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Dr. Hafemann’s paper argued for a new reading of 2 Peter 1:4’s famous ινα δια τουτων γενησθε θειας κοινωνοι φυσεως, which has served as a prooftext for the concept of apotheosis in Christian theology since the time of the Church Fathers. Through a close reading of the text and a study of the classical use of the word φυσις, Hafemann argued against the typical understanding of this phrase as communicating a concept of an altered ontology, though what he wants to replace it with is not entirely clear.

Following the lead of ancient Christian theologians, modern commentators and translations of the New Testament encourage an understanding of φυσις which is essentially synonymous with ουσια, that is, a static non-physical quality or being. The whole phrase, generally translated something along the lines of “so that through these things you may become partakers of the divine nature and escape the corruption which is in the world because of passion,” is taken to describe an escape from human physicality, or what amounts to, as Ernst Käsemann points out, a collapse of Christian theology into Hellenistic dualism and Gnosticism. The escape from physicality has been understood in three ways: 1) a translation from the material world either at death or at the parousia; 2) a participation in God’s immortality in the future as well as already partaking of it in the present through aligning one’s moral behaviour with God’s holiness; 3) an experience of God’s presence and an escape from moral corruption in the present.

Over against this trend in interpretation, a minority view attempts to understand this statement from a covenantal perspective. The way this works out is that θεια φυσις comes to be a circumlocution for “divinity” and a κοινωνος is a “partner,” so that the phrase means, essentially, “so that through these things you may come to be a partner with divinity.” Hafemann agrees with this position’s understanding of κοινωνος (participant or partner versus a partaker or recipient), but disagrees that θεια φυσις is simply a roundabout reference to God like the word “divinity.” He bases his disagreement on the uses of the terms θειας δυναμεως in 1:3 and της μεγαλοπρεπους δοξης in 1:17, (where μεγαλοπρεπους or “majestic” is understood as a more or less exact synonym for θειας “divine”), both of which refer to a characteristic of God, not simply to God himself.

For some illumination on the word φυσις, Hafemann went to Classics scholarship where, he discovered, while the word does have a wide semantic range, in most cases >φυσις is not an abstract or static noun but a verbal noun. While in certain philosophical contexts, reflected in the New Testament, Hafemann allows, in places like Galatians 4:8, φυσις may, in fact, take on a specialised meaning and become thus cognate to ουσια the everyday “street use,” so to speak, was very different. Related to the verb φυω, which means to grow, put forth, or become, φυσις as a verbal noun very commonly described a thing’s fundamental being as it expresses itself in what it produces (perhaps “result,” “product,” or “output?”; Hafemann avoided giving the word even an approximate one or two-word English rendering, making his paper difficult to follow at times; I also suggested in the discussion afterwards that this would seem to place φυσις more in the semantic field of τελος, and Dr. Hafemann cautiously agreed). In a way, the noun, as I understand Hafemann’s meaning, seems to express an idea that what you see is what you get. Hafemann traced a range of uses of the word related to this understanding through Platonist, Neo-Platonist, and Stoic writings. An exploration of Philo’s use of the word also shows him to understand φυσις as referring to the inherent characteristics of a thing, especially revealed by what it does or makes. For Philo (according to Hafemann), God’s nature expresses itself and is perceived through his act as a Creator. Divine nature is a creating nature. Hafemann has gathered a great deal more data from Second Temple Jewish sources, but time restraints limited his discussion of them.

The last half of the paper returned to the text of 2 Peter in order to further explain his understanding of 1:3-4 and its impact on the larger message of 2 Peter. Focusing on the word επαγγελμα, which only occurs in the New Testament in 2 Peter 1:4 and 3:13, he asserted an understanding of the event of becoming “fellow participants in the divine nature” as something which occurs at the parousia. This is especially based on the context of 3:13, “According to his promise [επαγγελμα] we await the new heavens and new earth, in which righteousness resides,” where the promise has specifically future eschatological content.

In light of this, θεια φυσις in 1:4 means, according to Hafemann, God’s eschatological acts of redemption. However, I have to confess my confusion on this point, since this would remain exclusively God’s activity making κοινωνος not so much “fellow participant” as “recipient” or “one who experiences.” But this was not predicted by Hafemann’s discussion of κοινωνος earlier in the paper, where the options opposed were “partaker” and “partner.” In fact, this would almost seem to contradict those earlier conclusions. In keeping with his intention to find a covenantal reading of 2 Peter 1:3-4, Hafemann wants κοινωνος to refer to the relationship between God and man, a meaning, Hafemann admits, is startlingly new, having no precedent in LXX language or in Classical uses of the word. If I understood Hafemann correctly, 2 Peter 1:4’s ινα δια τουτων γενησθε θειας κοινωνοι φυσεως could be expanded and paraphrased “so that through them [the things promised] you might become beneficiaries of God’s eschatological act of redemption in new creation [an act which is the natural product of God because of who he is].”

I am not myself an expert on 2 Peter, so I am not in an especially strong position to call Hafemann’s conclusions into question. However, I wonder whether his insistence that 2 Peter understands the point in time where Christians become “fellow participants in the divine nature” is at the parousia is necessary or even the best of possible readings. One wonders, also, if Hafemann’s understanding of what a covenantal reading must entail has not prevented him from seeing simpler and more satisfying understandings of 2 Peter 1:3-4, understandings which are just as much based on the results of his lexicographical research. In other words, while he makes a compelling case that 2 Peter 1:4 is not best understood as referring to an apotheosis (based on the most likely meanings of φυσις and κοινωνος) his conclusion concerning what the verse does actually describe is not really more satisfying. I look forward to seeing the end results of his work on 2 Peter, and I think that it will provide a catalyst for a much needed re-examination of 2 Peter’s understanding of “divine nature.”

Kerry Lee
University of Edinburgh

Willis Hedley Salier, The Rhetorical Impact of the Semeia in the Gospel of John. WUNT 2/186. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004. Pp. ix + 234. ISBN: 9783161484070.

RBECS would like to thank Mohr Siebeck for kindly providing us with a review copy. You can find RBECS on facebook, here.

Published theses do not need to be long, and they need to be clear and to the point. Willis Salier’s thesis is one of them. This is the published version of the author’s doctoral thesis completed at the University of Cambridge in 2003, supervised by the late Graham Stanton and examined by Andrew Lincoln and James Carleton Paget. Consisting only of 187 pages of the main body with 56 pages of bibliography with indices, this monograph is well focused. It examines the language of σημεῖον (sign), a unique term in the Gospel of John and the way it operates within John’s rhetorical strategy. Its structure is simple: after a brief review of the previous studies and a presentation of his presuppositions, the author surveys the use of σημεῖον in its ancient contexts (chapter 2) and then he discusses the occurrences of σημεῖον and the sign narratives section by section throughout the Gospel (chapters 3-6).

