but an opportunity for piety, for the knowledge of your power, for the prevention of evil, by confining them as it were within a sacred precinct for the sake of instruction, and for rejoicing in the number seven. For this reason there are one seven (week), seven sevens (weeks), the seventh month, the seventh year, and according to its cycle the fiftieth year for remission. (5) (This is) so as to prevent humankind from having any excuse to pretend ignorance. For that reason you commanded them not to work on any Sabbath, so that no one would even be willing to speak a word in anger on the day of the Sabbath. For Sabbath means resting from creation, the completion of the world, searching of the laws, (and) thankful praise to God for the gifts he gave to humankind. (6) (But) the Lord’s day surpasses all this! It shows the Mediator himself, the one who exercises providence, the Lawgiver, the cause of the resurrection, the firstborn of all creation, God the Word and a man born of Mary, the only one begotten without a man, who lived a holy life, was crucified under Pontius Pilate, died, and arose from the dead. So the Lord’s day commands us, o Master, to offer you thanks for all these things. (7) For this is the grace offered by you which on account of its greatness has obscured every other good deed. Commentary7 In the opening paragraph God is thanked for his institution of the Sabbath and the festivals. Its final line (“that we may be reminded of the Wisdom [under-­ stood as the Christ] created by you”) leads over into §2, which consists of a 7 References to biblical passages in these explanatory notes are to the Septuagint, the Bible used by the compiler of the AC.

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credal formula celebrating Christ’s deeds. §§3–4 mention the exodus, the wan-­ derings through the desert, and the Lawgiving; the importance of keeping the Sabbath (the seventh day) is again emphasized, which leads to a eulogy of the number seven. §5 continues the praise of the Sabbath, but §§6–7 then heavily stress that Sunday is after all superior to the Sabbath, and the prayer ends with praise of Christ and his grace. Since on several occasions the compiler of the AC urges his (Christian) read-­ ers to keep the Sabbath (e.g. 2.36.2; 2.59.3; 5.20.19; 7.23.3),8 it might be argued that the major parts of this prayer are his work. It is mainly the fact that the position of this prayer in the sequence of AC 7.33–38 is exactly the one its Jewish counterpart has in the order of the Seven Benedictions for the Sabbath, which strongly pleads in favour of the Jewish origin of this prayer: both are in fourth position and both glorify the Sabbath. Here we clearly have a case where the interests of the compiler partly coincided with those of the author(s) of the original Jewish prayer. It is probably for that reason that the compiler tried to christianize the Jewish Grundlage here much more explicitly and emphati-­ cally, for instance by inserting Christian credal statements, than is the case in the other prayers in AC 7. (1) After removing the obvious interpolation “through Christ” and the edito-­ rial phrase “for training in your laws” (however Jewish that may sound, the compiler also inserted it into his source in 2.36.2 and 6.23.3), we are left with “O Lord almighty, you created the world and you have instituted the Sabbath in memory of the fact that it was on that day that you rested from your works” (Κύριε παντοκράτορ, κόσμον ἔκτισας καὶ σάββατον ὥρισας εἰς μνήμην τούτου ὅτι ἐν αὐτῷ κατέπαυσας ἀπὸ τῶν ἔργων). The reference is probably to Gen 2:2–3, the passage that is also quoted or referred to in the prayer for the sanctification of the Sabbath in the Jewish liturgy, the Qiddush or Qedushat ha-Yom, but since Gen 2:2–3 does not mention the Sabbath explicitly, this phrase may also reflect the fourth commandment of the Decalogue in the version of Exod 20:8–11 where Sabbath and creation are mentioned in tandem (as distinct from the 8 On Sabbath observance in early Christianity see W. Rordorf, Sabbat und Sonntag in der alten Kirche, Zürich: Theologischer Verlag, 1982; D.A. Carson (ed.), From Sabbath to the Lord’s Day. A Biblical, Historical and Theological Investigation, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982; S. Bacchiocchi, From Sabbath to Sunday. A Historical Investigation of the Rise of Sunday Observance in Early Christianity, Rome: Pontifical Gregorian University Press, 1977; H. Weiss, A Day of Gladness: The Sabbath among Jews and Christians in Antiquity, Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2003. See also the references in G. Rouwhorst, ‘Jewish Liturgical Traditions in Early Syriac Christianity,’ Vig. Christ. 51 (1997): 92 n. 42, 93 n. 55.

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version in Deut 5:12–15). That the Sabbath was instituted by God in memory of his creation of the world (zekher le-maʿaseh bereʾshit in later terminology) is also an element in the said Jewish liturgical prayer, as is the motif of the Sabbath being a gift for rejoicing and gladness. This whole phrase therefore derives from the source. “You have also ordained festivals for the gladdening of our souls, so that we may be reminded of the Wisdom created by you”: The statement that Wisdom is created is, in view of the immediately following identification of Wisdom with Christ (cf. 1 Cor 1:24, 30), a heretical statement from an orthodox Christian point of view (hence the correction in some mss: γεννηθείσης instead of κτισθείσης), but more blatantly so than one would expect from our compiler. That may be a reason to retain that phrase for the Grundlage, for the creation of Wisdom is a common theme in Jewish writings (Prov 8:22; Sir 1:15; 24:8; etc.). Yet Fiensy regards the phrase “so that we may be reminded etc.” as work of the compiler in view of his tendency to associate the creation of the world with Wisdom (182). It is doubtful whether that observation suffices to settle the matter, so I prefer to leave it as a non liquet. If, however, the phrase did belong to the Jewish source, it may be that the motif of being reminded of God’s wis-­ dom has to be closely linked to the preceding phrase about training in his laws. Then it would be an instance of the identification of Torah and Wisdom also found elsewhere in many Jewish sources of the era. (2) In spite of the efforts of Kohler, Bousset, and Goodenough to save parts of this paragraph for the Jewish source,9 Fiensy is certainly right in seeing all of this section on the life of Jesus Christ as a Christian interpo-­ lation. Goodenough’s insistence that the final line, with its explanation of the name Israel as “seeing God” (ὁρῶν θεόν) must be Jewish because of the prominence of this theme in Philo (e.g., Leg. All. 3.38, 3.186, 3.212; Post. 92; Fuga 208; Congr. 51; Mut. 81; Abr. 57; Heres 78) also fails to convince in view of the fact that after Philo it is so often repeated by the Church Fathers (e.g., Clement of Alexandria, Paed. 1.9; Origen, De princ. 4.3).10 Note that the parti-­ ciples and pronouns in the Greek, although referring back to Σοφία, are now 9 10

For instance by assuming that the last sentence originally ran, “For through her [i.e. Wisdom] you have brought us to yourself . . .” See G. Delling, “The ‘One Who Sees God’ in Philo,” in his Studien zum Frühjudentum, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2000, 364–378, and now esp. the exhaustive treatment in C.T.R. Hayward, Interpretations of the Name Israel in Ancient Judaism and Some Early Christian Writings. From Victorious Athlete to Heavenly Champion, Oxford – New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. Goodenough’s defense of the clause is to be found in By Light, Light 312.

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in the masculine form because the compiler identifies Wisdom with Jesus Christ.11 The emphasis on the “feast of the resurrection” to be celebrated on Sunday is repeated in §6. (3) This whole paragraph is likely to derive again from the Jewish source. It contains no vocabulary or themes that figure among the compiler’s favou-­ rites, and the words “our fathers” (in the phrase τοὺς πατέρας ἡμῶν ἐξήγαγες ἐκ γῆς Αἰγύπτου) for the generation of the exodus suggest a Jewish origin (“our fathers” are also mentioned in the Hebrew counterpart). For “saved from an iron furnace” see Deut 4:20, 3 Kgdms 8:51, and Jer 11:4; for “making of bricks” see Exod 1:14; for “you redeemed them from the hand of Pharaoh” see Exod 18:10, Deut 7:8;12 for “through the sea as through dry land” see Exod 14:21–31 (cf. Ps 65[66]:6). The sentence “in the desert you sustained them with all sorts of good things” (ἐτροφοφόρησας αὐτοὺς ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ παντοίοις ἀγαθοῖς) is proba-­ bly an allusion to the quails, the manna, the water at Mara, and the like. Other translations follow the majority of the mss that read here ἐτροποφόρησας αὐτούς: “you endured their character” (Fiensy), “you bore with their man-­ ners” (Darrell), etc. and this is indeed the meaning given in the Greek-English Lexicon by Liddell-Scott-Jones (1872b: “to bear with another’s mood”). But the important ms e offers the variant reading ἐτροφοφόρησας which is most probably correct since it is clear that the passage is based upon Deut 1:31 ὡς ἐτροφοφόρησέν σε κύριος ὁ θεός σου (with ἐτροποφόρησεν as varia lectio; cf. the allusion to this passage in Acts 13:18 where one finds exactly the same textual uncertainty), where the verb renders Hebrew nasa‌ʾ, ‘to lift up, carry, bear’ (“how the Lord your God bore you as a man bears his son”). It is very probable that ἐτροφοφόρησας is the original reading since it is very improbable that the LXX translators wanted to render the verb nasa’ here with a Greek word carrying negative overtones in an otherwise completely positive context (Deut 1:30–31, like Acts 13:17–18, lists the good things God has done for Israel in the desert). For that reason, LXX lexica give for the neologism τροφοφορέω the meaning “to sustain (by providing food).”13 By taking the verb to mean 11 12

13

For God’s Wisdom as a personification see, e.g., Prov 8:22–31 and Wis 10–12. References to God’s redemption of Israel in the exodus are frequent in Jewish prayers (and exorcistic formula’s), e.g., 3 Macc 6:4; see P.W. van der Horst, ‘ “The God who Drowned the King of Egypt”: A Short Note on an Exorcistic Formula,’ in my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context: Selected Essays on Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 280–284. See T. Muraoka, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint, Louvain: Peeters, 2002, 563; J. Lust, E. Eynikel, K. Hauspie, A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint, vol. 2, Stuttgart:

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“to sustain” the immediately following παντοίοις ἀγαθοῖς becomes much easier to understand.14 (4) “You gave them the Law of the ten words spoken by your voice and writ-­ ten by your hand.” The first words are no problem, the giving of the Law being also mentioned in the corresponding Hebrew prayer.15 But the restriction to the Decalogue (lit. ‘the ten oracles,’ λόγια) is too much reminiscent of the compiler’s theory of the Second Legislation (which he took over from his main source, the Syriac Didascalia, albeit in a modified form)16 to go unsuspected, even though there are no stock words or expressions of the compiler to be found here. On the other hand one could argue that the author of the prayer follows the outline of the book of Exodus and has now arrived at Exod 20 where God gives the Decalogue (although the designation ‘Ten Words’ occurs only in Exod 34:28 and Deut 10:4).17 That cannot dissipate all doubts, however, so, per-­ haps erring on the side of caution, unlike Fiensy, we do not take the clause “of the ten words” to belong to the source. “Written by your hand”: Deut 9:10 says that the two tables of the Law had been written by God’s finger.18 “You commanded them to keep the Sabbath” (see Exod 20:8–11; Deut 6:12– 15) no doubt was in the source, but the following words, “not in order to give

14

15

16

17 18

Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1996, 482; see also the note on this neologism in J.W. Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Deuteronomy, Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995, 18. Fiensy, Prayers 77 n.12, suggests solving the problem of παντοίοις ἀγαθοῖς by inserting the verb ‘bestowing’ before ‘all kinds of good things’ in his translation, which is rather improbable. Note, however, that there Moses’ mediating role in the giving of the Law is emphasized, whereas in our text this role seems to have been eliminated. Note also that §§3–4 actually refer to the three main Jewish festivals: Pesach, Sukkot, and Shavuoth. Neh 9:9–15 is the first instance of a prayer in which these three events (exodus, wilderness, giving of the Law) are mentioned together. According to this theory, the first legislation was that of the Decalogue, while the second one concerned the cultic and ritual rules that were only given as a punishment after Israel’s sin with the Golden Calf; see P.W. van der Horst, ‘ “I Gave Them Laws that Were not Good:” Ezekiel 20:25 in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity,’ in my Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction, Leuven: Peeters, 1998 (2nd ed.), 135– 156, esp. 147–150. Note that in Exod 34:28 and Deut 10:4 the Decalogue is designated as δέκα λόγοι, but in Deut 4:13 as δέκα ῥήματα (our text has δέκα λόγια). See P.W. van der Horst, “The Finger of God. Miscellaneous Notes on Luke 11:20 and its Umwelt,” in: W.L. Petersen, J.S. Vos, H.J. de Jonge (eds.), Sayings of Jesus: Canonical & NonCanonical. Essays in Honour of Tjitze Baarda (NovT Sup 89), Leiden: Brill, 1997, 89–104, repr. in my Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity 171–183.

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them a pretext for laziness but an opportunity for piety,” are, as Fiensy (183) rightly notes, “reminiscent of a familiar theme in AC (2.36.2 and 6.23.3; and cf. Ps-Ignatius, Magn. 9)” so that it is safer not to regard them as part of the source, although it should be noted that Philo, too, explicitly states in a discus-­ sion of the Sabbath that Moses’ law is not an “adviser of idleness” (Spec. 2.60; cf. Hyp. 7.14).19 Such statements may have their origin in apologetic aimed at non-Jews.20 As to the phrase “for the knowledge of your power, for the pre-­ vention of evil,” unlike Fiensy, we see no reason to regard it as added by the compiler since it does not reflect the compiler’s typical vocabulary and it is thematically related to the first sentences of §5, which are most probably from the source. The phrase “by confining them as it were within a sacred precinct for the sake of instruction” (ὡς ἐν ἱερῷ καθείρξας περιβόλῳ διδασκαλίας χάριν) does not contain the compiler’s favourite words or expressions and belongs to the source. A “sacred precinct” (ἱερὸς περίβολος) is usually a temple precinct,21 but since Jews were not “confined” to the temple precinct on the Sabbath, it must mean something else. Fiensy takes it to mean the Sabbath limit (techum) of 2,000 cubits (see m. Eruvim 4:3), his argument being that both περίβολος and techum meant basically a district or precinct (77 n.14). But this makes nonsense of the words “for the sake of instruction.” It is exactly this phrase (διδασκαλίας χάριν) that makes it more than probable that the “sacred precinct” meant here is the synagogue, which according to an abundance of ancient sources was primarily a place of instruction in the Law (see, for example, the Theodotus inscription from a Jerusalem synagogue [= CIJ 1404 and CIIP 9]: εἰς ἀνάγνωσιν νόμου καὶ διδαχὴν ἐντολῶν).22 That περίβολος can mean a synagogue is proved by a passage in Philo, Flacc. 48, and probably by a synagogue inscription from

19 20

21 22

See on these and other passages A. Mendelson, Philo’s Jewish Identity, Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988, 82–86. Examples of pagan accusations of Jewish indolence on the Sabbath are Seneca ap. Augustine, Civ. Dei 6.11; Juvenal, Sat. 14.96–106; Tacitus, Hist. 5.4.1. These passages are nrs. 186, 281, and 301 in M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism [= GLAJJ], 3 vols., Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984. See the instances in Fiensy, Prayers 77 n.14. See for references H.A. McKay, Sabbath and Synagogue: The Question of Sabbath Worship in Ancient Judaism, Leiden: Brill, 1994, 61–88, with the critical comments by P.W. van der Horst, ‘Was the Ancient Synagogue a Place of Sabbath Worship?’ in my Japheth in the Tents of Shem: Studies on Jewish Hellenism in Antiquity, Louvain: Peeters, 2002, 55–82. The most recent edition of and commentary on the Theodotus inscription is the one by Jonathan J. Price in Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae I/1, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2010, 53–56 (no. 9).

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Egypt.23 That the synagogue was called “sacred” or “holy” is known from both literary and inscriptional evidence,24 and that temple terminology was used to designate the synagogue building is also explicitly attested.25 So what is said here is that God commands his people to attend synagogue services on the Sabbath because it is there that they can learn Torah. One could argue that the fact that the phrases ‘training in your Laws’ and ‘searching of the Laws’ in §§1 and 5 are probably redactional militates against this conclusion, but it is exactly the casual and non-emphatic reference to ‘instruction,’ without mention of the Torah (that being self-evident), that makes it probable that this phrase is from the source. It is possible that the compiler adopted a phrase about instruction in the Torah from his Jewish source and re-used it in §§1 and 5. Because there remains some uncertainty, however, we do not print the words ‘for the sake of instruction’ in bold type. “. . . for rejoicing in the number seven. For this reason there are one seven (week), seven sevens (weeks), the seventh month, the seventh year, and according to its cycle the fiftieth year for remission” (διὰ τοῦτο ἑβδομὰς μία καὶ ἑβδομάδες ἑπτὰ καὶ μὴν ἕβδομος καὶ ἐνιαυτὸς ἕβδομος καὶ τούτου κατὰ ἀνακύκλησιν ἔτος πεντηκοστὸν εἰς ἄφεσιν). This emphasis on the importance of the number seven (hebdomas) is atypical of the compiler, so it probably belongs to the source. It has striking parallels, for instance, in the hebdomadic speculations of the Jewish exegetes and philosophers Aristobulus (fragment 5, ap. Eusebius, Praep. Ev. 13.12.9–16) and especially Philo of Alexandria (see for instance his Opif. 89–128; Leg. 1.8–16; Spec. 2.71–192 [note “the sacred number of seven sevens” in 176]).26 The number seven plays a dominant role in several of the Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice, e.g., 4Q403 1 i 1–29 and 4Q403 1 ii 18–31 (cf. also 23

24

25 26

See P.W. van der Horst, Philo’s Flaccus. The First Pogrom, Leiden: Brill, 2003, 146–147. The inscription is nr. 9 in W. Horbury & D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Graeco-Roman Egypt, Cambridge: CUP, 1992. S. Fine, This Holy Place. On the Sanctity of the Synagogue During the Greco-Roman Period, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997, passim (97–105 on epigraphic evidence). L.I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years, New Haven-London: Yale University Press, 2000, 184–190 et aliter See D.T. Runia,. Philo of Alexandria on the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses, Leiden: Brill, 2001, 260–308; also J. Leonhardt, Jewish Worship in Philo of Alexandria, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001, 55–63. Note that in Spec. 2.71–192 Philo, too, deals with the seventh year, the fiftieth year, the feast of weeks, and the seventh month (New Year). On early Jewish numerical symbolism in general see A. Yarbro Collins, ‘Numerical Symbolism in Jewish and Early Christian Apocalyptic Literature,’ ANRW II 21/2 (1984): 1222–1287 (on seven 1228–1229, 1247–1248, 1256–1257).

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4Q404 and 405, 11Q17). There is also a remarkable string of hebdomadic verses by some Jewish “epic poets” (pseudo-Homer and pseudo-Hesiod) quoted by Clement of Alexandria (Strom. 5.14.107) and Eusebius (Praep. Ev. 13.13.34).27 Also outside Jewish circles it was well known that Jews had a preference (or even reverence) for the number seven and hebdomadic speculations; see, e.g., Censorinus, De die natali 11.6: “. . . the number seven, which rules the whole of human life, as Solon writes, and this the Jews follow in their general divi-­ sion of days, and so also the Etruscan books dealing with religious ceremonies seem to declare” (= GLAJJ nr. 447).28 The “fiftieth year” is of course a refer-­ ence to the Jubilee year (Lev 23 and 25), which followed after a recurring cycle (ἀνακύκλησις) of 7×7 years. (5) The first half of this paragraph (up to and including “. . . to speak a word in anger on the day of Sabbath”) probably derives from the source, not only because the compiler’s hand is nowhere traceable, but also since there is a par-­ allel in the Hebrew counterpart, where precisely in the prayer for the Sabbath morning service God is asked to guard the tongue from evil. Note also that the Damascus document states that “No man shall speak any useless or stupid word on the Sabbath day” (CD 10.17–18 = 4Q266 8 iii 17–18). That the instruc-­ tion in the Torah on Sabbath is meant to remove any excuse to pretend igno-­ rance is also stated by Josephus (C.Ap. 2:176–8, Ant. 4:209–211). The seeming switch from singular (πᾶν σάββατον) to plural (τῶν σαββάτων) is probably no more than the same phenomenon that is also to be observed in New Testament Greek where τὸ σάββατον and τὰ σάββατα are used indiscriminately to indicate a single Sabbath day.29 The rest of §5 (“For Sabbath means resting . . . the gifts he gave to human-­ kind”) looks suspiciously like the work of the compiler since the expressions “resting from creation” and “searching of the laws” have parallels elsewhere in the AC, where they probably derive from his hand. It cannot be excluded, however,30 that the final words, “thankful praise to God for the gifts he gave to humankind” (αἶνος εἰς θεὸν εὐχάριστος ὑπὲρ ὧν ἀνθρώποις ἐδωρήσατο), are just

27 28

29 30

See H.W. Attridge, ‘Fragments of Pseudo-Greek Poets,’ in J.H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 2, Garden City: Doubleday, 1985, 823–824. In his review of J.H. Kühn & U. Fleischer (eds.), Index Hippocraticus (1986–1989) in Mnem. 42 (1992): 182–186, J. Mansfeld even suggests a Jewish origin for the pseudo-Hippocratic Περὶ ἑβδομάδων. See W. Bauer & F.W. Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000, 909b. As Fiensy, Prayers 183, rightly remarks.

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the compiler’s rephrasing of the closing phrase of the berakhah: “Blessed be you, O Lord, who hallows the Sabbath.” (6–7) There is not the slightest doubt that these two paragraphs were appended by the Christian compiler, “in einer fast verblüffend ungenierten Weise” (Bousset 444), in order to demonstrate that, even though his com-­ munity kept the Sabbath – with which he fully agreed – still Sunday is to be regarded as superior to the Sabbath.31 If my analysis has any merits, the original Jewish prayer may be reconstructed as follows or may at least have contained the following elements:32 O Lord almighty, you created the world and instituted the Sabbath in memory of the fact that it was on that day that you rested from your works. You, O Lord, led our fathers out of the land of Egypt, and you saved them from an iron furnace and from clay and the making of bricks, you redeemed them from the hand of Pharaoh and his underlings, and you led them through the sea as through dry land, and in the desert you sus-­ tained them with all sorts of good things. You gave them the Law spo-­ ken by your voice and written by your hand. You commanded them to keep the Sabbath, for the knowledge of your power, for the prevention of evil, by confining them as it were within a sacred precinct for the sake of instruction, and for rejoicing in the number seven. For this reason there are one seven, seven sevens, the seventh month, the seventh year, and according to its cycle the fiftieth year for remission. This is so as to pre-­ vent humankind from having any excuse to pretend ignorance. For that reason you commanded them not to work on any Sabbath, so that no one would even be willing to speak a word in anger on the day of the Sabbath. We owe thankful praise to God for the gifts he gave to humankind.

31

32

Compare what Eusebius says about the Jewish-Christian sect of the Ebionites: “They observed the sabbath and the other Jewish customs (. . .), yet on the other hand each Lord’s day they celebrated rites similar to ours, in memory of the Saviour’s resurrection” (Hist. Eccl. 3.27.2). On the basis of this and other passages one could argue that προὔχουσα (‘surpassing’) in §6 does not imply a call for replacement of the sabbath by Sunday. I strongly emphasize that I am fully aware of the very tentative character of this reconstruction.

chapter 14

The Jews of Ancient Phrygia When one takes a look at map B VI 18 of the Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients (TAVO) – the map with the title Die jüdische Diaspora bis zum 7. Jahrhundert n. Chr.1 – one sees a dense concentration of Jewish communities in Asia Minor. As was to be expected, a high number of these communities are found in the Western part of Asia Minor (not in the East), especially in great coastal cities such as Ephesus, Miletus, Smyrna etc. But also in the interior parts of Anatolia one finds a relatively high number, especially in the provinces of Lydia, Caria, and Phrygia. It is in exactly these three regions that the most spectacular discoveries concerning the Jewish diaspora in Asia Minor have been made in the last few decades. What I am referring to is the excavation of the monumental synagogue in Lydian Sardis in the sixties of the twentieth century (with more than 80 inscriptions),2 the discovery of the by now famous inscription with a list of Jewish and pagan donors in Carian Aphrodisias in the eighties,3 and the publication of a considerable number of inscriptions from the Phrygian city of Hierapolis.4 Since I have published elsewhere about the finds in Sardis and Aphrodisias, in this short contribution I will focus on the last-mentioned (and other) inscriptions from Phrygia in order to see what this epigraphic material teaches us about the Jewish diaspora in this central Anatolian region in the centuries around the turn of the era.5 But first something has to be said about the pertinent literary sources. 1 Wiesbaden: Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 1992. 2 J.H. Kroll, ‘The Greek Inscriptions of the Sardis Synagogue,’ Harvard Theological Review 94 (2001) 5–127. These inscriptions are reprinted in Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis [henceforth IJO], vol. II: Kleinasien, ed. W. Ameling, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004, 209–297. See my ‘The Synagogue of Sardis and its Inscriptions,’ in my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context (WUNT 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 43–52. 3 J. Reynolds & R. Tannenbaum, Jews and Godfearers at Aphrodisias, Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1987; also in IJO II, 70–123. See my ‘Jews and Christians in Aphrodisias in the Light of Their Relations in Other Cities of Asia Minor,’ Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 43 (1989) 106–121, repr. in my Essays on the Jewish World of Early Christianity (NTOA 14), Fribourg: Universitätsverlag – Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990, 166–181. 4 E. Miranda, “La comunità giudaica di Hierapolis di Frigia,” Epigraphica Anatolica 31 (1999) 109–156; also in IJO II, 398–440. 5 Somewhat outdated but still valuable surveys are W.M. Ramsay, The Cities and Bishoprics of Phrygia, Being an Essay on the Local History of Phrygia from the Earliest Times to the Turkish

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The Jewish historian Flavius Josephus quotes a letter written by the Seleucid king Antiochus III in the year 205 BCE in which he states that he has transferred two thousand Jewish families from Mesopotamia to the most important cities of Lydia and Phrygia (Antiquitates Judaicae 12.148–152). This implies that there was a Jewish presence in Phrygia from the end of the third century BCE. That is confirmed in the first century BCE by the famous Latin orator Cicero. In his speech in defence of the Roman procurator Valerius Flaccus, Cicero says that the Jews of the Phrygian cities of Apameia and Laodicea had collected a hugh amount of money in 62 BCE, to be sent as temple tax to Jerusalem and that Flaccus had confiscated the money (Pro Flacco 28.66–69).6 This implies a sizeable Jewish presence in these towns. It comes, therefore, as no surprise to see Phrygia also mentioned in the long list of countries and regions from where Jews went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, mentioned by Luke in Acts 2:10.7 The fact that Phrygia is lacking in the other well-known list of countries where Jews live, sc. Philo’s Legatio ad Gaium 281, is not telling because, firstly, Italy is lacking as well in that list whereas Philo elsewhere clearly indicates that he did know about a large Jewish presence in that country (Legat. 155) and, secondly, because in his formulation “most of Asia up to Bithynia and the corners of Pontus” (281) Phrygia is undoubtedly included. Of later literary witnesses of Jewish presence in Phrygia mention should be made of the Canones of the synod of Laodicea (in Phrygia), most probably from the sixties of the fourth century, in which Christians are seriously warned not to get mixed up with a variety of Jewish religious practices.8 That it was more than just a theoretical possibility that such things could happen is proved by a passage about precisely that period, scil. the year 367, in Theophanes’ Chronographia (p. 62 ed. De Boor) where it is stated that in that year Christians in Phrygia celebrated Pesach together with the Jews. In Ameling’s collection (IJO II [see note 2]) one finds 48 Jewish inscriptions from Phrygia of which almost half (23) are from Hierapolis (see note 4). We begin with the latter and will review only a limited selection of the rest of the material.9 The vast majority of the evidence consists of epitaphs from

6 7 8 9

Conquest, vol. 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1897, 667–676, and E. Schürer, G. Vermes, F. Millar & M. Goodman, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, vol. 3, Edinburgh: Clark, 1986, 27–32. See A.J. Marshall, ‘Flaccus and the Jews of Asia,’ Phoenix 29 (1975) 139–154. See C.K. Barrett, The Acts of the Apostles, vol. 1, Edinburgh: Clark, 1994, 122–124. For the text see E.J. Jonkers, Acta et symbola conciliorum quae saeculo quarto habita sunt, Leiden: Brill, 1954, 86–96. Numbers refer to the numbering in IJO II.

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the imperial period.10 On a sarcophagus lid of white marble with a chiseled menorah from the third century one finds only the word ‘Jews’ in the genitive plural (Ioudeôn, 187), which leaves unclear whether one should think here of a collective grave or a Jewish cemetery. The sarcophagus is from Hierapolis and it is striking how often in tomb inscriptions from this city persons are explicitly identified as Jews, much more frequently than elsewhere. This phenomenon deserves to be studied more closely (but not here), although it is clear at any rate that it is a pointer to Jewish self-consciousness (or self-definition).11 On a limestone sarcophagus from the same period, Glycon, the grandson of Socrates (!), warns that this tomb may not be opened (188), a warning that occurs also in nrs. 202 and 206 (we will return to this topic presently). In nr. 189 it is said of the Jew Hikesios (“also called Judas”) that he is “a frequent winner in the holy games.” It remains unclear whether he was an athlete or a musician, but anyway it indicates Jewish participation in events that in antiquity always had (pagan) religious undertones, which could make it difficult for Jews to participate in them without problems, it would seem.12 But that Jews did not keep away from them is well known from various other sources.13 In inscription 191 it seems that the tomb itself is called ‘Jewish.’14 It belongs to Heortasios, the Greek equivalent of Chaggai (heortê = feast), one of the many typically Jewish festal names in antiquity.15 As is also the case in many other inscriptions, the author of this epitaph warns with threats of high fines against putting other deceased persons into his tomb (the long inscription nr. 193 concerns almost exclusively the inculcation of precisely this prohibition and the fines imposed in cases of trespassing).16 The fine should be paid to the Jewish community, in some inscriptions more precisely to ‘the holy treasury’ (or ‘the most holy trea10

11

12 13 14 15 16

For an introduction to the study of ancient Jewish epitaphs the reader is referred to my Ancient Jewish Epitaphs. An Introductory Survey of a Millennium of Jewish Funerary Epigraphy (300 BCE–700 CE), Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1991. The modern trend to render Ioudaios as ‘Judean’ instead of ‘Jew’ is misleading and creates many more problems than it solves. I hope scholars will stop creating this unnecessary confusion. See, e.g., H.A. Harris, Greek Athletics and the Jews, Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1976. See E.S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews Amidst Greeks and Romans, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 2002, 123–124. Not 100 percent certain; see Ameling, IJO II, 407. See M.H. Williams, ‘Jewish Festal Names in Antiquity: A Neglected Area of Onomastic Research,’ Journal for the Study of Judaism 36 (2005) 21–40. On this kind of epigraphic threats see J.H.M. Strubbe, ‘Curses Against Violations of the Grave in Jewish Epitaphs from Asia Minor,’ in J.W. van Henten & P.W. van der Horst (eds.), Studies in Early Jewish Epigraphy, Leiden: Brill, 1994, 70–128.

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sury,’ to hierôtaton tamieion). Often by way of an additional threat it is stated that a copy of the epitaph has been deposited in the local archive (nos. 189, 191, 192, 193, 196, 198, 199, 200, 205, 206, 208 etc.). The tomb of nr. 194 belonged to a namesake of Justin Martyr’s famous Jewish interlocutor, Trypho, but the inscription is from the fourth century. Very interesting is a third-century inscription of 12 lines on a limestone sarcophagus (196) of a Jew with the long name Publius Aelius Glykon Zeuxianus Aelianus.17 It is of interest, firstly, because it informs us about the fact that Jews in Hierapolis were involved in the famous purple industry of the city (cf. Strabo, Geogr. 13.4.14), which reminds one strongly of Lydia, a Godfearer from Thyatira (also in Asia Minor), who was a seller of purple goods and is mentioned in Acts 16:14; and, secondly, because this inscription is one of the very few that mention Jewish festivals: both Pesach (heortê tôn azymôn) and the feast of Weeks (heortê tês pentêkostês) are mentioned here as the days on which the family tomb of the deceased should be festively adorned (on which see more below). In nr. 205 the local Jewish community is called katoikia tôn en Hierapolei katoikountôn Ioudaiôn. It is a debated issue what semantic value katoikia has here,18 but it can hardly be doubted that one form or another of organization of the community is meant here, although it cannot be ruled out that – in view of the fact that katoikein also means ‘living’ – it should be taken to indicate that the Jews had their own living quarter in the city, a phenomenon that we know also from other places in the ancient world.19 In another inscription, however, the local Jewish community is called laos (206), which is biblical terminology. So much for the inscriptions from Hierapolis. As far as other Phrygian cities and villages are concerned, the following inscriptions deserve to be mentioned. In Acmonia an extremely fascinating inscription has been found (no. 168), in which we are informed that some prominent members of the local Jewish community had had the synagogue restored that was built by Julia Severa. This lady is well known to us – she is mentioned in other inscriptions and on coins from Acmonia as well. In the fifties and sixties of the first century, Julia Severa was priestess of the local emperor cult. So she was definitely not Jewish, on the contrary, she played a prominent role in one of the pagan cults of the city. Even so, this inscription testifies to her warm interest in the Jewish community of Acmonia: she had the synagogue built at her own cost. Here one cannot help thinking of the Roman centurion from Capernaum who, according to Luke 7:5, loved the 17 18 19

On the implications of this name for the status of this Jew see Ameling, IJO II, 416. See the extensive discussion in Ameling, IJO II, 433–435. For instances see my Philo’s Flaccus. The First Pogrom, Leiden: Brill, 2003, 157–158.

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Jewish people and had a synagogue built there. Julia Severa was a woman of an aristocratic family (her son later became a senator in Rome), a lady who had close ties to members of the distinguished Roman family of the Turronii: one of them, Turronius Rapo, was a priest of the emperor cult as well and he is mentioned together with Julia Severa on coins of the city; and another member of that family, Turronius Cladus, is mentioned in our inscription as the ‘head of the synagogue’ (archisynagôgos) who saw to it that the restoration was carried out properly!20 So he must have been a proselyte. The fact that here a socially very prominent woman from a distinguished family with an explicitly pagan role in the city makes such a generous gesture towards the Jewish community is a sign of the very successful integration of the Acmonian Jews and of the sympathy they have won with the non-Jewish inhabitants of the city.21 That this integration did not mean that the ties with their mother country were severed is perhaps indicated by the fact that in a somewhat later inscription from the same city one finds a fragmentary prayer in Hebrew for “peace for Israel and Jerusalem” (170). Also from Acmonia is nr. 171, an epitaph in which it is stipulated that each year at a fixed time the tomb should be adorned with roses and that, if the surviving relatives fail to do so, they will have to answer to God’s justice (tên dikaiosynên tou theou) for that omission, a curious threat in view of the fact that adorning tombs with roses is an originally pagan ritual (the rosalia) that had crossed over from Rome to Asia Minor.22 Again from the third century are two epitaphs which threaten anyone who posits another body into the tomb than the deceased for whom it had been constructed with “the curses that are written in Deuteronomy” (173 and 174; a third copy is from Laodicea, no. 213). This is an interesting variant of the curse inscriptions that occur so frequently in Phrygian epitaphs. Undoubtedly the reference is to Deut. 28, where we read in the Septuagint version (inter alia): “(22) May the Lord strike you with difficulty and fever and irritation and murder and with blight and paleness, and they shall pursue you until they destroy you. . . . (28–29) May the Lord strike 20 21

22

See S. Mitchell, Anatolia. Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, vol. 2, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993, 9. For other instances see L.H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993, 310, although I totally disagree with his assertion that “we may conclude that she [Julia Severa] later converted to Judaism and then built the synagogue” (576n120). See M.H. Williams, The Jews Among Greeks and Roman. A Diasporan Sourcebook, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998, 128; C.R. Phillips, “Rosalia,” Der Neue Pauly 10 (2001) 1134–1135.

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you with derangement and blindness and distraction of mind, and you shall be groping about at midday as a blind person would grope in the darkness.”23 And thus it goes on with one curse after another. I quoted on purpose vv. 28–29 since there blindness is mentioned, a form of punishment that is also mentioned explicitly in another Acmonian epitaph where the stone says: “If anyone opens this tomb, . . ., he will be hit by the curses that have been written against his eyesight and the rest of his body” (172). Here Deuteronomy is not mentioned explicitly but the allusion is unmistakable. In this connection it is interesting to see that in another epitaph, from Apameia, it is said significantly that, if someone dares to bury another person on that spot, “he knows the Law of the Jews” (170). This formulation seems to indicate that a certain knowledge of the Torah, however partial and superficial,24 could be presupposed among Phrygian non-Jews, although that conclusion is not certain.25 Another but related curse is found in nr. 175 (probably also from the third century; cf. nr. 176): “. . . if someone inters here another body, he will have to reckon with God Most High, and may the sickle of the curse enter his house and leave no one alive.” The at first sight enigmatic expression ‘the sickle of the curse’ is almost certainly an allusion to the LXX version of Zach. 5:1–4, a verse in which the Hebrew text states that the prophet saw in a vision a flying scroll (megillah) that is interpreted by the angel as a curse that goes out over the entire country. But the LXX version evidently did not read megillah here but maggal, sickle, which is correctly translated there by drepanon, the word used also in the inscription.26 That sickle is seen in the LXX as an instrument of God’s eschatological wrath, as v. 3 makes clear (cf. also Joel 4:13 LXX). A final example of biblically inspired threats is an epitaph that says that if someone deposits another body into that tomb or buys it or even effaces a single letter of the inscription, “God’s wrath shall destroy his entire family” (nr. 177; fourth century). Now there are also pagan and Christian tomb inscriptions that threaten trespassers with the wrath of God or the gods, but that this is a Jewish 23 24 25

26

Translation follows the one by M.K.H. Peters in A. Pietersma & B.G. Wright (eds.), A New English Translation of the Septuagint, New York – Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007, 166. Perhaps only knowledge of the curses in Deut. 28. See also P.R. Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, 100. Cf. the inscription from Catania on Sicily where an epitaph from the end of the fourth century says, “I adjure you by the Law that the Lord gave the Jews” (adiuro vos per legem quem Dominus dedit Iudaeis); in D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe, vol. 1, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993, no. 145 (p. 187). It is clear that this Phrygian Jew used the LXX and not one of the other Greek Bible translations: Aquila and Theodotion here correctly translate megillah with diphthera.

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i­nscription is made highly likely by the fact that exactly the same formula is found on the tombstone of an almost certainly Phrygian Jew in Rome.27 On Deborah’s grave in the town of Apollonia one finds a metrical inscription in hexameters and pentameters28 in which the deceased woman says that “she was given to a famous man” (180) and takes pride in the fact that she was a virgin when she married, something that was apparently seen as very praiseworthy in her Jewish environment. On a curious third- to fourth-century tombstone that was found someplace in Israel (perhaps in Jaffa)29 it is stated that this is the tomb of “rabbi Samuel, the Phrygian archisynagôgos’ (184). The restoration of this damaged stone is uncertain, but if this is what the stone mason wrote, one may assume that we have here the epitaph of a diaspora Jew who migrated from Phrygia to the Land of Israel in order to be buried there, a phenomenon that can be observed especially in the inscriptions from the catacombs of Beth Sheʿarim and from the cemetery of Jaffa. It would be unwarranted to conclude on the basis of this epitaph that rabbis were the leaders of the local synagogues (archisynagôgoi) in Phrygia.30 Firstly, the situation in which rabbis became the leading officials of diaspora communities is a much later development (not before the Middle Ages).31 And secondly, in inscriptions the term rabbi hardly ever refers to an official (i.e., ordained) rabbi but usually to someone of distinction, for “in antiquity this title was applied to anyone of high standing.”32 It is highly unlikely that there were rabbis in third- to fourth-century Phrygia.33 27

28

29 30

31 32

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D. Noy, Jewish Inscriptions of Western Europe, vol. 2, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995, no. 360. The Jewish character of the Roman inscription has sometimes been doubted, but unnecessarily so; see Ameling in IJO II, 378–9 and also Noy ad loc. On the (originally Greek) phenomenon of Jewish metrical epitaphs see my article “Jewish Tomb Inscriptions in Verse” in my Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction, Louvain: Peeters, 1998 (2nd ed.), 27–47 (IJO II 180 should be added to this dossier). See Ameling, IJO II 389–390. On the term archisynagôgos see T. Rajak & D. Noy, “Archisynagogoi: Office, Title and Social Status in the Graeco-Jewish Synagogue,” Journal of Roman Studies 83 (1993) 75–93, and C. Claußen, Versammlung, Gemeinde, Synagoge: Das hellenistisch-jüdische Umfeld der frühchristlichen Gemeinden, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002, 256–264. See L.I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years, New Haven – London: Yale University Press, 2000, 440–470. L.I. Levine, The Rabbinic Class of Roman Palestine in Late Antiquity, Jerusalem: Yad Yizhaq Ben-Zvi, 1989, 15. For an almost exhaustive survey of ‘epigraphical rabbis see S.J.D. Cohen, ‘Epigraphical Rabbis,’ Jewish Quarterly Review 72 (1981/82) 1–17. After the publication of this article in 2009, however, Jonathan Price argued for a different reading and interpretation of this tombstone to the effect that the word ‘Phrygian’

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Inscriptions from other places are less informative and I leave them out of account. We cannot ignore, however, some other pieces of evidence which concern Noah and his ark in Phrygia. In Apameia coins from the first half of the third century were found on which Noah and his wife are depicted with the ark (and the name Nôe added). In addition to that, in a number of literary sources the town is called Apameia Kibotos.34 In the LXX kibôtos is the word used for Noah’s ark. There was a legend in circulation to the effect that Noah’s ark had stranded in the neighbourhood of the town on mount Ararat. Is this a case of Jewish influence? The coins were struck by the pagan authorities of the town, so the legend was believed also outside Jewish circles. And the fact that as early as the first century BCE the geographer Strabo states that Apameia is also called Kibotos (Geogr. 12.8.13) would seem to prove that this legend was not introduced by later Christians in Phrygia.35 Doubts arise, however, when one sees that on some earlier coins of the city, from the time of Hadrian (117– 138), the plural kibôtoi is used and accompanied by a depiction of no less than five chests. That suggests that the nickname of the town has a ‘non-Noachic’ origin (unknown to us) and that only afterwards this name became the reason for locating the landing of Noah’s ark there. Be that as it may, the fact that a scene from the Jewish Bible was depicted on the coins of the town Apameia strongly suggests Jewish influence.36 Finally I will only briefly mention the cult of Theos Hypsistos. Stephen Mitchell collected some 375 inscriptions of devotees of Theos Hypsistos, a deity that was worshiped especially in Asia Minor.37 Theos Hypsistos is a designation that was used in both pagan and Jewish circles as an epithet of the highest god (God Most High). Of these inscriptions 26 are from Phrygia (nos. 205–227, A53–A55) and in most cases it is impossible to tell whether we have to do with a pagan or a Jewish inscription. This somewhat elusive cult most probably concerned syncretistic groups who made a conscious attempt to bridge the gap between paganism and Judaism. Its origins probably lay not in

34 35 36

37

is no longer read there; see Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae I/2 (2012) no. 1001 (p. 384). His seems to be a rather convincing case. For references see Schürer, History of the Jewish People 3.28–30. In the sixties of the first century Pliny the Elder says the same (Nat. Hist. 5.29.106). Thus rightly Trebilco, Jewish Communities 86–95. Schürer, History 3.30, discusses yet another case of possibly Jewish influence upon Phrygian legend formation, but that is even more uncertain. ‘The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,’ in P. Athanassiadi & M. Frede (eds.), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999, 128–148; idem, ‘Further Thoughts on the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,’ in S. Mitchell & P. van Nuffelen (eds.), One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010, 204–205.

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Jewish but in henotheistic pagan circles where the attractiveness of the Jewish religion was felt so strongly that one looked for common ground. As Mitchell says, “The cult of Theos Hypsistos had room for pagans and for Jews. More than that, it shows that the principal categories into which we divide the religious groupings of late antiquity are simply inappropriate or misleading when applied to the beliefs and practices of a significant proportion of the population of the eastern Roman empire” (115). Mitchell shows that what we know of the so-called Godfearers (theosebeis, sebomenoi), pagan sympathizers with Judaism,38 agrees to such a degree with the information we have about the adherents of the Theos Hypsistos cult that it is quite possible that we have to regard these two groups as identical. If this intriguing hypothesis is correct, it would again be a confirmation of the important role Phrygian Jews have played in the process of religious interaction. Let us try to draw some provisional conclusions. The evidence is too scanty and chronologically too scattered to enable us to draw conclusions that have general validity for all Jews in Phrygia during the eight centuries for which we have information. What we can say, however, is that the material from the Roman imperial period gives the impression of a high degree of integration of the Jewish communities into society as a whole, exactly as we can also observe that phenomenon elsewhere in Asia Minor. Much of the epigraphic evidence points to good relationships with the non-Jews of Phrygia: the building of a synagogue by a Roman priestess of the emperor cult, Jewish participation in important cultural events (sport or music), the adoption by Jews of such (pagan) funerary customs as the rosalia, Jewish involvement in the Phrygian purple industry, probable knowledge of certain biblical texts among non-Jews, local acquaintance (in Apameia) with the story of Noah and the ark, and, last but not least, the strong presence of the mixed Jewish-pagan cult of the Theos Hypsistos. Furthermore, the later literary sources (Canones of Laodicea, Theophanes) clearly imply that there were good relations between Jews and Christians in this area. One thing is clear: Jews and Judaism were taken seriously by many non-Jews in ancient Phrygia.39

38 39

B. Wanders, Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998, is the best treatment to date. For reasons of space I leave out of account here the inscriptions with the so-called ‘Eumeneian formula’ (estai autôi pros ton theon, and many variants) for which I refer to P. Trebilco, ‘The Christian and Jewish Eumeneian Formula,’ in J.M.G. Barclay (ed.), Negotiating Diaspora. Jewish Strategies in the Roman Empire, London – New York: Clark– Continuum, 2004, 66–88.

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Judaism in Asia Minor Introduction Map B VI/18 of the Tübinger Atlas des Vorderen Orients (with the title Die jüdische Diaspora bis zum 7. Jahrhundert n. Chr.),1 shows a considerable concentration of Jewish settlements in Asia Minor, with a higher density of Jewish communities in the West than in the East. The history of this Jewish diaspora in Asia Minor is a long one. It probably started as early as the fifth century BCE and continues till the present day.2 This chapter will focus on the roughly one thousand years between the beginnings of Jewish settlement there and the end of the Talmudic period (or the rise of Islam). The literary sources at our disposal are scarce, unfortunately: we have only a handful of references in pagan literary sources, several more in Josephus and the New Testament, and also some in Church Fathers and in canons of Church Councils; on the other hand, we have no less than some 260 Jewish inscriptions, by far the most in Greek (more than 95 percent), only a handful in Hebrew.3 On the question whether or not we possess Jewish writings from Asia Minor (perhaps some of the Or. Sib. and 4 Macc.) there is no scholarly consensus at all and we have to leave this question out of account.4 Archaeological remains are not very 1 Wiesbaden: Reichert, 1992. A helpful but less complete map can be found in P.R. Trebilco, Jewish Communities in Asia Minor (SNTSMS 69), Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991 (repr. 2006), xvi. A concise but good survey of the evidence is given by Fergus Millar in E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, rev. ed. by G. Vermes, F. Millar & M. Goodman, vols. I–III, Edinburgh: Clark, 1973–1987, 3.17–36, with the additions by H. Bloedhorn in M. Hengel, “Der alte und der neue ‘Schürer,’ ” in his Judaica, Hellenistica et Christiana (Kleine Schriften II), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999, 157–199, here 195–196. 2 H.Z. Hirschberg and H.J. Cohen, “Turkey,” Enc. Jud. 15 (1971) 1456–1462. 3 All relevant material has been conveniently collected in W. Ameling, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis II: Kleinasien (TSAJ 99), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. This work will be referred to as IJO. On the striking similarities between the pagan and the Jewish ‘epigraphic habit’ see Ameling, “Die jüdische Diaspora Kleinasiens und der ‘epigraphic habit’,” in J. Frey, D.R. Schwartz & S. Gripentrog (eds.), Jewish Identity in the Greco-Roman World, Leiden: Brill, 2007, 253–282, passim. 4 See Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 95–99 (on Or. Sib. I–II); R. Buitenwerf, Book III of the Sibylline Oracles and its Social Setting, Leiden: Brill, 2003, 130–133 (on Or. Sib. III); E. Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa, 2 vols., Darmstadt: WBG, 1980 (= 1909), 416–420 (on 4 Macc.). Rabbinic

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numerous (apart from the epigraphic material), but some of them are spectacular (see below on Sardis).

Historical Aspects

The beginnings of Jewish presence in Asia Minor may go back to the fifth century BCE, although the evidence is controversial because of a problem in the interpretation of a Hebrew word in Obadiah 20. The prophet says there that the exiles of Jerusalem who live in Sepharad will possess the towns of the Negev. Sepharad (only in later Hebrew the designation for Spain) is a name that occurs nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible and it is uncertain which place or region the prophet has in mind here.5 That uncertainty is also reflected in the ancient versions: the Septuagint renders it Ephratha (or Sephratha), the Vulgate has Bosporus, and the Peshitta and the Targum read Spain. According to some modern scholars, however, the city of Sardis is meant here.6 The reason is that in 1916 an Aramaic inscription from the Persian period (KAI no. 260 from the fifth century BCE) was found in the ancient necropolis of Sardis, in which the name Sepharad (in the same spelling as in Obadiah 20: sprd) is used for the capital of the Persian satrapy Sparda = Sardis. And fifty years later, in 1966, another Aramaic inscription from the Persian period (ca. 450 BCE) was published from which it became apparent that in Daskyleion, not far from Sardis, a Jewish family had settled.7 That is to say that it is not impossible that the prophet indeed does have in mind here Jewish exiles in the Lydian capital, Sardis. But since that cannot be strictly proved, it is understandable that some scholars remain skeptical.8

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references to Jewish communities in Asia Minor are extremely rare and have little historical value (e.g., t. Megilla 2.5; b. Moed Qatan 26a). See the survey in J.D. Wineland, “Sepharad,” ABD 5 (1992) 1089–1090. See, e.g., E. Lipinski, “Obadiah 20,” VT 23 (1973) 368–370; H.W. Wolff, Dodekapropheton 3: Obadja und Jona (BKAT XIV/3), Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977, 47–48. Also Wineland, “Sepharad,” is inclined to see a reference to Sardis here. For details see the publications mentioned in the previous note. E.g., Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 38; and Millar in Schürer, History, III/1, 20–21. The story that in the middle of the fourth century BCE Aristotle met a learned Jew in Asia Minor (Clearchus ap. Josephus, C. Ap. I 179–182) is to be regarded as non-historical but can nevertheless be regarded as a testimony for the early hellenization of Jews in Asia Minor; see V.A. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews, New York: Atheneum, 1975 (= 1959), 287; M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (= GLAJJ), 3 vols., Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984, 1. 47.

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Anyway, as the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus tells us, some two centuries later, in a letter of the Seleucid king Antiochus III from 205 BCE, this ruler orders that two thousand Jewish families be transferred from Mesopotamia to serve as military colonists in the most important cities of Lydia and Phrygia in order to maintain his hold over this region (Antiquitates Judaicae 12.148–153), a characteristic example of the colonization methods of the Seleucids in Asia Minor.9 These Jews were given arable land for cultivation and a plot for building a house. So we can be reasonably sure that at least by the end of the third century BCE these two Anatolian provinces had Jewish families among their inhabitants. Most probably, these families laid the foundations of what was to become the rapidly expanding Jewish diaspora in Asia Minor. Some six decades later (ca. 140 BCE), a letter from the authorities in Rome “to the kings and to the countries” (1 Macc. 15:15) urges them to refrain from harming the Jews or waging war upon them because they are “our friends and allies” (15:17); among the “countries” enumerated we find Caria, Pamphylia, Lycia, Halicarnassus, Phaselis, Side, Kos, Rhodos etc. (15:23), which implies that within two or three generations Jews had spread out over most of Asia Minor.10 Josephus preserves also a series of decrees and resolutions, taken by either the Roman rulers or the Greek city councils, concerning the rights of the Jews in Asia Minor, among other places in Ephesus, Miletus, Smyrna, Tralles, Pergamum, Halicarnassus, Laodicea, Sardis, and the islands of Paros and Cos (they all date from the period between 50 BCE–50 CE).11 These documents 9

10

11

See A. Schalit, “The Letter of Antiochus III to Zeuxis Regarding the Establishment of Jewish Military Colonies in Phrygia and Lydia,” JQR n.s. 50 (1960) 289–318. There are some scholars, though, who doubt the authenticity of the letter of Antiochus III; see J.M.G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora, Edinburgh: Clark, 1996, 261 with note 8; but see also Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization, 287–288; H. Hegermann, “The Diaspora in the Hellenistic Age,” in W.D. Davies & L. Finkelstein (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 2, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, 115–166, here 146; S. Mitchell, Anatolia. Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, 2 vols., Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993, 2. 32 n. 181. Perhaps also the Jewish woman Plousia, who is mentioned in P.Polit.Iud. 8 (from 132 BCE) as Gargarissa, should be taken as a testimony of Jewish presence in Gargara (in the Troad); see J.M.S. Cowey & K. Maresch, Urkunden des Politeuma der Juden von Herakleopolis, Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag, 2001, 97. Most of them are in Ant. Jud. 14.185–267; 16.160–178; 19.278–312. On the question of the historicity of these documents as preserved in Josephus see M. Pucci ben Zeev, Jewish Rights in the Roman World, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998. On the reasons why the tensions that are apparent in these documents disappear after the first half of the first century CE see W. Ameling, “Die jüdischen Gemeinden im antiken Kleinasien,” in R. Jütte &

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show that, when friction arose between the Jews and the local authorities in the early Roman period, usually the basic cause was “tension over questions concerning the civic status of the resident Diaspora communities visà-vis the Greek citizen bodies of the host cities.”12 Apparently, at least some Jews were claiming admission to Greek citizenship, while the Greeks felt that “such admission should entail integration into pagan civic life and that the Jews could not expect to temper the privilege of citizenship with exemption from its uncongenial features.”13 The secure position of the Jews in the cities did not come to them automatically. Roman authorities had granted the Jewish communities certain rights and privileges (e.g., exemption from military service), and the Jews had to struggle for their maintenance, but they apparently had sufficient influence and goodwill to get things done as they wanted. On the whole, the documents leave the impression that “in a number of cities in Asia Minor, Jews often met with local opposition to their rights and privileges and had to appeal to Roman authorities who always ruled in their favour.”14 The picture we get is that of Jewish communities which are keen on the maintenance of their own identity in the midst of a pagan society, often meet with resistance on the part of pagan society, but are in the long run also enabled by that very same society to maintain their way of life without insurmountable problems (although occasionally we do get glimpses of more serious conflicts, e.g., when Josephus says that, in the time of Augustus, the Jews of Asia Minor

12

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A.P. Kustermann (eds.), Jüdische Gemeinden und Organisationsformen von der Antike bis zur Gegenwart, Vienna: Böhlau, 1996, 29–55, esp. 49–50. E.M. Smallwood, “The Diaspora in the Roman Period Before CE 70,” in W. Horbury, W.D. Davies, J. Sturdy (eds.), The Cambridge History of Judaism, vol. 3, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999, 177. Smallwood, “The Diaspora,” 179. I. Levinskaya, The Book of Acts in its First Century Setting, 5: Diaspora Setting, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996, 143. As a good example, at pp. 141–142 Levinskaya quotes the important edict issued by the Emperor Augustus in 12 BCE stating that the Jews “may follow their own customs in accordance with the law of their fathers . . . and that their sacred monies shall be inviolable and may be sent to Jerusalem and delivered to the treasurers in Jerusalem and they need not give bond (to appear in court) on the Sabbath or on the day of preparation for it after the ninth hour; and if anyone is caught stealing their sacred books or their sacred monies from a synagogue or an ark (of the Law), he shall be regarded as sacrilegious and his property shall be confiscated to the public treasury of the Romans” (Ant. Jud. 16.163–164).

