If Sons, Then Heirs: A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul

If Sons, Then Heirs

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If Sons, Then Heirs A Study of Kinship and Ethnicity in the Letters of Paul

caroline johnson hodge

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2007

1 Oxford University Press, Inc., publishes works that further Oxford University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education. Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam

Copyright
2007 by Oxford University Press, Inc. Published by Oxford University Press, Inc. 198 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016 www.oup.com Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Oxford University Press. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Hodge, Caroline E. Johnson. If sons, then heirs : a study of kinship and ethnicity in the Letters of Paul / Caroline Johnson Hodge. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-0-19-518216-3 1. Family—Biblical teaching. 2. Kinship—Biblical teaching. 3. Ethnicity—Biblical teaching. 4. Bible. N.T. Epistles of Paul—Criticism, interpretation, etc. I. Title. BS2655.F3H63 2007 2006028801 227'.06—dc22

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

For T. P. H.

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Acknowledgments

I am grateful to Stanley K. Stowers, whose work initially inspired this book many years ago. I benefited greatly from his scholarly example and insightful guidance on the early stages of this project. I owe a special debt to Denise Kimber Buell, my dear friend and collaborator. She read every chapter, and they are all better for her suggestions and insights. I am most grateful to other friends and colleagues who generously commented on portions of the manuscript or helped in various ways: Susan Harvey, David Konstan, Susan Holman, Dayna Kalleres, Dana Chyung, Bernadette Brooten, Laura Nasrallah, Jennifer Wright Knust, Amy-Jill Levine, Rick Murphy, Mark Nanos, Larry Wills, Ellen Perry, Sze-kar Wan, and Pamela Eisenbaum. I also appreciate the comments of my anonymous readers at OUP. Other friends who have acted as readers, contributors, and general monitors of my wellbeing: Caroline Bicks, Brendon Reay, Monica Berry, Rachel White, Melissa Hinebauch, and the whole Monday afternoon gang. I thank Ross Kraemer for timely advice on the practical side of publishing and all the editors and staff at Oxford University Press, who were ever patient and helpful. Adrien Smith, a formidable footnote formatter, deserves many thanks for her well-timed availability and meticulous work as a research assistant. The Clapp Library at Wellesley College generously provided a place to work and the use of its collection over the years, for which I am most appreciative. I am honored that the photo on the cover was taken by my aunt, Polly DuBose Pitsker. My special thanks to her and to her fellow travelers for finding this majestic Umbrian olive tree.

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Chapter 5 contains portions of an earlier article, ‘‘Olive Trees and Ethnicities. Judeans and Gentiles in Rom. 11:17–24,’’ which appeared in Christians as a Religious Minority in a Multicultural City: Modes of Interaction and Identity Formation in Early Imperial Rome (ed. J. Zangenburg and M. Labahn, New York: T. and T. Clark International, 2004, 77–88). These portions are reprinted with permission of the Continuum International Publishing Group. Chapter 7 includes material from my article, ‘‘Apostle to the Gentiles: Constructions of Paul’s Identity,’’ published in Biblical Interpretation 13.3 (2005): 270–288. Koninklijke Brill N.V. has kindly given permission to reprint this material here. Special thanks go to my family, especially my parents, whose unfailing support has always buoyed me. My brother, sister, and grandparents have cheered me on throughout. Laska and Lucy, our four-footed family members, kindly reminded me when it was time to stop typing and take a walk. And of course I thank Peter Joseph, who has brought welcome perspective, as well as much joy, to this whole process. My deepest thanks go to Tom, whose love, support, and humor these fifteen years have sustained me. To him this project is gratefully dedicated.

Contents

Abbreviations, xi Introduction, 3 1. Patrilineal Descent and the Construction of Identities, 19 2. Jews and Non-Jews: Paul’s Ethnic Map, 43 3. Reconstructing Gentile Origins: Adoption by the Spirit, 67 4. Descendants of a Faithful Ancestor: Hoi Ek Pisteo¯s, 79 5. ‘‘All the Gentiles Will Be Blessed in You’’, 93 6. Formed after an Image: Procreative God in Romans 8:29, 109 7. Negotiating Multiple Identities, 117 8. Ranking Ethnic Peoples: ‘‘First the Jew, Then the Greek’’, 137 Conclusion, 149 Notes, 155 Bibliography, 209 Index, 239

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Abbreviations

New Testament citations refer to the New Revised Standard Version. Citations from the Jewish Scriptures and Apocrypha refer to the Septuagint except where noted. Translations are my own except where noted. BDAG

TDNT

LXX

A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. Edited by Frederick William Danker. 3rd rev. ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. Based on Walter Bauer’s Griechisch-deutsches Wo¨rterbuch su ¨ hchristlichen den Schriften des Neuen Testaments und der fru Literatur, 6th ed., ed. Kurt Aland and Barbara Aland, with Viktor Reichmann, and on previous English editions by W. F. Arndt, F. W. Gingrich, and F. W. Danker. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G. Kittel and G. Friedrich, translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids, Mich: Eerdmans, 1964–1976. Septuagint. The Septuagint with Apocrypha: Greek and English. Translated by Sir Lancelot C. L. Brenton. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, 1986. Originally published in London: Samuel Bagster and Sons, 1851.

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If Sons, Then Heirs

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Introduction

As it says in Hosea: ‘‘I will call those who are not my people ‘my people’ (oø
lan mou lan mou) and the one not loved, ‘loved.’ And it will be in the place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people.’ There the sons of the living God will be called.’’ —Rom 9:25–26; LXX Hosea 1:10 Paul writes to the gentiles in Rome to tell them that this prophesy has been fulfilled. Through the death and resurrection of Christ, the God of Israel has called the gentiles to be his people; he has made them his sons. As in Hosea, also in Paul this new relationship is understood in terms of ethnicity and kinship. Paul follows biblical models to announce his gospel: gentiles have been adopted as sons and made into a laos of the God of Israel, a position previously occupied by the Israelites alone. In spite of passages such as this, Christianity is widely understood, both by scholars and laypeople, to be separate from and immune to differences related to kinship and ethnicity. Christianity is perceived as a ‘‘universal’’ religion, one that transcends ethnic and familial particularities.1 Denise Kimber Buell calls attention to such scholarly portrayals of early Christianity: ‘‘Most historical reconstructions published in the last twenty years depict earliest Christianity as an inclusive movement that rejected ethnic or racial specificity as a condition of religious identity.’’2 Buell quotes Frank Snowden, who claims, ‘‘Christianity swept racial distinctions aside,’’ and Rosemary Radford Ruether, who remarks, ‘‘class, ethnicity,

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and gender are . . . specifically singled out as the divisions overcome by redemption in Christ.’’3 These comments perpetuate the notion that ‘‘the essence’’ of Christianity is beyond culture. Those who claim such a de-ethnicized Christianity fail to recognize that certain aspects of Jewish culture are normative for Christians and that Christians rank Jewish culture over pagan or polytheistic culture (even as they define themselves over and against Judaism). That is, historically Christians have accepted the master narrative of ancient Israelites and not, for example, of ancient Greeks. They have accepted the story of this particular ethnic people, the God of their homeland, their myths about creation and the ordering of the cosmos, and the morals inscribed in their sacred scripture. Yet Christians tend to view their religion as one that transcends ethnicity; they have translated these particular markers of identity into an ethnically neutral, all-inclusive tradition which is somehow beyond the normal human characteristics of culture, its discourses and practices. As Buell demonstrates, the effort to turn this particular story into a universal one was already happening in the second and third centuries, when Christians such as Clement of Alexandria crafted their own versions of Christian identity as inclusive and transcendent.4 These characterizations endured, and they continue to shape modern perceptions of Christianity, as the comments of Snowden and Ruether illustrate. In this study, I argue for a new way to read kinship and ethnic language in Paul that dismantles the contrast between a universal, ‘‘non-ethnic’’ Christianity and an ethnic, particular Judaism. Through a critical analysis of kinship and ethnic discourses in Paul, I will illuminate how the categories of kinship and ethnicity shape the relationships between Jews and their God, between Paul and his gentile audience, between Paul and his fellow Ioudaioi. For Paul, kinship and ethnicity cannot be merely metaphorical, for lineage, paternity, and peoplehood are the salient categories for describing one’s status before the God of Israel. It is in these terms that Paul articulates the central theological problem of his writings: gentiles are alienated from the God of Israel. And it is in these terms that Paul presents the solution: baptism into Christ makes gentiles descendants of Abraham. Paul’s universalizing—by which I mean his invitation to gentiles to be made right with the God of Israel—is expressed through notions of peoplehood, lineages, and familial relatedness. Thus the notion of an ethnically neutral ‘‘Christianity’’ in Paul makes no sense. The term ‘‘Christian’’ is itself an anachronistic designation for a Christfollower in Paul’s letters.5 Paul is a Ioudaios (the Greek term for ‘‘Jew’’ or ‘‘Judean’’) who has come to believe that Jesus of Nazareth is a messianic agent of God and Paul claims to have been called to bring his gospel to non-Jews, to gentiles. The Romans passage cited above describes this good news: the God of Israel has proclaimed through the prophet Hosea: ‘‘I will call those who are

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not my people ‘my people.’’’ The gentiles will be called ‘‘sons’’ and will be fashioned into a people of the God of Israel. The gendered nature of Paul’s language is important to his argument, which relies on the patrilineal ideal of sons as heirs (as opposed to daughters).6 Thus notions of peoplehood and paternity are by no means rejected, downplayed, or even metaphorized by Paul; instead they are central to his gospel and crucial to his arguments, especially in Romans and Galatians. In the following chapters, I make the case that Paul uses the discourses of kinship and ethnicity to construct a myth of origins for gentile followers of Christ. Paul relies on the logic of patrilineal descent to create a new lineage for the gentiles, a lineage that links gentiles through Christ to the founding ancestor, Abraham. By means of this kinship-creation, gentiles are made descendants of Abraham, adopted sons of God and coheirs with Christ. Paul makes a place for the gentiles—the ethnic and religious ‘‘other’’ for the Ioudaioi—in the story of Israel, so that they may be made righteous before the God of Israel. Although Ioudaioi and gentiles now share a common ancestor, Paul does not collapse them into one group (of ‘‘Christians,’’ for example). Gentiles-in-Christ and Jews are separate but related lineages of Abraham. Paul is not alone in his creative reworking of identities. Many of his contemporaries—Ioudaioi, Greeks, Romans and others—also reconstructed histories, lineages, and the collective myths of whole peoples.7 Unlike Virgil or Dionysius of Halicarnassus, however, Paul has not produced a finished, polished version of his scheme. Instead, we have his letters, particular responses to particular questions and situations. His advice and explanations are ad hoc, not systematic. Thus Paul’s myth of gentile origins in a Jewish lineage is not a thoroughly worked-out epic story with all the details in place. Rather, it is as though we are catching him in the act of mythmaking. The result is somewhat patchwork; we find different versions of the argument, seen from various angles, throughout his correspondence. In his recent work on myth, Bruce Lincoln calls for a theory of myth which ‘‘recognizes the capacity of narrators to modify details of the stories that pass through them, introducing changes in the classificatory order as they do so, most often in ways that reflect their subject position.’’8 Lincoln argues that myths are not containers of information (about the divine-human relationship, about the origins of a people or place, for example), but tools used to persuade: ‘‘Myth is ideology in narrative form.’’9 Paul illustrates Lincoln’s point: he engages in mythmaking to remake and reorder the story of Israel to make a place for the gentiles. Myths are particularly effective as purveyors of ideology because they call upon authoritative past events or relationships which authorize present-day arrangements (or changes in those arrangements). Burton Mack comments that with myth, ‘‘the alreadiness of social arrangements is accounted for in terms of origin stories in which precedence is established by patriarchs,

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powers and authorities not accessible for questioning.’’10 Paul constructs exactly this sort of scenario: the rationalization for an Abrahamic ancestry for gentiles lies in the origin stories of Israel, the moments when the God of Israel called Abraham, found him faithful, and promised him many descendants. Among these descendants, Paul argues, were the gentiles-in-Christ. In Paul’s myth, the ‘‘authorities not accessible for questioning’’ reside in the kinship ties described in these stories, because they are considered both divinely ordained and ‘‘natural.’’

Interpretations of Paul In traditional Pauline scholarship, the portrait of Christianity as a universal, transcendent religion that escapes the particularities of history and culture has been located in and justified by the letters of Paul. At least since Augustine, Paul has been read as addressing a universal audience on the topic of human sinfulness, which was often cast in terms of characteristics associated with Jews.11 Reformation thinkers inherited this interpretation of Paul.12 In what is often referred to as the ‘‘Lutheran’’ reading, the central theme of Romans is faith versus works, the personal faith of the Christian against the merit-based legalism of Judaism.13 According to this view, which has been carried on by scholars well into the first half of the twentieth century, Paul argues that the Law is insufficient for salvation not only because it is impossible to keep but also because it cannot offer the necessary spiritual sustenance. One cannot be saved through ‘‘works righteousness,’’ but through faith in Christ. Judaism serves as a foil for Christianity, and is constructed as everything Christianity is not: an exclusive, legalistic, and ritualistic religion devoid of any vitality (echoes of Reformation critiques of the church are audible here). In the nineteenth century, Pauline scholars begin to articulate this juxtaposition of Judaism and Christianity in terms of race and ethnicity. This move is made possible by a perceived contrast between Judaism and Hellenism in antiquity, a perception which is only now being challenged.14 Interpreters such as F. C. Baur anchor definitions of the Ioudaios and Judaism as a whole in particularity: Judaism represents an ethnic, specific religion tied only to one people. Baur then seeks to answer the question of how Christianity, a universal religion, could emerge from Judaism, a particularistic, ethnic religion.15 His answer is Paul. Paul shaped Christianity under the influence of Hellenism, resulting in tensions between the ‘‘Jewish Christians’’ and the ‘‘gentile Christians’’ in Paul’s letters. Baur writes that Paul ‘‘broke through the barriers of Judaism and rose out of the particularism of Judaism into the universal idea of Christianity.’’16 Though Baur looks to Hellenism for a universalizing precedent for Paul, other nineteenth-century scholars look to earlier Jewish traditions. Robert Henry

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Charles locates this universalism in Jewish apocalypticism; Gerhard Kittel finds it in the ‘‘pure message’’ of the prophets.17 By contrast, other types of Judaism (Rabbinic Judaism, for example) represent the dried-up legalism that Paul argues against. These scholars cast Christianity as embodying and improving a lost, universalizing Jewish ideal. All of these scholars have in common a search for a universal prototype for Paul’s Christianity, one that juxtaposed the ethnic particularity of Ioudaioi and Judaism.18 And each of these scholars understands Paul as the one who preached this universal ideal as Christian gospel. Adolph Harnack, writing at the turn of the century, epitomizes these viewpoints when he writes, ‘‘It was Paul who delivered the Christian religion from Judaism.’’19 Thus Paul is understood as the transition point between an old, exclusive, ethnic Judaism and a new, inclusive, universal Christianity.20 Although the anachronisms and anti-Jewish implications of such interpretations are now widely recognized and rejected, their legacy remains.21 For example, Paul’s gospel is still described with oppositional pairs such as faith versus works, ethical versus legal, or spiritual versus material. These oppositions recall—and are based on—the nineteenth-century juxtaposition of ethnic Judaism and universal Christianity. At the same time that they construct Paul’s message as one of faith, ethics, and spirit, transcending bodily particularities and historical circumstances, they also construct a foil of Judaism as works-oriented, legalistic, and materialistic. One of the most damaging effects of this scholarship has been a radical misrepresentation of Judaism in the first century. Because it was consistently constructed as a foil for an ideal Christianity, and not within the context of ancient Jewish sources, the picture of first-century Jewish practices and theologies was grossly distorted. Though in the first half of the twentieth century several scholars objected to this portrait of Judaism, it was not until the second half of the century, after the Holocaust, that these objections began to take hold.22 In an important 1963 article, Krister Stendahl argues that scholars have imposed an anachronistic ‘‘introspective conscience’’ on Paul. Instead, Stendahl maintains, Paul should be understood as a Ioudaios himself, not a Christian, and his letters should be interpreted in terms of other Jewish literature. Paul’s central concern is not ‘‘justification by faith’’ but the relative standing of Ioudaioi and ethn
e (gentiles) before God.23 Stendahl’s call for a more historically accurate understanding of Paul disrupts the dichotomies that undergird traditional readings such as Jewish/Christian and ethnic/universal. Stendahl’s arguments anticipated what many now refer to as the ‘‘new perspective’’ in Pauline studies.24 E. P. Sanders, whose work in the 1970s is often identified as the trigger for a wave of new perspective scholarship, objects to the misrepresentation of Judaism perpetuated by the Lutheran reading and presents a detailed counterportrait of first-century Judaism as a religion based on ‘‘covenental nomism.’’25 Sanders writes, ‘‘The supposed objection to Jewish selfrighteousness is as absent from Paul’s letters as self-righteousness itself is from

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Jewish literature.’’26 This refutation of the earlier portrait of Judaism launched a series of reinterpretations that attempt to understand first-century Judaism based on the texts it produced and not as a foil for later Christianity, and to locate Paul in this context. James D. G. Dunn, who first used the phrase ‘‘new perspective’’ to describe this developing school of interpretation, has been a major figure in this movement.27 Dunn builds upon Sanders’s important work, yet he also notes that Sanders fails to recognize the implications of his own insights. Having documented a more accurate portrait of first-century Judaism, Sanders then argues that Paul, after his ‘‘conversion’’ at Damascus, rejects this Judaism in favor of something new and altogether different: Christianity.28 Whereas Sanders might have traced continuities and developments between Paul’s gospel and various other articulations of Judaism, he instead sees an unbridgeable gap. As Dunn comments, this is not much different from the ‘‘Lutheran Paul.’’29 Yet other new perspective scholars who build on the insights of Stendahl and Sanders fall into the same trap, including Dunn himself.30 Indeed, even as he insists that Paul does not criticize Judaism or the Law as a whole, Dunn nevertheless argues that Paul does object to a certain aspect of Judaism, an ethnocentric attitude that presumes God’s favor based on possession of the Law.31 Dunn’s Paul opposes the notion that Jews understood their election to imply the exclusion of others; thus the aim of Paul’s gospel was to break through the barriers that Israel erected around itself.32 The ‘‘Christianity’’ that emerged from Paul was ‘‘against any and every attempt to mark off some of God’s people as more holy than others, as exclusive channels of divine grace over and against others.’’33 The familiar portrait of Ioudaioi as arrogant, exclusive, and limited by their ethnic identities surfaces here in contrast to universalizing Christianity which insists that God’s grace cannot be limited. Dunn’s careful historical work has been invaluable to the field of Pauline studies, yet it preserves anachronistic categories that serve as pillars of the traditional view. Similarly, N. T. Wright, another prolific contributor to post-Sanders Pauline scholarship, identifies Israel’s deluded attachment to a ‘‘national, ethnic and territorial identity’’ as the key to its failure to understand Paul’s gospel: that God has fulfilled Israel in Christ and replaced ethnic Israel with those loyal to the messiah.34 In Wright’s formulation of Paul’s reasoning, this replacement is not anti-Jewish because God planned it from the beginning: to save not a special people but the whole world.35 For Wright, then, God’s plan for universal salvation cannot happen through historic, ethnic Israel, but through its non-ethnic counterpart, the ‘‘true Israel,’’ Christianity. Despite the enormous contributions of both of these new perspective scholars, they each replicate the universal/ethnic dichotomy of their nineteenthcentury predecessors. Thus while we are making good strides toward a better interpretation of Paul, it is clear that traditional models and assumptions are difficult to shed, especially with respect to ethnicity.

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Another branch of new perspective scholarship pays particular attention to this difficulty and has made a more radical break with the Lutheran reading. This interpretation is often identified with Lloyd Gaston, who, drawing upon Stendahl, Sanders, and Marcus Barth, argues the following: Paul’s focus is the justification of gentiles, not the status of humanity, and Christ (according to Paul) is not the messiah for all but God’s solution for gentiles.36 Christ is not a fulfillment of the Law, but Christ and the Law are exclusive of each other; Christ is for the gentiles and the Law continues to be relevant for Ioudaioi.37 In this view, there is no implicit or explicit critique of Israel (except that many Ioudaioi do not realize Christ’s role for gentiles) or the Law (except when gentiles try to keep it). John Gager, Stanley Stowers, and others have further developed this general line of thinking with fruitful results.38 The central insight that makes this reading possible is that Paul is speaking to gentiles and not to humanity. Thus the question of audience is crucial, as I elaborate below. In my view, this insight requires a rereading of Paul with ethnicity and kinship as a central focus. Even among ‘‘radical’’39 new perspective scholars, categories such as ‘‘Jew’’ or ‘‘gentile’’ are often left unexamined.40 As I argue here, attention to Paul’s use of these concepts further undermines traditional readings and bolsters the ‘‘radical’’ position, for it illustrates that Paul does not reject embodied identities, but teaches the gospel using ethnic and kinship language to articulate God’s plan for salvation in terms of these identities.

Audience There is perhaps no more pivotal issue for determining one’s reading of Paul than audience. Whom did Paul address in his letters? For whom does he construct his arguments? The traditional answer to this question has dominated Pauline scholarship: all people. Those in the ‘‘timeless Paul’’ camp argue that he speaks to all people of all times. Others, more interested in Paul’s historical context, argue that he speaks to first-century gentiles and Jews, thus all people at least in his time. There is ample evidence that Paul writes to gentiles: he sees himself as called to the gentiles (Gal 1:16, 2:7–9; Rom 11:13, 15:1–6) and addresses gentiles directly in his letters (Rom 1:5–6, 13; 11:13; 15:6).41 Indeed, few dispute that the gentiles were central to Paul’s work and were intended as recipients of his letters.42 But we do not have the same evidence for a Jewish audience. Indeed, Paul never claims to be speaking to Ioudaioi in his letters, nor does he connect his own teaching activity with Ioudaioi.43 Yet there is a pervasive and persistent assumption that Paul wrote to gentiles and Jews.44 Even those who pay close attention to historical context and ethnic language in Paul see Ioudaioi in the audience; their presence supports the popular notion that Paul’s goal was to solve tensions between gentiles and Ioudaioi.45

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Scholars find Ioudaioi in Paul’s audience in several ways. Some identify possible references to a Jewish audience in Romans, the text at the center of most discussions of audience. These have been unconvincing.46 Others reason that since Paul wrote about Ioudaioi, he must have been writing to them. Paul discusses the Law, circumcision, being righteous before the God of Israel—all topics that would be of interest to Ioudaioi. Furthermore, they ask why Paul would repeatedly cite Jewish scripture if he were not speaking to those who would understand his references? Indeed, Paul writes about Ioudaioi; this does not mean he writes to them. Apply this logic elsewhere—groups mentioned in letters are intended recipients—and it quickly becomes ridiculous.47 Yes, Paul writes about things related to Israel and cites Jewish scripture: what else would do? He is a Ioudaios writing to those committed to the messiah of Israel about how they fit into God’s larger plan. Yes, Paul cites Jewish scripture, for these are authoritative texts both for him and now for his audience.48 The most popular strategy is to find Ioudaioi in the audience by looking outside the text to reconstructions of the ‘‘church’’ in Rome. Proponents of this view argue that since there were both Ioudaioi and gentiles in Rome when Paul wrote, he must have been writing to both groups. This reasoning overlooks a critical distinction between two discrete categories: the encoded reader and the empirical reader.49 The encoded reader exists in the text itself: it is the reader the author constructs. For example, when Paul writes, ‘‘I am writing to you, gentiles,’’ it is clear that his encoded reader is gentiles. The encoded reader can also be less obvious, however, and can be discerned by examining the assumptions Paul makes about his audience. For example, when he writes about the Law or about eating sacrificed meat, he writes as though his audience is familiar with these practices and cultural codes. The encoded reader is thus a characteristic of the text itself. The empirical reader, on the other hand, is anyone who reads the text, whether in the first century or today. This reader, which could include first-century gentiles, Ioudaioi, Romans, Egyptians, and twenty-first-century scholars, does not necessarily inform us about the audience as Paul constructed it in the text. In the case of Paul, we have little or no conclusive information about first-century, empirical readers, whereas we have ample information about encoded readers, which is a strategy within the text.50 The historical-reconstruction approach involves two steps. First, it reconstructs a particular empirical audience, the historical community of Christ believers in Rome in the mid-first century, as a mix of Ioudaioi and ethn
e in Christ. This process is necessarily speculative because of the sparseness of the evidence. Second, it treats this reconstructed empirical audience as the audience assumed in the letters, effectively collapsing the empirical and encoded audiences into one.

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When we blur these two groups—empirical readers (or speculations about these readers) and the readers indicated in the text—then we lose sight of Paul’s own ethnic constructions and strategies. Therefore, I do not seek for evidence about historical communities, but for the ways Paul portrays his audience, how he creates their identity. Clues from the letter itself allow us to reconstruct these readers. Paul is clear that he is the apostle to the gentiles (Rom 11:13) and that he is writing to gentiles, even if he writes about Jews at times. Regardless of who might have been in Rome at the time, Paul’s letters are carefully constructed arguments addressed to gentile Christ-followers described as living in Rome. While the historical-reconstruction approach speculatively links ethnic labels to empirical readers, a text-based interpretation identifies the ways that ethnic language is working rhetorically in the text. My analysis of ethnic language in Paul, because it illuminates Paul’s rhetorical construal of ethnic categories and demonstrates that these do not disappear in the wake of Christ’s first coming, suggests that we should take Paul at his word when he claims to write to the ethn
e (Rom 1:5–6). How does this change our possible readings? Instead of viewing Paul as a critic of Judaism and the Law, we can see Paul as engaged in working out how gentiles can be made right with the God of Israel in the context of the coming endtime. As I mentioned above, Lloyd Gaston calls for this shift in focus: ‘‘Paul writes to Gentile Christians, dealing with Gentile Christian problems, foremost among which was the right of Gentiles qua Gentiles, without adopting the Torah of Israel, to full citizenship in the people of God. It is remarkable that in the endless discussion of Paul’s understanding of the Law, few have asked what a first-century Jew would have thought of the Law as it relates to Gentiles.’’51 Indeed, Paul addresses issues that other ancient Jews discussed with respect to gentiles affiliated with Israel: to what degree should they follow the Law? Is circumcision necessary for males?52 In this context, Paul becomes more recognizable as a first-century Jew. If we understand Paul as writing for gentiles-in-Christ, perhaps gentiles who were interested in Judaism before Paul even arrived on the scene, then many of the seeming contradictions that have plagued scholars for decades fall away.53

Jews, Judeans, Ioudaioi If ever there were a can of worms in New Testament scholarship, the translation of Ioudaios is one.54 Though the vast majority of scholars translate this Greek term as ‘‘Jew,’’ some, I among them, have argued that ‘‘Judean’’ is a better rendering.55 I have come to rethink this position, however, and have realized that although ‘‘Judean’’ appeals in some ways, it may raise more problems than it resolves. While some can-of-worms issues are handily set

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aside, acknowledged in a note in order to move on, in a study of ethnic and kinship discourses in Paul, this one demands attention. For the debates about translating Ioudaios illustrate just how entrenched the religion/ethnicity dichotomy is in our thinking, just the notion I aim to challenge. So we delve in. Since the nineteenth century, when ‘‘Judean’’ began to appear in scholarly work, speakers of English have used two words for the Greek term Ioudaios: ‘‘Jew’’ and ‘‘Judean.’’56 Though ‘‘Jew’’ typically refers to anyone who claims loyalty to the God of Israel or a connection to Judaism, ‘‘Judean’’ refers to someone from the region of Judea (or as an adjective describing this region, ‘‘the Judean desert’’). This double nomenclature stands in contrast to English translations for other ethnic terms such as Hell
en or Aigyptos. For these we use just one word, ‘‘Greek’’ or ‘‘Egyptian,’’ and recognize that they stand for various facets of identity, related variously to geography, ancestry, religious practices, and so on. We look to context to determine which of these characteristics are emphasized or downplayed. Our two terms for Ioudaios both reflect and reinforce the assumption that religious commitments are separate from particularities of identity such as homeland. Many in the modern world—influenced by post-Enlightenment, Christian understandings of religion—conceive of religion as a non-ethnic category, related more to belief and practice than to land or politics.57 Graham Harvey addresses this point by comparing modern and ancient Judaism: ‘‘Although Judaism now refers to a world-religion partially separable from territory or nationality more ancient usage would not have divorced the religious expression from the ethnic group and territory in which it originated or existed.’’58 Using two terms for ancient Jews, one that referred to territory and one that referred to religion, maintains this bifurcation. My initial substitution of ‘‘Judean’’ for ‘‘Jew’’ was intended as a challenge to this distinction. I did not mean to imply that Ioudaios always held a regional meaning, but rather that ‘‘Judean’’ should replace ‘‘Jew’’ as the umbrella term for Ioudaioi. ‘‘Judean,’’ audibly similar to the Greek Ioudaioi, conveys the crucial connection between people and place, Ioudaioi and Ioudaia. In firstcentury Judaism, Ioudaia or Judea was the location of the temple and accompanying cult practices, a central institution for local and diaspora Ioudaioi.59 The term ‘‘Judean’’ seemed to better communicate the close relationship between religious observance, place, and peoplehood, even among a diverse collection of first-century Judaisms. Scholarly attention to this issue initially focused on the Gospel of John, as interpreters attempted to explain the gospel’s polemic use of Ioudaioi. In the 1970s, M. Lowe capitalized on the English-language split between ‘‘Jew’’ and ‘‘Judean,’’ arguing that Ioudaioi in the Gospel of John should be rendered ‘‘Judeans,’’ and that this term represents not all Jews but a specific group from Judea, distinct from Galileans, who oppose Jesus.60 Limiting the sense of Ioudaioi to people from a geographical location (‘‘Judean Jews’’) establishes a

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context of intra-Jewish polemic as opposed to a Christian/Jewish polemic.61 A related arena for this discussion has been historical Jesus research and the issue of Jesus’ identity: if he is a Galilean, is he also a Ioudaios?62 This question inspired study of the region of Galilee, its degree of Jewishness or gentileness, as a context for interpreting the gospels.63 Scholars investigating this question have called attention to the diversity within Judaism during this period and the possible tensions that could arise among the various groups.64 The discussion has broadened to a consideration of whether ‘‘Jew’’ is ever a viable translation of Ioudaios and has resulted in fruitful challenges to longstanding categories of analysis, such as the concept of ‘‘Judaism’’ as a monolithic entity and ‘‘Christianity’’ as a relevant category in the first century.65 I wholeheartedly agree with the efforts of scholars such as John Elliott and Philip Esler to pay close attention to ancient terminology and conceptions of identity.66 I applaud their insistence that we consider the ways ancient authors employed this language and whether Ioudaios is used by ‘‘insiders’’ about themselves or by ‘‘outsiders’’ about others.67 Some trajectories of the discussion I find problematic, however. For example, one argument from those advocating ‘‘Judean’’ instead of ‘‘Jew’’ is that our modern understanding of a ‘‘Jew’’ would be unrecognizable in the first century. Summarizing this view, John Elliott writes, ‘‘The concept ‘Jew’ as understood today derives not from the first century but from the third and following centuries. It denotes persons shaped by and oriented to not only Torah and Tanak but Mishnah, Midrashim and Talmudim.’’68 The logic seems to be that the tradition changed so drastically that it is better identified by a different name altogether. I appreciate the awareness of how Judaism changed, but I question whether these developments warrant new terminology. If we apply this reasoning more broadly, how many new terms would we need for traditions that have lasted centuries? Could we not accomplish the same thing by demonstrating the similarities and differences in various historical contexts?69 Furthermore, and perhaps more important, the continuities between ancient and modern Judaism are significant. Amy-Jill Levine illustrates this point by listing the behavior and characteristics of first-century Jews, all of which are practiced by a well-known first-century Jew, Jesus: ‘‘circumcision, wearing tzitzit, keeping kosher, calling God ‘father,’ attending synagogue gatherings, reading Torah and Prophets, knowing that they are neither gentile nor Samaritan, honoring the Sabbath, celebrating the Passover. All of these, and much more, are markers also of traditional Jews today.’’70 It makes little sense to create a terminological divider between current Jews and ancient Jews, despite major changes such as the destruction of the temple and the development of the Mishnah and Talmud traditions. The refusal to use ‘‘Jew’’ (or Ioudaios) to talk about the ancient world ignores the broad cohesion shared by different groups of Jews throughout history.

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According to the ‘‘name change’’ view, modern Jews have little if any connection to the biblical descendants of the patriarchs. Sometimes this claim is buttressed with the theory that Jews in fact do not descend from Israelites; rather, their forebears are the Khazars, who converted to Judaism in the eighth and ninth centuries.71 If I follow the argument correctly, the reasoning is that after this time, all previous Jews ceased to exist, and Jewish history started from scratch.72 Even if we accept this problematic argument as true,73 it still limits understandings of Jewishness to a single reconstruction of genetic lineages, from the Khazars to the Ashkenazim, as if this were the final word on authentic, modern Jewish identity. This argument assumes that ‘‘real’’ ethnic identities can be traced through genetics (like an essentialist claim to ‘‘shared blood’’) and ignores the many ways that groups, including Jews past and present, construct their identities and their relatedness to others. As the following chapters will illustrate, these include multiple (and often conflicting) claims of shared ancestry, religious practices and beliefs, stories of origin, and so on. Additionally, some well-intentioned scholars add the following corollary argument: we should not call first-century Israelites ‘‘Jews’’ because we are morally bound to distinguish between modern Jews and those Ioudaioi who are targets of acrimony in the New Testament. This linguistic barrier serves as a protection against anti-Judaism and counteracts the ‘‘untenable view that the identity of twentieth- and twenty-first-century Jews is the same as that of firstcentury Judeans and that the former may therefore be held liable for the alleged sins of the latter.’’74 Unfortunately, this argument undermines its own good intentions. To try to relieve modern Jews of ancient ‘‘Christian’’ insults and accusations serves as a veiled validation of those insults. In my view, it is more effective to highlight the rhetorical contexts of the texts themselves and the complex interests and claims of various players involved.75 Whereas these scholars avoid the term ‘‘Jew’’ for ethical reasons, I find that this avoidance, in addition to being historically problematic, can itself be ethically questionable. I am concerned about allying ourselves with other groups past and present whose explicit goals are to erase Judaism from Christian history.76 Though I do not think that extremist positions should dictate our scholarship, we nevertheless should be aware of the ways our work can be heard. Walter Grundmann, a Nazi sympathizer and professor of New Testament at the University of Jena in the 1930s, argued that Jesus was not actually Jewish by documenting the gentile population of Galilee.77 The aim was to create a ‘‘judenrein Christianity for a judenrein Germany.’’78 Similar goals are espoused among current hate groups.79 These groups have intentions opposite that of the scholars discussed above, but their arguments overlap with scholarly ones in ways that warrant our attention.80 When John Elliott argues that Jesus was not a ‘‘Jew,’’ he is by no means trying to erase Jews from the New Testament; indeed, Jesus’ status as a faithful Israelite is a

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given for Elliott.81 But I think Elliott’s position is vulnerable to being misread as an erasure of Judaism, not just by hate groups but also by other readers, our students, parishioners, and others. Overall, the debate over translating Ioudaios has raised some important questions: how did first-century Ioudaioi and others understand their own (multiple) identities and relatedness to others? What were some of the different groups within ‘‘Judaism’’? In what ways are we anachronistic in our conception of ancient Ioudaioi and other groups? I am sympathetic to these questions and discuss them in this study. But I am afraid that the solution of not using ‘‘Jew’’ has too many unintended negative consequences. Now should come the moment where I unveil my neat solution to these problems. Unfortunately, I have none. I have a clear idea of what we need: one term, not two, that operates in English the way Ioudaios (and Hell
en and Aigyptos) operate in Greek. It should be multivalent, complex, context-dependent and it should include various facets of self-understanding: religious practices, geographic homeland, shared history, ethical codes, common ancestry, stories of origin, theological positions. We need a term that does not already connote specific, limited meanings (like things religious or things ethnic/geographic) and one that comprises both ancient and modern Jews, in all various manifestations and self-definitions, without falling into an essentialist trap (Ioudaioi are always this). Neither ‘‘Jew’’ nor ‘‘Judean’’ does the job without problems. The closest thing we have to a term that does at least most of these things is a transliteration of the Greek, Ioudaios. For this study I have chosen to use Ioudaios/Ioudaioi in combination with other ethnic self-descriptors, especially those used by Paul himself (‘‘descendants of Abraham,’’ ‘‘Israel’’).82 By leaving the term untranslated, I intend to call attention to the problems laid out above and to remind readers of the multiplicity of connotations this term carried in the ancient world. Yet I also use ‘‘Jew’’ and ‘‘Jewish’’ to signal the continuity between these first-century ‘‘descendants of Abraham’’ and their twenty-firstcentury heirs. I do not, however, understand Judaism as monolithic or unchanging.83 The complications involved in translating this term serve as a microcosm of the central issues of this larger study of kinship and ethnicity in Paul. The chapters that follow continue the discussion.

Theoretical Position and Approach It is common for scholars discussing kinship in Paul to describe it as ‘‘fictive’’ kinship.84 I hesitate to use the adjective ‘‘fictive’’ because it implies that it is less real, less true, less ‘‘natural’’ than other kinds of kinship. This term is helpful perhaps in that it calls attention to the ‘‘made-upness’’ of kinship constructions, but it also assumes that there is a non-made-up kinship. In my view, there is no such dichotomy between natural, physical relationships and

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constructed, made-up relationships. There is no pure, natural kinship that exists outside the realm of human interference. Kinship is always social. Furthermore, the term ‘‘fictive’’ ignores the way people take (more blatantly) constructed kinship seriously. Anthropologist David Schneider comments on how it is ‘‘difficult at times to convince an American that blood as a fluid has nothing in it which causes ties to be deep and strong.’’85 The myth of shared blood runs deep in our culture, as it did in the cultures of the ancient Mediterranean world. Schneider recognizes that kinship is not about biology, but about social relations. In kinship discussions, blood is a ‘‘symbol for conceptualizing differences between groups of people.’’86 As I will demonstrate, it is precisely because it is imbued with such authority that it works well as an organizer of social relationships. A fundamental assumption of my work is that kinship and ethnicity are social constructions. This is not a new concept in the social sciences,87 but it is only in recent decades that the constructionist approach has received serious attention from anthropologists of kinship and ethnicity.88 Though both kinship and ethnicity, as categories of identity, claim a primordial or natural base, they are nevertheless human creations. Kinship, for example, may be formulated in terms of biological relationship, but it is often established by other criteria (such as common practices, language, religion, or geographical region). How and whether a relationship is defined as one of kinship is contingent on the specific context and interests involved. Similarly, ethnic identity is often constructed upon a naturalized understanding of kinship (e.g., appeals to common ancestry) but it, too, is a mutable construct that can be shaped by various criteria and contexts.89 In contrast to more traditional models in which kinship and ethnicity are fixed, immutable aspects of identity, my view is that these constructs are dynamic discourses which incorporate both fixed and fluid components, even when there is tension among these.90 For example, Athenian families would publish their genealogies to bolster or secure their status; the presence of certain ancestors would authorize a family’s position. When the political situation changed, however, these same families could adjust their genealogies to highlight other ancestors who may not have appeared in the first version.91 The status of the family is guaranteed by the blood relationship, but that relationship was open to change and negotiation. Likewise, Paul understands that being peoples of the God of Israel means being descendants (or literally ‘‘seed’’) of Abraham and argues that new descendants are created when gentiles are baptized into Christ. Religious ritual authorizes the creation of kinship as Paul draws upon both fixity (‘‘natural,’’ procreative notions such as ‘‘seed of Abraham’’) and fluidity (that this identity can be created for gentiles). The paradoxical nature of these concepts—‘‘natural’’ yet malleable— makes them particularly efficacious in the discursive practice of mythmaking.92

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When identities and social relationships appear to be removed from human agency—as they do with kinship and ethnicity—they seem ‘‘natural’’ and therefore unquestionable. At the same time, the various hierarchies of power embedded within those social relationships are also naturalized and legitimized.93 For example, in a particular cultural setting in which the relationship between a father and a son is considered natural and inevitable, the authority of the father over the son—which is socially constructed and sanctioned—may also be considered natural and inevitable. In turn, when the father-son relationship is used as a metaphor for another relationship, for example that between a teacher and a student, then both the sense of ‘‘naturalness’’ and the structure of authority of the father-son relationship are implicitly projected onto the teacher-student relationship.94 Thus the kinship metaphor reinforces the authority of a teacher over his students.95 This sort of strategic use of kinship metaphors is ubiquitous in ancient texts. In ancient Mediterranean cultures, in which patrilineal kinship ideologies played such a fundamental role in social organization, the criteria for establishing kin relationships were complex and negotiable. Indeed, constructs of both kinship and ethnicity often support arguments for self-authorization and self-definition. They are well suited to such arguments, for at the same time that they present themselves as natural and fixed, they are also open to negotiation and reworking.96 This paradox renders them effective tools in organizing people and power, shaping self-understanding, and defining membership. Paul’s kinship logic derives primarily from the ideology of patrilineal descent. In this gendered ideology, descent is figured through male lines which transfer attributes and status from fathers to sons. Patrilineality tends to assign all procreative power to the male seed, authorizing fathers as heads of lineages and heads of households. This ideology—an ‘‘ideology of the seed’’—is constructed by and justifies a patriarchal distribution of power.97 Patrilineal descent exemplifies how kinship and gender mutually construct each other: patrilineal ideology naturalizes patriarchal structures.98 Paul’s kinship and ethnic constructions—his talk of households, inheritance, procreation, ancestors, status before God—are informed by this ideology.99

Organization of the Study A major goal of this project is to situate Paul in his first-century context, in which his kinship-making schemes are not unique. Thus in chapter 1, I will compare Paul with other ancient authors and ask how each defines kinship and ethnicity and what interests their definitions serve. Further, I will examine how these authors use kinship and ethnicity to erect boundaries, forge alliances, and bolster arguments.

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In chapter 2, I shift the focus to ethnic strategies in Paul’s letters.100 I study the ways Paul presents what he perceives as the central problem: gentile alienation from the God of Israel. By juxtaposing terms for Jews and non-Jews (such as ‘‘Ioudaioi and gentiles,’’ ‘‘circumcised and uncircumcised’’), Paul articulates the wide gap between these peoples. This oppositional ethnic language defines a religious problem and illustrates the interrelation of religious and ethnic categories. This examination of Paul’s ethnic terminology lays the groundwork for later discussions of Paul’s ethnic discourses. Chapters 3 through 6 analyze in detail Paul’s kinship-making schemes, treating themes such as adoption (chap 3), descent from faithfulness (chap 4), gentiles ‘‘in’’ Abraham, ‘‘in’’ Isaac and ‘‘in’’ Christ (chap 5), and the procreative activity of the God of Israel (chap 6). This kinship creation is Paul’s solution to the problem: gentiles are granted a new heritage and a relationship with the God of Israel. In these chapters, I call attention to the ways patrilineal ideology makes sense of language that has often been interpreted in terms of later Christian theologies. Chapter 7 proposes a way to read Paul’s arguments for gentile inclusion that does not require the melding of all those ‘‘in Christ’’ into one homogeneous group. I apply a model of multiple identities, in which individuals and groups can occupy multiple identities simultaneously, to Paul’s own strategic self-presentation and to his reconfiguration of the identities of gentiles-inChrist. In chapter 8, I take another look at the juxtapositions of Jews and gentiles and identify the complex ways these pairs work both to place Jews and nonJews in opposition and to link these two peoples as descendants of the same founding ancestor and as followers of the same God. This simultaneous connection and distance propel Paul’s story of the future salvation of both peoples in Romans 9–11.

1 Patrilineal Descent and the Construction of Identities

On her mother’s side Iulia, my aunt, was sprung from kings, and on her father’s connected with immortal gods. For the Marcii Reges (that was her mother’s name) descend from Ancus Marcius, and the Iulii, to whom my family belongs, descend from Venus. —Suetonius, Divus Julius 6.1 With these words, Julius Caesar began his aunt’s funeral eulogy.1 To mark the life of his kinswoman, to honor her and to proclaim her place in the world, he refers to her ancestry, royal on one side and divine on the other. Simultaneously, of course, Caesar honors himself. Reciting the noble genealogy of his aunt, the Roman ruler constructs his own myth of origins and thus legitimizes his powerful position. This rhetorical move relies upon a common conception in ancient Mediterranean cultures: you are your ancestors. In this way of thinking, one’s status, character, and identity are conferred by one’s forebears. As I will discuss further below, this notion is central to the logic of patrilineal descent, the prevailing kinship structure of the ancient world. The discussion that follows addresses how discourses about kinship and ethnicity are used to persuade. How might a claim such as Caesar’s above, or the claims of Paul, make sense to an ancient audience? Or put more broadly: How is the ideology of patrilineal descent put to use? I will argue that it serves as a mechanism for the construction of identities, the mediation of power, and the definition of group membership. As such, this ideology serves Paul

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well as he crafts a new genealogy for gentile believers, one that links them to Israel through Christ. To understand how this works, I will make the following four points in four sections. First, I will elaborate a theory of how kinship and ethnicity are considered ‘‘natural’’ categories yet are also treated as mutable. I will then describe the ideology of patrilineal descent and identify certain normative assumptions (such as ‘‘you are your ancestors’’) which accompany this ideology. These assumptions, which essentialize relatedness by placing it in the realm of ‘‘natural’’ biological processes, invest kinship—and ethnicity based on kinship claims— with authority. I will then discuss the important role of religious ritual in both ratifying and creating kin relationships: members of patrilineal cultures regulate, sanction, and adjust descent patterns with religious ritual, specifically sacrifice. Thus ritual supports both the normative assumptions about kinship (in that it lends authority and immutability to new relationships) and the fluidity of kinship (in that it serves as a means of human control). Finally, I will present a series of case studies in which arguments about kinship and ethnicity are used to persuade. Normative assumptions and creative strategies work together in these examples to construct identity and to advance specific rhetorical goals. This survey illustrates a variety of discourses available to first-century thinkers such as Paul, and thus lays the groundwork for the subsequent chapters on Paul’s use of kinship and ethnicity, where we find similar persuasive practices.

Twofold Nature of Kinship and Ethnicity In Julius Caesar’s elegy for his aunt, kinship accomplishes two things. On the one hand, it embeds the family’s greatness in the ‘‘natural’’ phenomenon of descent, whereby the current family members inherit the status of their ancestors. This transaction—the transfer of traits from ancestors to descendants— is thought to be lodged in biological processes beyond human understanding and control. Conceptions of shared ‘‘blood,’’ ‘‘flesh,’’ and ‘‘seed’’ form an authoritative logic of kinship which in turn organizes and legitimizes social relationships and identities. This perceived ‘‘natural’’ relationship is instrumental to the ideology of patrilineal decent. Because it is based on kinship, it appears to be removed from human agency; therefore it seems ‘‘natural’’ and unquestionable. At the same time, the various hierarchies of power embedded within that kin relationship are also naturalized and legitimized.2 It is this logic which lends Caesar’s claims an aura of permanence and infallibility: his powerful position is justified by his noble ancestry. On the other hand, the very act of reciting his genealogy is itself a strategy for shaping an image of Caesar’s family. Many Roman noble families participated in the practice of crafting genealogies which linked current family mem-

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bers to noble ancestors. Caesar’s claim to descend from Venus was a part of a campaign to transform the Julians’ relatively unknown heritage into a pedigree worthy of a ruler of Rome.3 Paul participates in a similar practice when he constructs a new heritage for gentiles by plugging them into the lineage of Abraham. The naturalizing logic of descent works even as this logic is being manipulated. The recognition that kinship can be shaped and arranged does not compromise the belief that blood ties are natural and immutable. On the contrary, these two seemingly paradoxical conceptions operate in concert in the construction of identity. This same dynamic occurs with ethnic identities, which are often, but not always, asserted with claims of shared kinship. Members of ethnic groups tend to perpetuate a belief in some essential or inherent trait which binds them together. David Konstan suggests the following conception of ethnicity: ‘‘the selfconscious insistence on an image of the organic cohesion of a community, however it may be constructed.’’4 In ancient Mediterranean cultures, this ‘‘organic cohesion’’ can take many forms: common birthplace or current residence, adherence to the same law or religion or other daily practices, any combination of these, or others not listed here. A frequent claim is one of common ancestry in which ‘‘shared blood’’ legitimizes and naturalizes ethnic identities. For this reason, arguments concerning kinship and ethnicity often overlap and intermingle in ancient sources. And just as with kinship, what is deemed ‘‘natural’’ or ‘‘essential’’ to ethnic identity is open to change and rearrangement. Gerd Baumann has written about this twofold dynamic in his study of modern conceptions of ethnic identities.5 He argues that the practice of ethnicity involves two discourses of culture, the essentialist and the processual. Whereas the ‘‘essentialist discourse of culture’’ claims that there is some inherent characteristic which binds a group, the ‘‘processual discourse of culture’’ insists that this characteristic is not inherent, but created, constructed by group members. Further, these two discourses, although they appear incompatible, are actually complementary: they work together in the creation of ethnic identity. For example, the very act of stating or claiming an essential common bond with other members is itself a construction of identity.6 Baumann argues that people are aware of both discourses and tend to practice a ‘‘double discursive competence,’’ using both the essentialist and processual discourses fluidly.7 This formulation is helpful because it makes the point that identity— whether based on kinship or some other essentializing characteristic—is constructed from the start. Further, Baumann stresses that the actors themselves both value the imputed essential bond and recognize the malleability of that bond. Thus these two strands of identity are not mutually exclusive, but they depend upon and inform each other as actors practice ‘‘double discursive competence.’’ It is precisely because of this double-sided nature of kinship and ethnic claims that they are such apt tools for the construction of identity.

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Indeed, claims about relatedness often grow out of a dynamic tension between appeals to essence and the manipulation of that essence. This strategic construction of identity cannot work without the essentialist component. That is, to be convincing, the new identity must be perceived to have something authentic about it. Carola Lentz, who has written about ethnicity in post-colonial Ghana, argues that new identities acquire authenticity ‘‘not by instrumentalist arguments, but by essentialist assertions about the history and culture of the community-to-be.’’8 The same is true for our ancient examples. In ancient Mediterranean cultures, kinship, specifically the ideology of patrilineal descent, often served this purpose. Even though the fluid and fixed aspects of identity are often intertwined and mutually dependent, for the purposes of analyzing how this ‘‘double discursive competence’’ operates, it is helpful to distinguish between the two. The essentializing component is often found in the normative assumptions people make about their identities. These are the ideals and principles with which people talk about themselves and others, the elements that people consider essential to their identity. I will discuss those assumptions particular to patrilineal descent in the next section. The processual component becomes obvious when people create new or modified identities, typically by rearranging the essential elements through a variety of means including ritual and discourse. As I will discuss in the following two sections, this phenomenon is complex and variable, and it depends largely on the particular context or argument.

Patrilineal Descent: Ideology and Normative Assumptions In the discussion that follows, I will not attempt to offer a thorough description of the various kinship practices in ancient Mediterranean cultures. These are far too various and contingent upon specific contexts. Instead, I will focus on the dominant kinship ideology which informs the thinking of many ancient writers, namely patrilineal descent. Patrilineal ideology traces a lineage through a line of male descendants. Sons inherit property from their fathers and typically incorporate wives into their own line. In practice, there were many variations of this system to accommodate particular circumstances or specific locations. For example, in addition to patrilineal descent, the Greeks and Romans recognized some limited form of cognation (kinship connections through the male and female lines) as a means of tracing kin relations.9 Furthermore, we have ample evidence of exceptions to the rules of patrilineal descent. These cases occur when specific circumstances render the dominant descent patterns impossible or simply inconvenient. For example, in the quotation which opens this chapter, Julius Caesar departs from the logic of patrilineal descent when he cites the royal ancestors on his aunt’s maternal side as proof of her worth. As

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with any kinship logic, there are many (often strategic) improvisations on the basic pattern. When I refer to ‘‘patrilineal ideology,’’ I do not have in mind a fixed, permanent set of ideas or understandings. This ideology, like other ideologies, gives rise to multiple, often related claims based on its logic. I will focus on the ways authors use patrilineal logic strategically. Families or ethnic groups which are organized by patriliny typically make a series of normative assumptions about their relatedness, including: (1) members descend from a common male ancestor; (2) they have inherited the characteristics of that ancestor; (3) they understand themselves as a corporate group linked by some organic connection. All three of these are not necessarily always present; in certain circumstances one may be emphasized more than the others or other assumptions may be deployed as well. Within the ideology of patrilineal descent, these assumptions correspond to Baumann’s essentialist discourse; these relationships between group members and their ancestors are understood to be based on shared blood and are therefore considered ‘‘natural’’ and inherent. Group members tend to accept the authority of ‘‘blood relations’’ as an organizing principle for their social structures. These normative assumptions about descent and peoplehood are ubiquitous in the cultures of the ancient Mediterranean. For example, many ancient Jews defined themselves as descendants of a common ancestor, Abraham. Philo describes the division of Israelite ethnos into twelve tribes, each founded by a descendant of Abraham: The twelve tribes into which the nation (toø~ ynouB) was divided had the same number of chieftains connected not only by membership of the same household (okaB) and family (suggeneaB), but by a still more genuine kinship (gnZsiotraB okeitZtoB), for they were brothers with the same father (moptrioi) [Jacob], and their grandfather [Isaac] and their great-grandfather [Abraham] as well as their ’ father were founders of the people (arwZgtai toø~ ynouB). (On 10 Rewards, 57) According to Philo, sharing one father creates a ‘‘more genuine kinship’’ than coming from the same household or kin group. He goes on to explain that the true lineage of Abraham was passed down only through one line—Abraham to Isaac to Jacob—until Jacob’s sons were born and proved worthy of founding the twelve tribes.11 Elsewhere Philo describes this same situation: ‘‘But of [Abraham’s] many sons, only one was appointed to inherit the patrimony. All the rest failed to show sound judgment and as they reproduced nothing of their father’s qualities, were excluded from home and denied any part in the grandeur of their noble birth’’ (On the Virtues, 207).12 The virtuous characteristics of the founding ancestor are passed down through one son in each generation.

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Similarly, the author of 4 Maccabees addresses his readers: ‘‘O Israelite children, offspring (¼pgonoi) of the seed of Abraham (t ~ n ^Abramiaon spermton). . .’’ (18:1). This text tells the story of seven brothers undergoing torture. The author explains how it is that all seven display the same character and virtues: You are aware of the love of humanity (ta tŁ~B ¼nyroptZtoB fltra) which divine and all-wise providence has imparted through fathers (dia t ~ n patron) to offspring, and implanted through the womb of the mother (dia tŁ~B matr

± aB futesasa gastrB). In which [womb] these brothers remained an equal time and were formed (plasynteB) for the same period and increased by the same blood (¼po` toø~ a t

~ a·matoB).13 (4 Macc 13:18–20) In this passage, character traits are passed from father to sons through the physiological processes of conception and gestation in the womb. As fetuses, these brothers were formed in the same womb and nourished by the same blood. Because the brothers come from the same fundamental material, all are able to face their martyrdom in like manner, with courage and honor.14 The author of 4 Maccabees uses an essentializing discourse about biological relatedness to persuade readers of the valor of these brothers. Although this transfer of traits occurs in the mother’s womb, notice that the father is identified as the transmitter of these characteristics, not the mother. References to ‘‘the womb’’ and gestation often figure into these arguments, but recognition of the female role in procreation (usually limited to providing the material for the fetus and the place for it to grow) does not necessarily preclude a patrilineal claim that character traits and status pass through the male line.15 Similar assumptions about ancestry are found in Greek literature, going back to their earliest stories. In the Iliad, still influential and well-known centuries later, characters prove their worth by citing their genealogies, as when Diomedes challenges Glaukos on the battlefield and questions his identity.16 Glaukos responds with a lengthy recounting of his parentage, going back ten generations (Iliad 6.145–211). ‘‘Such is my lineage (geneŁ~B) and the blood (a·matoB) I claim to be born from,’’ he concludes (Iliad, 6.211).17 Notice that Glaukos uses the term ‘‘blood’’ as a synonym for his lineage; it includes the multiple ancestors he has just enumerated. The same substance unites them all and ensures that Glaukos, too, is of the same stuff. Upon hearing this story, Diomedes realizes that their forefathers had been friends and guests in each other’s homes, and the two warriors embrace in friendship. The assumption underlying the resolution to this conflict is that the relationship that existed between their ancestors should be replicated by the descendants. ‘‘See now,’’ Diomedes announces, ‘‘you are my guest friend (xe~inoB) from far in the time of our fathers’’ (Iliad 6.215).18 This makes perfect

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sense in an ideology of descent in which descendants can be understood as manifestations of their ancestors. In Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle reflects on the different types of philia (friendship and other affectionate bonds between people). He describes the philia between parents and children: Parents then love their children as themselves ( B autoB) (one’s offspring being, as it were another self—other because separate). Children love their parents as the source of their being ( B ¼p\ ½kenon pefukta). Brothers love each other as being from the same source (½k t ~ n a t ~ n pefuknai), since the identity of their relations to that source identifies them with one another, which is why we speak of ‘‘being of the same blood’’ or ‘‘of the same stock’’ (ta ton auØma kad r^ zan) or the like. Brothers are therefore in a manner the same being, though embodied in separate persons. (viii.12.3)19 Aristotle describes a type of philia that is based on children and parents being ‘‘of the same blood’’ or ‘‘of the same stock.’’ Because of this shared stuff, a certain philia develops, which involves loving your family members as you love yourself.20 Children are simultaneously their own beings and iterations of their parents. Appeals to genealogies were widely popular in classical Athens as well, particularly among prominent families.21 One of the most well known of these is the Philaid genealogy, which claims Philaios, son of Ajax as its eponymous ancestor. It lists thirteen generations of fathers and sons.22 Another example is Plutarch’s Life of Solon, in which the biographer begins by citing Solon’s ancestry.23 This practice of reciting genealogies stems from an aristocratic ideal in Greece, which, although it changed over time, held as a central tenet that status is inherited.24 Countering the claims of individual aristocratic families, proponents of democracy in fifth-century Athens emphasized the noble ancestry of the d
emos as a whole.25 Demosthenes, for example, when eulogizing the dead, does not enumerate the specific lineage of each person. Instead, he praises them as an anonymous whole, establishing their corporate noble birth (eugeneia): ‘‘For it is possible for them and for each of their remote ancestors to trace back their nature (tcn fsin) not only to a father, but also to this land of theirs as a whole which they have in common and of which they are agreed to be the indigenous offspring (a twyoneB)’’ (LX. 4; Funeral Oration).26 In this line of reasoning, which we find also in Plato’s Menexenus, the fatherland (patrB) and ‘‘mother earth’’ (mtZr tŁ~B wæraB) themselves become the original founding ancestors (Menexenus 237 C).27 Thus the Athenians can trace their eugeneia all the way back to their progenitors, who were made noble in the first place by their autochthonous birth. In these arguments, autochthony is an essentializing claim which reinforces the logic of descent.28

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These authors present Athenians as an anonymous whole, a viewpoint that, as Rosalind Thomas argues, served the interests of democracy: ‘‘Since the whole d
emos is said to be descended from the same stock, it can be treated as a whole, and the length of Athenian history can be seen as expressive of this single origin in the distant legendary period.’’29 This corporate identity of the people, however, rests on the same principle which underlies the genealogies of the aristocratic families: virtue breeds virtue. These claims about relatedness—whether between brothers, competitors on the battlefield, or whole peoples—all use the past to speak about current relationships or character traits. The arguments of each author depend on the reader’s tacit agreement that, in some way, ‘‘we are our ancestors.’’ The logic of ‘‘shared blood’’ and the various essentializing assumptions that accompany it underlie this thinking, as group members define themselves in terms of the status of their forebears. As we will see below, appeals to ‘‘shared blood,’’ or other forms of organic connection, are quite malleable and lend their authority to a variety of arguments. This logic both shapes and naturalizes social hierarchies based on patrilineal models.

Ritual Maintenance of Descent In ancient Mediterranean cultures, these normative assumptions are often authorized, or even created, by religious ritual. Catherine Bell argues that ritual (or ‘‘ritualization,’’ as she calls it) provides an arena for power negotiation. Ritualization naturalizes socially constructed hierarchies so that they are perceived to be ‘‘impressed upon the person and community from sources of power and order beyond it.’’30 Just as the authority of kinship is shrouded in the mysteries of biological descent, so the authority of ritual is shrouded in the realm of the gods. As we will see in the case studies presented in the following section, these two work together to create, adjust, and maintain identities. In some cases where there is no relationship by birth (adoption, for example), kinship is created by ritual. Thus both blood relations and divine sanction mystify and authorize the arrangement of social relationships. Ritual, specifically plant and animal sacrifice, thus serves as a mechanism for implementing the ideology of patriliny in ancient Mediterranean social structures. In these agricultural economies, sacrificial practices not only regulate the transfer of land and inheritance, but also serve as a means for selecting and authorizing each new member of the lineage.31 Religious practices contribute to both the fluid and fixed sides of identity: on the one hand, they are organized, accepted, or rejected by humans, and, on the other hand, they invoke divine sanction—understood to be mostly beyond human control—of whatever social relationship is involved. Indeed, religious ritual can operate as a link between the two sides of this dynamic.32

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Greek sources indicate that birth did not automatically grant membership into the oikos or household. A child had to be officially—that is, ritually— admitted into the family by the father. In a ceremony called the Amphidromia, the father walked or ran around the hearth with the newborn child. A sacrifice would then be offered, the legitimacy of the child would be established, and the child would be named.33 In some cases, when sons were introduced to their family’s phratry, fathers or legal guardians swore an oath with their hand on the sacrificial offering that the child was legitimate.34 Scholars have suggested that sacrifice, as a ritual in which the male members of the group preside, serves as a male counterpart to physical childbirth.35 Stanley Stowers studies conceptions of blood in Greek discussions of sacrifice and childbirth and finds considerable overlap, especially where both types of blood are described as procreative. He shows that Greek sacrificial practices were ‘‘concerned with constituting and interpreting both paternity and maternity, with defining the male and female roles in procreation.’’36 Further, Stowers notices that power is negotiated through discussions of blood: while menstrual blood and sacrificial blood are often described similarly, they are divided by gender and hierarchalized, the former belonging to women and the latter to men. Thus sacrifice symbolically replicates—and replaces— biological birth: ‘‘Greek texts intuit an analogy between sacrifice and men’s control of childbirth because sacrifice actually effected paternal control of children.’’37 Greek sacrifice illustrates Bell’s point that ritual serves as a means of negotiating power. Through sacrifice, children are given a place in the father’s lineage; through ritual, men beget their heirs. Birth rituals are but one example of the many ways in which religious ritual regulated descent in ancient Mediterranean cultures. Indeed, almost all levels of Greek life were organized by agnatic kinship groups, from the oikos to the larger organizations within the polis such as phratries or demes, to the polis itself. Membership in all of these groups was defined by kinship and maintained by the sacrificial cult.38 Adele Scafuro has shown that these rituals are crucial for establishing citizenship and inheritance rights, as documented in fourth-century Athenian legal cases.39 A son could prove his right to inherit, for example, if he could marshal the witnesses to the ceremonies (i.e., sacrifices) which marked his entrance into an oikos, deme, or phratry.40 Likewise in Rome, the imperial state modeled itself after the domus, which was a sacrificing kinship group headed by the paterfamilias.41 As in a household, so in the wider empire, certain hierarchies were in place: residents were not treated equally but according to their status. As each household sacrificed to the household gods, so the city of Rome maintained the cult of Vesta, the goddess of the hearth, symbolized by the flame guarded by the Vestal Virgins.42 The Roman emperor, who at times received cult offerings for himself or his ancestors, served as the paterfamilias of the whole empire. Thus the patriarchal ideal of the Roman household, a structure of one male head ruling

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all subordinate members reinforced by cult practices, was available to imperial ideology-makers. Before 70 c.e., the year the Jerusalem temple was destroyed by the Romans, sacrifice played an integral role among Jews as well. Biblical stories are replete with examples of the connection between cult and the maintenance of patrilineal practices and ideologies.43 In the Second Temple period, of course, the center of the sacrificial cult was the Jerusalem temple, for it was only here that offerings could be made to the deity. Evidence exists, however, that diaspora Ioudaioi maintained a connection to their temple cult, making pilgrimages there, sending financial support, and organizing their worship around the temple schedule.44 Circumcision is another ritual that connected male Ioudaioi to their patriline. Howard Eilberg-Schwartz argues that circumcision served as a sign of fertility and marked the boy’s future role as a procreative father.45 As a ritual of birth, circumcision marks the baby as a member of the lineage of Abraham. Although understandings of circumcision vary among Ioudaioi, a number of texts after the Macabbean period evince that it was perceived as an ethnic marker, both by Ioudaioi and by outsiders.46 Paul himself cites his own circumcision as a part of his place in Israel: ‘‘Circumcised on the eighth day, descended from the people of Israel (½k gnouB \Isral), of the tribe (fulŁ~B) of Benjamin, a Hebrew out of Hebrews’’ (Phil 3:5). Circumcision marks his ethnoreligious identity, just as his genos and tribe do. In these ancient cultures, patrilineal descent and religious ritual interrelate and cooperate with each other. Patriliny provides the authoritative logic for social structures and hierarchies of power; ritual further legitimizes these structures by creating and sanctioning kinship ties. As we will see in later chapters, the same pattern can be found in Paul, who argues that a change in religious practices and loyalties can alter lineages, in particular for non-Ioudaioi.47

Strategic Use of Descent: Case Studies from the Ancient World It is because of the dual nature of kinship and ethnic claims—they are perceived to be natural and inevitable yet they are also open to human intervention—that they are such effective tools for the construction of identities. Participants in ancient Mediterranean cultures practice ‘‘double discursive competence,’’ taking advantage of the perceived essentialness of blood relationships even as they reorganize them or create new ones. In the examples below, I demonstrate how kinship and ethnicity are used in creative and strategic ways to organize people and power, shape self-understanding and define membership. The normative assumptions of patrilineal descent figure into these arguments even as kinshipmakers tweak these according to their rhetorical goals. The examples which follow illustrate the variety of types of kinship construction available to a firstcentury author such as Paul.

