ITALIAN STUDIES ON PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA
Francesca Calabi Editor
BRILL ACADEMIC PUBLISHERS, INC.
ITALIAN STUDIES ON PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA
ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN AND MEDIEVAL TEXTS AND CONTEXTS GENERAL EDITORS Jacob Neusner Robert Berchman
STUDIES IN PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA AND MEDITERRANEAN ANTIQUITY
EDITED BY Robert Berchman, Dowling College, Oakdale, NY Francesca Calabi, Università di Pavia, Pavia, Italy
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EDITORIAL BOARD K. Corrigan, Emory University, Atlanta, USA L. H. Feldman, Yeshiva University, New York, NY, USA M. Hadas-Lebel, La Sorbonne, Paris, France C. Lévy, La Sorbonne, Paris, France T. Rajak, University of Reading, United Kingdom E. Starobinski-Safran, Université de Genève, Switzerland L. Troiani, Universita’ di Pavia, Pavia, Italy
ITALIAN STUDIES ON PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA
EDITED BY
FRANCESCA CALABI
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Italian studies on Philo of Alexandria / edited by Francesca Calabi. p. cm. — (Studies in Philo of Alexandria and Mediterranean antiquity, ISSN 1543–995X ; v. 1) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN 0–391–04189–4 (hardcover) 1. Philo, of Alexandria. I. Calabi, Francesca, 1948– II. Series: Studies in Philo of Alexandria and Mediterranean antiquity (Brill Academic Publishers); v. 1. B689.Z7185 2003 181'.06—dc21 2003002081
ISSN 1543–995X ISBN 0–391–04189–4 © Copyright 2003 by Brill Academic Publishers, Inc., Boston All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy item for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910 Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change.
CONTENTS Introduction ................................................................................ Francesca Calabi Chapter One: Philo of Alexandria and Christianity at Its Origins .......................................................................... Lucio Troiani Chapter Two: Upon Philo’s Biblical Text and the Septuagint ................................................................................ Anna Passoni Dell’Acqua Chapter Three: The Image of Israel in the Writings of Philo of Alexandria ............................................................ Liliana Rosso Ubigli Chapter Four: Between Pindar and Philo: The Delos Quotation (Aet. 120–122) ...................................................... Enrica Salvaneschi Chapter Five: Theatrical Language in Philo’s In Flaccum ...... Francesca Calabi Chapter Six: The “Mysteries” in Philo of Alexandria ............ Angela Maria Mazzanti Chapter Seven: The Stability of Perfection: The Image of the Scales in Philo of Alexandria .................................... Paola Graffigna Chapter Eight: Philo and the Nazirite .................................... Antonio Cacciari Chapter Nine: The “Nameless Principle” from Philo to Plotinus. An Outline of Research .................................... Roberto Radice
1 9 25 53 75 91 117 131 147 167
Index of Philonic Passages ........................................................ 183 Index of Modern Scholars ........................................................ 189
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INTRODUCTION F C This collection of essays aims to give an outline of the Italian research on Philo of Alexandria. It does not claim to be complete nor exhaustive. There are other Italian scholars besides the contributors to this volume who are conducting important studies, but I would say that the main trends of current research are here represented. I think that a presentation of Italian scholarship on Philo in an American series is required as there are thorough and important works which are not read for language reasons. Of course, I know very well that in this book there will be expressions which will sound odd or funny to English speaking people and there will probably be also real linguistic mistakes. I apologize for this, but I think however, that it is worthwhile to take these risks and to introduce Italian research to a wider public. Over the past few years the research on Philo in Italy has had a new lease of life. The studies on the subject already have a sound tradition in books such as C. Kraus Reggiani’s Filone alessandrino e un’ora tragica della storia ebraica, Napoli, 1967 which is an analysis and a translation of the In Flaccum and of the Legatio ad Caium, A. Maddalena’s Filone alessandrino, Milano, 1970 which aims to give a comprehensive picture of Philo, R. Radice’s Platonismo e creazionismo in Filone di Alessandria, Milano, 1989, A. Mazzanti’s L’uomo nella cultura religiosa del tardo-antico tra etica e ontologia, Bologna, 1990, F. Calabi’s Linguaggio e legge di Dio. Interpretazione e politica in Filone di Alessandria, Ferrara, 1998 (transl. The Language and the law of God. Interpretation and Politics in Philo of Alexandria, Atlanta, GA, 1998). R. Radice’s Filone di Alessandria. Bibliografia generale 1937–1982, Napoli, 1983, which was updated in R. Radice and D. T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria. An annotated Bibliography 1937–1988, Leiden, 1988 is an important bibliographical tool and is a model for the Bibliography of Philonic Studies of “Studia Philonica Annual.” Translations and commentaries were conducted by G. Reale and his school in the Commentario allegorico, a translation of many of the
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works of Philo made from 1986 to 1994. The translations, accompanied by notes and commentaries, are by C. Kraus Reggiani, R. Radice, C. Mazzarelli, G. Calvetti, R. Bigatti. Other translations are edited by P. Graffigna: La vita contemplativa (Genova, 1992) and La vita di Mosè (Milano, 1999). Moreover, many studies were published in journals or are included in general works on the history of ancient philosophy. A reference to these works can be found in the review of A. Mazzanti (Ricerche su Filone alessandrino, “Adamantius. Notiziario del Gruppo italiano di ricerca su ‘Origene e la tradizione alessandrina’” 3, 1997, pp. 8–12). Looking at the dates of composition of the quoted works we can easily see that many of them were written in the last ten-fifteen years and the more recent the date, the larger the number of works produced. In fact, the interest in Philo is growing and he is now being studied from different points of view and from different perspectives by scholars belonging to different disciplines. Thus, also the articles in the present book are conducted with various approaches: historical, linguistic, philological, philosophical, as the contributors work within different fields of study. The complexity of Philo requires a multifaceted study and our aim in writing this book was exactly this: to give an analysis which tried to trace Philo’s thought in its different components and implications. Troiani’s “Philo of Alexandria and Christianity” is a historical analysis. It stresses that the evidence given us by Philo on the Judaism of his time seems to be important in order to correct some commonly-held beliefs regarding the historical genesis of Christianity. Troiani discusses the notion of Christianity as “religion” in relation with the conceptions of the Graeco-Roman world. He speaks of the relations between Jewish culture and pagan writers, stressing in particular the late and slight diffusion of the Bible in the Roman world and the knowledge that the Latin authors had of Jewish tradition: they knew the Jewish way of life rather than Moses’ law. The paper deals with the impact of Jesus’ preaching on Jewish communities. “Could faith in the miraculous resurrection put an end to the long season of hate, of tensions and division in the practice of the law? Had the past opposing positions on the law, with their respective anathemas, been for ever overcome by faith? Can we better understand the spirit of Paul’s letters in the light of these prospective possibilities? We can observe that the large and progressive city of Alexandria, which was the home of a consistent and heterogeneous
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Jewish community, is never mentioned amongst the various stages of Paul’s journeys. We can only think that those Judaic environments that had most distanced themselves from the regime of the scribes, the Pharisees and the high priests, acted as propagative centres for the new Christian proclamation.” A. Passoni examines the biblical text used by Philo, who considers the Septuagint as authoritative as the original Hebrew text. The problem of biblical quotations in Philo’s works has been studied since the end of the seventeenth century. Many of these works were based on critical editions previous to the ones which are now commonly used. The present paper gives a short account of these works and deals with many questions which are still open such as, for example, the problem of how the Bible was quoted in the first century. Other unanswered questions concern the influence of the Midrashic tradition on the trasmission and the exegesis of the biblical text, the textual tradition of the Septuagint and of Philo’s works. A comparison is made between the biblical quotations in the first book of the Legum Allegoriae and in the Göttingen Septuagint. The essay by L. Rosso Ubigli aims to show the historical and religious conception of Israel in the writings of Philo of Alexandria with special attention to On the Special Laws. Reference is also made to Against Flaccus and On the Embassy to Gaius. In the first part of her article, the authoress examines the terminology referring to Jews (or Israel) in Philo’s writings. She then gives a quick outline of Israel’s historical tradition and the Exodus (in relation to which the theme of polyanthropia comes to light) and moves on to discuss Moses and the corpus of Scriptures attributed to him. Subsequently, she sketches a historical-political picture of Judaism in Philo’s time and illustrates the new notion of Israel which is defined in his writings and which is notably founded on the Law and monotheism. Finally, she focuses her attention on the religious conception of Israel. In this section, the importance of the Decalogue emerges. It is seen as the summa of general principles within which the totality of the Law is reorganized. It is interesting to note the procedure used in reinterpreting the purity rules, which are linked to this or that item of the Decalogue. In conclusion, Rosso Ubigli highlights the intermediary role taken on by Israel with respect to the other populations. E. Salvaneschi’s paper examines in detail one of the three Philonic quotations of Pindar: Aet. 120–122 (fr. 33c Snell-Maehler), concerning
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the transformation of Delos from a wandering to a steady island. After a survey both of the Pindaric (and extra-Pindaric) sources of the same myth and of the peculiarity of Philo’s interpretation, it checks and commentates the Philonian occurrences of ainittesthai (and cognate words); they appear to be a key to an interpretative theory of the textual meaning, where heathen poetical tradition sometimes merges into biblical authority. As a consequence, the philological inquiry suggests a possible perspective on the history of ideas and a tantalizing question is put to the reader: Pindar as Moses? F. Calabi’s paper analyzes Philo’s use of the theatrical metaphors used to trace the portrait of the emperor and of some political characters such as Flaccus. Philo often uses terms like actor, mime and stage, showing a negative conception of theatre. These terms are not used just as poetical images, they reflect a special point of view which is particularly significant, as theatre and circus performances are very important in Hellenistic and Roman life. In the background we have the classical Athenian conception of political life as public life before the assembly, the notion of theatre as rousing emotions, the Stoic idea of human life as a show on the stage of the world, the Jewish distrust of performances seen as occasions of idolatry and the Platonic idea of a double level of reality and of knowledge: the sphere of truth and virtue and the sphere of falsehood, appearances and simulation. A. M. Mazzanti deals with some Philonic passages in which a terminology typical of the mysteries is used. Scholars widely differ in their interpretation, ranging from the claim that Jewish Mysteries do exist to the consideration of the use of certain terms only as literary formulae. Philo expresses a negative evaluation of the pagan rituals. On the other hand, the mysteries of God acquire their value in that they lead to the knowledge of the divine, which is not only theoretical but also historical. The setting of an ontological relationship is also considered. An ethical perfection emerges, determined by the formation of a harmonious ordering of the components of the human nature. The perspective is that of a happiness open to all those that seek it. The connection with recurrent basic philonic theses is evident. It is therefore worth pointing out the singularity of the use of aforesaid terminology. P. Graffigna’s work is primarily a lexical analysis of the image of scales in Philo’s work and is part of more extensive research on the ethical value of stability in Philo. The image of scales is customary in the author’s work and expresses the instability of the human intel-
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lect and its useless search for equilibrium. The image of a ship tossed without respite in stormy seas and unable to find tranquillity is often added: according to Philo, human intellect, as the two images suggest, is continuously subject to uncertainty and wavering. Thus, it must act through its willpower in order to steer this movement towards the stillness of contemplation, typical only of God himself. True stability is, according to Philo, to reach God and therefore to proceed to a high level of contemplation, while abandoning the low level: sensation. Hence the human intellect will be able to enjoy stability and peace, virtues of perfection, which can be reached only by those who have God as their model—as in the case of Abraham. Next to these we have people who, like Lot and Cain, yield to the weight of sensation, the wavering of which ends up with the final withdrawal from God. A number of threads intertwine in the unfolding of Philo’s thought around the image of the scales: first of all Plato in Phaedrus, the Aristotelian notion of immobility, attributed to God and the concept of mesotes, the Stoic meditation on stability which is endowed upon the soul. Notwithstanding possible philosophical influences, Philo plainly stresses the capability of human intellect to move freely towards God with an action that expresses its search for happiness. Happiness is peace and unity before God, plus lack of passion and impulses, and thus stability or, even better, the stability of perfection. A. Cacciari maintains that the treatment of naziriteship within Philo’s writings is no doubt important; it is attested by several passages of his works and seems to be a noteworthy example of his method of survey on biblical texts. As a matter of fact, while expounding Numbers 6—the text of reference about naziriteship—Philo apparently follows the same path of rabbinical literature, with two main differences: a) he introduces the categories of Greek philosophy— chiefly Stoicism—in order to explain the nazirite’s peculiarity; 2) he puts the stress on the special character of the nazirite’s vow, which consists in offering himself. For R. Radice the inversion in the meaning given to the ‘namelessness’ of the Principle between Plato and Plotinus does not flow only from their conceptions of the expressive power of a name. That did not change greatly. Rather, it follows from a profound change in the overall understanding of the Principle, which is no longer posited in the ontological sphere, but in the henological. It therefore requires a new theory of naming, and specifically a negative
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characterization which can be described as being ‘above words.’ “This has ethical and existential consequences in that it opens up the spiritual conditions for the intuition of God and for contact with him, though it does not reveal his nature and essence. Hence, this is a way that is always open and never concluded. At this point, Radice wonders when this transformation came about. A first point of reference could be Philo of Alexandria together with the Middle Pythagoreanism, the Middle Platonism, Numenius and the Gnostics.” Contributors A. Cacciari specialized in Latin Language and Literature. He has chiefly studied ancient Christianity in connection with both Classical and Jewish thought, and in particular: Justin Martyr. Since 1989 he has been taking part in a research project directed by Prof. U. Mattioli about “Old Age in the Classical, Jewish and Christian World.” He is studying also the Greek Bible and joins in a research project which aims at a complete translation into Italian of the Septuagint (Numeri LXX. Intr., trad. e note a c. di A.C., in: AA.VV., La Bibbia greca dei LXX, vol. I, Pentateuco, a c. di L. Mortari, Roma, Ed. Dehoniane, 1999; Siracide . Intr., trad. e note a c. di A.C., in: AA.VV., La Bibbia greca dei LXX, vol. III, Libri Sapienziali [work in progress]). F. Calabi teaches Philosophy in Late Antiquity at the University of Pavia. She studied with M. Dal Pra and M. Vegetti. She works on Philo, on whom she has written many papers and a monograph (The Language and the Law of God. Interpretation and Politics in Philo of Alexandria, Atlanta Georgia, Scholars Press, 1998). She has also studied the Greek political thought, writing in particular about Aristotle (La città dell’oikos. La ‘Politia’ di Aristotele, Lucca, Pacini Pazzi, 1984) and collaborating in a new translation and commentary of Plato’s Republic. She has also edited an Italian translation with commentary of the Letter of Aristeas and of Josephus’ Contra Apionem. P. Graffigna teaches Greek and Latin at Genova. Since many years she is studying Philo and she has written many essays on the works of the Alexandrian. She translated with introduction and commentary De vita contemplativa and De vita Mosis. She is also interested in late antiquity literature and philosophy, in particular the neoplatonic bishop Synesius of Cyrene, whose treatise De regno she has recently translated.
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A. M. Mazzanti teaches History of religions at the University of Bologna. She specializes in anthropological research in the sources of the Hellenistic period, in particular with reference to the Judaic authors of the Diaspora, the Middle-platonic philosophers, and the treatises of the Corpus Hermeticum. Her main subjects of research are the genesis of man, his ontology (also in relation to the presence of evil) and soteriological perspectives. The adopted religious-historical methodology (freely drawing on comparative approaches) includes not only the survey of connections clearly attested in a context in which differentiated cultural matrixes meet, but also, and in particular, examination of original data. A. Passoni Dell’Acqua teaches biblical Philology at the Università Cattolica di Milano. She studied with E. R. Galbiati and O. Montevecchi. She works on the philological and literary study of the biblical Text and the apocryphal literature of the Old Testament. She has published an introduction to the textual criticism of the New Testament (Il testo del Nuovo Testamento, ElleDiCi, Torino-Leumann 1994), and an Italian translation with introduction and commentary of the Third Book of Maccabees (in Apocrifi dell’Antico Testamento IV, Paideia, Brescia, 2000). The main field of her research is the version. She specialized in lexical surveys in biblical Greek in comparison with Hellenistic Greek and in particular with the language of Egyptian Greek papyri. She is also interested in the legal-political issues of Jewish communities in Egyptian Diaspora. R. Radice teaches History of Ancient Philosophy at the Università Cattolica di Milano. He worked on Philo, translating into Italian and writing commentaries on many of the author’s works. He has written many essays and a monograph on the theme of the creation of the world. He has also worked on Aristotle’s Metaphysics, on Aristobulus, on Stoic thought. He prepared a commentary on Philo’s Legum Allegoriae (Paradigmi morali e allegoria in Filone di Alessandria. Commentario al Legum allegoriae, Introduction by C. Kraus Reggiani, Milano, 2000). L. Rosso Ubigli teaches Jewish Hellenistic Literature at the University of Torino. She studied with P. Sacchi. Her interests concern Judaism in the Hellenistic-Roman Age in its multiple literary and linguistic manifestations (Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek). In particular she works on the writings of the Qumran community and the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. She has edited the Italian translation, with introduction and commentary, of the Aramaic fragments of Enoch’s book discovered in Qumran and the translation with introduction and
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commentary of the Life of Adam and Eve in Greek—also known as The Apocalypse of Moses—, and The Life of Adam and Eve in Latin, as well as the two Greek recensions of The Testament of Abraham and The Sibylline Oracles (Book Three). E. Salvaneschi is Professor of Comparative Literature at the University of Genova. In her critical activity she is chiefly interested in this subject, especially from the point of view of semantic analysis. She is the author of monographs and essays concerning ancient (Greek, Latin, biblical Hebrew), medieval (Latin, Italian, middle Irish) and modern (Italian, English) texts. In particular, she has translated into Italian with interpretative essays the Song of Songs and an Irish text concerning the legend of Enoch. She is also author of a short commentary to the fragments of Aristobulos and of an essay on Colum Cille. Two monographies concern the idea of “crumb” (Briciola. Storia fantastica di un’idea) and some important words (and “catchwords”) in different literary traditions (Ritorno di parole). L. Troiani is Professor of Roman History at the University of Pavia. For many years he has being studying the historical literature in Greek of Oriental-Greek origin, produced during the Hellenistic and Roman period. In particular he works on Josephus. He gained his background training at the school of historians such as Elias J. Bickerman, Arnaldo Momigliano and Emilio Gabba, and has particularly analyzed the historical and cultural outline of Graeco-Roman Judaism and of the Christianity at its origins. On these themes he has written many monographs and essays, such as a book on Philo of Byblos and one on Christian forgiveness, a historical commentary to Josephus’ Against Apion, plus an Italian translation of the writings of Judaic literature in Greek.
CHAPTER ONE
PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA AND CHRISTIANITY AT ITS ORIGINS L T I would like to begin with a proverb I know from Pliny the Elder (nat. hist. 35,85): ne supra crepidam sutor (“shoemaker, do not raise your head above your sandal). Indeed, dealing with the early development of Christianity obliges one to make a rigorous distinction between levels and roles. I shall confine myself here to the typical reasoning of the historian who, by training and owing to the tools he uses, does not know and does not wish to penetrate the meaning of events in a subject in which there is a shared and consolidated tradition of faith. The common heritage of believers must be kept apart from the historical reconstruction. By definition, the latter must confine itself to patiently seeking and collecting, on the basis of the ancient sources utilized, information that throws a glimmer of light on the darkness in which the first decades of the spread of the Christian doctrine are shrouded: specifically, the period running from the crucifixion and resurrection to the travels of St. Paul. Historical investigation analyses the surface manifestation of past events, which thus appear perpetually changeful. However, the level of theological reflection on the subject of New Testament writings is very different. As Philo of Alexandria would say, the former investigates luck, which “is the most inconstant thing in the world”; the second investigates nature, which is “the most constant thing in the world”.1 Now, precisely such an author as Philo and, in particular, the work conventionally entitled Embassy to Gaius, appears to have been little exploited in order to reconstruct the decades in question. Yet, the historic references made by this author to Judaism were contemporaneous to the early spread of the kerygma. Abbreviations: GLAJJ = M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, vols. I–III, Jerusalem 1976–1984. 1 Philo of Alexandria, Embassy to Gaius §§1–2.
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1. Despite the interesting nature of this subject and the large numbers of studies available (even the most exhaustive), there are some fundamental questions that remain unresolved in the modern studies on the origins of Christianity. The historical answers given to basic questions, such as the primitive identity and spread of Christianity, seem to be relatively straightforward. For example, in both school books and monographs, it is repeated that Christianity is a religion. Now, the fact that it is such for us does not mean that it was so for the contemporaries of Domitian Caesar or Tacitus. We would first have to ascertain whether the Christian movement had, at the time of its foundation, the necessary attributes to be numbered as one of the (many) “religions” in the Greek and Roman world (and this evaluation must be carried out independently of the meaning that the word started to assume after the propagation of the movement). Again, we can say that, with the apostle Paul, the Christian doctrine apparently spread amongst the peoples, in other words, amongst the pagans, without weighing up the objections of a historical and textual nature raised by this point of view. It would have been extremely unlikely that Paul’s theological speculations, so complex and sophisticated, so rich in references and allusions to the sacred text, which are constantly based on specific passages taken from the scriptures, would find supporters or involve “gentiles” who, even if they were not totally ignorant of the contents of the Bible, could scarcely decipher the values required to understand Paul’s exegesis, brought up as they were on the texts of the classics. On the other hand, recognition of Jesus as the Christ, as the Messiah and son of God, his role as the final product of a divine plan to save Israel, which had already been revealed to the prophets— as is theorized, although with a different perspective, by the New Testament writers—is the fruit of in-depth speculations on the writings that cannot but derive from the complexities and multi-faceted nature of Greek and Roman Judaism. In the long list of Greek and Latin writers who have dealt with Judaism, we do not find any explicit evidence of Bible reading and speculation on this work. A writer with a sincerely irenical approach, such as the anonymous author of the Letter of Aristaeas, actually had to justify the lack of mention of the texts of the scriptures in the Greek historians with an argument which was unanswerable: the fact that they were sacred. We have to wait until the so-called Anonymous Author of De Sublimitate (perhaps the first century ..) to find a (very short) quotation from
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the Bible in Greek and Roman authors. The quotation actually gives the impression of having been taken from a manual on style.2 Josephus Flavius, again at the end of the first century .., laments the fact that the educated people who informed public opinion were largely ignorant of the traditional Jewish writings and, in the monumental summa of ancient thought contained in Diogenes Laertius’ Lives of the Philosophers, there is no mention of the Jewish philosophical tradition. Plutarch discusses some details of Jewish worship, on the basis, perhaps, of direct observation, but fails to give any information whatsoever on the scriptural traditions. Writers of the calibre of Tacitus and Juvenal stress the esoteric nature of the Jewish culture; the former offers six versions of the origins of the Jews, although at no point does he openly draw on or show that he knows of the existence of a Jewish historic tradition. Juvenal (60–130 ..), perhaps from his observation of a Jewish family from the capital, condenses his information on the transmission of the law of Moses with the phrase “everything that Moses bequeathed in an arcane book”.3 This difficulty is usually overcome by postulating the existence of a group of people who sympathised with Jewish and monotheistic practices, which had, for some time, been associated with the world of Abraham and Moses. It is a fact that texts of various origins, coming from different sources—from rabbinical literature to the classical and New Testament texts–provide evidence as to the existence of this class.4 Now these “God-fearing persons” have been determinedly excluded from the world of Judaism, in the backwash of an interpretation of the New Testament that confines the Jewish identity to a restricted circle of “authorized personnel,” as one might say, and likewise in the wake of the Mishnaic treatises that compound the error of identifying the whole of Judaism during the early centuries of Christianity with the regulatory, rabbinical variety. However, as clearly emerges from the evidence of Philo of Alexandria, Greek-Roman Judaism was cosmopolitan and international, deep-rooted through generations in the life and institutions of the individual cities to which those who practised it belonged. In Embassy
Letter of Aristaeas §§312–317, GLAJJ no. 148. Cf. Plutarch, Quaestiones Convivales 669C–672B = GLAJJ no. 281. Tacitus, Historiae 5,2 = GLAJJ no. 281. Juvenal, Saturae 14,96–106 = GLAJJ no. 301. 4 In my opinion, the best and most fully documented discussion of the question is provided by Stern, GLAJJ no. 301. 2
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to Gaius, the Jewish community in Alexandria is presented as “a part of the Alexandrians.” Gaius Caesar was able to show Agrippa I his astonished censure of the scruples of Jewish life that his friend was supposedly enamoured of (§182; cf. §157 and 350; §268). The Jewish citizens of the infinite cities of the Greek and Roman world, from Egypt to Phoenicia, from Syria to Coelesyria, from Pamphylia to Cicilia, from Bithynia to Pontus, from Thessaly to Boeotia, from Macedonia to Aetolia, from Attica to Peloponnesus, from Euboea to Cyprus and Crete—to say it with the words of Philo—had been “cohabiting” for generations in the city with the other citizens. Again, following the words of Philo, they were defined, within the individual cities, not as “Jews,” but as “those who boasted that they followed the practices of the Jews” (§370). The Alexandrian author knows full well that, for the Jews in Rome, “Jewish citizenship” did not mean that they could not be “Roman” citizens (§157). In particular, starting from the fundamental research carried out by Jean Juster, the juridical aspects of the “citizenship” required by the Jews in the ancient cities began to be studied: from Ephesus to Sardis, from Cyrene to Alexandria. One wonders whether they had equal rights and status to all the other citizens. The discussion ends up obscuring another aspect, which is perhaps not of lesser importance: the communities wanted and felt themselves to be an integral part of public life and of the institutions. This circumstance allows us to consider the cultural and historical milieu of the Epistles of St. Paul in a different way. Indeed, there are indications (in Paul’s Letters, and in the Acts of the Apostles) that those who heard the Christian message were neither simple nor neophytes. The citizens of Beroea are described as having directly checked the truth of Paul’s declarations in the text of the Bible;5 Paul is presented as an arbiter in scriptural disputes and has to constantly reconfirm the divine origin of his authority.6 On the other hand, the class of sympathisers, who were particularly in vogue during the years following the fundamental research studies of Jacob Bernays and Emil Schürer, is now given less credit (a circumstance that recurs with great regularity in the history of our studies, with its cyclical rituals of acceptance and rejection).
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Acts of the Apostles 17,11. Cf. especially 1 Corinthians 1,10–17; 2 Corinthians 3; Galatians 1,11–14.
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Thomas Kraabel entitled an article published in the journal “Numen” in 1981 “The disappearance of the God-fearing”.7 Evidence of the rise in number of pagan sympathisers attracted to Judaism was sought (and found) in the contemporary Greek and Latin literature, when it speaks of Jews and Jewish practices. The Graeco-Latin authors, voicing the traditional worries of the conformists and patriots with regard to beliefs and ideologies that they believed could compromise the values of society and thus its stability, came to the aid of this conception. Their presumed worries are interpreted as a sign of the spread of Jewish practices and beliefs. These interpretations are, at times, rather forced. For example, Horace’s comparison of the flock of poets—who could come to his aid—to the Jews, who would oblige people to enter the group, does not necessarily show that there was any wish to acquire proselytes but, as seen by an outside observer, rather a desire to maintain the compactness and cohesion of the community.8 Moreover, the historian must distinguish between times and places. The worries of Tacitus about the dangers presented by international Judaism and by those who were converted to its practices must be set in the context of the psychological climate that was created following the ripples caused by the recent war with Rome. 2. “To proclaim,” for the first Christian missionaries, meant to make known a doctrine based on the sacred scriptures. These contain—as Josephus says—history, prophets and precepts (Against Apion I,39–40). As Philo testifies, the Judaism of the Diaspora, which coexisted with Jesus and his life, defined the comment on the sacred scriptures as education in the “philosophy of the fatherland.” The doctrine of Paul appears to be the product of long familiarity and assiduous study of the scriptures, made up of debates and disputes amongst the followers of the law of Moses: “when, meeting in the synagogues, especially on the sacred seventh day, they are publicly instructed in the philosophy of their fatherland” (Embassy to Gaius §156). Now, the ancient Greek and Roman contemporaries of Jesus who left us the memory of their religious sentiments provide evidence that the Christian faith, which centred on the kerygma, in other words, the proclamation—making known in public a message of redemption and liberation, (the “good news”)—did not belong to
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Ed. Will-Cl. Orrieux, “Proselytisme Juif ”? Histoire d’une erreur, Paris 1992. GLAJJ no. 127.
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the religious sphere. For the ancient peoples, the “proclaiming” of any truth belonged to the language of the philosophers. For example, in the first book of Cicero’s De natura deorum, the Epicurean Velleius presents the principles of his own doctrine as good news for humanity. His revelation allows one to awake and free oneself from fear. Another Epicurean, Diogenes from Oenoanda in Caria left his message of redemption and liberation inscribed on a stone. For him, the doctrine of Epicurus frees man from fear, which spreads like a pestilence, infecting men. In his opinion, men follow in the footsteps of others exactly like sheep.9 Now, the religion of the Greeks and Romans normally refers to the ritual formulae as “sacred texts.” This is because the religion of the Graeco-Roman world was not based on a doctrine. It consisted in worship, ceremonies, prayers and rites. For this reason, for the contemporaries of Cicero and Horace, speculations on the nature of the divine (quality, form, existence) did not belong to the religious sphere, but to the philosophical one. Those who read the prologue of Cicero’s treatise De natura deorum will note that, for the orator, the whole question relating to the divine, whether it exists or what form it takes or whether it has any influence on the affairs of humans, belongs to the field of philosophical speculation.10 The Roman senator, feeling himself to be near to death, called a philosopher to his bedside to comfort him, not a priest. Religion, for Cicero, is the worship of a god, the recognition of a divine power through the establishment of a cult. The content of the leges de religione, drawn up by the orator in the treatise De legibus, consists exclusively of rules on worship, and procedures for performing rites and ceremonies and celebrating feast days. For this reason, the ancient authors much more commonly use the word in its plural form. There did not exist an abstract religion so much as individual cults. Religions consisted in ritual, in sacred objects, in the liturgical formulae with which the veneration of the divinity was celebrated. When supernatural powers manifest themselves to man, it is he who must “establish the religion,” in other words, set up the cult in question. In the ancient world, religion did not delve into the origins and meaning of divine intervention; in other words, into the reasons
9 C. W. Chilton, Diogenis Oenoandensis fragmenta, Leipzig 1967. A. Casanova, I frammenti di Diogene di Enoanda, Florence 1984. 10 L. Troiani, La religione e Cicerone, “Rivista Storica Italiana” 96 (1984) 920–952.
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for the manifestation of divine power. As a consequence, religion and the priests do not question themselves as to the nature of the divine, but about the forms of the creed and compliance with it. In Cicero’s treatise De natura deorum, Cotta, the pontiff, has no compunction in maintaining that philosophical speculations on God and his existence do not concern him in the slightest. When faced with uncertainties and the contradictory and precarious nature of philosophical postulates about the divine, he anchors himself to the cardinal point represented by the ritual and ceremony passed down by his ancestors. A fact that for us seems even more surprising is that Cicero assigns to this very person, who is a pontiff, the job of demolishing the Stoic’s theory whereby Divine Providence interferes with human affairs. In the Letter that Pliny the Younger sent to Trajan in relation to the attitude he should take during the trials of the Christians from Bithynia, the religious and ritual aspect of Christianity is what seems to strike and worry Caesar’s legate the least. The Christians are here portrayed as adepts of a secret society. What identifies them before authority and triggers his worries is not the fact that they belong to a religious cult. The fact that, at dawn, they sang hymns to Christ “almost as if he were a god,” is actually given as a mitigating point.11 For Pliny, the illegality of Christianity did not consist in the fact that it was the worship of a god; if anything, it was the fact that they refused to comply with the most widespread practices whereby deference and homage was shown either to the earthly or heavenly authorities. The Christians were persecuted not for having introduced a new religion, but due to their intention to abolish all religions. For the Greeks and Romans, who were brought up to worship the “gods,” they were actually “atheists”: not because they did not “believe” (as we would say in anachronistic terms) in God, but because they did not render the customary homage to the city’s divinities. For the ancients, believing in God or in the Original Cause was a question of philosophical, not religious, convictions. So before speaking of the relationship between Christianity and Graeco-Roman religion, we must first tackle a problem of definition. Is it legitimate to judge Graeco-Roman religion and Christianity as being two homogeneous entities and, thus, entities that can be compared?12 Pliny the Younger, Epistulae X, 96,7. For example, L. Troiani, La religione nel mondo romano in Various Authors, Introduzione alla Storia di Roma, Milan 2000, 535–560. 11
12
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3. The evidence from Embassy to Gaius is of help also as regards a second fundamental historical question: the generalised spread of the Christian kerygma from Judaea to the whole of the Graeco-Roman world. A few preliminary details should be given about the historicalpolitical situation in the region in Jesus’ time. First and foremost, in the places Jesus preached, the “classical” world had only penetrated superficially.13 The overall picture, which the historian Josephus (one of the key sources for reconstructing the environments of primitive Christianity) gives of the province of Judaea in the times of Jesus shows us a nation aware of its own identity. The ruling class was divided in their acceptance of the occupying troops. The so-called Herodians, in other words, those groups that more openly collaborated and were considered “sinners” by the orthodox,14 were trying and had tried to appeal to one of the inspiring principles of the reign of Herod (37–4 ...): to give the country a gloss of Hellenization in order to ward off violent and exaggerated oppression by the occupying foreigners. On the other hand, the places where Jesus carried out his activities differed as regards tradition and history. Galilee formed the stage for his preaching activities. In his time one of Herod’s sons was on the throne while, in Judaea, Caesar Augustus had preferred to place a governor of equestrian rank, after having deposed Herod Archelaous in 6 .., a ruler who had inherited Judaea and Samaria from his father’s kingdom.15 So, in the times of Jesus, Galilee had a different regime and administration from Judaea. In the Gospel of St. Luke, Pilate, the Roman prefect, notes that the Jesus affair came under the jurisdiction of Herod Antipas (Luke 23,7). Especially in the Gospel of St. John, Jesus’ troubled stays in Judaea, where the “Judaeans” supposedly tried to kill him, and his preference for being in Galilee are stressed.16 As testified by the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and John amongst other sources, Galilee must have been very different, politically, cul13 Cf. instead M. Hengel, L’ “Ellenizzazione” della Giudea nel I secolo d.C., Italian edition edited by G. Firpo, Brescia 1993. 14 E. J. Bickerman, Les Hérodiens, Studies in Jewish and Christian History, vol. III, Leiden 1986, 22–33. 15 E. Schürer, Storia del popolo giudaico al tempo di Gesù Cristo, vol. I, Brescia 1985, 221–227. 16 E. J. Bickerman, Utilitas Crucis, Studies, cit., vol. III, 113–125.
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turally and ethnically-speaking, from Judaea.17 In the famous gospel episode where Peter repents for having denied Jesus after his arrest, the identity of this apostle’s native land becomes quite clear (Matt. 26, 73; Mark 14,70; Luke 22,59). From the evidence given by Josephus, the Jewish historian sent to Galilee by the revolutionary government of Jerusalem to stem the advance of the legions of Vespasian, we have reason to suppose that, even in the climate of euphoria and exaltation created by the revolutionary war (we are now at the beginning of the first Jewish revolt against Rome), there was no lack of divergences and differences of assessment between the Jerusalem authorities and the Galileans. In this region, Josephus had to exercise all his diplomacy and all his tact—so he assures us— in the performance of his duties as a plenipotentiary on behalf of the Jerusalem authorities. One of his harshest enemies, in writing and political ideas, was a Galilean, Justus of Tiberias. One of the orders given to Josephus by the Jerusalem authorities required that he destroy the palace of Herod, the tetrarch of the region, and cope with the massacre this would entail. Here “there were pictures of animals, whereas our laws forbid us to make things of this nature”.18 Justus, the Galilean historian, would throw Josephus’ extremist past in his face, over twenty years after the war, and would boast of his own connections with the court and the more moderate environments. Probably, in 66 .., on the eve of the outbreak of war, a part of Galilean public opinion would have felt Josephus’ words as having the authority of the occupying troops. This historic-cultural setting cannot be ignored when we evaluate the situations described in the Gospels. Whatever specific judgement we wish to make, the doctrine and the teachings of Jesus were revolutionary and directed against the “authorities of Jerusalem and the Judaeans.” The historical-cultural background, as depicted in the Gospels, shows that Judaea was in the hands of a ferocious and sclerotic oligarchy, which was jealous of its privileges, and apparently devoid of authority over the masses. It moreover directed that the Law of Moses was to be adhered to in an unthinkably rigorous fashion. The philosopher Celsus introduces us to one Jew (perhaps living M. Goodman, State and Society in Roman Galilee, Cambridge 1983. Josephus, Autobiography §§65 and 367; cf. the comment by G. Jossa, Flavio Giuseppe, Autobiografia, introduzione, traduzione e note, Naples 1992. 17
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during the second century ..), who maintained that, to a part of his contemporaries, the Christian doctrine appeared to be an outright rebellion against the authorities. The German philosopher Hegel, in one of his early theological writings, found it justifiable to maintain that one of the reasons for the success of Christianity under the Empire consisted in the despotism of the Caesars. It is a fact that, in the New Testament, there is a frequent use of the term “freedom of speech” and its derivates ( parrhesia). This was, as one might say, the slogan used by the apostles in the places where they carried out their mission.19 With our indications as to the historical frame of reference in the places where Jesus preached, we touch upon the question of the spread of the Christian religion. We shall start by summarizing the facts which are known to all of us. After the crucifixion and the resurrection, the missionaries’ field of action moved outside Judaea. As Tacitus observed, Christianity did not spread only in its land of origin. After an early attempt at repression in loco, “the deadly superstition” had overflowed its banks and burst through to the city of the Caesars.20 At this point, we hear mention of the travels of the Apostle Paul in Greece, Macedonia, Asia Minor, Syria and Rome. So, this was a movement that had taken on an international character and dimension from the moment of its birth. The missionaries were not urging people to worship a new “god,” but delivering an “announcement” connected with the history of Israel. In all the places he visited, Paul’s fixed reference point is “the synagogue of the Jews”; the refrain is the fulfilment of the prophetic passages in the Bible relating to the coming of Jesus. We may ask how this announcement, in the space of around two decades, could have so deeply involved people and spread so thoroughly throughout the Mediterranean world. In Paul’s interpretation, the message freed the people from the Laws of Moses; it was a message inspired by the principle of “freedom of speech,” which concerned exclusively the history of Israel, past and present. It is revisited in the light of the divine plan which involved the sacrifice
19 Hegel, Theologische Jugenschriften, ed. H. Nohl (1907), 227; cf. E. J. Bickerman, Darius I, Pseudo-Smerdis and the Magi “Athenaeum” 56 (1978) 249. L. Troiani, Il perdono cristiano e altri studi sul Cristianesimo delle origini, Brescia 1999. E. Preuschen, Handwoerterbuch zum griechischen Neuen Testament, Giessen 1910, s.v. “parrhesia.” 20 Annales 15,44,3. Stern, cit., no. 294.
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of Jesus. The belief in the resurrection of Christ, prefigured by the faith of Abraham in God’s promise, wiped out all past transgressions, introducing the rule of grace and abrogating that of the law. As Paul says to King Agrippa II (on this occasion represented as being knowledgeable about “questions of Jewish doctrine”), his duty is to announce the hope of salvation. “I now stand judged by reason of the hope brought by the promise made by God to our fathers, which our twelve tribes, fervently serving by day and by night, hope to see fulfilled.”21 This is one element that cannot be ignored if we wish to throw some light on those who were first destined to receive the kerygma: Before King Agrippa II, Paul distinguished “our twelve tribes” from the “Jews,” because the latter did not completely represent the group of those who identified with the Laws of Moses within the GraecoRoman world. Those to whom Jacob’s Letter was addressed were “the twelve tribes of the Diaspora.” Peter’s I Letter was written for “the Diaspora of Pontus, of Galatia, of Capadocia, of Asia and of Bithynia.” Clement of Rome, in his I Letter to the Corinthians, would make the same distinction: together with the “kings and the authorities and the leaders according to Judah, the other sceptres of Israel enjoy no small glory, as God promised that your seed would be as many as the stars in the sky.”22 Now, we know from Philo of Alexandria, from a work he wrote during the decades in question, that cities in Greece, Macedonia, Asia Minor, Egypt, Cyrenaica and Syria had Jewish communities that had, in various ways, to meet and reconcile the required observance of the Laws of Moses with those of city life. The Jewish families, who had been besieged for generations (Philo of Alexandria, who was writing during the forties .., goes back to his great-greatgrandfather) in the Greek cities, considered their city as their own homeland. During the years in which Paul (or his representative) was writing to the Ephesians, there was at Ephesus a community that, as it emerges, for example, from the evidence provided by Luke and Josephus, was integrated in city life. Josephus maintains that they were called—and let themselves be called “Ephesians,” “Antiochians” or “Alexandrians” indiscriminately.23 21 22 23
Acts of the Apostles 26,3–7. I Letter to the Corinthians 32,2. Josephus, Against Apion II,39.
20
In the narrative in the Acts of the Apostles, a certain Alexander belonging to the city community, speaking before an extraordinary general meeting, seeks to assuage the anger of the populace exasperated by the alleged outrage committed by the Christian missionaries against the august patron of Ephesus, Artemis. At least from the times of Cicero, in the city of Rome there existed a community which was perhaps organised into eleven synagogues.24 Can we understand anything of the historical and cultural background of the Epistle to the Romans without analysing the great number of Jewish inscriptions coming from Rome? And without considering the news about the community offered us by Philo of Alexandria in his Embassy to Gaius (§§154–157)? The various members of these communities were integrated to different extents in the social and civil fabric of their home state. The community was probably often divided as to the interpretation and application of the Laws of Moses in daily city life. As we know from a dossier of public documents recorded by the historian Josephus, the more orthodox elements were careful to negotiate the regulations, both with the city’s authorities and with the imperial powers. These regulations disciplined the life of the community and made it compatible with the dictates of the Laws of Moses. For example, members of these communities were sometimes allowed exemption from military service, they were granted the right to send sacred money to the temple in Jerusalem and not to appear before a court on a Saturday. These ‘privileges’ meant that the orthodox groups in the community who, for generations, had been living transplanted in the cities of the Empire, systematically failed to attend the religious service celebrated in the city temples. They moreover—just as systematically—avoided paying the expenses and contributing to the liturgies required for the maintenance and operation of the civic temples; they refused to be conscripted into either the imperial armies or the city militia. They made their own professions, trades, arts and duties (civic and imperial) compatible with precepts of Mosaic laws, such as the Sabbath, upon which all people had to rest and not undertake any activity, or the prohibition on honouring the statues of the
24 Acts of the Apostles 19,33. H. J. Leon, The Jews of Ancient Rome, Peabody 1995, 135–166.
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gods and heroes with which the city was crowded, or the dietary rules which necessarily—as even Diodorus could see—meant that they could never sit at the same table as the other citizens.25 In Philo’s Embassy to Gaius (§190), the members of the deputation, headed by Philo, complain and recriminate over a history of past violations of the law and problematic compromises with the secular authorities. Businessmen, high-ranking officials, simple craftsmen, wholesalers, landowners, ship-builders and bankers all had problems in carrying out their daily activities.26 In Alexandria or, let us say, in Corinth, it could not have been easy to follow the rules laid down by the “scribes, the Pharisees and the high priests”—as they are called by our evangelists. In the Gospel according to St. John, the Jews wondered whether Jesus, with the words “You shall see me for a short time yet, then I shall return to the one who sent me. You will seek me, but you will not find me. And you will not be able to come where I am” (7,35) meant to go to the Diaspora of Greeks and teach the Greeks. The opinion of St. John’s “Jews” may reflect a widespread feeling. The families were living through the inevitable (and periodic) highs and lows in the relationships between the generations. Josephus notes that the nephew of an illustrious and pious Jew of the Diaspora, Philo of Alexandria, who had risen to high office in the imperial administration “did not remain faithful to the laws of his fathers”.27 The Latin author Petronius, and also the philosopher Epictetus, witness to the fact that episodes whereby individuals were “camouflaged” or expelled from the community of a city occurred, to the extent that these episodes became true topoi.28 And, in both the Letter to the Ephesians and the Letter to the Colossians, we can hear the apostle’s interlocutors being apostrophized with the following definition “you who for a time became alien to the citizenship of Israel” (2,12; 1,21). Epictetus testifies that the expression “acting like a Jew, without being one” had in his times, become a proverb stigmatizing the 25 Bibliotheca Historica 34–35,1,1–5. GLAJJ no. 63. M. Pucci ben Zeev, Jewish rights in the Roman World. The Greek and Roman documents quoted by Josephus Flavius, “Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum” 74, Tübingen 1998. 26 Corpus Papyrorum Judaicarum, Vol. I, Edited by V. A. Tcherikover and A. Fuks, Cambridge Massachusetts 1957, 48–50. 27 Jewish Antiquities, 20,100. 28 GLAJJ Nos. 195 and 254.
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conduct of one who eternally halts between two opinions. In Egypt, in the age of Ptolemy (third century ...), the memory of Dositheus, the son of Drymilos, a priest whose job it was to preside over the cult of the reigning sovereigns, still lived on in the disapproval of the pious subsequent generations.29 Father and son might be divided as to the interpretation of the “Jewish life.” Juvenal knows of the head of a family who is godfearing on the Sabbath, refrains from eating pork and worships the heavens, while his son goes so far as to have himself circumcised. Jacob Bernays, in a memoir of over a century ago, thinks that the insistence of the Latin poet on the word “fear” and its derivates (the term recurs a number of times in the verses) reveals a precise category—with a corresponding technical term—of gentiles who sympathised with Judaism. Juvenal seems to point to the speed with which certain faiths spread and become rooted until they require the whole population to convert. As Philo of Alexandria says, terms like “to horrify,” and “to fear” must have been characteristic in defining the extraordinary scrupulousness of the Jews in applying their laws.30 It might be thought, as an alternative to Bernays’ hypothesis that, here, Juvenal is targeting a family where the various generations have a different approach to compliance with the laws of Moses. Obviously, in remembering the Latin authors, especially the satirical ones, the details reported were those that best served the humoristic vein of their authors. We might wonder whether it was not this cultural background, made up of different attitudes towards observance of the law, which conditioned and justified the discussions and reasoning contained in Paul’s letters. We might conjecture, in particular, that, in these environments, literal compliance with the provisions of the law had been questioned for generations, forming the subject of infinite discussions. Could we not venture the opinion that, in the heart of the community, there existed groups that had set themselves at a distance from the synagogue? People who fought for what they polemically called a greater “freedom of speech”? What exactly was that school run by Tyrannus in Ephesus where St. Paul went to teach following his rejection at the “synagogue of the Jews”? It brings to mind the school run by a certain Diogenes in Rhodes 3 Maccabees 1,3. GLAJJ no. 301. J. Bernays, Gesammelte Abhandlungen, vol. II, Berlin 1885, 71–80. Embassy to Gaius §211. 29 30
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which, during August, held lessons on Saturdays. Philo of Alexandria, at various points in his work, speaks of schools and Jewish teachers scattered about the cities in Greece.31 Perhaps, Jesus’ preachings may have aroused differences of opinion and contrasting opinions in the community, because there were pre-existing internal divisions on the subject about which he was preaching. An ancient text tells that various rumours were soon circulating within the community as regards the Jesus affair; in particular, they wondered what that man was really saying; they wondered, “who was the one who had appeared in Palestine and what did he really mean to say. Passing from mouth to mouth, the opinion was confirmed that his plan was to rectify the conduct of the Jews”.32 There was also word that he had made moves to help the outcasts, the rejects of society and the sinners; that he had worked miracles and wonders, that he had openly defied and perhaps derided the majesty of the high priest; that he had challenged the very roots of the Jerusalem authorities; that he had branded its ruling class as “blind guides,” accusing it of being hypocritical and wicked at its core; that he had claimed the value of a religiousness made up of pure intentions rather than pure acts and above all, a religiousness that was self-effacing, far from extravagant manifestations. We have grounds to suspect that the official representatives of the community of the Diaspora basically rallied around the Jerusalem authorities. From this city, emissaries were sent to the cities of the Diaspora to apprise the communities of the dangers of the new heresy. The heads of the Jewish community in Rome informed Paul that, up to then, they had received no writing about him from Judaea and that none of the brothers coming from the province had said or revealed anything negative about him.33 And, as it appears from the narration in the Acts of the Apostles, the Christian proclamation was, on the whole, rejected by the synagogues. The prominent citizens in the Jewish community in Rome reported to Paul that they had heard that the Christian “heresy” was being fought on all fronts.34 Clues offered us by the Acts of the Apostles, however, suggest that
31 Acts of the Apostles 19,9. GLAJJ no. 305. L. H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World, Princeton 1993, 322. 32 Pseudoclement, Homilies 1,6,6. 33 Justin, Dialogue with Trypho, 17,1; 108,2. Acts of the Apostles 28,21. 34 Acts of the Apostles 28,22.
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certain circles in the individual communities, a little distanced from the synagogue and from what one might call institutional Judaism, were more receptive to the evangelical message.35 Could faith in the miraculous resurrection put an end to the long season of hate, of tensions and division in the practice of the law? Had the past opposing positions on the law, with their respective anathemas, been forever overcome by faith? Can we better understand the spirit of Paul’s letters in the light of these prospective possibilities? We can observe that the large and progressive city of Alexandria, which was the home of a consistent and heterogeneous Jewish community, is never mentioned amongst the various stages of Paul’s journeys. We can only think that those Jewish environments that had most distanced themselves from the regime of the scribes, the Pharisees and the high priests acted as propagative centres for the new Christian proclamation.