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were mistreated by the Greeks and saw no limit to their inhuman behaviour, Ant. Jud. 16.161 [but see note 14 for Augustus’ reaction]).15 The impression of a growing diaspora is further corroborated by Cicero, who informs us that, according to a Jewish accusation, in 62 BCE the Roman governor of Asia Minor, Flaccus, confiscated money (i.c. the annual halfshekel payment for the Temple in Jerusalem) from the Jewish inhabitants of Apamea, Laodicea, Adramyttium, and Pergamum (Pro Flacco 28.68).16 The New Testament adds further evidence, especially in the Book of Acts, where Jewish communities in Cappadocia, Phrygia, Pamphylia, Pontus, Ephesus, Smyrna, Philadelphia, Pisidian Antioch, Tarsus, Lystra, Derbe, and Iconium are mentioned (2:9-10; 13:14; 14:1; 16:1-3; 19:17; also Rev. 3:9).17 Philo even states that “in every village” of Asia and Syria there are innumerable Jews (Legat. 245; in 281 he mentions Jewish ‘colonies’ in Cilicia, Pamphylia, and “most of Asia as far as Bithynia and the remote corners of Pontus”). It is clear that, according to the literary sources, by the first century CE, Jewish settlement had spread all over Asia Minor. And indeed, this is confirmed by the epigraphic evidence: we have inscriptions from at least some 75 Anatolian cities and villages, most of them from the early centuries CE. This evidence does not permit us, however, to write a history of the Jews in ancient Asia Minor. The data are too few and probably Jewish life in Anatolian cities usually was too uneventful to make it into the books written by ancient historians. Even so, we do observe that, as compared to cities such as Alexandria and Rome, frictions and tensions between Jews and non-Jews were relatively few and it would seem that Jews gradually reached a high degree of integration into Greek city life.

Socio-Religious Aspects

There are several indications for this high degree of integration. Here only some of the most striking instances can be mentioned. In Phrygian Acmonia, we find a very intriguing inscription (IJO II 168) that tells us that some prominent 15

16 17

It should be kept in mind that, as Pucci Ben Zeev states, the rights given to the Jews “may not be regarded as proof of a special consideration for Jewish needs, but rather an application of common principles of Roman policy” ( Jewish Rights, 482). On the legal status of the Jewish communities, which falls outside the scope of this article, see Ameling, “Die jüdischen Gemeinden,” 34–37. A.J. Marshall, “Flaccus and the Jews of Asia,” Phoenix 29 (1975) 139–154. See Levinskaya, The Book of Acts, 137–152.

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members of the local Jewish community had the synagogue restored that had been built by Julia Severa. This woman is well known to us – she is mentioned also in other inscriptions and on coins from Acmonia – as the priestess of the local emperor cult in the middle of the first century CE. So she was certainly not Jewish but played a prominent role in an important pagan cult in the city. Even so this inscription testifies to her warm interest in the Jewish. Julia Severa was an aristocratic lady (her son later became a senator in Rome), who had close connections with the prestigious Roman emigrant family of the Turronii; one of them, Turronius Rapo, was also a priest for the emperor cult and together with Julia Severa he is mentioned on the coins of the city, while another member of the same family, Turronius Cladus, is mentioned in our inscription as the ‘head of the synagogue’ (archisynagôgos) that had the renovations done!18 We see here how a woman of high social standing, with a prominent role in the pagan community of Acmonia, extends a largesse to the Jewish community, which undoubtedly may be taken as a sign of the successful integration of the Jews of that city and of the sympathy they enjoyed among non-Jewish inhabitants.19 Again from Phrygia, but now two centuries later, are some inscriptions that refer to the book of Deuteronomy. They threaten anyone who buries in the tomb another one than the deceased for whom the tomb was made with “the curses which are written in Deuteronomy” (IJO II 173 and 174; a third instance is from Laodicea, IJO II 213), which is an interesting variant on the curse formulas that are so frequent on Phrygian graves.20 The reference is undoubtedly to Deut. 28 in the Septuagint, the version which the authors of the inscriptions used. Vv. 28–29 of that chapter threaten the offender with blindness, a motif that occurs also in another epitaph from Acmonia where the stone says: “If someone opens this grave, he will be struck by the curses that are written against his eyes and all the rest of his body” (IJO II 172). Here Deuteronomy is not mentioned explicitly but the allusion is unmistakable.21 In this connection it is interesting to see that in another Phrygian epitaph, 18 19

20

21

See Mitchell, Anatolia, II 9. For other instances see L.H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993, 310, although I disagree when he says that “we may conclude that she [Julia Severa] later converted to Judaism and then built the synagogue” (576 nn. 120). For which see J.H.M. Strubbe, “Curses Against Violations of the Grave in Jewish Epitaphs from Asia Minor,” in J.W. van Henten & P.W. van der Horst (eds.), Studies in Early Jewish Epigraphy, Leiden: Brill, 1994, 70–128. See P.W. van der Horst, Ancient Jewish Epitaphs. An Introductory Survey of a Millennium of Jewish Funerary Epigraphy (300 BCE–700 CE), Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1991, 56–57.

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IJO II 179 from Apamea, it is significantly said that whenever anyone dares to bury here another person, “he knows the Law of the Jews!” This formulation (“the Law of the Jews”) seems to indicate that a certain knowledge of the Torah, however partial and superficial, is presupposed here among the non-Jews of the region.22 This suggestion is further confirmed by evidence of quite a different nature but from the same place, namely the curious Noah coins from Apamea. In this city, coins were found from the first half of the third century CE on which Noah and his wife are depicted together with the ark (and the name Nôe added). In a number of ancient sources the city of Apamea is also called Kibôtos (= ark).23 (In the Septuagint, kibôtos is used for Noah’s ark.) There circulated a legend that Noah’s ark had landed on a hill in the neighbourhood of the city. Is this a case of Jewish influence? The coins were struck by the pagan authorities of the city, so the legend was believed anyway outside Jewish circles. And the fact that as early as the first century BCE the Greek geographer Strabo says that Apamea was also called Kibôtos (Geogr. 12.8.13)24 would seem to be a proof that this legend was not introduced into Phrygia only by the Christians. But doubts about the Jewish origin of the legend arise when one sees that on some earlier coins of the city, from the time of Hadrian, the plural kibôtoi is used and that five chests are depicted on them. That seems to indicate that this nickname of the city had a non-Jewish origin and that only in a later stage this sobriquet gave the Jewish inhabitants the occasion to localize the landing of Noah’s ark there. However uncertain much of this remains, it is certain that a biblical scene was depicted on the city’s coins and that this is a clear case of Jewish influence upon a non-Jewish population. Another striking example of close contacts between Jews and non-Jews is the recently discovered inscription from Aphrodisias in Caria on a huge marble block or pillar of almost three meters high and some 45 centimeters wide, inscribed on two sides with a long Greek inscription of 86 lines (IJO II 14).25 It most probably – but not certainly – dates from the late fourth or fifth 22 23 24 25

See Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 100. Cf. an inscription from Catania on Sicily: adiuro vos per legem quem Dominus dedit Iudaeis (JIWE I, no. 145). See for references Schürer, History, III, 28–30; Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 86–95. In the sixties of the first century CE, Plinius Maior says the same (Nat. Hist. 5.29.106). J. Reynolds & R. Tannenbaum, Jews and Godfearers at Aphrodisias Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society, 1987; on its relevance P.W. van der Horst, “Jews and Christians in Aphrodisias in the Light of Their Relations in Other Cities of Asia Minor,” in idem, Essays on the Jewish World of Early Christianity (Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus 14), Fribourg: Universitätsverlag-Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1990, 166–181.

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century CE.26 The greatest part of the text consists of lists of some 125 names27 mentioned as donors or contributors to a local synagogue institution, which is identified tentatively by the editors as the Jewish community’s soup-kitchen but which may well have been the collective burial place of that community.28 The 125 or so names of the benefactors are subdivided into three categories: 68 are Jews (although they are not explicitly so described, the overwhelming preponderance of Biblical and Hebrew Jewish names leaves no room for another conclusion); 54 are called ‘Godfearers,’ theosebeis; three are proselytes. This strikingly high percentage of Godfearers, i.e., pagan sympathizers with Judaism, in a list of benefactors and contributors to a Jewish institution, is the great surprise of this inscription. We knew from the Book of Acts and from Josephus that in many cities of the ancient world synagogues had sympathizers in the form of a body of permanent or semi-permanent catechumens.29 The author of Acts leaves us in no doubt about the presence of a sizeable body of Godfearers in the major cities of Asia Minor. Josephus even reports, with characteristic exaggeration, that most of the pagan women of Damascus belonged to this category, and that also in Syrian Antioch the number of sympathizers was extremely great (Bell. 2.560; 7.43–45).30 It was among these Godfearers that, according to Acts, Paul made most of his early converts. If we leave out of account Josephus’ exaggerating reports, neither from Acts nor from inscriptional evidence is it possible to gauge the exact extent of this phenomenon of pagans sympathizing in various degrees with Judaism (although the literary and epigraphic attestation for Godfearers in Asia Minor is not negligeable).31 Now we have for the first time an indication of the degree of influence of the synagogue on local pagans in a middle-sized city of Asia Minor. And we have 26 27

28 29 30 31

On the problems of dating this inscription see esp. A. Chaniotis, “The Jews of Aphrodisias: New Evidence and Old Problems,” Studia Classica Israelica 21 (2002) 209–242. The uncertainty about the exact numbers of persons is due partly to the damaged state of the stone, partly to the fact that it is not certain whether or not some names are patronymics; see Reynolds, Tannenbaum, Jews and Godfearers, 93–96. See for the latter interpretation Ameling’s commentary on IJO II 14. B. Wander, Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten. Studien zum heidnischen Umfeld von Diasporasynagogen, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998, 143–154, 180–203. On these and other cases of ‘adherence’ and ‘conversion’ in Josephus see S.J.D. Cohen, “Respect for Judaism by Gentiles According to Josephus,” HTR 80 (1987) 409–430. See S. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos Between Pagans, Jews, and Christians,” in P. Athanassiadi & M. Frede (eds), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, Oxford: Clarendon, 1999, 117–118; idem, “Further Thoughts on the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” in S. Mitchell & P. van Nuffelen (eds.), One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire, Cambridge: CUP, 2010, 189–196.

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to bear in mind that this inscription records only the names of the contributors, that is, probably of only a part of the more well-to-do citizens among the Godfearers. Even so there are 54 of them listed. As a matter of fact we can see that the employments of the Godfearers, of which some 22 are given in the inscription, cover a wide range of occupations only very few of which indicate lower social status.32 Most remarkable is the fact that nine of them are bouleutai, city councillors. In the later Roman Empire, this office implied heavy financial obligations and could only be exercised by the wealthy of a city. So what we are now able to see is that, in Aphrodisias at least, the Jews attracted large numbers of local gentiles – again, the people recorded form undoubtedly only a part of the total group of Godfearers – and persons of high standing and great influence at that. When pagan local magistrates heartily support and partly pay for the foundation of a Jewish institution, one cannot but conclude that the Jewish community of that city was influential to a degree which hitherto could hardly have been imagined. Its members appear to have been selfconfident, accepted in the city, and evidently able to attract the favourable attention of many gentile fellow Aphrodisians. Godfearers, who were not full converts to Judaism, had a relative freedom in following or not following the commandments of the Jewish Bible. One of the biblical commandments was that sacrifices to the God of Israel were to be offered only in the temple of Jerusalem. Now a recent find may indicate that Godfearers felt free to sacrifice to this God also in their own hometown. IJO II 218 is an inscription on a small private altar found in Aspendos in Pamphylia and probably dating from the first or second century CE.33 It reads “For the truthful god who is not made with hands (in fulfillment of) a vow” (theôi apseudei kai acheiropoiêtôi euchên). The interpretation of this inscription is debated.34 The terminology (esp. the use of acheiropoiêtos) suggests a Jewish origin, but it is hard to imagine a Jewish altar outside the Jerusalem temple.35 It seems much more credible to look for the origin of this altar-inscription in the circles of Godfearers. If one is in a position to decide for oneself which elements of the Jewish way of life one adopts and which one does not, then the problem of a Jewish altar outside a Jewish temple disappears. A pagan judaizer who did want to confess his belief in the one true God who is not made with hands, need certainly not have felt himself constrained by the centralization 32 33 34 35

Reynolds & Tannenbaum, Jews and Godfearers, 116–123, esp. 119–122. For what follows see P.W. van der Horst, “A New Altar of a Godfearer?” in idem, Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction, 2nd ed., Leuven: Peeters, 1998, 65–72. For a survey see Ameling, IJO II 458–461. We do know of Jewish temples elsewhere than in Jerusalem, but not of private altars.

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of the sacrificial cult in Jerusalem (or the ceasing of that cult after 70, if the inscription was engraved after the destruction of the temple). As a non-Jew he was free to bring sacrifices to the God of the Jewish people wherever he wanted. A private altar, erected by himself before his house or in the backyard, was one of the possibilities. And indeed, in the soil of Pergamum a small altar was discovered with an inscription that is regarded by several scholars as having been engraved by a Godfearer.36 The text runs as follows: at the top of the altar we read theos kyrios ho ôn eis aei,37 “God the Lord is the one who is forever” (or: “God is the Lord who is forever”), and at the lower part of the altar we read: “Zopyrus (dedicated) to the Lord this altar and the lampstand with the lantern.” In this case, too, the combination of the fact that it is an altar from the second century CE and the clearly Jewish terminology is sufficient reason to regard the inscription as belonging to a pagan sympathizer or judaizer, i.e., a Godfearer. Elias Bickerman rightly remarked that throughout antiquity for a pagan Greek or Roman bringing sacrifices was essentially part and parcel of his daily life and that “rabbinic doctors of the Law approved of gentile altars to God. (. . .) The situation was paradoxical. While the sons of Abraham, after the destruction of the Temple, were no more able to make offerings to God, a sweet savor continued to go up to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob from sacrifices offered by God-fearing gentiles. Yet the rabbis abetted this impairment of the privileges of the chosen people.”38 The best known example of Jewish integration into Graeco-Roman city life is Sardis.39 In 1962, American archaeologists unearthed the greatest ancient synagogue ever in the city of Sardis, capital of ancient Lydia. The colossal basilica-shaped building measures almost 20 × 100 meters and could accommodate some 1000 people. This richly decorated basilica is an integral part of a huge 36

37 38 39

See M.P. Nilsson, “Zwei Altäre aus Pergamon,” Eranos 54 (1956) 167–173; G. Delling, “Die Altarinschrift eines Gottesfürchtigen in Pergamon,” in idem, Studien zum Neuen Testament und zum hellenistischen Judentum, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970, 32–38; E. Bickerman, “The Altars of Gentiles. A Note on the Jewish ‘ius sacrum’,” in idem, Studies in Jewish and Christian History II, Leiden: Brill, 1980, 324–346 (in the new edition, AJEC 68, Leiden: Brill, 2007, 596–617). This inscription has not been included by Ameling in IJO II. Note the allusion to Exod. 3:14 egô eimi ho ôn. Bickerman, “The Altars of Gentiles,” 344 (615). From the abundant literature I refer exempli gratia only to A.R. Seager & A.T. Kraabel, “The Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” in G.M.A. Hanfmann (ed.), Sardis from Prehistoric to Roman Times, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1983, 168–190; and L.I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue. The First Thousand Years, New Haven – London: Yale University Press, 2000, 242–249, where further references can be found.

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municipal bath-and-gymnasium complex with a shopping mall in the city centre and as such it is a monument to the integration of the Jewish community in this Graeco-Roman city.40 The building is one of the most prominent features of the city’s urban landscape, as every modern visitor can now easily see. Even apart from the enormous size, this points to the fact that the Jewish community of Sardis was definitely not a ‘quantité négligeable.’ Minorities in a city do not usually get hold of a central and prestigious building if they do not have any clout and influence there. That the Jews did indeed have this influence is amply confirmed by the more than 80 inscriptions found in the synagogue, which demonstrate that no less than nine of the Jews mentioned are bouleutai, i.e., members of the city council (boulê), the highest administrative body of the city.41 Here we see Jews who have climbed up to the highest rung on the social ladder, for “the councils of Greek cities under the Late Empire were open only to the wealthier families, with membership, once purchased, being hereditary and held for life.”42 So distinguished and well-to-do Jewish families here participated in the government of the city.43 No wonder that here, unlike elsewhere in the fifth and sixth centuries, the synagogue was not expropriated by the Christians in order to be converted into a church building. This basilica could have been a magnificent church, but what happened in fact was that during the fifth and sixth centuries the Christians in Sardis had to make do with a much smaller building than the synagogue. A striking difference from the famous Aphrodisias inscription, which also mentions nine bouleutai, is that there the city councilors are all gentiles whereas here they are Jews. ‘The Sardis dossier stands out for its sheer richness and scale, and for the striking vitality of late Roman Judaism that it conveys, a vitality that appears all the more remarkable because of the growing strength of Christianity at the same period in history.’44

40 41

42 43 44

Seager & Kraabel, “The Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” passim. Note that here, again, six non-Jewish donors are explicitly called ‘God-fearers’ (theosebeis, IJO II 67, 68, 83, 123, 125, 132). See now the caveat by Martin Goodman in his “Jews and Judaism in the Mediterranean Diaspora.” J.H. Kroll, “The Greek Inscriptions of the Sardis Synagogue,” HTR 94 (2001) 10. Also elsewhere, we have evidence of the relative affluence of Jewish families, e.g., in Phrygian Acmonia; see Mitchell, Anatolia, 35; IJO II 172 and 173 are striking cases. Kroll, “Greek Inscriptions,” 48. That the growing strength of Christianity could also have the effect of Jews stressing more and more their distinctive Jewishness (e.g., by adopting more frequently Hebrew names) is illustrated for Cilician Corycus by M.H. Williams, “The Jews of Corycus – A Neglected Diasporan Community from Roman Times,” JSJ 25 (1994) 274–286.

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Finally, we have to discuss a very significant form of rapprochement between Jews and Gentiles in Asia Minor, namely the cult of Theos Hypsistos, God Most High.45 Stephen Mitchell collected some 375 inscriptions of worshippers of this god, mostly from the second and third centuries CE,46 mainly from the eastern Mediterranean, but especially from Asia Minor. A large percentage of these inscriptions, more than 160, are from Asia Minor,47 and in most cases it is impossible to determine whether the inscription is pagan, Christian, or Jewish; arguments for assigning them to either category are rarely decisive. That is so because Theos Hypsistos is a designation that was current as an epithet for the highest god in both paganism and Judaism and Christianity.48 It is highly probable that this rather elusive cult concerned a syncretistic religious movement that did a conscious effort to bridge the gap between polytheism and monotheism. Its origins lie not in Jewish but in pagan henotheistic circles, where the attraction of Judaism was so strongly felt that one was seeking common ground. Hypsistarians chose to address their god by a name that fitted both pagan and Jewish patterns of belief. Quite often they combined their worship of Theos Hypsistos with that of angels, another trait with monotheistic, or at least henotheistic, overtones.49 As Mitchell says, “We are evidently 45

46

47

48 49

For what follows see esp. S. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos Between Pagans, Jews, and Christians,” in P. Athanassiadi, M. Frede (eds), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999, 81–148; and idem, “Further Thoughts on the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” in S. Mitchell & P. van Nuffelen (eds.), One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire, Cambridge: CUP, 2010, 167–208. The catalogue of inscriptions is divided over these two articles. It is important to realize that, whereas the epigraphic evidence is mainly from the second and third centuries, other evidence makes clear that this cult was not a development of these centuries, “but occurred at least sporadically during the late Hellenistic or early Roman periods, (. . .) for which there is little or no epigraphic attestation” (Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” 209). Mitchell also points out that there is still evidence for the Hypsistarians in the fourth and fifth centuries CE. The greatest density of inscriptions outside Asia Minor is to be found in Cyprus (32) and Athens (27). For its relatively frequent occurrence in Phrygia (26 items so far) see Th. Drew-Bear, & Ch. Naour, “Divinités de Phrygie,” ANRW II 18, 3, Berlin – New York: W. de Gruyter, 1990, 2032–2043. See esp. M. Simon, “Theos Hypsistos,” in his Le christianisme antique et son contexte religieux (WUNT 23), vol. 2, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1981, 495–508. A.R.R. Sheppard, “Pagan Cults of Angels in Roman Asia Minor,” Talanta 12–13 (1980/81) 77–101; Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” 102–105; P.W. van der Horst, “Hosios kai Dikaios,” in K. van der Toorn, B. Becking, P.W. van der Horst (eds.), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible, 2nd ed., Leiden: Brill – Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999, 427–428. Sheppard’s nr. 8 even mentions an “association of the lovers of angels” (philangelôn

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dealing with an area of belief, where Jews, Judaizers, and pagans occupied very similar territories. (. . .) The cult of Theos Hypsistos had room for pagans and for Jews. More than that, it shows that the principal categories into which we divide the religious groupings of late antiquity are simply inappropriate or misleading when applied to the beliefs and practices of a significant proportion of the population of the eastern Roman empire’ (114–115).50 The lack of any representations of the god and the absence of animal sacrifice from the rituals “distinguish the worship of Hypsistos from most other pagan cults in Greece, Asia Minor, and the Near East.”51 Mitchell also shows that what we know about pagan ‘Godfearers’ (theosebeis), or sympathizers with Judaism, is in agreement with the information we have about the worshippers of Theos Hypsistos to such a degree that both groups could very well be identical; we know that Hypsistarians often used the term ‘Godfearers’ (theosebeis) as a technical term to describe themselves. “Dedications to Theos Hypsistos occur at almost all the places [in Asia Minor] where Godfearers appear.”52 A very strong argument Mitchell adduces for identifying Hypsistarians with Godfearers is what he calls the “uncanny parallel” (120) between Josephus’ description of Godfearers and the Cappadocian Father Gregory of Nazianze’s description of Hypsistarians. The first one says about the Godfearers: “The [non-Jewish] masses have long since shown a keen desire to adopt our religious observances, and there is not one city, Greek or barbarian, not a single nation to which our custom of abstaining from work on the seventh day has not spread, and where the fasts and lighting of lamps and many of our prohibitions in the matter of food are not observed.”53 And Gregory says about the Hypsistarians (a sect to which his own father had belonged!): This cult was a mixture of two elements, Hellenic error and adherence to theJewish law. Shunning some parts of both, it was made up from others. Its followers reject the idols and sacrifices of the former and worship fire and lamplight; they revere the sabbath and are scrupulous not to touch certain foods, but have nothing to do with circumcision.54

50 51 52 53 54

symbiôsis). For a hymn “for God (. . .) and his first angel, Jesus Christ” see Mitchell, Anatolia, II 100–102 with n. 406. For an elaborate presentation of the problems of categorization see Mitchell, Anatolia, II 11–51. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” 108. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” 119 [my addition]. C. Ap. 2.282. Or. 18.5 (PG 35:989–991). Mitchell adduces other Patristic evidence as well.

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A pagan confirmation of these Jewish and Christian descriptions can be found in Juvenal’s famous Satire 14.96–106.55 It does not plead against the identification of Hypsistarians and Godfearers that occasionally one finds in the inscriptions other gods mentioned than Theos Hypsistos (e.g., Zeus, Helios, Men, Cybele, Larmene).56 This apparent polytheism does not militate against the essentially henotheistic nature of the cult, since in Hypsistarian circles gods other than the Most High were often regarded as his angels, as is so clearly said in the second or third century CE inscription from Oenoanda containing a Clarian oracle in which Apollo says that he and other gods are no more than angels of the highest god (SEG 27 [1977] 933 = nr. 233 in Mitchell’s list).57 In general it can be said that in the century between 150 and 250 CE, the oracles of Apollo at Claros and Didyma forged a kind of new theology which can be seen as “a persistent effort to integrate the pantheon of paganism into a system governed by a single guiding principle or a supreme god.”58 An impressive testimony to that effort is another oracle of the Clarian Apollo, in which he says that Jahweh (Iaô) is the Highest God, who is called Hades in winter, Zeus in spring, Helios in summer, and Iakchos (= Dionysus) in autumn.59 If Godfearers and Hypsistarians rare identical, that would be another confirmation of the important role that Jewish communities in Asia Minor played in the processes of religious and social interaction. It would explain, for instance, who were the persons for whom the theatre seats in Miletus were reserved according to the much debated inscription IJO II 37. If this text – topos eioudeôn tôn kai theoeebion [sic] = topos Ioudaiôn tôn kai Theosebiôn – is to be translated as ‘place of the Jews who (are) also (called) Godfearers,’ it may imply that the connections between Jews and Hypsistarians (theosebeis) were so close that Jews managed to get reserved seats in the city theatre by

55 56 57

See Stern’s GLAJJ nr. 301, in vol. 2, 102–107. Instances can be found easily in Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” 129–147. See also G. Zuntz, Griechische philosophische Hymnen, hrsgg. von H. Cancik, L. Käppel, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005, 89–94; R. Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1986, ch. 4. 58 Mitchell, Anatolia, II 43. 59 Quoted by Cornelius Labeo, De oraculo Apollinis Clarii, fr. 18 Mastandrea (ap. Macrobius, Sat. 1.18.19–20). See P. Mastandrea, Un neoplatonico latino: Cornelio Labeone (testimonianze e frammenti), Leiden: Brill, 1979, 159–192 (160–161 on the textcritical problem of the last name); Zuntz, Griechische Philosophische Hymnen 76. On this oracle see also my article “Porphyry on Judaism,” elsewhere in the present volume.

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parading as Hypsistarians, who had enough clout with the municipal authorities to provide these seat-reservations for their ‘coreligionists.60 Before the synod of Nicaea in 325 CE, in general Christians in Asia Minor “mingled with their non-Christian fellows without friction and confrontation in a territory which was familiar to all of them.”61 We know of Christian priests who worshipped Theos Hypsistos.62 As was to be expected under these circumstances, the interrelationships between Jews and non-Jews did not remain restricted to gentiles. This is apparent, among other things, from the canones of the synod of Laodicea (in Phrygia) from the middle of the sixties of the fourth century CE. In these decrees, Christians are warned severely against partaking in all sorts of Jewish practices.63 That there was more on stake here than the sheer possibility that such things would happen is made very clear by a passage about exactly this period (namely, the year 367) in Theophanes’ Chronographia (p. 62 ed. De Boor) which tells us that in that year Christians in Phrygia celebrated Passover together with the Jews (here one is reminded strongly of the situation a couple of decades later in Antioch-on-the-Orontes, where for similar reasons the many strongly judaizing Christians were heavily castigated by John Chrysostom).64 It is also to be noted that both Jewish and Christian epitaphs from Phrygia use as a standard warning to grave robbers the so-called Eumeneian formula (“he/they will have to reckon with God”), which often makes it very hard to distinguish one group from the other.65 “The later fruits of this close relationship between Anatolian Jews and the Christian communities living alongside them are clear in the Judaizing strain of Novatian Christianity which is attested above all in Phrygia in the late fourth and fifth 60 61 62 63

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See M. Baker, “Who Was Sitting at the Theatre at Miletos? An Epigraphical Application of a Novel Theory,” JSJ 36 (2005) 397–416. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,”122. But there is anti-Jewish Christian literature from Asia Minor; see Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 27–32. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” 122–123. For the texts see E.J. Jonkers, Acta et symbola conciliorum quae saeculo quarto habita sunt, Leiden: Brill, 1954, 86–96, esp. canons 29 (keeping Sabbath), 35 (angelolatry), 37 (festivals with Jews), and 38 (celebration of the Jewish Passover); discussion in Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 101–103. See P.W. van der Horst, “Jews and Christians in Antioch at the End of the Fourth Century,” in S.E. Porter & B.W.R. Pearson (eds.), Christian-Jewish Relations Through the Centuries, Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000, 228–238. For a map showing the many sites with both Jewish and Christian presence in Phrygia see Mitchell, Anatolia, II 42. P.R. Trebilco, “The Christian and Jewish Eumeneian Formula,” in J.M.G. Barclay (ed.), Negotiating Diaspora. Jewish Strategies in the Roman Empire, London – New York: Routledge, 2004, 66–88.

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centuries.”66 Celebrating Easter at the time of the Jewish Passover was only one of these Novatian practices. And the seventh-century Life of Saint Theodore of Sykeon tells us that the Jews of the village of Goeleon were present at this saint’s greatest miracle of exorcism.67 On the other hand, it should be added that there was not always a peaceful coexistence between Jews and Christians: In the Acta Pionii we read about the martyrdom of Pionius in Smyrna in 250 CE. In chapters 13–14, Pionius launches an attack on the Jews that is more vehement than his attack on his pagan persecutors. As it appears from his words, the Jews of Smyrna, of whom we know that they formed a prominent and influential community in the city,68 tried to make proselytes among persecuted Christians. A conversion to Judaism was of course as efficacious in avoiding martyrdom as a sacrifice to idols. Even in the Diocletian persecution the Emperor explicitly exempted the Jews from the necessity of offering sacrifice, thus confirming an old privilege of Judaism. And, as Marcel Simon has observed, “it is very difficult to believe that Jewish attempts to convert persecuted Christians were made without the cognizance of the Roman authorities. (. . .) It looks as if the state, in its desire to eliminate Christianity by making apostates and not martyrs, accepted the two recognized religious categories, Jewish and pagan, and left to the defecting Christians themselves the choice.”69 If Simon is right, we see here one of the most threatening consequences for the church of a Jewish-pagan coalition. And if Robin Lane Fox is right in his surmise that the ‘Great Sabbath’ (mentioned in Acta Pionii 2) which marked the occasion of the persecution, is the festival of Purim which the Jews in Smyrna celebrated together with the pagans who celebrated their Dionysia at the same time (!), then we see a bizarre form of that coalition in an easy relationship between a Jewish and a gentile festival, which the church had to face.70 In spite of the many proofs of peaceful coexistence and rapprochement between Jews and non-Jews (both pagan and Christian) in Asia Minor, we should not doubt that many of these Jews attached great importance to 66 Mitchell, Anatolia, II 35; cf. ibid. 96–108. 67 See Mitchell, Anatolia, II 139–143, for extensive discussion. 68 See Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians, 481–483, and Ameling, IJO II, 174–195, for the evidence. Note that almost a century earlier the Jews of Smyrna opposed Christianity according to Mart. Polyc. 12:2. 69 M. Simon, Verus Israel. A Study of the Relations between Christians and Jews in the Roman Empire (AD 135–425), Oxford: Littman Library, 1986, 111. 70 Fox, Pagans and Christians, 486–487. Note that Codex Theodosianus XVI 8,18 (from 408 CE) prohibits the Jews to mock Christianity on Purim by burning Haman’s effigy on a cross.

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maintaining their Jewish identity and singularity. This is most visible in the epigraphic material, but not only there. One finds their central institution, the synagogue, mentioned many times (sometimes as ‘most holy synagogue’);71 the functions they had in their religious community (archisynagôgos, archôn, presbyteros, gerousiarchês, grammateus, diakonos, anagnôstês, hiereus, psalmologos, phrontistês);72 the repeated references to their Bible (see above on the curses from Deuteronomy)73 and to reading and studying the Bible (IJO II 14,2–5 from Aphrodisias; 131 from Sardis); the mention of their religious festivals (Pesach and Festival of Weeks in nr. 196,7 from Hierapolis); their commitment to the annual collecting of the Temple tax before 70 (see Augustus’ decree in Ant. Jud. 16.163–164); the regulations for kosher food in Sardis and no doubt elsewhere (see the decree in Ant. Jud. 14.259–261); their request for exemption from military service in order not to desecrate the sabbath (Ant. Jud. 16.163–164);74 the references to God’s punishment and judgement on tombstones (see above on the curses in epitaphs); the numerous representations of the menorah; and last but not least, the frequent self-identification as Ioudaios (especially in Hierapolis). It is clear that for most of the Imperial period the Jews of Asia Minor formed self-conscious communities which were in intense interaction with their surroundings, both pagan and Christian. It is only from the end of the fourth century CE onwards that the anti-Jewish legislation of the Christian emperors began to make Jewish life increasingly difficult.75

71 See IJO II, p. 624 s.v. Cf. also the term sambatheion (synagogue?) in nr. 149. 72 On the meanings of these designations (quite often obscure) see van der Horst, Ancient Jewish Epitaphs, 85–101; Levine, Ancient Synagogue, 387–428. Note that there is no mention of rabbis, who apparently had no influence at all in Asia Minor till the early Middle Ages (IJO nr. 184 is only an apparent exception; see Ameling ad locum). It is telling that in at least some, but probably more, places women even had leading positions in the communities (IJO II 14, 25, 36, 43); see B.J. Brooten, Women Leaders in the Ancient Synagogue. Inscriptional Evidence and Background Issues, Chico: Scholars Press, 1982, and Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 104–126. 73 In IJO II 175 and 176 one also finds references to Zechariah 5:1–4. 74 See the discussion in Trebilco, Jewish Communities, 16–18. 75 Quite telling is a recently discovered inscription from the fifth or sixth century, found in a church on the island of Icaria, which says, “It is impossible that you will ever hear the truth from Jews at Icaria!” (IJO II 5a).

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Alongside a Jewish diaspora, in antiquity there was also a Samaritan diaspora that was much more extensive than is often assumed.76 From Rome to Mesopotamia there were Samaritan communities in all parts of the ancient world, so it stands to reason that there were also Samaritans in Asia Minor. But what is the evidence? Apart from a late (fifth cent.) literary reference to the effect that the city of Tarsus had two synagogues, a Jewish and a Samaritan one,77 we have a very limited number of inscriptions. IJO II 11 (2nd cent. CE, from Rhodos) mentions a Rhodocles Samaritas, but here the problem is that ancient sources use one and the same term for ‘Samaritan’ (a member of the religious community of the Samaritans) and for ‘Samarian’ (an inhabitant of Samaria, who could be a Jew, a pagan, or a Samaritan). Without further indicators we cannot know whether or not Rhodocles was a Samaritan. The same applies to nr. 243 (fourth– sixth cent., from Corycus in Cilicia), where a woman is called Samarissa. This woman, however, is also called diakonissa and there is a cross on the stone, so she was most probably a Christian from Samaria. Finally, there is nr. 24 (first cent. BCE–CE, from Caunos in Caria), where five persons are called Sikimitai, people from Sichem. Here we most probably have to do with a self-designation of Samaritans who sometimes named themselves after the biblical site at the foot of their holy mountain, Mt. Garizim. Even if this interpretation is rejected, it still remains highly probable that Samaritans were part of the religious landscape of Asia Minor. Most of the evidence may not be traceable for the simple reason that in many cases it is impossible to distinguish Jewish from Samaritan inscriptions.78

76 77 78

See P.W. van der Horst, “The Samaritan Diaspora in Antiquity,” in idem, Essays on the Jewish World of Early Christianity, 136–147. See Palladius, Dial. de vita Joh. Chrys. 20 (PG 47:73). The implication of the passage may be that there were Samaritan synagogues in other cities of Asia Minor as well. R. Pummer, “Inscriptions,” in A.D. Crown (ed.), The Samaritans, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1988, 190–194.

chapter 16

Samaritan Origins according to the Paralipomena Jeremiae The original meaning of the famous passage in 2 Kings 17:24–41 has always been a matter of debate, but everyone agrees about the fact that most, if not all, early Jewish interpreters of the Bible regarded this passage as a description of the origins of the Samaritans and their religion. This biblical passage states that that the Assyrians deported almost all of the inhabitants of the Northern Kingdom of Israel and introduced pagans from various corners of the Assyrian Empire (among them the city of Cutha). These immigrants occupied Samaria and its towns. “In the early years of their settlements they did not worship the Lord, so the Lord sent lions among them” (25). When the Assyrian king heard this, “he gave orders that one of the priests taken captive from Samaria should be sent back to live there and teach the people the rules of the God of the country. So one of the deported priests came back and (. . .) taught them how to worship the Lord” (27–28). Nevertheless, the story goes on, “each of the nations went on making its own gods. They set them up in niches at the shrines which the people of Samaria had made, each nation in its own settlements. (. . .) They keep up these old practices to the present day; they do not [really] worship the Lord, for they do not keep his statutes and judgements, the law and commandment, which he enjoined on the descendants of Jacob whom he named Israel. (. . .) They would not listen but continued their former practices. While these nations did worship the Lord, they continued to serve their images, and their children and their children’s children have maintained the practice of their forefathers to this day” (29, 34, 40–41). It is now generally recognized that the historical reliability of this passage is very dubious because apparently the biblical author’s intention was to convince his audience that the religious beliefs and practices of the people who lived in the northern parts of the country outside Judaea were of such a regrettably syncretistic nature that it would be best to keep them at a great distance.1 Many scholars now assume that 2 Kings 17 was originally not about the origins of the Samaritans but referred only to the syncretistic, or even gentile,

1 See M. Böhm, Samarien und die Samaritai bei Lukas (WUNT II/111), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999, 105–134.

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population of Samaria, whom we now call ‘Samarians.’2 However, from its earliest known interpretations in ancient Judaism onwards this passage was thought to describe the origins of the Samaritan religion. We see this, for instance, in Josephus (Ant. 9.277–291). On the one hand, Josephus emphasizes that after having received the necessary instruction in the true worship of God from an Israelite priest “they worshipped Him with great zeal” and that this remained the case “even to this day” (Ant. 9.290). There is not a single word here about relapsing or about mixing this true religion with tenets or rites of their old religion.3 On the other hand, however, Josephus states even more emphatically than the biblical text that – contrary to what the Samaritans themselves have always maintained – there was no continuity at all between the northern Israelites and the Samaritans. The former had all been deported (9.278) and the latter were a new people that had adopted the religion of Israel. The critical note that Josephus adds at the end is that these people, who he says are called Chouthaioi in Hebrew and Samareitai in Greek, are quite opportunistic in their attitude towards the Jews: “When they see the Jews prospering, they call them their kinsmen on the ground that they are descended from Joseph and are related to them through their origin from him, but when they see the Jews in trouble, they say that they have nothing whatever in common with them nor do these have any claim of friendship or kinship, and they declare themselves to be aliens of a different nation” (9.291). In other passages, Josephus undisguisedly shows his animosity towards the Samaritans as well, but we leave these aside for the moment.4 In the Jewish Martyrdom of Isaiah (3:1–12),5 it is a Samaritan man called Belkira who plays a pivotal role in the events that lead up to the death of Isaiah. 2 See e.g. R.J. Coggins, Samaritans and Jews. The Origins of Samaritanism Reconsidered, Oxford: Blackwell, 1975, 13–18; F. Dexinger, “Limits of Tolerance in Judaism: The Samaritan Example,” in E.P. Sanders et al. (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol. 2, London: SCM Press, 1981, 89–96. 3 As J. Zangenberg remarks, Josephus seems to picture them as true proselytes: “Abwendung vom fremden Gott, Hinwendung zum wahren Gott durch Belehrung mit der Konzequenz der Treue zur angenommenen Lebensweise.” See his SAMAREIA. Antike Quellen zur Geschichte und Kultur der Samaritaner in deutscher Übersetzung, Tübingen-Basel: Francke Verlag, 1994, 54. See also R. Egger, Josephus Flavius und die Samaritaner (NTOA 4), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht – Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1986, 177–178: “Der Bibeltext beschuldigt die Leute . . . des Poly- bzw. je eines Bi-Theismus, während Josephus darüber hinwegsieht.” 4 See Egger, Josephus Flavius und die Samaritaner, passim. 5 The Martyrdom of Isaiah is a Jewish document that has been incorporated into the Christian Ascensio Isaiae; see for the details A.-M. Denis, Introduction à la littérature religieuse judéohellénistique, Turnhout: Brepols, 2000, vol. 1, 633–657.

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This Samaritan prophet escapes the deportation of the northern tribes by the Assyrians and flees to Jerusalem where he becomes a follower of the evil king Manasseh, inspired as he is by Beliar. He finds out where Isaiah is hiding from this king and he accuses Isaiah of false prophecies concerning the future of Israel and Judah. He also asserts that Isaiah claimed that he could see more than the prophet Moses, for Moses had said, “No man can see God and live” (Ex. 33:20), whereas Isaiah had said, “I have seen God and behold I am still alive!” (a somewhat twisted summary of Is. 6:5–7). It is this accusation of arrogance towards Moses that proves fatal for our prophet who is then tortured to death by being sawn in two with a saw used for cutting timber, while Belkira stands by laughing (5:1–14). It should be noted how specifically Samaritan Belkira’s accusation is: According to Samaritan tradition, Moses’ position is unassailable; he has reached a higher level than any other human being will ever be able to reach; he was God’s only prophet and for that reason only his five books have divine authority. In contrast, the Israelite prophets can be discounted because they contradict Moses by their claim to be prophets and their talk of Jerusalem as the site of God’s house. Isaiah’s claim to have the capacity to live on after having seen God is utterly preposterous in that he has the pretention to know better, and actually be better, than the unsurpassable Moses.6 So, Isaiah deserves capital punishment. Here we see how a Jewish author, who probably lived in the first century CE, viewed the Samaritans. They are followers of Beliar, that is, persons inspired by Satan. It is their disregard, their utter contempt, for the biblical prophets that turns them into persecutors of the true believers. This is interesting because this polemic takes place in exactly the same period in which the Jews gradually come to the decision that the authoritative words of God are found not only in the Torah of Moses but also in the books of the prophets and in some other writings. This position was, and is, utterly unacceptable to the Samaritans and is rejected as apostasy.7 So, the picture really is black-and-white: Jews are believers, Samaritans are pagans. As to rabbinic literature, we have a series of statements claiming that Samaritans are nothing but pagans: e.g., t. Terumot 4.14 tells us that no less a person than Rabbi (i.e., Judah ha-Nasi) decreed that Samaritans should be 6 Note that an exact rendering of Moses’ words and a twisted version of the Isaian ones would certainly make good sense in a Samaritan milieu. For Samaritan views of Moses see the long chapter “Moses, Lord of the World” in J. Macdonald, The Theology of the Samaritans, London: SCM Press, 1964, 147–224. 7 This is not to deny that the motif of a conflict between the prophets and the Torah has Jewish parallels, but in Judaism these conflicts are ‘solved,’ as is done for instance in b. Yevamot 49b, Menahot 45a, Sanhedrin 89a, and Shabbat 13b.

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treated like gentiles. This is a judgement that is often repeated afterwards8 (even though it does not always go uncontested).9 The rabbis also accuse the Samaritans of worshipping a dove (y. Avodah Zarah 44d; b. Hullin 6a et al.), thus accusing them of downright idolatry.10 This is almost certainly a completely unjustified allegation and should be seen as either a misunderstanding or, more probably, as a deliberate distortion of the Samaritan worship of Shema (in their language ʾashima), the Name (i.e. YHWH). “The implication of the Jewish allegation would seem to be that the Samaritans still worshipped the goddess Ashima, whose cult is said to have been brought into the Northern Kingdom of Israel by the Assyrian colonists (2 Kings 17:29–30).”11 There has never been the slightest evidence that the Samaritans ever worshipped a dove,12 so here we are certainly in the realm of religious polemics. In view of these and other predominantly negative interpretations of or conclusions based upon the biblical story in 2 Kings 17, it comes as a surprise that in the Paralipomena Jeremiae (henceforth ParJer), also known as 4Baruch, we find a strikingly different picture.13 Before we look at the relevant passage, let us briefly discuss the problem of its provenance.14 Usually dated to the early second century CE, the ParJer as we have it is a Christian text that has been handed down to us only via Christian channels. Like most other Jewish pseudepigrapha, our text, too, has undergone Christian editing and redaction. How sure can we be that the story about the Samaritans does not 8

9 10 11

12 13 14

See the collection of passages in P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch, vol. 1, München: Beck, 1926, 552–553, who refers to the following passages from the Jerusalem Talmud: Berakhot 11b, Ketuvot 27a; Demai 25d, Sheqalim 36b etc. Note that in the very same passage in t. Terumot 4.14 (quoted above), Rabbi’s father, Simeon ben Gamliel, says that Samaritans are like Jews in all respects! E.g., b.Hullin 6a: “R. Assi declared the Cuthaeans to be absolute heathens.” Cf. Gen. Rabba 81.3. See J.E. Fossum, “Dove,” Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (eds. K. van der Toorn, B. Becking & P.W. van der Horst), Leiden: Brill – Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999, 2nd ed., 263; and esp. A. Lehnardt, “Die Taube auf dem Garizim: Zur antisamaritanischen Polemik in der rabbinischen Literatur,” in Die Samaritaner und die Bibel/The Samaritans and the Bible (eds. J. Frey a.o.), Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2012, 285–302. See for instance B. Hall, Samaritan Religion from John Hyrcanus to Baba Raba, Sydney: Mandelbaum Trust, 1987. For extensive discussion of this writing see Denis, Introduction à la littérature religieuse judéo-hellénistique 681–718. For a recent survey of the issues see J. Herzer, “Baruch, Fourth Book of,” The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism (eds. J.J. Collins and D.C. Harlow), Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishers, 2010, 430–432.

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derive from a Christian hand? Most students of the text regard only the final chapter on Jeremiah’s performance as a preacher of the Gospel as a patently Christian addition (and perhaps some other phrases elsewhere in the work as well, such as 5.21), but they do regard the main body of the work as definitely Jewish. For instance, Michael Stone stresses that the work is undoubtedly part of the wider Jewish Baruch and Jeremiah literature represented also by the Syriac and Greek Apocalypses of Baruch, the Greek Book of Baruch, the Epistle of Jeremiah, as well as fragments from Qumran (4Q384–385).15 And he adds that the Jewish nature of the original is apparent from many distinctive features. “Thus the approval of sacrifice, the rejection of foreign women, and the attitude to circumcision, to mention only the most prominent, clearly disprove the theory of a Christian original.”16 This is convincing, the more so since the passage about the Samaritans does not serve any Christian purpose. In as far as Christians polemicized against Samaritans, their polemics have an entirely different character from what we find in ParJer.17 The relevant passage, ParJer ch. 8, deserves to be quoted in full:18 (1) The day came when God led the people out of Babylon. (2) And the Lord said to Jeremiah: ‘Get up, both you and the people, and come to the Jordan. Say to the people: “Let him who loves the Lord forsake the 15

Also the originally Jewish Jeremiah Apocryphon, a writing that has been preserved only in Coptic, should be mentioned here; see for text and translation K.H. Kuhn, “A Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon,” Le Muséon 83 (1970) 95–135 and 291–326. 16 M.E. Stone, “Baruch, Rest of the Words of,” EncJud 4 (1972) 276. Further arguments for a Jewish provenance are to be found in B. Schaller, Paralipomena Jeremiou (JSHRZ I/8), Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1998, 677–678, who concludes: “Die ParJer sind, wenn nicht alles täuscht, – abgesehen von dem Schlußkapitel – im wesentlichen ein Text genuin jüdischer Herkunft und Prägung.” 17 As can be seen from the collection of documents in R. Pummer, Early Christian Authors on Samaritans and Samaritanism. Texts, Translations and Commentary (TSAJ 92), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002. 18 Text and translation by J. Herzer, 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou) Translated with an Introduction and Notes (Writings from the Greco-Roman World 22), Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005, 31–33 (modified by me). Other translations include S.E. Robinson, “4 Baruch,” in J.H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 2, Garden City: Doubleday, 1985, 423; R. Thornhill, “The Paraleipomena of Jeremiah,” in H.F.D. Sparks (ed.), The Apocryphal Old Testament, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984, 831; J. Riaud, ‘Paralipomènes de Jérémie,’ in La Bible: Écrits intertestamentaires, Paris: Gallimard, 1987, 1758–1759; L. Vegas Montaner, “Paralipomenos de Jeremias,” in A. Díez Macho (ed.), Apocrifos del Antiguo Testamento, vol. 2, Madrid: Ediciones Cristiandad, 1983, 380; Schaller, Paralipomena Jeremiou 743–747.

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works of Babylon, both the men who married Babylonian wives and the women who married Babylonian husbands.” (3) And let those who listen to you cross over, and bring them to Jerusalem; but those who do not listen to you, do not bring into it.’ (4) And Jeremiah told them this; and they arose and came to the Jordan to cross over, and he repeated to them what the Lord had told him. And half of those who had married Babylonians refused to listen to Jeremiah, but they said to him: ‘We will never ever leave our wives behind; rather, let us bring them back with us to our city.’ (5) So they crossed the Jordan and came to Jerusalem. And Jeremiah stood up (. . .) and said: ‘No one with a Babylonian wife shall enter this city.’ (6) And they said among themselves: ‘Let us then arise and return to Babylon, to our place.’ And they went away. (7) But when they arrived at Babylon, the Babylonians came out to meet them and said: ‘You will certainly not enter our city, because in your hatred for us you left us secretly! For that reason you shall not come in to us. For we have sworn an oath to each other in the name of our god not to receive either you or your children, because you left us secretly.’ (8) Upon learning this, they turned back and came to a deserted place far from Jerusalem, and there they built a city for themselves and called it Samaria. (9) But Jeremiah sent a message to them saying: ‘Repent, for the angel of righteousness is coming and will lead you into your exalted place.’ This passage deserves some closer scrutiny.19 Let me begin by saying that a most striking aspect of this chapter is that it places the coming-into-being of the Samaritan community at a much later time than is the case in contemporary Jewish literature where the origins of the Samaritans are sought in the story of 2 Kings 17. There is thus a difference of almost two centuries (722 versus 538 BCE), a striking ‘anachronism.’20 The author apparently creates this 19

20

The only extensive treatment is J. Riaud, “Les Samaritaines dans les Paralipomena Jeremiae,” in A. Caquot (ed.), La littérature intertestamentaire, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1985, 133–152 (not always convincing). See further the excursus in Herzer, 4 Baruch, 135–139. Still useful is G. Delling, Jüdische Lehre und Frömmigkeit in den Paralipomena Jeremiae (BZAW 100), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1967, 42–53. See also the very brief discussion of this text in my “Anti-Samaritan Propaganda in Early Judaism,” in P.W. van der Horst, Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context: Selected Essays on Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity (WUNT 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 134–150, esp. 142–144. Also with regard to the founding of the city of Samaria the author of ParJer is at odds with the biblical account: according to 1 Kings 16:24 it was built by king Omri in the first half of the 9th cent. BCE.

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difference in order to be able to connect the origin of the Samaritans with the measures of Ezra and Nehemiah against mixed marriages in the early postexilic period.21 But aside from that, there are some other interesting points that catch the eye. Firstly, one would expect that people leaving Babylon would gather at the river Euphrates, rather than at the Jordan. Probably the Euphrates goes unmentioned simply because what is really important to our author is entering the holy land. The author’s perspective is from profane land – which is mentioned only in passing (v. 1: God led the people out of Babylon) – to holy land – where there is a parting of spirits at the border (the Jordan) – to holy city – where the returnees who had married Babylonian partners do arrive but are not allowed to enter and have no choice but to return to Babylon. The Ezra-Nehemiah type of condemnation of mixed marriages is decisive here.22 But, interestingly enough, the founders of Samaria, and for that reason of the Samaritan movement, are not the former inhabitants of the Northern Kingdom here, no, they are former Jerusalemites! They talk about ‘our city’ when referring to Jerusalem because they are the descendants of the deportees from Judaea (although, because of their mixed marriages, they also call Babylon ‘our place’ in 8.6).23 They were part of the people of Judaea that suffered deportation and exile as described in the first seven chapters of ParJer. The fact that, even though they are told at the Jordan that they have to return because they will not be allowed into Jerusalem, they do decide not to part with the others but to join them on their journey to the holy city, demonstrates the strength of their conviction that they belonged there. As Jens Herzer says, “Anders als in der biblischen Tradition war dem Verfasser der ParJer daran gelegen, die Samaritaner hinsichtlich ihres Ursprunges mit dem Volk der Juden in Verbindung zu bringen. (. . .) Er stellt sich damit in bewußten Gegensatz zu den traditionellen Vorgaben, indem er die Samaritaner in einem positiveren 21

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23

According to J. Herzer, Die Paralipomena Jeremiae: Studien zu Tradition und Redaktion einer Haggada des frühen Judentums (TSAJ 43), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994, 135, “schien die Mischehenproblematik als biblisch vorgegebenes, nachexilisches Thema am besten geeignet, die Verwandtschaft zwischen Juden und Samaritanern plausibel zu machen.” See Ezra 9–10; Neh. 13. Interestingly enough, in ParJer 8.2 not only men but also women with Babylonian partners are addressed, which implies that according to our author women, too, had the right to divorce their husbands, a situation that is also reflected in Mark 10.11 and in a Jewish document from 134 CE in the Babata archive from Nahal Hever; see K. Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer. Ergänzungsband, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994, 191–192 (no. 50). Riaud, “Les Samaritains” 141: “Excommuniés par les Juifs et par les païens, les Samaritains ne paraissent pas eux-mêmes savoir quelle est leur véritable identité: ils regardent tantôt Jérusalem comme ‘leur ville’ (VIII, 4) et tantôt Babylone comme ‘leur place’ (VIII, 6).”