Salier first probes into the use of σημεῖον in the Hebrew Scriptures in chapter 2. He suggests that its roles in the exodus account and in the sign actions performed by the prophets do carry theological connotations in fulfilling Yahweh’s purposes. Furthermore, Salier shows that the religious use of σημεῖον in Josephus and Philo differentiates itself as an attesting sign signalling God’s acts and messages in the Hebrew Scriptures rather than the Greco-Roman understanding of an omen. In the area of judicial rhetoric, σημεῖον also carries a denotation for a non-conclusive proof. Just like many other vocabulary adopted by the Fourth Evangelist, σημεῖον is an ordinary word and yet the author highlights its regular association to the rhetorical traditions used in the contemporaneous legal contexts.

From chapters 3 to 6, which cover John 1-4, 5-10, 11-12, and 13-21 correspondingly, Salier conducts exegesis to texts where σημεῖον occurs. He calls this a “text-to-reader” perspective, seeking to “identify and explain the devices used in the text to produce the desired effect in the reader” (p.6). Here more interactions with the major commentators, whether holding opposing views to his or not, could have been made. With these exegetical observations he made, Salier then discusses how they engage the “repertoire” of the first readers, a term he uses repeatedly in the thesis referring to “the prior understandings that already exist in the reader’s mind before he or she reads a narrative” (p.7 n.34 quoting J. Hawthorn). This he calls a “reader-to-text” perspective, “to try and understand the persuasive impact of the Johannine presentation by asking what might the early audience bring to the text from their cultural background or repertoire as they hear the Gospel” (p.6-7). Having looked at the individual occurrences of σημεῖον closely, Salier then discusses their role in a broader framework by examining the narratives designated by σημεῖον. Again, insights are made via the same two perspectives he adopted.

What remains interesting to the present reviewer is the usefulness of the latter perspective (cultural repertoire). With this perspective, he often brings in thought-provoking and interesting background materials that the first readers should have thought of but very possibly neglected by modern readers. This includes, to quote a few, the role of wine in the Cana pericope (p.64-70), the child mortality in the royal official pericope (p.73-74), and the crucifixion and the kingship motif therein (p.163-165).[1] For sure, awareness of these social, religious, and political contexts of the first readers will definitely enrich our understanding of the impact which the Gospel has made in the late first century.

Salier’s conclusion is twofold: First, “the σημεῖα function in the Gospel to identify Jesus as the divine Messiah, illustrate his mission as the true life-giver and provide a point of comparison and contrast with rivals” (p.173). Second, σημεῖα engage the readers to the forensic motif which invites the reader’s response to Jesus’ challenges made through his signs and associated claims. Σημεῖα also facilitate the reader’s identification with the characters and situations in the storyline. They offer readers from a diverse background an understanding of Jesus, whether those who are familiar with the background use in the Hebrew Scriptures, or those who are sensitive to the false claims of the popular pagan rival gods and the imperial cult.

On one hand, this monograph casts fresh insights from a literary approach, integrating the significance of σημεῖον to its associated concepts in the narratives. For instance, he sees a positive relationship between sign and faith in a holistic way unlike what the Johannine scholars of the previous generation concluded (e.g. R. Bultmann and R. Schnackenburg). This literary approach also contrasts glaringly to the previous studies which focused primarily on the question of sources. On the other hand, Salier’s cultural repertoire perspective offers modern readers a sensible awareness of issues that the first and ancient readers would have perceived while reading the text. With these two perspectives, Salier’s work fills the gap of the Johannine scholarship with his detailed analyses of this important word (and concept) in the Gospel.

There are a few minor defects noted: a few typos (p.35 “willl”, missing full stops at the end of p.35, p.109 n.103, p.156 n.38, and p.158 n.44, and p.231 “σημεῖιον”), missing words (p.77 n.2 last line), minor mistakes (p.79 n.5 “below” should be “previous”), and inconsistent indentations (p.163, 173 and 174). Needless to say, these are clearly minor problems which can be corrected in future reprints.

Josaphat Tam
University of Edinburgh

Prof Bauckham’s paper was written as a companion to his essay on ‘individualism’ in the Gospel of John, which he presented at the British New Testament Conference (Nottingham, 2011). In the present paper, Prof Bauckham offers a fresh interpretation of John’s usage of the ‘oneness’ language (focussing on the word ἕν), and assesses its relevance for understanding the divine and human community. He examines the Scriptural uses of the community language, with a special emphasis on Jesus’ prayer in John 17, and also the developments of this language in systematic theology.

The word ‘one’

According to Prof Bauckham, in 12 instances in 8 Johannine texts, the word ‘one’ becomes a very potent theological term. Although one might be compelled to regard this word as straight-forward, this initial impression is in fact wrong, as it is used by John at least in two different ways.

It possesses two different kinds of significances: a) to express uniqueness/singularity (there is only one); b) to signify unity or something unified (they are one, as one, or united). When we look for the theological significances of this word, it is essentially important to bear in mind these two meanings.

Professor N. Thomas Wright commenced this semester’s New Testament research seminar on Apocalyptic and Mysticism with some introductory remarks regarding these categories and what they mean for the academic study of the New Testament.

Prior to Wright’s remarks, Dr. Scott Hafemann announced that Professor Wright had recently been awarded the Mark O. Hatfield award for excellence in leadership in the field of Christian higher education by the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities in Washington D.C.

Wright began by commenting on the rather bumpy road that has been traveled in the history of the academic study of Apocalyptic Literature and Mysticism. Some parties, both in the German and then the American academies, have historically been very wary of venturing into these subjects and have long resisted and pushed to the sidelines the study of related texts. They have often not found a place for these categories in the study of the New Testament, arguing against the historical Jesus’ involvement in anything “mystical” and asserting that Paul wouldn’t have dabbled in it. The academy has long privileged matters of the mind over those of the heart.

However, in the late 20th century there has been a revolution regarding the study of Apocalyptic and Mysticism due in no small measure to the enormous wealth of new texts that have become available, which have opened up many new possibilities for understanding the world of Second Temple Judaism and Christian origins.  The academy began to take the history of this period more seriously. Apocalyptic is now seen as something that is not so much on the fringes of Jewish thought, but based on central tenets of their understanding of Scripture. Mysticism is being looked at as based on the experience of real people.

Wright explained that the Jewish Temple was the focal point of Jewish society — it is what held everything together.  We should not underestimate the role that the hymns of the Temple, the Psalms, played in the development of Apocalyptic and Mysticism. Both Jews and Christians were Psalm-singing people.  The Psalms celebrated the monarchy and the Temple and these themes were perpetuated in them. Yahweh was to rule the world from his Temple in Jerusalem. We find that the Temple themes dominate the shaping of the Pentateuch.

The story of Genesis/Exodus builds toward the building of the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle is Genesis 1-2 all over again — a re-creation — they built a little (new) world where God could again be with his people — a new Eden. The purpose of the Genesis-Exodus story is to tell of the re-creation of the world.

After the destruction of Solomon’s Temple, the promise of Yahweh’s return was a very important subject. We see in the Second Temple period that this promise had not yet been fulfilled.  Even when the Temple was rebuilt, it remained unoccupied. The post-exilic prophets, like Malachi, were often calling on the temple priests to repent and make themselves clean before the great and terrible day when the Lord would suddenly return to his temple.