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Obtaining Heirs: Adoption Practices We have seen how socially sanctioned rituals authorize legal descent and membership in families. This is made more explicit in the case of adoption, in which there is often no biological relationship, and kinship is created through ritual and legal proceedings. In both Greece and Rome, if the head of a household were left without an heir, he could adopt a son to carry on his lineage.48 The primary purpose of adoption was to benefit the father and the family, not the adoptee (although in some cases it was certainly mutually beneficial). The adopted son took on the role of biological son; if he were the only son, he inherited all property and status of the family, and he took responsibility for the continuation of the household cult.49 Adoption was widely recognized as a legitimate means of refiguring kinship structures. Because of the narrow scope of the evidence, we cannot talk about ‘‘Greek adoption’’ in general terms. The Greek texts that talk about adoption are primarily fourth-century Athenian law court speeches which were concerned primarily with inheritance disputes. Indeed, adoption, as a means of securing intergenerational continuity, was inevitably bound up with issues of citizenship and inheritance.50 This is made clear by the official method of adopting a son: through the public enrollment in a deme or phratry. Because these were kinship groups that guaranteed their members citizenship in the polis, fathers could enroll their teenage sons as a way of securing citizenship and inheritance rights for them. The procedure with adopted sons was the same, as Isaeus describes in the case of Apollodoros: [My adoptive father] conducted me to the altars and to the members of the gene and phratries. With them the same law applies both when someone introduces a natural son (tina fsei gegonta) or an adopted son (poiZtn): he must swear with his hand on the sacrificial animal (kata t ~ n er ~ n) that the child whom he is introducing, whether his own or an adopted son, is the offspring of a married citizen-woman. (Isaeus VII.15–16)51 Animal sacrifice provides the context for legitimizing a son by adoption or by birth: the new relationship is legitimized by an oath on the sacrificial animal. After this, the phratry members must vote. If the vote is favorable, only then is the son’s name inscribed on the official register (Isaeus VII.16). Adoption, which takes place through ritual, produces a son for a family.52 In Rome, legal descent passed through the pater, the socially recognized father, not the genitor, the biological father, a distinction even reflected in the language by these two words for father in legal contexts.53 Usually the pater and the genitor were the same person, but in the case of adoption they were not. Inheritance and legal status passed from the pater to the adopted son who, in turn, gave up all rights to his original family, and had to commit himself to

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the responsibilities required of him as the son in his adopted family.54 The ceremony of adoption took place in court where the following formula might be recited: May it be your will and command that L. Valerius may be to L. Titius in right and in law his son, just as if he were born from him as pater ( familias) and from his materfamilias (quam si ex eo patre matreque familias eius natus esset), and that he (Titius) may have in relation to him (Valerius) the power of life and death, as there is to a father in the case of a son. (Aulus Gellius, Attic Nights V.xix.9)55 These words reflect the understanding that adoption creates a kinship tie between parents and children parallel to those created by birth. Though some texts stress the equal status of adopted children and birth children, others strategically emphasize the double kinship of adoptees. For example, the historian Diodorus of Sicily describes the heritage of Publius Scipio, who was not only born to a famous father, but was also ‘‘given in adoption (doyedB db eB uoyesan) to Scipio’’ (XXXI 26.4).56 Diodorus goes on to sing Publius Scipio’s praises, citing both his birth family and his adopted family as proof of his worth: ‘‘Sprung from such stock, and succeeding to a family and clan of such importance, he showed himself worthy of the fame of his ancestors’’ (XXXI 26.4).57 Like Paul’s presentation of Christ’s double ancestry in Romans 1:3–4, this Roman aristocrat draws his ancestry and status from both his birth family and his adoptive family; he inherits the positive attributes of all his ancestors. In this case, adoption does not replace kinship by birth, but complements it. The refiguring of descent was integral to the continuation of the Roman familia, as Jane Gardner explains: ‘‘It is important to remember that the familia was entirely a legal construct, the composition of which was created both ‘naturally,’ by blood descent within lawful marriage, and artificially, by co-opting legal outsiders (who might or might not have blood connections with the pater) through the medium of adoption.’’58 Gardner notes that in many cases, people adopted family members such as nephews or grandsons, and often did so through the maternal line.59 This is not a case of creating kinship where there was none. Rather, existing kinship relationships—which might be based on birth or marriage—are remade to fit the needs of the patriliny: nephews and grandsons are made sons and heirs. The most notorious adoptions in Roman history—those of the imperial households—follow this pattern as well. In 45 b.c.e., Julius Caesar adopted his niece’s son, Octavian, by naming him as his heir in his will.60 In turn, Augustus, who had no heir of his own, adopted three of his daughter’s sons and his own stepson in an effort to secure an heir.61 Mireille Corbier argues that Augustus and his successors were architects of the imperial domus: they faced the challenge of constructing a kinship group which was large enough

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to survive but exclusive enough so as not to produce too many potential successors.62 Adoption, along with divorce and marriage (and remarriage), accomplished this goal. The situation is less clear in Judaism because there is no law that explicitly addresses adoption or any text that describes a ceremony of adoption. There is evidence, however, that adoption was known among Jews.63 Philo and Josephus each recognize adoptions in their sacred texts and in political events: both authors refer to Exodus 2:10 as the adoption of Moses by Pharaoh’s daughter.64 Further, both Philo and Josephus refer to the imperial adoptions of Gaius and Nero.65 And of course there is Paul, for whom adoption serves as a means of bringing the gentiles into the lineage of Abraham. As I will discuss in chapter 3, Paul clearly understood the strategic potential of casting a ritual of initiation (baptism) as an adoption of alien peoples by the God of Israel. I have not attempted to detail the specifics of Greek, Roman, or Jewish conceptions of adoption. Instead my point is simply that these cultures viewed adoption as a practical means of maintaining lineages; it provided a ritually created, socially accepted stand-in for a blood relative. As is clear from birth rituals and adoption practices, ritual illustrates both the ‘‘processual’’ discourse of kinship, in which group members construct and manage kin relationships, and the ‘‘essentialist’’ discourse, in which new kinship is stamped with divine authority. The following example shows that similarly creative practices take place in discursive contexts.

Rewriting the Past: Genealogies of Noble Families Through adoption, the head of a household secures an heir to continue his lineage into the future. Another sort of kinship-creation shapes lineages in the past: the practice of writing genealogies. I have already briefly discussed examples of Athenian aristocratic families publishing their genealogies as a way of claiming certain prestige or honor. Rosalind Thomas comments on this phenomenon: ‘‘Prestige, status, even moral character might be derived from the original progenitor, preferably legendary, heroic or divine.’’66 Because of the importance of ancestors for current status, genealogies were used for strategic purposes and ancestors could be emphasized or de-emphasized (or fabricated or erased) as was expedient at the time.67 For example, genealogies often emphasize the most remote and legendary ancestor, for it is this famous founder who confers honor on the family.68 A fragment attributed to Aristotle comments on this principle: ‘‘But not even those descended from good ancestors (o ½k prognon ¼gay ~ n) are noble, only those who have among those ancestors originators (¼rwZgo) who are good’’ (On Nobility, fr. 94).69 Intervening generations are not as important, and are therefore not traced as carefully, unless a particular circumstance makes them relevant. The advent of democracy in Athens was just such a circumstance. In this context,

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families began to praise their most recent ancestors, those who fought against the tyrants, instead of their Homeric ancestors.70 Indeed, genealogies tell us more about the interests and alliances of the families who write or publish them than they do about the history of the family. A similar phenomenon of kinship arranging occurred among the Romans. Both patrician and noble plebeian families created histories which recorded fabricated family victories and government positions. In addition, they arranged genealogies which traced their ancestry back to famous Trojan and Greek heroes.71 Interestingly, these genealogies are recorded by historians who recognize their contrived nature. Cicero refers to ‘‘feigned triumphs, too many consulships ( falsi triumphi, plures consulatus)’’ (Brutus 62).72 Asclepiades of Myrlea (100 b.c.e.) divides history into three categories: the true, the seeming-true, and the false. In this last category he places just one type, genealogies.73 Clearly, historical accuracy was not the most important factor at work in this historymaking. The motives are better explained by efforts to express family pride, jockey for political and social position in the Republic, and establish relationships with other families. The most famous of all Roman families to rewrite their history and ancestry is the Julians. As was illustrated by his funeral oration for his aunt (which opens this chapter), Julius Caesar promoted his own image as a descendant of Venus. The Julians also claimed descent from Aeneas.74 To publicize this ancestry, Caesar minted coins with Venus and Aeneas on the obverse and reverse sides.75 The Roman ruler also built a temple to Venus Genetrix in the Forum Iulium, a monument to his ancestress and an expression of his own divine lineage.76 Caesar’s adopted heir, Octavian (eventually called Augustus), continued and greatly expanded the glorification of the Julian gens in his massive campaign to unify, restore, and consolidate power over the Republic. Augustus remade his own history through his patronage of the arts. He built a portrait gallery of statues of important families throughout Roman history, placing the Julians (including Aeneas and Ascanius) in the most prominent position.77 Thus this family, which did not originally have a noble background, was recast as the most important of all Roman families. A similar attitude is found in Virgil’s Aeneid, which constructs a mythologized history of Rome, the culmination of which is Augustus himself.78 Paul Zanker writes that Virgil, who wrote during this period of renewal, ‘‘imbued the myth of Venus, the fall of Troy, and the wanderings of Aeneas with a new meaning, in which not only the future rule of the Julian house, but the whole history of Rome was portrayed as one of predestined triumph and salvation.’’79 Augustus also promoted Julius Caesar’s cult as a god, for it allowed him to call himself ‘‘Emperor Caesar, son of god (Imperator Caesar diui filius).’’80 Again, we see the importance of religious ritual in legitimizing and creating identities: Caesar is honored as a god through cult, and Augustus is honored as his heir.

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Recognizing the ancient practice of reconfiguring family histories is crucial for interpreting Paul. One way of describing Paul’s task as an apostle to the gentiles is to say that he is rewriting their genealogies. Gentile peoples who follow Christ become brothers of Christ and descendants of Abraham. They are adopted into a new lineage and granted a new heritage. As we will see, Paul, like his contemporaries, participates in discursive practices which produce and shape new filial relationships.

Reorganizing the Polis: Kleisthenes In each of the previous examples, adoption and genealogies, the aim has been to extend the lineage of the family, either into the future through adoption or into the past through genealogies. In the case of Kleisthenes’ reforms, the lineages of a whole population are rearranged for the purposes of political and social change. In an attempt to diminish the power of the few aristocratic families that ruled Athens in the sixth century b.c.e., Kleisthenes reorganized the kinship structures which granted access to citizenship, and thus power, in the polis. Without eliminating the traditional structures already in place (tribes, phratries, and clans), Kleisthenes instituted both a new set of ten tribes and a set of smaller demes. The demes were, at least in theory, determined by geographical areas. These demes and tribes, along with the phratries, became political subdivisions of the Athenian polis.81 Kleisthenes has sometimes been hailed as the ‘‘father of democracy’’ for bringing ‘‘equality’’ to the process of granting citizenship to the Athenian populace.82 Proponents of this view stress that these reforms ensured that geographic location, not family connections, now determined citizenship. Though these scholars recognize that these new organizations were shaped like kinship groups, they assume that they were essentially different from ‘‘natural’’ kinship groups which stem from the nuclear family.83 According to this thinking, these new demes, as political, intentionally arranged groups, are not ‘‘true’’ kinship groups. This distinction between ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘arranged’’ kinship groups is highly problematic. Indeed, these new demes and tribes operated much like any other descent group in Athens. Each deme was connected to one of the ten tribes, and each tribe was assigned an eponymous hero as a founding ancestor: ‘‘To the tribes he gave ten eponymous founders (¼rwZget ~ n) out of a list of one hundred, which the Pythian priestess had previously chosen’’ (Aristotle, Athenian Constitution, xxi.6).84 In Demosthenes’ Epitaphios, these eponymous founders are called syggen
es (‘‘kin’’) and arch
egos (‘‘founder’’ or ‘‘original ancestor’’).85 As extant deme calendars evince, it was the responsibility of the demes and tribes to maintain the cult of their ancestor.86 Furthermore, if you moved away from your deme, you remained a member, and deme membership passed from father to son.87 So even if an original criterion for the division of the Athenian population

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was geographic location, it is clear that demes and tribes functioned as sacrificial descent groups, much like other Greek public bodies.88 What is important for my argument is that the creation of new descent groups was a viable option for political and social reform. Kleisthenes’ strategy for diminishing the power of aristocratic families was to create new lineages that would include more people in the power structure. Because sacrificing kinship groups formed the basis of political and social organization, these are obvious targets for instituting changes. Kleisthenes recognized that descent groups were at once authoritative in that they dictated social structures, and pliable in that they could be reorganized. These new tribes and demes, like all kinship groups, would have been instituted and sanctioned by religious ritual as the members of each new deme participated in the sacrificial cult of their new founder.

Crafting the History of a People: Dionysius of Halicarnassus Like Greek and Roman families and like Kleisthenes, Dionysius of Halicarnassus also refigured ancestry. Dionysius was a Greek rhetorician who came to live in Rome in 30 b.c.e. Like other Greek scholars in Rome during the reign of Augustus, Dionysius allied himself with the Roman aristocracy, among whom he found enthusiastic patrons.89 During this period, leading Romans began to embrace and indeed appropriate Greek culture, a gesture inspired by Augustus’s campaign to revamp the image of Rome.90 Augustus wisely chose not to attempt to fight the cultural hegemony of the Greeks; rather he welcomed it and made it his own. One of the products of this effort was Dionysius’s lifework, Roman Antiquities, a twenty-volume history of Rome illustrious enough to match the current stature of this great city and its people. Dionysius’s explicit goal in this work is to fix the tattered image of Rome and its questionable past. Kinship and ethnicity serve as his primary strategies in this rehabilitation effort which revolves around appeals to founding figures. Dionysius focuses on the ancestry of the first inhabitants of Rome, a topic he claims had never been covered by previous historians. As it turns out, he argues, the Romans descended from the Greeks, and not from ‘‘base barbarians,’’ as was commonly thought. Dionysius explains how he will prove this assertion: ‘‘I shall in this book show who the founders of the city were, at what periods the various groups came together, and through what turns of fortune they left their native countries. By this means I engage to prove that they were Greeks and came together from nations not the smallest nor the least considerable’’ (Roman Antiquities 1.5.1).91 By tracing ancestors and geographic origins, Dionysius will demonstrate that the true ethnicity of the Romans is Greek. Dionysius identifies several groups of people who first lived in Rome, tracing their ancestry and travels back to ancient peoples originally from some part of Greece (1:9–70). For example, after acknowledging that there are

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several explanations in circulation about the origins of the tribe of Aborigines (\Aborginon fø~lon), some less honorable than others,92 Dionysius counters these with his own theory, supported by the ‘‘most learned of the Roman historians’’ (1.11.1): the Aborigines were descended from the Oenotrians, who in turn came from an Arcadian tribe which had left Greece long ago in search of better land (1.11.1ff). Through similar machinations, Dionysius transforms each barbarian genos affiliated with Roman history into a Greek one. Thus the ancestors of the current Romans were Greeks. Should the reader remain unconvinced, Dionysius cites further evidence of Romans’ ‘‘Greekness’’ in their way of life. He describes Italian cities inhabited by the descendants of the Greeks: In these cities there survived for a very long time many of the ancient customs formerly in use among the Greeks, such as the fashion of their arms of war, like Argolic bucklers and spears. . . . Similar, also, was the structure of their temples, the images of their gods, their purifications and sacrifices and many other things of that nature. But the most conspicuous monument which shows that those people . . . once lived at Argos is the temple of Juno at Falerii, built in the same fashion as the one at Argos; here, too, the manner of the sacrificial ceremonies was similar, holy women served the sacred precinct, and an unmarried girl, called the ‘‘basket-bearer,’’ performed the initial rites of the sacrifices, and there were choruses of virgins who praised the goddess in the songs of their country. (Roman Antiquities 1.21.1–2)93 So the ‘‘Greekness’’ of a people can be tested not only by tracing descent and geographical origins, but also by close examination of their way of life. In particular, the specific ritual practices involved with Greek sacrifice offer the most convincing proof of ‘‘Greekness.’’ Religious practices produce and reinforce kinship and ethnicity. This sort of evidence can also demonstrate the opposite. That is, a people’s way of life can prove their ‘‘non-Greekness.’’ Indeed, it seems that Dionysius’s conception of being Greek can be unlearned through daily practices: For many others by living among barbarians have in a short time forgotten all their Greek heritage, so that they neither speak the Greek language nor observe the customs of the Greeks nor acknowledge the same gods nor have the same equitable laws . . . nor agree with them in any thing else whatever that relates to the ordinary intercourse of life. Those Achaeans who are settled near the Euzine sea are a sufficient proof of my contention; for, though originally Eleans of a nation the most Greek of any (½k toø~ ^EllZnikottou), they are now the most savage of all barbarians

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if sons, then heirs (barbron db sumpnton nø~n nteB ¼griætatoi). (Roman Antiquities, 1.89.4)94

The story of the Eleans illustrates the danger of living among barbarians: losing your ethnic identity as Greeks as you adopt the practices and customs of your non-Greek neighbors. Assimilation has turned these ‘‘most Greek’’ of Greeks into the ‘‘most savage barbarians.’’ Tim Whitmarsh describes ‘‘Greekness’’ in the context of such claims as ‘‘a socially constructed style, one strand in a skein of valorized concepts.’’95 If Greekness is a certain style, characteristic, concept, or practice, then it clearly can be appropriated and lost, an instability described by Dionysius above. Dionysius uses three criteria for establishing the ‘‘Greekness’’ of the current inhabitants of Rome: descent, geographic origins, and way of life. To claim Greek ethnicity, a people must not only trace their ancestors to Greece, but they must also maintain Greek customs. It is important that Dionysius— who, although writing under Roman patronage, is Greek himself—uses Greek totalizing categories of ‘‘Greek’’ and ‘‘barbarian.’’ By applying this traditional Greek ‘‘insider/outsider’’ terminology to the ancestors of the Romans, Dionysius not only recasts the Romans as ‘‘insiders’’ or Greeks, but he also establishes a firm boundary between the Romans and all other people who are unlucky enough to have no connection to Greece. Rome can now be defined over and against all barbarians (now ‘‘non-Greeks’’ and ‘‘non-Romans’’) of the world. What does Dionysius accomplish by linking Romans with Greeks? First, he creates a bond of kinship between Greeks and Romans from which he (as a Greek living in Rome) can derive power. Second, he confers upon the Romans all the honor, history, and prestige of a Greek heritage. By tracking the migrations of certain Greek peoples to the ancient site of the city of Rome, and by carefully recording their daily practices, Dionysius crafts new ethnic identity for Romans: ‘‘Hence from now on let the reader forever renounce the views of those who make Rome a retreat of barbarians, fugitives and vagabonds, and let him confidently affirm it to be a Greek city’’ (Roman Antiquities, 1.89.1–2).96 Despite this common heritage, however, Dionysius does not collapse Romans and Greeks into one people; Romans remain distinctive with their own history, law, and customs. As we will see in the following chapters, Paul also folds one people (gentiles) into the history of another (Jews) without collapsing the two into one group. In the ancient world, claims to kinship and ethnicity provided a means for tying the new to the old, and the ‘‘other’’ to the familiar; this is what Dionysius of Halicarnassus has done by tracing the Romans back to the Greeks. By incorporating the Greeks into Roman heritage, Dionysius justifies—and helps to create—a new political, cultural, and religious relationship between Greeks and Romans in the Augustan period.97

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Proving the Antiquity of a People: Josephus In the Roman Antiquities, we see how kinship and ethnicity can be inextricably bound together. Specific lineages tie one ethnic group to another, and these ties are used to legitimize current relations. Josephus makes another sort of argument which links descent to Jewish ethnic identity. He does not create new kinship ties, as Dionysius does, but he makes claims about pure and unmixed lineages to prove that Ioudaioi are an ancient and authentic people. In his apologetic work Against Apion, Josephus states his goal at the outset: to prove the antiquity of the genos of the Ioudaioi (Against Apion, 1.1–3). He explains that although he illustrated this in his history, Jewish Antiquities, accusations of ‘‘newness’’ still arise. In this work, then, he attempts to answer the charges that the ethnos of the Ioudaioi is of a recent, and therefore inferior, origin (1.1–3). To accomplish this, Josephus turns to the logic of blood relations. Specifically, he recites the scrupulous kinship practices of the Ioudaioi, specifically the priests, to demonstrate his own authority as a historian. Donning the role of historiographical critic, he sets out to prove his detractors wrong and his own accounts right. As evidence against the Greek historians (who fail to mention Ioudaioi in their accounts), he remarks that the Greeks are inept record keepers; they never write anything down (1.19– 22). In addition to working without documents, Greek historians value style over accuracy (1.23–27). Both of these factors seriously compromise the veracity of their accounts. Jewish records, by contrast, are scrupulously kept. This is sure, Josephus explains, because of the identity of the record keepers. They are none other than the priests and prophets of Israel (1.29). The authority of the prophets to write history comes from God (1.37). The authority of the priests to record true history, however, resides in their pure lineage: [Our ancestors] took precautions to ensure that the priests’ lineage (to` gnoB) should be kept unadulterated and pure. A member of the priestly order must, to beget a family, marry a woman of his own people (½x moeynoø~B gunaiko`B), without regard to her wealth or other distinctions; but he must investigate her lineage (to` gnoB), obtaining the genealogy from the archives and producing a number of witnesses. And this practice of ours is not confined to the home country of Judea, but wherever there is a community of their people, there too a strict account is kept by the priests of their marriages. . . . But the most convincing proof of our accuracy in this matter is that our records contain the names of our high priests, with the succession from father to son for the last two thousand years. (Against Apion 1.30–32)98 Josephus claims that because he uses these documents, his accounts are reliable (not to mention that he is a priest himself). Accurate history has been

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safeguarded by pure blood relationships in the priestly genos, on both the female and male side. Descent and record-keeping mutually reinforce each other in Josephus’s argument, as he describes the scrutiny of the genealogies of the priests’ wives.99 The ‘‘most convincing proof,’’ Josephus argues, is a pure line of patrilineal descent, ‘‘from father to son for the last two thousand years.’’100 In this argument, kinship erects a boundary between the pure priestly lineages and others who do not share blood relationship with them. The kinship patterns of the priests have consequences for the people of Israel as a whole: a pure lineage proves the quality of record-keeping and thus the accuracy of their history. Kinship is used here to separate both the priestly lineage from other Jews and also to distinguish Jews from other ethn
e as accurate record keepers and historians. The ideology of patrilineal descent serves as authoritative evidence to prove the truth: Jews are indeed an ancient, and therefore superior, people.

Forging Intellectual Kinships: Schools of Learning We have seen from the above discussion a variety of strategic kinship claims in antiquity. In our final example, philosophical schools and other schools of learning, we encounter another type of kinship construction altogether. The members of these groups, who often explicitly distance themselves from traditional patrilineal structures (such as genos, oikos, and polis), imagine themselves to be related and organized by a kinship of the soul, mind, or spirit. In some circumstances, this new kinship replaces or at least competes with ‘‘natural blood’’ relations. This particular strategy offers an intriguing parallel for Paul, who creates a kinship of the ‘‘spirit’’ for gentiles.101 Though it is not possible to generalize about all philosophical schools, there are some characteristics that distinguish them from other groups. First, the obvious: they have teachers, students, and teachings, and many revere a founding teacher. Philosophers are often bound together by a common understanding of the gods (or god) and the cosmos, as well as a shared way of life. They see themselves as set apart from and often superior to the rest of society and are critical of other understandings of the gods (both popular conceptions and those of other schools). Hellenistic philosophies place value on a unitary good—such as virtue—and demote all other goods in pursuit of this highest goal.102 Friendship, instead of kinship, tends to be the model for relationships among philosophers: reciprocity, generosity, and mutual encouragement toward a common goal are the governing principles.103 Philosophers are often described as defining themselves in terms of achievement (status based on performance) as opposed to ascription (status based on ‘‘given’’ qualities such as ethnicity and kinship).104 Yet in some instances, those who promote achievement-based selfdefinitions employ ascriptive claims precisely to distinguish and elevate their

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intellectual practices above others. For example, in his treatise On the Virtues, Philo argues that eugeneia (‘‘good birth’’ or ‘‘nobility’’) does not depend on ancestry, but on the acquisition of virtue (187–227). Kinship and eugeneia, Philo reasons, are destroyed by wickedness, as evinced by the father who disinherits his son because of the youth’s bad behavior (192). Indeed, kinship depends on more than birth: ‘‘In the court where truth presides, kinship (to` suggenbB) is not measured only by blood, but by similarity of conduct and pursuit of the same objects’’ (On the Virtues, 195).105 We have seen several examples of the assumption that ancestry determines character. Philo flips this notion on its head, arguing that character is achieved through the pursuit of virtue and that this—along with ‘‘blood’’—defines kinship. Plutarch employs a similar strategy in his portrayal of Alexander. According to Plutarch, Alexander implemented Zeno’s ideal vision of a ‘‘well-ordered and philosophic commonwealth (e nomaB filosfou kad politeaB)’’ which united all the people of the world (On the Fortune of Alexander, 329B).106 Thus Alexander announced that all good men should be regarded as kin (suggene~iB), and all wicked men as foreigners (¼lloflouB) (329C). Following this principle, ethnic labels are reorganized: ‘‘The distinguishing mark of being Greek (to` ^EllZniko`n) should be virtue, and that of being a barbarian (to` barbariko`n) iniquity’’ (329C–D).107 With this argument, Plutarch devalues traditional markers of Greek ethnicity (such as clothing and weapons)108 and promotes instead the philosophical goals of the pursuit of virtue. Plutarch adapts these totalizing ethnic categories to divide the world into those who practice virtue and those who do not. Describing these groups in terms of kinship and ethnicity naturalizes the cohesion of each as a unit. Notice that this new definition of ‘‘Greekness’’ reinscribes the hegemonic position of a Greek identity. Philosophers also take advantage of the naturalizing rhetoric of kinship to describe their relationships and the social organization of their schools. Members of schools conceive of themselves as heirs to traditions begun by their founders: generations of students and teachers can be traced like lineages of fathers and sons. Though some teachers lived in the homes of their students, others took students into their homes to teach, establishing them as ‘‘proxy’’ sons.109 Their ties are not blood, yet the language they use to describe themselves is explicitly familial. David Sedley argues that in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, ‘‘what gives philosophical movements their identity is less a disinterested quest for the truth than a virtually religious commitment to the authority of a founder figure.’’110 The tradition of an exclusive school of philosophy which centers around one master and includes a certain way of life begins with Pythagoras and is later picked up by Plato and his successors.111 The Academy survived for centuries after Plato, with new heads of the school taking over in each generation. Similarly, the school of Aristotle survived through a succession of

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leaders of the school, each of whom held the responsibility of naming an heir and organizing the care of its property for the next generation. Several of the wills which record this information are preserved in Diogenes Laertius.112 Aristotle’s will details the affairs which the successor will oversee, and these include securing a marriage for his daughter, seeing to the welfare of his son, managing his slaves, and distributing his possessions (5.11–16).113 The items on this list resemble the duties of a head of a household. The example of Epicurus further attests the kinship ideology which lies behind the philosophical schools. The ideal Epicurean life included ascetic discipline and philosophical training which took place in a community separate from the rest of society. Theoretically, whole families moved into these communities, modeled after Epicurus’s own garden. Lucretius, a first-century b.c.e. follower of Epicureanism, addresses Epicurus as ‘‘father,’’114 and some scholars argue that Epicurus himself thought of his students as children.115 After the death of Epicurus, his followers celebrated his birthday annually and venerated him as divine revealer of wisdom, practices which echo those of the ancestor cults.116 Medical schools draw more explicitly on kinship ideology, articulating the relationship between student and teacher as one of father and son.117 Probably sometime in the first century b.c.e., or perhaps slightly earlier, the famous Hippocratic oath appeared and became associated with Hippocrates himself.118 In a portion of this oath, the medical practitioner takes the student as a ‘‘proxy’’ son, making the following promises: I will pay the same respect to the one who taught me this art as I will my parents and I will share my life with him and pay all my debts to him. I will regard his sons as my brothers and teach them the art, if they desire to learn it, without fee or contract. I will hand on precepts, lectures and all other learning to my sons, to those of my master, and to those pupils duly apprenticed and sworn, and to none other.119 The oath binds the student to the teacher in such a way that they are connected not only through learning the art of medicine, but also through commitment to kin. The student promises to treat his teacher’s sons as his own, forging a new kinship relation. Hippocrates, like Epicurus, was revered as divine for centuries after his death.120 Finally I will mention a Jewish example, the school of the rabbis as represented by the Mishnah. Howard Eilberg-Schwartz cites this passage in his argument that there was a shift in Judaism from an emphasis on ascription to an emphasis on achievement: If one finds the lost property of one’s father and one’s teacher––[the obligation to restore the lost property of] one’s teacher takes precedence, for one’s father brought one into this world but one’s teacher

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from whom one acquired wisdom brings one into the life of the world to come.121 We find in this passage a similar expectation of loyalty from a student for his teacher as expressed in the Hippocratic oath. These texts liken the teacher to the father to highlight the teacher’s procreative role in the student’s life as he shapes the student after the learning that his teacher had previously transmitted to him.122 This developing relationship between the student and teacher— which grows in Judaism with the shift to achievement—models itself upon a familial relationship. The ideology published by these schools requires an allegiance and a commitment that rivals, if not replaces, one’s loyalty to family. This brief survey of schools of learning illustrates how groups that are not traditional descent groups appropriate models and language of kinship. In the examples discussed above, schools redefine kin relations from those who share blood to those who share intellectual practices such as the pursuit of virtue. This strategy prioritizes these practices and this way of life over the practices associated with traditional kinship and ethnic affiliations. The language of fathers, founders, descendants, and heirs naturalizes the relationships between teachers and students. Kinship models provide a convenient power structure for the continuation of the schools. Instead of property (or sometimes in addition to property), students ‘‘inherit’’ certain bodies of knowledge and intellectual practices from their teachers. The members of the schools bond together in successive generations around the veneration of the founder—who is often presented as a father figure—of their group. In his letters to the gentile followers of Christ, Paul addresses similar communities of ‘‘brothers’’ or ‘‘brothers and sisters’’ who share particular practices and bodies of knowledge. He outlines for them a new kinship of the spirit, brought about through baptism into Christ. As we will see in chapters 3 through 6, however, this new kinship does not entirely replace what is understood as ‘‘physical’’ kinship, or kinship based on claims about blood. Instead, Paul interweaves various forms of kinship construction so that gentiles, previously alien to the God of Israel, are now adopted into the lineage of Abraham.

Conclusion At the beginning of this chapter, I posed the question, How is patrilineal descent put to use? The texts discussed above have offered some answers to this question. Through various practices and rhetorical strategies, identities are created and erased, alliances are forged, and boundaries drawn. The strategic construction of identity works only when it is perceived as authentic, however. Claims about relatedness are authorized, at least in part, by the perception that kinship is governed by the natural processes of biology (or the divine processes

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of ritual) and is therefore beyond human control. This is what I have been calling the logic of ‘‘shared blood,’’ which often manifests itself in certain normative assumptions about how descendants and ancestors are organically connected. Kinship construction of any type would be impossible without these sorts of assumptions that allow for the tacit consent of those involved. That is, there must be a simultaneous belief in the essence of relatedness and an acceptance of the changes that manipulate or manufacture kinship, what Gerd Baumann calls ‘‘double discursive competence.’’ This series of case studies illustrates the interaction of four components of kinship construction. (1) Essentializing patrilineal discourses assume and require that relationships are based on ‘‘shared blood.’’ In this logic, certain beliefs take hold, such as the understanding that descendants are manifestations— both in physical makeup and in character traits—of their ancestors. (2) Religious ritual sanctions blood relationships and cements them into place, or creates substitutes for ‘‘natural’’ kin in the form of adoption. Furthermore, religious rituals, as ongoing practices which are used to regulate and negotiate social power, inscribe new identities and relationships into daily life. (3) Kin relationships are established or rearranged through discursive practices such as publication of genealogies or history writing. (4) A group imagines itself to be related and organized by a kinship of the mind, soul, or spirit. This new kinship at times competes with or replaces physical kinship ties.123 Fixed and fluid claims about identity can mutually authorize each other or stand in tension with each other. As we will see in chapters 3 through 6, the ideology of patrilineal descent— along with the various types of kinship construction it allows—is a perfect tool for Paul’s solution to the problem of gentile alienation from the God of Israel: gentiles have been made descendants in Abraham’s lineage and heirs to God’s promises. Before turning to Paul’s kinship-making, however, we will first attend to how Paul signals the problem through oppositional ethnic discourses.

2 Jews and Non-Jews: Paul’s Ethnic Map

‘‘According to an old joke, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who divide the world into two kinds of people and those who do not.’’1 With characteristic humor, Shaye Cohen opens his study The Beginnings of Jewishness. Cohen goes on to explain that Jews, like other ancient peoples, rhetorically construct the world in terms of ‘‘us’’ and ‘‘them’’ and that this division can be traced throughout ancient texts. This bifurcation of the world’s populations often shapes Jewish discourses of identity, including those of Paul. In this chapter, I examine Paul’s ‘‘us/them’’ language and show how ethnicity, far from being invisible or irrelevant in Paul’s thinking, organizes his religious categories. For Paul, ethnic identity is inextricable from a people’s standing before God: the gentiles are who they are because they have rejected the God of Israel. Indeed, Paul sees gentile alienation from the God of Israel as the central theological problem which he has been called to address. Paul describes this situation through a series of juxtapositions between Ioudaioi and non-Ioudaioi: Jew/gentile, Jew/Greek, circumcised/uncircumcised. These pairings illustrate what Jonathan Hall calls oppositional ethnic construction, whereby identity is defined through contrasts with other groups. Hall compares this mode with ‘‘aggregative’’ ethnic construction, in which one group affiliates with another group, usually to gain some advantage.2 These two categories are helpful for reading Paul’s ethnic discourses as he both contrasts Ioudaioi and ethn
e but also joins them together in an aggregative arrangement.3 In this chapter, I contextualize the terminology Paul uses for both groups and show how oppositional categories

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organize Paul’s ‘‘ethnic map.’’ In subsequent chapters, I will focus on the aggregative link Paul constructs, and then the ways the oppositional and aggregative modes interact. I will first briefly review the way ethnicity has been treated in Pauline scholarship. We will see how both traditional and new perspective interpretations of Paul tend to downplay Paul’s ethnic language, to mask it as something else, or to juxtapose ethnic particularity with a universal faith in Christ. Next I will describe my own approach to ethnicity in Paul, which incorporates Jonathan Hall’s category of oppositional ethnic construction. I will then contrast Paul’s description of gentiles (before Christ) with his description of Jews and argue that this juxtaposition highlights the primary problem he seeks to address: gentile alienation from the God of Israel. Finally, I will discuss Paul’s ethnic terminology, which is often presented in the form of oppositional pairs: Jew/gentile, circumcised/foreskinned, and so on. These pairings highlight the ‘‘otherness’’ of non-Jews on Paul’s ethnic map.

A Sketch of Pauline Scholarship For most of the history of Pauline scholarship, Paul’s ethnic language has been either ignored, treated as insignificant compared with other issues in the text, or transformed into something else. As far back as Augustine, interpreters have tended to generalize and psychologize categories such as ‘‘Jews’’ and ‘‘peoples’’ or ‘‘gentiles.’’ If one looks up Ioudaios, the Greek term for Jew or Judean, in the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, one encounters the following description: For Paul the \Iouda~ioB is a type, a spiritual or religious magnitude. When he speaks of the \Iouda~ioB, he does not have in view specific adherents of this nation and religion. He is thinking of a type abstracted from individual representatives. . . . The \Iouda~ioi are always those who decide against, and reject, both God and His community.4 Two paradoxical interpretive moves operate in this passage. On the one hand, the term Ioudaios is extracted from an embodied identity and any attendant connections to homeland, ancestry, or other ethnic markers, and is turned into an abstract ‘‘type’’ or ‘‘religious magnitude.’’ Yet this abstract type, according to Walter Gutbrod, represents those who always (throughout time?) ‘‘reject both God and His community.’’ Thus, on the other hand, this abstraction from a specific identity depends upon a specific understanding of the historical role of embodied Ioudaioi: they rejected Christ. Gutbrod must assume the readers of the TDNT share this understanding, otherwise his abstract type would make no sense.

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Gutbrod’s interpretation fits into a larger pattern in the TDNT. As Wayne Meeks comments (drawing upon the earlier work of James Barr), the TDNT is governed by a problematic theory of language whereby whole theological systems are seen in single Greek words.5 Meeks writes: ‘‘There is no place in Kittel’s understanding of language for its social dimensions, so that the relation between words and external events or realities becomes a kind of magic.’’6 Although Gerhard Kittel, the editor of the multivolume TDNT and author of many entries, did not explicitly impose this theory upon other contributors, it seems to be an apt description of Gutbrod’s treatment of Ioudaios.7 As Meeks himself demonstrates, it is not magic but a shared commitment to a Augustinian-Lutheran view of salvation history—here manifesting as Christian anti-Judaism—that produces interpretations such as Gutbrod’s. Drawing from Romans 9–11, Augustine formulated a narrative in which the Jews, having failed to recognize the messiah the first time around, were condemned to wander the earth homeless until the second coming, when they would convert and be saved.8 In the meantime, they were available as symbols of those who reject Christ, and become so in the hands of Augustine, followed by medieval church writers, Reformation thinkers, nineteenth-century interpreters, the contributors to the TDNT, and other twentieth-century Pauline interpreters.9 Augustine, writing at a time when the church perpetuated stereotypes of Jews that drew from portraits of the Pharisees in Matthew and John, assumes Ioudaioi in Paul to represent those who embody pridefulness.10 In Augustine’s interpretation of Romans, Jews stand for the worst human sin, and this, Augustine thought, is what Paul argues against. Thus Augustine takes Paul’s specific ethnic language and transforms it into a general category, one that could theoretically be found in any human, Christians included. Ernst Ka¨semann proves that he is, along with Gutbrod, an heir of this interpretive tradition when he writes about Paul, ‘‘In and with Israel he strikes at the hidden Jew in all of us, at the man who validates rights and demands over against God on the basis of God’s past dealings with him and to this extent is serving not God but an illusion.’’11 Like Gutbrod’s formulation, such a statement removes the term ‘‘Jew’’ from ethnic specificity (to stand for a general characteristic), but still relies on specific understandings of historical Ioudaioi (those who claim undeserved privileges with God) to make sense. Though this interpretation allegorizes the Jew as something negative, another reading, one that is more subtle and more pervasive, defines the Ioudaios as embodied, ethnic, and particular, over and against a new identity preached by Paul. Instead of allegorizing the ‘‘Jew’’ as the generic sinner, these interpreters allow Ioudaioi to be ethnic Ioudaioi, but argue that Paul criticizes precisely this embodied identity as too exclusive and limited for God’s purposes. I have already mentioned Frank Snowden, who claims, ‘‘Christianity swept racial distinctions aside,’’ and Rosemary Radford Ruether, who remarks, ‘‘Class, ethnicity, and gender are . . . specifically singled out as the divisions

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overcome by redemption in Christ.’’12 Though this sort of interpretation has served liberationist readings of Paul, it has also contributed to a devaluation of Judaism, defined as stagnant and fixed as opposed to an inclusive, mobile, faithbased Christianity.13 The following assumptions underlie this view: (1) ethnic identities are fixed and unchangeable (and therefore unable to incorporate new peoples), whereas non-ethnic identities are flexible (and therefore able to incorporate new peoples); and (2) non-ethnic universality is better than ethnic particularity. These assumptions are informed by modern sensibilities which define religion—specifically Christianity—in contrast to the embodiedness of ethnicity and kinship. Like the allegorizing interpretation, this view also places Judaism as a foil for ‘‘Christian’’ ideals.14 Even those interpreters who insist on Paul’s Jewishness still preserve this dichotomy. Daniel Boyarin, for example, recognizes that Paul is a Ioudaios who does not leave Judaism or intend to supersede it with something else.15 But according to Boyarin, Paul is a certain kind of Ioudaios who has incorporated Hellenistic philosophical ideas of ‘‘the One’’ into his Jewish understanding of God and the world. Paul’s goal is to unite all humanity in Christ and to do away with the hierarchies that separate people, which stands in marked contrast to Rabbinic Judaism, which insists on the embodiedness of Jewish identities.16 Thus Boyarin replicates the traditional split between universal inclusiveness and particular exclusiveness, keeping ethnic identity firmly in the latter camp. In the wake of the recent wave of new perspective scholarship, interest specifically in ethnicity in Paul’s letters has increased greatly. The general thesis of much of this work, which has centered on Romans, is that Paul is attempting to solve tensions that have arisen between ‘‘Jewish Christians’’ and ‘‘gentile Christians’’ in Rome. This argument typically relies upon a historical reconstruction of the composition of the ‘‘early church’’ in Rome to explain Jewish/gentile relations as a pertinent issue. Romans is then interpreted in terms of this reconstruction.17 This research has been fruitful in that it has called attention to the specific first-century context, focusing in particular on how an ancient audience may have perceived ethnic categories. Yet, as I point out in the introduction, there are some problems with this reading. First, despite this focus on first-century categories, many of these scholars continue to use anachronistic terms such as ‘‘church,’’ and ‘‘Christians’’ to describe Paul’s audience. Second, we have little if any knowledge of the first-century ‘‘church’’ in Rome aside from Paul’s letter. To the extent to which this reconstruction relies on Romans itself, it is vulnerable to circular argumentation: it says, This is what the first-century Roman ‘‘church’’ was like (based on Paul’s letter); therefore this is what Paul’s letter to the Romans means. Furthermore, it is crucial for this view that Paul writes to gentiles and to Ioudaioi-in-Christ. As I have argued, there is no question that Paul writes to

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gentiles, but there is little or no evidence in the letters that he writes to Ioudaioi as well. To argue that Ioudaioi were included as Paul’s recipients, scholars rely on the historical reconstruction of the community in Rome, often employing the following logic: Ioudaioi were there, so Paul was writing to them. This view ignores the audience as it is constructed in the text, which is explicitly gentile.18 Finally, this approach does not escape the myth of ethnic neutrality so often associated with Pauline Christianity. This interpretation tends to juxtapose ethnically neutral ‘‘gentile Christians’’ with ethnically specific ‘‘Jewish Christians.’’ For example, in Romans 14, Paul discusses two groups: ‘‘the strong’’ and ‘‘the weak.’’ This latter group, which is associated with abstaining from certain foods and observing special days on the calendar, is typically identified with ‘‘Jewish Christians,’’ while ‘‘the strong’’ (‘‘those who believe in eating anything’’) is taken to refer to ‘‘gentile Christians.’’19 These designations fit nicely into the narrative of the first-century Roman ‘‘church’’ constructed by interpreters: the original Roman ‘‘church’’ was a mix of Ioudaioi and gentiles until the Jews were expelled from Rome with the edict of Claudius. Gentile believers remained in Rome and developed away from their synagogue origins. When the ‘‘Jewish Christians’’ were allowed to return in 54 c.e., they encountered a different ‘‘church,’’ and tensions mounted between the two groups. Paul wrote Romans in response to these tensions.20 Why are so many interpreters convinced that one group represents Jews and the other non-Jews when Paul does not explicitly make this connection? Despite the good intentions of many scholars, I think a long-standing stereotype informs this analysis: Ioudaioi are defined by their commitment to unnecessary practices. Thus Paul juxtaposes confident, spiritually mature gentiles, which he designates as ‘‘strong’’ and identifies with himself (Rom 15:1), against inferior Ioudaioi who are still too attached to their ethnic practices and thus are ‘‘weak.’’ This replicates the familiar dichotomy in which non-ethnic neutrality is valued over ethnic particularity. It is odd to associate gentiles with ethnic neutrality. As I will discuss below, the term ethn
e stands not for a particular people per se, but a whole conglomerate of those who are not Ioudaioi. Such a term makes sense only in an ethnically specific Jewish context. Yet it is easy to forget this. My students at the College of the Holy Cross, for example, always identify with the gentiles in Paul’s letters. These twenty-first-century, American, mostly Catholic, mostly white undergraduates do not see these gentiles as a mixture of Greeks, Egyptians, Syrians, Romans—people whose families worship the traditional gods of the Mediterranean world. They see the gentiles as Christians—more specifically, as themselves. This slippage happens automatically because these modern Christian readers know they are not Jews, and they therefore identify with the category that is juxtaposed to the Jews in the text. Because they see their Christianity as transcending ethnic identities, they project the same transcendence on Paul’s ethn
e.

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To a certain extent, as this discussion has shown, Pauline scholars have done the same thing. Modern understandings of religion, which developed under the influence of Enlightenment ideals, profoundly shape the way we think about Paul. This view relegates ‘‘belief’’ or ‘‘faith’’ to the realm of the mind, separate from the realm of the material world, the body, or practices. The choice to privilege ‘‘belief’’ as central to Christianity results in a downplaying of features viewed as bodily, including ethnicity. Thus as moderns we are ill equipped to understand how ethnic categories are integral to the arguments of a ‘‘Christian theologian’’ such as Paul.

Oppositional Ethnic Strategies in Paul One goal of this study is to begin to remedy this situation with a historically contextual analysis of ethnic discourses in Paul. The bifurcation of body and belief, ethnicity and religion, was foreign to first-century thinkers. I challenge this basic dichotomy by arguing that ethnic categories and religious categories cannot be disentangled in Paul. Paul does not reject an ethnic religion for a universal religion, but deploys ethnic discourses to realign the relationship between two groups of peoples, Ioudaioi and gentiles. Indeed, Paul offers no non-ethnic alternative; even being ‘‘in Christ’’ is ethnically defined.21 Paul’s understanding of ethnic identity, like that of many authors from ancient Mediterranean cultures, is rooted in ideologies of kinship, ties to homeland, loyalty to a particular god or gods, participation in religious practices, and adherence to particular laws or customs. As I discussed in chapter 1, ethnicity, like kinship, is authoritative yet flexible; therefore, it is an apt tool for drawing and redrawing boundaries between people. My analysis of ethnic language in Paul focuses on these sorts of discursive strategies. As I mentioned above, I delineate two methods of ethnicity construction in Paul’s letters: (1) oppositional, whereby a group defines itself by a series of contrasts with another group, and (2) aggregative, which involves linking one group to another. I find these two categories helpful in that they show how ethnic self-definition often occurs through self-comparison, whether through assertions of well-defined boundaries or affiliations (or some combination of these). In contrast to Jonathan Hall, who argues that the aggregative method characterizes one period of Greek history and that the oppositional method belongs to a later period, I see interaction between the two.22 As I will show with Paul, the aggregative and oppositional methods sometimes occur in isolation, but they often work together in the same text. Oppositional construction, also called a rhetoric of ‘‘othering,’’ involves the strategic definition of boundaries between groups.23 Oppositional ethnic thinking is well illustrated by Edith Hall’s work on the term ‘‘barbarian’’ in Greek literature.24 Hall has shown that the development of this term in fifth-

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century Greek tragedy was ascribable at least in part to the simultaneous development of the concept of ‘‘Greek’’ in the wake of the Persian Wars. The tragedians, in an effort to unite the various Hellenic ethnic groups against the Persians, cast the barbarian as everything a Greek was not. Thus the barbarian served as the ‘‘other’’ against which a Greek identity was forged. This sort of oppositional ethnic construction depends on a totalizing discourse which flattens all the differences among non-Greek peoples, portraying them as a homogeneous group. Edith Hall observes: ‘‘The polarization of Hellenism and barbarism even presupposes that a generic bond exists not only between all Greeks, but between all non-Greeks as well.’’25 Thus Greek tragedians use phrases such as ‘‘entire barbarian genos’’ (Aeschylus, Persae, 434; Sophocles, Tereus, fr. 587) and the ‘‘barbarian genos’’ (Euripides, Hecuba, 1199–1201). Paul, like many Jewish authors of the time, configures the world with the oppositional categories of Jews and non-Jews. Following biblical models, Paul assumes a boundary between the descendants of a chosen lineage from Abraham, the chosen people of the God of Israel, and other peoples, who are not in good standing with this God.26 Often he chooses totalizing language for non-Jews, such as ‘‘gentiles’’ or ‘‘uncircumcised,’’ terms which, like ‘‘barbarian,’’ erase particularities. This totalizing language does not de-ethnicize these peoples, but it strategically constructs and highlights a particular facet of their identity, the fact that they are not Jews. Other times he uses the more ethnically specific term ‘‘Greeks’’ to contrast with Ioudaioi. These oppositions are crucial because Paul formulates the gentile problem—alienation from God—in terms of ethnic differences between Jews and non-Jews.

Jews and Gentiles before the God of Israel Ancient ethnic groups, including the Ioudaioi, were affiliated with and defined by a particular god or gods. Loyalty to a deity or deities, often manifested in specific worship practices, signaled membership in particular ethnic groups. Recall the example of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who identifies one group as Greek because of the way they perform sacrifices (Roman Antiquities 1.21.1–2). Jewish writings often equate following their God with moral superiority, and they link following other gods—particularly the use of images to honor those gods—with moral depravity. This is a good example of oppositional ethnic definition: peoples are defined by contrasts with each other. In the discussion that follows, I will point out how Paul uses this oppositional strategy to define both Jews and non-Jews. Whereas the Ioudaioi reap the benefits of loyalty to their God, the gentiles suffer the consequences of having rejected him. Consider the different ways Paul talks about Jews and gentiles in his letter to the Romans. When he describes Jews, he includes specific references to Jewish history, practices, and ancestry, all of which convey their special

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standing as God’s chosen people. He writes: ‘‘For they are Israelites (\IsraZl~itai), to whom belong the adoption as sons (uoyesa) and the glory (dxa) and the covenants (diayŁ~kai) and the lawgiving (nomoyesa) and the cult worship (latrea) and the promises (½paggelai), to whom belong the u  Xristo`B to` kata fathers (patreB) and out of whom Christ was born (½x n srka)’’ (Rom 9:4–5). Israelite identity is rooted in the stories of their ancestors, the covenants, and the promises which established them as adopted sons of God, and the Law and cult service that mark this relationship and govern their lives as an ethnic people.27 As I discussed in chapter 1, each of these characteristics—ancestry, worship, law—could be used to construct ethnic identity. Similar criteria define Greeks in this well-known passage from Her› odotus: ‘‘The Greek people (to` ^EllZniko`n) are of the same blood ( maimon) and the same tongue (mglosson), and we have in common the edifices of our gods (ye ~ n drmata) and our sacrifices (yusai), and our traditional ways (ye te mtropa) are all the same’’ (Histories, 8.144.2).28 Likewise, when Paul declares his own ethnic identity, he locates himself within this history, as a descendant of these same ancestors: ‘‘For I, too, am an Israelite, out of the seed (½k sprmatoB) of Abraham, the tribe (fulŁ~B) of Benjamin’’ (Rom 11:1). In another self-description, Paul emphasizes not only his ancestry and membership in a particular tribe, but also his devotion to the Law: ‘‘Circumcised (peritomŁ~) on the eighth day, descended from the lineage of Israel (½k gnouB \Isral), of the tribe of Benjamin (fulŁ~B Beniamn), a Hebrew born of Hebrews (^Ebra~ioB ½x ^Ebraon), according to the Law a Pharisee, as to zeal a persecutor of the assembly, as to righteousness I was blameless in the Law’’ (Phil 3:5–6).29 Paul lists his membership in the larger ethnic people (Hebrews) as well as his membership in a subgroup defined by descent from a mythical ancestor (Benjamin).30 Thus for Paul, circumcision, practice of the Law, and kinship are all factors in his own ethnic identity as an Israelite. Whereas Paul identifies Ioudaioi by the specific practices and attributes of a people loyal to the God of Israel, he describes the gentiles as a people who have rejected this God. In keeping with his totalizing, oppositional ethnic discourse, Paul does not speak of the specific ancestries or laws of the diverse groups which fall into the category of gentiles. Instead, alluding to the Genesis account of the genealogies of all peoples (Gen 10), Paul outlines the history of the gentiles in Romans 1:18–32. Even though God has made knowledge of himself available to all through creation itself, these people nevertheless failed to recognize him: ‘‘For although they knew God, they did not honor God nor give thanks to him, but their reasoning failed and their senseless heart was darkened’’ (Rom 1:21).31 Because of this, God ‘‘handed them over’’ to the ‘‘the desires of their hearts,’’ ‘‘dishonorable passions,’’ and an ‘‘undiscerning mind.’’ As a result, they worship the created rather than the creator

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(1:25); they engage in intercourse which is ‘‘beyond nature’’ (1:27–28); and they are filled with ‘‘every injustice, evil, greed, wickedness’’ (1:29). Lumping all non-Jews together in one group, Paul characterizes them by their rejection of the God of Israel, their loyalty to other gods, their cultic practices, and their resulting moral failures. Paul accuses the gentiles of idolatry, a Jewish strategy which circumscribes and defines religious and ethnic ‘‘others.’’ This portrayal of the idolatrous non-Jew often includes the following practices and conceptions: the worship of images or objects instead of God, a loss of control of passions, and the resulting participation in vices, the most prominent of which is porneia, which refers to some sort of gender or kinship transgression.32 The Wisdom of Solomon, which addresses these very issues, states: ‘‘For the idea of idols was the beginning of porneia and their invention was the corruption of life. For they did not exist from the beginning’’ (14:12– 13).33 The text then offers an explanation for how the worship of idols began. A father mourning the death of his child makes an image of him, and this image is so honored that it is eventually worshiped as a god (Wis Sol 14:15). The custom spreads and becomes law, and people begin to make images of kings in order to honor and flatter their distant ruler (14:16–17). These practices inevitably lead to a whole series of vices which the author describes in 14:22–31. The author of the Wisdom of Solomon, like Paul, constructs a religious and moral history of the ethnic ‘‘other,’’ non-Jews. Idolatry is central to this narrative: in both texts it leads to participation in vices, particularly those having to do with porneia. In Romans, however, God is directly involved in this process. Paul repeatedly states that God ‘‘hands over’’ the idol worshipers to the ‘‘desires of their hearts leading to impurity’’ (Rom 1:24) or to ‘‘degrading passions’’ (1:26). As Stanley Stowers has shown, the ethic of selfmastery drives Paul’s (and the Wisdom of Solomon’s) critique of non-Jewish peoples.34 It supposes moral standards which would have been familiar to many ancient cultures, such as the association of control of passions with virtue, and the loss of this control with vice.35 The central moral problem in self-mastery is a psychological conflict between knowing and doing the good. In Paul’s view, the potential for self-mastery depends upon loyalty to the God of Israel. Gentiles gave this up long ago and have been vice-ridden ever since. In Romans, both gentiles and Jews are shaped as peoples by their standing before the God of Israel. As adopted sons, the Jews enjoy all the blessings that result from this status, including ancestry, the Law, and worship. The gentiles, by contrast, are alienated from God and suffer the consequences of this situation: the worship of idols and the resulting enslavement to passions. We can see how ethnic identity, religious practices and loyalties, and moral standing are inextricable in Paul’s description of non-Jews.

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Jews (\Iouda~ioi) and Gentiles (\˛ynZ) The differences in Paul’s constructions of Jewish and non-Jewish identities are reflected in the ethnic language he uses for these peoples. For example, in Galatians 2:11–16, Paul recounts for his readers a conflict between himself and his colleague, Cephas. Paul strongly objects to the hypocrisy of Cephas and other Ioudaioi who, although they used to eat with gentiles, now refuse to do so, fearing, according to Paul, ‘‘those from the circumcised (toø‘B ½k pertomŁ~B)’’ (NRSV: ‘‘the circumcision faction’’; 2:12).36 Paul describes his challenge to Cephas: But when I saw that they were not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, ‘‘If you, though a Ioudaios (\Iouda~ioB prwon), live like a gentile (½ynik ~ B), and not like a Ioudaios (\Ioudaßk ~ B), how can you compel the gentiles to Judaize (oudazein)?’’ We are Ioudaioi by birth (fsei \Iouda~ioi) and we are not sinners descending from the gentiles (½x ½yn ~ n). (Gal 2:14–15) The oppositional ethnic strategy is well represented in this passage, which presents the repeated contrast of two groups: Ioudaioi and ethn
e. Paul’s term for Jews is the ethnically specific Ioudaioi, whereas his term for non-Jews is ethn
e, a non-specific, totalizing term which lumps all non-Jews together in one group.37 In most cases, Paul uses Ioudaioi to indicate Jews as a whole who are juxtaposed and compared with non-Jews.38 That is, Paul pairs ‘‘Ioudaioi’’ with ‘‘gentiles,’’ or, more commonly, with ‘‘Greeks,’’ as I will discuss below. I will first comment on the terms ‘‘Ioudaioi’’ and ‘‘ethn
e,’’ then I will turn to an analysis of this Galatians passage, focusing on the oppositional language.39 Outside of Paul, Ioudaioi is a fairly common designation which is used both by Jews to refer to themselves and by non-Jews to refer to Jews. Septuagint translators regularly use it to translate the Hebrew Yehudi.40 Shaye Cohen reports that this term appears ‘‘several dozen’’ times in these texts, mostly in Jeremiah and Esther.41 In the Hellenistic period, Ioudaioi appears frequently among Jewish authors writing in Greek and is also used by non-Jewish Greek authors. The term turns up throughout the documentary evidence as well.42 Cohen argues that Ioudaioi was widely understood in the empire as an umbrella term for all Jews, as illustrated by the following comment from Strabo: the Ioudaioi ‘‘have made their way already into every city, and it is not easy to find any place in the habitable world that has not received this nation and in which it has not made its power felt’’ (Historica Hypomnemata).43 Cohen concludes that ‘‘both the Judaeans themselves and the Greeks and Romans had a sense that all Judaeans everywhere somehow belonged to a single group.’’44 Some have argued that using Ioudaioi for all those loyal to the God of Israel can be confusing because it can have the effect of lumping different types of

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Jews under a name that, at least in some contexts, refers only to a portion of Jews, those from Judea. Richard Horsley and others who have worked on the region of Galilee have called attention to the diversity of Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Palestine.45 Each group, whether Idumeans, Galileans, or Judeans, claimed its own identity and history over and against other groups of Jews.46 Calling all these groups Ioudaioi masks these regional differences. Thus we should be wary of the ways that using Ioudaioi as an all-encompassing term encourages us to see ‘‘Judaism’’ as monolithic. But the term operates differently than ‘‘Galileans’’ or ‘‘Idumeans.’’ Ioudaioi, precisely because of its locative ties to Judea, Jerusalem, and the temple, comes to be associated with anyone who is loyal to the God of Israel and his temple cult.47 As John Elliott writes: ‘‘Although the term Ioudaios was first used of the residents of Judea in the Persian period by outsiders and not by the residents themselves, eventually it was also adopted as a self-designation by persons and groups in the Greek-speaking diaspora, who were bound ethnically, politically, economically, socially, and culturally to Judaea, Jerusalem and its Temple (and Temple tax).’’48 In addition to the biblical references mentioned above, other Jewish texts use Ioudaioi to describe specific characters in the story as well as the collective whole of the people belonging to Israel: 1–2 Maccabees, Philo, Josephus, among others.49 Josephus specifically addresses the origin of the term Ioudaioi, claiming that Jews are called this name since their return from Babylon when the tribe of Judah was the first to resettle Palestine. After this, both the people and the country were known by this name (Antiquities of the Jews, XI.173). All of this evidence points to the conclusion that by the time Paul writes, Ioudaioi was a term well known and frequently used by insiders and outsiders as an umbrella term for those loyal to the God of Israel and the temple. Paul himself uses it often to stand for Jews as a whole. Despite this evidence, John Elliott argues that we should not use Ioudaioi (whether translated as ‘‘Judeans’’ or ‘‘Jews’’) to describe Jews in general.50 Drawing upon sociolinguistic theory and sociological studies of ‘‘ingroup/ outgroup’’ behavior, Elliott argues that Ioudaioi is a term that originated with outsiders (non-Jews) and, although used by insiders about themselves (in the examples above), never served as the preferred self-description.51 He suggests we use ‘‘insider’’ terminology, the language that Jews used more often about themselves, for example: ‘‘Israel,’’ ‘‘Israelites,’’ ‘‘sons and daughters of Israel,’’ and so on.52 I applaud this close attention to the language that the ancients used about themselves and think Elliott is right in calling attention to patterns of selfdesignation, especially as they contrast to terms used by others. I am not entirely convinced, however, that the ancient evidence is so clear that Ioudaioi as a self-appellation is derivative from ‘‘outsider’’ use, or that this compromises its value as a term describing Jews. Non-Jews certainly do use Ioudaioi to describe Jews. Graham Harvey, arguing the opposite of Elliott, suggests

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that non-Jews picked up this usage from Jews because it was neutral (more so than Israelite or Hebrew) and all-encompassing.53 Even if Jews did borrow this language from non-Jews, it seems clear that Jews had appropriated it for themselves well before the first century. As mentioned above, Shaye Cohen understands Ioudaioi as a term used by Jews and non-Jews. He argues, however, that this term is used in two ways, a division that matches the two English translations of Ioudaios, ‘‘Jew’’ and ‘‘Judean.’’ Cohen makes a clear distinction between a mutable ‘‘Jewish’’ identity (which he claims is based on religious and cultural factors such as belief in God and following ancestral ways) and an immutable ‘‘Judean’’ identity (which he describes as ethnic—in that it is based on ancestry—and geographic). He argues that starting during the Maccabean period (second century b.c.e.), the concept of a ‘‘Jewish’’ identity emerged alongside the traditional ‘‘Judean’’ identity. For the first time, Cohen argues, gentiles could become ‘‘Jews’’ by changing their beliefs and practices.54 Cohen correctly argues for an added dimension to Jewish ethnic identity, one based on achievement rather than ascription, during the Maccabean period, and that these Ioudaioi were following a Greek model. I do not agree, however, with Cohen’s distinction between a ‘‘Jew’’ and a ‘‘Judean,’’ the former based on achievement and therefore mutable and the latter based on ancestry and geography and therefore immutable. No part of ethnic identity is immutable and not subject to manipulation and negotiation, not even kinship (especially not kinship). Further, as Cohen himself points out, the achievementoriented characteristics that define ‘‘Jew’’ (religious affiliation and ancestral customs) are similar to those used to describe ‘‘Greek’’ in some cases, or they might be used negatively to define ‘‘Egyptians’’ (for example, ‘‘Egyptians’’ are those who worship the wrong gods). Indeed, it was a common strategy in ethnic definition to forefront a collection of specific cultural and religious attributes. This is still very different from a modern notion of religion as a choice or option. Cohen is right to have recognized two strands to Jewish ethnic identity, one that is heritable and one that is achieved. They just cannot be as neatly separated as he suggests. As I argued in chapter 1, the essentializing and constructed components of identity interact in complex ways, and they often reinforce each other. Our two English terms for Ioudaioi are made possible by our conceptual framework of religion (belief, faith) and ethnicity (location, ancestry) as essentially distinct entities. These assumptions allow us to have this debate over when ‘‘Jewishness’’ (the religion, with mutable characteristics) came into being in contradistinction to ‘‘Judeanness’’ which is an ethnic, geographic identity. Cohen’s study is fruitful not because it shows that a ‘‘Jewish’’ identity appears in the Hasmonean period, but because it illustrates how different strategies of self-definition—emphasizing or downplaying certain characteristics—are employed in different historical contexts.55

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Unlike ‘‘Jews,’’ ‘‘gentiles’’ does not specify a particular homeland or ancestry, but a conglomeration of all non-Ioudaioi. As with ‘‘barbarian,’’ ‘‘gentile’’ is not a term of self-description. It is a label applied by Jews to all others; it lumps all non-Jews into one category and effectively masks all differences among them.56 Like many of Paul’s ethnic terms, ‘‘gentiles’’ is adopted from biblical literature, where it often refers to those neighboring non-Jewish peoples against which biblical writers define Israel.57 These usages are common among many Second Temple authors as well.58 In Paul’s letters, there are different nuances to the term ‘‘gentiles’’ depending on the context. On the one hand, Paul calls his readers gentiles. He addresses them explicitly three times in Romans: Paul’s writes that his task is to ‘‘bring about the obedience of faith among all the gentiles . . . including yourselves’’ (Rom 1:5–6); he wants to come to them in Rome ‘‘in order that I might reap some fruit among you as I had among the rest of the gentiles’’ (Rom 1:13); and he asserts, ‘‘I am speaking to you, gentiles’’ (Rom 11:13). On the other hand, he makes gentiles into a term of ‘‘otherness’’ for his addressees in various letters, something they used to be, but are no longer. For example, in 1 Corinthians 12:2, Paul refers to the gentile status of the Corino thians in the past tense: ‘‘You know that when you were gentiles (´te ynZ Łte), whenever you were led towards mute idols, you were being led astray.’’ Earlier in the same letter, Paul admonishes: ‘‘It is actually reported that there is porneia among you, such a porneia which does not even exist among the gentiles (ynesin)’’ (1 Cor 5:1). And in 1 Thessalonians 4:3–5, Paul explains ‘‘This is the will of God, your sanctification, that you refrain from porneia, that you know how to possess your vessel in holiness and honor, not in the passion of desire just as the gentiles (ta ynZ) who do not know God.’’ This use of ‘‘gentile’’ is pejorative, and it marks ethnic and religious ‘‘others.’’ Thus ‘‘gentiles’’ serves both as a term of address for his readers and a label of ‘‘otherness’’ against which they are defined. In Galatians 2:14–15, the passage cited above, Paul repeatedly juxtaposes ‘‘Ioudaios’’ and ‘‘gentile.’’ He talks about ethnic identity as something one does as much as something one is. Pointing out Cephas’s hypocritical behavior, Paul observes that Cephas is a Ioudaios, yet he ‘‘acts like a gentile and not like a Ioudaios (½ynik ~ B kad o wd \Ioudaßk ~ B zŁ  ~ B),’’ or, more literally, ‘‘acts gentilishly and not Jewishly’’ (Gal 2:14). Here the terms Ioudaios and ethnos have been turned into adverbs which modify the verb ‘‘to act’’ or ‘‘to live.’’ The assumption is that ethnic identities are not rigid. Instead, we might imagine that identities comprise loose groups of features that can be assigned hierarchical importance. Some of these features are perceived as mutable, and others are not. To a certain extent, Paul conceives of the Jew-gentile boundary as crossable: it is possible for a Ioudaios to ‘‘act like a gentile’’ (and eat with gentiles, for example) or to ‘‘act like a Jew.’’ These issues, which would be expected in a Jewish ministry to gentiles, are important themes in Galatians. To what degree should

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the Jewish teachers cross the ethnic boundary? Or should the gentiles cross the ethnic boundary by being circumcised or following the Law in other ways?59 The accusation of being a Jew but acting like a gentile sets up Paul’s question to Cephas: ‘‘How can you compel gentiles to act like Ioudaioi (oudazein)?’’ (Gal 2:14). Again, ethnic identity can be described as something one does; by ‘‘Judaizing,’’ gentiles can act, at least in some respects, like Ioudaioi. As Shaye Cohen points out, this verb, like the verbs ‘‘medize’’ (medizein) and ‘‘lakonize’’ (lakonizein), does not mean to ‘‘become Jew,’’ but to ‘‘act like a Jew.’’ It is a term typically used for outsiders who are behaving like Ioudaioi; it more often describes unexpected behavior (such as gentiles practicing the Law) than expected behavior (such as Jews practicing the Law). Thus Jews themselves typically do not describe themselves as ‘‘Judaizers.’’60 Cohen has identified three possible meanings for these –izein verbs: (1) ‘‘to give political support,’’ (2) ‘‘to adopt customs,’’ and (3) ‘‘to speak a language’’ (and then various combinations of these three).61 The first two definitions are the most relevant for ‘‘Judaize,’’ as the linguistic meaning is unattested (the verb ‘‘hebraı¨zein’’ is used instead).62 Outside of Paul, there are only four non-Christian uses of ‘‘Judaize.’’63 One comes from Plutarch; a certain man who was ‘‘subject to Judaizing’’ is made the butt of a joke about Jewish eating practices (Life of Cicero, 7.6).64 The remaining three examples are found in Jewish texts. In the book of Esther, the author reports that after a decree allowing Ioudaioi to kill their enemies, ‘‘Many of the gentiles were circumcised and Judaized (kad pollod t ~ n ½yn ~n perietmonto kad \Ioudßzon) because of their fear of the Ioudaioi’’ (LXX Esther 8:17).65 In the Jewish War, Josephus describes a Jewish slaughter of Roman soldiers in which one Roman saves his life by promising ‘‘to Judaize, even until circumcision (kad mwri peritomŁ~B oudasein poswmenon)’’ ( Jewish War, 2.454). In both of these passages, the verb ‘‘Judaize’’ is used in life-or-death situations, in which gentiles Judaize to save their own lives. Though both specifically mention circumcision in connection with ‘‘Judaizing,’’ the Josephus passage implies a particular relationship between them: circumcision marks a crucial degree to which a male can ‘‘Judaize’’ (Metilius promises ‘‘to Judaize, even until circumcision’’). In these two passages, ‘‘Judaizing’’ means adopting the practices of a specific ethnos to save one’s life: political loyalty is expressed to Jews through the observation of Jewish laws, in particular the practice of circumcision (and perhaps other aspects of following the Law, although our texts are not specific). Political, religious, and ethnic categories are indistinct in these stories. The final example comes shortly after the above passage. Josephus describes a situation in Syria in which tensions have escalated to such a degree that gentiles are killing the Ioudaioi in their respective cities simply out of fear that the Ioudaioi plan to kill them. The gentile inhabitants of Syria do not know what to do with the ‘‘Judaizers’’:

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They passed their days in blood, their nights, yet more dreadful, in terror. For though believing that they had rid themselves of the Ioudaioi, they kept the Judaizers (toø‘B oudazontaB) under suspicion; and while no one dared to kill offhand this ambiguous element in their midst, the mixed element was feared as if it were truly foreign, although it was mixed (kad memigmnon B bebaoB ¼llfulon ½fobe~ito). ( Jewish War, 2.463)66 This passage highlights the liminal status of the ‘‘Judaizers.’’ At a time when the boundary between Jew and gentile means life or death, the ‘‘Judaizers’’ fall on neither side of the conflict. They are not Jewish enough to kill (despite the perceived danger of leaving any Jews alive); they are not gentile enough to trust.67 This ‘‘mixed element’’ confounds the boundaries which are so crucial in this conflict. Whereas in the previous passages ‘‘Judaizing’’ seemed to constitute enough of a boundary-crossing to save gentiles’ lives, in this passage the status of the ‘‘Judaizers’’ is ambiguous enough to warrant confusion. In the case of Galatians 2:14, the most appropriate meaning for ‘‘Judaize’’ seems to be Cohen’s second on the list: to adopt customs of the Ioudaioi. Political loyalty in warfare is not the issue in Galatians, although according to Paul there is certainly much at stake in the effort to establish a relationship between the God of Israel and the gentiles. Given the context of the rest of the letter, in which Paul repeatedly objects to gentile circumcision (Gal 5:2–3, 6, 11; 6:12–13, 15–16), it is possible that Paul links ‘‘Judaizing’’ specifically with circumcision (as in Esther and Jewish War, 2.454 above), although the text makes no explicit connection between the two. As he makes clear in Galatians, Paul vehemently opposes gentile circumcision, and in this particular passage, he objects also to forcing the gentiles to ‘‘Judaize.’’ Paul acknowledges his own distance from non-Jews when he comments to his Jewish colleagues: ‘‘We are Ioudaioi by birth (fsei) and we are not sinners descended from the gentiles (½x ½yn ~ n)’’ (Gal 2:15). Reminding Cephas of their status as Jews by birth, Paul emphasizes the boundary between themselves and gentile ‘‘sinners,’’ a boundary defined by both kinship and moral/religious behavior. When used in reference to people, as in ‘‘we are Ioudaioi by birth (phusei),’’ the word phusis refers to origin or birth.68 Thus although ethnic boundaries can be crossed in some ways, the Jewish identity of Paul and his colleagues is a ‘‘natural’’ one. I doubt Paul considered his birth as a Jew mutable. Likewise, the preposition ek (or ‘‘ex’’ before a vowel), which generally means ‘‘from’’ or ‘‘out of,’’ is often used in contexts of descent and kinship in the ancient world.69 Thus those who are ex ethn
on (as in Gal 2:15 above) are those who ‘‘descend from the gentiles’’ or who are ‘‘members of the gentile peoples.’’ Yet this ethnic and kinship boundary is tied to moral/ religious behavior as well: those who are ex ethn
on are ‘‘sinners.’’ As I discussed

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above, in Paul’s view, this moral condition is specifically related to ethnic status: gentiles are sinners because they worship false gods. Having made this pointed contrast between Jews and gentiles, Paul continues: ‘‘We [Ioudaioi] know that a person is not made righteous on the basis of works of the Law but rather through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ’’ (Gal 2:16). It is not within the scope of this project to unpack in detail the various translations and interpretations that have been offered for this verse: there is hardly a word in it which is uncontroversial among Pauline scholars.70 I read it as Paul staging a conversation with his colleagues (other Jewish teachers)71 about how gentiles72 might be made right with God: through the faithfulness of Christ73 and not through the works of the Law.74 The point, of course, is to convince the gentile audience, for whom this exchange is presented, that they should not keep various practices of the Law in order to be made right with God. Thus Galatians 2:16 continues the ‘‘ethnic reasoning’’ of the previous verses by further explaining the oppositional identities of Jews and gentiles.75 It is as though Paul says to his colleagues: as Jews, we share knowledge regarding how to address the gentile problem, through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ. Paul acknowledges that there are some features or behaviors of Jewish identity that are flexible: Jewish teachers can adapt to gentiles in some ways (such as forgoing the Law so as to eat with gentiles). Other aspects of Jewish identity—and specifically the identity of these teachers of gentiles— remain immutable (such as loyalty to the God of Israel and knowledge of the gentile problem). Gentiles are ‘‘sinners,’’ in need of being made righteous, or being brought into a right relationship with God and being made moral.76 Jews, already God’s people, know how to accomplish this. The problem is that Paul and his fellow Jews disagree as to how this is to come about for gentiles. Paul juxtaposes two possibilities, ‘‘on the basis of the works of the Law’’ and ‘‘through the faithfulness of Christ,’’ arguing strongly for the latter.