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Licht als solche darstellt, die zwar ungehorsam, aber dennoch mit Israel verwandt und durch die gemeinsame Geschichte mit ihm verbunden sind.”24 It should also be borne in mind that the final line of the passage contains a message from Jeremia to the inhabitants of the new city of Samaria to the effect that, when they repent, the angel of righteousness (that is Michael, see 9.5) will come and lead them to their exalted place, i.e., Jerusalem, more precisely, the Temple Mount.25 That is to say that their repentance should imply that they abandon Mt. Garizim and recognize the only holy city of God and his temple. And, to quote again Jens Herzer, “[d]em Verfasser der ParJer scheint angesichts dieses Geschehens ein Nichtbefolgen des Umkehrrufes unmöglich zu sein, da keine weitere Gerichtsankündigung folgt.”26 True, Samaria is “far from Jerusalem” (v.8), a statement that is not to be taken as geographical information but as a negative value judgement,27 but the final remark about the possibility (or certainty?) of repentance makes clear that this Jewish author does not exclude a “Wiederaufnahme der Samaritaner in die jüdische Religionsgemeinschaft,”28 which would in fact be a kind of ‘Heimholung.’ It is interesting to see that the possibility of conversion of Samaritans is also found in the late extra-talmudic treatise on the Samaritans, Massekhet Cuthim. The opening line of this very short tractate runs as follows: “The Samaritans in some of their ways resemble the gentiles and in some resemble Israel, but in the majority they resemble Israel” (1.1).29 And the closing paragraph of the same tractate says that Samaritans may be readmitted into the Jewish community only “when they have renounced Mount Gerizim and acknowledged Jerusalem and the resurrection from the dead” (2.7). Even though this last statement implies that without a drastic change in their convictions the Samaritans 24 Herzer, Die Paralipomena 134–135. 25 The interpretation of ‘the exalted place’ (ho topos ho hypsêlos) as ‘heaven’ seems very improbable; see Delling, Jüdische Lehre 13; Schaller, Paralipomena 747 note 9c. Riaud, “Les Samaritains” 142, rightly points to the relevance of the fact that the LXX translation of ‘Moriah’ in Gen. 22:2 is ‘the high land’ (hê gê hê hypsêlê). In postbiblical Judaism, Moriah was usually identified with the Temple Mount; see Y.Z. Eliav, God’s Mountain: The Temple Mount in Time, Place, and Memory, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005, Index s.v. Moriah. 26 Herzer, Paralipomena 137. 27 Thus rightly Riaud, “Les Samaritains” 141. 28 Delling, Jüdische Lehre 52. 29 Transl. by M. Simon, “Kuthim: On the Samaritans,” in A. Cohen (ed.), The Minor Tractates of the Talmud, vol. 2, London: Soncino Press, 1965, 615. L. Gulkowitsch, “Der kleine Talmudtraktat über die Samaritaner,” ANGELOS: Archiv für neutestamentliche Zeitgeschichte 1 (1925) 48–56, offers a German translation.

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will remain outsiders, it is clear that the door is left open. The Samaritans are not written off. The fact that the author of ParJer stresses that those who had intermarried were not taken back by the inhabitants of Babylonia underlines that they were not Babylonians, they were not pagans, they were originally inhabitants of Jerusalem who had become inculturated into their diaspora setting to such a degree, however, that they married non-Jewish partners. And this is what worked against them.30 So it is the matter of intermarriage that turns out to be the major factor.31 This problem also played a significant role in Josephus’ stories of the construction of a Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim in the time of Alexander the Great. It is only Josephus who reports the building of a Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim (Ant. 11.302–347). That is not to say that we have here only a late tradition from the first century CE, for Josephus clearly used here older sources of both Jewish and Samaritan provenance.32 The story can be summarized as follows: When Alexander was conquering the Persian empire of king Darius, some leading Jerusalemites objected to the high priest’s brother Menasseh’s marriage to a non-Jewish woman and they demanded that he separate from her. When his brother, the high priest Jaddus, also supported this demand, Menasseh left Jerusalem and went to his father-in-law, Sanballat, who was the governor of Samaria, and told him that because of the priesthood he could not remain married to his daughter. Thereupon Sanballat promised Menasseh that not only could he stay married but he could also become high priest of the Samaritans. He would build a temple for him on Mount Gerizim, identical to the one in Jerusalem. As a consequence, many priests and other Israelites from Jerusalem joined Menasseh and came to live in the area of Samaria. When Alexander had conquered most of Syria, he sent a message to Jaddus, the Jewish high priest, demanding that their loyalty to Darius be replaced by loyalty to him. But the 30

The theme is already anticipated in ParJer 6.14: “He who is not separated from Babylon . . . shall not come into the city.” Cf. also 6.22: “The one who does not obey will become a stranger to Jerusalem and to Babylon.” 31 For passages in postbiblical Jewish literature prohibiting intermarriage see Delling, Jüdische Lehre 49–51; also Riaud, ‘Paralipomènes de Jérémie,’ 1758. A good recent survey is T. M. Lemos, “Intermarriage,” in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism 767–769. 32 For an analysis of the story see F. Dexinger, “Limits of Tolerance in Judaism: The Samaritan Example,” in E.P. Sanders et al. (eds.), Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol. 2, London: SCM Press, 1981, 96–108; idem, “Der Ursprung der Samaritaner im Spiegel der frühen Quellen,” in F. Dexinger & R. Pummer (eds.), Die Samaritaner, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1992, 102–116; Egger, Josephus Flavius und die Samaritaner, 65–74, 251–260.

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high priest wrote back that he could not break an oath of loyalty to Darius. This infuriated Alexander, who decided to punish the Jews severely. He entered Palestine and Sanballat immediately sent troops to support Alexander, telling him that he recognized him, not Darius, as his overlord. He also asked permission to build a temple, suggesting that it would create a division among the Jewish people, which would make it easier to rule over them than if they were united. Alexander gave permission and Sanballat immediately started building. Alexander then went on to Jerusalem where Jaddus was waiting in fear and trembling. But God told him in a dream not to be afraid, to open the gates for Alexander, and to go out to meet him wearing his high-priestly gown. This is what happened, and although the Samaritans had expected him to destroy Jerusalem, Alexander, seeing the Holy Name inscribed upon the golden plaque on the high priest’s mitre, prostrated himself before the Name. He greeted Jaddus and said that he had seen him in a vision sent to him by God at night, in which Jaddus had encouraged him to undertake his great campaign because he would defeat the Persians. Thereupon Alexander sacrificed to God in the Jerusalem temple. After Alexander’s death, so Josephus adds, the temple on Mount Gerizim continued to exist. “And whenever anyone was accused by the people of Jerusalem of eating unclean food or violating the sabbath or committing any other such sin, he would flee to the Shechemites” (11.346). In this passage Josephus is not so much concerned with the origins of the Samaritans; this was already presented in his interpretation of 2 Kings 17 in Ant. 9.277–291 (see above). He is mainly concerned with “establishing the illegitimacy of the Mount Gerizim cult against competing claims from the side of the Samaritans.”33 The supposed illegitimacy of the temple does not necessarily have to do anything with the efforts in Jerusalem to centralize the cult. In fact we see that one and a half centuries later, Jerusalem priests had no scruples about building another temple, in Egyptian Leontopolis, and it remained in use without much opposition (as far as we know) for almost two and a half centuries. So the building of the Samaritan temple was probably not the decisive factor in the break between Jews and Samaritans. Nehemiah writes that he drove away one of the sons of the high priest Joiada because that son had married a daughter of the Horonite Sanballat (another Sanballat from the one mentioned by Josephus). He regarded this as a defilement of the priesthood and of the covenant of the priests and Levites (Neh. 13:28–29). This 33

Dexinger, “Limits of Tolerance” 97. Dexinger adds: “Nor is he interested in describing the first construction of a shrine on Mount Gerizim, but only in the construction of a temple” (98), which is important in that data yielded by the excavations may be interpreted in the sense that there was an earlier sacred area.

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illustrates that the issue of mixed marriages of priests or members of the highpriestly families was significant in dividing the people into an Ezra-Nehemiah party and a pro-Samaritan party in Judea. Members of the Zadokite highpriestly families had been prevented from achieving influence and power outside Jerusalem ever since king Josiah had closed sanctuaries throughout the country. Perhaps intermarriage with leading Samaritan families opened up this possibility again. After all, the Samaritans already claimed to possess a highpriest of Zadokite descent. What Josephus and ParJer have in common is the motif that mixed marriages were the most important factor in the schism between Jews and Samaritans, and that the schism occurred only after the persons who had a mixed marriage refused to separate from their non-Jewish partners and moved to Samaria.34 Genealogical purity is an issue we often tend to underrate but which in ancient Jewish and Samaritan society could evoke vehement emotions and often lead to bitter rivalry and violence. In Josephus’ story it was priestly purity that was defiled by mixed marriage, whereas in ParJer 8 it is about how it affects the common people; in Josephus the story is about the foundation of a temple, whereas in ParJer 8 no temple is mentioned at all, only the city. Although the author of ParJer does not say so explicitly, he suggests that it is the idolatry or syncretism of the Babylonian spouses that bars them and their husbands from the holy city. Anyway, the issue of intermarriage loomed large in the Jewish-Samaritan conflict. A most important fact is that in ParJer the biblical chronology regarding the origins of Samaritanism is not taken into account, even rejected, by the author but that the biblical suggestion of syncretism is taken up by him. In the eyes of our author, the Samaritans had lost the right to call themselves ‘real Israelites’ because they did not obey the rules of Jeremiah – read: Ezra! – which meant that they should have sent away any non-Jewish partners but did not do so. Again, we see how the issue of mixed marriage dominated 34

On the question whether Josephus and the author of ParJer (who probably were nearcontemporaries) had a common source see Herzer, Paralipomena 141–142. Note that in Ant. 11.140 Josephus says that Shechem “is inhabited by apostates of the Jewish nation.” Since this is at odds with what he says elsewhere about the Samaritans, it suggests that he used a source very close to (the one used by) ParJer. See G. Alon, Jews, Judaism, and the Classical World, Jerusalem: Magness Press, 1977, 359. It is noteworthy that another near-contemporary, Rabbi Aqiva, is said to have stated that the Samaritans are sincere proselytes, not just ‘lion-proselytes,’ and for that reason should be considered as Israelites (see y. Gittin 43c; b. Qiddushin 75b; b. Sanhedrin 85b; b. Niddah 56b). It seems as if in the six decades between the two great wars there was, at least in some Jewish circles, a tendency to ‘rapprochement’ towards the Samaritans.

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the Samaritan-Jewish debates of the time.35 But we can also observe that in this period, around the turn of the first to the second century CE, a relatively mild position vis-à-vis the Samaritans was certainly possible in Jewish circles. We already saw this when Josephus altered the biblical report in 2 Kings 17 to take a drastically more positive position. It is clear that by the end of the first and the beginning of the second century CE the relations between Jews and Samaritans were a much debated topic and that within Judaism there was no uniformity in this respect. This will continue in the Tannaitic and Amoraic debates of the later centuries. As Schiffman says, the Samaritans “were neither in nor out.”36 Sometimes the fact that the Samaritans accepted the Torah of Moses as authoritative and divine and also lived accordingly made other Jews feel that they were dealing with kinsmen. The Samaritans were strange coreligionists who were hard to identify and who therefore made it difficult to define the boundaries between them and the Jews. But the author of ParJer is certainly reaching out to them in a unique way.37

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With regard to ParJer 8 Delling, Jüdische Lehre 13, rightly remarks that “die Förderung der Auflösung von Mischehen . . . beherrscht . . . die Darstellung der Rückführung schlechthin.” Ibid. 69 he states that the avoidance of intermarriage is “das wichtigste Thema der ParJer.” L.H. Schiffman, “The Samaritans in Tannaitic Halakhah,” JQR 75 (1984/85) 323 (323–350). Cf. Schaller, Paralipomena 747 note 9a: “Ein solcher Bußruf ist im Rahmen der erhaltenen antik-jüdischen Äusserungen über die Samaritaner einmalig.”

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The Myth of Jewish Cannibalism A Chapter in the History of Antisemitism



First Encounters

The first encounters between Jews and Greeks known to us generally left among the Greeks a rather positive impression of the Jews. There is, for instance the well-known passage in the work of Aristotle’s pupil, Theophrastus, in which, towards the end of the fourth century BCE, he calls the Jews ‘philosophers.’1 Unfortunately, this earliest testimony is problematic because of a number of text-critical and other problems, so we cannot attach too much value to it.2 We do not have to wait very long, however, before the same sentiment is expressed again, now by another pupil of Aristotle, Clearchus of Soli (about 300 BCE), who tells us in his dialogue De somno that Aristotle had told him he had met a Jew who had a remarkably philosophical mind. This man, said Aristotle, not only spoke Greek, he also had a Greek soul. “During my stay in Asia, he visited the same places as I did and came to converse with me and some other scholars, to test our learning. But as one who had been intimate with many cultivated persons, it was rather he who imparted to us something of his own.”3 One can reasonably doubt the historical trustworthiness of a story about a meeting between Aristotle and a learned Jewish philosopher,4 but that is irrelevant. The point at issue is the fact that at the beginning of the 1 In a fragment from his De pietate preserved by Porphyry, De abstinentia 2.26. This is nr. 4 in the great collection of M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, 3 vols., Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984, 1:10. Henceforth I will refer to this work with the usual abbreviation GLAJJ followed by the number of the fragment. Theophrastus’ fragment is fr. 584A in the new edition with translation by W. Fortenbaugh et alii (eds.), Theophrastus of Eresus. Sources for His Life, Writings, Thought and Influence, vol. 2, Leiden: Brill, 1992, 404–429. 2 See the extensive discussion of these problems in J. Bouffartigue & M. Patillon (edd.), Porphyre, De l’abstinence, livres II–III, Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1979, 58–67. 3 Quoted by Josephus, Contra Apionem 1.176-181 = GLAJJ nr. 15. 4 See, e.g., the skepticism voiced by U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Der Glaube der Hellenen, vol. 2, Darmstadt: WBG, 1955, 253 n. 1; also H. Lewy, ‘Aristotle and the Jewish Sage according to Clearchus of Soli,’ Harvard Theological Review 31 (1938) 205–235. See now esp. B. Bar-Kochva, The Image of the Jews in Greek Literature, Berkeley – Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2010, 40–89.

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Hellenistic era Greek intellectuals were not reluctant to speak about Jews in a positive tone.5 Still relatively free from anti-Jewish sentiments are the fragments of Hecataeus of Abdera (beginning of the Hellenistic era) in which he describes the origins and early history of the Jewish people and does not hide his admiration for Moses – he called him a man that excelled in wisdom and courage. However, halfway through his excursus on the Jews Hecataeus remarks that, due to their experience of having been expelled as foreigners from Egypt, they do foster a somewhat asocial way of life that is characterized by a certain xenophobia (apanthrôpon tina kai misoxenon bion).6 So a first critical note is already there.

Positive and Negative Voices

It is important, for that reason, to point out that, alongside positive voices, right from the beginning of the Hellenistic era anti-Jewish voices are to be heard as well. It is true that the phenomenon of sympathy for Jews and Judaism on the part of Greeks and Romans continues to exist through the end of antiquity – the best proof being the well attested groups of pagan sympathizers called ‘Godfearers’ (in Greek theosebeis, sebomenoi or phoboumenoi ton theon), that is, gentiles who were in close contact with the local synagogue without becoming

5 Also from the beginning of the third century BCE is a passage from the Indika by Megasthenes in which he says that what the Brahmans are in India, the Jews are in Syria (GLAJJ no. 14). Clearchus, too, has Aristotle say (in the fragment rendered in an abbreviated form above in the text) that what the Kalani are in India, the Jews are in Syria. See further on this topic M. Hengel, Judentum und Hellenismus. Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jh.s v. Chr., Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1969, 464–473 (‘Die Juden als Philosophen nach den frühesten griechischen Zeugnissen’); L.H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993, 201–207; Bar-Kochva, The Image of the Jews 136–163. 6 Quoted by Diodorus Siculus, Bibl. Hist. 40, 3, 3 = GLAJJ nr. 11. On the question of which of the other fragments preserved as authored by Hecataeus are authentic see, among others, B. Bar-Kochva, Pseudo-Hecataeus, “On the Jews.” Legitimizing the Jewish Diaspora, Berkeley – Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1996, and D.R. Schwartz, ‘Diodorus Siculus 40.3 – Hecataeus or Pseudo-Hecataeus?.’ in M. Mor et al. (eds.), Jews and Gentiles in the Holy Land in the Days of the Second Temple, the Mishnah and the Talmud, Jerusalem: Yad Izhak ben-Zvi, 2003, 181–197.

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members but nonetheless supporting the Jewish community in various ways.7 But this phenomenon was accompanied constantly by a never-ending stream of anti-Jewish propaganda on the part of Greek and Roman authors.8

Anti-Jewish Propaganda

The starting point of this anti-Jewish propaganda literature is to be found in the work of Manetho, an Egyptian priest from Alexandria who wrote a history of Egypt in Greek around the beginning of the third century BCE, and the zenith (or rather: nadir) of this literature is reached when in the first century CE Apion, again an Egyptian from Alexandria, launches an utterly venomous defamation campaign against the Jewish people that most probably contributed to the great outburst of physical violence against the Jews of Alexandria in the year 38 CE, which constituted the first pogrom in history.9 His contemporary and fellow-citizen Chaeremon, again an Egyptian scholar and Jew-hater, whose work I published almost 30 years ago,10 is from Alexandria as well. Also some of the other anti-Jewish authors from the three centuries in between were of Egyptian descent. What is the background of this remarkable fact? Here it should be kept in mind that at the beginning of the third century BCE, in Manetho’s days, the first Greek translation of the most important part of the Hebrew Bible – the Torah – was made in Alexandria. It also contained the book of Exodus with the story of Israel’s liberation from bondage in Egypt. In that story the Egyptians play the role of God’s enemies. Whether Greekspeaking Egyptians knew this story because they had read the book of Exodus in Greek or whether they knew it only by hearsay, we do not know, but the fact is that they immediately launched a counter-attack by retelling this story in an anti-Jewish sense. Manetho set the tone. This priest paid ample attention to the exodus in his history of Egypt, but in his version things are markedly different than in the

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The scholarly literature is vast; see, e.g., B. Wander, Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten. Studien zum heidnischen Umfeld von Diasporasynagogen, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998. A good survey of the motifs in this literature is available in P. Schäfer, Judeophobia. Attitudes toward the Jews in the Ancient World, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 1997. See my book Philo’s Flaccus: The First Pogrom, Leiden: Brill, 2003. P.W. van der Horst, Chaeremon. Egyptian Priest and Stoic Philosopher. The fragments collected and translated with explanatory notes, Leiden: Brill, 1984, second edition 1987.

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Bible.11 To summarize it briefly: Pharao Amenophis wanted to have a vision of the gods. He is advised that, in order to attain that goal, he should rid the country of lepers and other contaminated persons. He collects some 80.000 of them, among whom former priests, and sets them to work in the quarries of the Nile valley. At their requst they are later transferred to Avaris, the old and now abandoned capital of the Hyksos, where one of the former priests appoints himself their leader. This leader, named Osarsiph but later renamed Moses, decrees that the gods of Egypt should no longer be worshipped, that the sacred animals should be butchered, and that the members of the group should avoid contact with anyone outside the group. He himself does contact the inhabitants of Jerusalem, inveterate enemies of the Egyptians, and requests them to collaborate with his group in an attack on Egypt, which indeed takes place. Pharao Amenophis makes the best of a bad job and withdraws with his army to Ethiopia. Thereafter a real reign of terror is exercised in Egypt by the victors: villages and cities are set on fire, temples are plundered, sacred animals are roasted, the priests of these animals are forced to slaughter and eat their own gods, whereafter they are thrown naked out of their temples. When finally this group of criminals are driven out of the country, they found their own villain state in and around Jerusalem.12 All this sounds already bad enough as a downright distortion of the biblical story, but this is only the beginning of a long process of demonization of the Jewish people which will become more and more grim in the centuries that follow. The most conspicuous trait in that process is that of a generalization in which dislike of Egypt and its gods is broadened into hatred of humankind in general and a total denial of the divine world. To put it succinctly: misanthropy and atheism have become the hallmark of the Jewish people.13 Hatred of humankind and godlessness thus became the standard elements in the anti-Jewish propaganda in Alexandria (and elsewhere). What kind of consequences that had for the relations between Jews on the one hand and Greeks and Egyptians in that city on the other hand becomes painfully clear in a revealing papyrus from circa 20 BCE, in which a Greek-Alexandrian official 11

12 13

There is much debate on the question of whether the anti-Jewish elements in Manetho’s story go back to himself or are later interpolations. In my opinion, Menachem Stern has convincingly defended the authenticity of these elements in GLAJJ 1.62–65. See also J. Assmann, Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 1997, 34, 224 note 22. This fragment is found in Josephus, Contra Apionem 1.228–252 = GLAJJ no. 21. Sie, e.g., K. Berthelot, Philanthrôpia judaica. Le débat autour de la ‘misanthropie’ des lois juives dans l’antiquité, Leiden: Brill, 2003, 79–184.

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expresses the wish, on behalf of his Greek fellow-citizens, that the city council “will take care that the pure citizen body of Alexandria is not corrupted by people who are uncultured and uneducated.”14 To put it simply, Jews should not be allowed to become citizens of Alexandria because the citizen body has to be kept ‘Judenrein.’ ‘People without culture and education’ are here almost certainly the Jews; I will come back to that motif presently.15 Apion For reasons of space I have to refrain from sketching the development of Jewhatred (or Judaeophobia) in the centuries after Manethon, and I now jump immediately to its nadir in the work of Apion, the Alexandrian scholar already mentioned. This Jew-hater was a widely respected scholar who had earned fame with a wide-ranging oeuvre concerning fields such as Homer exegesis, grammar, and many other subjects.16 His attacks on the Jewish people in his work on Egypt were so vicious, and so influential, that several decades after his death the Jewish historian Josephus still found it necessary to devote a whole book to the refutation of the slander of this arch-antisemite, in his work Contra Apionem. The story Apion tells is as follows (much abbreviated): The Seleucid king Antiochus IV entered the Jerusalem temple and found there a man reclining on a couch and looking with bewilderment at a sumptuous banquet of meat and fish on the table before him. As soon as the king came in, the man hailed him as his liberator. Prostrating himself before the king, he stretched out his hands and begged for his help. The king assured him that he would help him and asked who he was, why he was in this place, and what was the meaning of the rich dish. Thereupon the man told him in tears his sad story. He said that he was a Greek and that travelling through this country he had suddenly been kidnapped and locked up in this temple. He was seen by nobody except by servants who fattened him up with meals of extreme luxuriousness. Initially, he derived some pleasure from this bit of luck, but gradually he began to be suspicious and finally alarmed. He then asked the servants what 14 15

16

V. Tcherikover & A. Fuks (edd.), Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, 3 vols, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 1957–1964, vol. 2, no. 150, 5–6. That ‘people without culture and education’ (athreptoi kai anagôgoi) is a reference to Jews here is a widely accepted interpretation; but see K. Blouin, Le conflit judéoalexandrin de 38–41, Paris: L’Harmattan, 2005, 109–110. See P.W. van der Horst, “Who Was Apion?” in my Japheth in the Tents of Shem. Studies on Jewish Hellenism in Antiquity, Leuven: Peeters, 2002, 207–222.

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was going on here and they told him that all this was done in fulfilment of a secret law of the Jews. Annually, at a fixed time, they caught a Greek whom they fattened up during a whole year. Then they led him into a forest where they killed him and sacrificed his body with the customary ritual of eating his entrails. And while sacrificing the Greek, they swore an oath of enmity to all Greeks.17 In evaluating this horror story by Apion we should not overlook the fact that the author was a man who, during the reign of Caligula (37–41 CE), was not only honoured by the citizens of Alexandria with the grant of citizenship of this city (an exceptional honour for an Egyptian!), but who was also asked by this city to act as leader and spokesman of the Alexandrian-Greek delegation to Rome after the conflict between Jews and Greeks, the pogrom that had caused so much suffering to the Jews in 38 CE. When this man was so prestigious, it should not surprise us that his incredible accusations of an annual cannibalistic rite among the Jews, in which – nota bene – a Greek was slaughtered and eaten, were believed by these Greeks.18 And that will certainly have evoked intense hatred and contributed to the outburst of violence in 38 CE.

Cannibalism and the Goddess Isis

But why cannibalism? Were misanthropy and atheism not serious enough as accusations? One could of course say that cannibalism would always and everywhere count as the most devastating accusation possible, so there is no need to adduce a special motive for it. Also is it well-known that the combination of eating human entrails and swearing an oath is a topos in ancient propaganda literature that served to convey the message that the opponents were criminal conspirators.19 But if one were to think that this is sufficient as an explanation – the Jews as conspirators against the paragons of civilization, 17

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Quoted by Josephus, Contra Apionem 2.91–96 = GLAJJ nr. 171. An excellent commentary to this passage is J.M.G. Barclay, Flavius Josephus, Translation and Commentary, vol. 10: Against Apion, Leiden: Brill, 2007, 216–220. The same accusation is repeated later (?) in the first century CE by a certain Damocritus, but with some differences: according to this author the cannibalistic ritual did not take place annually but once every seven years, and it was not a Greek but a foreigner (xenos) that was eaten; see GLAJJ no. 247. E. Bickerman, ‘Ritualmord und Eselskult,’ in his Studies in Jewish and Christian History, vol. 2, Leiden: Brill, 1980, 225–255; in the new Leiden 2007 edition (AJEC 68/1) pp. 497– 527. That Jews could also level this accusation against non-Jews is proved by Sapientia

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the Greeks20 – one overlooks the fact that this accusation, although phrased in Greek, has been thought up by an Egyptian. What is at the background here is in my opinion an Egyptian motif that has to do with the cult of the goddess Isis.21 Till late antiquity, the goddess Isis remained the most popular Egyptian deity, not only in her homeland but also far beyond it. There is practically no country in the ancient world where no traces of the spread of her cult have been found.22 One of the more specific manifestations of the Isis cult in the

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22

Salomonis 12:3–7, with the commentary by D. Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon, Garden City: Doubleday, 1979, 239–240. Almost identical accusations were levelled against Christians in the second century CE by Greeks and Romans. See A. McGowen, ‘Eating People: Accusations of Cannibalism Against Christians in the Second Century,’ Journal of Early Christian Studies 2 (1994) 413–442; from the older literature see esp. F.J. Dölger, ‘“Sacramentum infanticidii.” Die Schlachtung eines Kindes und der Genuß seines Fleisches als vermeintlicher Einweihungsakt im ältesten Christentum,’ in his Antike und Christentum IV, Münster: Aschendorff, 1934, 188–228, and W. Schäfke, ‘Frühchristlicher Widerstand,’ Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II 23, 1, Berlin – New York: W. de Gruyter, 1979, 460–723, esp. 579–596. The study by H.H. Chapman, ‘“A Myth for the World.” Early Christian Reception of Cannibalism in Josephus, Bellum Judaicum 6.199–219,’ Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 2000, Atlanta: Scholars Press, 2000, 359–378, has nothing to do with our topic. Bickerman’s theory that Apion here uses an element from Seleucid political propaganda is not impossible (‘Ritualmord’ 240–245), but he takes insufficiently into account that the only version of this horror story is from the pen of an Egyptian and that also another element in Apion’s anti-Jewish polemic, namely that the Jews worship the head of an ass (C.Ap. 2:80), has an Egyptian background; see J.W. van Henten & R. Abusch, ‘The Depiction of the Jews as Typhonians and Josephus’ Strategy of Refutation in Contra Apionem,’ in: L.H. Feldman & J.R. Levison (eds.), Josephus’ Contra Apionem: Studies in its Character and Context with a Latin Concordance to the Portion Missing in Greek, Leiden: Brill, 1996, 271–309. L. Vidman, Isis und Sarapis bei den Griechen und Römern, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1970; F. Dunand, Le culte d’Isis dans le basin oriental de la Méditerranée, 3 vols., Leiden: Brill, 1973; F. Solmsen, Isis among the Greeks and Romans, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 1979; R.E. Witt, Isis in the Ancient World, Baltimore – London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997 (= 1971); R. Merkelbach, Isis Regina – Zeus Sarapis: Die griechisch-ägyptische Religion nach den Quellen dargestellt, Stuttgart – Leipzig: Teubner, 1995. For a general survey of the spread and diffusion of Egyptian cults outside Egypt see M. Malaise, ‘La diffusion des cultes égyptiennes dans les provinces européennes de l’empire romain,’ Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 2.17, 3, Berlijn – New York: W. de Gruyter, 1984, 1615–1691, and J. Leclant, ‘Aegyptiaca et milieux isiaques. Recherches sur la diffusion du matériel et des idées égyptiennes,’ ibidem 1692–1709. R. Turcan,

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Graeco-Roman World are the so-called Isis aretalogies, that is, texts, either as inscriptions on stone or written on papyrus, in which the great feats and the superb qualities of this goddess are praised, either by herself in the first person or by one of her worshippers in the third person. A number of copies of these propagandistic aretalogies are extant, all of them from the centuries around the turn of the era (second cent. BCE–third cent. CE).23 They have an Egyptian background, possibly in the priestly theology of the city of Memphis which was the centre of her cult, but we have to leave aside the problems connected with that matter. In order to give an impression of such texts, I will quote here some passages from a long aretalogy in an Oxyrhynchus papyrus, where Isis is praised as ruler of the world, guardian and guide, lady of the mouths of seas and rivers, (. . .) who also bringest back the Nile over all of the country, (. . .) all-ruling in the procession of the gods, enmity-hating, true jewel of the wind and diadem of life, (. . .) O lady Isis, greatest of the gods, first of names, (. . .) thou rulest over the mid-air and the immeasurable; (. . .) thou bringest the sun from rising unto setting, and all the gods are glad; at the risings of the stars the people of the country worship thee unceasingly; (. . .) the demons become thy subjects; (. . .) thou didst establish shrines for Isis in all cities for all time and didst deliver to all humans laws and a

Les cultes orientaux dans le monde romain, Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1989, 77–128; S. Takacs, Isis and Sarapis in the Roman World, Leiden: Brill, 1995; L. Bricault, Atlas de la diffusion des cultes isiaques, Paris: Institut de France, 2001. 23 W. Peek, Der Isishymnus von Andros und verwandte Texte, Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1930; R. Harder, Karpokrates von Chalkis und die memphitische Isispropaganda (Abhandlungen der Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 1943, Phil.-hist. Kl. Nr. 14), Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1944; J. Bergman, Ich bin Isis. Studien zum memphitischen Hintergrund der griechischen Isis-Aretalogien, Uppsala: University of Uppsala, 1968; Y. Grandjean, Une nouvelle arétalogie d’Isis à Maronée, Leiden: Brill, 1975; H. Engelmann, The Delian Aretalogy of Sarapis, Leiden: Brill, 1975; H. Engelmann, Die Inschriften von Kyme, Bonn: Habelt, 1976, 97–108. The text from Chalkis (on Euboia) published by Harder has been reprinted in L. Vidman, Sylloge inscriptionum religionis Isiacae et Sarapiacae, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1969, nr. 88; the text from Kyme published by Engelmann is also in Grandjean, Nouvelle arétalogie 122–124, and in Merkelbach, Isis Regina 115–118. For a complete survey of the material see Grandjean, Nouvelle arétalogie 8–11. For the propagandistic character of these texts see A.D. Nock, ‘GraecoEgyptian Religious Propaganda,’ in his Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972, II 703–711, and Witt, Isis 100–110.

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perfect year; (. . .) thou didst make the power of women equal to that of men; (. . .) thou art the mistress of all things forever!24 Also the first person format is used (e.g., in the aretalogy of Kyme): “With Hermes I have invented writing; (. . .) I have posited laws for humanity; (. . .) I am the one who has invented agriculture for humans; (. . .) I have separated the earth from heaven; (. . .) I have decreed the orbit of sun and moon; (. . .) I have bound men and women together; (. . .) I have ended the rule of tyrants and stopped the killing.”25 And thus it goes on at length. The most important issue in the present context is that a number of these aretalogies contain a motif that is phrased as follows: “Together with my brother Osiris I have put an end to cannibalism (anthrôpophagia).”26 In the context it is stressed that Isis brought civilization to humans who initially lived like wild animals and knew no laws or rules and for that reason tried to kill each other in order to consume one another. Isis introduced laws and taught humankind to eat fruits, the products of the earth instead of each other, thus putting an end to the mutual killing; she instructed people to live with each other in a civilized manner, and she taught them writing so that culture could come into being. In brief, Isis is the goddess of the first great campaign to civilize the world.27 The transition from a wild and beastly existence to a fully human life had become possible only due to her goodness. It is the end of murdering each other for consumption and the beginning of eating the products of the earth that marks the transition from a total absence of civilization to a civilized human existence. This end to an animal-like existence has become possible only thanks to the gracious gifts of Isis.28 A salient detail is of course that, whereas in the Isis texts it is the laws of this goddess which bring civilization to humanity, according to Apion it is the laws of the god of the Jews which keep these outside the orbit of civilization. Apparently, the Jewish god does not have the civilizing potential that Isis has. 24

Pap. Oxy. 1380, 122–233 (excerpts). Impressive parallels are found in the Isis hymns of Isidorus; see V.F. Vanderlip, The Four Greek Hymns of Isidorus and the Cult of Isis, Toronto: Hakkert, 1972. 25 Engelmann, Inschriften 98. 26 Kyme 21 (Engelmann, Inschriften 98; Bergmann, Ich bin Isis 302)); Ios 18 (Peek, Isishymnus 123–4; Witt, Isis 155); Andros 45–46 (Peek, Isishymnus 17); Diodorus Siculus 1.14.1 (possibly from Hecataeus of Abdera). 27 See H. Bonnet, Reallexikon der ägyptischen Religionsgeschichte, Berlin – New York: W. de Gruyter, 1971 (= 1952), 326–332; A.-J. Festugière, ‘À propos des arétalogies d’Isis,’ in his Études de religion grecque et hellénistique, Paris 1972, 138–163. 28 Solmsen, Isis 34.

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It is for that reason, so implies Apion, that the Jews have missed this decisive turn towards a civilized existence. The implicit question is, therefore, whether Jews are actually fully human, quod non. That is certainly the suggestion that Apion wanted to imprint upon the minds of his Greek and Egyptian readers. Everyone in the Alexandrian milieu that knew this theory of the origins of civilization as a gift of Isis – and there were very many of them – could come to no other conclusion than that Jews were ‘Untermenschen.’ No wonder that they murdered them with eagerness and pleasure in the year 38, probably shortly after the publication of Apion’s work.29

Greek Ideas about the Origins of Civilization

It is not the case that this thesis stands or falls with the theory of an Egyptian origin of this idea about the beginnings of civilization.30 In Greek milieus outside of the circles of Isis adepts similar thoughts were also current.31 To mention only a few of the most relevant witnesses, in Homer’s Odyssey we already find the motif of a man-eater as a wild barbarian in the figure of the cyclops Polyphemus (called androphagos by the poet, Od. 10.200; ‘no bread-eating man,’ 9.191), and the same epic also recognizes whole tribes who live on human meat such as the wild Laistrygones (Od. 10.116).32 Aristotle speaks about barbarian nations near the Black Sea who guzzle human meat (Ethica Nicomacheia 7.4, 29 30

31

32

See note 9. For that reason it is also not of great importance whether or not Apion was an Egyptian or a Greek, although I do not share the extreme skepticism of some scholars who argue that Josephus’ assertion that Apion was an Egyptian is only an instance of cultural stigmatization and discrediting; see, e.g., K.R. Jones, ‘The Figure of Apion in Josephus’ Contra Apionem,’ Journal for the Study of Judaism 36 (2005) 278–315. See esp. Festugière, ‘À propos des arétalogies d’Isis’ 145–149; also F. Graf, ‘Kannibalismus,’ Neue Pauly 6 (1999) 247; most recently B. Isaac, The Invention of Racism in Classical Antiquity, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004, 207–211. On the question of whether human sacrifice was indeed practiced in the Graeco-Roman world see F. Schwenn, Die Menschenopfer bei den Griechen und Römern, Giessen: Töpelmann, 1915, and W. Burkert, Homo Necans. The Anthropology of Ancient Greek Sacrificial Ritual and Myth, Berkeley etc.: University of California Press, 1983, Index s.v. The best known document in which cannibalistic scenes are depicted is Juvenal’s Satire 15; the most elaborate literary treatment of cannibalistic nations is Pliny’s Naturalis Historia 7.9–12. For these and other mythical anthropophagists see D.D. Hughes, Human Sacrifice in Ancient Greece, London – New York: Routledge, 1991, 71–138.

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1148b22; Politica 8.4, 1338b19–20). Herodotus had preceded him in that he calls the Scythians, who lived in the same region, the wildest of all humans, barbaric androphagoi (4.106; cf. also 1.216; 3.38; 3.99; 4.26); later also Pliny the Elder and others do so (Naturalis Historia 6.54; 7.11–12).33 In his description of African tribes, Pliny also mentions a nation called the Anthropophagi (Naturalis Historia 4.88; 6.53). The tragedian Euripides has Theseus say that he praises the god who has raised humans from their originally animal-like state by giving them brains, speech, the art of agriculture, and other forms of civilized life (Supplices 201ff.).34 Plato refers in his (?) Epinomis (975a–b) to the tradition that humanity has been freed from the necessity of devouring each other by the discovery of agriculture (cf. Laws 782a–c). Elsewhere, however, in his Statesman 271d–e, he depicts the primeval age of Cronos as an idyllic vegetarian period in which peace and harmony were predominant, whereas the philosopher Euhemeros (ca. 300 BCE) states that the primordial period, i.e. Cronos’ era, was a time of cruel cannibalism to which an end was put only by Zeus who taught humanity laws and civilization (leges moresque; Testimonium 66 = Lactantius, Institutiones Divinae 1.13.2).35 Plutarch transmits the tradition that Osiris freed humanity from its primitive and beastly way of life by teaching them agriculture and laws (De Iside et Osiride 13, 356A); here cannibalism is not mentioned explicitly, but the close parallel with the Isis hymns suggests that it is certainly implied.36 The nephew of Plato’s mother, Critias, speaks in his famous fragment on the manipulated origins of religious belief about the animal-like (thêriôdês) state in which humanity lived before laws were invented, most probably hinting at cannibalism as well (88B25 Diels-Kranz).37 In a passage on the evolution of culture, the tragedian Moschion (4th–3rd cent. BCE) says that in its original state humanity was cannibalistic until the invention of agriculture introduced civilization (TGF I 97F6).38 Theophrastus, however, was of the conviction that the original form of sacrifice was purely vegetarian but that lack of vegetal food was the reason why at a certain moment people began to sacrifice each 33 34 35

36 37 38

Cf. also Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae 9.4.6; Strabo 15.1.56 (on peoples in the Caucasus). Cf. Aristophanes, Ranae 1032–1036. On this inconsistency in the image of the era of Cronos in Greek literature see H.S. Versnel, Inconsistencies in Greek and Roman Religion II: Transition and Reversal in Myth and Ritual, Leiden: Brill, 1994, 106–114. J. Gwyn Griffiths, Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride, University of Wales Press 1970, 309. See on this passage my article ‘The First Atheist’ in my Jews and Christians in Their GraecoRoman Context, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 242–249. See B. Snell (ed.), Tragicorum Graecorum Fragmenta I, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971, 265–266. The text is identical with Orphic fragment 292 Kern.

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other to the gods; thus cannibalism came into being but, because of its social disadvantages, it in its turn was succeeded by consumption of animal meat (De pietate fr. 584A Fortenbaugh [see note 1], apud Porphyrius, Abst. 2.27).39 A special tradition is mentioned by the geographer Pausanias: in an oracle the goddess Demeter threatened the inhabitants of Arcadia that she would have them fall back into their original state of cannibalistic nomads, from which she had liberated them previously, if they do not worship her (8.42.6). Finally, Athenaeus cites a parody on all these Kulturentstehungslehren by Athenion, in which someone asserts that the real saviours of humankind are the cooks since it is their delicious meals which have put humans off eating each other raw (Deipnosophistae 14.660e). Many more texts could be mentioned but these suffice for the present purpose.40 In many of the texts one repeatedly comes across the terms thêriôdês (animal-like, savage, brutal) and agriôdês (wild, ferocious) to indicate the uninhibited and violent way of life of humanity in its cannibalistic phase.41 From the passages referred to above, however briefly mentioned, it is clear that there were more than just one theory about the place of this inhumane form of life in the development of humanity. There were those according to whom it was an initial stage that has happily been outgrown; according to others it was a phenomenon of degeneration as compared to a better primeval situation; for again others it was a motif that played a role only in their descriptions of nations who lived at great distances, at the edge of or outside the civilized world.42 The implication of these Greek theories for the formation of an image of the Jews in the text of Apion under discussion is in any case the same as

39

40 41

42

Empedocles, too, seems to have adhered to a theory of the decline of humanity from a vegetarian existence to a cannibalistic way of life; see M.R. Wright, Empedocles: The Extant Fragments, London – Indianapolis: Bristol Classical Press, 1995 (2nd ed.), 284–288. More material in Festugière, ‘À propos des arétalogies d’Isis’ 145–149. Cf. also Pseudo-Hippocrates, De vetere medicina 3, where it is said how much humans suffered from the thêriôdês diaita, when one still had to eat raw and uncooked meat. Further Isocrates, Panegyricus 28; Hyginus, Fabulae 274.20; Diodorus Siculus 1.90. See, e.g., S. Blundell, The Origins of Civilization in Greek and Roman Thought, LondonSydney: Croom Helm, 1986; Th. Cole, Democritus and the Sources of Greek Anthropology, Atlanta: American Philological Association, 1990; B. Gatz, Weltalter, goldene Zeit und sinnverwandte Vorstellungen, Hildesheim: Olms, 1967, 144–174. Much material can also be found in the older work of J. Haussleiter, Der Vegetarismus in der Antike, Berlin: Töpelmann, 1935.

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when an Egyptian background is assumed:43 in both cases the conclusion is inevitable that the Jews got bogged down in a stage of development that precedes the coming into being of civilization or have degenerated into a way of life that is on an animal level. So again: Jews are ‘Untermenschen.’ They do have laws but those laws command them to perform rituals that make clear that they still live lives of animals, thêriôdeis bioi. As cannibals they are in fact lawless, primitive, immoral, and violent creatures.44 It should be pointed out here that this extreme form of defamation, stemming from an intense hatred of the Jews, was already there before Christianity arose and before theories about the racial inferiority of the Jewish nation were developed.45

The Aftermath

The motif of Jewish cannibalism, whether or not preceded by a ritual murder, turned out to be very long-lived. In the Christian Middle Ages it is revivified in a variety of ways. I have to be brief about this and mention only a very few of the relevant data.46 The medieval anti-Jewish discourse was different from that of pre-Christian antiquity since Christianity introduced as a new and dominant motif that of deicide: The Jews have killed Jesus, who is God, and they are for that very reason a doomed nation. But as if that was not yet enough, here 43 44

45 46

With Festugière, I think it is not impossible that the motif of the triumph over cannibalism in the Isis-aretalogies has been borrowed from Greek Kulturentstehungslehren. Almost two centuries after Apion, we find the accusation of Jewish cannibalism again in the work of the historian Cassius Dio when he recounts that the Jews of Cyrene, under the leadership of a certain Andreas, wrought havoc among the Greeks and Romans in the war of 115–117 CE: “They would eat the flesh of their victims, make belts for themselves of their entrails, anoint themselves with their blood, and wear their skins for clothing; many they sawed in two, from the head downwards; others they gave to wild beasts, and still others they forced to fight as gladiators’ (Hist. 68.32.1–2). This has all features of ancient war propaganda. See Isaac, The Invention of Racism, 475. The accusation of Jewish cannibalism is not found in the vast Christian literature from antiquity, as far as I know. See especially J. Trachtenberg, The Devil and the Jews. The Medieval Conception of the Jew and Its Relation to Modern Anti-Semitism, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1943 (repr. 1983); also S.W. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews, vol. 11, New York – Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1967, 122–191. In the separate Index Volume to Baron’s work one finds at p. 16, s.v. ‘Blood accusation’, a list of other references. Also R. Po-chia Hsia, The Myth of Ritual Murder: Jews and Magic in Reformation Germany, New Haven – London: Yale University Press, 1988.

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again, the element of Jewish cannibalism comes to the fore. And this time it is, of course, not a pagan Greek who is their victim, but a Christian, even worse: a Christian child (see below). In the background here is the Christian conviction, adhered to throughout the Middle Ages, that Jews were followers of the devil, with whom they had a pact, and for that reason their goal was the destruction of Christianity. No wonder that a wide variety of stories about deeds of horror practiced by the Jews were brought into circulation and found ready believers, a classic example of the diabolization of an entire nation.47 There were numerous cases, e.g., of accusations that Jews, by means of poisoning of wells, tried to kill as many Christians as possible. For that reason, in 1348, when Europe was struck by the Black Death, the plague epidemy that killed a great part of the entire European population, it was immediately clear who was behind this: the Jews! Tens of thousands of them were then killed as the ones who caused this catastrophe, except in Avignon where they enjoyed the protection of the Pope.48 But nothing in medieval times contributed more to the continuation of a deeply rooted and intense hatred of Jews than the many stories about Jewish ritual slaughter of Christian children.49 These horrific accusations, of which we know numerous cases, usually were brought into circulation by the clergy. These seized upon random cases of disappearance or sudden death in order to accuse the Jews of having murdered Christians because they needed their blood, and often their entrails, for their diabolic rituals, i.e., magical practices. In later versions of these stories it is often said that these children’s blood, heart and liver were needed for the preparation of matzot and other ingredients of the Pesach meal.50 Sometimes it was added that such a child was fattened in the period preceding its crucifixion! Such incriminations usually ended in massive massacres. The long aftermath of the motif of Jewish cannibalism in the seventeenth through twentieth centuries in Europe and its recent revival in the past four 47

See M. Perry & F.M. Schweitzer, ‘The Diabolization of Jews’ in their Antisemitism: Myth and Hate from Antiquity to the Present, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002, 73–117. 48 Trachtenberg, Devil 97–108. 49 H.L. Strack, The Jew and Human Sacrifice, New York: Bloch, 1909; C. Roth, The Ritual Murder Libel and the Jews, London: Woburn Press, 1935; Perry & Schweitzer, ‘Ritual Murderers: Christian Blood and Jewish Matzos,’ in their Antisemitism 43–72. 50 It is interesting to see that there are versions in which Christian blood and entrails are said to be needed every year, and others in which that was the case only once every seven years. This same variation between one and seven years can already be found in pre-Christian Greek texts in the diverging versions of Apion and Damocritus (see note 18).

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decades in the Islamic world fall outside the scope of this lecture.51 It is a highly depressing history, as we all know. The fact that this absurd myth is still being believed by millions of people in our own days does not make one optimistic for the future.

51 See, inter multos alios, B. Lewis, Semites and Anti-Semites, New York: Norton, 1986; S.E. Bronner, Rumor about the Jews. Antisemitism, Conspiracy, and the Protocols of Zion, Oxford: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000; W. Laqueur, The Changing Face of Antisemitism from Ancient Times to the Present Day, Oxford: OUP, 2006; H. Jansen, Van jodenhaat naar zelfmoordterrorisme. Islamisering van het Europees antisemitisme in het Midden-Oosten, Heerenveen: Groen, 2006. In the Dutch version of this lecture the reader will find more detailed information about the aftermath of this myth in recent times, esp. among Muslims; see my De mythe van het joodse kannibalisme, Soesterberg: Aspekt, 2006.

chapter 18

Porphyry on Judaism Some Observations

Porphyry (born ca. 232 in Tyre, died ca. 305 in Rome) was the most important and influential student of Plotinus, the founder of Neoplatonism. He was an extremely prolific writer whose works covered an impressively wide range of subjects.1 Although some of his many works (at least 75) have been handed down intact, by far the most of his vast output is either completely lost or has been preserved only in fragmentary form.2 In some of his works on religion, Porphyry speaks about the Jews and their beliefs and practices.3 His attitude towards Judaism seems to be ambiguous at first sight: on the one hand he severely criticizes the Jewish Bible, on the other he regards the God of the Jewish people as the highest divinity and the Jews as belonging to the wisest of nations. It is the modest purpose of this article to shed some light on this problem.4 It has been written in honour of my highly esteemed colleague, Lee I. Levine, whose important work on various aspects of the relationship between Judaism and Hellenism has enriched our knowledge so much.5 Let us first briefly review the evidence. The works in which Porphyry speaks about the Jews are De abstinentia (a defence of vegetarianism), the Vita Pythagorae (an encomiastic biography of Porphyry’s hero), Contra Christianos (a lengthy and frontal attack on Christianity), De philosophia ex oraculis haurienda (a work in which he tries to demonstrate that a solid philosophy can be derived from the oracles of the Greek gods), Ad Gaurum (on the way embryos 1 For good surveys of Porphyry’s works see R. Beutler, “Porphyrios,” PW 22/1 (1953): 275–313, and, more concisely, M. Chase, “Porphyrios,” DNP 10 (2001): 174–180. An old but still valuable introduction to Porphyry’s philosophy is E. Zeller, Die Philosophie der Griechen in ihrer geschichtlichen Entwicklung III/2, Leipzig: Reisland, 1923 (repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963), 693–735. 2 The most recent edition of Porphyry’s fragments (unfortunately not complete) is A. Smith, Porphyrii philosophi fragmenta, Stuttgart – Leipzig: Teubner, 1993. 3 These texts have been collected in M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism (3 vols.), Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1974–1984, vol. 2, 423– 483. This work will henceforth be referred to as GLAJJ followed by Stern’s number of the fragment. Stern also wrote the short lemma “Porphyry” in the EncJud 13 (1972) 905. 4 Some useful remarks may be found in G. Rinaldi, La Bibbia dei pagani, I: Quadro storico, Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniani, 1998, 155–175 (“Porfirio e il popolo d’Israele”). 5 See, e.g., L.I. Levine, Judaism and Hellenism in Antiquity: Conflict or Confluence?, Seattle & London: The University of Washington Press, 1998. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi ��.��63/9789��427����_��9

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receive a soul), and De antro nympharum (an allegorical exegesis of a scene in Homer’s Odyssey). Some neutral remarks on Jewish history in his Chronika can be left aside for our purposes. Apart from Porphyry’s own works, it should be noticed that, when he collected and edited the lectures of his teacher Plotinus, he decided to arrange this material in the form of six Enneads, which is a striking parallel to the ordering of halachic material in the six sedarim of the Mishnah by Rabbi Judah ha-Nasi.6 Is that sheer coincidence? It probably is, for Porphyry could not read the Mishnah in Hebrew, even though there was a Jewish community in Tyre, the city where he lived before his move to the West,7 and the Mishnah was never translated into Greek. It has sometimes been suggested that Porphyry’s acquaintance with Jewish traditions was due to the fact that he was married to a Jewish woman, an elderly widow called Marcella. But it should be objected that it is only a late and otherwise unreliable source that calls Marcella a Jewish woman, never Porphyry himself or any other author. It is found in the socalled Theosophia Tubingensis, a Christian apologetic work of the late fifth or early sixth century, which states that Porphyry had married an elderly Jewish woman who was a mother of five children (egême gynaika pente paidôn mêtera gegêrakuian êdê kai Hebraian – §85, pp. 54–55 Erbse = 2:25, p. 36 Beatrice = fr. 10T Smith).8 It is highly likely that the idea that Porphyry had a Jewish wife was suggested by the fact that in his works he speaks several times about Judaism in very positive terms. 6 For six as ‘the first perfect number’ according to Philo see his Opif. 13 with the comments by D.T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria on the Creation of the Cosmos according to Moses, Leiden – Boston: Brill, 2001, 124–131 (at 127 parallels in other ancient authors). 7 See, convincingly, F. Millar, “Porphyry: Ethnicity, Language, and Alien Wisdom,” in his The Greek World, the Jew0s, and the East, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006, 331–350. Rinaldi, La Bibbia dei pagani 170–172, unnecessarily speculates on the basis of Eusebius, Hist. Eccl. 6.19.2–8, that Porphyry stayed for a while in Caesarea Maritima where he met not only Origen but also the famous rabbi Abbahu, from whom he could have got his knowledge of Jewish beliefs and practices. 8 The references are to the editions of the Tübinger Theosophie by H. Erbse, Theosophorum Graecorum fragmenta, Stuttgart & Leipzig: Teubner, 1995, and by P.F. Beatrice, Anonymi Monophysitae Theosophia: An Attempt at Reconstruction, Leiden: Brill, 2001. Porphyry himself says that the widow he married had seven (not five) children, Ad Marc. 1.1. It is strange that W. Pötscher is inclined to believe the untrustworthy statement in Theos. Tub. on the basis of the following argument: ‘Die Tatsache, dasz Porphyrios die Witwe seines Freundes geheiratet hat, würde in die jüdische Vorstellungswelt nicht schlecht passen’ (Porphyrios ΠΡΟΣ ΜΑΡΚΕΛΛΑΝ, Leiden: Brill, 1969, 60–61). On the Christian agenda of the Tübinger Theosophie see P.F. Beatrice, “Pagan Wisdom and Christian Theology According to the Tübingen Theosophy,” JECS 3 (1995): 403–418.