In the Second Temple period, we see the expression of a need for a “New Exodus.” We read in Ezekiel 10 of how the Glory/Kavod leaves the Temple in Jerusalem and in Ezekiel 43, we see the return of the Kavod to the future ideal temple. Ezekiel became the prototype for Apocalyptic and Mystical speculation.  This thinking is developed further in Daniel, where we see Daniel praying to receive revelation from God. Although heaven and earth have been made separate because of the absence of the Presence from the Temple, God can still be accessed by the righteous. Daniel’s visions reveal that God will return and overcome the kings of the nations and become King of the whole world. Daniel 7 shows God sitting in judgment over the wicked nations and the arrival of the establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth.

For Wright, Apocalyptic and Mysticism arise from this sense of Yahweh’s absence. God’s natural state, Wright argues, was to be living with his people. Heaven and Earth were supposed to be united in the temple. During this period when God was not present in his Temple, believers nurtured a desire to re-connect with the divine. This return to unity with God, for Wright, is a type of personal inaugurated eschatology. Their meditation on the Merkavah allowed them to see the eschatological hope in the present. Ways were found to bring heaven and earth together again — mystical practice, strict adherence to Torah, etc. Again, this was not merely a fringe movement, but stems out of central features of the Jewish world-view.

The New Testament, Wright explained, represents a new kind of inaugurated eschatology, one in which Jesus the Messiah and the Spirit represent the return of God’s Glory to the world. Acts is a thoroughly apocalyptic book. The ascension of Jesus is essentially Daniel 7 — the Son of Man riding on the clouds and being presented before the Ancient of Days. Pentecost represents the return of the Kavod, when the Spirit descends upon the Church, the New Temple (the apostles are the pillars of the New Temple). Stephen has a vision, as it were, of the Holy of Holies — God on his throne with Jesus at his right hand.  Acts is full of temple speech. We see the fulfillment of Daniel 7 where the Kingdom is given to the people of God.

Paul, on the road to Damascus, may have been meditation on the Throne-Chariot — this would make sense when we consider that as a result of his meditating he does receive a vision of the Kavod, and finds that it is Jesus. He has achieved a vision of the Glory and this results in his conversion.

The vision of the Glory is the return of Yahweh to Zion. See 2 Cor. 3:18. The Glory has reappeared through Jesus and continues to be present in the people through the Spirit. Essentially, the Eschaton has been inaugurated and the long awaited hope realized.  The New Creation has begun — the Christ has already won the great battle. The Prologue of the Gospel of John parallels Ben Sira 24. For John, this is what it looks like for the ancient promises to be fulfilled. Jesus has overcome the world and conquered wickedness.

This is all temple theology — the temple tradition has been renewed. Also, this is Jewish two-age theology. The lifting up of Jesus on the cross is the revelation of God’s Glory that all flesh would see together (Isa. 40:5). The Resurrection is the New Genesis.

In conclusion, the traditions of Apocalyptic and Mysticism arise in the context of the non-return of Yahweh to his Temple.  In the Jewish world-view, unlike modern thought, there was not supposed to be a gulf between heaven and earth. The Jews wanted to bring them back together.  The New Testament depicts Jesus as the Glory of God returned to his Temple in Zion.

David J. Larsen
St Andrews

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The last of Richard Hays’ lectures in the 2012 Gunning series was part overview of the previous four lectures and part return to and exploration of the somewhat troubling assertion he made in his first lecture that modern hermeneutics (speaking, for the most part, in terms of the Christian church’s life and teaching) could and perhaps should imitate that of the Gospel writers. This assertion he expounded through nine proposals.

Rather than reporting on all of the first half of Hays’ lecture, let me refer the reader to the reports already posted on Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John. However, there were a few comments in this half of the lecture which were new and noteworthy. First, looking at the four Gospels as a whole, Hays’ stresses the uniqueness of each writer’s hermeneutical strategy, appealing to the image of musical polyphony to clarify how he envisages the value of both similarities and differences among the Gospels. The fact that four texts with such different methods of scriptural interpretation were canonised creates a de facto canonisation of a principle of diversity where lines of emphasis shift in time and space, according to the needs and contexts of individual writers and, presumably, Christian communities. While Hays considers Luke’s approach to offer the most adequate load-bearing framework for the modern church, he considers Mark’s to be the most theologically generative in a post-modern context.

Next Hays returns to the question of what a hermeneutic for the modern church that was shaped by the methods of the Gospel writers would look like. He offers nine principles:

1. A Gospel-shaped hermeneutic depends upon a reader who inhabits a world shaped by scripture. Scripture is not just a repository of ancient writings with true ideas, but it tells a compelling story. The emphasis is on large story-arcs, less on individual texts.
2. Reading is not undifferentiated. Each Gospel author seems to operate with a de facto canon within the canon. In particular, one sees a preference for the Torah, Isaiah, and the Psalms, though each author gives a slightly different set of emphases. Generally, the emphasis is not even given to whole books, but particular passages (Daniel 7, for example). The Gospel authors appear to be conscious of this aspect of their writing (Matthew’s emphasis on Hosea 6:6, for example).
3. In light of the fact that most of the citations in the Gospels (with a few exceptions) are derived from the Septuagint, Hays suggests that it, rather than the Masoretic Hebrew text, may be the more appropriate version of the Old Testament for Christian Scripture.
4. A Gospel-shaped hermeneutic reads backwards. In other words, it reads scripture in light of the resurrection, and this requires reconfiguration.
5. Reading for figuration. By this idea, Hays appears to be suggesting that “figuration” (which is indistinguishable in most respects from allegory in Hays’ usage) is an acceptable hermeneutical method for modern readers (we must assume that he is referring to Christian readers, inasmuch as reading strategy depends largely on what questions one is trying to ask of a text, and allegory cannot answer, for example, historical questions addressed to a text).
6. Through scriptural linkages, all four Gospel writers are identifying Jesus as the embodiment of the God of Israel, forcing readers to rethink what they mean by the word “God.”
7. The Gospels are open-ended stories. All four stories are unfinished and invite the reader into an ongoing process of understanding and proclamation.
8. Scripture is rightly to be read in the counter-cultural communities which are the implied audience of the Gospels.
9. One God: the Shema and the Gospels. There is a consistent presupposition that the God of the Old Testament is living and active. Only on this ground can the hermeneutics Hays has suggested be accepted; that is, only because God is the primary active agent in the story. Apart from the truth of that claim, any talk of the unity of Old Testament and the New Testament is nonsense.

Some of these principles can be accepted by both Church and Academy with hardly any disagreement, particularly those principles regarding the implied audience of the Christian Bible (1, 8). Obviously, one needs to understand the likely presuppositions of the implied reader in order to more and more intelligently read the text. Few would disagree with this (other than those who see meaning being created exclusively in the reader, but this is a minority position). Furthermore, as uncomfortable as principle 2 might make those in the Church, it is clear that New Testament writers favoured certain texts above others in practice. The Christian Church has itself done this with the New Testament (albeit in different ways – the Western Church has generally favoured Pauline writings above Johannine writings and the Epistle of James, for instance).