35
L. Troiani, Il perdono cristiano e altri studi sul cristianesimo delle origini, cit.
CHAPTER TWO
UPON PHILO’S BIBLICAL TEXT AND THE SEPTUAGINT* A P D’A Philo as a Hermeneut-Philosopher of the Scriptures The relationship between Philo and the biblical text is quite complex: it involves several fields of research which cannot (or should not) be overlooked if one wants to reach a thorough understanding of the person and thought of this Jewish-Hellenistic author, who has been described as “the most complex personality known to us from antiquity.”1 All these different fields of research share, at least originally, a common ground: the question of the biblical text(s) emerging in Philo’s writings. Each time Philo starts from the biblical text in order to expound it, he quotes it: in this way he is a witness to the text of the Bible. This field of research involves the biblicist first and foremost as a historian of the Scriptures. The way—or rather, the various ways—in which Philo quotes the biblical text displays the hermeneutic interest that is prevalent in his own approach to these same writings. So Philo attracts the attention principally of the biblicist, as an exegete (and theologian), and that of the scholar of Judaism. Since Philo’s exegesis is philosophical, his text requires more a philosophical than a philological approach. However, here we shall deal with Philo’s works precisely from this last point of view. The problem was revealed in all its complexity while examining all the literature thereon, which I have been able to inspect personally from the year 1841 up to the present time; unfortunately, I was unable to find any earlier writing. Reviewing this literature seemed to be a * This work represents a new edition of my paper Il testo biblico di Filone e i Annali di scienze religiose 2 (1997), pp. 175–196. 1 Y. Amir, Philo and the Bible, SPh, 2 (1963), pp. 1–8, p. 1.
LXX,
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necessary premise to approaching the question of the relationship between Philo and the Septuagint. It would have been most useful to provide exemplification from Philo’s text, yet much work has still to be done in order to achieve a successful outcome: methodological issues of basic importance have still to be discussed and solved and the texts need inspecting ex novo in the light of the new Göttingen critical edition. I have thus confined myself to adding a brief excursus examining the first book of Legum Allegoriae. It should be added that the documentary discoveries of this last century, that is, the Qumrân manuscripts2 and the Greek papyri from Egypt,3 have slightly lessened the importance of Philo’s testimony to the biblical text. Prior to these, Philo was the only witness we had of the Septuagint text in the pre-Christian Age. Tradition and Studies in Philo’s Writings It is well known that Philo’s works, just like much of the remaining Jewish-Greek literature of the Hellenistic Age,4 have been handed on in the Christian environment mostly through the Greek tradition, and, to a lesser extent, through Latin and Armenian traditions.5 His influence on the exegesis and the philosophical thought of the Church Fathers was great and did not involve solely the Alexandrian writers (Clement, Origen) (Ambrose may be taken as an example): early Christian writers were also devoted and diligent readers of the writings of Philo, who, according to a legendary tradition handed
2 This refers both to the Hebrew texts that follow the Septuagint more closely than Masoretic Text and the Septuagint texts themselves (see for example 4Q Deut; 4Q Lev a—second century ...—; 7Q1 Ex; 7Q2; 4Q Lev b; 4Q Num—first century ...). 3 P. Rylands 458 (first half of second century ...); P Fouad 266 (50 ... ca.). For the latest list of the most ancient witnesses to the Septuagint and its papyri see P. M. Bogaert, Septante et versions grecques, in J. Briend – É. Cothenet, Supplément au Dictionnaire de la Bible, issue 68, Paris, 1993, coll. 536–692, 664–672. 4 We might take Flavius Josephus and 3 and 4 Macabees, for example. 5 Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesim e in Exodum, De specialibus legibus, De Abrahamo, Legum Allegoriae, De animalibus, De vita contemplativa, De Providentia, De Sampsone, De Jona (the last two are regarded as spurious). De Deo should be added. Whether it is one of Philo’s works or not is still under discussion.
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on by Eusebius, even met Peter in Rome.6 Some of the Byzantine anthologies label Philo’s excerpta as works by ‘Bishop Philo.’7 In the Hebrew environment, it was not until the sixteenth century that any interest in Philo was shown, when the contribution made by the Italian-Jewish scholar Azariah de’ Rossi8 restored Philo’s importance in the Jewish tradition. However, only in the nineteenth century did Hebrew scholars begin devoting themselves seriously to Philo’s writings and thought, initially in the German-speaking area. This new interest was due to Zachariah Frankel (Chief Rabbi of Dresden and Leipzig), who founded the Jüdisch-theologisches Seminar 9 in Breslau (now Wroclaw in Poland): in his work ‘Historisch-kritische Studien zu der Septuaginta,’ published in Leipzig in 1841,10 Frankel takes account of Philo’s testimony as regards the history of the Septuagint and the transcription of Hebrew names. Ten years later, Frankel devoted himself to Philo’s quotations from Numbers in the work Über der Einfluss der palästinischen Exegese auf die alexandrinische Hermeneutik.11 Yet studies in Philo’s writings as a witness to the Septuagint date back at least to the seventeenth century, with Possevino,12 who started gathering and comparing Philo’s quotations with those of the wellknown Greek text. Two studies were to appear in the following century: Werner’s De Philone Judaeo teste integritatis scriptorum Mosaïcorum, published in 1743 and, above all, Hornemann’s Specimina I, II, III, Exercitationum criticarum
6 Historia Ecclesiastica II,17,1 [see G. Bardy (ed.), Eusèbe de Césarée Histoire Ecclesiastique I–IV, Sources Chrétiennes 31, Paris, 1952, p. 72]: ˘n katå lÒgow ¶xei katå KlaÊdion §p‹ t∞w ÑR≈mhw efiw ımil¤an §lye›n [tÚn F¤lvna] P°trƒ. E. Junod, Biblia patristica supplément Philon d’Alexandrie, Centre d’analyse et de documentation patristiques, Paris, 1982, p. 5. 7 P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, in M. E. Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period: Apocrypha, Pseudepigrapha, Qumran Sectarian Writings, Philo, Josephus, Compendia Rerum Judaicarum ad Novum Testamentum II 2, Assen/Philadelphia, 1984, pp. 233–282, p. 280. 8 Me’or Einayîm, Mantua 1573–1575 see A. D. Hecht, Scripture and Commentary in Philo, Society for Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 20 (1981), pp. 129–164, p. 158 note 3. 9 See Runia’s review of Y. Amir’s Die Hellenistische Gestalt, cit. p. 144. 10 Historisch-kritische Studien zu der Septuaginta Nebst Beiträgen zu den Targumim 1,1 Leipzig 1841, reprint, Hants England, 1972. 11 Über der Einfluss der palästinischen Exegese auf die alexandrinische Hermeneutik, Leipzig 1851, reprint Hants England 1972 34, II, pp. 190–220. 12 Apparatus sacer ad scriptores Veteris et Novi Testamenti, Coloniae Agrippinae, 1608 II, pp. 281–286.
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in versionem LXX interpretum ex Philone, published in Göttingen between 1773 and 1779. A century later, again in Germany, Siegfried13 took up Frankel’s research. In the late nineteenth century scholars from the English-speaking area began to appear: Pick14 and, above all, Conybeare15 and Ryle. H. E. Ryle’s work, Philo and Holy Scripture: or the Quotations of Philo from the Books of the Old Testament with Introduction and notes (LondonNew York 1895), consists of 312 pages of quotations. However, these collections are based on editions of both Philo’s text and the Greek text of the Old Testament, which are older than those we have access to nowadays. Though to a lesser extent, the same problem also affects the latest collection, edited by Katz.16 Katz takes account of both Cohn-Wendland’s edition (1886–1930)17 of Philo, and of Rahlfs’s edition of the Septuagint (1935),18 although the latter is only a manual critical edition, not comparable in size to the so-called Cambridge editio maior by Brooke-Mc Lean-Thackeray (1906–1940),19 which also gathers the variants of Philo’s text in its second section. The Göttingen Septuagint, which has been in the process of publication since 1931 and is now complete as regards the Pentateuch (1974–1991),20 calls for a new examination of the whole subject, even if we do not consider the latest studies in the Armenian tradition of Philo. 13 C. Siegfried, Philonische Studien I Philo’s Hebraische Sprachkenntnisse cit., “Archiv für wissenschaftliche Erforschung des Alten Testamentes” 2 (1872), pp. 143–163; Philo und der überlieferte Texte der LXX, “Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Theologie” 16 (1873), pp. 217–238; 411–428; 522–540; Philo von Alexandria als Ausleger des Alten Testaments, Jena, 1875. 14 B. Pick, Philo’s Canon of the Old Testament and his Mode of Quoting the Alexandrian Version, “Journal of the Society of Biblical Literature and Exegesis” 4 (1884), pp. 126–143. 15 F. C. Conybeare, “Upon Philo’s Text of the Septuagint” The Expositor 4 (1891), pp. 456–466; “On the Philonic Text of the Septuagint,” The Jewish Quarterly Review 5 (1893), pp. 246–280; 8 (1896), pp. 88–122. 16 P. Katz, Philo’s Bible. The Aberrant Text of Bible Quotations in Some Philonic Writings and its Place in the Textual History of the Greek Bible, Cambridge, 1950. 17 L. Cohn – P. Wendland (eds.), Philonis Alexandrini Opera quae supersunt, Typis et impensis G. Reimeri, Berolini. 18 A. Rahlfs (ed.), Septuaginta id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta interpretes, Stuttgart. 19 A. E. Brooke – N. Mc Lean – H. St. J. Thackeray, The Old Testament in Greek According to the Text of Codex Vaticanus, Supplemented from Other Uncial Manuscripts with a Critical Apparatus Containing the Variants of the Chief Ancient Authorities for the Text of the Septuagint. 20 Septuaginta. Vetus Testamentum Graecum Auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum
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Philo and the Biblical Text: a Firm Landmark Before dwelling on the question of the comparison between Philo’s scripture quotations and their source and history, I would like to discuss the complex relationship between Philo and the biblical text, although I am fully aware that much of what I am saying will be familiar, especially to scholars involved in Philonic studies. In Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt (Philo Judaeus: An Introduction to the Man, His Writings, His Significance)21 Sandmel gives a brief description of Philo and his writings that is concise but particularly apt: “the intuitions of Philo are Jewish; his explanations of the content of Judaism are Greek.” The biblical text appears to be the common landmark in the whole of Philo’s work,22 where it is used as a source, though in several different ways. Two genres, among the many, mark the work: the “exposition of the law” and the “exegetic commentary.” The latter is in the form of sequences of “questions and answers” and “allegories.” This is at least the approach Borgen describes in his article in the Anchor Bible Dictionary. (1) The “exposition of the law of Moses” (De Abrahamo, De Josepho, De Decalogo, De specialibus legibus, De virtutibus, De praemis et poenis) essentially consists in a rewriting23 of the Tora which, following Philo’s terminology, is divided into three parts:—history of the creation,—historical section,—legislative section.24 In these exegetic
Gottingensis editum: Genesis (1974, J. W. Wevers adiuv. U. Quast), Exodus (1991, J. W. Wevers adiuv. U. Quast), Leviticus (1986, J. W. Wevers adiuv. U. Quast), Numbers (1982, J. W. Wevers adiuv. U. Quast), Deuteronomium (1977, J. W. Wevers adiuv. U. Quast). 21 S. Sandmel, Philo Judaeus: An Introduction to the Man, His Writing, His Significance, in W. Haase – H. Temporini, Principat, ANRW, Berlin-New York, 1984, II 21/1, pp. 3–46, p. 15. 22 P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, in D. N. Freedman (ed.), The Anchor Bible Dictionary 5, New York, 1992, pp. 333–342, 334–335; Amir, Philo and the Bible. 23 P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, in Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings, p. 234 and Philo of Alexandria. A Critical and Synthetical Survey of Research since World War II, in Haase-Temporini, Principat, cit., II 21/1, pp. 98–154 which also refers to J. Daniélou, Philon d’Alexandrie, Paris, 1958, pp. 95–117. 24 De praemiis et poenis 1,1. See A. Beckaert (ed.), Les Ouvres de Philon d’Alexandrie 27, Paris, 1961, p. 42: T«n m¢n oÔn, diå toË profÆtou Mvus°vw log¤vn tre›w fid°aw e‰nai sumb°bhke, tØn m¢n per‹ kosmopoi¤aw, tØn d¢ flstorikÆn, tØn d¢ tr¤thn nomoyetikÆn.
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works the biblical text is paraphrased and extended in order to voice the author’s ideas. This exegetic method is used in the Book of Jubilees and in the biblical Antiquities of Pseudo-Philo as well. (2) “Exegetic commentary,” both as sequences of “questions and answers” and as allegorical renderings. (a) The sequences of “questions and answers,” that is, the socalled Quaestiones et solutiones, transmitted in Armenian and only partly in Greek (more than 200 fragments) as regards Genesis and Exodus (there is also a Latin version of 4,154–245), are a brief commentary in the form—as one might imagine—of questions and answers. This form is already documented in the Greek tradition of the zhtÆmata ka‹ lÊseiw in commentaries on Homer, and is in use in the Palestinian exegetic tradition represented by the Midrash 25 as well. (b) The “Allegories” (Legum Allegoriae 1–3; De Cherubim; De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini; Quod deterius potiori insidiari soleat, De posteritate Caini; De gigantibus; Quod Deus sit immutabilis; De agricultura; De plantatione; De ebrietate; De sobrietate; De confusione linguarum; De migratione Abrahami; Quis rerum divinarum heres sit; De congressu eruditionis gratia; De fuga et inventione; De mutatione nominum; De somniis) appear to be more complex commentaries which follow the biblical text verse by verse and have, we might say, a more scientific character. Yet, the relationship between the two forms of exegetic commentary is much debated, all the more so because the “questions and answers” form is used both in the “Allegories” and the “Exposition of the law”26 and the length of the commentaries varies considerably. The “Allegories” expound the text of Genesis from chapter 2 to chapter 41. The original title of the commentary, whose form resembles the Midrash more than the Qumrân pe“er, is twofold: literal and allegorical.
25 S. Belkin, Philo and the Oral Law, Cambridge, 1940, pp. 18–19 and S. Wan, hir review of D. M. Hay’s (ed.) Both Literal and Allegorical Studies in Philo of Alexandria’s Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus, Brown Judaic Studies 232, Atlanta, 1991, SPhA 5 (1993), pp. 222–227, p. 227 note 2. 26 Wan, in his review of Hay, p. 222.
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(3) Among Philo’s writings there are some whose category is even more hotly debated: those which have been defined as merely philosophical texts (De aeternitate mundi, De Providentia, De animalibus [Alexander]; Quod omnis probus liber sit) and the so-called historic-apologetic treatises (In Flaccum; Legatio ad Gaium; De vita contemplativa; Apologia pro Iudaeis o Hypothetica). De opificio mundi, and above all De vita Mosis, which interests us as a witness to Philo’s position with regard to the text of the Greek Bible, should also be added. From our point of view the different literary genres are not so interesting as the way the biblical material is dealt with, that is: (1) considered as a narrative or a fulfilment of deeper principles, and thus applied to the socio-religious problems of the Jewish community (Apologia pro Iudaeis o Hypothetica; De vita contemplativa); (2) developed through dialogues dealing with philosophical problems and religious phenomena (Quod omnis probus liber sit, De aeternitate mundi, De Providentia, De animalibus); (3) referring to definite events and characters (In Flaccum, Legatio ad Gaium). In all these works Philo applies the exegetic principles, developed in his expositive writings, to the biblical text. Philo’s importance as an exegete and the value he gives to the biblical text have been fully understood since the 1960’s, thanks particularly to Valentin Nikiprowetzky and his Commentaire de l’Écriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie, Leiden 1977,27 and to Christiansen,28 Cazeaux29 and Runia30 as well. Indeed, Nikiprowetzky shows that Philo is an exegete who makes use of philosophical systems and principles only to understand the authentic meaning of the biblical text. This new conception of Philo’s work made possible such works as Thorne’s synthesis (“Dionysius,” 1989),31 where the schema of Philo’s exegesis
27 See also his former study, Problèmes du recit de la Création chez Philon d’Alexandrie, “Revue des Études Juives” 124 (1965), pp. 271–306. 28 I. Christiansen, Die Tecknik der allegorischen Auslegungswissenschaft bei Philon von Alexandrien, Tübingen, 1969. 29 J. Cazeaux, Aspects de l’éxègese philonienne, “Revue des Sciences Religieuses” 47 (1973), pp. 262–269; La Trame et la chaîne ou les structures littéraires et l’exégèse dans cinq des Traités de Philon d’Alexandrie, Leiden, 1983; Philon d’Alexandrie, exégète, in HaaseTemporini, Principat, cit., II 21/1, pp. 150–225. 30 D. T. Runia, Exegesis and Philosophy. Studies on Philo of Alexandria, Variorum Collected Studies, Aldershot, 1990. 31 G. W. A. Thorne, The Structure of Philo’s Commentary on the Pentateuch, “Dionysius” 13 (1989), pp. 17–50, especially from p. 24.
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is considered as a corpus guided by a logic in accordance with the whole Pentateuch. From De opificio mundi to Quaestiones in Genesim and Quaestiones in Exodum, passing through the “Exposition” and the “Allegories,” a single topic runs through Philo’s commentary. The general preface is contained in De opificio chapter 1 to 6: both content and structure are repeated in Quaestiones in Exodum, his conclusive work. This starts with the story of the creation (Genesis 1), which introduces Moses and the whole exegetic corpus. The narration goes on in the “Exposition” with De vita Moses, where, as mentioned above, the correspondence between the law of Moses and the cosmic order is stated, De Decalogo, De specialibus regibus, and De virtutibus. De praemis et poenis summarizes the topics in the “Exposition” and leads to the “Allegory.” In the Quaestiones Philo gives first the literal, then the allegorical reading, after showing the relationship existing between the two both in the “Exposition” and in the “Allegory.” The Quaestiones in Genesim have the same structure as the “Exposition.” Pre-eminence of the Pentateuch Philo essentially follows the Pentateuch, even though he mentions other biblical texts as well. The scriptural indexes edited by Junod in his Biblia patristica 32 or by Colson in the Loeb Classical Library edition33 are already sufficient proof of this. The fact has been explained as a result of the influence of Alexandrian synagogue practice,34 which was based on reading the Tora pericopes. I think the different authority of the first five books of the Scriptures from that of the others35 is a more likely explanation. Amir36 states that Philo,
32 Pp. 27–91, of which only pp. 88 to 91, that is, 64 to 4, are not from the Pentateuch, with two columns of references. 33 F. H. Colson, Philo with an English Translation by The Loeb Classical Library X, London/Harvard, Cambridge Massachusetts, 1962, pp. 190–265; The Pentateuch pp. 191–259: 68 pp. against 5. 34 Borgen, in Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings cit., p. 234 and in Freedman (ed.), The Anchor, cit. 5, p. 336. 35 C. Kraus-Reggiani, L’uso della scrittura in Filone di Alessandria, in H. Merklein – K. Müller – G. Stemberger, Bibel in jüdischer und christlicher Tradition Festschrift für J. Maier zum 60. Geburtstag, Frankfurt am Main, 1993, pp. 177–191, 179–181: “Il Pentateuco è per l’Alessandrino la proiezione della verità rivelata a Mosè ed è stato redatto da Mosè sotto diretta ispirazione divina, essendo lui il primo profeta
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in order to demonstrate an idea, prefers to follow a quotation of ‘dubious association’ from the Pentateuch rather than a more suitable one from the Prophets (a definition which, according to the Hebrew Canon, applies to Joshua, Judges, Samuel and Kings, whereas Christians classify these books as historical). Which Is the Biblical Text Philo Follows? Philo’s Bible is essentially the Septuagint, that is, the Greek Bible of Diaspora Judaism and then of almost all of Early Christianity. He believes in the authority of his text and considers it a faithful and an inspired37 translation of the Hebrew original. In De vita Mosis 2,5–7 (25–44)38 Philo develops a theological theory of the translation while narrating its history, as does the letter of Aristeas (which is also paraphrased in Antiquitates Iudaicae 12,2,1). The Tora, which has become, nÒmow is defined as nomoyes¤a and nÒmoi yespisy°ntew (6,34), that is, ‘laws Given through God’s voice’: nothing has been added, deleted or displaced in it (the text says: éfele›n, prosye›nai ≥ metaye›nai). All the translators maintained tØn §j érx∞w fid°an working in complete harmony by divine inspiration (7,37 flerofantÆsein). Tå ÑEllhnikã ‘the Greek words,’ precisely convey §narmosy°nta, to›w XaldaÛko›w, ‘the Hebrew words,’ because, as happens in logic and geometry, the meaning does not admit of several readings (tå shmainÒmena poikil¤an •rmhne¤aw oÈk én°xetai) but remains the same (émetãblhtow) as it was in its original form (6,38–39).39 e il profeta per eccellenza—tanto che viene addirittura identificato con il Logos. I profeti successivi e l’autore dei Salmi sono definiti ‘seguaci di Mosè, quasi che la loro illuminazione profetica fosse subordinata all’illuminazione mosaica, non già perché non provenga da Dio e non sia spiritualmente elevatissima, ma perché nella sua esplicazione deve fare sempre riferimento alla legge rivelata. Questo punto di vista è convalidato dal fatto che Filone dichiara anche se stesso ‘discepolo di Mosè,’ usando un appellativo che serve non solo ad esprimere la sua professione di fede ebraica, ma anche l’ispirazione profetica di cui a più riprese si dichiara personalmente posseduto” (p. 181 and notes 14–16). 36 Philo and the Bible, p. 1. 37 Some scholars think that Philo did not regard the Septuagint as an inspired text. L. Canfora, Il viaggio di Aristea, Bari, 1996, p. X; D. Winston, Aspects of Philo’s Linguistic Theory, SphA 3 (1991), pp. 109–125, p. 116. 38 Colson, Philo, cit., VI, pp. 460–471. 39 The Rabbinical literature takes account of the differences between the Hebrew text and the Septuagint and regards them as theological variations by divine inspiration, but not as errors. See the Babylonian Talmud, Megillâ 9a, which lists these
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The miracle of divine intervention conveys the Greek authoritative version exactly like the Hebrew original. The translators, considered as ‘prophets’ and ‘priests devoted to the mystery cults’ (hierophants) have succeeded in instilling the spirit of Moses, the purest of all (De vita Mosis 7,40), in their translations after entering into perfect harmony with his real ‘mind.’40 In my opinion, the absolute divine quality of the translated biblical text can also be determined by the terminology Philo uses to define the part which is taken up again in order to be explained and commented; this part was later labelled with a word borrowed from Alexandrian philology, that is, lemma: xrhsmÒw, lÒgion and yeoprÒpion ‘oracle, prophecy, divine teaching’41 are used as synonyms. Amir42 states that “given the Platonic presuppositions of Philo according to which the abstract idea is regarded as more real than the concrete appearance, the divine quality of the biblical word could never be determined by such a concrete factor as its incidental linguistic expression.” Since 1800, scholars have been debating the existence of evidence in Philo’s work of his knowledge of Hebrew,43 which, however, has been denied from the very beginning. The issues discussed are: the fact that the interpretation of a passage is sometimes based on Hebrew expressions not documented in the Greek version; the etymologies of Hebrew names, which are sometimes wrong (but this fact is documented in the rabbinical literature as well);44 the fact that some quotations differ from the Septuagint text but agree with the Hebrew. differences; see also M. Simon – I. Epstein, Megillah, in J. Rabbinowitz – I. Epstein (eds.), Hebrew-English Edition of the Babylonian Talmud, The Soncino Press, London 1990, 9; see Nikiprowetzky, Le commentaire . . ., p. 65. 40 Y. Amir, Authority and Interpretation of Scripture in the Writings of Philo, in M. Mulder (ed.), Mikra, Text Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity, Van Gorcum, Assen Maastricht/Fortress Press, Philadelphia 1988, pp. 421–453. 41 De vita Mosis, 1,57; De specialibus legibus 1,315 and Amir, Authority, p. 430. 42 Philo and the Bible, p. 2. 43 H. A. Wolfson, Philo. Foundations of Religious Philosophy in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, I Harvard University Press, Cambridge Massachussetts 19623, p. 89; R. Cadiou, Philon d’Alexandrie ou Philon Le Juif, in H. Cazelles – A. Feuillet, Dictionnaire de la Bible Supplément VII, Letouzey & Ané Éditeurs, Paris 1966, coll. 1288–1354, 1293–1296; A. Nazzaro, Filone Alessandrino e l’ebraico, “Rendiconti dell’Accademia di Archeologia e Lettere e Belle Arti di Napoli” 1967, 42, L’arte tipografica, Napoli 1968, pp. 61–79 (pp. 63 to 72 inspect the authors’ theories); Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire . . ., pp. 50–96; Klaus-Reggiani, L’uso della Scrittura . . ., pp. 181–183. 44 Wolfson, Philo . . ., p. 89: “for only one who had some knowledge of Hebrew could unconsciously make such errors, and only one who had a thorough knowledge of the language could deliberately allow himself to depart from the true meaning of words.”
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As regards the first issue, it is sufficient to consider that Philo follows a Greek text, which departs from ours and is closer to the Hebrew; as regards the second that he drew on collections of etymologies spread around the Alexandrian milieu. The third issue, as we shall later see, affects the whole history of the text of scripture quotations, and not only in Philo’s work, due to the copyists’ tendency to make the quotations conform to the text they knew.45 Philo, who writes in Greek for Greek-speaking people, obviously draws on the Greek version of the Scriptures which was in use among his readers,46 but he might well have known Hebrew, even thoroughly. From our point of view this question is hardly a fundamental one,47 whereas it would, on the other hand, be most useful to sort out the problem of which Greek text, or texts, Philo drew on and, for us, twenty centuries on, to know which of the Greek texts of the Bible have been handed down to us in Philo’s work. The matter is quite complex: it is not a word-game and no solution has been brought so far or, more realistically, I cannot give any in this paper. The matter needs investigating much further.
45 This applies to the New Testament. Cf., for example, G. J. Steyn, Septuagint Quotations in the Context of the Petrine and Pauline Speeches of the Acta Apostolorum, Contributions to Biblical Exegesis and Theology 12, Kampen, 1995. It also applies to Justin, who includes quotations some of which are faithful to the Septuagint and some not. Cf. S. Jellicoe, Aristeas, Philo, and the Septuagint Vorlage, “Journal of Theological Studies” 12 (1961) pp. 261–271, p. 264; Daniélou, Philon . . ., p. 96, which refers to the manuscript of the twelve Prophets from the Judaean Desert (8 Hev. XII gr.) the text of which follows Justin’s quotations: D. Barthélemy, Redécouverte d’un chaînon manquant de l’histoire de la LXX, “Revue Biblique” 40 (1953), pp. 18–29 reprinted in D. Barthélemy, Études d’histoire du texte de l’Ancien Testament, Éditions Universitaires Fribourg SuisseVandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Göttingen, (Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, 21) 1978, pp. 38–50. We will see below how close this Septuagint text type is to the so-called ‘aberrant’ quotations in Philo. 46 F. Calabi, Lingua di Dio, lingua degli uomini: Filone Alessandrino e la traduzione della Bibbia, “I castelli di Yale” 2 (1997), 2, pp. 95–113, p. 113, n. 40. Here the Author presumes that Philo did not know Hebrew even though this fact “non implica che la sua scelta fosse obbligata anche se, ovviamente, il ruolo di lingua madre non può non avere peso nella scelta.” 47 For Sandmel, it is irrelevant in any case. He states: “Whether he knew Hebrew or not does not affect either the form or more importantly, the substance of what he wrote and thought,” S. Sandmel, Philo’s Knowledge of Hebrew: The Present State of Problem, SPh 5 (1978), pp. 107–111, p. 111. Amir agrees with him (Authority, cit., p. 444): “the question whether Philo could read the Hebrew original becomes theologically irrelevant” since the Greek text of the Scripture is by divine inspiration “so that the exegete, probing the depths of meaning in every Greek word, has the same chance as the Hebrew exegete of arriving at the original truth which dictated the word.”
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Katz devotes the third part of his Philo’s Bible to a brief history of the question of scripture quotations in Philo’s text,48 following the history of its editions, starting with Mangey’s contribution, London 1742,49 which shows great perspicacity in its emendations. Chronologicallyspeaking, Siegfried’s and Ryle’s editions place between Mangey’s edition and that of Cohn-Wendland, which is still in use. Siegfried’s edition,50 published in three parts in 1873, gathers and lists twelve kinds of scripture quotations in Philo’s work: (1) a great number of quotations consist in paraphrasing; (2) quotations that follow the Septuagint are mixed up with Philo’s interpretations; (3) quotations of the same passage sometimes follow the Septuagint, sometimes depart from it; (4) many variants of Philo’s text can also be found in the existing manuscripts of the Septuagint; (5) Philonic readings which follow the Hebrew text; (6) further variants (additions, omissions, a participle and a finite form replaced with two finite forms joined by ka¤, and so on; (7) evidence of a different Hebrew text; (8) examples of more common Greek forms, and removal of Hebraisms and constructions in the Septuagint which are not Greek (with regard to forms, grammar and lexis); (9) the mixing of different quotations; (10) passages in which Philo grounds his exegesis on linguistic expressions that are not to be found in the Septuagint; (11) Septuagint quotations that depart from their text because of errors in Philo’s manuscripts; (12) cases in which the quotation text has been emended on the Septuagint manuscripts by proof readers and editors (Mangey). According to Siegfried, the more closely the text follows the Hebrew text, the better it is.
Pp. 125–138. T. Mangey (ed.), F¤lvnow toË ÉIoudaiÒu tå eÍriskÒmena ëpanta. Philonis Judaei opera quae reperiri potuerunt omnia. Textum cum Mss. contulit, quamplurima etiam e Codd. Vaticano, Mediceo et Bodleiano, scriptoribus item vetustis, necnon catenis graecis, ineditis, adjecit, interpretationemque emendavit, universa notis et observationibus illustravit, London 1742, although an edition by Turnebus had been published two centuries before: A. Turnebus (ed.), F¤lvnow ÉIouda¤ou efiw tå toË Mvs°vw, kosmopoihtikã, fistorikã, nomoyetikã. ToË aÈtoË MonÒbibla. Philonis Iudaei in libro Mosis, de mundi opificio, historicos, de legibus. Eiusdem libri singulares, Parisiis, 1552. 50 Philo und die überlieferte Text der LXX, part I, pp. 217 to 238, exemplifies types (1) and (–5); part II, pp. 411 to 428, illustrates type 6); part III, pp. 522 to 540, shows types 7) and 12). 48
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In 1884 Pick reduced the number of kinds of discrepancies in the quotations to nine51 (the first four are the same as Siegfried’s, but the sixth in Pick corresponds to the fifth in Siegfried, the seventh to the eighth, the eighth to the ninth and the ninth to the twelfth). Errors in Philonic manuscripts (see point 11 above), as well as the variants mentioned at point 6 and cases of exegesis which do not follow the Septuagint, are not taken into account. On the contrary, the variants given at point 5 are worth mentioning due to the opinion expressed: ‘Philo often renders the Hebrew text better than the Septuagint does.’52 Ryle53 (1895) follows Siegfried’s classification and defines it as ‘complete but lacking in clarity of exposition.’ He thus suggests a fourfold classification of Philo’s variations with respect to the Septuagint: A) variants arising from Philo’s methods of religious and philosophical teaching; B) variants arising from Philo’s disregard for verbal accuracy in citation; C) variants reproducing differences of rendering and reading; D) variants arising from errors in the existing text of Philo’s writings. Each category can be further subdivided.54 Point C is worth further attention since it shows ‘the variety of the Hebrew text translations in the ancient Greek version or the existence of variants in the Hebrew text from which the Greek version is derived.’ Ryle advises caution before classifying differences existing in the Greek translation or in the original text as variants, as it might only be a question of variations Philo himself introduced. Yet, he points out, Philo’s text might still contain readings of Greek versions in use before the recensions of the Septuagint we know ( Jerome’s trifaria varietas). In this connection, it should be remembered that some scholars thought the letter of Aristeas could decree the official status not of a new translation, but of a recension of one or more existing versions. Philo’s Canon, cit., p. 130. As regards this point, it should be remembered that Philo could have been working on commentaries to the Biblical text, the midrashim or other interpretations. 53 H. E. Ryle, Philo and Holy Scripture or the Quotations of Philo from the Books of the Old Testament with Introduction and Notes, London-New York, 1895, p. XXXVI: “A. Variations arising from Philo’s methods of religious and philosophical teaching: B. Variations arising from Philo’s disregard for verbal accuracy in citation: C. Variations reproducing differences of rendering and reading: D. Variations arising from errors in the existing text of Philo’s writings.” 54 Pp. XXXVII–XXXIX. 51
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This takes us back to Kahle’s thesis, which was first published in 191555 and confuted by Katz some thirty years later (1949).56 The hypothesis according to which Philo may sometimes have used a different Hebrew text does not sound very likely to Ryle. In fact his last observation at point C should be mentioned here: it states ‘the Septuagint readings documented in Philo cannot be gathered in any uniform text type.’ This observation is followed in Ryle’s book by the results of the comparison between Philo’s text and the following majuscule codices: Alexandrian, Vatican, D (Cottonianus), E (Bodleianus) and F (Ambrosianus). Ryle’s work follows Mangey’s edition of Philo and Swete’s edition of the Septuagint; for the footnotes Holmes-Parson’s edition (1798) has also been used. The first volumes of Cohn-Wendland’s monumental critical edition, which were first published a century ago (from 1896), have given birth to the hypothesis of the so-called aberrant text. This is the text containing Philo quotations that are closer to the Masoretic Text than the Septuagint and are gathered in manuscripts U (Vaticanus gr. 381), F (Laurentianus LXXXV, 10) and sometimes in L (Parisinus gr. 433).57 The other manuscripts were probably emended in the Christian world to conform these quotations (considered as more original) to the Septuagint text. Cohn58 points out that the most frequently changed quotations introduce a longer exposition or are placed in the middle of a discussion, but they are never placed ‘among Philo’s words when he paraphrases the biblical text or refers to any of its words.’ Fifty years later, Katz supports him by stating that the quotations placed at the beginning of a treatise are those which present the latest influences.59 In the opening quotations the lemmata katÄ §joxÆn par excellence can be found. 55 P. Kahle, Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Pentateuch Textes, “Theologische Studien und Kritiken” 88 (1915), pp. 399–439, reprinted in Opera Minora, Leiden, 1956, pp. 3–37. See S. Jellicoe, Aristeas, Philo and the Septuagint Vorlage, “Journal of Theological Studies” 12 (1961), pp. 261–271. 56 P. Katz, Das Problem der Urtextes der Septuaginta, “Theologische Zeitschrift” 5 (1949), pp. 1–24; Septuagintal Studies in the Mid-Century Their Links with the Past and their Present Tendencies, in W. Davies – D. Daube, The Background of the New Testament and its Eschatology in Honour of C. H. Dodd, Cambridge, 1956, pp. 176–208, pp. 205–207. 57 Unfortunately, these manuscripts do not include any important works by Philo which are known to have a faithful and established tradition, like De migratione Abrahami and De fuga et inventione, quotations from which would be particularly revealing. See Cadiou, Philon, col. 1292. 58 Cohn-Wendland (eds.), Philoni cit., Opera, p. 527. 59 Philos’s Bible, p. 134.
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At this point, we should mention Conybeare’s contribution to the problem of quotations in Quaestiones in Genesim, which came at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century. He edited a back version of the Quaestiones from Armenian to Greek (“Jewish Quarterly Review” 1893 and 1896),60 in an article published in “The Expositor” in 1901,61 where he considered the Oxford edition of the Septuagint (produced by Holmes) and compared the two with Tischendorf ’s edition (VI 1880). He advises extreme caution when giving one’s opinion on the subject for the following reasons: (1) biblical quotations have often been made by heart (even with the exception of the Quaestiones) and, thus, with little accuracy; (2) authors often have to modify the text they are quoting to conform it to the requirements of the argument; (3) the biblical quotations are the first to be corrupted by zealous copyists, in order to conform them to a contemporary text type familiar to the copyist in question. During this period, studies on Flavius Josephus’s (Mez),62 on Paul’s (Vollmer)63 and on Justin’s (Bousset)64 scripture quotations begin to appear. In his thesis De Philonis Alexandrini Vetere Testamento (Gryphiae 1907), A. Schröder tries to prove Nestle’s hypothesis, according to which the quotations in Codex U and Codex F are Philo’s Bible; in other words they were the Greek text he had of it, which was different from the original version of the Septuagint, as one can see upon examination of the De sacrificiis Abeli et Caini and Quod Deus sit immutabilis preserved in U and F. However, Schröder’s work is lacking in many things: the lemmata are not identified; the repeated quotations are not indicated; no attention is paid to the context in which quotations are included in Philo’s writings. Since in Schröder’s opinion the Septuagint version is the result of a recensional work, Codex U and Codex F are the oldest witnesses to the Old Testament in Greek. The other Philo manuscripts have been emended following the Septuagint.65 Conybeare, On the Philonic Text. F. C. Conybeare, Upon Philo’s Text of the Septuagint, in W. Robertson Nicoll (ed.), The Expositor IV, London, 1901, pp. 456–466. 62 A. Mez, Die Bibel des Josephus untersucht für Buch V–VII der Archäologie, Basel 1895: the Biblical text quoted by Josephus seems to follow more the Lucianic recension of the Septuagint than text B (Codex Vaticanus). 63 H. Vollmer, Die alttestamentlichen Zitate bei Paulus, Freiburg, 1896: Paul would agree more with Theodotion than with the Septuagint. 64 This is in any case indicative of an interest in the way the biblical text was transmitted in the works of ancient authors. 65 Katz, Philo’s Bible, p. 137 for a synthetic exposition of Schröder’s conclusions. 60
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The 1940 issue of the Journal of Theological Studies contains two articles on the subject: the first is by Knox66 and the second is by Colson.67 The authors debate the reason for the unquestionable predominance of the Pentateuch over any other biblical text in Philo’s writings. The former sees it as a dependence on the Alexandrian exegetic tradition, which was established when the Pentateuch was the only section of the Bible that had been translated. He thinks the high concentration of quotations from the other books of the Scriptures are connected with the theme of God’s Wisdom (Quod Deus sit immutabilis 5: toÊtou g¤netai mayhtr‹w ka‹ diãdoxow ÖAnna, t∞w toË yeoË d≈rhma sof¤aw since the name means ‘grace’ (•rmeneÊtai går xãriw aÈt∞w)68 or that they may be the result of later interpolations brought by the influence of Jewish exegesis, of either the homeland or the Diaspora, which developed throughout the whole biblical text available in Greek. Colson distinguishes ‘direct’ quotations,’ where the author ‘is formally expounding a particular chapter or passage in Genesis, or a particular law’—which means he sometimes has to quote it—and ‘illustrative quotations,’ where the author is moving from one passage (or law) to another. He answers the question with a sort of joke: “I know no answer unless it is the nursery retort to an inquisitive child ‘because they choose to do so’”69 he then refutes Knox’s thesis, which makes a casual distinction between Philonic and nonPhilonic material, and ends on a sarcastic note, disqualifying his colleague’s abilities.70 Ultimately, Colson thinks that Philo provides a commentary for the Pentateuch not only because it is more authoritative, but because he wants to do so. We now arrive at Kahle’s contributions: in order of time, these come before and after the afore-
66 W. L. Knox, A Note on Philo’s Use of the Old Testament, “Journal of Theological Studies” 41 (1940) 161, pp. 30–34. 67 F. H. Colson, Philo’s Quotations from the Old Testament, “Journal of Theological Studies” 41 (1940), 163–164, pp. 237–251. 68 Cohn-Wendland (eds.), Philonis Opera, cit., II, p. 57. 69 P. 240. 70 Pp. 240–251. P. 251: “And I envy and admire the ingenuity both of him and Philo; even when it is carried to excess I respect it as an infirmity of noble minds. But it is often carried to excess in Philo, and I cannot help feeling that Canon Knox in this note has repaid him in his own coin.” Two years later Knox states his own position again: see W. Knox, Some Hellenistic Elements in Primitive Christianity, “The Schweich Lectures of the British Academy” 1942, London, 1944, pp. 47–54, 51–53.
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mentioned contribution of Katz, who suggested these endeavours and later criticised them. Schröder’s research, which provided Kahle with a proof of the existence of a pre-recensional Greek text and a number of versions of ancient texts, induced Kahle to ask Katz (in 1940) to check the existence of the aberrant text, already documented in U and F, in Philo’s writings. Kahle devotes three whole pages to the matter in his work The Cairo Geniza,71 where he disagrees with Katz’s conclusions on the aberrant text. He concludes that it is indeed Philo’s original text and not the result of addenda by copyists who were later influenced by ‘judaizing’ translators/revisers such as Aquila: in other words, it is not an interpolation of a later recension of the Septuagint made to bring the text closer to the Hebrew. After a close examination of Philo’s quotations from the Septuagint which depart from Rahlfs’s established text, Katz’s research, published in 1950 (ten years after Kahle’s request), concluded that such quotations, providing witnesses to an earlier recension of the Greek Pentateuch which is now lost to us, are actually interpolations by a fellow of the Antioch School active in the Syriac-Palestinian area between the second half of the fourth century and the first half of the sixth. Beyond its conclusions, Katz’s analysis of thirteen works of Philo, each with a different text situation (Legum Allegoriae, De Cherubim, De gigantibus, Quod Deus sit immutabilis, De agricultura, De plantatione, De congressu eruditionis gratia, De somniis, De specialibus legibus, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit, De virtutibus, De sobrietate, De posteritate Caini ), clearly proves: (a) the existence of quotations which are different from the Septuagint text used by Philo not only in some branches of the manuscript tradition (U and F pointed out by Schröder) but also in other works (Quod Deus sit immutabilis); (b) the apparently senseless manipulation of quotations, mainly in the lemmata; (c) the replacement of quotations with explanation and vice-versa.
The quotations were supposedly changed during a third phase, after the Septuagint original quotations and the lemmata had been omitted in one of Philo’s manuscripts and later reintroduced in its descendants, in the lemmata, some of them are put in the wrong position,
71
Oxford, pp. 247–249.
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others are of the wrong length and many others have a text that disagrees with Philo’s. Kahle, as already mentioned, thinks the ‘aberrant’ quotations are the remains of a Pentateuch recension that has similar features to the recension identified by Rahlfs for the text of Ruth (sixth century) and resembles the recension of the Minor Prophets found in the Judaean Desert.72 Some material corresponding to the twelve Minor Prophets’ Scroll from Nahal Hever (8 Hev.XIIgr.)73 can also be found among Justin’s quotations. The phenomenon is quite extensive and involves the presence both of ‘Lucianic’ variants in Flavius Josephus and ‘Theodotionic’ readings in Justin, Clement of Alexandria, Barnabas, Hermas and the New Testament. Barthèlemy (1966)74 agrees with Katz about the ‘secondary character of Hebraized lemmata,’ but does not agree that the corrector was a fifth-century Christian of the Antioch School. According to the French scholar, interferences with Philo’s text are probably the work of a Hebrew who had drawn upon Aquila’s recension. The same hypothesis was at first also considered by Katz, but he later rejected it for chronological reasons (when Aquila’s recension spread and replaced the Septuagint in the Greek-speaking Diaspora, the tradition of Philo’s text had been in Christian hands for a considerable length of time). The examples Barthélemy analyses are interesting (lÒgow replaced by nÒmow and Joshua name ÉIhsoËw spelt ÉIvsÊa/w) and more plausible, as a phenomenon, in a Jewish context rather than a Christian one. Barthélemy distinguishes two main stages in the history of the transmission of Philo’s text, which rely on two different poles of primitive culture: Alexandria and Caesarea. Since the papyri found
72 Katz, Septuagintal Studies, cit., pp. 205–208; D. Barthélemy, Redécouverte d’un chaînon manquant de l’histoire de la Septante, “Revue Biblique” 60 (1953) 18–29 reprinted in D. Barthélemy, Études d’histoire du texte de l’Ancien Testament, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 21, Göttingen/Fribourg Suisse, 1978, pp. 38–51. 73 Jellicoe, Aristeas, p. 264. Per 8Hev.XIIgr. see E. Tov – R. A. Kraft – P. Parsons, The Greek Minor Prophets Scroll From Nahal Hever (8Hev.XIIgr.), The Seyâl Collection I, Discoveries in the Judaean Desert VIII, Oxford, 1990. 74 D. Barthélemy, Est-ce Hoshaya Rabba qui censura le “Commentaire allegorique”? A partir des retouches faites aux citations bibliques, étude sur la tradition textuelle du commentaire allégorique de Philon, in Philon d’Alexandrie, Lyon 11–15 septembre 1966, Paris, 1967, pp. 45–78 reprinted in D. Barthélemy, Études cit., pp. 140–173.
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in Egypt (POxy IX, 1173; XI, 1356, third century)75 and the works of Clement of Alexandria, which are the oldest surviving writings to quote Philo, do not show any ‘judaizing’ modifications in their quotations, the first stage—linked with the Didascaleion—has a text which follows the Septuagint. Yet Cohn76 connected the medieval codices, which are the only ones that give a ‘faithful’ text in addition to a retouched text, with the Caesarea Library. A few years before Cohn, Bacher (1892), following Azariah de’ Rossi’s intuition (1574), had shown the affinity between Philo’s doctrine and some assertions of Rabbi Hoshaya Rabba, a well-known Rabbi of Caesarea, contemporary with Origen. Caesarea must therefore have been the propagating core of the Philonic corpus. In Caesarea, Origen probably collaborated with Jewish scholars not only on the Hexapla (the second column, above all), but also on an edition of Philo’s works which may have been commissioned from him.77 It is on this occasion, perhaps during the process of diÒryvsiw, that Aquila’s readings are thought to have been substituted for the others, thus giving birth to the ‘aberrant text.’ In the medieval tradition of Philo, traces of two ancient editions of the ‘allegorical commentary’ can be found throughout two sequences of treatises: a–b (the texts on the origins, from the creation to Abraham), and v; the first sequence is older since it shows a more complete collection of texts; the latter, which comes from the copy by Euzoios, is more recent since it contains a more limited collection of works. The first edition was apparently copied in Codex a and b and twelve of its treatises are thought to have undergone ‘the secret emendations of an orthodox Rabbi, who had very little knowledge of Greek culture.’ The latter, v, hands on an untouched text,
75 They are fragments of the same Philo codex taken from Legum Allegoriae, Quod deterius potiori insidiari soleat, De ebrietate, De mercede meretricis (only in Mangey’s edition, II 268) with a fragment unnected with the others (the tenth of POxy XI, 1356). 76 Cohn-Wendland’s hypothesis starts out from the consideration that the medieval manuscripts (about sixty in number, the oldest of which is Vaticanus graecus 316–ninth century) omit at least 15 of Philo’s treatises contained in Eusebius’s, Historica Ecclesiastica II, 18, 1–7 + 5,1. This list is based on the works contained in the Library of Caesarea, which survive incomplete (three books out of five of Quaestiones in Exodum, two of Legum Allegoriae, the second book of De ebrietate, three books of De somniis, one of De Tabernaculo, of a quod omnis improbus servus sit, of three books on persecutors of the Jews). 77 See Quaestio 47 in Genesin by Theodoretus, whose exegesis, like Philo’s exegesis, is based on Aquilas’s version (Genesis 9,25).
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just like the one found in the papyri from Egypt, as well as in Clement’s, Origen’s and Eusebius’s quotations. To my knowledge, the latest study on the aberrant text of Philo’s scripture quotations was made by Howard in 1973.78 The author goes further into Katz’s conclusions in the light of the discoveries made in the Judaean Desert. The UF(L) aberrant text is probably the text type Philo used, but it should be noted that the quotation text of the Septuagint most frequently documented in Philo’s works agrees with the earliest Christian codices. Yet the percentage of Septuagint lemmata whose authenticity can be demonstrated is lower than that which we might expect. Indeed, there are passages where the exposition does not allow us to identify which biblical text Philo had at hand, and others where the exposition does not provide precise proof of the text of any lemma. It is thus difficult to decide whether Philo is simply paraphrasing or commenting on a text type which has not been handed on to us. There are then passages where the exposition reflects the UF readings. Howard thinks Philo’s use of a biblical text type different from the Septuagint in the Christian codices may suggest Philo used two different Greek versions or, alternatively, one which had a mixed text derived from both of them (or, less realistically, it might be a single version without uniform criteria). However, the aberrant text and Aquila’s version share many characteristics: as documented in Palestine in the first century, Philo may have used a ka‹ge text, that is, a recension which emended the Greek version with respect to the Hebrew text. If this were the case, the aberrant text would be the earliest witness to a ka‹ge text of the Pentateuch. Yet, Howard remarks, we should be careful not to identify one with the other. Since the statistics refer to a limited number of quotations taken from three treatises, the results are not definitive, but sufficient to reveal the danger of too hastily assuming that the aberrant text resembles the Masoretic Text more than the Philo codices do. Starting out from the principle that the quotations of the lemmata are more likely to be changed than those inside the treatise, Katz, whenever possible, decided whether or not the lemma was aberrant on the basis of the text type in the exposition. He had first discovered the aberrant text in the UF(L) lemmata. Howard’s aim 78 The Aberrant Text of Philo’s Quotations Reconsidered, “Hebrew Union College Annual” 44 (1973), pp. 197–209.