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To begin with Porphyry’s critical remarks, most of them are found in his major work Against the Christians.9 That already indicates that it is not Judaism but Christianity that is his main target there; he slams Christianity by criticizing its Jewish matrix.10 For instance, he accuses the Christians of having become “zealots for the strange mythologies of the Jews, which are in ill-repute among all men” (GLAJJ 458 = Eusebius, Praep.Ev. 1.2.3). As an example of these “strange mythologies” he mentions Gen. 2:17 and says: Why did God forbid the knowledge of good and evil? He forbade the evil, rightly so, but why also the good? For in saying, ‘Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil thou shalt not eat,’ he says that he prevents him from knowing the evil, but why also from knowing the good? (GLAJJ 463 = Severianus of Gabala, De mundi creatione 6). It is clear that to a Platonist like Porphyry the idea of a deity preventing humankind from knowing the good is a very “strange mythology” indeed.11 On the other hand, throughout the same work, Porphyry never ceases to emphasize that the Christians committed a grave error by abandoning the old and venerable traditions of the Jewish religion – the newness of their faith was its most fatal flaw.12  9

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Unfortunately, the fragments of this work were not included in Smith’s edition of Porphyry’s fragments, so we still have to consult the old (and now incomplete) edition by A. von Harnack, “Porphyrios: ‘Gegen die Christen.’ ” Abhandlungen der Königlich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Kl. 1916, Berlin: Reimer, 1916, 1–115 (some later additions by Harnack and others are not mentioned here). The fragments in which Jews or Judaism are mentioned are nos. 458–465 in GLAJJ. On the dubious nature of Harnack’s (and others’) attribution to Porphyry of the anonymous fragments in Macarius’ Apokritikos see my review of the new edition of Macarius by R. Goulet in VC 58 (2004): 332–341. As Stern says: “Porphyry attempts to undermine the specific sanctity accorded to the Old Testament in order to weaken the basis of the Christian religion, but in the crucial issue between Pauline teaching and Judaism his sympathy is with Jewish tradition” (GLAJJ 427). According to Porphyry, true piety was “to honour the deity in the ways our fore­ fathers did” (timan to theion kata ta patria); see Ad Marc. 18. J.G. Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004, 247: “His admiration for the traditional nature of Judaism did not include OT narratives which he called ‘mythologies.’” See P. de Labriolle, La réaction païenne: Étude sur la polémique antichrétienne du Ier au VIe siècle, Paris: L’artisan du livre, 1950, 225–296; R.L. Wilken, The Christians As the Romans Saw Them, New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1984, 126–163. Also A. Busine,

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In terms of criticism of biblical accounts, the best known instance is Porphyry’s extensive investigation of the historical circumstances in which the book of Daniel was written.13 He was the first to point out that this book was “not composed by the person to whom it is inscribed in the title, but rather by some individual living in Judaea at the time of that Antiochus who was surnamed Epiphanes. Further, he alleged that ‘Daniel’ did not foretell the future so much as relate the past, and lastly that whatever he spoke of up till the time of Antiochus contained authentic history, whereas anything he may have conjectured beyond that point was false inasmuch as he would not have foreknown the future” (GLAJJ 464a = Jerome, Comm. in Dan., Prol.). Thanks to Jerome’s elaborate critique of Porphyry’s position in his own Commentary on Daniel we know much about our Platonist’s acute observations and criticism regarding the book of Daniel which made him “a distant precursor of the modern biblical critics.”14 Since Porphyry’s critique of Daniel was a part of his fifteen-volume work Against the Christians, here again we must conclude that it was directed not (or at least not primarily) against the Jews but against the Christians who relied so heavily on the ‘prophecies’ of Daniel for their own eschatological expectations. As we now turn to the more positive statements of Porphyry on Judaism, we first take a look at some of the minor remarks in his works.15 In his Life of Pythagoras 11, he says that, in order to learn the exact manner of dream interpretation, Pythagoras traveled to the Egyptians, the Arabs, the Chaldaeans,

Paroles d’Apollon: Pratiques et traditions oraculaires dans l’Antiquité tardive (IIe–VIe siècles), Leiden – Boston: Brill, 2005, 284, on fr. 323 Smith. 13 For the fragments see now esp. G. Rinaldi, Biblia gentium: Primo contributo per un indice delle citazioni, dei riferimenti e delle allusioni alla Bibbia negli autori pagani, greci e latini, di età imperiale, Rome: Libreria Sacre Scritture, 1989, 338–398. 14 Stern, GLAJJ 2:428. On Jerome’s commentary on Daniel see J. Braverman, Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel, Washington: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1978; on Porphyry in Jerome’s commentary see esp. Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism 187–247. For Porphyry’s attack on the New Testament see J.G. Cook, The Interpretation of the New Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism, Tübingen: Mohr, 2000, 103–167. 15 I leave aside here the much debated problem of the chronology of Porphyry’s works and the question of whether or not there is a development in his thought. These issues have reached no consensus whatever and should therefore, regrettably, be left out of account for the moment. For one issue concerning our topic see Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism 155–159.

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and the Hebrews (GLAJJ 456a).16 Although our author claims to have found this information in a work by Antonius Diogenes, he certainly believed it to be true, as did his contemporary, Iamblichus, in his own De vita Pythagorica 3.14 (where he has Pythagoras visit Mount Carmel). In De antro nympharum 10, he approvingly quotes the Middle Platonist philosopher Numenius to the effect that the Jews believe that “the souls rest on water, which is divinely animated (hydati . . . theopnoôi onti),” and that for that reason “the prophet had said that the spirit of God (theou pneuma) is carried above the water” (GLAJJ 456b). Here Gen. 1:2 is said to be the words of “the prophet” Moses. In a similar vein, in his discussion of how the soul enters the newly-formed embryo in Ad Gaurum 11, Porphyry says: “The theologian of the Hebrews also seems to signify this when he says that, when the human body was formed and had received all of its bodily workmanship, God breathed the spirit into it to act as a living soul” (GLAJJ 466), with an unmistakable reference to Gen. 2:7 (kai enephysêsen eis to prosôpon autou pnoên zôês kai egeneto ho anthrôpos eis psychên zôsan). That Moses is called here “the prophet” and “the theologian” without any qualification is certainly remarkable. The same positive stance is also clearly discernible in the way Porphyry describes the Essenes. In De abstinentia 4.11–14, he devotes several pages to this Jewish group in a passage that is by and large an abridgement of Josephus’ description in Bell. 2.119–161. What is striking is not only that he does not restrict his rendering of the Josephan passage to those elements that could serve his purpose (advocating vegetarianism), although he does stress the simplicity of their diet, but that he dwells at considerable length on the Essenes’ strict and noble way of life. Where Josephus expresses his admiration for the Essenes, Porphyry makes no effort to diminish it; on the contrary, his own sympathy goes undisguised – he calls the Essene sect the “most august” (semnotatê) among the Jews. And in the end he adds, with obvious appreciation, that the lawgiver did not allow the parent birds to be taken away together with their nestlings, a statement he owes to his own knowledge of Deut. 22:6–7 (or perhaps to Josephus, C.Ap. 2.213). The most remarkable passages in terms of positive and sympathetic statements about Jews and Judaism are to be found in Porphyry’s Philosophy to Be Derived from Oracles.17 In it, Porphyry quotes quite a number of oracles, uttered 16

17

J.H. Waszink, “Porphyrios und Numenios,” in Porphyre (Entretiens sur l’antiquité classique XII), Geneva: Fondation Hardt, 1966, 35–78, thinks that Numenius (on which see more below) was Porphyry’s source for his knowledge of Jewish dream interpretation. See Smith, Porphyrii philosophi fragmenta nrs. 303–350. For bibliography on this treatise from 1856 till 1978 see J. Haussleiter, “Prolegomena zu einer Neuherausgabe der

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at various oracular sites in Greece and Asia Minor (especially those of Apollo at Claros and Didyma), among them several mentioning the Jewish faith in an approving manner. At first sight that may seem surprising: Why would a Greek oracular deity say positive things about Judaism? But, as we will see, this phenomenon fits well into the cultural atmosphere of the time, and there is no reason to believe that Augustine is right when he suggests that Porphyry had made up these oracles himself (Civ. Dei 19.23.2).18 To begin with, let us look at a number of oracles quoted in the first book, preserved as excerpts in bishop Eusebius’ Praep. Ev. 9.10.1-5 (GLAJJ 450 = frs. 323 and 324 Smith). Eusebius says that Porphyry has his own god (Apollo) bear witness there to the wisdom of the Hebrew nation as well as of other ancient nations renowned for intelligence and insight. Speaking about sacrifices Apollo adds (in dactylic hexameters): Steep and rough is the road to the blessed ones [= gods], entered at first through portals bound with bronze. Inside these are innumerable paths, which for the endless benefit of humankind, were first revealed by those who drink the sweet water of the land of the Nile. The Phoenicians too learned many paths to the blessed ones, as did the Assyrians, the Lydians and the nation of the Hebrews (fr. 323 Smith).19

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Orakelphilosophie des Porphyrios,” Helikon 18-19 (1978/79): 438–496; also A. Smith, “Porphyrian Studies since 1913,” ANRW II 36/2 (1987): 717–773. See also J.J. O’Meara, Porphyry’s Philosophy from Oracles in Augustine, Paris: Études Augustiniennes, 1959; and idem, “Porphyry’s Philosophy from Oracles in Eusebius,” Recherches Augustiniennes 6 (1969): 103–139. Recent studies are M. Edwards, Culture and Philosophy in the Age of Plotinus, London: Duckworth, 2006, 111–126, and A.P. Johnson, Religion and Identity in Porphyry of Tyre: The Limits of Hellenism in Late Antiquity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. On the authenticity of most of the oracles in De philosophia ex oraculis haurienda see now esp. Busine, Paroles d’Apollon 227–295; also L. Robert, “Trois oracles de la Théosophie et un prophète d’Apollon,” in his Opera Minora Selecta, vol. 5, Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1989, 584–615, and idem, “Un oracle gravé à Oinoanda,” ibid. 617–639 (both originally in CRAI 1968 and 1971). As these three studies demonstrate, some of the oracles of Apollo in Porphyry’s book and in the Theosophia Tubingensis were also found in inscriptions. That is not to deny that the Theosophia does contain falsifications, for some of them are patently Christian fabrications; see Busine, Paroles d’Apollon 403–406. On the various interpretative problems of this fragment see esp. Johnson, Religion and Identity in Porphyry of Tyre 105–110 (at 106 n. 19 he translates ep’ apeirona prêxin by ‘to the ignorant condition’ which I think should be ‘to the endless benefit’).

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Porphyry then comments that as far as the roads to the gods are concerned the Greeks went astray; it is the wise barbarian nations, including the Jews, who found them. By way of confirmation he adds another oracle of Apollo: “Only Chaldaeans and Hebrews found wisdom in the pure worship of a self-born god” (fr. 323 Smith). Finally, he quotes an oracle in which Apollo answers the question of why men speak of many heavens instead of one: “One circle girds the earth on every side, but it rises in seven circles to the starlit paths. These the Chaldaeans and the widely famous Hebrews named ‘heavens’ as they roll in their sevenfold orbits” (fr. 324 Smith).20 Augustine says in general that, in his Philosophia ex oraculis haurienda, Porphyry asserts that the Jews have a theology that is much superior to the Christian one (Civ.Dei 19.23 = fr. 343 Smith; cf. fr. 344a . . . cum pietatem laudet Hebraeorum).21 As Lane Fox remarks, “Apollo’s texts are firmly pagan, but they do discuss God in a language which Jews could endorse.”22 These “theological oracles,” as Nock has dubbed them,23 were a common phenomenon only from the third century CE onwards, and it is from these that Porphyry wanted to distill a philosophy (as the title of his book indicates).24 That Porphyry was not the only one to do so is made clear by a fragment from a lost writing by another third-century Neoplatonist author, Cornelius Labeo, in whose De oraculo Apollinis Clarii one finds the following oracle from the Clarian Apollo: When Apollo of Clarus was asked who among the gods should be identified with the one called Iao,25 he spoke as follows: ‘Those who have learnt the orgia should keep them secret, but if the understanding is little 20 21

22 23

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On this fragment see Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism 154–155. See Busine, Paroles d’Apollon 373–382 (“Apollon, admirateur des Hébreux”). In fr. 343F (= Augustine, Civ.Dei 19.23.2), Porphyry says that Jesus was justly condemned to death by “right-thinking judges” (iudices recta sentientes), i.e., the Jewish Highpriest and the Sanhedrin. This motif is also found in the Talmud; see P. Schäfer, Jesus in the Talmud, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007, 63–74. R. Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians, New York: Alfred Knopf, 1987, 257. A.D. Nock, “Oracles théologiques,” in his Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972, 160–168. On these oracles also Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians 256–261. Influence of philosophical ideas upon several of these oracles is clearly discernible; see R. van den Broek, Apollo in Asia: De orakels van Clarus en Didyma in de tweede en derde eeuw na Chr., Leiden: Brill, 1981, 9–16. On Iao as a rendering of YHWH see D.E. Aune, “Iao,” RAC 17 (1996): 1–12.

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and the mind feeble, then consider that Iao is the supreme god of all. In winter he is Hades, when spring begins he is Zeus, in summer he is Helios, while in autumn he is the delicate Iacchus’ (fr. 18 = Macrobius, Sat. 1.18.19–20 = GLAJJ 445).26 Instead of ‘Iacchus’ (= Bacchus or Dionysus), the manuscripts read ‘Iao,’ but the epitheton habros (delicate, mild, gracious) fits the conjectural reading ‘Iacchus’ much better,27 and the implication is that these four major deities (including Zeus!) are nothing but ‘Erscheinungsformen’28 or manifestations of the truly Highest God, which is Iao, the God of the Jews.29 Behind the multitude of traditional gods there is only one overriding divine principle. As Polymnia Athanassiadi has suggested, “it is even possible that, in producing their collections, men like Porphyry and Labeo did not act wholly spontaneously, but responded to invitations to conduct research in the archives of the oracles and to help proclaim that God is One by producing a publication which would both

26

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28 29

See the elaborate comments in P. Mastandrea, Un neoplatonico latino: Cornelio Labeone, Leiden: Brill, 1979, 159–192. It is striking that there are eight cultic inscriptions from outside Claros which are dedicated diis deabusque secundum interpretationem Clarii Apollinis or, in Greek, theois kai theais apo exêgêseôs chrêsmou Apollônos Klariou (‘to the gods and goddesses according to the interpretation of the [oracle of] Clarian Apollo’); for references to their editions see Busine, Paroles d’Apollon 184–185 See Mastandrea, Un neoplatonico latino 161 n.6; also Stern’s note in GLAJJ vol. 2 p. 412; H.W. Parke, The Oracles of Apollo in Asia Minor, London: Croom Helms,1985, 163–165; S. Levin, “The Old Greek Oracles in Decline,” ANRW II 18/2 (1989) 1635 (1599–1649). The reading with ‘Iacchus’ is confirmed by the fact that in the immediately preceding lines Macrobius quotes ‘Orpheus’ to the effect that Zeus, Hades, Helios, and Dionysus are one and the same deity (Sat. 1.18.18). On the identification of YHWH with Dionysus in ancient sources see M. Smith, ‘On the Wine-God in Palestine,’ in his Studies in the Cult of Yahweh (ed. S.J.D. Cohen, 2 vols.), Leiden: Brill, 1996, 1:227–237. This term is used in this connection by G. Zuntz, Griechische philosophische Hymnen, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005, 76. As Nock, “Oracles théologiques” 165, says: “Un point paraît du moins assuré, c’est qu’il y avait à Claros une tendance systématique à une unité de foi qui pouvait comprendre jusqu’au dieu du judaïsme et réaliser la conciliation du monothéisme et du polythéisme.” But the anti-Christian ‘pointe’ of these (and Porphyry’s) statements should be kept in mind; see M. Zambon, Porphyre et le Moyen-Platonisme, Paris: Vrin, 2002, 203: “L’estime exprimée à l’égard des Hébreux était destinée à jeter le discrédit sur les chrétiens et sur leur façon d’interpréter les écritures sacrées.” To assume that there is a direct Jewish influence on these oracles is unwarranted; contra Ch. Picard, Éphèse et Claros: Recherches sur les sanctuaries et les cultes de l’Ionie du nord, Paris: Boccard 1922, 718.

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codify and spread the new theology.”30 The same sentiment is expressed in an oracle preserved in the Theosophia Tubingensis in which Apollo says that he and the other gods are nothing but angels who form only ‘a small particle of God’ (mikra theou meris), i.e., of the Highest God (Theos. Tub. 13 Erbse = 2 Beatrice) – this text was also found as an inscription in Oenoanda.31 It is clear that to the mind of the priests of the Clarian Apollo the traditional gods of the Greeks were not God but only his angels; in fact they proclaimed a kind of ‘soft’ monotheism.32 Another oracle in the Theosophia has Apollo answer the question of whether it is possible to come nearer to the highest god by a careful and attentive way of life (di’ epimeleias biou); he says that this is impossible to common people, for it is a privilege that was only given to Hermes Trismegistus among the Egyptians, Moses among the Hebrews, and Apollonius of Tyana among the Cappadocians – only those who have received a divine sign (or password, synthêma) are able to see the immortal nature, i.e. God (Theos. Tub. 44 Erbse = 1.40 Beatrice).33 At first sight it is amazing that Apollo would have spoken in such a positive vein about the God of the Jews and Moses and that Porphyry quotes several of these oracles approvingly, but a closer look at Porphyry’s predecessors among the Middle Platonists and some other important thinkers will make clear that his attitude is not that exceptional. As early as the first century BCE, the Roman antiquarian Varro states that if the Romans would have followed the Jews in their aniconic form of worship, their religion would be more devout (fr. 15 30 31

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P. Athanassiadi, “The Chaldaean Oracles: Theology and Theurgy,” in P. Athanassiadi & M. Frede (eds.), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999, 179. It is nr. 26 in the collection of R. Merkelbach & J. Stauber, “Die Orakel des Apollon von Klaros,” Epigraphica Anatolica 27 (1996): 1–53 (here 42–44). On this oracle see Robert, “Un oracle gravé à Oinoanda” 617-639; H. Lewy, Chaldaean Oracles and Theurgy (new ed. by M. Tardieu), Paris: Etudes Augustiniennes, 1978, 18–22; D.S. Potter, Prophecy and History in the Crisis of the Roman Empire: A Historical Commentary on the Thirteenth Sibylline Oracle,Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990, 351–355. Nock, “Oracles théologiques” 165, rightly speaks of “oracles qui affirment l’unité des différentes divinités et enseignent qu’elles ne sont que les pouvoirs et les functions de l’Être suprême.” See P. Athanassiadi, “Philosophers and Oracles: Shifts of Authority in Late Paganism,” Byzantion 62 (1992): 45–62. In her article “The Chaldaean Oracles” 180, she rightly says: “It is only worth pointing out that by this demotion of the old pantheon and its identification as mere angels, philosophical monotheism could accommodate tradition.” For a comprehensive study of this oracle see A. Busine, “Hermès Trismégiste, Moïse et Apollonius de Tyana dans un oracle d’Apollon,” Apocrypha 13 (2002): 227–243, who convincingly argues that this oracle is not a Jewish or Christian hoax. Also the Church Father Lactantius confirms that in his oracles Apollo (in this case Apollo of Didyma) spoke in praise of the God of Israel (De ira dei 23.12).

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Cardauns = Augustine, Civ. Dei 4.31 = GLAJJ 72a). Elsewhere he says that Jupiter and the God of the Jews are one and the same deity invoked with different names (fr. 16 Cardauns = Augustine, De cons. Evang. 1.22.30 = GLAJJ 72b); and he also states that the God of the Jews is called Iao in the Chaldaean mysteries (fr. 17 Cardauns = Lydus, De mens. 4.53 = GLAJJ 75).34 This demonstrates more than just a vague knowledge of the Jewish religion, it is a clear expression of appreciation of some aspects of the Jewish faith, and he was not the first to express such sentiments.35 But for our present purposes it is best to direct our attention to a Middle Platonic philosopher for whom Porphyry demonstrably had a great admiration, Numenius of Apamea.36 This second century CE philosopher (like Porphyry, originating from Syria) is well-known for his extraordinarily positive stance towards Judaism.37 A Pythagoreanizing Platonist, Numenius, like others, cherished the idea that some of the ancient barbarian (= non-Greek) nations had traditions containing an old and primeval doctrine of a profound truth and wisdom, the Alêthês Logos (True Doctrine) as Celsus called it.38 Now Origen points out that Celsus 34

On these fragments see E. Norden, “Jahve und Mose in hellenistischer Theologie,” in Festgabe von Fachgenossen und Freunden A. von Harnack zum siebzigsten Geburtstag dargebracht, Tübingen: Mohr, 1921, 292–301, esp. 298–300; L.H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993, 206. A concise commentary is found in the edition by B. Cardauns, M. Terentius Varro: Antiquitates rerum divinarum, Wiesbaden: Steiner, 1976. In general see M. Simon, “Jupiter – Yahvé,” in his Le christianism antique et son contexte religieux. Scripta varia, Tübingen: Mohr, 1981, 622–648. 35 Ever since Aristotle’s pupil Theophrastus (see GLAJJ 4) there had been Greek philosophers who had a positive view of the Jewish religion, although by no means all of them. See further Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World 201–207, 214–219. 36 On Numenius see J. Dillon, The Middle Platonists, London: Duckworth, 1977, 361–379. For what follows see Waszink, “Porphyrios und Numenios,” and esp. Zambon, Porphyre et le Moyen-Platonisme 171–250. 37 For the fragments on Judaism see GLAJJ nrs. 363–369. Also E. des Places, Numénius: Fragments, Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1973. I quote the fragments according to the numbering of Des Places. A brief discussion is found in H.-Ch. Puech, “Numénius d’Apamée et les théologies orientales au second siècle” AIPHOS 2 (1934) 745–778, reprinted as “Numenios von Apameia und die orientalischen Theologien im 2. Jh. n. Chr.” in C. Zintzen (ed.), Der Mittelplatonismus, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1981, 451–487, esp. 456–458 [my references are to the German translation]. 38 Zambon, Porphyre 249: “Numénius est pour nous le représentant le plus typique d’une conception de la philosophie qui – souhaitant un retour aux origins – laisse de la place à la sagesse des barbares, en tant que dépositaires d’une antique – et par conséquent honorable – connaissance des principes, de la structure du cosmos et du destin de l’homme.”

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misrepresents the Jews by excluding them from the list of ancient nations that possessed this primeval wisdom, this archaios logos (Contra Celsum 1.14).39 Numenius, however, does include the Jews in this list of ‘nations of high repute’ (fr. 1a = Eusebius, Pr.Ev. 9.7.1 = GLAJJ 364a), as Origen approvingly remarks (Contra Celsum 1.15).40 Numenius goes even further, for according to him the Jews were more important than the other nations of high repute, which can best be illustrated by his deeply felt admiration for Moses expressed in his famous dictum that Plato is nothing less than “a Moses who speaks Greek” (litt. ‘Attic’, Môüsês attikizôn, fr. 8 = Eusebius, Pr.Ev. 11.10.14 = Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 1.22.150.4 = GLAJJ 363),41 undoubtedly because he saw an essential similarity in their teachings, as did Philo before him (Numenius knew Philo’s work).42 Louis Feldman rightly remarks: “In view of the tremendous reputation enjoyed by Plato and in view of the revival, in modified form, of his teachings in the guise of Neo-Platonism, of which Numenius was the main forerunner, this is a tremendous compliment.”43 In Numenius’ eyes, Judaism was a philosophy as lofty as Platonism. In fr. 9 Numenius identifies Moses with Musaeus, the great mythical poet and musician of the Greeks, an identification occurring already in the second century BCE Jewish historian/novelist Artapanus (fr. 3 = Eusebius, On this motif of an old, oriental ‘barbarian’ wisdom see Busine, Paroles d’Apollon 214– 221; H. Chadwick, Origen: Contra Celsum, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1965, xvi–xxii; G.G. Stroumsa, “Philosophy of the Barbarians: On Early Christian Ethnological Representations,” in H. Cancik, H. Lichtenberger & P. Schäfer (eds.), Geschichte – Tradition – Reflexion: Festschrift für Martin Hengel zum 70. Geburtstag (3 vols.), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996, 2.339–368; Johnson, Religion and Identity in Porphyry of Tyre 224–231. The motif is as old as Plato; see Philebus 16c5-9; Timaeus 21e–25d. For Numenius, Pythagoras was the bridge between the old ‘Barbarenweisheit’ and Platonic philosophy. Other authors as well, both pagan and Jewish, are convinced that Pythagoras drew on Judaism for several of his ideas; see Feldman, Jew and Gentile 201–202 (and 525 n. 11). 39 N.R.M. de Lange, Origen and the Jews: Studies in Jewish-Christian Relations in Third-Century Palestine, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976, 63–73. Note the parallel with the prisca theologia of Marsilio Ficino in the fifteenth century. 40 On the importance of the motif of the antiquity of the Jewish people see L.H. Feldman, Studies in Hellenistic Judaism, Leiden – Boston: Brill, 1996, 188–195. Cook, The Interpretation of the Old Testament in Greco – Roman Paganism 154: “The fact that Porphyry is willing to ascribe wisdom to the Hebrews is a fundamental step beyond Celsus.” 41 For other ancient quotes of this dictum see Puech, “Numenios von Apameia” 478 n. 29. See also M. Edwards, “Atticizing Moses? Numenius, the Fathers and the Jews,” Vigiliae Christianae 44 (1990) 64–75. 42 D. Ridings, The Attic Moses: The Dependency Theme in Some Early Christian Writers, Göteborg: Acta Universitatis Gothoburgensis, 1995, deals with the history of this motif. 43 Feldman, Jew and Gentile 241; cf. 203–204.

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Praep.Ev. 9.27.3).44 It certainly implies the highest praise. He also calls Moses a man “most powerful in prayer to God” (fr. 9 = Eusebius, Praep.Ev. 9.8.1. = GLAJJ 365) and, according to Origen, Numenius quotes Moses and the prophets in many passages in his writings and interprets them allegorically (frs. 1b and 1c = Contra Celsum 1.15 and 4.51 = GLAJJ 364 and 366). John Lydus even states that Numenius was of the opinion that the God whose temple was in Jerusalem was the father of all the other gods and that he deems any other unworthy of having a share in his honour (fr. 56 = De mensibus 4.53 = GLAJJ 367). And, finally, as was already shown above, Porphyry quotes Numenius to the effect that “the prophet” said that the spirit of God is carried above the water (fr. 30 = GLAJJ 368). This quote occurs in Porphyry’s De antro nympharum, a work in which he repeatedly quotes from Numenius with approval. Numenius’ influence on Porphyry was very great, as can be gauged from the Index fontium in Des Places’ edition of Numenius’ fragments (p. 147).45 But there is more behind Porphyry’s stance toward Judaism than Numenius’ influence. As Michael Frede has recently argued, since the beginnings of Greek philosophy among the Presocratics, Greek thinkers assumed that there was one particular, individual, active principle that governs the world. To quote him at some length: There is a clear sense in which Platonists, Peripatetics, and Stoics and thus the vast majority of philosophers in late antiquity believed in one God. They believed in a god who not only enjoys eternal bliss, but in a god who as a god is unique in that he is a first principle which determines and providentially governs reality. There are, as part of the divinely imposed order of things, derivative beings which also enjoy immortality and bliss, and which, hence, following Greek usage, are also called ‘divine.’ But in the case of Plato’s and the Stoics’ created gods even this

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On this fragment of Artapanus and its equation of Moses with Musaeus see C.R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Authors, vol. 1: Historians, Chico: Scholars Press, 1983, 231–232 notes 44 and 45. Recently, doubts about Artapanus’ Jewishness have been expressed by H. Jacobson, “Artapanus Judaeus,” JJS 57 (2006): 210–221, but see J.J. Collins, “Artapanus Revisited,” in P. Walters (ed.), From Judaism to Christianity: A Festschrift for Thomas H. Tobin S.J., Leiden: Brill, 2010, 59–68. Waszink, “Porphyrios und Numenios” 52–53, argues that also passages such as Nemesius, Nat. hom. 12, and Calcidius, In Tim. 256, testify to Porphyry’s admiration for Jewish traditions (although he is not mentioned explicitly there). Ibid. 60–62, Waszink even suggests that all passages where Calcidius speaks about Hebraica philosophia derive from Numenius via Porphyry.

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immortality exists only through divine benevolence and, for the Stoics, is not even a genuine immortality.46 This tendency, which has been called variously ‘henotheism,’ ‘weak/soft monotheism,’ ‘semi-monotheism’ etc. for lack of a better term, became stronger in the imperial period than it had been before, although its roots went back as far as Xenocrates and Plato.47 In Roman times this tendency also began to have its effects on religious practice. As Stephen Mitchell has demonstrated, all over the Eastern Mediterranean there were groups of worshippers of Theos Hypsistos (God Most High).48 He collected and studied some 375 inscriptions in which this cult is attested and came to the conclusion that this somewhat elusive cult most probably concerned syncretistic groups which consciously attempted to bridge the religious gap between paganism and Judaism. Its origins did not lie in Jewish but in henotheistic pagan circles where the attractiveness of monotheistic Judaism was so strongly felt that they looked for common ground. As Mitchell says, “The cult of Theos Hypsistos had room for pagans and for Jews. More than that, it shows that the principal categories into which we divide the religious groupings of late antiquity are simply inappropriate or misleading when applied to the beliefs and practices of a significant proportion of the population of the eastern Roman empire.”49 Mitchell also shows that what we know about ‘Godfearers’ (theosebeis, sebomenoi), pagan sympathizers with Judaism, is so much in agreement with the information we have about the adepts of Theos Hypsistos that both groups could very well be identical. It is interesting to notice that almost all the epigraphical 46

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M.L. Frede, “Monotheism and Pagan Philosophy in Later Antiquity,” in Athanassiadi & Frede (eds.), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity 55 (41–67). See also the caveats (in reaction to Frede’s essay) by M. Edwards, “Pagan and Christian Monotheism in the Age of Constantine,” in S. Swain & M. Edwards (eds.), Approaching Late Antiquity: The Transformation from Early to Late Empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004, 211–234. See J.H. Lesher, Xenophanes of Colophon. Fragments: A Text and Translation with a Commentary, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1992, 78–119; and M. Bordt, Platons Theologie, Freiburg & München: Verlag Karl Alber, 2006; in general M. West, “Toward Monotheism,” in Athanassiadi & Frede (eds.), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity 21–40. S. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos between Pagans, Jews, and Christians,” in Athanassiadi & Frede (eds.), Pagan Monotheism in Late Antiquity 85–148; idem, “Further Thoughts on the Cult of Theos Hypsistos,” in S. Mitchell & P. van Nuffelen (eds.), One God: Pagan Monotheism in the Roman Empire, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010, 167–208. Mitchell, “The Cult of Theos Hypsistos” 115.

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evidence for the cult of the Theos Hypsistos is from the imperial period, but the overwhelming majority dates from the second and third centuries CE, the centuries of Numenius and Porphyry.50 Apart from that, or perhaps rather as a result of this kind of developments in the philosophical and religious culture of the time, the Severan emperors also furthered a climate in which respect for Judaism could and did prosper.51 This dynasty of the Severi (Septimius Severus, Caracalla, Geta, Heliogabalus, Alexander Severus) reigned over the Roman Empire for more than forty years (193–235 CE) and was – like Numenius and Porphyry – of Syrian origin. Although the data about these emperors’ attitude to Judaism derive from the Historia Augusta, a not altogether reliable source from late fourth-century, there must certainly be a reliable kernel in what they tell us about these emperors’ attitude towards Judaism, since it is consistently and almost only with respect to the Severans that this document informs us about their Jewfriendly posture.52 I will mention here only a selection of the most relevant passages. We are told of Septimius Severus that he revoked the punishment that had been imposed upon the people of Palestine (Sept. Sev. 14.6 = GLAJJ 513). Caracalla, when still a child of seven, is said to have been very angry at his father when the latter had one of his son’s playmates severely scourged for adopting the Jewish religion (Ant. Car. 1.6 = GLAJJ 517). About Heliogabalus we learn that he established his native Syrian deity Elagabal as a god on the Palatine Hill and that he declared that the religions of the Jews and the Samaritans as well as the rites of the Christians must be transferred to this place in order that the priesthood of Elagabal might include the mysteries of every form of worship (Ant. Heliog. 3.4-5 = GLAJJ 518). Most of the evidence deals with Alexander Severus: He is said to have respected the privileges of the Jews and to have allowed the Christians to live unmolested (Alex. Sev. 22.4 = GLAJJ 520). The people of Antioch and Alexandria had irritated him by calling him an archisynagogus and a high priest (28.7 = GLAJJ 521). When he rose early in the morning, he worshipped the statues of the deified emperors and also of some holy souls, including Apollonius of Tyana, Abraham, Orpheus, and Christ, a very mixed bag indeed (29.2 = GLAJJ 522). When he appointed a man to a high position or office, he always announced his name publicly and exhorted the people, if they wished to bring an accusation against him, to prove it by irrefutable evidence. For he used to say that it was unjust 50 51 52

As Mitchell’s two catalogues show, the cult is well attested in Syria, where both philosophers were born and raised. J.G. Gager, “The Dialogue of Paganism with Judaism,” HUCA 44 (1973) 89–118, esp. 93–97. The relevant texts can all be found in GLAJJ 509–528.

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that, when Christians and Jews observed this custom in announcing the names of those who were to be ordained priests, it should not be observed in the case of governors (45.6–7 = GLAJJ 523). In his work as a judge, he sometimes rebuked the accused by saying, “Would you want this to be done to your land which you are doing to another’s?” and explained that he had heard from a Jew or a Christian the saying, “What you do not want a man to do to you, do not do that to him” (51.6–8 = GLAJJ 524).53 As Gager points out, Jerome provides independent testimony to this phenomenon in that he says that some of the Severi esteemed the Jews very highly (Comm. in Dan. 11.34).54 All this probably helped to bring about a more positive view of Judaism among their subjects. In Porphyry’s attitude towards Judaism we find a confluence of four streams, all of which were at their strongest in the third century CE: (1) the syncretism of the Severan emperors with a notable openness towards Judaism; (2) the trend towards dealing with theological problems at the oracles, especially those of Apollo in Asia Minor, which both encouraged and was encouraged by the growing tendency towards a form of henotheism or semi-monotheism in philosophical circles; (3) the rise and popularity of the cult of Theos Hypsistos; and (4) the heavy stamp of the philosophical theology of Numenius who included the Jews among the wise nations of old. When these tributaries came together in the person of Porphyry, the result was a remarkably positive stance towards the Jewish religion on the part of one of the most radical opponents of Christianity in antiquity. In this respect Porphyry differed markedly from both earlier and later critics of Christianity such as Celsus and Julian.55 53

54 55

On this ‘golden rule’ and its variegated history see A. Dihle, Die goldene Regel: Eine Einführung in die Geschichte der antiken und frühchristlichen Vulgärethik, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962. Gager, “Dialogue” 93–94. On the problem of which of the Severi are meant in Jerome’s rather vague formulation see Braverman, Jerome’s Commentary 120–121. See Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World 216–217.  The article by C. Addey “Monotheism, Henotheism, and Polytheism in Porphyry’s Philosophy from Oracles,” in S. Mitchell & P. van Nuffelen (eds.), Monotheism between Pagans and Christians in Late Antiquity, Leuven: Peeters, 2010, 149–163, came to my attention only after the completion of this paper.

chapter 19

A Short Note on the Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati After his reconquest of Jerusalem from the Persians in the year 630 CE, the Byzantine emperor Heraclius (610–641) issued an order for the compulsory baptism of the Jews in his empire.1 This stern decree had dramatic consequences for Jews in several regions of the Byzantine empire, even though it seems certain that the decree was not carried out everywhere. Many Jews became Marranos avant la date, and the Church Father Maximus Confessor (c. 580–662) already stated unambiguously (in a letter of 632 CE2) that he feared that this compulsory baptism would lead to very insincere ‘conversions’ on the part of the Jews. As a result of that understandable fear, Christian scholars began to instruct their coreligionists how Jews, after their compulsory baptism, could be talked out of their old beliefs and practices and be made sincere believers. The anonymous treatise with the telling title Twenty-Five Questions to Corner the Jews is an instructive instance of that new genre, actually a kind of conversion manual.3 Another more or less similar document from the same period is the equally anonymous Teaching of the Recently Baptized Jacob (Didaskalia Iakôbou neobaptistou, more commonly known as Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati).4 1 On Heraclius and his policy see A.N. Stratos, Byzantium in the Seventh Century, vol. 1: 602–634 (Amsterdam: Hakkert, 1968); J.F. Haldon, Byzantium in the Seventh Century. The Transformation of a Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 2 Published by R. Devreesse, ‘La fin d’une lettre de Saint Maxime: un baptême forcé de Juifs et de Samaritains à Carthage en 632,’ Revue des sciences religieuses 17 (1937) 25–35. 3 For a translation with introduction and notes see P.W. van der Horst, ‘Twenty-Five Questions to Corner the Jews: A Byzantine Anti-Jewish Document from the Seventh Century,’ in E.G. Chazon, D. Satran & R.A. Clements (eds.), Things Revealed. Studies in Early Jewish and Christian Literature in Honor of Michael E. Stone (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 89; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 289–302. The Greek title of the treatise is Epaporêtika kephalaia kata tôn Ioudaiôn. 4 The best edition (with a French translation) is V. Déroche, ‘Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati,’ Travaux et mémoires 11 (1991) 47–229. An extensive but much too skeptical analysis of the sources of the Doctrina is P. Speck, ‘Die Doctrina Jacobi nuper baptizati,’ in his Varia VI: Beiträge zum Thema Byzantinische Feindseligkeit gegen die Juden im frühen siebten Jahrhundert, Bonn: Habelt, 1997, 267–439; see also his entry ‘Doctrina Jacobi’ in DNP 3 (1997) 722–723. For a very brief introduction see H. Schreckenberg, Die christlichen Adversus-Judaeos-Texte und ihr literarisches und historisches Umfeld (1.–11.Jh.), Frankfurt: Lang, 1990, 437–438; and H.-G. Beck, Kirche und theologische Literatur im Byzantinischen Reich (Handbuch der

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This relatively long text, some 100 pages of Greek, is one of the most intriguing reactions to the compulsory baptism of Jews in the years after 632.5 It is a Christian document, written in the late 630s or early 640s, in which one finds a fictional report of an internal Jewish debate about the credibility of the new faith that they have been compelled to adopt. Let me first give a brief outline of the contents and thereafter raise the question of what we can learn from this text about the situation of the Jews in that crucial period. The story, which is purportedly told by a newly baptized Jew named Joseph, is as follows:6 Heraclius’ edict is carried out rigorously in the North-African city of Carthage by George, the prefect of Africa.7 A number of the forcibly baptized Jews of that city are so despondent that they convene secretly in the house of a certain Isaac (Isaakios) in order to deliberate about what to do.8 Then a certain Jacob (Iakôbos), a Jewish Torah scholar (nomodidaskalos) and merchant from Constantinople, arrives in Carthage. He does not want to undergo forcible baptism and hence pretends that he is a Christian and behaves accordingly. However, when he steps into a hole and falls, he spontaneously shouts, “Adonai, help me!,” and thus betrays himself as a Jew. He is taken to a bath and when the Christians see that he is circumcised, he is baptized against his will. In a vision during the night, however, he is told by a heavenly messenger that this is the right thing because Jesus Christ is indeed the Son of God and the expected Messiah. He then borrows a Bible from a monastery, searches the Scriptures, and finds this message fully confirmed. When thereafter he meets the Jews who convene in secret, he asks them why they are so cast-down. He is then invited to join them in their secret deliberations, and that is the start of a long series of talks between Jacob, who has become a really convinced Christian, and the other baptized Jews. These talks are rather monotonous in that they all follow the same pattern: the Jews ask Jacob short questions9 that make clear that they cannot believe the central tenets of Christian faith, and then Jacob

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Altertumswissenschaft XII 2.1), München: Beck, 1959, 447. The text exists also in medieval translations into Arabic, Ethiopic, and Old Slavonic. A good analysis of this treatise and its historical background can be found in the above mentioned volume of Travaux et mémoires 11 (1991): at pp. 17–46 one finds the ‘Introduction historique’ by Gilbert Dagron; and at pp. 230–273 one finds this scholar’s and Vincent Déroche’s ‘Commentaire’ on the text. This is a very brief summary, omitting most of the details. This George is also known from other contemporary Byzantine sources (John Moschos, Maximus Confessor). Dagron, ‘Commentaire’ 231, sketches their feelings as follows: ‘Les baptisés ont le sentiment de n’être plus juifs et pas encore chrétiens.’ For instance: Why can belief in Christ and observing the Sabbath not go hand in hand? Why would God have rejected the synagogue? How can we know that Jesus Christ is the Messiah

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proves at length from Scripture (the Septuagint) that all of these tenets were already foretold by the Law and the Prophets. With more than three hundred quotes from the Jewish Scriptures,10 Jacob demonstrates at great length that it is their own Bible that tells the Jews they should become Christians, which is so clearly God’s will. No wonder that by the end of the story all Jews have turned into sincere Christians. But the story is not that linear, for before that ‘happy end’ other events take place. The most important of these moments of retardation is the arrival of another Torah scholar, called Justus (Ioustos), this time from Palestine. This Jew demonstrates great anger because of Jacob’s evangelistic and catechetical activities and furiously opposes him in an attempt to prevent the other Jews from becoming real Christians – he even attacks Jacob physically. But he, too, finally has to concede that Jacob’s arguments from Scripture (the ‘doctrina Jacobi’) are irrefutable and he converts to the Christian faith as well. This conversion blows away the final doubts that still might have lingered in the minds of the other newly baptized Jews (3.1–12). In the preceding chapters one could already see that these doubts were gradually diminishing after each successful argument by Jacob. One of the clever new devices of the author is that it is not Christians but Jews (Christian Jews, to be sure) that he uses to convince the newly baptized to adopt the new faith wholeheartedly, which makes the tone of the treatise different from most other Adversus Judaeos texts. A fascinating aspect of this document is that, although it is a patently wishful Christian presentation of an inner-Jewish dialogue that certainly never took place in that form,11 the text nevertheless evinces at several places an intimate knowledge of things Jewish and of the life of Jews under Byzantine rule in the first half of the seventh century. Far from wishing to be exhaustive, I will give just a few examples. Cities of Palestine mentioned in the text as having a Jewish population alongside other inhabitants include Ptolemaïs and Caesarea, cities we know from other sources to have had a mixed population, including Jews. In Caesarea, Justus’ brother Abraham (Abraamês) is said to live and there he

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announced by the Law and the Prophets? How could Jesus Christ have ascended to heaven with his body? Is it true that not only Joseph but also the virgin Mary is from the tribe of Judah? Most of these scriptural passages are simply repeated from the Christian Adversus Judaeos literature of the five preceding centuries. Even so it is interesting to see that the interlocutors are plainly aware of the fact that several texts from the Psalms which are given a Christological explanation here, were interpreted by the rabbis as referring to the historical kings of Israel; see Doctrina 1.14 and 2.1. The heavy dependence upon earlier Adversus Judaeos literature makes that abundantly clear. See Dagron, ‘Commentaire’ 250–256.

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learns about the Byzantine general Sergius’ defeat by the Arabs (Sarakênoi), which took place in 633 and raised enthusiasm among the Jews of Palestine because they hoped that ‘the prophet’ (Muhammad) would liberate them from the oppressive Byzantines. But one of Abraham’s interlocutors, a learned Jew from Sykamina (Shiqmona at the foot of Mt. Carmel),12 has serious doubts about this and remarks that Muhammad must be a false prophet since real prophets do not appear armed with a sword, and he adds that people who met the man did not find anything really prophetic about him but heard much talk of massacres (5.16).13 This makes the Doctrina the earliest document to speak about and criticize Muslim violence. When talking about Ptolemaïs (Acco), the Jews mention very specific sites such as, “the mill close by the cargo ships and the customs office” (5.6), where as youngsters they met on the Sabbath (apparently, several of the Jews of Carthago originated in Ptolemaïs). All this sounds very authentic, the more so since such details are totally unrelated to the main message of the Doctrina Jacobi. We are also told about Jewish attacks on the Christians of Ptolemaïs during the Persian conquest of the city in 614 CE (4.5).14 As we know from other sources, similar events took place in Jerusalem and other places of Byzantine Palestine during the Persian conquest.15 A Christian named Leontius, who was caught in that conflict in Ptolemaïs, was compelled by the Jews to convert to Judaism and the man was later reported as sitting in front of the synagogue under the portico alongside the Mesê (4.5), a lively and precise detail that makes one surmise that the author knew the site personally, all the more so since he adds that shortly afterwards this Leontius committed suicide in the house of a certain Gemellus, an unhappy ending that does not at all sit comfortably with the message of the Doctrina Jacobi as a whole. The Samaritan

12 13

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On what we know about this predominantly Jewish town see Dagron, ‘Commentaire’ 242–243. On early Jewish reactions to Islam see R.G. Hoyland, Seeing Islam As Others Saw It: A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish, and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam, Princeton: Darwin Press, 1997. Specific details mentioned include setting fire to churches, theft of precious manuscripts from the episcopal library, other pillaging, molesting and murder of Christians. See A. Sharf, Byzantine Jewry from Justinian to the Fourth Crusade, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1971, 49. Armed assaults by Jews on Christians had probably taken place already in the sixth century if the suggestion by some scholars that (the) Jews sided with the Samaritans in the latter’s anti-Byzantine uprisings in 529 and later in that century is correct. For this period see A.D. Crown, ‘The Byzantine and Moslem Period,’ in Crown (ed.), The Samaritans, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989, 55–81. See Dagron, ‘Introduction historique’ 22–23.

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quarter of Ptolemaïs is said to be situated on the seaside and this is again mentioned only in passing (4.5). What Jacob tells in Doctrina 1.40 about the often extremely violent relations between the Jews on the one hand and the circus factions of the Blues and Greens on the other (including the strange alliances between Jews and Blues) also confirms what we know from elsewhere.16 All this makes a reliable impression, the more so since the author adds details about Jacob’s personal involvement in several of these events, including no less than seven place names where the rounds of fighting took place, elements that do not really add to the message of the author. Another feature to be noticed is that both teachers of Torah, the nomodidaskaloi Jacob and Justus, are said to have been merchants as well. If we might regard these two scholars as rabbis (or at least students of rabbis), this would imply a striking confirmation of information from other sources to the effect that some rabbinic scholars were indeed engaged in business.17 Again another element in the Doctrina Jacobi that is confirmed elsewhere is that members of Jewish communities that were located far apart kept in touch with each other. Members of communities in Palestine remained in contact with coreligionists that lived as far away as Carthage, according to our document, and that is the kind of thing that we know indeed happened in real life.18 At a certain moment (in 1.42), Jacob tells about a great Torah scholar from Tiberias who had constructed a genealogy of Jesus’ mother Mary in which a man named Panther also played a role (albeit not as Jesus’ father). This not only fits in with the fact that Tiberias was the main rabbinic centre of the Land of Israel in that period, but also with rabbinic statements about Pandera as Jesus’ father.19 He also refers to a Jewish tradition that Adam’s skull was buried 16

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See P.W. van der Horst, ‘Jews and Blues in Late Antiquity,’ in D. Accorinti & P. Chuvin (eds.), Des Géants à Dionysos. Mélanges de mythologie et de poésie grecques offerts à Francis Vian, Alessandria: Edizioni dell’ Orso, 2003, 565–572, reprinted in my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 53–59. See, e.g., L.I. Levine, The Rabbinic Class of Roman Palestine in Late Antiquity, Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi, 1989, 69; esp. C. Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997, 261–262 and Index 557 s.v. trade. Unfortunately, I had no access to Y. Dan, ‘Two Jewish Merchants in the Seventh Century,’ Zion 36 (1971) 1–26 [Hebr.]. See, e.g., Hezser, Social Structure 169–171 [Hezser’s Jewish Travel in Antiquity (TSAJ 144), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011, appeared only after the publication of the present article]; see also E.S. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2002) 232–252. See P. Schäfer, Jesus in the Talmud, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007, 15–24. It is interesting that in another Byzantine legend, found in the Suda, one encounters the

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at Golgotha (5.13), which is not fully correct but there was indeed a tradition of Jewish exegetical speculation about the site of Adam’s tomb in the land of Israel.20 In Doctrina 1.21, the newly baptized Jews speak about their former teachers and authorities as hoi pateres hêmôn kai nomodidaskaloi, ‘our fathers and doctors of the Law.’ This is a hendiadys (the copula being a kai explicativum here): the ‘fathers’ are the teachers of the Law. This is strongly reminiscent of the frequent use of avoth for the rabbinic sages (see, e.g., the title of the Mishna treatise Avoth) and is almost certainly derived therefrom.21 And when the author has the Jews refer to their synagogue as hagia synagôgê (holy synagogue), it suggests that he is familiar with the increasing use of the epithet ‘holy’ for the synagogue by Jews in late antiquity attested in a variety of other sources.22 Much more could be said about this fascinating document, but this may suffice to make clear that the Doctrina Jacobi deserves more attention than it has hitherto received on the part of Judaic scholars. It has a unique and exceptional place in the tradition of ancient Christian Adversus Judaeos literature. As Gilbert Dagron rightly observes, “Sa mise en scène romanesque et son scénario stéréotypé ne prédisposent guère en sa faveur, mais la lecture révèle une date (13 juillet, 634)23 qui, même si elle est un peu arrangée, n’est nullement fictive, la biographie d’un héros, un solide ancrage dans une géographie méditerranéenne et dans un milieu de Juifs palestiniens commerçant en Afrique, enfin une quantité d’événements saisis à chaud, sur la portée desquels on s’interroge.”24 What is badly needed is an English translation of this text accompanied by a detailed historical-philological commentary. Hopefully one of my readers will take up this challenge.

motif of a Jewish genealogical document about Mary that was kept hidden in Tiberias; see P.W. van der Horst, ‘Jesus and the Jews according to the Suda,’ in my Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity: Essays on their Interactions, Leuven: Peeters, 1998 (2nd ed.), 161–170. 20 See P.W. van der Horst, ‘The Site of Adam’s Tomb,’ in M.F.J. Baasten & R. Munk (eds.), Studies in Hebrew Literature and Jewish Culture Presented to Albert van der Heide on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Amsterdam Studies in Jewish Thought 12), Dordrecht: Springer, 2007, 251–255; reprinted elsewhere in the present volume. 21 Note also that in Doctrina 1.22 the Jewish historian Josephus is called by one of them ho sophos Ioudaios, ‘the Jewish sage (chakham).’ 22 See S. Fine, This Holy Place: On the Sanctity of the Synagogue during the Greco-Roman Period, Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1997. 23 In Doctrina 5.20 Jacob is said to have left Carthage after the talks, on July 14, 634 CE. 24 Dagron, ‘Commentaire’ 230.

chapter 20

Consolation from Prison

Mara bar Sarapion and Boethius

There are some who think, with Cleanthes, that the only duty of a comforter is to prove that the evil one is lamenting is not an evil at all. Others, as the Peripatetics, prefer urging that the evil is not great. Others again, with Epicurus, seek to divert your attention from the evil to good: some think it sufficient to show that nothing evil has happened that you had no reason to expect; this is the practice of the Cyrenaics. But Chrysippus thinks that the main thing in comforting is to remove from the person who is grieving the opinion that to grieve is the right thing to do and his duty. There are others who bring together all these various kinds of consolations, for people are differently affected, as I have done myself in my book on consolation; for as my own mind was much disordered, I have attempted in that book to discover every method of cure.1 In this short but illuminating doxographic account, the Roman philosopher Cicero makes abundantly clear that in antiquity the art of consolation was part and parcel of philosophy.2 As he says, Cicero himself wrote a Consolatio (which is now lost) but he was certainly not the first to do so for he had several Greek predecessors. “The consolatio as a genre of literature had a long history going back to the fifth century BCE, in the course of which it developed its own repertoire of standard arguments and topoi to soothe the sufferer.”3 In the classical and Hellenistic period, under the influence of both philosophy and rhetoric, “a specialized consolatory literature began to develop, initiating a tradition which persisted throughout Graeco-Roman antiquity and into the Middle 1 Cicero, Tusc. Disp. 3.76. 2 See on this topic P. Courcelle, La consolation de la philosophie dans la tradition littéraire, Paris: Etudes Augustiniennes, 1967. Unfortunately I have not been able to consult R.C. Gregg, Consolation Philosophy: Greek and Christian Paideia (Patristic Monograph Series 3), Cambridge MA: Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1975. The volume edited by Han Baltussen, Greek and Roman Consolations: Eight Studies of a Tradition and its Afterlife. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 2013, appeared after the publication of the present article in 2011. 3 C.D.N. Costa, Seneca: Four Dialogues, Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1994, 4–5.

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Ages.”4 What little has been preserved of this literature takes a variety of forms. “Philosophers wrote treatises on death and the alleviation of grief. Letters of consolation were written to comfort those who had suffered bereavement or some other loss-experience such as exile or illness; these might be highly personal, or possess the more detached character of an essay.”5 Funeral speeches frequently contained a substantial consolatory element as well. Poets sometimes wrote verse consolationes etc. As far as the contribution of philosophers is concerned, the first figure of importance is Crantor (ca. 335–275 BCE), the earliest Platonic commentator whose lost On Grief (Peri penthous) became very influential in antiquity; it opposed the Cynic ideal of eradicating this emotion and it was the model for Cicero’s lost Consolatio. But instead of listing only lost works, let me also mention the most important works of consolation that have been preserved. These are Sulpicius Rufus’ letter to Cicero on the occasion of the death of the latter’s daughter, Tullia (Ep. ad Fam. 4.5); Seneca’s Ad Marciam and Ad Helviam matrem (Dial. 6 and 12) and also his Epistles 63, 93, and 99; Pseudo-Plutarch’s Consolatio ad Apollonium; and of course Boethius’ Consolatio philosophiae.6 These works range from the fourth/third cent. BCE to the sixth cent. CE (I leave out of account here the continuation of this type of literature in the Middle Ages). The main topic in consolation literature is of a paraenetic nature: how to behave in a situation of bereavement, whether it be the death of a relative or friend, the loss of freedom by imprisonment or exile, the loss of health or wealth, etcetera. The one(s) addressed is (are) admonished to moderate7 or overcome his (their) grief and is (are) given advice on how to achieve that. This is generally done by stressing that what is lost (life, freedom, health, wealth) is by far not as valuable as it is generally deemed to be, with the implication that the great ‘loss’ is not really a great loss at all. For instance, in the case of exile or imprisonment it is often argued that a change of dwelling place is not a bad thing at all and that the ensuing loss of comfort, status, or fame is to be regarded as totally irrelevant to human life and happiness; the value of all earthly things is strongly relativized or denied. More often one finds the (Platonic) idea that death is not an evil to be feared, on the contrary, death liberates the immortal soul from the fetters of the body and the misery of an earthly existence so as to enable it to lead a better life. Quite often series of exempla illustrate and support the argument, esp. exempla 4 J.H.D. Scourfield, “Consolatio,” OCD, 3rd ed., Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996, 378. 5 Scourfield, ibid. 378. See also R. Kassel, Untersuchungen zur griechischen und römischen Konsolationsliteratur (Zetemata 18), München: Beck, 1958. 6 See W. Kierdorf, “Konsolationsliteratur,” DNP 6 (1999) 710–711. 7 This is the Peripatetic concept of metriopatheia.