Principle 6 is, in my opinion, the single most significant contribution Hays has made to the Academic (and, to a lesser extent, faith-based) study of the Gospels. He has made a compelling argument that all four Gospel writers, not just John, had a very high Christology, and this was done with skilful and intelligent (not to mention modern) hermeneutics. The burden of proof is now on those who would understand early Church Christology as an evolution to show that Hays’ readings of the Gospels do not demolish their position.

Acceptance of others of Hays’ principles depends on the identity of Hays’ own implied audience. If he is speaking to the Christian Church, and if the implied reading process reflects this, principles 4, 6, 7, and 10 make sense (perhaps also principle 5). But here I admit I am somewhat confused. I had been under the impression that part of Hays’ purpose was to bring the hermeneutics of the Academy and that of the Church into closer union, not split them further apart. But according to these nine principles, if in fact Hays’ implied audience is the Academy, the reading methods and questions of the Academy are to be subordinated to the believing community’s faith presuppositions. But this cannot be. The Academy asks questions of these texts which do not, at this point, find a home in the faith context, and this has as much to do with presuppositions about the nature of the texts (the concept of inspiration, for example) as anything. The faith community believes that it is appropriate to do certain things with texts which are inappropriate to an academic pursuit, that, in fact, these certain things are intended by their divine origin.

Principles 3, 4, and 5 are the most questionable. The use of the Septuagint as the Christian Old Testament presupposes quite a bit. First of all, it presupposes that there is such a thing as a “right” Old Testament that is recoverable, that one of the early text traditions of the Hebrew Bible is more … inspired, I suppose … than the others. There is now evidence that a Hebrew text tradition different from what became the Masoretic Text stands behind the Septuagint, so are Christians to accept the Hebrew behind the Septuagint, or the Greek translation? Furthermore, Hays himself admits that the NT use of the Septuagint is not universal. At times, the NT writers pick and choose among a variety of versions of OT texts, Greek, Aramaic, and Hebrew, some of which we cannot identify with 100% accuracy.

Principle 4 risks subordinating OT texts to Christian understandings of NT texts (not even simply to the NT texts themselves). Even in a faith context one wonders at the wisdom of this strategy, at least as an exclusive hermeneutical strategy. The fact that a modern reader unconsciously brings foreign presuppositions to ancient texts creates an ever-present danger of suppressing certain features of those texts. The task of a skilful reader is to try, as much as possible, to align his or her presuppositions with those of the implied audience of a text. Scholars do consciously bring foreign presuppositions to texts in an effort to subvert that text and bring out its hidden features (feminist readings, Marxist readings, etc.), but this is to be never confused with understanding what the text itself is saying. Is Hays suggesting a kind of reader-oriented subversion of the Christian Bible, a “Christian” reading? In what way is this different from the way Christians have always read the Old Testament, and has not Old Testament scholarship been trying over the last 200 years or so, often in Christianity’s interest, to be doing precisely the opposite of this? The danger, which has long been recognised, of overtly Christian readings of the Old Testament is that 1) it assumes that Christians’ own self-understanding is not flawed, and 2) it risks suppressing rhetorical emphases of the Old Testament which do not match the sensibilities of more recent readers.

With regard to principle 5 and Hays’ use of the word “figuration,” I must again ask how this differs from traditional Christian interpretation of the Old Testament over the last 2000 years. Hays would make a distinction between allegory and figuration, but the distinction is extremely subtle and does not solve the problem of allegory, which is precisely that the validity of an allegory does not derive from its source material but from the creator of the allegory. Some ancient writers appear to have understood this, but others did not, and many Christian teachers over the centuries have not understood this. This principle, once again, in trying to unite modern and ancient hermeneutics inadvertently re-drives a sharp wedge between Church and Academy.

This is an unfortunately critical conclusion to a report on what were, in fact, some truly fascinating and important lectures on the Gospel-writers’ usages of Old Testament texts. Hays’ careful and intelligent study of a survey of citations in all four Gospels reveals that scholarship has been unduly dismissive of their hermeneutical strategies as composed primarily of isolated proof-texts. On the contrary, in different ways, Hays has shown, the Gospel writers took up the writings of the Old Testament in sometimes surprising but always careful and usually enduringly defensible ways. He has called into question the evolutionary theory of Christology which has been a consensus for generations in New Testament scholarship. While I remain unconvinced that the Gospels can teach modern believers and scholars everything about hermeneutics which Hays claims, nevertheless I have been delighted to discover that Mark’s and Luke’s use of the Old Testament is very compatible with the post-modern emphasis on story over against proposition as a bearer of truth. In some things, at least, the Gospels truly can teach modern audiences a thing or two about reading texts.

Kerry Lee
University of Edinburgh

Joseph Verheyden, Korinna Zamfir and Tobias Nicklas (eds.), Prophets and Prophecy in Jewish and Early Christian Literature, (WUNT II 286; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010) pp. viii+359, €74 (paper). 978 3 16 150338 2; 0340 9570

RBECS would like to thank Mohr Siebeck for kindly providing us with a review copy. You can find RBECS on facebook, here.

The collection of these essays grew out of the 2006 Conference on “Prophets and Prophecy in the Old and New Testament” organized by the Centre for Biblical Studies at Babeș-Bolyai University in Cluj, Romania. The essays by Walter Dietrich, Johannes Klein, Ulrich Luz, and Hans Klein were later incorporated into the volume from their original publication in Sacra Scripta 1 (2007). The commonality of the contributions, however, is in their investigation into the role of the prophet, prophecy, and prophetic literature of Jewish and early Christian literature and tradition. The editors offer the proceedings not as a “complete image of either Jewish or early Christian prophecy, but rather an attempt at reconstructing parts of this fascinating phenomenon by putting together various pieces of a mosaic” (p. vi). Moreover, the editors suggest that what holds the essays together is its “twofold orientation:” viz., traces and evidence of continuity and discontinuity (p. v). It is difficult to know precisely what this means in terms of the volume as a collective statement as the individual essays seem rather aloof in abiding by this over-arching approach.

The first essay by Walter Dietrich, “Samuel—ein Prophet?” (pp. 1–17), looks at the multiplicity of presentations of Samuel in 1 and 2 Samuel—Geweihter, Prophet, Richter, Priester, Königsmacher—as well as his reception in various settings from music, to literary aesthetics, to psychoanalysis. Johannes Klein follows with a second essay on Samuel, “Samuel, Gad, und Natan: Ein Vergleich” (pp. 19–29), comparing the three prophetic figures within 1 and 2 Samuel. Klein appears to draw conclusions about the rhetorical strategies of 1 and 2 Samuel based upon the verbiage and descriptors attributed to these three prophets. Brian Doyle investigates “The Prophet Isaiah and His Relational Metaphors” (pp. 31–40). Doyle follows the reception of Isaiah in its canonical form as the basis of his analysis of the vineyard metaphor in Isa 27:1–6 (pp. 35–40). He concludes with the rather provocative phrasing of how relational metaphors coordinate God, land, and people in a “sort of ménage à trois” (p. 40). Rieuwerd Buitenwerf’s essay returns to the complicated issues surrounding Sibylline Orracles III with a particular emphasis on the identity of the prophetess and issues of genre (pp. 41–55). The text has clearly been co-opted for Jewish agendas, transforming the Sibyl of Erythrae into “a universal prophetess of the one and only God” (p. 55).