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is to prove that some examples of the aberrant text are present in the expository corpus of all the manuscripts. Katz’s opinion is that, unless there are specific reasons against it, the Septuagint is the yardstick to use when identifying Philo’s original text. However, the connection between the lemma and the exposition should be explained a priori, independently of its relationship with the Septuagint. Conclusions Among the studies on scripture quotations in De Gigantibus and Quod Deus sit immutabilis published in the 1980s,79 we think Hecht’s study (Scripture and Commentary in Philo, 1981) is the most interesting, since, by analysing the Holiness Code of Leviticus 19, it aims at proving the connection between scripture and commentary in Philo’s work seen as a ‘hermeneutical prophecy.’ Hecht80 states that the Scripture is a dynamic reality for Philo, who does not closely follow its text: instead he makes use of the logic of association (the order of the text and the context of the verses, clauses and words become of secondary importance). ‘Scripture does not exist apart and independently from commentary.’ Philo makes use of the Septuagint and modifies it, as Arnaldez points out: “il prend de grandes libertés avec ce text soit qu’il ait eu entre les mains d’autres traductions, soit qu’il ait consulté des docteurs qui savaient et l’hébreu et le grec.”81 In Borgen’s opinion,82
V. Nikiprowetzky, L’éxegèse de Philon d’Alexandrie dans le De gigantibus et le Quod Deus, in D. Winston – J. Dillon (eds.), Two Treatises of Philo of Alexandria. A Commentary on De Gigantibus and Quod Deus sit Immutabilis, Chico California, 1983, 5–76. R. D. Hecht, Scripture and Commentary in Philo, Society of Biblical Literature 1981 Seminar Papers, San Francisco California, 1981, pp. 129–164, see also D. Gooding – V. Nikiprowetzky, Philo’s Bible in the De Gigantibus and Quod Deus, in Winston – Dillon (eds.), Two Treatises, cit., pp. 89–125. 80 Hecht has already devoted himself to Philo’s exegesis on texts of Leviticus; see R. D. Hecht, Patterns of Exegesis in Philo’s Interpretation of Leviticus, SpH 6 (1979–1980), pp. 77–155. 81 R. Arnaldez, L’influence de la traduction des Septante sur le commentaire de Philon, in R. Kuntzmann – J. Schlosser (eds.), Études sur le Judaïsme Hellenistique Congrès de Strasbourg (1983), Lectio divina 119, Paris, 1984, pp. 251–266, p. 264; La Bible de Philon d’Alexandrie, in C. Mondésert, Le monde grec ancien et la Bible, Beauchesne Paris, Bible de tous les temps I, 1984, pp. 37–54, p. 52. 82 Bread from Heaven An Exegetical Study of the Concept of Manna in the Gospel 79
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the extent to which Philo’s quotations match the Septuagint version used by the Jewish community of Alexandria is uncertain, since in the transmission of Philo’s works the quotations may have been adjusted to agree with other recensions of the Septuagint. Several objections can be raised against Katz’s aim of reconstructing the original biblical text that Philo used on the basis of an exegetical paraphrase of his exposition, precisely because of the ambivalent relationship between exposition and scripture quotation (the two are very closely related, but free renderings are also much in evidence). Borgen points out that this free approach, together with the fact that the paraphrasing is interwoven with fragments of haggadah,83 “makes impossible any reconstruction of an original Septuagint text” by means of such a paraphrase. Since Philo himself intervenes in the biblical text, that is, he interacts with it through his exegesis, he cannot therefore be a useful witness to the reconstruction of its original text.84 More than a hundred years ago, in 1893, Cohn reached a similar conclusion after examining the latest studies on Philo,85 with particular reference to Siegfried’s collection: “But a final solution of the question has not been brought, and, indeed, has not hitherto been possible.” There is good reason for feeling discouraged. There is definitely still much work to be done to solve the question of the connection between the Septuagint and the biblical text quoted by Philo and, in particular, the whole Philonic corpus needs inspecting if we want to draw less tentative conclusions. And prior to this, the matter of quotations of texts in ancient times—or, at least, that of scripture quotations—should be thoroughly examined. First and foremost, as regards Philo, one would need to compare his exegetical method with that of pre-rabbinic and rabbinic Judaism
of John and the Writings of Philo, Supplements to Novum Testamentum 10, Leiden, 1965, pp. 19–20, Borgen, Philo, in Freedman (ed.), The Anchor, cit., p. 335. 83 Cadiou, Philon, col. 1293. 84 Borgen, Philo, in Freedman (ed.), The Anchor, cit., p. 335; Cadiou, ibid., col. 1296 “Faut-il dire pourtant qu’il n’existe pas de Midrash là où la Hagada épisodique n’intervient pas? Bien plutôt les aberrations sont un hommage un peu indifférent au Midrash hagadique. En face de ces faits, d’autres sont non moins notables: la critique textuelle devra renoncer plus d’une fois à rejoindre la citation de base selon les , impossible à discerner parmi des corrections divergentes, et sera alors portée irrésistiblement vers un grec plus proche de l’hébreu, par la lecture de la citation comme par tout son contexte (par ex., De migr., 157, moi tå dãkrua).” 85 L. Cohn, The Latest Researches on Philo of Alexandria, “The Jewish Quarterly Review” 5 (1893), pp. 24–50, p. 30.
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in order to identify the part represented by Midrashic elements,86 which were then still circulated orally and which later converged with the Targumîm and the Talmûd tradition. It would be likewise be necessary to compare the different ways in which the biblical text is quoted according to the literary genre used by Philo and the period during which the writings were produced.87 Furthermore, a better knowledge of the Midrashic tradition might help to understand the influence it had on the way the biblical text was reproduced. As far as I know, there has been no further research published on the matter; however, some information is found in the latest studies on the connection between Philo and the Septuagint, indicating, above all, the reasons for the existence of discrepancies between them. In addition to the exegetical reason, which is already known and connected with Philo’s reviewing and rewriting biblical material in the light of his own speculation, there is a literary reason. This is the case as regards the figure of Moses emerging from De Vita Mosis, where it should be considered that, when Philo rewrote the biblical text, he had to follow the dictates of the literary genre of the bios, as Cox has pointed out (R. R. Cox, Philo’s The Life of Moses: Reading the Pentateuch Biographically, read during the SBL Annual Meeting, Orlando 1998). This is also what Cohen stresses (N. G. Cohen, The Names of the Separate Books of the Pentateuch in Philo’s Writings, Sph A 9, 1997, pp. 54–78, p. 59) when she discovers changes made for rhythmical reasons in the Septuagint text: “while the Philonic quotations [Her. 14 and Somn. 1,117 (= Exodus 14:14–15 and 10:23) are almost verbatim from the Septuagint, the minor changes in Philo’s text serve to improve the rhythmic cadence.” A thorough knowledge of the plays (like the Exagogé by Ezechiel the tragician) on the part of Philo, his readers and Alexandrine Judaism (an element that should be further examined) probably contributed to this.
For the connection between Philo and Jewish exegesis see J. Freudenthal, Hellenistische Studien, Breslau, 1875; E. Stein, Philo und der Midrasch, Giessen, 1931; Arnaldez (ed.), De opificio cit., pp. 87–88; B. L. Mack, Philo Judaeus and Exegetical Traditions in Alexandria, in Haase-Temporini, Principato, cit., II, 21/1, pp. 227–271, pp. 237–241. P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria: Reviewing and Rewriting Biblical Material, SPhA 9 (1997), pp. 37–53. 87 R. G. Hamerton-Kelly, Sources and Traditions in Philo Judaeus: Prolegomena to an Analysis of his Writings, SPh 1 (1972), pp. 3–26, 14–15. 86
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In order to give an example of the comparison between the Septuagint text in the Göttingen critical edition and the version quoted by Philo as it appears in the latest two editions (Les ouvres de Philon d’Alexandrie, Éd. du Cerf, Paris; The Loeb Classical Library, W. Heinemann, London/ Harvard University Press, Cambridge Massachusetts), I have chosen the first book of Legum Allegoriae, which is representative of one of the many genres of the Philonic exegetic writings, and from which the commentary on Genesis begins (Genesis 2,1–17). As we already know, in Legum Allegoriae a quotation from the Bible is the starting point for giving the allegorical reading of sentences, clauses and words,88 their deep meaning—that is, the—ÍpÒnoia—and for showing “how the spiritual meaning of the sensible event or existence described in Scripture can be known.”89 From Siegfried onwards,90 scholars have repeatedly devoted themselves to the quotations from the first book of Legum Allegoriae. Indeed, Leg. 1,7 is regarded as an example of paraphrasing instead of verbatim quoting (type 1) (for Numbers 6,9); Leg. 1,1.2.12.32 are given as passages where the quotation from Genesis 2,1.2.7.17 does not agree with the Septuagint text, which instead is carefully quoted (type 3) in other works; Philonic variants are documented as different variants in Septuagint manuscripts (Leg. 1,9.12.28 for Genesis 2,5.7.14.15 [type 4]);91 differences between Philo and the Septuagint are ascribed to Philo’s following the Masoretic Text rather than the Septuagint (Leg. 1,8.12.15 for Genesis 2,4 [sing/pl. verb forms]; g∞w/xyonÒw); Exodus 20,23 Ím›n/metÄ §moË [type 5], 1,8.16.31 belong to type 10, which contemplates the passages where Philo follows a text different from the Septuagint for his exegesis (Genesis 2,15 ¶plase []; §po¤hse [Philo]).92 Sandmel, Philo Judaeus cit., p. 9. Thorne, The Structure cit., pp. 34–35. 90 Philo und die überlieferte Text der LXX cit., pp. 218–219; 223–224; 228–232; 529. 536–537. 91 Genesis 2,1 e Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 24 suntel°v, Leg. I,1 tel°v, Genesis 2,2 ¶rga/Leg. I,2 ¶rgon, Genesis 2,7 §mfusãv = Leg. I,12 as elsewhere, although De plantatione §mpn°v, ibid., g∞w/Leg. xyonÒw Genesis 2,17 in several forms (p. 224). 92 F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker (eds.), Philo with an English translation by the Loeb Classical Library, London/Harvard/Cambridge Massachusetts, 1956, p. 18: “We must suppose that Philo found §po°hse in his text of .” 88
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Finally, the passages where the quotation text not conforming to the Septuagint has been emended by the manuscript tradition or by Philo’s editors (Mangey above all) are also taken into account [Leg. 1,1.10.11.14.16 for Genesis 2,1.5(?).6.8]. Pick,93 following Richter’s edition of Philo, lists the passages where Philo’s scripture quotations in Philo’s text disagree with the Septuagint (unfortunately, Pick does not say which edition of the Septuagint he refers to). Leg. 1,1 (Genesis 2,1). 2 (Genesis 2,2). 8 (Genesis 2,4). 12 (Genesis 2,7). 19 (Genesis 2,14). 32 (Genesis 2,17). 15 (Exodus 20,23). It is worth pausing to mention the first case where the plural form oÈrano¤ is not documented in the editions of Philo from Cohn-Wendland’s onwards; instead it represents the UFL aberrant text. The other cases are exactly the same as those pointed out by Siegfried. Ryle’s collection follows the order of the biblical text and gives textual annotations for the most interesting passages.94 Because it is systematic, it seems to be the most complete work for a long time.95 Katz96 lists sixteen passages from the first book of Legum Allegoriae and analyses them as examples of the UFL aberrant text (Leg. 1,1.2. 16.18.19.21.23.24.28.31.43.52.56.61.63.76.90). Barthélemy finds ten manifest cases of “Hebraizations”97 in this book, which can be attributed to Aquila’s revision. The judaizing modifications are not uniformly present throughout the textual tradition of the book, the division of which also varies in the different codices.98 Among the passages that in Howard’s opinion are connected with Katz’s inconsistency in carefully checking the exposition of a scripture quotation in order to confirm the authentic reading of the lemma 99 Philo’s Canon cit., pp. 131–132, 139. Unfortunately no further information is given about this edition. 94 Philo, pp. 4–12, 20, 111, 137 for Genesis; 153, 175, 194 for Exodus; 216 for Leviticus 226 for Numbers. 95 The references to Genesis 30,18; Exodus 28,18; Numbers 12,12; Deuteronomy 16,21 for Leg. 80.81.76.48 respectively are missing. 96 Philo’s Bible cit., pp. 5–15; pp. 141–145, appendix on the plural oÈrano¤ of §1 in Genesis 2,1. 97 Est-ce Hoshaya, cit., p. 46. 98 P. 61: “Par exemple, lorsque, dans un manuscrit, ce que nos éditions désignent comme premier livre du Legum Allegoriae a subi les retouches juives, il est toujours divisé en deux parties désignées comme premier et deuxième livres (sic)1 mais n’est jamais suivi par ce que nos éditions désignent comme deuxième livre. Au contraire, dans les manuscrits où il est indemne de ces retouches, il est bloqué en un seul livre avec ce que les éditions désignent comme le second.” 99 The “Aberrant” Text cit., pp. 203–206, p. 203: “A third problem connected 93
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are Leg. 1,16 (Genesis 2,2b), 28 (Genesis 2,6), 31 (Genesis 2,7) and 63 (Genesis 2,14). The first book of Legum Allegoriae shows eleven cases where Philo codices and the Masoretic Text agree against the aberrant text, which in turn agrees thirteen times with the Masoretic Text against Philo codices. These examples and many others show the risk of jumping to the conclusion that “the aberrant text in toto is closer to MT than Philo Codd.”100 The biblical indexes to Philo’s work provide an immediate reference point for those who wish to see the extent to which Philo follows the biblical text. However, at least in the case of Junod’s work—which is the most recent—later resumptions of the text and allusions, “les références” are considered, along with real quotations, and not all of the former are included.101 Junod follows the French edition Les ouvres de Philon d’Alexandrie, although the numeration of Cohn-Wendland’s classic edition is also given. My comparison started from this very edition. Its aim is, on the one hand, to inspect Philo’s text both in Cohn-Wendland’s and Colson-Whitaker’s (Loeb) edition and, on the other, to examine the quotations from the Septuagint which are documented in the Göttingen edition as compared to Rahlfs.’ The text commented upon is Genesis 2,1–17, but quotations from the whole Pentateuch can also be found: Genesis 3,23,29,35; 30,18; 42,36; 49,15; Exodus 7,1,20,23; 28,17–18; Leviticus 19,23; Numbers 6,9.12; 12,12; Deuteronomy 6,21. Some of the passages are almost identical102 or display very slight variants, with Katz’s methodology is his occasional inconsistency in carefully checking the exposition of a scripture quotation, both in its original and subsequent appearances, in order to confirm the authentic reading of the lemma. Most often Katz is careful in his examination of the exposition, but sometimes he is not. The following are possible examples where he has not been careful.” 100 Pp. 208–209: 54 variants are examined. 101 Philon d’Alexandrie, p. 7 for the passages from Leg. see pp. 28–30, 53, 57–58 [Genesis] 61; 65; 69–70 [Exodus]; 75 [Leviticus]; 78 [Numbers]; 84–85 [Deuteronomy]. 102 Leg. 1,1 Genesis 2,1 19 (= 21) 2,4 21 2,4.5 28 2,6 48 Deuteronomy 16,21 61 Genesis 42,36 63 (= 78.79) 2,12 90 (97) 2,16.17 Leg. 1,17 quotes Genesis 2,23, which in the Göttingen edition reads eÈlÒghsen against hÈlÒghse in Rahlfs. In Leg. 1,80 (Genesis 30,18) the difference between the two Septuagint editions lies in the euphonic n of esti, which is documented in Rahlfs.
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most of which are documented in the manuscript tradition either of Philo or the Septuagint. We shall start from the least significant as regards the meaning of the text and finish with the true variations, dealing with them in increasing order of importance as far as possible. Besides the presence of euphonic -n,103 the itacistic variant i/ei in the proper noun Feisvn104 and the word order change in a passage,105 among the variants can also be found additions or omissions of the title kÊriow,106 of the preposition §n plus dative,107 of articles108 and conjunctions.109 Other examples of variants are the lab≈n of Leg. 1,31 (Genesis 2,7), which is a typical example of graphic participle in biblical Greek,110 the exchange between …w and …se¤111 and among different verb forms with the same root.112 There are three cases where,113 I think, it is a question of different renderings of the text rather than direct quotes, since the variances between different texts are too manifest, although the reference is clear. In Leg. 1,52 (Exodus 20,23) and 1,56 (Genesis 2,9) Philo and the Masoretic Text agree ‘against’ the Septuagint; indeed, metħmoË translates ittî ( •auto›w) and does not have additional ¶ti, which has no counterpart in Hebrew. The manuscript tradition of the Septuagint reads §po¤hsen in Leg. 1,53 (= 88) instead of ¶plasen, which is the form preferred by critical editions. Philo uses ¶plasen, according to the distinction made with respect to Genesis 2,8, which
103 Per §st¤(n) Leg. I,63 (= 77) Genesis 2,11; §po¤hse(n) Leg. I,16 Genesis 2,2b (Wevers adds it, but Rahlfs does not). 104 Leg. 1,63 (i) Genesis 2,11 (ei). 105 Leg. 1,17.18 poie›n ı yeÒw Genesis 2,3 ı yeÚw poie›n. 106 This may be due to liturgical enlargement in Genesis 2,8 compared to Leg. 1,41 (= 43), which has ≤m°r&. 107 Leg. 1,2 (+ §n) for Genesis 2,2 and vice versa in Genesis 2,2b (Leg. 1,16) in Wevers (Rahlfs prefers the text without §n). 108 tou Leg. 1,41 before farav in Exodus 7,1: the Church Fathers more often use the dative tv. 109 oÔn Leg. 1,16 (Genesis 2,2b); d° I,52 (Leviticus 19,23); 105 (Genesis 2,17) but in I,90 the two texts agreed: gãr I,80 (Genesis 49,15). 110 F. Blass – A. Debrunner – F. Rehkopf, Grammatica del greco del Nuovo Testamento (original title, Grammatik des neutestamentlichen Griechisch, Göttingen, 1976), Brescia, 1982, pp. 508–509. 111 Leg. 1,76 (Numbers 12,12). 112 Leg. 1,96 (Genesis 3,23): Wevers prefers the passive aorist form with nasal infix. Leg. 1,52 perikayar¤sai Leviticus 19,23 perikayarie›te; I,63 kuklo› Genesis 2,13 kukl«n, I,80 §g°neto Genesis 49,15 §genÆyh. 113 Leg. 1,17 Genesis 6,9.12; I,80 Genesis 29,35; I,81 Exodus 28,17.18.
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in the Septuagint 2,15 reads ¶plasen; thus the man ‘made’ as endowed with intelligence and memory is superior to the ‘man who has been moulded.’114 The latter was simply ‘placed’ in the garden of Eden (2,8), while the former was ordered to ‘work and guard’ the garden. The last three quotations are, as we can see, the most interesting as regards the study of the Septuagint Vorlage and the existence of variants of the biblical text itself. The fact that the text chosen by Philo largely conforms to the Septuagint leads us to reaffirm, even in a limited study like this, that Philo freely chose which biblical text to follow (either the Septuagint or the Hebrew).
114 See also M. Harl (ed.), La Génèse, La Bible d’Alexandrie 1, Paris, 1986, p. 103 note to 2,15.
CHAPTER THREE
THE IMAGE OF ISRAEL IN THE WRITINGS OF PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA L R U Introduction In this essay,1 we intend to illustrate the historical and religious conception of Israel described in the works of Philo of Alexandria, taking into account the overall circumstances of Hebraism in Philo’s days, as reflected in his political writings, Against Flaccus and On the Embassy to Gaius. Given the vast scope of Philo’s work, we have paid particular attention to On the Special Laws, a treatise dedicated to the analytical exposition of the law, without, however, completely disregarding evidence to be found in other works, which was relevant to the topic. In fact, Against Flaccus, On the Embassy to Gaius and On the Special Laws are works which, though by no means identical in genre and probable readership, were composed relatively close in time2 and are among those which directly refer to Israel and its institutions. For more details on this point, the reader is referred to the relative bibliography.3 1 This article is a revised and updated version of a contribution published in Italian on “Ricerche storico-bibliche” 1, 1989, pp. 81–97. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Doctor Francesca Calabi for including this article in the publication she edits, and Professor Lucio Troiani for kindly reading it. 2 From the internal cross-references, we can deduce that On the Special Laws is later than the other two works, since it alludes to the turmoil during the time of Flaccus and Caligula (cf. Spec. 3. 4–5 [see V. Nikiprowetzky, De Decalogo, Les Oeuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie (hereafter referred to as OPA) 23, Paris, 1965, p. 15, n. 1] and probably also Spec. 4. 224). 3 Regarding Against Flaccus, see A. Pelletier, In Flaccum, OPA 31, Paris, 1967; for On the Embassy to Gaius, see A. Pelletier, Legatio ad Caium, OPA 32, Paris, 1972 and E. M. Smallwood, Philonis Alexandrini Legatio ad Gaium, Leiden, 21970 (11961). Nor should we forget the presentation and Italian translation of Flacc. and Legat. by C. Kraus, Filone Alessandrino e un’ora tragica della storia ebraica, Naples, 1967. For On the Special Laws see the French edition: the first two tomes were edited by S. Daniel, De Specialibus Legibus I et II, OPA 24, Paris, 1975, and the last two by A. Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus III et IV, OPA 25, Paris, 1970. Regarding On the Special Laws
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Who, therefore, are the Jews? Who is Israel for Philo? In order to answer these questions, we must first consider the terms that recur in his works. Philo referred to the Jews as ÑEbra›oi and sometimes as Xalda›oi, often as ÉIouda›oi or as ÉIouda¤vn tÚ ¶ynow, rarely as ÉIsraÆl, at least in his works whose contents are not specifically allegorical. The Use of Terms 4 ÑEbra›ow
In Migr. 20 the given etymology interprets ÑEbra›ow as perãthw, as was the case in the (Genesis 14, 13; cf. 1 Kings 13, 7: o¤ diaba¤nontew), but its meaning is immediately transposed to the allegorical
in particular, one cannot ignore some “classic” studies, although with some reservations, such as those by E. R. Goodenough, The Jurisprudence of the Jewish Courts in Egypt, New Haven, 1929; I. Heinemann, Philons griechische und jüdische Bildung. Kulturvergleichende Untersuchungen zu Philons Darstellung der jüdischen Gesetze, Breslau, 1932 and S. Belkin, Philo and the Oral Law. The Philonic Interpretation of Biblical Law in Relation to the Palestinian Halakah, Cambridge (Mass.), 1940. Furthermore, for an introduction to Philo, see R. Arnaldez, Introduction générale, OPA 1, Paris, 1961, pp. 2–96, and the recent status quaestionis by P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria. A Critical and Synthetical Survey of Research since World War II, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt (ANRW from now on), II. 21. 1. Principat, ed. by W. Haase, Berlin/New York, 1984, pp. 98–154; and now also E. Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.E.–C.E. 135). A New English Version Revised and Edited by G. Vermes, F. Millar, M. Goodman, III. 2, Edinburgh, 1987, pp. 809–889 (ed. by J. Morris), and P. Borgen, Philo of Alexandria, An Exegete for His Time, Supplements to Novum Testamentum 86, Leiden/New York/Köln, 1997. Among the numerous Philonic bibliographies, we will mention only the more recent ones: R. Radice, D. T. Runia, Philo of Alexandria. An Annotated Bibliography 1937–1986, Leiden/New York, 1988, and E. Hilgert, Bibliographia Philoniana 1935–1981, in ANRW, II.21.1, pp. 47–97. These are repertories which, as the given chronological limits indicate, aim to continue those compiled by H. L. Goodhart and E. R. Goodenough (A General Bibliography of Philo Judaeus) and published in E. R. Goodenough’s, The Politics of Philo Judaeus. Practice and Theory, New Haven, 1938, pp. 125–321. See also the bibliographies published by D. T. Runia, R. Radice and other contributors in “Studia Philonica Annual” since 1989. Philo’s texts are generally reproduced according to Colson’s translation (see F. H. Colson, G. H. Whitaker, Philo, I–V, London/New York, 1929–1934; F. H. Colson, Philo, VI–X, London/Cambridge, Mass. 1935–1962). 4 On the use of ÉIouda›ow, ÑEbra›ow and ÉIsraÆl in Philo see now E. Birnbaum, The Place of Judaism in Philo’s Thought. Israel, Jews, and Proselytes, Studia Philonica monographs/Brown Judaic studies 290, Atlanta, Georgia, 1996, particularly on pp. 45–50, and G. Harvey, The True Israel. Uses of the Names Jew, Hebrew and Israel in Ancient Jewish and Early Christian Literature, AGAJU 35, Leiden/New York/Köln 1996,
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plane. This explains why “Jew” means “Migrant”: indeed, the “passage from the sphere of the senses to that of the intellect” is of the Jewish genos. The term often appears when biblical history5 is paraphrased or when Philo refers to the sacred institutions (cf., e.g., Spec. 2. 145: “the . . . feast, called the Crossing-Feast, which the Hebrews in their native tongue call Pascha”; or Spec. 2. 41 and 86 regarding the Sabbath; etc.). Furthermore, Philo also speaks about the ÑEbra›oi, when he contrasts their language with that of the Greeks,6 with whom he identifies himself (Conf. 129 “in the Hebrew tongue . . . but in our own”); and particularly when he gives the etymological explanation of the proper names which appear in the Bible.7 But we will return to this problem of language in due course. Xalda›ow
Another term which often recurs in Philo’s works is Xalda›ow, which seems to have been used as a synonym for ÑEbra›ow (cf. Praem. 14; 23;8 31; etc.). But Xalda›ow with the adjective XaldaÛkÒw and the adverbial form XaldaÛst¤9 (cf. Abr. 99; 201;10 Legat. 4; Mos. 2. 224; Praem. 44)—first appears in contexts which refer to the language of
pp. 43–46. 121–124. 219–224; on the occurrences and different meanings of Xalda›ow see C. K. Wong, Philo’s Use of Chaldaioi, “Studia Philonica Annual” 4, 1992, pp. 1–14; cf. Birnbaum, op. cit., p. 47. 5 Abr. 251; Ios. 50; 203; Mos. 1. 15; 105; 143–147; 179–180; 216; 218; 243; 252; 263; 276; 278; 284; 288–289; 295; 305; 311; Mos. 2. 32; etc. 6 Cf. Abr. 17; Conf. 68; Congr. 37; Ios. 28; Mut. 71; etc. 7 Abr. 57; Conf. 130; Plant. 169; Sobr. 45; Somn. 2. 250. 8 Cf. Abr. 27. 9 Generally, “Chaldean” is identified with Hebrew (cf. R. Arnaldez, C. Mondesért, J. Pouilloux, P. Savinel, De Vita Mosis I–II, OPA 22, Paris, 1967, p. 203, n. 4). The same happens in Pelletier’s work (Legatio cit., p. 34), which also points out how the use of “Chaldean” to mean Hebrew is peculiar to Philo. The French scholar explains it in these terms: “Philon préfère les dérivés de Xalda›ow, spécialement XaldaÛst¤, parce que son goût pour les allégories étymologiques le pousse à remonter aux origines de la langue, qui se confondent pour lui avec celles d’Abraham” (ibid., p. 353). Others, while keeping the equation Chaldean = Hebrew, give their motivation by referring to the chronology of Philo’s works: “In the later treatises Philo tends to use Xalda›oi, XaldaÛst¤” (cf. Colson, Philo cit., X, p. 321, n. a [indices edited by J. W. Earp]; Colson, Philo cit., VI, p. 8, n. a; for a different opinion see Wong, Philo’s Use of Chaldaioi cit.). This aporia could be overcome by considering Hebrew written in Aramaic characters, that is in square characters (the only impediment is the fact that in Mos. 2. 26 Philo refers to the “Chaldean language” [gl≈ss˙ XaldaÛkª]; cf. Mos. 2. 31). 10 Cf. Praem. 31.
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the Jews. One of the most eloquent passages regarding this is the one containing the news of the translation of the . It was carried out by translating to Greek from Chaldean (Mos. 2. 31), a language used in ancient times for the writing of Israel’s laws (Mos. 2. 26: gl≈ss˙ XaldaÛkª). This event was considered of such importance that, since Philo’s days, to commemorate the translation, an annual feast11 was held on the island of Pharos, in which even Gentiles (Mos. 2. 41–42), probably sympathizers of Judaism, participated. The story, in part, echoes that in the Epistle of Aristeas. One may note, however, some significant differences between Philo’s appraisal and that of the Epistle of Aristeas. According to Philo, in fact, the resulting translation was literal in character and consistent with its contents (each word in Greek always corresponds to the same one in Hebrew) resulting in a perfect copy of the original. Aristeas, on the other hand, had limited himself to emphasising the accuracy of the translation (Aristeas 32; 302). “Yet who does not know,” observes Philo, “that every language, and Greek especially, abounds in terms, and that the same thought can be put in many shapes by changing single words and whole phrases and suiting the expression to the occasion? This was not the case, we are told, with this law of ours, but the Greek words used corresponded literally with the Chaldean . . . The clearest proof of this is that, if Chaldeans have learned Greek, or Greeks Chaldean, and read both versions, the Chaldean and the translation, they regard them with awe and reverence as sisters, or rather one and the same, both in matter and words, and speak of the authors not as translators but as prophets and priests of the mysteries” (Mos. 2. 38; 40; cf. Mos. 2. 37: “they (the translators) became as if they were possessed and under inspiration [kayãper ¢nyousi«ntew proefÆteuon], wrote, not each several scribe something different, but the same word for word, as though dictated to each by an invisible prompter.” Here, what is evidently alluded to is the inspired character of the .12 The problem which Philo’s information raises is that of how one 11 Some Rabbinic traditions, on the other hand, considered the anniversary of the translation as a day of mourning (cf. V. Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Ecriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie. Son caractère et sa portée. Observations philologiques, Leiden, 1977, p. 65, which quotes Meg. Ta"anit 13 and Mass. Soferim I, 8). 12 See Arnaldez, Mondésert, Pouilloux, Savinel, De Vita Mosis cit., p. 210, n. 1. In Mos. 2. 41 it is even affirmed that the place where the translation was done, that is the island of Pharos, was considered holy.
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should consider “Chaldean,”13 to the extent that, concerning this specific point, he differs once again from the Epistle of Aristeas. The anonymous author of the Epistle, in fact, expressly referred to Hebrew and Hebrew characters (Aristeas 30: ÑEbraÛko›w grãmmasi ka‹ fvnª; cf. 3; 38), leading scholars to conclude that during the period in which the was translated the original Law was written in PaleoHebrew characters (or, that, at least, Aristeas had knowledge of texts in Paleo-Hebrew).14 Therefore, does Philo allude to a text written in Aramaic characters15 or, since he spoke Greek and not Aramaic (cf. Conf. 129), did he subscribe to the current opinion that Aramaic was commonly used in Palestine, as demonstrated by the Epistle of Aristeas itself (Aristeas 11)? This question concerns not only the problem of whether or not Philo knew Hebrew, which will probably remain unanswered,16 but also the fate of Aramaic, which was regarded as the official language of Palestine, a fact confirmed by other sources. Regarding this question, the testimony of Against Flaccus is note-worthy: when it describes the comedy mocking at Agrippa in Alexandria, it is said that the name of the king in Palestine17 was Marin (Flacc. 39), which immediately reminds us of the Aramaic Maran. After this brief digression, which has raised the problem of language, let us resume our excursus on Xalda›ow. In an ethno-historical sense, the appellative Chaldean is naturally used to refer to Abraham, the progenitor of the Jewish people (toË t«n ÉIouda¤vn ¶ynouw ı presbÊtatow g°now m¢n ∑n Xalda›ow) (Virt. 212; cf. Flavius Josephus, c. Ap. 1. 71). Moreover, as we have already pointed out, the Jews may also be generally referred to as Chaldeans by extension (cf. Abr. 12; Mos. 1. 5; 2. 40; Praem. 14; 23;18 31; etc.). Moses Cf. n. 9. Regarding this, see G. Garbini, Storia e ideologia nell’Israele antico, Brescia, 1986, pp. 201–202 (engl. version: History and Ideology in ancient Israel, New York, 1988). 15 Cf. n. 9. 16 On the opposing positions of those who declared themselves for or against Philo’s knowledge of Hebrew, see Arnaldez, Introduction générale cit., pp. 46–48. But even now, some still sustain that there is little probability of Philo knowing Hebrew: this line is held, for example, by D. Rokeah, A New Onomasticon Fragment from Oxyrhyncus and Philo’s Etymologies, “Journal of Theological Studies” N.S. 19, 1968, pp. 70–82, particularly on pp. 75–77 and 81–82; and Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Ecriture cit., pp. 50–96. Nazzaro is of a different opinion: his thesis is based not on the etymologies, but on those passages which seem to presuppose a Hebrew text rather than the translation of the . Cf. A. Nazzaro, Filone Alessandrino e l’ebraico, “Rendiconti dell’Accademia di archeologia, lettere e belle arti” 42, 1967, pp. 61–79. 17 Cf. Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., p. 71, n. 8. 18 Cf. Abr. 27. 13 14
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himself, presented as the head of the Jews (Mos. 1. 243), was said to have been Chaldean (Mos. 1. 5), although it is true that there exists a variant reading, where Xalda›ow is replaced by ÑEbra›ow.19 Finally, the term Chaldeans is widely used in the metaphorical sense (cf., e.g., Migr. 187 (“opinion, the country of the Chaldeans”) as well as, naturally, in the literal sense.20 ÉIouda›oi or tÚ ÉIouda¤vn ¶ynow
These are expressions that were already in use before Philo (e.g., Aristeas 22–23)21 and can also be found in the works of pagan authors.22 In Philo’s works, they do not exclusively refer to the inhabitants of Judaea—whom he prefers to call “the Jewish inhabitants of the Holy Land” (Legat. 205: toÁw t∞w ¤erçw x≈raw ofikÆtoraw ÉIouda¤ouw)—, but to the Jews in a broader sense (as does Flavius Josephus: cf., e.g., AJ XV, 14, which refers to the Jews of Babylon). In fact, they are synonyms of ÑEbra›oi, but more often of ÑEbra›oi they recur when Philo speaks of Hebraism in his days (in Spec. 4. 224) and particularly in his political writings (cf. Flacc.; Legat., passim). We should also point out the simple use of tÚ ¶ynow, which, in some cases, is charged with emphasis23 and, so, acquires an absolute value to mean the people by antonomasia. ÉIsraÆl ÉIsraÆl rarely appears as the proper name of the people, if we dis-
regard biblical passages or quotations.24 At the beginning of On the Cf. Arnaldez, Mondésert, Pouilloux, Savinel, De Vita Mosis cit., p. 29, note 3. See, e.g., Abr. 72; 188; Her. 277. 21 Cf. 1 Macabees 8, 25; 11, 30. 33; 12, 3; 13, 36; 2 Macabees 10, 8; etc. In the Septuagint ÉIouda›oi translates Y ehudim (4 Kings 16, 6; 25, 25; etc.). On the first occurrences of Y ehudim in texts which date back to the exilic period see B. G. L. Boschi, Alle radici del Giudaismo, in B. Chiesa (ed.), Correnti culturali e movimenti religiosi del Giudaismo. Atti del V Congresso internazionale dell’AISG. S. Miniato, 12–15 novembre 1984, Roma, 1987, pp. 9–23, on pp. 10–11. 22 Cf. M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, I: From Herodotus to Plutarch, Jerusalem, 1976, pp. 106–108 (no. 30a; 30b); 113 (no. 32); 181–182 (no. 63); etc. 23 Cf. G. Delling, The “One who sees God” in Philo, in F. E. Greenspahn, E. Hilgert, B. L. Mack (eds.), Nourished with Peace. Studies in Hellenistic Judaism in Memory of Samuel Sandmel, Chico (CA), 1984, pp. 27–41, on p. 40. 24 Cf. I. Leisegang, Indices ad Philonis Alexandrini Opera, in L. Cohn, P. Wendland (eds.), Philonis Alexandrini Opera quae supersunt, VII, Pars I, Berolini, 1926, p. 13. 19
20
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Embassy to Gaius (Legat. 4) and in On Abraham (Abr. 57), an etymological explanation is given:25 “for the nation is called in the Hebrew tongue Israel, which, being interpreted, is ‘He who sees God’ “(Abr. l.c); but, often, it is referred to through other periphrases: one of these is “the nation of vision (tÚ ıratikÚn g°now)” (Mut. 189; Somn. 2. 276. 279; Conf. 91; etc.).26 In such cases it takes on a decidedly philosophical-theological meaning and, as a result, introduces a widening of the notion of Israel itself.27 The Tradition of Israel The history of Israel is not one of Philo’s specific interests: he was more inclined to philosophical-moral speculations and, although not denying the literal meaning of the Scriptures, gave precedence to allegorical interpretation. The privileged theme of biblical history is, in any case, the Exodus: it also offers many elements which allow it to be interpreted in the allegorical-spiritual sense (cf., e.g., Migr. 14, which alludes to the exit of “the population of the soul from Egypt, that is, from the body and its inhabitants”; and, on the other hand, Passover which symbolizes the purification of the soul;28 etc.). At any rate, in relation to our essay, it is worth pointing out a specific aspect in the Hypothetica,29 because of its particularity. Philo makes a rapid sketch of the history of the Jews on the guidelines of the biblical narratives. When he comes to the important section of 25 Regarding the etymology of Israel, cf. Smallwood, Legatio cit., pp. 153–154; Pelletier, Legatio cit., pp. 353–354. According to this last author, the “wrong” etymology of the name Israel is functional to Philo’s thesis: “l’idée de “voir” est la base de la connaissance que l’homme peut avoir de Dieu” (ibid., p. 353). Cf. Abr. 77–80. 26 Regarding correlated expressions, see Delling’s article, cited on note 23, in particular on pp. 30ff. 27 Cf. S. Sandmel, Philo Judaeus: An Introduction to the Man, His Writings, and his Significance, in ANRW, II.21.1, pp. 3–46, on p. 26: “In general, however, he means by Israel anyone, Jew or not, who rises to the “vision” of God.” On the wider notion of Israel, see also A. Maddalena, Filone Alessandrino, Milano, 1970, on pp. 396–417. On the historical level, anyway, one has to go through the “religion of Israel” in order to get to the “vision,” that is the knowledge, of God (see Delling, The “One who sees God” cit., p. 41). 28 Cf. Spec. 2. 147. 29 Regarding the Hypothetica, see the introduction to the work by Colson, Philo cit., IX, pp. 407ff. Cf. also L. Troiani, Osservazioni sopra l’Apologia di Filone: gli Hypothetica, “Athenaeum” N.S. 56, 1978, pp. 304–314.
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the Exodus, he names one of its reasons, which can almost be considered a leitmotif of Philo’s work and which is also often echoed by the ancient authors: polyanthropia (cf. Spec. 1. 141; Gig. 1; Legat. 214–215; Mos. 1. 8; Prob. 75; etc.).30 This is a concept to which, as we shall see, Philo often gives emphasis. Descendants of a Chaldean progenitor (of Jacob, and not of Abraham, as we would expect),31 “this people,” wrote Philo, “who had emigrated from Syria (to Egypt) (here we can notice an anachronism already found in the ),32 in past time removed from Egypt partly because of the vast size of the population for which the land was insufficient” (Hypoth. 6. 1). Other causes were added to this: the spirit of initiative with which this people had grown, the visions and dreams that God had sent and, not least, nostalgia for the ancient land (ibid.). But what is most noticeable is the reference to polyanthropia (Hypoth. 6. 1: . . . tÚn d¢ laÚn . . . murãsi te émuyÆtoiw plÆyonta): the prolific nature of Israel can be inferred from the Bible (Exodus 1, 7.9.12; etc.), but what the Bible does not say is that the Exodus took place because of this, although such a motive can be considered implicit (Exodus 1,7; Deuteronomy 26,5). The Exodus is, rather, considered as related to the sufferings undergone by Israel in Egypt (Exodus 3,17; cf. Deuteronomy 26,6–8).33 The reference to polyanthropia in the Hypothetica (cf. also Hypoth. 6. 1: . . . kép‹ tosoËton Íperbãllein efiw poluandr¤an) has a feel of topicality and, in a context such as that of Alexandria, which gravitated towards the Roman world, would give the impression of a kind of captatio benevolentiae, since Augustus had passed a law which aimed to limit the fall in birth-rate among the upper classes.34 And this is not improbable in a text of an apologetic character like the Hypothetica. Regarding the characters of biblical history, they were assimilated into the characters of Greek culture in line with a trend which was not new in Jewish-Hellenistic literature:35 so, Noah is associated with Cf. infra, n. 51. Cf. Colson, Philo cit., IX, p. 414, n. b. 32 Cf. Deuteronomy 26,5. 33 See Spec. 2. 217–218. 34 It refers to the Lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus, issued in 18 ...—and followed by the Lex Papia Poppaea of 9 ..—which aimed at penalising those without descendancy. On this question, see J. T. Noonan, Contraception et mariage. Evolution ou contradiction dans la pensée chrétienne, Paris, 1969 (= Cambridge [Mass.], 1966), pp. 32ff. 35 Cf. G. L. Prato, Cosmopolitismo culturale e autoidentificazione etnica nella prima storiografia giudaica, “Rivista Biblica” 34, 1986, pp. 143–182, on p. 155. 30
31
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Deucalion (Praem. 23); Terah, the father of Abraham, with Socrates (Somn. 1. 58), etc. But Philo would go further by attempting the fusion of Jewish thought with Greek philosophical systems. As with Moses, he becomes the teacher who inspires Greek legislators and philosophers (Spec. 4. 61; Leg. 1. 108; etc.),36 according to the topoi of the Jewish-Hellenistic apologetics.37 In dispute with detractors who accused him of being an impostor (Hypoth. 6. 3: tÚn gÒhta §ke›non cf. 6. 2) or perhaps because they reproached him for being an innovator,38 Philo dated the Law of Moses to 2000 years earlier, basing his ideas, however, on a chronology which had already been consolidated.39 Strangely, Moses is one of the least interpreted, allegorically speaking, of biblical characters:40 underestimated by the Greeks who “have refused to treat him as worthy of memory” (Mos. 1. 2), he gathers in himself the prerogatives of “king, legislator, high priest and prophet” (Mos. 2. 3ss; 292; cf. Praem. 53–56), etc.41 But aside from the parts which subscribe to traditional apologetics or which tend to present Moses according to the current models (as the perfect sage of the Stoics, etc.),42 the aspect which we wish to emphasise is that Philo was the first one to affirm the Mosaic authority of the Scriptures, taking the Scriptures as a closed corpus composed of five books,43
36 Cf. Arnaldez, Mondésert, Pouilloux, Savinel, De Vita Mosis cit., pp. 34–35, n. 3. Related documentation can be found in N. Walter, Der Thoraausleger Aristobulos. Untersuchungen zu seinen Fragmenten und zu pseudepigraphischen Resten der jüdisch-hellenistischen Literatur, Berlin, 1964, p. 51. 37 Cf. Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus cit., p. 235, n. 6; Walter, Der Thoraausleger Aristobulos cit., pp. 44–45. 38 This argument is echoed in Tacitus, Historiae V, 4, 1; cf. M. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors on Jews and Judaism, II. From Tacitus to Simplicius, Jerusalem, 1980, p. 18 (no. 281). 39 Among the Jewish-Hellenistic authors, particularly Pseudo-Eupolemus and Artapanus date Moses in very ancient times (Prato, Cosmopolitismo culturale cit., pp. 162–163). 40 See the indices edited by Earp in Colson, Philo cit., X, under Moses, in particular on p. 386 (“Philo makes comparatively little use of Moses as a symbolical figure”). 41 On the titles bestowed on Moses, refer to the indices cited previously, on pp. 386–389. 42 Cf. E. R. Goodenough, An Introduction to Philo Judaeus, Oxford, 21962 (11940), p. 33. 43 Other groups of texts, at any rate, were not unknown to Philo (Contempl. 25; cf. F. Daumas, P. Miquel, De Vita Contemplativa, OPA 29, Paris, 1963, p. 94 and n. 2). He himself quoted passages not included in the Pentateuch (cf. Ebr. 143, where Philo quoted 1 Samuel 1,11; Deus 6 [1 Samuel 1,28]; etc.).
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as he himself affirmed in On the Eternity of the World (Aet. 19)—if we accept Philo’s paternity of this work.44 Nevertheless, he does not ignore the existence of certain internal aporia, such as the fact that the Scriptures hint at the death of Moses, which Philo explains by referring to the prophetic qualities of the patriarch who was thus able to describe his own end in advance (Mos. 2. 291). Furthermore, according to Philo, it was Moses himself who gave the titles to the books of the Pentateuch: at least, that is what he sustains regarding Genesis (Aet. 19: “And long before Hesiod Moses, the legislator of the Jews, said in the Holy Books [§n flera›w b¤bloiw] . . . these books are five in number, to the first of which he gave the name of Genesis”); and the same holds for the Exodus (Migr. 14).45 This theme would probably deserve an in-depth study, but it lies outside the limits of our research. Therefore, let us move on to the next point. The Historical-Political Situation of Hebraism in Philo’s Time and The New Notion of “People” The situation of Hebraism in Philo’s time is quite complex, in which the reality of the Diaspora comes to the fore as never before: first and foremost the Diaspora of Alexandria and Egypt in general, but also that of the Middle East and Mediterranean and, finally, the Italian Diaspora. We learn, therefore, that Hebraism in Egypt was not totally concentrated in Alexandria—where the inhabitants of two out of five quarters were prevalently Jews who, nevertheless, were also present in the others (Flacc. 55: “The city has five quarters named after the first letters of the alphabet, two of these are called Jewish, because most of the Jews inhabit them, though in the rest also there are not a few Jews scattered about”).46 They were spread everywhere: from the borders with Libya47 until those with Ethiopia 44 It seems that, today, the authenticity of On the Eternity of the World, which was doubtful in the past, is no longer a problem. Cf. R. Arnaldez, De aeternitate mundi, OPA 30, Paris, 1969, p. 13. See also D. T. Runia, Philo’s De aeternitate mundi: the Problem of its Interpretation, “Vigiliae Christianae” 35, 1981, pp. 105–151. 45 Cf. M. Harl, La Bible d’Alexandrie, I. La Genèse, Paris, 1986, p. 32: “Même si ces titres n’ont pas été donnés par les traducteurs eux-mêmes, ils sont attestés à date ancienne, au plus tard par Philon d’Alexandrie . . .” 46 The discovery of ruins of synagogues also in the other quarters confirms this fact (cf. Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., p. 83, n. 4). 47 Cf. Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., pp. 167–169.
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(Flacc. 43), that is to say all over Egypt. According to Philo, about a million Jews lived there (ibid.), much more than the hundred thousand deported from Judaea to Egypt by Ptolemy I Lagus, according to the Epistle of Aristeas (Aristeas 12). Then, in On the Embassy to Gaius, stress was given to the importance of the Oriental Jews (Legat. 216: “Babylon and many other satrapies were occupied by Jews”). According to what Philo affirms in terms which sound hyperbolic, the governor of Syria, Petronius, was said to have been impressed by the “military forces stationed beyond the Euphrates” (ibid.). This report about the numerical consistency of the Jews in the Parthian Empire is confirmed by Flavius Josephus (AJ XI, 133).48 The situation in the west was not less gratifying: in Rome, a sizeable quarter beyond the Tiber was inhabited by Jews: for the most part, they were freedmen who reached Italy as prisoners of war, who were later set free by their masters (Legat. 155).49 According to Philo, the Roman community enjoyed a particularly favourable situation under Augustus, if it is true that, in observance of Jewish traditions, he had even ordered that wheat rations or monetary donations destined for the Jews be set aside, when the monthly distributions fell on a Sabbath (ibid., 158).50 Though the origin of each community could be traced to contingent reasons as in the case of the Roman one, the extensive flourishing of the Jewish Diaspora could be attributed to demographic
48 Cf. Smallwood, Legatio cit., p. 271; L. Troiani, Gli Ebrei e lo Stato pagano in Filone e in Giuseppe, Pisa, 1980, pp. 193–218, on p. 204: “Of the twelve tribes of Israel— says Josephus—only two were subjects to the Romans, while the other ten are beyond the Euphrates, countless myriads whose number cannot be ascertained (AJ XI, 133).” A map of the Jewish settlements beyond the Euphrates is drawn by J. Juster, Les Juifs dans l’empire romain. Leur condition juridique, économique et sociale, I, New York, 1914, pp. 199–203 (apud Smallwood, Legatio cit., p. 271). But regarding this, see the reservations expressed by Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., p. 162, n. 10. On the Jews of Babylon, see J. Neusner, A History of the Jews in Babylonia, I: The Parthian Period, Leiden, 1969. 49 On the origins of the Roman community and its rights, cf. Smallwood, Legatio cit., pp. 234ff. With regards to Philo, it is probable that he had in mind the deduction of prisoners of war of first century ..., which started with Pompey in 63 ... But in reality, the Roman Jewish community is supposed to have been older and dates back to second century ... On the Jews of Rome see the interesting article by R. Penna, The Jews in Rome at the Time of the Apostle Paul, in Paul the Apostle: A Theological and Exegetical Study, I: Jew and Greek Alike, Collegeville, Minnesota, 1996 (= Cinisello Balsamo [Milano], 1991), pp. 19–47. 50 In reality, the Jews were granted privileges by Julius Caesar (cf. Smallwood, Legatio cit., p. 236).