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of such persons as have undergone their fate in an exemplary manner, e.g., Socrates. The reason I present this quick overview of consolation literature is that, even though the Syriac letter of Mara bar Sarapion to his son is not a letter of consolation stricto sensu, it nevertheless evinces many elements of the traditional consolation literature.8 It cannot be regarded as a letter of consolation in the sense that the addressee (Sarapion) is consoled about the dire situation his father is in (waiting in prison for his [death?] sentence). Rather, he is instructed in how to live a life of wisdom and virtue. The letter is a semi-philosophical treatise on the virtuous life lived in moderation in contrast to a life dominated by desires and greed. The only time Sarapion is told not to grieve is in §10 where his father exhorts him “not to be sad about having been driven from place to place all alone.” But the fact that Sarapion is hardly consoled in the letter should not close our eyes to the fact that there is an addressee for the consolatory motives and elements in it: it is Mara himself. The writer of this epistle clearly composed it mainly to consolate himself in a terrible situation that he fears will lead to his death. The arguments about the lack of value of all earthly possessions are directed at Mara himself and serve to facilitate the acceptance of his painful fate by himself. So one might call it a letter of self-consolation.9 Or is it perhaps even better to call Mara’s letter a letter from prison, a better known genre, especially in the modern world? For if one googles ‘Letters from prison’ one gets more than 28 million hits!10 One finds there alongside one another such famous names as Dietrich Bonhöffer, Antonio Gramsci, Solzhenitsyn, and Marquis de Sade, and many more less famous persons who wrote letters in prison (or captivity epistles, if you wish) or composed other writings there.11 When we restrict ourselves to antiquity, we find that the harvest is much less rich than from later times, as was to be expected. We have of course the relevant Pauline epistles from prison12 as well as the captivity letters 8

9 10 11 12

See the edition by W. Cureton, “The Epistle of Mara, Son of Serapion,” Spicilegium Syriacum, London: Rivington, 1855, 43–48. A new edition by D. Rensberger is in preparation. For recent studies on this letter see A. Merz & T. Tieleman (eds.), The Letter of Mara bar Sarapion in Context, Leiden: Brill, 2012. In fact, Cicero’s Consolatio was also a piece of self-consolation. See also http://celltexts.org/index. See I. Davies, Writers in Prison, Oxford: Blackwell, 1990. See W.G. Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament, London: SCM Press, 1975, 210–387; R.E. Brown, An Introduction to the New Testament, New York: Doubleday, 1997, 407–680. It is interesting to notice that one of Paul’s captivity letters can also be regarded as a letter of consolation; see P.A. Holloway, Consolation in Philippians: Philosophical Sources and Rhetorical Strategy (SNTSMS 112), Cambridge: CUP, 2001. On the varieties of ancient Greek

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of Ignatius of Antioch.13 The seventh Socratic epistle (spurious, of course, and dating from the Imperial period)14 also seems to have been meant as a letter from prison, the only one in which this obviously tempting possibility is taken up for Socrates, but it is very short and rather trite.15 When we compare these letters with the one by Mara, we see that they have very little in common. In the prison letters of Paul and Ignatius, the focus is not at all on the captivity of the authors and on how to cope with it and they do not try to consolate their addressees about their dire fate in prison, let alone that they use philosophical argumentation to achieve that purpose. And in the case of the pseudo-Socratic letter, supposedly written from prison, we have to do with an unhistorical situation – it is fictional and the philosophical argument is negligeable; moreover, it is an isolated and uncertain case. So we have to conclude that a clearcut genre of ‘epistles from prison’ simply did not exist in antiquity, even though we have a handful of instances of letters written in captivity by historical figures (Paul and Ignatius), but in these their captivity and how to deal with it is not the focus; further all we have is an insignificant fictional letter from prison, if it is one at all (Pseudo-Socrates), which shows little or no similarity to Mara’s letter. This meager evidence does definitely not suffice to assert that there was a genre of ‘letters from prison’ in antiquity. If the letter of Mara bar Sarapion does not belong to a genre ‘letters from prison’ and if it also cannot simply be regarded as a traditional piece of consolation literature even if it displays features of it, where then does it belong, if anywhere? Or is it a document sui generis? As far as I can see, the only really comparable writing from antiquity is the Consolatio philosophiae by Boethius. Who was Boethius and what is his Consolatio about? Let me very briefly introduce him. Boethius lived from ca. 480 to 524 CE.16 He was a leading Christian nobleman whom the Ostrogothic king of Italy, Theoderic I, appointed consul in 510 and magister officiorum in ca. 522, and as such he was one of the highest officials of the Empire. He was implicated, however, in a senatorial conspiracy,

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epistolography in general see M.L. Stirewalt, Studies in Ancient Greek Epistolography (SBLRBS 27), Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993, 1–26. See W.R. Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985. See L. Köhler, Die Briefe des Sokrates und der Sokratiker (Philologus Supplementband XX/2), Leipzig: Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1928, 20–21; also in J. Sykutris, Die Briefe des Sokrates und der Sokratiker, Paderborn: Schöningh, 1933 [non vidi]. I owe the latter reference to Prof. Michael Trapp (private communication). See also his useful Greek and Latin Letters, Cambridge: CUP, 2003. For good short introductions see F. Wotke, “Boethius,” RAC 2 (1954) 482–488; H. von Campenhausen, Lateinische Kirchenväter, Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1960 (2. Aufl. 1965), 223–251; the best recent introduction is J. Marenbon, Boethius, Oxford: OUP, 2003.

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imprisoned in Pavia, and executed there in 524. Boethius had an extraordinarily great knowledge of Greek philosophy, he translated several Greek philosophical works into Latin and wrote commentaries on them; he even planned a complete Latin translation of all the works of Plato and Aristotle but never completed that project. He had a special preference for the logical works of Greek philosophers. He is also the author of five minor theological treatises (on the Trinity, the Catholic faith etc.). Boethius was the last of the Roman philosophers and the first of the scholastic theologians, and as such he had a great influence on thinkers in the Middle Ages.17 During his final months in prison, not long before his execution, he composed his famous Consolatio philosophiae, a work in which he himself conducts a series of long dialogues with a heavenly being that turns out to be Lady Philosophy.18 After he has lamented his unjust and cruel fate to her, she begins to appeal to his philosophical knowledge and gradually tries to bring him to the insight that what looks like a catastrophe is not catastrophic at all. By a series of logical arguments she shows him that his loss of wealth, influence, freedom, and eventually his life is not relevant in view of what is the only important thing, wisdom and virtue. Internal good qualities are far more important than the external gifts of Fortune. Also the problem of the reconciliation of divine prescience and human free will is discussed at length. At several turns in the conversation, the author inserts poems that encapsulate the topics just discussed. At the end Lady Philosophy urges Boethius to offer up humble prayers to heaven and trust in God (Cons. 5.6.46–47). The idea of a comparison between Boethius’ Consolatio and Mara’s letter may sound a bit farfetched at first sight, and I immediately admit that the differences between the two writings are as great and many as are the similarities. Let me first list some of the main differences. To begin with, there is the large chronological gap. If Mara’s letter is from the 70s of the first century CE (a matter that I will come back to) whereas Boethius’ book was written in the twenties of the sixth century CE, there is a time gap of some 450 years between the two documents. Moreover, they lived in completely different worlds, Mara in the Syrian East, Boethius in the Latin West; Mara in a predominantly pagan society, Boethius in a by and large Christian one; Mara wrote in Syriac, Boethius in Latin. Boethius has a very thorough and intimate knowledge of Greek 17 18

See, e.g., N.H. Kaylor, The Medieval Consolation of Philosophy: An Annotated Bibliography, New York: Garland, 1992. The most convenient edition of the Latin text with an English translation is the LCL edition by S.J. Tester, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 1918; new edition 1973; latest reprint 2003.

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philosophy, and he is even acquainted with its most technical details (the debates about logic, for instance), whereas Mara’s knowledge seems to be restricted to philosophical commonplaces in the sphere of ethics.19 Boethius certainly did not know Mara’s letter – there were no Latin or Greek translations of Syriac literature in the Latin West at his time. Yet, the similarities are at least as striking as are these differences. To begin with, both are historical figures, writing from prison in the face of a possible or almost certain death sentence. Both were high ranking officials in the administration of their respective countries or empires. Both have lost their influence, their status, and their wealth, and will possibly loose even their life. Both try to fight the depressing feelings evoked by this situation by an appeal to philosophical arguments. Although Mara does so by means of a letter to his son and Boethius by means of a dialogue with Lady Philosophy, it is clear that both of them mainly try to comfort themselves. Both are fond of using lists of exempla in their exhortations (and both mention Socrates and Pythagoras among their exempla).20 Both regularly intersperse their prose texts with poetic interludes, a relatively rare phenomenon known as prosimetrum. Both emphasize time and again the worthlessness and insignificance of wealth, fame, status, power etc. Both speak of consolation in medical metaphors – the soul has to be ‘cured’ from its grief and philosophy is either the doctor or the medicine.21 Both speak of the interrelations between time, providence, fate, predestination, and free will.22 Other topics they have in common are the uncertainty and capriciousness of fate; the sudden reversal of fortune; the vanity of desire for ephemeral matters; the undesirability of bad emotions such as grief, sorrow, anger, fear; the transitory nature of possessions; the emptiness of splendor and riches; the fact that wealth does not make happy but only creates worries; the delusory nature of power and high 19

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For a more positive evaluation of Mara’s philosophical standing see A. Merz and T. Tieleman, “The Letter of Mara bar Sarapion: Some Comments on its Philosophical and Historical Context,” in A. Houtman, A. de Jong & M. Misset-van de Weg (eds.), Empsychoi Logoi. Religious Innovations in Antiquity. Studies in Honour of Pieter Willem van der Horst (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 73), Leiden: Brill, 2008, 107–134; also I. Ramelli, Stoici Romani Minori, Milano: Bompiani, 2008, 2557–2597. See A. Lumpe, “Exemplum,” RAC 6 (1966) 1229–1257. On Mara’s exempla see F. Millar, The Roman Near East 31 BC–AD 337, Cambridge MA – London: Harvard University Press, 1993, 462. For this ‘medical’ metaphor cf., e.g., Cicero, Tusc. 3.1–13, e.g., 3.6 est profecto animi medicina philosophia. Of course, this was a rather widespread metaphor. Note especially that in Cons. 4.6 tempus and fatum are correlated (just as providentia en aeternitas), which is reminiscent of Mara’s use of the word ‘time’ for fate.

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offices, of honour and wealth; only wisdom and virtue count, the rest is irrelevant. And so one could go on. In spite of the many great differences between the two writings one can clearly see that not only their circumstances are perfectly comparable but also their approach to the problem under consideration is very similar. Now many of these common elements undoubtedly derive from the tradition of consolation literature we spoke of above. But others do not fit into that pattern at all. Let us have a closer look at some of these. To begin with the prosimetrum, I will first briefly explain what is meant by this term and then explain what its use implies. One could define prosimetrum as a designation of a variety of texts that combine prose with verse.23 It is a mixtum of prose and poetry that is not often found in antiquity. The most significant manifestation of prosimetrum in antiquity is the Menippean satire (Satura Menippea).24 This genre, named after its supposed inventor, Menippus of Gadara (who probably was active in the first half of the third cent. BCE),25 consisted of parodies or satires composed in prose but interspersed with poetic quotes or poems written by the author himself. Usually, philosophical or religious doctrines, practices, or authorities are the object of the satirical parody. It is a genre whose primary function is to uncover the limits of theoretical knowledge. Sometimes, the poetic passages are used to undermine what had been said in the preceding prose part or to weaken the position of the protagonist (see, e.g., Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis, a political satire that is our only complete example of Latin prosimetrum before Martianus Capella). Fine instances can be found in the works of the second-century satirist Lucian, e.g., his Nekyomanteia, Icaromenippus, Piscator, and others. And it is also relevant to notice that the only other ancient works in which Philosophy appears as a character in debate are some of Lucian’s satirical works in the tradition of Menippean satire. Why, then, did Mara and Boethius choose a literary form that, in antiquity, was so closely linked to parody and satire? It has recently been argued26 that the failure of reason, or of rational philosophy, in really critical situations is exactly the point Boethius wanted to make. The failure of theory borne out by the genre considerations of 23 24 25 26

See S. Braund, “Prosimetrum,” DNP 10 (2001) 440–442, here 440 (with good bibliography). The term prosimetrum itself is not ancient but medieval. See J.C. Relihan, Ancient Menippean Satire, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993, for an excellent introduction. Very little of his works has been preserved except titles. It is also a great loss that the Saturae Menippeae of Varro, the pioneer of Latin satire, are lost, except for fragments. See J.C. Relihan, The Prisoner’s Philosophy: Life and Death in Boethius’s Consolation, Notre dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007.

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Menippean satire, points, for Boethius, to the alternative of prayer, specifically Christian prayer, which notion closes the Consolation, as we saw. This interpretation rests on four unfulfilled promises in the Consolation: (1) it is a consolation, but there is no consoling; (2) self-realization is promised but never achieved; (3) Lady Philosophy promises to lead the narrator to a true homeland, but never does; (4) harsher medicines are promised, but never given.27 Or to put it another way, after many hours (or pages) of reasoning and logical argumentation (in which she sometimes contradicts herself), Lady Philosophy simply does not accomplishe what she set out to do; at the end of the day, she does not succeed in presenting her case in any compelling way so that at the very end of the book, in a surprising and unexpected turn, she seems to abandon her philosophical enterprise and spurs Boethius to pray humbly to God. (In this unexpected end we may see a striking parallel in the equally unexpected chreia at the end of Mara’s letter.) Prayer is not the logical result of all the preceding arguments, on the contrary, it is their abandonment, as if the Christian that Boethius was, wants to say that in the face of death it is only faithful prayer that can give consolation, not philosophy. The author has not allowed [Lady] Philosophy to provide the consolation that she had hoped to give; and the prisoner has taken from her a consolation that she had not expected to offer. (. . .) Certainly, the word ‘consolation’ does not by itself a consolation make, yet there remains the interesting question: Why label a work with what seems to be a false promise? This is an authorial question; there is no reason to doubt that this is the title that Boethius gave his dialogue. One avenue is to say that we have here the playful title of a Menippean satire, with an oxymoron in the tradition of Varro’s Cynic Satires or Petronius’s Satyricon: Philosophy’s consolation is a paradoxical consolation. But this is not enough. The title is a tease: it invokes generic expectations that the work will not fulfill. Rather than deny the connection between Consolation and consolatory literature, we should look at Consolation as not-a-consolation; in short, as a paradox.28 What is at stake here is what path to God is to be chosen. This message is more implicit than explicit (as is more often the case in Menippean satire), but it is there. 27

This summary is partly based on John Casey’s review of Relihan, The Prisoner’s Philosophy, in BMCR of 1 May 2009 (on Internet). 28 Relihan, The Prisoner’s Philosophy 44 and 49.

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Why would a text that tries so hard to present the author’s mature philosophical thought on crucial issues do so in a context in which these truths are shown to be of lesser value than the path of humble prayer? These questions admit of coherent answers when Consolation of Philosophy takes its place in the history and tradition of Menippean satire.29 As is to be expected from a Menippean satire, the Consolatio reveals the limits of philosophy and for that very reason in the end recommends prayer. And there is no doubt that Boethius wants us to understand this as Christian prayer. At the end of his life (and of his final book), the philosopher Boethius sends us a non-philosophical Christian message, even though the Consolatio is nowhere overtly Christian. That seemingly non-Christian character of the Consolatio should not surprise us. We know several other instances of ‘non-Christian’ writings by Christian authors, that is to say, writings which do not show any trace of Christian ideas but nevertheless were written by authors who were definitely Christian. Names such as Synesius of Cyrene, Nonnus of Panopolis, and Cyrus of the same city immediately spring to mind.30 When one reads some of the treatises and letters of Synesius, one certainly does not get the impression one is reading writings by a Christian bishop, and that applies a fortiori to Nonnus’ Dionysiaca or the ‘non-Christian’ poems by Cyrus. But one could also point to works such the De monarchia of Pseudo-Justin, the anonymous Martyrium Maccabaeorum, or even some sermons by John Chrysostom and Augustine on Old Testament texts in which one does not find any specifically Christian elements.31 In the fourth through sixth centuries CE there were several Christian humanists who did not regard their deep involvement with Graeco-Roman culture as being at odds with their Christian beliefs. Quite often one has the impression that the words of Plato carried more weight with these authors than the words of Jesus Christ. And one would not be surprised if one of them would have spoken about Jesus Christ as “the wise king of the Jews,” as Mara did. Now we have come back to Mara. Does what I have said about Boethius shed any light on Mara’s letter? I am not at all sure about that but I will tentatively try to argue that it does. Is Mara a Syrian Boethius? Is he, too, a Christian? Does his quasi-philosophical letter have features of the Menippean satire? As to the 29 Relihan, The Prisoner’s Philosophy 33. At p. 67 Relihan rightly remarks that the Consolatio is at the same time a recreation of Plato’s Crito. 30 See the essay on Cyrus elsewhere in this volume. 31 See J.R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJS 105), Leiden: Brill, 2005, esp. 74–119.

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first question, I can be brief because I have already argued that nothing is more comparable (in various ways) to Mara’s letter than Boethius’ Consolatio. In spite of the great difference in sophistication (Boethius is a towering scholar, Mara is not), Mara deserves to be called the Syrian Boethius. The second question is a more tricky one. It has often been argued in the past that Mara must have been a Christian.32 More recently the support for that position has strongly declined; most scholars now regard him as a pagan. This is not the place to go into the details of this debate. Let me only briefly indicate where I stand. I for one find it hard to accept that quite unexpectedly we have to redate the beginnings of Syriac literature to a period some 125 or 150 years before Bardesanes (Bardaitsan, ca. 155–222 CE). That is not a sign of conservatism but rather of the fact the chronological gap between the first Syriac author known to us (Mara) and the second one (Bardesanes) is too great. If Mara’s letter is to be dated to about 73 CE, we would expect to find traces of other Syriac writings in the long period before Bardesanes, but there are none.33 For that reason I am inclined to date Mara much later than the first century, perhaps in the third or fourth century, as others have already proposed. But then the possibility that he is a Christian increases. And the main reason to think that he is a Christian is not so much that he mentions Jesus (“the wise king of the Jews”) in a positive way but rather the striking fact that he regards the massacre of the Jews by the Romans and their being expelled from their own country and scattered all over the world as God’s punishment for their killing of Jesus. I am not aware of any other pagan author who speaks about God’s punishment of the Jews for the crucifixion of Jesus. This antiJewish polemic is such a distinctively Christian idea that it makes it hard to escape the conclusion that Mara was a Christian. That is to say, he was a Christian of the mode of Boethius, a hellenized Christian humanist who wrote a letter that does purposefully not preach an overtly Christian message but a (semi-)philosophical one. The fact that Mara remarks that the wise king of the Jews is not dead “because of the new laws that he gave” (18), can be read as a confession both of Jesus’ resurrection and of the lasting validity of his teachings. Corroborative evidence of Mara’s Christianity can be found in the fact that when Mara himself speaks about the divine he always uses the word God in the singular but when he has others do so he uses the plural ‘gods’ (see 5, 14,

32 33

For references see Merz & Tieleman, “The Letter.” Unless Tatian’s Diatessaron was composed in Syriac, but even then the chronological gap remains too wide.

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16, 18 in contrast to 8).34 This he certainly does on purpose, thereby indicating that he is a monotheist. In view of the fact that in Boethius’ Consolatio we find in many respects the closest parallel to Mara’s letter, it stands to reason that it should be seriously considered whether also their veiled Christianity is part of this parallelism. Apart from that, if Mara is a Christian, the early dating to ca. 73 CE has to be abandoned.35 A dating in the third or fourth century seems to me much more probable. The final question is whether Mara’s letter shows features of the Menippean satire. This is very hard to substantiate but some elements might point in that direction. First, after much philosophical consolatory talk, Mara says at the very end of his letter: “If someone is saddened or worried, I have no advice for him” (29). That does not sound as if his philosophical arguments have been able to really consolate him or anyone else. I suggest that here we have a parallel to the ending of Boethius’ treatise where philosophy is abandoned and humble prayer to God takes its place. And also the short appended chreia, in which Mara laughs at fate because fate has repaid him evil though it owed him none, does not give the impression that it is philosophy that has enabled him to be reconciled to his miserable fate. Rather, he ridicules his situation which he apparently experiences as bizarre and paradoxical. Admittedly, these two elements do not make the letter a full-blown Menippean satire, but they do seem to relativize or even undermine the idea that philosophy can adequately consolate people in the face of death. We all know how true this is. All the above-said is speculative and is in need of further investigation. My thesis may turn out to be untenable, but even so I think it is useful to draw attention to possible avenues of interpretation that should not be dismissed too quickly.

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G. Theissen & A. Merz, The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide, London: SCM Press, 1998, 78 wrongly assert that Mara speaks openly of ‘our gods’: He puts these words only into the mouths of others. Knowledge of the Gospel of Matthew (or even his sources) in the early seventies in Syria seems to me rather improbable; pace Merz and Tieleman, “The Letter” 130.

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Cyrus: A Forgotten Christian Poet Upon seeing or hearing the name Cyrus, most readers will probably think of the famous Persian king, well-known from Xenophon’s Cyropaedia and the prophet Isaiah’s enthusiastic message about this king as the one who set the Jewish people free from their exile in Babylon. This contribution, however, deals with a Cyrus who lived some thousand years later, from ca. 400–470 CE. Cyrus of Panopolis was well-known in his days as politician, as (re)builder of Constantinople, as bishop, and as poet. I will first present a short biographical sketch of this remarkable man and thereafter dwell a bit longer upon his poetry.1 Flavius Taurus Seleucus Cyrus Hierax, as was his name in full,2 was born around 400 CE in Panopolis (Egypt), the city where also his famous nearcontemporary, Nonnus, hailed from as well as several other Greek poets.3 In late antiquity, Panopolis was a city where both pagan and Christian literary culture flourished.4 Unfortunately, we know next to nothing about Cyrus’s early years, but around 439 (perhaps slightly earlier) we see him in high

1 The scarce sources for our knowledge of Cyrus’s life and work are, aside from his poems, the Vita of Daniel the Stylite, some notes in Byzantine chronicles (Chronicon Paschale, John Malalas, Theophanes Confessor etc.), a lemma in the Suda, and some decrees in law corpora. The chronicles and the Suda draw upon the work of the historian Priscus of Panium (in Thrace), a slighty later contemporary of Cyrus, of whose work only small fragments are extant. The most complete survey of the sources is J.R. Martindale, The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, vol. II: AD 395–527, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980 [= PLRE II], 336–339. For short summaries of the important data see O. Seeck, ‘Flavios Kyros,’ PW 12 (1925) 188–190; G. Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale: Constantinople et ses institutions de 330 à 451 (Bibliothèque byzantine), Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1974, 268–272; M.G. Albiani, ‘Kyros aus Panopolis,’ DNP 6 (1999) 1018; and L. Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Context: Greek Poetry in the Egyptian Thebaid 200–600 AD (Sozomena. Studies in the Recovery of Ancient Texts 2),   Berlin – New York: W. de Gruyter, 2008, 29–31. 2 See PLRE II 336–337. 3 A. Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ Yale Classical Studies 27 (1982) 217–221; Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Context, passim. 4 Here one should bear in mind that Nonnus wrote both a lengthy epic on the god Dionysus and a hexametrical paraphrase of the Gospel of John (if, that is, these two poems were indeed written by the same person, which I think is highly probable; see S. Fornaro, ‘Nonnos,’ DNP 8 (2000) 995–998).

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functions and offices5 at the court of Emperor Theodosius II in Constantinople, where he is the protégé of the Empress Eudocia who greatly admired Cyrus’s poetry.6 He even attains to the rank of praefectus urbis of Constantinople, and finally becomes the pretorian prefect of the East. In both functions he is very successful.7 After the catastrophic earthquake of the year 437, Cyrus has major parts of Constantinople rebuilt and fortified.8 He did so in such an impressive way that on a certain occasion, during an event in the hippodrome, the inhabitants of the city chanted, “Constantine founded the city but Cyrus renewed it!”9 Due to intrigues in the imperial palace, in 441 (not long after his appointment as consul), Cyrus was suddenly discharged from all his functions and stripped of all his possessions, probably on the basis of accusations that he had shown ‘sympathy for paganism’ (more on this later). Thereafter he was banished to Cotyaeum, a small town in Phrygia, where he took upon himself a compulsory episcopate.10 It was only after the death of Theodosius II and the intriguers, in 450, that Cyrus returned to Constantinople where he remained, 5 6

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For his cursus honorum see the many references in PLRE II 337. Suda K2776. Eudocia was a poetess herself; see, e.g., P. van Deun, ‘The Poetical Writings of the Empress Eudocia,’ in J. den Boeft & A. Hilhorst (eds.), Early Christian Poetry (Supplements to Vigiliae Christianae 22), Leiden: Brill, 1993, 273–282. On some of Cyrus’s administrative accomplishments see A.H.M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 2 vols., Oxford: Blackwell, 1964, Register s.v. Cyrus (1491). For example, Cyrus introduced Latin as the official language of the Roman government alongside Greek, the language spoken by almost everyone in the city, including Cyrus himself; see Joh. Lydus, De mag. 2.12 (= 3.42). References in PLRE II 338. Among the new buildings was the celebrated church of the Theotokos. See the references in Dagron, Naissance d’une capitale 271. A good study is D.J. Constantelos, ‘Kyros Panopolites, Rebuilder of Constantinople,’ Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 12 (1971) 451–464. Ibid. 452, Constantelos states: ‘Kyros must have been an expert in architecture and a lover of art and beautification, for he erected or rebuilt many churches and public buildings, beautified the capital, installed lanterns along the major city streets, and obliged the merchants and shopkeepers to illuminate their shops.’ At p. 452 note 6 Constantelos lists all Byzantine literary sources for the great earthquake. It is the chronicles of John Malalas (361–362) and Theophanes Confessor (AM 5937) that mention the scene in the hippodrome and the chant Kônstantinos ektise, Kyros aneneôse. This almost constituted a death sentence when one bears in mind that the four previous bishops of Cotyaeum (all Nestorians) had been lynched by the local Christian community because of lack of orthodoxy! In some Byzantine sources Cyrus is said to have been exiled to Smyrna, but that is certainly a mistake. For a slightly different but less probable chronology (according to which Cyrus remained in office as prefect of the city)

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without high functions but highly esteemed by the populace, till his death. In his two final decades he was involved in various kinds of charitable work and he was all the time in close contact with Daniel the Stylite who was standing on his pillar at the bank of the Bosporus.11 He died ca. 470 CE. It is not improbable that, in the period before he became an official in the service of Theodosius II, Cyrus belonged to a movement of wandering poets from Egypt (in particular from Panopolis) which was active from the third through the sixth century.12 ‘These poets flattered emperors and generals, unearthed or invented traditions about the past that could be useful in the present, and generally offered their services in the cause of politics and diplomacy throughout the Byzantine East.’13 Most of these poets were pagans, but there were also Christians among them who had undergone a thorough education in Greek language, literature, and science.14 In the past, the latter have often been held to have been non-Christians by several modern scholars because they took it as self-evident that sympathy for classical culture implied sympathy for paganism, but unjustly so. Even a great scholar such as Alan Cameron for a long time held the opinion – on the basis of some fully ‘pagan’ poems – that Cyrus was not a Christian, but later he retraced his steps.15 If Cameron’s thesis that Cyrus belonged to the ‘wandering Egyptian poets’ is correct (which some doubt), it is all the more a remarkable feat that he climbed the social ladder all the way up to the highest offices of the empire, and that he was very successful in these functions, both as an administrator and as a master builder. As regards what exactly caused the sudden end of Cyrus’s political career, we are still groping in the dark because the sources are not unequivocal and are hard to reconcile. What would seem to be the most probable explanation is that, apart from the problem of Cyrus’s ‘pagan’ poetry, his great popularity

11 12

13 14 15

see K.G. Holum, Theodosian Empresses: Women and Imperial Dominion in Late Antiquity, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982, 190. See P.W. van der Horst, Daniël de pilaarheilige, Zoetermeer-Averbode: Meinema-Altiora, 2009, 40–44. A. Cameron, ‘Wandering Poets: A Literary Movement in Byzantine Egypt,’ Historia 14 (1965) 470–509; Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Context, is, however, critical of Cameron’s thesis. G. Bowersock, Hellenism in Late Antiquity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990, 62–63. See the fine chapter “The role of culture and education in Panopolis” in Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Context 191–263. A. Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 239. Cameron was certainly not the only one to accuse Cyrus of cryptopaganism; see, e.g., J.B. Bury, History of the Later Roman Empire, vol. 1, London: Macmillan, 1923, 229–231.

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among the population of Constantinople evoked jealousy and envy among other high-ranking officials at the court, especially the influential eunuch and chamberlain Chrysaphius, but also in the Emperor himself. One should bear in mind that Theodosius was present in the hippodrome when the masses hailed Cyrus on almost equal footing with Constantine the Great. This must have been rather painful, if not humiliating, for the Emperor. In order to get rid of him, the fact that he wrote ‘pagan’ poetry was likely seized upon so as to accuse him of cryptopaganism (he was said to be hellênophrôn, i.e., Greek-minded = pagan-minded),16 an accusation that looked plausible because most of the Egyptian wandering poets of the preceding few decades had been pagans as well. As Cameron remarks, ‘an accusation of paganism in fifth-century Byzantium was much like an accusation of communism in the United States in the 1950s: not easily defined, but evil and sinister beyond definition and (unlike the charge of heresy, another popular weapon) impossible to refute once made.’17 It is possible that Cyrus was given the opportunity to prove his innocence by having himself appointed as bishop of Cotyaeum, which involved a dangerous exile. But, as I said, it should be borne in mind that the extreme complex interplay of forces and the obscure intrigues at the imperial court are very hard to fathom because the Byzantine sources at our disposal often are not informative enough or contradictory, so one should not expect that certainty about the background and motive(s) of Cyrus’s exile is possible.18 Let us now shift focus to Cyrus’s poems. In the collection of short poems known as the Anthologia Palatina we find eight poems attributed to Cyrus, but not all of them are by our poet. Five of them are from the pen of another, later Cyrus (Anth. Pal. 7.557; 9.623.808–9.813), so we are left with no more than three that most scholars regard as belonging to Cyrus, namely, Anth. Pal. 1.99; 9.136; and 15.9.19 To begin with Anth. Pal. 1.99, this poem was written by Cyrus in honour of Daniel the Stylite, who spent his life on a high pillar and whom Cyrus admired so much.We are informed about the reason why Cyrus wrote this epigram in 16

17 18 19

See the Suda Θ 145, K 2776; Theophanes, AM 5937; Chron. Pasch. S.a. 450; Joh. Malalas 361–362; further PLRE II 339. It should be conceded, however, that the accusations of ‘paganism’ against Cyrus were not necessarily based only on his poetry. Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 269. The best attempts to reconstruction are Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 254–270 and Holum, Theodosian Empresses 175–216. Some scholars conjecture that also the Blemmyomachia that has been fragmentarily preserved on P.Berol. 5003 is from Cyrus’s hand (see Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Contexts 59–61), but that seems to me to be very unlikely since the probable date of the papyrus (ca. 400 CE) is too early for that.

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the anonymous Greek biography of Daniel. In spite of all the hagiographic elements in this Vita, the author often provides us with strikingly reliable historical information, as he does in the present case.20 He tells us the following story (Vita Danielis 31): In the meantime there came to the Saint one Cyrus, an exconsul and expretorian prefect. He was a very trustworthy and wise man who had passed through all the ranks owing to his extreme sagacity. But late in life he suffered from a plot hatched by Chrysaphius,21 a member of the Emperor’s ceremonial bodyguard, and he was sent as bishop to a small town, namely to Cotyaeum in Phrygia. Realizing the treachery of Chrysaphius, he yielded so as not to bring his life to a miserable end.22 After the death of the Emperor Theodosius, he divested himself of his priestly dignity and resumed his secular rank and so continued to the end of his life, for he lived till the reign of Leo of most pious memory.23 He was accustomed to distribute all his belongings to the poor. This man Cyrus had a daughter called Alexandria who was afflicted by an evil spirit. He had brought her to the holy man Daniel when the latter was still living in the temple at the foot of the hill.24 Thanks to the intercessions of the archangels and the tears and prayers of the holy man, the Lord freed her from the demon within seven days. Consequently, from that time onwards the two men had a passionate affection for each other.25 20

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22 23 24

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On the trustworthiness of this author see the detailed study by R. Lane Fox, ‘The Life of Daniel,’ in: M.J. Edwards & S. Swain (eds.), Portraits: Biographical Representation in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997, 175–225. The anonymous author wrote this Vita at the end of the fifth century, shortly after the death of Daniel and some 25 years after that of Cyrus. Chrysaphius was a very powerful eunuch and chamberlain at the court of Theodosius II. The Emperor’s successor, Marcianus, had Chrysaphius decapitated immediately after assuming power. The plotting of Chrysaphius against Cyrus took place during the reign of Theodosius II, quite some years before Cyrus’s first meeting with Daniel. On Chrysaphius see Holum, Theodosian Empresses 191 n. 74. Cyrus feared being murdered by Chrysaphius. Leo I was Emperor from 457–474. This remark refers back to a period in which Daniel had not yet mounted his pillar but had locked himself up for several years in a deserted pagan temple from which he had exorcized the ‘demons’ (Vit. Dan. 14–20). Greek text in H. Delehaye, Les saints stylites (Subsidia hagiographica 14), Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1923; English translation in E. Dawes & N.H. Baynes, Three Byzantine Saints, Oxford: Blackwell, 1948 (here slightly modified); my own (Dutch) translation in Van der Horst, Daniël de pilaarheilige.

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Hereafter we are told that some years later (ca. 462), after Daniel had moved from his seclusion in a temple to his new life on a pillar, Cyrus again appeals to Daniel with a child that is being tormented by a demon, this time his eldest daughter. On this occasion, Cyrus is unpleasantly surprised when he finds out that Daniel has given permission to Gelanius, another high court official, to erect a high pillar for him. Cyrus was of the opinion that it was not Gelanius but rather he himself who was the right person for that task – apparently he wanted to present himself before the general public of Constantinople as a Christian patron. After Daniel’s tactful explanation, however, he reconciles himself with the situation. But he does ask thereupon whether the saint agrees that he, Cyrus, may at least inscribe an epigram on the pillar.26 Although initially Daniel raises a protest because he is against any form of glorification of a human being, he finally permits Cyrus to do so. The result is a short epigram of six lines in three disticha (Vit. Dan. 36 = Anth. Pal. 1.99):27 Standing twixt earth and heaven a man you see Who fears no gales that all about him fret.28 Daniel’s his name, great Simeon’s rival he.29 Upon a double column firm his feet are set.30 Ambrosial hunger, bloodless thirst support his frame.31 And thus the Virgin Mother’s Son he doth proclaim.32 The text of this short poem as it has been preserved in the manuscripts of the Vita Danielis differs from that in the manuscripts of the Anthologia Palatina. That is not surprising in view of the widely different Überlieferungsgeschichte of these two documents or corpora, but for our present purpose the deviations

26 27 28 29 30 31

32

Lane Fox, ‘The Life of Daniel,’ 178, coined the term ‘pillargram’ for this type of epigram. Translation by Dawes and Baynes, Three Byzantine Saints. On this poem see H. Delehaye, ‘Une épigramme de l’Anthologie Grecque (I, 99),’ REG 9 (1896) 216–224. For the heavy storms see Vit. Dan. 47 and 52. Simeon the Stylite (ca. 390–459) was Daniel’s great inspiration. On this curious double pillar see Vit. Dan. 44. With this somewhat curious phrase Cyrus wishes to say that Daniel’s hunger and thirst are not for earthly fare that would give him physical satisfaction, so not for meat or wine, but for heavenly fare because he is striving to live like an angel (heavenly beings have no blood, hence ‘bloodless’). The son of the virgin (apeirogamos) mother is of course Jesus Christ.

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are not substantial enough for us to go into the details.33 What is most important for our purposes, however, is that both the contents of the poem and the setting in the story of the Vita Danielis do not offer any room for doubt that the poem is a product of a Christian author, in spite of its Homeric diction.34 But that does not apply to the two other poems. Let us first have a look at Anth. Pal. 15.9, because that, too, is a poem wherein Cyrus sings the praises of a person that he holds in high esteem, this time the emperor Theodosius II:35 All the renowned deeds of the Aiacid are thine, Except his secret love. Thou drawest the bow like Teucer, But art no bastard. Thou hast the illustrious beauty Of Agamemnon, but wine does not disturb thy mind. In prudence I liken thee in every way to Odysseus, But thine is without evil fraud. O king, thou dost distil Honeyed words like those of the old man of Pylos, Before thou seest time touching the third generation.36 What we see here is an out-and-out Homeric poem, both in metre and in vocabulary and imagery; and only Homeric personalities are mentioned here. Here is a vast difference with the Christian disticha for Daniel. Even though Theodosius himself was a Christian, in this poem he is praised as the equivalent of the great Homeric heroes (Achilles, Teucros, Agamemnon, Odysseus, Nestor), but without their vices. In short: a fully pagan encomium, but with a corrective twist.37 33

34 35 36 37

For the philological details see Delehaye, ‘Une épigramme’ 250–253. The most important textual variant is that almost all manuscripts of the Vita Danielis have the following order of the verses (deviant from that in Anth. Pal.): 1, 2, 5, 4, 3, 6. Cf., e.g., v. 1 with. Homer, Il. 5.769; 22.318; etc. Translation by W.H. Paton in the LCL (with modifications). That is to say, before grandchildren were born. This implies that Cyrus wrote this poem before 438, the year in which Theodosius’ first grandchild was born. See T. Viljamaa, Studies in Greek Encomiastic Poetry of the Early Byzantine Period, Helsinki: Finnish Academy, 1968, 115–116. Viljamaa points out the frequent use of ‘favourable comparisons’ in the encomiastic poetry of that time. For the language of imperial praise in fifth and sixth century Byzantium see also M. Whitby, ‘The Vocabulary of Praise in Verse Celebration of Sixth-Century Building Achievements: AP 2.398–406, AP 9.656, AP 1.10 and Paul the Silentiary’s Description of St Sophia,’ in D. Accorinti et P. Chuvin (eds.), Des Géants à Dionysos: Mélanges de mythologie et de poésie grecques offerts à Francis Vian, Alessandria: Edizioni dell’ Orso, 2003, 593–606.

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Finally, there is Anth. Pal. 9.136, probably written by Cyrus when he was exiled from Constantinople to Phrygian Cotyaeum due to the intrigues of Chrysaphius, Theodosius’ influential chamberlain (see Vit. Dan. 31):38 Would that my father had taught me to shepherd fleecy flocks So that, sitting under elms or piping under a rock I might cheer my sorrows with music of the flute. O Muses, let us fly from this well-made city And seek another home. But I will announce to all That pestilent drones have done mischief to the bees. One surmises a certain irony when Cyrus, being forced to leave his ‘well-made city’ (i.e., well-made by himself),39 sighs that his father should have taught him to pasture sheep, if one realizes that now he has a dangerous episcopate with a very unruly flock forced upon himself. Fine is also the venenum in cauda: with the ever busy bees Cyrus of course refers to himself, whereas his opponents, the eunuch Chrysaphius and his fellow-plotters, are pestilent drones. Be that as it may, here we have pastoral imagery (although no bucolic style),40 but again we do not find the slightest trace of the fact that the author is a Christian, let alone a bishop-to-be. If we did not have Cyrus’s epigram for Daniel and his Christmas sermon (on which see below), one could think that Theodosius had appointed a pagan to the episcopal see in Cotyaeum in 441. Cyrus is, just like Synesius, bishop of Cyrene,41 a generation earlier, a Christian Hellenist who is completely oriented towards Greek culture. The intense devotion of the pillar saint touched him very deeply, but that did not detract from his equally profound admiration for Homer and the other great classical authors. For Cyrus, there was no Christianity without Hellenism. ‘It was perfectly possible for a man to live in both worlds at once without discomfort.’42 That his Hellenic soul was a Christian one also becomes very clear from the first sermon Cyrus gave as recently appointed bishop in Phrygian exile on Christmas day of the year 441. 38 39

40 41 42

Translation by Paton (modified). Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 235: ‘We can hardly doubt that Cyrus’ purpose was to evoke his own very substantial contributions to the beautification and fortification of that particular city.’ Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Context 169, calls it a ‘bucolic threnody.’ On Synesius’ connections with Egyptian ‘wandering poets’ see D.T. Runia, ‘Another Wandering Poet,’ Historia 28 (1979) 254–256. Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 246; see also Miguélez Cavero, Poems in Context 101.

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This Christmas homily is definitely a highly unusual one because it is almost certainly the shortest Christmas sermon in history – it did not last longer than half a minute. The text has been handed down in slightly divergent forms,43 but the relevant phrases are almost identical in these versions: Brethren and sisters, let us honour the birth of our God and Saviour, Jesus Christ, in silence because the Word of God was conceived in the Holy Virgin through listening alone.44 To Him be the glory for ever and ever, Amen. These were the first words Cyrus spoke in the presence of the utterly suspicious members of the Christian community in Cotyaeum who had undoubtedly heard the rumors that their new bishop stood under the suspicion of pagan sympathies (or heresy). Even the slightest confirmation of this suspicion would imply that they would have killed him as they did four of his (Nestorian) predecessors. For that reason Cyrus initially did not want to speak to them, but when he finally did, under due pressure, it was this utterly brief, but orthodox, sermon that saved his life. His parishioners reacted enthusiastically to it and praised him for it (euphêmêsan auton).45 However briefly, Cyrus did make clear that the divinity of Christ, the incarnation, and the honour of the Holy Virgin were very important for him. Especially the latter element was a weighty matter in a period in which devotion to the Virgin Mary had become an ever more important aspect of the Christian faith (this devotion is also apparent in the final line of Cyrus’s pillargram for Daniel the Stylite).46 Apart from that, it is probable that the Christians in Cotyaeum much 43 44

45 46

T.E. Gregory, ‘The Remarkable Christmas Homily of Kyros Panopolites,’ Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 16 (1975) 317–324, esp. 318. Cyrus here uses the word akoê, which is polysemic. It can mean, apart from ‘listening,’ also ‘obeying,’ and it could even be a veiled reference to the theory that the Jesus was conceived of the Virgin Mary via her ‘ear’ (also a meaning of akoê), but the latter would not be very relevant in the historical context in which these words were spoken. The emphasis is here obviously on listening in silence. Cyrus probably derived the motif of Mary’s conception of Jesus di’ akoês from Proclus, archbishop of Constantinople (437–447), who had used that motif in his homilies on the incarnation in previous years. It is likely that Cyrus had heard these sermons in Constantinople. See Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 244. John Malalas, Chron. 14; Theophanes, Chron. A.M. 5937. According to B. Baldwin, ‘Cyrus of Panopolis: A Remarkable Sermon and an Unremarkable Poem,’ Vigiliae Christianae 36 (1982) 169–172, this very short sermon is probably a manifestation of ‘a pagan’s desire to show Christian writers how to do it’ (172 n. 13) and the

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appreciated the fact that Cyrus kept well away from theological subtleties that had caused so much tension and strife in the churches of the East in the fourth and fifth centuries. The rumors that Cyrus was a pagan Hellenist were swept from the table by him in less than a minute. Because most of Cyrus’s poetry has not been preserved and we do not have any of the poems he may have written in the nine years of his Phrygian episcopacy, it is unfortunately impossible to ascertain whether or not he continued writing Homeric poems and other ‘pagan’ poetry, but I very much doubt it. What is indubitable, however, is that Cyrus always remained a Hellenist, heart and soul. In the final analysis Cyrus, just like bishop Synesius, was a Christian humanist.47

47

epigram on Daniel’s pillar ‘more concerned with poetry than with piety’ (170). Baldwin still regards Cyrus as a cryptopaganist and does not take Cyrus’s Christian texts seriously and, moreover, he completely disregards Cyrus’s attitude towards Daniel. To assume that Cyrus was a man of this kind of opportunistic cynicism is irrational and unwarranted (see what follows in the main text). The attribution of the Passion of Saint Menas to Cyrus by P. Peeters, Le tréfonds oriental de l’hagiographie byzantine, Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1950, 32–33 (followed by Cameron, ‘The Empress and the Poet,’ 245) is much too speculative to be seriously taken into account here.

chapter 22

“Without God”

Some Notes on a Greek Expression

There is a famous passage in the New Testament where, in the context of a discussion about persecution, Jesus says that not even one sparrow will fall to the ground “without your Father.” It is Matt. 10:29–31 οὐχὶ δύο στρουθία ἀσσαρίου πωλεῖται; καὶ ἓν ἐξ αὐτῶν οὐ πεσεῖται ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἄνευ τοῦ πατρὸς ὑμῶν. ὑμῶν δὲ καὶ αἱ τρίχες τῆς κεφαλῆς πᾶσαι ἠριθμημέναι εἰσίν. μὴ οὖν φοβεῖσθε· πολλῶν στρουθίων διαφέρετε ὑμεῖς. Many translators and commentators have racked their brains over the precise sense of the apparently simple expression ἄνευ τοῦ πατρὸς ὑμῶν. One finds, for instance, the following translations: “without your Father” (King James Version), “apart from the will of your Father” (New International Version), “without your Father’s knowledge” (New American Bible; Revised English Bible; Translator’s New Testament), “without your Father’s leave” (New English Bible), “without your Father’s leave and notice” (Amplified Bible), “apart from your Father” (New Revised Standard Version), “unrelated to your Father” (Berkeley Version), “unless your Father wills it” (Moffatt Translation of the Bible), “without your Father’s consent” (Good News Bible), “without your Father’s permission” (God’s Word); etc.1 These translations can roughly be divided into two categories: “without God’s knowledge” versus “without God’s will” (‘consent’ here being subsumed under ‘will’).2 There is an important distinction here: knowledge does not imply will, but will (and consent) does imply knowledge. Commentators, who are equally divided over this issue, frequently refer to a couple of passages in early rabbinic literature where one finds a comparable expression, e.g., “Not even a bird is caught without [the assent/will/aid/ knowledge of] heaven, how much less the soul of a son of man” (Genesis Rabba 79.6).3 But, apart from the fact that this rabbinic material dates from several

1 Many more translations can be found in the Online Parallel Bible at http://bible.cc. 2 Cf. e.g., J. Gnilka, Das Matthäusevangelium (HTKNT), Freiburg: Herder, 1986, 388: “. . . nicht ohne den Vater – sein Wollen oder sein Wissen?” 3 For ‘without heaven [= God]’ the Aramaic text has mibbalʿadey shemayya. For the few parallel passages in rabbinic literature see M. Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1990, 289b, and H.L. Strack & P. Billerbeck, Kommentar zum Neuen Testament aus Talmud und Midrasch, vol. 1, München: Beck, 1926, 583.

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centuries after Matthew, this is a relatively isolated case4 and, moreover, we still have the same problem of interpretation (as the variety of clarifications between square brackets clearly shows).5 Since Matthew wrote in Greek and there is a long history of expressions meaning ‘without god (or: the gods)’ in Greek literature, it makes sense to review briefly some of the most pertinent passages from Greek authors, ranging over a period of more than a thousand years, in a roughly chronological order. The expressions occur in a wide variety of forms because the prepositions ἄνευ, χωρίς, δίχα, ἄτερ can be combined with θεοῦ, θεῶν, or other words for god such as δαίμων; with Διός, or any other name of a deity; or with the genitive of a personal pronoun (αὐτοῦ, αὐτῆς, αὐτῶν, in prayers especially σοῦ).6 To begin with Homer, in Il. 5.185–186 Pandarus says about Diomedes that “he cannot rage like this without a god (ἄνευθε θεοῦ), no, one of the immortals stands by him, wrapped in a cloud.”7 And we are told in Il. 15.292 that one of the gods protected and saved Hector, who broke the strength of so many Greeks: “I think this will happen again, for without Zeus (οὐ γὰρ ἄτερ γε Ζηνός) who thunders in high heaven, he could not lead this charge so furiously.” In both passages the sense is clearly ‘without the help of a god/Zeus.’ In Od. 2.372 Telemachus says to his nurse, θάρσει, μαῖ’, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή, “Take heart, nurse, without a god this plan would not be there.” And in Od. 15.531 Theoclymenus sees a bird flying up at Telemachus’ right hand side and says, Τηλέμαχ’, οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἔπτατο δεξιὸς ὄρνις, “Telemachus, this bird passed to your right not without a god.” In the first case it is by divine inspiration that a plan was conceived; in the second it is the deity’s wish to send Telemachus an omen (οἰωνός, 532) that makes the bird fly up at his right hand side. In both cases, οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ implies active involvement on the part of a god.8 Hom. Hymn 29.4–5 (to Hestia) οὐ γὰρ ἄτερ σοῦ εἰλαπίναι θνητοῖσι κτλ. “For mortals have no feast without you where the libation-pourer does not 4 The same applies to a passage in the Rule of the Community from Qumran, although it is preChristian, 1QS 11.11 “All which is occurring he [God] establishes by his design, and without him [mibbilʿadayv] nothing shall work.” 5 It is widely agreed that the background of Matthew’s bird imagery is Amos 3:5 LXX εἰ πεσεῖται ὄρνεον ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἄνευ ἰχνευτοῦ; “Will a bird fall on the earth without a fowler?” 6 More instances than in the selection presented here can be found in the TLG database. 7 Aelius Aristides, Or. 28.105 Behr, quotes this passage from Homer to support his claim that his speeches are delivered under divine inspiration. 8 The passage in Od. 15.531 was noted as a parallel to Matt. 10:29 for the first time by J.J. Wettstein, Η ΚΑΙΝΗ ΔΙΑΘΗΚΗ. NOVUM TESTAMENTUM GRAECUM, Amsterdam: Dommerian, 1752 (repr, Graz: Akademischer Druck- und Verlaganstalt, 1962), 376b.

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begin by offering honey-sweet wine to Hestia in first place and last” (tr. M. West in LCL). Here the phrase ‘without you’ is shorthand for ‘without libations to you, Hestia.’9 Pindar, Nem. 7.1–6 “Eileithyia, seated at the side of the brooding Fates, daughter of strong and mighty Hera, listen, bringer of children to birth. Without you (ἄνευ σέθεν) we see not the day or the black light, nor find your sister, bright-limbed Youth.” Here ‘without you’ means ‘without your help.’ Ol. 14.4–8 (after an invocation of the Charites) “By your help (σὺν ὔμμιν) all sweet and delightful things belong to men, if anyone is wise or lovely or famous. For without the holy Graces (σεμνᾶν Χαρίτων ἄτερ) not even the gods order dances or banquets.” Here the ‘without god’ formula seems to mean no more than ‘without your presence.’ It is to be noted that this passage is the first instance of many in which one finds an antithesis between a ‘with you’ formula (in a variety of forms) and a ‘without you’ formula.10 In Pyth. 5.76 the chorus claims to descend from the Aegeidae, who were famous at Sparta and went to Thera οὐ θεῶν ἄτερ, ἀλλὰ Μοῖρά τις ἄγεν. Here ‘not without the gods’ is explained by the phrase that Moira was involved, so there was a divine decree. Finally, a fragment of Pindar’s Paean 7b (from his Deliaka):11 “For the minds of men are blind who, unaccompanied by the Muses (ἄνευθ’ ‘Ελικωνιάδων), attempt to explore the precipitous path of wisdom.” The text implies that humans in search of wisdom need the assistance of the Muses.12

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11 12

Although it is not a passage with a form of the ‘without god’ formula, Alcaeus fr. 39.10 should be mentioned here since it is sometimes adduced as a parallel to Matt. 10:29: . . .] παρὰ μοῖραν Διὸς οὐδὲ τρίχ [. . . = “against the will [perhaps better Edmonds: decree] of Zeus not even hairs (fall?);” thus D.A. Campbell (ed.), Greek Lyric I: Sappho and Alcaeus (LCL 142), Cambridge MA-London: Harvard University Press, 1982, 254–255. Cf. U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Der Glaube der Hellenen, vol. 2, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1955 (repr. of 1930), 110: “. . . kein Haar fällt ohne seinen Willen vom Haupte.” See on this ‘with versus without’ formula E. Norden, Agnostos Theos. Untersuchungen zur Formengeschichte religiöser Rede, Stuttgart: Teubner, 1913 (repr. Darmstadt: Wissen­ schaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1956), 157–158, 348–350. K. Keyßner, Gottesvorstellung und Lebensauffassung im griechischen Hymnus (Würzburger Studien zur Altertums­ wissenschaft 2), Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1932, 29. J.C. Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus (STAC 33), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006, 92–93. Quoted after the edition with translation and commentary in W.D. Furley & J.M. Bremer, Greek Hymns (2 vols.; STAC 9–10), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001, 1.153–156; 2.101–107. The Muses are called Helikoni(a)des because of their famous sanctuary at the foot of Mount Helikon.

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Theognis 171–172 οὔτοι ἄτερ θεῶν γίνεται ἀνθρώποισ’ οὔτ’ ἀγάθ’ οὔτε κακά. Here the formula implies that all things, good and bad, that happen in the lives of humans, are brought about by the gods. In Aeschylus, Suppl. 823–824, in a prayer for deliverance, the chorus invokes Zeus, who is described as ‘omnipotent’ (παγκρατὲς Ζεῦ, 816), and asks him the rhetorical question, τί δ’ ἄνευ σέθεν θνατοῖσι τέλειόν ἐστι; “Without Thee what is there that comes to accomplishment for mortals?” Here the great dramatist has the chorus express the same sentiment as we found also in Theognis, a feeling of total dependence (Schleiermacher’s schlechthinniges Abhängigkeitsgefühl) upon Zeus, who governs everything (cf. also 595–599 “[Zeus] executes a deed as swiftly as he utters a word. What of all this is not a product of Zeus’ mind?”).13 In Agam. 1487–1488 the chorus bewails the doom awaiting the Atrides but realizes that humans are powerless over against the will and might of Zeus, the παναίτιος πανεργέτης: “Woe, woe, through [the will of] Zeus (διαὶ Διός), the cause of all, the doer of all. For what can be fulfilled among mortals without Zeus (τί γὰρ βροτοῖς ἄνευ Διὸς τελεῖται;)? Which of these things is not ordained by god (θεόκραντον)?”14 Here the belief that nothing in the world of humans takes place ‘without Zeus’ is expressed once again in the phrase that all things are ordained by him. In Pers. 164 Atossa expresses her fear that the great wealth amassed by the Persian king Darius οὐκ ἄνευ θεῶν τινός, will be lost. Here the sense clearly is ‘with divine help.’ And, as vv. 759–764 seem to imply, it is Zeus himself who had granted this wealth to the Persians.15 In Sophocles, Oed. Col. 403, Ismene says to Oedipus that the Thebans would be unhappy if he did not receive a proper burial, and he responds by saying

13

14

15

See H.F. Johansen & E.W. Whittle, Aeschylus: The Suppliants, 3 vols., Copenhagen: Nordisk Forlag, 1980, vol. 3, 170 (on 816ff.): “This brief passage, which marks the only slackening of the high emotional tension in the play, thus combines an attempt at self-consolation, contained in the allusion to Zeus’ justice, with a kind of resignation to fate, emphasizing his omnipotence.” On the centrality of Zeus in Aeschylus’ piety see W. Nestle, Griechische Religiosität von Homer bis Pindar und Äschylos, Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1930, 117–132; and, differently, H. Lloyd-Jones, The Justice of Zeus (Sather Classical Lectures 41), Berkeley etc.: University of California Press, 1971, 84–103. Translation (slightly modified) by E. Fraenkel, Aeschylus: Agamemnon, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1950, 3 vols., 1.183; commentary in vol. 3.704–705. That the translation of θεόκραντος by LSJ (‘accomplished or wrought by the gods’) is incorrect is correctly noted by Fraenkel, who is followed by J.D. Denniston & D. Page, Aeschylus: Agamemnon, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957, 207. Note that in Prom. 162 δίχα γε Διός means ‘except Zeus’ (not ‘without Zeus’), and so does χωρὶς Ζηνός in Sophocles, Trach. 1002.