Ulrich Luz presents a masterful analysis of the “Stages of Early Christian Prophetism” (pp. 57–75). He begins by acknowledging that the phenomenon under investigation is “complex” and “far from all uniformity” (p. 57). As is typical of Luz’s work, he takes seriously Wirkungsgeschichte, with a ranging discussion from contemporary Kongo and South African church expressions, to Zwingli’s bible studies, to the pre-exilic prophets and through the varying stages of early Christian prophecy. Luz sees the complex process beginning to emerge as נביא or προφήτης (LXX) as a “general term for all people acting as empowered ‘spokesmen[women]’ of God.” In other words, “Prophetism is not directly perceivable as a real phenomenon, but as a secondary concept of real phenomena” (p. 58). The complexity does not dissipate within early Christianity as there are examples of texts with “very different forms of prophets and prophecies” or, perhaps, “early Christian prophets prophesied in different ways” (p. 60). In any case, the term προφήτης was reserved for its links with this received tradition.

Tobias Nicklas looks at the prophetic resonances with Paul the apostle (pp. 77–104). Though Paul himself never refers to himself as “prophet” Nicklas suggests that it may have been part of his self-understanding by centering on key passages (e.g., Gal 1:16–16; Rom 1:1–2; 1 Thes 1:4; 1 Cor 9:14–18) and complexities of Paul’s deployment of the term μυστήριον. Nicklas gestures toward seeing Paul of Tarsus als charismatischen Juden seiner Zeit (p. 104). Hans Klein’s essay, “Auf dem Grund der Apostel und Propheten: Bemerkungen zu Epheserbrief 2,20” (pp. 105–16), looks at the terms der Apostel und Propheten within Ephesians and their function as Richtschnur within the early community.

The next three essays look at the prophetic within Synoptic traditions. Paul Foster works through “Prophets and Prophetism in Matthew” (pp. 117–38). Matthew does demonstrate an overwhelmingly greater penchant for προφ- language and Foster sees this as his “redactional contribution” (p. 117). Foster suggests Matthew “deploys prophetic language for a variegated range of purposes” (p. 138) guided by a christological and an ecclesial use of the prophetic material. In the latter, Matthew constructs “those who adhere to the type of belief in Jesus which he promotes as being the true heirs of the prophets and having the correct messianic interpretation of the prophetic traditions” (p. 136). Korinna Zamfir follows by considering neglected “Jeremian Motifs in the Synoptics’ Understanding of Jesus” (pp. 139–76), particularly with respect to Jeremiah’s polemical posturing toward the temple and the temple authorities. Zamfir adjudicates carefully between the historical elements within Jesus’ own mission and the community’s grasping of his identity through interpretive patterns.  Joseph Verheyden looks at what it means for Jesus to be called a prophet in Luke by examining passages which name him as such (pp. 177–210). Verheyden sees in Luke a tension between his naming Jesus as a prophet. Verheyden sees Luke as not wanting to call Jesus a prophet. Prophet is a name of misunderstanding and misrecognition. He is ultimately “identified, explicitly or implicitly, as the Lord and Christ, even as the Son of God” (p. 204).

Urban C. von Wahlde looks at “The Role of the Prophetic Spirit” within Johnnine community formation (pp. 211–42). Von Wahlde suggests that it was the role of the Spirit which became “the central determining aspect of theology at what might be called the most creative stage in the development of the Johannine tradition” (p. 212). The chapter is rather hypothetical in its four-stage development within the Johannine tradition but it presents an interesting investigation into the role of spirit and prophecy within the so-called Johannine writings. The next two essays look at the Apocalypse. First, Sorin Mațian looks at “Prophétisme et symbolisme dans l’Apocaplyse” (pp. 243–51). “En s’inspirant de plusieurs ouvrages de l’Ancien Testament, l’auteur de l’Apocalypse n’en prend pas les thèmes d’une manière littérale, mais va à l’essence en expliquant les anciennes prophéties en fonction des circonstances historiques du Ier siècle chrétien” (p. 251).  The second is by Beate Kowalski in “Prophetie und die Offenbarung des Johannes? Offb 22,6–21 als Testfall” (pp. 253–93). Kowalski argues that the Apocalypse is best understood within early Christian prophecy and draws on varying linguistic, literary, and allusions to Israel’s prophetic writings.

The volume concludes with a survey of “Prophecy and Prophetism in the Apostolic Fathers by Clayton N. Jefford (pp. 295–316). Jefford begins by offering proper cautions on examining “any singular theme within the Apostolic Fathers,” and “not to survey certain texts within the collection and declare that from but a few writings there is evidence for a unified perspective among the whole” (p. 295). That being said, he works through Didache, Ignatius of Antioch, and Shepherd of Hermas as examples of the post-apostolic church of the early second century grasping for its ecclesial identity through such patterns as the prophetic.

From an organizational perspective, the collection of essays could have benefited from sectional ordering. But all in all, the essays are excellent in their own right and as a collection a significant contribution to the discussion of the prophetic and its divergent developments.

Michael J. Thate
Durham University

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In the penultimate Gunning lecture, Richard Hays turned his attention to the fourth Gospel where, once again, Jesus is described as “him of whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote” (John 2:45, RSV). The character of Jesus makes this claim, as well, saying “If you believed Moses, you would believe me, for he wrote of me” (John 5:46, RSV). However, like the Synoptics, John does not say specifically where and how Moses and the prophets wrote about Jesus. Rather, it remains for the reader to reconstruct this.

Unlike the Synoptics, though, John’s use of the Old Testament depends on a very few allusions and citations (according to the count of Westcott and Hort, 27 direct citations in John versus 124, 70, and 109 citations in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, respectively), but these references are explored deeply over a longer stretch of the narrative, in what Hays calls sustained meditation. The manner of allusion in John differs from that in the Synoptics, as well. Rather than finding points of contact in words and phrases, John uses images and figures. Another way of saying this is that John is more visual, the Synoptics more auditory. Also unlike the Synoptics, John is less concerned with narrative continuity, that Jesus is continuing and bringing to a climax the story of Israel. The Old Testament, rather, provides a treasury of images and symbols which prefigure Jesus and only find their true significance in him.

Such direct citations as there are in John very often come in authorial commentary rather than in the voice of one of the characters. Two significant instances of this come in the form of paired quotations in 12:38-40 and 19:36-37. Interestingly, these double citations both conclude a major section of the Gospel (the former concluding the so-called “Book of the Signs” and the latter the “Book of the Passion”). Hays notes that the typical source of John’s citations also changes after 12:38-40, from varied sources in the first half to predominately (more than 60%) Psalms in the second half. Furthermore, only one citation can plausibly be ascribed to the Pentateuch. This raises the question, where does Moses write about Jesus (according to John)? To answer this, among other questions, Hays turns to specific examples.