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explosion:51 “For so populous are the Jews that no one country can hold them” (Flacc. 45). On the Embassy to Gaius also draws an extremely detailed map of settlements in the Mediterranean area. It includes Asia Minor and Greece, but also islands such as Euboea, Cyprus and Crete (Legat. 281–282). Due to their numbers, the Jews had spread almost everywhere (Flacc. 49: pantaxÒyi t∞w ofikoum°nhw): in fact, this is presented as a characteristic of the Jewish people, which distinguishes them from other populations (Legat. 214). But this is not the only aspect that would describe Hebraism in Philo’s time; the real novelty is an aspiration to that which someone would define a “double nationality.”52 However one might interpret things, in Alexandria at least, the Jews claimed, through Philo, their “right to citizenship” in the land where they were born. Here is how the situation is described in Against Flaccus: “they hold the Holy City (tØn flerÒpolin),53 where stands the sacred Temple of the most high God, to be their mother city (mhtrÒpolin),54 yet those which are theirs by inheritance from their fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors even farther back, are in each case accounted by them to be their fatherland (patr¤daw) in which they were born and reared” (Flacc. 46). Then, in some cases, they even participated in the foundation of colonies (ibid.).55 Moses is, in a way, the prototype of this form of Hebraism: born in Egypt, but of Jewish origin (Mos. 1. 5). It is a postulate which may first be more theoretical before it is real: it has been ascertained that in Alexandria, citizenship was given to individual Jews and not to the Jewish politeuma as a whole.56 Probably, it was only to defend the status quo, the acquired privileges,
Polyanthropia is a recurring item not only in Philo’s works (Legat. 214–215; Mos. 1. 8; Prob. 75; etc.). Among the pagan authors who mention it, see, e.g., Hecataeus of Abdera (cf. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors cit., I, p. 27 [no. 11]). Cf. also A. Passoni Dell’Acqua, review of F. Festorazzi, A. Bonora, A. Sisti, Il Messaggio della Salvezza. Gli “Scritti” dell’Antico Testamento, Torino, Leumann 1985, “Rivista Biblica” 34, 1986, pp. 408–410, on p. 410. 52 Cf. Kraus, Filone Alessandrino cit., p. 43; C. Kraus Reggiani, I rapporti tra l’impero romano e il mondo ebraico al tempo di Caligola secondo la “Legatio ad Gaium” di Filone Alessandrino, in ANRW, II. 21.1, pp. 554–586, on pp. 585–586. 53 Cf. Legat. 281; 288. 54 Cf. Legat. 203; 281. 55 For example, in the case of Alexandria and Antioch (cf. Flavius Josephus, c. Ap. 2. 38–39 and AJ XII, 119). Cf. Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., p. 77, n. 7; Passoni Dell’Acqua, review of F. Festorazzi, A. Bonora, A. Sisti, Il Messaggio della Salvezza cit., p. 410. 56 On this controversial question, which the Letter of Claudius to the Alexandrians was finally able to settle, cf. Smallwood, Legatio cit., in particular on pp. 6–7. 51
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because Flaccus’s edict declared as foreigners (j°nouw ka‹ §pÆludaw) the Jews living in Alexandria (Flacc. 54).57 At any rate, whatever the situation, there is the question of the relationship with the Mother Country and the reconsideration of one’s status. Let us examine how this relationship is shaped. Aside from the odd bit of concrete information, like the one regarding Javneh (Legat. 200) or how thickly-populated Judaea was (Legat. 215), the picture which Philo gives us of Palestine takes on some stereotypical characteristics: Palestine is referred to as a “holy land” (Legat. 205) and the Jews living there as “the Jewish inhabitants of the Holy Land (toÁw t∞w flerçw x≈raw ofikÆtoraw ÉIouda¤ouw)” (ibid.). Jerusalem with its temple is elevated to the role of metropolis, of the capital of worldwide Hebraism (Flacc. 46; Legat. 281: “she ( Jerusalem)—writes Agrippa to Caligula—is my native city, she is also the mother city not of one country—Judaea—, but of most of the others in virtue of the colonies sent out at diverse times to the neighbouring lands . . . and the lands lying far apart”58 Because of its temple, Jerusalem became the important cross-road of the Diaspora, where Jews from all over the world, from East to West, annually sent their tribute: “they collect money for sacred purposes (xrÆmata . . . flerã) from their first-fruits and send them to Jerusalem by persons who would offer the sacrifices” (Legat. 156). Not only the Jews of Rome, but also the Jews from beyond the Euphrates, like all the other Jews (Legat. 216; 315, cf. 312–313). To summarize, therefore, the picture of Hebraism at that time, which emerges in Against Flaccus and On the Embassy to Gaius, shows the Diaspora taking on preponderant importance, while, from the point of view of the author, Palestine identifies itself with Jerusalem and its temple, the inviolable character of which is reaffirmed (Legat. 212) in the same way as that of the “Holy Land” (Legat. 202). In the same way that both Against Flaccus and On the Embassy to Gaius give a historical-geographical map of Hebraism in Philo’s days, On the Special Laws offers a detailed panorama of its institutions and of the Law. This time, the background is the land of Israel (here, in fact, Philo mentions, although in passing, the division of the territory among the tribes of Israel;59 the allotment to the Levites;60 57 58 59 60
Cf. Cf. Cf. Cf.
Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., p. 82, n. 1. Kraus Reggiani, I rapporti tra l’impero romano e il mondo ebraico cit., p. 586. Spec. 2. 119. Spec. 2. 120–121.
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etc.), but it deals more with the “biblical” Israel than with Palestine in those days. In reality, it is not the “land”61 which attracts his interest, but the laws and their interpretation. On the Special Laws constitutes, in fact, a sizeable repertoire which traces, if not all, certainly a great part of biblical legislation through the Decalogue. Intended not only for Gentiles but also for Jews,62 it is a fundamental text for the definition it gives of both Hebraism and Israel. It is while commenting on Deuteronomy 17, 15ss—the passage containing the law regarding the king—and reaffirming that the head of the people cannot be a foreigner, that Philo gives precise definition to several significant aspects of these. He who holds the position of head of the people would have to have a relationship with his fellow citizens, which is founded on what Philo calls the highest kinship (≤ dÉénvtãtv sugg°neia): “For he (the legislator) assumed with good reason—writes the Alexandrian—that one who was their fellow-tribesman and fellowkinsman (tÚn ımÒfulon ka‹ suggen∞)63 related to them by the tie which brings the highest kinship, the kinship of having one citizenship (polite¤a m¤a) and the same law (nÒmow ı aÈtÒw) and one God (eÂw yeÒw), who has taken all members of the nation for His portion, would never sin in the way previously mentioned. He knew that such a one on the contrary, instead of sending the inhabitants adrift, would provide a safe return for those who are scattered on foreign soil” (Spec. 4. 159). We are not interested in a debatable matter regarding a possible return of the exiled people to Palestine64—Palestine, in fact, is not explicitly mentioned, but simply alluded to in Spec. 4. 159. Moreover, the idea of a possible return of the exiles does not concord with 61 It would suffice to know that Philo also gave an allegorical interpretation of the “holy land” (cf. Her. 96–99). 62 According to Daniel, De Specialibus Legibus cit., pp. LXVI–LXVII, though the work had the final aim “de gagner à la religion juive de nouvelles forces venues du dehors,” it was meant not only for Gentiles but, first and foremost, for Jews in order to consolidate their observance of Hebrew laws. On the two-fold destination of the work cf. also Borgen, Philo of Alexandria cit. (1984), p. 118. 63 On the use of these synonyms to refer to Jews by birth cf. H. A. Wolfson, Philo, II, Cambridge (Mass.), 31962 (11947), p. 355. 64 Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus cit., p. 302, n. 2, is decidedly opposed to this hypothesis; along this line, though in a vaguer tone, also Colson, Philo cit., VIII, p. 107, n. c. A return of the exiles in the Messianic era was given thought, instead, by Wolfson, Philo cit., II, pp. 408–409, although based on other passages. Cf. Sandmel, Philo Judaeus cit., p. 30.
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what both Against Flaccus and On the Embassy to Gaius say, although it is true that these last two works were probably intended for the Roman authority65 which could explain such great differences. We would like, on the other hand, to draw the reader’s attention to the resulting definition of Judaism: although quite broad, it considers the Law and monotheism as its bases. As Mosès has pointed out, Philo avoids giving “a definition which is too limited of the Jewish people: he does not refer to a clan with deep-rooted blood ties, but to a community founded on the recognition of the same values” (Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus cit., p. 302, n. 1). Almost ironically, citizenship, which was defended with such vigour in Against Flaccus, is contrasted with another definition, founded not on the law of the Roman state but on Jewish Law (the tone of the discourse is more allusive than explicit, but one understands without a doubt that it refers to Jewish Law) and monotheism. From such a premise, since Jews in the Diaspora lived in close contact with non-Jews, follows an opening to the outside world, which supports proselytism.66 And the notion of genos also tends to lose its exclusivity; kinship (suggenikØ ofikeiÒtyhw) can be acquired: citizenship (polite¤a), in fact, is founded on virtues and on laws (Spec. 2. 73; cf. Spec. 1. 51–52). The Religious Concept of Israel The system and its bases Let’s now take a look at the constituent factors of Israel from a level which is more strictly religious. Citing On the Special Laws (Spec. 4. 159), we have touched upon monotheism and the importance of the Law. Although the notion of monotheism would merit deeper investigation because of the connotation it has in an author of the Greek Diaspora like Philo,67 here we will dwell, instead, on the problem of 65 The audience is also two-fold in this case. At least, in the case of On the Embassy to Gaius, affirms Pelletier, In Flaccum cit., p. 17. 66 On proselytes and their absolute equality with Jews by birth cf. Spec. 1. 52. See also Wolfson, Philo cit., II, in particular on p. 356. 67 On monotheism as Philo conceived it, cf. Spec. 2. 165. This is a concept with supranational characteristics: God is He “Whom all Greeks and barbarians unanimously ackowledge, the Supreme Father of gods and men and the Maker of the
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the Law. What Philo understood for Law requires some explanation: the new ideas that the author introduces in its concept should be illustrated not only in relation to the single rules or clauses, but, most of all, to the system itself. For the moment we shall disregard the fact that Philo fundamentally relates the Law of Moses to the law of nature68 or that he distinguishes between written and unwritten laws, the latter incarnated in or exemplified by the conduct of the patriarchs.69 We shall disregard even the idea that Philo seems to have had knowledge of the oral Law70 and dwell on the process of events, which prompted him to reorganize the Law and which had numerous consequences on the concept itself. This process of events has already been mentioned in On the Decalogue, but it is most thoroughly developed in On the Special Laws. And now that the Decalogue is extrapolated from the general context of the Law, it is configured as a sort of summa of general principles (kefãlaia),71 in which the other particular rules of the Law are subsumed. This distinction is not made in the Torah: all the rules including the Decalogue were put on the same level. Philo was the first one to extrapolate the Decalogue from the general context of the Law.72 At any rate, the search for the general summarizing principles of the Law was a common trend in Judaism during the last pre-Christian centuries (see the Book of Jubilees,73 but also the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs).74 Philo’s attempt, therefore, falls whole universe” Regarding the attributes of God, which are the same as those of the Homeric Zeus, cf. Wolfson, Philo cit., I, pp. 38–40. In Virt. 35 monotheism is given as the reason for the strength of the Jewish religion. 68 Cf. E. Bréhier, Les idées philosophiques et religieuses de Philon d’Alexandrie, Paris, 2 1925, in particular on pp. 11 and 30–32; R. Arnaldez, De Opificio Mundi, OPA 1, Paris, 1961, p. 117. On the identification of the Law of Moses with the natural law see also Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Ecriture cit., pp. 117ff. 69 Cf., e.g., Abr. 4–5; 275–276 (and in particular Abr. 276) (cf. Nikiprowetzky, Le Commentaire de l’Ecriture cit., pp. 118 and 136, nn. 17. 18). 70 Regarding this problem, see Belkin, Philo and the Oral Law cit. 71 Cf. Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus cit., p. 13, n. 3. 72 Cf. K. Berger, Die Gesetzesauslegung Jesu. Ihr historischer Hintergrund im Judentum und im Alten Testament, I. Markus und Parallelen, Neukirchen/Vluyn, 1972, p. 258. According to this author’s thesis, before Philo the Decalogue was not used as such, but only some groups of commandments attracted attention. 73 Cf., e.g., Jub 7,20. 74 Cf. Test. Benjamin 3,3–4; etc.; see P. Sacchi, Gli Apocrifi dell’Antico Testamento, I, Torino, 1981, pp. 206. 745; P. W. van der Horst, The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides. With Introduction and Commentary, Leiden, 1978, p. 75 and n. 19 (“there was a tendency in some Jewish circles to summarize the essentials of the Torah in a set of reasonable, sensible and universally valid rules for human conduct”).
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within the general tendencies of that epoch. The most important novelty in this attempt lies in the fact that the rules regarding purity are also reinterpreted or linked to this or that comma of the Decalogue. So it happens that the rule which prohibits contaminating oneself with the impurity of a corpse (cf. Numbers 19,11)—which is particularly binding in the case of the high priest (Spec. 1. 113)—is associated with the commandment against killing. On the other hand, the obligation of purifying oneself after being tainted with impurity is intended as a preventive measure, let us say, against homicide (Spec. 3. 205).75 In some cases, such as the one prescribing purification after coitus (cf. Leviticus 15,18)—a practice which Herodotus traces back to the Babylonians (I, 178)76—the purity rule is a preventive measure against adultery (Spec. 3. 63), and is associated with this commandment (which in the , and therefore in Philo’s works, precedes the one against killing). Instead, other rules such as that which prohibits approaching a menstruating woman to avoid being tainted with impurity (cf. Leviticus 18, 19; 20, 18), seem to have lost their original meaning: the problem of contamination is not mentioned here and the prohibition is explained in relation to the law of nature and in relation to the problem of procreation (Spec. 3. 32). With regards to the rules on pure and impure animals, which had already attracted the attention of the Epistle of Aristeas (Aristeas 142ss), and which most probably inspired criticisms from the part of the pagans more than the other rules (Tacitus also pointed to the separation of Jews and pagans during meals as one of the negative characteristics of the Jews [Historiae V, 5, 2]),77 they are put in relation to the last commandment which proscribes desire (Spec. 4. 78ss). Impure animals, or at least some of them, are considered so because they stimulate pleasure (Spec. 4. 100).78 Here, Philo refers, most of
75 On Philo’s reinterpretation of the purity rules see J. Neusner, The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism, Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 1, Leiden, 1973, pp. 44ff. For a survey of modern scholarship on ritual purity see H. K. Harrington, The Impurity Systems of Qumran and the Rabbis. Biblical Foundations, SBL Dissertation Series 143, Atlanta, Georgia, 1993, pp. 2–28. 76 Cf. Belkin, Philo and the Oral Law cit., p. 223; Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus cit., pp. 96–97, n. 4. 77 Cf. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors cit., II, p. 19 (no. 281). 78 Philo’s reasoning on pure and impure animals is very articulate and complex; we do not deal with this subject completely, but we limit ourselves to pointing out some aspects.
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all, to pigs and scale-less fishes (Spec. 4. 101). According to him, the prohibition of their consumption is more about the education to selfcontrol (Spec. 4. 101). On the contrary, pure animals and their characteristics (rumination and cloven hooves, for example) symbolize learning and the capacity to discern (Spec. 4. 106ss; cf. Aristeas 150–151; 153); etc. Philo follows in the steps of the Epistle of Aristeas,79 but, with respect to the Pseudo-Aristeas, widens the panorama and does not limit himself to debating the question of pure and impure animals. In fact, he faces the question in its entirety. The primary meaning of the purity rules was not formally eliminated.80 We must remember that Philo stressed the necessity of purifying oneself before Passover (Spec. 2. 148) or before entering the temple (Spec. 3. 89); or, anyway, of keeping oneself uncontaminated, most of all when he was referring to the high priest (Spec. 1. 113). Maybe because of the external disputes which predominantly attacked these aspects of Hebraism, or due to an opening to Greek culture, the purity rules were given an ethical value and were enriched with new meanings. They were no longer included in the system of pure/impure and sacred/profane the way Hebraism had traditionally conceived it (the Epistle of Aristeas, for example, affirms that “by nature, all things are equal”).81 In the Qumran literature, the ancient concept of legal or ritual purity was no longer found satisfactory and the rites of purification and ritual baths lost their value, if they were not accompanied by conversion (1QS III, 3ss), since, at this point, man himself was considered impure (1QS XI, 14–15; cf. 1QH I, 21–22; IV, 29–31).82 At the same time, in Philo’s writings, in an environment more open to external influences such as that of the Hellenic Diaspora, where Jews and non-Jews lived closely, a concept of purity and impurity which privileged ethical and spiritual values over the legal and ritual ones took form (Spec. 3. 209: “For the unjust and impious man is in the truest sense unclean”; cf. Spec. 1. 191; etc.). This, therefore, introduces a marked difference from that which would later become Cf. Mosès, De Specialibus Legibus cit., p. 264. The laws, in general, retain their value (cf. Migr. 91–93), although they may take on new meanings. 81 Cf. Aristeas 143. 82 Cf. P. Sacchi, Storia del Mondo Giudaico, Torino, 1976, p. 170 (engl. version: History of the Second Temple Period, Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series 285, Sheffield 2000). 79
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“orthodox” Judaism of the pharisaic-rabbinic kind, although it is true that not even its system of pure/impure would remain free from changes.83 The impression we get is that, even though Philo does not challenge the meaning of the purity rules, which probably continued to be observed—particularly those related to the cult—, in reality he gave priority to the moral meaning, prompted by external criticisms regarding these types of practices. The Law lent itself, therefore, to interpretation not only from a national point of view, but also from a universal one, if certain rules, like those related to the particularistic character of Israel, could be reinterpreted. Not that the two levels, particularism and universalism, were always harmonious in Philo’s works: the idea of the election of Israel remains highlighted (cf. Legat. 3; etc.). Nevertheless, Philo tries to reconcile these two opposing tendencies by attributing to the Jewish people an intermediary role in relation to the other nations, probably also in an attempt to repel the accusation of apanthropia, which was directed towards Jews (cf. Spec. 2. 167).84 The Intermediary People Israel took upon itself the function of the priest and performed, in relation to the world, the role which a priest plays in the city: “the Jewish nation—writes Philo—is to the whole inhabited world what the priest is to the State. For the holy office in very truth belongs to the nation because it carries out all the rites of purification and both in body and soul obeys the injunctions of the divine laws . . . But not only is the legislation in a sense a lesson on the sacred office, not only does a life led in conformity with the laws necessarily confer priesthood or rather high priesthood . . . (incidentally, we would like to point out that, here, priestly ideals spread to laymen as happens, though in different ways, in the Qumran community as well 83 Cf. P. Sacchi, review of M. Newton, The Concept of Purity at Qumran and in the Letters of Paul, Cambridge, 1985, and of R. P. Booth, Jesus and the Laws of Purity. Tradition History and Legal History in Mark 7, Sheffield, 1986, “Journal for the Study of Judaism” 18, 1987, pp. 94–98, on p. 97, which refers to the well-known opinion of Yohanan ben Zakkai, according to which “the corpse does not contaminate and neither does the red cow purify”; and nevertheless, the relative rules remain observed, because it is God’s will. 84 Hecataeus of Abdera had already accused Moses of introducing “an unsocial and intolerant mode of life (épãnyrvpÒn tina ka‹ misÒjenon b¤on)” (cf. Stern, Greek and Latin Authors cit., I, p. 26 [no. 11]).
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as in Pharisaism, but with a major difference with respect to these since, according to Philo, it is the observance of the Law which makes one a priest, not the extension of some priestly practices to laymen) . . . Therefore, I sometimes find myself surprised—continues Philo—that some people would dare attribute to (our) people sentiments hostile to mankind . . . it says its (own) prayers, observes its (own) feasts and has its (own) offerings for the whole of mankind” (Spec. 2. 163–164. 167; cf. Abr. 98; Mos. 1. 149; Spec. 1, 97). So, the sheaf is offered not only in the intentions of the Jewish nation but of all men (cf. Spec. 2. 162); the same is true for the holocausts (Spec. 1. 168; 190; etc.). And continuing in this direction, other feasts, like the feast of the unleavened bread, do not have value solely for the Jewish people, but they also have a universal (koinÒw) meaning (Spec. 2. 150: “This may be regarded from two points of view, one peculiar to the nation . . . the other universal”). Sabbath itself is considered a universal law (Opif. 89; cf. Flavius Josephus, c. Ap. 2. 282).85 In this way, Jewish particularism is transformed into universalism. Conclusion In conclusion, therefore, the picture of Hebraism which Philo draws presupposes a particular historical reality, which, as we have seen, is that of the Alexandrian Diaspora, which is a part of the vaster worldwide Diaspora. Both these phenomena appear consolidated at the historical-political level, but also in the ideological vision of the author. In this reality, where Jewish culture is contrasted with Greek culture and reacts to it at times negatively and at times positively— in a process which we could define as diastolic and systolic, but, in any case, sensitive to the resulting solicitations—, the reinterpretation of Judaism is, at this point, a given fact.86 Israel is no longer conceived as an ethnos bound to a specific land, Palestine (though it remains a point of reference especially at the religious level), or as a genos where only blood ties count. Although these concepts, like Israel’s relationship with Jerusalem and its traditional institution, the
Cf. Arnaldez, Mondésert, Pouilloux, Savinel, De Vita Mosis cit., p. 202, n. 1. Cf. M. Niehoff, Philo on Jewish Identity and Culture, Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism 86, Tübingen 2001. 85
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temple, remain valid and important, it is in monotheism and the Law where Israel’s foundation lies. The Law itself, which now appears well-defined since it is constituted in a corpus, has undergone a laborious process of reinterpretation, which touched even those aspects which are most characteristic of Israel, such as the purity rules. It has become the synthesis where the two opposing tendencies to particularism and universalism, inherent in Jewish thought and the Greek Diaspora, in particular, can finally be reconciled. And through the Law, even the people have now taken on a “new” role, that of mediator between God and the other populations.
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CHAPTER FOUR
BETWEEN PINDAR AND PHILO: THE DELOS QUOTATION (AET. 120–122) E S Does Philo represent a possible phase in the history of Pindaric fortune? Or, rather: is Pindar a reliable reference in Philo’s cultural and literary mission? In his tireless endeavour to assimilate Greek to Jewish values? The question is not a trivial one, as it concerns the most heathen—I apologize for my ungrammatical expression.—Of the heathen poets, the one most connected with archaic aristocratic values and—last but not least—one of the most difficult to understand, both for his literary dialectal blend and for his magnificently bold language and thought. From the three passages by Philo where Pindar is explicitly quoted (Virt. 172; Aet. 121; Proverbs 2,50), I’ll try to examine in detail the second one, because I consider it to be the most effective, although tantalizing and thorny, not so much from the Pindaric, as from the Philonic point of view. As a preliminary remark, let us leave out the question of genuineness: I accept this treatise as a Philonic one, which neither entails nor excludes Philo’s personal authorship, but envisages the Philonic character of thought and language. Single objections about peculiarities and differences are not at all conclusive, as specialists and editors admit, and it is usual in similar questions, founded on a narrow conception—or misconception—of “paternity.” We should rather speak of “Philo’s scholarship.” Likewise, I will not dwell on the subject of the sources employed and implied: it is sure that the matter of the section from paragraph 117 to the end of the treatise is drawn from Theophrastus, although it is not impossible that some curious and learned details belong to the author himself. According to Colson, the Pindaric quotation may be one of these Philonic paraphernalia: the legend of Delos, one of the islands gradually emerged from the sea, would be a dramatic
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“witness” of the marine drift towards decrease, implying final exhaustion. And there is the passage we are going to sift:1 (120) Ka‹ m¢n ¥ ge yãlassa, fas¤n ≥dh meme¤vtai. mãrturew dÉafl nÆsvn eÈdokim≈tatai ÑRÒdow te ka‹ D∞low: atai går tÚ m¢n palaiÚn ±fanism°nai katå t∞w yalãsshw §dedÊkesan §pikluzÒmenai, xrÒnƒ dÉÏsteron §lattoum°nhw ±m°ra, katÉ Ùl¤gon én¤sxousai diefãnhsan, …w a¤ per‹ aÈt«n énagrafe›sai mhnÊousin flstor¤ai. (121) tØn d¢ D∞lon ka‹ ÉAnãfhn »nÒmasan diÉémfot°rvn Ùnomãtvn pistoÊmenoi tÚ legÒmenon, §peidØ går énafane›sa dÆlh §g°neto, édhloum°nh ka‹ éfanØw oÔsa tÚ pãlai. DiÚ ka‹ P¤ndarow §p‹ t∞w DÆlou fhs¤: Xa‹rÉ, Œ yeodmãta, liparoplokãmou pa¤dessi LatoËw flmero°staton ¶rnow, pÒntou yÊgater, xyonÚw eÈre¤aw ék¤nhton t°raw, ën te broto‹ Dçlon kiklπskousin, mãkarew dɧn ÉOlÊmpƒ thl°fanton kuan°aw xyonÚw êstron. Yugat°ra går pÒntou tØn D∞lon e‡rhke tÚ lexy¢n afinittÒmenow.
Again, they say, the sea is already diminished. Witness the most famous of the islands, Rhodos and Delos. For these in old times had disappeared, sunk and submerged below the sea, but in the course of time as the sea was slowly diminishing they gradually emerged and became conspicuous, as the histories concerning them make known. Men also gave the name of Anaphe to Delos, using both names to vouch for the fact here stated, because it became apparent and visible, while in the past it was unapparent and invisible, and so Pindar says of Delos. Hail, island built by gods. Thou scion best beloved by those Whom lustrous-haired Latona bore, 1 Philo’s text is quoted according to the edition of F. H. Colson, Philo I–X, The Loeb Classical Library, London and Cambridge, 1941 (repr. 1967). Translations, if not specified, are my own; possible changes in others’ translations are indicated by italics. On the question af authorship: Colson, The Eternity of the World, in Philo, cit., IX pp. 172–175; De Aeternitate Mundi, Introduction et Notes par R. Arnaldez, traduction par J. Pouilloux, Les Oeuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie 30, Paris 1969, pp. 12–37; M. Minniti Colonna, Sul De Aeternitate Mundi di Filone Alessandrino, “Nicolaus”: Rivista di Teologia Ecumenico-Patristica,” 7, 1973, pp. 61–89: pp. 63–70. Pindar’s text is quoted according to the edition of B. Snell – H. Maehler, Pindarus. I Epinicia, II Fragmenta. Indices, Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana, Lipsiae 1971–1975 (S-M); 33c S-M is assigned to the first Hymnus (fr. 29–35), whereas C. M. Bowra (Pindari Carmina cum Fragmentis, Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis, Oxonii2 1947, fr. 78–79) and A. Puech (Pindare, tome IV, Isthmiques et Fragments, Paris3 1961, p. 159) consider it to be part of a prosodian.
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Daughter of Ocean, motionless miracle of broad earth, Whose base no power can shake, Delos we mortals name thee, but on high, Where dwell the blessed ones, they call thee A distant-shining star of the dark-blue earth. “By calling Delos the daughter of the sea he suggests what has been said above.” (Colson).
One of the most remarkable points of the passage is undoubtedly the equivalence between pistoËsyai and afin¤ttesyai, namely between “proving” and “hinting at,” or between “vouching for” and “suggesting” (Colson), “attestation” or “allusion” (Pouilloux). This semantic correspondence is both emphasized by the syntactical pattern and foiled by morphological accuracy: pistoÊmenoi tÚ legÒmenon || tÚ lexy¢n afinittÒmenow.
The fine symmetry organizing the chiasmus of the two participles into a sort of motus contrarius (governing and dependent vs. dependent and governing) is varied and detailed by the different verbal aspects (the introductory present legÒmenon vs. the conclusive aorist lexy°n, anaphora vs. cataphora) and by the distinction between the generic (almost impersonal) plural form pistoÊmenoi and the specific singular of Pindaric individuality, afinittÒmenow.2 The Philonic flavour of the passage is evident in the etymologycal texture. The sequence of the toponyms, assumed as equivalents, D∞low and ÉAnãfh, is fairly counterbalanced and explained by the cluster énafane›sa dÆlh: another smart chiasmus bound to its exactly specular counterpart, édhloum°nh éfanÆw. Here parallelism and chiasmus are intertwining (both competitive and converging). Through the different levels of expression: on the phonological one, the string énaf- is cross-mirrored by éfan-, and on the lexical one dÆlh is cross-denied by édhloum°nh; but the syntactical level challenges this chiastic bias with the sheer parallelism of the string shaped by participle and adjective: énafane›sa and édhloum°nh, dÆlh and éfanÆw. If this is not Philo, it is someone who perversely resembles him. Does the author compete with his model? The text with its own quotation? And is such an interpretation reliable? In fact, there are 2 The structural relevance of the chiastic pattern in Philo’s prose is skillfully examined by J. Cazeaux, La trame et la chaîne: ou les structures littéraires et l’exégèse dans cinq des traités de Philon d’Alexandrie, Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte des hellenistischen Judentums 15, Leiden, 1983, pp. 533–535; on the etymology, pp. 521–522.
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some stimulating incongruencies in the Pindaric evocation: first of all, Pindar himself, according to his typical, antitethical mood, introduces the adventure of the wandering island by defining it, e contrario, “built by Gods,” at the same time “daughter of the sea” and “motionless miracle of broad earth.” Besides, he emphasizes the possibility of a double nomination according to the two languages, the human and the godly one.3 There is a predictable, but not uninteresting, correspondence between the ancient name ÉAster¤a and the language of gods, the usual name D∞low and the language of men; and perhaps it is not without reason that this opposition also represents the metaphorical principle vs. the metonymical one, the ancient name being not openly recorded, but suggested by a brilliant kenning, a magnificent Shakespearean one: thl°fanton kuan°aw xyonÚw êstron, “a distant-shining star of the dark-blue earth.” The fascinating awe of this definition is better valued if compared with the version of the same legend in Callimachus’ fourth hymn. Through a refined mosaic revival of Pindaric terms and themes, the later poet unfolds into a learned simile the metaphorical urgency of his archetype:4 . . . oÎnoma dÉ∑n soi ÉAster¤h tÚ palaiÒn, §pe‹ bayÁn ¥lao tãfron, oÈranÒyen feÊgousa DiÚw gãmon, ést°ri ‡sh.
Your name was Starry in that ancient time, because, like a star, you threw yourself from heaven into the chasm, while escaping from Zeus’ marriage (Call. Hymn. Del. [IV] 36–38)
The challenge of the Pindaric text is complicated by further extraPhilonic information: another passage quoted by Strabo (10,5,2) seems to continue, after a gap, the mythical tale by describing the fixation of the island on “diamond-shod pillars” (édamantop°diloi k¤onew), when Letho gave birth on it to the divine couple of twins; and the same event is suggested in a fragment from a fifth Paean (52e 42 3 R. Lazzeroni, Lingua degli dèi e lingua degli uomini, “ASNSP” s. II, 26, 1957, pp. 1–25, is a general approach to the problem from an Indo-europeanist pont of view and does not examine post-Homeric occurrences. But the suggestion (p. 24) of a possible link between “godly language” and Germanic kenning is perhaps a clue to the Pindaric passage: it is an interesting item calling for further developments. A fascinating old-Irish text is In Tenga Bithnua (La Lingua Sempreviva, a cura di M. Cataldi, Torino 1999). 4 On the relations between Pindar and Callimachus see M. T. Smiley, Callimachus’ Debt to Pindar and Others, “Hermathena” 18, 1919, pp. 46–72: p. 66.
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S-M),5 where Delos is paraphrased with ÉAster¤aw d°maw, “body of Starry.” The whole situation becomes a real puzzle when one takes into consideration the contiguity—almost convergence—of Lat≈ and ÉAster¤a: both are daughters of Ko›ow (Hes. Theog. 404–410) and this is the reason why Ko¤ou yugãthr can designate either Lat≈ (fr. 52 m 13 S-M), also called KoiogenÆw (fr. 33 d 3 S-M), or ÉAster¤a (fr. 52 h 44 S-M).6 Therefore, the delivery of Letho on the island does happen on a “sororal” body, which entails a latent identification (almost an ominous overlapping) between delivered person and place of delivery: something like an act of onanism in childbirth? or an adequate background for twin-birth? *
*
*
So much for the Pindaric text. But that is not enough, because, in spite of the seeming straightforwardness of the Philonic quotation, we have to face a real aporia, where Pindaric grip and Philonic touch deeply intertwine. From a geographical point of view, the identification between D∞low and ÉAnãfh is incorrect: as a matter of fact, ÉAnãfh is an island of the Sporades near Thera, and its mythical adventure is based on the same Philonic etymology (from ÉAnafan∞nai) with a different aition: Apollo himself shows it with an unexpected lightning to the Argonauts vexed by a violent storm (Ap. Rhod. 4,1706–1730; Apoll. 1,9,26 [139]).7 This Philonic slip is a clear example of etymological drift: once again, world-creating word. This is not the only exegetical eccentricity. If we read the Philonic statement carefully, we cannot help noting the inadequacy of the Delian example to illustrate the situation envisaged: Philo is speaking about the gradual emergency of some islands from the sea as a consequence of its decrease. But this is not the case of Delos, which did not pass from submersion to emersion, but from floating to
39, 42 Bowra = P. 5, 42, p. 111 Puech. Respectively: 47, 13 Bowra = Dub. 1, 13, p. 235 Puech; 78–79, 10 Bowra = Pros. 1, 14, p. 159 Puech; 42, 9 Bowra = P. 11,22, p. 134 Puech; cfr: Apoll. 1,2,1 (8); 4,1 (21). Further details (cfr. [Hom.] Hymn. Ap. 14–18) in Apollodoro, I miti greci (Biblioteca), a cura di P. Scarpi, traduzione di M. G. Ciani, Fondazione Lorenzo Valla, Milano 1996, p. 437. 7 See also Call. Ait. I, fr. 7, 19; 23 Pfeiffer (with further references); Orph. Arg. 1356–1359; on the question Scarpi, Commento, cit. p. 480 (useful but approximate Arnaldez, Notes, cit., p. 156 n. 2). 5
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firmness. In fact, Philo exemplifies with Delos the development of Rhodos, which has just been mentioned in the preceding paragraph; and we obviously remember that the Rhodian emergence from the sea is the mythical core of a Pindaric masterpiece—the 7th Olympian Ode. As a result, we can appreciate a quick blend of the tales concerning Rhodos and Delos, perhaps with a coaxing echo of the Pindaric sentence oÎpv . . .|fanerån §n pelãgei ¶mmen pont¤ƒ (Ol. 7, 55–57) in the Philonic one (±fanism°nai . . . diefãnhsan . . . énafane›sa), or of the Pindaric verb aÈjom°nan (Ol. 7, 62) in the Philonic én¤sxousai. Besides, the statement about ancient witnessing (fant‹ dÉényr≈pvn palaia‹ =Æsiew: Ol. 7,54–55) seems to be echoed by the Philonian one: …w afl per‹ aÈt«n énagrafe›sai mhnÊousin flstor¤ai. This is just a further point to debate: Pindar as historian? And does the verb mhnÊv possess in this context a technical value, just enhanced and specified through the introductory pistoËsyai and the conclusive afinittesyai? It is certainly not by chance that we are brought back by this question to the virtual equivalence of the two exegetical terms. Although the original meanings of pistoËsyai and afinittesyai are opposite to each other, as “proof ” may be opposite to “hint,” this difference is somehow blurred in the context, where the author creates both a balance and an escalation, afinittesyai being not the only exegetical method which corresponds to pistoËsyai, but also its climax and outcome. I would rather use for mhnÊein a stronger translation than the Colsonian one: not “as we read in the narratives,” but something like “as the histories concerning them make known”—if not, according to the ancient (and Pindaric) meaning, “reveal.” And it is precisely this semantic path that leads us to another, perilous question: Pindar as Moses? *
*
*
If we check the Philonian occurrences of afinittesyai (and a‡nigma, afinigmat≈dhw), we may reach some interesting conclusions: only in a small number of cases a‡nigma has a purely negative meaning and it is linked with ésãfeia (Leg. 3, 226 [bis]; Her. 63), sofistikÒw (Leg. 3, 233), or opposed to élÆyeia as “guess” to “truth” (ib. 231). Sometimes, this meaning is rooted in the ipsissima verba of the biblical text: the Philonian quotation (ib. 103) of Numbers 12,8, stÒma katå stÒma . . ., §n e‡dei ka‹ oÈ diÉafinigmãtvn, “mouth to mouth, apparently and not in dark speeches” (King James) shows that Lxx’s
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a‡nigma translates the Hebrew term hîdâ, “riddle”.8 The object of this direct speech is Moses himself, called the pistÒw, the “faithful” one:
the ne"mân, the “trustworthy” one. The synonimic couple of De aeternitate is here an antithetical couple. This is not a non-Philonic, or an anti-Philonic feature; on the contrary, it is a peculiarity of Philo’s lexical competence, because, as we have just noted, afinittesyai (with its cognate words a‡nigma, afinigmat≈dhw) has a positive meaning in an overwhelming number of cases. Specifically, it defines the “symbolic” method by which the biblical author does convey an inner meaning, the most important or the only important one.9 As a typical example we can quote Spec. 1,200: mhnÊetai d¢ ka‹ noËw ßterow afinnigmat≈dh lÒgon ßxvn tÚn diå sumbÒlvn: sÊmbola dɧst¤ tå lexy°nta fanerå édÆlvn ka‹ éfan«n.
another sense also is revealed, through a transferred definition achieved by symbols, as a matter of fact, explicit statements are but symbols of what is unapparent and implicit.
As usual, no translation can match the original text; and we can only emphasize the identity of these exegetical terms with those employed in the passage of Aet. 121: . . . énafane›sa dÆlh . . . édhloum°nh ka‹ éfanÆw. The careful reader will have noticed already that the verb mhnÊein, too, is common to both texts. A thorough survey of the other Philonian occurences of afinittesyai and cognate words bears a valid witness to this remark. The usage is common in defining the interpretative theory of meaning applied 8 L. Koehler – W. Baumgartner, Hebräisches und Aramäisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament, dritte Auflage, Lief. 1, Leiden, 1967, pp. 283; 296. 9 Obviously, in Philo’s theory of interpretation, “symbol” and “allegory” are strictly connected concepts, almost converging into each other. Critical bibliograpphy on this subject is so massive and well-known (Wolfson, Cazeaux, Runia) I think it would be nonsense to give a summary of it here. As far as my problem is concerned, I am particularly indebted to J. Pépin, Remarques sur la théorie de l’exégèse allégorique chez Philon, in Philon d’Alexandrie, Acte du Colloque National sur Philon d’Alexandrie organisé par R. Arnaldez, J. Pouilloux, C. Mondésert, Lyon 11–15 Septembre 1966, Paris 1967, pp. 131–167; Mythe et allégorie. Les origines grecques et les contestations judéo-chretiennes, III édition, Paris 1976, pp. 231–242 (cfr. also P. Boyancé, Etudes philoniennes. 1. Sur la méthode allégorique de Philon, “REG” 76, 1969, pp. 67–79; V. Nikiprowetzky, Le commentaire de l’Ecriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie: son caractère et sa portée; observations philologiques, ALGHJ 11, Leiden 1977, n. 158 pp. 36–37; 211; passim). An ideal and well-adjusted prosecution of an item by Pépin is Paola Graffigna, FUSIKVS ÉALLHGOREIN. Osservazioni lessicali sulla teoria allegorica filoniana, KOINVNIA 20, 1996, pp. 107–113.
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by the author to the Scriptures: it is a strong and long chain of evidence whose links also include the concepts and the terms of ÍpÒnoia, “covert and deeper meaning” (e.g., Cher. 21; Det. 155) and ékribolog¤a, “precision in speech” (e.g., Spec. 1,260), expanded in ékrib≈sasyai éllhgoroËntew, “to expound exactly through allegory” (ib. 269), and encompass the challenging field of etymology (e.g., Her. 54; 128); this semantic bias is so forcefully pursued to make it possible and available such contradictory connections as afinittesyai §narg«w . . . ka‹ sfÒdra ofike¤vw (Praem. 17), where the original concept of “riddle,” which implies darkness and ambiguity, is drawn and skilfully forced to the antithetical features of “perspicuity” and “fitness”.10 Obviously, this semantic development is not unprecedented in classical authors: we record, for instance, Euripides’ gnvr¤mvw afinittesyai (El. 946), something like “to speak in a plain riddle,” or Aristophanes’ Ùry«w afinittesyai (Eq. 1085), “to refer exactly to” But there is a forcible touch of irony in using words like these, and their exceptional character becomes almost a semantic habit in Philo’s usus scribendi . . . I think the most alluring feature of the Philonic afinittesyai is its reference both to Judaism and Hellenism, to holy and heathen writings, to Moses and Greek poets—just a small confirmation of Pépin’s theory about the Greek origins of Philonic allegory. The Pindaric quotation of Aet. is no exception: the same verb afinittesyai is used in Proverbs 2,50 to hint at the Pindaric description of the sun’s eclipse (Paean 9, fr. 52 k S-M);11 although the fragmentary condition of this treatise and the questions connected with the Armenian version make it rather a source of problems than a field of evidence, nevertheless it provides us with a remarkable semantic feature: the occurrence of the term mhnÊmata to define the ominous “revelations” of the physical event, its foreboding human disasters. It is the same lexical connection we noticed in the passage of Aet.; and the obvious difference in the semantic nuances of each occurrence does not affect the existence of a deep pattern: something like an inner structure that single texts actualise and specify. The positive meaning of Philonian afinittesyai encompasses other heathen authors and authorities: in Aet. 4 and 111, Anaxagoras and Heracleitus; in Contempl. 17, Homer; in Prob. 153, Bias of Pirene. 10 On a similar process see Cazeaux, La trame, cit., pp. 522–524: “distinction devenue synonimie; synonimie devenue différence.” 11 44 Bowra = P. 9, p. 131 Puech.
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Just this treatise gives us a clear piece of evidence of the methodological identity used in the evaluation of Jewish and Greek authors, because the phrase afinittÒmenow diå sumbÒlvn can be equally referred to “the saintly company of Pythagoreans” (Colson) (Prob. 2) as to the Hebrew “lawgiver” (ib. 29; 68). But there are some cases more peculiar, “curioser and curioser”: Somn. 2,14, for instance, and Det. 178. In the first passage Philo compares the “many-sided soul,” contended by passions and desires, to the “many-headed Hydra,” which is said to grow a new head after the preceding one has been cut off: “in this way they shadow forth the invincible offspring, many-shaped and prolific, of the deathless vice” (afinittÒmenoi tÚ polÊmorfon ka‹ polÊgonon t∞w éyanãtou kak¤aw dusãlvton g°now). Who are these afinittÒmenoi? Apparently, classical authors, who interpret a mythical figure with the same method and intention employed by the biblical Moses in the Scriptures. This liaison becomes almost dangereuse— osée at least.—If we examine Det. 178: while arguing about the divine veto to kill Cain, Philo emphasizes how Moses, the lawgiver, “shadows forth that, like the mythical Scilla, perversion (éfrosÊnh) is a deathless evil that never died, (for)ever dying.” The sentence shows a brilliant use of the aspect’s opposition between teynãnai and époynÆskein, how masterful a seizure of the Homeric verse: ≤ d¢ [SkÊllh] oÈ ynhtÆ, éllÉéyãnaton kakÒn §sti (Hom. Od. 12, 118).12 This is the way how the afinittesyai method becomes a sort of bridge between Allegory, wise architect (Somn. 2,8), and the habit of muyoplaste›n which Philo loathes and rejects. A sharp accusation of the muyoplãstai just comes from Aet. 56,13 where they are said to “fill the life with bundles of lies (ceusmãtvn énaplÆsantew tÚn b¤on) and banish the truth from its borders (élÆyeian ÍperÒrion pefugadeÊkasin)”; they bewitch ears of foolish people with meter and rhythms; they use their bombastic expression as a trap; they are like 12 This allegorical interpretation is something original and ingenious if compared with its counterpart in Heracleitus (70,11) and Eustathius (Od. 478): it’s a pity it is not recorded in F. Buffière, Les mythes d’Homer et la pensée grecque, Paris 1973, pp. 236–237; 379–380. 13 See H. A. Wolfson, Philo, Cambridge and London, 1947, I, pp. 32–34; Arnaldez, Intr., cit., p. 64; perhps the best and the most exhaustive item on this subject is A. Méasson, Un aspect de la critique du polythéisme chez Philon d’Alexandrie: les acceptions du mot MËyow dans son oeuvre, in “Centre JeanPalerne. Mèmoires II,” Saint-Etienne 1980, pp. 75–107: pp. 85–94 on the relation between mËyow and plãsma, and their connection in mÊyou plãsma, mËyon plãttein, muyoplaste›n, muyoplãsthw; pp. 91–92 on Aet. 56 ss.
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filthy and loathsome whores alluring people’s eyes with adventitious charms. The target of this heavy charge is Critolaus, labelled as a Peripathetic philosophy paramour, a dancer of the Muses (t«n kexoreukÒtvn MoÊsaiw, t∞w peripathtik∞w §rastØw filosof¤aw) (ib. 55); and the corpus delicti is the alleged perpetuity of the world and of mankind, based on the misleading myth of the Sown Men born as complete warriors from their mother earth (ib. 57; 68). Such is Hellenic debauchery, according to Philo. But the violence of this quarrel, apparently endorsing and enlarging Plato’s accusation against the poets, sounds rather spurious or arbitrary if compared with the evaluation of heathen myths we noticed in the previously quoted afinittesyai positive passages. Does the “conflict of interpretations,” of the correct afinittesyai vs. the incorrect muyoplaste›n, overlap the opposition of Judaism and Hellenism without matching it? I think the answer is in the affirmative, and my opinion can well be confirmed by another important passage, Gig. 58–59, where Philo strongly denies that the afinittesyai of the lawgiver may be identified with the memuyeum°na attributed to him by some misled and misleading expounders.14 Here Moses and Muses are fierce foes, and Philo does not miss the opportunity of an impassioned abuse against the charm of the “famous and coaxing (glafurãw) arts,” painting and sculpture, a source of swindles and tricks (épãtaw ka‹ sof¤smata) through the eyes to the soul. The debate is about Genesis 6, 4, a difficult verse belonging to—dare we say—a piece of wreckage: such is the remainder in the Canon of a tangled and fascinating legend concerning the origins of evil from the intercourse of “God’s sons” with “men’s daughters.” It was developed, with multifarious and gorgeous fantasy, by the “apocryphal” Book of Enoch, whose complicated tradition spans a large mosaic of languages (Greek, Syriac, Hebrew, Ethiopian, to say nothing of its free drift in Celtic and Slavic documents) and is deeply imbued with heathen mythical elements.15 It is precisely this creative and unruly 14 On Gig. 58–60: Pépin, Remarques, cit., p. 145; Méasson, Acceptions, cit., pp. 82–83. A similar accusation against the Hebrews as zhlvta¤ t«n Afiguptiak«n plasmãtvn is in Mos. 2, 161; 271: see Méasson Acceptions, cit., pp. 89–90. 15 See R. H. Charles, Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament, II, Oxford 1913, pp. 163–281; Apocalypsis Henochi Graece, ed. M. Black, in Pseudepigrapha Veteris Testamenti Graece, III, Leiden 1970, pp. 1–44; The Books of Enoch, ed. by J. T. Milik, Oxford 1976 (an exhaustive introduction pp. 1–135). A small appendix in old-Irish literature is examined in my own Enoch in terra d’Irlanda: due testi extra-vaganti, sÊgkrisiw gÉ, 1984, pp. 5–58.
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syncretism that must be the target of the Philonian arrows. It is no novelty that from an “orthodox” point of view “heresy” is more disturbing than different beliefs, the latter being available through a centripetal act of hermeneutic violence, the former remaining an obtrusive centrifugal fringe. Such an annoying fringe had to be, according to Philo, the mythical interpretation of the Giants’ legend; this point of view may be confirmed by another passage, Deus 21, where the polemical object is not by chance the Genesis’ passage subsequent to the Giants’ epitome (Genesis 6,5–7). Philo defends the Lawgiver from wrong afinittesyai ascribed to him by tin¢w t«n énejetãstvn, undefined “careless inquirers”: to their literal interpretation, based on the conception of God’s repentance, Philo opposes a learned and far-fetched allegory illustrating cosmic hierarchy. But that is beyond our present reach and interest; on the contrary, it is highly pertinent to our problem the semantic wavering of afinittesyai between a positive and a negative evaluation, between éllhgore›n and muyoplaste›n, between “orthodoxy” and “heresy,” which does not necessarily mean Judaism and Hellenism. Hellenic poets through afinittesyai can reveal a secret core of virtual truthfulness. And this is just the case where the term afinittesyai undergoes the semantic shifting already hinted at: it tends and trends to pist≈sasyai (pistoËsyai), sharing with it the features of ékr¤beia, élÆyeia, bebaiÒthw, §nãrgeia (e.g., Leg. 3,206–208; Deus 54; Plant. 112; 115); let us note how the annexed concepts of épofÆnasyai and §mfa¤nesyai are similar to (or substantially identical with) énafa¤nesyai, the factual appearing of D∞low as ÉAnãfh: metalanguage and poetical language may converge into each other. In this way Jakobson’s manner is obvious. *
*
*
Back to Pindar, then. It is high time. There are two other explicit quotations of Pindaric passages in the corpus Philonicum and, although it is not our purpose to go into the details of their text, we cannot help noting some essential features of them. The first one, Proverbs 2,50 (from Eus. Praep. Ev. 8,14,395), is very similar to the case of Aet.: the reference is to the famous Pindaric fragment of Paean 9 (fr. 52 k S-M)16 about the eclipse of the sun. The philological situation 16 44 Bowra = P. 9, p. 131 Puech, with the account of the other sources, both direct and indirect, of Pindar’s text.