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that one does not need a god’s help to understand that, κἄνευ θεοῦ τις τοῦτό γ’ ἂν γνώμῃ μάθοι. The same sense (‘without god’s help’) is found in Euripides, Bacch. 764, where a messenger reports that women (the maenads), armed with only their thyrsus, put to flight men who were armed with real weapons, which they did οὐκ ἄνευ θεῶν τινός. In the same author’s Iph. Aul. 809, Achilles says that he is so astonished that the craze to join Agamemnon’s expedition has Hellas in its grip that this could happen οὐκ ἄνευ θεῶν. Here ‘not without gods’ means that the behaviour of the Greeks can only be explained as a case of supernatural influence or intervention.16 Ariphron (ca. 300 BCE), Paian to Hygieia 10 σέθεν δὲ χωρὶς οὔτις εὐδαίμων ἔφυ. That nobody can be happy in the absence of health (here personified as the goddess Hygieia) is the obvious meaning here.17 Cleanthes, Hymn to Zeus 15 οὐδέ τι γίγνεται ἔργον ἐπὶ χθονὶ σοῦ δίχα, δαῖμον, οὔτε κατ’ αἰθέριον θεῖον πόλον οὔτ’ ἐνὶ πόντῳ, “Not a single deed takes place on earth without you, God, nor in the divine celestial sphere nor in the sea.” Cleanthes implies that “nothing takes place anywhere in nature without his [Zeus’] involvement,”18 Zeus here being understood in a Stoic way as the divine principle at work in the universe, logos, physis, or pneuma. Septuagint: Gen. 41:16 Pharao has had a dream and asks Joseph to interpret it, but Joseph says, “Without God the safety of Pharao will not be answered” (ἄνευ τοῦ θεοῦ οὐκ ἀποκριθήσεται τὸ σωτήριον φαραώ). The sense of this somewhat strange Greek sentence is that Joseph will not be able to interpret the dream in a way that is favourable to the Pharao without God’s help because only God can interpret dreams (see 40:8).19 In 4 Kingdoms 18:25 an envoy of 16 Cf. Phoen. 1614. 17 Recent editions of this hymn with commentary include Furley & Bremer, Greek Hymns 1.224–227 (translation with notes); 2.175–180 (text and commentary); and F. Chapot & B. Laurot, Corpus des prières grecques et romaines, Turnhout: Brepols, 2001, 154–157. 18 Thom, Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus 92; see also ibid. 36, 96. A.-J. Festugière, La révélation d’Hermès Trismégiste II: Le dieu cosmique, Paris: Librairie Lecoffre, 1949, 320. 19 See for further discussion J.W. Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis (SBLSCS 35), Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993, 682–683. For ἄνευ τοῦ θεοῦ the Hebrew text has bilʿadey ʾelohim (cf. mibbalʿadey shemayya, above note 2), but the interpretation of this Hebrew expression is a debated issue both in modern times and in antiquity. Most ancient and modern interpreters take these words to mean, ‘Not me, (but) God will answer etc.” or “Without me God will answer etc.” See for antiquity, e.g., the Targumim ad locum and Jerome’s Vulgate; for modern times, e.g., C. Westermann, Genesis III (BKAT I/3), Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982, 82, 91; The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vol. 2, (ed. D.J.A. Clines), Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995, 181b; The Jewish Study Bible

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the Assyrian king Sanherib speaks on behalf of the king to the beleaguered Jerusalemites: “And now, is it without the Lord that we came up against this place to destroy it? The Lord said to me, ‘Go up against this land and destroy it’” (καὶ νῦν μὴ ἄνευ κυρίου ἀνέβημεν ἐπὶ τὸν τόπον τοῦτον τοῦ διαφθεῖραι αὐτόν; κύριος εἶπε πρὸς μὲ, ἀνάβηθι ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ταύτην καὶ διάφθειρον αὐτήν). Here the phrase ‘not without the Lord’ undoubtedly refers to the fact that the Lord himself had commanded the king to go to Jerusalem and destroy it.20 Diodorus Siculus 1.90.3 “Egyptians prostrate themselves before their kings and honour them as being in very truth gods, holding that it was not without some divine providence (οὐκ ἄνευ δαιμονίου τινὸς προνοίας) that these men have attained to the supreme power.” It is only divine governance that enabled them to reach this highest position. Again, a ‘not without god’ formula implies active involvement on the part of the deity.21 Philo of Alexandria, Jos. 117: The pharaoh is convinced that Joseph could interpret his dreams so skillfully only because God’s spirit resides in him, and he says to Joseph, οὐ γὰρ ἄνευ θεοῦ ταῦτ’ ἀποφθέγγεσθαί μοι δοκεῖς. Josephus, Bell. Jud. 2.140 (Essenes are loyal to the authorities) οὐ γὰρ δίχα θεοῦ περιγενέσθαι τινὶ τὸ ἄρχειν, “for no ruler attains his office save by the will of God.”22 Thackeray’s LCL translation quoted here no doubt renders the sense of ‘not without god’ correctly. Bell. Jud. 2.390 (in a speech of Agrippa to dissuade the Jews from war) λοιπὸν οὖν ἐπὶ τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ συμμαχίαν καταφευκτέον. ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦτο παρὰ ‘Ρωμαίοις τέτακται. δίχα γὰρ θεοῦ συστῆναι τηλικαύτην ἡγεμονίαν ἀδύνατον, “The only refuge, then, left to you is divine assistance. But even this is ranged on the side of the Romans, for without God so vast an empire could never have been built up.” The word συμμαχία makes clear that ‘without god’ here means ‘without his assistance.’ This text is comparable to the immediately preceding one from Diodorus.

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(eds. A. Berlin & M.Z. Brettler), Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004, 81: “Not I! God will see to Pharaoh’s welfare.” It is only the Samaritan Pentateuch and one Genesis manuscript from Qumran that have the same reading as the LXX, with a negation added (οὐκ, la‌ʾ). For ἄνευ κυρίου the Hebrew text has mibbalʿadey YHWH. The translation used here is from A. Pietersma & B.G. Wright (eds.), A New English Translation of the Septuagint, New York – Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Cf. Epictetus 3.21.12: Important tasks are never undertaken ἄνευ θεῶν. In his description of the Essenes, Porphyry, Abst. 4.13.1, copies this sentence almost verbatim. For the motif cf. also Rom. 13:1.

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In the Isis aretalogy of Cyrene (103 CE) the goddess says in the middle of a long enumeration of all her gifts to humankind, ἐμοῦ δὲ χωρὶς γείνετ’ οὐδὲν πώποτε, “without me nothing has ever come to pass” (v.15).23 Plutarch, De Pythiae oraculis 22 (405A): “Homer also gives testimony on my side by his assumption that practically nothing is brought about by a cause without a god” (αἰτίᾳ μὲν ἄνευ θεοῦ). The reference is probably to some of the οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ passages in Homer quoted above. Pausanias 3.2.4: The Cretans say that their laws were laid down by Minos, and that Minos’ deliberations about these laws took place οὐκ ἄνευ θεοῦ. 4.29.4: On waking up the inhabitants of Messene found their city besieged by a Macedonian army. “Nevertheless the magnitude of the present evil caused them to display a courage beyond their strength, also they were inspired with hope for the best, since it seemed not without a god (οὐκ ἄνευ θεοῦ) that they had accomplished their return to the Peloponnese after so long an absence” (tr. W.H.S. Jones in LCL, slightly modified). 10.14.7 Someone stole gold from Apollo’s temple in Delphi and hid it somewhere on Mount Parnassos. A wolf that killed the thief went every day to the city and howled. “When the people began to realize that the matter was not without a god (οὐκ ἄνευ θεοῦ), they followed the beast and found the sacred gold” (tr. Jones, slightly modified). These are again clear cases of active divine involvement. Lucian, Pro lapsu 15 (a man greets somebody else with the words ‘good health!’ instead of with the usual greeting formula): “Perhaps the goddess Health or Asclepius himself inspired me on purpose to promise you health through me. I could certainly never have done it without a god (ἄνευ θεοῦ) when I was not confused, as I am now, in earlier times of my long life.” Here the sense is again ‘without a god’s prompting.’ Orphic Hymn 16.5 (to Hera) χωρὶς γὰρ σέθεν οὐδὲν ὅλως ζωῆς φύσιν ἔγνω, “Without you there is nothing that knows the nature of life at all.” The idea behind this is that ῞Hρα is to be equated with ἀήρ, and without air nobody can live.24 Orphic Hymn 68.8–10 (to Hygieia) σοῦ γὰρ ἄτερ πάντ’ ἐστὶν ἀνωφελῆ ἀνθρώποισιν, “Without you all is without avail for humans.” This case can be set 23

24

Text in W. Peek, Der Isishymnos von Andros und verwandte Texte, Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1930, 129; and M. Totti, Ausgewählte Texte der Isis- und Sarapis-Religion (Subsidia Epigraphica XII), Hildesheim – New York: Olms, 1985, 13. For a good survey of all the Isis aretalogies and related material see Y. Grandjean, Une nouvelle arétalogie d’Isis à Maronée, Leiden: Brill, 1975, 8–11. It is for that reason that A.N. Athanassakis (The Orphic Hymns, Missoula: Scholars Press, 1977, 27) renders this line very freely by “Without you there is neither life nor growth.” See also M.A. Koops, Observationes in Hymnos Orphicos, Leiden: Brill, 1932, 34.

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alongside the very similar passage from Ariphron’s Hymn to Hygieia quoted above. Iamblichus, De mysteriis 3.18: It is impossible to gain knowledge of the gods ἄνευ θεῶν; still less would someone be able to accomplish god-like deeds and have total foreknowledge ἄνευ θεῶν.25 Finally some early instances from Christian literature after the New Testament (but there are many more): Didache 3.10 “Accept as good the things that happen to you, knowing that nothing takes place without God (ἄνευ θεοῦ οὐδὲν γίνεται).” Ep. Barn. 19.6 quotes this phrase, replacing only ἄνευ with ἄτερ. Origen, Princ. 3.2.7 sine deo nihil fit = ἄνευ θεοῦ οὐδὲν γίνεται (in this context Origen quotes Matt. 10:29).26 For the sake of comparison I add here a very short selection with some Latin instances of our formula with sine, without further comments. Catullus 61.61–65 (addresses Hymenaeus) Nil potest sine te, Venus / fama quod bona conprobet, / commodi capere: at potest / te volente. Quis huic deo / conpararier ausit? “No pleasure can Venus take without thee, such as honest fame may approve; but can, if thou art willing. What god dare match himself with this god?” (tr. F.W. Cornish in LCL).27 Lucretius 1.21–23 (in the opening prayer to the creative force of nature, personified as Venus) quae quoniam rerum naturam sola gubernas / nec sine te quicquam dias in luminis oras / exoritur, etc. “Since you alone are the guiding power of the universe and without you nothing emerges into the shining sunlit world etc.” (tr. R.E. Latham, Penguin).28 Cf. also ibidem 2.168. Horace, Carm. 3.4.20 (speaking about himself) non sine dis animosus infans. “. . . with the gods’ help a fearless child” (tr. C.E. Bennett in LCL)

25 26

27 28

This rendering follows E.C. Clarke, J.M. Dillon, and J.P. Hersbell, Iamblichus: On the Mysteries, Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature Press, 2003, 167. More Christian examples are quoted by K. Niederwimmer, Die Didache (Kommentar zu den Apostolischen Vätern 1), Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989, 133. Add the fragmentary P.Oxy. 2074.39–40 (fifth cent. CE) χωρὶς γὰρ σοῦ οὐδὲν γίνεται (but who is addressed here is uncertain). See H.P. Syndikus, Catull: Eine Interpretation. Zweiter Teil: Die großen Gedichte (61–68), Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1990, 24–26. For an edition with translation and commentary of this prayer see Chapot & Laurat, Corpus des prières grecques et romaines 254–257.

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Corpus Hermeticum, Asclepius 34 sine hoc [sc. deo] nec fuit aliquid nec est nec erit. “Without him there was nothing, there is nothing, and there will be nothing.”29 Almost all instances quoted above, especially those with ἄνευ, have in common the element of divine interference or intervention. ‘Not without (a) god’ usually implies active divine support, assistance, intervention, inspiration, or even decree. That strongly suggests that the interpretation of the words ‘without your Father’ in Matt. 10:29 as meaning no more than ‘without God knowing it’ is the least probable.30 Since the formula is always about the absence of divine activity (or in its negative form, οὐκ ἄνευ θεοῦ, about divine activity), the Matthean passage may require a translation and interpretation that is more active even than ‘without God willing it.’ Direct action, if only by giving an order or issuing a decree, seems to be implied. The concept behind Matthew’s verse may be that God’s sheer wishing something to happen is sufficient for it to take place, just as Xenophanes said that the one god “without effort governs all things by the thought of his mind” (21B25 DK). I would suggest that Matthew’s first interpreter, Luke, points into that direction. His version of the Matthean logion (derived from Q) is as follows, in Lk. 12:6-7: οὐχὶ πέντε στρουθία πωλοῦνται ἀσσαρίων δύο; καὶ ἓν ἐξ αὐτῶν οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιλελησμένον ἐνώπιον τοῦ θεοῦ. ἀλλὰ καὶ αἱ τρίχες τῆς κεφαλῆς ὑμῶν πᾶσαι ἠρίθμηνται. μὴ φοβεῖσθε· πολλῶν στρουθίων διαφέρετε. In this version Luke replaced οὐ πεσεῖται ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν ἄνευ τοῦ πατρὸς ὑμῶν with οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιλελησμένον ἐνώπιον τοῦ θεοῦ. The formulation “not one of them is forgotten in God’s sight” implies that none of them has escaped God’s notice (ἐνώπιον τοῦ θεοῦ being a Hebraism for ‘in God’s presence’). That is also the meaning of the phrase that all the hairs of humans have been counted, namely by God – this is not an arithmological remark but a statement about intimate knowledge and involvement.31 Jesus’ message is that 29

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A.D. Nock & A.-J. Festugière, Hermès Trismégiste II: Traités XIII–XVIII; Asclépius, Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1960, 392 n. 303 ad locum, refer to John 1:3 πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδὲ ἕν. So W. Bauer & F.W. Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, Chicago – London: The University of Chicago Press, 2000, 78 s.v. ἄνευ: ‘without the knowledge and consent of [a person],’ should partly be corrected. D.C. Allison, ‘The Hairs of Your Head Are All Numbered,’ Expository Times 101 (1989/90) 334–336. Allison rightly stresses that often adduced OT passages to the effect that not one hair of one’s head shall fall to the ground (e.g., 1 Sam. 14:45; 2 Sam. 14:11; 1 Kings 1:52) are irrelevant for our problem since these statements promise deliverance from physical evil, which is not at all the case in the passages from Matthew and Luke. These two authors stress that the fall of the sparrows (read: martyrdom) must somehow be within God’s will.

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if sparrows, which are of little value, are not forgotten by God so that even they do not fall upon the ground without God’s willing it to happen, that applies all the more to humans. So I agree with Davies & Allison that “ἄνευ τοῦ πατρὸς ὑμῶν is rightly translated by the RSV as ‘without your Father’s will’” (by way of corroboration they point to the addition of τῆς βουλῆς in the version quoted by Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 2.26.2; Ps.-Clem., Hom. 12.31; and many of the Latin mss).32 That is to say that, although the Matthean form of the logion could still be read as “simply asserting that the timing of one’s martyrdom is in the hands of God (. . .), the Lukan form assures of the persuasive care of God.”33 God’s care does not imply, however, that his children will be spared from hardships but that they, in these hardships, are in the hand of God (‘not forgotten in his presence’).34 It also implies, however, that these hardships (such as persecutions) do not occur ‘without God,’ i.e., God either admits that they happen or even wants them to happen;35 he remains in charge of all events: οὐδὲν ἄνευ θεοῦ γίγνεται!36

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33 34 35

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The saying on the counting of all hairs emphasizes their innumerableness: God alone knows their number, which implies that humans are not in a position to understand how their suffering relates to God’s lovingkindness. W.D. Davies & D.C. Allison, The Gospel according to Saint Matthew (ICC), vol. 2, Edinburgh: Clark, 1991, 208. It is less satisfactory what J.H. Moulton & G. Milligan write in their Vocabulary of the Greek Testament Illustrated from the Papyri and Other Non-Literary Sources, London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1930, 42: “In certain connexions ἄνευ must have the meaning of ‘without the knowledge of’ rather than ‘in the absence of.’” J. Nolland, Luke 9:21–18:34 (WBC 35B), Dallas: Word Books, 1993, 678. See J.A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel according to Luke X–XXIV (AB 28A), Garden City: Doubleday, 1985, 957. The Gospel writers may be well aware here of the ‘dark sides of God.’ See W. Dietrich & Ch. Link, Die dunklen Seiten Gottes, 2 vols., Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlagshaus, 2000–2002. I owe thanks to Prof. A.H.M. Kessels for his valuable comments on the first draft of this article.

chapter 23

The Omen of Sneezing in Pagan Antiquity In modern times there still is a widespread sneezing folklore in most countries. In the Netherlands, for instance, like in almost all other countries,1 it is customary to utter a wish for good health (‘gezondheid!’) when someone sneezes,2 or, when a person sneezes three times, to take it as a prediction and say: ‘Tomorrow the weather will be fine.’ But in most cases this is innocent folklore that varies from country to country and has, in industrialized countries at least, no longer any religious significance. In antiquity (and in the Middle Ages) that was entirely different. In Greek literature, we find right from the start a very different picture. A century ago, in 1911, the great Latinist Arthur Stanley Pease wrote a very informative article about this topic.3 Ever since, however, this curious form of divination has remained understudied. It is worthwile to take a fresh look at the evidence, some of which went unnoticed by Pease. As early as Homer’s Odyssey there is an interesting passage in which sneezing is seen as a very significant omen. In book 17, Penelope hears from Eumaeus that her husband Odysseus has returned to his homeland and she asks Eumaeus to bring him home as soon as possible. While the words were yet on her lips, Telemachus sneezed so vehemently that the house resounded. Penelope laughed. Then she hastily repeated to Eumaeus, ‘Now call the stranger instantly. Did you not hear how my

1 See the opening remark in A.S. Pease, ‘The Omen of Sneezing,’ Class. Phil. 6 (1911) 429–443, here 429: “Of the numerous folk-customs and beliefs traceable from ancient to modern times few are more persistent or more widely diffused than those connected with sneezing.” Cf. also A. Bouché-Leclercq, Histoire de la divination dans l’antiquité, vol. 1, Paris: Leroux, 1879, 160–165. For a brief but good general introduction to sneezing lore worldwide, but especially in Europe, see P. Sartori, ‘Niesen,’ Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens, vol. 6, Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1935 (repr. 1987), 1072–1083. 2 This apparently was already a custom in antiquity, as we may conclude from Petronius, Satyricon 98.4–5, Pliny the Elder, Naturalis Historia 2.40.107; 18.23, and Apuleius, Meta­ morphoses 9.25. See E. Stemplinger, Antiker Volksglaube, Stuttgart: Spemann, 1948, 58–59; and Pease, Class. Phil. 6 (1911) 436, for a variety of modern equivalents. 3 See note 1.

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son sealed all I said with that sneeze? It spells no half-measures for the suitors, but utter death and doom for every individual man’ (17.541–546).4 Striking though it may be that the author does not explicitly say that it is a god-given omen or something of the sort, it seems very reasonable to assume that that is exactly what he meant. In the Homeric Hymn to Hermes 293–303 this religious connection is already made more explicit in the scene where Apollo takes the young Hermes into his arms, whereupon Hermes releases a bird of omen and sneezes at the same time, which is interpreted by Apollo as a very positive presage for himself. The connection between god-sent birds of augury and sneezing is also clearly exemplified in a passage in Aristophanes’ comedy, Aves 719–721, where the chorus of birds sings: You even use the word bird for anything that brings good luck or bad luck, whether it’s a chance remark, a sneeze, an unexpected meeting, a noise, a servant or a donkey, you call it a bird!5 This passage seems to imply that sneezing might also be regarded as a sign of bad luck, which is emphasized as well by the later comedian Menander when, in a passage ridiculing superstition, he says that we become sad when someone sneezes, we get angry when someone uses a wrong (= ominous) word, we are alarmed when someone has had a dream, and we become frightened when an owl hoots (lines 9–11 of fr. 620 Sandbach = fr. 534 Kock).6 His rival, the New Comedy poet Philemon, also ridicules the exaggerated superstitious attention to sneezing and other omens in the following fragment (fr. 100 Kock, quoted by Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 7.4.25.4): When I see anyone concerned about who it is that sneezed, that spoke, or who went out, I put him up for sale at once [i.e., I think him the equal of a mere slave]. We sneeze, we speak, we leave the room, because we

4 Translation by T.E. Lawrence, The Odyssey of Homer, Oxford 1991, 244–245. 5 The passage in Aristophanes’ Ranae 647: “Actually, I have hit you already. – Well, why didn’t I sneeze then? – I don’t know, I’ll try it again,’ remains obscure to me. 6 It should be added here that the most recent commentators of the fragment assume that the text is corrupt and that sneezing is not in place here (but why not?); see A.W. Gomme & F.H. Sandbach, Menander. A Commentary, Oxford: OUP, 1973, 717.

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please or have to, not to benefit the town. Things happen for good reasons of their own.7 It is exactly the criticism by the comedians of this practice that shows how widespread it was among the common people. Herodotus tells us a story about a negative interpretation of sneezing. When the Greek general Hippias had anchored his fleet at Marathon and disembarked his Persian soldiers and got them into position for the great battle, he was seized by an unusually violent fit of sneezing and coughing and lost one of his teeth. This was interpreted by him as a warning that he would never be able to conquer this country (6.107). But Theocritus, in his wedding song for the marriage of Menelaus and Helen says to the newly wed husband: “Happy groom! Some man of good omen sneezed upon you as you went to Sparta with other heroes, that you might win your quest” (Idyll 18.16–17; cf. also 7.96).8 The religious overtones of the attention to sneezing are brought out very clearly by Xenophon in a passage in Anabasis 3.2.9: Xenophon has addressed his soldiers and said that with help of the gods they have a very good chance for a safe return home: When he said that, someone sneezed. Upon hearing that all the soldiers kneeled down like one man and worshipped the god, and Xenophon said: ‘It seems to me, men, since a sign [literally: a bird!] from Zeus our Saviour was given when we were talking about a safe return, that we should vow that we will offer sacrifices to this deity . . .’ etc. Plutarch tells us in his Life of Themistocles that during the war with the Persian king Xerxes, this Athenian general was making a sacrifice when three prisoners of war were brought to him: When Euphrantides the seer (mantis) caught sight of them, at one and the same moment a great and glaring flame shot up from the sacrificial victims and a sneeze from the right gave forth its good omen; then he clasped Themistocles by the hand and bade him consecrate the young men and sacrifice them all to Dionysus Carnivorous, with prayers of 7 Translation (slightly modified) by J.M. Edmonds, The Fragments of Attic Comedy, IIIA, Leiden: Brill, 1961, 65. 8 R.J. Cholmeley, The Idylls of Theocritus, London: Bell, 1919, 323, rightly remarks ad 18.16–17 that ὡς ἀνύσαιο depends on ἐπέπταρεν not on ἐρχομένῳ.

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supplication, for in this way the Greeks would have a saving victory (Them. 13.2).9 And in a humoristic anonymous epigram in the Anthologia Palatina (11.268) about a man who has such a long nose that his ears cannot hear it when he sneezes (because of the great distance between nose and ears), we read that for that reason this man never says, ‘Zeus, help!’ (Ζεῦ, σῶσον), when he sneezes, a remark that only makes sense if others did.10 It is interesting to notice that as rationalistic a scholar as the author of the Problemata – whether or not he was Aristotle need not be discussed here – an author who devotes a long chapter (33) to a scientific discussion of all aspects of the phenomenon of sneezing, nevertheless also raises the question, “Why do we regard sneezing as divine [or, according to a different reading: as a god]?” (33.7, 962a21), a question he unfortunately does not answer, although he does mention the possibility that it may have to do with the fact that sneezing comes from the most divine part of us, our head. Further on, he again states that sneezing is revered as sacred and is regarded as a good omen (33.9, 962b6– 7); and some paragraphs later he offers some rationalistic explanations for the problem of why sneezing between midnight and midday is regarded as a bad thing, but between midday and midnight as a good thing (33.11, 962b19–20).11 In a work of undoubted authenticity even Aristotle himself says that sneezing “is an outward rush of collected breath, and it is the only mode of breath used as an omen and regarded as supernatural” (Historia animalium 1.11, 492b6–7). Very illustrative also is a story told by Diogenes Laertius about Diogenes the Cynic: “A very superstitious man addressed him thus, ‘With one blow I will break your head’. ‘And I’, said Diogenes, ‘will make you tremble by a sneeze

9 Cf. also Frontinus, Strategemata 1.12.11. 10 In Anth. Pal. 6.333, by Marcus Argentarius, a lamp that sneezed three times (apparently an ominous sputtering) is told, “thou shalt stand by the tripod, like Apollo, and prophesy to men”. Another interesting and curious sneezing passage in this collection is Anth. Pal. 11.375 (Macedonius), where the wish of the husband to hear of the death of his wife is connected with his sneezing near a tomb. 11 There is a considerable amount of strictly scientific literature on sneezing, written by Greek and Roman physicians who do not pay any attention to the superstitious or religious aspects of the phenomenon, e.g., (chapters in) treatises by Aetius Amidenus, Alexander of Aphrodisias, Galen, Palladius Alexandrinus, Paulus Aegineta, Aulus Cornelius Celsus, and Pliny the Elder.

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from the left’ ”(6. 48).12 (The same author also tells a somewhat enigmatic story about the Stoic Cleanthes who recognized a man as a homosexual as soon as the man sneezed [7.17]; see the parallel story in Dio Chrysostom, Or. 33.54–55.) In his debate with Celsus, the Christian scholar Origen remarks: If birds really have a divine soul and a perception of God, or as Celsus would say, of the gods, then obviously also when we men sneeze we do so as a result of some divinity in us and some prophetic power in our soul. For this too is testified by many (Contra Celsum 4.94), and then he quotes Od. 17.541–545 (see above). And the late epic poet Nonnus tells us in his Dionysiaca that Zeus spoke about the young Dionysus’ future life: “The Father spoke, the Moirai applauded; at his words the lightfooted Horai sneezed as a presage of things to come” (7.107; cf. 13.82: “laurelled Apollo the Seer, his father’s father, sneezed victory for the young man”). Finally it is important for our purposes to notice the significant role of sneezing in Plutarch’s discussion of Socrates’ famous daimonion in his De genio Socratis 11–12, 580F–582C. One of the participants in the discussion says that a sneeze or a chance remark or any other such trivial omen cannot in itself incline a grave or serious mind to action; only when it is joined to one of two opposite reasons may it solve a dilemma by destroying a balance and thus allow a movement or action to arise. Then another participant remarks: I have it from one of the Megarian school (. . .) that Socrates’ daimonion was a sneeze, his own and others’: thus, when another sneezed at his right, whether behind or in front, he proceeded to act, but if at his left, he desisted; while of his own sneezes the one that occurred when he was on the point of acting confirmed him in what he had set out to do, whereas the one occurring after he had already begun checked and prevented his movement. But what astonishes me is that, supposing he relied on sneezes, he did not speak to his friends of being prompted or deterred by these but by a daimonion” (581A–B). Then this speaker goes on to combat the Megarian point of view and stresses that a person of such a great mental stability and wisdom as Socrates cannot have been “a man whose 12

Compare Eustathius’ remark in his commentary on the Iliad (2.440): ὅτιδὲкαὶὁἐκδεξιῶν πταρμὸς οἰωνίζετό τι ἀγαθόν, παλαιὰ νόμισίς ἐστι. ὅτι δὲ καὶ ὁ ἐκ δεξιῶν πταρμὸς οἰωνίζετό τι ἀγαθόν, παλαιὰ νόμισίς ἐστι. Also his commentary on the Odyssey passage quoted above in the main text is illustrative.

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views are at the mercy of voices or sneezes, but one guided by a higher authority” (581D). The first speaker then reacts by saying: As in medicine a rapid pulse or a blister, trifling in itself, is a sign of something by no means trifling, and as for a skipper the cry of a marine bird or the passing of a wisp of yellow cloud betokens wind and a rising sea, so for a mind expert in divination a sneeze or a random utterance, although in itself no great matter, may yet be a sign of some great event; for in no art is the prediction of great things from small, or of many things from few, neglected. (. . .) So take heed lest it be simplicity in us, in our ignorance of the significance for the future of the various signs interpreted by the art of divination, to resent the notion that a man of intelligence can draw from them some statements about things hidden from our view – and that too when it is the man himself who says that it is no sneeze or utterance that guides his acts, but something divine. (. . .) I for one . . . would have been astonished if a master of dialectic and the use of words like Socrates had spoken of receiving intimations not from his heavenly daimonion but from ‘the sneeze’: it is as if a man should say that the arrow wounded him, and not the archer with the arrow, or that the scales, and not the weigher with the scales, measured the weight. For the act does not belong to the instrument, but to the person to whom the instru­ment itself belongs, who uses it for the act; and the sign used by the power that signals is an instrument like any other (582A–C; transl. LCL). Two things should be noted here. Firstly, it is striking to observe that in the Socratic philosophical school of the Megarians (founded ca. 380 by Euclides) there was a tradition about the nature of the daimonion that guided Socrates to the effect that this divine (or ‘demonic’) guidance was exercised by means of sneezes. Secondly, still in the second century CE, it was deemed important enough in the philosophical circle of Plutarch to discuss this matter anew, at length at that, and to raise a debate about the divinatory (and therefore divine) character of sneezing. Apparently even in these circles sneezing was recognized as having some connection with or being the utterance of a divine messenger from heaven. From Latin sources we may add the following small selection of interesting passages. One would expect Cicero to give valuable information in his De Divinatione. But he almost neglects the topic except for a very brief and

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c­ ritical remark with aristocratic disdain in 2.40.84: “If we are going to accept chance utterances of this kind as omens, we had better look out when we stumble or break a shoe-string or sneeze”.13 This shows clearly that for Cicero “belief in sneezing as an omen was not only something which he and his friends did not hold, but also a thing which it would be preposterous to expect them to adopt”.14 His contemporary, the poet Catullus, has two lovers make a mutual declaration of love, which is followed by a sneeze from Amor, both on the right and on the left hand, as a double sign of divine approval (45.8–18).15 His somewhat younger colleague, the love-elegist Propertius, states about his sweetheart that on her birth a propitious Amor sneezed a clear-sounding omen, indicating that her beauty was a gift from heaven (2.3.23–24; and cf. Ovid, Heroides 18.151–152). And Pliny the Elder informs us that in his days deterministic beliefs began to take root among both the learned and the unlearned, “witness the warnings drawn from lightning, the forecasts made by oracles, the prophecies of augurs, and even inconsiderable trifles counted as omens – a sneeze or a stumble” (Nat. Hist. 2.5, 23–24; cf. 7.42 [quoted by Aulus Gellius, Noct. Att. 3.16.24] and 28.23 and 26, which are somewhat different). But here we must end our survey of the material. The evidence collected here shows that sneezes were widely regarded as god-given omens, and that the significance and interpretation depended chiefly upon one or more of the following factors: the position of the sneezer, especially with reference to the person who receives the sneezing as an omen (e.g. left or right, from in front or from behind, although this was often disregarded); the time of the sneeze (e.g. before or after midday, preceding or following actions or utterances); and, in certain cases, the physical condition of the sneezer (these cases I have not discussed).16 As Pease remarks, “Omens, upon analysis, may be seen to be of two sorts, the one pointing backward and corroborative of what has taken place, the other pointing forward and prophetic

13

As usual, Arthur Stanley Pease has a very rich explanatory note ad locum with abundant bibliography: A.S. Pease (ed.), M. Tulli Ciceronis De Divinatione libri duo, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963 (= 1920–1923), 487–488, but see also his fine article on ‘The Omen of Sneezing’ in Classical Philology 6 (1911) 429–443. 14 Pease, Class. Phil. 6 (1911) 430–431. 15 W. Kroll, C. Valerius Catullus, Stuttgart: Teubner, 19604, 84 rightly remarks ad locum: “Hier ist das Niesen von beiden Seiten, also die doppelte Bekräftigung, in besonderem Maße glückverheißend. . . . Davon, daß das Niesen zur Linken Unglück bedeute, ist hier nicht die Rede.” See also H.P. Syndikus, Catull. Eine Interpretation, vol. 1, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1994, 238 n. 10. 16 See Pease in Class. Phil. 6 (1911) 434–435.

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of the future”.17 This applies to omens in general, but also to sneezes in particular. So sneezing as a manifestation of a divine power played a much more important part in ancient divinatory speculation than we are often inclined to assume. It is this religious aspect of Greek and Roman sneezing lore that is the background of the early Jewish (and Christian) polemics against seeing sneezes as divine omina. It was the ascribing of divinatory function to sneezing in pagan circles that made this whole phenomenon suspect to Jewish eyes (see, e.g., Orac. Sib. 3.224). But that topic should be dealt with elsewhere.18

17 18

Class. Phil. 6 (1911) 439. Pease also points out there that the idea of corroborative favourable sneezing is expressed in Greek by ὲπιπταίρω, the prophetic sneezing by πταίρω. For some preliminary remarks see P.W. van der Horst, “Jewish Self-Definition by Way of Contrast in Oracula Sibyllina III 218–247,” in my Hellenism – Judaism – Christianity: Essays on Their Interaction, Leuven: Peeters, 1998 (2nd ed.), 93–110, esp. 101–106. Some notes on Christian criticism in R. MacMullen, Christianity and Paganism in the Fourth to Eighth Centuries. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997, Index s.v. sneeze.

chapter 24

Pious Long-Sleepers in Pagan, Jewish, and Christian Antiquity I Introduction In the middle of the thirteenth century, the Dominican monk James de Voragine (Iacopo da Varazze, c. 1230–1298) compiled his famous Legenda aurea (the “Golden Legends”). This immensely influential work, of which almost a thousand medieval Latin manuscripts survive and which was translated into many vernaculars, consisted of a collection of saints’ lives and short treatises on the Christian festivals, in 175 chapters. In ch. 24, James tells us the famous story of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.1 Briefly summarized it runs as follows: During the persecution of Christians by the emperor Decius (ca. 250 CE), seven pious young men took refuge in a cave near Ephesus, where they fell asleep and were walled up by Decius. When they woke up, they initially thought that they had slept only for a short time and sent one of their number, Iamblichus, to the market to get some food. But as he came into the city, everything appeared strange to him: the buildings were different, Jesus Christ was being talked about freely by the people, and crosses were inscribed on all the city gates. He couldn’t believe that this was his Ephesus. Finally he realized that it was 372 years after they had fled: Theodosius, not Decius, was now the Emperor.2 The appearance of the seven young men became the occasion for great ecclesiastical festivities, in which the Emperor also participated. All who saw the young men thanked God for the miracle. The cave became a muchvisited pilgrim site for many centuries.3 1 R. Pillinger, “Siebenschläfer,” RGG 7 (2004) 1306. The literature on this subject is vast. 2 It is curious that the span of time is explicitly given as 372 years (which would set the story in about 622 CE). The other narrative details clearly locate the story in the reign of the Emperor Theodosius, either I or II (379–395 and 408–450 CE respectively). The number goes back to Jacob of Sarug, but is not in the Latin synopsis of Gregory of Tours (see below). 3 An English translation is that of W.G. Ryan, Jacobus de Voragine: The Golden Legend (2 vols.; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). The Latin text of the Seven Sleepers legend is easily accessible (with a German translation) in R. Nickel, Jacobus de Voragine: Legenda aurea (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1988), 250–263. On the cave and the basilica that was later built on the site, see H. Leclercq, “Sept dormants d’Éphèse,” DACL 15.1 (1950) 1251–1262.

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When James of Voragine penned this legend of the miraculously long sleep of pious persons, the story, or rather such stories, had already had a long prehistory of more than one-and-a-half thousand years. We find it in pagan Greek, Jewish, Christian, and Muslim versions. Due to the enormous influence of the Legenda aurea, the story became widely known in medieval Europe. It is the purpose of my paper, however, to trace this motif – of persons falling asleep and finding the world completely changed when they wake up – from the Legenda aurea back into time as far as we can get, and to try to reconstruct its Werdegang. II

Graeco–Roman Sources

The early third-century CE account by Diogenes Laertius of the fifty-seven-year sleep of Epimenides (1.109; we will come back to this text) is the best known and most often quoted Greek witness to this motif. However, as the author of the first major scholarly monograph on this subject,4 John Koch, already observed as far back as 130 years ago, it is Aristotle who is the first to allude briefly to stories about long-sleepers. In his Physics, he engages in a very subtle discussion of what exactly time is. In that context he says, Time does not exist without change, for when the state of our mind does not change at all, or we have not noticed its changing, we do not think that time has elapsed any more than those who are fabled to sleep among the heroes of Sardinia do when they are awakened; for they connect the earlier “now” with the later and make them one, cutting out the interval because of their failure to notice it. (Physics 4.11, 218b23–26) Unsatisfactory though this remark may be for us because of its tantalizing briefness – we want to know the precise contents of this legend5 – it is 4 J. Koch, Die Siebenschläferlegende, ihr Ursprung und ihre Verbreitung: Eine mythologischliteraturgeschichtliche Studie (Leipzig: Reissner, 1883). In spite of the fact that the author overlooked some of the ancient sources, especially Jewish ones, and offers some hard-to-follow explications of the evidence, this study is still unsurpassed as the first critical survey of the ancient evidence. This book was recently offered for reprint in the United States (Charleston, S.C.: Nabu Press, [print on demand: ISBN 9781148395272]). 5 As H. Wagner remarks, it is impossible to know in which form Aristotle knew the legend of the Sardinian long-sleepers; see Wagner, Aristoteles: Physikvorlesung (Darmstadt:

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important for our purposes in that it clearly shows that by the end of the fourth century BCE, stories were being circulated about people who slept long enough (apparently!) to be useful for Aristotle’s argument about the impossibility of the passage of time without the occurrence of change. He is evidently not talking about regular sleep here. And, as we shall presently see, the fact that the story about Epimenides in Diogenes Laertius goes back to much earlier sources makes it very probable that Greek stories about long-sleepers existed already in pre-Christian, possibly even pre-Hellenistic times. Although Diogenes only says vaguely that the sources for his chapters on Epimenides were “Theopompus and many other writers” (1.109), it may be taken as a fact that most of his sources were from the Hellenistic period (Theopompus lived in the fourth century BCE).6 What he tells us about Epimenides, who supposedly lived in the decades around 600 BCE, is the following: [Epimenides] was a native of Cnossos in Crete, although, because of his long hair, he did not look like a Cretan. One day he was sent into the country by his father to look for a stray sheep, and at noon he turned aside out of the way and went to sleep in a cave, where he slept for fiftyseven years. After this he got up and went in search of the sheep, thinking he had been asleep only for a short time. And when he could not find it, he came to the farm and found everything changed and another owner in possession. Then he went back to the town in utter perplexity; and there, on entering his own house, he fell in with people who wanted to know who he was. At length he found his younger brother, now an old man, and learnt the truth from him. So he became famous

Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967; repr. 1972), 571. The commentator Philoponus, however, describes the myth as follows: “Certain sick people went to the heroes in Sardinia and were treated, and slept for five days, of which they had no recollection when they awoke” (thus W.D. Ross, Aristotle’s Physics [Oxford: Clarendon, 1936], 597, with reference to Simplicius, Comm. in Arist. 4.338b). See also E. Rohde, “Sardinische Sage von den Neunschläfern,” in his Kleine Schriften (2 vols.; Tübingen: Mohr, 1901), 2:197–208; M. Huber, Die Wanderlegende von den Siebenschläfern: Eine literarische Untersuchung (Leipzig: Harassowitz, 1910), 384–387; J.H. Waszink, Tertulliani de anima (Amsterdam: Meulenhof, 1947), 516. 6 On the sources for our knowledge of Epimenides, see H. Diels and W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker (3 vols.; 6th ed.; Berlin: Weidmann, 1951 [repr. 1996]), 1:27–37 (no. 3). Our text is labeled 3A1 D-K. Diogenes’ latest source was probably Phlegon of Tralles, of the early second century CE.

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throughout Greece and was believed to be especially loved by the gods (theophilestatos).7 The final word, theophilestatos, is very important. It indicates that Epimenides’ ability to sleep for an extremely long time and survive without food and drink was a special divine favor, a motif that will recur time and again, as we shall see. That Diogenes did not invent the story of Epimenides’ long sleep is proved by the fact that half a century earlier, the geographer Pausanias states very briefly in passing that “people say” (legousin) that Epimenides slept for forty years in a cave (Geogr. 1.14.4).8 Thus, the motif is older than Pausanias and most probably dates back to the Hellenistic period. We can be rather sure of this because in the middle of the first century CE, Pliny the Elder states that he learned of a tradition concerning Epimenides’ long sleep. He regards it as a fabulous invention (fabulositas); but he nevertheless reports that Epimenides, “when a boy, being weary with the heat and with travel, slept in a cave for fifty-seven years, and when he woke up, just as if it had been on the following day, was surprised at the appearance of things and the change in them.”9 The origins of the motif remain shrouded in darkness, but it is not completely incomprehensible why it should have been attached to Epimenides. Like the semi-legendary and mysterious Greek traveler, poet, and miracle-worker Aristeas of Proconnesus,10 Epimenides, a poet, a holy man, supposed to have been called in to purify Athens after a sacrilegious event, is a very shadowy figure of the late seventh century BCE. The traditions about him were “quickly obscured by legends and miraculous tales”11 concerning his out-of-the-body experiences, his oracular capacities, his extreme old age (157 or 299 years), his amazing asceticism, his

7 8

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10 11

Lives 1.109 (Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers [tr. R.D. Hicks; 2 vols.; LCL; Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann, 1972], 1:115). At roughly the same time, Maximus of Tyre alludes to “a tale hard to credit if taken at face value . . . that he [Epimenides] had lain for many years in a deep sleep in the cave of Dictaean Zeus” (Or. 10.1; cf. 38.3); translated in Maximus of Tyre: The Philosophical Orations (tr. and ed. M.B. Trapp; Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), 85. Nat. hist. 7.175; (Pliny, Natural History [tr. H. Rackham; 10 vols.; LCL; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press; London: Heinemann, 1938–1962], 2(1942):623). See the note in R. König, Plinius Secundus d. Ä.: Naturkunde, Buch VII (Zürich: Artemis, 1996), 223. See J.D.P. Bolton, Aristeas of Proconnesus (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962). On p. 156, Bolton calls Epimenides “the prince of cataleptics.” A.H. Griffiths, “Epimenides,” OCD, 546.

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purifying activities, etc.12 Since tradition assimilated him to the type of a shaman, the story about his long sleep at the beginning of his saga suggests that “the Greeks had heard of the long ‘retreat’ which is the shaman’s novitiate and is sometimes largely spent in a condition of sleep or trance.”13 Be that as it may, for our purposes it suffices to establish that the first time the motif of an excessively long sleep surfaces in classical sources, it is in connection with a person who lives in close contact with the supernatural world and is apparently favored by the divinities who dwell there. III

Jewish Sources

We see this theme again when we turn to the Jewish material. The earliest occurrence of our motif is in the so-called Paralipomena Ieremiae (or 4 Baruch), a text that most scholars agree was written in the early decades of the second century CE.14 Here, the long-sleeper in question is “Abimelech the Ethiopian,” portrayed as a sort of servant of Jeremiah. The Lord promises Jeremiah, before the destruction of Jerusalem, to protect and save Abimelech “until I bring back the people to the city” (3:11). Jeremiah sends Abimelech out of the city with the directive to “take a basket and go to the estate of Agrippa by the mountain trail; bring a few figs in it and give them to the sick among the people” (3:15). Abimelech does as he is told, but in the meantime Jerusalem is destroyed by

12

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14

See E. Rohde, Psyche: Seelencult und Unsterblichkeitsglaube der Griechen (2 vols.; 2d ed.; Freiburg: Mohr, 1898; repr: Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961), 2:96–99; E.R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1951), 141–146. Dodds, ibid., 142, with references in n. 46 to literature on the lengthy sleep of the shamans. There he also notes that Diels ingeniously thought that the long sleep of Epimenides was invented to reconcile the chronological inconsistencies in the various tales about Epimenides, but Dodds rightly remarks that if that were the case, lengthy sleep should have been a very common motif in early Greek history. See, e.g., J. Herzer, 4 Baruch (Paraleipomena Jeremiou) Translated with an Introduction and Notes (SBLWGRW 22; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005) xxx–xxxvi. The very close relationship of Par. Jer. to the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch (2 Baruch) also supports an early second century CE dating; see Herzer, 4 Baruch, xviii; and B. Schaller, Paralipomena Jeremiou (JSHRZ 1.8; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1998), 672, 678–681.

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the Chaldeans. What then occurs deserves to be quoted in full, since it is the pivotal text for our purposes.15 Ch. 5 (1) Abimelech carried the figs in the heat of the day; and coming upon a tree, he sat down in its shade to rest a while. And leaning his head on the basket of figs, he fell asleep and slept for sixty-six years, and he was not awakened from his sleep. (2) After these things he awoke from his sleep and said, “I would gladly have slept a little longer; my head is heavy because I did not get enough sleep.” (3) And when he uncovered the basket of figs, he found them dripping with their milky sap. (4) And he said, “I want to sleep a little (more) because my head is heavy. (5) But I am afraid that I might fall asleep again and wake up too late and Jeremiah, my father, would have a low opinion of me. For if he were not in a hurry, he would not have sent me today at dawn. (6) So I will get up and proceed in the heat and go to where there is neither heat nor toil every day.” (7) So he got up, took the basket of figs and placed it on his shoulders. And he entered Jerusalem, but he did not recognize it, neither the house nor the place nor his own family, and he said, (8) “Blessed be the Lord, for a great trance has come upon me: This is not the city. (9) I lost my way because I came by the mountain trail when I awakened from my sleep. (10) And since my head was heavy because I did not get enough sleep, I lost my way. (11) This is an astonishing thing to say to Jeremiah, ‘I lost my way!’” (12) And he went out of the city and when he looked carefully, he saw the landmarks of the city and said, “Indeed, this is the city, but I lost my way.” (13) And again he went back into the city and searched, but he found no one of his own people. (14) And he said, “Blessed be the Lord, for a great trance has come upon me.” (15) And again he went out of the city, and he remained there grieving, for he did not know where to go. (16) And he laid down the basket, saying, “I shall sit here until the Lord lifts this trance from me.” (17) And while he was sitting, he saw an old man coming from the field. And Abimelech said to him, “I say to you, old man, what city is this?” And he said to him, “It is Jerusalem.” (18) And Abimelech said to him, “Where is Jeremiah the priest, and Baruch the reader, and all the (other) people of this city? For I could not find them.” (19) And the old man said to him, “You are from this city, aren’t you? 15

The translation is from Herzer, 4 Baruch, 13–19, with some slight modifications. See also the translation by S.E. Robinson, “4 Baruch,” in OTP 2:413–425. There is a good bibliography in Schaller, Paralipomena Jeremiou, 696–710.

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(20) You just remembered Jeremiah, seeing that you are asking about him after such a long time. (21) For Jeremiah is in Babylon with the people, for they were taken captive by King Nebuchadnezzar, and Jeremiah is with them to announce to them the good news and to teach them the word.” (22) As soon as Abimelech heard this from the old man, he said, (23) “If you were not an old man, and if it were not improper for a person to upbraid one older than oneself, I would laugh at you and say that you are crazy because you say, ‘The people have been taken captive to Babylon.’ (24) Had the heavenly torrents descended to them, there would not yet have been time to go to Babylon. (25) For how long has it been since my father Jeremiah sent me to the estate of Agrippa for a few figs so that I might give them to the sick among the people? (26) And I went and brought them, and when I came upon a tree in the scorching heat of the day, I set down to rest a little and leaned my head on the basket and fell asleep. And when I awoke I uncovered the basket of figs supposing that I was late, and I found the figs dripping with their milky sap, just as I had picked them. And then you say that the people have been taken captive to Babylon? (27) But that you might know, take the figs and see!” (28) And he uncovered the basket of figs for the old man. (29) And he saw them dripping with their milky sap. (30) And when he saw them, the old man said, “O my son, you are a righteous man and God did not want to show you the desolation of the city, so God brought this trance upon you. Behold, it has been sixty-six years today since the people were taken captive to Babylon. (31) But that you may learn, child, that it is true, look at the field and see that the growth of the crops has just begun. Notice also the figs, that their time has not yet come, and understand.” (32) Then Abimelech cried out in a loud voice, saying, “I will bless you, O Lord, God of heaven and earth, the rest of the souls of the righteous in every place.” (33) And to the old man he said, “What month is this?” And he said, “Nisan, and it is the twelfth day.” (34) And taking a few of the figs, he gave them to the old man and said to him, “God will lead you by his light to the city above, Jerusalem.” A number of features of this account call for special consideration. Firstly, Abimelech16 is a biblical name, but our Abimelech does not have anything to do with the biblical persons called by that name (see Genesis 20–21; 26; Judges 9). There is no doubt that this Abimelech is to be identified with the 16

Unfortunately, I have not been able to consult J. Riaud, “Abimélech, personnage-clé des Paralipomena Jeremiae?” Dialogues d’histoire ancienne 7 (1981): 163–178.

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biblical Ebed-Melech,17 the Ethiopian courtier who saved Jeremiah’s life and received God’s promise, via the prophet, that he himself will be saved during the destruction of Jerusalem (see Jer. 38:7–13 and 39:15–18). Curiously enough, in the Bible God promises Ebed-Melech that even though he is to be rescued, God will fulfill his words against the city in Ebed-Melech’s presence, literally, “before your face” (lephanêkha);18 the text of Par. Jer. 5, however, has drastically changed that promise into a rescue scene in which Abimelech does not have to witness anything of the Destruction.19 Secondly, while the stories of Epimenides and Abimelech overlap in the striking motif of supernaturally long sleep and the unrecognizable world in which they find themselves after their awakening, almost everything else is different. But these differences (e.g., the nondramatic setting of the Epimenides story over against the highly dramatic setting of the Abimelech story) should not make us overlook the fact that in both cases the long sleep is regarded as a divine gift, as a sign of favor on the part of heaven. Thirdly – and now we come to the main problem – the Abimelech story has been presented so far as our first Jewish specimen of the motif of long-sleepers; but is it? Or rather, is it Jewish at all? Let us face the facts: The Paralipomena Jeremiae as we have it is a Christian text that has been handed down to us via Christian channels. Like all or most other Jewish pseudepigrapha, our text, too, has undergone Christian editing and redaction. How sure can we be that the Abimelech story does not derive from a Christian hand? This question becomes all the more pressing when we see that there seems to be undeniably Christian usage in this passage; e.g., in 5:21, where it says that Jeremiah is in Babylon with the people “in order to announce to them the good news (literally, to preach the Gospel, euangelisasthai), and to teach them the Word” (katêchêsai ton logon). And this is exactly what happens in ch. 9, where Jeremiah preaches the Gospel of Jesus Christ before he is stoned to death. Is this not enough to disqualify our story as a source for Jewish ideas about long-sleepers?20 Since we need to answer this question before we can tackle the problem of a possible 17

18 19

20

The LXX renders the name as Abdemelech (only minuscule 534 has Abimelech; see J. Ziegler, Ieremias, Baruch, Threni, Epistula Ieremiae (Septuaginta 15; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1957), 406). The sentence with lephanêkha is omitted in the LXX; see J. Herzer, Die Paralipomena Jeremiae (TSAJ 43; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1994), 91 n. 257. For the means by which this motif found its way into later tradition in 3 Baruch 1:1 and elsewhere see A. Kulik, 3 Baruch: Greek-Slavonic Apocalypse of Baruch (CEJL; Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010) 98–99. Note that P. Bogaert regards the entire Abimelech episode as a Christian interpolation; see his L’Apocalypse syriaque de Baruch (2 vols.; SC 144, 145; Paris: Cerf, 1969) 1:192–195.