Jews (\Iouda~ioi) and Greeks (^˛llZneB) In many instances, Paul uses the term ‘‘Greeks’’ instead of ‘‘gentiles’’ to refer to non-Jews. Whereas ‘‘gentiles’’ often appears without its oppositional pair, ‘‘Greeks’’ is almost always paired with ‘‘Jew’’ (ten of eleven occurrences).77 For example, Paul writes: ‘‘For I am not ashamed of the good news; for the power of God is for the salvation for everyone who is faithful, first the Ioudaios and then the Greek’’ (Rom 1:16). I will say more about these specific Jew-Greek pairs in chapter 8; here I will consider the possible rhetorical effects of choosing ‘‘Greek’’ over ‘‘gentile.’’ In the following passage, Paul pairs both gentile and Greek with Ioudaios: For the Ioudaioi (\Iouda~ioi) ask for a sign and the Greeks (›¶llZneB) seek wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block

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(skndalon) to the Ioudaioi, foolishness to the gentiles (ynesin), but to those who are called, both Ioudaioi and Greeks, Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. (1 Cor 1:22–24) This passage should alert us to the complexity of these terms; they do not have absolute, fixed meanings.78 Some Greeks ‘‘seek wisdom,’’ and some Ioudaioi ‘‘ask for a sign.’’ Likewise, for some Ioudaioi, the crucifixion is a ‘‘stumbling block,’’ and for some gentiles, ‘‘foolishness.’’ These are ‘‘others’’ who misunderstand Christ’s death. Yet Greeks and Jews are also among those who are called. Here Paul maintains the usual boundary between Jew and non-Jew while at the same time imposing another opposition over this framework: those who misunderstand and those who are called. Stanley K. Stowers offers one plausible explanation to why Paul chooses to use ‘‘Greeks’’ in some cases and ‘‘gentiles’’ in others when he observes that Paul ‘‘recognizes the dominance of Greek culture in the Roman East.’’79 Thus the term ‘‘Greek,’’ when paired with ‘‘Ioudaios,’’ could represent any nonJewish peoples who live under Greek influence, which would include much of the world known to Paul. Perhaps the use of ‘‘Greeks’’ belies Paul’s own participation in Greek cultural hegemony, so that it would be easy for him to place non-Jews in the category of ‘‘Greeks.’’ In this case, Paul may understand ‘‘Greeks’’ metonymically, as the dominant example that stands for the whole.80 Yet I would not go so far as to say they are synonyms in Paul. ‘‘Greeks’’ describes a subset of gentiles, and perhaps refers to the particular gentiles Paul targeted.81 ‘‘Greeks’’ is a term of self-description (or self-appropriation), whereas ‘‘gentile’’ is not. Thus Paul’s use of ‘‘Greeks’’ may tell us that he conceived of his encoded audience as non-Jews who would identify themselves as Greeks, or at least as participants in Hellenistic culture. As I discussed in chapter 1, ‘‘Greekness’’ could be applied to different peoples depending on their perceived participation in a certain way of life; in this sense, ‘‘Greeks’’ could serve as an umbrella term for a variety of ethn
e who participate in certain practices. We assume Paul expected his audience to read (or understand) the Greek of his letters as well as the various Greek stylistic features of his arguments. Whereas most of the time Paul calls his audience ‘‘gentiles,’’ he usually chooses ‘‘Greek’’ when paired with ‘‘Jew.’’ This pairing subverts the typical hegemonic position of ‘‘Greeks’’: when juxtaposed with ‘‘barbarian,’’ ‘‘Greek’’ is the dominant term.82 Indeed, Paul uses this typical pairing in Romans 1:14, where he contrasts wise Greeks with foolish barbarians.83 Echoing an ancient ethnic ‘‘stereotype,’’ Paul associates Greeks with wisdom and a love for wisdom.84 When paired with Ioudaios, however, ‘‘Greek’’ becomes subordinate, representing the ‘‘other.’’ Thus Paul positions Ioudaioi as the norm and the center, around which others are defined and subordinated.

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Circumcised and Uncircumcised Another oppositional pairing for Jews and non-Jews in Paul is ‘‘circumcised’’ and ‘‘uncircumcised.’’ Paul describes the organization of the spreading of the gospel: But on the contrary, seeing that I had been entrusted with the good news for the uncircumcised (¼krobustaB) just as Peter had been entrusted with the good news for the circumcised (tŁ~B peritomŁ~B), for the one working through Peter for the apostleship of the circumcised was working also through me for the gentiles (ta ynZ). And when they perceived the grace that was given to me, James and Cephas and John, who were reputed to be pillars, gave to me and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship, that we should go to the gentiles and they to the circumcised. (Gal 2:7–9)85 In this passage, circumcision operates as the chief ethnic marker which differentiates Ioudaioi and gentiles: ‘‘the circumcised’’ (literally, the ‘‘circumcision’’) serves as a synonym for Ioudaioi, whereas ‘‘the uncircumcised’’ or ‘‘the foreskin’’ is used interchangeably with gentiles. Here the particular condition of the male procreative organ stands for whole peoples. In Jewish literature, Paul’s word for circumcised, peritom
e (literally ‘‘cut around’’), typically refers to the act of circumcision and is thus translated ‘‘circumcision.’’86 Paul uses it this way in most cases (twenty-two of thirty-two instances). Yet he also employs this same word to indicate Jews as a group, in which case it is rendered ‘‘the circumcised.’’ As far as I know, this usage is unique, even among Jewish authors.87 Although it is common to associate Jews with circumcision, and they were known among non-Jews for this practice, no one calls them ‘‘the circumcision’’ as Paul does. This terminology is striking in that it singles out an ethnic-religious ritual of fertility as a defining characteristic of the Jewish people (even as it only marks male Jewish bodies).88 Several facets of ethnic identity coalesce in this label: religious practice, Law, fertility, and kinship. These factors, especially fertility and kinship, are rarely addressed in secondary literature. In scholarly discussions, there is a tendency to spiritualize circumcision. Some interpreters treat it as an abstract symbol of a certain relationship with God and membership in the people of Israel.89 Though there is certainly some truth to this interpretation for some Jews at certain times, we should be wary of making blanket statements which tend to universalize and theologize circumcision among ancient Jews. Howard Eilberg-Schwartz suggests that this tendency to spiritualize circumcision masks an important way in which circumcision was understood by some Jewish authors: a fertility rite which granted the initiate ‘‘entrance into and ability to perpetuate a lineage of male

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descendants.’’90 Eilberg-Schwartz’s argument focuses specifically on the texts produced by Israelite priests, the ‘‘P’’ sections of the Hebrew Bible, because these accounts are cited most often by those who spiritualize the practice of circumcision.91 Eilberg-Schwartz shows that the priestly writer is particularly preoccupied with issues of descent and intergenerational continuity.92 In keeping with this concern, this author portrays the covenant primarily as a promise from God to Abraham of fertility and many descendants (Gen 17). Furthermore, ‘‘P’’ is the first text to emphasize that circumcision in particular is a symbol (ot) of this promise. For the priestly writer, a ‘‘symbol’’ (ot) is always closely related to the referent.93 Thus the practice of circumcision is relevant for the actual content of the covenant because it activated the fertility of the male, which is the primary promise of the covenant in the ‘‘P’’ texts. Circumcision symbolizes the covenant, but not in any abstract or spiritual way. As Stanley K. Stowers puts it: ‘‘The male organ is symbolically readied for procreation in light of God’s promise. The penis serves as an instrument of a covenant that has to do with fertility and intergenerational continuity between males.’’94 This connection between fertility and the practice of circumcision is supported by at least one first-century Jewish text. Philo gives four reasons why circumcision is valuable, the first three being the prevention of carbuncle, the promotion of cleanliness, and the assimilation of the heart to the circumcised member, as both are meant for ‘‘generation’’ (Special Laws, 1.4–6).95 Then Philo writes: ‘‘The fourth and most vital reason is its adaptation to give fertility of offspring, for we are told that it causes the semen to travel aright without being scattered or dropped into the folds of the foreskin, and therefore the circumcised nations appear to be the most prolific and populous’’ (Special Laws, 1.7).96 From the Maccabean period on, circumcision—which was practiced by those who joined the Maccabean state—was a crucial marker of identity for male Jews.97 Although understandings of circumcision varied among Jews, texts after this period evince that, at least for some Jews, circumcision continued as a sign of ethnic difference between Jews and non-Jews. Josephus reports a situation during the Maccabean period in which a certain group of Jews desires to leave the laws of their country and live like Greeks: they build a gymnasium in Jerusalem and hide ‘‘the circumcision of their genitals (tcn t ~ n adoon peritomcn), that even when they were naked they might appear to be Greeks (›¶llZneB). Accordingly, they left off all the customs of their ancestors (ptria), and imitated the practices of other peoples (¼lloeyn ~ n)’’ (Antiquities of the Jews, 12.240–41).98 Hiding their circumcision serves as one way of demonstrating that these Jews had abandoned their ancestors’ ethnic practices (ptria) and adopted Greek ones. Another story told by Josephus illustrates that circumcision was an issue for male gentiles converting to Judaism. King Izates of Adiabene embraces

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Judaism but decides not to be circumcised for fear of offending his subjects. His Jewish teacher counsels him: ‘‘The king could worship God even without being circumcised (kad wordB tŁ~B peritomŁ~B) if indeed he had fully decided to be a devoted adherent of the ancestral traditions of the Ioudaioi (ta ptria t ~ n \Ioudaon), for it was this that mattered more than being circumcised (toø~ peritmnesyai)’’ (Antiquities of the Jews, 20.41).99 The first Josephus story illustrates that, at least according to Josephus, there is a strong connection between belonging to the Jewish ethnos, participating in its laws and practices, and being circumcised. The second passage demonstrates that the question of whether or not to be circumcised could be an issue for male gentiles interested in Judaism, and indeed could be a negotiable factor in their adoption of Jewish ethnic practices. The teacher argues that circumcision is not a necessary part of worshiping the God of Israel; there are other traditional Jewish ethnic practices (ta patria t
on Ioudai
on) which were more important. This story illustrates how Jews could have different hierarchies of identity features and attributes. For the teacher, circumcision was not the most important feature of Jewish identity. These examples help us understand circumcision in Paul. Jewish men are marked as members of particular lineages which the God of Israel has promised to perpetuate and increase. In Philippians 3:5, Paul lists his own circumcision as one of a number of advantages he enjoys as a Jew: ‘‘Circumcised (peritomŁ~) on the eighth day, descended from the lineage of Israel (½k gnouB \Isral), of the tribe (fulŁ~B) of Benjamin, a Hebrew born of Hebrews (^¶bra~ioB ½x ^¶braon).’’ Paul belongs to one of the lineages favored by the God of Israel. That he uses ‘‘circumcision’’ as a label for Jews shows that he understands Jewish identity to be rooted in God’s promises of fertility and intergenerational continuity. As Paul calls his own people ‘‘circumcised,’’ he calls non-Jews ‘‘uncircumcised,’’ which is literally ‘‘foreskin’’ (¼krobusta). Like peritom
e (‘‘circumcised’’) as a designation for Jews, Paul’s use of akrobustia (‘‘uncircumcised’’ or ‘‘foreskin’’) seems to be unique as well: I know of no other author who uses akrobustia to designate non-Jews. The term appears only in the Septuagint, in the New Testament (mostly in Paul), and in later Christian literature.100 In the Septuagint, akrobustia almost always refers to the foreskin in the context of the rite of circumcision, and it does not refer to non-Jewish peoples. Most of the time, Paul uses this term the same way. In six out of sixteen occurrences, however, Paul employs akrobustia as a synonym for gentiles, often paired with ‘‘circumcised.’’101 To my knowledge, this pairing is unprecedented.102 Joel Marcus offers the theory that akrobustia as ‘‘foreskin’’ was an ethnic slur used by Jews about gentiles.103 I think this is plausible, even though we do not have extant evidence before or contemporary with Paul to prove it.104

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Indeed, it is hard to imagine that ‘‘foreskin’’ would have been a term of selfdescription among non-Jewish peoples. Furthermore, it is a term which makes sense only in the context of the practice of circumcision. Marcus cites a passage in Ephesians which at least demonstrates that akrobustia may have been understood as a Jewish term for gentiles: ‘‘At one time you gentiles by birth (ta ynZ ½n sark), who are called the ‘uncircumcision’ (¼krobusta) by those who are called the ‘circumcision’ (peritomŁ~B)’’ (2:11).105 It is also possible, however, that the author of Ephesians makes this comment based solely on Paul’s letters, in which case Ephesians does not serve as evidence for a wider trend. Regardless, Paul’s use of these two terms represents a patriarchal categorization of men and women in terms of the status of male bodies. This language sheds some light on Paul’s encoded readers, the constructed, ideal readers of the text: they must be gentiles who are familiar with Jewish practices and who are able to understand themselves in terms of Jewish identity. The same is true for the term ‘‘gentile’’: it is not a term of selfdescription, but a label of ‘‘otherness’’ applied by Ioudaioi to non-Ioudaioi. The implication, then, is that Paul’s encoded readers are non-Jews who are somehow affiliated with Jewish communities. This is supported by the fact that Paul assumes his readers would know something about the Jewish Law: ‘‘I am speaking to those who know the Law’’ (Rom 7:1). Although scholars have labored to show that Paul’s audience was a mixed group of Ioudaioi and gentiles (and many of these arguments have conflated empirical and encoded readers), I think the suggestion that Paul addresses so-called ‘‘godfearers’’ is convincing.106 Thus his encoded readers would be culturally Greek gentiles who have shown interest in Jewish practices and who are followers of Christ. Paul’s use of labels such as ‘‘gentile’’ and ‘‘uncircumcised’’ supports this possibility. The oppositional pair ‘‘circumcised’’ and ‘‘uncircumcised’’ demonstrates the importance of religious practices in constructing ethnic identities. As a ritual of fertility, circumcision marks male Jews as recipients of their God’s promises and blessings. The gentiles or ‘‘foreskinned ones’’ do not share in these blessings; they are in need of a new heritage which will address this problem. The sort of kinship and fertility established through and represented by circumcision is neither appropriate nor necessary for gentiles, according to Paul. Especially in Galatians, Paul argues vehemently against the view (which apparently was being espoused by other teachers) that male gentiles need to be circumcised in order to be made right with God. He gives the example of Titus, who accompanied him to Jerusalem: ‘‘But Titus who is with me, although he was Greek (›¶llZn n) was not forced to be circumcised (peritmZyŁ~nai)’’ (Gal 2:3). According to Paul, Greeks and other gentiles do not have to cross this boundary; he accuses those who argue otherwise of being hypocrites concerned only with their own status (Gal 6:12–13). Gentiles are made descendants of

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Abraham not through physical acts of procreation but through kinship with Christ.107

Greeks (›¶llZneB) and Barbarians (brbaroi) Paul’s oppositional pairings are not limited to the polarities between Jews and gentiles. He also adopts a Greek point of view. For example, Paul pairs ‘‘Greek’’ with ‘‘barbarian’’: ‘‘I am obligated both to Greeks and to barbarians, to the wise and foolish’’ (Rom 1:14). In keeping with a Greek perspective, Paul assigns a positive value to Greeks (they are wise) and a negative value to barbarians (they are foolish).108 With this pairing, Paul employs a Greek oppositional ethnic construction of Greeks and non-Greeks. Whereas for Greek authors this distinction divides the world, for Paul, the Greek/barbarian split further divides the gentiles: it is an oppositional pairing within an oppositional pairing. This connection between gentiles and the Greek/barbarian division is especially clear in the Greek, where the terms are adjacent: ‘‘kayB kad ½n to~iB loipo~iB ynesin. ^˛llZsn te kad barbroiB . . . feiltZB’’ (Rom 1:13–14, which translates ‘‘as I have among the rest of the gentiles. To the Greeks and the barbarians. . . . I am a debtor’’). In the original Greek, there would not have been punctuation or divisions between words. Paul uses the term ‘‘barbarian’’ in one other passage where it means ‘‘one who does not understand or speak your language’’: ‘‘If I should not know the meaning of a sound, I would be a barbaros to the speaker and the speaker would be a barbaros to me’’ (1 Cor 14:11). Here, Paul uses ‘‘barbarian’’ to mean ‘‘heterophone’’ rather than ‘‘not-Greek,’’ since the speaker and the listener are mutually ‘‘barbaric’’ to each other.109 Nevertheless, the fact that Paul—himself a Greek speaker and writer—uses this term even in this context indicates a Greek perspective. We find the same language in other first-century Jewish authors. Philo writes against the polytheism of non-Jews, who serve many gods despite their recognition of one higher god: ‘‘But if the one whom all Greeks and barbarians unanimously acknowledge exists . . . then it was the duty of all people to cleave to him and not introduce new gods staged as by machinery. . . . When they went wrong . . . the error which was committed was corrected by the ethnos of Ioudaioi’’ (Special Laws, 2.165–166).110 Josephus, in his defense of Jews, claims: ‘‘There is not one city, Greek or barbarian, nor a single nation, to which our custom of abstaining from work on the seventh day has not spread’’ (Against Apion, 2.282).111 The central division for all three of these Jewish authors is Jew/non-Jew. Yet each is immersed enough in Greek culture so that he can easily adapt Greek categories to his world map, further dividing the gentiles into Greeks and barbarians. To a certain extent, Paul, like Philo and Josephus, has incorporated his Greek point of view into his Jewish point of view.112

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Romans Perhaps this assimilation of Greek perspective accounts for a striking omission from Paul’s ethnic map: ‘‘Romans.’’ Given the Roman presence throughout the empire, it seems odd that this category would be missing from Paul’s configuration of ethnic peoples. Yet it appears nowhere in the corpus, not even in his letter to the Romans.113 I am not sure how to account for this, but I think the answer lies in the bipartite division of the world’s peoples which fundamentally shapes Paul’s thinking. For Paul, there are Jews and non-Jews. Among the non-Jews, the only group that Paul specifically names is ‘‘Greeks,’’ and, as I have argued, Paul aims his arguments at a Hellenistic audience.114 I would guess that those who might be identified as ‘‘Romans’’ in another context would fall under the larger category of ‘‘Greeks’’ (or at least ‘‘gentiles’’) in Paul.115

Conclusion Paul’s terminology is in keeping with a universalizing element in his argument. The two categories—Jews and gentiles—encompass all peoples and reflect his own goal of the ‘‘reconciliation of the world’’ (Rom 11:15). But this does not mean that these ethnic labels can be abstracted and removed from the context of the first century as many traditional readings propose. Instead, we need to pay careful attention to cultural codes which would have been familiar to Paul’s audience and which shaped this language in the first place. This approach to ethnicity places certain constraints on our interpretation of Paul so that we cannot modernize his language in ways that he would not even recognize. For the most part, Paul’s ethnic language is drawn from scripture. It reflects a Jewish perspective which divides the world’s peoples into two oppositional groups: Jews and non-Jews. The terms Paul applies to Jews emphasize their attachment to their homeland and history as a people, their commitment to the God of Israel’s laws and religious practices, and their common ancestry. Ioudaioi are not a ‘‘spiritual or religious magnitude’’ in Paul; rather, they are an ethnic people with the same features as other ethnic peoples in the ancient Mediterranean world. The terms Paul applies to nonJews are both totalizing and specific. As ‘‘gentiles’’ or ‘‘foreskinned ones,’’ non-Jews constitute a general category of ‘‘others.’’ As ‘‘Greeks,’’ non-Jews are a specific group, parallel to Jews. Paul uses both terms as ethnic designations for peoples whom the God of Israel has decided to adopt. I have shown how the contrasting conceptions of Jews and gentiles set up the problem Paul is trying to fix: that gentiles have no standing before the God

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of Israel, which has left them in bad shape as degenerate idolaters. Paul’s use of oppositional ethnic construction throughout the letters highlights this problem and serves as a constant reminder of the different positions of each group. As I will discuss in the following chapters, Paul seeks to redress this situation by giving them new ancestry and a new identity through Christ, and therefore new possibilities for achieving self-mastery. Despite this aggregative linking of gentiles to Israel through Christ and the possibilities for multiple identities for those who are in-Christ, the oppositional component remains: the two peoples remain distinct even as the status of the gentiles-in-Christ has radically changed.

3 Reconstructing Gentile Origins: Adoption by the Spirit

As we saw in the previous chapter, Paul’s ethnic map delineates a theological problem: gentiles, who should recognize God but do not, have been handed over to passions and idolatry. Oppositional identity construction illustrates a bifurcated ethnic landscape, with Jews on one side and non-Jews on the other. In this configuration, gentile peoples are lumped together as one conglomerate ethnic group precisely because they have no relationship with the God of Israel. According to Paul, God has responded to the plight of the gentiles through Christ, who offers them new ancestry, a link to Israel and to God’s promises and blessings. Thus, just as Paul articulates the theological crisis in terms of ethnicity and kinship, he also lays out the solution in these same terms. In Galatians 3:29, Paul explains the transformation that occurs with baptism: ‘‘If you belong to Christ, then you are the descendants of Abraham, heirs according to the promise.’’ Baptism into Christ repairs the rift by making gentiles into descendants of Abraham. The good news is that gentiles-in-Christ are now linked to Israel. If oppositional ethnic construction (Jews/non-Jews) defines the problem, aggregative ethnic construction (gentiles-in-Christ linked to Israel) defines the solution. By presenting baptism as new kinship, Paul crafts a myth of collective identity for gentiles; they can trace their beginnings not only to their baptism into Christ but also to their ancestor, Abraham, in whose seed they were blessed. Baptism into Christ creates an aggregative connection between gentiles and Jews.

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In the ancient world, there were many creative ways of conceiving of kin relations and arguing for a new status for families or whole peoples. Paul participates in these same practices: he argues for a new status for gentiles as descendants of Abraham and adopted sons of the God of Israel. In chapters 3 through 6, I explore various aspects of this process and demonstrate how Paul blends normative, patrilineal assumptions about blood relationships with creative constructions of new forms of kinship. This creative work is rooted in the highly gendered ideology of patrilineal descent in which descendants share a common ancestor and understand themselves as a corporate group: characteristics are passed from progenitors to progeny, and inheritance is passed down through one line of sons. Like other ancient authors, Paul strategically tweaks this ideology for the purposes of his arguments. I begin by examining Paul’s use of the concept of adoption, which, as we saw in chapter 1, was an integral part of the patrilineal cultures of the ancient Mediterranean. As a tool for perpetuating and shaping lineages and maintaining households, adoption was widely accepted as a means of creating kinship. For Paul, adoption provides the perfect way to describe the change that occurs when gentiles are baptized into Christ: they become adopted sons of God and heirs to the promises.

From Slaves to Sons In Galatians and Romans, Paul describes the transformation that transpires with baptism by using broadly available understandings of adoption, pneuma, and household: But I say for as long as the heir is a child, although he is the master of all, he is no different from a slave, but he is under a guardian and a manager (po` ½pitrpouB ½stin kad okonmouB) until the date set by the father (proyesmaB patrB). We also, when we were children, were enslaved by the elements of the world. But when the fullness of time came, God sent forth his son, born out of a woman (genmenon ½k gunaikB), born under the Law (genmenon po` nmon), in order that he might redeem those under the Law (po` nmon), in order that we might receive adoption as sons (uoyesan). Because you are sons, God has sent the spirit of his son into your hearts, crying ‘‘Abba Father!’’ So that you are no longer a slave but a son, if a son, then an heir (klZronmoB) through God. (Gal 4:1–7) For whoever is led by the spirit of God, these are sons of God (´soi gar pnemati yeoø~ gontai, o øu toi uo yeoø~). For you have not received the spirit of slavery again for fear, but you have received the spirit of adoption as sons (pneø~ma uoyesaB) in which we cry out,

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‘‘Abba, Father!’’ This same spirit witnesses together with our spirit that we are children of God (tkna yeoø~). If we are children, then we are heirs, on the one hand heirs of God (klZronmoi mbn yeoø~), on the other hand co-heirs with Christ (sugklZronmoi db Xristoø~), if indeed we have suffered with him in order that we might be glorified with him. (Rom 8:14–17) The metaphor of the household in these passages captures the dramatic change in status which accompanies the reception of the spirit. In the gendered hierarchy of the ancient household, the head of the household, usually the father, held the most authority, whereas the slaves held the least.1 Children in the household enjoyed higher status than slaves. This was particularly true for sons—including adopted sons—who stood to inherit the property and position of the head of the household. The contrast between slaves and sons in the household expresses the difference in the lives of the gentiles before and after they receive the spirit. As sons, they can hope to inherit property and rule over the household, which a slave could not. The gentiles become ‘‘sons’’ (Gal 4:6, 7; Rom 8:14) through adoption, which means they would have the same rights, responsibilities, and potential to inherit as sons born into the family. Although Paul does use the gender-neutral ‘‘children of God’’ in two instances (Rom 8:16, 17), his image of gentile upward mobility is highly gendered: it is based on the patriarchal privilege of sons, a presumption that consistently informs Paul’s terminology. In both passages, Paul uses the term huiothesia—literally, ‘‘placing a son’’—for adoption (Rom 8:15; Gal 4:5). Huiothesia is a well-known technical term for adopting a son in the Greek-speaking world.2 In both Greek and Roman contexts, sons were usually adopted to supply an heir in the absence of a son in the family.3 Daughters were rarely adopted in ancient Greece, perhaps because they could not pass on inheritance. In the Roman period, daughters could inherit in the absence of a son, but they were rarely adopted for purposes of inheritance.4 When female adoption is mentioned, the term thugatropoian—or ‘‘to make a daughter’’—is used; huiothesia is used exclusively for male adoptions.5 Thus it is clear that Paul chooses the gender-specific practice of adopting sons to communicate the full potential of being in-Christ. Some might question whether Paul deploys this exclusive metaphor for the purpose of excluding women in the community from this special status as heirs. I do not think this is the case. I think Paul assumed that all the baptized gentiles, whether slaves, free, male, or female, would have appropriated the status of heir for themselves. Indeed, the unlikely scenario of the slave becoming an heir is precisely Paul’s point: those who have no potential (gentiles) are now heirs to God’s promises. Paul sees God as extending the patriarchal privilege of sons to all gentiles-in-Christ, including women and slaves of both genders. Elisabeth Schu¨ssler Fiorenza argues that Paul does not

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use the son metaphor to ‘‘legitimate patriarchal relationships of control and dependence . . . but to profile the freedom, inheritance, and independence of the new status of baptized persons as ‘sons.’ ’’6 Yet as Kathleen Corley points out, this requires an act of translation for women in the community, who must see themselves as male in order to participate fully in this new status.7 Both Galatians 4:1–7 and Romans 8:14–17 clarify the significance of the shift from slaves to sons: as adopted sons, the gentiles become heirs. Paul writes: ‘‘If we are children, then we are heirs (klZronmoi), heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ (sugklZronmoi db ristoø~)’’ (Rom 8:17) and ‘‘So that no longer are you a slave but a son, if a son, then an heir (klZronmoB) through God’’ (Gal 4:7). Like Christ in Romans 1:4, the gentiles are made sons of God by the spirit, and so they become heirs, ‘‘joint heirs’’ with Christ.8 What, exactly, the gentiles stand to inherit, Paul does not explicitly say in either passage. Some clues lie in Romans 4:13, where Paul writes specifically about inheritance: ‘‘For the promise that he would be the heir of the world (to` klZronmon a to`n eoØnai ksmou) did not come to Abraham or to his seed (t

~ sprmati autoø~) through the Law, but through the righteousness of faithfulness.’’ What does it mean to be ‘‘heir of the world’’? Nils Dahl argues that Paul interprets the promise of land to Abraham and his descendants or seed (Gen 13:15; 15:7, 18; 17:8; 24:7) as a promise of the whole world, reflecting a Jewish eschatological tradition which anticipated that the descendants of Abraham would inherit the earth.9 For Paul, the descendants of Abraham include both Ioudaioi and adopted gentiles. Paul understands his mission to the gentiles to be instrumental in bringing about this universal inheritance of Jewish and gentile lands.10 His eschatological vision is one in which Christ returns to defeat earthly rulers and enemies (1 Cor 15:24–27).11 In this vision, gentiles-in-Christ would inherit the world along with Jews. In the Galatians passage, Paul begins the household metaphor by comparing the gentiles to children, who, though they are in essence already masters, do not actually receive the inheritance until the father sets the time. At this age, their status is like that of a slave, always under the control of ‘‘guardians (½pitrpoi)’’ or ‘‘managers (okonmoi).’’ The role of the guardian or epitropos in antiquity was often similar to that of a paidogogos (see Gal 3:24–25): he was responsible for the welfare of a child (or children) in a household.12 In some cases the epitropos served as a ‘‘trustee-guardian’’ of an orphaned minor.13 Likewise the term oikonomos often referred to a position related to the household, usually the slave-born manager or steward of the oikos.14 Many have argued that the language of Galatians 4:1–2 refers to legal inheritance rules. Hans Dieter Betz cites Roman law to elucidate the analogy: ‘‘Paul refers to a practice in Roman law called tutela impuberis (‘guardianship for a minor’). . . . According to this institution the paterfamilias appoints one or more guardians for his children.’’15 In the context of this argument, n
epios (‘‘child,’’ Gal 4:1), is understood as ‘‘minor.’’ Furthermore, ‘‘the date set by the

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father’’ denotes a legal setting as well; prothesmia (4:2) often refers to an official date—for example, the date when debts are due or a period of time during which one can claim an inheritance.16 The ‘‘trustee-guardian’’ meaning for epitropos fits well within this interpretation. Much has been made of the fact that, although Paul uses the appropriate terminology, no specific inheritance law can be identified—either Greek, Jewish, or Roman—which matches what Paul describes in Galatians 4:1–7.17 Furthermore, there are many apparent contradictions in his own scenario which trouble exegetes.18 Yet Paul seems concerned not with the legal details, but with the larger analogy: the reception of the spirit brings about a change in status that is comparable to a minor coming of age or a slave turned into a son. In Romans Paul says, ‘‘you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons’’ (8:15). In Galatians, too, Paul speaks of the previous lives of the gentiles in terms of enslavement: ‘‘when we were minors, we were enslaved to the elements of the earth (stoiwe~ia toø~ ksmou)’’ (4:3). Paul’s use of the first-person pronoun ‘‘we’’ in Galatians 4:3 does not mean he includes Ioudaioi in this past state, as many commentators assume. Instead, Paul commonly uses the first-person plural ‘‘we’’ to indicate that he identifies with his gentile audience.19 Indeed, the whole analogy, in which the ‘‘slaves’’ become adopted sons of God, makes no sense for Jews, who already enjoy this status (Rom 9:4). What Paul means by ‘‘elements of the earth’’ in Galatians 4:3 is not entirely clear.20 The Greek word stoicheia, specifically in this formation with the genitive kosmou following it, most often refers to the four elements of the earth: fire, air, earth, and water.21 A few verses later (Gal 4:9), Paul asks his readers if they really want to be enslaved again to the ‘‘weak and beggarly elements (stoicheia),’’ which may be synonymous with the ‘‘things which by nature are not gods’’ of verse 8. Perhaps Paul refers to the stoicheia as elements considered sacred by the gentiles in their former lives. Or perhaps it is a reference to idolatry, the ‘‘elements of the world’’ referring to the images of gods.22 But at the appropriate time, God (the father in the household) sent his son, ‘‘born out of a woman (genmenon ½k gunaikB), born under the Law (genmenon po` nmon), in order that he might redeem those under the Law (po` nmon)’’ (Gal 4:4–5). Regarding these phrases describing Christ, ‘‘born of a woman’’ is simply an idiomatic way of saying that he is human,23 and ‘‘born under the Law’’ may be the equivalent of saying he is a Jew by birth.24 Perhaps Paul presents these conditions of Christ’s birth to demonstrate his ‘‘natural’’ birth as a Jew, as he does in Romans 1:3, in contrast to the special birth (adoption) of the gentiles; they were accepted, but Jesus was born.25 On the other hand, being ‘‘under the Law’’ seems to be a condition which describes gentiles in Paul’s letters; it refers to their futile efforts to observe the practices of the Torah, which were not meant for them.26 This phrase also recalls the

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language of Galatians 3:23–25, in which the gentiles ‘‘imprisoned under the Law’’ and ‘‘under a paidogogos’’ until faithfulness came. Thus through a variety of hierarchical images from the household, Paul signals the difference between gentiles and gentiles-in-Christ: they have shed their previous lower status and gained the potential to inherit.

Transformative Spirit In both passages, the possession of the spirit or pneuma seems to trigger the change into sons, signaled by the cry, ‘‘Abba, Father!’’ (Rom 8:15; Gal 4:6).27 Once God sends ‘‘the spirit of his son’’ into their hearts (Gal 4:6), the gentiles are now sons, and therefore heirs: ‘‘So that no longer are you a slave but a son, if a son, then an heir through God’’ (Gal 4:7). Indeed the spirit, or pneuma, is crucial to this process: it grants the gentiles a new ancestry, a new kinship with the God of Israel. The Romans passage assumes a similar function of the spirit when Paul claims that ‘‘whoever is led by the spirit of God, these are sons of God’’ (Rom 8:14).28 In this passage, the adoption transaction is made official by the spirit, which ‘‘witnesses (summarture~i)’’ (8:16)—notice the legal implications of this term—the new status of the gentiles as children of God. The frequent use of the term ‘‘spirit’’ or pneuma in Romans 8:14–17 is especially striking.29 This language begins in chapter 8, where Paul inaugurates a discussion of living ‘‘according to the spirit’’ and not ‘‘according to the flesh.’’30 Many scholars have puzzled over the exact identity of the spirit in Romans 8. Paul describes it in various ways: he calls it the ‘‘spirit of life in Christ Jesus’’ (8:2), the ‘‘spirit of God’’ (8:9, 11, 14), the ‘‘spirit of Christ’’ (8:9), or, most commonly, simply ‘‘the spirit’’ (passim). He also refers to the ‘‘spirit of slavery’’ (8:15), the ‘‘spirit of adoption as sons’’ (8:15), and ‘‘our spirit’’ (8:16). Clearly, pneuma in Paul is multivalent and shifting. Other Jewish writers use the term pneuma in a similarly flexible way. For example, there is similar language in the LXX version of Isaiah 11:2–3: And the spirit of God (pneø~ma toø~ yeoø~) shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding (pneø~ma sofaB kad sunseoB), the spirit of counsel and strength (pneø~ma boulŁ~B kad swoB), the spirit of knowledge and piety (pneø~ma gnæseoB kad e sebeaB) shall fill him, the spirit of the fear of God (pneø~ma fbou yeoø~). Similarly, in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, the term ‘‘spirit’’ followed by a genitive construction appears repeatedly: there is ‘‘the spirit of fornication’’ (Test Levi 9:9; Test Reuben 5:3; Test Judah 14:2); ‘‘the spirit of understanding of the Lord’’ (Test Levi 2:3); ‘‘the spirit of understanding and sanctification’’ (Test Levi 18:7); ‘‘the spirit of holiness’’ (Test Levi 18:11); the spirit of jealousy (Test Judah 13:3; Test Simeon 2:7); ‘‘the spirit of deceit and

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envy’’ (Test Simeon 3:1; Test Judah 14:8); ‘‘the spirit of truth’’ (Test Judah 20:1); and ‘‘the spirit of understanding of the mind’’ (Test Judah 20:1).31 John Levison argues that it is impossible to establish a monolithic ‘‘Jewish’’ understanding of the spirit during this period. One cannot even ascertain consistent understandings of the spirit for any given author because of ‘‘the diversity of conceptions that coexist within the writings of individual firstcentury authors or within a single ancient document.’’32 Levison observes that, rather than promoting one, consistent definition of pneuma, these authors employ diverse interpretations creatively, depending on their particular argument.33 These authors treat the spirit as if it can be attached to any entity or concept, somehow embodying the essence of the thing to which it is attached. Paul’s treatment of the spirit in Romans 8 fits well into this milieu. He seems to understand the various spirits—the ‘‘spirit of God,’’ the ‘‘spirit of slavery,’’ and the ‘‘spirit of adoption as sons’’—as external agents with the power to influence the fate of the gentiles. The good news is that the ‘‘spirit of adoption as sons’’ prevailed over the ‘‘spirit of slavery’’; the gentiles have received this spirit and have thus been made children and heirs. The spirit is crucial in Paul’s construction of a new gentile ancestry. It is possible that Paul has in mind several biblical texts which associate the spirit with a creation or restoration of a relationship with God. These passages contain a cluster of related themes: God issuing the spirit upon his people, the people renewing their commitment to the Law, and the reestablishment of the relationship between God and his people. These themes are expressed with kinship language. In Ezekiel 36:26–28, God instructs the prophet to say to the house of Israel: And I will give you a new heart, and will put a new spirit in you (pneø~ma kaino`n dæso ½n m~in), and I will take away the heart of stone out of your flesh, and will give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my spirit in you (to` pneø~ma mou dæso ½n m~in) and will cause you to walk in my ordinances (½n to~iB dikaiæmas mou), and to keep my judgments and do them. And you shall dwell upon the land which I gave to your fathers, and you shall be to me a people (sesy moi eB lao`n) and I will be to you a God.34 The parallels are not exact, but the idea of receiving pneuma as a means of establishing a rapport with God is also found in Romans 8:15 (‘‘but you have received the spirit of adoption as sons in which we cry out, ‘Abba, Father!’’’) and its parallel, Galatians 4:6 (‘‘God has sent the spirit of his son into your hearts, crying ‘Abba, Father!’’’). The language of the spirit being ‘‘in’’ God’s people echoes Paul’s conception in Romans 8 of the spirit dwelling within: ‘‘The spirit of God dwells in you’’ (8:9; see also 8:11). Finally, in both Ezekiel (36:27) and Romans (8:4), people who receive the spirit do God’s ordinances (dikaiomata in both verses).

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The Testament of Judah provides another example: ‘‘And he shall pour out the spirit of grace (pneø~ma writoB) upon you; And you shall be to him sons in truth (sesye a t

~ eB uoø‘B ½n ¼lZyeÆ  ), and you shall walk in his commandments (½n prostgmasin a toø~) first and last’’ (24:3).35 R. H. Charles translates the Armenian version of this same verse: ‘‘And he will pour down upon us the spirit of grace. And you shall be his true children by adoption, and you shall walk in his commandments first and last.’’36 A final example comes from the Book of Jubilees: ‘‘And I will create in them a holy spirit, and I will cleanse them so that they shall not turn away from me from that day to eternity. And their souls will cleave to me and to all my commandments, and they will fulfill my commandments and I will be their father and they shall be my children’’ (1:23–24).37 These passages from Ezekiel, the Testament of Judah, and the Book of Jubilees describe moments of God taking back those who have already been his people and renewing a covenant with them. In each one, as in Romans 8:15 and Galatians 4:6, the people receive some sort of spirit which establishes an ethnic or kinship tie with God. Part of this new relationship is a commitment on the part of God’s people to follow his laws. In the case of Paul, who is talking about gentiles, he does not exhort them to follow the Law in the same way Ioudaioi do, but he instructs them to live the life of the spirit, so that the ‘‘just requirements of the Law’’ are fulfilled in them (Rom 8:4).38 The spirit enables the gentiles to live as the Law requires. The goal seems to be the same for Jews and gentiles (to live as the Law requires), but the means are different (life in the spirit for gentiles; faithful practice of the Law for Jews).39 In the Testament of Judah and Jubilees passages, God takes the Israelites on as his children, just as in Romans and Galatians the gentiles become adopted sons of God. Paul’s adoption passages use the language of these Jewish texts, asserting that there is some connection between the spirit, kinship, and a new standing before God. Philosophical and medical discussions of pneuma offer another possible context for understanding the spirit in Paul’s adoption passages.40 These discussions do not present a counterpoint to the Jewish texts; rather, they illuminate further how both Greeks and Jews may have understood this term. Both Paul’s letter to the Romans and the other Jewish texts discussed above reflect a conception of pneuma as generative, mobile, and divine. These same characteristics are found in descriptions of pneuma present in the works of philosophers and medical writers.41 Medical and philosophical texts consider pneuma to be a physical entity, matter, and they often conceive of it as air or breath.42 Medical writers explain that pneuma is the vital substance of the body, responsible for sight, hearing, smell and touch.43 Pneuma is also the crucial procreative element; it is the seed which passes from the male organs into the womb to create a fetus.44 In its finest form, pneuma constitutes the very particles which make up the soul and is responsible for the ability to

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reason. Along these lines, the Stoics conceived of God as pneuma, a divine, creative, and reasoning force that pervades the whole world.45 Particularly interesting is the Stoic theory of krasis or blending, in which pneuma permeates other objects or beings, effecting change in the matter through which it passes. Chrysippus describes this blending which occurs with pneuma: ‘‘Certain substances and their qualities are mutually coextended through and through, with the original substances and their qualities being preserved in such a mixture. . . . [S]uch a coextension of blended bodies occurs when they pass through one another, so that no part among them fails to participate in everything contained in such a blended mixture.’’46 Thus, according to the Stoics, a particular quality of pneuma is that it is capable of blending itself with different bodies, so that every part of the original body, while maintaining its own character, still participates fully in the mixture. This notion of krasis or blending is especially intriguing in light of Paul’s understanding of how the spirit of Christ enters the hearts of the gentiles (Gal 4:6). The ‘‘spirit of the son’’ or the ‘‘spirit of adoption’’ transforms the recipients into new beings, descendants of Abraham, a new people of the God of Israel. Pneuma is the perfect catalyst for joining peoples together.47 It is not possible to apply these philosophical understandings of pneuma to every instance of the word in Paul. But it is significant that his use of the term when talking about adoption coheres with the contemporary conceptions of pneuma as procreative, divine, mobile, and transformative. Paul’s contemporary, Philo, calls upon a similar perception of pneuma when he describes Abraham: Thus whenever he was possessed, everything in him changed to something better, eyes, complexion, stature, carriage, movements, voice. For the divine spirit (toø~ yeou pnematoB) which was breathed upon him from on high made its lodging in his soul, and invested his body with singular beauty, his voice with persuasiveness, and his hearers with understanding. (On the Virtues, 217)48 Abraham undergoes a bodily transformation upon receiving the spirit, one that can be seen in his skin, eyes, and movements. His physical beauty is a part of a larger change that renders him a more effective leader, and his followers better able to understand him. In Romans 8:14–17 and Galatians 4:1–7, Paul seems to be playing on characteristics of pneuma assumed by a range of his contemporaries, especially in his representation of pneuma as a binding agent which unites the gentiles to Christ. That is, the gentiles join Christ by taking his pneuma into their hearts, incorporating his substance into theirs. In this way, this procreative pneuma creates new kinship, and does so materially. This conception of pneuma as a physical, transformative agent challenges the oppositional relationship between ‘‘physical’’ and ‘‘spiritual’’ kinship which Pauline scholars

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often assume. Adoption through the spirit is one of a variety of ways to conceive of relatedness; the spirit makes that relation both tangible and material. In Paul the spirit serves as a version of ‘‘shared blood’’ in that it provides a tangible, organic connection between Christ and the gentiles. By the incorporation of Christ’s spirit in their bodies, the gentiles inherit his ancestry: they ‘‘belong to Christ’’ (or more literally, they are ‘‘of Christ,’’ or ‘‘a part of Christ’’) and are thus descendants of Abraham and adopted sons of God (Gal 3:29). As in the passages from Jewish scripture above, also in Romans and Galatians the spirit inaugurates a new kinship and a new standing before the God of Israel.

Conclusion: Baptism as a Ritual of Adoption Although Paul does not explicitly say so, it is clear that Romans 8:14–17 and Galatians 4:1–7 refer to the transformation that takes place during baptism. Other baptism passages speak specifically of receiving the spirit: ‘‘For also by one spirit (nd pnemati), we were baptized into one body, whether Ioudaioi or Greeks or slaves or free, and we were all made to drink of one spirit (n pneø~ma)’’ (1 Cor 12:13).49 Furthermore, in the Galatians passage, the shift from slaves to sons parallels the story of the gentiles in Galatians 3:22–29 (coming just before Gal 4:1–7), in which they are first imprisoned, but then released through baptism. As a result they are ‘‘sons of God,’’ ‘‘Abraham’s seed,’’ and ‘‘heirs according to the promise’’ (3:26, 29). In the Romans passage, the language of ‘‘suffering together’’ and ‘‘being glorified together’’ with Christ (8:17: ‘‘If indeed we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him’’) recalls Romans 6, where Paul uses a similar string of syn prefixes to articulate the imitative nature of baptism: ‘‘Therefore we were buried with him through baptism into death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the father, so also we in newness of life may walk’’ (6:4). Paul goes on to explain that as our former self was crucified with him (sunestauræyZ) (6:6), so we will live together in him (suzsomen a t

~ ) (6:8).50 It is significant that adoption of the gentiles occurs during the ritual of baptism. Recall that in patrilineal societies, children are accepted into the family through rituals of initiation. Baptism serves a similar purpose in Paul’s presentation of the new status of gentiles-in-Christ. Through this ritual in which gentiles receive the spirit, Paul suggests that they are transformed from slaves to sons; they are granted a new ancestry and are now descendants of Abraham. As we have seen, adoption creates new kinship relations through a socially accepted ritual which is sanctioned by the gods. For Paul, the spirit provides divine legitimation; it is the divine (and also ‘‘physical’’) agent which links the gentiles to Christ.

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Romans 8:14–17 and Galatians 4:1–7 describe the same basic theory of kinship creation: Paul establishes a kinship for gentiles which is based not on shared blood, but on shared spirit. Yet, as we have seen, spirit, like blood, is understood as a material entity. By taking in this spirit in baptism, gentiles are ritually created heirs in the family. In this strategy, Paul does not abandon traditional conceptions of descent in favor of a purely spiritual connection in which matter is irrelevant. Instead, he incorporates his own innovation (adoption by the spirit) into traditional models (household, inheritance, coming of age). In the following chapters, we will see this sort of creative reworking of kinship with respect to ‘‘faithfulness’’ and the ‘‘promise’’ as well: in each case, Paul weaves his own definitions of kinship into traditional patrilineal notions. These new kinships rely upon the logic of ‘‘shared blood,’’ even as they serve as alternatives to ‘‘blood’’ relationships. The adoption of the gentiles incorporates a new people into an already existing kin group. The gentiles become like sons in the household, not to replace those who are there, but to share the inheritance with them. Paul builds upon a tradition that expects gentiles to be reconciled to the God of Israel in the transition to the new age (described in Romans 11 with the image of grafting a wild olive shoot onto a cultivated tree). In Romans 8:14–17 and Galatians 4:1–7, we encounter Paul working out the mechanics of this reconciliation. These passages describe mythic, originary moments for gentilesin-Christ, a rebirth as sons and heirs of God.

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4 Descendants of a Faithful Ancestor: Hoi Ek Pisteo
s

Like many other ancient authors, Paul understood kinship to be a powerful and flexible means of constructing new identities, rearranging power relationships, and associating peoples. Thus he fashions gentile initiation into Christ as an entry into a new household in which gentiles are now sons preparing to inherit. In the adoption passages discussed in the previous chapter, Paul creates a discourse of kinship for his gentile readers by using language that is explicitly tied to procreation, households, and descent. Paul presents a variation of this strategy when he defines descent from Abraham with the term ‘‘faithfulness,’’ a concept that is usually not associated with kinship. As he writes in Galatians 3:7: ‘‘So you know that those who come out of faithfulness (o ½k psteoB), these are sons of Abraham.’’ In Romans 4:16, Paul argues that the promise made to Abraham is good for all his descendants, ‘‘not only the one who comes out of the Law (t

~ ½k toø~ nmou) but also for the one who comes out of the faithfulness of Abraham (t

~ ½k psteoB \bram).’’ What does it mean to describe a group or person as ek piste
os, and how might this claim relate to other definitions of kinship in Paul’s letters? In this chapter, I will demonstrate that Paul uses the phrases ek piste
os (literally, ‘‘out of faithfulness’’) and hoi ek piste
os (literally, ‘‘those out of faithfulness’’) to create a new discourse of kinship for gentiles in which they spring from the faithfulness of Abraham and Christ. The NRSV translates hoi ek piste
os in Galatians 3:7 as ‘‘those who believe’’ and t
o ek piste
os Abraam in Romans 4:16 as ‘‘the one who shares the faith of Abraham.’’1 These translations reflect the

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traditional understanding of pistis in Paul as ‘‘belief’’ or ‘‘faith,’’ attributes that belong to the Christ-follower or ‘‘believer’’ and denote an abstract, private disposition of the mind (much like modern understandings of faith or belief). Furthermore, these traditional translations ignore the article ek, which often means something like ‘‘come out of,’’ ‘‘spring from,’’ ‘‘originate from.’’ There is another way to read these ek phrases.2 Paul does not refer to an abstract frame of mind, but engages in an allusive wordplay by pairing the preposition ek, which in kinship contexts denotes source or origin, with an unlikely object: pistis. As Gian Biagio Conte explains, allusion involves the ‘‘dislodging of a term from its old sense and its previous usage’’ and transferring it to a ‘‘new, improper, or ‘strange’ sense and usage.’’3 Paul is using allusion in precisely this manner when he defines descent from Abraham with the phrase hoi ek piste
os. He ‘‘dislodges’’ pistis from its typical context and places it as the source or origin of the sons of Abraham. Thus hoi ek piste
os might be translated as something like ‘‘those whose line of descent springs from faithfulness.’’ More concretely, this phrase might be rendered, ‘‘those who descend from Abraham’s [or Christ’s] faithfulness to God,’’ and it refers to Abraham’s and Christ’s faithful responses to God’s call. In this reading, pistis refers to the faithful characteristics and actions of Abraham and Christ, not to the personal commitments of believers. Such an interpretation is defensible on at least four grounds: the term ek regularly appears in discussions of kinship both inside and outside of Paul; the term pistis can also be read as relating to notions of ancestry and descent; Paul labels gentiles in terms of their status as brothers ek piste
os (Gal 3:7; Rom 4:16); and Paul claims that God justifies the one who is ek piste
os I
esou (Rom 3:26).

Ek: ‘‘The One Who Comes Out of You (½k soø~) Will Inherit’’ In the ancient world, the preposition ek (‘‘from,’’ ‘‘out of’’) is ubiquitous in contexts of descent and kinship where it describes the relationship between offspring and parents. Children come ‘‘out of’’ their mothers’ wombs or fathers’ seed. In Aristotle’s discussion of the mechanics of procreation, for example, ek is central to his proposed definition of the term sperma: ‘‘Sperma wants to be this sort of nature: the first ‘from what’ (½x oøu ) in the generation of natural constructions’’ (Generation of Animals, 724a18).4 Aristotle articulates the most basic source, the origin of the generation of life, with the phrase ‘‘ex hou’’ (‘‘from what’’ or ‘‘out of which’’). Sperma is the source from which life springs. Ek can also describe how descendants come ‘‘from’’ certain lineages. In Plato’s Menexenus, Socrates recounts a funeral oration for Athenian war dead, remarking: ‘‘They [the dead] were virtuous because they were sprung from

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virtuous men (dia to` fø~nai ½x ¼gay ~ n)’’ (237A).5 Josephus transcribes a letter from the Spartan king to the Jewish high priest in which the Spartans claim kinship with the Ioudaioi: ‘‘We have learned that the Ioudaioi and the Lakedaimonians come from one descent group (½x no`B eoØen gnouB), springing from a common descent relationship by virtue of Abraham (½k tŁ~B pro`B bramon okeitZtoB)’’ ( Jewish Antiquities, XII.226).6 In 1 Maccabees, another version of the same letter claims that Spartans and Ioudaioi are brothers ‘‘from the lineage of Abraham’’ (½k gnouB \bram)’’ (12:21). Similar conceptions are found in the Septuagint. In particular, this language accompanies the God of Israel’s blessings and the promises given regarding heirs and multiple descendants. This is important because these are the very passages which Paul draws upon in his own kinship-creating. When the founding father, Abraham, complains to God that he has no heir except his ‘‘house-born slave (okogenB)’’ (Gen 15:3), God replies that this one (Eliezer of Damascus) will not be Abraham’s heir, ‘‘but the one who comes out of you will inherit (nB ½xelesetai ½k soø~ . . . klZronomsei)’’ (Gen 15:4).7 Similar concerns about the continuation of specific lineages emerge when Joseph speaks about the future of his twelve sons, proclaiming: ‘‘A ruler shall not fail from Judah (½x \Ioda) nor a prince from his loins (½k t ~ n mZr ~ n a toø~’’) (Gen 49:10).8 God speaks to Abraham about Sarah and the lineage which will issue from her womb: ‘‘And I will bless her and I will give you a child out of her (½x a tŁ~B), and I will bless him, and he shall become nations (ynZ) and kings of nations shall descend from him (basile~iB ½yn ~ n ½x a toø~ sontai)’’ (Gen 17:16). This notion of ancestors becoming nations illustrates the patrilineal idea of ancestors and descendants merging since ancestors contain their offspring in their womb or seed. Paul uses ek in much the same way.9 Describing his own lineage, he states that he is ‘‘born out of the lineage of Israel (½k gnouB \Isral) . . . a Hebrew descended from Hebrews (^¶bra~ioB ½x ^¶braon)’’ (Phil 3:5), and ‘‘born from the seed of Abraham (½k sprmatoB \bram)’’ (Rom 11:1). This heritage distinguishes Paul and his colleagues from non-Ioudaioi: ‘‘We are Ioudaioi by birth (fsei) and we are not sinners descended from the gentiles (½x ½yn ~ n)’’ (Gal 2:15). Paul recounts that he was separated out and called by God ‘‘out of the womb of his mother (½k koilaB mZtrB mou)’’ (Gal 1:15). This language also describes Christ’s ancestry: he was ‘‘descended from the seed of David by birth (toø~ gegomnou ½k sprmatoB Daudd ½k kata srka)’’ (Rom 1:3); born of a woman (genmenon ½k gunaikB)’’ (Gal 4:4); and the Israelites u  Xristo`B to` kata are those ‘‘out of whom Christ comes by birth (½x n srka)’’ (Rom 9:5). Paul uses ek language to highlight the specific lineages from which Christ and Paul himself spring. Other examples of ek designating descent include the following: ‘‘For not all those born of the lineage of Israel are truly Israel (o gar pnteB o ½x \Isracl o øu toi \Isral)’’ (Rom 9:6);10 ‘‘Rebecca conceived from one man

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(½x no`B)’’ (Rom 9:10); and ‘‘Abraham had two sons, one born of a slave woman and one born of a free woman (†na ½k tŁ~B paidskZB kad †na ½k tŁ~B ½leuyraB)’’ (Gal 4:22). In Galatians 4:23, these two sons are simply referred to as ‘‘the one ek the slave woman ( ½k tŁ~B paidskZB)’’ and ‘‘the one ek the free woman ( db ½k tŁ~B ½leuyraB).’’ ‘‘Born of’’ is implied by the preposition ek. Notice how Paul uses the article plus ek and its object to identify these individuals or a group: ‘‘those born of Israel (o ½x \Isracl)’’ (Rom 9:6) and ‘‘the one born of a slave woman ( ½k tŁ~B paidskZB)’’ (or a free woman; Gal 4:23). In both cases the object of the article—which indicates the source or origin—is a parent or an ethnic group. This hoi ek construction—for which the English language does not have a satisfactory parallel—often denotes, as Stanley Stowers notes, ‘‘origins, participation and membership’’ among Greek authors.11 The same construction is found in a fragment attributed to Aristotle: ‘‘But not even those descended from good ancestors (o ½k prognon ¼gay ~ n) are noble’’ (On Nobility, fr. 94).12 It is this particular construction that Paul uses in Galatians 3:7 and Romans 4:16, where he identifies people as being ‘‘descended from the faithfulness of Abraham’’: ‘‘o ½k psteoB’’ (Gal 3:7) and ‘‘t

~ ½k psteoB \bram’’ (Rom 4:16).13

Rethinking Pistis Like all words, pistis has more than one meaning.14 In the vast majority of Pauline scholarship, pistis has been rendered ‘‘belief’’ or ‘‘faith.’’ These translations are problematic because they reflect a modern way of thinking in which ‘‘belief’’ or ‘‘faith’’ is relegated to the realm of the mind, separate from the realm of the material world, the body, or practices. This mind/body split— which supports (and makes possible) the traditional interpretation of Paul— would not have made sense in Paul’s first-century context. In antiquity, pistis could express a range of related concepts: trust, faithfulness, steadfastness, loyalty. Likewise, pisteu
o often meant ‘‘to trust,’’ ‘‘to be faithful to,’’ ‘‘to be steadfast,’’ and also ‘‘to believe.’’ Some of these meanings overlap with a modern notion of ‘‘faith’’ but there is a significant difference: in the ancient context, pistis refers less to an abstract, interior belief and more to specific character traits and resulting behavior. Thus translations such as ‘‘faithfulness’’ or ‘‘trustworthiness’’ for pistis and ‘‘to trust’’ or ‘‘to be loyal to’’ for pisteu
o connote a particular disposition of character, which in turn would be inextricably bound with a certain way of behaving in the world.15 In the context of Pauline scholarship, the debate over the phrase pistis Christou has encouraged scholars to rethink the notion of pistis in Paul. Until recently, the dominant opinion was that this phrase represents an objective genitive and should be rendered ‘‘faith in Christ.’’16 This view meshed with the widely accepted Lutheran interpretation that Paul is primarily concerned

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with the juxtaposition of justification by faith (of the believer) and justification by works. A modern understanding of faith—as an abstract, private disposition of the mind—serves this reading well. An alternative view, which makes better sense of the grammar and challenges the ‘‘faith versus works’’ interpretation of Paul, considers pistis Christou a subjective genitive and translates the phrase ‘‘faith of Christ’’ or ‘‘Christ’s faith.’’ This translation was suggested in 1891 by Johannes Haussleiter and has resurfaced periodically over the last century, often sparking debate among scholars.17 Recently, the subjective-genitive case has been most thoroughly argued by Richard Hays, who maintains that Paul views Christ not as a passive object of the believer’s faith, but as an agent of faithful and obedient action through his life, death, and resurrection.18 Translating pistis as ‘‘trustworthiness’’ or ‘‘faithfulness’’ fits well into this interpretation. One point in favor of the ‘‘faith of Christ’’ reading is grammar: when a noun is followed by the genitive, the subjective reading is by far the most common translation. George Howard has compiled examples of pistis with genitives both in Paul and in other Hellenistic Jewish literature (including the LXX) and found that the genitive construction uniformly requires a subjective translation.19 Parallels in Paul continue this pattern: t
en pistin tou Theou is ‘‘the faithfulness of God’’ (Rom 3:3) and t
es piste
os tou patros hem
on Abraam is 20 ‘‘the faithfulness of our father Abraham’’ (Rom 4:12). In each of these cases, translators agree that the subjective translation is correct. Furthermore, Romans 4:16 reads: ‘‘the one who comes out of the faithfulness of Abraham (t

~ ½k psteoB \bram).’’ T o
ek piste
os Abraam provides an exact parallel to the phrase ton ek piste
os I
esou in Romans 3:26. This evidence weighs heavily toward reading pistis Christou as ‘‘faith of Christ.’’ The implications of a subjective-genitive translation are significant. The focus shifts from the believer’s faith in Christ to Christ’s own faith or faithfulness. Furthermore, the pistis of Christ parallels the pistis of Abraham: both respond to the God of Israel with faithful obedience, and both are founders of new lineages of peoples.21 I will argue that in particular passages, pistis serves as a shorthand for Abraham’s trusting acceptance of and response to God’s promise of a son and a blessed lineage. When used with reference to Jesus, pistis refers to Jesus’ trust that the gentiles would be blessed ‘‘in him’’ and to his faithful obedience to God’s plan for his death and resurrection. We now return to the question posed at the beginning of this chapter: what does it mean when the object of the preposition ek—which usually refers to descent from a particular lineage or being born out of a mother’s womb—is not a specific ancestor but a concept, ‘‘faithfulness’’? What are we to make of a verse such as Galatians 3:7, where Paul defines kinship in terms of pistis: ‘‘Those who descend from faithfulness (o ½k psteoB) are the sons of Abraham’’? Crucial to answering this question is Genesis 15:4–6, where God promises Abraham an heir, and Abraham is described as ‘‘faithful.’’ The

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unexpected pairing of ek and pistis alludes to this passage, where God generates a blessed lineage in Abraham. Thus in this context, pistis is about ancestry: it refers to the kinship-making between God and Abraham. The article plus ek plus pistis—hoi ek piste
os—then becomes a shorthand way of referring to those who are included in the many descendants promised to Abraham. This innovation allows Paul to define descent from Abraham in a way that includes both Jews and gentiles. We can see how Paul’s construction is both ‘‘natural’’ and malleable: he appeals to the organic connection perceived between ancestors and offspring to argue that this relationship is now available to gentiles. To illustrate how this works, I will first discuss Galatians 3:7 (in the context of Galatians 3:6–9), then Romans 4:16. Finally, I will comment on the ‘‘faithfulness of Christ’’ in Romans 3:26.

Galatians 3:6–9 In Galatians 3:6–9, there is clearly an intimate connection between the concept of faithfulness and the story of Abraham: Just as Abraham ‘‘trusted in God (½psteusen t

~ ye

~ ), and it was reckoned to him as righteousness’’ [Gen 15:6; Rom 4:3] so you know that those who descend from [Abraham’s] faithfulness (o ½k psteoB), these are sons of Abraham. The scripture, having foreseen that God would justify the gentiles out of faithfulness (½k psteoB), proclaimed the good news beforehand to Abraham that ‘‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you’’ [Gen 12:3; 18:18]. For this reason, those who descend from faithfulness (o ½k psteoB) are blessed with the faithful Abraham (sø‘n t

~ pist

~ \bram). In this densely packed passage, the phrase ek piste
os appears three times: those who are ek piste
os are the sons of Abraham; the gentiles are justified ek piste
os; and those who are ek piste
os are included in the blessing. What does it mean to be ek piste
os, and how does it define the lineage of Abraham, justify the gentiles, and determine recipients of the blessing? A clue to these questions lies in Genesis 15:6, which Paul cites at the beginning of this passage (and in Romans 4:3, where he also discusses faithfulness). The context of this Genesis passage is crucial, for it deals with the same themes Paul addresses in Galatians 3:6–9: faithfulness, descent from Abraham, and the transmission of God’s promises and blessings. Abraham has just been complaining to God that he has no true heir except his ‘‘houseborn slave (okogenB)’’ (Gen 15:3). God replies that this one (the ‘‘house-born slave,’’ Eliezer of Damascus) will not be Abraham’s heir, but ‘‘the one who comes out of you will inherit (´B ½xelesetai ½k soø~ . . . klZronomsei)’’ (Gen 15:4). Then God takes Abraham out to look at the night sky and tells him

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that his descendants will be as numerous as the stars (15:5). At that moment, Abraham ‘‘trusted in God and it was counted to him as righteousness’’ (15:6). Abraham’s faithfulness and God’s promises of descendants are intertwined. So, too, are faithfulness and kinship closely tied in Galatians 3:6–9, as Paul defines descent from Abraham: ‘‘so you know that those who descend from [Abraham’s] faithfulness (o ½k psteoB), these are sons of Abraham’’ (Gal 3:7). Thus ek piste
os echoes the Genesis passage: it refers to the moment of Abraham’s faithful response to God’s promises. It was during this interaction between God and Abraham that a line of blessed descendants was guaranteed. Those descendants—whose point of origin can be traced to this moment—are called by Paul hoi ek piste
os or ‘‘those who descend from Abraham’s faithfulness.’’ Just as God defines Abraham’s heir as one who ‘‘comes out of (½xelesetai ½k)’’ him, so Paul defines descendants of Abraham as those who ‘‘come out of’’ or ‘‘descend from (½k)’’ this moment of faithfulness and promise. For Paul, this pistis encompasses not only Abraham’s response to God but also God’s gracious act, in which he founded a lineage based on Abraham’s faithfulness. By linking the gentiles to this moment in the history of Israel, Paul constructs for them a myth of origins which is intimately tied to Jewish origins. Russell McCutcheon observes: ‘‘Mythmaking is one strategy whereby social formations abstract their beginnings from history, thereby privileging one particular view of the present by linking it to a mythic originary moment.’’22 For Paul, one ‘‘mythic originary moment’’ is described in Genesis 15:3–6, where God promises the faithful Abraham that a son—and then many descendants— will issue ‘‘from him.’’ In Galatians 3:6–9, Paul refers to this moment with the phrase ek piste
os. At the same time that this pistis of Galatians 3:7 refers to Abraham, I think it also can refer to Christ. That is, Paul is also saying that ‘‘those who descend from [Christ’s] faithfulness’’ (his faithful death and resurrection) are the sons of Abraham. These two readings do not contradict one another; instead, they depend on one another. For Paul, it is only because of Christ’s faithfulness that a kin relationship can be established between the gentiles and Abraham; Christ is the necessary link. As Paul writes later in Galatians: ‘‘If you belong to Christ, then you are the seed of Abraham, heirs according to the promise’’ (Gal 3:29).23 According to Paul, this situation was forecast by scripture, which foresaw ‘‘that God would justify the gentiles out of faithfulness (½k psteoB)’’ and ‘‘proclaimed the good news beforehand to Abraham that ‘All the gentiles (ynZ) will be blessed in you’ ’’ (Gal 3:8). The personified scripture knows that in the future the gentiles would be justified ‘‘out of faithfulness’’ or ‘‘on the basis of faithfulness (½k psteoB).’’ This pistis seems to refer specifically to Christ’s faithfulness, which Paul tells us elsewhere is responsible for the justification of the gentiles (Gal 2:16; Rom 3:22, 26). Because of this future

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event, scripture knew that the gentiles would be blessed ‘‘in’’ Abraham.24 Although this has long been God’s plan, it is only now being revealed to the world. Indeed, this news—that gentiles can receive the blessings of Abraham in Christ—is Paul’s gospel. It is the core of his teaching as apostle to the gentiles. The final verse of this Galatians passage spells out the implications of Paul’s argument: ‘‘Those who descend from Abraham’s faithfulness (o ½k psteoB) are blessed with the faithful Abraham (sø‘n t

~ pist

~ \bram).’’ Again, hoi ek piste
os might be paraphrased in a more material way: ‘‘those whose line of descent springs from Abraham’s faithfulness.’’ These are the descendants of Abraham and are blessed with him. In this passage, Paul plays with kinship language by placing ‘‘faithfulness’’ as the source or place of origin. Thus he makes creative use of Genesis 15:6 so that it serves as a scriptural warrant for his own construction of descent from Abraham. This strategy serves Paul’s larger argument in Galatians because it allows him to claim that righteousness before the God of Israel depends not on practicing the Law (i.e., circumcision for males), but on the faithful actions of Abraham and Christ and God’s resulting promises of blessed descendants.