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is a sort of puzzle, because Eusebius’ Greek text of Philo merely hints at the Pindaric poem, whose ipsissima verba are recorded in the Armenian version,17 unfortunately very defective in catching the meaning of the ancient Pindaric language. My complete ignorance of the Armenian language does not allow me to give further details, but the general sense of the text is clear-cut in its conceptual frame: the ancient poet is said to “darkly indicate” the natural event as a harbinger of an ominous future. He is considered as a reliable witness, whose authority is ensured by the usual method and key-words: afinittesyai and mÆnuma. And I think it is not a matter of sheer chance that the quotation of the same Pindaric text via Dionysios of Halicarnassos (Dem. 7,974) sketches out the notion of éllhgor¤a. Something like a Pindaric blend results from the third Philonic evocation (Virt. 172), in a very different frame from the preceding ones. The authority of the ancient poets is quoted as an ironical remark to the human bragging (élazone¤a): the sinner affected by this plague regards himself, after Pindar’s hierarchy, not as a hero or a demigod but as a divine being—oÎte êndra oÎtÉ≤m¤yeon éllÉ ˜lon da¤mona. Perhaps it is a free reference, in an inverted climax, to Ol. 2,2: t¤na yeÒn, t¤nÉ¥rva, t¤nÉêndra keladÆsvmen; or perhaps Philo has in mind some other Pindar’s text we have lost. However, there is a sort of skilled mischievousness in employing the lofty Pindar’s praise to expose a moral imposture, in swerving and shifting from heathen “shame culture” to Jewish “guilt-culture”; it is a teasing understatement, not far from taunting the magnificence of the poet himself. I think our inquiry could be longer; perhaps there are other Pindaric threads in the Philonic complicated lace: one of these, for instance, seems to wind on the reel of the scholiast’s tradition. On this subject there is a brilliant remark of Colson,18 who highlights the identity between the Philonic interpretation of the term fleromhn¤a (Spec. 1,180; cfr. ib. 168 and Dec. 159) and the scholiast’s commentary on the same term in Pind. Nem. 3,2, §n fleromhn¤& Nemeãdi. According to both authors, fleromhn¤a would mean also noumhn¤a:
Cfr. Colson, cit., IX, p. 546 (Versio Armena 2,97 Aucher). Cit., VII, pp. 613–614 (note to Dec. 159). From a summary survey it’s my impression that Philon’s contribution has been ignored up to now by professional Pindaric scholars (Irigoin, Wilson, Lefkowitz); but more accurate investigations are to be carried on. 17
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Philo speaks of a dissÚw per‹ aÈt∞w lÒgow, which means properly “a double definition,” ı m¢n …w noumhn¤aw, ı d¢ …w fleromhn¤aw; the scholiast uses the technical phrase katå sÊntmhsin, to emphasize that fleromhn¤a has the double semantic value (III p. 42 Drachmann). The identity of this semantic interpretation leads us to the attractive field of a possible correspondence between Jewish and Greek •ortÆ—between Jahwé und Apollo? could Moses’ §pin¤kion üsma (Conf. 35) be considered heir and heritage of Pindar’s §pin¤kioi éoida¤ (Pind. Nem. 4,78)? so opposite, so similar? so distant, so near? from sofÒw to sofÒw? As preposterous and provoking as this question may seem, I do not think it should be utterly disregarded. As Homer and Hesiodus and Aeschylus, as Pythagoras and Bias and Heracleitus and Anaxagoras, as “the tragic poet” Euripides capable of “philosophizing” (Aet. 144),19 Pindar too has sometimes uttered words worth comparing with Moses’ inspired ones; and this generic statement can perhaps be better detailed just through the concept of afin¤ttesyai. Perhaps it is by chance—perhaps it is not—that the only Pindaric occurrence of it refers to an oracular response (Pyth. 8,40); and it is precisely to one of Jahwé’s xrhsmo¤ that Philo ascribes the quality of pistoËsyai, with the semantic tour de force we have tried to outline: from darkness to evidence, from inconsistency to firmness, from redundancy to exactness; eventually, from mËyow to prçgma. The Hebrew concept of dbr—“word/work,” “think/thing”—the greatest performative ever achieved.—Clearly supports and endorses this bold inversion of meaning. It is an aspect of boldness that deeply characterizes Philo’s attitude in defining ethical and intellectual antithesis. Let’s only touch upon the case of sk°ciw in Fug. 55: sk°ciw is a gunØ sofÆ, attended by the author himself to explain the biblical expression yanãtƒ yanatoËsyai (Exodus 21,12), lit. “let him be put to die with death.” The careful reader will not miss the semantic point: the transfer of xrhsmÒw from ambiguity to exactness, of sk°ciw from inquiry to assertiveness is not different from the process by which the author compels into synonymity the original antonymity of afin¤ttesyai and pistoËst=yai;20 and this consideration brings us back to our first Pindaric quotation. See Nikiprowetzky. Commentaire, cit., n. 27 p. 111. On the opposition between xrhsmÒw and mËyow, prçgma and plãsma mÊyou see Méasson, Acceptions, cit., p. 76; p. 78 and n. 4 ib.; on sk°ciw as “Diotime” Nikiprowetzky, Commentaire, cit., n. 27 p. 36. 19
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But no meaning and no change of meaning is so absolute and clear-cut as Philo presumes it to be; and the hues of ancient stages cannot wholly disappear from the semantic spectrum of the term. Philo himself takes this aspect into account when he quotes a passage from Moses, Numbers 21, 27 (Leg. 3,225), where afinigmatista¤ translates the Hebrew term m“lym, something like “poets” as “speakers through riddles” (with a touch of negative value confirmed by Is. 28,14). In this perspective and context Philo has no scruples about bringing back into use the ancient meaning: he speaks of afin¤gmata ésafe¤aw g°monta, “riddles full of obscurity” (Colson), of §nÊpnia . . . ésafe¤aw ka‹ afinigmãtvn plÆrh (“dreams full of obscurity and riddles”) (ib. 226), with the same self-control and easy manner exhibited in speaking of afin¤ttesyai §narg«w et similia. No revaluation, no bias; the meaning is the same as the one we found in the Pindaric fragment about the Sphinx: a‡nigma pary°noiÉ §j égriçn gnãyvn, “the riddle from the virgin’s wild jaws” (fr. 177 d S-M).21 *
*
*
Before we bring our inquiry to its end, we must briefly touch upon another question: the Philonic attitude about Pindaric afin¤ttesyai seems to fall within a program of retrieval concerning heathen poets and witnesses, quite different from the well-known position of Plato. But is this really so? Do we not find in the corpus Platonicum any possible clue? Well, it may be the case of Simonides’ afin¤ttesyai poihtik«w, “to poetically allude to” (Resp. 1,332 b), or of the ironic ÜOmhrow afinittÒmenow through an etymological pun (Theaet. 194 c); but it is especially the witness of a peculiar (probably pseudo-platonic) dialogue, the Alcibiades II, where afin¤ttesyai is considered to be the core and the method of the poetic language, “because by its nature poetry is wholly a riddle, impossible to be understood by an ordinary man”: ¶sti går fÊsei poihtikØ ≤ sÊmpasa afinigmat≈dhw ka‹ oÈ toË prostuxÒntow éndrÚw gnvr¤sai (Alc. II 147 b). This is the principle on which Socrates bases his interpretation of a passage taken from the “Homeric” poem Margites: according to him and his sympathetic companion, it is precisely this scholiastic performance that makes it possible to “have trust in what has been said before,” pisteÊein to›w proeirhm°noiw lÒgoiw, (ib. 147 d–e).
21
164 Bowra = Ad. 54, 4, p. 219 Puech.
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“Belief in riddles,” then: the bold shift from an obscure to a clear figure of meaning seems to be drawn here in an essential outline, almost an ironic foreshadow of further developments, and Philo would be a chief phase of this “scholastic drift,” through which the words of the ancient poets may become available to a dramatically different world. I realize the frailty of this opinion, if considered from a strictly philological point of view: no direct quotation of Alc. II is to be found in the extant works of Philo. But is this objection really crucial from an exegetical point of view? Do we really need actual evidence or rather is this semantic appeal a piece of evidence in itself ? Something capable of getting over the authors themselves in the seesaw of meanings and cultures? The question is open to Philonic—and non-Philonic—scholars; new inquiries would perhaps result in fascinating suggestions. Perhaps, something like Lovejoy’s perspective onto a “history of ideas” could be very profitable. But let’s think—and hope—that questions like these should never be answerable in a definite manner.
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CHAPTER FIVE
THEATRICAL LANGUAGE IN PHILO’S IN FLACCUM * F C Political Oratory and Theatre In Flaccum is a polemic against Flaccus Avillius, prefect of Egypt under the governments of Tiberius and Caligula. It describes the actions of the prefect who, after a brilliant beginning in which he displays great qualities, slowly undergoes a veritable degeneration to the extent of assuming a disastrous behaviour. The account, furthermore, describes the relationship between the Roman officials and the emperor, Rome’s policy toward Egypt, and mentions the difficult relations between Egyptians, Jews and Romans in Alexandria. Ample space is given to the anti-Judaic uprising of 38 .., which ended in an outright pogrom. This episode, with a slightly different tone, is also reported in another of Philo’s works, the Legatio ad Caium. This paper analyses the use of theatrical language in In Flaccum, a work replete with metaphors evoking the world of theatre, actors and mimes. Such images relate to personages and political situations. Public life comes across as a grand spectacle whose protagonists— governor, emperor, people—appear bent on constructing an image and a representation of themselves, on donning a mask and strutting on a stage. The theatre-political oratory parallel is not new: in Athens as early as the fifth–fourth century numerous authors had pointed to the connections between the two ambits. Plato, for example, argued against the attempt to arouse emotions that was typical of a certain type of oratory, which for this very reason was compared with tragedy.1 * This paper represents a new elaboration of my paper Il governante sulla scena. Politica e rappresentazione nell’ “In Flaccum” di Filone alessandrino, in F. Calabi, Immagini e rappresentazione. Contributi su Filone di Alessandria, Global Publications, Binghampton, New York, 2002, pp. 4–57. 1 Cf. S. Gastaldi, Il teatro delle passioni. Pathos nella retorica antica, “Elenchos” I. 1995, pp. 59–82, esp. 68–69; D. Lanza, Lo spettacolo, in Vegetti (ed.), Introduzione alle culture
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Demosthenes criticised Aeschines comparing him to an actor who acts to deceive,2 and, if with Aristotle rhetoric appears somewhat “neutralised,”3 the function of arousing emotions will later reappear with Cicero, for whom the orator has to feel the passions he wishes to elicit and act like an actor who becomes one with the part he is to play. The orator-actor analogy, moreover, is often stressed by Cicero who, as in the De Oratore (III.22,83), addressing Catulus states: “When I speak of the orator, my words differ not from those I would use were I to speak of the actor.” With still greater decisiveness, Quintilian underscores the function of pathos in speech, suggesting not only words, but also gestures capable of arousing emotions in the interlocutors.4 Therefore, political oratory aims at persuading the auditory by often playing on the emotive aspects of discourse, whereby the orator attempts to draw his interlocutors onto his terrain by awakening their feelings of anger, pity and emotion. He utilises devices and instruments analogous to those of poets and tragedians who attempt to move their audience, draw out emotions, and awaken passional elements. This is an apparently widespread theme in In Flaccum, where the protagonist frequently tries to act upon the emotions of the crowd and curry their favour.5 For Philo, there are also other theatrical aspects that become comparable to political discourse. Theatre is evoked as a place of fiction and appearance, where the actor has to play a part. It is not only a matter of fascinating the assembly or the people, of convincing them to assume certain positions, but also of seducing them with one’s own recitation, of deceiving them and, especially, of presenting oneself in a specific role, and under a specific aspect. Hence, the need for disguise, theatrical gestures, and mimicry, which have the function of self-representation. Already the pseudo-Hippocratic De Victu (§24) attributed falsehood and deceit to actors, and Plato criticised the falsehood of mimesis,6 considered theatre the seat of con-
antiche, Oralità scrittura spettacolo, Torino, 1983, pp. 107–126; J. De Romilly, La crainte et l’angoisse dans le théâtre d’Eschyle, Paris, 1958. 2 It was supposedly the actor Satirus who taught him the function of play-acting when making an address. Cf. V. F. Demosthenes, 7. 3 Yet, Aristotle approaches the actor’s ÍpÒkrisiw to that of the orator. Cf. Rhet. III.1403b20ff. 4 Cf. Gastaldi, Il teatro delle passioni cit., pp. 76–82. 5 See par. entitled Persecution as spectacle. 6 Resp. III.395a5–10.
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fusion7 and deceit, instead of instruction,8 a place where many identities are assumed9 and where the self is fragmented, where the vices of the characters are absorbed and the soul’s irrational aspects are excited.10 Cicero, furthermore, counterpoised the plane of truth to that of fiction.11 Recitation is linked to simulation, deceit, stage fiction. It is a matter of conscious fiction, connected not so much with the contents of representation, as with its form.12 Human Life and Theatrical Representation The comparison between oratory and theatre, political life and stage representation intertwine with another analogy which is often suggested by various authors; that between human life and theatrical action.13 From the Platonic image of men as marionettes to the Cynic recitation and Stoic metaphor of the actor.14 Theatricality is adopted by Diogenes, who takes on explicitly spectacular attitudes, forms of behaviour, and stances.15 He stages a choice of life, represents the independence and self-sufficiency of “philosophical life.” He plays transgression, and extreme modes of behaviour and situations as ways of escaping from the passions and temporality; and bestiality, necrofagy and homosexuality are transitional phases toward the superhuman.16 He achieves his rejection of the social and its norms through gestual theatrics. The actor’s Cynic theme is taken up in a Stoic ambit,17
Resp. X.605aff. Leg. VII.817b. 9 Resp. III.394e. 10 Resp. X.606d. 11 “What actor is happier to imitate truth than an orator is to assume it within him?” (De or. II.8,34), and also, “what can be more false than verses, than the stage and theatrical representations?” (De or. II.4.193, my transl.). 12 cf. Plutarch, Sol.29; De gl. Ath. 5,348c. 13 Cf. H. U. von Balthasar, Teodrammatica, I. Introduzione al dramma, Einsielden 1973, It. trans. Milano 1980, pp. 128–249. 14 Cf. A. M. Ioppolo, Aristone di Chio e lo stoicismo antico, CNR-Bibliopolis, 1980, pp. 189–190. 15 “he used whatever place for whatever use, either to eat, sleep or converse” and “he chose a barrel as his house” D.L.VI.22. 16 Cf. M. Daraki, La sagesse des cyniques grecs, “L’histoire” 3, 1978, pp. 5–13. 17 On the relations between Cynicism and Stoicism regarding this theme, and especially on a “re-reading” of ancient Socratic and Cynic literature by Epictetus, see F. Decleva Caizzi, La tradizione antistenico-cinica in Epitteto, in G. Giannantoni (ed.), Scuole socratiche minori e filosofia ellenistica, CNR-Il Mulino, 1977, pp. 93–113. 7
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where it finds various formulations. The actions of the wise consist in a recitation, interpreting the cosmic law which configures itself as a text, a theatrical script.18 Simulation becomes a form of wisdom, awareness of illusion,19 even if man never achieves that wisdom.20 The wise man shall attempt to interpret a difficult text, which has been drafted once and for all, and to play a part which he personally has not chosen. Indifference toward the role to play carries with it attention to the actor’s ability, to his capacity to interpret whatever part, and an equivalence in the parts themselves: “The wise man will nobly recite any part that the gods have established for him.”21 Awareness that it is a matter of reciting a part implies detachment: the good actor will simulate passion, sorrow, pleasure, fear and the feelings of his character without feeling them nor being involved in them. His true ability will be that of reading a text, of understanding its invariability and uniformity, and of interpreting it.22 Flaccus’ Action as Theatrical Representation The theatrical metaphors that characterize reading of the world and life are therefore extensively utilised in both the literature that pre-
18 “Remember that you are the actor of a drama as the head-actor wants it. A short drama if he wants it short; long if he wants it long. If he wants you to recite the part of a beggar, take care to recite it well; and similarly if he wants you to recite the part of a cripple, of a magistrate, or of a private citizen. Your task is that of reciting well the part which is assigned you; selection of that part, instead, is the task of another” (Epictetus, Ench. 17, my transl.). And also, “The wise man is like a good actor who, whether he plays the part of Thersites or that of Agamemnon, he plays either faithfully” (SVF 1.351, my transl.). The metaphor, which is Aristo of Chios,’ goes back to Bion Borysthenites. For a thorough analysis of the theme, see A. M. Ioppolo, Aristone di Chio cit., pp. 188–192). The metaphor of the actor is reintroduced, albeit with a different stress on what constitutes “seemly” behaviour, by Cicero: “as in fact an actor is not allowed whatever gesture, nor to a dancer whatever step, but are allowed only those that have been given them to execute, so we have to spend our life not in any way whatsoever, but in a well determined way: this way we call seemly and coherent” (De Finibus III 23; SVF 3.11). 19 “No human effort can change the thread of destiny” because “for all there is a fixed order, that no prayer can bend” (Seneca, Oed. ll. 981ff.). 20 Cf. M. Vegetti, La saggezza dell’attore. Problemi dell’etica stoica, “aut aut” 195–196, 1983, pp. 19–41, in part. 26–29. 21 Epictetus, Framm. XI. Stobaeus IV.33.28. 22 Epictetus, Diatribes, I.6,19; I.17,16; II.14,23. On the wise man as actor also see Cicero, De natura deor. II.14, 37. On the spectator-actor position of the wise man
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cedes and is coeval with Philo, who continues many of their themes. As we shall see in paragraph I. (the appearance of power), in Philo too there is a text to be interpreted: the divine law that constitutes a reference point in terms of how one is to address the world and act in it. The carrying out of one’s own role, however, lies in accepting one’s own dependence. He who recites is the wicked governor who identifies with a part of his own construction. Instead, the virtuous person lives his actions in the first person. Thus, recitation is seen mostly in negative terms, much as theatrical performances, especially mime and dancing, are similarly negative for Philo: Moses, great in everything, determined that all whose names were written on his holy burgess-role and who followed the laws of nature should hold high festivals through hours of cheerful gaiety [. . .] this leisure should be occupied, not as by some in bursts of laughter or sports or shows of mimes and dancers on which stage-struck fools waste away their strength almost to the point of death, and through the dominant senses of sight and hearing reduce to slavery their natural queen, the soul, but by the pursuit of wisdom only.23
This negative evaluation of theatre, and especially of comic representations, mimes and farce pervades In Flaccum, where Flaccus’ simulation and wickedness are expressed through analogies with said forms of spectacle. Representations put on by Flaccus are of the lowest kind, suited to the populace. What is stressed is the desire to put himself on display, and of constantly presenting himself as an object to be contemplated and marvelled at, his extreme character. It is drama at its goriest. These too are elements that had been formerly addressed in preceding Greek literature, such as in the theories of the Cynics and, albeit with different accents, in Pliny’s24 reference to the histrionic character of power being often associated with circus or theatre spectacles. Such aspects are similarly found in other works of Roman-Hellenistic Judaism, such as 2 Maccabees and the Bellum Judaicum by Josephus. Can these characteristics which we find
and on acceptance-interpretation as the only possible freedom, cf. M. Vegetti, La saggezza dell’attore cit., pp. 32–33. 23 Mos. II.211, transl. by F. H. Colson. Unless differently specified, all the translations of Philo are from F. H. Colson, G. H. Whitaker, Philo in Ten Volumes (and Two Supplementary Volumes), London-Cambridge 1929–1962, 24 Cf. M. Vegetti, Lo spettacolo della natura in Plinio, in Plinio il Vecchio sotto il profilo storico e letterario, part I, Atti del convegno di Como, 5–7 Ott. 1979, pp. 123ff.
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in In Flaccum be correlated with the pathetic genre and the exemplarism that pervade the above-mentioned Judaic literature, or does the will to spectacularise have its own specific characteristic? Is it in some way to be correlated with the spectacularization typical of the great cities of the Roman empire, Rome in primis, but also Alexandria, where in politics enormous importance was given to performances? There is an echo of this in the public games and representations, which were occasions to make a show of power, euerghetism and attention to the people, of explication of decisions and political claims, of the emperors’ representation of themselves and their power. Emperors attach great value to spectacles, to the extent that some will even go so far as exhibit themselves as gladiators before the people. Is it in light of such a logic that Flaccus wishes to give spectacle of himself, albeit a tragic spectacle in the moment of his fall? And why does Philo insist so much on this? Is it a matter of showing the action of Providence, the spectacle of the persecution of the Jews and of Flaccus himself disgraced, comparable to the lions in the arena, or are we rather in the ambit of the anti-spectacle polemics which will animate so much successive Christian literature?25 Is this the meaning of Carabas’ farce? Philo’s critical attitude is probably not so much due to his diffidence toward theatres, which, in fact, he frequented, even though they were discountenanced by the Jews. What Philo opposes is the spectacularization of politics, the fundamental link between spectacle and politics in imperial Rome.26 But, conceding there is a difference between Flaccus’ self-presentation and self-spectacularization and those of Gaius Caligula, besides those of the Jews, an object of spectacle on a par with the lions and the gladiators, can we think in terms of individual atti25 There is much literature on this theme. Here I shall simply recall H. U. von Balthasar’s analysis in Teodrammatica, I. Introduzione al dramma, cit, pp. 85–116. A presentation of the ancient church’s reaction to theatre and a critical bibliography on the subject are offered by L. Lugaresi, Tra evento e rappresentazione. Per un’interpretazione della polemica contro gli spettacoli nei primi secoli cristiani, “Rivista di Storia e Letteratura Religiosa” 30, 1994, pp. 437–463; id., Spettacoli e vita cristiana nelle orazioni di Gregorio Nazianzeno, “Annali di Storia dell’esegesi,” 15/2, 1998, pp. 441–466. 26 As P. Veyne clarifies in his book Le pain et le cirque. Sociologie historique d’un pluralisme politique, Paris, 1976, in part. pp. 676–706, not only the emperors, but also the magistrates offered spectacles to the people, and the spectacle was a welding occasion for the governor-governed relationship, as was the the emperor’s representation and self-representation for that very same relationship. The theme of spectacles offered by the powerful, who are alternately directors and actors, is extensively treated by Pliny. Cf. M. Vegetti, lo spettacolo della natura in Plinio cit., p. 128.
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tudes or of the difference that Veyne27 aptly clarifies between emperor and officials, even with respect to the offer of games? Or, moreover, does Flaccus claim for himself attitudes that would be proper of an emperor? The Spectacularization of Politics The distinction between demos and ochlos, the people understood as all the inhabitants of a city, or as the components of a nation, and the yelling riotous populace, forever ready to revolt; between democracy, a just and well balanced constitution and ochlocracy, a situation of confusion and anarchy, is probably basic to a reading of political spectacularization. The interlocutors of the mimes and of the farces of the governors are not moderate and virtuous people ready to follow the demands of a good ruler, but a disorderly and passiondriven crowd willing to let itself be influenced and drawn by emotions. In Flaccum is apparently a historic work, a recording of contemporary events, a presentation of things which have actually happened. Undoubtedly it is all this. But, as I believe, Alexandria described also becomes a sort of exemplum, or at least a “type,” to which many other situations may be likened: the relationships that obtain in the city, the type of power that is represented, the feelings and passions which therein are agitated take on the dimension of “characters,” and are constants which could also be identified in other situations. The city is described as a stage upon which there are characters that act like actors and mimes. They conceal reality behind façades and screens; they appear wearing masks; they constantly play on fiction. Thus, this poses some queries: 1) can masking be understood typologically, as the presentation of a universal? 2) is masking to be seen as an interpretation which can be good if the actor complies with the divine will, and bad in the case of the wicked? Actually, as we shall see, representation almost always takes on the characters of simulation and recitation (acting) is typical of bad governors. The text to be interpreted is the divine law, which has to be read, understood, and followed, but does not imply an attitude of detachment as that pursued by the Stoic sage.
27
Le pain et le cirque, cit., pp. 685–689.
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3) is the mask an expression of philautia, of he who attributes onto himself a power that does not belong to him, in as much as the sole true holder of all things is God? 4) does masking confirm the hiatus between reality and appearance?
Behind the façade there are harsh relationships, precise situations which unfold around the various personages. But these two are determined instances, which, at the same time, become models, thus going beyond the contingent and rising to the level of universal “types.” Thus, Flaccus’ despotism is a form that concerns him, but also presents features which can be identified in other personages. It is an example of the relationships which, on another plane, we find described in the De Josepho or in the De Vita Mosis. The categories are the same. There are two levels whereon reality manifests itself: being and appearance, the intelligible and the sensible, the divine word and human language which attempts to understand and interpret the former. Even Moses, hermeneus of the word of God, when conveying it to men and translating it in words and actions that they can understand, in a way modifies that word and brings it to a plane which is not its original one. The same hiatus between two levels of reality also surfaces, in some respects, within the human sphere, in that of politics. Obviously the levels of reality are not comparable and the analogy is more superficial than substantial; but also political activity has both a plane of reality and one of appearance,28 of representation, of translating reality into language understood by the masses. Politics comes across as spectacle to be staged, which conceals its devices and uses tricks. In one instance, we have the “interpretation” of a Moses, or of a Joseph, who “translate” the word of God, and in another, the “interpretation” of personages like Gaius who, similar to mimes and jugglers, stage and translate into spectacle a political situation. In this sense, Philo’s position differs from that of other authors, as for example Plutarch, who present the concept of politics as a mask. This however is not necessarily simulation; instead, it is assuming a part which has to be played to the very end with seriousness and commitment.29 This does not rule out 28 Positions in some ways similar can probably be found in some Christian authors of the origins. See, in this connection, Lugaresi’s previously cited reading, Tra evento e rappresentazione, part. pp. 456–457, where is stressed the incompatibility between spectacularization and the claim to constituting an event, to assuming a precise moral responsibility. 29 Cf. An seni sit gerenda res publica 785 C.
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representation, as, actually, political commitment is clearly before the eyes of all to see,30 but is not to be confused with exhibitionism nor the longing for notoriety.31 Political Life as Deceit As we have seen, the metaphor of politics as spectacle is widespread and often representation expresses a negative judgement. Dissimulation of wickedness is a concept that appears, for example, in Tacitus,32 who attributes it to Caligula. What I would however like to identify is a specific attitude in Philo, which, while still presenting many of the aspects contained in other theorizations, stresses his negative judgement of political spectacularization in the Hellenistic and Roman worlds. In In Flaccum and Legatio we constantly find counterpoised the presentation of a façade and the deeper reality hidden behind said façade. From the very beginning of In Flaccum, with great linguistic vivacity and a wealth of images, Philo highlights both the astuteness and deceit that Flaccus uses. The deceit is that typical of he who has a tyrannical disposition without having its power. Flaccus attacks the Jews diå t°xnhw, rather than dunãmevw, with astuteness more than with force. When they lack force, tyrannical natures use panourg¤a, and are characterized by simulation and their behaviour by obliqueness. The entire work develops along a double register: reality and appearance, truth and pretending. Thus, if initially Flaccus gives infinite proof of possessing exceptional qualities, it is only a matter of appearance (§2), of evidencing (§4), of things exterior, of accentuating those superficial aspects which, once exposed, further stress the wickedness of the personage (§7).33 He displays dignity, nobility Cf. An seni 786 E. Cf. An seni 791 B; 793 D. 32 Ann. VI.20. 33 Actually, Flaccus is truly endowed with some good qualities. For example, in the first paragraphs Philo claims that he instituted a good administration. Starting from the following paragraphs, however, he presents quite a different picture, one harsher and more hostile. According to C. Kraus Reggiani (Filone alessandrino e un’ora tragica della storia ebraica, Napoli, 1967, pp. 40–41), there occurs a sudden change in Flaccus, who was previously a good administrator. It is however possible that, more than a before-after change, this different attitude is due to the relationship with different interlocutors: Gentiles and Jews. Thus, the punishment inflicted upon 30
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and ability. He reacts with firmness to subversive meetings, which even Philo views with contempt, judging them totally lacking in dignity and befitting a crowd of drunkards, even when directed against potential tyrants. Furthermore, Philo stresses aspects of Flaccus which can betoken leadership qualities, such as his intuition, his way with words and the subtlety of his mind (§3). If he presents himself beneath an exterior veneer of nobility, he is playing on appearances, on the image he conveys of himself. For what concerns his intuitive capacities, however, he is able to perceive the essence of things, to go beyond the exterior phase of verbal expression. Initially, Flaccus governs with a firm hand, maintaining a strict observance of order and peace. When Tiberius dies, however, his behaviour changes abruptly. This change is perhaps induced by his sorrow over Tiberius’ death, his animosity toward Gaius, fear and despair (§§9–10).34 His mental faculties seem to break down. Conflicts break out owing to formerly seething suspicions and deceits.35 When he learns that, by order of Gaius, Macro has been killed, Flaccus gives in to bewilderment, the result of which is the revolt of his subjects.36 Thus, Flaccus undergoes behavioural changes, he grows agitated, his mental faculties Flaccus in the final paragraphs are caused by the harsh behaviour he assumed toward the Jews. Whereas there is no mention of vexations against the Gentiles. 34 Cf. §§9–10. 35 Tiberius too had been deceived by the praise of Macro. Even praise can become the occasion for deceit (§§12–13). This is willed and orchestrated by the wicked—in this case Gaius—who is now portrayed as given over to dissolute behaviour and unchecked passions. There is also, however, the naive and unwitting deceit of a Macro who, unknowingly, prepares a catastrophe, and who, albeit with good intentions, deceives just like the wicked one of whom he becomes an accomplice. Political life is deceit, and there is no room for truth. This concept is indeed not lost on Gaius, who explicates falsehood and, through mimicry, disguises himself: “Let us not smile, let us show a contrite countenance” (§15). There is alternations as regards falsehood and simulation in Gaius and Flaccus, which takes on the dimension of wickedness and simulation. 36 “When the ruler despairs of keeping control the subjects necessarily at once become restive, particularly those who are naturally excited by quite small and ordinary occurrences” (Flacc. 17). There is here a dominant theme in Philo, that of revolt, which is counterpoised by his negative judgement of the Egyptian people, considered riotous and rebellion prone. §43 clearly counterpoises the Jews to other peoples: we and them. Diaspora for the great number of Jews: the Jews have scattered over the world because they could not all fit in one sole country (§46). A double belonging: Jerusalem mhtrÒpoliw and fierÒpoliw, whereas the other cities are referred to as patr¤w, countries, where they live because of the heritage of their fathers, grandfathers and their remotest forebears; countries where they were born and raised. Thus, another form of tradition. Is the distinction between the two terms constant? See Kraus Reggiani, Filone alessandrino e un’ora tragica, cit., p. 159.
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wane, he becomes suspicious and, typical of the tyrant, he becomes unable to distinguish between friends and enemies. There ensues a series of wicked ways of behaving which are partly imputed to psychological elements. It seems necessary to resort to a pathology to explain behavioural changes. Herein lies an affinity with other works of the Hellenistic period such as 2 Maccabees, where often wicked behaviour is attributed to great personages as a result of the loss of mental faculties. This weakening, then, is seized upon by deceitful enemies, who take advantage of said weakness by reciting as if they were on a stage (§19), and act underhandedly: Their rancour was still there. The apparent reconciliation was a counterfeit, existing only in words. In real fact they cherished an implacable vindictiveness and acting as in a theatre the part of genuine friends they carried him off into complete captivity. [. . .] They proceeded to confirm all their plans, and took Flaccus like a masked dummy on the stage with the title of government inscribed upon him merely for show (§§19–20).
Flaccus appears as character minus his part, while the others hide behind a screen. The theatrical metaphor continues, then, with the presentation of the personages in question, who appear as theatre characters: the demagogue, the scribbler. They are characterized by fiction, appearance, surfaces to which are juxtaposed concrete facts and hidden thoughts. They play, as if at theatre, the part of friends, and thus manage to subjugate Flaccus. The leader now becomes a subject; the subjects leader.37 There occurs a role change. Nevertheless, they still hold to their devious behaviour whereby they continue to curry favour and ask for help. Later, they will openly request intercessions through Alexandria, which takes on a mediating role.38 The underhandedness of former enemies is met by that of Flaccus, who initially expresses his utterly functional hostility in veiled terms. Only subsequently does he show it overtly. He is riddled with passions: envy, hatred, and fear.39 As always, in the background stands the 37 Cf. De Josepho, where the demagogue becomes subject of the crowd he thinks he dominates. 38 In §29, Egyptians are presented as naturally jealous. They plot against the Jews taken as a whole, not individually, an attitude that is typical of all persecutions. That of the Egyptians against the Jews is an ancient, almost “congenital,” hostility. 39 These passions will be picked up in §§176ff., where other passions analogous to fear are manifested.
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populace, idle and shiftless, that mocks the king and vents its frustrations in small talk and calumny (§33). These are individuals, accustomed to similar attitudes, who are utilised as provokers, and who spend their time in the gymnasium mocking the king and devising pranks. They took as their models the authors of mimes and farces: thereby showed their natural ability in things of shame, slow to be schooled in anything good but exceedingly quick and ready in learning the opposite (§§34–35).
Farce and Simulation Flaccus play-acts, the crowd utilises the unabashed and licentious language of mimes and spectacles. The situation preludes to the construction of a farce, to a mise-en-scène based on the simulation and utilisation of substitutive signs and symbols (§§36ff.). The personage who is disguised and has to simulate is Carabas, a dimwit, whose man¤a, neither êgria nor yhri≈dh, is not however êskhptow.40 We are still in the simulation-dissimulation ambit and the language mirrors theatrical disguise: he is prepared as §n yeatriko›w m¤moiw, while some youths imitate body guards. Then, others approach as if to greet him. They place bark on his head as if it were a diadem, a carpet as a mantle, a papyrus as a sceptre: fiction, imitation, travesty. At any rate, farcical fiction. Even admitting that power can at times take disguise seriously, here this is certainly not the case. That is why the term used, mim°omai, is neutral, but in this context is associated with m¤moi, gelo›oi, kayupokr¤nomai.41 Early in the morning, the crowd goes to the theatre, loudly calling Flaccus42 and asking that statues be placed in the synagogues. To do so, the crowd starts using Caesar as a screen.43 Carabas’s masquerade has unfolded in
40 Cf. F. H. Colson, G. H. Whitaker, Philo in Ten Volumes (and Two Supplementary Volumes), London-Cambridge 1929–1962, vol. IX, p. 322 n. 41 = I deceive; I win using the wiles of a comedian; I deceive, pretend, simulate, which is a negative term, and as such different from Ípokr¤nv = I recite, declaim, play a part, ÍpokritÆw = interpreter, dramatic actor, which are also neutral terms. 42 They had already “bought” him at the price of honours. The masses buy their political person. See the demagogue in De Josepho. 43 Prokãlumma = veil, covering, excuse, pretext. Again, the idea of hiding and simulation.
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the gymnasium, where he has been drawn and placed in a elevated position in order to be seen by all, while at the same time creating a highly theatrical effect. The gymnasium, that is, is the place where a spectacle has been performed, with the characters of mimes and farces. Now, the Alexandrians rush to the theatre, which is not only a public meeting place, but also one of theatrical representation. The presentation of two planes of reality continues: the profound and that which is hidden behind the screen. Duplicity returns throughout the description, where there is always the concept of façade, public representation, falsely friendly facial expressions and, at the same time, conspiracy, deceit and simulation in the shadowy background. So, in §52 agitators and the litigious plot snares metå t°xnhw. What is explicit is the idea of plotting, deceiving, and of scheming, which will be stressed further on in §§73–77. To these notions associated with the provokers is added that of Flaccus the despot, who uses power for wicked ends, continues to heap evil deeds upon the previous, plagues the land with intestine strife, and undermines every rule of peaceful cohabitation. There is a limitless crescendo of ills to the extent that words fail to duly describe such a departure from normalcy and from measure. With the Jews, who are at peace, all the rules are upset, even those that should be adopted only in case of war. A famine is artificially provoked and massacres of all kinds are perpetrated. Those responsible for the slaughter, like theatre mimes, play the part of the victims, while the friends and relatives of the real victims are taken away and beaten. Recitation involves a reversal of roles, which once again restate the concept of spectacle, albeit an horrendous one as defined in §69. In order to hide their evil deeds, those to blame have to mime a situation that does not correspond to the truth. At the same time, the ill-treatment is exhibited in spectacular terms: the elderly were taken to the theatre, a spectacle both pitiable and unsuited to the circumstance (éllotrivtãthn t“ kair“).44
44 Cf. D. Lanza (Il tiranno e il suo pubblico, Torino 1977, p. 202), who, in the Latin poetry of the first imperial age, detects new connotations of cruelty and falsehood: “Simulation and falsehood are in turn the opposite of the search for truth degraded to a psychological category: the tyrant, who for Plato deceived himself and is riddled with doubt, prisoner of his own ignorance, now becomes a Knowing simulator and deceiver. His deceit does not confront itself with truth, but with sincerity” (my transl.).
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Persecution as Spectacle
With the presentation of the attacks against the Jews, we have a notion of politics qua spectacle, the tone of which partly differs from that presented in the first part of the work. No longer have we only simulation and deceit hiding cruelty, the appearance of noble behaviour, or intrigue aimed at winning power through deceitful actions. Now what is highlighted is the function of spectacle to act on the emotions and feelings of the people. It is a tactic45 aimed at winning the favours of the masses hostile to the Jews. The masses experience hatred and need theatrical representation to vent outwardly their own passions in a sort of catharsis. What results is a representation divided into several parts: constituting the first spectacle are the Jews dragged to the orchestra. This exhibition is followed by dancers, mimes, flautists and all the other attendant theatrical forms of entertainment. There is an opposition between proper (mimes, dancers) and improper spectacles (fustigation of and offence to the Jews). Reality is staged and becomes spectacle clearly echoing the games in the arena.46 Stage representation becomes a drawing force and influences reality.47 The representation which in Legatio is given of Jewish reaction to the order to introduce a statue of Zeus in the Temple48 is spectacular: public manifestations, marches, groans similar to funeral dirges, with “all groups prostrating themselves to the ground.” There is a chorality of sorrow and of manifestations, §§82–83. Persecution as spectacle is also a theme of Christian literature; cf. L. Lugaresi, Spettacoli e vita cristiana cit. pp. 444ff. See also A. Destro – M. Pesce, Antropologia delle origini cristiane, Roma-Bari 1995, pp. 31–33. 47 “This more general dimension of what is spectacular, and which extends to the inclusion of what is real (certainly, the happy Plinian metaphor of spectaculum naturae is all but casual), constitutes the possibility of thinking of such episodes as those narrated by Suetonius. Nero, bored with old Rome, sets fire to it. The fire lasts six days and seven nights, and together with the old houses also devours all the spoils the Romans had won in their many wars. “Looking at this fire from the tower of Maecenas, and happy, as he said, because of the beauty of the flames, wearing his stage costume he acted The Conquest of Troy” (Nero 38). [. . .] Two things are certain: the first that Nero, or if one prefers, the Suetonian character who is given the name of Nero, goes to the extent of seeing Rome as one great spectacle, the city as theatre, or better, as circus; the second, that precisely this sense of the spectacular appears to senatorial ideology, which Suetonius expresses, as the clearest sign of the extreme degeneration of customs embodied in the tyrant.” (Lanza, Lo spettacolo cit., p. 122, my transl.). Cf. also ibid. p. 114; Lugaresi, Tra evento e rappresentazione, cit. pp. 448ff.). 48 Cf. Legat. 223ff. 45 46
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but these manifestations are spontaneous and sincere; there is no deceit, no simulation, no fiction. In §225, after affirming their will to sacrifice themselves, their wives and their children, rather than assist at the profanation of the Temple, the Jews explicate the tragic aspects of the situation: “when you succumb to a tragic fate, you have to use tragic expressions.” Hence the talk of infanticide, of killing one’s brothers, of ablutions in blood. The use, therefore, of tragic images and expressions, but tragedy considered here not as spectacle, but as a description of mournful events. Theatre as an expression of reality. Still, the agitation of the Jews, the expression of their feelings, emotive participation expressed with the entire body, all become spectacle (§243), as, on the other hand, the confrontation between Jews and their accusers before Gaius appears in Legat. 359 as “theatrical farce.” Also, in Legat. 368 there is a co-presence of the two spheres: Such was this combination of a Theatre and a prison in place of a tribunal, theatre-like in the cackling of their hisses, their mockery and unbounded jeering, prison-like in the strokes inflicted on our flesh, the torture, the racking of the whole soul through the blasphemies against God and menaces launched upon us by this mighty despot.
In Flaccum, on one hand, represents Flaccus as a lucid and cynical schemer, who exploits the feelings of the masses, plans, and schemes attacks, and, on the other, the Jews, aware of awaiting the ills that are to befall them, the women locked up in their homes, the men numb with fear. The search for weapons is the pretext for Flaccus’s brutal plan of aggression, that is directed even to the women. The latter, in fact, are not only captured in the public squares, but also in the theatre, and dragged onto the stage §p‹ tØn skhnÆn. The spectators improvise as tyrannical despots; persecution is the spectacle.49 Flaccus displays both hypocrisy and fiction. He smiles, pretends he is pleased, praises truth so as to be better able to deceive (§98). 49 Unlike In Flaccum, in Legatio the description of the persecution of the Jews lacks spectacular elements. There is even greater violence, horrifying descriptions of sadism and torture, but all seems to take place in the name of hadred. There is no mention of spectacle. Even when mention is made of an enclosure wherein the Jews are crowded, and of people who keep watch over them lest they escape, there are no comparisons with the theatre. In In Flaccum all the blame was heaped on Flaccus, here it is on Gaius, even if in §132 the governor’s culpability resurfaces. Gaius hates the Jews and the people are encouraged to do horrible things, whereas in In Flaccum it is Flaccus himself who adopts a permissive attitude so as to satisfy the masses.
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His plan is well orchestrated; to his excuse there isn’t even a lack of premeditation, nor justification in name of a sudden fury. He is a lover of plots and deceit, and acts underhandedly, (§§101–102), traits that are directly opposite to the diligence of an emperor who is always ready to read the messages that have been conveyed.50 This time however, Flaccus, who is always deceiving others, now deceives himself. Convinced of having won over Gaius through adulation, servile behaviour, and insincere praise, he instead is headed toward ruin. A master of expediency, he in fact is ruined by a stratagem. At the news of Flaccus’s arrest, the Jews first think it is a trap, a scheme whereby to either insult or ensnare them. They then flock to the beach where they lift their praise to providence. The governor’s scheming is recalled in their invocation to God. Punishment of the wicked becomes a spectacle for the victims who learn of their persecutor’s fall not from reports, but from having direct view of the events. Reversal of Fate and Spectacularization Previously, Isidorus had enlisted against Flaccus violent drunkards capable of wreaking havoc; a motley lot, utterly lacking in any will or idea, and ready to follow any course of action that is imposed upon them. Paid to hold speeches, declaim poetry, almost as actors who recite pretending to act truthfully, they invented charges against Flaccus. The latter plays the victim who had done no ill deed, and is consequently defended by the entire citizenry. Here, he is not the cruel persecutor as he appears to the Jews. Thus, the fate of victims and persecutors, good and bad, undergoes a constant reversal. Dike watches over human events and reverses the situations. Thus Isidorus goes from instigator to accused, to publicly prosecuted. His accusers being set on a platform so that in this conspicuous elevation they might be recognised by all, gave proof that Isidorus was responsible for the tumults and slanders against Flaccus (§142). 50 It is the traditional distinction between good emperors and bad governors, and perhaps it is also a ploy to avoid the charge of being anti-Roman. Cf. M. HadasLebel, Jérusalem contre Rome, Paris 1990, pp. 64ff. As for the alleged philo-Judaism of emperors associated with anti-Roman Alexandrian propaganda cf. C. Kraus Reggiani, Filone alessandrino un’ora tragica cit., p. 121, n. 40.
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Subsequently, it is Flaccus who sees his own destiny reversed, and always in a situation of public representation, of spectacularisation, as: the cities which beheld him puffed with pride, parading the grandeur of his good fortune, might once more behold him covered with dishonour instead. As fingers pointed at him and reproaches poured upon him he was oppressed by the heavier afflictions caused by the change which had overwhelmed him (§153).
And, similarly in §154 A spectacle to the Peloponnesian cities on the sea-board when they heard of his sudden change of fortune.
People flock to the scene both out of wickedness and to draw instruction. It is a drama of sorts wherein what attracts is the reversal of fortune—the dramatic action. Had the protagonist always been either fortunate or unfortunate, his lot would have moved no one. It is drama that moves people’s feelings, and when this happens they rush to the scene to contemplate and to enjoy a sight that affects them deeply. Events are significant when observed, brought in common view, almost as on a stage. Thus, even Flaccus’s wickedness, his previous fortune and then his fall; everything counts in as much as it constitutes spectacle, in as much as it is seen by the people. Mention is not made of Flaccus’s private feelings, of the real effects of his fall, but of the effects of its vision. Spectacle has a forceful impact, the people enjoy it, and Flaccus’ tormentors point him out to one and all. The spectacle seems sustained by Flaccus himself, who doesn’t bear in silence, but builds a representation by alternating between words and gestures. First, he pronounces a dramatic speech: “Night has fallen on my life . . . as if there were an eclipse . . . the funeral I make for myself ” (158–160), then, with his gestures, he writhes, bounds about, throws himself upon the ground (162), then again makes speeches.51 After, Flaccus avoids being seen (§167), he secludes 51 “I am Flaccus [. . .] ruler of the highly blest land of Egypt, to whom so many thousands of inhabitants paid regard [. . .]. But was this then a phantom fãsma, not the truth élÆyeia? Was I asleep and dreamt ˆnar the light-heartedness eÈyum¤a of those days, saw but spectres moving in a void e‡dvla katå kenoË, figments of a soul plãsmata cux∞w which recorded as we may suppose things which had no existence as though they were? Yes, I have been deluded. They were the shadow skiã of realities, not the realities themselves, a counterfeit m¤mhsiw of clear vision §narge¤aw, not the clear vision which exposes the falsehood ceËdow to the light. For just as when we wake up we find nothing of what we saw in our dreams, but all are gone and have taken flight together” (§§163–165).
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himself and remains in solitude. From self-representation he regresses to a shadow situation of hiding: “he remained holed up in his house” (§166). Previously he had already manifested forms of folly (§162); now, one night, while prey to a Corybantic delirium, he lifts his eyes and sees what in the world is the real world (§169), recognises providence and understands that the evil he had done to the Jews in the past now befalls to him: Some I marched into the theatre and ordered them to be maltreated before the eyes of their bitterest enemies unjustly, and, therefore, justly was I maltreated in my miserable soul rather than in my body, with the utmost contumely; I was not indeed marched into one theatre or one city but was paraded through all Italy (§173).
An interplay of vision, dream and deceit; fleeting confines between real life and theatre spectacle, and, at the same time, fleeting confines between dream and reality. Or, past reality now relived as a dream, whereas the present appears as reality. Fearing revenge and every evil, Flaccus is preyed upon by suspicion; he expects snares, that same underhandedness which had characterized his dealings when he was powerful. Thus, he blends this suspicion with his own deceits: “to give satisfaction to those I treacherously assassinated.” He dies quartered like a sacrificial animal. It is the same lot he had meted out to the Jews. Thus, once again justice is working a sort of contrappasso. Historic events have an ethic-religious value that is stressed by the triumph of justice and by Flaccus’s exemplary punishment, which recalls Antiochus’s exemplary punishment in 2 Maccabees. The theme is that of the persecutors’ death, one which constitutes a veritable literary topos.52 There is Flaccus’s conviction that the reasons for his persecution are not the real ones, linked to Gaius’s hatred, but are punishment for his faults.53
52 It is the pathetic genre, which is very popular in literature of the period, and which Cicero emphatically theorises. In Orator 37–38, it is described as an essential rhetorical device, geared to arousing emotion and, besides persuasion and pleasure, is also a salient aspect of eloquence. The genre developed extensively in Hellenistic literature, even in that of Jewish origin such as 2 Maccabees (Cf. M. Adinolfi, Questioni bibliche di storia e storiografia, Brescia 1969, pp. 59ff.), where also appear other elements that are present in In Flaccum (punishment of the wicked, providence, etc.). The representation of Flaccus’s demise in a way synthesises aspects that pervade the entire work: spectacularization, the drama’s visibility, the strong impact on people’s emotions. 53 See Kraus Reggiani, Filone alessandrino e un’ora tragica cit., p. 46.