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influence of the Greek Epimenides (or a similar) story on a Jewish tradition, we will first briefly have to survey the evidence. We have a longer and a shorter version of Paralipomena Jeremiae. Of both versions we possess many dozens of manuscripts, in Greek, Coptic, Ethiopic, Armenian, and Old Church Slavonic.21 All scholars agree that all of these manuscripts are of Christian provenance. However, most students of the text regard only the final chapter on Jeremiah’s performance as a preacher of the Gospel as a patently Christian addition (and perhaps some other phrases elsewhere in the work as well); they regard the main body of the work as definitely Jewish. For instance, Michael Stone stresses that the work is undoubtedly part of the wider Jewish Baruch and Jeremiah literature represented also by the Greek Book of Baruch, the Epistle of Jeremiah, and the Syriac and Greek Apocalypses of Baruch, as well as fragments from Qumran (4Q384–385).22 Stone adds that the Jewish nature of the original is apparent from many distinctive features: “Thus the approval of sacrifice, the rejection of foreign women, and the attitude to circumcision, to mention only the most prominent, clearly disprove the theory of a Christian original.”23 This is convincing to my mind. Even though there is good reason to regard the passage in the Abimelech story about Jeremiah as a preacher of the Gospel (5.21) as a Christian interpolation, there is equally good reason in this case not to regard the story as a whole as a Christian addition to a Jewish Grundschrift.24 Abimelech’s long sleep does not serve any Christian purpose; and even though we do know of some ancient Christian writings that do not seem to serve such a purpose,25 in this case we have no 21 22

23

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For a good survey see, inter alios, A.-M. Denis et al., Introduction à la literature religieuse judéo-hellénistique (2 vols.; Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), 1:681–718. The originally Jewish Jeremiah Apocryphon that has been preserved only in Coptic should also be mentioned here; see for text and translation K.H. Kuhn, “A Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon,” Le Muséon 83 (1970): 95–135 and 291–326. The third- or fourth-century text, translated from a now lost Greek original, seems to have been dependent on Par. Jer. Abimelech’s miraculous sleep is narrated in three stages in the Coptic work (chs. 12, 22, 38–39). M.E. Stone, “Baruch, Rest of the Words of,” EncJud 4:276. Further arguments for a Jewish provenance may be found in Schaller, Paralipomena Jeremiou, 677–678, who concludes: “Die ParJer sind, wenn nicht alles täuscht – abgesehen von dem Schlußkapitel – im wesentlichen ein Text genuin jüdischer Herkunft und Prägung.” The situation is very different from the case of, e.g., the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs; see M. de Jonge, Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament as Part of Christian Literature (SVTP 18; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 71–177. See J. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian, or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005).

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reason at all to think that the story is such an instance. The strong emphasis on typically Jewish halakhic elements in the Paralipomena Jeremiae as a whole makes it an unlikely candidate for composition as Christian propaganda. As a Christian interpolation, the Abimelech story would simply be pointless. For that reason we must assume that it is from the pen of the Jewish author. Perhaps the fact that none of the Church Fathers makes any reference to the Paralipomena Jeremiae26 may be seen as corroborative evidence. Is there any plausibility to the suggestion that the Jewish author here has taken over a Greek motif? Even though in the cases of both Epimenides and Abimelech, we meet men who are described as especially favored by a deity, there is no reason to think in terms of Greek influence. Stories of long-sleepers are known from a wide variety of cultures27 and it is reasonable to think that the motif could have sprung up independently in any setting. And that someone who is able to sleep for a miraculously long time can be enabled to do so only by a deity is something that any person in an ancient culture could think up. Moreover, as we shall see, there are a few other Jewish stories about long-sleepers that do not give us much reason to surmise Greek influence. The texts in question concern the long sleep of Honi the Circle-Drawer (Honi ha-meʿaggel) and/or his grandfather.28 There are two different stories about Honi as a long-sleeper, each of which occurs in two not too different versions. The earliest attestation of one of these stories is found in y. Taʿaniyot 3:9 (66d). There we read that Honi’s grandfather (or he himself)29 lived shortly before the destruction of the (first!) Temple. He went out to a mountain with his workmen, and when it began to rain, he went into a cave where he fell asleep. He remained asleep for seventy years, during which the Temple was destroyed and rebuilt for the second time. When after seventy years he awoke and left the cave, he found out that the world had completely changed.

26 27

See Denis, Introduction, 690. See the impressive survey in M. Huber, Die Wanderlegende von den Siebenschläfern: Eine literarische Untersuchung (Leipzig: Harassowitz, 1910). Many references to the motif in other cultures are also noted in S. Thompson, Motif-Index of Folk-Literature (rev. and enl. ed.; 6 vols.: Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Press, 1955–1958), motif D1960 (vol. 2). 28 See J.L. Rubenstein, Stories of the Babylonian Talmud (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010), 62–76 (in n. 1 he mentions older secondary literature). On pp. 74–76, Rubenstein discusses some important textual variants to the talmudic stories, but these do not affect my argument. 29 I will not discuss the question of whether the stories concern Honi or his grandfather, for it is apparent that the transfer to the grandfather is only a later development intended to solve chronological problems in the story, to no avail.

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What had been vineyards now were olive groves, and where there had been olive groves there now grew other plants. He asked the people, “What is going on in the world?” And they said, “You don’t know what is going on in the world?” He said, “No.” They asked him, “Who are you?” And he said, “Honi, the Circle-Drawer.” Thereupon they said, “We have heard that whenever you entered the Temple court, it would be illuminated.” Then he entered (the Temple court), and it was illuminated. Thereupon he applied to himself the following verse, “When the Lord brought back those who returned to Zion, we were like those who dream.” (Ps 126:1) [paraphrase]. Whatever the exact reading and translation of the original words of Ps 126:1,30 the point of the quote is clear: Honi interprets the Psalm as referring to the returnees from the Babylonian exile and applies the words “those who dream” to himself; if he has been dreaming, he must have slept long enough to see that “the Lord brought back those who returned to Zion”; i.e., for seventy years (see Jer 25:11; 29:10). That Honi did not live during the Babylonian exile but five centuries later apparently did not matter.31 The other story about Honi as a long-sleeper is told in b. Taʿanit 23a, and may be paraphrased as follows: R. Yohanan said: “The righteous Honi was troubled all of his life about the meaning of Ps 126:1. He said, ‘Is it possible for a man to lie dreaming for seventy years?’ One day, when he was walking on the road, he saw a man planting a carob tree and asked him, ‘How long does it take for this tree to bear fruit?’ The man answered, “Seventy years.’ Honi then asked, ‘Are you sure that you will live for seventy years more?’ The man replied, ‘I found [full-grown] carob trees already planted in the earth, and so, like my forefathers planted these for me, I, too, plant these for my children.’ Then he sat down to eat and sleep overcame him. As he slept, a rocky hedge enclosed him and hid him from sight. He continued to sleep for seventy years. When he awoke, he saw a man gathering fruit from the carob tree and he asked him, ‘Are you the man who planted this tree?’

30 31

See the discussion in H.-J. Kraus, Psalmen (BKAT 15.2; Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1972), 853–855. See Huber, Die Wanderlegende, 418: “Vor dem Anachronismus schreckte die Sage eben nicht zurück.”

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The man replied, ‘I am his grandson.’ Thereupon Honi said, ‘Now it is certain that I slept for seventy years!’” The story then continues by relating how Honi went to his home, but nobody recognized him or believed that he was Honi Ha-Meʿaggel; and the same happened again when he went to the Beit Ha-Midrash: he was not recognized and consequently not given the honour due to him. This hurt him so deeply that he asked God to let him die, and he died: “Thus people say, ‘Either fellowship or death.’ ” It is clear that here the motif of a sleep of seventy years is pinned to a specific exegesis of Ps 126:1: The Lord has caused his people to return from exile to Zion, and we know from Jeremiah that the exile lasted seventy years. Those who see the returnees feel like they must have been dreaming; thus it follows – according to this exegesis – that they must have been dreaming, i.e., sleeping, for seventy years. So the motif of a miraculously long sleep here receives a biblical basis. That Honi is here the one who receives this divine gift is not remarkable in view of the fact that in the traditions about him, Honi is always regarded as someone who was God’s favorite (theophilês). As is well-known, his prayers were famous for being extremely powerful and effective.32 Now one might argue, of course, that the text of Psalm 126 does not necessarily imply that it is possible to sleep for seventy years, and that is correct. So it might be the case that the exegetical quandary (what does “those who dream” refer to?) was thought by the rabbis to be solvable by recourse to a motif from Greek legends about divinely favored long-sleepers. But that is hard to prove. It is not certain in what period this legend about Honi arose. The historical figure of Honi most probably lived in the first half of the first century BCE, and it is not improbable that legends about him began to flourish soon after his death. But the legend of his long sleep probably does not predate the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, and it is apparently not known to Josephus, who wrote in the quarter of a century thereafter.33 We can only guess that the Abimelech legend and the Honi legends developed at more or less the same time, around the turn of the first to the second century CE. Whether or not they developed independently of one another is hard to say. Maybe the story began with Honi as the protagonist and was later corrected by making the more probable figure of Abimelech the prime actor, in order to avoid blatant anachronism. 32

33

For references see A. Büchler, Types of Palestinian Jewish Piety from 70 BCE to 70 CE: The Ancient Pious Men (London: Oxford University Press, 1922: repr.: New York: Ktav, 1968), 196–264; G. Vermes, Jesus the Jew (London: Collins, 1973), 69–72. Josephus writes about Honi (in his version called Onias) in Ant. 14.22–24.

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Or maybe originally Abimelech was the protagonist and Honi attracted the story as a magnet because of his reputation for miracles. We do not know. There are both major differences and major agreements between the talmudic stories and that of 4 Baruch 5. Let us briefly compare the three accounts.34 In both the Yerushalmi and 4 Baruch the setting is the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, while in the Bavli it is not. All three stories, however, feature prominently the motif that the world has completely changed, albeit more so the Yerushalmi than the Bavli. Both the Yerushalmi and 4 Baruch stress that the sleeper was convinced that he had slept only briefly. While in the Yerushalmi there is a mountain with a cave, there is no cave in 4 Baruch (although a mountain is mentioned in 3:10 and 5:9); neither is present in the Bavli version. In the rabbinic stories, Psalm 126 plays an important role – in the Yerushalmi it is featured only at the end, while in the Bavli it is the point of departure; but in 4 Baruch it is lacking (at least explicitly; the combined motifs of exile, return, sleeping/dreaming, 66/70 years might suggest, however, that some form of exegesis of this Psalm lurks in the background). Only in the Bavli story does Honi die of grief.35 On the whole, the Yerushalmi narrative is much closer to 4 Baruch than the Bavli, but the agreements do not warrant a judgment of literary dependence. That there certainly is a common dependence on a tradition of Jewish stories that were created after the fall of the Temple in 70 CE is, however, obvious, and that a miraculously long sleep during and after the Destruction was part of that tradition is beyond doubt. Pierre Bogaert sees it as follows: L’auteur des Par. Jer. avait besoign de souligner le long intervalle de temps qui sépare la prise de Jérusalem de sa reconstruction. Ne pouvant introduire Honi dans son recit sous peine de commettre un anachronisme grossier, il a remplacé ce personage par un contemporain de Jérémie et de Baruch, Abimélech.”36 That sounds plausible. An ancient story about Honi the miracle worker is taken into service for the explanation of Ps 126:1, which is interpreted as referring to the return of the exiles after seventy years, but that makes Honi end up in the sixth century BCE. In the Paralipomena Ieremiou the more plausible figure of 34

See also the remarks by G.B. Sarfatti, “Pious Men, Men of Deeds and the Early Prophets,” Tarbiz 26 (1956/57): 126–153 (149–153) (in Hebrew). 35 For a more detailed comparison of the three stories see J. Herzer, 4 Baruch, 86–87; also Huber, Wanderlegende 418–426; and Sarfatti, “Pious Men.” 36 Bogaert, L’Apocalypse syriaque, 197–198.

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Abimelech, who did live in that century, replaces Honi in order to solve this problem. But admittedly, there is no way to reach any certainty in this matter. In any case, it is clear that the Yerushalmi story of Honi’s long sleep has a much closer relationship to the Abimelech narrative than does the Epimenides story. Jens Herzer sees the Yerushalmi story as “an intermediary step linking the two [i.e., Greek and Jewish] traditions.”37 He states, “By comparing the three versions of the motif, it is possible to identify the process by which the narrative was revised to conform to the individual interests of the authors of y. Taʿan. 3:9 and 4 Baruch. In the Yerushalmi version of the tradition, for example, Epimenides’ fifty-seven years is lengthened to the seventy years of the exile, a length again changed by the writer of 4 Baruch to sixty-six years. . . . Thus one can follow an interesting process of reworking a tradition that also provides evidence for knowledge of Greek classical traditions and their reuse in Jewish circles.”38 This is probably a bit too speculative, but an attractive speculation it is. IV

Christian Sources

We now turn to the Christian material.39 I will deal only with the two earliest witnesses to the story of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, from the early and late sixth century, respectively.40 The first author to tell us the story of the 37 Herzer, 4 Baruch, 88. 38 Herzer, 4 Baruch, 88. In n. 34 Herzer draws attention to the fascinating fact that interest in Epimenides among Christian circles of the late first century CE is evident from the famous quotations in Acts 17:28 and Titus 1:12. 39 By far the most extensive survey (though somewhat outdated) is still Huber, Wanderlegende (1910). 40 I mention only briefly in passing the travelogue De situ terrae sanctae of Theodosius (about 525 CE), which mentions that in Ephesus there are septem fratres dormientes (the text is found in Itineraria et alia geographica [ed. P. Geyer and O. Cuntz; CCSL 175; Turnhout: Brepols, 1965], 123). See the comments by H. Donner, Pilgerfahrt ins Heilige Land: Die ältesten Berichte christlicher Palästinapilger (1.–7. Jahrhundert) (Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1980), 220 n. 96. On the reason why the seven sleepers are called “brothers” here see Koch, Siebenschläferlegende 85. On the possibility that this passage in Theodosius is a later interpolation see E. Honigmann, “Stephen of Ephesus (April 15, 448–Oct. 29, 451) and the Legend of the Seven Sleepers,” in his Patristic Studies (Studi e Testi 173; Vatican City: Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, 1953), 125–168 (135). According to some scholars, the earliest witness to the story of the Seven Sleepers is the source used by Pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor in his Chronicle (ca. 570); see G. Greatrex et al., eds.,

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Seven Sleepers is the Syrian bishop Jacob of Sarug (ca. 450–521),41 although he bases himself upon an older source. The other early witness, Gregory of Tours (ca. 538–594),42 states that his own knowledge of the story comes from a written source, perhaps in Syriac.43 Whether the story originated in Syriac- or Greek-speaking circles is not easy to decide, but it is more than reasonable to assume that both Jacob’s story and that of Gregory’s source are based upon a Greek original from the latter half of the fifth century which, unfortunately, is now lost.44 Be that as it may, in one of his poetic homilies (or homiletic poems), Jacob of Sarug tells the story of the Seven Sleepers in what is already basically the form in which we learned about it at the beginning of this paper, from the much later Legenda aurea.45 For that reason it is not necessary to quote his and other late antique versions of the story in extenso. In these versions one finds an enormous variety in regard to the names (and even the number) of the long-sleepers, the name of the mountain where they hid in the cave, the name of the city, the number of years that their sleep lasted etc.; but the basic storyline remains the same.46 Much abbreviated, Jacob’s version may be summarized as follows: The Emperor Decius comes to Ephesus and orders everyone to sacrifice to the pagan gods. Some boys of the leading families refuse and go into hiding, but they are denounced. Decius orders that they be flogged and

41 42 43

44 45

46

The Chronicle of Pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor (Translated Texts for Historians 55; Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2011), 49 and 83–84. See F. Rilliet, “Jakob von Sarug,” RAC 16 (1994) 1217–1227. See B.K. Vollmann, “Gregor IV (Gregor von Tours),” RAC 12 (1983) 895–930. Actually, Gregory says (in the final line of his De gloria martyrum 95) that this is a story quam Syro quodam interpretante in Latinum transtulimus. This does not necessarily imply that the story itself was in Syriac. The Syrian might have translated it for Gregory from Greek. A strong case for a Greek original was made by P. Peeters, “Le texte original de la Passion des Septs Dormants,” AnBoll 41 (1923): 369–385. That Gregory would have known a Syrian interpreter is not strange – there were many contacts between Syria and Western Europe in his time; see Huber, Wanderlegende, 371–376. Thus also Koch, Siebenschläferlegende 2–3, 84–87; and Honigmann, “Stephen of Ephesus,” 131. See the edition of the Syriac text in Homiliae selectae Mar-Jacobi Sarugensis (ed. P. Bedjan, with additional material by S.P. Brock; Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2006), 6:324–330. Brock’s English translation can be found in his article, “Jacob of Serugh’s Poem on the Sleepers of Ephesus,” in “I Sowed Fruits into Hearts” (Odes Sol. 17:13): Festschrift for Professor Michael Lattke (ed. P. Allen, M. Franzmann, R. Strelan; Early Christian Studies 12; Strathfield, NSW: St. Paul’s Publications, 2007), 13–30. I owe many thanks to Prof. Sebastian Brock for sending me a copy of this article. All major and minor variants are discussed in detail in Koch, Siebenschläferlegende.

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kept until he returns. The boys escape and hide in a cave near Ephesus. They take some of their parents’ money with them. In the cave they pray to God; God raises their spirits into heaven and sends a watcher to guard their bodies.47 On his return, Decius orders the cave’s entrance to be blocked. When, after the pagan era, God wants to awaken them, a man in need of building materials reuses the stones at the cave’s entrance, and the boys are awakened by the daylight. Then they decide to send one of their number, Iamlikha (= Iamblichus), to the city, in order to see if Decius has already returned; they give him some small change to buy bread. Iamlikha is utterly surprised to see crosses above the city gates and wonders whether this is really Ephesus. He tries to buy bread but among the bread-sellers his archaic coins raise the suspicion that he has found a treasure. He denies it but is taken to the bishop, who questions him. He says that he is the son of one of the leading citizens, but he fails to recognize anyone in the crowd who might rescue him. When he asks where Decius is, people think he has gone mad since that would make Decius 372 years old. Then the boy tells the bishop how he and his companions escaped to the mountain to hide in a cave. The people go up to the mountain, and the bishop enters the cave, where he greets the boys. He sends a message to the Emperor Theodosius, who immediately comes to Ephesus. Theodosius offers to build a shrine on the spot, but the boys decline and say all this has happened to prove the truth of the resurrection. They lie down, the Emperor covers them with his mantle, and again they sleep peacefully; i.e., they die. The version of Gregory of Tours, written about 590 CE, is much shorter (De gloria martyrum 94[95]).48 The story is the basically same as that told by Jacob of Sarug, but there are some differences: the number of years the young men sleep is given as “many” (not 372); it is explicitly said that, just before the men wake up again, “the impure heresy of the Sadducees, who denied that

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The notion that the bodies are kept intact is strongly reminiscent of a remark of Alexander of Aphrodisias (as reported by Simplicius) on Aristotle’s story of the Sardinian longsleepers: holoklêra diamenein ta sômata; see Rohde, “Sardinische Sage,” 198, for references. Text in PL 71:787–789; a better text in B. Krusch, ed., Gregorii episcopi Turonensis liber in Gloria martyrum (Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scriptorum Rerum Merovingicarum 1: Gregorri episcopi Turonensis Miracula et opera minora, Hannover: Hahn, 1885), 550–552. Translation in Gregory of Tours: Glory of the Martyrs (trans. R. van Dam; Translated Texts for Historians; Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1988), 147–149.

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there was a resurrection, was spreading”; and after the Emperor enters the cave, the men speak at length with him about the resurrection. We will now first look briefly at the circumstances which gave rise to this legend, at least according to a probable historical reconstruction (partly based upon sources later than Jacob and Gregory).49 The forties of the fifth century witnessed a revival of the Origenist controversy, which had been more or less at rest since the beginning of that century.50 There was a new agitation in favor of the “heretical” ideas of Origen concerning the bodily resurrection, much to the sorrow of the Emperor Theodosius II. In the year 448 CE, Stephen, a priest in Ephesus, usurped the episcopal see of the city after having thrown the previous bishop into prison. The legitimacy of Stephen’s episcopate was very doubtful; at the council of Chalcedon in 451, Stephen was once again rebuked and finally deposed for this unlawful action. Shortly after his usurpation, he seems to have attempted a stratagem in order to strengthen and consolidate his position: He invented and spread an impressive tale about seven pious sleepers and interpreted the whole “event” as a corroboration on God’s part of the orthodox doctrine of the bodily resurrection. In this way, he sought to make his bishopric the scene of a spectacular discovery, of a miracle which would be unparalleled in history, casting himself as the bishop who thus refuted the new Origenists and put an end to doctrinal incertitude. It is hard to see how he could have convinced his own people of the reliability of the story, as an account of contemporary events; but something “miraculous” must have happened because archaeologists have proved that the building of the great church on the spot of the cave had begun by the middle of the fifth century, i.e., immediately after the “event,” whatever that may have been.51 Was it a chance find of some well-preserved bodies in a cave, following which Stephen exploited this “miracle”? Or should we follow Ernest Honigmann, who argues: “It seems incontestable that about the middle of the fifth century seven young 49

50 51

In the following I rely partly on the study of Honigmann, “Stephen of Ephesus,” 142–168. Honigmann’s historical reconstruction is mainly based upon the form of the legend found in Zacharias Rhetor, Photius, and the medieval Greek version of Symeon Metaphrastes. This last text is printed as Hypomnemata in PG 115: 437–445; Honigmann conjectures that it may go back to Stephen himself because of the (self?–)glorification of “the most holy bishop Stephanus” (see cols. 444–445). See also A. Samellas, Death in the Eastern Mediterranean (50–600 AD: The Christianization of the East, an Interpretation (STAC 12; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 63–67. See E.A. Clark, The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992). Moreover, the earliest surviving Syriac manuscript containing the story dates to a period no later than around 500 CE; see Brock, “Jacob of Serugh’s Poem,” 14.

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Ephesians really believed or tried to make others believe that they had been persecuted at the time of Decius.”52 If so, it is impossible to say whether they had been instructed to do so by Bishop Stephen, but that he used the story to secure his own position seems certain. Much else, however, remains uncertain here.53 V Conclusions If we assume that the Abimelech story, with its setting in the First Temple period, is of Jewish origin, which seems certain, we cannot but conclude that the Christian originator(s) of the legend of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus knew this story and borrowed heavily from it.54 What both stories have in common is, first, the setting in a period of great upheaval: the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple and the deportation of the Jews to Babylon, on the one hand; and the persecution of the Christians by Decius, on the other. Second, there is the central motif of falling asleep, in or near a mountain. Third, there is the element of the return to the city after the long sleep; followed – fourth – by utter amazement in confronting the total change of the world, which has become well-nigh unrecognizable. Fifth, there is a dialogue between the sleeper and the inhabitants of the city. Sixth, both Abimelech and Iamblichus begin to wonder whether they have lost their wits. Finally, it seems that even the names of the protagonists are related: Abimelech and Iamblichus (or Malchus) have names (m-l-kh) that are too similar to go unnoticed. These agreements are too many and too striking to be coincidental! They cannot be explained as deriving from general folklore. We must assume that the creator of the Christian legend knew the Jewish story of the pious long-sleepers. That Christians did know this Jewish story is certain. The proof is that the Abimelech story has been handed down to us only in the christianized form of the Paralipomena Jeremiae, and that the same story is also found in the Christian Coptic translation of the originally Jewish Jeremiah Apocryphon.55 Both writings certainly predate, in their christianized form, the origin of the story of the Seven Sleepers, which is to be dated to about 450 CE. Thus, knowledge of this Jewish story in Christian circles 52 53 54 55

Honigmann, “Stephen of Ephesus,” 142. That Stephen’s name does not occur in most preserved versions of the story is because it was edited out after his condemnation at the council of Chalcedon of 451. Thus also B. Heller, “Éléments, parallèles et origine de la légende des Sept Dormants,” REJ 49 (1904): 190–218 (214). See Kuhn, “A Coptic Jeremiah Apocryphon,” chs. 12, 22, 38–39.

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before the middle of the fifth century is demonstrable.56 That its adoption and adaptation in a Christian setting was possibly facilitated by the fact that these Greek Christians perhaps also already knew the story about the miraculously long sleep of Epimenides cannot be proven but cannot be excluded either. After all, the Seven Sleepers were, like Epimenides (and, of course, Honi and Abimelech), theophilestatoi, especially loved by God.57 But that matter must remain uncertain. It is certain only that in the middle of the fifth century CE, Christians in Ephesus saw fit to use a motif they knew from Jewish sources which had been preserved among Christians, and to put it into new service for their own purposes. The legend of the Seven Sleepers is nothing but the Jewish Honi/Abimelech story in Christian dress.58

56

Moreover, there was also a Jewish community in Ephesus in late antiquity; see W. Ameling, Inscriptiones Judaicae Orientis II: Kleinasien (TSAJ 99; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004), 147–162. 57 Koch, Siebenschläferlegende 51, calls the pious long-sleepers “gottbegnadete Wesen.” 58 This is also the conclusion of Heller, “Éléments” 217: “Nous signalons derrière le décor chrétien le fond juif.” Cf. also Huber, Wanderlegende 422.  There is also a long and complicated reception history of the legend of the Seven Sleepers in the Islamic world, beginning as early as the Qurʾan (Sura 18.8–25), but that falls outside the scope of this paper. Most of the Islamic material is dealt with extensively in the monographs by Koch and Huber. Typical for Islam, the Qurʾan makes the boys Muslims, not Christians. M. Vogt, “Die Siebenschläfer – Funktion einer Legende,” Hallesche Beiträge zur Orientwissenschaft 38 (2004): 223–247, discusses, inter alia, the Qurʾanic material.

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst 2006–2013 At pp. 285–320 of my Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context (2006), the reader finds a list of my publications from 1970–2005. Here this list is updated till 2013. My bibliography can also be found at my website, www.pietervanderhorst.com, where it is regularly updated.

A

Articles and Books

2006

310. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (14): Simon van Skythopolis,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 1 (jan. 2006) 7–9 311. ‘Phrygische Joden,’ in B. Becking, J.A. Wagenaar & M.C.A. Korpel (eds.), Tussen Caïro en Jeruzalem. Studies over de Bijbel en haar context aangeboden aan Meindert Dijkstra en Karel Vriezen bij hun afscheid van de Universiteit Utrecht (Utrechtse Theologische Reeks 53), Utrecht: Faculteit der Godgeleerdheid, 2006, 39–46 312. ‘Abraham’s Bosom, the Place Where he Belonged: A Short Note on ἀπενεχθῆναι in Luke 16.22,’ New Testament Studies 52 (2006) 142–144 313. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (15): Gods vrouw,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 2 (febr. 2006) 7–9 314. ‘De reli-markt van het antieke Alexandrië,’ Schrift 223 (2006) 12–16 315. Het vroege jodendom van A tot Z. Een kleine encyclopedie over de eerste duizend jaar (ca. 350 v.C.–650 n.C.), Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2006; 182 pp. 316. ‘ “The Most Superstitious and Disgusting of All Nations.” Diogenes of Oenoanda on the Jews,’ in A.P.M.H. Lardinois, M.G.M. van der Poel & V.J.C. Hunink (eds.), Land of Dreams. Greek and Latin Studies in Honour of A.H.M. Kessels, Leiden: Brill, 2006, 291–298 317. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (16): Henoch als tweede god,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 3 (mrt. 2006) 5–9 318. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (17): Problemen met Esther,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 4 (april 2006) 7–9 319. ‘Egyptische woestijnvaders in de late oudheid,’ Hermeneus 78 (2006) 159–166 320. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (18): Het ontstaan van het matrilineaire principe,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 5 (mei 2006) 7–10 321. ‘Het matrilineaire principe,’ online op internet: http://www.levisson.nl/index .php?option=com_content&task=view&id=165&Itemid=290

268

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

322. Jews and Christians in Their Graeco-Roman Context. Selected Essays on Early Judaism, Samaritanism, Hellenism, and Christianity (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 196), Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006; X + 362 pp. 323. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (19): De Geniza van Cairo,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 6 (juni 2006) 7–9 324. De mythe van het joodse kannibalisme (Utrechtse Theologische Reeks 55), Utrecht: Universiteit, 2006; 30 pp. (censored version) 325. De mythe van het joodse kannibalisme. Rede uitgesproken ter gelegenheid van zijn afscheid van de Universiteit Utrecht op 16 juni 2006, plus de op last van de Universiteit Utrecht uit de rede verwijderde passages (CIDI-informatiereeks), Soesterberg: Uitgeverij Aspekt, 2006; 58 pp. (uncensored version) 326. ‘De verboden tekst,’ Trouw 24 juni 2006, Letter en Geest 1–3 327. ‘Tying Down Academic Freedom,’ Wall Street Journal June 30, 2006 328. Paula in Palestina. Hieronymus’ biografie van een rijke Romeinse christin (Ad Fontes 3), Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2006; 148 pp. 329. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (20): Kitsoer Sjoelchan Aroech,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 7 (sept. 2006) 7–9 330. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (21): Chiwi al-Balkhi: een opmerkelijke joodse vrijdenker,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 8 (okt. 2006) 7–9 331. ‘Eusebius’ Onomastikon in het recente onderzoek,’ Nederlands Theologisch ­Tijdschrift 60 (2006) 299–309 332. ‘The Jews of Ancient Sicily,’ Zutot 2004 [publ. in 2006] 50–56 333. ‘Het bestbewaarde geheim,’ Trouw 9 december 2006, Letter en Geest 6–7 334. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (22): Demonen,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 8, nr. 10 (dec. 2006) 5–7 335. ‘Two Short Notes on Philo,’ Studia Philonica Annual 18 (2006) 49–55

2007

336. ‘De grote magische papyrus van Parijs en de Bijbel,’ in B.J. Lietaert Peerbolte (ed.), De magische wereld van de Bijbel, Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2007, 59–73 337. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (23): Tot 120 jaren!,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 1 (jan. 2007) 7–9 338. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (24): Moses Montefiore,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 2 (febr. 2007) 7–9 339. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (25): Joodse moslims,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de L­ iberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 3 (mrt. 2007) 7–9 340. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (26): Joodse toverschalen,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 4 (apr. 2007) 7–9

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

269

341. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (27): Deborah,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 5 (mei 2007) 7–8 342. ‘Antieke jodenhaat,’ Confessioneel 119/9 (mei 2007) 5 343. ‘From the Beginnings of Anti-Semitism: The First Pogrom in Alexandria,’ Berman Lecture Series Season 6, Lecture 9: a DVD of the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs released on April 28, 2007 344. ‘Jezus in de Talmoed: een leesverslag,’ Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 148–156 345. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (28): De tekst van de Hebreeuwse Bijbel,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 6 (juni 2007) 6–7 346. ‘De weergave van taal- en stijlregisters in het Nieuwe Testament,’ in K. Spronk, C. Verheul, L. de Vries & W. Weren (eds.), De Bijbel vertaald. De kunst van het kiezen bij het vertalen van bijbelse geschriften, Zoetermeer: Meinema – Kapellen: Pelckmans, 2007, 349–356 347. (with Max Pam) ‘De waardering voor de Radicale Verlichting is weg, dat is gevaarlijk’ (interview with Jonathan Israel), De Volkskrant of June 10, 2007 348. ‘The Site of Adam’s Tomb,’ in M.F.J. Baasten & R. Munk (eds.), Studies in Hebrew Literature and Jewish Culture Presented to Albert van der Heide on the Occasion of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (Amsterdam Studies in Jewish Thought 12), Dordrecht: Springer, 2007, 251–255 349. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (29): Twee diaspora’s,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 7 (sept. 2007) 6–7 350. ‘Antisemitisme, deel 1: De vóór-christelijke oorsprong,’ Kerk en Israël onderweg 9, 1 (2007) 8 351. ‘Paulus, dat had je niet moeten schrijven,’ Trouw (Letter & Geest) Sept. 29 (2007) 2–3 352. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (30): Vóórchristelijk antisemitisme,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 8 (oct. 2007) 7–8 353. ‘Gispen verzwijgt inbreuk op academische vrijheid,’ De Volkskrant 11 October 2007, 12 354. ‘The Egyptian Beginning of Anti-Semitism’s Long History,’ Post-Holocaust and Anti-Semitism 62 (Nov. 2007), Jerusalem: Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, 2007 (brochure of 6 pages) 355. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (31): Was Mozes schoon van uiterlijk?,’ Chadashot. Maand­ blad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 9 (nov. 2007) 6–7 356. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (32): De synagoge van Dura,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 9, nr. 10 (dec. 2007) 6–7 357. ‘The Great Magical Papyrus of Paris (PGM IV) and the Bible,’ in M. Labahn & B.J. Lietaert Peerbolte (eds.), A Kind of Magic: Understanding Magic in the New

270

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

Testament and Its Religiouys Environment (Library of New Testament Studies 306), London – New York: T. and T. Clark, 2007, 173–183 358. ‘Heeft Jezus dit echt gezegd?,’ Kerk en Israël onderweg 9, 2 (2007) 8 359. ‘Moses’ Father Speaks Out,’ in A. Hilhorst, É. Puech & E. Tigchelaar (eds.), Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 122), Leiden: Brill, 2007, 491–498 360. ‘Unnik, Willem Cornelis van (1910–1978),’ in D.K. McKim (ed.), Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters, Downers Grove – Nottingham: Inter-Varsity Press, 2007, 1001–1005

2008

361. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (33): Een verdwaalde rozet uit de Tweede Tempel?,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 1 (jan. 2008) 4–5 362. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (34): Theokratie,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 2 (febr. 2008) 4–5 363. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (35): De koperen rol,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 3 (maart 2008) 4–6 364. ‘Kritisch over Mohammed: Een christelijk document uit 740,’ Trouw (Letter & Geest) 29 maart 2008, 1–3 365. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (36): Mosollamos de Jood,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 4 (april 2008) 4–5 366. ‘De eerste christelijke confrontatie met de islam,’ Kerk en Theologie 59 (2008) 148–157 367. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (37): Hoe het kwaad in de wereld kwam,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 5 (mei 2008) 4–5 368. The Myth of Jewish Cannibalism: A Chapter in the History of Antisemitism (Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, vol. VIII no. 3), Jerusalem: The Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 2008 (14 pp.) 369. ‘Lives of the Prophets,’ The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, vol. 3 (2008) 682 370. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (38): Bibliomantiek,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 6 (juni 2008) 4–5 371. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (39): Uriël da Costa, of: het tragische leven van een groot geleerde,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 7 (september 2008) 5–6 372. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (40): Wie was de vader van Izaäk?,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 8 (oktober 2008) 6–7

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

271

373. ‘Jewish Cannibalism: The History of an Antisemitic Myth,’ Telos 144 (2008) 106–128 374. (with Judith H. Newman) Early Jewish Prayers in Greek (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature), Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008; XVI + 298 pp. 375. ‘Het gebed van Manasse,’ AdRem (Remonstrants Maandblad) 19, nr. 10 (oktober 2008), 14 376. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (41): Sukkot en het onverdiende lijden’ Chadashot. ­Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 9 (november 2008) 8–9 377. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (42): Atbasj,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 10, nr. 10 (december 2008) 5–7

2009

378. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (43): Waar ligt Adam begraven?,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 11, nr. 1 (januari 2009) 5–7 379. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (44): De Talmoed over Jezus’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 11, nr. 2 (februari 2009) 7–9 380. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (45): Choni de cirkeltrekker,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 11, nr. 3 (maart 2009) 5–7 381. Tussen haat en bewondering: Grieken en Romeinen over het jodendom. Een selectie van teksten vertaald en toegelicht, Soesterberg: Uitgeverij Aspekt, 2009; 130 pp. 382. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (46): Joden in Pompeii?,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 11, nr. 4 (april 2009) 7–9 383. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (47): Het berouwvolle gebed van een slechte koning,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 11, nr. 5 (mei 2009) 5–7 384. ‘Koning Jozef van Himyar,’ Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad 144, nr. 28 (1 mei 2009) 28–29 385. ‘The Origins of Christian Anti-Semitism,’ Post-Holocaust and Anti-Semitism 81 (May 2009), Jerusalem: Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, 2009; on internet: http://www.jcpa.org/JCPA/Templates/ShowPage.asp?DRIT=3&DBID=1&LNGID= 1&TMID=111&FID=624&PID=0&IID=2951&TTL=The_Origins_of_Christian_AntiSemitism (also published at: http://writingtw.blogspot.com/2009/05/origins-ofchristian-anti-semitism.html) 386. ‘Joodse miniatuurtjes (48): De Fiscus Judaicus,’ Chadashot. Maandblad van de Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Utrecht 11, nr. 6 (juni 2009) 7–9 387. Daniël de pilaarheilige (409–493). Zijn levensbeschrijving uit het Grieks vertaald en toegelicht (Bronnen van spiritualiteit), Averbode: Altiora – Zoetermeer: Meinema, 2009; 112 pp.

272

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

388. ‘Op eenzame hoogte. Over pilaarheiligen,’ Trouw 13 juni 2008, 74–75 389. ‘Antieke filosofie in een joods-christelijk gebed,’ Kerk en Theologie 60 (2009) 225–233. 390. ‘The Jews of Ancient Phrygia,’ European Journal of Jewish Studies 2 (2008 [2009]) 283–292 391. ‘Greek Philosophical Elements in Some Judaeo-Christian Prayers,’ Sacra Scripta 7 (2009) 55–64 392. Joodse miniatuurtjes: Vijftig korte schetsen van joods leven en denken, Amsterdam: Amphora Books, 2009; 178 pp. 393. ‘Cyrus de dichter,’ Lampas 42 (2009) 323–331 394. ‘A Short Note on the Doctrina Jacobi Nuper Baptizati,’ Zutot: Perspectives on Jewish Culture 6 (2009) 1–6 395. ‘Twelfth Benediction,’ The New Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible 5 (2009) 688–689

2010

396. ‘Without God: Some Notes on a Greek Expression,’ in J. Dijkstra, J. Kroesen & Y. Kuiper (eds.), Myths, Martyrs, and Modernity: Studies in the History of Religions in Honour of Jan N. Bremmer (Numen Book Series 127), Leiden: Brill, 2010, 379–391 397. ‘Martin Hengel (14 december 1926–2 juli 2009): Een levensbericht,’ Levensberichten en herdenkingen 2010, Amsterdam: Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen, 2010, 64–68 398. ‘Philo and the Problem of God’s Emotions,’ Études platoniciennes 7 (2010) 171–178 399. ‘Joodse stenen spreken,’ Nieuw Israelitisch Weekblad 146, no. 9 (12 Nov. 2010), 20–22 400. ‘Porphyry on Judaism: Some Observations,’ in Z. Weiss, O. Irshai, J. Magness, and S. Schwartz (edd.), “Follow the Wise.” Studies in Jewish History and Culture in Honor of Lee I. Levine, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2010, 71–83 401. ‘Jammer voor Arie Kuiper, maar het staat er echt. Onderzoek toont aan: er staat letterlijk in de Bijbel dat niets gebeurt zonder dat God het wil, ook het kwaad niet,’ Trouw 2 December 2010, 23 402. ‘Did the Gentiles Know Who Abraham Was?,’ in M. Goodman, G.H. van Kooten, and J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten (eds.), Abraham, the Nations, and the Hagarites: Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Perspectives on Kinship with Abraham (Themes in Biblical Narrative 13), Leiden: Brill, 2010, 61–75 403. ‘Ezekiel the Tragedian,’ in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism (eds. J.J. ­Collins & D.C. Harlow), Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010, 620–621 404. ‘Greek,’ ‘in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism (eds. J.J. Collins & D.C. ­Harlow), Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010, 690–692 405. ‘Inscriptions,’ in The Eerdmans Dictionary of Early Judaism (eds. J.J. Collins & D.C. Harlow), Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2010, 763–766

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

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406. ‘At Abraham’s Table: Early Jewish Interpretations of Genesis 18:8,’ Henoch 32 (2010) 420–427

2011

407. ‘Mystical Motifs in a Greek Synagogal Prayer?,’ in D.A. Arbel & A.A., Orlov (eds.), With Letters of Light. Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls, Early Jewish Apocalypticism, Magic, and Mysticism in Honor of Rachel Elior (Ekstasis 2), Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2011, 254–264. 408. ‘Hermias (ca. 200),’ in Patropedia, Jan. 2011, internet: http://www.lucepedia.nl/asp/ invado.asp?t=media_detail&id=19833&d_id=124 409. ‘Kannibalen of filosofen? Griekse visies op Joden,’ Hermeneus 83 (2011) 104–109 410. ‘Jodenhaat is ouder dan de weg naar Rome,’ Nieuw Israelitisch Weekblad 146, no. 36 (3 June 2011), 20–22 411. ‘The Provenance of 2 Enoch 69–73: Jewish or Christian?,’ Henoch 33 (2011) 97–101 412. ‘Joodse magie,’ Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad 147 no. 10 (9 Dec. 2011) 31–33 413. ‘Philosophia epeisaktos: Some Notes on Josephus, A.J. 18.9,’ in M. Popovíc (ed.), The Jewish Revolt against Rome: Interdisciplinary Perspectives (Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism 154), Leiden: Brill, 2011, 311–322.

2012

414. ‘Isidorus van Sevilla over God: Etymologiae 7.1 vertaald en toegelicht,’ Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 66 (2012) 61–70 415. ‘Voor de laatste maal: Het ossuarium van Jakobus,’ Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 66 (2012) 150–152 416. ‘Consolation from Prison: Mara bar Sarapion and Boethius,’ in A. Merz & T. Tieleman (eds.), The Letter of Mara bar Sarapion in Context, Leiden: Brill, 2012, 193–204 417. ‘Cyrus: A Forgotten Poet,’ Greece & Rome 59 (2012) 193–201 418. ‘Bitenosh’s Orgasm (1QapGen 2:9–15),’ Journal for the Study of Judaism 43 (2012) 613–628 419. ‘Eén god, één keizer, één rijk: waarom keizer Constantijn christelijk werd,’ Trouw weekendbijlage Letter & Geest 20 oktober 2012, 16–20 420. (met Jan Willem Drijvers) Keizer Constantijn. Zijn levensbeschrijving door Eusebius vertaald, ingeleid en toegelicht, Hilversum: Verloren, 2012; 180 pp. 421. ‘De Samaritanen: een historische en godsdiensthistorische beschouwing,’ Phoenix 58 (2012) 65–81

2013

422. ‘De Grieks-Joodse cultuur van het oude Alexandrië,’ Nieuw Israelietisch Weekblad 148, nr. 19 (8 Febr. 2013) 22–25

274

Bibliography of Pieter W. van der Horst

423. ‘Biblical Quotations in Judaeo-Greek Inscriptions,’ in B.J. Koet, S. Moyise & J. ­Verheyden (eds.), The Scriptures of Israel in Jewish and Christian Tradition: Essays in Honour of Maarten J.J. Menken (Supplements to Novum Testamentum 148), Leiden: Brill, 2013, 363–376 424. ‘A Qedushat ha-Yom in Greek,’ in A. Atzmon and Tz. Shafir (eds.), Ke-tavor be-harim: Studies in Rabbinic Literature Presented to Joseph Tabory, Alon Shevut: Tevunot Press, 2013, *41–*53 425. ‘Judaism in Asia Minor,’ in M.R. Salzman & W. Adler (eds.), The Cambridge History of Religions in Antiquity, Volume II: From the Hellenistic Age to Late Antiquity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013, 321–340 426. ‘The Omen of Sneezing,’ Ancient Society 43 (2013) 213–221 427. De Samaritanen. Geschiedenis en godsdienst van een Israëlitische gemeenschap, Amsterdam: Amphora Books, 2013; X + 120 pp.

Forthcoming

‘Organized Charity in the Ancient World: Pagan, Jewish, Christian’ ‘From Liberation to Expulsion: The Exodus in the Earliest Jewish-Pagan Polemics’ ‘Sortes biblicae judaicae’ ‘Apollo on Yahweh’ ‘Die wandernde Geschwulst (Heilung eines Kindes mit Skrofulose: Wunder der heiligen Thekla 11)’ ‘Die kräftig (auf )tretende Märtyrerin (Genesung eines zertrümmerten Beines: Wunder der heiligen Thekla 17)’ Saxa judaica loquuntur (The Prestige Lectures 2014)

B

Book Reviews

408. M.F. Smith, Supplement to Diogenes of Oenoanda, The Epicurean Inscription (2003), Mnemosyne 58 (2005) 603–605 409. J.M.G. Barclay (ed.), Negotiating Diaspora. Jewish Strategies in the Roman Empire (2004), Journal for the Study of Judaism 37 (2006) 91–93 410. A.D. Crown & R. Pummer, A Bibliography of the Samaritans (3rd ed., 2005) and R.T. Anderson & T. Giles, Tradition Kept: The Literature of the Samaritans (2005), Journal for the Study of Judaism 37 (2006), 105–107 411. Yaron Z. Eliav, God’s Mountain. The Temple Mount in Time, Place, and Memory (2005), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 16 febr. 2006 online (see http://ccat.sas.upenn .edu/bmcr/2006/2006-02-32.html)

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275

412. M. Lattke, Oden Salomos: Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar, Teil 3 (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 60 (2006) 78–79 413. B. Bitton-Ashkelony, Encountering the Sacred. The Debate on Christian Pilgrimage in Late Antiquity (2005), Bryn Mawr Classical Review of May 30, 2006 on internet: http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/2006/2006-05-41.html 414. R.M. Berchman, Porphyry Against the Christians (2005), Vigiliae Christianae 60 (2006) 239–241 415. A. Gutsfeld & D.A. Koch (eds.), Vereine, Synagogen und Gemeinden im kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien (2006), Journal for the Study of Judaism 37 (2006) 442–443 416. A. Kovelman, Between Alexandria and Jerusalem. The Dynamic of Jewish and Hellenistic Culture (2005), Journal for the Study of Judaism 37 (2006) 467–468 418. H.H. Schmitt & E. Vogt (eds.), Lexikon des Hellenismus (2005), Journal for the Study of Judaism 37 (2006) 495–497 419. I. Assan-Dhôte & J. Moatti-Fine, Baruch, Lamentations, Lettre de Jérémie (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 60 (2006) 261 420. M. Weinfeld, Normative and Sectarian Judaism in the Second Temple Period (2005), Review of Biblical Literature of Aug. 28, 2006 at http://www.bookreviews.org/Book Detail.asp?TitleId=5174 421. A. Keller, Translationes Patristicae Graecae et Latinae, vol. 2 (2004), Mnemosyne 59 (2006) 454–456 422. R. Elior, The Three Temples: The Emergence of Jewish Mysticism (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 60 (2006) 344–345 423. G. Zuntz, Griechische philosophische Hymnen (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 62–63 424. N. de Lange & M. Freud-Kandel (eds.), Modern Judaism: An Oxford Guide (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 68–69 425. A.A. Orlov, The Enoch-Metatron Tradition (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 69–70 426. J. Tromp, The Life of Adam and Eve in Greek: A Critical Edition (2005) and J. ­Dochhorn, Die Apokalypse des Moses: Text, Übersetzung, Kommentar (2005), Neder­lands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 70–71 427. A.T. Wright, The Origin of Evil Spirits: The Reception of Genesis 6.1–4 in Early Jewish Literature (2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 71–72 428. J. Neusner & A.J. Avery Peck (eds.), Encyclopedia of Midrash (2005) and J. Neusner, A.J. Avery Peck & W.S. Green (eds.), Encyclopedia of Judaism (2nd ed. 2005), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 61 (2007) 167–169 429. D. Brakke, M.L. Satlow & S. Weitzman (eds.), Religion and the Self in Antiquity (2005), Journal for the Study of Judaism 38 (2007) 349–350

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430. M. Küchler & K.M. Schmidt (eds.), Texte – Fakten – Artefakte: Beiträge zur Bedeutung der Archäologie für die neutestamentliche Forschung (2006), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 11-08-2007 (http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/bmcr/) 431. F. Ebeling, The Secret History of Hermes Trismegistus: Hermeticism from Ancient to Modern Times (2007), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 06-11-2007 (http://ccat.sas .upenn.edu/bmcr/) 432. D. Goodblatt, Elements of Ancient Jewish Nationalism (2006), Journal for the Study of Judaism 39 (2008) 102–103 433. J.H. Charlesworth & H.W.M. Rietz (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls. Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek Texts with English Translation, vol. 3: Damascus Document II, Some Works of the Torah, and Related Documents (2006); and Ph. Alexander, The Mystical Texts: Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice and Related Texts (2006), Nederlands Theologisch ­Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 71–72 434. C.D. Elledge, Life After Death in Early Judaism: The Evidence of Josephus (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 73–74 435. R.G. Kratz & H. Spieckermann (eds.), Götterbilder, Gottesbilder, Weltbilder: Griechenland und Rom, Judentum, Christentum, Islam (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 157–158 436. M. Morgenstern, Nidda – Die Menstruierende (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 162–163 437. M. Graves, Jerome’s Hebrew Philology (2007), Journal for the Study of Judaism 39 (2008) 405–406 438. W. Kortenoeven, Hamas: Portret en achtergronden (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 242–243 439. R. Leicht, Astrologumena Judaica (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 248–249 440. H. Shehadeh & H. Tawa (eds.), Proceedings of the Fifth International Congress of the Société d’Études Samaritaines (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 249 441. M. Casewitz, C. Dogniez et M. Harl, La Bible d’Alexandrie 23:10–11: Les douzes Prophètes: Aggée-Zacharie (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 249–250 442. K.W. Whitney, Two Strange Beasts: Leviathan and Behemoth in Second Temple and Early Rabbinic Judaism (2006), Bibliotheca Orientalis 65 (2008) 732–734 443. E. van Diggele, Heilige Ruzies: Christenen in Israël (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 332 444. T. Ilan, Silencing the Queen: The Literary Histories of Shelamzion and Other Jewish Women (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 339–340

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445. F. García Martínez, A.S. van der Woude, M. Popovic, De Rollen van de Dode Zee (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 62 (2008) 340 446. G. Bohak, Ancient Jewish Magic. A History (2008), Journal for the Study of Judaism 40 (2009) 84–85 447. J. Neusner & A.J. Avery-Peck (eds.), Encyclopedia of Religious and Philosophical Writings in Late Antiquity: Pagan, Judaic, Christian (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 67–68 448. M. Brinkschröder, Sodom als Symptom: Gleichgeschlechtliche Sexualität im christlichen Imaginären (2006), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 72–73 449. P. van der Schoof, Zó leefde Hij! De samenleving in de tijd van Jezus (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 73–74 450. H. Sivan, Palestine in Late Antiquity (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 75 451. L. Brisson, M.-H. Congourdeau, J.-L. Solère (eds.), L’embryon: formation et animation. Antiquité grecque et latine, traditions hébraïque, chrétienne et islamique (2008), Bryn Mawr Classical Review of April 8, 2009 (http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2009/200904-15.html) 452. Hieronymus, Brieven, vertaald door Chr. Tazelaar (2008), Amphora 28, 2 (April 2009), 14–15 453. R. Volk, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos VI/1: Historia animae utilis de Barlaam et Ioasaph (spuria). Patristische Texte und Studien Bd. 61 (2009) and R. Volk, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos VI/2: Historia animae utilis de Barlaam et Ioasaph (spuria). Text und zehn Appendices. Patristische Texte und Studien Bd. 60 (2006), in Bryn Mawr Classical Review of June 1, 2009, on internet: http://bmcr .brynmawr.edu/2009/2009-06-04.html 454. J. Neusner, B.D. Chilton, W.S. Green (eds.), Historical Knowledge in Biblical Antiquity (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 261–262 455. A. Lehnardt (ed.), Ta’anyiot – Fasten (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 265–266 456. M. Hadas-Lebel, Jerusalem Against Rome (2006), Nederlands Theologisch ­Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 343–344 457. Y.Y. Teppler, Birkat haMinim: Jews and Christians in Conflict in the Ancient World (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 344–345 458. G.G. Stroumsa (ed.), Morton Smith and Gershom Scholem: Correspondence 1945– 1982 (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 63 (2009) 345–346 459. G. Gardner and K.L. Osterloh (eds.), Antiquity in Antiquity: Jewish and Christian Pasts in the Greco-Roman World (2008), Journal for the Study of Judaism 51 (2010) 106–107

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460. L. Doering e.a. (eds.), Judaistik und neutestamentliche Wissenschaft (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010) 72–73 461. A. Chester, Messiah and Exaltation (2007), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010) 73–74 462. G. Vermes, The Resurrection: History and Myth (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010) 74–75 463. D.W. Chapman, Ancient Jewish and Christian Perceptions of Crucifixion (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010) 75–76 464. Th. M. de Wit-Tak, De Woestijnvaderen (2008), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010) 78–79 465. O. Zwierlein, Petrus in Rom (2009), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2010.03.25 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2010/2010-03-25.html) 466. S.J.K. Pearce, The Land of the Body: Studies in Philo’s Representation of Egypt (2007), Journal of Theological Studies n.s. 61 (2010) 271–273 467. D.F. Caner, History and Historiography from the Late Antique Sinai (2008), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2010.08.03 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2010/2010-08-03 .html) 468. Timothy D. Barnes, Early Christian Hagiography and Roman History (2010), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2010.08.04 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2010/2010-08-04 .html) 469. A.I. Baumgarten, Elias Bickerman as a Historian of the Jews (2010), Journal for the Study of Judaism 41 (2010) 372–373 470. D.W. Chapman, Ancient Jewish and Christian Perceptions of Crucifixion (2008), Journal for the Study of Judaism 41 (2010) 378 471. J.F. McGrath, The Only True God: Early Christian Monotheism in its Jewish Context (2009), Journal for the Study of Judaism 41 (2010) 413–414 472. F. Naether, Die Sortes Astrampsychi: Problemlösungsstrategien durch Orakel im römischen Ägypten (2010), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2010.08.43 (at http://bmcr .brynmawr.edu/2010/2010-08-43.html) 473. P. Barceló (ed.), Religiöser Fundamentalismus in der römischen Kaiserzeit (2010), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2010.11.49 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2010/2010-1149.html) 474. A. Gerber, Deissmann the Philologist (2010), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 64 (2010) 351–352 475. T. Rajak, Translation and Survival: The Greek Bible of the Ancient Jewish Diaspora (2009), Studia Philonica Annual 22 (2010) 269–272 476. D.G. Hunter, Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy in Ancient Christianity: The Jovinianist Controversy (2009), Vigiliae Christianae 65 (2011) 101–103