Romans 4:16 A similar understanding of ek piste
os underlies Romans 4:16: On account of this the promise comes out of faithfulness (½k psteoB), that it may be according to grace, with the result that the promise might be certain for all the descendants (pantd t

~ sprmati), not only the one who comes out of the Law (t

~ ½k toø~ nmou) but also for the one who comes out of the faithfulness of Abraham (t

~ ½k psteoB \bram), who is the father of all of us. Like Galatians 3:6–9, this passage is densely packed and full of allusive wordplay with the preposition ek. First Paul asserts that ‘‘the promise comes out of’’ or ‘‘springs from’’ faithfulness, implying that pistis is somehow the source of God’s promise. Then he distinguishes between two types of descendants or ‘‘seed’’ of Abraham: ‘‘one who comes out of the Law’’ and ‘‘one who comes out of the faithfulness of Abraham.’’ This latter phrase carries much the same meaning as the parallel phrase in Galatians 3: ‘‘one whose line of descent springs from Abraham’s faithfulness and God’s promises.’’ T
o ek tou nomou (‘‘the one who comes out of the Law’’) can then be understood as a play on this notion. To understand Romans 4:16, it is helpful to follow the larger argument of Romans 4, which Paul develops with a series of points. Since Romans 2:17, Paul has been debating with an imaginary Jewish interlocutor over how gen-

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tiles might be made righteous before the God of Israel.25 This interlocutor represents the view that gentiles can earn righteousness by doing the works of the Law. Paul disagrees, arguing that no one is made right before God this way. Faithfulness, not ‘‘works prescribed by the Law,’’ is the means through which both Jews and gentiles are justified (Rom 3:28–30). Paul develops his position in Romans 4, where, over and against this Jewish teacher, Paul affirms that (1) kinship based on lineage is the vehicle for God’s promises (not law-keeping and circumcision), and (2) Abraham’s trustworthy response to God constitutes the human action which generates this lineage. Based on the model of Genesis, Paul links faithfulness to fertility.26 I argued above that Genesis 15:3–6 is crucial for interpreting Galatians 3:6–9. The same is true for Romans 4, where Paul quotes Genesis 15:6 twice (4:3 and 4:22): ‘‘Abraham trusted in God (½psteusen db \bram t

~ ye

~) and it was reckoned to him as righteousness’’ (4:3). Later in Romans 4, Paul quotes Genesis 17:5 as well: Abraham ‘‘trusted (½psteusen) that he would become ‘the ancestor of many gentiles (½yn ~ n) [Gen 17:5]’ according to what was said, ‘So numerous will your descendants be [Gen 15:5]’ ’’ (Rom 4:18). As in Galatians 3, also in Romans 4 Paul draws upon this Genesis passage, which describes Abraham’s faithfulness and God’s promises of an heir and many descendants. In Romans 4, Paul explicitly links Abraham’s faithfulness and the promised fertility: undaunted by his old age and Sarah’s sterility (Rom 4:19), Abraham is faithful to God by fathering Isaac. Abraham was strengthened by pistis: he did not ‘‘waver with unfaithfulness (tŁ  ~ ¼pistÆ  )’’ toward God’s promise, ‘‘but was empowered by faithfulness (½nedunamyZ tŁ  ~ pstei)’’ (Rom 4:20). Thus when Paul speaks of Abraham’s faithfulness in Romans 4, he refers to his response to God and his role as the procreative ancestor of many blessed descendants. This understanding of faithfulness changes the way we read passages such as Romans 4:9–11: Is this blessedness, then, pronounced only on the circumcised, or also on the uncircumcised? We say ‘‘Faithfulness was reckoned to Abraham as righteousness.’’ How then was it reckoned to him? Was it before or after he had been circumcised? It was not after, but before he was circumcised. He received the sign of circumcision as a seal of the righteousness of faithfulness that he had while uncircumcised. (Rom 4:9–11a) Typically, scholars understand this passage as a juxtaposition of an inner belief or commitment (of which Paul approves) versus an outward ‘‘work,’’ or practice of the Law (which Paul condemns). Paul does place faithfulness above circumcision here, but faithfulness does not refer only to an inner disposition; rather, faithfulness is Paul’s shorthand for the covenant between God and Abraham, a covenant which includes God’s promises of fertility and Abraham’s faithful

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response and begetting of Isaac. Paul argues that the Law and circumcision— given afterward as a sign of this earlier covenant—is an essential but secondary principle, one that depends on the foundation of Abrahamic descent and the promises that go with it. The following verses support this reading. Paul explains: And he received a sign of circumcision as a seal of the righteousness of faithfulness when he was uncircumcised, so that he might be the ancestor of all who are faithful while uncircumcised (pnton t ~ n pisteunton dØ\ ¼krobustaB), so that righteousness might also be reckoned to them, and so he might be the father of the circumcised (patra peritomŁ~B) to those who not only descend from the circumcised (to~iB o k ½k peritomŁ~B mnon), but to those who are also walking (to~iB stoiwosin) in line with the steps of the faithfulness of our father, Abraham, while he was not circumcised. (Rom 4:11–12)27 The story of Abraham occurred as it did (faithfulness and lineages first, then circumcision as a seal of this) so that Abraham could be the founder of two lineages: the uncircumcised (or ‘‘foreskins’’) and the circumcised.28 Although he does not view Jews and gentiles as equal in status (see chaps 2 and 8), Paul locates the origins of both of these peoples in God’s promises to the faithful Abraham. Furthermore, in keeping with the logic of patrilineal descent, both peoples manifest the characteristic of their ancestor: faithfulness. Thus Abraham is the progenitor of two distinct peoples, one circumcised and faithful, and the other uncircumcised and faithful. Notice that Paul uses ek language for Ioudaioi in this passage: ‘‘those who descend from the circumcised (to~iB ½k peritomŁ~B).’’ Having established Abraham’s status as ancestor of Jews and gentiles, Paul reiterates his central argument against the Jewish interlocutor: faithfulness, not the Law, secures and transmits God’s promise. Paul writes: ‘‘For the promise that he would be the heir of the world (to` klZronmon a to`n eoØnai ksmou) did not come to Abraham or to his descendants (t

~ sprmati a toø~) through the Law, but through the righteousness of faithfulness’’ (Rom 4:13). Like several similar passages in Genesis, the promise is made to Abraham and his seed or descendants.29 This makes perfect sense in the ideology of patrilineal descent where offspring are understood to be present in their ancestors’ seed (chap. 1). Unlike these Genesis passages, where the gift is land, Paul’s version of the promise is that Abraham and his progeny will inherit the world. As I discussed earlier, scholars have suggested that Paul, in line with a particular Jewish eschatological tradition, conflates several of God’s promises (multiple descendants, land of Canaan, blessing of ethn
e in Abraham’s seed) into one aggrandized promise that the peoples of the God of Israel would inherit the earth.30

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For Paul’s purposes, it is crucial that this version of the promise include gentiles as heirs. Paul refers to the promise in Romans 4:18: ‘‘Hoping against hope, he trusted (½psteusen) that he would become ‘the ancestor of many gentiles (½yn ~ n) [Gen 17:5]’ according to what was said, ‘So numerous will your descendants be [Gen 15:5].’ ’’31 Genesis provides scriptural warrant that God has done so: gentiles were included as Abraham’s seed and progeny. With the various pieces of the argument in place, we return to Romans 4:16: On account of this the promise comes out of faithfulness (½k psteoB), that it may be according to grace, with the result that the promise might be certain for all the descendants (pantd t

~ sprmati), not only the one who comes out of the Law (t

~ ½k toø~ nmou) but also for the one who comes out of the faithfulness of Abraham (t

~ ½k psteoB \bram), who is the father of all of us. The promise ‘‘comes from’’ or ‘‘originates in’’ Abraham’s faithful begetting of Isaac and the lineage that follows (described in Gen 15:3–6 and Rom 4:18–22). The practice of the Law does not determine the recipients of the promise; the promise depends on God’s grace and not on human achievement. Therefore, God’s promise applies to all of Abraham’s progeny. Paul specifies two types of descendants: ‘‘one who is born out of the Law’’ and ‘‘the one who descends from the faithfulness of Abraham.’’ This latter phrase fits well in the context of Paul’s arguments: it makes sense to talk of progeny descending from the ancestor’s trust and faithful actions in light of a promise by God that that ancestor would produce an heir and then many heirs. Jews and gentiles spring from Abraham’s faithfulness. Paul’s other phrase—‘‘one who is born out of the Law’’—also plays with ek language, yet in an ironic way. As a parallel construction to ek piste
os, ek nomou implies that the Law can generate and transmit the promise, like Abraham’s faithfulness. Yet we know what Paul thinks of this notion from Romans 4:14: ‘‘If those who descend from the Law (o ½k nmou) are heirs, then faithfulness has become void and the promise rendered useless.’’ The Law does not bear or guarantee the promise; a faithful God and faithful ancestors do. The phrase ek nomou, when juxtaposed with the parallel expression ek piste
os, is intentionally absurd; no one is born out of the Law. This contrast makes light of the absurdity of making law-keeping a basis for passing down blessings and promises to whole peoples; it is a dig at the interlocutor’s position.32 The faithfulness of Abraham is not a general attitude, but a disposition and behavior related to his role as the founder of peoples. Paul uses ek language to evoke that role. The phrase ek piste
os reminds his interlocutor, and his audience, that status before the God of Israel is determined not by the actions of the believer (like law-keeping) but by God himself, who founds lineages of his people through faithful ancestors.

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The Faithfulness of Christ This reading of ek piste
os Abraam can serve as a guide for our interpretation of ek piste
os Christou. Both Abraham and Christ respond faithfully to God’s call, and both found lineages. In his defense of the subjective-genitive reading of pistis Christou, Richard Hays argues that Abraham serves as a model by which readers might understand Christ: ‘‘Abraham is understood by Paul not as an exemplar of faith in Christ but as a typological foreshadowing of Christ himself, a representative figure whose faithfulness secures blessing and salvation vicariously for others.’’33 It is not that Abraham’s faithfulness is not exemplary for Christ-followers; certainly it is. The more subtle and more important point, however, is the way Abraham serves as a model for Christ.34 Paul understands Christ’s faithfulness as his willingness and ability to carry out God’s plan for his death and resurrection.35 In this view, it is not the believer’s faith that makes gentiles right with the God of Israel, but Christ’s faithful obedience to God’s plan. Christ’s death and resurrection bring about God’s righteousness.36 Key to this interpretation is Habakkuk 2:4, which Paul cites in Romans 1:17 and Galatians 3:11: ‘‘The righteous one will live out of faithfulness (½k psteoB).’’ Whereas traditional scholars interpret ‘‘the righteous one’’ as the generic believer, others argue that Paul would have understood this verse messianically: ‘‘the righteous one’’ is Christ.37 By citing this Habakkuk passage, Paul refers to an expectation of a coming messianic figure, one who will ‘‘live on the basis of faithfulness.’’ According to Paul, this describes Christ, who lived again after his faithful submission to his own death. Instead of being a passive object of the believers’ faith, Christ is an agent of faithfulness himself. That Paul understands Christ to be closely tied to the concept of faithfulness is clear in Galatians 3:23–25, where he interchanges ‘‘pistis’’ and ‘‘Christ’’ as though the two are synonyms: ‘‘Now before faithfulness came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the Law until faithfulness would be revealed. Therefore, the Law was our custodian until Christ came, so that we might be made right out of faithfulness (½k psteoB). But now that faithfulness has come we are no longer under a custodian.’’ Paul explains that when pistis/Christ arrived, the gentiles were freed from the custodian of the Law and made right with God. In the following verse, Paul explicitly states that it is through this faithfulness that gentiles are made kin: ‘‘For in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God through that faithfulness (dia tŁ~B psteoB)’’ (Gal 3:26).38 ‘‘That faithfulness’’ to which Paul refers is Christ’s obedient death and resurrection, which have offered to gentiles an opportunity to be made right with the God of Israel. Paul understands this new relationship in terms of kinship: Christ’s faithfulness makes the gentiles ‘‘sons of God.’’

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In Romans 3:26, we find the familiar formulation—the article plus ek piste
os—with reference to Christ: ‘‘[God] justifies the one who comes out of the faithfulness of Jesus (to`n ½k psteoB \IZsoø~).’’ Like the similar constructions with Abraham, ton ek piste
os Christou might be paraphrased, ‘‘the one whose descent springs from Christ’s faithful death and resurrection.’’ This phrase describes gentiles-in-Christ, those who have received his spirit and been adopted as sons by the God of Israel. Christ is their link to a new ancestry; in him they are made descendants of Abraham (Gal 3:29). These gentiles who are ek piste
os Christou will be justified by God.39

Conclusion Paul’s use of the term pistis in Galatians 3:6–9 and Romans 4:16 lends further support to the subjective-genitive reading of pistis Christou. Paul employs the story of Abraham as a model to illustrate how the God of Israel works in the world, a model which operates within the logic of patrilineal descent: he chooses a faithful person to receive his blessings and pass them on to future generations. Both Abraham and Christ were faithful to a God ‘‘who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist’’ (Rom 4:17b). For Abraham, this meant that life would come to his seed and to the womb of Sarah, despite their old age. For Christ, this meant that peoples who had previously been alien to the God of Israel would become adopted sons. Abraham’s faithfulness resulted in the guarantee that God’s promise would come to all his descendants, both Jews and gentiles. Christ’s faithfulness implements this promise for the gentiles. Out of the faithful actions of these ancestors, a new lineage is formed. Paul’s phrase for these new descendants, hoi ek piste
os, alludes to both these faithful actions and to the kinship ties that resulted. Like other ancient authors, Paul creatively defines descent for his gentile Christ-followers: they are hoi ek piste
os, or ‘‘those whose line of descent springs from faithfulness and promise.’’

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5 ‘‘All the Gentiles Will Be Blessed in You’’

The phrase ‘‘in-Christ’’ has been notoriously difficult for scholars to interpret. Various explanations have been offered—many of them abstract and mystical—as scholars have puzzled over what being ‘‘in’’ Christ might mean. Gustav Adolf Deissmann explains that being inChrist refers to a sort of atmosphere: ‘‘we’’ are in-Christ just as we are in the air we breathe.1 F. C. Porter argues that this phrase is analogous to the relationship between two intimate friends who might be described as being ‘‘in’’ each other.2 James D. G. Dunn concludes that there is an ‘‘experiential note’’ in many of the ‘‘in-Christ’’ phrases which ‘‘implies at least a shared consciousness of Christ as a personal accepting presence which formed a primary bond for the first Christians.’’3 Sam K. Williams writes, ‘‘To be ‘in Christ’ is to be ‘of Christ,’ to commit oneself and submit to Christ as his devoted servant-associate.’’4 It is not clear how an ancient audience would have related to any of these interpretations of ‘‘in-Christ.’’ Each one seems to be based more on modernist theological reflection than on Paul’s arguments. They might make sense to Christians now, but would they have been meaningful to Paul’s addressees? In this section, I will propose a context for interpreting this phrase that would have resonated with Paul’s audience: the ideology of patrilineal descent. The same logic which underlies the notion of ‘‘coming out of’’ (ek) your ancestors also shapes the concept of being ‘‘in’’ your ancestors. Indeed, these are two ways of expressing the same relationship: ancestors contain descendants. As discussed in chapter 1, a central theme of the ideology of patrilineal descent is that descendants are manifestations of their ancestors and that members of kinship

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groups share the same ‘‘stuff.’’ Often included in this thinking is the understanding that descendants are contained ‘‘in’’ their ancestors, whether in their seed or womb or in some other way. I will develop the argument that Paul is, at least in part, drawing upon this containment theory of descent with the phrase ‘‘in-Christ.’’5 To understand how ‘‘in-Christ’’ fits in with this descent logic, it is instructive to consider the other contexts in which Paul applies a similar concept of being ‘‘in’’ someone: the gentiles are blessed ‘‘in’’ Abraham (Gal 3:8), and true descendants of Abraham are said to be ‘‘in’’ Isaac (Rom 9:7).6 Each of these verses cites a passage from Genesis where this ‘‘in’’ language is used. As I will argue below, Paul adapts this notion of descendants being ‘‘in’’ the patriarchs to create a way for gentiles to join Abraham’s lineage by being ‘‘in’’ Christ. Although this language can refer to female ancestors, Paul’s version of gentile kinship is patrilineal; they are ‘‘in’’ Abraham, Isaac, and Christ. Before I turn to Genesis and Paul, I will discuss several Greek, Roman, and Jewish texts in which we find similar ‘‘in’’ language. These examples, which come from medical texts, philosophical discussions, and political tracts, reinforce my interpretation of Paul. Hailing from different cultures and contexts, these texts draw upon a broad understanding of patrilineal relationships between ancestors and descendants in which descendants are ‘‘in’’ their ancestors, come ‘‘out of’’ their ancestors, and are elaborations of their ancestors. Then I will discuss the Septuagint, Paul’s source for this ‘‘in’’ language, and Paul together. I will show how Paul turns this phrase into his own discourse of kinship for gentiles.

Contained in the Seeds of Ancestors The language of being ‘‘in’’ ancestors is found in medical and scientific texts which talk about conception, reproduction, and embryology. Aristotle, for example, conceives of offspring being ‘‘in’’ both parents, although in different ways. In the Generation of Animals, Aristotle takes great pains to argue that, even though a child might resemble both parents, no substance or material passes from the male parent to the offspring.7 He argues instead that the principles of movement (knZsiB) and generation (gnesiB), which are contained in the male seminal fluid (729b6), act upon the fetus, much like a carpenter with his materials (730b10ff). These principles shape or ‘‘set’’ (sunstZmi) the matter in the womb of the mother, passing along the form and character of the father (767b15). For Aristotle, then, the parts of the body— things which come from matter—are contained in the female parent (737a23). Thus the mother is ‘‘that out of which the generated offspring . . . comes into being (kad ½x o øu gnetai . . . to` gennæmenon)’’ (716a22–23). The forces which shape them and cause them to grow into a child are found in the male parent.

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In this specific way the offspring (to` gennæmenon) are present ‘‘in’’ the father, whom Aristotle calls the generator (½nuprwon ½n t

~ genn ~ nti) (716a22–23). Thus for Aristotle, the offspring are both ‘‘in’’ and ‘‘come out of’’ the parents, although in different ways for the mother and father. Likewise, each parent passes on different things to the children; the mother contributes the substance or matter, and the father the shape and character. Such conceptions turn up in non-medical discussions as well. In the Embassy to Gaius, Philo describes how Gaius turns against his mentor, Macro. Gaius claims that he does not need to be taught by a ‘‘common citizen’’ (56). He explains: From the cradle I have had a host of teachers: fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, grandparents, ancestors, right up to the founders of the family (t ~ n ¼rwZget ~ n), all my kinsmen by blood (o ¼f\ a·matoB) on both the maternal and paternal sides, who attained to offices of independent authority, apart from the fact that in the first begetting of their seeds (ta~iB prætaiB t ~ n spermton katabola~iB) kinglike potentialities for government were contained. (54)8 Gaius (and Philo through him) is arguing that he does not need Macro because the more qualified teachers are his own kin, who have achieved positions of power themselves. His argument is clever. On the one hand, he asserts that his own kin are good teachers because of their achievements and not necessarily because of their physical makeup. Yet this downplaying of physical attributes only serves to remind the audience that ‘‘kinglike potentialities’’ are inscribed in the genetic makeup of this family and have indeed been passed down to Gaius through his illustrious ancestors.9 These comments reflect an understanding that characteristics such as the ability to rule are lodged in the seed itself and are transmitted through conception.10 Gaius continues: For just as similarities of the body and soul . . . are preserved in seminal principles (½n to~iB spermatiko~iB . . . lgoiB), so it is likely that in these [seminal principles] there is also a likeness with respect to the governing faculty ( gemonan), traced as an outline. (55)11 Thus bodily traits, similarity of soul, and the ruling principle are preserved ‘‘in’’ the seed. Essentially the whole person to come is in this seed, which all ancestors share. This passage demonstrates how the ‘‘containment’’ theory of descent shapes understandings about descendants and ancestors: the characteristics, status, and capabilities of the descendants can be traced back to the seeds of ancestors. The same ‘‘seminal principles’’ which shape the ancestors also shape the descendants, so that new family members are born with the same traits. Gaius uses this theory of descent to defend the imperial rule of the Augustan family from generation to generation.

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Similar notions crop up in Latin texts as well. In Natural Questions, Seneca discusses various natural disasters which might befall the earth. He applies the Stoic theory of conflagration (that the world will eventually be destroyed and then renewed) to his discussion of floods and earthquakes, explaining that ‘‘there is incorporated in (inclusum est) [the world] from its beginning to its end everything it must do or undergo’’ (3.29.2).12 Seneca then draws upon the example of human reproduction to illustrate this principle: In the seed (in semine) there is contained the entire record of the man to be, and the not-yet-born infant has the laws governing a beard and grey hair. The features of the entire body and its successive phases are there, in a tiny and hidden form (totius enim corporis et sequentis actus in parvo occultoque liniamenta sunt). In the same way, the origin of the universe included the sun and the moon and the revolutions of the heavenly bodies. (3.29.2–3)13 Seneca imagines that the whole person—in each stage of life—is present in the seed of the progenitors, a sort of early theory of genetics. The seed is thus a microcosm of the future descendant’s entire life, from infancy to old age. The physical characteristics of the various phases of the fetus’s life have already been mapped out ‘‘in the seed.’’ That Seneca uses this example to support an otherwise unrelated argument implies that the notion of being contained ‘‘in’’ the seed of one’s parents was known and probably accepted by many (at least by those of his intended audience). Although the various texts discussed above come from different contexts, each conveys a common understanding implicit in the ideology of patrilineal descent and the ideology of descent more generally: descendants are understood to be somehow contained ‘‘in’’ their ancestors. This relationship explains the transmission of certain characteristics and the connections between multiple generations.

Covenants with Ancestors in Genesis and Paul In Genesis 25:23, the God of Israel speaks to Rebecca about the twins she carries: ‘‘There are two nations in your womb (do ynZ ½n gastr sou ½isd), and two peoples shall be separated out from your stomach (kad do laod ½k tŁ~B koilaB sou diastalsontai), and the one people (lao`B) shall serve the other and the elder shall serve the younger.’’ This verse reflects similar understandings of descent as those discussed above of descendants being ‘‘in’’ their ancestors, in this case in the womb of their ancestress, Rebecca. Likewise, there is the complementary notion of progeny coming ‘‘out of’’ their progenitor. This Genesis passage assumes a corporate identity for the descendants; each twin is not only an individual but also a whole people (ethnos or laos).

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Thus many descendants are contained in Rebecca’s womb: Jacob and Esau plus all their descendants (who would be considered ‘‘in’’ their respective ancestors). Sam K. Williams describes this phenomenon as ‘‘the Hebraic concept of the inclusion of descendants in the progenitor.’’14 Williams continues: ‘‘In a sense foreign to us, a people’s ancestor and the ancestor’s offspring are identical. The offspring are incorporated in the ancestor, and the ancestor is later present as his offspring.’’15 Williams does not identify this as patrilineal descent, nor does he connect these observations to the ‘‘in’’ language of Genesis or Paul, but he nevertheless provides a succinct description of patrilineal relationships between ancestors and descendants, especially as it is expressed in Genesis.16 Though patrilineal ideology typically privileges the male role in maintaining lineages, we see here the use of a female character to articulate a patrilineal explanation: although two male lineages originate from the same womb, the two will remain distinct as one will rule the other. This passage illustrates a principle we see throughout the stories of the patriarchs: where there are multiple possible heirs, one lineage wins over the other. Throughout Genesis, ‘‘in’’ language is used specifically for moments of covenant-making through a faithful ancestor, when blessings are passed from one generation to the next. It identifies the chosen heir and carrier of the blessings in each new generation, even when, as in Genesis 23:25, the inheritance is challenged by the presence of more than one son. These covenant scenes typically assume what we might call an ‘‘ideology of the seed’’: a patrilineal (and patriarchal) model of procreation in which the father’s seed bestows life and shapes the essential identity of the child, while the mother provides the material substance and nurturing vessel.17 These various themes—presence ‘‘in’’ the ancestor, corporate identity, inheritance by one son—are instrumental to Paul’s kinship construction for gentiles ‘‘in Christ.’’ Paul uses these Genesis texts to rework definitions of kinship, so that gentiles, too, might be found ‘‘in’’ Abraham, Isaac, and now Christ.

‘‘In’’ Abraham In Galatians 3:6–9, Paul makes a series of statements about the relationship between the gentiles and Abraham: Just as Abraham ‘‘trusted in God (½psteusen t

~ ye

~ ), and it was reckoned to him as righteousness’’ [Gen 15:6; see also Rom 4:3] so you know that those who descend from [Abraham’s] faithfulness (o ½k psteoB), these are sons of Abraham. The scripture, having foreseen that God would justify the gentiles out of faithfulness (½k psteoB), proclaimed the good news beforehand to Abraham that ‘‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you.’’ For this reason, those who

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if sons, then heirs descend from faithfulness (o ½k psteoB) are blessed with the faithful Abraham (sø‘n t

~ pist

~ \bram).

I argued in the previous chapter that the phrase hoi ek pisteo¯s refers back to Genesis 15:3–6, where God promises the faithful Abraham a son and many descendants. Hoi ek pisteo¯s describes those who can trace their own ancestry back to this lineage; for Paul this includes gentile followers of Christ. Verse 9 makes it clear that ‘‘those who descend from [Abraham’s] faithfulness’’ receive the blessing of Abraham. Sandwiched between these two is verse 8, in which a personified scripture serves as a harbinger of the gospel, announcing to Abraham long ago: ‘‘‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you’’’ (½neulogZysontai ½n sod pnta ta ynZ). According to Paul, this is the good news, foretold already in Genesis: the gentiles would be justified by God and blessed ‘‘in Abraham.’’ The ‘‘in’’ language of particular Genesis passages shapes and reinforces Paul’s own patrilineal kinship construction. Commentaries agree that Paul’s citation of Genesis (‘‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you’’) is most likely a conflation of Genesis 12:3 and 18:18. Genesis 12:3 recounts a pivotal moment in the history of Israel, when the God of Israel first calls Abraham: And the Lord said to Abraham: ‘‘Go forth out of your land and out of your kindred, and out of the house of your father, and come into the land I will show you. And I will make you a great people (poiso se eB ynoB mga) and I will bless you and magnify your name and you shall be blessed. And I will bless those who bless you and curse those that curse you and in you all the tribes of the earth shall be blessed (½neulogZysontai ½n sod pÆ ~ sai a fulad tŁ~B gŁ~B).’’ (12:1–3) God instructs Abraham to leave his original kinship group so that he can found a new one, promising to make Abraham into ‘‘a great people (ynoB mga)’’ The singular form, ethnos, is a common term used by Greek-speaking Jewish writers for the people of Israel as a whole; it is a collective term which includes descendants and ancestors.18 The concept of Abraham becoming an ethnos, a whole people, illustrates the normative assumptions of patrilineal descent in which descendants are considered a united, corporate group and also understand themselves as elaborations of their ancestors. In this logic, there is a reciprocal relationship in which the ancestor represents all his descendants and the descendants collectively represent the ancestor. In the final verse of this passage, the scope broadens from the greatness of Abraham and the ethnos of Israel to a global claim: ‘‘all the tribes of the earth’’ are blessed ‘‘in’’ Abraham.19 A similar relationship is expressed in Genesis 18:18, where the Lord speaks about Abraham, saying: ‘‘But Abraham shall become a great and populous nation (ginmenoB stai eB ynoB mga kad polø‘) and all the ethn
e of the earth will be blessed in him (½neulogZysontai ½n a t

~ pnta ta ynZ

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tŁ~B gŁ~B).’’ Again, we encounter the pairing of the notions of Abraham becoming a whole ethnos and of many peoples being blessed ‘‘in’’ him. Instead of ‘‘tribes of the earth’’ being blessed, this passage uses ‘‘ethn
e of the earth.’’ The plural form of ethnos, ethn
e, can be translated in different ways in the Septuagint depending on the context. It can refer to all peoples, including the ethnos of the Jews (often translated ‘‘nations’’), or it can refer specifically to all the nonJewish peoples, lumped together as the ethn
e (often translated ‘‘gentiles’’).20 In Galatians 3:8, Paul combines the elements of each of these verses to craft his own version. As in Genesis 12:3, the blessing in Galatians 3:8 is addressed to Abraham directly (‘‘in you’’ instead of ‘‘in him’’). As in 18:18, however, Paul uses ethn
e instead of phulai (tribes). This word choice is significant because in Paul, ethn
e means ‘‘non-Jews’’ or ‘‘gentiles.’’ Indeed, his concern is not whether Israel will receive God’s promises and blessings; they already have these (Rom 9:4). Instead, his concern lies with gentiles and his task is to explain to them how they are included in these blessings as well. These Genesis passages serve Paul’s argument in two ways. First, they provide a scriptural warrant for the globalizing of God’s blessings. Each one envisions the blessing of more peoples than just Israel; God’s blessings go to non-Jews as well. As we know from Galatians 3:8, Paul considers this to be the gospel: through Christ, gentiles can receive God’s blessings. Second, these passages explain how these peoples are included: they are ‘‘in’’ Abraham the way that descendants are in the seed of their ancestors. Galatians 3:7 explicitly defines the ‘‘sons of Abraham.’’ Furthermore, the larger argument of Galatians 3 (and through 4:7) is that when gentiles are baptized into Christ they become adopted sons of God (4:5) and descendants of Abraham (3:29). Paul envisions the ethn
e ‘‘in Christ’’ as descendants of a common ancestor, Abraham. The scriptural citation of Galatians 3:8—‘‘‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you’’’— serves as the foundation for this argument: the gentiles are ‘‘in’’ Abraham the same way that descendants are ‘‘in’’ their ancestors. The ‘‘in’’ language of Genesis 12:3 and 18:18 supports this patrilineal argument beautifully. The promises to Abraham recounted in 12:3 and 18:18 are repeated elsewhere in Genesis, replicating the same pattern. In Genesis 22:17, the God of Israel lists his promises to Abraham of multiple and prosperous offspring and then proclaims in verse 18: ‘‘And in your seed shall all the ethn
e of the earth be blessed (½neulogZysontai ½n t

~ sprmat sou pnta ta ynZ tŁ~B gŁ~B).’’ This last example is more explicit about what it means to be ‘‘in’’ Abraham: the ethn
e are blessed in Abraham’s seed (sprma). Like the Aristotle, Philo, and Seneca passages above, these Septuagint Genesis passages assume that future descendants reside ‘‘in the seed’’ of the ancestor. These same promises, and the same language of descendants being ‘‘in’’ the ancestor, is repeated for Isaac and Jacob in Genesis. After promising him land and descendants, the Lord says to Isaac, Abraham’s son and heir: ‘‘All the peoples of the earth shall be blessed in your seed (½neulogZysontai ½n t

~

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sprmat sou pnta td ynZ tŁ~B gŁ~B)’’ (LXX Gen 26:4). Likewise, the Lord speaks to Jacob in a dream, promising him land (28:13) and saying: ‘‘In you (½n sod) and in your seed (½n t

~ sprmat sou) shall all the tribes (a fulad) of the earth be blessed’’ (28:14).21 Thus the chosen heir in each new generation— first Abraham, then Isaac, and then Jacob—receives these promises which include blessings on future descendants who are ‘‘in’’ each ancestor’s seed.22 Paul’s own language of being ‘‘in’’ Abraham (and ‘‘in’’ Isaac and ‘‘in’’ Christ as discussed below) recalls these moments of patrilineal succession of the lineage of Abraham. Paul’s argument relies upon a theory of patrilineal genetics common to all the authors discussed above: descendants are contained in the seed of their ancestors. To prove his contention that the gentiles have now been added to the lineage of Abraham, Paul calls upon passages from Genesis in which all the ethn
e are blessed ‘‘in’’ the patriarchs. According to Paul’s interpretation, these ethn
e are his gentiles, and now through Christ they have received a new ancestry based on an ancient promise. These moments of covenant-making and promises in Genesis lend scriptural support to Paul’s claim that God had always planned to adopt the gentiles. Because the gentiles were ‘‘in’’ Abraham’s seed when he was blessed by God, they, too, stand to inherit those blessings.

‘‘In’’ Isaac In Romans 9, Paul relies on this same patrilineal logic, but he focuses on a particular characteristic of patrilineal ideology: only one son inherits.23 In Romans 9:7, Paul uses ‘‘in’’ language (citing Genesis again) to identify Isaac as the chosen son. This verse is an integral part of a larger passage which defines true descendants of Abraham: For not all those born of the lineage of Israel are truly Israel (o gar pnteB o ½x \Isracl o øu toi \Isracl). Because not all of Abraham’s children (tkna) are his descendants (sprma \braam), but ‘‘your seed will be said to be in Isaac’’ (½n \Isaak klZyseta soi sprma) [Gen 21:12]. That is, children of the flesh (ta tkna tŁ~B sarko`B) are not these children of God but children of the promise (ta tkna tŁ~B ½paggelaB) are counted as descendants. For the word of the promise is this: ‘‘At this time I will come and Sarah will have a son’’ [Gen 18:10, 14]. Not only that but Rebecca conceived from one man (½x no`B), Isaac, our father. Before they were born or had done anything good or bad (in order that the select plan of God might remain, not out of works but out of the call), it was said to her: ‘‘The greater one will serve the lesser’’ [Gen 25:23], even as it is written: ‘‘I loved Jacob; I hated Esau.’’ (Rom 9:6–13)

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Paul cites two stories of patriarchal succession to illustrate how God chooses one lineage over others. In Genesis 21:12 (cited in Rom 9:7), Sarah has asked Abraham to banish Hagar and her son for fear that Ishmael (Abraham’s son by Hagar) will challenge Isaac’s right to succeed Abraham. When Abraham hesitates, God instructs him to listen to Sarah, for the lineage will continue ‘‘in Isaac’’: ‘‘But God said to Abraham, ‘Let it not be hard for you concerning the child, and concerning the bondwoman; in all things whatsoever Sarah shall say to you, hear her voice, for your seed will be said to be in Isaac (½n \Isaak klZysetai so sprma)’’’ (Gen 21:12). The inheritance is contested because both are sons of Abraham by blood, but only Isaac is chosen by God to pass on blessings to his descendants: Isaac’s seed carries the future members of this chosen lineage.24 As in the patrilineal succession passages discussed earlier (Gen 12:3; 18:18; 26:4; 28:14), ‘‘in’’ language marks the heir. As further proof, Paul presents the story of Jacob and Esau, perhaps an even better example because the two sons are twins, born of the same father and mother.25 Even before the sons were born, Paul explains, God told Rebecca that the younger son would be chosen over the older. Paul stresses that this preference is in no way related to the particular merits or faults of either child; it was simply God’s choice. As Paul remarks: ‘‘So it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God who shows mercy’’ (Rom 9:16). These stories of the succession of the patriarchs support Paul’s main argument of the passage: ‘‘Children of the flesh are not these children of God but children of the promise are counted as descendants’’ (Rom 9:8). Paul deploys a familiar argument: claims of blood relationship alone are not enough to determine membership in particular, privileged lineages. There are often additional, socially accepted mechanisms for controlling and shaping descent (as discussed in chapter 1). For Paul, God’s promise to Abraham serves this function. The promise, Paul argues, determines the true descendants of Abraham and is transmitted through specific ancestors chosen by God.26 Although the Greek says ‘‘children of the flesh’’ (Rom 9:8), Paul certainly means something like ‘‘children of the flesh alone’’ or ‘‘children of the flesh only.’’ It is clear that some ‘‘children of the flesh’’—descendants of Isaac, for example—are indeed children of God. Therefore, Paul distinguishes between ‘‘children of the flesh alone’’ and ‘‘children of the promise.’’ The former category may refer to those who descend from Abraham, but not through Isaac and Jacob. Many peoples, after all, were thought to be descended from the patriarchs; these were considered gentiles if their ancestors did not include the chosen line of succession.27 The latter category includes those who descend from Abraham through the chosen sons: these are both ‘‘children of the flesh’’ and ‘‘children of the promise.’’ For Paul, it also includes Christ-following gentiles, who are not ‘‘children of the flesh’’ but who are included in the promise and who have been made adopted sons of God. These gentiles do not share a blood relationship with Abraham, but they are, according to Paul, ‘‘children

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of the promise’’ (Gal 4:28). This understanding of kinship launches Paul’s discussion of how some gentiles have attained righteousness, whereas some Ioudaioi have stumbled in this endeavor (Rom 9:30–32). A traditional interpretation of this passage assumes that Paul envisions two Israels, one the ethnic Israel and one the ‘‘true’’ Israel. For example, John Murray explains in his commentary on Romans: ‘‘The Israel distinguished from the Israel of natural descent is the true Israel’’ (emphasis his).28 According to Murray, this is important to Paul because it means that the ‘‘unbelief and rejection of ethnic Israel as a whole in no way interfered with the fulfillment of God’s covenant purpose.’’29 In a more recent commentary, Joseph Fitzmyer writes regarding this passage, ‘‘The OT promises were not made to the ethnic or historical-empirical Israel, those of physical descent or of flesh and blood, but to the Israel of faith.’’30 These two examples, which are representative of a wider trend, place the historical, ethnic Israel in opposition to a ‘‘true’’ Israel, which is often spiritualized and stripped of all ethnic affiliation.31 In my view, this ethnic/universal dichotomy—which is a remnant of the supersessionist view that a non-ethnic, universal Christian religion became the ‘‘true Israel,’’ replacing the ethnic and particularistic Jewish religion—is not supported by the text itself. These interpreters are correct to observe that Paul is making distinctions and expressing preferences among peoples who are loyal to the God of Israel. But ethnicity and kinship are never removed from his categories. Rather than distinguishing between a spiritual or universal group versus ethnic Israel, Paul is distinguishing one particular lineage among all of those that belong to Israel. His point is that God has selected one line to perpetuate the blessings. That is how God operates. These stories about Isaac, Jacob, and Esau remind readers that God controls the lineages of Israel: one is chosen, and others are not. Paul is not distinguishing between an ethnic group and a non-ethnic group, but a privileged lineage within a larger ethnic group. It is this privileged lineage that gentiles-in-Christ join (not replace) when they are baptized. Paul does place ‘‘flesh’’ and ‘‘promise’’ in opposition: ‘‘Children of the flesh are not these children of God but children of the promise are counted as descendants’’ (Rom 9:8). But this does not mean Paul rejects ‘‘ethnic Israel.’’ After all, what is the promise? That Sarah will have a son (Rom 9:9). It is not something abstract or universal; instead it is the assurance of fertility and the continuation of the chosen lineage. The promise is about physical kinship, about flesh. But Paul is arguing that blood is not enough: the selection of certain lines by God is also required to maintain the chosen lineage. Paul privileges one sort of kinship (kinship with Abraham through the promise) over another (kinship with Abraham by flesh only). Thus it makes no sense to pit two Israels against each other, one spiritual and one ethnic. Instead, Paul is making the point that among the lineages of Israel, God has selected one to carry on his promises: ‘‘your seed will be said to be in Isaac.’’

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As we saw in chapter 1, in lineage-based societies, kinship is managed and rearranged by human actors. In patrilineally organized groups in particular, the ideology of inheritance through one son is upheld, reinterpreted, or even rejected through various kinship management practices. In Paul’s understanding, the God of Israel manages the lineages of his peoples, choosing certain ancestors to pass his blessings on to the next generation (see chap 8 for more on this theme). This logic helps Paul explain two things: (1) why alien peoples, the gentiles, are now adopted as sons of the God of Israel, and (2) why some Ioudaioi do not accept his gospel and do not understand Christ’s role for the gentiles. Paul will go on to explain how these two are related: the failure of some Ioudaioi to understand is actually a part of God’s larger plan to save both the gentiles and ‘‘all Israel’’ (Rom 11:11, 26). Thus he can assert in Romans 9:6: ‘‘It is not as though the word of God has failed.’’ Rather, this is simply how God operates. He selects certain faithful ancestors ‘‘so that God’s purpose might continue according to election, not out of works but out of the one who calls’’ (9:11–12).

‘‘In’’ Christ I have argued that the patrilineal notion of descendants being contained in their ancestors is an appropriate context in which to understand Galatians 3:8 and Romans 9:7. We should understand Paul’s ‘‘in Christ’’ language in this same vein. Paul creatively adapts this concept for Christ and the gentiles, constructing a new kinship between them. When Paul speaks of being baptized ‘‘into’’ Christ or simply being ‘‘in’’ Christ, he evokes this biblical motif of Israelite descendants being collectively located ‘‘in’’ their ancestors. Unlike Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, however, Christ does not become an ancestor of the gentiles but a brother, a co-heir. In this way, Christ departs from the Abrahamic paradigm: he is an elder sibling, not an ancestor. With this ‘‘in’’ language, Paul invokes familiar and authoritative patterns of descent and inheritance to authorize and reinforce a new kinship for gentiles. Although the phrase ‘‘in Christ’’ appears throughout the Pauline letters, the focus of my argument is Galatians 3, where Paul explicitly locates the ‘‘in Christ’’ language in a kinship context.32 Having already claimed that gentiles are ‘‘in’’ Abraham, Paul goes on to explain how this is possible. Christ, as a genuine descendant of Abraham, serves as the crucial link between the gentiles and Abraham. Being ‘‘in’’ Christ enables them to be ‘‘in’’ Abraham. In Galatians 3:14, Paul explains the reason for Christ’s death (referred to in the previous verse): ‘‘So that in Christ Jesus (½n rist

~ \IZsoø~) the blessing of Abraham might come to the gentiles (eB ta ynZ), so that we might receive the promise of the spirit through faithfulness.’’ Paul applies the same patrilineal logic found in the Septuagint to Christ: the ‘‘in’’ language signals the person through whom blessings and promises are transmitted. Christ has fulfilled

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what the scriptures had always promised: that the gentiles would be blessed. Just as God chose Abraham to found the lineage and Isaac to perpetuate it, so God has also chosen Christ to bring the blessings to the gentiles. Nils Dahl also draws a connection between Galatians 3:14 and the patrilineal succession passages. He argues that this Galatians verse is a paraphrase of Genesis 22:18, where God says to Abraham: ‘‘And in your seed shall all the ethn
e of the earth be blessed (½neulogZysontai ½n t

~ sprmat sou pnta ta ynZ tŁ~B gŁ~B).’’33 According to Dahl, Paul has substituted ‘‘in Christ Jesus’’ for ‘‘in your seed.’’34 Such a substitution is possible because Paul—along with other Jews—interpreted certain Septuagint ‘‘seed’’ texts messianically.35 Galatians 3:16 confirms that Paul belongs to this tradition: ‘‘The promises were spoken to Abraham and to his seed (sprmati). It does not say ‘to his seeds (sprmasin),’ as though to many, but as to one, ‘and to your seed (sprmati),’ which is Christ.’’ This verse recalls the numerous verses in Genesis which mention that God’s promises are intended for Abraham and his ‘‘seed,’’ often translated ‘‘descendants.’’36 Paul, using the grammatically singular form of this collective noun to his advantage, argues that Abraham’s seed means one person, Christ.37 Recall that in the logic of patrilineal descent, attributes (in this case promises) conferred upon an ancestor are also conferred upon descendants, for they are present in the ancestor’s seed. Christ, as the sperma of Abraham, is the recipient of God’s promises along with his ancestor and the perfect candidate for passing the blessings on to the gentiles. In Galatians 3:26–29, Paul explains how this link between gentiles and Christ works. The language of being ‘‘in’’ or ‘‘a part of’’ Christ permeates this passage: For in (½n) Christ Jesus you are all sons of God through faithfulness. As many of you as were baptized into (eB) Christ, you have put on (½nedsasye) Christ. There is no Ioudaios or Greek; there is no slave or free; there is no male and female. For you are all one in (½n) Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ (e db me~iB ristoø~), then you are Abraham’s descendants (toø~ \bram sprma), heirs according to the promise. Once again, Paul uses ‘‘in’’ language to rework the parameters of kinship for the gentiles: by becoming a part of Christ and being ‘‘in’’ Christ, gentiles become ‘‘sons of God,’’ ‘‘descendants of Abraham,’’ and ‘‘heirs according to the promise.’’ This is the scenario that was prefigured in Galatians 3:8, in which scripture announces to Abraham that ‘‘all the gentiles will be blessed in you.’’ Christ, who is the sperma Abraam (Gal 3:16), now makes gentiles into sperma Abraam (3:29). Paul relates this kinship creation to baptism, which he presents as a ritual means of entering ‘‘into’’ Christ: the preposition eis (3:27) connotes a sense of motion toward or into. Paul uses this same language in two other baptism

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passages, Rom 6:3 (‘‘all of us who have been baptized into [eB] Christ Jesus’’) and 1 Cor 12:13 (‘‘we were baptized into [eB] one body’’).38 Baptism ushers gentiles ‘‘into’’ Christ; it forges a kinship relationship between them and Christ. In the same way that descendants share the same ‘‘stuff’’ as ancestors, gentiles are ‘‘of Christ’’—they have taken in his pneuma—so that he can serve as a link for them to the lineage of Abraham. The relationship between Christ and gentiles, however, is not expressed in terms of ancestor and descendants. Instead, Christ and the gentiles seem to be same-generation offspring of common ancestors, as signaled by the phrases describing baptized gentiles as ‘‘sons of God’’ (Gal 3:26), ‘‘heirs of God and coheirs with Christ’’ (Rom 8:17), and Christ as the ‘‘firstborn among many brothers’’ (Rom 8:29). The gentiles are not found in Christ’s seed, but they take in his pneuma, ‘‘put on’’ Christ, and are adopted as his siblings.39 In this ritual of initiation into a new family, the gentiles receive the ancestry of their new kin: ‘‘And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s descendants, heirs according to the promise’’ (Gal 3:29). Paul elaborates further on this state of being ‘‘in’’ Christ with the claim: ‘‘There is no Ioudaios or Greek; there is no slave or free; there is no male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus’’ (Gal 3:28). This verse, perhaps the most famous of his corpus, has repeatedly been cited as proof that Paul advocates an eradication of social boundaries between people.40 According to this view, Christ has eliminated traditional social, ethnic, and gender markers, creating a certain equality among a new, universal people beyond culture and ethnicity (Christians). Yet for a variety of reasons scholars have challenged this reading, which does not take into account Paul’s own reliance on social hierarchies both later in Galatians and elsewhere in his letters. I would like to propose a new way to read this verse based on the kinship model I have been developing here. Understanding Galatians 3:28 in terms of patrilineal descent allows for Paul’s concept of unity ‘‘in Christ’’ without erasing boundaries between members. We have seen that Paul shares with other ancient authors the assumption that ancestors contain within them—whether in their womb or their seed—all of their progeny. In this conception, descendants of one ancestor are understood as a corporate body, sharing status and manifesting similar characteristics. Recall the language of Genesis where God promises to make Abraham into a great people; ancestor and descendants are one (12:1–3; 18:18). Perhaps it is to this sort of unity that Paul appeals in Galatians 3:28: those who are baptized into Christ have become members of a common kinship group and thus constitute a corporate body.41 As such, they share the material and qualities of their common ancestor, Abraham. Thus as descendants of Abraham, the gentiles are recipients of the promise: in this particular sense, the baptized are ‘‘one in Christ Jesus.’’ As members of a common kinship group, those who are ‘‘in Christ’’ share a solidarity which supersedes other associations.

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This unity, however, does not erase differences. In any patrilineal descent group which might claim a corporate identity as descendants of a common ancestor, there are still hierarchies among the members: heads of households, sons, daughters, first-born, last-born, and so on. Unity based on kinship and social differences coexist.42 This reading is supported by a parallel passage in 1 Cor 12:13: ‘‘For also by one spirit, we were baptized into one body (eB n s ~ ma), whether Ioudaioi or Greeks or slaves or free, and we were all made to drink of one spirit.’’ This verse speaks of unity, not sameness. Through baptism, Ioudaioi, Greeks, slaves, and free people become members of one body, Christ’s body (see also 1 Cor 12:27). In the following verses, Paul develops this body metaphor, describing how one body is made up of different parts: the integrity of the whole depends at least partially upon the diversity of the parts (1 Cor 12:14–26). Paul envisions those who are baptized ‘‘into’’ Christ as a unified whole which includes various categories of people. It is important to remember, however, that Paul directs these comments to gentiles. Thus in Galatians 3:28 and 1 Corinthians 12:13, Paul emphasizes the oneness of those ‘‘in Christ’’ to make a specific point relevant for their situation: Christ is their solution. Greeks need not become Jews to become people of the God of Israel; they need only be baptized into Christ. At the same time, this shared identity in Christ is not somehow ethnically neutral, as is often assumed. Being baptized into this Jewish messiah and receiving his spirit and his lineage bestow on the gentiles an affiliation with Israel. Being in Christ means being a part of Israel.43

Conclusion All of the authors discussed above—Aristotle, Seneca, Philo, the writers and translators of Genesis, Paul—have a similar understanding of the relationships between ancestors and descendants. Aristotle expresses this patrilineal ideology in their studies of embryology, trying to answer questions about how offspring inherit traits from their parents. Something of the child is ‘‘in’’ the seed of the parent. Seneca adapts this basic theory to his understanding of the creation of the world; it is like the seed of the fetus, which contains the whole record of the human-being-to-be in all the phases of its life. In Philo, Gaius calls upon this same theory to defend his right and ability to rule, traits which he has inherited from royal ancestors. Authors of the Hebrew Bible and Septuagint translators use the same ideology in the context of the theme of the chosen people of the God of Israel. The blessings of Abraham pass through one son—chosen by God—in each generation. In the seed of this son, future descendants will receive those blessings. And in the promised ultimate expression of this seed, Christ, a special endowment of God’s gen-

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erative pneuma would allow all peoples to be incorporated into the lineage of the founding ancestor. Thus these new descendants, too, receive the blessings bestowed upon the ancestor and his seed. A series of related assumptions underlies the ideology of these texts: descendants are ‘‘in’’ ancestors; traits and status are passed down from progenitor to progeny; descendants share a collective identity and common ancestry. Paul incorporates all of these into his kinship creation for gentiles. When they are baptized ‘‘into Christ,’’ they inherit a new status and a new ancestry and share the same stuff, the spirit, as Christ the seed. ‘‘In Christ’’ they are united as a corporate group, descendants of a common ancestor Abraham. The language of patrilineal kinship—bodies, seed, conception, inheritance— shapes Paul’s formulation of a new kinship between gentiles and Christ. ‘‘In Christ,’’ the promises to Abraham are fulfilled: the gentiles are blessed in his seed.

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6 Formed after an Image: Procreative God in Romans 8:29

In the previous two chapters, I showed how Paul’s language of being ‘‘in’’ or coming ‘‘out of’’ ancestors reflects a notion typical of the ideology of patrilineal descent: descendants are contained in the seed of their progenitors. In this logic, descendants view themselves as linked generation to generation through the male seed of successive ancestors. In the seed of these particular men is the ‘‘stuff’’ of all future descendants. This highly gendered ‘‘ideology of the seed’’ informs Paul’s kinship-making as he outlines for the gentiles how they are to be added to the lineage of Abraham. Romans 8:29 is best understood in the context of this same ideology. Speaking about the God of Israel, Paul writes: Because those whom he foreknew (progno) he shaped ahead of time in the image of his son (proærisen summrfouB tŁ~B eknoB toø~ uioø~ a tou), so that he [Christ] might be firstborn among many brothers (prottokon ½n pollo~iB ¼delfo~iB). In this verse, Paul outlines the relationship between Christ, the gentiles newly in-Christ, and God. Christ is not an ancestor (like Abraham), but a firstborn brother of the same generation as the gentiles. The gentiles are younger brothers of Christ and are modeled after his image. God is the father of both parties and—as I will argue—is a procreative force much like the power associated with the male seed both in biblical tradition and in ancient embryological discussions of conception.

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I deliberately translate adelphoi here as ‘‘brothers,’’ rather than ‘‘brothers and sisters,’’ to preserve the gendered nature of Paul’s language. In general, I think Paul’s use of adelphoi is gender-inclusive and refers to the men and women in the communities to whom he writes. In this verse, however, which continues the patrilineal adoption metaphor of 8:14–17, it is important that these new members of the family be gendered as sons, who stand to inherit and whose status in the household is higher than that of daughters. As I said in chapter 3, I do not think this gender-specific metaphor excludes women in the community from this new status. Such an interpretation of Romans 8:29 stands out from traditional scholarship, which has tended to ignore or make abstract Paul’s kinship language. This tendency has allowed interpreters to wrench the words out of a firstcentury context by subsuming the passage under the later Christian theological categories of predestination, personal salvation, and the restoration of God’s image. Joseph A. Fitzmyer summarizes this interpretation when he identifies a five-part ‘‘divine prevenience of the process of salvation’’ in Romans 8:29– 30: (1) being foreknown by God (v. 28); (2) being marked beforehand or being predestined (vv. 29, 30); (3) being called (v.30); (4) being justified (v. 30); and (5) being glorified (v. 30).1 For Ernst Ka¨semann, this process of salvation entails the ‘‘restoration’’ of the image of God, which occurs as the believer takes on the image of Christ, who, in turn, is the image of God. Commenting on Romans 8:29, Ka¨semann writes: ‘‘In baptism the divine image which was lost according to 3:23 is restored by conformation to the Son.’’2 Ka¨semann belongs to an interpretive tradition which views Paul as responding to the human plight of having fallen from an original state of glory. According to Ka¨semann, Romans 3:23 (‘‘since all have sinned and all fall short of the glory of God’’) describes this lapsed state, and Romans 8:29 prescribes the solution: taking on the image of Christ as a means of restoring the image of God.3 Recent scholarship has demonstrated the problems with these sorts of interpretations. For example, the story of the exalted state, the fall, and restoration surfaced among Christians after Paul.4 It is not until the third and fourth centuries that we begin to see an exegesis of Paul along these lines.5 Thus the ‘‘restoration of the image of God’’ idea reflects later thinking, not Paul’s thinking. The ‘‘steps to salvation’’ theory in general is problematic for the same reasons: such schemes of salvation represent later developments in Christian theology.6 To arrive at a reading like Ka¨semann’s, a first-century audience would have to ignore the more obvious and contextually supported reading in terms of kinship and procreation. Romans 8:29 serves as a continuation of the kinship scheme Paul develops earlier in chapter 8, where he explains that the gentiles have been adopted as sons and made children of God; they are coheirs with Christ (Rom 8:15–17). Paul recalls this theme in verse 29 when he

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describes Christ as ‘‘firstborn among many brothers.’’ Furthermore, the concept of being formed or shaped into the likeness of another person or an ideal model would have sounded like kinship to a first-century audience. This language is found in discussions of procreation and succession both in biblical texts and in Greek discussions of procreation. For Paul, Romans 8:29 is a perfect description of newly adopted gentiles, who in their new status as adopted sons of God are now heirs to God’s promises. Paul is talking about salvation in Romans 8:29, but it is the specific salvation of those gentiles who have received kinship with Christ and been made descendants of Abraham. This new kinship rescues them from their previous alienation from the God of Israel. Paul presents this salvation in terms of kinship: he constructs a patrilineal myth of origins for gentiles-in-Christ, a myth that depends upon God’s procreative abilities.

Formed after an Image In the previous chapter, patrilineal assumptions about procreation were shown to be fundamental to an ‘‘ideology of the seed,’’ in which the power to create life is perceived to be contained in the male seed. Carol Delaney refers to this notion as a ‘‘monogenetic’’ understanding of procreation, and she observes that the male procreative role mirrors God’s role in creating the cosmos. The ability to bestow life makes the male godlike.7 Similarly, the role of the woman as the provider of substance in procreation links her with the created order. Thus the hierarchies of creation and the hierarchies of procreation mutually reinforce one another, and together these construct and maintain gender hierarchies in the social order. This theory of procreation is inscribed in biblical texts and in popular thinking. Though the monogenetic view of paternity and maternity is not the only model available in antiquity, it nevertheless appears in a wide range of ancient materials: scripture, scientific texts, and plays.8 The same assumptions which undergird this theory also inform Romans 8:29, which speaks about the God of Israel’s procreative activity. Many texts which assume a monogenetic theory articulate male procreativity as an ability to form and shape the new being. God’s creative activities are described this way in Genesis: God ‘‘formed’’ (plsso) humans (LXX Gen 2:8, 15) and beasts (LXX Gen 2:19). Likewise, Genesis recounts how God made the first humans ‘‘according to his image and likeness’’ (kat\ ekona. . .kad kay\ moosin) (LXX Gen 1:26; see also 5:1). Similarly, Adam ‘‘begot (½gnnZse) a son according to his form (kata tcn dan a toø~) and according to his image (kata tcn ekna a toø~’’ (LXX Gen 5:3). In keeping with patrilineal descent, the image of the father is passed down to the next generation, whether the progenitor is divine or human.9 Romans 8:29, like these Genesis texts, describes a father’s creation and shaping of offspring.10 These new sons

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are formed into a particular image, like Seth and Adam. The gentiles are shaped into Christ’s image, the firstborn son of the father and presumably the image of the father himself.11 Though in most contexts the monogenetic theory of procreation is simply assumed to be a ‘‘natural’’ and therefore authoritative process, in the field of ancient embryology we find explicit attempts to explain how this is true. Greek scientists such as Aristotle and Galen discuss such issues such as the physiology of conception, the sex of the fetus, the ways in which characteristics are passed between generations, and the contributions of each parent to the conception and growth of the fetus. It is not surprising that such issues are of particular concern to these writers, who are products of patriarchal cultures in which male heirs, continuity between ancestors and descendants, and gender roles are integral to the social order. For these scientists, the explanations lie in the mechanics of human anatomy, where patriarchal hierarchies are found in ‘‘nature.’’ The science these authors construct naturalizes the monogenetic— and specifically patrilineal—procreative ideology. Aristotle was perhaps the most enthusiastic proponent of the view that the mother and father play distinct roles in the procreative process: the father’s seed gives form and shape to the embryo, whereas the mother’s womb provides the substance itself. Aristotle goes to great lengths to explain how it is that a child can resemble his father physically even though the father contributed nothing to the material or substance of the fetus.12 His solution is that the movement (kdnZsiB) of the pneuma in both the seed of the male and the menses of the female shapes the material, which is provided only by the female. In an ideal situation, the ‘‘powers’’ (dnameiB) of the male seed will dominate and shape the fetus into a male baby.13 Indeed, when all goes well, ‘‘the movement (kdnZsiB) derived from the male will make the shape after its own form (kay\ atcn poisei tcn morfcn). . . . So that if this movement (kdnZsiB) gains mastery it will make a male and not a female, and a male who looks like his father, not his mother’’ (Generation of Animals 767b16–22).14 According to Aristotle, a fully successful generative process will result in a male who takes after its father.15 When this occurs, it is the male seed, through the movement of the pneuma, which shapes the fetus ‘‘after its own form.’’ Patrilineal and patriarchal ideologies become naturalized in these medical discussions of how the different sexes are conceived, how they are valued differently, and how traits are passed from parent to child. Although they disagree in some significant ways, for the most part Galen maintains much of Aristotle’s theory of procreation.16 In On the Natural Faculties, Galen explains genesis, the primary faculty at work when a fetus is in utero: Genesis is not a simple activity of nature, but is compounded of alteration (¼lloiæseæB) and of shaping (diaplseæB). That is to say,

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in order that bone, nerve, veins, and all other [tissues] may come into existence, the underlying substance (o san) from which the aniu ggnetai to` z mal springs (½x ŁB

~ on) must be altered; and in order that the substance so altered may acquire its appropriate shape (swŁ~ma) and position, its cavities, outgrowths, attachments, and so forth, it is necessary to shape (diaplttesyai) the altered material. One would be justified in calling this substance which undergoes alteration the material of the animal, just as wood is the material of a ship, and wax of an image (tŁ~B eknoB to`n kZrn). (I.v)17 Galen sees this period of intrauterine development primarily as a time of differentiation and shaping, analogous to the work of a shipbuilder with his raw materials or a sculptor with his wax. The latter analogy carries with it the idea of the material being shaped by the artist/creator after a particular image. Like Aristotle, Galen attributes the molding activity to the ‘‘power’’ contained in the seed: ‘‘the similarity in individual form (tŁ~B morfŁ~B) to one or the other of the parents is brought about by the molding and shaping (tŁ~B te diaplastikŁ~B kad morfotikŁ~B) power contained in the semen (½n t

~ sprmati)’’ (On Semen 2.5.74).18 In the middle of a refutation of other medical writers with whom Galen disagrees on the topic of the mother’s contribution to the fetus,19 Galen asserts the one point accepted by all: ‘‘That it is the work of the molder (toø~ diaplttontoB rgon ½stin) to make the offspring similar or dissimilar to one or the other of the parents, everyone knows’’ (On Semen 2.1.39).20 Galen seems to view the ‘‘molder,’’ by which he means the ‘‘power’’ found in the seed, as a sort of master creator who shapes the embryo into the likenesses of the parents. I am not claiming that either Aristotle or Galen directly influenced Paul (indeed, this would be impossible for Galen who wrote in the second century). These two writers represent the larger cultural register: they illustrate how the language of Romans 8:29 is connected to procreation in the context of scientific and philosophical discussions of embryology, succession, and the relationships between parents and offspring. As in Aristotle, the male seed shapes the fetus ‘‘after its own pattern,’’ so in Romans 8:29 God is the ‘‘molder’’ shaping his newly adopted sons after the image of the firstborn, Christ. Like fetuses, the gentiles-in-Christ need to be altered, formed, and molded into new beings belonging to a new family. The authors of the Genesis passages above did not attempt to explain procreation with theories about allegedly ‘‘natural’’ and ‘‘physical’’ processes as did the Greek philosophers. All of these writers shared, however, a ‘‘monogenetic’’ theory of procreation that emphasized male agency in shaping new life after a particular image. An audience of gentiles who follow Jewish customs may have been attuned to both contexts for the language of Romans 8:29.

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‘‘Predestination’’ Language as Patrilineal Language Reading Romans 8:29 in terms of patrilineal procreation suggests new interpretations for what has often been called ‘‘predestination’’ language in this verse: God foreknowing and shaping ahead of time. This ‘‘predestination’’ language can also be read as patrilineal descent language.21 Because descendants are perceived, in patrilineal thinking, to be present in the seed of their ancestors, they exist (in the bodies of their ancestors) long before they are actually born. We find this idea in Galatians 3:8, where a personified ‘‘scripture’’ knows God’s plan ahead of time and proclaims it to Abraham: ‘‘The scripture, having foreseen (proı¨doø~sa) that God would justify the gentiles out of faithfulness, proclaimed the good news beforehand (poreuZggelsato) to Abraham that ‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you.’ ’’ Paul employs the logic of patrilineal descent in this Galatians passage to explain how gentiles are included from the beginning: because they are ‘‘in’’ Abraham, present in his seed, they receive the blessings along with him. I suggest that Romans 8:29 simply assumes what Paul argues in Galatians. In this particular context, the language of ‘‘foreknowing’’ (progno) and ‘‘establishing beforehand’’ (proorzo) serves as kinship language.22 ‘‘Establishing beforehand’’ refers specifically to planting the seeds of all the descendants of the original ancestor in that ancestor. The passage implies that the seed—Christ—was put by God into the ancestor (Abraham) and the gentiles who would be ‘‘in Christ’’ were at the same time planted in Abraham, after Christ’s form, like brothers. The procreative sower of seeds, the God of Israel, knows these descendants ahead of time because they are planted in the ancestor. A passage from Jeremiah illustrates a similar logic and offers an intriguing parallel to Romans 8:29. Jeremiah describes God’s words to him: ‘‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you came forth from the womb, I consecrated you (Pro` toø~ me plsai se ½n koilÆ  ½pstama se kad pro` toø~ se ½xelye~in ½k mtraB gı´ak se)’’ (LXX Jer 1:5). The procreative God both knows Jeremiah before, and shapes him as a fetus in the womb. Like Romans 8:29, this passage links being ‘‘foreknown’’ by God and being shaped into life by God. In Romans 8:29, Paul’s term for ‘‘foreknow’’ is proginosko¯. Paul uses this same verb later in the letter to describe Ioudaioi: ‘‘God has not rejected his people, whom he foreknew (progno)’’ (Rom 11:2). A patrilineal reading works here as well. The God of Israel will not reject those whom he fathered. Paul can speak of God ‘‘foreknowing’’ both peoples, Ioudaioi and gentiles, because he believes that each has been created and formed by God, the Jews through Abraham and the gentiles through Abraham and Christ, to be his peoples.

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The relationship between Christ and the gentiles is not that of ancestor to descendants (as with Abraham and his descendants, or Adam and Seth), but that of eldest brother to younger brothers. As I mentioned above, this imagery recalls Paul’s earlier statement that the gentiles are ‘‘co-heirs’’ with Christ (Rom 8:17). Gentiles-in-Christ are Christ’s younger siblings in a new lineage. In Romans 8:29, it is clear that these brothers do not share equal status in the family: Christ is the ‘‘firstborn’’ (prottokoB). As in Romans 8:14–17, also here Paul appeals to the hierarchy of the ancient household, in which the firstborn son would have held a higher status than those born after him. In Hebrew scripture, the ‘‘firstborn’’ was particularly favored by God and was understood to belong to him: ‘‘And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Sanctify to me every firstborn (prottokon), first-produced (protogenbB), opening every womb among the sons of Israel, both of man and beast: it is mine’’’ (Exod 13:1–2).23 The metaphor of the firstborn son is also used to describe Israel as God’s chosen people: ‘‘And you shall say to Pharaoh, These things says the Lord, ‘Israel is my firstborn son (io`B prottokB mou)’’’ (Exod 4:22).24 The Levites, too, are called God’s firstborn, serving as the firstborn offering to God on behalf of all the people of Israel.25 Thus when Paul describes Christ as the ‘‘firstborn among many brothers,’’ he is simultaneously linking Christ to the gentiles in a kin relationship and setting him apart as one who particularly belongs to God. In the opening verses of Romans, Paul describes the pedigree of this firstborn son. Christ is God’s son, ‘‘who was born out of the seed of David by birth (toø~ gegomnou ½k sprmatoB Daudd kata srka), and who, out of the resurrection of the dead, was appointed as the son of God (toø~ risyntoB uoø~ yeoø~) by means of the power according to the spirit of holiness, Jesus Christ our Lord’’ (Rom 1:3–4). Christ is both a descendant of David ‘‘by birth’’ (or ‘‘according to the flesh’’) and he was made the son of God by the spirit. These two kinships (shared blood and kinship by spirit) converge to make Christ a particularly capable agent of gentile salvation. Because he is made a son by the spirit, Christ is a model for how the gentiles will be adopted as younger siblings. Because he is a descendant ‘‘by birth,’’ however, Christ serves as the necessary link to the lineage of David and Abraham.