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The Appearance of Power Reconsidering our reading so far of In Flaccum, we can now reformulate some of the questions posed at the beginning of this article. Do theatrical metaphors always allude to negative realities? Are those likened to actors and mimes always the wicked and the simulators? Is Philo’s negative judgement also to be associated with Jewish judgement against theatres, seen as a place of idolatry, or is it basically a Platonic-type discourse on the relationship between truth and appearance, truth and fiction?54 Is the purpose of political representations comparable to theatrical spectacles essentially, for Philo, that of awakening people’s emotions, of exciting the instincts of the populace, or is it rather dissimulation, hiding those who utilize stratagems to gain power and make ill use of it, or else is it a contraposition aimed at negating one’s dependence on God? In Philo, more than recitation of a part, we can speak of the carrying out of a task assigned by God. All men have a role to explicate, an assigned task and it is the capacity to comply, or not comply, with said task, and to abide by the norm, that makes them more or less virtuous. Thus, in the political ambit a good governor will distinguish himself from a bad one because he follows and applies the law of God. In the moment of representation, the bad ruler and the cruel prefect who violate the just law of God, who do not behave correctly, mask such violations beneath a cloak of fiction. They are unable to vindicate their own role. The theatrical behaviour they assume does not only have the purpose of persuading their interlocutors, as much as of self-representation, of showing themselves on an artificial stage they themselves have built as a frame around their 54 “And of all the members of the clan here decribed [passions, pleasures . . .] Esau is the progenitor, the head as it were of the whole creature,—Esau whose name we sometimes interpret as “an oak,” sometimes as “a thing made up.” He is an oak because he is unbending, unyielding, disobedient and stiff-necked by nature, with folly as his counsellor, oak-like in very truth; he is a thing made up because the life that consorts with folly is just fiction and fable, full of the bombast of tragedy on one hand and of the broad jesting of comedy on the other; it has nothing sound about it, it is utterly false and has thrown truth overboard. [. . .] Esau must be houseless, and the friend of fiction and make-up and legendary follies, or rather himself the actor’s stage and the playwright’s legend” (Congr. 61–62). For an analysis of sxhnÆ = tent/theatrical scene, see J. Cazeaux, Etre juif et parler grec: l’allégorie de Philon in C.-B. Amphoux et J.-P. Bouhot (ed.), Les premières traditions de la Bible, Histoire du texte biblique 2, Lausanne 1996, p. 176. The truth-fiction relationship theme in the anti-Christian polemic against theatres is addressed by L. Lugaresi, Tra evento e rappresentazione cit.
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own actions. Real power is only God’s, and of his emissaries and interpreters, or, at least, of those rulers who acknowledge God’s superiority and abide by it.55 Foremost among all, Moses, the interpreter of God’s law, but also Joseph, who de facto acknowledges the hand of Providence and does not pretend to take God’s place (“I do not judge”). Bad rulers claim the power for themselves, as Adam does when he holds himself the font of his knowledge, thus succumbing to philautia. Bad rulers are deceived, as Adam is deceived, and thus live in appearance. Second-level appearance is when they don the mask of the righteous; they mask their appearance by feigning a reality that does not exist (their own goodness), but also acknowledgement of their own limits, and acceptance that true power is not theirs, but God’s. As for the Stoics, also for Philo governors interpret a part; but, whereas for the former he who acts on the world’s stage and interprets a role is the wise man, for Philo he who identifies with the part is, in reality, someone who fails to acknowledge that his is an interpretation of God’s action.56 Good interpreters are Moses and Joseph, who do not attribute a part to themselves, whereas he who interprets a part, and identifies with it, will perhaps be a good actor, but is certainly not wise.57 Thus is it with Flaccus and the wicked politicians. He who recites assumes a role, and thus resembles a mime or an actor; he “represents” a part, but does not live it. There is, so to speak, a reversal in the actor metaphor with respect to a Stoic interpretation. For the latter, it is a matter of reciting a part with elegance and detachment, observing it from outside. Instead, for Philo the virtuous man, identified in temporality and in the choice of his action, lives his actions in the first person. The politician becomes an actor who recites a part only when it is not a means of virtue, but the deceit of the self-representation of he who would mask his wickedness. Thus, the actor metaphor, which is frequent in Roman 55 Cf. Letter to Aristeas 219: “You must not show yourself inferior to the actors who, having always in mind the personage they are to represent, therein adjust all their actions; you have not a part, but are truly king because God has given you the power in relationship to your merits.” (my transl.) 56 On the opposition, in the Christian ambit, between political life as social representation and the seriousness of he who perceives the truth of the divine word and abides by it, see Lugaresi, Spettacoli e vita cristiana cit., pp. 454ff. 57 For Philo Moses is hermeneus and exeghetes, whereas Flaccus is a simulator ÍpokritÆw, an actor who does not correctly interpret his part, in terms of translating it and adapting to it, but as a bad actor who twists it, stressing simulation and deceit. Thus we have the mask, hiding and the mimes.
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Stoic literature, also influencing Christian literature of the origins, is clearly present in Philo who re-elaborates the concept, giving it a twist which is however almost opposite to the original. In the background there is probably also the idea of the circus, of the Roman spectacle offered to satisfy the crowds. Frequently recalled, in fact, is the populace, that Flaccus satisfies by offering a show, representation, recitation, whereby he arouses their baser instincts. Viewed against the steadiness of the Stoic sage, the fool is he who abandons himself to the passions. And it is with the latter that the mass of men are to be identified. At the same time, there is also the idea of theatre moving emotions in Platonic and Aristotelian terms; that of the actor who awakens the feelings and emotions of the spectators. The Legatio Ad Caium I have so far focused on In Flaccum, referring only here and there to the Legatio ad Caium, which does not constitute the direct object of the present analysis. Yet, clearly these two works are intertwined, and it is therefore inevitable that there be common references, themes and approaches. Thus, and with no pretence to thoroughness, I shall now briefly examine Legatio, similarly from the standpoint of metaphor and theatrical language in political discourse. Again appear spectacularism and fiction, but also other negative notions connected with a moral judgement. From the very outset, the work stresses the extraordinary well-being and felicity of the empire. This happy situation is exhibited, as are all its positive aspects: constant merrymaking, feasts, sacrifices, meetings, and in addition horse races, orgiastic processions, nocturnal festivities to the sound of flutes and citharas, every form of public gathering, of games, festivities, spectacles. All is viewed as a Cronos age of sorts, but also as a suspended period, after which harsh reality will return, exacting payment for all tried pleasures. It is an abrupt reawakening for he who has enjoyed entertainment and pleasures, but also for Gaius himself who, having previously enjoyed immoderately, prey as he was to debauchery and dissipation, will subsequently be stricken by a serious illness as a result of his excesses.58 58 Caligula’s cruelty makes him a sort of unicum: “pour Philon, Caligula représente d’une certaine façon un accident de l’histoire, une erreur du destin de Rome qui a permis à un tel personnage d’accéder à l’Empire” (M. Hadas-Lebel, Rome contre Jérusalem cit., p. 350).
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He readily bares the bestial nature he had hidden under the mask of fiction. There are images of hiding that are not immediately theatrical nor spectacular as in In Flaccum, but of play: stratagems and oblique action that are not only violent but also deceitful. Words are used that affect the emotions (I wish to designate him as my son §27). Gaius prepares a trap by exploiting Roman law which gives full power to the father. He resorts to the law in order to betray, and assumes the functions of a protector to kill. Illegality dons the cloak of legality and pity. Truth is mocked. In paragraphs 42 and following, Gaius dances with the dancers, guffaws at coarseness and the mockery of the mimes, instead of simply smiling in a dignified manner. He lets himself be won over by the harmony of the citharists and the choruses, and even goes so far as to join them in their singing. In response to such a spectacle, Macro turns to Gaius, expounding a theory of imperial power and of its representation, and, at the same time, a theory on theatre and spectacles. The emperor’s superiority over the rest of mankind has also to be evinced through the enjoyment of spectacles, and in general through the use of the senses. The lord of land and sea shall not let himself be won “by song, by dance, or by mockery.” The pivotal element of spectacle must not be the performance, but its moral action. The emperor, that is, is not to let himself be carried away, nor permit that his emotions be bantered about by the spectators. Instead, he has to preserve a balanced control of both himself and his functions, and put his conscience and moral intent before any feeling or mode of behaviour. This is the opposite of spectacle as representation which so often appears in In Flaccum, where the aspect itself of representation becomes a model for political discourse. In paragraph 23 the game mask was an emblem of fiction and of deceit. Here too, in this context, what is of interest are not the theatre’s representational aspects, but rather theatre as an occasion to convey a moral exhortation. If theatre engages individuals for the purpose of entertainment, and the latter perform to the very best of their ability, and receive praise and honours, how much greater should be the performance of he who exercises the loftiest and most noble of all the arts—that of government? Macro tries to enchant Gaius with words so as to improve him. At Macro’s attempt, Gaius, showing how refined duplicity can be, reacts angrily and comes up with false, but acceptable and convincing accusations. There is a
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crescendo in betrayal. Toward Macro, Gaius flaunts the conviction of being superior, and of being more knowledgeable by right of blood, in as much as he was born an emperor. Rancour is expressed against those who hinder the violent venting of the impulses. The crowd’s reaction is fear that takes the form of low-voiced comments. Those who make up the masses are laggards, adulators, dull but most of all self-deceivers. They prefer not to tell themselves that their previous expectations were wrong, and that the emperor is cruel. Adulation prompts the crowds to twist the nature of both words and things, thus giving way to a double register, in that they twist both reality and what is affirmed. The Emperor’s Deification and Representation Starting from paragraphs 77 and following, Gaius claims divine attributes by assuming the disguise of divinity, or semi-divinity, of which he however takes the costumes, but not the virtue. The emperor’s deification is inconceivable to Philo, who reads it as folly and an insult to the divinity. The deification process has various stages. First, Gaius identifies with the demigods, and alternately wears one costume and then another, as in theatre. Through disguise he attributes to himself the identity of various divinities and, especially, demands to be paid honours that are proper to the gods. He transforms his own looks in order to astonish his public. Disguise as spectacle and as illusion. The illusion of attributing to himself the characters of divinity by taking on its aspect. There is spectacularization here as in In Flaccum, but of a different type. Besides the individual differences between the two personages, another element is at play: the emperor is already a significant public figure, and does not require any further stress of his importance. In In Flaccum, simulation and the theatrical unfold upon a human terrain, and exhibit one’s own misfortunes as well as those of others. Simulation is practised in order to 1) deceive 2) move the feelings of the crowds, 3) and exhibit oneself. In this ambit, the fundamental element is exhibition. After an initial phase when Gaius needed to simulate and prepare traps in order to bolster his own power, he now no longer needs such expedients. He is an emperor, and most powerful; he doesn’t even need to move the people who, once convinced of Gaius’s murders, don’t even contest
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him.59 Yet, Gaius pushes his exhibition to extremes by disguising himself with the caduceus, with the imperial crown, with bow and arrow, thus representing himself as Hermes, Apollo and Ares, and surrounding himself with choruses. “The people in attendance at such spectacles was astonished by the absurdity of it all,” and, considering him an impostor, asked themselves why he would claim for himself the attributes of the gods, instead of assuming their virtues. But above all, the people detect in the ornamentations and decorations of the gods symbols indicating the gods’ benefits to mankind. It is absurd to assume symbols that are not his. Philo highlights the people’s amazement at such exhibitions, whereas we can ask ourselves if emperor deification was really that strange. The pomp and show of oriental kingdoms earlier, then of the Hellenistic, also find explications in Rome, albeit in different forms. Gaius resumes such behaviour, transforming in Roman terms what other kings and emperors had already done. The attribution of authority is basic to the exercise of power, as Philo himself states in §116, speaking of when Rome was introduced to the practice of prostration. Certainly, Gaius’s exhibition is greatly exaggerated; he plays at disguising himself and, moreover, he not only claims to be a god, but is actually convinced of it.60 We are however still in the ambit of spectacle offered by the powerful and by the emperor giving a self-representation.61 What characterises Gaius’s exhibition is its association with falsification: “falsely does he call himself Paean, let him cease once for all to mimic the true Paean, for a divine form cannot be counterfeited as a coin can be.”62 Once again, exhibition is likened to simulation,
59 However, the emperor is always open to ransom, as, although being the master of a powerful empire, he fears the governors who can foment revolts. Thus Gaius, furious with Petronius who has put off executing his orders, hides his anger and his rancour, feigning appreciation and courtesy (Legat. 259). Gaius, however, is also by nature false and untrustworthy (Legat. 339), and uses the mask of friendship (Legat. 344) to abuse power. 60 Legat. 162: Gaius “was actually convinced he was a god.” Gaius’s will to be deified is also found in Legat. 198–202; 338; 346–348. 61 “Between the exhibition of power and theatrical practice there is a parallel that they both share: condemnation of senatorial ideology. Presenting a prince as a histrion (famous are the detractions of Nero that we find in Tacitus and Suetonius) is the most effective way of discrediting him” [D. Lanza, L’attore, in M. Vegetti (ed.) Introduzione alle culture antiche vol. 1 cit., p. 133]. 62 Legat. 110.
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theatre to deceit. When he exhibited his downfall Flaccus was not deceiving, whereas Gaius deceives in this instance, as Flaccus deceived in his moment of fortune. It would appear that simulation and deceit were linked to the manifestation of power and fortune, whereas downfall can only give way to spectacle, albeit in a true-to-life form. Gaius plays the transformist, donning a variety of masks, as if he were performing on stage, and deceives his spectators by assuming false semblances (§111). The emperors who put on the garb of gladiators do actually perform on stage; they truly offer spectacle. Now Gaius is doubly deceitful, as not only does he pretend to be whom he is not, as any actor does, but also feigns to be an actor, in as much as in his disguises he actually is not in theatre, and is not performing on stage. Legatio, therefore, as compared with In Flaccum, stresses the moral reprobation of simulation, deceit and the giving in to emotions. Such a negative judgement parallels the moral condemnation of actors, seen as emblems of dissoluteness and sexual confusion. One fierce attack against actors stems from the presentation of Helicon, “the aristocratic slave, the consummate scoundrel,” and of Apelles, a tragic actor, who—they say—in the flower of his prime had trafficked his youthful charms, but when the bloom was passed went on to the stage. Of course performers on the stage whose trade is with theatres and theatre-goers are lovers of modesty and sobriety, not of shamelessness and extreme indecency (§§203–205).63
In terms of debauchery, prostitutes and actors are placed on the same plane. His youth behind him, Helicon is no longer able to sell his charms, and resorts to performing on stage. Theatre is the venue of debauchery and immodesty. If so far theatre and spectacle were present as elements of fiction and disguise, there is now added a moral judgement linked with sexual behaviour. More than an attack by the Jews against the theatre of the Gentiles, linked with the introduction of foreign customs and idolatry, the representation that is given here of actors evokes a widespread moralism in Roman culture against theatre, as for example
63 For the actor seen from a social standpoint and an assessment of said figure cf. D. Lanza, L’attore cit., pp. 114–115.
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we find in Cicero (Ep. ad fam. 7.1), in Horace (Ep. II.1, ll.180ff.), in Seneca (Ep. 7,2–5).64 The actor Helicon, then, also becomes Gaius’s song master, further distracting him from the affairs of state. Theatre, that is, is also considered as something frivolous that distracts from serious things.65
64 Cf. Lanza, L’attore cit., pp. 115; 132–133. Lugaresi, Tra evento e rappresentazione cit., p. 442, compares Cicero and Seneca’s attacks with Christian censure. 65 For a Christian attack against spectacles as institutions “luxuriosa atque superflua,” cf. Lugaresi, Tra evento e rappresentazione cit., pp. 440ff.
CHAPTER SIX
THE “MYSTERIES” IN PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA A M M Understanding the meaning of the specific terminology concerning the mysteries in Philo of Alexandria implies exploring a subject which is of remarkable interest, but extremely problematic. Our enquiry begins by restricting itself to the analysis of the meanings of key words such as mustÆrion, ˆrgia and teletÆ, whose basic content, according to A. D. Nock,1 transcended semantic diversity and maintained a certain unity in the Hellenistic era, at times being thought of as interchangeable. Restricting the objectives of our research does not exempt us from a necessary awareness of the implications inherent in dealing with the ideas. The use of a terminology in a cultural context different from the original inevitably means a change of perspective. The dilemma that emerges concerns the transformation of the network of references, or semantic variation. As far as the subject of the mysteries goes, reference to the interpretations of the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule (with its special interest in the relation between Hellenistic religion and Christianity), is evident here, as well as a reference to the clarification their interpretations gave rise to.2 In addition, it is worth
1 In Hellenistic Mysteries and Christian Sacraments, in Z. Stewart (ed.), Essays on Religion and the Ancient World, Selected and edited, with an Introduction, Bibliography of Nock’s writings, and Indexes, II, Oxford 1972, pp. 791–820, Nock examines the meaning of the mystery terminology in the sources of the Hellenistic period, pointing out the greater use of metaphor. 2 Reitzenstein’s studies have to be taken into account here. He believed that Hermetic influences were basic for the development and spread of Christianity, and more specifically, for Pauline teaching; and as far as the mysteries went, Iranic influences were basic (Das iranische Erlösungsmysterium, Leipzig 1921). A. Loisy reached radical conclusions in Les mystères païens et le Mystère chrétien, Paris 1919. He identified the essence of both Greek and Christian mysteries in the cultural-ritual celebration of the death and resurrection of the hero who was the object of the cult. Among the critics of these ideas O. Casel should be recalled. In his first study on this subject (Die Liturgie als Mysterienfeier, Freiburg 1922), he considers the Hellenistic mysteries as a “preparation for the mystery of Christ.”
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noticing that giving an adequate definition to the “mysteries” is itself a rather complex operation. The question asked by Angus, “What is a Mystery Religion?,”3 and taken up again by D. H. Wiens,4 who lists a series of differentiated answers, is certainly not an unreasonable one. The reality of the “mysteries” is present to a remarkable temporal and spatial extent, and it is therefore possible to find evidence for a large number of identifications in the sources. Wiens points out that at times we may find a religion of symbolism tending towards palingenesis, at other times, a religion of redemption whose purpose is the forgiveness of guilt or a system of gnosis that leads to the knowledge of God or a sacramental drama whose effect is the exaltation of a new life. Or again, an eschatological religion that procures immortal life, a personal religion that generates a rebirth, or a cosmic religion offering us the chance to turn celestial powers to our own advantage. In an articulate study of the mysteries, after having examined the hypotheses of the origins, and some of the cults in an attempt to bring out their phenomenology, K. Prümm5 had already underlined the difficulties inherent in a study that, instead of reaching conclusions, simply pointed out the variety of paths to be taken. According to U. Bianchi,6 the formulation of a typology having to take into account both the variety of forms as well as the issues inherent in the genesis and development of mystical religious forms, requires a series of approaches. The distinction concerning the existence of the conception and the experience of an interference between divine, cosmic and human realities, of specific esoteric initiation rituality and of theoretical formulations in which the subject of the vicissitude is the divine spirit (the definitions of mystical/mysterial/mysteriosophical, in the interpretation just cited), proposes this
The Mystery-Religions and Christianity, New York 1925, 19662, pp. 45ff. In Mystery Concepts in Primitive Christianity and in the Environment, ANRW II, 1980, pp. 1248–1283, especially pp. 1250–1251. 5 He writes in Mystères in L. Pirot, A. Robert, H. Cazelles (eds.), Supplément au Dictionnaire de la Bible, T. Sixième, Paris 1960, pp. 1–225, in particular p. 151: “Il existe un tel faisceau d’opinions diverses non seulement sur un mystère en particulier, mais sur le genre même de ces mystères, que tout travail sur ces questions se ramifie à l’infini.” 6 A clear formulation of the typology is described in Ipotesi di lavoro and in Lo studio delle religioni di mistero in U. Bianchi and M. J. Vermaseren (eds.), La soteriologia dei culti orientali nell’Impero romano, Atti del Colloquio Internazionale su la Soteriologia dei culti orientali nell’Impero Romano, Roma 24–28 settembre 1979, Leiden 1982, pp. XIV–XVI and pp. 1–16. 3
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differentiation once again. In the variety of the formulations, the reinterpretation of the mystery terminology in a philosophical context is of special interest. G. Bornkamm7 defines the purpose of the acquisition by mustÆria and mustikã of the ontological meaning and the assumption of the value of esoteric doctrine besides that sacramental character which it was given originally, characterising the celebrations. The importance of the “mysteries” is shown by the presence of references in Judaic sources, and in particular in Philo. Many scholars have looked into this, deducing significant elements for the interpretation of the Alexandrian’s work. According to E. R. Goodenough, basic importance must be given to the influence exercised by the mysteries on Hellenistic Judaism, in which Philo’s contribution is also inserted: “Yet the fact is, it seems to me, that by Philo’s time, and long before, Judaism in the Greek-speaking world, especially in Egypt, had been transformed into a Mystery. The objective of this Judaism was salvation in the mystical sense. God was no longer only the God presented in the Old Testament: He was the Absolute, connected with phenomena by His Light-Stream, the Logos or Sophia. The hope and aim of man was to leave created things with their sordid complications, and to rise to incorruption, immortality, life, by climbing the mystic ladder, traversing the Royal Road, of the Light-Stream.”8 And after having emphasised the alteration in the conceptual shape of certain basic features of Judaism, he writes: “Philo is the chief source for knowledge of details of this Mystery, but he does not stand alone, and there is enough evidence, it seems to me, to warrant assuming not only the existence of the Jewish Mystery, but that in some such way the movement developed. Certainly it is terms of the Mystery that Philo alone becomes intelligible, for all his writing is oriented about it, and directed towards its explanation.”9 Philo’s attention is not directly aimed at pagan mythology, but at the mystical philosophy of the age that had already reworked its mythological data drawing 7 MustÆrion in G. Kittel, G. Friedrich (eds.), Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, VII, Stuttgart 1942, Italian edition edited by F. Montagnini, G. Scarpat, and O. Soffritti, Grande Lessico del Nuovo Testamento, vol. VII, Brescia 1971, columns 645–715, especially column 666. 8 By Light, Light. The Mystical Gospel of Hellenistic Judaism, New Haven-London 1935, Amsterdam 1969, p. 7. 9 Ibid., p. 8.
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typologies from this for its doctrines. From this derived a Hellenism presented according to Judaic symbols and allegories.10 M. Cerfaux11 believes that the mysteries exercised a great fascination over the Alexandrian Jews who thought of themselves as the keepers of a secret religion concerning the reign of God, according to Daniel’s interpretation. The word mustÆrion could define Judaism itself before the pagan world, without either losing or profaning its own identity. But in Philo’s age, according to Cerfaux, a change can be discerned. The special accentuation of the link between sophia and the Judaic religion determines the use of these expressions in Philo mainly as literary formulas, in imitation of a terminology already absorbed by the philosophical tradition: “Avec Philon, qui n’a d’estime que pour la philosophie et la mystique personelles, les thèmes mystérieux ne sont que littérature.”12 Philo’s interest in these subjects arises only in connection to the meanings they had taken on in a philosophical context. In his treatment of the mysteries, K. Prümm takes up these ideas once again.13 A. D. Nock in his turn examines the question, stressing that though Philo does not like the cults, he finds the metaphor of initiation useful to express prophetic or mystical intuitions in which mankind perceived he was “acted upon rather than acting.”14 In his review of Goodenough’s essay, after having set out his reasons for adopting a different interpretation, he writes: “Further, the metaphor was, for a Greek philosopher and for Philo alike, no mere ornamental trick of style . . . The initiate, the philosopher, the Jew, each had something which he believed to be of incomparable, irreplaceable value, making him who received and possessed it different from other men . . . The metaphor of initiation was by its philosophical usage redeemed from any undue association with idolatry; it was particularly appropriate, inasmuch as it expressed the passive and receptive attitude of mind which Philo held to be necessary.”15
10 Ibid., p. 264. It should be remembered that Goodenough’s basic theses were re-utilised by H. Thyen in Studien zur Sündenvergebung im Neuen Testament und seinen alttestamentlichen und jüdischen Voraussetzungen, Göttingen 1970; Philo presents Judaism as the true mystery of redemption. 11 Influences des Mystéres, “Le Muséon” 37 (1924), pp. 29–88. 12 Ibid., p. 87. 13 Mystères cit., coll. 175ff. 14 Hellenistic cit., p. 802. 15 The Question of Jewish Mysteries in Essays cit., I, pp. 467f.
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According to J. Pépin,16 Philo sees such values in the mysteries as inherent in his exegetical formulation. The gradual acquisition of knowledge of the Scriptures is assimilated into the progress of the initiated and the discipline of the arcane is thought to be important. Allegory is therefore seen as the route to and object of initiation. The differences of evaluation are quite remarkable. They presuppose a recognition of the meaning of the “mysteries” and an interpretation of the doctrinal forms of Philo’s work; from this possible meeting or intersection, of partial or more radical, conceptual or formal, implications. In a brief summary of the problems A. Méasson17 sets out in summary form the problematic issues emerging from individual interpretations: the interest in the mysteries cannot be understood simply through the use of a particular terminology, but through the presence of conceptual data; in addition, the specific connection with philosophical formulations does not indicate an exclusive link with theoretical re-elaboration, since the ritual celebrations already presuppose content features. Having brought up once again the interpretations of P. Boyancé,18 he finally arrives at one of his own. The main factor justifying Philo’s interest in the mysteries is determined by a sharing of purpose, the guiding of spirits away from the sensible world and even out of themselves (¶kstasiw) as far as divine illumination. If we now turn to the analysis of passages in Philo’s works in which the specific vocabulary of the mysteries appears, we should be able to find further aspects to help us evaluate the meaning of the use of this terminology. Philo distinguishes between different kinds of rituality. The celebrations should be only directed to God, whereas those set up by peoples on the basis of mythical inventions are absurd, and their taking place not only in profane environments but also in the temples means a violation of these places themselves. As a result there is a falsification of eÈs°beia, the negation of any initiation aspect, the fraudulent presentation of truth, corruption, and the revealing of secrets (Cher. 90–94). The negative judgement on the initiations
16 Remarques sur la théorie de l’exégèse allégorique chez Philon, in Philon d’Alexandrie, Colloque de Lyon 11–15 September 1966, Paris 1967, pp. 131–167. 17 Philon d’Alexandrie, De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini, Introduction, traduction et notes par A. Méasson, Paris 1966, n. 14 pp. 202–204. 18 Sur les mystères d’Éleusis, “Revue des Études Grecques,” LXXV, 1962, pp. 460ff.
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is determined by the consequences that can be seen on human reality. Corporeality takes on a basic role in demonstrating vice (Leg. 1,104) to the detriment of the intellect that is “submerged,” definitively rather than temporarily (Mut. 107). Similar arguments are used at various points in De specialibus legibus. The explicit criticism of the celebrations in honour of Demeter, led by homosexuals (3,40), and the allusion to specific circumstances in which Israelites, together with gentile women, shook off traditional customs and practised false rites (muyika‹ teleta¤ ) (1,56), are the object of more detailed scrutiny in the passage expressed in the form of law: “He banishes from the sacred legislation the lore of occult rites (teleta¤ ) and mysteries (mustÆria) and all such imposture and buffoonery. He would not have those who were bred in such a commonwealth as ours take part in mummeries and clinging on to mystic fables despite the truth and pursue things which have taken night and darkness for their province, discarding what is fit to bear the light of day. Let none, therefore, of the followers and disciples of Moses either confer or receive initiation to such rites. For both in teacher and taught such action is gross sacrilege”19 (1,319). Philo dwells later on the theme of darkness, of limited communication, unjustifiable from the moral point of view if the knowledge acquired through participation in the mysteries merely gives rise to advantage. The factors determining Philo’s judgement of ceremonies which he had actually had the chance to witness are the authentic learning of the truth and ethical experience (Cher. 91–92). He believed they had totally subverted authentic meanings and purposes. Secrecy, whose function is considered positively, in this context takes on the value of unmasking the false, since it is a mark of that shadow that is opposed to the light of truth. There is also an interesting point made here about happiness as a merely external feature (Cher. 94).20 To the meanings connected to a judgement of rejection can be compared the use of the same terminology in profoundly different senses.
19 For the quotations from Philo’s works see L. Cohn, P. Wendland, S. Reiter (eds.), Philonis Alexandrini Opera quae Supersunt, six vols., Berlin 1896–1915, 19622 and Philo in Ten Volumes (and Two Supplementary Volumes) with an English Translation by F. H. Colson and G. H. Whitaker, London-Cambridge (Mass.) 1929–1962. 20 “Such are the feasts of those that people call happy.”
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The belonging of the mysteries, described as “invisible,”21 to God (Leg. 3,3),22 describes the absolute subjectivity of a transcendent divine whose communication is nevertheless possible, and highly positive in its salvific function (Leg. 3,27). But how can this relation be understood? The subject is a complex one. Quod Deus sit immutabilis 61 proposes ideas already previously examined in a negative light: the possibility of knowledge of the mysteries of creation which are not deceitful, and of notions neither superfluous nor imaginary of God through the working of a truth that may be the companion of mankind.23 In this passage the emphasis is placed on a knowledge that concerns the origins and the divine. But Philo also considers the importance of an awareness of tå seautoË ¶rga for the soul that God has judged to be worthy of the secret mysteries: “It is meet, O Saviour, that Thou displayest Thine own works to the soul that longs for all beauteous things, and that Thou hast concealed from it none of Thy works” (Leg. 3,27). The term ¶rga is not easily understood.24 Are we dealing with an original creational activity and the multiplicity of interventions of God in reality? An analogous formulation can be found in De decalogo 47, in which Philo states that the understanding of God takes place through words, which are acts (¶rga) that can be seen.25
21 In De ebrietate 129 the attribute of “invisible” is referred to the mysteries: “It is necessary that Aaron enter into the procession in the tent to celebrate the invisible mysteries.” 22 Commenting on Genesis 3,8, Philo states that the foolish have no home whereas those that are virtuous do. In this context the midwives are mentioned, following the passage in Exodus 1,17, that “saved the men children alive”; i.e., in the light of the allegorical interpretation, afl zhthtika‹ t«n éfan«n yeoË musthr¤vn. 23 “Now those that have had the good fortune to receive a happy nature and a formation in every sense irreproachable, and who find their path in life broad and straight, have as a companion the truth, from which they are initiated in the nondeceitful mysteries of creation, and do not attribute to God anything superfluous or imaginary.” 24 C. Mondésert (Philon d’Alexandrie, Legum Allegoriae, I–III, Introduction, traduction, et notes, Paris 1962, p. 185 n. 6) asks which these works are, since the passage is not clear. He therefore supposes, also in reference to W. Völker’s interpretation, that reference is being made to the works of creation, in connection with what has been said previously. 25 B. Decharneux reflects on this idea in Quelques chemins détournés de la parole dans l’oeuvre de Philon, in Philon cit., pp. 313–326: “Pour Philon, le logos divin en son acception initiatique opère par fulguration, il convient de l’associer aux idées de travaux, d’oeuvres, d’actes (erga) plutôt que de le réduire à celles de communication ou de transmission. On voit le travail de Dieu car il se donne plutôt qu’il ne s’appréhende, il agit plutôt qu’il ne se comprend” (p. 323).
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But theological knowledge cannot be acquired only directly, for existences in their becoming demonstrate God’s being, although in a mediated fashion; the distinction in Philo between the “little” and “great” mysteries, of Platonic origin,26 takes on these connotations: “There is a mind more perfect and more thoroughly cleansed, which has undergone initiation into the great mysteries, a mind which gains its knowledge of the First Cause not from created things, as one may learn the substance from the shadow, but lifting its eyes above and beyond creation obtains a clear vision of the uncreated One, so as from Him to apprehend both Himself and His shadow. To apprehend that was, we saw, to apprehend both the Word and this world.” (Leg. 3,100). The differentiation brings out the presence of a link between the created world and divine reality, the foundation for the affirmation of a meaning of historical being,27 and basis for the exegetical interpretation in which the terrestrial, cosmic and transcendent levels are joined.28 The only object of knowledge is the divine, in which moreover the global totality of the existent is implied. The notion of these different levels of initiation appears several times. In De Abrahamo 122, it is stated that he who has been introduced into “the great mysteries” possesses the vision of God in its essential unity, whereas he who has been introduced into the “little mysteries” sees God in his activities, i.e. in his creative activity and in that of the government of the world.29 The modality of communication of the divine is determined in this passage not by cognitive learning, but by seeing an image, and the perceiving organ is thought, i.e. the intellect (diãnoia). The simultaneous presence of the terminology of knowledge with that of “seeing,” typical of the initiation 26 See Gorgias 497c. It should be borne in mind that this distinction is typical of the Eleusinian mysteries. Worth noting is the idea of Clement of Alessandria (Strom. V, 11), that by highlighting the distinction between the “little mysteries” and the “great” uses the verb manyãnein for the former and the verb §popteÊein for the others. P. Boyancé comments on these differences in Sur les mystères cit., p. 462 n. 2. 27 See the theses in the commentary on Legatio ad Gaium and In Flaccum by C. Kraus in Filone Alessandrino e un’ora tragica della storia ebraica, Napoli 1967. See also F. Calabi, Linguaggio e legge di Dio. Interpretazione e politica in Filone di Alessandria, Ferrara 1998, pp. 47ff. 28 See P. Borgen’s essay, Philo of Alexandria. An Exegete for his Time, Leiden-New York-Köln 1997, pp. 152–157. 29 The divine “activities” in certain passages of Philo’s texts take on the form of actual entities, and in others, that of potentiality inherent in the divine itself. See A. M. Mazzanti, YEOS e KURIOS. I “nomi” di Dio in Filone d’Alessandria. Questioni storico-comparative, “Studi Storico Religiosi,” V 1 (1981), pp. 15–30.
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experience, is none too surprising. P. Boyancé,30 inquiring into these ideas in the context of the Eleusinian mysteries, quotes Aristotelian texts in which illumination is mentioned, stressing that the word ¶llamciw, used by Aristotle, as a metaphor for intellectual operations in relation to the contemplation of the divine, passes over to the philosophical tradition with Philo. Indicative here is the connection, with reference to the realities of the mysteries, to revelation. To be understood, the latter requires interpretation through the faculty of sight, uniquely capable of appreciating the beauty and the splendour, which otherwise would be unreachable: “But even if we do close the eye of our soul and either will not take the trouble or have not the power to regain our sight, do thou thyself, O Sacred Guide, be our prompter and preside over our steps and never tire of anointing our eyes, until conducting us to the hidden light of hallowed Words that display to us fast-locked lovelinesses invisible to the uninitiate” (Somn. 1,164). The emphasis on visible perception, as opposed to the repeated use of “invisible” for the mysteries, as has already been noted, brings us back to the link between transcendence and the presence of a divine that in some way makes itself knowable to man. Initiation takes on still another profoundly significant characteristic, that of mystical union. The absolute power and subjectivity of God intervenes by uniting itself with those who live virtuously (reference is made to Sarah, Rebecca, Leah, and Zipporah, who are identified with virtues), and generating works of perfection:31 “Thus then must the sacred instruction begin. Man and Woman, male and female of the human race, in the course of nature come together to hold intercourse for the procreation of children. But virtues whose offspring are so many and so perfect may not have to do with mortal man, yet if they receive not seed of generation from another they will never of themselves conceive. Who then is he that sows in them the good seed save the Father of all, that is God unbegotten and begetter of all things? He then sows, but the fruit of His sowing, the fruit which is His own, He bestows as a gift. For God begets nothing for Himself, for He is in want of nothing, but all for him who needs to receive.” (Cher. 43–44). The perspective affirmed here is
Sur les mystères cit., pp. 462ff. The relation between male and female is explored by R. A. Baer in Philo’s Use of the Categories Male and Female, Leiden 1970. 30
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that of a union with the divine. The connection goes from gnosiological to ontological, and involves outcomes in experience. The theme concerning the reaching of ethical perfection, several times reiterated, is basic. Philo believes that seeking good, desiring good, eÈs°beia, the getting away from the “splendours” of mortal life are preliminary bases for gaining access to the mysteries (Leg. 3,3; Leg. 3,27; Cher. 42; Deter. 143; Somn. 1,82). But the definitive stability (Leg. 3,3) of a virtuous life is the fruit of divine intervention: “What soul, then, was it that succeeded in hiding away wickedness and removing it from sight, but the soul to which God manifested Himself, and which He deemed worthy of His secret mysteries? For He says: ‘Shall I hide from Abraham My servant that which I am doing?’ (Genesis 18,17). It is meet, O Saviour, that Thou displayest Thine own works to the soul that longs for all beauteous things, and that Thou hast concealed from it none of Thy works. That is why it is strong to shun evil and always to hide and becloud and destroy passion that works cruel havoc.” (Leg. 3,27). The possibility of avoiding negativity and eliminating passion (pãyow) is affirmed as a work of reason (lÒgow) inspired by God, the result of initiation in the “little mysteries” (Sacr. 62). And inevitably, there emerges that anthropological conception that not only claims the compound essence of human nature, but testifies to the complexity of the connection. The vertical hierarchical order that leads to a higher noetical and psychical reality32 and an inferior somatic reality, risks indeed being subverted by the aggressive nature of corporeality. The tendency towards evil is indeed inherent in the nature of mankind, because inherent in his dual make-up itself.33 Participation in sacred rituals safeguards 32 Philo sometimes seems to simplify the idea on the components of anthropological nature, which however implies a good deal of complexity. 33 On the conception of hostility between intelligible and sensible see also F. Deutsch, when he describes the subject of filaut¤a in La philautie chez Philon d’Alexandrie in C. Lévy (ed.), Philon d’Alexandrie et le langage de la philosophie, Actes du colloque international organisé par le Centre d’ études sur la philosophie hellénistique et romaine de l’Université de Paris XII—Val de Marne, Créteil, Fontenay, Paris, 26–28 octobre 1995, Turnhout 1998, pp. 87–97, especially p. 96. He refers in particular to the passage in Somn. 2,276 that describes this conflict. But it is necessary to consider the inevitability of the intervention of evil inherent in the creation itself of mankind, especially in the passage from the existence of a single living being (Adam, originally on his own) to the presence of two beings (Adam and Eve) (Opif. 151–152). The change from unity to duality or to multiplicity does mean, however, according to Philo, a devolutionary process. On these notions see A. M. Mazzanti, La creazione dell’uomo in Filone di Alessandria, “Studi e Materiali di Storia delle Religioni” XI,2 (1987), pp. 165–183.
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authentic formation.34 The passage in De praemiis et poenis 120–121 is significant, in which the virtuous man receives from God his recompense of a harmonious relation to the human constitution,35 and once admitted to the initiation, projected towards celestial realities, he overcomes the turmoil determined by somatic necessities, acquires tranquillity, and is purely exempt from compromises (ém°yeketow). The noËw becomes aware of the hostility of the s«ma and therefore works according to this judgement: “By nature, as I have said, it [the body] is wicked and a plotter against the soul, but it is not evident to all that it is so, but to God alone and to anyone who is dear to God . . . For when the mind soars aloft and is being initiated in the mysteries of the Lord, it judges the body to be wicked and hostile; but when it has abandoned the investigation of things divine, it deems it friendly to itself, its kinsman and brother. The proof of this is that it takes refuge in what is dear to the body.” (Leg. 3,71).36 The anthropological theme reappears in the recognition of those that gain access to the mysteries. Evidently significant is the emphasis placed several times on cuxÆ (Leg. 3,27; Sacr. 60; Ebr. 146; Fug. 85; Decal. 41), noËw (Leg. 3,71; Leg. 3,100) and diãnoia (Abr. 122), that identify man. In other passages the references are general and do not imply exclusions due to sociological characterisations (Decal. 41).37 Philo also names biblical characters, whose presence should be understood in the light of the typological value given to them.38 The
34 See particularly the definitions of the “true” man, of the “excellent man” in De fuga et inventione 68–72. The passage is commented upon in A. M. Mazzanti, La creazione cit., pp. 181–183. 35 The s«ma is defined as ofik¤a well constructed and organised of the cuxÆ, according to a formulation that considers corporeality as an external component of ênyrvpow itself. On the modalities of the relationships between the components making up mankind, see A. M. Mazzanti, L’identità dell’uomo in Filone di Alessandria, in F. Calabi, Immagini e rappresentazione. Contributi su Filone di Alessandria, Global Publications, Binghamton, New York 2002, pp. 7–44. 36 On the other hand Philo states that those who are initiated in the unholy rites have submerged their guide, the intellect, definitively (noËw) (Mut. 107). See also the passage in Leg. 1,104. 37 This question is examined by E. Birnbaum in The Place of Judaism in Philo’s Thought. Israel, Jews, and Proselytes, Atlanta 1996. In the summary (pp. 220–230) she writes in particular: “I have asked whether Philo believes all people can participate in these relationships [to God] or only some people . . . Our study suggest that Philo does not believe only Jews can see God” (p. 225). 38 See R. Arnaldez, De quelques mots-clés dans la pensée de Philon d’Alexandrie, et de l’origine de leur contenu de signification, in Philon, cit., pp. 47–58.
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attention paid to male and female individual characteristics suggests further indications for the complex notion concerning the evaluation of sexual differentiation.39 Especial attention is paid to the figure of Moses.40 He appears not only as mÊsthw, but also as flerofãnthw (Poster. 173; Gig. 54; Mos. 2,71; Virt. 178). Philo believes that initiation necessitates gradual exploration, so the need for communication follows, implying also the seeking of someone who can light the increasingly difficult way41 (Cher. 48–49). The exhortation to secrecy is reiterated (Sacr. 60; Sacr. 62), but concerns the exclusion of the superstitious, of those that are dominated by vainglory in the use of language and in their behaviour (Cher. 42). The soteriological perspective, addressed to the initiated, is uttered in the form of the joy that is the result of virtue (Leg. 3,217–219).42 Mention of the mystery ceremonies (Mos. 2,153), and the existence of proper places for initiation (Contempl. 25) is not lacking. Commentary on those passages that may provide evidence for the affirmation of the existence of mystery rituals in Judaic contexts is controversial. A. D. Nock, in his discussion of the theories of E. R. Goodenough, points out those elements that are incompatible with esoteric celebrations.43 The use of such terminology should anyway be noticed to define realities deeply rooted in the Judaic religious context. The multiplicity of the themes emerging from the reading of the texts offers a detailed picture, problematic in various ways. The terminology can be understood according to referential links that mirror conceptual influences and well known formulations present both
See in A. M. Mazzanti, Motivazioni protologiche nell’antropologia di Filone di Alessandria, con riferimento al tema della distinzione dei sessi, in La tradizione dell’enkrateia. Motivazioni ontologiche e protologiche, Atti del Colloquio Internazionale Milano, 20–23 aprile 1982, pubblicati a cura di U. Bianchi, Roma 1985, pp. 541–559. 40 The singular “typology” of Moses, intermediary between God and mankind, who goes beyond human duality in order to reconstruct the divine unity within himself, is examined by P. Graffigna in La presenza di Eraclito nel trattato de vita Mosis di Filone d’Alessandria, in Philon cit., pp. 449–457. 41 Worth noting for the evaluation of the relation between Moses and Jeremiah is the passage in Cher. 49: “I myself was initiated under Moses the God-behaved into his greater mysteries, yet when I saw the prophet Jeremiah and knew him to be not only himself enlightened, but a worthy minister of the holy secrets, I was not show to become his disciple.” 42 In antithesis, it should be remembered, the notion of “apparent” happiness, to which reference has been made, in Cher. 94. 43 The question cit., pp. 464ff. 39
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in the ritual context and, especially, in a philosophical context. But a re-reading of this kind is subject to “conversion,” as far as the celebrations are concerned, or to a revision of the uses of metaphor. Brought forward once again for a large number of aspects, the various elements take on their own specific characteristics and their own individual set of interpretations, that refers us back to recurrent themes and basic ideas of the great Alexandrian.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
THE STABILITY OF PERFECTION: THE IMAGE OF THE SCALES IN PHILO OF ALEXANDRIA* P G The scales as an image representing the movement of the soul is frequently shown in Philo’s work. It represents a very productive conceptual core, which well exemplifies Philo’s vision of man, half way between duality and unity. The following pages intend to supply a first hand review on how much and how the image is utilized by Philo, which type of lexicon is used, which ideas it conveys and how it is effectively grafted in Philo’s concept of stability.1 The Wavering of the Scales and of the Ship Philo very often exemplifies the foolish man’s inability to find peace— because he is prey to passion—with the image of the scales or of a ship in a storm. Philo develops and articulates this theme with clarity in a wide section of the treatise De posteritate Caini, 22–31: “the place where Cain hides, away from the face of God, is called tossing, rolling (salos), since it is featured by continuous motion and instability, since the foolish man, prey to wavering and unsettled impulses, is subject to tossing (salos) and tumult (klonos), as in a stormy sea, without ever feeling quietness ( galene) or calm (nenemia), not even in his dreams. Like a ship that rolls in heavy seas and then is neither * This work represents a new edition of my paper L’immagine della biilancia in Filone di Alessandria, in F. Calabi, Immagini e rappresentazione. Contributi su Filone di Alessandria, Global Publications, Binghamton, New York, 2002, pp. 27–44. 1 An important disquisition on the theme of wavering in Philo, connected to the theme of free will, can be found in the work of Marguerite Harl, Adam et les deux arbres du Paradis (Genesis II–III) ou l’homme milieu entre deux termes (mesos-methorios) chez Philon d’Alexandrie, in “Recherches de Science religieuse” 50 (1962), pp. 321–388; in particular pp. 338–339 (the wavering of man in making a moral decision) and pp. 372–373 (human life, half way between God and creation, wavers between two worlds, like scales).
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able to continue on sailing nor drop anchor, but, tossed from one side to the other, it tilts on both sides and like the scales goes up and down (talanteousa antirrepei ), so the foolish man, prey to an excited and agitated mind, cannot keep his course straight and he is always wavering (saleuei ), ready to change the course of his life.” God’s stability is contrasted by the foolish man so described. Thus stability is meaningfully underlined by the use of nouns and verbs, which have the Greek root sta-/ste-: “God is motionless (aklinos hestos), whilst creation is subject to motion, therefore he who approaches God reaches for stability (staseos), but he who draws away from God in order to come close to creation is naturally carried away . . . the foolish man changes continuously and he is not capable of establishing himself firmly (hestanai ) on a tenet.” According to Philo Abraham is a clear example and model of a man who knows how to stay still before God, as is confirmed in Genesis 18,22: “Abraham stood yet (hestos) before the Lord.” Abraham in point of fact can remain close to an unchangeable God with his unchangeable soul. Abraham therefore is the model of the just man (spoudaios), on whose rocky stability (eustatheia) the word of Moses speaks in Deuteronomy 5,31 “Stand (stethi ) thou here by Me”; the interpretation of these words shows that to on, Who moves and turns everything, is motionless and that the wise man partakes in His divine nature, which is peace (eremia). God cannot move and change place, in other words he may not make a metabasis, but He can rather expand, have a tonike kinesis instead, since He fills everything.2 It is evident from this passage that wavering is a feature of man, who is unable to finally steer himself towards God; this wavering is expressed by means of the image of the scales and of the vessel in a sea storm (salos, klonos, saleuo);3 stability4 (eustatheia, eremia, stasis) is
2 Compare Sacr. 68 of an expanding God, who fills everything without leaving any space empty. However man also received from God, through the nous, the facility to move of his own accord towards good; this is what makes him, unique among all creatures, similar to Him, since he is not subjected to necessity (compare Deus 45–48 and passages quoted in Harl, Introduction to Quis Heres rerum divinarum sit, pp. 118–119). 3 Philo frequently uses the terms salos, saleuein to express shaking, and the adjective asaleutos for stillness: as an exergue one could quote Prob. 24, which states that divine things receive the honour of eternal order and happiness, whereas that which concerns man is subjected to salos kai kludon of the events and wavers without balance (talanteuei ) on the scales. In Mos. 2,14 Philo uses the adjectives bebaios, asaleutos, akradantos to underline the eternal stability of the Law of Moses; in Somn. 1,158
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first of all a divine quality and by analogy of the good man, who wants to emulate God. It is symbolized by the galene, in the marine image5 and stillness and tranquility are related to it. In Agr. 89, with reference to Deuteronomy 17,15 where horses and Egypt is mentioned, emblem of the irrational soul and of a country governed by passions, Philo compares the soul’s instability to a vessel battered by high winds; he uses the verbs antirrepein and klinein already seen in the previous passage: “When the soul rolls like a vessel, now to one side of the nous then to that of the aisthesis, being pushed by the winds of passion, that breakdown on it and the surging wave crashes against the vessel, then the nous is submerged and founders: the chasm in which it sinks is the body, represented by Egypt.” The stability of those who live virtuously and thus are close to God is counterbalanced by the fickleness and instability of the foolish to asaleuton indicates the seal of stillness imprinted by God, who alone is steadfast (stenai ), He is still and does not waver; in Sacr. 90 the land of Canaan is described as ho saleuon logos, to which calm ( galene) is opposed, that is, according to the Stoic metaphor, virtue, as a haven sheltered from winds and storms. Light breezes and calm, in which the winds of knowledge and wisdom blow ( galeniazein), are metaphorically set against the wavering of a stormy sea in Deus 26. An even stronger contrast is in Conf. 31–32, where faith is described as the firmest (bebaiotate) disposition of the soul; he, whose mind is by nature calm and motionless stands up against those who enjoy salos and kludon; in Prob. 28 phronesis is defined as firm, motionless (aklines), endowed with a weight that does not waver (asaleutos), whereas aphrosune is a light and unstable thing. In Philo’s text all these terms wander from the mainly theological meaning which they acquired in , to become fully technical terms to describe ethical and psychological problems derived from the typically Greek passions, as B. Bertram pointed out, see saleuo, Grande Lessico del Nuovo Testamento, vol. XI, coll. 1190–1192, Brescia 1977; Stuttgart 1959. 4 In connection to this term and its use by Philo, M. Harl (compare note 3, p. 312 of the French edition of the treatise Quis heres rerum divinarum sit, Paris 1966), mentions the Stoic concept of stability and quotes Plut., Facie 943d, in which the intellect, once it is separated from its rational soul, is crowned with this virtue. She also quotes Porph. Abst. 1,31, who claims that when the intellect is removed from the senses, it settles down in peace. Notes on the terminology of stability used by Philo can also be found in the Introduction to the work, p. 97, note 1 and p. 101, note 4 (especially on the stillness of God). 5 The serenity ( galene) of the sky as a comparison for the calm condition of the soul is present in Epicurus, as Sen. Ep. 66,45–46 confirms and Epicurus himself does in Ep. Men. 128: compare the remarks by A. Grilli, Il problema della vita contemplativa nel mondo greco-romano, Milano-Roma 1953, pp. 43–44. As far as stillness is concerned, in Mut. 54 Philo declares with ample clarity that, while God is motionless, hestos, man instead is unhappy, because he is subjected to mutations and to the fall (here Philo uses hyposkelizomai, a verb used in the Old Testament: compare Ps. 36 (37), 31), thus his whole life is a continuous slide (olisthos, term of late use: compare LSJ, s.v.).