The prologue to John’s Gospel draws on imagery from Genesis 1 and Wisdom literature, specifically the image of personified Wisdom being present or instrumental in creation, not only to establish the theological significance of Jesus but also, secondarily, the justification for his own hermeneutical method. Jesus is the Logos, the fundamental logic by and through which all things were created. All creation, in other words, has the blueprint of Jesus built into it, much more so the texts of the Old Testament. This function is very much akin to the role of personified Wisdom in creation in Israel’s Wisdom tradition. Moreover, there are texts (Sirach 24, Baruch 3:35-4:4, and 1 Enoch 42:1-4) which talk of Wisdom seeking a home in the world. In Sirach, Wisdom successfully finds a home among Israel. In 1 Enoch, on the other hand, Wisdom finds no dwelling place and returns to live among the angels. The Logos of John 1, however, finds only rejection among humanity (John 1:11), but rather than returning to heaven he becomes flesh and dwells (“tabernacles”; cf. Sirach 24:8) among humanity. Without a direct citation (other than the first two words εν αρχη recalling Genesis 1:1), John makes an elaborate use of creation and personified Wisdom images in his depiction of Jesus.

This theological perspective/hermeneutical strategy permits John to have Jesus, as the Logos, take up into himself the significance and function of the temple. In John 1:51, Jesus identifies himself with the image of the ladder at Bethel (Genesis 28:12). According to the narrator, he uses the word “temple” as a cipher for his own body in 2:13-22 (“Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up”). Jesus predicts the end of the significance of the physical temple in Jerusalem (and of the Samaritan temple), that significance shifting to “spirit and truth,” the latter of which Jesus claims to be in 14:6-7.

Not only does John show Jesus assume the function of the Temple through images, he also depicts Jesus fulfilling the significance of the festivals. One of the notable unique features of John’s Jesus is his claims to certain images (bread, water, light, etc.). These images can be shown to draw upon significant ritual features associated with the celebration of Sukkoth, Passover, and the Feast of Dedication (Hanukkah). A part of the celebration of Sukkoth was the pouring out of water, and it is during Sukkoth in John 7:37-38 that Jesus says, “If any one thirst, let him come to me and drink. He who believes in me, as the scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water’” (RSV). Similarly, whereas during Sukkoth golden lamps were lit in the temple court, Jesus says in 8:12, “I am the light of the world.” While the association of Jesus’ passion with the time of the celebration of the Passover is clear in all four Gospels, it is in the Gospel of John that Jesus is himself identified with the image of the Passover Lamb (John 19:14 – the discrepancy in precise timing of the Last Supper and Crucifixion among the Gospels is attributable, in part, to theological concerns – see Helen Bond, “Dating the Death of Jesus”; also vv. 31-36 where legs are not broken in accordance with Exodus 12:46). During the Feast of Dedication, a celebration of national liberation, Jesus identifies himself with images related both to royalty and to God himself. He walks in Solomon’s portico. He claims to be the Good Shepherd and otherwise uses shepherd imagery in 7:11-18 and 25-30. This calls to mind Ezekiel 34 (among other texts – king-as-shepherd imagery is very common in the Old Testament and in the Ancient Near East), where there is some ambiguity as to who is to be the shepherd of Israel, David or God himself? This ambiguity in image gains a new significance when Jesus dramatically claims in 7:30 “I and the Father are one.”

One other image Hays notes (and one which is not directly related to the Temple) is Jesus’ identification of himself both with the manna in the wilderness (“I am the bread of life” in 6:35) and with the giver of the manna (i.e. his explanation of who it was who gave the bread in 6:31-33).

Looking at this evidence, Hays concludes that John sees all of Israel’s Scripture as allegorically transparent in reference to Jesus, not just as predictive proof-texts. Whereas for Luke the Old Testament is plotted script, a story or a collection of stories which find their climax in Jesus, for John it is a vast matrix of symbols, all pointing to Jesus. The reason this can be, according to John, is that all of creation, and especially Israel’s scriptures, have been created according to the blueprint of the Logos/Wisdom, which has become flesh in Jesus of Nazareth.

Kerry Lee
University of Edinburgh

Hans-Joachim Eckstein, Christof Landmesser and Hermann Lichtenberger (eds.), Eschatologie – Eschatology: The Sixth Durham-Tübingen Research Symposium: Eschatology in Old Testament, Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (Tübingen, September, 2009) (WUNT I 272; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011).

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There has been an ongoing fruitful partnership between the Theology Faculties of Durham University and Tübingen University. The partnership is, in part, a product of the friendship of C. K. Barrett and Ernst Käsemann. The first official symposium took place in 1988 in commemoration of the 50^th year of Adolf Schlatter’s death under the theme “Paulus und das antike Judentum.” The history of this partnership is detailed in Hermann Lichtenberger’s “Zur Geschichte der Durham-Tübingen-Symposien” (pp. 361–64). The Durham / Tübingen Symposium has produced six volumes of the proceedings of this symposium, with the current volume under discussion, Eschatologie – Eschatology, being the most recent product of this collaboration.

Not counting the Geschichte der Durham-Tübingen-Symposien, there are nine articles from German scholars from the Tübingen Theology Faculty, and seven essays from the Faculties of Durham, Dublin, Aberdeen and Cambridge. They consist of historical, exegetical and hermeneutical studies on the broad concept of eschatology and notions of finality within the sphere of the temporary. The essays are broken into five main sections: Old Testament and Early Jewish Writings (pp. 3–87); Gospels (pp. 91–169); Paul (pp. 173–246); Early Christian Writings (pp. 249–302); and Historical and Systematic Approaches (pp. 305–59).

Bernd Janowski’s chapter on the animal eschatology of Isa 11:6–9, “Der Wolf und das Lamm” (pp. 3–18), is an intriguing investigation into the textual history and theological implications of Isaiah 11:6–9 within the divergent ideas about the eschatological age. Janowski sets out the problematics of the text, and then proceeds in explicating der Tierfrieden through a close reading of the contextual setting, linguistic nuances, as well as the heilsgeschichtlichen Perspektive (p. 18) of the passage.

Lutz Doering’s essay, “Urzeit-Endzeit in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Pseudepigrapha” (pp. 19–58), builds upon the importance of Urzeit-Endzeit correlations in the Hebrew Bible and NT. It is from this groundwork which he forays into its “occurrence and profile in the Pseudepigrapha and the Dead Sea Scrolls as a significant part of ancient Jewish literature and an important literary and traditio-historical context for emergent early Christianity” (p. 22). Doering limits his investigation of Urzeit-Endzeit correspondence to four different types: first, the use of flood imagery within eschatological expectation; second, varied expectations of an eschatological temple as the restored Eden; third, eschatological formulations of restored Eden within a community; and, fourth, within the messianic reign and transformation of the cosmos.