Conclusion As my reading of Romans 8:29 demonstrates, Paul relies on kinship arguments to create and explain gentile salvation. According to Paul, baptized gentiles have been reconceived, shaped into Christ’s form, and given a new birth. Aristotle observes, ‘‘Brothers are therefore in a manner the same being, though embodied in separate persons’’ (Nicomachean Ethics viii.12.3).26 Because gentiles share Christ’s spirit, they have been transformed into the ‘‘same

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being’’ as Christ, but ‘‘embodied in separate persons.’’ In keeping with the ideology of patrilineal descent, these new descendants are understood to have been included in the lineage from the beginning, as a part of their ancestor’s seed. Thus the gentiles are ‘‘foreknown’’ and ‘‘shaped ahead of time.’’ According to Paul, the God of Israel shapes these new descendants after the pattern of the firstborn son, Christ. This language of shaping and molding echoes biblical references to God’s procreativity and scientific discussions of embryology, both of which assume an ‘‘ideology of the seed.’’ In Romans 8:29, the gentiles have become brothers—although not of equal status—of Christ in a new generation of descendants of Abraham. Instead of predestination, personal salvation and the restoration of God’s image, Romans 8:29 refers to a new myth of origins for gentiles, who have been conceived and formed by a procreative God. In chapter 1, I identified four types of kinship construction: ‘‘physical’’ kinship based on claims of shared blood; ritually created substitutes for ‘‘natural’’ kin in the form of adoption; creative rewriting of histories and genealogies; and claims of kinship by the mind or spirit. As I have discussed in chapters 3 through 6, Paul employs all of these in various combinations in his own kinship-creating practices. The ritual of baptism, described as adoption, forges kinship where there was none; yet Paul also speaks of these new descendants as in the seed of the original ancestor, as sharing the same essence (pneuma), and as formed by God as any ‘‘natural’’ offspring would be. Capitalizing on the availability of a variety of ways to imagine kinship, Paul creates a new discourse of aggregative kinship for gentiles and establishes a place for them in the lineage of Abraham.

7 Negotiating Multiple Identities

I have argued that Paul perceives the central theological problem (gentile alienation from the God of Israel) and the solution to this problem (Abrahamic heritage for gentiles through Christ) in terms of kinship and ethnicity. Paul employs ‘‘double discursive competence,’’ creatively linking gentiles to Abraham’s lineage through the spirit, an organic, connective agent more authoritative than ‘‘shared blood.’’ Thus Paul fashions an aggregate of Ioudaioi and ethn
e under the God of Israel. In the final two chapters of this book, I attend to how Paul uses this linking in his rhetoric. Paul has not come up with a simple solution in which, for example, gentiles-in-Christ (now descendants of Abraham) become Ioudaioi, or those in Christ (both Jews and gentiles) become a new group called Christians. Instead he seems to imagine that Christ-following gentiles are affiliated with Israel—sharing some characteristics but retaining a necessary separateness—in an arrangement that needs to last only until Christ’s return. This reading of Paul’s untidy theological solution is shaped by particular insights about how identity is not only flexible, as I have discussed, but also multifaceted. A model of multiple identities offers an alternative to the notion that ethnic identities are monolithic and one-dimensional. It suggests that individuals and groups might embody several ethnic or other identities, situationally emphasizing one while downplaying others. This interpretive framework helps us understand Paul’s careful construction of Jews and gentiles, now descended from the same founding ancestor and belonging to the same God, but not collapsed into one group.

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As I shall argue below, we can interpret both Paul’s own identity as multiple and shifting and Paul’s prescription for gentile salvation in terms of multiple identities. When he begins his mission work, he reprioritizes components of his own identity to be a teacher of gentiles, the ethnic and religious other. Paul then must orchestrate similar, but much more radical, changes for gentiles who are baptized into Christ. Paul’s rhetorical task, especially in Romans and Galatians, is to explain to gentile believers how their new composite identity works: how they must rearrange previous components and make room for new ones. Paul becomes an ‘‘entrepreneur of identity’’ for gentiles-inChrist.1 I will turn to these two examples (Paul and the gentiles) after discussing the model of multiple identities.

A Model of Multiple Identities The presupposition that ethnic groups are mutually exclusive categories of identity has been significantly challenged by recent scholarship on identity.2 Anthropologists have dismantled traditional notions of ethnic identity as unambiguous and unchanging. They have noted instead how common it is for people to maintain several different ethnic identities at once, emphasizing one or another as is relevant to the circumstances.3 This phenomenon, often referred to as ‘‘situational ethnicity,’’4 illustrates Baumann’s notion of ‘‘double discursive competence’’: people have the skills to shift from one identity to another and make each position salient and ‘‘real’’ through various essentializing claims.5 Ancient texts and contexts bear out these insights about the multiplicity and flexibility of ethnic identity. Irad Malkin describes how a citizen of Syracuse could identify (or be identified) as ‘‘Syracusan,’’ ‘‘Corinthian colonist,’’ ‘‘Siceliot’’ (Sicilian), ‘‘Dorian,’’ and ‘‘Greek,’’ and the deployment of any particular label depended on the context.6 For example, ‘‘Siceliot’’ is a term for a Greek (of any origin) living in Sicily; this identity was salient in relation to native Sicilian peoples and to mainland Greeks. ‘‘Syracusan,’’ on the other hand, was relevant in interactions with fellow citizens of Syracuse.7 Working on this same cultural context, Carla Antonaccio traces the development of a new identity—that of the Sicilian colonials, or Sikelio¯tai (Malkin’s ‘‘Siceliot’’ above)—as described in texts and in material remains.8 Thucydides describes a meeting of representatives of the Sicilian Greek cities in which Hermocrates addresses familiar ethnic groups: Dorians, Ionians, Chalcidians, and so on. He calls the audience as a whole Sikelio¯tai, or Sicilians, bound by the circumstance of inhabiting the island: ‘‘We are, in a word, neighbors and together are dwellers in a single land encircled by the sea and are called by a single name, Sikelio¯tai’’ (4.64.3).9 Hermocrates asks them to set aside their differences (at least temporarily) and place their Sicilian identity above their other loyalties in order to resist their common enemy, the Athenians. He calls for

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unity as Sicilians even as he recognizes that these various groups may go to war against one another in the future (4.59.1–4.64.5). In her analysis of this scene, Antonaccio observes: ‘‘These identities point to multiple concepts and categories of Greekness, articulated within overlapping and intersecting contexts of time, space and power.’’10 Hermocrates urges a strategic alliance of various peoples with a common homeland and a common enemy. The point is not to erase other identities (indeed, these will become salient again when the Athenian crisis passes and these ethn
e fight against each other), but to foreground a new identity to achieve a particular goal. As Antonaccio comments, Thucydides has given us a good example of aggregative ethnic construction through Hermocrates’ argument for ‘‘Sikeliote Greekness.’’11 Egypt is another place we find negotiations among multiple ethnic identities.12 Dorothy Thompson documents claims of double ethnicity—Egyptian/ Greek but also Jewish/Greek—in Ptolemaic Egypt.13 A variety of factors contributed to this phenomenon: intermarriage, education, military service (where one could gain Greek status by joining the army), tax law.14 One striking example of double ethnicity is found in the late-second-century b.c.e. tomb complex of a family that identified itself as both Greek and Egyptian. Each grave had two headstones, one ‘‘a traditional hieroglyphic stele with prayers and formulae of the old Egyptian religion commemorating the holders as priests in the local cults, lying side by side with Greek stelae adorned by elegiac poems (in reasonable Greek with some Homeric echoes) glorifying their holders not as Egyptian priests but as army men and members of the king’s administration.’’15 This memorial offers a graphic illustration of how one family valued and advertised two ethnic identities, each of which must have been relevant in their lives. How is it that these multiple identities can exist at once? First, it is important that they are situationally relevant. If one person embodies an aggregate of ethnic (and other) identities (like Malkin’s example of the Syracusan above), then she or he would emphasize one and not others in specific contexts. Anthropologist Judith Nagata describes situational ethnicity: Ethnic groups are special kinds of reference groups the invocation of which may vary according to particular factors in the broader social situation, rather than a fixed anchorage to which an individual is unambiguously bound . . . some individuals may therefore oscillate rather freely from one ethnic reference group to another without a problem and this may prove to be adaptive at social and personal levels.16 Hermocrates recognizes the possibilities for such oscillation when he asks his audience to set aside their ethnic and civic affiliations in order to strategically prioritize their common ‘‘Sicilianness.’’

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Hermocrates’ speech illustrates a second point about multiple identities as well: they are not assigned equal value but are often hierarchically arranged. Thus whereas Nagata emphasizes the ease with which a person might change from one identity to another, we should also recognize the tensions these changes potentially create. If a person emphasizes one identity (of several in the aggregate), then other parts must be selectively ignored. As Hermocrates acknowledges, the various Hellenic peoples living in Sicily typically rank their ethnic or civic identities first. It is not an easy task to persuade Dorians, Ionians, and others to temporarily rearrange their priorities and place a new identity, Sicilian, first. Multiple identities are thus not random or infinitely multiple, but are constrained by context and ranking. This concept of multiple identities is helpful for reading Paul. As an ‘‘entrepreneur of identity,’’ Paul manages both the multiple facets of his own identity as a teacher of gentiles and the new possibilities of aggregate identity for gentiles-in-Christ. Both constraints discussed above, context and hierarchy, figure into his arguments.

Paul’s Multiple Identities Paul’s own self-descriptions suggest multiple layers within a larger identity: he is ‘‘an Israelite, descended from the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin’’ (Rom 11:1). He offers a similar series of identifiers in Philippians: ‘‘Circumcised on the eighth day, born out of the lineage of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born out of Hebrews, according to the Law a Pharisee, as to zeal a persecutor of the assembly, as to righteousness I was blameless in the Law’’ (Phil 3:5–6).’’17 Paul’s ethnic identity can be divided up into parts or segments, so that several identities, although distinct, can fit within—be nested inside—a more encompassing identity.18 Although all of Paul’s self-descriptions— circumcised man, descendant of Abraham, member of the tribe of Benjamin— belong under the larger umbrella of Ioudaios-ness, each distinct item could be emphasized or deemphasized depending on the context. Following his revelatory experience (which he describes in Gal 1:11–16), two more components were added to Paul’s identity. First, Paul is in-Christ, who was revealed to him by God (Gal 1:16); he is ‘‘faithful to Christ Jesus’’ (Gal 2:16); and he ‘‘lives by the faithfulness of the Son of God’’ (Gal 2:20).19 Second, as a direct result of this revelation, Paul is called by God to be an apostle to the gentiles (Gal 1:16), who, by the time he writes to them, are also ‘‘in Christ.’’ It is important to recognize that both of these additional segments fall within Jewish boundaries: Paul understands his faithfulness to Christ as faithfulness to God and to Israel. Indeed, Paul views his own work among gentiles as a continuation of the venerable tradition of Israelite prophets who were called to the nations. His description of his own call from God draws the

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parallel: ‘‘But when he who had set me apart from the womb of my mother and called me through his grace was pleased to reveal his son in me, in order that I might proclaim him among the gentiles (½n to~iB ynesin), I did not confer with any human being’’ (Gal 1:15–16). This passage recalls similar moments in Isaiah and Jeremiah, when these two prophets describe their calls from God. Isaiah writes: ‘‘From my mother’s womb he has called my name. . . . Behold I have given you . . . to be a light of the gentiles (f ~ B ½yn ~ n) in order that you might be for salvation for the end of the earth’’ (LXX Isa 49:1, 6). God’s words to Jeremiah are similar: ‘‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you came forth from the womb, I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the gentiles (proftZn eB ynZ)’’ (LXX Jer 1:5). By echoing the language of these prophetic texts, Paul links himself to the tradition of Israelite prophets whose task it was to go to the nations or gentiles. Paul understands that the reconciliation of the ethn
e with the God of Israel is a necessary part of the restoration of Israel (Rom 11:25–26), and he views his mission to gentiles as crucial in bringing this about.20 Thus Paul’s work as a teacher of gentiles is a part of the larger story of Israel, not a break from it. Even if all of these nested identities fall under the category of ‘‘Jewish,’’ each one can operate independently of the others. After his revelation from God, Paul reprioritizes the other facets of his Jewish identity. As I will argue below, Paul adjusts his own identity to accommodate gentiles, a decision rooted in pedagogical strategy and theological conviction.21

Live Like a Gentile or Live Like a Ioudaios? Paul’s recounting of the conflict with his colleagues in Galatians 2:11–14 offers some clues to how Paul negotiates these adjustments. Paul tells the story of how Cephas, who ‘‘used to eat with the gentiles,’’ has since withdrawn and kept himself separate for fear of ‘‘those from the circumcised (toø‘B ½k peritomŁ~B)’’ (Gal 2:12).22 Other Ioudaioi joined Cephas in this withdrawal. Paul describes his response: ‘‘But when I saw that they were not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, ‘If you, though a Ioudaios, live like a gentile (½ynik ~ B), and not like a Ioudaios (\Ioudaßk ~ B), how can you compel the gentiles to Judaize (oudazein)?’ ’’ (Gal 2:14). Paul presents two models for Jewish teachers of gentiles: acting like Ioudaioi (\Ioudaßk ~ B) or acting like gentiles (½ynik ~ B). He turns the nouns Ioudaioi and ethn
e into adverbs: Jewish teachers of the gospel could choose to live ‘‘Jewishly’’ or ‘‘gentilishly.’’ Notice that Paul does not speak of becoming a gentile, but of the possibility of living or acting like a gentile. Paul, whose own pedagogical and theological preference is to live ethniko¯s among gentiles, upbraids his colleague, Cephas,23 for his hypocrisy; apparently he had first chosen to act ethniko¯s, but then withdrew, acting Ioudaiko¯s, separating himself from the gentiles when ‘‘those from James’’ arrived (Gal 2:12).

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A few verses later, Paul provides a clue as to his own choice, which he describes in terms of his relationship to the Law: ‘‘For through the Law I died to the Law, in order that I might live to God’’ (Gal 2:19). Although this passage is most often understood to mark Paul’s departure from the Law and from his Jewishness, I do not think this is a necessary or optimal reading. Interpreted within the framework of multiple and complex identities, Galatians 2:19 suggests that Paul has shifted the components of his identity to gain access to gentile communities. Paul has adjusted his own observances so that he can eat and live with gentiles without asking them to observe the Law.24 Thus ‘‘through the Law I died to the Law’’ might be paraphrased: it is within the broader boundaries of the Law (as in Torah, scripture) that I died to the Law (those practices or attitudes that would distance me from gentiles), to follow the larger mandate of the Law and the God of Israel, that the gentiles should be reconciled to God through Christ. Rather than asking, or allowing, the gentiles to live like Ioudaioi by following the Law (ioudaizein), Paul lives gentilishly. In Paul’s opinion, his vocation as a teacher of gentiles requires this shift in priorities. What exactly Paul means by living ethniko¯s he does not say, although it seems to have some connection to Cephas’s eating with the gentiles mentioned earlier in verse 12. Did Paul and his colleagues temporarily disregard dietary norms or purity boundaries to facilitate social interaction with gentiles? Most scholars assume this to be the case: by eating with gentiles, Cephas abandoned the Law, and by withdrawing from them, he returned to full Law observance (perhaps under pressure from ‘‘those from James’’ and ‘‘those from the circumcised’’).25 Mark Nanos offers a compelling alternative interpretation.26 He argues that the issue at hand is not a violation of dietary restrictions or of the Law in any way. He cites evidence that Jews and non-Jews regularly and unproblematically ate together, and he points out that there is no reason to jump to the conclusion that Cephas (and Paul) abandoned the Law (even if temporarily) to eat like gentiles.27 Whether they took place in Jewish social space or gentile social space, these meals could have adhered to Jewish dietary guidelines.28 The problem was not food, but the fact that these Ioudaioi (Paul and Cephas and presumably others) were sharing table fellowship with non-proselyte (uncircumcised male) gentiles as though they were equal before God.29 To honor gentiles in this way was unconventional Jewish practice, and ‘‘those from James’’ and ‘‘those for circumcision’’ opposed it.30 This interpretation means we do not have to imagine that Cephas compromises his faithful practice of the Law or that Paul advocates such a position. The notion of Paul as faithful to the Law throughout his career among gentiles is a refreshing idea that I suspect would surprise Paul much less than it does many Pauline scholars. Like Nanos, I do not think Paul left Judaism for Christianity.

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Yet I remain convinced that Paul thought some sort of adaptation was necessary in his role as apostle to the gentiles. Paul’s statement that ‘‘through the Law I died to the Law’’ (Gal 2:19), plus his juxtaposition of ‘‘living ethniko¯s’’ and ‘‘living Ioudaiko¯s’’ (Gal 2:14) point to an accommodation on his part. I do not, however, concur with more traditional readings that interpret Paul’s ‘‘dying’’ to the Law as his rejection of the Law. Paul’s primary objective was to reconcile gentiles to the God of Israel through Christ and not through the Law. Thus, I imagine that he did whatever it took to integrate himself into gentile communities and establish intimate relationships with them, all the while offering himself as model of how to be justified out of the faithfulness of Christ (Gal 2:16).31 Whatever his accommodations were, and unfortunately we can not be sure from the text, Paul did not view them as compromising his faithfulness to Israel, to God, or even to the Law (in the broadest sense). Let me be clear that I do not think Paul prescribes norms for all Ioudaioi-inChrist in his recounting of his confrontation with Cephas. Rather, he specifically addresses how Jewish teachers of gentiles should conduct themselves. I think Paul assumed that Ioudaioi who are not teachers of gentiles, whether inChrist or not, would continue to be faithful to the Law as always. If he is not explicit about this expectation, it is because it is simply assumed; it goes without saying. Furthermore, this scene primarily serves a rhetorical purpose in Paul’s argument to his gentile audience: they do not need to ‘‘Judaize’’ (oudazein). As I discuss in chapter 2, in literature outside of Paul, ioudaizein is used to describe non-Jewish behavior toward Jewish practices and attitudes, and seems to encompass a broad range of adaptations, including circumcision for males.32 Given the context of the rest of the letter in which Paul repeatedly objects to gentile circumcision (Gal 5:2–3, 6, 11; 6:12–13,15–16), it is likely that Paul links Judaizing specifically with circumcision, especially since there are some aspects of Jewishness that Paul encourages gentiles to adopt (loyalty to the God and messiah of Israel, Abraham as founding ancestor, Jewish stories of origin and scripture, etc.).33 Ultimately, a detailed reconstruction of the particular historical details is (unfortunately) beyond our means and less important than the way Paul uses this anecdote of conflict with Cephas. His recounting of this incident illustrates the superiority of his own gospel, which insists on gentile males not being circumcised and on Jewish teachers exercising flexibility with their own identities.34 In his dealings with gentiles, Paul embodies multiple identities. In response to God’s call to be an apostle to the gentiles, Paul lives gentilishly. That he identifies with gentiles is evident in his use of the first-person plural when discussing the gentiles, which he does repeatedly throughout Galatians and Romans.35 This decision to identify with the gentiles is characteristic of Paul’s teaching in general, and reflects a common practice among other ancient teachers as well.

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Paul as an Adaptable Teacher Paul’s shifting of identities is grounded in a widespread pedagogical strategy in antiquity that scholars refer to as adaptability.36 In broad terms, adaptability is a teaching method in which the teacher adapts himself to or becomes like his students, depending on their individual dispositions. Clarence Glad argues that Paul engages in the practice of psychagogy, or guidance of the soul, in order to bring about moral reformation and a new concept of the self and the world.37 Drawing particularly on Philodemus’s On Frank Criticism, Glad finds similarities between Paul and the Epicurean tradition of psychagogy in which particular care is given to the character and disposition of the student.38 The rationale behind this method is that different approaches will result in various levels of success with different students, so the teacher must be aware of what students might need and then be flexible enough to adjust accordingly.39 Glad emphasizes that this sort of psychagogy occurs in a communal context: ‘‘The aim of the psychagogue is to distinguish neophytes from society at large, to attempt a certain formation of the self, to establish a certain in-group mentality, and to highlight the awareness of the recipients in view of the total realignment implicit in their conversion.’’40 Crucial to this process is a teacher (or psychagogue) who can adapt himself to the dispositions, characters, and identities of different types of students. This seems to be an apt description of Paul’s understanding of his own role with the gentile communities. Glad identifies 1 Corinthians 9:19–22 as a classic expression of adaptability: ‘‘For although I am free with respect to all people, I enslaved myself to all, in order that I might win more of them. And I became as a Ioudaios to the Ioudaioi, in order that I might win the Ioudaioi. To those under the Law I became as one under the Law (not being myself under the Law), in order that I might win those under the Law.’’ He lists a few more categories of people and concludes, ‘‘I have become all things to all people, in order that I might by all means save some’’ (1 Cor 9:19–22).41 As Glad points out, this ‘‘language of becoming’’ has baffled many scholars.42 When located in the context of adaptability and multiple identities, however, this language is less puzzling. In the interest of recruitment and the process of psychagogy itself, Paul is willing to conform himself to different ethical and ethnic types: ‘‘Ioudaios,’’ ‘‘those under the Law,’’ ‘‘those outside the law’’ (or ‘‘lawless ones’’), and the ‘‘weak.’’43 Paul lists ‘‘Ioudaios’’ as an identity that he can ‘‘become as,’’ implying that his own ethnic identity, or at least part of it, is flexible and subject to change. He also claims that he can become as one ‘‘under the Law,’’ although he is not ‘‘under the Law’’ himself. Although the phrase ‘‘under the Law’’ is traditionally understood to refer to Jews, I am convinced that it refers to gentiles.44 In Paul, being ‘‘under the Law’’ refers the burden that gentiles carry who attempt to keep the Law even though they are unable to do so, a situation which results in a

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further stirring of passions and lack of self-mastery.45 The phrase ‘‘those under the Law’’ describes exactly the people to whom Paul writes, those gentiles who have tried to follow the Law and failed. For Paul, this moral failure is integral to the ethnic identity of gentiles, who by definition are alienated from the God of Israel and are susceptible to porneia, idolatry, and other evils (Rom 1:18–36; 1 Cor 12:2; 1 Thess 4:3–5). Paul says explicitly that he is not ‘‘under the Law’’ (meaning he is not trapped or burdened by the Law as the gentiles are), but he still can identify with the gentiles who are enslaved to the Law. The pedagogical practices of adaptability provide an ancient context within which to understand Paul’s communication with the gentiles-in-Christ. He would have been understood, at least in part, as a teacher willing to adapt to different ethical and—especially in the case of gentiles—ethnic identities. Such adaptations do not imply a permanent or complete identity change on the part of the teacher, but a flexibility to meet students in a variety of dispositions, making adjustments as they improve or regress.

Hierarchical Identities: ‘‘In-Christ’’ at the Top Adaptability is not just a pedagogical strategy for Paul, however; it is a theological imperative which is inextricably linked to his beliefs about Christ’s life and death. As the letter to the Philippians makes clear, Paul organizes his multiple identities around an understanding of Christ as one who voluntarily lowered his status and was obedient ‘‘to the point of death’’ (Phil 2:6–8). Paul describes his own loss in status by first listing the advantages he has because he is a Jew (and here is the same list of nested identities I referred to before): ‘‘Circumcised on the eighth day, born out of the lineage of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew born out of Hebrews’’ (Phil 3:5–6). Paul continues: ‘‘Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as a loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Jesus Christ my Lord’’ (Phil 3:7–9). Paul has given up advantages of his Jewish identity in order to put first his identity as an apostlein-Christ.46 Even as Paul frames this change as a loss, it is also functions rhetorically to exert his authority. Voluntarily lowering himself after the model of Christ is a condescension and a display of power that bolsters Paul’s status as a teacher. Paul can identify so readily with the gentiles not only because he is imitating Christ, but also because he shares with them what he now considers his primary identity: that of being in-Christ. Paul would place his status as being in-Christ above being of the tribe of Benjamin or blameless in the Law, even as these are all a part of his Jewishness. Paul and these gentiles share a common component of their identity, in-Christness, even as they remain otherwise separate.

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Multiple Identities of Gentiles-in-Christ Like Paul, baptized gentiles have added another facet to their own complex, multiple identities. Having received the spirit in baptism, the gentiles have joined the lineage of Abraham and stand to receive blessings promised by the God of Israel. They have not become Ioudaioi or Christians. Indeed, Paul still considers them gentiles, although gentiles of a different sort, gentiles-inChrist. The possibility of having multiple, at times overlapping identities helps us imagine this situation. Consider the following passage from 1 Corinthians, in which Paul refers to both gentiles-in-Christ and Ioudaioi-in-Christ, as well as gentiles and Ioudaioi who are not in-Christ: For the Ioudaioi (\Iouda~ioi) ask for a sign and the Greeks (›EllZneB) seek wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to the Ioudaioi, foolishness to the gentiles (ynesin), but to those who are called, both Ioudaioi and Greeks, Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. (1 Cor 1:22–24) There are several groups identified here: Ioudaioi who ask for a sign and for whom Christ is a stumbling block; Greeks who seek wisdom; gentiles for whom Christ is foolishness; and ‘‘those who are called,’’ which includes Ioudaioi and Greeks. Although Paul superimposes another identity—‘‘those who are called’’—over the ethnic identities of Ioudaios, gentile and Greek, these ethnic identities do not disappear. Indeed, the implication of this passage is that one can be both a Greek (or gentile) and called, and one can be both a Ioudaios and called.47 Though Paul mostly focuses on Christ’s relevance for gentiles in his letters, here he speaks of Ioudaioi who are called as well. For Paul, being called or being in-Christ cuts across ethnic identities, including both Ioudaioi and non-Ioudaioi.48

Reading Galatians 3:28 as Ethnic Discourse I suggest we read Galatians 3:28 in a similar way: ‘‘There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’’ In this verse, Paul is working hard to reorder the multiple identities of gentiles-in-Christ. This statement is embedded in an argument for an aggregative kinship between believing gentiles and Israel, planned long ago by God (Gal 3:6–9), and implemented in the present through Christ (Gal 4:1–7). In 3:28, Paul calls for a unity of those in Christ, but not an erasure of other identities. We might imagine this ‘‘in-Christness’’ superimposed over other facets of identity, like being called in the 1 Corinthians passage above.

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My interpretation challenges the traditionally popular notion that Paul advocates the melding of differences into one ‘‘Christian’’ identity, what I call the ‘‘fusion theory.’’49 Commenting on Galatians 3:28, Hans Dieter Betz portrays Paul as a champion of a new political utopia: There can be no doubt that Paul’s statements have social and political implications of even a revolutionary dimension. The claim is made that very old and decisive ideals and hopes of the ancient world have come true in the Christian community. These ideals include the abolition of the religious and social distinctions between Jews and Greeks, slaves and freemen, men and women.50 Fusion theory interpretations such as this one rely upon a long tradition of biblical scholarship which, first, assumes we can talk about ‘‘Christianity’’ and ‘‘Christians’’ in Paul and, second, strips Christianity of ethnicity.51 It proffers a myth of innocence, neutrality, and naturalness to Christianity: somehow Christians and Christianity have been able to transcend the divisions of ethnicity and other social differences. Like many others, Betz traces this transcendence to its alleged origins in Galatians 3:28, a verse that has served as a workhorse for fusion arguments. Betz seems to assume that there is some sort of nonsocial, nonethnic way to be a Christian, even as he calls upon the image of social revolution, which implies replacing one social order with another, not doing away with social distinctions altogether.52 A more recent version of this interpretation of Paul has been argued by Daniel Boyarin. As I said in chapter 2, Boyarin, in contrast to many others, insists that Paul is a Ioudaios (as opposed to a Christian), but a particular type of Ioudaios. Taking Galatians 3:28 as his starting point, Boyarin maintains that Paul, influenced by a Hellenistic ideal of the One, argues for a spiritualized, universalizing Jewishness instead of an ethnic, embodied Jewishness. This dualism manifests itself in Paul’s discourses of spirit versus flesh, the former representing the disembodied existence in Christ and the latter representing other forms of Jewishness. Boyarin argues that although this disembodied ideal may be liberative, the cost is too high for it erases Judaism: ‘‘[Paul’s] system required that all human cultural specificities—first and foremost that of the Jews—be eradicated.’’53 Rabbinic Judaism, which values an embodied Jewishness, arose in part in response to the universalizing discourses Paul initiated. Boyarin has adopted the traditional binary and reversed the valuation of each side: instead of particularity as the problem, universalizing is the problem. Though I agree with Boyarin on several points (e.g., that it is problematic to erase embodied Judaism, a point to which I will return below), I object to the traditional binary that maintains universalism on one side (usually along with ‘‘post-conversion’’ Paul, Christianity, the spirit) and particularity on the other (usually along with Paul the Pharisee, Judaism, the Law). I maintain instead

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that Paul uses embodiedness to construct universalizing arguments, arguments that revolve around an embodied Israel and assume its continued election. Using different interpretive frameworks, liberationist scholars have offered readings that highlight the potential social implications of an ‘‘erasure’’ of social distinctions.54 To the extent that social differences are used to authorize discrimination, their removal can be viewed as liberative.55 Though I sympathize with efforts to identify moments of resistance to domination in our ancient texts and social contexts, I am not convinced that Paul’s text represents a transcendence of difference. Furthermore, to the extent that this liberating transcendence is read as ‘‘Christian,’’ these readings can unintentionally erase Judaism, reinscribing a supersessionist Paul and Christianity.56 Finally, all of these readings depend on the myth that Paul’s ‘‘in-Christness’’ (many call it Christianity) is somehow not embodied. It is difficult to reconcile transcendent or liberationist readings with Paul’s rhetoric of ethnic, status, and gender distinction both in Galatians and elsewhere in his correspondence. In Galatians, Paul clarifies that he and his colleagues are ‘‘Ioudaioi by birth, and not sinners descended from the gentiles’’ (2:15). Furthermore, he presents the spread of the gospel as segregated ethnically: Peter was to go to the circumcised, and Paul and Barnabas to the uncircumcised (2:7–9). Finally, and most pointedly, Paul’s use of the Sarah and Hagar analogy in Galatians 4:21–31 relies on the salience of master/slave relationships (including the sexual use of women as slaves), the roles of women as mothers, and the distinctions between chosen and nonchosen lineages. Sheila Briggs comments that Hagar and Sarah are ‘‘irreducibly unequal’’ in Paul’s presentation of their story.57 As many others have recognized, the ‘‘fusion’’ interpretation of Galatians 3:28 stands in tension with 1 Corinthians, where Paul upholds traditional hierarchical structures. He counsels women to uphold their traditional roles as subordinate to men (1 Cor 11:2–9; 14:34–35) and advises circumcised and uncircumcised men (7:18) to remain as they are.58 Paul’s advice to slaves in this same passage is somewhat ambiguous. The NRSV renders it: ‘‘Were you a slave when called? Do not be concerned about it. Even if you can gain your freedom, make use of your present condition now more than ever’’ (7:21–24). Albert Harrill has argued for a translation of the last clause that reverses the meaning: ‘‘You were called as a slave. Do not worry about it. But if you can indeed become free, use instead [freedom].’’59 Though the Greek indeed allows for both translations, I think the context supports the NRSV translation. Paul’s advice to each group (and to others such as virgins, married, unmarried, etc.) is to stay as you are. Thus although the assemblies may have stood apart from the rest of society in some ways, Paul specifically advises them against the radical changes that Betz and others see in Galatians 3:28.60 Elisabeth Schu¨ssler Fiorenza offers a way to understand this tension between the rhetoric of Galatians 3:28 and other portions of Paul’s correspon-

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dence. Following form-critical analysis of Galatians 3:26–29, Schu¨ssler Fiorenza considers 3:28 to be a pre-Pauline baptismal formula that was used by certain Christ-following Jews to promote an egalitarian vision of life in which the traditional hierarchies were invalidated.61 Though Paul uses the baptismal formula, he corrects its counter-cultural implications with such passages as the Hagar and Sarah story and, in the Corinthian context, his ‘‘stay as you are’’ advice. These revisions fit Paul’s more conservative gospel. In contrast to others, Schu¨ssler Fiorenza assigns the liberative reading to ‘‘silenced voices’’ and not to Paul himself.62 I agree with Schu¨ssler Fiorenza that Paul does not advocate a liberationist, egalitarian interpretation of Galatians 3:28. Nor is Paul concerned with erasing difference in this verse. Instead, Galatians 3:28 is an integral component of Paul’s argument that the God of Israel has called the gentiles to a specific, embodied existence as gentiles-in-Christ. The model of multiple identities that I have developed here—plural, overlapping, flexible, hierarchical, situationally relevant—suggests that we can read Galatians 3:28 in terms of ethnic discourse and not against it. Thus Ioudaioi and Greeks, slaves and free, male and female can all be ‘‘one in Christ’’ without abandoning other identities. Sze-kar Wan arrives at a similar reading of plural identities and thus paraphrases Galatians 3:28: ‘‘‘You are both Jew and Greek, both free and slave, both male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.’’’63 This reading allows Paul to argue for unity while preserving difference. We might compare the rhetorical aims of Galatians 3:28 with those of Hermocrates’ speech in Thucydides, discussed above. Hermocrates attempts to establish a common ‘‘Sicilian’’ identity among the various peoples living on the island, with the goal of resisting the Athenians. He asks his audience to put this new ‘‘Sicilianness’’ first, over their other identities. Likewise Paul attempts to establish a new identity for gentiles, being ‘‘in Christ,’’ which gives them Abrahamic lineage and inclusion among the peoples of the God of Israel.64 Paul encourages gentiles in Galatia to rank their ‘‘in-Christness’’ higher than their other available identities, as he himself has done.65 In the context of Galatians, this argument serves as a tactic of persuasion. It is galling to Paul that some of the male Galatians have been persuaded to Judaize by becoming circumcised. In response, Paul attempts to create a new hierarchy of goods for gentiles by subordinating a range of social identities to being in-Christ: ‘‘There is no Ioudaios nor Greek; there is no slave nor free; there is no male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus’’ (Gal 3:28).66 Instead of reading this statement as advocating an ethnically neutral status, I propose that we understand Galatians 3:28 in the context of Paul’s effort to recalibrate the priorities of these baptized gentiles, so that their ethnically specific identity as being in-Christ comes first. It is helpful to consider Galatians 3:28 in the context of the larger argument Paul elaborates in Galatians 3–4. In these chapters, Paul carefully

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details how the gentiles have inherited Abrahamic ancestry and blessings through their baptism into Christ. This adoption, which is foretold in scripture (Gal 3:8) and realized by receiving the spirit of Christ (4:6), aggregatively links these gentiles to Israel. Thus Paul does indeed imagine a unity among those who are ‘‘in Christ,’’ but it is not a disembodied, transcendent unity. Paul presents ‘‘in-Christness’’ in terms of descendants and ethnic affiliation with Israel. In the verse that follows Galatians 3:28 (which is often left out of discussions of 3:28), Paul articulates the consequences of being in Christ: ‘‘And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s descendants, heirs according to the promise’’ (Gal 3:29). In explaining to the baptized gentiles what it means to be in Christ, he marks their experience as ethnically specific: they are now descendants of the founding ancestor of the Ioudaioi. He asks them to rank this new identity above others. A model of multiple identities offers a way to understand unity or solidarity without implying sameness or even equality. Imagine a follower of Christ, a male citizen of a Greek city. This man might emphasize his identity as someone who is in-Christ when the assembly gathers to hear one of Paul’s letters. In this context he has in common with others a commitment to Christ and to Paul. Other times his identity as a Greek might take priority, perhaps in the context of civic duties. Here he interacts with those who share similar responsibilities and privileges of citizenship in the polis. As 1 Corinthians evinces, Paul himself recognizes that there are times when one must attend to one’s role as a slave or as an uncircumcised man or a married woman. Yet this gentile Christ-believer would differ from his Greek friends and family in that he is now attached to Israel, loyal to its God and messiah. He must negotiate the various overlapping identities in his life. Likewise imagine a gentile woman, perhaps a leader in the assemblies like Junia or Phoebe. Her position in the communities of Christ-followers might be higher than that in her household or in society at large. Someone like Junia, foremost among the apostles, probably garnered more respect among the assemblies than our gentile man above (and maybe more than Paul himself; after all, she was in Christ before he was; Rom 16:7). Yet he probably would have held a higher status in the context of the larger social and political structures of the time. We might also consider a slave woman: what would her status be in the assemblies, relative to her status outside the assemblies, and relative to Junia and our male gentile believer?67 When we begin to list the various characters that may have participated in the assemblies, we can imagine both the variety of identities that Christfollowers brought to the community and the differences in power and status that a patriarchal society assigns to these various positions.68 Instead of assuming that these differences are erased, we might imagine that each person in-Christ occupies a variety of other identities as well and negotiates among these. In this model, Galatians 3:28 does not eliminate the various measures

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of identity—Ioudaios, Greek, slave, free, male, female—which characterize those who are ‘‘in Christ,’’ but it places these in a hierarchical order with the unitary good at the top. More important, this highest good, being in-Christ, is not ethnically neutral; it is grounded in Jewish identity. As the seed of David and the son of God (Rom 1:3–4), Christ is the link for gentiles to the lineage of Abraham. For a gentile to be in-Christ means that he or she has secured a place within the larger network of Israel. This conception is ethnically complex and asymmetrical. Paul does not ask the gentiles to become Ioudaioi or cease to be Greeks, but he expects gentiles-in-Christ to make radical adjustments to their identities. For example, they must give up their gods and religious practices in order to proclaim loyalty to the God of Israel; they must accept Israel’s messiah, scriptures, stories of origin, ethical standards, and even ancestry. Thus, as I said in another context, being in-Christ for gentiles involves a complex rearrangement of self-concepts such that they change ‘‘from gentile ethno-religious ‘others’ to gentiles affiliated with Israel.’’ 69

More Prioritizing Ethnic Goods We find similar prioritizing arguments elsewhere in Paul, precisely in passages that, like Galatians 3:28, have been read as erasing ethnicity. Two examples are 1 Corinthians 7:17–19 and Romans 2:25–29, both concerning circumcision. This is no accident. Circumcision, as a marker of male Jewishness, works rhetorically for Paul as a site for defining righteousness before the God of Israel so that it is accessible to gentiles. This argument involves a reprioritizing of gentile and Jewish goods. In 1 Corinthians 7, Paul instructs his readers not to change their social standing. Regarding circumcision, he argues the following: Let each of you lead the life that the Lord has assigned, to which God has called you. . .Was anyone at the time of his call already circumcised (peritetmZmnoB)? Let him not seek to remove the marks of circumcision (mc ½pispsyo). Was anyone at the time of his call uncircumcised (½n ¼krobustÆ  )? Let him not seek circumcision (mc peritemnsyo). Circumcision (peritomc) is nothing and uncircumcision (¼krobusta) is nothing, but keeping the commandments of God matters. (1 Cor 7:17–19) This last assertion is ironic given that circumcision is a commandment of God. Paul juxtaposes the specific issue of circumcision (or uncircumcision) with the larger issue of the ‘‘commandments of God’’ as an ordering of goods, an effort to manage the components of identities of those who are called.70 Whereas in Galatians 3:28 Paul articulates the ‘‘new good’’ for gentiles as being ‘‘in Christ,’’ here it is ‘‘keeping the commandments of God.’’ These two,

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of course, are related: it is only because the gentiles have been baptized into Christ and have received the spirit that they are able to live according to the standards of the Law. In both cases, the higher good does not transcend ethnicity. I argued above that being ‘‘in Christ’’ is an ethnic designation. Keeping the commandments of the God of Israel, living according to the moral code prescribed in scripture, constitute central Jewish ethnic practices. Paul did not ask gentiles to practice the Law in the same way what Jews did, nor did he think they were capable of doing so.71 He did, however, expect gentiles-in-Christ to live up to the standard of the Law, as he implies in 1 Cor 7:19 and makes explicit elsewhere.72 It serves Paul’s argument well to separate ‘‘keeping the commandments of God’’ from circumcision: he can then maintain that circumcision of gentile males is not required (or desirable) for gentiles to be in-Christ and to follow God’s commandments. Paul is explicit that he expects this higher good to exist along with other goods (being circumcised or not, married or unmarried, slave or free); he advocates this higher good even as he instructs them to maintain their various identities. Circumcision and observing the Law serve as the centerpiece for a parallel argument, this time focusing on Ioudaioi (but with the aim of making a point to the gentile audience). In Romans 2:17–24, Paul debates with a Jewish interlocutor, accusing this fictive colleague of hypocrisy in his teaching. He next addresses circumcision: Circumcision (Peritomc) indeed is of value if you obey the Law; but if you break the Law, your circumcision has become uncircumcision (¼krobusta). So, if those who are uncircumcised ( ¼krobusta) keep the requirements of the Law, will not their uncircumcision ( ¼krobusta a toø~) be regarded as circumcision (peritomcn)? Then those who are uncircumcised by birth ( ½k fseoB ¼krobusta) but keep the Law will condemn you that have the written code and circumcision but break the Law. For there is no ‘‘outward’’ Ioudaios nor is there an ‘‘outward’’ circumcision in the flesh. But there is a ‘‘hidden’’ Ioudaios, and there is circumcision of the heart by the spirit, not the letter, for which approval comes not from humans but from God. (Rom 2:25–29) Again, Paul distinguishes between two things that would have gone together for first-century Ioudaioi: obeying the Law and circumcision of sons. Yet also he argues that they are inextricably linked. Paul defines the value of circumcision in terms of an accompanying obedience to the Law. In fact, this obedience—or the lack thereof—can transform one’s uncircumcision into circumcision and vice versa: thus a disobedient Jew’s circumcision becomes uncircumcision and an obedient gentile’s uncircumcision is considered circumcision.73 In Paul’s hypothetical turning of the ethnic tables, obedient gentiles, who are

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uncircumcised by birth, would be in a position of judging disobedient Ioudaioi, who have the advantages of the Law and circumcision.74 As in the 1 Corinthians passage discussed above, Paul relies here upon a notion of faithful gentiles keeping the requirements of the Law. This passage fits into a larger discussion of the God of Israel’s just punishment and reward of his peoples. Paul presents a traditional Jewish view: when it comes to God’s judgment, how one behaves is more important than who you are.75 Throughout this study we have seen Paul define status before God with several contrasts: faithfulness of Christ, not works of the Law; kinship through promise and spirit, not flesh. Here, with the specific aim of countering his opponent’s position, Paul contrasts a true commitment to the Law (held by faithful Jews and faithful gentiles, although in different ways) with a hollow one (exemplified by his interlocutor in the verses just prior, Rom 2:17–24). The larger goal here, of course, is to make the point for his gentile audience that their circumcision would not guarantee their status. To make this argument, Paul shifts the basis of judgment from an outward, inherited marker (circumcision) to an inner, achieved disposition (keeping the Law). Of course, the practice of circumcision is a part of obeying the Law, but only for the parents who circumcise their sons. For adult Jewish males, like Paul’s interlocutor, circumcision is an inherited characteristic, a ‘‘natural’’ part of being a Ioudaios. This point of view is clear in Paul’s description of non-Jews, who do not inherit circumcision and are therefore ‘‘uncircumcised by birth’’ or ‘‘by nature ( ½k fseoB ¼krobusta)’’ (Rom 2:27). Here Paul uses physical circumcision to stand for the inherited aspects of being Jewish and contrasts these with achieved characteristics, attained by doing the Law. Paul argues that inherited ethnic attributes are not enough for the righteousness of Ioudaioi. Paul thus establishes the grounds for including the gentiles who have not inherited circumcision (and who should not take it up, according to Paul). If other factors make people right with God, goes Paul’s argument, then gentiles have access to these. Again, Paul prioritizes: the higher good consists of obedience to the Law, and the value of circumcision (as an inherited characteristic) depends on this. Using a concept familiar from scripture, circumcision of the heart, Paul establishes a contrast between outward and inward identity.76 He ranks ‘‘circumcision of the heart’’ and the ‘‘hidden Ioudaios’’ over ‘‘circumcision in the flesh’’ and the ‘‘outward Ioudaios.’’77 This split allows Paul to distinguish between physical circumcision and other outward signs of Jewish identity on the one hand, and their ‘‘inner’’ counterparts on the other. That Paul does not devalue outward ethnic markers is clear from the passage immediately following the one above. The interlocutor asks: ‘‘Then what advantage has the Ioudaios? Or what is the value of circumcision?’’ And Paul responds: ‘‘Much in every way. For in the first place they [the Ioudaioi] were entrusted with the oracles of God’’ (Rom 3:1–2). Paul does not erase the significance of physical circumcision for

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Ioudaioi, nor demean the status of Ioudaioi themselves. His point—which he continues to develop in Romans 4—is that physical circumcision, as an attributed trait, is not enough to justify peoples before the God of Israel without behavior that God considers right. If even for Ioudaioi circumcision (as an inherited, outer sign) does not determine one’s status before God, Paul reasons, then the same is true for gentiles-in-Christ. The argument serves not to erase ethnic particularity—after all, behaving in ways prescribed by the God of Israel is an ethnic practice itself—but to convince gentiles that the outward sign of circumcision is not necessary for their own good status before God. The concept of multiple identities that are both context-specific and hierarchically arranged offers a new way of reading these passages, which scholars have often adduced as evidence that Paul rejects ethnicity. These passages, with their insistence that ‘‘there is no Ioudaios or Greek’’ and ‘‘circumcision is nothing and uncircumcision is nothing,’’ do not downplay or eliminate ethnicity to make room for a nonethnic good. Embedded in their specific contexts, these claims are strategies of argumentation that allow Paul to reorder the identities of gentiles-in-Christ. As Paul shapes the new identities of these gentiles, he places ‘‘in-Christness’’ or ‘‘keeping the commandments of God’’ at the top. To counter the argument that inherited traits alone make Ioudaioi righteous, Paul relativizes the value of physical circumcision compared to the higher good of ‘‘circumcision of the heart.’’ If this valuation holds true for faithful Ioudaioi, as Paul argues it does, then it holds true also for gentiles, and circumcision is not necessary for them. Indeed, all of these passages serve Paul’s larger goal of convincing gentiles that they have become a part of an aggregate of peoples who belong to the God of Israel, and have done so on specific terms that do not include their becoming Jews. Yet they must live up to the standards of this God, and fulfill ‘‘the just requirement of the Law’’ (Rom 8:4).

Conclusion A model of multiple identities has served as a guide for reading two types of identity construction: Paul’s own shape-shifting as he brings the gospel to the gentiles and his rhetorical efforts to craft a new order of identities for gentilesin-Christ. With Paul’s call from God to serve as apostle to the gentiles, his hierarchy of nested identities has grown: Paul is an Israelite, descended from the seed of Abraham, blameless in the Law, of the tribe of Benjamin, in-Christ, and an apostle to the gentiles. Because being in-Christ is the most important of Paul’s identities, and because adaptability—imitating Christ—is central to what it means to be in-Christ, he is willing to rearrange other components of his identity as a Ioudaios for the sake of his task as an apostle. In turn, he urges

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the gentiles to make more radical changes as they adopt—and are adopted by—the God of Israel. Thinking in terms of multiple identities calls our attention to the ways that people can view aspects of their identity as ‘‘real’’ yet not static. It also helps us understand God’s peoples not as one monolithic group, but as multifaceted and multiethnic. As I will argue in the final chapter, the differences among these peoples are as crucial as their common bond. For these differences help Paul weave a story of salvation of both Ioudaioi and ethn
e, a story whose outcome depends precisely upon the distinction between them.

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8 Ranking Ethnic Peoples: ‘‘First the Jew, Then the Greek’’

In this final chapter, I return to the dynamic of oppositional ethnic construction discussed in chapter 2. I will argue that the tension between Ioudaioi and ethn
e not only illustrates Paul’s theological problem but also figures into the solution. As Romans 9–11 makes clear, the relationship between these two peoples, now as connected peoples belonging to the God of Israel, is critical to the salvation of both. In Romans more than any other letter, Paul is interested in mapping out the relationship between Jews and non-Jews. Thus we find in this letter a series of comparative statements linking Jews and gentiles (or Greeks) as two peoples of the God of Israel. These comparisons often serve the larger argument that the God of Israel has welcomed gentiles through Christ: 





‘‘For I am not ashamed of the good news; it is the power of God for the salvation for everyone who is faithful, first the Ioudaios and then the Greek’’ (Rom 1:16). ‘‘[There will be] affliction and distress upon every soul of a person who does evil, first the Ioudaios and then the Greek. But glory and honor and peace to everyone who does good, first to the Ioudaios and then to the Greek. For there is no partiality from God’’ (Rom 2:9–11). ‘‘‘What then, are we any better off?’ Not at all. For we have already charged that all are under sin, both Ioudaioi and Greeks’’ (Rom 3:9).

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‘‘Or is God the God of the Ioudaioi only? Is he not the God of the gentiles also? For indeed, if God is one, he who makes the circumcised just out of faithfulness also makes the uncircumcised just through faithfulness’’ (Rom 3:29–30). ‘‘For there is no difference between a Ioudaios and a Greek, for he is the Lord of all, being generous to those who call on him. For ‘whoever calls the Lord’s name will be saved’ ’’ (Rom 10:12–13).

In these passages, Paul juxtaposes binary opposites: Ioudaios/Greek, Ioudaios/ gentiles, circumcised/foreskinned.1 But through these comparisons, Paul also demonstrates the shared circumstances of the two groups: they both belong to the God of Israel who will exercise mercy or wrath on each. These passages illustrate the interaction between oppositional and aggregative strategies: polar opposites are connected yet not merged. Their connection is made possible by common ancestry and a shared God: gentilesin-Christ and Ioudaioi are all descendants of Abraham and peoples of the God of Israel. But Paul does not join the two groups into one, nor are the two groups equal: first the Ioudaios, then the Greek. Paul maintains a hierarchy between the two, placing Jews at the top. The tension created by this arrangement is crucial to Paul’s argument in Romans 9–11, where he outlines his understanding of God’s larger plan for salvation of peoples. In these chapters, Paul argues somewhat laboriously that this plan includes—and, as I contend, depends upon—two separate ethnic entities under the God of Israel, Ioudaioi and ethn
e. Romans 9–11 makes clear that ethnic discourse shapes Paul’s view of unfolding salvation history. In the previous chapter, I discussed prioritizing one’s own multiple identities; here I focus on how Paul ranks separate but linked peoples. Through Romans 9–11, Paul presents the tense relationship between Jews and gentiles as integral to the salvation of each. Aggregative arguments allow Paul to simultaneously unify and distinguish gentiles and Jews, to rank the latter over the former, and to cultivate a tension between them which propels his version of salvation history, ultimately bringing about the salvation of both peoples.

Good News for Jews First, and Then Greeks In the first Jew/Greek comparison of the letter, Romans 1:16, Paul claims that the good news is important for the salvation of faithful Ioudaioi and faithful Greeks. Traditionally, the language of ‘‘Jews first’’ has been explained chronologically. That is, the gospel was first preached to Ioudaioi (where it failed for the most part) and then to gentiles.2 In my view, the chronological theory of Jewish priority, though it perhaps matches the narrative of Acts, does not make

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sense in the context of Paul’s letters. Paul himself offers no hint that the gospel has gone to the Ioudaioi and failed and thus the gentiles are next. Paul and his colleagues divide up their work, with Paul going directly to the gentiles and others going to the Ioudaioi (Gal 2:7–8). As I will argue below, Paul’s language is not temporal but hierarchical.3 Furthermore, the ‘‘good news’’ or gospel in this verse has typically been understood to be the same for both peoples, indeed for the world: Christ came to save all, Jews and non-Jews, from their sins. I agree that the good news is the same for both, but I understand the content of the gospel differently. Paul explicitly articulates the gospel in Galatians 3:8: ‘‘Scripture . . . declared the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying ‘All the gentiles will be blessed in you.’’’ God has made this happen through Christ, who brings Abraham’s blessings to the gentiles (Gal 3:14). The content of the good news is the same for Jews and Greeks, but what it means for each group differs. The relevance of the gospel for gentiles is obvious: through Christ, they receive Abrahamic ancestry and blessings, and therefore establish a new and salvific relationship with God. The relevance of this good news for Ioudaioi, who already have these things that the gentiles have recently gained, is that it signals arrival of the awaited time. Through Christ, the nations are coming to Israel, and, with Christ’s return, the world will soon be God’s.4 Thus Christ’s death and resurrection are the first steps in a series of events described in Romans 9–11 (including gentiles coming to God and Israel stumbling) that leads to the final goal: the salvation of ‘‘all Israel’’ (Rom 11:26).5 I would apply a similar interpretation to Romans (3:29–30): ‘‘Or is God the God of the Ioudaioi only? Is he not the God of the gentiles also? For indeed, if God is one, he who makes the circumcised just out of faithfulness also makes the uncircumcised just through faithfulness.’’ I agree with Mark Nanos that these verses—which refer to Deuteronomy 6:4, ‘‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God is one Lord’’—lie at the heart of Paul’s theology.6 Paul relies on the shared monotheism of his interlocutor (and audience) to argue that God is the God of polar opposites: Ioudaioi and ethn
e, circumcised and uncircumcised/ foreskinned. If God is one, then God must belong also to the ethn
e. Paul’s version of universalism includes both Israel’s privilege and the inclusion of gentiles. As Nanos comments, ‘‘Paul is here developing the tension between the special privilege of being Israel . . . and . . . God’s role as the creator of all humankind. . . . Here we meet so-called particularism and universalism in unison, not as binary opposites, as they are so often treated.’’7 Paul’s letter to the Romans navigates this tension as he explains to gentiles how they fit in to God’s larger plan. In Romans 3:30, Paul argues that both groups are justified through faithfulness, typically understood as the faith of the believer.8 As I argue in chapter 4, this faithfulness is better understood as belonging to Abraham and Christ and refers to the way God establishes relationships with peoples. It is

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not a uniform faith of the believer, whether Jew or gentile, that justifies, but the salvific, generative, obedient faithfulness of Christ—modeled in part after Abraham—that justifies.9 Thus we might paraphrase the verse above: he who makes the circumcised just out of Abraham’s faithfulness (and God’s faithfulness to Abraham) also makes the uncircumcised just through Christ’s faithfulness.10 Of course, the two ‘‘faithfulnesses’’ are not unrelated: they are complementary components of God’s larger plan to save ‘‘all Israel,’’ which includes the faithful gentiles.

Jews, Greeks, and an Impartial God Now that the gentiles are eligible to receive the blessings promised to Abraham, they are also accountable to his God. Three of Paul’s ethnic pairings relate directly to this important theme in Romans, the impartiality of God:11 





‘‘[There will be] affliction and distress upon every soul of a person who does evil, first the Ioudaios and then the Greek. But glory and honor and peace to everyone who does good, first to the Ioudaios and then to the Greek. For there is no partiality from God’’ (Rom 2:9–11). ‘‘‘What then, are we any better off?’ Not at all. For we have already charged that all are under sin, both Ioudaioi and Greeks’’ (Rom 3:9). ‘‘For there is no difference between a Ioudaios and a Greek, for he is the Lord of all, being generous to those who call on him. For ‘whoever calls the Lord’s name will be saved’’’ (Rom 10:12–13).

In each of these passages—all of which address God’s judgment of his peoples—Paul emphasizes the oneness and impartiality of the God of Israel toward Jews and gentiles. Even these two opposite peoples have something in common: both are subject to God’s judgment and to his mercy. The repeated reminders of God’s impartiality serve Paul’s central argument that gentiles might also be found acceptable to the God of Israel. Because God is one, salvation, as well as God’s wrath, is not limited to the Jews; both are available to the ‘‘Ioudaios and the Greek.’’ Some conclude—perhaps influenced by a ‘‘fusion’’ reading of Galatians 3:28—that this common ground overshadows ethnic distinctions between the two groups. Romans 10:12 is particularly vulnerable to this interpretation: ‘‘For there is no difference between a Ioudaios and a Greek.’’ As with Galatians 3:28, I do not see an erasure of difference here, but a reliance upon difference to make a point. God’s wrath and God’s mercy are distributed to all peoples who belong to him, gentiles included. The point gets its punch precisely from the pronounced asymmetry of the comparison. Paul never says, for example, that the Ioudaioi have to give up any portion of their ethnic and religious identity. Their God, their practices, their scriptures are all intact. The gentiles, by contrast,

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must give up goods that are central to their identity: their gods, religious practices, myths of origin, epic stories of their ancestors and origins. To receive the same judgment and mercy as the Ioudaioi, the gentiles must adopt the God of Israel and Jewish narratives of origin and ancestry.12 Although Ioudaioi and Greeks receive equally impartial treatment from God, these two peoples arrive at this position with different ethnic identities and ethnic histories. The Ioudaioi are marked by ethnic continuity and the Greeks by ethnic disruption and rearranging. Thus we should understand an implied qualification to Romans 10:12: there is no difference between a Ioudaios and a Greek with respect to God’s impartiality. Until Christ there was a significant difference: Ioudaioi were accountable to and cared for by the God of Israel; gentiles were not. Now that difference is gone, even as other differences remain. Furthermore, at the same time that Paul argues for God’s impartiality for both peoples, he also marks them as different by ranking them, ‘‘first the Ioudaios and then the Greek’’ (Rom 1:6 and 2:9–11). Impartiality does not imply equality. A Roman judicial metaphor helps to see how this works. In contrast to modern assumptions that impartial judgment requires strictly equal treatment, ancient legal systems aimed for fairness and justice with respect to ranks.13 According to Roman law, greater rights properly belonged to citizens over noncitizens, equestrians over commoners, senators over equestrians.14 An impartial judge would not grant an advantage to the higher rank beyond what was their due; rather, the judge would keep the hierarchy intact. Paul’s description of the God of Israel’s impartiality—‘‘first to the Ioudaios and then to the Greek’’—can be understood within this judicial metaphor. Both peoples will be judged impartially, but it does not follow that these peoples are the same. In Paul’s view of the hierarchy, Ioudaioi rank higher than Greeks. The phrase ‘‘first the Ioudaios and then the Greek’’ reflects a concept of a priority of peoples, a ranking of Ioudaioi over gentiles. A similar relationship is also implied by the following passage: ‘‘including us whom he has called, not only out of the Ioudaioi but also out of the gentiles (o mnon ½x \Ioudaon ¼lla kad ½x ½yn ~ n)’’ (Rom 9:24). That gentiles are called by God is argued here; that Jews are called is a given. When Paul conceives of these two ethnic peoples together, the Ioudaioi come first. This hierarchy jibes with Paul’s separate descriptions of these two peoples, the gentiles in Romans 1:18–32 and the Ioudaioi in Romans 9:4–5 (discussed in chap 2).

Branches of the Family Tree To complicate matters further, this hierarchy does not remain stable in Paul’s argument. In Romans 9–11, where Paul charts God’s plans for righteousness for the Jews and gentiles, it seems that the gentiles arrive first at this

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goal: ‘‘What then are we to say? Gentiles, who did not pursue righteousness have attained it, that is, righteousness based on faithfulness; but Israel, who did pursue the law of righteousness, did not arrive first at the Law (eB nmon o k fyasen)?’’ (Rom 9:30–31).15 As several scholars have noted, this passage construes Jews and gentiles agonistically, as competitors in a footrace.16 The Jews, Paul explains, have stumbled along the way, but only temporarily: Therefore I say, surely they did not stumble so as to fall? No indeed. But by their misstep salvation came to the gentiles with the purpose of making [Israel] jealous. If their stumbling offers riches for the world and their failure offers riches for the gentiles, how much more will their own fulfillment offer? (Rom 11:11–12) Furthermore, this temporary false step was arranged by God who, in keeping with scripture, placed a stone in their path (Rom 9:33; Isa 8:14–15, 28:16). Israel’s stumbling allows the gentiles to catch up and take the lead, which in turn makes Israel jealous so that it will be inspired to double its efforts toward the goal. As Stanley K. Stowers remarks, the race was rigged all along so that both peoples, each spurring on the other, might prevail.17 Thus salvation history, as understood by Paul, depends upon the tension between these two opposing peoples. Each group is linked to the God of Israel but distinct from one another. After explaining to the gentiles the contours of God’s overall plan for the salvation of both peoples, a plan which appears to give the gentiles an edge in reaching salvation first, Paul immediately issues them a warning, as if restoring order to the hierarchy. Paul tells the gentiles that they are a ‘‘wild olive shoot’’ (¼grilaioB) which has been ‘‘grafted onto’’ (½nekentrsyZB) a cultivated olive tree to benefit from the richness of the tree (11:17). Paul warns them not to boast about this arrangement: If you boast, remember that you do not support the root but the root supports you. Therefore you will say, ‘‘The branches have been broken off so that I might be grafted on.’’ True. They have been broken off by unfaithfulness (tŁ  ~ apistÆ  ), but you have stood by means of faithfulness (tŁ  ~ pstei). Do not consider high things, but be afraid. For if God did not spare the natural branches (t ~ n kata fsin kldon), he will in no way spare you. See the kindness and severity of God: severity upon those who have fallen, but the kindness of God upon you. Unless you remain in his kindness, you will be cut off. Also those people, if they do not remain in unfaithfulness, they will be grafted on. For God is able to graft them on again. (Rom 11:18–23) Various explanations have been offered for what the roots and branches, and the tree itself, represent in this passage.18 Yet many have missed what I would argue is the interpretive key to this passage: this agricultural metaphor refers to

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kinship, ethnicity, and lineages. This is an ancient ‘‘family tree,’’ which delineates the relationship between the God of Israel and his peoples.19 Although a few interpreters note the connections between Paul’s olive tree and his arguments about kinship and ethnicity, they nevertheless fail to recognize the implications of this reading. Several scholars, for example, label the roots of the olive tree as the patriarchs and the branches as descendants, which seems to assume an implicit connection between lineage and Paul’s olive tree. Joseph Fitzmyer even argues that the olive tree passage needs to be interpreted in the context of Romans 4 and Galatians 3:29 (both of which address the new status of gentiles as descendants of Abraham), but he never explains why.20 John Lodge connects the grafting of the gentiles to their new status as descendants of Abraham, but he refers to this connection as a ‘‘mixing of metaphors,’’ implying that the two do not make sense together.21 It is striking that scholars can link the olive tree passage and the kinship arguments yet neglect to explain why this might make sense to Paul and to his audience.22 I think this oversight is due in large part to a modern use of agricultural metaphors for kinship: the ‘‘family tree’’ is the perfect example. Our own familiarity with the metaphor makes it so transparent that we fail to explicate it in Paul. But proper interpretation of this passage depends upon an awareness of the close associations between agricultural imagery and kinship and ethnic relations in the ancient world. Paul’s olive tree passage does not presuppose just any sort of membership in a group; it specifically speaks about those relationships created through lineages and ancestors. Once we recognize that the olive tree is an analogy for related lineages, then Paul’s strategy becomes more apparent. He uses the tree to construct an aggregative and hierarchical relationship between Ioudaioi and gentiles as distinct peoples of the God of Israel. That an ancient audience would have implicitly understood this is not difficult to demonstrate. Agricultural imagery was a favorite trope for ancient authors in many cultures discussing kinship and lineages. Procreation itself was often imagined as sowing seeds in the earth, a metaphor which captures the gendered roles of the active male sower and the passive female recipient.23 In Book VI of the Iliad, Glaukos is asked if he is human or god. He responds by comparing the mortality of humans to the perpetual regeneration of a tree: ‘‘Why ask of my generation (genecn)? As is the generation (gene) of leaves, so is that of humanity. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the live timber burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring returning. So one generation (gene) of men will grow while another dies’’ (Iliad, 6.145–149).24 As Paul would have known, biblical authors often compare God’s peoples to plants. The Psalmist writes: ‘‘The righteous shall flourish as a palm tree; he shall be increased as the cedar in Lebanon. They that are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God’’ (LXX Ps 91:12–13).25 Hosea, who describes Israel’s return to its God as the new growth of plants,

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specifically uses the fruit-bearing olive tree as an image of the thriving Israel: ‘‘[Israel] shall bloom as the lily and cast forth its roots as Lebanon. Its branches shall spread, and it shall be as a fruitful olive (½laa katkarpoB)’’ (LXX Hos 14:6–7). Jeremiah also compares Israel to an olive tree and—key for our purposes— uses it to describe God’s response when Israel strays: ‘‘The Lord called your name a fair olive tree (½laan), of a goodly shade in appearance. At the noise of its being lopped, fire was kindled against it; great is the affliction coming upon you. Her branches have become good for nothing. And the Lord that planted you has pronounced evils against you because of the iniquities of the house of Israel and the house of Judah’’ (LXX Jer 11:16–17). Here we have an image of violent ‘‘disaggregation’’ in which the God of Israel threatens to destroy the olive tree which is Israel. Similarly, Isaiah addresses how God will root out corruption in the tribes of Israel, leaving only a remnant to survive: ‘‘Look, the Sovereign, the Lord of hosts, will lop the boughs with terrifying power; the tallest trees will be cut down, and the lofty will be brought low. He will hack down the thickets of the forest with an ax, and Lebanon with its majestic trees will fall. A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots’’ (Isa 10:33–11:1).26 Paul uses these same motifs—the peoples of God as trees or branches and God’s punishing act as cutting them down—in the olive tree pericope in Romans 11. Notice that the hope amid the destruction takes the form of the new growth that will issue from the ‘‘stump of Jesse.’’ Thus the lineage of Jesse, the remnant that survives, is represented as a new shoot emerging from a stump. Later Jewish authors also used arboreal imagery to trace lineages between generations. Philo compares Shem to a root: ‘‘And from that root sprung up wise Abraham, a tree yielding sweet nutriment, and his fruit was Isaac,’’ and Jacob in turn was Isaac’s seed (On Sobriety, 65).27 This image of a tree as a lineage works so well because kinship, like plant growth, is considered organic and contiguous. Each descendant (or new plant) is literally an elaboration of the ‘‘stuff’’ of its ancestor. Thus horticultural imagery expresses the logic of patrilineal descent, which, as we saw in chapter 1, assumes an organic connection between descendants and ancestors. Even adoption—which is an excellent example of aggregative kinship— can be imagined in horticultural terms, as new branches grafted onto an existing tree. In a passage that bears a striking resemblance to Paul’s olive tree metaphor, Philo likens grafting to adoption. He explains that a gardener can improve plants that yield poor crops ‘‘by inserting grafts into the stem near the roots and joining them with it so that they grow together as one (sumfuesttŁ  ) (De Agricultura, 6).’’28 The same thing happens, Philo continues, when adopted sons, although ‘‘aliens’’ by birth, nevertheless fit right into their adopted families (De Agricultura, 6). For both Philo and Paul, the

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horticultural practice of grafting captures the aggregative process of adopting a child into a family. Many of these images appear in Paul’s olive tree metaphor in Romans 11. Paul imagines the peoples of God as the branches of an olive tree. In this aggregation of related peoples, some are ‘‘natural,’’ and some are ‘‘grafted.’’ As adopted sons, the gentiles are the grafted branches, and Paul reminds them of their dependence on the root which sustains them. This natural/unnatural divide is destabilized, however, by the power of the God of Israel, the horticulturist who is able to graft on new branches or lop off existing ones as he sees fit. We hear echoes of Isaiah 10:33–11:1 in Paul’s example of how some of the ‘‘natural’’ branches were broken off as a result of their ‘‘unfaithfulness’’ (Rom 11:20).29 This break is temporary, however, as these natural branches can be grafted on again if they do not continue in apistia (Rom 11:23). Likewise, although the gentiles-in-Christ currently ‘‘stand by means of faithfulness,’’ they should nevertheless be wary, for God can easily cut them off and graft others on again. Paul establishes a hierarchy by associating gentiles with the wild olive tree and Jews with the cultivated one, for these trees are quite different. Although a cultivated tree would have been tall and would have borne plump fruit (which would produce oil), the wild olive would have been more like a shrub, with a few hard fruits on it.30 Paul sharpens this point by distinguishing between natural and unnatural branches: ‘‘For if you are cut off from an olive tree which is wild by nature (e gar sø‘ ½k tŁ~B kata fsin ½xekpZB ¼grielaou), and, beyond the bounds of nature, you are grafted onto a cultivated tree (kad para fsin ½nekentrsyZB eB kallilaion), how much more will these natural branches (o øu toi o kata fsin) be grafted onto their own olive tree (tŁ  ~ dÆ  ½laÆ  )’’ (Rom 11:24). Paul contrasts Jews and non-Jews: the Jews are the ‘‘natural’’ branches from God’s original tree, whose roots provide nourishment for all the branches; the gentiles are grafted on and dependent on the ‘‘natural’’ tree. The gentiles, as shoots from a different tree altogether, are in a particularly precarious situation. As Philip Esler puts it, the gentiles ‘‘are actually parasitic on [the tree’s] richness.’’31 Following the logic of Paul’s metaphor, Christ would serve as the point at which the gentiles are grafted onto the olive tree. This idea echoes Paul’s earlier agricultural image to describe uniting with Christ in baptism: to be planted together (smfutoB in Rom 6:5). As I mention above, Philo employs similar imagery in his comparison of adoption to grafting in De Agricultura. Philo even uses the same word as Paul, the adjective form of symphytos, to describe the joining of the graft into the stem, and thus the adopted child into the family. The agricultural metaphor of grafting one plant to another illustrates what I have been arguing about the double-sidedness of kinship: the result of the graft, the ‘‘offspring,’’ becomes a part of the original plant so that they share the same organic matter. Yet it is still possible to identify it as a graft, even as it shapes and is shaped by the ‘‘natural’’ stem.