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man, who allows the irrational soul to predominate: compare Somn. 2,225–231 “all the God-beloved wish to draw back from the waves of the philopragmosune, continuously agitated by the salos, to reach the quiet haven of virtue. This is evident from what is said about wise Abraham in Genesis 18,22: it is natural that thought (dianoia) remains still (stenai ) and does not waver as on the scales except when it is before God, it sees and is seen; the divine command was announced to Moses (Deuteronomy 5,31) “Stand thou here by Me”: the truly good man cannot swerve is clear in this command and so is the absolute stability (eustatheia) of Him Who is. In point of fact all that draws near God is akin to Him and remains motionless through divine stability; . . . the nous of common man is shaken and wavers with the events; the man who has instead blessedness and felicity is exempt from evil, the good man is on the border-line (methorios), he who partakes in the two natures, the mortal one as a human being, and the immortal one because of his virtue”.6 This situation of medium position within the wise man does not shelter him from continuous wavering between the high—contemplation, and the low— matter: Philo very effectively resorts in Somn. 1,150–152, to the image of the stairway (klimax), similar to that of the scales, to represent this situation. So if practicing is difficult, because it now moves upwards, and then it once again moves downwards and looks like a vessel, which now enjoys smooth sailing and then is battered by ill winds, the practicers are half way between extremes and often go up and down (ano kai kato) as on a stairway, now pushed upwards by a better destiny, then pulled down by a worse one until God, referee of this continuous warfare, awards the prize to the better position and utterly destroys the opposite one.” However there are men who strive to keep their lives half way (mesiteuein) between human and divine virtues, thus partaking in the real virtues and those which are so due to opinion: according to
6 Compare Gig. 48–51 the wise man, Moses in this passage, does not alter his position nor can he change, because he is based on the stability of the orthos logos; Jethro, the wordly-wise vanity (tuphos), is opposed to him, because he is incapable of remaining in eremia and galene, he is not able to contemplate the Supreme Being without speaking, with his soul only. The perfect man, who strives for peace and does not waver, tunes his soul like lyre, harmoniously: such a soul is the most perfect instrument, built by nature, and, if it has been well tuned, it will produce the best symphonia of all, the one whose final goal is harmony of life and works (compare Deus 23–26; the same image in Spec. 4,102).
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Philo they belong to the Politician type, whose model is Joseph (Migr. 158).7 Every man, as Philo clearly points out in Praem. 62–63, is half way between wickedness and virtue, prior to the complete development of reason, without leaning towards either of the two parts, since every human soul, just begot, by nature bears the twins, good and evil.8 By means of these images Philo portrays both the original freedom of human intellect, which potentially contains good and evil, and the ontological and ethical condition of the medium position of man, which impels him to continuously waver and from which he can escape only with the continuous effort of climbing and progressing towards God. Only when the nous is completely developed and together with the soul is drawn to the vision of good, with a single élan, a flight, he leans towards good, without wavering towards the opposite side or reaching for balance (to isorropon). The original condition of the soul, lacking wickedness and lacking virtue, is identified elsewhere (Leg. all. 2,53) with nakedness ( gumnotes), as in Adam and Eve9 (Genesis 2,25; 3,1).
7 In the case of the politician, to stay in the middle is an ethical choice, but a negative one according to Philo. It is necessary to remember however that for the Alexandrian man is ontologically methorios. Compare the essay by M. Harl, Adam et les deux arbres cit. and A. M. Mazzanti, L’uomo nella cultura religiosa del tardo-antico tra etica e ontologia, Bologna 1990, pp. 11–12, for the ethical and ontological value of this term in Philo. 8 The twins are identified by Philo as Esau and Jacob. Congr. 129 states that souls endowed with phronesis can distinguish and separate (diakrinein, diastellein) what they carry within themselves, but blended, just as Rebekah did when she separated and distinguished the nature of the twins in Her womb, symbolically virtue and vice. The contrast Cain-Abel is also inserted in this scheme by Philo: in Sacr. 3 one reads that each soul has two principles within itself, the God-loving one ( philotheon), Abel, and the self-loving one ( philauton), Cain. However, they cannot live together peacefully, therefore it is necessary to separate them. Philo mentions Rebekah in the following paragraph to further stress this point: when she realised the struggle between the two souls that she was carrying, one good and one evil, she divided and separated them. Once again duplicity portrays the faculty of moral choice which human intelligence, the phronesis, faces: on this theme of the twins, compare M. Harl, Adam et les deux arbre, cit., pp. 350–351 and 370–371. Philo reiterates in some passages that God has created two natures, independently of the contrast Esau/Jacob and Cain/Abel. One of the two natures is portrayed as a damaging one, that tries to do evil, whilst the other is the object of praise and carries the divine imprint (compare e.g., Leg. all. 3,75; 104) compare Harl, Her. cit. p. 109, n. 1. 9 Actually Philo’s interpretation of this passage is more complex, because, if the soul is considered “naked,” one must add that good covers the virtuous man’s soul, evil covers the evil man’s soul. Moreover what is physical and marked by doxa makes up the clothes which the soul that loves God forsakes for the attainment of
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Philo classifies three types of life in Her. 45–46, one directed towards God, one towards the world, and the third half way (methorios) between the two previous ones and he states that the mixed life is the type peculiar to man. The mixed life is often inspired by God and carried by him towards what is better, however it often reaches for the worse side. When the portion of the better life, as on the scales defeats the worse part weighing down on the whole. As a consequence the weight of the opposite life is lighter, therefore it is pulled away by this movement. The oscillation represents a high and a low plane in moral terms, the high plane is intelligible reality and the low one is the physical aspect. Philo meaningfully utilizes the verb brithein, used by Plato in Phaedr. 247 a–b, for the souls made heavy by the horse which takes part in evil and pulls them down to the ground (and here Plato utilizes another verb already noted in the passages examined, repein). He who has been given the gift to strive (talanteuein) towards the better and more divine part for most of his life is defined in Mut. 185 as really happy (eudaimon); this cannot always happen, since the burden of mortality draws him (anterrepse) towards the opposite (antipalon) side: note the reiteration of the term opposition, by using the prefix anti- repeated in the adjective and in the verb. However, according to what Philo declares in Plant. 25, the nous of the man who is truly a philosopher does not plunge downwards under the burden of material and earthy things dear to him (kato . . . brithei . . . talanteuon), but elevates him.10 the stability of virtue (ib. 55) and which the high priest leaves outside the temple in order to offer a pure spiritual sacrifice to God (ib. 56). Nudity is equivalent to the absence of materiality: even Abraham is bared, when he is ordered to leave his land (Genesis 12,1), while Isaac is always naked and incorporeal, because he was ordered not to go to Egypt (Genesis 26,2), the physical region. Finally, for Philo’s concept of the “naked soul” and of the “skin tunics” please see J. Bouffartigue, La structure de l’ame chez Philon: terminologie scolastique et metaphores, in C. Levy (ed.), Philon d’Alexandrie et le langage de la philosophie, Brepols 1998, in particular pp. 67–72. 10 The contrast high/low, light/heavy is, as we have already seen, of Platonic mould. In passing another Platonic concept can be quoted here: the swing (aiora: compare Phaed. 111e), which expresses the continuous wavering in Philo. It is told in Deus. 172 that every human event lacks consistency because it is continuously carried by false and unstable opinion just as on a swing. The image of the scales also returns, alone, to indicate fortune’s variable wavering in Jos. 140: “Destiny is uncertain and human matters waver as if they were on scales (talanteuein) lifted upwards or pulled downwards, according to the different weights.” This is certainly a clich‚ not very meaningful in itself; the term zugon appears, not much used by Philo. The same concept is repeated—referred to the soul—in Gig. 28: the divine
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The soul’s inclination is often expressed by Philo with terms leading to the lexicon of scales, also in passages in which the metaphor is not completely expressed: compare with Congr. 164 “it is difficult to understand where the scales lean (talanteuetai )”; both talanteuein and repein are admirably brought close in Abr. 196: Abraham, since his youth, with his whole weight is thrown (rope) into the scale (talanteuon) on the side of the acceptability with God. Uncertainty: Lot The figure of Lot is allegorically interpreted by Philo as “inclination, deviation (apoklisis);11 thus he writes in Migr. 148–149 with regard to Lot’s departure together with Abraham in Genesis 12,4: “Lot etymologically means apoklisis, sagging, straying, swerving”; the nous may lean towards good as well as evil; both inclinations may also be seen in the same person. There are some irresolute who lean (apoklinontes) to one side and to the other, as in a vessel scourged by adverse winds or they waver as on scales (epi plastiggos antirrepontes), unable to be securely (bebaios) fixed to a point; one cannot even praise their leaning towards good, since it happens because they are carried to it and not by their own decision. Lot belongs to this category of man. He departed together with Abraham “the lover of wisdom,” and he tried to hinder him and to make him yield in one direction or another.” Lot therefore belongs to the category of the foolish spirit cannot remain in the soul, because no human possession is firm and secure, but wavers like the scales (talanteuein) from side to side. In both passages one can note the repetition of the same verb talanteuein, which derives from the term talante “scales.” The verb antirrepein, already used elsewhere to indicate wavering, is found in the second passage. 11 Lot’s wife also an example of “deviation ( palirroia),” since she turned around and was turned into stone, like many souls which wished to repent but were prevented by doing so by God (Leg. all. 3,213); also compare Deus 177 and Somn. 1,246–248. 12 The essay by J. Pascher, He basilike hodos. Der Königsweg zu Wiedergeburt und Vergottung bei Philo von Alexandreia, Paderborn 1931, is fundamental for this theme, although it is difficult to share the basic assumption according to which such a motive would be proof of the presence of a lexicon of “mysteries” in Philo, common to the mysteries religion of the Hellenistic age. Philo frequently uses the image of the road as the development of the biblical metaphor to convey the “way to God”: in Deus 142–143 flesh and pleasure destroy the way that leads to God, symbolically sophia, of which the targets are recognition and knowledge of God; an hodos which leads to arete is mentioned in Somn. 1,179.
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man, who wavers continuously (note the recalling of the image of the ship and of the scales, as well as the presence of terms already seen); he cannot make up his mind, but he lets himself be carried away; Abraham is opposed to him. Abraham’s life is on the contrary, without anxiety, at peace (astasiastos) (Abr. 216). Lot is inconclusive, unstable (Abr. 212); he is the depiction of that part of the soul which leans towards (klinein) the aspect of the senses (Migr. 13). He has forced his soul to stray from the right path (Migr. 175). Lot’s path was therefore “crooked, bent,” like the axe of the scales under a weight; Abraham instead was able to maintain the correct balance: he led his life on the right path, traveling on the King’s way (basilike hodos), without straying (apoklinein) from it (compare Gig. 64). The King’s Way The theme of balance, to which the image of the scales refers, is expressed by another image, that of the “way” par excellence, which leads to God, the “King’s way” precisely. This way is wisdom (sophia), thanks to which the beseeching souls flee towards God: compare Deus 159–165. To cover that path one must not swerve neither to the right nor to the left, but proceed exactly in the middle of it. The verb used to express the swerving is still apoklinein: the middle way is therefore the balanced one which does not present any excess or fault; it is a main road and open to everybody (basimos kai leophoros: Her. 70; Mos. 2,138), straight (eutheia atrapos: Migr. 146), it presents no obstacles (leios: Congr. 28);13 Abraham traveled on it all his life (compare Gig. 64). Philo sets Moses against the biblical character Jubal in Post. 100–102 (compare Genesis 4,21). Jubal etymologically means “he who wavers (metaklinein) from one side to another” and so he represents the foolish man, whose mind is unstable and wavers
13 Regarding leios, Harl (Heres, cit., p. 132, note 3) notes that Philo derives leophoros from leios instead of doing so correctly from laos. This may be due to his having Plato in mind (Resp. 619e), who there describes the way followed by the souls which choose to practice philosophy as a smooth and divine way (leios, ouranios). It is necessary to remark that Philo often utilises the image of the road to show the way which leads to divine wisdom and knowledge: compare e.g., Deus 142–143. Moreover, leophoros is the road opened by virtue, which can only be travelled along by those who have homoiosis theoi as their target (Op. 144); such is the way that leads to virtue (Mos. 2,138) and happiness (Mos. 2,189).
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as if were on scales (epi plastiggos antirrepon) or like a ship at sea, battered (apoklinon) by waves and he is not able to say anything sure (bebaion) or sound (statheron). Moses instead believes that one must travel along the middle way, the King’s way (compare Numbers 20,17), because it leads to the only, real king, God. This road is philosophy, which strives for the care of beauty. Philo then quotes Deuteronomy 28,14, where it is written not to swerve (ekklinein) from the word of God, as confirmation that the King’s way and real philosophy are also the genuine word of God. According to Philo the king’s way in Numbers 20,17 is synonymous of the word of God in Deuteronomy 28,14 and therefore one must, with right judgment, travel along the main and middle way, which leads straight to God. Consequently this is another image that represents the balance of perfection: the middle way does not correspond to a middle orientation, but reaches directly to God.14 The themes so far examined appear in a well coordinated ensemble in Somn. 1,244–248. Philo, commenting Genesis 31,13 where a pillar (stele) to be erected in honour of God is mentioned, describes he who does not dedicate the stele to God, but to himself, as a foolish man, because he ascribes (histas: in the whole passage Philo evidently plays on the root sta-/ste-) the firmness of the stone as pertinent to creation, which has not firmness whatsoever, because it wavers (saleuein) from one side to another. The foolish man thinks that it is worthy of engravings and praise, whereas it would be better if it did
14 Philo returns to the theme of the king’s way in Spec. Leg. 4,167–168, by commenting another biblical verse, Deuteronomy 17,20, in which the King of Israel is ordered not to stray from the divine precepts by wavering as if he were on scales (epi prutanes): the King on the contrary declares that he will try to tread a middle way, the one which, as Philo comments, is half way between excess and fault—this is the middle part of the triad—which is the most important: it harmonises in unity the two opposing parts which escort it like a sovereign, with a permanent bond. We therefore find balance, the middle way, represented by the biblical concept of “the king’s way” (even if it is grafted in the Platonic vein), opposed to lack of balance, the scales. The first part of the same verse, which orders “the king’s heart shall not become arrogant towards his subjects,” is commented by Philo shortly before, in Spec. 4,165–166 and is extremely useful for the comprehension of another concept related to the idea of balance in Philo: isotes; it is the spirit of equality contained in the Law, it begets goodwill and safety in its subjects, whereas it opposite, iniquity, is the cause of the worst hazards. Moreover equality is far from revolts and produces light and stability (eustatheia). Isotes is therefore an important benefit. The upright balance originates from it, a typical quality of the person who practices virtue and thus gets close to divine life.
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not have any engraving, and if it did, it should at least be immediately erased. For this reason the Scriptures state clearly in Deuteronomy 16,22: “Thou shalt not erect (steseis) a stele to yourself,” because nothing human is motionless (hesteke), However he who states this forgets that He is the only one worthy of honour and that He is really motionless (hestos). These men, who already diverted (apoklinein) and swerved from the path that leads to virtue, were removed from it by aisthesis, the woman innate in them, who made them run aground. Therefore their soul, torn to pieces, like a ship, was erected like a stele. In relation to this, the Scriptures mention that Lot’s wife,15 turning back, became a stele of salt (Genesis 19,26): he who does not look at what is in front of him and which is worthy of being seen and looked at—the virtues and the works of virtue—but takes into consideration what is behind—pride and blind wealth, and pointless health of the body, and empty exterior appearance—will take a lifeless pillar of himself, that will wear out, like the salt of Lot’s wife. The two images of the scales and of the ship seem therefore to nullify each other and to melt in Philo to effectively express the wavering and uncertain situations to which the human intellect is subjected. Human intellect must always act through will power, to steer its motion to the stillness of contemplation, typical only of God. The biblical passage is perused by Philo in such a way that he moves away from the original anti-idolatrous context in order to enrich it with a complex philosophical value. In this passage an analogy is established between intellectual contemplation and stability, stillness, whereas self love and sensation are the other extreme. Precisely two of these themes, not directly connected to Philo’s theme of stability, but necessary to understand it, are the subject of an insight analysis before the conclusion of this work: the theme of stability and the character of Cain.
15 One can also quote Conf. 106 on the theme of the pillar as a symbol of firmness. The passage states that Moses is aware that he is bound to his body as if he were stuck with bitumen and pitch (asphaltopissa: compare Exodus 2,3; Philo uses this term because he believes it comprises both asphales and asphaltos), which, like cement, holds firmly (asphalos) the impressions of the senses, it is subject to false beliefs and not very firm, since one can remain firm only in God and one’s condition is as if it were engraved on a pillar.
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Stability Let us pause a moment to appraise the importance of the term stability (eustatheia) in Philo. This word, borrowed from the Stoics, is frequently utilized by Philo.16 This term not only indicates civic virtue, but first of all moral virtue—as such relative in particular to the good man. Stability and peace (eirene) portray the wise man’s frame of mind: in Post. 28–29 a confirmation of the eustatheia of the wise man is represented by what God tells Moses in Deuteronomy 5,31, already examined: God, to on, Who, motionless moves everything, makes the wise man share in His own nature, which is tranquility (eremia)17 (Post. 28–29). Stability and tranquility are not peculiar to man, but first of all belong to God. Thanks to Him man strives for God, and his mind rightly has tranquility, since he is able to be securely stable and to counterbalance those who are prey to salos (Conf. 31–32). According to Philo the capability of being stable is a gift of the intellect, since it is able to emulate God: eirene and eustatheia are inclinations of the soul to be seen by the mind’s eye (Post. 118). To approach God is like passing from the senses of the creation to the intellect of the Creator and thus enjoy eirene: such was Abraham’s journey. In Philo’s allegoric interpretation the journey was completed under the sign of a purest eirene (Her. 289); stability and peace therefore appear as similar concepts.18 Moreover, stability, placidity, peace are encompassed in this realm of virtue according to Philo, in particular of piety (eusebeia), from which they are begot and succeed in modifying every type of reasoning which is the result of ungodliness (asebeia). In Conf. 131 this 16 The other term that indicates stability is statherotes with the adjective statheros: it is the trait of the wise man, who masters his passions (Ebr. 98, it is said of the mind that is controlled by reason; Abr. 27 a life which is calm, serene, tranquil (statheron) and peaceful (eirenikon) is the purpose of those who honour virtue; Abr. 127 Abraham’s stance is impassive while he is about to carry out the sacrifice of Isaac). 17 Later on, while commenting Genesis 46,4 (“I will go down with thee into Egypt; and I will also surely bring thee up again”), Philo states that “thee with me” is not said, because eremia and stasis are innate in God, whereas metabasis and kinesis are innate in creation. 18 It is useful to follow the development of this reasoning in the subsequent 290–291: to those who live in the state of eirene-the good men-Moses promises a great old age, which does not mean living a long life, but a life lived wisely; “nice old age” is then the name that should be given to the soul that shows right judgement and stability (statherotes).
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is the interpretation of the word addressed by Gideon to the men of Penuel in Judges 8,9 “When I return with peace I will demolish this tower.” In particular the verb epistrephein “to return” and, by metaphor, “to convert oneself ” in peace is counterbalanced by apostrephein “to go away, to swerve” the root of which is found in the term apostrophe, the translation of the Hebrew Penuel. While apostrephein expresses a negative concept (going away, swerving), epistrephein is instead positive, because it indicates turning around, a “conversion”: when the mind returns, what makes one swerve and go away is eliminated. The tower referred to was designed by Cain’s offspring. According to Philo Cain is the example of selfish love, aimed at oneself (the philautia). Selfish love was meant to direct (metaklinein) man’s intellect from honouring God. A type of man concerned not with the virtue of the soul, but with the good stability of his body counterbalalances the contemplative stability of the wise man. Joseph, the prototype of the political man, embodies this type of man. He cannot stay still since he has several objectives he wants to reach in his life and he is pulled in different directions (Somn. 2,11). Stability and order are therefore the features of the soul, which lives together with the virtues:19 in an effective manner Philo compares this type of soul to an “interior” city in Conf. 107–109. Real cities, he argues, are not the ones built by man, but those that men firmly carry from within their souls and which make up the models of the other ones. These cities are divided into two categories: a worse one, lead by an unjust regime and without laws, and a better one, in which the good men are registered, in which equality (isotes), law (nomos), justice (dike) and a stable order opposed to the confusion of the other category prevail.20 Stability therefore, together with peace, order, equality, justice is one of the “exemplary virtues,” which have God as their model. They are mirrored in a very flawless way by the patriarchs and they represent the purpose of human ascent to God. They are thus, positioned on a higher level, the ideal “stability of perfection” to which human intellect must reach for in its continuous wavering. 19 Prob. 84 states that the Essenes’ love for virtue is established by their practising humility, respect for law, steadiness (to eustathes). 20 We are thus before two models, one positive and the other negative, of the soul first rather than of the city: compare Francesca Calabi. The Language and the Law of God. Interpretation and Politics in Philo of Alexandria, Atlanta (GA) 1998, pp. 42–43 for the comment regarding this passage.
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Portrayal of Lack of Stability: Cain The exact opposite of stability in the absence of balance and swerving, is represented by the figure of Cain: he is the bad man and, as has already been seen, Philo in Conf. 132 associates him to the diversion from love for God, since passion for himself prevails within him, the philautia.21 According to Philo, Cain is an aggregate of negative things: his name means “possession” (ktesis) both because he is Adam’s possession and because he reckons all things are under his power. Therefore the worst of all vices, vanity (oiesis) (compare Cher. 52; 57) dwells in his soul. Foolishness is within him (Cher. 65), because he refers everything to himself, who actually does not own anything firm (bebaion) nor does he really know the Being (Post. 42). He drew away from God of his own free will (Post. 10). He is a man who places the body before the soul (Det. 119 ss.); he does not possess joy (chara) or hope (elpis), and neither attains happiness, but like all foolish people he finds himself in pain and fear, he is accompanied by evil and suffers evil in the present and in the future. Cain is therefore pure evil (Det. 68), he is described as foolish opinion (atopos doxa) (Sacr. 5); folly (aphrosune) (Det. 178; Conf. 165); madness (aponoia) (Post. 35); he is guilty of having given vent to his passions (Det. 103). When Cain reiterates and states his dogma in his speeches, he is like a city in which he sets truth against invention (mythoplastei ). The citizens of this city are only apparently wise, they are friends of impiety, godlessness, self-love, arrogance, false opinion; the laws of this city are various forms of lawlessness and injustice (compare Post. 49–52 for the whole passage). Cain’s soul is based on evil and on the opposite of respect for God, theosebeia, which is perfect good.22 21 Regarding self love, it is necessary to recall Aristotle’s distinction between the selfishness of the good man and that of the wicked man: the good man, according to Aristotle, must be selfish when acting well, because doing so he will carry out actions in the name of beauty, guided by reason and he will obtain benefits for himself and for others; the wicked man must not be selfish because he will cause damage to himself and others, by pursuing heinous passions (compare Arist. Eth. Nic. 1169a–b). 22 Philautia is in Philo the opposite of virtue, it keeps one away from God, it is the greatest evil and is rejected by theosebeia, the perfect good (compare Congr. 130). It leads to fleeing from God, Who exists in truth (compare Spec. 1,344). Those who rejoice in what they own thanks to philautia are opposed to the real man, named Enoch, who is a blend of human and divine nature and puts all his hopes in God (compare Praem. 12–13). In Leg. all. 1,49–50, in relation to Deuteronomy 16,21 “Thou shalt not plant thyself a grove,” Philo remarks that this means that God is entitled to plant and make virtues dwell in the soul and that the nous, which says
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Cain, to philauton dogma, counterbalances Abel, to philotheon dogma, because Abel offers everything to God, whereas Cain offers everything only to himself (compare Det. 32); moreover he drew away from the face of God (Genesis 4,16) in other words he deprived his soul of the sight of God, because he blinded the organ with which he could see Him, his inner sight (compare Post. 21): the place where he finds shelter will be called salos and it will be characterized by instability and wavering, which mark everything opposed to God23 (compare Post. 22 ss., cit.). Therefore Cain, according to Philo, gathers within himself the world of senses, of semblance, and of evil, the code of which is instability and wavering and he counterbalances the stability and immobility of God and of the wise man (compare Post. 17–31). Cain’s sin, having drawn away from God, is intentional and it is represented by the choice of putting his abode in the land of Nod (Genesis 4,16), which Philo explains with the word klonos “tumult, agitation, wavering” (compare Post. 32).24 Closing Remarks After having followed the unfolding of Philo’s thought around the image of the scales, one can remark the following:
“I plant” is philautos and atheos, since God only sows and plants good in the soul, He is the only gardener. About philautia, compare Monique Alexandre, note XIV at par. 130 of the treatise De congressu eruditionis gratia, Paris 1967, p. 247 and F. Deutsch, La philautie chez Philon d’Alexandrie, in C. Lévy (ed.), Philon d’Alexandrie et le langage de la philosophie, Brepols 1998, which opportunely emphasises the value that this term has for Plato and Aristotle. 23 M. Arnaldez writes about Cain in his introduction to De posteritate Caini, Paris 1972, pp. 13–14: “Il ne serait pas exageré‚ de dire que Cain est le pole autour duquel s’organise une sorte de psychologie des profondeurs, tenebreuse, faite de tous les avatars d’un moi qui s’hypertrophie, s’irrite, se cherche, se revolte, plein d’agressivité‚ et de mauvaise foi; avide de jouissances et insatiable; hostile à toute discipline claire, negateur de la lumière, véritable Méphistophélès, et déjà nietzchéen.” Cain is not the only example of philautia for Philo, although the most important: the Pharaoh (compare Somn. 2) and Onan (compare e.g., Post. 180 and Deus 16) can be placed next to him. In Spec. 1,344 Moses’ disciples are set against philautia, which leads to the forgetting of the real God and to the worshipping of idols. Moses’ disciples do not forsake the search for God, believing that the knowledge of Him leads to happiness and bliss. 24 Cain’s action is intentional and he is responsible for it: compare Post. 10; virtue and vice are intentional according to Arist. Eth. Nic. 1111b–1114b.
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• Philo shows he has the inspirational presence of the Platonic Phaedrus very clear: the image of the scales wavering up and down, now weighed down by the body (still immediate the Platonic comparison, Phaidr. 247a–b; 248c) now lifted upwards, light, towards the Divine (compare Phaidr. 246d), can correspond to the two horses drawing the charioteer in Plato (Phaidr. 246a–b). It is also evident that the soul’s structure to which Philo refers to is the Platonic one, tripartite (compare Rep. 439d), which must be harmonized in one single unit. • Aristotle’s First Motionless is clearly behind Philo’s Motionless God (Met. 1071b–1072a). • The Stoics are another immediate reference point in Philo: we have seen in the quoted passages how the notion of bebaiosis, eustatheia, recurs in the person who can succeed in guiding his soul with reason. Stoic thought has given special value to stability, meaning it as liberation from the pathe of the soul and classifying it among the eupatheiai of the soul itself and a distinct quality of the wise man (compare Chrys. Ap. Stob. Ecl. II 60, 9 = SVF III 65, 2). This concept is charged with more value in Philo. It describes the final balance of the man who succeeds in reaching God’s stillness, a balance “towards the highest,” led by the perfection of virtue and not only by the balance set up between opposites.25 • One cannot neglect the influence of Aristotle’s doctrine on virtue as mesotes in Philo, especially regarding the image of the “king’s way,” although in Philo it is once more about a middle way which is a choice of perfection26 directed to a higher ethical plane. • The weaving of many threads effected by Philo around Cain is remarkable. He depicts him as a foolish man, by moving away 25 It is worth remarking that Democritus already branded the tranquillity of the soul (euthymia) with the condition of stillness (eustatos) and of serenity (galenos), due to the absence of passions: compare Diog. Laert. 9, 34 ss. (= frg. 68 Diels-Kranz); the Stoics, and Panetius especially, later took up the study of Democritus’ thought on the tranquillity of the soul, promoting the development of the term used by the philosopher: compare Grilli, Il problema . . . cit., pp. 137–164. For the change of meaning the term undergoes in Philo, compare the contribution by Y. Amir, Die religiöse Umdeutung eines philosophischen Begriffs bei Philon, in Die hellenistische Gestalt des Judentums bei Philo von Alexandrien, Neukirchen 1983, pp. 200–206. 26 As reported by S. Lilla, Middle Platonism, Neoplatonism and Jewish-Alexandrine Philosophy in the Terminology of Clement of Alexandria’s Ethics, “Achivio italiano per la Storia della Pietà” III. 1, Rome 1962, p. 88, note 4, Philo, like many authors of the so called “Middleplatonism,” is influenced by Aristotle’s’ doctrine of the medium virtue (compare e.g., Deus 164–165).
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from the Platonic and Aristotelian tradition in order to adopt the features of the person who, because of his succumbing to passion, is moved by continuous restlessness, but is excluded from the real motion, the one towards heaven, towards the divine vision. It looks to me that the quoted passages, besides the possible philosophical influences, presume on the part of Philo the awareness of man’s freedom, whose soul, as mentioned in Deus. 48, has received the ability to move by its own will power, for this reason it is similar to Him in a special way, because it is free from the bondage of needs.27 This free movement of human intellect is well represented by the image of the scales. Such a movement is directed to the search for happiness, the last boundary to which human intellect aims for, according to the special meaning that the term eudaimonia assumes in Philo. We have seen that what one may define as the “stability of perfection” is the presumption of happiness and how this translates into stability and peace, unity before God. I think that the absence of passions and impulses (apatheia) is the foundation of the stable peace of the intellect, which makes man really happy and similar to God.28 In conclusion, I would like to quote a passage from Philo, which is particularly meaningful for what has been so far described, it is the fragment 12 of the Quaestiones in Exodum in the Greek language: “the greatest happiness (eudaimonia) is in remaining (sthenai ) permanently stable and without swerving (aklinos kai arrepos) in God only”; happiness, absence of wavering (the two adverbs are connected to the verbs klinein and repein, utilized for the image of the scales), the stillness (stenai ) and the uniqueness of God are connected in a close and meaningful way. 27 We confirm the tight bond between the situation of dichotomy in which human intellect is situated in the world and the notion of will and freedom, already pointed out by Marguerite Harl, Adam et les deux arbres . . ., cit. pp. 374–379. The stability of perfection is plainly reached by those who forsake their individualistic autonomy (Cain) and direct their lives to the divine law. Moreover it is clear that this choice represents the renouncing of the dichotomy for unity and of human wisdom ( phronesis) for divine wisdom (sophia), contemplation. 28 It is appropriate to point out that the terms eremia and galene will be utilised by Christian authors (compare Lampe, A Patristic Greek Lexicon, s.v.). Lilla (Middle Platonism, Neoplatonism . . ., cit., p. 34) dealing with Clement’s ethics, maintains that this thought is very close to that of Philo, Porphyry and Plotinus, since the ideal of homoiosis theoi is identified by them in the absence of passions (apatheia). It seems to me that this concept could be usefully modified, placing stillness (eustatheia), source of happiness next to apatheia.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PHILO AND THE NAZIRITE A C Philo’s exegesis represents the first important step in the history of commentaries to the as a biblical text considered as its own (if it is true, as we are keen on thinking today, that Philo did not know Hebrew enough to have direct access to the Scriptures in their original language).1 His great ‘allegorical commentary’ to the Bible— though it does not treat Numbers directly—however, very often takes up important themes emerging from it. The structural and redactional patterns of this book of the Bible, where ‘material’ elements (such as descriptions of rites, cultic objects and rules, that have been defined its “écorce indigeste”)2 prevail (in comparison with, e.g., Genesis and Exodus), provide Philo a very good field to apply all kind of allegories. The catalog structures and the linked enumerations which fill the whole book (characterizing it as far as to give it even the title), are explained and led back to spiritual interpretation by means of arithmology, the ‘mystic of numbers’.3 The discussion about naziriteship is all within the Jewish culture;4 it is interesting but not as clear to understand, since very few are the biblical passages mentioning it: apart from the main text of
1 So concludes—after a thorough debate—V. Nikiprowetzky, Le commentaire de l’Écriture chez Philon d’Alexandrie, Leiden 1977, pp. 50–96; cf. also S. Sandmel, Philo Judaeus: An Introduction to the Man, his Writings, and his Significance, ANRW II, 21/2, Berlin-New York 1984, pp. 31–32. 2 Cf. J. De Vaulx, Les Nombres, Paris 1972, p. 9. 3 For a survey of Philo’s interpretation of Numbers, cf. my introduction in: AA.VV. [L. Mortari, ed.], La Bibbia dei LXX. 1. Il Pentateuco [Greek text, Italian translation, introd. and notes], Roma 1999, pp. 541–544. 4 See J. Milgrom, Numbers— rbdmb [ The JPS Torah], Philadelphia-New York 1990, pp. 355 ss.; M. Boertien, Nazir (Nasiräer) [Die Mischna. Text, Übersetzung und ausführliche Erklärung. III. Seder: Naschim. 4. Traktat: Nazir], Berlin-New York 1971, particularly pp. 14–35; Z. Weisman, The Biblical Nazarite, its types and roots, “Tarbiz” 36 (1967), 207–220.
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Numbers,5 only Judges 13,5–7; 16,17; Amos 2,11–12; 1 Maccabees 3,49–52; Sirach 46,13ab [Hebrew text].6 As well known, naziriteship was for men as well as for women,7 was temporary8 and prescribed: (a) total abstinence from wine and strong drink, (b) refraining from cutting the hair off the head, and (c) the prohibition on touching a dead body.9 Only Samson,10 Samuel11 and, in the New Testament, John the Baptist12 were lifelong nazirites. With the nazirite13—that is, a man who takes a voluntary vow of separation and self-imposed discipline to reach holiness, fulfilling the precepts listed in the sixth chapter of Numbers—Philo deals in several passages of his works.14
5 Tracing back to the priestly redaction (P): cf. J. Milgrom, Nazirite, “Encyclopaedia Judaica” XII ( Jerusalem 1971), p. 907. 6 About Samuel as a Nazirite, cf. A. Minissale, La versione greca del Siracide, Roma 1995 [Analecta Biblica 133], p. 215. 7 Cf. Numbers 6,1: énØr µ gunÆ. 8 Its duration is not specified within the biblical text, but the Mishnah speaks of a period of 30 to 100 days: cf. Nazir 1,3; 6,3 (Danby, 281. 287). 9 To these precepts must be added also the prohibition of eating unclean food, cf. Gdc 13,7: mØ fãg˙w pçn ékãyarton [B] (pçsan ékayars¤an [A]). 10 Cf. Judges 13,7 ([A]: ka‹ e‰p°n moi ÉIdoÁ sÁ §n gastr‹ ßjeiw ka‹ t°jÆ uflÒn· ka‹ nËn mØ p¤˙w o‰non ka‹ sikera ka‹ mØ fãg˙w pçsan ékayars¤an, ˜ti nazira›on yeoË ¶stai tÚ paidãrion épÚ t∞w gastrÚw ßvw ≤m°raw yanãtou aÈtoË: (And he said to me, Behold, thou art with child, and shalt bring forth a son;and now drink no wine nor strong drink,and eat no unclean thing; for the child shall be holy to God from the womb until the day of his death” [tr. Brenton]) Judges 16,17 [B]: ka‹
énÆggeilen aÈtª tØn pçsan kard¤an aÈtoË ka‹ e‰pen aÈtª S¤dhrow oÈk én°bh §p‹ tØn kefalÆn mou, ˜ti ëgiow yeoË §g≈ efimi épÚ koil¤aw mhtrÒw mou· §ån oÔn jurÆsvmai, épostÆsetai épÄ §moË ≤ fisxÊw mou, ka‹ ésyenÆsv ka‹ ¶somai …w pãntew ofl ênyrvpoi (“Then he told her all his heart, and said to her, A razor has not
come upon my head, because I have been a holy one of God from my mother’s womb; if then I should be shaven, my strength will depart me, and I shall be weak, and I shall be as all other men” [tr. Brenton]). 11 Cf. Sirach 46,13ab (the only text where Samuel is called “Nazir”): yyy ryzn tklmm ˆykh la [rbd]b ˆhkmw fpwv lawmv hawbnb (“nazirite of God in prophecy, Samuel, judge and practising priesthood, on God’s word established the kingdom”); see Minissale, La versione greca del Siracide, p. 215. 12 Cf. Matthew 11,18; Lc 1,15; 7,33. About John the Baptist as a nazirite, see C. H. H. Scobie, John the Baptist, Philadelphia 1964, pp. 135–137; H. Schürmann, Das Lukasevangelium, 1. Teil [Komm. zu Kap. 1,1–9,50], Freiburg im Breisgau 1982 (Italian ed. Brescia 1983), p. 120. 13 The term can be found (rarely) in the : Judges 13,5 (nazir); Lamentations 4,7 (nazira›oi); Giud 13,5.7 (nazira›on); 15,17 (nazira›ow); 1 Maccabees 3,49 (nazira¤ouw). 14 About the nazirite in Philo’s work, cf. R. Goulet, La philosophie de Moïse. Essai de reconstitution d’un commentaire préphilonien du Pentateuque, Paris 1987, in particular pp. 459–460.
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(1) A passage of Quod Deus sit immutabilis is noteworthy; the theme is introduced in connection with Genesis 6,8,15 on ‘finding’ and ‘refinding’:16 Finders sometimes find again what they possessed and have lost, sometimes what they did not own in the past and now gain for the first time. People who seek exactitude in the use of words are wont to call the process in the second case ‘finding’ (eÏresin) and in the first ‘refinding’ (éneÊresin) or recovery.17
The figure of the nazirite appears now: of his status, Philo considers especially the so-called ‘great vow’ (megãlh eÈxÆ),18 as defined in Numbers 6,2:19 We have a very clear example of the former in the commandment of the Great Vow. Now a vow is a request for good things from God, while a ‘great vow’ is to hold that God Himself and by Himself is the cause of good things [. . .].
15 Cf. Genesis 6,8: Nve d¢ eren xãrin §nant¤on kur¤ou toË yeoË: “But Noe found grace before the Lord God” (tr. Brenton). 16 The theme is treated often by Philo, who dedicates to it the treatise De fuga et inventione (see in particular 119 ss.). 17 Deus 86 ss. (F. H. Colson – G. H. Whitaker, Philo in Ten Volumes (and Two Supplementary Volumes), London-Cambridge [Mass.], 1929 ss. [Loeb Classical Library], III, pp. 52 ss.): T«n eÍriskÒntvn ofl m¢n ì prÒteron ¶xontew ép°balon aÔyiw eÍr¤skousin, ofl d¢ ì mØ pãlai nËn d¢ pr«ton periepoiÆsanto. tout‹ m¢n oÔn tÚ ¶rgon eÏresin, §ke›no d¢ éneÊresin ofl zhthtiko‹ t«n kur¤vn Ùnomãtvn kale›n efi≈yasi. toË m¢n oÔn prot°rou parãdeigma §narg°staton tå per‹ t∞w megãlhw eÈx∞w diatetagm°na. ¶sti d¢ eÈxØ m¢n a‡thsiw égay«n parå yeoË, megãlh d¢ eÈxØ tÚn
yeÚn a‡tion égay«n aÈtÚn éfÄ •autoË nom¤zein mhdenÚw •t°rou t«n efiw tÚ doke›n »fele›n sunergoËntow [. . .]. pãnta går taËta dunãmei yeoË metabolåw d°xetai ka‹ tropãw, …w ténant¤a pollãkiw to›w §j ¶youw épotele›n. toËton oÔn fhsi Mvus∞w ëgion e‰nai, tr°fonta kÒmhn tr¤xa kefal∞w, ˜per ∑n tåw §n t“ ≤gemonik“ t«n éret∞w dogmãtvn kefalai≈deiw énatolåw sunaÊjonta ka‹ trÒpon tinå kom«nta ka‹ semnunÒmenon §pÄ aÈta›w. éllÄ ¶stin ˜te ép°balen aÈtåw afifn¤dion kataskÆcantow oÂã tinow tuf«now efiw tØn cuxØn ka‹ tå kalå pãnta aÈt∞w §jarpãsantow· ı d¢ tuf∆n otow tropÆ t¤w §stin ékoÊsiow paraxr∞ma tÚn noËn mia¤nousa, ¿n kale› yãnaton. éllÄ ˜mvw épobal∆n aÔyiw ka‹ kayarye‹w énalambãnei ka‹ énamimnπsketai œn t°vw §pel°lhsto, ka‹ ëper ép°balen eÍr¤skei, …w tåw prot°raw t∞w trop∞w ≤m°raw élÒgouw §jetãzesyai, µ diÒti parãlogon ≤ tropØ prçgma, épòdon ÙryoË lÒgou ka‹ fronÆsevw ém°toxon, µ parÒson oÈk ¶stin éj¤a katariyme›syai· t«n går toioÊtvn ¶fh tiw oÈ lÒgow oÈdÄ ériymÒw. 18 The term eÈxÆ usually means ‘prayer,’ but in this case (Numbers 6) and in
other contexts the better translation is ‘vow,’ well known also by Origen, Orat. III,4 (about Leviticus 27,1–3 and Numbers 6, he quotes also Proverbs 20,25; Ecclesiastes 5,4 and many texts from NT). 19 The text of the has exactly: ˘w §ån megãlvw eÎjhtai eÈxÆn, lett.: “who shall specially vow a vow.”
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Then he focuses on the actor of this vow: “He who makes this vow, then, says Moses, must be holy (ëgion), suffering the hair of his head to grow.”20 This means that he must foster the young growths of virtue’s truths in the mind which rules his being (§n t“ ≤gemonik“); these growths must be to him as it were heads, and he must take pride in them as in the glory of the hair. But sometimes he loses these early growths, when as it were a whirlwind (tuf∆n) swoops suddenly down upon the soul and tears from it all that was beautiful in it. This whirlwind is a kind of involuntary defection (tropÆ t¤w . . . ékoÊsiow) straightway defiling (mia¤nousa) the soul, and this he calls death (yãnaton).21
In doing so, the author introduces the notion of ‘defilement’ (the verb used is mia¤nv), corresponding with so-called ‘death’: as he explains later, it consists of a removal from ‘right reason’ (ÙryÚw lÒgow) which does not share wisdom (sof¤aw); he who suffered such a perturbation—i.e., unintentional change—, the nazirite, can find ‘right reason’ again without considering the days during which he was troubled. (2) The nazirite and his discipline are mentioned again particularly in De ebrietate,22 about the issue entitling the work itself, that is the attitude and the judgement on drunkenness (m°yh). Now, Philo reminds us that in many places of his legislation he [scil. Moses] mentions wine and the plant whose fruit it is—the vine. Some persons he permits, other he forbids, to drink of it, and sometimes he gives opposite orders, at one time enjoining and another prohibiting its use to the same persons. These last are those who have made the great vow,23 while those who are forbidden the use of strong drink are the ministering priests.24 Cf. Numbers 6,5. Cf. Numbers 6,9. 22 Cf. Ebr. 2: pollaxoË går t∞w nomoyes¤aw o‡nou ka‹ toË genn«ntow futoË tÚn o‡non émp°lou diam°mnhtai· ka‹ to›w m¢n §mp¤nein §pitr°pei, to›w dÄ oÈk §f¤hsi, ka‹ to›w aÈto›w ¶stin ˜te prostãttei ténant¤a, o‡nƒ xr∞sya¤ te ka‹ mÆ. otoi m¢n oÔn efisin ofl tØn megãlhn eÈxØn eÈjãmenoi, oÂw d¢ ékrãtƒ xr∞syai épe¤rhtai ofl leitourgoËntew flere›w, ofl d¢ prosferÒmenoi tÚn o‰non mur¤oi t«n §pÄ éretª mãlista ka‹ parÄ aÈt“ teyaumasm°nvn. 23 Cf. Numbers 6,2 ss. 24 Cf. Leviticus 10,9: O‰non ka‹ sikera oÈ p¤esye, sÁ ka‹ ofl uflo¤ sou metå soË, ≤n¤ka ín efisporeÊhsye efiw tØn skhnØn toË martur¤ou, µ prosporeuom°nvn Ím«n prÚw tÚ yusiastÆrion, ka‹ oÈ mØ époyãnhte (nÒmimon afi≈nion efiw tåw geneåw Ím«n): “Ye shall not drink wine nor strong drink, thou and thy sons with thee, whensoever ye enter into the tabernacle of witness, or when ye approach the altar, so shall ye not die; it is a perpetual statute for your generations” (tr. L. C. L. Brenton, The 20 21
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In this case, Philo clearly remarks the different situation of the nazirite compared to that of the priest on the use of strong drink; as a matter of fact, the former is at first forbidden to drink,25 while after having made his offers it is said that “he will drink wine.”26 A different case is that of Samuel, a very special nazirite—in Philo’s opinion,27 “the greatest of kings and prophets”—who o‰non ka‹ m°yusma oÈ p¤etai28 (according to 1 Regn 1,11, adapted by Philo with the addition of êxri teleut∞w, words that obviously come from the preceding biblical context: ßvw ≤m°raw yanãtou aÈtoË). Abstinence from wine and strong drink, on the contrary, is prescribed to the priest, as mentioned above, while only during the liturgy is it absolutely imposed upon him: he who approaches the altar and handles the sacrifices should not during the time in which it is his duty to perform the sacred rites drink wine or any other intoxicant, and this for four most cogent reasons: the dangers of slackness, forgetfulness, sleep and foolish behaviour. [. . .] {In general, indeed, wine must be regarded as very unprofitable for every side of life, since it presses hard upon the soul, dulls the senses and wheighs down the body, leaving none of our faculties free and untrammeled but humpering the natural activity of each.} But in religious rites and ceremonies the mischief is graver in the same degree as it is more intolerable to offend against our duty to God than our duty to man. Thus it is a very proper enactment that the officiants at the sacrifice should fast from wine, “to discern and distinguish between holy and profane, clean and unclean,”29 lawful and unlawful.30 Septuagint Version of the Old Testament, according to the Vatican Text, Translated into English; with the Principal Various Readings of the Alexandrine Copy, London 1844. 1851 [repr. Grand Rapids 1980]). 25 Cf. Numbers 6,3: oÈ p¤etai [2 vv]. 26 Cf. Numbers 6,20: ka‹ metå taËta p¤etai ı hÈgm°now o‰non (“and afterwards the votary shall drink wine,” tr. Brenton). According to M. Adler (Colson-Whitaker III, p. 500), Philo takes the future p¤etai (“he shall drink it”) for a command. In that case, here we would have a futurus pro imperativo. 27 Ebr. 143: ı ka‹ basil°vn ka‹ profht«n m°gistow SamouÆl. 28 “Shall drink no wine or strong drink” [tr. Brenton]. 29 Cf. Leviticus 10,10.11. 30 Spec. I, 98 ss. passim (Colson-Whitaker VII, 155 ss.): mÆt’ o‰non mÆte ti êllo m°yusma p¤nein, tettãrvn ßneka t«n énagkaiotãtvn, ˆknou ka‹ lÆyhw ka‹ Ïpnou ka‹ éfrosÊnhw. êkratow går tåw m¢n toË s≈matow dunãmeiw énie‹w duskinhtÒtera tå m°lh poie› ka‹ Ùknhrot°rouw épergãzetai ka‹ b¤& katadaryãnein énagkãzei, to›w d¢ t∞w cux∞w tÒnouw §pixal«n lÆyhw ımoË ka‹ éfrosÊnhw a‡tiow g¤netai· [. . .] sunÒlvw m¢n oÔn tØn o‡nou xr∞sin ëpasi to›w katå tÚn b¤on élusitelestãthn Ípolhpt°on, cux∞w piezom°nhw, afisyÆsevn émauroum°nvn, barunom°nou s≈matow— §leÊyeron går ka‹ êfeton oÈd¢n §ò t«n parÉ ≤m›n, éllÄ •kãstƒ prÚw ˘ p°fuken §mpÒdiÒw §stin—, §n d¢ ta›w ègiste¤aiw ka‹ flerourg¤aiw tÚ blãbow érgale≈teron,
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Two of Philo’s favourite topics frame here the rules about nazirites and priests: the condemnation of every kind of drunkenness and, on the other hand, the praise of sobriety. The final section of De plantatione31 and two treatises, De ebrietate and De sobrietate, are expressly dedicated to these themes, not to mention the complete abstinence from wine—similar to that of priests, but permanent—which marks the ascetic banquets of the Therapeutae, celebrated by Philo in De vita contemplativa.32 (3) The nazirite is sacred among all the people since he has totally offered himself to God, as it appears from De somniis.33 By explaining Genesis 31,13 (≥leicãw moi §ke› stÆlhn ka‹ hÎjv moi §ke› eÈxÆn [“thou anointedst a pillar to me, and vowedst to me there a vow,” tr. Brenton]: the reference is to Jacob), as for consecration and vow, Philo says: Now a vow is in the fullest sense a dedication, seeing that a man is said to give a gift to God when he renders to Him not only his possessions but himself the possessor of them. For the lawgiver says, “He shall be holy (ëgiow) that letteth the locks of the hair of his head grow long,”34 that is, the man who has made the vow; and if he is holy, he is nothing else than a dedicated offering, seeing that he no more comes in contact with anything unhallowed and profane.