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477. A. Lajtar and J. van der Vliet, Qasr Ibrim: The Greek and Coptic Inscriptions (2010), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2011.02.39 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2011/2011-0239.html) 478. A. Luijendijk, Greetings in the Lord. Early Christians in the Oxyrhynchus Papyri (2009), Review of Biblical Literature of March 19, 2011, at http://www.bookreviews .org/BookDetail.asp?TitleId=7685 479. A. Grafton & Joanna Weinberg, “I have always loved the holy tongue”: Isaac Casaubon, the Jews, and a Forgotten Chapter in Renaissance Scholarship (2011), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2011.05.24 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2011/2011-05-24.html) 480. B. Rebiger & P. Schäfer, Sefer ha-Razim I und II (2009), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 65 (2011) 158–159 481. John A. MacPhail, Jr. (ed.), Porphyry’s Homeric Questions on the Iliad: Text, Translation, Commentary (2011), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2011.06.02 (at http://bmcr .brynmawr.edu/2011/2011-06-02.html) 482. T. Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity, vols. 3 (2008) and 4 (2011), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 65 (2011) 245–247 483. G.G. Xeravits & J. Dušek (eds.), The Stranger in Ancient and Medieval Jewish Tradition (2010), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 65 (2011) 250 484. H.M. Cotton et al. (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae. Vol. 1: Jerusalem (Part 1) (2010), Journal for the Study of Judaism 42 (2011) 392–393 485. R.D. Aus, Feeding the Five Thousand: Studies in the Judaic Background of Mark 6:30–44 par. and John 6:1–15 (2010), Novum Testamentum 53 (2011) 405–406 486. A. Sivertsev, Judaism and Imperial ideology in Late Antiquity (2011), Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2011.12.20 (at http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2011/2011-12-20.html) 487. H.-G. Nesselrath e.a. (eds.), Für Religionsfreiheit, Recht und Toleranz: Libanios’ Rede für den Erhalt der heidnischen Tempel (2011), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 66 (2012) 56–77 488. J.H. Charlesworth e.a. (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls 7: Temple Scroll and Related Documents (2011), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 66 (2012) 78–79 489. R.S. Kraemer, Unreliable Witnesses: Religion, Gender, and History in the GrecoRoman Mediterranean (2011), Journal for the Study of Judaism 43 (2012) 100–102 490. M.R. Niehoff, Jewish Exegesis and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria (2011), Journal for the Study of Judaism 43 (2012) 105–106 491. R. Pearse (ed.), Eusebius of Caesarea. Gospel Problems and Solutions: Quaestiones ad Stephanum et Marinum (CPG 3470), in Bryn Mawr Classical Review of 23-04-2012 (at: http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2012/2012-04-39.html) 492. P. Habermehl (trans.), Origenes. Die Homilien zum Buch Genesis. Origenes: Werke mit deutscher Übersetzung, Bd 1/2 (2011), in Bryn Mawr Classical Review of 25-04-2012 (at: http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2012/2012-04-46.html)

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493. K.G. Holum & H. Lapin (eds.), Shaping the Middle East: Jews, Christians, and Muslims in an Age of Transition, 400–800 C.E. (2011), in Bryn Mawr Classical Review of 23-05-2012 (at: http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2012/2012-05-40.html) 494. D.S. Hasselbrook, Studies in New Testament Lexicography (2011), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 66 (2012) 159–160 495. R. Deines, J. Herzer, K.-W. Niebuhr (eds.), Neues Testament und hellenistischjüdische Alltagskultur (2011), Journal for the Study of Judaism 43 (2012) 396–397 496. Th. Kuhn, Die jüdisch-hellenistischen Epiker Theodot und Philon (2012), Bryn Mawr Classical Review Jan. 14, 2013; (at: http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2013-01-22.html) 497. K. Brodersen, Censorinus: Über den Geburtstag (2012), Bryn Mawr Classical Review of Febr. 8, 2013; (at: http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2013-02-14.html) 498. H.M. Cotton et al. (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae. Vol. I: Jerusalem. Part 2 (2012), Journal for the Study of Judaism 44 (2013) 97–96 499. W. Ameling et al. (eds.), Corpus Inscriptionum Iudaeae/Palaestinae. Vol. I1: Caesarea and the Middle Coast (2012), Journal for the Study of Judaism 44 (2013) 97–98 500. B. Isaac & Y. Shahar (eds.), Judaea-Palaestina, Babylon and Rome: Jews in Antiquity (2012), Journal for the Study of Judaism 44 (2013) 104–105 501. P. Schäfer, The Jewish Jesus: How Judaism and Christianity Shaped Each Other (2012), Journal for the Study of Judaism 44 (2013) 128–129 502. T. Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity. Part II: Palestine 200–650 (2012), Nederlands Theologisch Tijdschrift 67 (2013) 67–69 503. K. Ehling & G. Weber (eds.), Konstantin der Grosse zwischen Sol und Christus (2011), Bryn Mawr Classical Review of March 26, 2013; (at: http://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/201303-43.html) 504. S. Morlet (ed.), Le traitee de Porphyre Contre les chrétiens: Un siècle de recherches, nouvelles questions (2011), Vigiliae Christianae 67 (2013) 316–318 505. G. Bohak, Y. Harari & Sh. Shaked (eds.), Continuity and Innovation in the Magical Tradition (2011), Journal for the Study of Judaism 44 (2013) 388–389

Index of Ancient Sources 1. Bible Old Testament (LXX) Genesis 1:2 192 1:11–12 12 1:20–25 102 1:26 103 2:2–3 126 6:6–7 38 18:8 21–29 23:19 4 24:3 117 25:9 4 35:27–29 4 41:16 234 46:15 16, 17 49:29–31 4

Exodus 1:14 128 2:1 30 14:21–31 128 18:10 128 20:8–11 129 32:10–12 37 34:28 25, 129 Leviticus 12:2

12, 16

Numbers 5:28 12 10:35 76, 77 16:22 72 23:19 43 25:3–4 37 27:16 72 Deuteronomy 1:31 43, 128 4:20 128 6:12–15 129 7:8 128 8:5 44

10:4 129 22:6–7 192 28:28–29 74–75, 148 32:16 38 Joshua 7:1 14:14–15

37 1, 4

Judges 3:8 38 13:16 24 1 Samuel 2:3 114 15:11 43 15:29 43 15:35 43 25:29 68–69 1 Kings 17:24–41 160–161 2 Kings 18:25 234–235 Ezra 5:31 117 Nehemiah 13:28–29 170 Psalms 2:5 38 18:20 78 29:3 78 45:8 72–73 50:12 24, 25 65:6 128 78:24 25 90 85 91:1 78 103:4 115 103:24 113 121:8 78

282

index of ancient sources

126:1 258–261 136:25 73 146:4 113 Proverbs 10:7 70–72 Isaiah 6:3 113 9:17 38 13:3 38 40:31 73 Jeremiah 11:4 128 38:7–13 255 39:15–18 255

Zephaniah 3:17 38 Zechariah 5:1–4

76, 139, 159

Apocrypha

Tobith 6.6 14 12.19 24 1 Maccabees 15.15 145 15.23 145 2 Maccabees 1.3 119

Ezekiel 3:12 113, 118 7:3 38 14:19 38

4 Maccabees 5.7 58 8.21–22 58 13.20 14

Daniel 8:13 115

Wisdom of Solomon 7.1–2 14 9.2 103

Hosea 5:10 38 Joel 4:13

76, 139

Amos 7:3

38

Obadiah 20

144

Jonah 3:9–10 38 Micah 5:14 38 Nahum 1:14

12

Sirach 1.15 127 5.6–7 39 16.27 24 24.8 127

New Testament Matthew 10:29–31 230 Luke 12:6–7 238 John 1:13

14, 238

Acts 2:9–10 147 13:18 128

283

index of ancient sources 14:1 147 16:1–3 147 16:14 137 19:17 147 Colossians 1:16

119

Hebrews 6:9 69 11:11 14 1 Peter 3:22 119 Revelation 3:9

147

2. Jewish Sources Dead Sea Scrolls

1QapGen 2.9–15 17–19 1QH 8.12 117 1QH 11.21–23 120 1QS 11.11 231 4Q384 65 4Q384 256 4Q385 256 4Q385 165 4Q400 120 4Q401 120 4Q403 131 4Q404 132 4Q405 132 4Q503 122 4Q543–549 30–32 11Q5 26.14 103 11Q5 16 119 11Q17 132 CD 10.17–18 132

Flavius Josephus

Antiquitates Judaicae 1.25 59 1.158 85 1.159–160 89 1.197 23

2.210–217 33–34 4.209–211 132 8.23 63, 64 8.194 60 9.277–291 162 11.302–347 169 11.346 170 12.26 60 12.148–152 135, 145 13.289 59 14.185–267 145 14.259–261 159 15.281 60 15.282 60 15.283 60 16.160–178 145 16.161 147 16.163–164 159 18.9 54 19.278–312 145 De bello Judaico 2.119 59 2.119–162 192 2.140 235 2.148 26 2.390 235 2.560 150 4.661 59 7.43–45 150 Contra Apionem 1.54 59 1.176–181 173 1.228–252 176 2.91–96 177–178 2.165 64 2.176–178 132 2.213 192 2.282 155

Philo Alexandrinus De Abrahamo 57 82 118 202

127 82 23 42, 44

284

index of ancient sources

De agricultura 72–73 106 De confusione linguarum 180 108

3.118 106 3.186 127 3.212 127

De congressu eruditionis gratia 51 127 79–80 58

Legatio ad Gaium 155 5, 147 245 147 353 47 355 51

De vita contemplativa 26–28 58

De migratione Abrahami 67 106

Quod deus sit immutabilis 52 42 53–54 43 59 42 60 42 61–69 43 68 43 69 44

Vita Mosis 1.6 42 1.7 34 1.23–24 30 2.211–216 58

In Flaccum 18–21 48 54 55

49, 50 130 49 49

De mutatione nominum 81 127 223 58

De fuga 208 127

De opificio mundi 3 105 8 58 13 189 77 104 89–128 131 142 105

De gigantibus 64 82

De posteritate Caini 92 127

Quis heres sit 78 27 301 58

Quaestiones in Genesim 1.55 43 3.47 14 4.9 23

Hypothetica 7.14 130 De Josepho 117

235

Legum allegoriae 1.8–16 131 1.73 106 2.75 104 3.38 127

De sacrificiis 45 106 95–96 42 De somniis 1.103 102 1.108 102 1.237 43 2.177–179 42

285

index of ancient sources De specialibus legibus 2.60 130 2.171–192 131

Martyrium of Isaiah 3.1–12 162–163 5.1–14 163

De virtutibus 154 107

Oracula Sibyllina 3.224 247

Pseudepigrapha

Paralipomena Jeremiae (= 4Baruch) 3.10 260 3.11 252 5 253–254 5.9 260 5.21 255, 256 6.14 169 6.22 169 8 165–172

1 Enoch 15.4 13 61.10 119 71:7–9 119

2 Enoch 8.8 119 17.1 119 20.3 119 21.1 116, 117 30.9 106 69–73 95–99 3 Enoch 2 37

118 121

Apocalypse of Abraham 12.2 25 Aristobulus fr. 5

131

Epistle of Aristeas 31 57 253–254 41 256 57 Ezekiel Tragicus 36–38 30 Jubilees 4.28 18 8.2–3 30 J4.29 5 47.9 30 Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum 9 32–33

Ps-Phocylides 125–128 102–103 Testament of Abraham 4.7–10 23 Testament of Adam 4 119 Testament of Isaac 6:5 117 Testament of Ruben 2.3–9 106 Vita Adae et Evae (Greek) 40.6–7 4 43.1–2 4

Rabbinic Literature Mishna Eruvin 4.3

130

Tosefta Megillah 2.5

144

286

index of ancient sources

Terumot 4.14 163

Taʾanit 23a 258

Talmud Bavli

Yevamot 49b 163

Bava Bathra 120a 36 58a 3 Bava Qama 92a 16 Berakhot 54a 16 Eruvim 53a 3 Hullin 6a 164 104a–105b 28 Ketuvot 10b

15

Menahot 45a 163 Moed Qatan 26a 144 Niddah 25b 17 28b 17 31a 15, 16–17 70b–71a 16 Qiddushin 30b 16 Sanhedrin 89a 163 Shabbat 13b 1

63

Sotah 12a 13a

34, 36 4

Yomah 75b 25

Talmud Yerushalmi Avodah zarah 44d 164

Taʾaniyot 66d 257

Midrashim

Genesis Rabbah 1.1 103 19.7 34 48.14 22, 28, 29 58.4 3 79.6 230 Exodus Rabbah 1.13 34 1.19 34 Leviticus Rabbah 1.2 34 14.6 15 Numbers Rabbah 3.6 34 10.5 24 13.2 34 21.16 24, 25 Deuteronomy Rabbah 11.4 25 Ecclesiastes Rabbah 9.17 34 Massekhet Cuthim 1.1 168 2.7 168

287

index of ancient sources Midrash Tehillim 2.3 29 Pesiqta Rabbati 21.8 121 25.3 29 34.4 36 Pirqe de-Rabbi Eliezer 20 3 36 3 46 25 Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana 1.1 34 6.1 25 Qohelet Rabbah 5.10 16

Targumim

Neofiti Gen 1:1 103 18:8 22 23:2 3 Ps-Jonathan Gen 18:8 22 Ps-Jonathan Ex 2:1 34–35

Hekhalot Literature 3 Enoch 2 37

118 121

Hekhalot Rabbati 101 120 197 118 Ma‘aseh Merkavah 555 118

3. Christian Sources Acta Pionii

2 158 13–14 158

Ambrosiaster

Quaestiones 20 26

Apostolic Constitutions

2.36.2 126 2.59.3 126 5.20.19 126 7.1 63 7.23.3 126 7.33–38 100–101, 111–112, 123–124 7.34 100, 102–107 7.35 112–122

Arculf

De locis sanctis 2.10.6 4

Augustine

De civitate Dei 6.11 130 8.2 55 16.29 22 19.23.2 193, 194 De consensu evangelistarum 1.22.30 197

Boethius

Consolatio philosophiae 5.6.46–47 213

Clement of Alexandria Paedagogus 1.9. 127 2.22.2 62

Stromateis 1.22.150.4 198 2.16.72 45 21.18.81 45 3.59.3 26 4.11.68 45 4.23.151 45 5.1.4.2–4 108 5.14.107 132 7.4.25.4 241

Codex Theodosianus 16.8.18 158

288

index of ancient sources

Didache

3.10 237

Doctrina Jacobi 1.21 208 1.40 207 3.1–12 205 4.5 206

Epistula Barnabae 19.6 237

Eusebius

Jacob of Sarug

Homiliae 6.324–330 262–263

John Malalas Chronicle 14

228

Nemesius

De natura hominis 41 63

Origen

Gregory of Nazianze

Contra Celsum 1.14 198 1.15 199 1.22 80 4.33 81 4.34 81 4.43 90 4.51 199 4.71–72 45 4.94 244 5.12 108 5.45 81 6.61–65 45

Gregory of Tours

Homiliae in Jeremiam 18 45

Historia Ecclesiastica 3.27.2 133 Praeparatio Evangelica 1.2.3 190 9.7.1 198 9.10.1–5 193 9.27.3 199 11.10.14 198 13.13.34 132 Oratio 18.5

155

De gloria martyrum 94 262–264

Jerome

Homiliae in Numeri 23.2 45

Commentary on Daniel Prologue 191 11.34 202

De Principiis 3.2.7 237 4.3 127

Epistulae 46.3 2 108.1.3 2

Protevangelium Jacobi

Quaestiones Hebraicae in Gen. 22:3 2

Theodoretus

Irenaeus

Adversus Haereses 2.26.2 239

8.1 26 13.2 26 Historia religiosa 9.8

63

Theophanes Confessor Chronicon p. 18

157

289

index of ancient sources

Theosophia Tubingensis 13 44 85

196 196 189

Vita Danielis Stylitae 31

224

4. Pagan Graeco-Roman Sources Aeschylus

Agamemnon 1487–1488 23 Persae 164

Anthologia Palatina

1.99 223, 225 9.136 227 11.268 243 15.9 226

Ariphron

Paean to Hygieia 10

234

Aristophanes

Aves 719–721 241

Aristotle

De Caelo 11.13 (294b13–21)

109

Supplices 595–599 233 823–824 233

Ethica Nicomachea 7.4 (1148b22) 9.9 (1169b26)

182–183 61

Eumenides 657–661 6

De generatione animalium 1.18 (724b33) 61 1.20 (727b33–37) 8, 11, 19 4.1 (764a6–11) 9–10

233

Aetius

Placita 1.3.22 105 5.3.3 8 5.3.6 9

Alcmaeon 24A13 D–K 24A14 D–K

8 8

Alexander of Lycopolis

Contra Manichaei opiniones 24 91

Anaxagoras

59A107 D–K 9 59B10 D–K 9

Anaximander 12A11 D–K

109

Anaximenes 13A7 D–K

109

Historia animalium 1.11 (492b6–7)

243

De partibus animalium 3.10 (672b18) 61 Physica 4.11 (218b23–26)

249

Politica 7.7 (1327b) 8.4 (1338b19–20)

107 183

Problemata 6.1 (885b19) 14.1–16 (909a-910b) 30.1 (955a22) 33.9–11 (962b6–20)

61 107 61 243

Athenaeus

Deipnosophistae 14.660e 184

290

index of ancient sources

Cassius Dio

Historia Romana 60.11.2 62

Catullus

45.8–18 246 61.61–65 237

Censorinus

Democritus 68A141 D–K 68A142 D–K 68A143 D–K 68B32 D–K

9 8 10 9

Demosthenes

De corona 87 61

De die natali 5.4 7 6.6–7 8–9 11.6 132

Dio Chrysostomus

Cicero

Bibliotheca Historica 1.90.3 235 3.17.4 61 10.10 55 12.14.1 61 40.3.3 174

De divinatione 2.40.84 245–246 De natura deorum 1.17.45 40 2.70 40–41 Tusculanae disputationes 3.76 209 5.8–9 55 Pro Flacco 28.68 147

Cleanthes

Hymn to Zeus 15

234

Cornelius Labeo

De oraculo Apollinis Clarii fr. 18 156, 194–195

Corpus Hermeticum Asclepius 34

Critias

88B25 D–K

Damascius

238 183

Historia philosophica fr. 97A 93

Orationes 33.54–55 244

Diodorus Siculus

Diogenes Laertius

Vitae philosophorum 1.109 249, 250–251 6.48 243–244 6.63 104 8.28 7

Dionysius of Halicarnassus Antiquitates Romanae 6.17.4 61

Empedocles 31B16 D–K 31B17 D–K 31B18 D–K 31B63 D–K

Epimenides 3A1 D–K

Euhemerus test. 66

Euripides

105 105 105 8 250 183

Bacchae 764 234 1248 40

291

index of ancient sources Hippolytus 120

Ion 589–590 61 693 14

Odyssey 2.372 231 10.116 182 10.200 182 15.531 231 17.541–546 240–241

Iphigeneia in Aulis 809 234

Hymn to Hermes 293–303 241

Supplices 201–206 183

Hymn to Hestia 4–5 231

Firmicus Maternus

Horace

Mathesis 4

40

92

Galen

De semine 2.1

Heraclitus 22B35 D–K

12 55

Heraclitus Stoicus Problemata Homerica 70.7 62

Herodotus

Carmina 3.4.20 237

Iamblichus

De Mysteriis 3.18 237 5.2 62 Vita Pythagorae 3.14 192

Isis Aretalogy of Cyrene 15

236

Historiae 1.216 183 3.38 183 3.99 183 4.26 183 4.106 183 6.107 242

Isis Aretalogy of Oxyrhynchus

Hippocrates

Contra Galilaeos Frr. 49, 83, 86, 87

De generatione 7.1 10 8.1–2 10 De morbis 4.32.1 10

Homer

Iliad 5.185–186 231 15.292 231

P.Oxy 1380

180–181

Johannes Lydus De mensibus 4.53

197, 199

Julian (Emperor)

Justinus

Epitome 2.1–4

92 90

Juvenal

Satire 14.96–106 130

Lucian

Pro lapsu 15

236

292

index of ancient sources

Lucretius

De rerum natura 1.21–23 237

Macrobius

Saturnalia 1.18.19–20 156

Maximus of Tyre Orationes 20.6 103

Menander

Philolaus (Pseudo-) 44B12 D–K

Pindar

Nemean 7.1–6 232 Olympic 14.4–8 232 Pythian 5.76 232

241

Paean 7b

fr. 97F6 (TGF) 183

Plato

fr. 620

Moschion

105

232

Musonius Rufus

Cratylus 420b1 61

Nonnus

Epinomis 975a 183

2.7

62

Dionysiaca 7.107 244 13.82 244

Numenius fr. 1a fr. 1b fr. 1c fr. 8 fr. 9 fr. 30 fr. 56

198 199 199 198 199 199 199

Orphic Hymns

16.5 236 68.8–10 236

Parmenides 28B18 D–K

Pausanias

8

1.14.4 251 3.2.4 236 8.42.6 184 10.14.7 236

Leges 782a–c 183 Phaedo 108e–109a 109 Phaedrus 246a–b Politicus 271d–e 183 Protagoras 320d–321e 102 Respublica 377d–398b 40 379b1 108 Timaeus 24c 107 29e 108 73c 8

293

index of ancient sources 74b 8 77d 8

Vita Themistoclis 13.2 243

Pliny the Elder

Porphyry

Naturalis Historia 2.5 246 4.88 183 6.53 183 6.54 183 7.175 251 28.23 246

Plutarch

De abstinentia 4.11–14 192 Ad Gaurum 11

192

Ad Marcellam 18 190

Bruta animalia ratione uti 989B 62

De vita Pythagorica 11 191

De Iside et Osiride 356A 183

Fragmenta fr. 10T fr. 323 fr. 324 fr. 343 fr. 344

Non posse suaviter vivi 1092E 62 De Pythiae oraculis 405A 236 Quaestiones conviviales 643F 62 676E 62 746D 62 Quomodo adulator etc. 68E 62 De recta ratione audiendi 38D 62 De sera numinis vindicta 556D–557E 40 562A–D 40 Animalia 975F 62 De genio Socratis 580F–582C 244–245

189 193, 194 193 193 193

Propertius

2.3.23 246

Sextus Empiricus

Pyrrhoneiai Hypotyposeis 1.162 41

Scriptores Historiae Augustae Alexander Severus 22.4 201 28.7 201 29.2 201, 92–93 45.6–7 202 51.6–8 202 Caracalla 1.6

201

Heliogabalus 3.4–5 201 Septimius Severus 14.6 201

294

index of ancient sources

Sophocles

Oedipus Coloneus 403 233–234

Soranus

Gynaecologia 1.30–31 12

Strabo

Geographia 2.5.14 107 6.4.1 107 12.8.13 141, 149 13.4.14 137

Suda

K2776 221, 223 ϴ145 223

Tacitus

Historiae 5.4.1. 130

Theocritus

Idylla 18.16–17 242

Theognis

171–172 233

Theophrastus fr. 584A

173, 184

Varro

Antiquitates rerum divinarum fr. 1 96–197

Vettius Valens

2.28–29 90

Xenophon

Anabasis 3.2.9 242 Xenophanes 21B25 D–K

238

5. Inscriptions and Papyri Inscriptions

BS II 113 CIIP 9 CIIP 1001 CIIP 1142 IJO I Ach50 IJO I Ach70–71 IJO I Cre3 IJO I Mac13 IJO II 11 IJO II 14 IJO II 24 IJO II 25 IJO II 36 IJO II 43 IJO II 67 IJO II 68 IJO II 83 IJO II 123 IJO II 125 IJO II 132 IJO II 153 IJO II 168 IJO II 170 IJO II 171 IJO II 172 IJO II 173 IJO II 174 IJO II 175 IJO II 176 IJO II 177 IJO II 179 IJO II 180 IJO II 184 IJO II 188 IJO II 189 IJO II 191 IJO II 193 IJO II 194 IJO II 196 IJO II 202 IJO II 205 IJO II 206 IJO II 213

68 130 141 73–74 76 72 71 72–73 160 149–151, 159 160 159 159 159 153 153 153 153 153 153 73 137, 147–148 139 138 74, 139, 148, 153 74, 139, 148, 153 74, 138, 148 75–76, 139, 159 75–76, 139, 159 139 74, 75, 149 140 140 136 136 136 136 137 137 136 137 136, 137 74, 138, 148

295

index of ancient sources IJO II 218 IJO II 243 IJO III Syr42 JIGRE 9 JIGRE 119 JIWE I 145 JIWE I 153 JIWE II 112 JIWE II 276 JIWE II 307

Papyri CPJ 150 CPJ 159

151 160 77 131 68 75 76 71 71 70 177 52

CPJ 356 PGM IV 1227–1264 PGM V 459–489 PGM V 479–480 PGM XII 270–350 PGM XII 287 PGM XIII 734–1077 PGM XXXVI 295–311 P.Oxy 1380 P.Polit.Iud 8

51 83 84 84 84 84 84 85 180–181 145

Index of Modern Authors Abusch, R. 179 Addey, C. 202 Albiani, M.G. 220 Alexander, P.S. 120, 121 Algra, K. 56, 57 Allison, D.C. 23, 25, 238, 239 Alon, G. 171 Ameling, W. 67, 134, 135, 137, 140, 143, 145, 147, 159, 266 Andersen, F.I. 98 Andriopoulos, D. 106 Antin, P. 2 Arbel, V.D. 121 Armstrong, A.H. 56 Assmann, J. 176 Athanassakis, A.N. 236 Athanassiadi, P. 93, 196 Attridge, H.W. 132 Aune, D.E. 194 Bacchiocchi, S. 126 Baker, M. 157 Baldwin, B. 228 Baltussen, H. 209 Barclay, J.M.G. 59, 142, 145, 178 Bar-Kochva, B. 173, 174 Baron, S.W. 185 Barrett, C.K. 135 Bauernfeind, O. 60 Baumstark, A. 116 Baynes, N.H. 224 Beatrice, P.F. 189 Beck, H.-G. 203 Becker, H.-J. 109 Bennett, C.E. 237 Berger, K. 30, 68 Bergman, J. 180 Berlin, A. 235 Bernand, A. 86 Berthelot, K. 176 Betegh, G. 39 Betz, H.D. 83 Beutler, R. 188 Beyer, K. 18, 31, 167 Bickerman, E. 152, 178, 179

Billerbeck, P. 164, 230 Black, M. 13 Blau, L. 86 Blayney, J. 7 Bloedhorn, H.  67, 143 Blouin, K. 177 Blundell, S. 184 Bogaert, P. 255, 260 Bohak, G. 83, 84, 85 Bohec, Y. le 67 Böhm, M. 161 Bolton, J.D.P. 251 Bonner, C. 83, 86 Bonnet, H. 181 Bordt, M. 40, 108, 200 Borgen, P. 58 Borret, M. 80 Böttrich, Ch. 96, 97, 98, 117, 118 Bouché-Leclercq, A. 240 Bouffartigue, J. 173 Bousset, W. 101, 102, 111, 124, 127 Bowersock, G. 222 Boyd-Taylor, C. 70 Boylan, M. 11 Brashear, W. 82, 83 Braun, H. 42 Braund, S. 215 Braverman, J. 191, 202 Bremer, J.M. 232, 234 Brennan, T. 57 Brettler, M. 235 Bricault, R. 180 Brighton, M.A. 54 Brisson, L. 7 Brock, S.P. 262 Broek, R. van den 194 Bronner, S.E. 187 Brooten, B.J. 159 Brown, R.E. 211 Bruce, F.F. 64 Büchler, A. 259 Buitenwerf, R. 143 Burkert, W. 55, 182 Bury, J.B. 222 Busine, A. 190, 193, 194, 196

297

index of modern authors Cadbury, H.J. 13, 14 Cameron, A. 220, 222, 223, 227, 228, 229 Campbell, D.A. 232 Campenhausen, H. von 212 Cappelletti, S. 67, 70, 71 Caquot, A. 32 Cardauns, B. 197 Carson, D.A. 126 Casey, J. 216 Chadwick, H. 45, 80, 82, 110, 198 Chaniotes, A. 150 Chapman, H.H. 179 Chapman III, R.L. 2 Chapot, F. 234, 237 Charlesworth, J.H. 88 Chase, M. 188 Chazon, E.G. 118, 119, 120, 122 Childs, B.S. 28 Chilton, B. 22 Cholmeley, R.J. 242 Clark, E.A. 264 Clarke, E.C. 237 Claußen, C. 140 Clines, D. 27, 234 Coggins, R.J. 162 Cohen, H.J. 143 Cohen, S.J.D. 140, 150 Cole, Th. 184 Colera, P.B. 55 Collins, J.J. 199 Colson, F.H. 14, 47 Congourdeau, M.-H. 7 Constantelos, D.J. 221 Cook, J.G.  45, 80, 88, 92, 190, 191, 194, 198 Cornfeld, G. 54 Cornish, W. 237 Costa, C.D.N. 209 Cotton, H.M. 67 Courcelle, P. 209 Cowey, J.M.S. 145 Cox-Miller, P. 84 Crown, A.D. 77, 160, 206 Cuntz, O. 261 Cureton, W. 211 Dagron, G. 204, 205, 206, 220, 221 Dam, R. van 263 Dan, Y. 207 Daniel, R.W. 83, 84, 85, 86

Davies, I. 211 Davies, W.D. 239 Davila, J.R. 97, 217, 256 Dawes, E. 224 Decharme, P. 39 Deissmann, A. 86 Delehaye, H. 224, 225, 226 Delling, G. 127, 152, 166, 168, 169, 172 Denis, A.-M. 58, 162, 164, 256, 257 Denniston, J.D. 233 Déroche, V. 203 Deun, P. van 221 Devreesse, R. 203 Dexinger, F. 162, 169, 170 Dickermann, S.O. 103 Diels, H. 7, 39, 55, 250 Dietrich, W. 239 Díez Macho, A. 22 Dihle, A. 202 Dillon, J. 43, 44, 82, 197, 237 Dines, J.M. 70 Dochhorn, J. 2, 5 Dodds, E.R. 252 Dölger, F.J. 179 Donner, H. 2, 261 Dragona-Monachou, M. 102 Drew-Bear, Th. 154 Dreyer, O. 39, 43, 44 Dunand, F. 179 Eck, W. 67 Edmonds, J.M. 242 Edwards, M. 193, 198, 200 Egger, R. 162, 169 Ehrlich, A.B. 12 Eißfeldt, O. 68 Elbogen, I. 116 Elior, R. 117, 119, 120 Engelmann, H. 180, 181 Erbse, H. 189 Eshel, H. 77 Eynikel, E. 128 Falk, D.K. 118, 121 Feissel, D. 78, 79 Feldman, D.M. 15 Feldman, L.H. 23, 34, 54, 59, 64, 87, 138, 148, 174, 197, 198, 202 Feliks, J. 15

298 Felle, A.E. 78, 86 Festugière, A.-J. 181, 182, 184, 185, 234, 238 Fiebig, P. 100 Field, F. 73 Fiensy, D.A. 97, 101, 111, 115, 117, 124, 129, 130, 132 Fine, S. 73, 131, 208 Fischer, U. 68 Fitzmyer, J.A. 18, 24, 239 Flesher, P.V.M. 22 Flusser, D. 116, 117 Fornaro, S. 220 Fortenbaugh, W. 173 Fossum, J.E. 164 Fraenkel, E. 233 Frank, K.S. 26 Frede, M. 196, 200 Freedman, H. 3 Freeman-Grenville, G.S.P. 2 Frey, J.-B. 66 Friedlander, G. 3 Fröhlich, I. 19 Frohnhofen, H. 37 Fuks, A. 51, 177 Furley, W.D. 232, 234 Gager, J. 83, 86, 88, 201 García Martínez, F. 18, 31, 120 Gatz, B. 184 Gerson, L.P. 39 Gerth, B. 48 Geyer, P. 261 Gignac, F.T. 69 Gildersleeve, B. 49 Ginzburg, L. 89 Ginzberg, R. 2 Gleßmer, U. 22 Gnilka, J. 230 Gomme, A.W. 241 Goodenough, E.R. 101, 111, 124, 127 Goodman, D. 24, 25 Goodman, M. 153 Goulet, R. 190 Grabbe, L. 82 Graf, F. 182 Grandjean, Y. 180 Greatrex, G. 261 Gregg, R.C. 209

index of modern authors Gregory, T.E. 228 Gribomont, J. 79 Griffiths, A.H. 251 Grossfeld, B. 22 Gruen, E.S. 136, 207 Gruenwald, I. 116 Grypeou, E. 3, 22 Gulkowitsch, L. 168 Guthrie, W.K.C. 105 Gwyn Griffiths, J. 183 Habel, N.C. 117 Hadas, M. 14 Haldon, J.F. 203 Hall, B. 164 Halperin, D.J. 118, 120, 121 Hamacher, E. 120 Happ, V. 10, 11 Harder, R. 180 Harnack, A. von 190 Harrington, D.J. 1 Harrington, H.K. 26 Harris, H.A. 136 Harvey, S.A. 106 Hauspie, K. 128 Haussleiter, J. 184, 192 Hayward, C.T.R. 2, 3, 127 Hegermann, H. 145 Heine, R. 46 Heller, B. 265, 266 Hengel, M. 17, 54, 143, 174 Henrichs, A. 83 Henten, J.W. van 179 Herion, G.A. 38 Hershbell, J.P. 237 Herzer, J. 164, 165, 166, 167, 168, 171, 252, 253, 255, 260, 261 Hezser, C. 73, 207 Hirschberg, H.Z. 143 Holladay, C.R. 199 Holloway, P.A. 211 Holum, K.G. 222, 223, 224 Honigmann, E. 261, 262, 264, 265 Hopfner, Th. 7, 82 Horbury, W. 66, 131 Horsley, G.H.R. 77, 78 Horst, P.W. van der 2, 15, 17, 24, 25, 37, 48, 49, 56, 57, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 74, 79, 81, 83, 91,

299

index of modern authors 94, 96, 100, 101, 103, 109, 111, 112, 118, 122, 123, 128, 129, 131, 134, 136, 140, 148, 149, 151, 154, 157, 159, 160, 166, 175, 177, 183, 203, 207, 208, 222, 247 Hoyland, R.G. 206 Huber, M. 250, 257, 258, 261, 262, Hughes, D.D. 182 Hüttenmeister, F. 67, 73 Ilan, T. 36 Isaac, B. 67, 107, 185 Isaac, E. 13 Jacobson, H. 32, 33, 199 Jalabert, L. 78 Jansen, H. 187 Jeremias, J. 4, 5 Johansen, H.F. 233 Johnson, A.P. 193, 198 Johnson, E. 38 Jones, A.H.M. 221 Jones, K.R. 182 Jonge, M. de 256 Jonkers, E.J. 135, 157 Jonquière, T. 108 Kallis, A. 104 Kassel, R. 210 Kaylor, N.H. 213 Kelly, J.N.D. 4 Kember, O. 9 Kerkeslager, A. 47, 50–53 Kessels, A.H.M. 239 Keyßner, K. 232 Kierdorf, W. 210 Kirk, G.S. 40, 55 Klauser, Th. 82, 84 Kobelski, P.L. 31 Koch, H. 43 Koch, J. 249, 262, 266 Kohler, K. 101, 111, 124, 127 Köhler, L. 212 Kollesch, J. 11 König, R. 251 Koops, M.A. 236 Kotanski, R. 86 Kraabel, A.T. 152, 153 Krafft, F. 105

Kraft, H. 44, 45 Kranz, W. 8, 39, 55, 250 Kraus, H.-J. 258 Krivoruchko, J.G. 70 Kroll, J.H. 134, 153 Kroll, W. 246 Kropp, A.M. 83 Krusch, B. 263 Kugel, J.L. 21, 30, 35, 36, 103 Kuhn, K.H. 165, 256, 265 Kühner, R. 48 Kuitert, H.M. 43 Kulik, A. 255 Kümmel, W.G. 211 Kunz, A. 13 Kushnir-Stein, A. 67 Labriolle, P. de 190 Lajtar, A. 72 Lane Fox, R. 156, 158, 194, 224, 225 Lange, A. 77 Lange, N.R.M. de 70, 198 Laqueur, W. 187 Latham, R.E. 237 Laurot, B. 234, 237 Lawrence, T.E. 241 Layton, B. 26 Le Déaut, R. 22 Leclant, J. 179 Leclercq, H. 248 Lehnardt, A. 164 Leicht, R. 88, 117, 118 Lemos, T.M. 169 Leonhardt, J. 44, 131 Lesher, J.H. 39, 108, 200 Lesky, E. 6, 7, 10, 13, 20 Levin, S. 195 Levine, L.I. 116, 131, 140, 152, 159, 188, 207 Levinskaya, I. 146, 147 Lewis, B. 187 Lewy, H. 173, 196 Lietzmann, H. 117 Lifshitz, B. 66 Link, Ch. 239 Lipinski, E. 144 Lloyd, G.E.R. 7, 9 Lloyd-Jones, H. 6, 233 Loader, W. 18

300 Löhr, H. 108, 117 Loney, I.M. 10 Lüderitz, G. 67 Lumpe, A. 214 Lunt, H.G. 117 Lust, J. 128 Maas, W. 42 Macdonald, J. 163 MacMullen, R. 247 Maher, M. 22 Maier, J. 18 Malaise, M. 179 Malherbe, A.J. 57 Malingrey, A.-M. 55, 56 Malitz, J. 89 Maltomini, F. 83, 85, 86 Mansfeld, J. 91, 110, 132 Marcus, R. 14 Marenbon, J. 212 Maresch, K. 145 Marshall, A.J. 135, 147 Martindale, J.R.  220 Masaracchia, E. 92 Mason, S. 59 Mastandrea, P. 156, 195 Mayer, G. 88 McGowen, A. 179 McKay, H.A. 130 McNamara, M. 4, 22 Meijer, F.J.A.M. 52, 54 Mendelson, A. 130 Mercier, Ch. 23 Merkelbach, R. 179, 196 Merz, A.B. 211, 214, 218, 219 Metzger, M. 100, 111, 124 Meyer, R. 15 Michel, O. 55, 56, 60 Miguélez Cavero, L. 220, 222, 223, 227 Milik, J.T. 31 Millar, F. 143, 144, 189, 214 Milligan, G. 239 Miranda, E. 134 Misgav, H. 67 Mitchell, S. 138, 141, 145, 148, 150, 153, 154, 155, 157, 158, 200, 201 Moatti-Fine, J. 1 Moore, G.F. 24

index of modern authors Morgan, M.A. 30 Morsink, J. 11 Moulton, J.H. 239 Muraoka, T. 128 Naour, Ch. 154 Nestle, W. 233 Newman, J.H. 72, 85, 96, 100, 101, 116 Newsom, C. 120 Nickel, R. 248 Nickelsburg, G.W.E. 13, 17 Niederwimmer, K. 237 Niehoff, M. 51 Nilsson, M.P. 152 Nock, A.D. 110, 180, 194, 195, 196, 238 Noegel, S. 83 Nolland, J. 239 Norden, E. 143, 197, 232 Notley, R.S. 2 Noy, D. 66, 67, 69, 131, 139, 140 Nuffelen, P. van 141 Nulman, M. 117 O’Meara, J.J. 193 Oden, R.A. 109 Olyan, S.M. 115, 121 Onians, R.B. 7 Orlov, A.A. 96 Osborn, E. 46 Ouaknin, M.-A. 3 Page, D. 233 Panayotov, A. 67 Park, J.S. 72, 78 Parke, H.W. 195 Parmentier, M.F.G. 91 Parry, D.W. 31 Patillon, M. 173 Paton, W.H. 226 Pease, A.S. 41, 103, 240, 246 Peek, W. 180, 181, 236 Peeters, P. 229, 262 Pelletier, A. 47 Perry, M. 186 Peters, M.K.H. 139 Petit, F. 23 Petuchowski, J.J. 116 Phillips, C.R. 138

301

index of modern authors Picard, Ch. 195 Pietersma, A. 235 Pillinger, R. 248 Places, E. des 197 Po-chia Hsia, R. 185 Pohlenz, M. 45, 46, 104 Poorthuis, M. 98 Popovíc, M. 19 Pötscher, W. 189 Potter, D.S. 196 Preisendanz, K. 83 Preuss, J. 15 Price, J.J. 67, 130, 140–41 Pucci ben Zeev, M. 145, 147 Puech, E. 31 Puech, H.-Ch. 197, 198 Pummer, R. 76, 160, 165, 169 Rackham, H. 41 Rahmani, Y. 67 Rajak, T. 70, 140 Ramelli, I. 214 Ramsay, W.M. 75, 134 Raven, J.E. 40, 55 Rebiger, B. 78 Reeg, G. 67, 73 Reeves, J.C. 17 Reider, J. 115 Relihan, J.C. 215, 216, 217 Renehan, R. 59 Rengstorf, K.H. 58 Reuter, E. 38 Reynolds, J. 134, 149, 150, 151 Rhoads, D. 54 Riaud, J. 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 254 Ridings, D. 198 Riedweg, Ch.  55 Rilliet, F. 262 Rinaldi, G. 26, 90, 188, 189, 191 Rist, M. 80 Robert, L. 75, 193, 196 Robinson, S.E. 98, 165, 253 Rohde, E. 250, 252, 263 Roll, I. 67 Rordorf, W. 126 Roscher, W.H. 5 Rosner, F. 15, 16 Ross, W.D. 250

Roth, C. 186 Roth-Gerson, L. 67 Rouwhorst, G. 126 Rubenstein, J.L. 257 Runia, D.T. 14, 41, 45, 57, 58, 104, 105, 106, 110, 131, 189, 227 Rutgers, L.V. 73 Ryan, W.G. 248 Safrai, Z. 2 Saldarini, A.J. 1 Sallmann, N. 7 Salvesen, A. 73 Samellas, A. 264 Sandbach, F.H. 241 Sarfatti, G.B. 260 Sartori, P. 240 Sauer, G. 38 Schäfer, P. 105, 117, 120, 175, 194, 207 Schäfke, W. 179 Schalit, A. 145 Schaller, B. 165, 172, 252, 253 Schiffman, L.H. 120, 172 Schoedel, W.R. 212 Schofield, M. 40, 55 Schramm, G. 27 Schreckenberg, H. 203 Schumann, H.-J. von 7 Schürer, E. 89, 135, 141, 143, 149 Schwabe, M. 66 Schwartz, D. 174 Schweitzer, F.M. 186 Schwenn, F. 182 Scourfield, C.H.D. 210 Seager, A.R. 152, 153 Seeck, O. 220 Segal, A.F. 104 Segni, L. di 67 Shaked, Sh. 117 Sharf, A. 206 Shaw, F. 47 Sheppard, A.R.R. 154 Sheridan, M. 21 Siegel, R.E. 11 Siegert, F. 24 Sikes, J.S. 87, 93 Simian-Yofre, H. 38 Simon, I. 15

302 Simon, M. 83, 154, 158, 197 Sjöberg, E. 39 Smallwood, M. 47, 146 Smilévitch, E. 3 Smith, A. 188, 192, 193 Smith, M. 54, 81, 82, 195 Snell, B. 183 Sokoloff, M. 18, 230 Solmsen, F. 108, 179, 181 Speck, P. 203 Sperber, A. 1 Spinks, B.D. 116, 118 Spurling, H. 3, 22 Stählin, G 39 Stauber, J. 196 Stemplinger, E. 240 Sterling, G.E. 105, 110 Stern, M. 87, 88, 90, 93, 130, 144, 156, 173, 176, 188, 190, 191 Steudel, A. 96 Stirewalt, M.L. 212 Stol, M. 13 Stone, M.E. 30, 31, 32, 165, 256 Strack, H.L. 186, 230 Stratos, A.N. 203 Stricker, B.H. 15 Stroumsa, G.G. 198 Strubbe, J.H.M. 74, 76, 136, 148 Sullivan, K.P. 23, 24 Swartz, M.D. 118 Sykutris, J. 212 Syndikus, H.P. 237, 246 Synek, E.M. 100 Tabory, J. 123 Takacs, S. 180 Tannenbaum, R. 134, 149, 150, 151 Taylor, J.E. 2, 49 Tcherikover, V.A. 51, 144, 145, 177 Temkin, O. 12 Tester, S.J. 213 Theissen, G. 219 Thom, J.C. 56, 232, 234 Thompson, S. 257 Thornhill, R. 165 Tieleman, T. 211, 214, 218 Tigchelaar, E.J.C. 18, 120 Totti, M. 236

index of modern authors Tov, E. 18, 31, 77 Trachtenberg, J. 185 Trapp, M.B. 103, 212, 251 Trebilco, P.R. 74, 75, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 149, 157 Turcan, R. 179 Turner, N. 115 Unnik, W.C. van 116 Urbach, E.E. 25 VanderKam, J.C. 24 Vanderlip, V.F. 181 Vegas Montaner, L. 165 Verdenius, W.J. 108 Vermes, G. 18, 259 Versnel, H.S. 183 Vidman, L. 179, 180 Viljamaa, T. 226 Vliet, J. van der 72 Vogt, M. 266 Vollmann, B.K. 262 Wagner, H. 249 Walker, J. 83 Wander, B. 150, 142, 175 Waszink, J.H. 7, 13, 57, 192. 197, 199, 250 Weber, R. 1 Weiss, H. 126 Wendland, P. 104 Werner, E. 116 West, M. 200 Westermann, C. 234 Wettstein, J.J. 231 Wevers, J.W. 129, 234 Wheeler, B. 83 Whiston, W. 54 Whitaker, G.H. 14 Whitby, M. 226 Whittle, E.W. 233 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von 173, 232 Wilken, R.L. 190 Wilkinson, J. 2 Williams, M.H. 71, 136, 138, 153 Wineland, J.D. 144 Winston, D. 14, 43, 82, 179 Witt, R.E. 179, 180 Wlosok, A. 44, 45

303

index of modern authors Wolff, H.W. 144 Wotke, F. 212 Woude, A.S. van der 18 Wright, B.G. 235 Wright, J.W. 30 Wright, M.R. 105, 109, 184 Yarbro Collins, A. 131 Yardeni, A. 67

Zambon, M. 195, 197 Zangenberg, J. 162 Zeller, E. 188 Ziegler, J. 255 Zuckerman, C. 73 Zuntz, G. 156, 195

Index of Names and Subjects Abimelech 252–257 Abraham 21–29, 80–94, 205 Acta Alexandrinorum 51 Adam/ʾadam 1–5, 207 Adonai 82 Agrippa I 51 Alexander of Lycopolis 91 Alexander Polyhistor 88–89 Alexander the Great 169–170 Alexandria 175 Altar 151–152 Amenophis 176 Amram 30–36 Ancestral traditions 63–65 Angelic liturgy 119–120 Angels 22–26, 72, 115–116, 118, 119, 121, 196 Anger, God’s 37–46 Aniconic worship 196 Anthrôpophagia 181 Antisemitism 173–189 Apamea (Phrygia) 141, 149 Aphrodisias 134, 149–151 Apion 177–178 Apollo Clarius 156, 192–196 Apollonius Molon 88 Aquila 70, 71, 115 Archisynagôgos 140, 148 Arculf 4 Aretalogies (of Isis) 180–182 Aristeas of Proconnesus 251 Aristotle 56, 173, 243 Ark 141 Asia Minor 143–160 Atheism 176 Avoth (berakhah) 80 Avoth (sages) 208 Barbarian wisdom 197–198 Belkira 162–163 Berossus 87 Bios angelikos  26 Birds (= omens) 241, 244 Bitenosh 6–20 Blood, menstrual 10–11, 13–14 Blues 207

Boethius 212–218 Bouleutai 151, 153 Brain 8 Bread 28–29 Bread of angels 25 Bundle of life 68–69 Caligula 47, 50 Cannibalism 173–187 Celsus 90–91, 197–198, 202 Charioteer of the soul 106 Cherubim 115–116, 121 Chreia 216, 219 Christian contacts with Jews 157–158 Christian epitaphs 78–79 Christianity, Porphyry’s critique of 190–191 Christmas sermon 228 Chrysaphius 223, 224, 227 Cicero 40–41, 209, 210 Civilization, origins of 182–185 Cleanthes 56 Clearchus 173 Clement of Alexandria 45 Climate 107 Condescensio 42–43 Consolatio 209–219 Conversions, compulsory 203, 204 Cornelius Labeo 194–195 Cosmology 109 Cotyaeum 221, 224, 228 Crantor 210 Creatio ex nihilo 105 Creation 102 Curses in epitaphs 74–75,138–139, 148 Daimonion 244–245 Daniel (pillar-saint) 224, 225 Daniel, Porphyry’s critique of 191 Decalogue 129 Decius 248 Defecation, impurity of 25–26 Deicide 185 Diaspora 143 Dignum deo 39–41 Dionysius 48–53

305

index of names and subjects Divine name 47–48 Doxography  110 Eating angels 22–26 Elements, four 105 Embryogenesis 6–20 Emotions, God’s 37–46 Enakim 1 Encephalo-myelogenic doctrine 7–8 Enoch 95–99 Environmental theory 107 Epeisaktos 59–64 Epikrateia 8–10, 16–17 Epimenides 249, 250, 251, 255 Eschatologization of biblical texts 68–69, 72, 78 Essenes 26, 192 Eternal life 102 Eusebius of Caesarea 89 Exempla 210, 214 Exodus stories, pagan 176–178 Exodus 128 Exorcism 80–81, 83, 94 Ezra 167 Female seed 7–12 Festal names 136 Fire (substance of angels) 115 Garizim (mount) 168, 169, 170 Genealogy of Jesus 207 Gevuroth 111–112 God of Abraham 80–81 God’s holiness 112, 115, 121 God’s inherent goodness 108 God’s power 108 God’s will 230–239 Godfearers 142, 150, 151, 155–156, 174, 200–201 Golgotha 5, 208 Gregory of Tours 263–264 Heavenly tablets 30 Heavens 194 Hebdomads 131–132 Hebrew 82–83, 85 Hebron 1–5 Hecataeus of Abdera 87, 174

Hekhalot literature 120, 121 Helios 82, 84 Hellenistic synagogal prayers 96–97, 100–110, 111–122, 123–133 Hellênophrôn 223 Hematogenic doctrine 10–11 Henotheism 199–202 Heraclitus 55 Heraclius 203 Hesiod 39, 40 Hexapla 73 Hierapolis 135–137 Highpriesthood 95, 99 Homer 39, 40 Honi 257–259 Iao 82, 84 Ignatius of Antioch 212 Incantations 80 Inscriptions, Jewish 66–79 Instruction in the Torah 130–132 Intermarriage 166–171 Ioudaios 136 Isaac, binding of 91 Isaiah 163 Isidorus 48–53 Isis 179–182 Islamic Jew-hatred 187 Israel 127 Jacob of Sarug 262 Jacob 204–205, 207 Jaddus 169–170 James de Voragine 248 Jerome 1–2 Jerusalem 169–170, 176 Jesus 238 Jewish rights 145–147 Jochebed 34–36 Joseph 204 Josephus 54–65, 162, 169–171 Julia Severa 137–138, 148 Julian the Apostate 92 Justus 205, 207 Kashrut 27–29 Katamênia, see Menstruation Katoikia 137

306

index of names and subjects

Kibôtos 141 Kiriath-Arba 1–5 Kosmopolitês 104

Oracles of Apollo 192–196 Orgasm 6–20 Origen 45, 80–82, 244

Lactantius 46 Lamech 17–19 Lampo 48–53 Laughter = Isaac 81, 88 Leontopolis 170 Letters from prison 211 Logikon zôion 104 Logos 103 Long-sleepers 248–265

Palmoni/Phelmouni 115 Pangenesis doctrine 9–10 Paralipomena Jeremiae 164–172, 252–257 Paternoster 85 Patriarchs 3, 80–82 Penelope 240 Pergamon 152 Philo 37–53, 58, 104, 110, 198 Philosophers, Greek 7–12, 39–40 Philosophia, meaning of 55–59 Philosophy, Greek 100–110, 199 Phrygia 74–75, 134–142, 221, 224 Plato 40, 44, 56, 198 Platonism 110 Pleasure, sexual 18–20 Plotinus 188, 189 Pogrom in Alexandria (38 CE) 48–53, 178 Pompeius Trogus 90 Porphyry 94, 188–202 Pregnancy 6–20 Presocratics 7–10 Priscus of Panium 218 Proclus of Constantinople 228 Pronoia 102 Prosimetrum 215 Protevangelium Jacobi 98 Provenance of Pseudepigrapha 95–99 Providence 102–103 Ptolemaïs 206 Purple industry 137 Pythagoras 55, 191–192

Magic 80–86, 94 Magical papyri 82–86 Manetho 175–176 Mara bar Sarapion 209–219 Marcella 189 Marrow 8 Mary (mother of Jesus) 26 Matriarchs 3 Mechayyeh ha-metim 101, 111 Medical writers, Greek 10–12 Megarians 245 Melchizedek 95–99 Menippus 216–217, 219 Menstruation 10–11, 13–14 Merkavah mysticism 121–122 Methusalem 95 Miriam 35–36 Misanthropy 176 Mishnah 189 Moira 232 Moses 30–36, 174, 192, Muses 232 Mysticism 121–122 Nehemiah 167 Nephilin 18 Nicolaus of Damascus 89 Nir 95 Noah 141, 149 Nomina barbara 82, 84, 85 Nomodidaskalos 208 Nonnus of Panopolis 217, 220 Numenius 192, 197–199

Qedushah 108, 115, 116 Qedushat ha-yom 123–133 Rabbis 15–17, 27–29, 34–35, 163–164, 168 Reason 103 Resurrection 102 Rosalia 138 Sabaoth 82 Sabbath 125–127, 129–130, 132 Sacred precinct 130

307

index of names and subjects Samaritan inscriptions 76–77 Samaritans 76–77, 93, 160, 161–172, 206 Sanballat 169–170 Sarah 2, 14 Sardis 134, 144, 152–153 Satire 216, 217, 219 Seneca 210, 215 Sense perception 106 Septuagint 175, 234–235 Seraphim 115–116 Seven (as a holy number) 131–132 Seven Benedictions for the Sabbath 100, 111, 126 Severan emperors 201–202 Sex differentiation 8–9, 17 Shemoneh Esreh 100–133 Sickle of the curse 76, 139 Simeon (pillar saint) 225 Sneezing (as omen) 240–247 Socrates 244–245 Soul 105, 106 Sperm 6–20 Spermatogenesis 6–20 Stephen, priest of Ephesus 264 Stoic theology 56–57 Story of Melchizedek 98 Synagogue 130–131 Synesius of Cyrene 217, 229 Synkatabasis 42–43 Tefillah, see Shemoneh Esreh Temple 260

Theodoric I 212 Theodosius II 218–226 Theodotion 115 Theological oracles 194 Theon 52 Theophilestatos 251, 266 Theophrastus 173 Theoprepes 39–41, 44 Theos Hypsistos 141–142, 154–156, 200–201 Torah 29, 59, 127, 129, 130 Trishagion 112, 115–116, 118 Trophophoreô 128 Tropophoreô 128 Twenty-Five Questions to Corner the Jews 203 Vettius Valens 90 Violence, anti-Jewish 48–53 Vision 31–35 Voces magicae 82, 84, 85 Vulgate 1 Wandering poets 222 Watchers 13, 18 Wisdom 103, 127 World citizen 104 Xenocrates 238 Xenophanes 39 Zeus 84, 93, 233 Zôopoios tôn nekrôn 101, 111