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Using the image of grafting, Paul brings Ioudaioi and gentiles into a shared lineage, an aggregate of two peoples. In the aggregative mode, ethnic identity is constructed not by contrast with others but by affiliation with others, usually to gain some advantage, such as a higher pedigree.32 One expression of this affiliation is what Jonathan Hall terms ‘‘ethnic genealogies,’’ whereby various ethnic groups link themselves together as descendants of a common ancestor.33 Hall reconstructs the earliest example of such a genealogy, which links Dorians, Ionians, and Achaeans as descendants of Hell
en.34 Each of these names represents an ancestor and corresponds to an ethnic group which claims this ancestor as its own. The function of this genealogy is to place these groups in relation to each other: they all claim Hell
en as their founding ancestor, yet each one retains its own eponymous ancestor, signaling a certain degree of independence within the larger configuration.35 Thus some ethnic groups can relate to each other as cousins, some as brothers, others as fathers and sons. Just as in ancient households not all relations are equal, so, too, with linked genealogies: the more direct line to Hell
en, the higher the status of the ethnic group. Thus an aggregative linking does not erase previous ethnic distinctions. In fact, it often serves to establish hierarchies among them. As Hall notes, ‘‘The Hellenic genealogy employs the metaphor of kinship to construct a system of ranked relationships between the groups that are represented by their eponyms.’’36 Hall’s analysis helps us to understand Paul’s rhetoric in Romans 11:17–24. In this olive tree passage, Paul uses agricultural imagery to arrange Jews and gentiles as related but distinct peoples of the God of Israel. Like the Hellenic groups in Hall’s model, Ioudaioi and gentiles in Romans are separate but hierarchically related peoples. Paul’s olive tree metaphor does not fit with a conception of one unified group of Christ-followers, free of ethnic affiliations. Instead, it enables Paul to describe an affiliation of connected but separate ethnic peoples, all of whom are now loyal to the God of Israel. In keeping with Hall’s aggregative construction of ethnicity, Paul’s metaphor allows for both similarity and difference between Jews and gentiles. The horticultural images of trees, grafting, and pruning allow Paul not only to articulate this relationship but also to illustrate how the God of Israel manages the peoples who belong to him. On the one hand, as branches of the same tree, they have the same roots and they are both vulnerable to being cut off if the tree is pruned. Jews and gentiles are descendants of a common ancestor, and both are subject to God’s judgment and mercy. On the other hand, they are separate branches and exist independently of each other as different lineages in a genealogy. As the ‘‘natural’’ branches of the cultivated, fruit-bearing tree, the Jews rank higher in the hierarchy. The gentiles, originally from the wild, fruitless olive, are attached only through grafting, and their status is less certain. Thus Jews and gentiles are distinct peoples and remain so; the Jews

ranking ethnic peoples: ‘‘first the jew, then the greek’’

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claim their link to Abraham by birth (and God’s promises) and the gentiles by adoption (and God’s promises). This agricultural metaphor aptly demonstrates how peoples can be related but not collapsed into one group.37 Similar relationships are portrayed in Roman efforts to reconstruct their own history by tracing their ancestry back to Greek heroes and gods.38 The point is not to say Romans and Greeks are one people, but to assert an independent and superior definition of ‘‘Roman’’ by linking it to a Greek heritage. The same dynamic is at work in the Hellenic genealogies presented by Jonathan Hall. The goal is not to collapse the various ethnic peoples (Dorians, Ionians, etc.) into one group, but to establish relationships among the distinct groups. In Paul’s configuration of the family tree, the higher status for the most part belongs to Jews. But Paul’s version of salvation history plays upon this relationship, upsetting the balance so that gentiles temporarily outpace Israel. Ultimately, however, Paul restores the gentiles to a subordinate rank, reminding them that their attachment to the tree is easily severed. Many Jews may have stumbled, but, as in the past, a remnant survives to bring about God’s plan for both peoples. In Romans 11:25b–26a, Paul offers a concise summary of the process he has described in Romans 9–11: ‘‘A hardening has come upon part of Israel, until the full number of the gentiles has come in. And so all Israel will be saved.’’ Thus God has chosen Israel, God’s first people, as the means through which to bring in the gentiles, God’s new (additional) people: first the Jew and then the Greek. Furthermore, as Mark Nanos has argued, this overall plan involving Jews and gentiles and the tensions between them describes the process of the restoration of Israel.39 Gentile reconciliation through Christ serves this larger goal.

Conclusion Ethnicity and kinship are crucial to Paul’s understanding of the relationship between the God of Israel and humans. He deploys this language when describing how peoples become God’s in the first place. The discourse of peoplehood and birth work well as models for this relationship in part because they are ascriptive. That is, you cannot achieve membership in God’s people; you cannot earn it.40 Yet these discourses also work for Paul because they are mutable constructs: kinship ties can be rearranged and renegotiated. Indeed, in the model of ethnic identity I have proposed in this study, ascription and achievement do not sit at opposite ends of a spectrum, but interact in a dynamic way. Ascriptive qualities, such as kinship and essence, can be created, rearranged. The God of Israel does just this when he calls whole populations to be his own peoples. Paul understands from scripture that this is what God did

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originally for the Israelites and it is now what God is doing for the gentiles: ‘‘‘I will call those who are not my people my people and the one not loved, loved’ ’’ (Rom 9:25; Hos 2:23; 1:10). Paul writes to the gentiles in Rome and Galatia to tell them that this prophecy has been fulfilled. Through the death and resurrection of Christ, the God of Israel has called the gentiles to be one of his peoples; he has made them his sons. This analysis of ethnicity in Paul significantly challenges some traditional readings and offers new ways of interpreting ethnic discourses in his letters. I have shown how a reflexive, dynamic understanding of ethnicity produces a more complex picture of constructions of identities of early Christ-followers. In his letter to the Romans, Paul writes not to a group of ‘‘Christians’’ who follow a religion free of ethnic ties, but to a group of gentiles who become ethnically linked with Jews through baptism into Christ. Oppositional and aggregative strategies work in tandem to express this relationship, which includes a tension that propels both groups toward salvation.

Conclusion

Additional Thoughts on Gentiles-in-Christ As I have shown, being in-Christ is not ethnically neutral; rather, it falls under the umbrella of Jewishness. Yet Paul does not imagine gentiles-in-Christ as Jews; in fact, he still calls them gentiles. Thinking in terms of multiple identities, we might imagine these gentiles as occupying a mixed or ‘‘hybrid’’ identity that is not completely ‘‘other’’ than what they were, but is certainly not identical to their previous status. Postcolonial theorists use the term ‘‘hybridity’’ to describe a complex process whereby the interaction of the colonized and colonizer inevitably influences the self-definition of each.1 Herodotus, who was obsessively interested in classifying peoples and tracing their origins and relationships to each other, seems to assume that a certain amount of hybridity is a normal part of ethnic development. He repeatedly comments on how particular groups develop their own identities precisely by borrowing and learning from other groups.2 For example, he explains that the Greeks get their knowledge of the gods as well as their central religious practices—traits which, as we have seen, are often the basis for claiming Greekness—from the Egyptians (2.43–53)! We might draw an analogy between this story and Paul’s narrative: gentiles-inChrist have gained knowledge of God, religious practices, sacred writings, and ethical standards from the Ioudaioi. Sze-kar Wan finds the concept of hybridity useful in understanding Galatians 3:28, where he sees Paul fashioning a new ‘‘people’’ in Christ: ‘‘This new ‘people’ is reconfigured not by erasing

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ethnic and cultural differences but by combining these differences into a hybrid existence.’’3 Hybridity offers a complementary twist to the model of multiple identities; it suggests that among the various identities one person might hold, one or all of them may be amalgams of other identities. I appreciate Wan’s insight, especially as it insists that identities are complex and differences are not erased, but I would apply it differently to Paul. Whereas Wan seems to imagine that being in-Christ is a hybrid identity for both Jews and gentiles, I see it as hybrid only for gentiles. Being in-Christ does not require Jews to appropriate Greek or gentile traits. Thus being in-Christ does not involve shifting or mixing for Jews; it is already a Jewish identity. For Paul, it is not being in-Christ that requires his own adjustments, but teaching gentiles. Although Jewish identities themselves may have been multiple and hybrid, as all identities are, being in-Christ requires a more radical blending for gentiles. Paul draws upon the discourses of kinship and ethnicity most explicitly when addressing the theological problem (gentile alienation from the God of Israel) and its solution (baptism into Israel’s messiah). Yet when he discusses the maintenance of these established groups—how to live according to the new standards of being in-Christ—he uses the language of psychagogy or moral instruction, similar to that of philosophical schools.4 In addition to offering instruction on self-mastery, a favorite theme of Paul’s, he addresses the members of the assemblies as adelphoi (‘‘brothers’’ or ‘‘brothers and sisters’’) and pistoi (‘‘faithful ones’’), both of which are conventions in psychagogic contexts.5 As I argued in chapter 2, the discourses of kinship and ethnicity overlap with discourses of moral instruction, especially in Paul’s formulation of gentiles as morally depraved. This overlap reflects the flexibility in notions of peoplehood in ancient texts. Carter Bentley’s practice-oriented formulation of ethnic identity allows for this flexibility: According to the practice theory of ethnicity, sensations of ethnic affinity are founded on common life experiences that generate similar habitual dispositions. . . . It is commonality of experience and of the preconscious habitus it generates that gives members of an ethnic cohort their sense of being both familiar and familial to each other.6 By ‘‘habitus,’’ Bentley means shared experiences, practical skills, and ways of viewing the world. We might understand Paul as fostering a common habitus for the assemblies.7 In Paul’s language, this might be described as living ‘‘in the spirit’’ instead of ‘‘in the flesh’’ (Rom 8 and Gal 5). Thus in addition to a common heritage as ‘‘adopted sons of God’’ and ‘‘brothers in Christ,’’ these Christ-followers share the spirit and common practices, especially religious

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practices. As we saw in chapter 1, each of these claims serves to define ethnic identities and boundaries in ancient texts. Yet Paul does not develop a language of peoplehood for the established communities of Christ followers. This becomes especially clear when compared to later Christians who explicitly use ethnic language, specifically Jewish ethnic language, to define themselves.8 Several generations after Paul, the author of 1 Peter calls his readers ‘‘a chosen people (gnoB), a royal priesthood, a holy nation (ynoB Lgion), God’s own people (lao`B)’’ (2:9). The Preaching of Peter, a text quoted by Clement of Alexandria, exhorts its readers to worship neither as the Greeks, nor as the Ioudaioi, but as the Christians who worship ‘‘as a third genos (trt  gnei)’’ (Stromateis, 6.5.39.4–6.5.41.6).9 As Christians begin to understand themselves as separate from Ioudaioi, some of them argue that they represent the ‘‘true Israel,’’ or God’s legitimate people, exclusive of others, especially Ioudaioi themselves.10 But these claims are not found in Paul. The social and historical context which makes these arguments possible does not exist when Paul is writing. The concept of replacing Israel with a new people would never have occurred to him.11 Paul is also unconcerned with intergenerational continuity among the assemblies; he even encourages them not to marry (1 Cor 7). This issue, too, is approached differently by later Christians, even those who write in his name, who adopt traditional Greek and Roman values of marriage and procreation (e.g., the Deutero-Pauline and Pastoral epistles). Perhaps both of these characteristics make sense given Paul’s own apocalyptic expectation. Paul constructs kinship ties to give gentiles a new heritage, but he is not interested in their descendants. Indeed, intergenerational continuity is irrelevant for those awaiting the imminent end of the world and an age to come in which immortality eliminates the need for marriage and children. But according to Paul, to prepare the world for these events, and perhaps even as an initiation of these events, the God of Israel sent the messiah as a means of gathering the nations. The kinship created through baptism into Christ establishes a tie to Israel and its God, a tie that will survive into the new age. For Paul, the logic of ethnicity and kinship offers a solution to the problem of how Jews and the non-Jewish peoples can be reconciled on Jewish terms at the end of the age.

Continual Mythmaking When Paul crafts a new ancestry for gentiles, he employs strategies and skills that we find in many other ancient writers. Constructing kinship and ethnic ties was (and still is) 12 an effective means of arguing for a new arrangement and a new status for a people. Paul develops several discourses of kinship for

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gentiles which seek to explain how Israel is to incorporate the ethnic and religious ‘‘other’’ according to an ancient promise from God. This new language of kinship creates a myth of collective identity for the gentiles, an identity that relates to, but does not become one with, a Jewish identity. Russell T. McCutcheon describes mythmaking as ‘‘an activity that unites into a totalized system of representation what Mack refers to as the ‘epic past, historical past, historical present, anticipated historical future, hoped for epic future.’ ’’13 For Paul, this ‘‘totalized system’’ is the history of Israel: the stories of the foundation of the people through Abraham and the promises from God; the line of chosen heirs to pass those blessings on to future generations; the life and death of Jesus, through whom the God of Israel mercifully offers the opportunity for non-Jews to be made right with him; and the future salvation of both Jews and Christ-following gentiles, which will be brought about in part by the tension between these two peoples. My analysis of kinship and ethnicity helps us to see that Paul’s thinking is immersed in and shaped by the story of a specific people and their God. He speaks not as a Christian theologian, but as a first-century Jewish teacher of gentiles responding to concrete situations in the communities he founded.14 He writes not to all humans but to those particular peoples who remain alienated from the God of Israel. I do not deny that Paul had universal aspirations: he devoted his life to reaching as many non-Jews as possible. But these aspirations came from the point of view of a first-century Jew who understood Israel as a ‘‘light to the nations.’’ Ethnicity is not removed from this universal goal; it lies at the core of his mission. It is not only Paul, of course, who engages in mythmaking. His interpreters participate in the same practices. The longtime myth constructed by Pauline scholars has been that Paul rejects a particularistic Judaism for a ethnicity-free and transcendent Christianity. Through an analysis of kinship and ethnicity, I hope I have offered a countermyth which recognizes Paul as a voice within first-century Judaism, who interpreted but also shaped the story of Israel to accommodate the ethnic and religious ‘‘other.’’ According to Paul, the salvation of Israel depends upon this accommodation, which is prophesied in scripture and made possible through Christ. In Paul’s strategic telling, the spirit creates a divinely sanctioned kinship which links the gentile peoples to Christ, and through him to the lineage to which God has committed himself through promises and covenants. For those who look to Paul to find liberative models, my reading may not bring such good news. Although the central theme of Paul’s gospel is the inclusion of those who are most excluded, his arguments about baptism into Christ are patrilineal and patriarchal through and through, and they capitalize on the status differences between men and women and slaves and free.15 This is so even as Paul acknowledges women apostles, deacons, coworkers, and so on in the communities he addresses. As feminist scholars have long pointed

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out, these women leaders may have presented a gospel message different from Paul’s in a variety of ways.16 For those concerned with relations between Jews and Christians, this reading offers at least some material for dialogue. Like others in the ‘‘radical’’ new perspective, my reading of Paul insists on viewing him as a first-century Jew and thus opens the possibility that he had no critique of Judaism but remained fully faithful to the God of Israel and this God’s plan for the salvation of all peoples. Daniel Boyarin has characterized the Gaston/Gager approach, which my interpretation largely supports, as a ‘‘moving effort to rescue Paul from charges of anti-Semitism and thus save him for modern Christians.’’17 Indeed, this might be one way to characterize the ‘‘myth’’ being written by the radical wing of the new perspective, which arose in the wake of the Holocaust. Though I cannot speak for others, I can say that such a rescue is certainly not my intention, nor has it been the result, as far as I can tell. Perhaps a better way to describe my efforts is as an attempt to extricate Paul from Augustinian and Lutheran readings: rescuing him from Christians, rather than for Christians. Indeed, my reading does not deliver to twenty-firstcentury Christians an approachable, easy-to-relate-to Paul. It complicates many familiar notions, including faith, spirit, Jew, Christian, and universality. Many Christians today may find a traditional Lutheran reading of Paul more palatable. Thus, although my interpretation illuminates how Paul uses ethnic discourses to construct his gospel for first-century gentiles, it also poses new questions for modern Christian interpretation: How do contemporary Christians relate to Paul’s position? How can Christians rethink the origins of Christianity in ways that on the one hand allow for the complex identities of the first communities of Christ-followers, and that on the other hand find some continuity with those communities? Perhaps this process—a new mythmaking of sorts—may benefit from some of the insights developed in this study. Understanding identity as fluid, multifaceted, complex, mixed, and also as authentic and meaningful may open possibilities for crafting new understandings of Christian beginnings as well as of current Christian identities. Consideration of such issues may encourage those both in the academy and in faith communities to move beyond the anti-Jewish legacy of Pauline interpretive traditions.

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Notes

introduction 1. This perception is shaped by post-Enlightenment Christian understandings of religion as private, ‘‘spiritual’’ (or not embodied), transcendent, universal. Against this common perception, Asad argues that religion is always shaped by social circumstances and historical contingencies (Genealogies of Religion, 27–54). 2. Buell, Why This New Race? 1. I am grateful to Buell for making the manuscript for the book available to me before publication; I have benefited greatly from our many conversations about our common topic. 3. Snowden, Before Color Prejudice, 99; Ruether, ‘‘Sexism,’’ 156. Both cited in Buell, ‘‘Rethinking the Relevance of Race,’’ 453. 4. Although, as Buell convincingly argues, this move did not involve a rejection of ethnic categories, but an appropriation and redefining of them— and specifically an appropriation of Jewish categories—so that Christians could fashion themselves as the superior, universal genos. See Buell, Why This New Race? 138–65. 5. John Elliott discusses this issue in detail in ‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian.’’’ 6. Paul’s patrilineal and patriarchal language has rightly raised challenges for current Christians who view Paul’s letters as authoritative. Feminist scholarship on Paul offers many resources for interpreting his letters. A few of these include Elizabeth Castelli, Imitating Paul: A Discourse of Power; Elisabeth Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her, Rhetoric and Ethic (among others); Amy-Jill Levine’s edited volume (with Marianne Blickenstaff), A Feminist Companion to Paul; Cynthia Briggs Kittredge, Community and Authority: The Rhetoric of Obedience in the Pauline Tradition. 7. I will discuss examples in chapter 1.

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8. Lincoln, Theorizing Myth, 149. 9. Ibid, 207. 10. Mack, ‘‘Explaining Religion,’’ 11. 11. For more discussion of Augustine’s interpretations of Paul, see chapter 2. 12. Although, as Donaldson points out, similar views are found in the Tridentine definitions of justification (Paul and the Gentiles, 5). 13. For reviews of this scholarship, see Watson, Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles, 1–22; Boyarin, A Radical Jew, 40–42; Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 2–5; Gager, Reinventing Paul, 21–42; Campbell, Paul’s Gospel In Intercultural Context, 1–13; Thielman, From Plight to Solution, 1–27; Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics, 1–31. For a detailed discussion of the ‘‘Lutheran’’ tradition (from Augustine on), see Westerholm’s Perspectives Old and New on Paul: The ‘‘Lutheran’’ Paul and His Critics. 14. For an excellent discussion of this issue, see the essays in Engberg-Pedersen, ed., Paul beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide. 15. Martin, ‘‘Paul and the Judaism/Hellenism Dichotomy.’’ 16. Baur, Church History, 1:47. 17. Meeks, ‘‘Judaism, Hellenism,’’ 22. On Gerhard Kittel, see Meeks, ‘‘A Nazi New Testament Professor Reads His Bible,’’ esp. 526, 532. 18. Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation,’’ 240. 19. Harnack, What Is Christianity? 190. 20. Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation,’’ 240–41. 21. Examples of influential twentieth-century representatives of the traditional view are: Bultmann, Primitive Christianity in Its Contemporary Setting; Bornkamm, Paul, 137; and Ka¨semann, Commentary on Romans, 107. Also see Betz’s Galatians commentary, which treats the text as though Paul has left Judaism: Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia. In Racializing Jesus, Shawn Kelley traces how notions about race found in F. C. Baur’s work have seeped into modern New Testament scholarship; see esp. 75–80. 22. Early objectors to this portrayal of Judaism are: Montefiore, Judaism and St. Paul; Schechter, Aspects of Rabbinic Theology; Moore, ‘‘Christian Writers on Judaism’’ and Judaism in the First Centuries of the Christian Era: The Age of the Tannaim; and Parkes, Jesus, Paul, and the Jews. 23. ‘‘The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West.’’ See also Stendahl, Paul among the Jews and Gentiles and Final Account: Paul’s Letter to the Romans. 24. Gager, Reinventing Paul, 43–75. Eisenbaum offers a succinct description of the new perspective in ‘‘A Remedy for Having Been Born of Woman,’’ 671–76. 25. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion and Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People. Klein also objected to the misrepresentations of ancient Judaism in Pauline scholarship in Anti-Judaism in Christian Theology. 26. Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People, 156. 27. Dunn describes the new perspective in ‘‘The New Perspective,’’ and Romans 1–8, lxiii–lxxii. 28. Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 550–52. 29. Dunn, ‘‘The New Perspective,’’ 187.

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30. See the critiques of Stowers (Rereading Romans, 27–29) and Gager (Reinventing Paul, 49–50). 31. See especially Dunn’s treatment of Romans 2 where he argues that the interlocutor in Romans 2:1–5 is a Ioudaios: in Romans, 76–93, and The Theology of Paul the Apostle, 114–19. Dunn comments that the boasting language in Romans 2:17 and 23 expresses a ‘‘national reliance—a confidence that God is Israel’s God, that possession of the Law puts the possessors in a position of advantage over all others, that the people marked out by circumcision are secure in God’s praise’’ (Theology of Paul, 119, emphasis his). 32. Dunn, The Partings of the Ways, 137. 33. Ibid, 259. 34. Wright, What Saint Paul Really Said, 84, 87. Wright links Israel’s attachment to ‘‘blood and soil’’ to ‘‘pagan nations’’ who emphasized the same things; Paul objects to this focus (84). For a more comprehensive treatment of Paul, see Wright’s The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Theology. Harink critiques Wright’s view as supersessionist in Paul among the Postliberals, 153–60. 35. Wright, What Saint Paul Really Said, 33. 36. Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 23 and passim. Markus Barth’s argument about ‘‘works of the Law’’ is helpful to Gaston: Ephesians, 242–52. 37. Gaston, Paul and the Torah,15–34, esp. 21. See Gager’s helpful summary of Gaston’s points in The Origins of Anti-Semitism: Attitudes toward Judaism in Pagan and Christian Antiquity, 200–1. 38. Gager, Origins and Reinventing Paul; Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans and A Rereading of Romans: Justice, Jews and Gentiles; Neil Elliott, The Rhetoric of Romans: Argumentative Constraint and Strategy and Paul’s Dialogue with Judaism and Liberating Paul: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle; Campbell, Paul’s Gospel In Intercultural Context: Jew and Gentile in the Letter to the Romans; Donaldson, Paul and the Gentiles: Remapping the Apostle’s Convictional World; Eisenbaum, ‘‘Paul as the New Abraham,’’ and ‘‘A Remedy for Having Been Born of Woman’’; Lodge, Romans 9–11: A Reader-Response Analysis. Ehrensperger brings together new perspective insights and feminist critique in That We May Be Mutually Encouraged: Feminism and the New Perspective in Pauline Studies. Among this scholarship, Nanos’s work has been particularly important in reframing Paul’s letters and the communities to which he writes in a Jewish context. See especially his two books The Mystery of Romans: The Jewish Context of Paul’s Letter and The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context. The traditionalist interpretation has by no means disappeared since the advent of the new perspective. Several scholars have mounted defenses of the traditional reading, directly responding to aspects of new perspective scholarship: Westerholm, Israel’s Law and the Church’s Faith: Paul and his Recent Interpreters and Perspectives Old and New on Paul: The ‘‘Lutheran’’ Paul and His Critics; Das, Paul, the Law, and the Covenant and Paul and the Jews; Kim, Paul and the New Perspective: Second Thoughts on the Origin of Paul’s Gospel; Gathercole, Where Is Boasting? Early Jewish Soteriology and Paul’s Response in Romans 1–5. Eisenbaum terms these scholars ‘‘neotraditionalists’’ as defenders of the traditional reading ‘‘in light of new perspective critique’’ (‘‘Remedy,’’ 673 n. 4).

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39. I first heard this group of scholars called ‘‘radicals’’ in a conference paper by Pamela Eisenbaum, ‘‘Paul as a Site for Jewish/Christian Relations Ancient and Modern,’’ Society of Biblical Literature Annual Meeting, Atlanta, November 2003; now revised and published as ‘‘Paul, Polemics, and Problem of Essentialism.’’ 40. John Gager has expressed how complete the departure is from traditional readings to this new view (Origins, 197–212, and Reinventing Paul, 35–36, 43–75), yet he does not explicitly discuss the importance of ethnicity to this rereading. Stowers is an exception: he explicitly points out the importance of ethnicity and kinship to this new view (Rereading, esp. 227–50). My own study follows up on some of his insights. 41. See also 1 Corinthians 12:2, where Paul refers to his readers’ lives before o Christ: ‘‘You know that when you were gentiles (´te ynZ Łte), whenever you were led towards mute idols, you were being led astray.’’ It seems clear that Paul speaks to an audience of gentile believers, and refers to their previous identities as gentile sinners. 42. Although some commentators have argued that Paul writes primarily to Jewish believers: Watson, Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles, 103; Mason, ‘‘Paul, Classical Anti-Judaism, and Romans.’’ 43. In Galatians 2:7 we see that Paul is aware of a gospel for ‘‘the circumcised,’’ but that others are responsible for this. Instead he is entrusted with the gospel to ‘‘the uncircumcised.’’ 44. Stowers, Rereading, 22–33; and Thornsteinsson, Paul’s Interlocutor in Romans 2: Function and Identity in the Context of Ancient Epistolography, 87–122, esp. 88 n. 5. 45. See further discussion in chapter 2. 46. Thornsteinsson offers a recent critical review of these arguments in Paul’s Interlocutor, 116–21. The only place where Paul seems to address a Ioudaios is Romans 2:17: ‘‘You call yourself a Ioudaios.’’ Stanley K. Stowers has shown that this verse, rather than representing a direct address to an audience member, instead marks the beginning of an imaginary dialogue with a Jewish teacher of gentiles (Stowers, Rereading, 126–75). Alternatively, Thornsteinsson has argued that the Ioudaios in Romans 2:17 is not actually a Ioudaios, but a gentile calling himself a Ioudaios. See Thornsteinsson, Paul’s Interlocutor, 151–242. 47. I present this issue to my undergraduate New Testament students this way: If I write a letter to all the female students in my New Testament class about what an academic career in biblical studies is like for women, and I talk about men in this letter, would readers of the letter assume I am writing to men, too? 48. If, as some have suggested, these gentiles were already interested in Judaism when Paul came along, this would make even more sense. 49. See Stowers, Rereading, 21–29. N. Elliott, Rhetoric of Romans, 17; Thornsteinsson, Paul’s Interlocutor, 99–102. 50. I do not mean to say that a good understanding of a possible first-century audience is not at all helpful; certainly it is in a limited way. When Paul wrote Romans, more than likely he was trying to construct plausible arguments for his Roman audience, so that the encoded and empirical readers are not entirely unrelated to each other. Because Paul and the historical recipients of his letter shared common cultural codes, it is reasonable to assume that there is some connection between Paul’s attempts to persuade and the frameworks of meaning the audience would bring

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to the text. Conceptually, it is possible to appreciate this common ground while still recognizing the distinction between the encoded and empirical readers. 51. Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 23 (emphasis his). 52. For a survey and discussion of the various Jewish answers to these questions, see Donaldson, Paul and the Gentiles, 51–78. Nanos has argued that these issues are relevant precisely because Paul’s addressees are subgroups of Jewish communities, so it is natural that these issues would arise. See Mystery of Romans and Irony of Galatians. 53. Gager makes this same observation in Reinventing Paul, 35–36. 54. I am grateful to Krister Stendahl, Amy-Jill Levine, John Elliott, Frederick Murphy, Lawrence Wills, and Mark Nanos for their insights—communicated via personal conversation and/or correspondence—on this topic. Levine, Elliott, and Wills kindly shared forthcoming (but at the time of this writing unpublished) work which was most helpful. My exchanges with Levine have been particularly important in calling my attention to the problems with ‘‘Judean,’’ which I outline below. As will become clear, I share many of her views on this topic, which she has discusses in The Misunderstood Jew: the Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus and in several earlier conference papers (‘‘‘I Didn’t Mean to Sound Like a Homophobic, Sexist, AntiSemitic Bigot,’ Said the Bible Scholar,’’ and ‘‘Divino Afflante Spiritu, Nostra Aetate, and Kinky Friedman,’’ among them). 55. Johnson Hodge, ‘‘Apostle to the Gentiles,’’ ‘‘Olive Trees and Ethnicities,’’ and (with Buell) ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation.’’ 56. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, both ‘‘Jew’’ and ‘‘Judean’’ come from the Greek Ioudaios (which comes from the Hebrew Yehudi). ‘‘Jew’’ appears in English in the thirteenth century; ‘‘Judean’’ first appears in the seventeenth century and appeared frequently in nineteenth-century works on geography and history. 57. On the development of modern concepts of religion, see Wilfred Cantwell Smith, On the Meaning and End of Religion, 15–50, and Asad, Genealogies of Religion, 27–79. 58. Harvey, The True Israel, 84. I am not so sure that modern understandings of ‘‘Jewishness’’ divorce religion from ethnic identity and land. Indeed, the easy bifurcation of religion and ethnicity is quickly proven inadequate in the face of the complexity, variegation, and flexibility of modern Jewish identities (and certainly other identities as well). See Shapiro, We Are Many, xiii–xiii, 3–29; Ellenson, After Emancipation, 27–50; Neusner, A Stranger at Home, 40–48. Boyarin comments on this issue: ‘‘For both Zionists and non-Zionist Jews (including me), versions of description or practice with respect to Judaism that treat it as a faith that can be separated from ethnicity, nationality, language and shared history have felt false’’ (Border Lines, 8). Indeed, the term ‘‘Jew’’ today evokes both religion and peoplehood, as well as connection to the modern state of Israel. Amy-Jill Levine and Frederick Murphy have been helpful to me in thinking through this issue. 59. Gruen provides a helpful discussion of the relationship between diaspora Jews and their homeland, arguing that living in the diaspora was not something to be ‘‘overcome,’’ but a situation Jews shared with other peoples living away from—and maintaining loyalty to—their homelands (Diaspora, 231–52). For diaspora Jews, ‘‘commitment to the [diaspora] community and devotion to Jerusalem were entirely

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compatible’’ (243). One can imagine that the importance of the temple and cult become absorbed in diaspora lives in various ways. 60. Lowe, ‘‘Who were the IOYDAIOI?’’ 61. Two thoughtful discussions of this issue are Bassler, ‘‘The Galileans,’’ and Meeks, ‘‘Galilee and Judea’’ Thanks to Larry Wills for these references. 62. The answer to this question depends on whether Ioudaioi works as an umbrella term for Jews in the first century, and I think it does. 63. Recently, many scholars have argued for a largely gentile Galilee, a position convincingly challenged by Chancey in The Myth of A Gentile Galilee: The Population of Galilee and New Testament Studies. Chancey’s notes to pp. 1–7 offer an extensive bibliography on the ‘‘gentile Galilee’’ position. Freyne argues that the region of Galilee has served as a barometer of historical Jesus scholarship, conforming to different scholars’ portraits of Jesus and his social context. See Freyne, Jesus, a Jewish Galilean: A New Reading of the Jesus Story. 64. For example, Horsley, Archaeology, History, and Society in Galilee: The Social Context of Jesus and the Rabbis. 65. As illustrated by the third edition of the BDAG, which translates Ioudaios as ‘‘Judean’’ instead of ‘‘Jew’’: Danker, A Greek-English Lexicon, 478–79. 66. John Elliott, ‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian,’’’ forthcoming; Esler, Conflict and Identity, 1–76. 67. See chapter 2 for a more detailed discussion of Elliott’s views. 68. John Elliott, ‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ nor a ‘Christian’’’ I am grateful to Elliott for sharing the unpublished manuscript with me. For arguments that the fourth century was formative for Christianity and Judaism, see Neusner, Judaism and Christianity in the Age of Constantine: History, Messiah, Israel, and the Initial Confrontation; and Ruether, ‘‘Judaism and Christianity.’’ Horsley and Koester (among others) have challenged monolithic labels (such as ‘‘Judaism’’) that imply coherent, united entities (note that neither scholar advocates using ‘‘Judean’’ instead of ‘‘Jew’’): Horsley, ‘‘The Death of Jesus,’’ 398–99; and Koester, ‘‘The Historical Jesus,’’ 541–42. For positions close to Elliott’s, see Malina and Rohrbaugh, Social Science Commentary, 44– 45; Esler, Conflict and Identity, 63–74. 69. Amy-Jill Levine argues this point in Misunderstood Jew, 163 and ‘‘‘I Didn’t Mean to Sound Like a Homophobic, Sexist, Anti-Semitic Bigot’ Said the Bible Scholar,’’ 18–19. Levine comments that this view assumes we have ‘‘monolithic’’ readers, who would not be able to recognize the ‘‘continuity and discontinuity’’ between ancient and modern Judaism (Misunderstood Jew, 165). 70. Amy-Jill Levine, Misunderstood Jew, 162. 71. The Khazars are a Turkish group from southern Russia and are the ancestors, according to this view, of most American, European, and Israeli Jews. Scholars who cite this as a reason not to use ‘‘Jew’’ for first-century Ioudaioi are: Esler, Conflict and Identity, 67; Malina and Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary, 44. For a history of the Khazars’ conversion to Judaism, see Brook, The Jews of Khazaria, and the Web site: www.khazaria.com (Brook also writes for this site). 72. Amy-Jill Levine raises this same issue in her sharp response to the ‘‘Khazar theory,’’ listing a series of problematic assumptions involved with such a theory, including the following: that following the conversion of the Khazars, those respon-

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sible for converting them disappeared; Sephardic Jews never existed; Judaism must be considered a race or ethnic group only, with no conversion; modern readers are ‘‘incapable of seeing both continuity and discontinuity between the first century and today’’ (thus they need a term other than ‘‘Jew’’ for the first century) (‘‘‘I Didn’t Mean to Sound Like,’’’ 16–19. See also Misunderstood Jew, 164–66). 73. Note that an article by Brook on the Khazaria Web site argues that Eastern European Jews descend from the Khazars and from Israelite Jews (http://www .khazaria.com/khazar-diaspora.html). 74. Esler, Conflict and Identity, 12. See also John Elliott, ‘‘Jesus Was Neither’’; Danker, BGAD, 478. Amy-Jill Levine responds to Danker’s version of this moral argument in Misunderstood Jew, 159–166 and ‘‘‘I Didn’t Mean to Sound Like,’’’ 16–19. 75. Saldarini’s work on Matthew is a good example of this sort of work. He places the arguments over Torah in this gospel in the context of debates among Ioudaioi in the first century and argues that Matthew portrays intra-Jewish conflicts as opposed to Jewish/Christian conflicts (Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community). In recent Pauline scholarship, Nanos has especially argued for an intra-Jewish context for Paul’s letters; see ‘‘The Inter- and Intra-Jewish Political Context of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians.’’ 76. Amy-Jill Levine first called my attention to the use of pro-Judean arguments by Nazi sympathizers and by current hate groups (personal correspondence). See Misunderstood Jew, 165 and ‘‘‘I Didn’t Mean to Sound Like’’’ and ‘‘Divino Afflante Spiritu.’’ 77. Grundmann, Jesus der Galila¨er und das Judentum. Grundmann, like many Nazi sympathizers, was influenced by Chamberlain’s Foundation of the Nineteenth Century, which argued for an Aryan Jesus. See Heschel, ‘‘Nazifying Christian Theology,’’ 587–605, esp. 595. See also Heschel’s Abraham Geiger and the Jewish Jesus, 12, 228–30, and ‘‘Post-Holocaust Jewish Reflections.’’ Thanks to Amy-Jill Levine for pointing me toward Heschel’s work. 78. Heschel, Abraham Geiger, 12. 79. See Herrell’s article ‘‘The Talmudic Jew Identified’’ on the Christian Separatist Church Society Web site: http://www.christianseparatist.org/briefs/sb4.01.htm (accessed on July 9, 2005). Levine also discusses this Web site in Misunderstood Jew, 165, 193 and ‘‘‘I Didn’t Mean to Sound Like,’’’ 19. 80. For example, Herrell argues that Talmudic Jews have nothing to do with ancient Israelites, and he deploys the Khazar argument (http://www.christianseparatist .org/briefs/sb4.01.htm; accessed on July 9, 2005). 81. John Elliott also argues that Jesus was not a ‘‘Christian,’’ either, in ‘‘Jesus Was Neither.’’ 82. John Elliott suggests, in ‘‘Jesus Was Neither,’’ that we replace ‘‘Jews’’ with terms that he argues are used more often by ‘‘insiders’’ (by which Elliot means ancient Jews) about themselves, such as ‘‘Israelites,’’ ‘‘Israel,’’ ‘‘sons and daughters of Israel.’’ I respond to the insider/outsider argument in chapter 3. 83. Several excellent studies focus on ancient Jewish identities as flexible, multiple, negotiated, and influenced by historical context: Seth Schwartz, Imperialism and Jewish Society, 200 b.c.e. to 640 c.e.; Gruen, Diaspora: Jews amidst Greeks and Romans; Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity, and Dying for God:

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Martyrdom and the Making of Christianity and Judaism; Lieu, Neither Jew Nor Greek? Constructing Early Christianity, and Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World. 84. For example, Bossman, ‘‘Paul’s Fictive Kinship.’’ 85. Schneider, ‘‘What Is Kinship All About?’’ 48. 86. Delaney, Seed and Soil, 14. 87. Durkheim, ‘‘Review of Kohler’’; Weber, Economy and Society, esp 389. 88. See the recent volume edited by Govers and Vermeulen, which contains many ethnographic articles from a constructionist point of view: The Politics of Ethnic Consciousness. See also Waltner, Getting an Heir: Adoption and the Construction of Kinship in Late Imperial China. Two examples from the field of early Christian history are the following: Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice and Those Who Do Not,’’ esp 13; and Buell, Making Christians: Clement of Alexandria and the Rhetoric of Legitimacy. 89. It is the opinion of several scholars that the belief in common ancestry is the characteristic that distinguishes ethnicity from other types of social groups. See Roosens, ‘‘The Primordial Nature of Origins’’; Govers and Vermeulen, ‘‘From Political Mobilization to the Politics of Consciousness,’’ 6; Jonathan Hall, Ethnic Identity, 17–33 (Hall adds territorial homeland to kinship as primary markers of ethnic identity). Although I agree that kinship claims are a common component of ethnic identity in the ancient Mediterranean context, I do not think ethnic identity has to be defined by kinship claims. That is, the ancients talk about peoplehood using criteria other than kinship (e.g., knowing someone is Greek by his or her religious practices). See Konstan, ‘‘Defining Ancient Greek Ethnicity,’’ and Buell, ‘‘Ethnicity and Religion,’’ both of which are reviews of Hall. 90. I share this view with Buell. See Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘Politics of Interpretation,’’ 237–39; and Buell, Why This New Race? 7–13, 37–41. 91. Thomas, Oral Tradition, 217–18 (discussed further in chap 1). 92. On the two-sidedness of ethnic identity, see Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle, esp. 90–95, and Stoler, ‘‘Racial Histories.’’ 93. Yanagisako and Delaney, ‘‘Naturalizing Power,’’ 20. 94. As Buell writes in her book on kinship and procreative metaphors in Clement of Alexandria: ‘‘In cultural contexts in which procreation is held to be a natural and valued process, so too the power relations inscribed by procreation are held to be natural and valued’’ (Making Christians, 3). 95. I draw this example from antiquity, in which teachers are often compared to fathers, and students to sons. As will become evident, this is a relevant comparison for Paul. 96. Carola Lentz points out, however, that while ethnicity and kinship are flexible constructs, they are not infinitely malleable; see Lentz, ‘‘Creating Ethnic Identities,’’ 33–34. Negotiations must be born out of a particular context and must make sense to the people involved; they require the consensus of all involved in order to be effective. Jonathan Hall also makes this point in Ethnic Identity, 25. Paul wrote to specific gentile communities; it is important to consider how his kinship arguments would have been received (or at least how he might have expected them to be received).

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97. I borrow the phrase ‘‘ideology of the seed’’ from Eilberg-Schwartz, who uses it to describe patrilineal relationships in the Hebrew Bible in his article ‘‘The Father, the Phallus, and the Seminal Word.’’ 98. Yanagisako and Collier, ‘‘Toward a Unified Analysis,’’ 29–30. 99. Paul also appeals to (and appropriates) female imagery when he discusses his relationship with the gentiles as their teacher: ‘‘My little children, for whom I am again in the pain of childbirth until Christ is formed in you’’ (Gal 4:19). ‘‘I could not speak to you as spiritual people, but rather as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, for you were not ready for solid food’’ (1 Cor 3:1–2). On maternal imagery in Paul, see Gaventa, ‘‘Our Mother St. Paul’’ and ‘‘The Maternity of Paul.’’ 100. In chapters 2 through 8, I tend to focus on either kinship or ethnicity in a given chapter. I have organized my arguments according to this division for practical purposes, even as I recognize that there is often no clear distinction between categories of kinship and ethnicity. The ways that discourses about kinship and ethnicity intersect, construct one another, and spill over into each other is clear in each chapter, whether the particular focus is on ancestry and procreation or on peoplehood and homelands.

chapter 1 1. Translated by Wiseman in ‘‘Legendary Genealogies in Late-Republican Rome,’’ 153. 2. Yanagisako and Delaney, ‘‘Naturalizing Power,’’ 20. 3. Zanker, The Power of Images, 36. See below for further discussion. 4. Konstan, ‘‘Defining Ancient Greek Ethnicity,’’ 109. Konstan’s article is a review of Jonathan Hall’s Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity. 5. Baumann, The Multicultural Riddle, esp. 90–95. Other scholars who work with similar models are: Lentz, ‘‘Creating Ethnic Identities’’; Stoler, ‘‘Racial Histories’’; and Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation.’’ Buell offers a helpful review of Baumann’s work, especially as it relates to ancient ethnic identities in ‘‘Ethnicity and Religion.’’ 6. Baumann, Multicultural Riddle, 91. 7. Ibid., 95. This model challenges the primordialist/instrumentalist split that has served as a guidepost in discussions of ethnic identity. For a discussion of these two categories, see Vermeulen and Govers, ‘‘Political Mobilization’’; Jonathan Hall, Ethnic Identity, 17–19; Bentley, ‘‘Ethnicity and Practice,’’ 25–26; Malkin, ‘‘Introduction,’’ 15–19. 8. Lentz, ‘‘Creating Ethnic Identities,’’ 40–41. 9. Littmann, Kinship and Politics, 24; Davies, Wealth, 108; Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 41, 43; Pomata, ‘‘Blood Ties.’’ See also Daniel Ogden, Greek Bastardy in the Classical and Hellenistic Periods; Cynthia Patterson, The Family in Greek History. 10. Translation from Colson, LCL. The names of the patriarchs in brackets are my additions. 11. On Rewards, 60. According to Philo, Abraham’s and Isaac’s other sons were unfit to carry the lineage (On Rewards, 58–59).

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12. Translation from Colson, LCL. 13. Translation amended from Brenton, Septuagint. 14. Similar education and rearing also play a role (4 Macc 13:20–21). 15. See my discussion of ancient medical explanations of the differing roles of men and women in procreation in chapter 5. 16. On the influence of Homer in the Roman period, see John Scott, Homer and His Influence, 102–21. 17. Translation amended from Lattimore, The Iliad of Homer, 159. 18. Ibid. 19. Translation amended from Rackham, LCL. Thanks to David Konstan for bringing this passage to my attention. See Konstan’s discussion of philia in Aristotle in Friendship in the Classical World, 67–78. 20. Although Aristotle distinguishes between the love parents have for their children and the love children have for their parents (see Nicomachean Ethics, viii.12.2–3). 21. See Rosalind Thomas’s extensive study: Oral Tradition and the Written Record in Classical Athens. 22. ‘‘Philaios, son of Ajax, lived in Athens. Philaios begat Daiklos, and he begat Epilykos, and he begat Akestor, and he begat Agenor, and he begat Oulios, and he begat Polykles, and he begat Autophon, and he begat Philaios, and he begat Agamestor, and he begat Teisander, and he begat Miltiades, and he begat Hippokleides who was archon when the Panathenaic festival was established, and he begat Miltiades who founded the colony of the Chersonese’’ (recorded in Marcellinus, Life of Thucydides 3; translation from Thomas, Oral Tradition, 162). 23. ‘‘Those who have written about Solon all agree that he was a son of Execestides, a man of moderate wealth and influence in the city, but a member of its foremost family, being descended from Codrus. Solon’s mother, according to Heracleides Ponticus, was a cousin of the mother of Peisistratus. And the two men were great friends, largely because of their kinship’’ (Plutarch, Life of Solon 1.1–2; translation from Perrin, LCL). 24. Walter Donlan, who traces this ideal over several historical periods in Greece, argues that the aristocratic ideal was not static, but a ‘‘series of flexible stances’’ which shifted over time (Aristocratic Ideal, 177). 25. Thomas, Oral Tradition, 217. See also Loraux, Born of the Earth: Myth and Politics in Athens. 26. Translation from Thomas, Oral Tradition, 218. 27. See also Demosthenes LX.4–5 (The Funeral Oration). 28. For further discussion of autochthonous claims, see Konstan, ‘‘To Hellenikon ethnos.’’ Jonathan Hall describes this change in emphasis from corrective genealogies to claims of autochthony as a shift in Greek ethnic identity construction which occurred over time. See Hall, Ethnic Identity, 52–53. 29. Thomas, Oral Tradition, 218. 30. Bell, Ritual Theory, 99. 31. Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice,’’ esp. 312; Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 34–35. Sometimes the role of religious ritual in maintaining lineages is explained in terms of the failure of biological relationships. One study has demonstrated that

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biological reproduction cannot be relied upon to perpetuate patrilineally organized societies because male lines fail in high numbers in each generation (this was a recurring problem for the imperial family; see below). See Wachter and Laslett, ‘‘Measuring Patriline Extinction.’’ 32. See Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation,’’ 243. 33. The sources, which come mostly from Athens, do not agree whether all of these took place in one ceremony or in multiple ceremonies on different days after the birth (which may indicate that it was done differently in different places and times). There is evidence of a ritual on the fifth, seventh, and tenth days after birth. See Ogden, Greek Bastardy, 88–91; Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice,’’ 315; Garland, Greek Way of Life, 93–95. Plato clearly understands the Amphidromia to be a test of the child’s worthiness (Theatetus 160 E-161 A). Demosthenes assigns this task to the dekate, or tenth-day ceremony, when he writes for Mantitheus: ‘‘No one would have performed a dekate for a child if he did not believe it to be justly his own’’ (Demosthenes, Against Boeotus, 22; translation amended from Murray, LCL). Scholars often mention that Roman families participated in a similar series of rituals when a baby was born, although the evidence is somewhat thin. Immediately after birth, the child was placed on the ground to be acknowledged by the father. If he decided to accept the child and raise it, he would lift the baby off the ground. Several days later (eight days for girls and nine for boys), there was a purification and naming ceremony called the dies lustricus, or ‘‘day of purification.’’ See Rawson, ‘‘Adult-Child Relationships,’’ 12–14. See also Gardner and Wiedemann, The Roman Household, 107. Suetonius mentions both of these rituals in his recounting of Nero’s birth: ‘‘Nero . . . was born exactly as the sun was rising, so that he was touched by the sun’s rays almost before being placed on the ground . . . A clear sign of misfortune occurred on the day of purification. When Gaius Caesar was asked by his sister to give the child whatever name he wished, he looked at his uncle Claudius and said, ‘Give him his name’’’ (Suetonius, Nero 6; translation amended from Rolfe, LCL). 34. Isaeus 8.19; Demosthenes 57.54. See Garland, Greek Way of Life, 121; and Scafuro, ‘‘Witnessing and False Witnessing,’’159. 35. Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice,’’ 300–306. See also Jay, Throughout Your Generations, xxiii–xxiv, 41–60, who makes this case largely based on comparisons with other patrilineal, sacrificing cultures. Though I have found Jay’s work helpful for the ancient Mediterranean context, I am less convinced of her argument for a universal theory of sacrifice. Pamela Eisenbaum has expressed a similar qualified appreciation for Jay’s work (‘‘Remedy,’’ 677 n. 15). 36. Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice,’’ 301. 37. Ibid., 304–305. 38. A good example is the Apatouria, a three-day festival celebrated by the phratries. The following three sacrifices were performed at this festival: (1) the meion, in which fathers with newborn sons would present the children and offer a sheep; (2) the koureion, in which adolescent sons were initiated into the phratry; and (3) the gamelion, in which grooms would present their brides to prove they are from legitimate families. In each instance, sacrifice legitimizes the continuation of patrilineal descent. See Scafuro, ‘‘Witnessing and False Witnessing,’’ 159; Parke, Festivals of the Athenians, 88–92; Garland, The Greek Way of Life, 121, 179, 218; Jay, Throughout Your

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Generations, 43; Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice,’’ 318. For a collection of the evidence for the Apatouria, see Deubner, Attische Feste, 232–34. 39. Scafuro, ‘‘Witnessing and False Witnessing.’’ 40. For example, in one case recorded by Isaeus, the speakers argue that they are legitimate grandchildren of Ciron: Now there are other proofs which we can bring forward to show that we are the children of Ciron’s daughter. For, as was natural, seeing that we were the sons of his own daughter, Ciron never offered a sacrifice without our presence; whether he was performing a great or small sacrifice, we were always there and took part in the ceremony. And not only were we invited to such rites but he also always took us into the country for the Dionysia [16] and we always went with him to public spectacles and sat at his side, and we went to his house to keep all the festivals; and when he sacrificed to Zeus Ctesius—a festival to which he attached a special importance, to which he admitted neither slaves nor free men outside his own family, at which he personally performed all the rites—we participated in this celebration and laid our hands with his upon the victims and placed our offerings side by side with his, and took part in all the other rites, and he prayed for our health and wealth, as he naturally would, being our grandfather. (Isaeus 8:15–16; translation from Forster, LCL) 41. Lacey, ‘‘Patria Potestas,’’ 125. See also Lacey, Augustus and the Principate, 169–89. 42. Beard, ‘‘The Sexual Status of the Vestal Virgins.’’ See also John Clarke, The Houses of Roman Italy, 1–12. 43. This is especially true of the priestly materials which were concerned with tracing patrilines. See Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 94–111, and Eilberg-Schwarz, The Savage In Judaism, 141–76. 44. Many would travel to Jerusalem for important festivals, and Ioudaioi from all over the diaspora would send money to support the sacrifices at the temple. See Margaret Williams, The Jews among the Greeks and Romans, 67–68 (on pilgrimage), and 68–71 (on temple tax). Some have suggested that prayer could have been oriented toward Jerusalem and coordinated with the sacred cultic calendar (Stowers, ‘‘Does Pauline Christianity Resemble a Hellenistic Philosophy?’’ 85). See Daniel 6:10 (Daniel prays facing Jerusalem) and Ezra 6:21 (possible reference to diaspora Ioudaioi joining returned exiles in celebrating Passover). Some diasporan Ioudaioi may have even offered sacrificial lambs for Passover, despite the biblical proscription; see Deuteronomy 16:1–8. For evidence of diaspora sacrifices, see Sanders, Judaism, 133–34. 45. Savage in Judaism, 143. See also my more detailed discussion of circumcision in chapter 3. 46. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness, 39–40. 47. Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation,’’ 243–44. 48. See Gardner, Family and Familia in Roman Law and Life; Rubinstein, Adoption in Fourth Century Athens; James Scott, Adoption as Sons of God: An Exegetical Investigation into the Background of Hyiothesia in the Pauline Corpus; Byrne, ‘‘Sons of

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God’’-‘‘‘Seed of Abraham’’: A Study of the Idea of the Sonship of God of All Christians in Paul against the Jewish Background. 49. Rubinstein, Adoption in Fourth Century Athens, 68ff; Gardner, Family and Familia, 141, 213. 50. Rubinstein, Adoption in Fourth Century Athens, 6. 51. Translation amended from Forster, LCL. 52. For a discussion of adoption of daughters, see chapter 3 and Kathleen Corley, ‘‘Women’s Inheritance Rights.’’ 53. Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 36. 54. Ibid., 45. 55. Translation from Gardner, Family and Familia, 127. This formula was used for adrogatio, or a public adoption, which occurred when the adoptee was already independent of his own family. Attic Nights is a second-century c.e. text of miscellany. 56. Translation from Walton, LCL. Other instances of huiothesia occur in XXXI 26.1 and XXXI 27.5. See James Scott, Adoption, 53–54 for a discussion of these texts. See also Byrne, 79 n. 2. 57. Translation from Walton, LCL. 58. Gardner, Family and Familia, 10. Gardner also points out that ‘‘emancipation,’’ or the release of sons from the power of the paterfamilias, was another way to reorganize inheritance and descent (6–113). 59. Ibid., 138. Although Gardner mentions that we have evidence for very few adoptions in Roman antiquity, and these are all from elite families. Thus these observations should not be taken as generalizations (138). 60. Southern, Augustus, 18. Because this adoption was announced posthumously and without the usual ceremony, Octavian persistently pursued its ratification by a law of the people (lex curiata) (Southern, 34–35). 61. Ibid., 137, 153, 180. 62. Corbier, ‘‘Male Power,’’ 190–92. 63. This view is in contrast to the opinions of some scholars who conclude that adoption is unknown in Hellenistic Judaism. This conclusion is usually based on the lack of a Jewish Law which specifically addresses adoption and on the assumption that Jewish culture was somehow isolated from other ancient Mediterranean cultures Also, most people who look for this evidence are Pauline scholars who want to find parallels or a source for Paul’s use of huiothesia in Romans. 64. Philo, On the Life of Moses, 1.19; Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, 2.232. See James Scott, Adoption, 75–85, for more examples. 65. Philo, On the Embassy to Gaius, 22–31; Josephus, Jewish War, 2:25; 2.249. Philo also periodically mentions adoption in his musings on other topics, as in On the Preliminary Studies, 20–23, and On Agriculture, 6 (for a discussion of the latter passage in comparison to Paul, see chapter 2). There is also interesting inscriptional evidence (first century c.e.) from the ‘‘Bosphoran cult of the God Most High,’’ in which communities are formed of adopted brothers (espoiZtod ¼delfod) who worship the God most high (yeo`n ¯ciston). Whether this is a Jewish group is highly debatable, however (James Scott, Adoption, 81–82). 66. Thomas, ‘‘Genealogy,’’ 629.

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67. C. P. Jones discusses this strategic use of kinship in Kinship and Diplomacy in the Ancient World. 68. Thomas, Oral Tradition, 178. 69. Translation from Thomas, Oral Tradition, 178. 70. Thomas, Oral Tradition, 108. For example, Andocides fails to mention Odysseus and Hermes and talks about more recent ancestors who fought the Peisistratid tyrants (323a F24). 71. Wiseman, ‘‘Legendary Genealogies,’’ 153–58. 72. Cicero scorns the reliability of these genealogies by using himself as an example: ‘‘As if I were to say I was descended from Manius Tullius the patrician, who was consul with Severius Sulpicius in the tenth year of the Republic’’ (Cicero, Brutus, 62; translation from Wiseman, ‘‘Legendary Genealogies,’’ 158). 73. Sextus Empiricus, Against the Professors, I.252–253. 74. Wiseman, ‘‘Legendary Genealogies,’’ 153. 75. Zanker, The Power of Images, 36. 76. Ibid., 44. 77. Ibid., 210. 78. See Quint, Epic and Empire, 7–11, 21–31, 45–46. I am grateful to Brendon Reay for this reference. 79. Zanker, The Power of Images, 193. 80. Ibid., 35. 81. See Whitehead, The Demes of Attica; Cohen, The Athenian Nation; Loraux, Born of the Earth. 82. Littmann, Kinship and Politics, 135–37. Littmann’s description is confusing because he describes the basic organizing principle of the new demes as one of kinship but then insists that they are not kinship groups. See also Wood and Wood, Class Ideology, 24. 83. Stowers, ‘‘Greeks Who Sacrifice,’’ 313. 84. Translation amended from Rackham, LCL. Aristotle points out that the phratries remained in place and ancestral (xxi.5). See also Davies, Wealth, 107, and Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 44. For the names of the original tribes and heroes see Zaidman and Pantel, Religion in the Ancient Greek City, 85, figure 3. 85. Cited by Thomas, Oral Tradition, 176 n. 49. Thomas points out that kinship language is not always used to refer to the eponymous heroes of the Kleisthenic tribes. For example, Erechtheus is called an eponym in Demosthenes’ LX.27 (The Funeral Oration). 86. Zaidman and Pantel discuss these deme calendars, all of which were published in stone in the fourth century b.c.e. (Religion and the Greek City, 82–84). 87. Jay, Throughout Your Generations, 45. 88. Furthermore, we know that the descent-based phratry continued as a vital civic organization even after the creation of the demes. See Lambert, The Phratries of Attica, 25–57. Recall that fourth-century legal cases provide ample evidence that membership in a phratry could be used to support citizenship or inheritance claims. See Scafuro, ‘‘Witnessing and False Witnessing’’; Lambert, ‘‘Phratries,’’ 1176. 89. Bowersock, Augustus, 130.

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90. As opposed to an earlier period (third century b.c.e.) in which the Romans had distanced themselves from Greeks, claiming descent only from Trojans such as Aeneas (as seen in the works of poet Ennius, historian Cato Censorius, and antiquarian Varro). See Harrison, ‘‘Aeneas,’’ 22–23. Dionysius of Halicarnassus inherits this tradition of tracing Roman superiority and distinctiveness through history writing, but does so precisely by connecting Roman ancestors to Greeks instead of separating them. 91. Translation from Cary, LCL. 92. They were thought by some to be autochthonous, having sprung from the ground in the Italian peninsula. Others say that the Aborigines were a wandering band of thieves who settled in the area of the future Rome (1.10). 93. Translation from Cary, LCL. 94. Ibid. 95. Whitmarsh, ‘‘‘Greece is the World’: Exile and Identity in the Second Sophistic,’’ 273. 96. Translation from Cary, LCL. 97. For an excellent discussion of the fluidity of ethnic identities in the classical period, see Thomas, ‘‘Ethnicity, Genealogy, and Hellenism,’’ 213–33. 98. Translation amended from Thackeray, LCL. 99. Josephus’s argument becomes circular: pure blood relationships prove good record-keeping, and good record-keeping proves the pure blood relationships. 100. The matrilineal principle in Jewish identity is a rabbinic innovation. See Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness, 263–307. 101. For comparisons of Paul to Hellenistic schools, see Alexander, ‘‘Paul and the Hellenistic Schools,’’ and ‘‘IPSE DIXIT’’; and Stowers, ‘‘Pauline Christianity.’’ For a discussion of procreative language in philosophical and pedagogical traditions as a context for Clement of Alexandria, see Buell, Making Christians, 50–68. 102. Stowers contrasts this concept of the unitary good with the complex system of multiple goods based largely on an agricultural economy, maintained by the majority of ethnic peoples in ancient Mediterranean society such as Greeks, Ioudaioi, Romans, and others: Stowers, ‘‘Pauline Christianity,’’ 85–86, 89–90. 103. Although there are many instances in which friendship language and kinship language overlap and intermingle. See Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 244. See also Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World. This mixing occurs frequently in Paul. 104. Konstan, Friendship, 1. 105. This comment is made by the personified Eugenia when Philo imagines her addressing a group of rebellious descendants. Her speech continues: But your practice has been the opposite. What I hold dear you regard as hostile and my enemies you love. In my sight, modesty and truth and control of the passions and simplicity and innocence are honorable, in your eyes dishonorable. Shamelessness, falsehood, passion uncontrolled, vanity, vices are my enemies, but to you they are the closest of friends. You have done your best by your actions to make yourselves strangers, why do you hypothetically assume a specious name and call yourselves kinsmen? (195–196; translation amended from Colson, LCL)

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106. Translation from Babbitt, LCL. 107. For a similar argument, see Strabo 1.4.9. 108. ‘‘They should not distinguish between Greek and foreigner by Greek cloak and targe, or scimitar and jacket’’ (329C). 109. Alexander, ‘‘Paul and the Hellenistic Schools,’’ 74. See also Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, 1:357–58. 110. Sedley, ‘‘Philosophical Allegiance,’’ 97. 111. See Alexander, ‘‘Schools, Hellenistic’’; Buell, Making Christians, 54–60. 112. Diogenes Laertius V.11–16, 51–57, 61–64, 70–74. 113. Similarly, the will of Epicurus bequeaths property and the school itself to fellow members of the garden who are entrusted to preserve ‘‘the common life in the garden’’ (Diogenes Laertius X.17). 114. De Rerum Natura 3:9. 115. The text on which this is based, however, is problematic (a fragment of a letter to Idomeneus). See Culpepper, The Johannine School, 107–10. 116. Diogenes Laertius X.10; Lucretius, De Rerum Natura 5.8–10; Plutarch Moralia 1117A–B; Cicero, De Finibus, 2.31.101–103; See Alexander, ‘‘Paul and the Hellenistic Schools,’’ 71; and Culpepper, The Johannine School, 109. See Sedley for evidence that schools venerated their founders (‘‘Philosophical Allegiance’’). Schools of philosophy, however, also explicitly distanced themselves from traditional kinship and ethnic groups. The values and discourses of friendship (philia) often took precedence over those of kinship and peoplehood. See Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World, 108–15. 117. See Fraser, Ptolemaic Alexandria, 1:357–58. 118. Scholars argue over the date of this text. It first appears in the first century b.c.e. under the authoritative authorship of Hippocrates (Temkin, Hippocrates in a World of Pagans and Christians, 21 n. 16). 119. Hippocrates, The Oath, lines 5–15 (translation amended from Chadwick and Mann). 120. Temkin, Hippocrates in a World, 71–75. 121. Mishnah Baba Mesia, 2:11. Cited in translation from Eilberg-Schwarz, The Savage In Judaism, 210. For a similar attitude of relativizing the honor or debt due a father compared to other figures, see Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics ix.2.7–9 (thanks to David Konstan for this reference). 122. For a discussion of this phenomenon in Clement of Alexandria, see Buell, Making Christians, 50–68. 123. This is by no means an exhaustive list of types of creative kinship-making. It is merely a sampling which illustrates some of the options available to ancient Mediterranean authors.

chapter 2 1. Shaye Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness, 1. 2. Jonathan Hall, Ethnic Identity, 47. 3. Denise Kimber Buell makes this point in her review of Jonathan Hall’s Ethnic Identity in ‘‘Ethnicity and Religion in Mediterranean Antiquity and Beyond,’’ 248.

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4. Walter Gutbrod, ‘‘\Isral,’’ TDNT 6:380 (‘‘\Iouda~ioB’’ is included in this entry). Gutbrod also claims that there are times when Paul does refer to historical people when he uses Ioudaios/oi (such as in 1 Thess 2:14). It is unclear how Gutbrod decides whether these terms should be taken allegorically or literally. The last sentence of this entry is puzzling. After stating again that Ioudaios is ‘‘almost always used in a sense which emphasizes the essential, typical, and suprapersonal aspect of the term,’’ he adds: ‘‘This does not mean that the name \Iouda~ioB is taken from Jews and transferred to some concept of a Jew apart from national membership of the Jewish people’’ (382). What, then, does it mean? 5. Barr, Semantics, 206–62; Meeks, ‘‘A Nazi New Testament Professor,’’ 536–37. 6. Meeks, ‘‘A Nazi New Testament Professor,’’ 18. 7. Kittel edited the first four volumes of the German edition, the first of which appeared in 1932. 8. Augustine, Civ. Dei, 18.46. Meeks, ‘‘A Nazi New Testament Professor,’’ 12–14. 9. This interpretation dates back to the church fathers and continues into the first half of the twentieth century. Some examples are: Augustine, De Spiritu et Littera ad Marcellinum; Martin Luther, Luther’s Works: Vol. 25: Lectures on Romans, Glosses and Scholia; William Sanday and Arthur C. Headlam, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans; Rudolph Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament; Ernst Ka¨semann, Commentary on Romans. See John G. Gager’s account of the development of this view in Pauline scholarship: Gager, Reinventing Paul, 21–42. See also Stowers, Rereading, 1–6; Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 1–8. 10. See Stowers’s discussion of Augustine’s interpretation of Romans 2:1–5, verses which describe an arrogant figure and which Augustine claims describe Jews (Rereading, 13–14). Most now agree that Paul describes a gentile in this passage. 11. Ka¨semann, ‘‘Paul and Israel,’’ 186. For an incisive critique of Ka¨semann’s position, see Boyarin, Radical Jew, 209–14. 12. Snowden, Before Color Prejudice, 99; Ruether, ‘‘Sexism and God-Language,’’ 156. Both cited in Buell, ‘‘Rethinking,’’ 453. This evaluation of Paul is ubiquitous. Two examples are: Betz, Galatians, 190; Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism, 200. 13. For liberationist views, see Wimbush, ‘‘Reading Texts.’’ For further discussion of the anti-Jewish potential of some of these views, see Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation.’’ 14. In her book on ethnic language in second- and third-century Christian authors, Denise Kimber Buell points out that scholarship on Christian origins often describes Christianity as different from Judaism and other Hellenistic religions because Christianity allegedly was not defined by ethnic characteristics (such as ancestry and homeland). Instead, the thinking goes, Christianity transcends ethnic particularities and thus qualifies as an ethnically neutral, universal religion, open to all. Buell challenges this ethnicity-free notion of Christianity, demonstrating the various ways early Christians adopted ethnic language to define themselves as a legitimate people over and against other peoples such as the Greeks, Jews, and Egyptians. Crucial to this argument is the understanding that ancient peoples often defined ethnic identities in terms of religious practices: Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity. See also Buell, ‘‘Rethinking,’’ 451–53; 457–58; 471–72. 15. Boyarin, A Radical Jew, 7–8 and throughout.