Anna Maria Schwemer looks at the Promise Land in early Jewish eschatological expectation and early Christian mission in Syria (pp. 59–87). The chapter is an intriguing investigation into the role of Abraham and the promises given to him within the imaginary of Jewish self-understanding and early Christian mission. In particular, emphasis is given to Paul and how the “[das Land Abrahams wurde für ihn universalisiert” (p. 86). It was this Universalisierung which corresponds to eschatological understandings of varying apocalyptic traditions which Paul draws on for his missional strategies and theology.

The next three chapters engage with eschatological concerns within the Gospels. Jens Adam looks at Markan eschatology through the rubric of Jesus’ Leidensankündigungen (pp. 91–124). Adam argues that these pronouncements not only function as oracles of the ‘beginning of the end’ but also the ‘end of the beginning.’ Martin Bauspiess follows with an essay on the eschatological themes within Luke/Acts with respect to the presence of salvation (pp. 125–48). Particularly helpful is his brief survey of Lukas-Forschung (pp. 125–29) and a thematic reading of eschatology within Lukan theology (pp. 143–48). Hans-Joachim Eckstein rounds off the Section with an essay on the contested issue of Johannine eschatology (pp. 149–69).

The next Section on Paul contains four essays: Christof Landmesser and the complexities of Paul’s theology of eschatology and issues of development (pp. 173–94); John M. G. Barclay and matters of grace and recompense with respect to believers and the last judgment (pp. 195–208); Friederike Portenhauser and a kind of anthropological analysis of early Christian experience on the basis of 2 Cor 5:17 (pp. 209–28); and another essay by Christof Landmesser on eschatology in Galatians and Romans (pp. 229–46). Noteworthy amongst this Section is Barclay’s reworking of worn discussions of grace. Within the milieu of Graeco-Roman social economy, notions of gift relations (as opposed to mere relations of economy) are read across Paul’s soteriology (pp. 203–08).

The fourth Section of essays contains three essays on early Christian literature—or, more accurately, two essays on the Apocalypse and one on the Gospel of Thomas. Benjamin G. Wold presents the first essay on the literary function of the Exodus Plagues within the Apocalypse (pp. 249–66). Wold argues that “the plagues would have been understood as part of the saints’ exodus from exile in ‘Babylon’ and that this motif is interwoven with notions related to restoration” (p. 249). Hermann Lichtenberger follows with further reflections on eschatology within Revelation with respect to explicating the temporal puzzles of Rev. 1:1 (pp. 267–79). Lichtenberger’s essay is informed by keen exegesis and theological sensitivity (e.g., [d]ie historische Nichterfüllung kann kein Beweis für ihre grundsätzliche Nichterfüllung sein [p. 279]). The final essay of this section by Simon Gathercole explores the complicated issues of eschatology (or lack thereof) in Thomas (pp. 280–302). He suggests that despite initial diversity, the eschatology of Thomas is actually quite “coherent”: viz., “a future dissolution of the cosmos which will leave unchanged the ultimate realities which are already present” (p. 302).

The fifth and final Section explores various historical and systematic approaches to eschatology. Stephen C. Barton offers a powerful meditation and investigation on the practical implications of the resurrection with a “Particular Reference to Death and Dying in Christ” (pp. 305–30). Francis Watson follows with an essay on the reception of Schweitzer, “the founding father and patron saint of twentieth century historical Jesus scholarship,” in English (pp. 331–47). Watson provides an interesting exposition of the way in which the translation of Schweitzer into English has dominated the imagination of subsequent historical Jesus scholarship. He also compares Schweitzer’s eschatology with Weiss, Modern Theology, and Wrede. Though I think his Schweitzer is painted too consistently(!) with respect to, e.g., his views of human agency and the arrival of the kingdom of God—he does seem to say both at the same time in places—the essay is a massive corrective in much of Schweitzerian studies and alteration for the program of the so-called quest of historical Jesus. The final essay by Philip G. Ziegler, “Eschatological Dogmatics—To What End?” (pp. 348–59), explores the thought of Gerhard Forde as an entrée into a resurgent eschatological dogmatics which resists the seeming evacuation of genuine transcendence in some regimes of historicism.

As a publication of proceedings from a Symposium there is, naturally, an uneven feel to an investigation of eschatological dynamics and currents within biblical, theological, and historical perspective—e.g., can two essays on Revelation and one on Thomas really account for Frühchristliche Schriften? What is more, the social and historical contingencies which led to the construction of eschatology as discourse within the imaginary of eighteenth and nineteenth century German academy is only hinted at throughout the volume. But such a critique is off-base when the volume is read as a collection of essays—each with their own sizable contributions to make.

Michael J. Thate
Durham University

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In his paper, Dr. Kim gathered together a wide range of evidence in order to call into question the scholarly opinion that the Qumran community consisted exclusively of celibate males. This evidence fell into three categories: evidence from Hellenistic Jewish writings, evidence from the Dead Sea Scrolls, and evidence from archaeology at Qumran.

Reading texts from Philo of Alexandria and Josephus, Dr. Kim pointed out that in describing Palestinian ascetic communities, especially the Essenes, both authors depict a mixed picture where marriage and the presence of women in the community was, on one hand, held with suspicion while, on the other hand, marriage was in many places accepted or even the norm.

Among the Dead Sea Scrolls, Dr. Kim pointed to differences between 1QS and 1QSa with regard to the role of women in the community (the latter assuming the normative presence of women). Some questions were raised as to the applicability of 1QSa to the historical Qumran community (it may have been a hypothetical rule for a community in a future Messianic age). Dr. Kim appealed to the Damascus Document and the Temple Scroll for evidence of laws concerning marriage (restricting certain kinds of marriage, supporting monogamy, regulating divorce, protecting women, etc.), arguing that such laws imply the presence of women and marriage in the Qumran community. He also briefly described a wide ranging presence of women and femininity in 4QMMT, 4Q159, 184, 251, 274, 277, 284, 502, and 513. The whole collection presents a collective picture of women of all ages involved in normal life and an acceptance and comfort with the feminine.

Dr. Kim’s archaeological evidence centred around the discovery of hundreds of bowls at Qumran in a small area (which suggests communal life versus nuclear familial life), as well as evidence from the surrounding cemeteries. The cemetery evidence, which is extremely limited due to local restrictions against exhuming the graves (only a small percentage of the more than 1000 graves have been excavated), was re-examined in the 1990s at which time it was discovered that some of the skeletons previously thought male were actually female. In fact, an estimated 30% of the graves are women and children, the women being typically between 20 and 40 years old, and the children tending to be between 2 and 10. In these graves one finds jewellery and other paraphernalia from female domestic life.

In light of all the evidence, Dr. Kim suggests that, rather than understanding Qumran as consisting strictly of celibate males, there may have been a much more diverse attitude toward women and marriage. He suggests a diachronic understanding of the evidence, such that, for example, the community may have begun as a strictly celibate male ascetic community which over time also became home for a moderate population of women and children, either through marriage or through other kinds of social forces. These women had rights and roles in the community.