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16. Galatians 3:28 is a cornerstone for Boyarin’s interpretation; he explicitly chooses this verse as his starting point for interpreting Paul (A Radical Jew, 5). 17. Some examples are Dunn, Romans 1–8, especially xliv–liv; Walters, Ethnic Issues in Paul’s Letter to the Romans, 5–66; Stanley, ‘‘‘Neither Jew Nor Greek,’’’ 101–24; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans, 25–39; Marcus, ‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 67–81. This approach is not entirely new. In the nineteenth century, F. C. Baur suggested (in Paul) that Paul was writing to respond to the tensions among Jews and gentiles in Rome. 18. For a fuller discussion of these issues, see the introduction. 19. For a thorough discussion and evaluation of scholarly views of the ‘‘strong’’ and the ‘‘weak,’’ and for an alternative proposal that these refer to Christ-believers and Jewish non–Christ-believers (respectively), see Nanos, Mystery of Romans, 85–165. See also Fitzmyer, Romans, 76–78, 687–708; Walters, Ethnic Issues, 84–92; and Thornsteinssen, 92–97. Fitzmyer raises questions about this perspective in his introduction (77), but seems to adopt it without question in his analysis of Romans 14–15 (687–708). Though I cannot pursue a detailed argument here, I will state that I am not convinced that the ‘‘strong’’ and the ‘‘weak’’ refer to separate ethnic groups. I think it is more likely, as Clarence Glad argues, that these designations correspond to gentiles-in-Christ at different stages of development. See Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 325–32. Documenting the common language and pedagogical contexts between Paul’s groups and philosophical schools, Glad argues that these terms refer to different types of students undergoing ‘‘psychagogic’’ transformation: some are more confident and recalcitrant; others are insecure and tender. As others have pointed out, Paul attends to similar issues in 1 Corinthians 8 and 10, where he speaks in terms of hierarchies of knowledge among gentile believers. For another argument that these are categories of general moral exhortation, see Karris, ‘‘Romans 14:1–15:13.’’ 20. See Fitzmyer, Romans, 77–79, where Fitzmyer discusses the theory of Willi Marxsen (Introduction to the New Testament: An Approach to Its Problems), who argues for this context for the writing of the letter. 21. See chapter 7 for an elaboration of this point. 22. Though Hall’s insights are valuable for studying ethnicity in the ancient world, his argument is limited by the time line which neatly separates the two methods; he associates the aggregative method with the Archaic period and the oppositional method with the period of the Persian wars and beyond (Ethnic Identity, 47). David Konstan observes the limits of Hall’s formulation in ‘‘Defining Ancient Greek Ethnicity,’’ 108–9. See also the comments of Denise Buell in ‘‘Ethnicity and Religion.’’ 23. For helpful discussions of ‘‘othering’’ and ‘‘others,’’ see Lieu, Christian Identity, 269–97, and Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic, 180–82. See also Wills, Constructions of the Other in the Biblical World. 24. Edith Hall, Inventing the Barbarian: Greek Self-Definition through Tragedy. 25. Ibid., 161. 26. For a thorough study of these scriptural models, see James M. Scott, Paul and the Nations: The Old Testament and Jewish Background of Paul’s Mission to the Nations with Special Reference to the Destination of Galatians. 27. Note here that Paul refers to the Israelites as ‘‘adopted sons,’’ as opposed to the descendants according to the flesh or according to nature. This coheres with Paul’s

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argument in Romans 9 (discussed in chaps 5 and 8) that it is not ‘‘natural’’ ties that guarantee one’s standing before God, but God’s own mercy. 28. Translation amended from Godley, LCL. 29. See also 2 Corinthians 11:22: ‘‘Hebrews are they? I am also. Israelites are they? I am also. Seed of Abraham are they? I am also.’’ 30. These subgroup identities may serve to mark specific characteristics and bolster authority, especially in contrast to other types of Ioudaioi (other Jewish teachers, perhaps?). Thanks to Laura Nasrallah for this point. 31. Although Paul does not use the term ‘‘gentiles,’’ his description makes it clear that these are the referents. He describes gentiles in similar terms in 1 Thessalonians 4:3–5; 1 Corinthians 5:1; and 1 Corinthians 12:2. See Stowers, Rereading, 42–44 and 89–93. 32. In the following texts, I choose not to translate porneia (many render it ‘‘fornication’’) because I do not know of an English word that includes the range of meanings associated with it in antiquity. It often referred to a breaking of gender or sexual boundaries or rules. 33. Translation amended from Sir Lancelot C. L. Brenton, Septuagint with Apocrypha, 67. Stowers discusses this text in relation to Romans 1:18–32 in Rereading, 92. 34. Stowers, Rereading, 42–82. 35. In fact, this portrait of the gentiles in Romans is very much like Greek portrayals of the ‘‘barbarian’’ (Stowers, Rereading, 34). 36. Mark Nanos translates this phrase ‘‘those for circumcision’’ (‘‘What Was at Stake,’’ 285–92). 37. This term occurs forty-five times in the authentic Pauline letters, almost exclusively in the plural. In Romans 10:19, Paul cites Deuteronomy 32:21, where ethnos refers to a singular ‘‘nation’’ instead of a group of non-Jews. 38. This is the case in sixteen of twenty-seven occurrences of the term. 39. See chapter 7 for further discussion of this passage. 40. Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 82. I have relied mostly on Cohen’s study, but see also Harvey, True Israel. 41. Ibid., 82. 42. Ibid., 84–104. 43. This passage from Strabo is preserved in Josephus, Jewish Antiquities, 14.115; recorded in Stern, Greek and Latin Authors, #105. 44. Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 75. 45. Horsley, Archaeology, History, and Society in Galilee: The Social Context of Jesus and the Rabbis. 46. Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 73. Josephus tells us that Idumeans and Galileans are each an ethnos of their own (BJ 2.510 [Galileans]; 4.105 [Ioudaioi], 243 [Idumeans]). 47. This argument is one facet of a much larger discussion of appropriate terminology for ancient Jews. See the introduction for a detailed discussion of the issues. 48. John Elliott, ‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian.’’’ See also Dunn, Jews and Christians, 183. 49. See Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 69–106; Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue, 137–46; John Elliott, ‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian.’’’

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50. John Elliott objects strongly to the term ‘‘Jew’’ as well (‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian’’’); see my discussion of this issue in the introduction. 51. On theories of outsiders and insiders, Elliott cites Halliday, Language as Social Semiotic: The Social Interpretation of Language and Meaning; and Malina and Neyrey, Calling Jesus Names: the Social Value of Labels in Matthew. 52. Elliott, ‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian.’’’ 53. Harvey, True Israel, 269. Elliott argues that some of these cases (Philo and Josephus, for example) can be explained as Jews writing for outsiders and adopting outsider language in that particular situation. Otherwise Jews would not use Ioudaioi (‘‘Jesus Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian’’’). Though it is certainly possible for these writers to deliberately use outsider language for strategic purposes, I am not convinced that this undermines Ioudaioi as a term of self-description for Jews. To make this case, one would have to show that Jewish authors use Ioudaioi only in outsider contexts, which is not the case. In general, I think Elliott is more willing than I am to use sociological theory to explain the discursive strategies and identity construction of ancient writers. Harvey is critical of evaluating texts based on insider/ outsider characteristics (True Israel, 6–7). 54. Shaye Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness, chapters 1–6. 55. Thus Shaye Cohen’s study can be complemented by Boyarin’s Border Lines, which also argues for a specific historical context in which Judaism becomes defined as a religion. For Boyarin, this context is the fourth century when Jews, in a process of post-colonial mimicry, define themselves over and against Christians (Border Lines, 11). 56. Greeks also use ethn
e for non-Greek peoples as well, although much less frequently than they use ‘‘barbarian.’’ One example is the following passage from Aristotle: ‘‘And also among all the [non-Hellenic] nations (½n to~iB ynesi) that are strong enough to expand at the expense of others, military strength has been held in honor. For example among the Scythians, Persians, Thracians and Celts’’ (Politics VII.2.5; Rackham, LCL). ‘‘Non-Hellenic’’ is not in the text; the translator added it so the meaning would be clear in English that Aristotle is talking about non-Greeks. James Scott observes a similar use of gens among Latin authors (Paul and the Nations, 58 n. 7). 57. James M. Scott’s careful study of ethn
e in Paul has been helpful to me (Paul and the Nations, 57–134). I do not agree with all of his conclusions, however. Scott outlines three translations for ethn
e in the LXX: (1) all nations, including Israel; (2) all nations except for Israel; and (3) foreign individuals. I have not found it useful or even possible to distinguish between Scott’s #2 and #3 (he admits the line is blurry, 60). 58. Donaldson, Paul and the Gentiles, 51–78; James Scott, Paul and the Nations, 57–134. 59. See chapter 7 and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘Apostle to the Gentiles.’’ 60. Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 178. The exception to this is when these verbs denote linguistic behavior, in which case the activity (e.g., hellenizein) could refer to either members or non-members of the group represented by the verb (178). Graham Harvey argues that, given that it is a term that describes gentile activity, it does not make sense to refer to Jewish teachers of gentiles promoting circumcision or other practices of the Law as ‘‘Judaizers’’ (True Israel, 75).

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61. Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 176–77. 62. Ibid., 180. 63. The eighty-plus occurrences of this verb in Christian sources are not as relevant for understanding Paul’s use in Galatians. All of them occur well after Paul, and they reflect what became particular Christian meanings of the word, meanings which were embedded in anti-Jewish polemics. For a discussion of these, see Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 185–92. 64. ‘‘Verres is the Roman word for a castrated porker; when, accordingly, a freedman named Caecilius, who was subject to Judaizing, wanted to thrust aside the Sicilian accusers and denounce Verres himself, Cicero said, ‘What has a Jew to do with a Verres?’’’ (Life of Cicero, 7.6; Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 180). I am following Cohen in translating enokhos toi ioudaı¨zein as ‘‘subject to Judaizing’’ (180 n. 26). 65. Cohen points out that many authors translate ‘‘Judaize’’ here as ‘‘convert to Judaism’’ or ‘‘become Jewish.’’ He disagrees with this translation based on the evidence of other -izein verbs, which almost exclusively mean to ‘‘become like’’ a certain group, not to ‘‘become’’ a member of that group, as mentioned above (see Beginnings, 182). 66. Translation from Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 184. 67. A story which follows shortly after this one comments further on this theme of ambiguous status. In this example, the ambiguous element is played by Ioudaioi who have ‘‘ranged themselves on the side of the Skythopolitans . . . regarding their own security as more important than the ties of blood’’ ( Jewish War, 2.466). The result of this alliance is that these Ioudaioi must fight fellow Ioudaioi. The Skythopolitans eventually decide that they cannot trust these Jews who have come to fight on their side and they have them all slaughtered (Jewish War, 2.468). It seems that in these crisis situations in which boundaries are crucial, crossovers of any sort are not trusted. A further example of this sort of mistrust occurs in the Jewish War, 7.191, where Ioudaioi abandon the foreigners fighting with them, leaving them in the lower part of Machaerus to bear the brunt of the attack. Josephus tells us that they considered these foreigners ‘‘mere rabble.’’ 68. Diogenes Laertius writes of Zeno of Elea: ‘‘[Zeno] was the son of Teleutagoras by birth (fsei), but of Parmenides by adoption (ysei)’’ (Lives 9.25); Polybius clarifies that ‘‘Hamilcar surnamed Barcas’’ is the ‘‘actual father’’ or the ‘‘father according to birth (patro`B db kata fsin)’’ of Hannibal (3.9.6); in Electra, Sophocles describes Chrysothemis as ‘‘born of one father and mother (½k patro`B ta toø~ fsin . . . ½k te mZtrB)’’ (325); in the same play, a character is described as being ‘‘near of kin (pro`B a·matoB fsin)’’ (1125); Athenaeus describes Epigonus as ‘‘an Abraciot by birth (fsei), but by adoption he was a citizen of Sicyon (dZmpoZtoB db SikuænioB)’’ (183d). 69. I discuss this more fully in chapter 4. See also Stowers, Rereading, 239. 70. See the following notes for comments relevant to my argument. 71. Not everyone agrees that Paul’s quotation continues at 2:15 (see the NRSV, for example). I think it does, for this is the best explanation for the first-person plural, ‘‘we Jews.’’ It makes more sense to allow the continuation of the quotation, with Paul recounting his words to his fellow teachers for the benefit of the gentile Galatians who are listening in.

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72. Whether or not Galatians 2:16 refers only to gentiles or to humanity in general is debated. The argument usually revolves around the meaning of the word anthr
opos in Galatians 2:16 (‘‘We know that an anthr
opos is not made righteous’’). Most commentators interpret it as ‘‘any person.’’ Lloyd Gaston maintains that anthr
opos is a term which Paul uses for non-Jewish humanity (which he asserts without providing evidence); see Paul and the Torah, 66 n. B. John Gager follows him on this (Origins, 233). After surveying Paul’s use of the term, I am not convinced that this is a consistent pattern. In many cases, Paul is not clear who the referent is when he uses anthr
opos, and in at least two cases the referent is a Ioudaios (Rom 2:9, 29). In this particular passage, however, I am inclined to agree with Gaston that anthr
opos refers to gentiles. This makes sense both in his recounting of his discussion with Peter and in the overall context of the letter, in which the main point of argument is how gentiles, not Jews, are made right with God. 73. I understand ‘‘pistis Iesou Christou’’ in 2:16 to refer to the faithfulness of Christ (subjective genitive) as opposed to the believer’s faith in Christ (objective genitive). Indeed, it is Christ’s faithfulness, not the believer’s, which is capable of making people right with God. See chapter 4 for discussion. 74. Markus Barth has argued that ‘‘works of the Law’’ refers specifically to the requirements placed on gentiles to follow the Law, and does not refer to the activity of Law-abiding Jews; see Barth, Ephesians, 244–48. Others have objected to this thesis, citing a Qumran text with a title similar to ‘‘works of the Law,’’ Miqsat Ma‘ase Ha– Torah (4QMMT), as evidence that such a phrase (although in Hebrew) was indeed used to prescribe Jewish law-keeping practices (Boyarin, Radical Jew, 272 n. 9; for more on the relationship between Galatians and 4QMMT, see Dunn, ‘‘4QMMT and Galatians,’’ 147–53). I am not convinced that the discovery of this Hebrew phrase in 4QMMT necessarily proves that Paul uses ‘‘works of the Law’’ to refer to Jews, or to all people, in Gal 2:16. Nor am I entirely convinced by Barth that it is a phrase that belongs only to gentiles in Paul. For example, Barth argues that when Paul explicitly discusses Jews and the Law, he simply uses the term ‘‘Law’’ and not ‘‘works of the Law,’’ and he cites Romans 9:31 as one example (246): ‘‘But Israel, chasing the law of righteousness for the purpose of the Law did not arrive first.’’ One wonders what Barth would make of Rom 9:32, where Paul contrasts ‘‘works’’ and ‘‘faithfulness’’ for Jews: ‘‘Why not? Because they did not strive for it on the basis of faithfulness, but on the basis of works.’’ Barth himself makes the case that ‘‘works’’ is shorthand for ‘‘works of the Law’’ (244). Therefore it seems that Romans 9:31–32 undermines his argument that ‘‘works of the Law’’ refers exclusively to gentiles. Despite the flaws in these specific arguments, I agree with the general point that Paul is concerned here with gentiles following the Law, not Jews. Paul consistently argues, with the aim of persuading his gentile audience not to practice the Law, that one’s standing with God does not depend on doing so. As others have pointed out, many other Jews would have agreed with him. For discussions of ‘‘works of the Law,’’ see Dunn, Theology of Paul, 354–71; Gaston, Paul and the Torah, chapters 4 and 6; Nanos, Mystery, appendix 1. 75. ‘‘Ethnic reasoning’’ is a phrase coined by Buell in Why This New Race. 76. This process, which Louis J. Martyn calls ‘‘rectification,’’ is initiated by God and involves not only establishing a relationship with God, but also moral transfor-

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mation; see Martyn, Galatians, 250. Though I disagree with parts of Martyn’s argument, I find his discussion of ‘‘righteousness’’ helpful (see 249–50; 263–75). He points out that the verb dikaio
o is often translated ‘‘to justify’’ and that the noun dikaiosun
e is translated ‘‘righteousness’’ (249). This is misleading because in English they do not sound related. Therefore Martyn chooses ‘‘to rectify’’ and ‘‘rectification.’’ Martyn comments: ‘‘The subject Paul addresses is that of God’s making right what has gone wrong’’ (250). On the righteousness of God, see also Sam Williams, ‘‘The Righteousness of God,’’ 241–91. 77. Jew-Greek pairings are found in: Romans 2:9–11 (twice), 3:9, 10:12; Galatians 3:28; 1 Corinthians 1:22–24 (twice), 10:32, 12:13. The one exception is Romans 1:14, where ‘‘Greeks’’ appears in a different pair: ‘‘I am obligated both to Greeks and to barbarians, to the wise and foolish’’ (see discussion below). In Galatians 2:3, Paul uses the singular ‘‘Greek’’ to describe an individual: ‘‘But Titus who is with me, although he was Greek (›EllZn) was not forced to be circumcised.’’ Scott argues that ‘‘Greek’’ is Paul’s choice for the singular non-Jew (Paul and the Nations, 121). After all, Paul only uses the singular ‘‘ethnos’’ once when he is quoting scripture (Rom 10:19, citing Deut 32:21), and there it seems to mean ‘‘nation’’ or ‘‘people.’’ Otherwise the term only appears in the plural. This may be true, but it is worth noting that Paul uses the plural ‘‘Greeks’’ with the plural ‘‘Jews’’ as often as he pairs the singular forms of these terms (singular: Rom 1:16, 2:9–11; Gal 3:28; plural: Rom 3:9; 1 Cor 1:22–24, 10:32, 12:13). 78. One pitfall for many scholars is to assume that Paul always evaluates those he calls ‘‘Jews’’ and those he calls Greeks in the same way (scholars tend to associate Jews with a negative evaluation and gentiles or Greeks with a positive one). A quick glance at the various uses of ‘‘Ioudaioi,’’ for example, demonstrates the danger of this assumption. Paul states in one place: ‘‘We are Ioudaioi by birth and we are not sinners coming from the gentiles’’ (Gal 2:15). Yet in another passage Paul uses ‘‘Ioudaios’’ to describe his enemies. He writes to his Thessalonian community: ‘‘You, brothers, became imitators of the assemblies in Judea; because you suffered the same things, you by your own people [literally ‘‘by the people of the same tribe’’] (po` t ~ n don sumfulet ~ n) and they by the Ioudaioi, those who killed the lord Jesus and the prophets and who persecuted us, and who are not pleasing to God and who are opposed to all people, and who forbade us from speaking to the gentiles that they might be saved, so that their [Jews’] wrongdoings might always be fulfilled’’ (1 Thess 2:14–16) (the authenticity of this verse is debated; I agree with Abraham J. Malherbe who considers it authentic: Letters to the Thessalonians, 164–79). Thus both the Jewish assemblies and the Greek (Thessalonian) assemblies have been persecuted (as has Paul) by their respective peoples. ‘‘Jew’’ in this passage refers to those Jews who oppose Paul, not all Jews. These Jews are ‘‘others’’ from Paul. Another example is 2 Corinthians 11:24–26, where Paul lists the things he has suffered: ‘‘Five times from the Jews I received fifty lashes less one. . . . [I was] in dangers from my own people (½k gnouB), in dangers from gentiles (½x ½yn ~ n).’’ Thus the meaning of Ioudaioi is not necessarily static; it is always important to consider the context in which Paul uses this terminology. 79. Stowers, Rereading, 277. 80. Thanks to Stanley Stowers for suggesting this formulation. There are other Jewish texts, particularly the Maccabean literature, which may use ‘‘Greeks’’ in a

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similar fashion. Note the usage in this passage from 2 Maccabees describing the various battles of Maccabeus against Antiochus Eupator: ‘‘And when [Lysias] had gathered about fourscore thousand with all the horsemen, he came against the Ioudaioi, thinking to make the city a habitation of the Greeks (^˛llZsin), and to make a gain of the temple as of the other chapels of the gentiles (½yn ~ n)’’ (11:2–3). This passage seems to interchange ‘‘Greeks’’ and ‘‘gentiles’’ in the same way Paul does in 1 Corinthians 1:22–24. In the same text, the author describes the unjust slaying of Onias and the protest of ‘‘not only the Ioudaioi, but also many other peoples (½yn ~ n)’’ (4:35). Likewise the ‘‘Ioudaioi that were in the city, and also the Greeks (t ~n ^¶llnon) that abhorred this deed’’ objected to this murder (4:36). That ‘‘Greek’’ may have in some cases meant ‘‘non-Jew’’ can be seen in descriptions of Jews being forced to follow Greek customs and worship practices. Jason plans to establish a gymnasium and thus change ‘‘his own nation (moflouB) to the Greek type (^¶llZniko`n waraktŁ ~ ra)’’ (2 Macc 4:10). A few verses later, these changes are called both ‘‘Hellenism’’ (^¶llZnismoø~) and ‘‘foreign ways’’ (¼llofulismoø~) (4:13). 81. Christopher Stanley maintains a somewhat similar thesis, but argues from a different perspective. He contends that when Paul uses ‘‘Greek,’’ he means a specific group of Greeks, exclusive of other non-Jews; see ‘‘‘Neither Jew Nor Greek,’’’ 123. To support this claim, Stanley relies on a historical reconstructionist approach (as discussed above) which does not take into consideration the ways Paul constructs ethnic identity. Stanley writes: ‘‘No educated person in antiquity (including Josephus) would have used the term ‘Greek’ to refer to the general non-Jewish population of Asia Minor’’ (108–109). According to Stanley, this is because several peoples of Asia Minor (Galatians, Isaurians, and Phrygians) maintained a strong sense of their own ethnic identity in the face of spreading Hellenism; furthermore, some peoples (those of northern and inland Asia Minor) were not influenced by Hellenism at all. In the cities, one would not call non-Jews as a whole ‘‘Greeks’’ because the Greeks in the city worked hard to restrict this label to citizens with known Greek ancestry. These efforts on the part of group members to isolate and protect their identities, as described in Stanley’s article, are not surprising. It does not follow, however, that others abided by the same rules regarding who was Greek and who was not. This sort of reasoning also ignores that Paul uses this language in arguments which are constructed to persuade, and therefore the ethnic labels do not necessarily correspond to the selfdescriptions which may have been used by various peoples in Asia Minor. 82. My thanks to Denise Kimber Buell for this observation. 83. Although Fitzmyer does not think ‘‘the wise’’ corresponds to the ‘‘Greeks’’ in this verse (Romans, 251). See discussion below. 84. This also applies to 1 Corinthians 1:22 (‘‘the Greeks seek wisdom’’), discussed above. 85. Other passages which pair these terms are found in Romans: 4:9–12, 3:30, 2:25–26, and 15:8–9 (circumcised/gentiles). Also relevant to this discussion of circumcision in Paul is Romans 2:24–29, where Paul juxtaposes an ‘‘inward’’ circumcision of the heart with an ‘‘outward’’ physical circumcision. I treat this passage at length in chapter 7. 86. Although this use appears in Greek literature, too. For Greek and Jewish examples, see Meyer, ‘‘peritom,’’ TDNT, 6:73–74.

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87. Marcus comes to the same conclusion, (‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 76). 88. Circumcision is an interesting example of mixing inherited and achieved characteristics. On the one hand, it is a religious ritual enacted by parents on their newborn sons. On the other hand, for these Jewish boys, it is a permanent mark on their bodies, as though it is inherited. 89. See the literature cited by Eilberg-Schwartz, Savage in Judaism, 142. 90. Eilberg-Schwartz, Savage in Judaism, 143. Modern ethnographic literature would seem to support Eilberg-Schwartz’s case. In many cultures, circumcision is a practice which initiates boys into their roles as sexually mature men, responsible for marrying and fathering children to continue the lineage. Eilberg-Schwartz comments: ‘‘As an operation on the male reproductive organ, circumcision symbolizes lines of descent. This is an especially powerful symbol in patrilineal societies, where descent is traced from father to son’’ (144–45). In these modern examples, the circumcision is performed when boys reach adolescence, as opposed to ancient Jewish traditions where it would have been performed on newborn baby boys. EilbergSchwartz comments that in ancient Israelite tradition, circumcision does not signal virility (as in these modern cultures), but potential procreativity (175). 91. Ibid., 143. 92. Ibid., 144. 93. Eilberg-Schwartz offers the following examples. In P texts, a rainbow is a symbol (ot) of God’s covenant with Noah. This is particularly relevant because they appear at the end of a storm, so it is appropriate that they symbolize God’s promise not to flood the earth again (Savage in Judaism, 146). Likewise, the blood which Israelites put on their doorposts before leaving Egypt is an apt symbol (ot) ‘‘because it metaphorically parallels the blood of the Israelite child which God has chosen not to shed’’ (147). 94. Stowers, Rereading, 244. 95. This third reason Philo further explains: ‘‘For as both are framed to serve for generation, thought being generated by the spirit force in the heart, living creatures by the reproductive organ, the earliest men held that the unseen and superior element to which the concepts of the mind owe their existence should have assimilated to it the visible and apparent, the natural parent of the things perceived by sense’’ (Special Laws, 1.6; translation by Colson, LCL). 96. Translation by Colson, LCL. Further evidence might be found in Josephus, who cites two examples in which circumcision is required of a man who is to marry a royal Jewish woman (Antiquities of the Jews, 20.145, 20.139). In addition, Eilberg-Schwartz cites rabbinic texts which link circumcision with fertility (Savage in Judaism, 155). 97. Shaye Cohen, Beginnings, 39–40. 98. Translation amended from Whiston, 323. For a similar passage, see 1 Maccabees 1:14. 99. Translation from Feldman, LCL. 100. See K. L. Schmidt, ‘‘¼krobusta,’’ TDNT 1:225–226; and Marcus, ‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 67–81. 101. Galatians 2:7; Romans 2:26, 27; 3:30; 4:9, 11. 102. See Marcus, ‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 76. Although several Septuagint texts apply another term for ‘‘uncircumcised,’’ aperitm
etos, to non-Jews as a group: ‘‘O house

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of Israel! You that have brought in aliens, uncircumcised in heart (¼pertmZtouB kardÆ  ) and uncircumcised in flesh (¼pertmZtouB sarkd)’’ (LXX Ezek 44:6–7); ‘‘No foreign person, uncircumcised in heart (¼peritmtoB kardÆ  ) or uncircumcised in flesh (¼peritmtouB sarkd), shall enter my sanctuary’’ (Ezek 44:9); ‘‘is there not a woman of all my people, that you go and take a wife from the foreign uncircumcised peoples (t ~ n ¼lloflon t ~ n ¼peritmton)?’’ (Judg 14:3); Sampson pleads to God ‘‘and now shall I die for thirst and fall into the hands of the uncircumcised (t ~n ¼peritmton)?’’ (Judg 15:18). 103. Marcus, ‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 78. Marcus makes this suggestion in the context of a more specific argument about Paul’s use of akrobustia in Romans. He maintains that ‘‘foreskin’’ was a label used by Jewish Christians in Rome about gentile Christians in Rome. According to Marcus, these groups correspond to the ‘‘weak’’ (Jewish Christians) and ‘‘strong’’ (gentile Christians) in Romans 14. Paul’s use of this terminology reflects ‘‘sociological tension’’ between these two groups (‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 74), a view shared by many scholars who use historical reconstruction to interpret Romans. What I find valuable about this article is the observation that Paul is using this terminology to describe groups of people, and that the term akrobustia was likely a derogatory term used by Jews about gentiles. I am not convinced by his argument that the labels ‘‘circumcised’’ and ‘‘uncircumcised’’ correspond to possible Jewish and gentile empirical readers in Rome, and that these, in turn, correspond to the weak and the strong. 104. Marcus is able to piece together some rabbinic and biblical evidence in Hebrew to support his case, but Greek parallels are scarce. As I mentioned above, I have found no evidence that ‘‘foreskin’’ is used as a synonym for non-Jewish peoples in texts before or contemporary with Paul. The authors of the Hebrew Bible and Septuagint translators did use another term for ‘‘uncircumcised’’ for non-Jews: aperitm
etos (see n. 102). 105. Marcus suggests that the same phenomenon occurred with the term ‘‘circumcised’’: it was used by non-Jews about Jews in a derogatory manner. By the time Paul writes, Marcus argues, Jews have claimed this term to describe themselves (‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 80). This seems like a stretch to me, although the Ephesians passage does raise the question of who initially called Jews the ‘‘circumcised,’’ Jews or non-Jews? I think it is more likely—or at least just as probable—that Jews began calling themselves ‘‘the circumcised ones’’ regardless of whether others called them by this name. At any rate, it is difficult to support Marcus’s theory without more evidence of Jews calling themselves ‘‘circumcised ones’’ (Marcus admits the paucity of this evidence and cites none outside of the New Testament). 106. Stowers, Rereading, 21–22, 30–33, 71–72, 277–78. See McKnight, A Light among the Gentiles, chapters 6 and 7. For more discussion of audience, see the introduction. 107. Stowers, Rereading, 244. 108. Whether ‘‘wise’’ can be paired with ‘‘Greeks’’ and ‘‘foolish’’ with ‘‘barbarians’’ is debated by scholars. Some think that Paul is describing different groups of people: Greeks and barbarians, on the one hand, and wise and foolish, on the other. See Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, 1:83–84 for the different viewpoints and discussion. Cranfield decides that both pairs refer to gentiles but divides

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them up differently. That is, ‘‘Greeks and barbarians’’ divides the gentiles into Hellenized and un-Hellenized peoples, whereas ‘‘wise and foolish’’ divides them into educated and uneducated (84). Fitzmyer also rejects the connection between Greeks and wise and barbarians and foolish, claiming that this would be ‘‘too rigid a parallelism’’ (Romans, 251). He thinks that the first pair refers to gentiles and the second to ‘‘all humanity’’ (251). James Dunn agrees with my view that Paul is calling Greeks wise and barbarians foolish, and by so doing he is adopting a Greek point of view; see Dunn, Romans 1–8, 33, 35–36. 109. Edith Hall identifies ‘‘heterophone’’ as an early meaning of ‘‘barbarian’’ (perhaps the only meaning in Homer), which eventually came to encompass more than just language differences (Inventing the Barbarian, 4). 110. Translation amended from Colson, LCL. Other examples are listed in Betz, Galatians, 192 n. 85. 111. Translation from Thackeray, LCL. 112. Stowers, Rereading, 277. 113. As an aside, the category ‘‘Romans’’ is also absent from the Greek novels (thanks to David Konstan for this observation). 114. Except for the term ‘‘Galatians,’’ which Paul uses in Galatians 3:1: ‘‘O foolish Galatians! (oO ¼nZtoi Galtai).’’ 115. Recall that some Romans understood themselves to be descendants of Greeks and heirs to all that was considered honorable about Greeks. Dionysius of Halicarnassus traces the Greek ancestry of the Romans, proving that they are not barbarians (see my discussion in chap. 1).

chapter 3 1. It is important to point out that there was not one monolithic and static model of the household for every region and time period in the ancient Mediterranean world. Much recent scholarship on the ancient family has recognized this and has rightly emphasized varying historical contexts. The basic hierarchy of the household, however, which Paul calls upon in Romans 8:14–17 (father, mother, children, slaves), seems to have remained fairly consistent. See Rawson, The Family in Ancient Rome; Saller and Kertzer, ‘‘Historical and Anthropological Perspectives’’; Peskowitz, ‘‘‘Family/ies in Antiquity’’; and Pomeroy, Xenophon Oeconomicus, 31–40, and Families in Classical and Hellenistic Greece: Representations and Realities. 2. James M. Scott conducts an extensive study of this concept in Paul in Adoption as Sons of God: An Exegetical Investigation into the Background of YIOYE SIA in the Pauline Corpus. See also Byrne, ‘‘Sons of God’’—‘‘Seed of Abraham’’: A Study of the Idea of the Sonship of God of All Christians in Paul against the Jewish Background. Inscriptional evidence attests the widespread use of huiothesia in adoptive formulae placed after a person’s name. For example Alexander ‘‘kay
uoyesan db \yanadærou BouldaB’’ would identify Alexander as (the son) of Athanadoros Boulides according to adoption (Scott, Adoption, 49; see also Martin Smith, ‘‘Greek Adoptive Formulae,’’ 302–10). By contrast, the literary use of huiothesia is quite limited. After extensive philological work, James Scott found several ancient lexicons where the term is clearly used to refer to the process of the adoption of a son into a new family (Scott, Adoption, 13–57, esp. 52).

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Additionally, there are two texts from the first century b.c.e. in which huiothesia appears. Nicolaus Damascenus, the court historian for Herod the Great, describes the adoption of Octavian by Julius Caesar: ‘‘he received both the name and the adoption  (dwetai toønoma te kad tcn uoyesan)’’ (Life of Caesar, 55; for the Greek text, see Jacoby, Die Fragmente, 2A:401). See Byrne, ‘‘Sons of God,’’ 80, and Scott, Adoption, 54. Aside from these sources and Paul’s letters, however, the term does not appear in Greek literature until Ireneaus in the second century c.e. (Irenaeus, Adversus Haireses, III.19.1). It also occurs in Clement of Alexandria Paedagogus, 1.5.21.2, and then commonly in literature after that (Scott, Adoption, 53 n. 247). Oddly, huiothesia occurs nowhere in the Septuagint, nor in any Jewish texts of this period. This infrequency in literature seems odd compared to its widespread use in documentary evidence. As Scott points out, several other related terms are used in literature for ‘‘adoption’’: eispoiein, ekpoiein, tith
esthai, poieisthai, huiopoieisthai, and huiothetein (from which huiothesia comes) (Adoption, 13). In both inscriptions and in literary sources, there is considerable overlap in the vocabulary of adoption (meaning these different words for adoption are used interchangeably), often in the same passage or inscription (Scott, Adoption, 56). 3. Corley, ‘‘Women’s Inheritance Rights in Antiquity and Paul’s Metaphor of Adoption.’’ 4. Corley cites one example of such an adoption in ‘‘Women’s Inheritance,’’ 108 n. 72. 5. Corley, ‘‘Women’s Inheritance,’’ 110. 6. Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic, 162. 7. Corley, ‘‘Women’s Inheritance,’’ 121. 8. Unlike huiothesia, which refers exclusively to male adoptions, the term for ‘‘heir,’’ kl
eronomos, even though it is gendered male, is frequently used to describe female heirs (Corley, ‘‘Women’s Inheritance,’’ 117–120). 9. Dahl, Studies in Paul, 129–30. In the eschatological tradition to which Dahl refers, Jewish writers conflate several of God’s promises to Abraham—multiple descendants (Gen 12:2, 13:16, 15:5, 18:18), possession of the land of Canaan (Gen 12:7, 13:15–17, 15:7, 18–21, 17:8), and the blessing of all the nations in his seed (Gen 12:3, 18:18, 22:18)—into one aggrandized promise that God’s people would inherit the earth (LXX Ps 36:9, 11, 22, 29, 34; Jub 22:14–15, 17:3, 22:29–30, 32:18–19; 1 Enoch 5:6– 7; Sir 44:21; 4 Ezra 6: 55–59; 2 Apoc Bar 14:13, 51:3). See Sam Williams, ‘‘Promise,’’ 719; Fitzmyer, Romans, 384; Stowers, Rereading, 244–45. 10. We know that multiple descendants and the inclusion of the gentiles is a part of God’s promise for Paul (Rom 4:20, referring to 4:17 and 18). Thus in Romans 4:13, it seems that Paul incorporates various promises (land, descendants, gentiles) into a larger vision of the promise, in which Abraham and his seed inherit the world. See Dahl, Studies in Paul, 129, and Stowers, Rereading, 244–46. 11. Stowers, Rereading, 245. 12. Young, ‘‘Paidagogos,’’ 155. The similarity between these two terms would have encouraged ancient readers to draw a connection between this passage and Galatians 3:24–25, in which the gentiles are guarded by the paidogogos. 13. Ibid. 14. Martin, Slavery as Salvation, 15. James M. Scott argues that both of these terms refer to public officials, which would support his thesis that this passage draws

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upon an Exodus theme, in which Israel is enslaved by Egyptian officials (epitropoi and oikonomoi) and then freed. See Scott, Adoption, 137ff. 15. Betz, Galatians, 202. 16. James Scott, Adoption, 140; Dunn, Black’s New Testament Commentary, 211. 17. See James Scott, Adoption, 122, for bibliography. For a summary of the issues, see Walters, ‘‘Paul, Adoption and Inheritance.’’ This ambiguity is not surprising. In fact, I would be surprised to find an exact fit with an extant text of inheritance law. Though many of these laws may have been written down, certainly many were not. And like other legal writings, these laws were prescriptive, not descriptive, and they may not have had much to do with actual practices. Further, inheritance laws were not static, but often changed with location and over time. 18. Examples of these contradictions include: Paul cannot possibly be comparing a child to a slave, as their circumstances are so different; the first half of the passage does not seem to be talking about adoption, whereas the second half does address adoption; that in the first half of the passage the father should be deceased, but in the second half the father is alive. See Betz, Galatians, 202ff; James Scott, Adoption, 126–45. 19. See my discussion of this practice in chapter 4 and chapter 7 n. 35. 20. Scholars propose numerous solutions, but no argument has been convincing. Some argue that the ‘‘elements’’ represent pagan religions; others claim that the Torah is the referent; still others have posited that the elements symbolize demonic forces (James Scott, Adoption, 157–60). 21. Blinzler, ‘‘Lexikalisches,’’ 2:439–41. Blinzler has completed a word study on stoicheia, and he found eleven occurrences of the exact phrase ta stoicheia tou kosmou. Each instance was a clear reference to the four elements. See also James Scott, Adoption, 159, who cites one example from Marcus Aurelius: ‘‘What dies does not fall outside the Universe. If it remains here and changes here, it is also resolved here into the eternal constituents, which are the elements of the Universe (stoiwe~ia toø~ ksmou) and of yourself’’ (Meditations or Ta eis heauton, 8.18.1). 22. Mark D. Nanos agrees that this phrase in Galatians 4:9 refers to some former religious practices of the gentile audience. See The Irony of Galatians: Paul’s Letter in First-Century Context, 81. 23. Sam Williams, Galatians, 111. Williams cites other instances of this use of the phrase; most Pauline scholars agree with this interpretation. 24. Sam Williams remarks that this phrase means that Christ lived as a Jew, ‘‘a life shaped by Israel’s constitution and guide’’ (Galatians, 111). 25. Although in Romans 1:3–4, Paul emphasizes a double kinship for Christ: ‘‘born out of the seed of David by birth,’’ and ‘‘appointed as the son of God.’’ Furthermore, Paul uses huiothesia in reference to Israel in Romans 9:4. Thus God’s agency is important to the kinship status of Christ, Jews, and gentiles. 26. A likely interpretation, given other instances of the phrase ‘‘under the Law.’’ See, for example, Galatians 4:21, where Paul addresses those gentiles in his audience who want to be ‘‘under the Law.’’ This expression is never used in other Jewish literature to describe the relationship between Jews and the Law (Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 29). John Gager proposes that Christ is ‘‘born under the Law’’ to save those under the Law, much as he becomes a curse to redeem those who are cursed (Gal 3:13) (Gager,

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Reinventing Paul, 88). Gager’s explanation does not necessarily preclude Sam Williams’s suggestion that ‘‘born under the Law’’ signals Christ’s Jewish identity. Scholars who think that ‘‘those under the Law’’ in Paul refers to gentiles include: Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 29–30; Stowers, Rereading, 278; Gager, Reinventing Paul, 88; Sanders, Paul, the Law and the Jewish People, 81–86; Howard, Paul, 66–82; Ra¨isa¨nen, Paul and the Law, 18–23. See chapter 7, esp. n. 44, for further discussion of this issue. 27. Abba is a Greek transliteration of the Aramaic word for father (Fitzmyer, Romans, 498; Dunn, Romans 1–8, 453–54). 28. This assertion recalls another definition of ‘‘the sons of Abraham’’ in Galatians 3:7: ‘‘Those who come from faithfulness, these are the sons of Abraham u  (ginæsete Æra ´ti o ½k psteoB, oøtoi uo \bram).’’ See chapter 4 for a discussion of this verse. 29. For an exhaustive study of ‘‘spirit’’ in Paul, see Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul. 30. For a similar discussion, see Galatians 5:16–26. 31. Categorizing the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs as clearly Christian or clearly Jewish is complicated. These texts draw upon, and perhaps originate in, Jewish traditions, but they were preserved and redacted by Christians. Judith Lieu reads them alongside Jewish texts but points out that we must recognize that they were also read as Christian texts. See Lieu, Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World, 45–48, for specific discussion of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs (and notes for bibliography on those who view these texts as primarily Christian or primarily Jewish). 32. Levison, The Spirit, 240. 33. Ibid. 34. See Ezekiel 11:19–20 for close parallel. 35. Translation from Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 2:324. There is some debate over whether The Testament of Judah is a Jewish document from the second century b.c.e. or a Christian document from about 200 c.e. (see note 31). See James Scott, Adoption, 110, for the details of the discussion and for his own argument against the theory that Testament of Judah 24:3 might be a Christian interpolation. 36. My emphasis. Translation from Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 2:324. For the merits of the various Armenian manuscripts and their relationships to Hebrew and Greek versions, see Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 1:284–86. See also James Scott, Adoption, 112 n. 241. Romans 5:5 contains similar imagery of the spirit as a liquid that can be poured: ‘‘God’s love has been poured out into our hearts by means of the holy spirit which has been given to us.’’ 37. Translation from Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha, 2:12. The Greek version of these verses does not survive. R. H. Charles’s translation is based mostly on the Ethiopic version, thought to be the most reliable. For an edition of this version of Jubilees, see The Eithiopic Version of the Hebrew Book of Jubilees, which also is edited by Charles. 38. See also Romans 2:26. 39. About this difference, Stowers writes: ‘‘Gentiles-in-Christ can do what the Law justly requires of them without becoming people with a constitution explicitly based upon the Law’’ (Rereading, 141).

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40. See also Dale B. Martin’s discussion of pneuma in his excellent study of the Corinthian literature: The Corinthian Body, 21–25. Martin points out that many of these conceptions of pneuma from medical and philosophical literature were also expressed in popular literature (21). 41. It is beyond the scope of this project to provide a thorough treatment of the various analyses of pneuma in this literature, but I will summarize some of the most widespread understandings of the term and highlight those particularly relevant for Paul. 42. Galen, On Sustaining Causes, 1.1–2.4. Translation from Long and Sedley, eds., The Hellenistic Philosophers, 1:334–335. Similar views are expressed by Athenaeus; see Albutt, Greek Medicine, 266. 43. Aetius (first-century c.e. philosopher and doxographer) describes the Stoic formulation of the soul, which has seven parts that extend to the body ‘‘like tentacles from the octopus.’’ The ‘‘leading part’’ of the soul, comprised of the finest components of pneuma, is reason. From reason extend several other parts of the soul to different parts of the body. Each of these extensions is also pneuma. For example, there is a pneuma which extends from the leading part of the soul to the eye; this is how pneuma controls sight. There are other analogous pneumata, which extend from the leading part of the soul to the other senses as well: the nose, the ears, the skin, et cetera (Aetius 4.21.1). Translated by Inwood and Gerson, Hellenistic Philosophy, 127. 44. Aetius 4.21.1–4 (Inwood and Gerson, Hellenistic Philosophy, 127). See also Galen, On the Fetus. 45. ‘‘God is an intelligent, designing fire which methodically proceeds towards creation of the world, and encompasses all the seminal principles according to which everything comes about according to fate, a breath (pneø~ma) pervading the whole world, which takes on different names owing to the alterations of the matter through which it passes’’ (Aetius 1.7.33; translation from Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, 1:274). 46. Alexander of Aphrodisias (ca. 200 c.e., Peripatetic philosopher) paraphrasing Chrysippus in Alexander’s On Mixture, 216.14–218.6 (translation from Long and Sedley, The Hellenistic Philosophers, 1:290–91). 47. Stanley K. Stowers applies some of the insights developed here to the discussion of how we might understand ‘‘participation’’ in Christ in ‘‘Pauline Participation in Christ.’’ 48. Translation from Colson, LCL. 49. See also 2 Corinthians 1:21–22: ‘‘But it is God who establishes us with you in (eB) Christ and who has anointed us, and he has sealed us and given us his spirit in our hearts as a deposit.’’ 50. Or ‘‘with him’’: the dative aut
o could be either.

chapter 4 1. Although the NRSV gives ‘‘the one who has the faith of Jesus’’ as the option in the notes. 2. I am influenced here by Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ: An Investigation of the Narrative Substructure of Galatians 3:1–4:11, and Stowers, Rereading of Romans: Justice,

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Jews, and Gentiles. The reading I propose here is an elaboration on Stowers’s observations about the phrase ek piste
os (see Rereading, 239). 3. Conte, Rhetoric, 23. See also Pucci, Allusion and the Power of the Reader in the Western Literary Tradition. Pucci is critical of Conte for relying too heavily on a fixed model of allusion that somehow exists outside of a reader’s own interpretation; he encourages more of a reader-response understanding of allusion (38). I am sympathetic to Pucci’s approach, but I still find Conte’s description helpful because it captures the way that Paul is playing with language. 4. Translation by Preus, ‘‘Science and Philosophy in Aristotle’s Generation of Animals,’’ 7. For related discussions in Aristotle, see Metaphysics, 1023a26ff; 994a20; Physics, 194b29–195a31. 5. Translation from Bury, LCL. The use of the term phunai (from phu
o, to grow, to bring forth) underscores the kinship implications of the preposition. 6. Translation from Marcus, LCL. See Gruen’s discussion of this text as an example of Jewish writers forging intellectual and cultural ties with Greeks, in ‘‘Fact and Fiction: Jewish Legends in Hellenistic Context,’’ 74–75. 7. I discuss this verse further below, where I argue that it influences Paul’s use of ek phrases. 8. See also LXX Genesis 35:11 (God has just changed Jacob’s name to Israel): ‘‘I am your God; increase and multiply; for nations and gatherings of nations shall come out of you (½k soø~), and kings shall issue forth from your loins (½k tŁ~B sfoB sou). And the land I gave to Abraham and Isaac I give to you and to your seed after you’’; 2 Samuel 7:12 (LXX II Kings): ‘‘I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body (½k tŁ ~ B koilaB sou), and I will establish his kingdom.’’ 9. Of course, kinship is not the only context in which Paul uses this preposition. I aim to demonstrate that he uses it often in kinship contexts, in much the same ways that other ancient authors do. 10. For further discussion of Romans 9:6, see chapter 5. 11. Stowers, Rereading, 240–41. 12. Translation from Thomas, Oral Tradition, 178. 13. See Pamela Eisenbaum, who argues for a similar translation of ek piste
os in ‘‘Paul as the New Abraham,’’ 138. Eisenbaum’s interpretations of Paul overlap significantly with my own, and I have found her work enormously helpful. 14. Stowers, Rereading, 199. 15. Will Deming’s work on the adjective pistos supports my reading: Paul on Marriage and Celibacy: The Hellenistic Background of 1 Cor 7, 144–48. Regarding Paul’s use of the words pistos and apistos as terminology for insiders and outsiders (in 1 Cor 7:12–15a; 6:6; 2 Cor 6:14–15), Deming argues that Paul may have been influenced by Stoic discussions of friendship. In these texts, pistos and apistos are used to describe those worthy of friendship (the wise) and those who are not, respectively. Arius (in Stobaeus) writes, ‘‘For true friendship, and not that which is falsely called, is impossible without trust (pstiB) and steadfastness. But among the bad, who are  untrustworthy (Æpistoi) . . . they say there is no friendship’’ (2.108.18–25; translation from Deming, Paul on Marriage and Celibacy, 144–45 n. 135). Epictetus compares life before and after philosophy: ‘‘Instead of shameless, you will be self-respecting; instead of faithless, faithful (½x ¼pstou pistB); instead of dissolute, self-controlled’’ (Dis-

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courses, 4.9.17; translation from Oldfather, LCL). Epictetus also refers to people who are not living according to philosophy as apistos (Discourses, 1.3.7; 1.29.21; 2.4.11) and to the philosopher as pistos (1.4.18, 20; 2.14.13; 2.22.26–27, 29–30; see Deming, Paul on Marriage and Celibacy, 145 n. 139 for more references). In Paul, pistos and apistos are usually translated ‘‘believer’’ and ‘‘unbeliever,’’ respectively. Deming, by providing evidence of another ancient context in which these terms are used (philosophical discussions of friendship), makes a good case that—at least in some cases—a better translation for pistos would be ‘‘trustworthy’’ or ‘‘faithful’’ and for apistos, ‘‘untrustworthy’’ or ‘‘unfaithful.’’ 16. Dunn defends this interpretation in The Theology of Paul, 379ff. 17. Haussleiter, ‘‘Der Glaube Jesu Christi und der christliche Glaube,’’ 205–30. George Howard lists earlier scholars holding this view in ‘‘The Faith of Christ,’’ 212– 15. See the review of scholarship in Hays, Faith of Jesus Christ, 158–62 (n. 105 lists the scholars since James Barr who have supported the subjective-genitive case). 18. Hays, Faith of Jesus Christ and ‘‘PISTIS and Pauline Theology: What Is at Stake?’’ See also A. T. Hanson’s Studies in Paul’s Technique and Theology. Some of those who have contributed to this recent debate are: Sam Williams, ‘‘Again Pistis Christou’’; Dunn, ‘‘Once More pstiB Xristoø~’’; Dunnill, ‘‘Saved by Whose Faith? The Function of PstiB Xristoø~ in Pauline Theology’’; Matlock, ‘‘Detheologizing the PstiB Xristoø~ Debate: Cautionary Remarks from a Lexical Semantic Perspective’’; Foster, ‘‘The First Contribution to the pstiB Xristoø~ Debate: A Study of Ephesians 3.12’’; and Choi, ‘‘PISTIS in Galatians 5:5–6: Neglected Evidence for the Faithfulness of Christ.’’ For overviews of the debate and extensive bibliography, see Hays (‘‘PISTIS and Pauline Theology,’’ 35–36, esp. nn. 2–4), Dunn (‘‘Once More pstiB Xristoø~,’’ 61–62), and Choi (‘‘PISTIS in Galatians 5:5–6,’’ esp. n. 6). 19. Howard, ‘‘On the ‘Faith of Christ’’’ and ‘‘The Faith of Christ.’’ 20. For more examples, see Howard, ‘‘On the ‘Faith of Christ,’’’ 459, and the summary of this study in Hays, Faith of Jesus Christ, 163. 21. Hays argues that Abraham’s pistis is paradigmatic for Christ’s pistis (Faith of Jesus Christ, 196). 22. McCutcheon, Critics Not Caretakers, 88. 23. For a detailed discussion of Christ as the link, see chapter 5, where I discuss ‘‘in Christ’’ language. 24. I discuss what it means to be ‘‘in’’ Abraham in chapter 5. 25. Stowers, Rereading, 37–38, 126–75. 26. Paul does not link the faithfulness of the believers to their fertility, though, as he expressly states that refraining from sexual behavior is preferable (1 Cor 7). My thanks to Jennifer Wright Knust for this observation. 27. Verse 12 is difficult to translate because it is unclear whether Paul refers to one group with two characteristics (circumcised and faithful) or two groups (one circumcised and one faithful). The repeated article tois (in front of ek peritom
es and stoichousin) points to two groups, but that makes less sense in the context of verse 11, which already mentions the ‘‘uncircumcised.’’ Several scholars consider this second article anomalous (see list in Fitzmyer, Romans, 381); Cranfield thinks it is a mistake (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, 2:237). Fitzmyer keeps the article and understands verse 12 to refer to two groups, ‘‘those who are circumcised’’ and ‘‘those

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who follow the example of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised.’’ He is thus forced to understand the phrase ‘‘the father of circumcision’’ to refer to a ‘‘spiritual circumcision’’ (Romans, 381–82). Dunn does not think this is likely and points out that the syntax is awkward whether one group or two groups is intended (Romans 1–8, 210–11). He concludes that one group is more likely (210). I agree with Dunn. I think Paul refers to faithful Jews: those who are both circumcised and who follow the example of Abraham’s faithfulness. 28. For a discussion of these terms, see chapter 2. 29. For example, Genesis 13:15; 17:8; 24:7. 30. Sam Williams argues that for Paul, the land of Canaan is not a limited geographical space but a ‘‘type of the world.’’ See his ‘‘Promise in Galatians,’’ 717 (especially n. 14 where he lists passages in which Paul uses g
e to mean ‘‘earth’’ or ‘‘world’’), 719; Fitzmyer, Romans, 384; Stowers, Rereading, 244–45; Dahl, Studies in Paul, 129–30. Other eschatological Jewish texts which illustrate the same tendency are: LXX Ps 36:9, 11, 22, 29, 34; Jub 17:3; 22:14–15, 27–30; 32:18–19; 1 Enoch 5:6–7; 4 Ezra 6: 55–59; 2 Apoc Baruch 14:13; 51:3. One example of this eschatological tradition stands out in its striking similarity to Romans 4, and is often quoted in analyses of Paul: Abraham was a great father of many nations (patcr plyouB ½yn ~ n): in glory none like him was to be found. He kept the Law of the Most High, and entered into covenant with him. He established the covenant in his flesh (½n sarkd a toø~); and when tested he was found faithful (eryZ pistB). Therefore he assured him by an oath that he would bless the nations in his seed (ynZ ½n t

~ sprmati a toø~), and that he would multiply him as the dust of the earth, and exalt his seed (to` sprma) as the stars, and cause them to inherit (kataklZronomŁ~sai) from sea to sea, and from the river unto the utmost part of the land. (Wisd of Sir 44:19–21) Notice the similar concept of the promise between this text and Romans 4: both entail the fertility of Abraham, the inclusion of the gentiles in his progeny, and the ultimate inheritance of the earth for his descendants. This passage illustrates a point that is also true for Paul: the blessing and incorporation of the gentiles are necessary parts of this particular understanding of God’s promise. The author of the Wisdom of Sirach sees an implicit connection between the ancestor Abraham (the ‘‘father of many nations’’), the incorporation of the gentiles, and universal inheritance. This same connection forms the basis of Paul’s argument in Romans 4. 31. When Paul writes in Romans 4:20 that ‘‘no distrust made [Abraham] waver concerning the promise of God,’’ he is referring back to 4:18 and 4:17, where he quotes Genesis 17:5: ‘‘I have made you the father of many gentiles (½yn ~ n).’’ In these Genesis passages, there is some ambiguity about whether ethn
e refers to non-Jews exclusively (gentiles) or to Jews and non-Jews (nations). Regardless of this ambiguity, Paul sees these texts as scriptural warrants for gentiles being made into descendants of Abraham. I translate ethn
e as ‘‘gentiles’’ to capture their usefulness to Paul’s argument. For further discussion of this term, see chapter 2.

notes to pages 89–90

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32. This does not preclude the possibility that Paul understands keeping the Law as a way for Jews to exercise their faithfulness. His point is that no one, Jew or gentile, can achieve righteousness before God (by law-keeping or any other practice); righteousness is rather a product of God’s mercy. This allows him, in turn, to argue that gentiles, who fail miserably at following the Law (Rom 7), do not need the Law to be made right before God. 33. Hays, Faith of Jesus Christ, 196. Gaston also argues against the view that Abraham is a model for gentiles’ faith. He stresses that Paul’s point in Romans 4 is to show that Abraham is the father of both peoples, Jews and gentiles. See Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 61. Eisenbaum argues that Abraham serves as a model for Paul himself, an interpretation which emphasizes Paul’s own procreative work as a teacher. See Eisenbaum, ‘‘Paul as the New Abraham.’’ While I have emphasized Paul’s conception of the link between Abraham and Christ, the parallels between Paul and Abraham are compelling. 34. Paul’s presentation of Abraham as a model for Christ-followers is implicit in the text, not explicit. In the final verses of Romans 4, Paul again emphasizes Abraham’s faithfulness, making a connection between the faithfulness of the ancestor and the faithfulness of the members of his audience: ‘‘Therefore it [his faithfulness] was reckoned to him as righteousness. Now the words, ‘it was reckoned to him,’ were written not for his sake alone, but also for us. It will be reckoned to us who trust (to~iB pisteø‘ousin) the one who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead, who was handed over to death for our trespasses and was raised for our justification’’ (Rom 4:22–25). Furthermore, pistis is a crucial concept for Paul’s assemblies; he refers to members as  ‘‘faithful ones’’ (o pisto) and to outsiders as ‘‘unfaithful ones’’ (o Æpistoi) (1 Cor 6:6; 7:12–13; 10:27; 14:22–25; 2 Cor 6:14–18). See Hays, ‘‘‘Have We Found Abraham,’’’ 91; and Stowers, The Diatribe, 168–74. 35. Hays, Faith of Jesus Christ, 173–74; Stowers, Rereading, 200. Sam Williams argues that this conception of faithfulness is also found in the martyrdom accounts of 4 Maccabees. Williams writes specifically about Romans 3:25, arguing that dia t
es piste
os refers to the faith of Christ, who obeyed God even to the point of death. See Williams, Jesus’ Death, 47, 51. 36. Sam Williams, ‘‘The Righteousness of God,’’ 277. Pamela Eisenbaum poses a question not usually examined by scholars: Why exactly does Christ’s death bring about God’s righteousness? Using the work of Nancy Jay and Stanley Stowers, Eisenbaum argues that Paul interprets Christ’s death as an expiatory sacrifice that allows the two peoples to exist in one larger patriline. See Eisenbaum, ‘‘A Remedy For Having Been Born a Woman.’’ Though many of Eisenbaum’s points in this article overlap with my own, I disagree with this reading of Christ’s death as a sacrifice. Recent work on sacrifice in the ancient world has taught us how little the ancient practices of plant and animal sacrifice to the gods (which focus on feasting and maintaining relationships with the gods), including Jewish sacrificial practices, have in common with later, Christian conceptions of sacrifice (which focus on death and the act of giving something up on behalf of others). It seems that Eisenbaum’s interpretation, though it focuses on ancient Jewish understandings of sacrifice, depends on this later view. For a refutation of a reading of Christ’s death as sacrificial, see Stowers, Rereading, 206–213.

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notes to pages 90–97

37. Hays, Faith of Jesus Christ, 150–52 (and others discussed by Hays); Hanson, Studies in Paul’s Technique and Theology, 42–45; Stowers, Rereading, 198–201; Dahl, Studies in Paul, 130–31. 38. Notice that Paul uses dia piste
os instead of ek piste
os here. Stowers explains this by pointing out the difference in meaning between ek and dia, especially in kinship contexts as we find them here: ek often refers to a direct connection with an original source, whereas dia refers to an agent who intervenes. Stowers argues that Paul uses dia piste
os when he is referring specifically to God’s activity with gentiles, and ek piste
os when he is referring either to Jews or to Jews and gentiles together (Rereading, 240–41). 39. See also Galatians 2:16 and 3:24, where Paul identifies Christ’s faithfulness as the source of gentile righteousness. Sam Williams has argued convincingly that Paul’s conception of the righteousness of God in Romans specifically refers to God’s fulfillment of his original promise to Abraham that he would be the father of many ethn
e (‘‘Righteousness of God in Romans,’’ 241–91).

chapter 5 1. Deissmann, Paul, 140. 2. F. C. Porter, The Mind of Christ, 282–303. 3. Dunn, Black’s New Testament Commentary, 82–83. 4. Sam Williams, Galatians, 107. 5. Stowers helpfully frames this argument in terms of the much-discussed theme of ‘‘participation’’ in Christ, in ‘‘Pauline Participation in Christ.’’ Drawing upon his 1994 book, A Rereading of Romans, and on my 2002 dissertation, ‘‘If Sons, Then Heirs’’ (the precursor to this book), Stowers argues that the logic of patrilineal descent, along with ancient conceptions of the pneuma, shape the context for understanding how gentiles participate in Christ. 6. Wedderburn has also argued that the key to understanding ‘‘in-Christ’’ in Paul is Galatians 3:8. He considers Galatians 3:14 and 16 as crucial, as I do (see below). See Wedderburn’s ‘‘The Body,’’ 88–90. See also his ‘‘Some Observations.’’ 7. For one example, see Generation of Animals, 729b18. See Preus, ‘‘Science and Philosophy.’’ 8. Translation amended from Colson, LCL. 9. Notice that attributes are passed down from all ancestors, on both the paternal and maternal sides. Thus Philo is not following a strict patrilineal model, even though he specifically names male teachers/ancestors (‘‘fathers, brothers, uncles’’). 10. Gestation is also important, however. Gaius claims that he was ‘‘shaped (diaplasynta)’’ in the womb to be an emperor (Embassy to Gaius, 56). 11. Translation from Colson, LCL. 12. Translation from Corcoran, LCL. 13. Translation amended from Corcoran, LCL. 14. Sam Williams, ‘‘Promise,’’ 717. 15. Ibid. Williams cites Genesis 25:23 to illustrate his comments. 16. Williams does not develop these ideas, nor does he support them with evidence or argument. They occur almost as casual observations in a discussion of the

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‘‘promise’’ in Galatians. Gathering evidence from scripture for Galatians 3:16 (which I discuss below), he cites two texts (13:15 and 17:8) where God makes promises to Abraham and to his seed. It is in this context that Williams makes the comments cited. 17. Delaney, Seed and Soil, 8, and ‘‘Father, State, Motherland,’’ 184. See also Page DuBois, Sowing the Body: Psychoanalysis and Ancient Representations of Women. I am borrowing the phrase ‘‘ideology of the seed’’ from Eilberg-Schwartz, who uses it to describe the patrilineal ideology of the Hebrew Bible in ‘‘The Father.’’ 18. James Scott, Paul and the Nations, 58. See also my discussion in chapter 2. 19. Some translators have chosen to render this en instrumentally: ‘‘All the tribes of the earth will be blessed by you.’’ Not only does this translation make little sense (God is the one who blesses, not Abraham: ‘‘I will bless you and magnify your name’’ [Gen 12:3]), but it also ignores the ‘‘containment’’ theory of descent which these texts assume. 20. See James Scott, Paul and the Nations, 57–134. I appreciate Scott’s thorough study of ethn
e in Paul even if I do not agree with some of his conclusions. 21. Likewise, when Jacob dies, he blesses his grandsons, Ephraim and Manasses, saying: ‘‘in you (½n m~in) shall Israel be blessed’’ (LXX Gen 48:20). Jacob has just explained to Joseph that even though the firstborn son will be ‘‘a people (lan) and exalted’’ (48:19), the younger, Ephraim, will be the one to carry the blessing. Ephraim’s seed will be ‘‘a multitude of nations (plŁ ~ yoB ½yn ~ n)’’ (48:19). 22. Wisdom of Sirach continues this language in its recounting of Abraham’s story: Abraham was a great father of many nations (patcr plyouB ½yn ~ n): in glory none like him was to be found. He kept the Law of the Most High, and entered into covenant with him. He established the covenant in his flesh (½n sarkd a toø~); and when tested he was found faithful (eryZ pistB). Therefore he assured him by an oath that he would bless the nations in his seed (ynZ ½n t

~ sprmati), and that he would multiply him as the dust of the earth, and exalt his seed (to` sprma) as the stars, and cause them to inherit (kataklZronomŁ ~ sai) from sea to sea, and from the river unto the utmost part of the land. (44:19–21) I discuss this passage in chapter 4. 23. Regina Schwartz discusses the concept of one son inheriting in the context of her discussion of the exclusive nature of monotheism: The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism. 24. Note, however, that Ishmael is still favored by God, who promises to make the boy a ‘‘great nation’’ because he is Abraham’s seed (LXX Gen 21:13, 18). 25. Paul seems to make a point of their equality when he explains that Rebecca ‘‘conceived’’ (literally ‘‘had a pregnancy’’) ‘‘from one man (½x no`B kotZn wousa)’’ (Rom 9:10). According to Dunn, the noun koit
en can mean ‘‘sexual intercourse’’ and ‘‘seminal emission.’’ Thus Jacob and Esau, as twins, not only have the same father, but were also conceived in the same sexual act. See Dunn, Romans 9–16, 542. 26. Paul makes a similar distinction between ‘‘children of the flesh’’ and ‘‘children of the promise’’ in Galatians 4:21–5:1 with the allegory of Hagar and Sarah. In Galatians 4, Paul focuses on the two mothers, each a carrier of Abraham’s seed, to distinguish

192

notes to pages 101–104

between multiple Abrahamic lineages: one seed and two wombs. Whereas the Romans 9 passage comments on chosen (and not chosen) lineages in Israel, the Hagar and Sarah passage distinguishes between different groups of gentiles-in-Christ. It is an allegory of two ways for gentiles to seek righteousness before the God of Israel: through practicing the Law (represented by Hagar and associated with slavery) and through the promise (represented by Sarah and associated with freedom). Galatians 4:21–5:1 continues the imagery of slavery/freedom from Galatians 3–4, where Paul describes baptism into Christ as a passage from enslavement to freedom. The comparison of these two matriarchs is useful to the larger argument of Galatians that gentiles should not keep the Law, against those who argue that they should. The promise determines status before God, not law-keeping. The Hagar and Sarah allegory might be viewed as a refinement on Gal 3:6–9: it is not just that gentiles-in-Christ are in Abraham’s seed, but they (that is, the gentiles following Paul’s advice about the Law) also landed in the right womb. Paul relies on the status of the two mothers—one slave and one free—to make this distinction. For discussions of this passage, see Martyn, Galatians, 431–66; Gager, Origins, 241–43; Dunn, Galatians, 242–59. 27. See Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 85–88, especially n. 33. 28. Murray, Epistle, 10. 29. Ibid. 30. Fitzmyer, Romans, 559–60. 31. Another example is C. E. B. Cranfield, who insists that the process of distinguishing and separating some Jews from others—finding ‘‘the Church hidden in Israel’’ (a quote from Barth)—has always been a part of Israel’s history. All Jews are witnesses to ‘‘God’s grace and truth,’’ but there are some who are ‘‘willing, obedient, grateful’’ witnesses. This latter group is the ‘‘Israel within Israel’’; see Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, 2:474. Cranfield has removed ethnic identity from both groups with this definition. ‘‘The Church hidden in Israel’’ is a quote from Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 214. Dunn objects to this division between a ‘‘national’’ Israel and ‘‘believers’’ (Romans 9–16, 539). He does not, however, propose a way to understand the text without this division. 32. The phrase ‘‘in Christ’’ occurs 58 times in the undisputed letters (including 2 Thess). The analogous phrase ‘‘in the Lord’’ occurs 35 times. See Dunn, The Theology of Paul, 396–97, for the statistics of the occurrences of these phrases. See also Oepke, ‘‘½n.’’ 33. Dahl, Studies in Paul, 131. See also the discussion of Dahl’s point by Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 209. 34. And Paul has used ‘‘the blessing of Abraham’’ from Genesis 28:4 (Dahl, Studies in Paul, 131). 35. Dahl argues that this interpretation is analogous to interpreting the ‘‘your seed’’ in 2 Samuel 7:12 messianically. On messianic interpretations of these texts, see Wilcox, ‘‘The Promise,’’ and Duling, ‘‘The Promises to David.’’ 36. For example, Genesis 13:15; 17:8; 24:7. 37. Like Dahl (n.35), Sam Williams suggests (Galatians, 95) that Paul is drawing upon a tradition that understands 2 Samuel (LXX 2 Kings) 7:12 as messianic: God says to David, ‘‘I will raise up your seed (to` sprma) after you, one who will come from your body (´B stai ½k tŁ~B koilaB sou), and I will establish his kingdom.’’

notes to pages 105–106

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38. Also see 1 Corinthians 1:13, where Paul upbraids the Corinthians with this question: ‘‘Were you baptized into (eB) the name of Paul?’’ Likewise in 1 Corinthians 10:2, Paul reports that ‘‘our ancestors . . . were baptized into (eB) Moses.’’ 39. The language of ‘‘putting on’’ Christ as though he were a garment has led some to believe that this is a reference to a baptismal practice among Christ-followers of removing their clothes for the ritual and putting them back on again afterward. See Meeks, The First Urban Christians, 151. Sam Williams admits this is an attractive idea, but argues that Paul’s use of endu
o here could easily have come from a tradition of LXX usage in which this verb meant ‘‘to be characterized by the named quality or attribute’’ (Galatians, 105). Thus the newly baptized take on a new, Christlike identity. 40. See chapter 7 for a detailed discussion of what I call the ‘‘fusion theory’’ and for further discussion of understanding ‘‘in-Christ’’ as an ethnic designation. 41. I want to distinguish my suggestion from the concept of the ‘‘corporate personality’’ first developed by Henry Wheeler Robinson in the first decades of the twentieth century (The Christian Doctrine, 8, and ‘‘The Hebrew Conception of Corporate Personality’’). Robinson took observations from contemporary ethnography and anthropological theory, applied them to the Hebrew scriptures and theorized that ancient Jews understood the group, whether it is the family, the tribe, or the whole of Israel, to stand in place of the individual. Like certain societies documented by ethnographers, the Hebrew people view all their members as a unit. According to Robinson, this way of thinking explains why, in certain instances in the Hebrew scriptures, whole households or families are punished for the crime of an individual member (a common example in discussions of corporate personality is the story of Achan in Joshua 7, where Achan’s whole household is held accountable for his crime). Franz Mussner suggests applying this concept to Galatians 3:8; see Der Galaterbrief, 222. This theory has been rightly criticized. First, its proponents never presented a firm definition of ‘‘corporate personality,’’ so that its meaning is ambiguous and applied in various ways to various texts. For these views, see Rogerson, ‘‘The Hebrew Conception,’’ and J. R. Porter, ‘‘The Legal Aspects.’’ Second, and more problematic, this concept rests on the questionable assumption found in early-twentieth-century anthropological theory that ‘‘primitive’’ societies think in a certain way and that this way of thinking grows more sophisticated as societies evolve. Specifically, Robinson focused on the idea that so-called primitive societies are unable to distinguish between the individual and the group, and he assigned this characteristic to ancient Jews (Rogerson, ‘‘Hebrew Conception,’’ 47). This evolutionary model is no longer accepted by most anthropologists. There are enough problems with the concept of the ‘‘corporate personality’’ that it is not helpful as a tool for analyzing the Hebrew scriptures or Paul. Nevertheless, there is something worth salvaging from Robinson’s observations: there are repeated references to understanding the people of Israel as constituting some sort of unity. I suggest that a better framework for understanding this language is that of patrilineal descent in which a connection between ancestors and descendants is perceived. 42. Stowers makes the point that solidarity is not the same as a modern notion of equality; see his ‘‘Paul and Slavery.’’ See chapter 7 for further discussion of this argument in relation to Galatians 3:28. 43. I discuss this point in detail in chapter 7.

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notes to pages 110–111

chapter 6 1. See Fitzmyer, Romans, 524–26. Fitzmyer warns against the tendency of many interpreters to allow later theologies of predestination to influence their readings of this passage (524–25). 2. Ka¨semann, Commentary on Romans, 245. Expressing a similar view, Gerhard Kittel writes: ‘‘The main emphasis in Pauline anthropology is on this being of man as ekæn which is still to be established, or better restored. And this will be done by connection with the being of Christ as ekæn’’ (at which point he goes on to discuss Romans 8:29) (‘‘ekæn,’’ TDNT 2:396). This view is not held by all scholars, however. James D. G. Dunn dismisses the idea of restoration of God’s image (referring to Ka¨semann, Commentary on Romans); see Romans 1–8, 484. 3. See Ka¨semann, Commentary on Romans, 94–95, and the sources cited there. Note that he acknowledges that other ancient Jews (rabbinic authors) did not hold these views of the fallen state of humans (95). 4. Stowers, Rereading, 90. 5. These ideas exist already in Origen (On First Principles, chap. 8); they are more fully developed by Augustine in his interpretation of Romans. Other early Christian interpreters did not necessarily apply the ‘‘fall from an exalted state’’ model to Paul. Irenaeus, for example, does not use this model and does not provide a systematic interpretation of Paul (see Against Heresies, especially Book V). 6. Fitzmyer, Romans, 524–25. 7. Delaney, ‘‘Father, State, Motherland,’’ 184; and Seed and Soil, 8. 8. See Delaney, Seed and Soil, 8. Page DuBois discusses many examples of this notion in Sowing the Body: Psychoanalysis and Ancient Representations of Women. See also Buell on the ways this theory is adapted by later Christians (Making Christians, 32–49). Aeschylus’s Eumenides (657ff) and Euripides’s Orestes (552) offer theatrical examples of the monogenetic theory. 9. Stowers makes a similar point in Rereading, 246. 10. Paul uses ‘‘morph-’’ imagery elsewhere in his letters, but it is not explicitly embedded in a kinship argument, as it is in Romans. In Philippians 3:10–11 Paul expresses the hope that he will ‘‘share his [Christ’s] sufferings, becoming shaped like him (summorfizmenoB) in his death’’ so that he might attain resurrection from the dead. A few verses later he explains that ‘‘Christ will transform (metaswZmatsei) our lowly body so that it is shaped like (smmorfon) his glorious body’’ (Phil 3:21). Whereas in Philippians Paul speaks of a future conformation to Christ, in 2 Corinthians he uses similar imagery to describe an ongoing process: ‘‘While all of us with face unveiled are gazing as though in a mirror at the glory of the Lord, we are being transformed into (metamorfomeya) the same image (ekna), from glory into glory, as from the Lord of the spirit’’ (3:18). Paul uses this ‘‘morph-’’ language in one other passage, with a slightly different meaning: ‘‘My children, for whom I again suffer birth pangs (!dno) until Christ is formed (morfoyŁ  ~ ) in you’’ (Gal 4:19). In this verse, it is Paul, not God, who labors to form Christ in the gentiles. Teachers in antiquity often used parental imagery as Paul does here: he is the mother giving birth to new children who have Christ formed in them. These four passages, while each serves a different purpose in its specific context and argument, all express a recurring theme in

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Paul: that followers of Christ may somehow be united with or modeled after Christ himself. 11. See 2 Corinthians 4:4. The similar language between Genesis 1:26 and Romans 8:29 has been used to support the ‘‘restoration of God’s image’’ interpretation. I, too, recognize this similarity, but I locate both verses in the context of monogenetic understandings of procreation. 12. See Preus, ‘‘Science.’’ 13. Preus, ‘‘Galen’s Criticism,’’ 79. 14. Translation amended from Peck, LCL. 15. Of course, this ideal process does not always occur, resulting in deficient offspring. The first deviation from the ideal pattern is the formation of the female fetus instead of the male (Generation of Animals 767b8), which occurs when the ‘‘powers’’ from the menses gain mastery over those from the male seed. The furthest extreme of this deviation results in a ‘‘monstrosity’’ (Generation of Animals 767b7). 16. One famous difference is that Aristotle believed that only the father contributed seed to the fetus, whereas Galen thought that both the mother and father contributed seed (although the seed was not the same for each). Against Aristotle, Galen argues that the male seed also contributes material to the fetus, which better explains how form is transferred from father to offspring. See Preus, ‘‘Galen’s Criticism,’’ 65–85, esp. 80–85. 17. Translation amended from Brock, LCL. 18. Translation from De Lacy, 196–97. 19. He seems to be arguing against those who, like Aristotle, held that the mother contributes only matter for the nutriment of the fetus (De Lacy, 233). Galen, on the other hand, believed that the mother contributed seed as well. 20. Translation from De Lacy, 154–55. 21. Stowers, Rereading, 246. 22. Note that in Romans 1:4, Paul uses horizo as the verb for Jesus being established or appointed as the son of God. 23. This relationship between God and the firstborn is often explained in the context of the deliverance of the Israelites out of Egypt: ‘‘And when Pharaoh hardened his heart so as not to send us away, he slew every firstborn in the land of Egypt, both the firstborn of man and the firstborn of beast; therefore do I sacrifice every offspring that opens the womb, the males to the Lord and every firstborn of my sons I will redeem’’ (LXX Exod 13:15). For discussion of this concept and additional relevant passages, see Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism, 171, 187; and Levine, ‘‘Firstborn’’ and ‘‘Firstfruits,’’ 6:1306–8, 1312–14. 24. Philo employs similar imagery for Israel when he explains that Israelites have been ‘‘set apart out of the whole human race as a kind of first fruits (¼parwc) to the Maker and Father’’ (Special Laws 4.180). 25. ‘‘Behold, I have taken the Levites from among the people of Israel instead of every firstborn that opens the womb among the people of Israel. The Levites shall be mine, for all the firstborn are mine; on the day that I slew all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, I consecrated for my own all the firstborn in Israel, both of men and of beast; they shall be mine, I am the Lord’’ (LXX Num 3:11–13; see also Num 8:16).

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26. Translation amended from Rackham, LCL. See chapter 1 for further discussion.

chapter 7 1. Esler, Conflict and Identity, 270. Esler cites this phrase from social identity theorists describing the qualities of leaders (Haslam and Platow, ‘‘Your Wish Is Our Command,’’ 218). 2. Even as their mutual exclusivity might be used strategically to stake out differences between peoples, as in oppositional ethnic construction (chap 2). 3. Keyes, ‘‘Towards a New Formulation,’’ 206–7. See also the essays in the volume We Are a People: Narrative and Multiplicity in Constructing Ethnic Identity, ed. Paul Spickard and W. Jeffrey Burroughs. 4. Stephan and Stephan, ‘‘What Are the Functions of Ethnic Identity?’’ 239. 5. G. Carter Bentley observes: ‘‘It is possible for an individual to possess several different situationally relevant but nonetheless emotionally authentic identities and to symbolize all of them in terms of shared descent’’ (‘‘Ethnicity and Practice,’’ 35). 6. Malkin, ‘‘Introduction,’’ 3. 7. Ibid. 8. Antonaccio, ‘‘Ethnicity,’’113–57. 9. Translation amended from Forster Smith, LCL. 10. Antonaccio, ‘‘Ethnicity,’’ 114. 11. Ibid., 115. Antonaccio notes that colonial founders function as ancestors for the members of the colonies (120). 12. There is a large body of scholarship on this issue, including: Naphtali Lewis, Greeks in Ptolemaic Egypt: Case Studies in the Social History of the Hellenistic World; Koen Goudriaan, Ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt, and ‘‘Ethnical Strategies in GraecoRoman Egypt’’; and Per Bilde, Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Lise Hannestad, and Jan Zahle, Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt. 13. Thompson, ‘‘Hellenistic Hellenes,’’ 301–22. 14. On the evidence for Ioudaioi claiming Greek status in tax records, see Clarysse, ‘‘Jews in Trikomia,’’ 193–203. See also a collection of articles on these issues in Janet H. Johnson, ed., Life in a Multi-Cultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. 15. Thompson, ‘‘Hellenistic Hellenes,’’ 315. 16. Nagata, ‘‘What Is a Malay?’’ 333. 17. See also 2 Corinthians 11:22–23: ‘‘Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they descendants of Abraham? So am I. Are they ministers of Christ? I am talking like a madman—I am a better one.’’ 18. Keyes, ‘‘New Formulation,’’ 206. 19. As is clear from my translation of Galatians 2:20, I read the genitive construction of pistis Christou as a subjective genitive, not an objective genitive (‘‘faithfulness/faith of Christ’’ or ‘‘Christ’s faithfulness’’ as opposed to ‘‘[a believer’s] faith in Christ’’). This translation makes the most sense of the Greek and also fits well with Paul’s message, which emphasizes the transformative power of Christ’s death and

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resurrection (this is his pistis or faithfulness to God) for gentiles. See chapter 4, where I discuss these issues in detail. 20. Paula Fredriksen makes this point as well in ‘‘Judaism, Circumcision of Gentiles, and Apocalyptic Hope,’’ 258, and this notion is central Mark Nanos’s interpretation of Paul’s mission as firmly located in Jewish contexts (Mystery of Romans and Irony of Galatians). This connection between the coming of the gentiles to the God of Israel and the hoped-for endtime has been called the ‘‘eschatological pilgrimage tradition.’’ See also Johannes Munck, Christ and Israel; and Sanders, Paul and the Law. 21. Philip Esler describes this phenomenon from the perspective of social psychology: The ‘‘social self-concept functions in a situation-specific way. A person activates, or brings to the fore, a certain component or components of his or her selfconcept in a particular context’’ (Conflict and Identity, 271). Esler, too, identifies multiple components of identity for Paul, although he tends to focus on the ways Paul shifts among these identities within the letter itself (and it seems to correspond with his arguments regarding the changes in Paul’s audience within the letter; for example, in Romans 9–11, Paul shifts to his own Jewish identity as he addresses Ioudaioi here, whereas in Romans 8 he spoke to gentiles, or at least to those gentiles who were in-Christ.). Unlike Esler, I do not see Paul as having ‘‘moved away from a part of his deepest self’’ (272) when he becomes an apostle to the gentiles. Instead, Paul seems quite confident in his new role and views it as integral to his Jewishness. 22. Mark Nanos argues that this phrase should be translated ‘‘those for circumcision’’ and that this group represents those who urge the gentiles-in-Christ to become full proselytes, which would require circumcision of the males. See his article, ‘‘What Was at Stake in Peter’s ‘Eating with Gentiles’ at Antioch?’’ 285–92. This Galatians passage is also discussed in chapter 2. 23. The general consensus is that Cephas is Peter: both names mean ‘‘rock,’’ Cephas in Aramaic and Peter in Greek. 24. Regarding these verses, Lloyd Gaston observes: ‘‘Paul tells how for his own person he has renounced the covenant and become like them a Gentile’’ (Paul and the Torah, 78). Unlike Gaston, I do not think Paul has ‘‘renounced the covenant,’’ but he has made some sort of change in his identity as a Ioudaios. 25. Mark Nanos offers a helpful survey of these views in ‘‘What Was at Stake,’’ 292–96. 26. See Nanos, ‘‘What Was at Stake,’’ 282–318; ‘‘The Inter- and Intra-Jewish Political Context,’’ 396–407; The Mystery of Romans, 337–71; The Irony of Galatians, 152–54. 27. Mystery, 349 n. 23; ‘‘What Was at Stake,’’ 296–97. 28. ‘‘What Was At Stake,’’ 296. 29. Ibid., 300–1; Mystery, 348–54. 30. In this paraphrase of Nanos’s interpretation, I use his translation of tous ek peritom
es (Gal 2:12): ‘‘those for circumcision.’’ See n 22 above and Nanos, ‘‘What Was at Stake,’’ 285–92. 31. More on this point below. 32. See the helpful discussion of ioudaizein in Cohen, Beginnings, 175–97. Josephus describes a soldier who promises to ‘‘Judaize, even until circumcision’’ (Jewish War, 2.454); translation from Marcus, LCL.

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33. Nanos argues that circumcision is exactly what Paul means by ‘‘Judaize’’ (‘‘What Was at Stake,’’ 302). 34. This passage reminds me of Paul’s conversation with the imaginary Jewish teacher in Romans 2:17ff. Here he presents his gentile audience with an argument between himself and another Jewish teacher of gentiles (an imaginary one) to make the point that being a gentile-in-Christ does not entail following the Law. 35. For example, Galatians 3:14: ‘‘In order that in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come to the gentiles, so that we might receive the promise of the spirit through faith’’ (my emphasis). Other examples in Galatians are the following: 3:23–25; 4:3, 5; 4:31–5:1; 5:25–26; 6:9–10. In Romans, the first-person plural identification with the audience is evident throughout 4:23–8:39, and especially in 4:23–5:11; 6:1–7:6; 8:3–39. Lloyd Gaston (Paul and the Torah, 29) and Stanley K. Stowers (Rereading, 292) discuss this phenomenon as well. 36. In 1970, Abraham J. Malherbe argued that Paul employs an adaptable teaching style, similar to those philosophers who advocate adapting their teaching to the particular needs of students (‘‘Gentle as a Nurse,’’ 203–17). More recently, Clarence Glad has argued persuasively that Paul uses a specifically Epicurean model of adaptability; see Paul and Philodemus: Adaptability in Epicurean and Early Christian Pedagogy. 37. Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 2. 38. Ibid., 4. Glad is careful to point out that he is not tracing influence or borrowing between Epicurean teachers and Paul, but ‘‘a widespread and shared communal practice among Epicureans and early Christians’’ (9). 39. For example, the Epicurean philosopher Philodemus explains that a competent teacher or ‘‘psychagogue’’ must be able to gauge whether a harsh, gentle, or ‘‘mixed’’ approach will work with a particular student; see Philodemus, On Frank Criticism. 40. Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 10. 41. Paul also lists ‘‘lawless’’ and ‘‘weak’’ (1 Cor 9:21–22) which seem to refer to moral designations. See Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 249–77. Although it has been common to claim that hoi anomoi represents the gentiles (and thus it has been translated ‘‘those without the Law’’), Stowers has shown that this is not supported by ancient evidence (Rereading, 134–38). Instead, in an overwhelming majority of cases, anomos means evil, sinful, or wicked, and most of these instances refer to Ioudaioi or to people in general and not to gentiles (137). 42. Glad, Paul and Philodemus, 252. 43. Ibid., 253. Glad does not treat ethnicity here; he focuses on ethical characteristics and distinguishes these from ethnic identity. 44. Elsewhere in his correspondence, Paul makes clear that being ‘‘under the Law’’ is the particular plight of gentiles (Gal 3:23; 4:5, 21; 5:18; Rom 6:14, 15). The Law becomes, for gentiles, like a prison or a captor to whom they are enslaved (Gal 3:23; Rom 7:6, 25; perhaps one exception is Gal 4:4, where this phrase describes Christ). Those who think ‘‘those under the Law’’ refers to gentiles are the following: Gaston, Paul and the Torah, 29–30; Stowers, Rereading, 278; Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People, 81–86; Howard, Paul: Crisis in Galatia, 66–82; Ra¨isa¨nen, Paul and the Law, 18–23 (Ra¨isa¨nen, who usually falls in the traditional Pauline scholarship

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camp, nevertheless argues, while expressing some puzzlement, that this phrase refers to gentiles). 45. In Romans 7:7b–25, Paul expresses this particular gentile dilemma by taking on the persona of a gentile who tries to follow the Law (Stowers, Rereading, 258–84). 46. Furthermore, Paul also asks his communities to do the same: they must be adaptable to one another. The strong should adapt to the weak, never acting in ways that would cause them to stumble (Rom 14; 1 Cor 8). In a limited way, Paul serves as a model for gentiles-in-Christ: he fosters an ethic of mutual care among them, asking them to imitate him as he imitates Christ. I am not convinced, as many others are, that the ‘‘strong’’ and the ‘‘weak’’ in Romans 14 refer specifically to gentiles and Ioudaioi. I find Glad’s argument more persuasive: the strong and the weak refer to students at different levels in their psychagogic training. Some are more confident and recalcitrant; others are insecure and tender. See Glad, 325–32. Thus in Romans 14, the ‘‘strong’’ and the ‘‘weak’’ refer to gentile believers at different stages of development (see chap. 2 for further discussion). 47. See also Romans 9:24: ‘‘including us whom he has called, not only out of the Ioudaioi but also out of the gentiles.’’ 48. Judith Nagata identifies Islam as a ‘‘cross cutting linkage’’ in Southeast Asia. She writes: ‘‘In some circumstances ethnic bonds, even in a plural society, may be subordinated to other cross-cutting linkages, such as a common religion’’ (‘‘What Is a Malay?’’ 333). Nagata assumes that religion and ethnicity are distinct entities, so that ethnic identity could be ‘‘subordinated’’ to a religious identity. Even though this assumption is problematic, Nagata’s observation is important: religious affiliation can bring multiple ethnic identities together under one umbrella. 49. I take the term ‘‘fusion’’ from Hans Windisch, who writes that Paul promotes a ‘‘fusion of Jews and Greeks into a new unity, the community of God’’ (‘‘^˛llZn,’’ TDNT, 2:514). 50. Betz, Galatians, 190. 51. Denise Kimber Buell has critically evaluated this tradition in ‘‘Rethinking the Relevance of Race for Early Christian Self-Definition’’; ‘‘Race and Universalism in Early Christianity’’; ‘‘Why This New Race?’’: Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity. 52. Many do read Paul in terms of political resistance: Paul offers an alternative to Roman imperial ideology with his own ideology of a Jewish king and kingdom. See Richard Horsley, ed., Paul and Empire: Religion and Power in Roman Imperial Society and Paul and Politics: Ekklesia, Israel, Imperium, Interpretation; Neil Elliott, Liberating Paul: The Justice of God and the Politics of the Apostle; John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed, In Search of Paul: How Jesus’s Apostle Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom. 53. Boyarin, A Radical Jew, 8. 54. See Briggs, ‘‘Galatians: Initiation into the Early Christian Community as the Erasure of Socio-Sexual Distinction,’’ 218–36. 55. See Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation,’’ 236–37. 56. Ibid., 237. 57. Briggs, ‘‘Galatians, Initiation,’’ 224. See also Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic, 164–65 and Jennifer Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity, 35–36. 58. Although many think 1 Corinthians 14:34–35 is an interpolation belonging to the early second century along with 1 Timothy which makes similar statements.

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59. Harrill, Manumission of Slaves, 122 (see also his discussion of the debate over this passage, 77–108). Richard Horsley also argues that Paul urges slaves to gain freedom, ‘‘Paul and Slavery: A Critical Alternative to Recent Readings’’; see the response by Stanley Stowers in the same volume, ‘‘Paul and Slavery,’’ 295–311. 60. Jennifer Wright Knust traces Paul’s deployment of traditional, empiresanctioned gender hierarchies even as he criticizes empirical power with this rhetoric. See ‘‘Paul and the Politics of Virtue and Vice,’’ 155–73. 61. Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, Rhetoric and Ethic, chap 7, especially 154–59 and 169–70. 62. Schu¨ssler Fiorenza makes this point when comparing her own ‘‘feminist deconstructive’’ reading to ‘‘feminist empathic’’ readings who assign the liberative rhetoric to Paul (Rhetoric and Ethic, 165). 63. Wan, ‘‘Diaspora Identity,’’ 127 (emphasis in original). Although I find Wan’s use of the postcolonial notions of hybridity helpful for understanding Galatians 3:28, I disagree with his conclusion that ‘‘what Paul is calling for in Galatians is for each cultural entity to give up its claims to power’’ (126). In Wan’s more recent work, he acknowledges a hierarchy within this new ethnos. See ‘‘Collection for the Saints,’’ 191– 215, esp. 208. 64. And gentile inclusion is a component of the larger goal which, as Paul articulates in Romans 11, is the salvation of all of Israel (11:26). I discuss this issue in chapter 8. 65. The question might be raised, Is Paul not asking Ioudaioi-in-Christ to shift priorities in a similar way? Perhaps. Indeed, this would make sense given that Paul has done so. But Paul is not speaking to Ioudaioi-in-Christ, here, despite their mention; he is speaking to gentiles-in-Christ. This is clear not only from the larger context of the letter but also from the way Paul describes in-Christness here, in terms relevant for gentiles (new ancestry and a new relationship with the God of Israel) and not for Ioudaioi. It is not clear what this baptism means for these Ioudaioi, who already have Abrahamic ancestry and huiothesia (Rom 9:4), in addition to other blessings. Paul rarely mentions Ioudaioi-in-Christ; Gal 3:28 and 1 Cor 12:13 are two instances, both in the context of baptism. It is not clear whether he refers to himself and other Jewish teachers of gentiles here or whether he means other Ioudaioi who have been baptized into Christ, or both. This group was not the focus of Paul’s concern, so he does not elaborate (with the exception of himself as a teacher). 66. Stanley K. Stowers discusses hierarchies of ‘‘goods’’ and especially the notion of a unitary, highest good in his comparison of Pauline Christianity and Hellenistic schools in ‘‘Pauline Christianity,’’ 81–102. 67. Jennifer Glancy poses the following question: Given Paul’s rhetoric about porneia in 1 Corinthians 5 and 6, and given the historical reality that slave women in particular would not have been able to control the fact that owners and others would have had sexual access to her body, would a slave woman have been admitted to the assemblies in the first place? Or did Paul view this kind of sexual behavior as not porneia? See Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity, 39–70, esp. 65–67. 68. Elisabeth Schu¨ssler Fiorenza makes a similar distinction (Rhetoric and Ethic, 159). For further comments on hierarchies in the communities and Galatians 3:28, see chapter 5. 69. Buell and Johnson Hodge, ‘‘The Politics of Interpretation,’’ 249.

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70. See also Galatians 6:15: ‘‘For neither circumcision counts for anything, nor uncircumcision, but a new creation is what counts.’’ Stanley Stowers writes: ‘‘For Paul, the teaching about Christ’s faithfulness meant that even earlier commandments of God were relativized and refocused on the new good, at least for Gentiles’’ (‘‘Pauline Christianity,’’ 90). 71. As his gentile monologue in Romans 7:7–25 illustrates; see Stowers, Rereading, 260–84, for the argument that Romans 7:7–25 represents what happens to gentiles who try to keep the Law. 72. Including Romans 2:25–29, discussed below; Romans 2:14–15; and Romans 8:4: ‘‘so that the just requirement of the Law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the spirit.’’ The same expectation is implied in Galatians 5:14: ‘‘For the whole Law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’’’ 73. Joel Marcus, based on his theory that akrobustia should be translated as ‘‘foreskin,’’ suggests the following rendering of Romans 2:25: ‘‘If you break the Law, your circumcised glans becomes a foreskin’’; see Marcus, ‘‘The Circumcision,’’ 75. 74. Similar contrasts occur in Philippians 3:2–3, where Paul warns against those who teach gentiles to be circumcised: ‘‘Beware of the dogs, beware of the evil workers, beware of those who mutilate the flesh! For it is we who are the circumcision, who worship in the spirit of God and boast in Christ Jesus and have no confidence in the flesh.’’ Here Paul appropriates ‘‘circumcision’’ or ‘‘the circumcised’’ as a name for believing gentiles and contrasts these with those who advocate gentile circumcision (‘‘those who mutilate the flesh’’). In Philippians 3, Paul uses a symbolic understanding of circumcision, like a ‘‘circumcision of the heart’’ (Rom 2:29), to flip the status of Ioudaioi who advocate gentile circumcision (‘‘flesh mutilators’’) and gentiles who are in Christ (‘‘circumcised’’). 75. This emphasis on achievement coexists with Paul’s arguments that God’s mercy (expressed through the establishment of kinship relationships) is necessary to become a people of the God of Israel. We can find in Paul’s arguments a mixture of fixity and fluidity: at times Paul argues that gentile inclusion is beyond human control (dependent on God’s will, sealed by the spirit, planned from the beginning) and at others he argues that human behavior—obeying God with integrity—contributes to this new status. 76. This sort of inner-outer comparison has many parallels in popular philosophical texts in which the author admonishes an over-confident teacher (see Stowers, Rereading, 148–49). The true Jew, like the true philosopher, is determined by an inner disposition. This language is reminiscent of 2 Corinthians 5, especially verse 12: ‘‘We are not commending ourselves to you again, but giving you an opportunity to boast about us, so that you may be able to answer those who boast in outward appearance and not in the heart.’’ Philo makes a similar distinction between physical circumcision and inward control of passions, a circumcision of the soul: ‘‘[Scripture] first makes it clearly apparent and demonstrable that in reality the sojourner is one who circumcises not his foreskin, but his desires and sensual pleasures and other passions of the soul’’ (Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus 2.2; translation amended from Marcus, LCL). Scriptural references to circumcision or uncircumcision of the heart are Leviticus 26:41; Deuteronomy 10:16; Jeremiah 4:4, 9:25–26; Ezekiel 44:7, 9.

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77. Paul has just made a similar argument in Romans 2:14–15: ‘‘When gentiles, who do not possess the Law, do instinctively what the Law requires, these, though not having the Law, are a law to themselves. They show that what the Law requires is written on their hearts, to which their own conscience also bears witness.’’ Similar themes occur in both passages: the theme of gentiles doing what the Law requires (see also Rom 8:4) and the theme of an inward commitment to obeying the Law.

chapter 8 1. ‘‘Greeks’’ is the term Paul uses most often in these comparative statements. See chapter 2 for a discussion of how ‘‘Greek’’ relates to ‘‘gentile.’’ The Jew/nonJew pairings in all the letters are the following:

Jew/Greek: Romans 2:9–11, 3:9, 10:12–13; 1 Corinthians 1:22–24, 10:32, 12:13; Galatians 3:28. Jew/gentile: Romans 9:24; Galatians 2:14, 15. Israel/gentile: Romans 9:30–31, 11:25–26. Circumcised/uncircumcised: Romans 4:9, 11–12; Galatians 2:7. Circumcised/gentile: Romans 15:8–9; Galatians 2:8–9. 2. See Barrett, A Commentary of the Epistle, 29; Barth, The Epistle to the Romans, 40 (although the ‘‘Jew’’ here is the ‘‘religious and ecclesiastical man’’). Joseph Fitzmyer claims that this privileged place of the Jew results from the fact that the gospel was first preached to them and because God promised the gospel through their prophets, ‘‘destining the gospel for his chosen people and through them all others’’ (Romans, 257). James Dunn does not rely on the chronological explanation, but his own interpretation does not clarify the text. He attributes this hierarchical structure to ‘‘Paul’s consciousness that he was a Jew who believed in a Jewish Messiah yet whose life’s work was to take the gospel beyond the national and religious boundaries of Judaism’’ (Romans 1–8, 40). 3. Cranfield agrees. He comments that the chronological interpretation is inadequate in light of Romans 9–11 and that there is an ‘‘undeniable priority of the Jew’’ (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary, 1:91). Mark Nanos, with whom I agree on most issues regarding Paul, expresses this hierarchy in temporal terms. He argues that Paul does indeed go to Jews first, much as the author of Acts portrays him, because the process being inaugurated here is the restoration of Israel. Following from that comes the gospel to the gentiles, a division in Israel (those whose hearts have been hardened and those among the faithful remnant), and then the eventual salvation of all of Israel (Mystery, 239–88). 4. In chapter 7, I discuss how Paul places himself in the Israelite tradition of prophets who see themselves as a ‘‘light to the nations’’ for the greater good of Israel. 5. This verse is crucial in John Lodge’s interpretation of Romans 9–11. Lodge argues that Paul uses misdirection in these chapters, deliberately keeping two contingents of his audience off-balance and unsure of the argument until Romans 11 where he elaborates his position. See John G. Lodge, Romans 9–11: A Reader-Response Analysis. Though I appreciate the insights offered by Lodge’s reader-response approach, I think Paul’s argument is more straightforward; it is directed at gentiles

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seeking to find their place within Israel. I do not see an ‘‘anti-Israel’’ implied reader in Paul’s logic. 6. Nanos lays out this argument in Mystery, 179–201. 7. Nanos, ‘‘A Torah-Observant Paul?’’ 45–46. 8. This is in line with the faith versus works interpretation of Paul. See the introduction. 9. Of course Paul expects Ioudaioi and gentiles to be faithful, too, as is clear in Romans 1:16, but it is not the faithfulness of the believer that makes one right before God. For a more detailed argument about this understanding of faithfulness, see chapter 4. 10. Stowers argues that these differences in faithfulness are marked by different prepositions: ek piste
os (‘‘out of faithfulness,’’ where faithfulness is a source) refers to how both the Ioudaioi and the gentiles are justified; and dia t
es piste
os (‘‘through that faithfulness,’’ where faithfulness is an agent that intervenes) refers specifically to how Christ’s faith justifies gentiles (Rereading, 240–41). 11. See Jouette M. Bassler, Divine Impartiality: Paul and a Theological Axiom. 12. I discuss this same issue in chapter 7, where I argue that being in-Christ is not ethnically neutral. 13. Thanks to Stanley K. Stowers for this observation. 14. For example, in Acts 22:25–29, Paul protests that his flogging is illegal because he is a Roman citizen. Upon learning of his status, the officials are afraid and cease the interrogation (see also Acts 16:37–39). A noncitizen would not have received the same treatment. Hans Dieter Betz briefly discusses these passages and cites Roman law protecting Roman citizens in Acts of the Apostles, 133, 189–90. On the different ranks of members of Roman society, see Loewenstein, The Governance of Rome, 187–91 and earlier chapters on ranks (2 and 3) and citizenship (4). See also A. N. Sherwin-White, Roman Society and Roman Law in the New Testament. 15. This is a difficult passage to translate. For many of the issues involved, see Fitzmyer, Romans, 578. 16. Badenas, Christ the End of the Law, 101, 237 n. 116; Fitzmyer, Romans, 577; Stowers, Rereading 303–4. 17. Stowers, Rereading, 305. 18. Some scholars argue that the roots and the tree are Christ and that the attached and broken branches represent believers and unbelievers, respectively. For example, see Bourke, A Study of the Metaphor of the Olive Tree, 79ff, 111. Richard H. Bell also discusses this reading in Provoked to Jealousy, 122. Others draw a distinction between the ‘‘historical’’ or ‘‘ethnic’’ Israel and the ‘‘eschatological’’ Israel and claim that the branches of the olive tree, with gentile Christians incorporated, represent the latter; see Dunn, Romans 9–16, 672. Many commentators who agree that the tree is some representation of Israel think that the roots must be Abraham or the patriarchs and the branches the descendants. See Dunn, Romans 9–16, 659; and Bell, Provoked to Jealousy, 121. 19. Scholars debate the accuracy of the horticultural practice Paul describes in this passage. Some argue that Paul was ignorant of actual grafting practices whereby a shoot from a cultivated tree would be grafted onto a wild tree. Origen is cited to support this point; see Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans 8.11. Also see Dodd,

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The Epistle of Paul, 180; and Cranfield, Romans, 2:565. Others counter this claim, citing Columella and Palladius, who describe a process of grafting a wild shoot onto a cultivated tree in order to invigorate it (Columella, De re Rustica 5.9.16; and Palladius, De Insitione 53–54.). A. G. Baxter and J. A. Ziesler argue for this latter view in ‘‘Paul and Arboriculture,’’ 25–32. Still others contend that Paul knew this sort of grafting was unusual, which is why he uses the phrase ‘‘beyond the bounds of nature’’ (para fsin) (Rom 11:24). For this view, see Barrett, Romans, 217. Philip Esler, citing evidence from Theophrastus as well as material evidence for farming practices, argues that grafting cultivated shoots onto wild olive trees was the norm in the eastern empire, and that Paul was deliberately reversing this practice in his allegory of the olive tree in Romans 11. See Esler, ‘‘Ancient Oleiculture and Ethnic Differentiation: The Meaning of the Olive-Tree Image in Romans 11.’’ Esler’s article offers a helpful survey of ancient agricultural texts on grafting, and he uses this evidence to refute the idea that grafting a wild olive branch onto a cultivated tree rejuvenates the tree. According to Esler, this theory is not substantiated by the agricultural texts or by Paul’s allegory. 20. Fitzmyer, Romans, 610. 21. Lodge, Romans 9–11, 181. 22. Although Philip Esler does not focus on ethnicity in his olive tree article, he does frame the image in this context (‘‘Olive-Tree Image,’’ 123–24). See also his larger study of Romans, Conflict and Identity in Romans: The Social Setting of Paul’s Letter (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003). 23. See DuBois, Sowing the Body, 39–85; Buell, Making Christians, 32–49. Plutarch writes that menstruation, as a cleansing process that prepares the womb to receive the seed, renders ‘‘the womb in season, like fertile ground for plowing and sowing’’ (On Affection for Offspring 495 E; translation amended from Helmbold, LCL). See Buell’s discussion of this passage (Making Christians, 46). 24. Translation from Richard Lattimore, The Iliad of Homer, 157. 25. Translation of this and following Septuagint passages amended from Sir Lancelot C. L. Brenton, The Septuagint with Apocrypha, 754. 26. This passage is from the Hebrew version of Isaiah (NRSV). In Romans 15, Paul cites a similar Isaiah passage (LXX 11:10), and connects the root of Jesse to Christ: ‘‘There will come the root of Jesse, the one who rises to rule the gentiles (½yn ~ n); in him the gentiles shall hope’’ (Rom 15:12). 27. Translation from Colson and Whitaker, LCL. 28. Translation amended from Colson and Whitaker, LCL. 29. We might also translate apistia here as ‘‘untrustworthiness,’’ ‘‘unreliability,’’ or even ‘‘disobedience.’’ See chapter 4 and Dunn, Romans 1–8, 132. To interpret these broken branches as all of Israel, or as ‘‘ethnic’’ Israel, makes no sense in this reading and is difficult to support in the context of Romans 11:25–26a. Furthermore, it ignores the biblical tradition of groups of Israelites straying (sometimes being lopped off by God himself) and returning to God (sometimes through the call of a prophet or the faithfulness of the remnant). 30. W. D. Davies makes this point in his extensive analysis of this passage ( Jewish and Pauline Studies, 159–63); see also Baxter and Ziesler, ‘‘Paul and Arboriculture,’’ 27. 31. Esler, ‘‘Olive-Tree Image,’’ 124.

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32. Hall, Ethnic Identity, 51. 33. Ibid., 41. 34. Hall reconstructs this ‘‘Hellenic genealogy’’ from Pseudo-Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and recent papyrus discoveries: ‘‘war-loving king Hellen’’ is the father of Doros, Xouthos, and Aiolos; Doros is the father of Aigimios, who is the father of Dymas and Pamphylos; Xouthos begets Ion and Akhaios (Ethnic Identity, 42–43; see diagram on 43). 35. Hall, Ethnic Identity, 43. 36. Ibid. 37. Esler makes this point as well in ‘‘Olive-Tree Image,’’ 123. 38. For example, the Aeneid by Virgil and Roman Antiquities by Dionysius of Halicarnassus. See chapter 1 for further discussion of these texts. 39. Nanos, Mystery, 239–88. 40. Although Paul uses achievement logic for the maintenance of those communities of gentiles who are already ‘‘in Christ.’’ See further comments on psychagogy in the conclusion. See also chapter 7, where I discuss Paul’s comments on lawabiding gentiles in Romans 2.

conclusion 1. Homi Bhabha describes this as occurring in a ‘‘Third Space of Enunciation,’’ an ambivalent, in-between space where both the colonizer and the colonized mutually construct each other. See Bhabha, The Location of Culture, 37. 2. Thomas, ‘‘Ethnicity, Genealogy and Hellenism,’’ 213–33. One of Thomas’s points is to show that despite the famous quote in Herodotus defining Greek ethnicity (8.144.2), the historian does not maintain one stable definition of ethn
e, but discusses a variety of factors, including language, religion, education, ancestry, and homeland. 3. Wan, ‘‘Diaspora Identity,’’ 126 (emphasis in original). 4. Stanley K. Stowers argues that in this way the assemblies are like philosophical schools (Stowers, ‘‘Pauline Christianity,’’ 85–86). See also Glad, Paul and Philodemus. 5. This language is also found in friendship contexts. Unlike many philosophers in discussions of friendship, however, Paul does not appeal to philia. See Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World, especially 108–21. Konstan discusses how some later Christians explicitly reject friendship language for ‘‘brotherly love’’ language (156–58). 6. Bentley, ‘‘Ethnicity and Practice,’’32–33. Bentley builds on the work of Pierre Bourdieu in Outline of a Theory of Practice. Central to Bourdieu’s practice theory is the idea of ‘‘habitus’’: ‘‘a set of generative schemes that produce practices and representations that are regular without reference to overt rules and that are goal directed without requiring conscious selection of goals or mastery of method of achieving them’’ (Bentley, ‘‘Ethnicity and Practice,’’ 28; citing Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, 72). Bentley is arguing that ethnicity is not solely an identity that is manipulated or appropriated to achieve a certain end (as instrumentalists tend to understand it), but that it is a conglomeration of assumptions, practical skills, and ways of viewing the world that are learned but still beyond consciousness. This conglomeration is ‘‘habitus.’’

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notes to pages 150–152

7. But perhaps does not always succeed, as the Corinthian correspondence evinces. See Antoinette Clark Wire, Corinthian Women Prophets. Thanks to Laura Nasrallah for this observation. 8. Denise Kimber Buell addresses this theme in second- and third-century texts. See ‘‘Rethinking the Relevance of Race,’’ 449–76; ‘‘Race and Universalism,’’ 429–68; and ‘‘Why This New Race?’’ 9. It may be best to translate this phrase ‘‘in a third way’’ (Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 6.5.39.4–6.5.41.6). Regardless, Clement is categorizing ‘‘Christians’’ with other ethnic peoples. 10. Daniel Boyarin argues that the boundary between Christians and Jews is quite porous and that these two groups engage in mutual self-definition that is intertwined with each group’s articulations of orthodoxy and heresy. See Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity. 11. Some would argue that Galatians 6:16 calls the church ‘‘Israel’’: ‘‘And for those who will follow this rule, peace and mercy be upon them, and [peace and mercy] be upon the Israel of God.’’ I see no reason to think this, especially since nowhere else does Paul hint that his gentile assemblies constitute a new Israel. When he does mention Israel, he is referring to the Jewish people (perhaps with faithful gentiles attached), as I think he is in Galatians 6:16. Some scholars translate the last half of this verse: ‘‘and [peace and mercy] upon God’s [people] Israel.’’ See Gaston, Paul and Torah, 90; and Richardson, Israel in the Apostolic Church, 74–84. 12. In May of 1999, the New York Times published an article titled ‘‘DNA Backs a Tribe’s Tradition of Early Descent from the Jews’’ by Nicholas Wade (my thanks to Judith Kalb for calling this article to my attention). The Lemba people (who live in Botswana and South Africa and have black skin) trace their origins to a northern city called ‘‘Senna,’’ and recount that long ago they left Judea and migrated to Africa. Recent genetic tests which trace the Y chromosome have offered scientific support to these claims of Jewish ancestry. This research is based on the patrilineal tradition that priestly lineages within Judaism all descend from one ancestor, Aaron. Studying the Y chromosome of the Jewish men who claim this ancestry, geneticists have identified a particular ‘‘cohen genetic signature’’ that is present in roughly half of these priestly descendants (a genetic marker that is less common among lay Jews and is rare in non-Jewish populations). The results of these tests on the Lemba men corresponded with the results from tests on other Jewish populations: half of the Lemba men who claimed priestly descent had the cohen genetic signature. For those scientists and other scholars involved with this study, the scientific evidence of a genetic link to other Jews confirms the Lemba claim of Jewish ancestry. Patrilineal logic permeates the explanation of the science: ‘‘Y chromosomes are bequeathed from father to son, more or less unchanged apart from the occasional mutation’’ (Wade, 20). Patrilineal ideology, through the work of modern genetics, traces descendants back to Aaron and therefore constructs a Jewish past for these African people. Of course the Lemba had already constructed this past; they knew they had descended from Jews. 13. McCutcheon, Critics Not Caretakers, 32. McCutcheon gives no citation for the quote from Burton Mack. 14. Lloyd Gaston makes this point in Paul and the Torah, 6.

notes to pages 152–153

207

15. Although Kathy Ehrensperger finds some ‘‘good news’’ in Paul, especially in the potential insights of the intersection of feminist readings and the ‘‘Beyond the New Perspective’’ school; Ehrensperger, That We May Be Mutually Encouraged: Feminism and the New Perspective in Pauline Studies (New York: T. and T. Clark, 2004), esp. 177–94. 16. Elisabeth Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her and Rhetoric and Ethic; Antoinette Clark Wire, Corinthian Women Prophets; and Cynthia Briggs Kittredge, Community and Authority. 17. Boyarin, Radical Jew, 42. Boyarin, however, finds this interpretation unconvincing (see esp. n. 9).

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Index

Abraham, 4, 18, 50, 61, 70, 75, 114, 120, 134, 139, 144, 147, 152 and faithfulness, 79–91, 139–140 as founding ancestor, 5, 6, 23, 24, 49, 109, 114–115, 123, 138, 152 and gentiles, 5, 21, 31, 33, 41, 42, 64, 67, 68, 75, 76, 79–107, 111, 116 as a model for Christ, 90–91, 140 See also lineage; descent adoption, 3, 5, 18, 33, 41, 65, 79, 91, 100, 101, 103, 105, 110, 111, 113, 115, 116, 130, 135, 150 and baptism, 67–77, 99 as grafting, 144–147 and Jews, 50, 51 outside of Paul, 26, 29–31, 32, 33, 42, 144–145 and spirit, 72–76 Aristotle, 25, 31, 33, 39, 80, 82, 94–95, 106, 112, 113, 115 audience, 6, 9–11, 46–47, 89, 139, 143 ancient, 19, 46, 65, 93, 110, 111, 143 encoded, 9–11, 47, 59

gentile, 4, 58–59, 63, 71, 113, 123, 132, 133 in texts other than Paul, 95, 96, 118, 119, 129 Augustine, 6, 44, 45, 156 nn. 11–12, 171 nn. 8–10, 194 n. 5 Augustus, 30, 32, 34 Asad, Talal, 155 n. 1, 159 n. 57 Antonaccio, Carla, M. 118, 119, 196 n. 8, 196 nn. 10–11 barbarians, 34, 35–36, 39, 48–49, 55, 59, 64 Barth, Markus, 9, 157 n. 36, 176 n. 74 baptism, 4, 31, 41, 67, 68, 76–77, 104–106, 110, 116,126, 130, 145, 148, 150, 151, 152 Baumann, Gerd, 21, 23, 42, 118, 162 n. 92, 163 nn. 5–7 Baur, F. C., 6, 156 n. 16, 156 n. 21, 172 n. 17 Bell, Catherine, 26, 27, 164 n. 30 Bentley, G. Carter, 150, 163 n. 7, 196 n. 5, 205 n. 6 Betz, Hans Dieter, 70, 127, 128, 171 n. 12, 181 n. 110, 183 n. 15, 199 n. 50, 203 n. 14

240

index

blessings, 51, 63, 67, 81, 83, 84–86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 94, 97–107, 114, 126, 130, 139, 140, 152 blood, 14, 16, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 31, 37, 38, 39, 41, 42, 50, 68, 76, 77, 95, 101, 102, 115, 116, 117 Bossman, David, 162 n. 84 Bourdieu, Pierre, 205 n. 6 Boyarin, Daniel, 46, 127, 153, 156 n. 13, 159 n. 58, 161 n. 83, 171 n. 11, 171 n. 15, 174 n. 55, 176 n. 74, 199 n. 53, 206 n. 10, 207 n. 17 Briggs, Sheila, 128, 199 n. 54, 199 n. 57 Buell, Denise Kimber, 3, 4, 155 nn. 2–4, 156 n. 18, 156 n. 20, 159 n. 55, 162 nn. 88–90, 162 n. 94, 163 n. 5, 165 n. 32, 166 n. 47, 169 n. 101, 170 n. 111, 170 n. 122, 170 n. 3 (chap. 2), 183 nn. 12–14, 172 n. 22, 176 n. 75, 178 n. 82, 194 n. 8, 199 n. 51, 199 n. 55, 200 n. 69, 204 n. 23, 206 n. 8 Byrne, Brendan, 166 n. 48, 167 n. 56, 181 n. 2 Campbell, William S., 156 n. 13, 157 n. 212 Castelli, Elizabeth A., 155 n. 6 Chancey, Mark A., 160 n. 63 Christianity, 3, 4, 6–8, 13, 14, 45, 46, 47, 48, 122, 127, 128, 152, 153. See also Christians Christians, 4, 5, 6, 7, 11, 13, 45, 46, 47, 93, 105, 110, 117, 126, 127, 148, 151, 153. See also Christianity Cicero, 32, 56, 168 n. 72, 175 n. 64 circumcision/circumcised, 10, 11, 13, 28, 50, 56, 57, 86, 87–88, 120, 122, 123, 125, 128, 129 as inherited, 133 as designation for Jews, 18, 43, 44, 49, 52, 60–64, 87–88, 121, 122, 128, 138, 139, 140 and Judaizing, 56–57

and prioritizing goods, 131–134 and uncircumcised, 60–64 Clement of Alexandria, 4, 151, 162 n. 94, 170 n. 122, 182 n. 2, 206 n. 9 Cohen, Shaye J. D., 43, 52, 54, 56, 57, 166 n. 46, 169 n. 100, 170 n. 1, 173 n. 40, 173 n. 44, 173 n. 46, 173 n. 49, 174 nn. 54–55, 174 n. 60, 175 nn. 61–66, 179 n. 97, 197 n. 32 Collier, Jane Fishburne, 163 n. 98 Columella, 204 n. 19 Corbier, Mireille, 30, 167 n. 62 Corley, Kathleen, E., 70, 167 n. 52, 182 nn. 3–4, 182 nn. 7–8 Cranfield, C. E. B., 180 n. 108, 187 n. 27, 192 n. 31, 202 n. 3, 204 n. 19 Dahl, Nils A., 70, 104, 182 nn. 9–10, 188 n. 30, 190 n. 37, 192 nn. 33–35 Das, Andrew, 157 n. 38 daughters, 5, 30, 31, 40, 53, 69, 106, 110 Davies, W. D., 163 n. 9, 168 n. 84 Delaney, Carol, 111, 162 n. 86, 162 n. 93, 163 n. 2, 191 n. 17, 194 nn. 7–8 Deming, Will, 186 n. 15 Demosthenes, 25, 33, 165 n. 33, 168 n. 85 descent, 21, 25, 29, 30, 33, 38, 41, 57, 61, 79, 81. See also lineage from Abraham, 4, 15, 16, 88, 79–91, 97–100 (see also lineage, of Abraham) containment theory of, 94–96, 98, 105, 109 defining, 5, 20, 30, 32, 34, 77, 84, 85, 91, 101, 103 and ek, 57, 79–91, 93, 98, and en, 93–107 and ethnicity, 36, 37, 50 and faithfulness, 18, 79–91 as ‘‘natural,’’ 20–21, 102 patrilineal, 5, 17, 19–42, 68, 88, 91, 93, 96, 97, 98, 104, 105–106, 109, 111, 114, 116, 144 and religion, 20, 26–28, 34, 35

index Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 5, 34–36, 49, 169 n. 90, 181 n. 115, 205 n. 38 DuBois, Page, 191 n. 17, 194 n. 8, 204 n. 23 Dunn, James D. G., 8, 93, 156 n. 27, 156 n. 29, 157 nn. 31–33, 172 n. 17, 173 n. 48, 176 n. 74, 181 n. 108, 183 n. 16, 184 n. 27, 187 n. 16, 187 n. 18, 188 n. 27, 190 n. 3, 191 n. 25, 192 n. 26, 192 nn. 31–32, 194 n. 2, 202 n. 2, 203 n. 18, 204 n. 29 Ehrensperger, Kathy, 157 n. 38, 207 n. 15 Eilberg-Schwartz, Howard, 28, 40, 60–61, 163 n. 97, 166 n. 43, 170 n. 121, 171 n. 12, 179 nn. 89–93, 179 n. 96, 191 n. 17 Eisenbaum, Pamela, 156 n. 24, 157 n. 38, 158 n. 39, 165 n. 35, 186 n. 13, 189 n. 33, 189 n. 36 Elliott, John H., 13, 14–15, 53, 155 n. 5, 159 n. 54, 160 nn. 66–68, 161 n. 74, 161 nn. 81–82, 173 n. 48, 173 n. 49, 174 nn. 50–53 Elliott, Neil, 157 n. 38, 158 n. 49, 199 n. 52 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels, 156 nn. 13–14, 196 n. 12 Esler, Philip F., 13, 145, 160 n. 66, 160 n. 68, 160 n. 71, 161 n. 74, 196 n. 1, 197 n. 21, 204 n. 19, 204 n. 22, 204 n. 31, 205 n. 37 ethnicity aggregative, 43, 44, 48, 66, 67–116, 119, 126, 130, 138, 143–148 and agricultural imagery, 141–147 as fixed and fluid, 15–17, 20–22, 26, 28, 34–36, 42, 48, 117–135, 149–153 and gentiles, 47, 50–51, 55, 126–135 as defining Judaism, 4, 6–9, 11–15, 44–46, 49–50, 84–90, 97–100, 102 as multiple, 117–135, 149–151

241

oppositional, 18, 42, 43–66, 67, 137–148 Paul’s, 50, 120–125 as ranked, 137–148 and religion, 11–15, 26–28, 35, 49, 84–90, 97–100 situational, 118–119, 129 faith/faithfulness, 7, 18, 48, 54, 55, 58, 70, 77, 79–80, 82–84, 97, 102, 103, 104, 114, 120, 122, 123, 133, 134, 142, 145, 150, 153 of Abraham, 6, 83, 84–89, 97–98, 140 of believers, 90, 140, 189 n. 34 in Christ, 6, 44, 82, 83, 90 of Christ, 14, 58, 72, 83, 90–91, 123, 133, 140 Christian, 6, 46 justification by, 7, 137–140 versus works, 6, 7 See also pistis Christou First Corinthians, 55, 59, 64, 70, 76, 105, 106, 124, 125, 126, 128, 130, 131–132, 133, 151 First Thessalonians, 55, 125 Fitzmyer, Joseph A., 102, 110, 143, 172 n. 17, 172 nn. 19–20, 178 n. 83, 181 n. 108, 182 n. 9, 184 n. 27, 187 n. 27, 188 n. 30, 192 n. 30, 194 n. 1, 194 n. 6, 202 n. 2, 203 nn. 15–16, 204 n. 20 foreskin. See uncircumcised Fredriksen, Paula, 197 n. 20 ‘‘fusion’’ theory, 127–128, 140 Gager, John, 9, 153, 156 n. 13, 156 n. 24, 157 n. 30, 157 nn. 37–38, 158 n. 40, 159 n. 53, 171 n. 9, 176 n. 72, 183 n. 26, 192 n. 26 Galatians, 5, 9, 52, 55–58, 60, 63, 67–77, 79–86, 87, 90, 91, 94, 97, 99, 102, 103–106, 114, 118, 120–123, 126–131, 139, 140, 143, 149, 150 Galatians 3:28, 104–106, 126–131, 140, 149

242

index

Galen, 112–113 Gardner, Jane, 30, 165 n. 33, 166 n. 48, 167 n. 49, 167 n. 55, 167 nn. 58–59 Gaston, Lloyd, 9, 11, 153, 156 n. 13, 157 nn. 36–7, 159 n. 51, 176 n. 72, 176 n. 74, 183 n. 26, 184 n. 26, 189 n. 33, 192 n. 27, 197 n. 24, 198 n. 35, 198 n. 44, 206 n. 11, 206 n. 14 Gaventa, Beverly Roberts, 163 n. 99 genealogies, 16, 20–21, 24, 25–26, 31–33, 38, 42, 50, 116, 146, 147 gender, 4, 17, 22–26, 27, 45–46, 51, 69, 105, 110, 111, 112, 128. See also descent, patrilineal Genesis, 50, 61, 70, 81, 83, 84–89, 94, 96–101, 104, 105, 106, 111, 113 gentiles-in-Christ, 69, 126–134, 149–151 as audience, 11, 125 versus gentiles, 55, 72 and identity, 18, 117, 118, 120, 126–134, 149–151 and the Law, 132, 134 linked to Israel, 5, 6, 67, 70, 149 and new status 66, 76, 91, 102, 111, 113, 116 related to Christ, 109–116 Glad, Clarence E., 124, 169 n. 103, 172 n. 19, 198 nn. 36–38, 198 nn. 40–43, 199 n. 46, 205 n. 4 Glancy, Jennifer, 199 n. 57, 200 n. 67 ‘‘godfearers,’’ 63 Goudriaan, Koen, 196 n. 12 Govers, Cora, 162 nn. 88–89, 163 n. 7 grafting, 77, 142–143, 144–146 Greeks, 4, 22, 27, 29, 34–36, 37, 39, 47, 48–49, 61, 74, 82, 112–113, 149, 151 and identity, 5, 12, 39, 49, 50, 54, 118–119, 149 in Paul, 43, 49, 52, 58–59, 63, 64, 65, 76, 104, 105, 106, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 134, 137–148 Gruen, Erich S., 159 n. 59, 159 n. 83, 186 n. 6 Gutbrod, Walter, 44–45, 171 n. 4

Hagar, 101, 128, 129, 191–192 n. 26 Hall, Edith, 48–49, 172 nn. 24–25, 181 n. 9 Hall, Jonathan, 43, 44, 48, 146, 147, 162 n. 89, 162 n. 96, 163 n. 4, 163 n. 7, 164 n. 28, 170 nn. 2–3, 172 n. 22, 205 nn. 32–36 Harrill, Albert J., 128, 200 n. 59 Harvey, Graham, 12, 53, 159 n. 58, 173 n. 40, 174 n. 53, 174 n. 60 Hays, Richard B., 83, 90, 171 n. 9, 185 n. 2, 187 nn. 17–18, 187 nn. 20–21, 189 nn. 33–35, 190 n. 37, 192 n. 33 Headlam, Arthur C., 171 n. 9 Herodotus, 50, 149, 205 n. 2 Heschel, Susannah, 161 nn. 77–78 hoi ek pisteoˆs, 79–91 Homer. See Iliad Horsley, Richard A., 53, 160 n. 64, 160 n. 68, 173 n. 45, 199 n. 52, 200 n. 59 Hosea, 3, 4, 144 household, 17, 23, 27, 29, 30, 31, 40, 68–72, 77, 79, 106, 110, 115, 130, 146 inheritance, 17, 26, 27, 29, 68, 69–71, 77, 97, 101, 103, 107 identity/identities, 3, 4, 11, 12, 13, 19, 24, 25, 39, 42, 44, 45, 67, 97, 149–150 constructed, 15–17, 20–22, 39, 146 corporate, 23, 25–26, 67, 68, 96, 97, 98, 103–107, 152 ethnic, 8, 16, 21, 28, 34–38, 43, 46, 48–66, 140–141, 146, 147, 150 Jewish 14, 43, 46, 52, 54, 57, 58, 62, 63, 121, 125, 131, 133, 150, 152 multiple, 118–135 Paul’s own, 50, 118, 120–125 and religion, 26–28, 49–51 theories about, 15–17, 20–22, 43, 117, 118–120, 153 in Christ, 4, 10, 18, 46, 66, 69, 72, 86, 90, 93–94, 97, 99, 100, 103–106, 107, 117, 120, 125–123, 134, 149–151

index as not ethnically neutral, 48, 106, 126–131, 132, 149 and Ioudaioi, 46, 123, 126 See also gentiles-in-Christ Iliad, 24, 143 Isaac, 18, 23, 87, 88, 89, 94, 97, 99, 100–103, 104, 144 Isaiah, 72, 121, 144, 145 Jay, Nancy, 163 n. 9, 164 n. 31, 165 n. 35, 165 n. 38, 166 n. 43, 167 n. 53, 168 n. 84, 168 n. 87, 189 n. 36 Jeremiah, 52, 114, 121, 144 Jews in audience, 9–11, 46–47 in contrast to non-Jews, 49–64, 137–148 and kinship, 23–24, 28, 31, 37–38, 40–41, 49–50, 80–82, 84–90, 95, 96–103, 11–112, 115, 143–147 relationship to Christ, 9, 139 stereotypes of, 6–8, 44–47 as translation of Ioudaioi, 11–15, 52–54 Jones, C. P., 168 n. 67 Josephus, 31, 37–38, 53, 56, 61–62, 64, 81, 167 nn. 64–65, 169 n. 99, 173 n. 43, 173 n. 46, 174 n. 53, 175 n. 67, 178 n. 81, 179 n. 96, 197 n. 32 Jubilees, 74 Judaize, 52, 56–58, 121, 123, 129 Judean, 4, 11–15, 44, 52, 53, 54 Ka¨semann, Ernst, 45, 110, 156 n. 21, 171 n. 9, 171 n. 11, 194 nn. 2–3 Kelley, Shawn, 156 n. 21 Keyes, Charles, F., 196 n. 3, 196 n. 18 kinship and agricultural imagery, 141–147 with Christ, 103–106, 109–116 as constructed, 15–17, 20–22, 42 and faithfulness, 79–91 as a metaphor, 4, 5, 17, 69, 70, 110, 115, 143, 146 patrilineal. See descent, patrilineal and philosophical schools, 38–41 and the promise, 100–103, 97–100

243

and religion, 26–28 and the spirit, 72–76 strategic use of, 29–41, 67–77, 79–91, 93–107, 109–116 Kittel, G., 7, 45, 156 n. 17, 171 n. 7, 194 n. 2 Kleisthenes, 33–34 Knust, Jennifer Wright, 187 n. 26, 200 n. 60 Konstan, David, 21, 162 n. 89, 163 n. 4, 164 n. 19, 164 n. 28, 169 nn. 103–104, 170 n. 116, 170 n. 121, 172 n. 22, 181 n. 113, 205 n. 5 Law, Jewish, 8, 9 10, 11, 63, 70, 127. and gentiles, 56, 58, 74, 87, 89, 122, 123, 132–133, 134 and Jews, 50, 51, 56, 60, 73, 74, 87, 89, 122, 123, 132–133, 142 and Paul, 120, 122–123, 125, 134 and traditional view, 6 under the, 68, 71–72, 124–125 See also works of the Law Lentz, Carola, 22, 162 n 96, 163 n. 5, 163 n. 8 Levine, Amy-Jill, 13, 155 n. 6, 159 n. 54, 159 n. 58, 160 n. 69, 160 n. 72, 161 n. 74, 161 nn. 76–77, 161 n. 79 Levison, John R., 73, 184 nn. 32–33 Lieu, Judith M., 162 n. 82, 172 n. 23, 184 n. 31 Lincoln, Bruce, 5, 156 n. 8 lineage, 4, 5, 14, 17, 22, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 31, 32, 33, 34, 37, 38, 39, 60, 68, 80, 81, 83, 87, 89, 90, 91, 97, 100–104, 128, 152 of Abraham, 21, 23, 28, 31, 33, 41, 42, 49, 81, 84–85, 88–89, 94, 98, 100, 104, 105, 107, 109, 116, 117, 126, 129, 131 and agricultural imagery, 141–146 patrilineal, 100, 97 Paul’s, 81–82, 62, 50, 120, 125 Christ’s, 106, 115, 131, 145 Lodge, John G., 143, 157 n. 38, 202 n. 5, 204 n. 21

244

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Loraux, Nicole, 164 n. 25, 168 n. 81 Loveday, Alexander, 169 n. 101, 170 n. 109, 170 n. 111, 170 n. 116 Lutheran reading, 6–9, 45, 82, 153 Mack, Burton, 5, 152, 156 n. 10, 206 n. 13 Malkin, Irad, 118, 119, 163 n. 7, 196 n. 6 Marcus, Joel, 62–63, 172 n. 17, 179 n. 87, 179 n. 100, 179 n. 102, 180 nn. 103–105, 201 n. 73 Martin, Dale B., 156 n. 15, 182 n. 14, 185 n. 40 Martyn, J. Louis, 176 n. 76, 192 n. 26 McCutcheon, Russell T., 85, 152, 187 n. 22, 206 n. 13 Meeks, Wayne A., 45, 156 n. 17, 160 n. 61, 171 nn. 5–6, 171 n. 8, 193 n. 39 mythmaking, 5, 16, 85, 151, 152, 153 myth of origins, 5–6, 19, 67, 77, 85, 111, 116, 141, 152 Nagata, Judith A., 119, 120, 196 n. 16, 199 n. 48 Nanos, Mark, D., 122, 139, 147, 157 n. 38, 159 n. 52, 159 n. 54, 161 n. 75, 172 n. 19, 173 n. 36, 176 n. 74, 183 n. 22, 197 n. 20, 197 n. 22, 197 nn. 25–30, 198 n. 33, 202 n. 3, 203 nn. 6–7, 205 n. 39 new perspective, 7–9, 44, 46, 153 Ogden, Daniel, 163 n. 9, 165 n. 33 Philippians, 28, 50, 62, 81, 120, 125 Philo, 23, 31, 39, 53, 61, 64, 75, 95, 106, 144, 145 philosophical schools, 38–41, 46, 74–75, 80–81, 94–96, 112–113, 150 pistis. See faith/faithfulness pistis Christou, 82–84, 90, 91, 187 n. 18, 196 n. 19 Plato, 25, 39, 80, 165 n. 33

Plutarch, 25, 39, 56, 164 n. 23, 170 n. 116, 204 n. 23 pneuma. See spirit Pomata, Gianna, 163 n. 9 predestination, 110, 114, 116 Preus, Anthony, 186 n. 4, 190 n. 7, 195 nn. 12–13, 195 n. 16 promise/promises, 6, 40, 42, 50, 56, 61, 62, 63, 67, 68, 69, 70, 76, 77, 79, 81, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87–89, 91, 98–107, 111, 126, 130, 133, 140, 147, 152 righteousness, 4, 5, 6, 11, 50, 58, 63, 70, 84–85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 97, 102, 120, 131, 133, 141–142, 152, 177 n. 76 Romans, 3, 4–5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 18, 30, 45, 46–47, 49–51, 55, 58, 59, 63, 64, 65, 68–71, 72, 73–77, 79–82, 83–84, 85, 86–91, 94, 97, 99, 100–103, 105, 109–116, 118, 120, 121, 123, 125, 130, 131, 132–134, 137–148, 150 Ruether, Rosemary Radford, 3–4, 45 sacrifice, 10, 20, 26, 27, 28, 29, 34, 35, 49, 50 Sanday, William, 171 n. 9 Sanders, E. P., 7–9, 156 nn. 25–26, 166 n. 44, 184 n. 26, 197 n. 20, 198 n. 44 Sarah, 81, 87, 91, 100–101, 102, 128, 129, 191–192 n. 26 Scafuro, Adele C., 27, 165 n. 34, 165 n. 38, 166 n. 39, 168 n. 88 Schneider, David M., 16, 162 n. 85 Schu¨ssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth, 69–70, 128–129, 155 n. 6, 172 n. 23, 182 n. 6, 199 n. 57, 200 nn. 61–62, 200 n. 68, 207 n. 16 Scott, James M., 166 n. 48, 167 n. 56, 167 nn. 64–65, 172 n. 26, 174 nn. 56–58, 177 n. 77, 181–182 n. 2, 182–183 n. 14, 183 nn. 16–18, 183 nn. 20–21, 184 nn. 35–36, 191 n. 18, 191 n. 20

index seed, 16, 20, 74, 80, 81, 88, 94–96, 99–102, 104, 105, 106–107, 112–116, 131, 143, 144 of Abraham, 24, 50, 67, 70, 76, 81, 85, 86, 88–89, 91, 99, 104, 120, 134 ideology of the, 17, 97, 109, 111–112 Seneca, 96, 99, 106 Snowden, Frank, 3–4, 45 sons, 3, 5, 17, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 39, 40, 50, 51, 53, 68–77, 79–82, 83, 84–86, 90, 91, 97, 99, 101, 103, 104, 105, 106, 110, 111, 113, 115, 132, 133, 144, 145, 146, 148, 150 spirit, 7, 38, 41, 42, 67–76, 91, 103, 105, 106, 107, 112, 115, 116, 117, 126, 127, 130, 132, 133, 150, 152, 153 Stanley, Christopher D., 172 n. 17, 178 n. 81 Stendahl, Krister, 7–9, 156 n. 23, 159 n. 54 Stoler, Laura Ann, 162 n. 92, 163 n. 5 Stowers, Stanley K., 9, 27, 51, 59, 61, 82, 142, 157 n. 30, 157 n. 38, 158 n. 40, 158 n. 44, 158 n. 46, 158 n. 49, 162 n. 88, 164 n. 31, 165 n. 33, 165 nn. 35–38, 166 n. 44, 168 n. 83, 169 nn. 101–102, 171 nn. 9–10, 173 n. 31, 173 nn. 33–35, 175 n. 69, 177 n. 79, 179 n. 94, 180 nn. 106–107, 181 n. 112, 182 nn. 9–11, 184 n. 26, 184 n. 39, 185 n. 47, 185 n. 2 (chap. 4), 186 n. 2, 186 n. 11, 186 n. 14, 187 n. 25, 188 n. 30, 189 nn. 34–36, 190 nn. 37–38, 190 n. 5 (chap. 5), 193 n. 42, 194 n. 4, 194 n. 9, 195 n. 21, 198 n. 35, 198 n. 41, 198 n. 44, 199 n. 45, 200 n. 59, 200 n. 66, 201 nn. 70–71, 201 n. 76, 203 n. 10, 203 nn. 16–17, 205 n. 4 Strabo, 52, 170 n. 107, 173 n. 43 Suetonius, 19, 165 n. 33 Testament of Judah, 72, 73, 74, 184 n. 35 Theophrastus, 204 n. 19 Thielman, Frank, 156 n. 13

245

Thomas, Rosalind, 26, 31, 162 n. 91, 164 nn. 21–22, 164 nn. 25–26, 164 n. 29, 167 n. 66, 168 nn. 68–70, 168 n. 85, 169 n. 97, 186 n. 12, 205 n. 2 Thompson, Dorothy, J., 119, 196 n. 13, 196 n. 15 Thornsteinsson, Runar M., 158 n. 44, 158 n. 46, 158 n. 49, 172 n. 19 uncircumcision/uncircumcised, 87, 88, 122, 128, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134 as designation for gentiles, 18, 43, 49, 87, 88, 128, 132, 138, 139, 140 and circumcised, 60–64 as ‘‘foreskin,’’ 44, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 88, 138, 139, 180 nn. 103–105, 201 n. 73, 201 n. 76 universality, 60, 102, 153 Christian, 3–4, 6, 7, 102, 105 inheritance, 70 and particularism, 3–4, 6, 8, 44, 46, 48, 102, 105, 139 Paul’s, 65, 127–128, 139, 152 Vermeulen, Hans, 162 nn. 88–89, 163 n. 7 Virgil, 5, 32, 205 n. 38 Walters, James C., 172 n. 17, 172 n. 19, 183 n. 17 Wan, Sze-kar, 129, 149–150, 200 n. 63, 205 n. 3 Watson, Francis, 156 n. 13, 158 n. 42 Wedderburn, A. J. M., 190 n. 6 Whitmarsh, Tim, 36, 169 n. 95 Williams, Margaret, 166 n. 44 Williams, Sam K., 93, 97, 166 n. 44, 177 n. 76, 182 n. 9, 183 nn. 23–24, 184 n. 26, 187 n. 18, 188 n. 30, 189 nn. 35–36, 190 n. 39, 190 n. 4 (chap. 5), 190 nn. 14–16, 191 n. 16, 192 n. 37, 193 n. 39 Wisdom of Sirach, 188 n. 30, 191 n. 22 Wisdom of Solomon, 51

246

index

Wiseman, T. P., 163 n. 1, 168 nn. 71–72, 168 n. 74 works, 6, 7, 83, 100, 103, of the Law, 58, 87, 133, 176 n. 74 Wright, N. T., 8, 157 nn. 34–35

Yanagisako, Sylvia Junko, 162 n. 93, 163 n. 98, 163 n. 2 (chap. 1) Zanker, Paul, 32, 163 n. 3, 168 n. 75, 168 n. 79