The following discussion centred largely around the cemetery evidence and Dr. Kim’s methodology. The cemetery data, which is in many ways the centrepiece of the evidence collection, was called into question because of a number of unresolved problems with it, especially regarding the dating of the graves (are they reliably connected temporally to the ascetic Qumran community), the possibility of a Bedouin constituency in the graves (perhaps explaining the women and the jewellery, which would be anomalous otherwise), the assumption that one of the cemeteries which was 6-7 km away from the main site belonged to Qumran, the lack of refining of archaeological data, and the limited number of graves actually exhumed due to local laws (can such a small sample really be thought to be representative of the overall community?). Dr. Kim obviously knows the evidence well, and overall his presentation was thought-provoking, at the very least making a valid case that to assume that the Qumran community was always and only made up of celibate males may be premature.

Kerry Lee
University of Edinburgh

Andrew Cain, The Letters of Jerome: Asceticism, Biblical Exegesis, and the Construction of Christian Authority in Late Antiquity. Oxford Early Christian Studies. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Pp. xiv + 286. isbn: 978-0-19-956355-5 (Hardback). £67.00.

This is a pre-print version of the review published in Sobornost: incorporating Eastern Churches Review 33.1 (2011), pp. 90-93.

This highly erudite and fascinating monograph by Andrew Cain, an already prominent Jerome scholar, focuses on Jerome of Stridon’s epistles and their (intended) reception. The Letters of Jerome, based on the author’s doctoral dissertation (Cornell University, 2003), consists of six chapters, excluding the Introduction and Conclusion, and three very helpful appendices, that will be briefly summarised below. Scholarly yet highly comprehensible, Cain’s book sets up to systematically explore the epistolary corpus from a fresh perspective, arguing that in these writings ‘we see their author most deftly re-inventing himself to accommodate the ever-changing demands made upon him by ever-changing audiences’ (p. 4). Rather than analysing each of the 123 extant genuine letters, Cain supports his case by concentrating on the less researched ones.

The first chapter (‘The Voice of One Calling in the Desert’) presents Jerome’s intentions to legitimise himself as an ascetic-scholar at the beginning of his career, an idea drawn from his Epistularum ad diversos liber. Upon his return to Rome (382) and in order to support his scholarly endeavours, Jerome had to attract funds and affluent members of the Christian aristocracy. Here, Cain sets out from the assumption that by releasing this epistolary collection Jerome ‘sustained its own explicit propagandistic agenda’ (p. 19), and shows how an unknown and obscure monk managed to gain such a positive reception in Rome. Making use of his two-year stay in Maronia (a desert settlement near Chalcis, in Palestine), Jerome portrayed himself in the Epistularum ad diversos liber as a model of eremitic holiness. In his letters, the author shows his fine rhetoric and compositional ability, constructing ‘mosaics out of biblical inter-texts to serve as instruments of reproach’ (p. 29). By means of ascetic experience and biblical erudition, Jerome introduced himself to Marcella and the ‘Aventine circle’, a group of aristocratic Christian widows and virgins who practiced askesis and bible study. Thus, Jerome became their spiritual advisor and bible mentor and formally established himself ‘as a figure of spiritual authority in Rome’ (p. 42).

In the second chapter (‘A Pope and His Scholar’), Cain tackles the relationship between Jerome and Pope Damasus, examining the famous correspondence between the two prominent figures (Epp. 19-21, 35-36). Cain’s concern here is to examine the representation of this relationship within Jerome’s writings and its purpose to legitimise him in the face of his opponents. By releasing this correspondence, Jerome showed to his audience that Pope Damasus had the utmost confidence in his scholarship and biblical exegesis (especially since Jerome mastered Hebrew).

The epistolary collection of personal correspondence between Jerome and Marcella is investigated in the third chapter of this monograph (‘Claiming Marcella’). Ad Marcellam epistulam liber consists of sixteen diverse letters, from exegetical to apologetical and exhortative, that served as a portrait of Christian excellence. In Cain’s view, their publication and circulation was intended to support Jerome in the controversy that lead to his exile in the summer of 385. The theological controversy involving Jerome and his subsequent expulsion from Rome are treated in the fourth chapter (‘Expulsion from Rome’). His increasing popularity and influence among the Christian aristocratic women, but also his excessive praise of virginity and insinuation that ‘marriage was a necessary evil reserved for second-class spiritual citizens’ (p. 102), attracted Jerome harsh opposition.  Following Blesilla’s sudden death, a young virgin who was under his spiritual guidance, Jerome was seen as morally guilty of ascetic fanaticism. Pope Damasus’ death in December 384 further deteriorated Jerome’s already delicate situation and gave rise to vocal critics that accused him of mischief and obscure intentions (especially in relation to the Christian women). Jerome appeared before an episcopal court and, as Cain asserts, the verdict was against him. Furthermore, Cain identifies the initial instigators of the case with ‘Paula’s immediate family unsympathetic with her ascetic piety and upset over her close association with Jerome’ (p. 10). In what the sentence of the trial is concerned, it might have been an order to leave Rome immediately, as Jerome develops the image of an exile and ‘dramatizes his expulsion as an event of epic biblical proportions’ (p. 126).

The fifth chapter examines selected Hieronymian letters written from Bethlehem in the years following his departure from Rome (386-c. 419), and containing spiritual instructions. Again, by disseminating them Jerome allegedly intended to offer a guarantee of his ‘orthodoxy’ and confirmation that his counsel was still highly regarded. He tried to overcome his rivals by substantiating others’ ‘supposed inexperience and lack of expertise with his own superabundance of both’ (p. 167).

In his final chapter, Cain examines several of Jerome’s exegetical letters, showing his intentions to establish himself as an authoritative biblical scholar. In these epistles, Jerome defends the Hebrew verity and, as Cain asserts, they served both didactic and propagandistic purposes. The prominence that Jerome attained in the following centuries was due, Cain emphasises, to his ‘magnificent talents as a self-portraitist’ (p. 202), as it resides in his epistolary corpus. Three appendices conclude this monograph: in the first, Cain proposes a new classification of Jerome’s extant epistles, according to the ancient Latin epistolographic norms and context; in the second appendix we find a brief discussion on Jerome’s lost letters, while the third analyses medieval manuscript tradition, proving once again that Jerome carefully selected the letters to be released.

At times, the sense that too much emphasis on the falsified picture of Jerome that he himself created in order to legitimate his image and work could lead to a misinterpreted Jerome. Undoubtedly, Jerome did this in his writings (cf. his autobiographical description in De viris illustribus) and Cain correctly observes Jerome’s exaggerations, but this cannot devalue his remarkable achievements and works. Apart from some minor typographical misprints, Cain’s monograph suffers from limitations especially in discussion about the relationship between Jerome and his major exegetical opponent, Ambrosiaster. However, Cain is following his argument throughout this admirably written volume, and its publication can only be received with interest and enthusiasm. It illustrates not only Jerome’s struggle to become an authoritative figure in order to produce and disseminate his works, but also the contemporary Latin world as the context for this ‘propagandistic’ literary artistry.

Justin A. Mihoc,
Department of Theology and Religion, Durham University