The passage goes on to the end of book I, where a very famous example of naziriteship is mentioned, that of Samuel—as said above, one of the few lifelong nazirites described in the Scriptures: What I say is vouched for by that prophetess and mother of a prophet, Hannah, whose name is in our tongue ‘Grace.’ For she says that she is giving as a gift to the Holy One her son Samuel,35 not meaning a human being but rather an inspired temper possessed by a God-sent frenzy (§k man¤aw yeoforÆtou).36 ˜sƒ ka‹ tÚ per‹ yeÚn §jamarte›n toË per‹ ênyrvpon éforhtÒteron. ˜yen efikÒtvw prost°taktai nhfal¤ouw yÊein, efiw diastolØn ka‹ diãkrisin èg¤vn ka‹ bebÆlvn ka‹ kayar«n ka‹ ékayãrtvn ka‹ nom¤mvn ka‹ paranÒmvn.
Plant. 139 ss. Cf. Contempl. 74 (Colson-Whitaker IX, 158–159): “Abstinence from wine is enjoined by right reason as for the priest when sacrificing, so to these for their lifetime. For wine acts like a drug producing folly [. . .]” (nhfãlia går …w to›w flereËsi yÊein ka‹ toÊtoiw bioËn ı ÙryÚw lÒgow Ífhge›tai· o‰now m¢n går éfrosÊnhw fãrmakon). 33 Cf. Somn. I, 252–253 (Colson-Whitaker V, 429). 34 Cf. Numbers 6,5: ëgiow ¶stai tr°fvn kÒmhn tr¤xa kefal∞w. 35 Cf. 1 Regn 1,11. 36 Cf. Somn. I, 254 (Colson-Whitaker V, 429). 31
32
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So the nazirite, listed among those completely consecrated to God, is shown as an important type of éskhtÆw like Jacob himself, who is the protagonist of the whole passage. Below in the same work, Philo quotes again Numbers 6,2 while explaining Leviticus 19,9 (§kyerizÒntvn Ím«n tÚn yerismÒn [“and when ye reap the harvest of your land,” tr. Brenton]), with reference to elative circumlocutions usually calqued on Hebrew by the : Like the “reaping the reaping” (tÚn yerismÚn yer¤zein) is the two-fold circumcision, which we meet with in such a case as that of the lawgiver devising as a new practice a circumcision of circumcision (peritom∞w peritomÆn),37 or “the consecration of a consecration” (éfagn¤sasyai ègne¤an),38 that is, the purification of the very purification of the soul, when we yield to God the prerogative of making bright and clean.39
(4) Philo recalls the figure of the nazirite in De agricultura,40 while explaining the voluntariness of sin. By it, first he describes sins and sinners by means of an elaborate seafaring metaphor, which, to the readers of Greek literature, will recall many texts, from Alcaeus (though in a very different context) to the classic moralists of the Hellenistic-Roman age, who often use this topos to describe man’s struggle in the sea of passions.41 The image is also used by Philo elsewhere.42 Here he says: There are others who, with every stitch of piety’s canvas spread, have used every effort to make a quick voyage, and to come to anchor in her harbours, and then, when they were no distance away, but on the very point of coming to land, a violent head-wind has suddenly burst upon them, and driven the vessel straight back, stripping her of much of the gear on which her seaworthiness depended. No one would find fault with these men for being still at sea;43 for the delay was contrary to their wish and befell them; when they were making all speed. Who, then, resembles these men? Who but he who vowed what is called the
Cf. Genesis 17,13. Cf. Numbers 6,2. 39 Cf. Somn. II, 25 (Colson-Whitaker V, 455). 40 Cf. Agr. 174 ss. 41 On this subject, cf. e.g., E. R. Curtius, Europäische Literatur und lateinisches Mittelalter, Bern 1948 [it. tr. Firenze 1992], pp. 147 ss.; A. Grilli, Il problema della vita contemplativa nel mondo greco-romano, Milano 1953, p. 43 n. 1; 330 ss. 42 Cf. e.g., Cher. 37 (Colson-Whitaker II, 30 ss.). 43 Here of course those who are not already landed, that is, are not already safe from the waves of sin. 37 38
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great Vow?44 For he says: “If someone die suddenly beside him, the head of his vow shall forthwith be defiled (mianyÆsetai), and he shall shave it.” Then, after a few more words, he adds, “The former days shall be void, because the head of his vow was defiled” (§miãnyh).45 The involuntary nature of the soul’s failure is evidenced by both of the words which he uses, ‘sudden’ (afifn¤dion) and ‘forthwith’ (paraxr∞ma), for whereas in the case of deliberate sins time is required for planning where and when and how the thing is to be done, unintentional sins swoop upon us suddenly, without thought, and if we may to say, in no time.
In this context, reference is undoubtedly linked to what is mentioned above on the involuntary and unexpected whirlwind beating the man who tends to perfection. Philo goes on to say: the first need then, which is the one and only thing that is “welldoing,” is never to put hand to any deliberate wrong-doing, and to have strength to thrust from us the countless host of voluntary offences [. . .]. Right well did he say that the days of the involuntary failure were void (élÒgouw) not only because to sin is void of reason (êlogon) but also because it is impossible to render an account ( lÒgon) of involuntary sins. Accordingly, when people inquire after the motives for things that have been done, we often say that we neither know nor are able to tell them: for that when they were being done we were not taken into confidence, nay, that they arrived without our knowing it.46
(5) Within the commentary to legal rules carried out by Philo in De specialibus legibus, special stress is laid on the distinctiveness of the nazirite’s offer, which excels any other one, inasmuch he offers himself: And therefore it is fitly called the Great Vow, for his own self is the greatest possession which anyone has, and this self he forgoes and puts himself outside it.47
Then Philo lists prescriptions and rules undertaken by the nazirite. As for the first prescription—abstinence from wine—he remarks that it means to “hold himself to be serving as a priest during that time 44 Philo has here ı tØn megãlhn legom°nhn eÈjãmenow eÈxÆn, but cf. Numbers 6,3 : ˘w §ån megãlvw eÎjhtai eÈxÆn. 45 Cf. Numbers 6,9–12. 46 Agr. 179 (Colson-Whitaker III, 201–202). 47 Spec. I, 248–249 (Colson-Whitaker VII, 242 ss.): diÚ ka‹ megãlh proshkÒntvw eÈxØ kale›tai· kthmãtvn går tÚ m°giston aÈtÒw t¤w §stin aÍt“· o paraxvre› ka‹ §j¤statai.
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[scil. the time of naziriteship].”48 The second one—refraining from cutting the hair off the head (mØ époke¤resyai)—is explained as “a clear symbol (sÊmbolon §narg¢w) to the eye that he does not debase (mØ parakÒptein) the sterling coinage of his vow.” So, ‘cutting the hair off the head’ is allegorically interpreted through the semantic equivalence of the verbs (époke¤resyai and parakÒptein, both synonyms of ‘cutting’), and the matter passes from a material, phaenomenic level to a conceptual and spiritual one, representing the intrinsic ‘value’ (nÒmisma) of the vow. (6) The nazirite’s offer is, lastly, interpreted as follows in a passage of De mutatione nominum:49 Moses taught us to make our acknowledgements of thanks according to the power of our hands,50 the man of sagacity dedicating his good sense and prudence, the master of words consecrating all the excellences of speech in praises to the Existent in poem or prose, and from others offerings after their kind, natural philosophy, ethical philosophy, the lore of the arts and sciences from the several students of the same.
In this case, according to Philo, the nazirite’s act must be understood as universal, beyond its contextual meaning: “il precetto qui fissato per il nazireo è esteso all’umanità.”51 (7) In this connection, a passage of De fuga et inventione 52 seems rather interesting. In it, the figure of the nazirite is compared with that of the High Priest. This comparison is framed by the exegesis to
48 Ibid., 249: poihsam°nƒ d¢ tØn eÈxÆn tãde diagoreÊei· pr«ton m¢n êkraton mØ prosf°resyai mhdÄ ˜sa §k staful∞w katergãzetai mhdÄ êllo ti m°yusma p¤nein §p‹ kayair°sei logismoË, nom¤zonta tÚn xrÒnon §ke›non flerçsyai [. . .]. 49 Mutat. 220 (Colson-Whitaker V, 256–257): ÉEd¤daje d¢ Mvus∞w katå dÊnamin t«n xeir«n tåw eÈxar¤stouw ımolog¤aw poie›syai, tÚn égx¤noun énãyhma énatiy°nta tÚ sunetÚn ka‹ tÚ frÒnimon, tÚn lÒgion tåw §n lÒgƒ pãsaw éretåw énieroËnta diã te ”d∞w ka‹ t«n katalogãdhn toË ˆntow §gkvm¤vn, ka‹ katÄ e‰dow tÚn fusikÚn fusiolog¤an, tÚn ±yikÚn pçsan tØn ±yikØn filosof¤an, tÚn texnikÚn ka‹ §pistÆmona tå yevrÆmata t«n texn«n ka‹ §pisthm«n. 50 Cf. Numbers 6,21 : otow ı nÒmow toË eÈjam°nou, ˘w ín eÎjhtai kur¤ƒ d«ron aÈtoË kur¤ƒ per‹ t∞w eÈx∞w, xvr‹w œn ín eÏr˙ ≤ xe‹r aÈtoË katå dÊnamin t∞w eÈx∞w aÈtoË, ∂n ín eÎjhtai katå nÒmon ègne¤aw (“This is the law of the votary
who shall have vowed to the Lord his gift to the Lord, concerning his vow, besides what he may be able to afford according to the value of his vow, which he may have vowed according to the law of separation” [tr. Brenton]). 51 So R. Radice, ad l. (Tutti i trattati del commentario allegorico alla Bibbia, Milano 1994, p. 1072 n. 153). 52 Cf. Fug. 113 ss. (Colson-Whitaker V, 70 ss.).
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Numbers 35,11–25—about the ‘cities of refuge’—developed by Philo in Fug. 87–108. The author considers the question of voluntary and involuntary failures, of special concern to the High Priest, who is said to be free from any kind of defilement. Starting from Numbers 35,25 (= the return of refugees upon the High Priest’s death), Philo explains allegorically: the High Priest is not a man, but a Divine Word ( lÒgow) and immune from all unrighteousness whether intentional or unintentional. For Moses says53 that he (= the lÒgow) cannot defile himself either for the father, the mind, nor for the mother, sense-perception, because, methinks, he is the child of parents incorruptible and wholly free from stain, his father being God, who is likewise Father of all, and his mother Wisdom, through whom the universe came into existence.54
Then, Philo comes back to Leviticus 21,11, where it is said about the High Priest §p‹ pãsan cuxØn teteleuthku›an oÈk efiseleÊsetai (“neither shall he go in to any dead body” [tr. Brenton]),55 and connects him with the nazirite: On the other hand, as to the man who has vowed the Great Vow, the lawgiver seems to recognize that he does stumble unintentionally, even if not with deliberate intent; for he says: “If one die by him suddenly, he shall at once be defiled”:56 for that which suddenly swoops down upon us from without, apart from any wish of our own, defiles the soul at once, though not for an interminable period, owing to his being unintentional. But with such involuntary defilements, even as with those that are voluntary, the High Priest has no concern, but stands far up beyond their reach.57
53 54
Cf. Leviticus 21,11. Fug. 108–109 (Colson-Whitaker V, 68 ss.): L°gomen går tÚn érxier°a oÈk
ênyrvpon éllå lÒgon ye›on e‰nai pãntvn oÈx •kous¤vn mÒnon éllå ka‹ ékous¤vn édikhmãtvn ém°toxon. oÎte går §p‹ patr¤, t“ n“, oÎte §p‹ mhtr¤, tª afisyÆsei, fhs‹n aÈtÚn Mvus∞w [Leviticus 21,11] dÊnasyai mia¤nesyai, diÒti, o‰mai, gon°vn éfyãrtvn ka‹ kayarvtãtvn ¶laxen, patrÚw m¢n yeoË, …w ka‹ t«n sumpãntvn §st‹ patÆr, mhtrÚw d¢ sof¤aw, diÄ ∏w tå ˜la ∑lyen efiw g°nesin. 55 The text of the has instead: §p‹ pãsª cuxª teteleuthku¤&.
Cf. Numbers 6,9. Fug. 115–116 (Colson-Whitaker V, 72 ss.): TÚn m°n ge tØn megãlhn eÈjãmenon eÈxØn o‰d¢ pou ka‹ ékous¤vw sfallÒmenon, efi ka‹ mØ •kous¤ƒ gn≈m˙· l°gei gãr· §ån d° tiw époyãn˙ §pÄ aÈt“ §jãpina, paraxr∞ma mianyÆsetai [Numbers 6,9]· tå 56 57
går éboÊlhta ¶jvyen afifn¤dion kataskÆptonta paraxr∞ma tØn cuxØn oÈ prÚw afi«na mÆkiston mia¤nei, ëte ˆnta ékoÊsia. toÊtvn dÄ ı érxiereÁw kayãper ka‹ t«n •kous¤vn Íperãnv ståw éloge›.
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(8) In a noteworthy passage of Legum allegoriae,58 while explaining Genesis 2,3 (ka‹ eÈlÒghsen ı yeÚw tØn ≤m°ran tØn •bdÒmhn ka‹ ≤g¤asen aÈtÆn), Philo says: [God] both blesses (eÈloge›) and forthwith makes holy (èg¤ouw épofa¤nei) the dispositions set in motion in harmony with the seventh and truly Divine light, for closely akin are the character that is charged with benediction (ı eÈlÒgistow) and the character that is holy (ı ëgiow). That is why, when treating of him who has vowed the great vow (§p‹ toË tØn megãlhn eÈxØn eÈjam°nou), he says that, if a change suddenly befalls him and defiles his mind, he shall no longer be holy (oÈk°tÉ ¶stai ëgiow),59 but “the preceding days are not reckoned” (éllÉ afl ≤m°rai afl prÒterai êlogoi).60 Rightly enough, for the character that is not holy is vile, of no account (élÒgistow), so that the character well accounted of (ı eÈlÒgistow) is holy.
As we can see, Philo’s argumentation starts from eÈlÒghsen (= ‘he blessed’) in Genesis 2,3; in the , the verb eÈlog°v (together with the noun eÈlog¤a and other words of the same root) is the most common rendering of MT ˚rb.61 It must be etymologically connected to the adj. eÈlÒgistow (< eÔ + log¤zomai = ‘well spoken of ’), as well as its antonym élÒgistow (= ‘of no account’: < é- privativum + log¤zomai). Here, however, both terms have not the same meaning as in the Greek Bible; the semantic change is brought about by log¤zomai, the denominative verbum sentiendi (< lÒgow).62 The connection élÒgistow ~ mØ ëgiow vs. eÈlÒgistow ~ ëgiow is given by the context itself of Genesis 2,3 (eÈlÒghsen . . . ka‹ ≤g¤asen), which allows Philo to equalize both these terms and their antonyms. The whole passage (Leg. I, 17 ss.) has a noteworthy parallel in the above quoted Deus 86 ss.,63 where we find eÏresiw and éneÊresiw
58 Leg. I, 17 ss. (Colson-Whitaker I, 156 ss.): ToÁw katå tÚ ßbdomon ka‹ ye›on …w élhy«w f«w kinhy°ntaw trÒpouw eÈloge› te ı yeÚw ka‹ eÈyÁw èg¤ouw épofa¤nei· suggen°statoi går éllÆloiw ı eÈlÒgistÒw te ka‹ ı ëgiow. diå toËto §p‹ toË tØn megãlhn eÈxØn eÈjam°nou fhs‹n ˜ti, §ån tropØ kataskÆcasa afifn¤dion miãn˙ tÚn noËn, oÈk°tÄ ¶stai ëgiow· éllÄ afl ≤m°rai afl prÒterai êlogoi· katå tÚ efikÒw· élÒgistow går ı mØ ëgiow trÒpow, Àste ı eÈlÒgistow ëgiow.
Cf. Numbers 6,9. Cf. Numbers 6,12. 61 See on this subject TWAT I, 834. 62 EÈlÒgistow, élÒgistow and cognate terms are attested only in biblical books of hellenistic age: cf. 2 Maccabees 14,8; 3 Maccabees 5,42 (élÒgist¤a); 3 Maccabees 6,12; 4 Maccabees 3,11; 6,18; 16,23; Wisdom 12,25 (élÒgistow); 4 Maccabees 6,14 (élog¤stvw); 4 Maccabees 5,22; 8,15; 13,5.7 (eÈlogist¤a). 63 Cf. Colson-Whitaker III, 52 ss.; Radice, 446. 59 60
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defined as follows: (i) eÏresiw = action typical of him who finds things he never had before, and which now he obtains for the first time; (ii) éneÊresiw = action typical of him who finds things he had had before, and he lost after. The megãlh eÈxÆ as described in Numbers 6,2 belongs to the same kind of éneÊresiw. In this case, the “loss” corresponds to an “involuntary change which defiles reason” (tropÆ t¤w . . . ékoÊsiow paraxr∞ma tÚn noËn mia¤nousa);64 while “recovery” (when the nazirite has ‘purified’ himself: kayarye¤w) means that he “remembers” (énamimnÆsketai) what he has forgotten for a spell and “finds” (eÍr¤skei) what he has lost. So, “the days before the change are not reckoned” (élÒgouw §jetãzesyai) for two reasons: (1) the change is “an irrational event” (parãlogon prçgma), it is “discordant” (épòdon) from “right reason” (ÙryoË lÒgou) and does not partake of “wisdom” (fronÆsevw); (2) these are things “of no account” (oÈk . . . êjia katariyme›syai). There is close analogy between the two passages; we mainly stress the term ëgiow, coming both from Numbers 6,9 (Leg. I, 17) and from Numbers 6,5 (Deus 86 ss.), and the idea of ‘defilement,’ cf. Leg. I, 17: tropÆ . . . afifn¤dion miãn˙ tÚn noËn Deus 86: tropÆ t¤w . . . paraxr∞ma tÚn noËn mia¤nousa. If we now consider Numbers 6,9 quoted above (§ån d¢ tiw époyãn˙ §jãpina §pÄ aÈt“, paraxr∞ma mianyÆsetai ≤ kefalØ eÈx∞w aÈtoË), it is clear that in Deus 86 only one (namely the second) of the time adverbs §jãpina and paraxr∞ma is included.65 Moreover, in Leg. I, 17, Philo’s biblical text ([§ån tropØ kataskÆcasa] afifn¤dion miãn˙ tÚn noËn, oÈk°tÉ ¶stai ëgiow) does not agree with the vulgata of the , but with some secondary readings we find in the critical apparatus of Göttingen editio maior.66 It is clear enough from our survey that Philo’s interest in naziriteship is deep and mainly concerns the following topics: (a) the significance of the nazirite as a religious figure and the special value of his ‘vow’ (eÈxÆ); (b) the comparison with the (high) priest; (c) the theme of defilement and last, but not least, (d) the question regarding voluntary vs. involuntary sins. Deus 89; cf. Colson-Whitaker III, 54; Radice, 446. The situation is different in Fug. 115, where the text of the is quoted litterally: cf. supra, n. 55. 66 Cf. J. W. Wevers (ed.) Numeri, Göttingen 1982 [Septuaginta. Vetus Testamentum Graecum auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum Gottingensis editum, III/1], p. 114 (aifnidivw/aifnidion). 64
65
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(a) It is remarkable that the nazirite is never called by the calque from Hebrew (which we find both in the 67 and in Josephus),68 but often by means of circumlocutions, usually coming from Numbers 6,1–2 (˘w §ån megãlvw eÎjhtai eÈxØn): ofl tØn megãlhn eÈxØn eÈjãmenoi (Ebr. 2, cf. Agr. 175; Fug. 115; Leg. I, 17 [both sing.]); poihsam°nƒ tØn eÈxØn (Spec. I, 249). This may be due either to Philo’s lack of knowledge of Hebrew, or at least to his reluctance to use any word belonging to that language.69 Another reasonable explanation is possible: Philo uses this circumlocution in order to represent the real significance of naziriteship, i.e., the ‘great vow.’ This seems to be confirmed by texts such as Somn. I, 253 ss. and especially Spec. I, 248 ss., we have discussed above. The other denomination applied to the nazirite by Philo—simply ‘an holy man’ (ëgion: Deus 88), is not less noteworthy, as reveals a thorough reading of Leg. I, 17 (cf. supra). (b) As regards the comparison between the nazirite and the priest, Philo considers: (i) the abstinence from wine and strong drink (in this connection, see above, Ebr. 2); (ii) the prohibition on touching a dead body. In Fug. 113, the latter is applied to the High Priest on the grounds of Leviticus 21,11 (ka‹ §p‹ pãs˙ cuxª teteleuthku¤& oÈk efiseleÊsetai [“neither shall he go in to any dead body”: tr. Brenton]), and this text is explained as follows: death of soul is a life in the company of vice, so that what is meant is that he is never to come in contact with any polluting object, and of these folly always sticks.70
Philo remarks that also the nazirite is subjected to the same rules (though only pro tempore); then he takes into consideration the question of voluntary vs. involuntary sins (see above): with them, the High Priest has no concern, but stands far up beyond their reach.71 67 Cf. supra, n. 11; sometimes, the same hebrew root rzn is only transliterated and so considered as a simple loanword, cf. Judges 13,5: nazir [according to the reading of B = Cod. Vaticanus], or hellenized as nazira›ow [according to A = Codex Alexandrinus]. 68 Cf. AJ IV, 72; XIX, 294 (nazira›oi). 69 With the exception of the interpretation of hebrew names, a much debated question which has not to do with our research; about it cf. e.g., Nikiprowetzky, Le commentaire . . ., pp. 52 ss.; 75 ss. 70 Yãnatow d¢ cux∞w ı metå kak¤aw §st‹ b¤ow, Àste oÈd¢ tinow êgouw, œn prosbãllein éfrosÊnh file›, pot¢ prosãcetai (Colson-Whitaker V, 70). 71 ToÊtvn dÉ ı érxiereÁw [. . .] Íperãnv ståw éloge› (Colson-Whitaker V, 73).
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In the previous context, the ‘superiority’ of the High Priest is justified as follows: the High Priest is not a man, but a divine Word and immune from all unrighteousness whether intentional or unintentional.72
So it is clear that he is free by nature from any failure. (c) Special emphasis is given to the idea of ‘defilement’ within pentateuchal texts concerning the contrast between ‘purity’ and ‘impurity’;73 the usually render this semantic domain by kayarÒw and other words of the same root.74 Here Philo follows the previous Jewish-Hellenistic thought75 and seems to give an intellectualistic, not cultic interpretation, of which allegory is the favourite tool. Such a nuance can be perceived in general thanks to statements like the following: it is the special task of law and instruction (paide¤aw) to ‘distinguish’ the profane from the sacred and the impure from the pure.76
It is also affirmed, still explicitly: [. . .] the reason (ı lÒgow) proves strong enough to purge (énakayçrai) the passion.77
Moreover, when explaining Numbers 19,15, Philo adds: “All that are bound with a bond are clean,” for unbinding (diãlusiw) is the cause of destruction which is unclean (t∞w ékayãrtou fyorçw).78
72 Fug. 108: L°gomen går tÚn érxier°a oÈk ênyrvpon éllå lÒgon ye›on e‰nai pãntvn oÈx •kous¤vn mÒnon éllå ka‹ ékous¤vn édikhmãtvn ém°toxon (Colson-
Whitaker V, 69). 73 On this subject, see AA.VV., La purità e il culto nel Levitico, “Annali di Storia dell’Esegesi” XIII/1 (1996), passim; in particular, cf. G. M. Vian, Purità e culto nell’esegesi giudaico-ellenistica, ibid., pp. 63–80; about Greek conceptions, cf. L. Moulinier, Le pur et l’impur dans la pensée des Grecs d’Homère à Aristote, Paris 1952, passim. 74 With regard to this, see my remarks in La Bibbia dei LXX . . ., p. 540. 75 Cf. J. Neusner, The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism (“The Haskell Lectures,” 1972–1973, with a critique and comm. by M. Douglas [SJLA 1]), Leiden 1973, p. 44. 76 Ebr. 143 (Colson-Whitaker III, 393): nÒmou d¢ ka‹ paide¤aw ‡dion b°bhla èg¤vn ka‹ ékãyarta kayar«n diast°llein. 77 Leg. II, 29 (Colson-Whitaker I, 245): §ån d¢ ı lÒgow fisxÊs˙ énakayçrai tÚ pãyow. 78 Confus. 167 (Colson-Whitaker IV, 101 s.): ˜ti pãnyÉ ˜sa desm“ katad°detai, kayarã §stin, §peidØ t∞w ékayãrtou fyorçw a‡tion ≤ diãlusiw.
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The defilement caused by touching a dead body is explained in the margin of a text of Numbers (19,11 ss.) as follows: a man’s soul is a precious thing, and when it departs to seek another home, all that will be left behind is defiled (mia¤netai), deprived as it is of the divine image. For it is the mind of man which has the form of God, being shaped in conformity with the ideal archetype, the Word ( lÒgon) that is above all.79
Impurity caused by touching a dead body is therefore led by Philo from a cultic ground, so as to say, to a ‘theological’ one: as a matter of fact, what really defiles in a corpse is the lack of human mind (noËw), which represents God’s image, the lÒgow. Being far from this original essence—somehow, a privatio boni—is the real source of defilement. In this connection, the explanation given by Philo to Leviticus 14, 34–3680 (about the priest facing defilement from lepers) is quite remarkable. Philo quotes the text and adds: So then before the priest goes in, the things in the house are clean, but after he has gone in they are all unclean. And yet we should have expected just the opposite, that when a man who has been purified and fully consecrated, who is wont to offer prayers and litanies and sacrifices for all men, has come within the house, its contents should thereby be bettered and pass from impurity into purity. But here we find that they do not even remain in the same position as before, but actually shift into the inferior region at the entrance of the priest.81
79 Spec. III, 207 (Colson-Whitaker VII, 605): cuxØ går ényr≈pou t¤mion, ∏w metanistam°nhw ka‹ metoikizom°nhw tå époleifyhsÒmena pãnta mia¤netai sterÒmena ye¤aw efikÒnow, §peidØ yeoeidØw ı ényr≈pinow noËw prÚw érx°tupon fid°an, tÚn énvtãtv lÒgon, tupvye¤w. 80 [`ÑVw ín efis°lyhte efiw tØn g∞n t«n Xanana¤vn, ∂n §g∆ d¤dvmi Ím›n §n ktÆsei, ka‹ d≈sv èfØn l°praw §n ta›w ofik¤aiw t∞w g∞w t∞w §gktÆtou Ím›n,] ka‹ ¥jei t¤now aÈtoË ≤ ofik¤a ka‹ énaggele› t“ flere› l°gvn ÜVsper èfØ •≈rata¤ mou §n tª ofik¤&. ka‹ prostãjei ı flereÁw époskeuãsai tØn ofik¤an prÚ toË efiselyÒnta fide›n tÚn fler°a tØn èfØn ka‹ oÈ mØ ékãyarta g°nhtai ˜sa §ån ¬ §n tª ofik¤&, ka‹ metå taËta efiseleÊsetai ı flereÁw katamaye›n tØn ofik¤an: “Then the owner of the house shall
come and report to the priest, saying, I have seen as it were a plague in the house. And the priest shall give orders to remove the furniture of the house, before the priest comes in to see the plague, and thus none of the things in the house shall become unclean; and afterwards the priest shall go in to examine the house” [tr. Brenton]. 81 Deus 132 ss. (Colson-Whitaker III, 76 s.): oÈkoËn pr‹n m¢n efiselye›n tÚn fler°a, kayarå tå §n tª ofik¤&, éfÄ o dÄ ín efis°lyÆ, pãnta ékãyarta· ka¤toi toÈnant¤on efikÚw ∑n, éndrÚw kekayarm°nou ka‹ tele¤ou, ˘w tåw Íp¢r èpãntvn eÈxåw ègiste¤aw flerourg¤aw e‡vye poie›syai, parelyÒntow e‡sv beltioËsyai tå ¶ndon ka‹ §j ékayãrtvn
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Then he makes a cutting remark to those who look for the consistency of biblical texts like this, but keep the discussion within the sensus litterae, and goes on: For so long as the divine reason (Ò ye›ow lÒgow) has not come into our soul, as to some dwelling-place, all its works are free from guilt, since the priest who is its guardian or father or teacher—or whatever name is fitting for him—the priest, who alone can admonish and bring it to wisdom, is far away.82
(d) This passage in particular, joined to the following one, leads us to the last question, which concerns voluntary and involuntary failures: There is pardon for those whose sin is due to ignorance (diÄ émay¤an), because they have no experience (épeir¤&) to tell them what they should do. For they do not even conceive of their deeds as sins, nay often they think that their most grievous stumblings are righteous actions. But when the true priest, Conviction (¶legxow), enters us, like a pure ray of light, we see in their real value the unholy thoughts that were stored within our soul, and the guilty and blameworthy actions to which we laid our hands in ignorance of our true interests (égno¤& t«n sumferÒntvn).83
Here, the main reason for involuntary failures turns out clearly to be ‘ignorance,’ according to an argument easily found in Philo,84 which takes us back to one of the most important passages examined so far. In it, the involuntary nature of failure and of consequent defilement is extended from the special case of the nazirite to all mankind:
kayarå g¤nesyai· nun‹ d¢ oÈd¢ §p‹ t∞w aÈt∞w m°nei x≈raw, tr°petai d¢ prÚw mer¤da tØn xe¤rv katå tØn e‡sodon tØn toË fler°vw. 82 Ibid., 134 (Colson-Whitaker III, 76): ßvw m¢n går ı ye›ow lÒgow efiw tØn cuxØn ≤m«n kayãper tinå •st¤an oÈk éf›ktai, pãnta aÈt∞w tå ¶rga énupa¤tia· ı går §p¤tropow µ patØr µ didãskalow µ ˜ ti pot¢ xrØ kale›n tÚn fler°a, ÍfÄ o nouyethy∞nai ka‹ svfronisy∞nai mÒnou dunatÒn, makrån éf°sthke. 83 Ibid., 134–135 (Colson-Whitaker III, 76 s.): Suggn≈mh d¢ to›w diÄ émay¤an épeir¤& t«n prakt°vn èmartãnousin· oÈd¢ går …w èmarthmãtvn aÈt«n poioËntai katãlhcin, ¶sti dÄ ˜te katoryoËn §n oÂw pta¤ousi megãla nom¤zousin. ˜tan d¢ efis°lyÆ ı flereÁw ˆntvw ¶legxow efiw ≤mçw Àsper fvtÒw tiw aÈgØ kayarvtãth, thnikaËta gnvr¤zomen tå §napoke¤mena ≤m«n oÈk eÈag∞ tª cuxª bouleÊmata ka‹ tåw §pilÆptouw ka‹ Ípait¤ouw prãjeiw, aŒw égno¤& t«n sumferÒntvn §nexeiroËmen. 84 About the couple êgnoia/émay¤a, see e.g., Gig. 30; Fug. 8.82; êgnoia/émay¤a/ épaideus¤a: cf. Poster. 52; about the cliché êgnoia t«n sumferÒntvn (or toË sumf°rontow), as in the above passage, cf. Sacrif. 28; Somn. II, 150; the opposite of êgnoia is very often §pistÆmh, see e.g., Agr. 161.162; Plant. 98; Ebr. 63.158.203.
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For that which suddenly swoops down upon us from without, apart from any wish of our own, defiles the soul at once, though not for un interminable period, owing to its being unintentional (ékoÊsia).85
Thus, this and other passages lead one to assume that the difference between voluntary and involuntary failures affects their consequences: in this case, the length of defilement. A different point of view on this matter is also mentioned by Philo, while explaining Genesis 20,4:86 I do not know whether ignorance is compatible with righteousness. However, there are those who say that (this) is not one of the very clear-cut cases so that it is possible to confirm and clearly define the notion and distinguish that which is not germane. For I would say,87 “My good man, not like a voluntary sin’s being unrighteous is an involuntary (sin committed) through ignorance (katÄ êgnoian) by that very fact righteous, but, it seems to me, it is half-way (meyÒrion) between both, the righteous and the unrighteous, which by some is called ‘indifferent’ (édiãforon), for no sin is the effect of righteousness.”88
Behind this passage we can discern a network of philosophical— chiefly Stoic—sources, such as the notion of édiãforon, commonly used to indicate the wide neutral zone including neither Good nor Evil.89 Moreover, the image of tropÆ is also peculiar to Stoicism, where it is described as a deviation from lÒgow and an unnatural alteration of ≤gemonikÒn, which covers the ‘false opinions’ forming the pãyh.90 This idea, which is quite usual in Philo’s works, had a
85 Fug. 115 (Colson-Whitaker V, 73): tå går éboÊlhta ¶jvyen afifn¤dion kataskÆptonta paraxr∞ma tØn cuxØn oÈ prÚw afi«na mÆkiston mia¤nei, ëte ˆnta ékoÊsia. 86 Genesis 20,4: Abimelex d¢ oÈx ¥cato aÈt∞w ka‹ e‰pen KÊrie, ¶ynow égnooËn ka‹ d¤kaion épole›w (tr. Brenton: “But Abimelech had not touched her, and he
said, Lord, wilt thou destroy an ignorantly sinning and just nation?”). 87 Henceforth, we have not only the Armenian translation, but also a fragment of the original Greek text, cf. Quaestiones in Genesim, fragmenta, ed. F. Petit, [Les oeuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie 33], Paris 1978, p. (OÈx …w tÚ •kous¤vw èmartãnein §st‹n êdikon, oÏtv tÚ ékous¤vw ka‹ katÄ êgnoian eÈyÁw d¤kaion, éllå tãxa pou meyÒrion émfo›n dika¤ou ka‹ éd¤kou, tÚ ÍpÒ tinvn kaloÊmenon édiãforon· èmãrthma går oÈd¢n ¶rgon dikaiosÊnhw). 88 QG IV, 63 (Markus [Suppl. to Colson] I, 343). 89 On this subject, see e.g., M. Pohlenz, Die Stoa, Göttingen 1959, It. tr. Firenze 1967, I, 245–249. 90 Cf. Chrysippus, fr. 842 (SVF II, 228 = Philo Sacrif. 137): ˜ti tÚ ≤gemonikÚn katå émer∞ xrÒnvn diastÆmata <pollåw> prÚw •kãteron tÒ te eÔ ka‹ xe›ron tropåw lambãnon, éllãttontaw ée‹ tÊpouw d°xetai tÒte m¢n kayaroË ka‹ dok¤mou, tÒte d¢ parakekomm°nou ka‹ kibdÆlou nom¤smatow. Cf. id., fr. 433 (SVF III, 106 =
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long Fortleben within Christian literature too, particularly in Gregory of Nyssa.91 The Nazirite’s temporary defilement92 seems thus to be set on this background, which Philo builds using Stoic categories. The term meyÒrion (= ‘borderline’) most likely has the same root, possibly Chrysippus, whose witness is Philo himself.93 However, another philosophical source can be detected, i.e., Plato, in particular when speaking about an ‘intermediate zone’ (meyÒrion) between voluntary and involuntary failures, where faults caused by anger should be placed.94 It is again ‘ignorance’ (êgnoia)—the treatment of which in Philo has been treated above—that plays an important role within Stoic ethics, for it is described as the main cause of pãyh;95 and that is not all. As a matter of fact, in his Laws,96 Plato dedicates a long excursus to the difficult problem of the origin of Evil within human society and consequently to the voluntariness of sin. By taking a Socratic opinion as the necessary basis for lawmaking, he infers that all sins are really involuntary (“the unjust man may be bad, but [. . .] he is bad against his will”),97 because due to ‘ignorance’ (êgnoia).98 The Quellenforschung concerning ¶legxow (cf. Deus 135) seems to be rather complex. V. Nikiprowetzky99 sharply remarks the many philoClem. Alex. Strom. II, 16, 72): tØn m¢n går xarån eÎlogon ¶parsin épodidÒasi· ka‹ tÚ égãllesyai xa¤rein §p‹ kalo›w· tÚ d¢ ¶leow lÊphn §p‹ énaj¤vw kakopayoËnti· tropØw d¢ e‰nai cux∞w ka‹ pãyh tå toiaËta. See also M. Aurel. XI, 19 (tropåw toË ≤gemonikoË); on this subject, cf. Pohlenz, Die Stoa II, 139. 91 Cf. J. Daniélou, L’ être et le temps chez Grégoire de Nysse, Leiden 1970, pp. 95–115. 92 Cf. Deus 87 ss. 93 Chrysippus, fr. 541 (SVF III, 144 = Philo de agricultura 160): Ofl d¢ mØ toÊtvn (scil. mel°thw sunexoËw ka‹ gumnasmãtvn) tugxãnontew parå to›w filosÒfoiw dialelhyÒtew l°gontai e‰nai sofo¤. ToÁw går êxri sof¤aw êkraw §lhlakÒtaw ka‹ t«n ˜rvn aÈt∞w êrti pr«ton ècam°nouw, émÆxanon efid°nai fas‹ tØn •aut«n tele¤vsin. MØ går katå tÚn aÈtÚn xrÒnon êmfv sun¤stasyai, tÆn te prÚw tÚ p°raw êfijin ka‹ tØn t∞w éf¤jevw katãlhcin· éllÄ e‰nai meyÒrion êgnoian, oÈ tØn makrån épelhlam°nhn §pistÆmhw, éllå tØn §ggÁw ka‹ égx¤yuron aÈtª. For such a use of the term in the field of ethics, see also Agr. 161; Spec. I, 228; Praem. 62, 2. 94 Cf. Leg. IX, 878b: ÖEstin d¢ oÈ pãntvn, …w ¶oike, t«n ˆntvn ˜row ˜rƒ prosmeignÊw, éllÄ oÂw ¶stin meyÒrion, toËto §n m°sƒ ˜rvn prÒteron •kat°rƒ prosbãllon g¤gnoit’ ín émfo›n metajÊ· ka‹ d¢ ka‹ t«n ékous¤vn te ka‹ •kous¤vn tÚ yum“ gignÒmenon ¶famen e‰nai toioËton. 95 Cf. Pohlenz, Die Stoa I, 297. 96 In Book IX (860d ss.). 97 Leg. 860d (tr. B. Jowett): ı m¢n êdikÒw pou kakÒw, ı d¢ kakÚw êkvn toioËtow. 98 Cf. ibid., 863c: it is the view that in the history of philosophy is usually called ‘ethical intellectualism.’ 99 V. Nikiprowetzky, La doctrine de l’élenchos chez Philon, ses résonances philosophiques et sa portée religieuse, in: AA.VV., Philon d’Alexandrie, Lyon 11–15 Sept. 1966 [Colloques nationaux du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique], Paris 1967, pp. 255–273.
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sophical references which lie behind this idea and mostly points to what he calls “scolastique platonicienne” rather than to Stoicism.100 On the other side, he stresses that locating our inner and outer conscience is something deeply rooted, above all, in the Jewish tradition.101 In this connection, one more passage from Plato can be quoted: For all these reasons, Theaetetus, we must admit that refutation (tÚn ¶legxon) is the greatest and chiefest of purifications (t«n kayãrsevn), and he who has not been refuted (tÚn én°legkton), though he be the Great King himself, is in an awful state of impurity (ékãyarton); he is uninstructed and deformed in those things in which he who would be truly blessed ought to be fairest and purest (kayar≈taton).102
As regards its structure, the above context seems closely related to the topics of defilement and purification we find in Deus 135: as a matter of fact, the latter in particular would be impossible without the presence of the ¶legxow. As hinted above, the debate on naziriteship is also lively within the rabbinical literature: as is well known, two treatises of the Mishnah give great space to it, Nedarim (‘Vows’) and Nazir (‘The nazirite’).103 In the latter, the following points are particularly focused: (a) the length of naziriteship [= 30 days];104 (b) the things forbidden to the nazirite;105 (c) the comparison between the nazirite and the High Priest;106 (d) the nazirite facing defilement from lepers;107 (e) Samson and Samuel as nazirites;108 (f ) the unintentional violation in a nazirite’s cutting his hair.109 So, we can infer that both Philo and the Mishnah walk side by side in defining as exactly as possible the special figure
Cf. ibid., p. 266. Cf. ibid., pp. 267–273. 102 Soph. 230de (tr. B. Jowett; he who speaks is the Eleatic stranger, i.e., Plato himself ): Diå taËta d¢ pãnta ≤m›n, Œ Yea¤thte, ka‹ tÚn ¶legxon lekt°on …w êra meg¤sth ka‹ kurivtãth t«n kayãrse≈n §sti, ka‹ tÚn én°legkton aÔ nomist°on, ín ka‹ tugxãnÆ basileÁw ı m°gaw v Ö n, tå m°gista ékãyarton ˆnta, épa¤deutÒn te ka‹ 100
101
afisxrÚn gegon°nai taËta ì kayar≈taton ka‹ kãlliston ¶prepe tÚn ˆntvw §sÒmenon eÈda¤mona e‰nai.
103 About the order of these treatises within the Mishnah, see G. Stemberger, Einleitung in Talmud und Midrasch, München 19928, It. ed. Roma 1995, p. 173. 104 Nazir 1,3; 6,3 (H. Danby, The Mishnah, tr. from the Hebrew with Introd. and Explanatory Notes, Oxford 1933, pp. 281. 287). 105 Nazir 6,1 (Danby, p. 287). 106 Concerning defilement in particular: Nazir 7,1 (Danby, p. 289). 107 Nazir 8,2 (Danby, p. 291). 108 Nazir 9,5 (Danby, pp. 292–293). 109 BT Shabbat 81b.
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of the nazirite. Philo apparently follows the same path of rabbinical literature, but with two main differences: he introduces the categories of Stoic and Platonic philosophy as a tool to explain the nazirite’s peculiarity. Moreover, most of the topics discussed are nearly the same, it would appear, with one exception: the essence of the nazirite’s vow. As a matter of fact, while the Mishnah gives a list of patterns concerning the length and conditions of it, Philo seems to insist especially on its distinctiveness, since it consists of an offer which excels any other one, inasmuch as the nazirite offers himself.
CHAPTER NINE
THE “NAMELESS PRINCIPLE” FROM PHILO TO PLOTINUS AN OUTLINE OF RESEARCH R R For Melody and John Catan I aim in this article to set out a short sketch of one approach to linking Philo of Alexandria to Plotinus on the question of God’s unnameableness, ineffability and unknowableness. In the nature of the case, I offer solutions that are at present hardly more than hypotheses, and it is very likely that, on further investigation, some of the moves made will turn out to be unfounded and so will have to be adjusted or seriously modified, if not entirely set aside. But to the best of my knowledge, the line of thought proposed seems worth pursuing and the observations I make are meant to supply at least the slight justification that would warrant setting off in the direction I suggest. All criticisms and suggestions would be welcome at this preliminary stage, because they could save me from going down blind alleys. Namelessness “Above Being” in Plato and Plotinus At Enneads, V.5.6.12–13, we find the expression oude onoma autou legei (‘it does not say its name’) in connection with the formula epekeina ontos, which is used of the First Hypostasis. There is a significant parallel of this expression at Enneads, V.3.10.42,1 and it is generally traced to Parmenides, 142A, with which it agrees virtually verbatim.2 1 ‘Therefore the thinker must apprehend one thing different from another and the object of thought in being thought must contain variety or there will be no thought of it, but only a sort of touching and a sort of contact without speech or thought, prior to thinking because Intellect has not yet come into being and that which touches does not think,’ trans. A. H. Armstrong. 2 O de me esti, toutoi toi me onti eie an ti autoi e autou?—Kai pos?—Oud’ ara onoma estin autoi oude logos oude tis episteme oude aisthesis oude doxa.—Ou phainetai.
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Nevertheless, the phrase is used with very different meanings in the two places. Likewise, the overall subject matter—the ineffability or unnameableness of the First Principle—gives the impression of a complex articulation and development, which it is worth discussing at least in outline. In addition to the two passages of Enneads, V, already cited, there is also at least one in VI (9.5.31ff.) that explains the unnameableness of the One in terms of the fact that it is not an entity.3 From this it quickly follows that, in this area, Plotinus regards the categories of ‘above-being’ and ‘non-being’ as meaning the same as each other, and in some measure, as having the same (Platonic) origin. Yet the first two expressions, as found in Enneads, V, refer back to one passage of Plato’s Republic (VI, 509 B 9),4 while that in Enneads, VI connects the passage cited from the Parmenides to a different one: Republic, V, 476Eff.5 In this latter case, Plato makes the knowableness of an object depend on its level of being. Since the One is not being, because it transcends being, it clearly cannot have a name. Its not being able to have a name follows from its unknowableness: ‘But since it is beyond being it is also beyond thought’ (Enneads, V.6.6.30). Even if in this way much of Plotinus’ reasoning rests on Platonic presuppositions, it is still true that Plato’s own views are undermined by it. Indeed, the key claim of the Parmenides is that the One’s not having a name is not a positive (or qualifying) fact about it, but a negative (or disqualifying) one. It is this that leads to the dismissal of the dialogue’s first hypothesis, namely that ‘the One is absolutely’
‘. . . it is not an entity, so that ‘one’ may not here also have to be predicated of something else, which in truth has no fitting name, but if we must give it a name, ‘one’ would be an appropriate ordinary way of speaking of it, not in the sense of something else and then one,’ trans. A. H. Armstrong, with slight changes. 4 Here is the context: Kai toîs gignoskomenois toinun me monon to gignoskesthai phanai hypo tou agathou pareînai alla kai to eînai te kai ten ousian hyp’ ekeinou autoîs proseînai, ouk ousias ontos tou agathou, all’ eti epekeina tes ousias presbeiai kai dynamei hyperechontos. 5 ‘Does he know something or nothing? Do you reply on his behalf. “I will reply,” he said, “that he knows something.” “Is it something that is or that is not?” “That is. How could that which is not be known?” “We are completely assured of this, then, even if we should examine it from every point of view, that which entirely ‘is’ is entirely knowable and that which in no way ‘is’ is in everyway unknowable?” “Most completely” ’ trans. Shorey, with slight changes, emphasis added. (Apokrinoumai, ephe, oti gignoskei ti. Poteron on he ouk on?—On: pos gar an me on ge ti gnostheih? Hikanos oun touto echomen, kan ei pleonachei skopoîmen, hoti to men pantelos on pantelos gnoston, me on de medamei pavntei agnwston? Hikanotata) 3
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(Parmenides, 137C–142A), with the words, ‘Can this be the state of the One? It seems to me it cannot be.’6 For Plato, then, ‘being nameless’ is a negative mark that cannot be in any way attributed to the Principle. But for Plotinus, the exact opposite holds. We should look more closely at the reasons for this change. But first we should fill out Plotinus’ view by carefully distinguishing between two importantly different types of unnameability, one in Enneads, V, and the other in VI. In both cases, we have an unnameableness as a matter of principle, which is covered over by a nameableness in fact. Plotinus argues that, though we could not give any name to the One, it needs all the same to be named, if for no other reason than that we should be able to refer to it when we speak. In Enneads, VI, the argument for the unnameableness of the One on the grounds of its non-being leads to the need for a name as a matter of what is useful and convenient, as it were a kind of stopgap, about which little more is said. But we find a much more elaborate account of unnameableness in Enneads, V in connection with epekeina tes ousias. Enneads, V.3.13.1 runs as follows: It is, therefore, truly ineffable. For whatever you say about it, you will always be speaking of a ‘something.’ But ‘beyond all things and beyond the supreme majesty of Intellect’ is the only one of all the ways of speaking of it which is true; it is not its name (en toîs pâsi monon alethes ouk onoma on autou), but says that it is not one of all things and ‘has no name,’ because we can say nothing of it.
And the point is made again at Enneads, V.5.6.12ff.: But these things are beings, and being: so it is ‘beyond being.’ This phrase ‘beyond being’ does not mean that it is a particular thing for it makes no positive statement about it and it does not say its name, but all it implies is that it is ‘not this.’ But if this is what the phrase does, it in no way comprehends the One: it would be absurd to seek to comprehend that boundless nature.
On these grounds we can be certain that ‘above being’ is not the name or a definition of the One. Rather, it is a formula that requires us to distinguish it from every other thing, and that inserts it into the frame of negative theology, within which it seems possible to get a hold on it beginning with what it is not. One might be forgiven 6
Parmenides, 142 A 7–8.
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for thinking that, even if we could not fix the One in well-defined categories, it might nevertheless be possible to outline its essence by taking away from it everything that does not belong to it, as a sculptor makes a statue emerge by removing the excess stone. But, even though he makes fairly frequent appeal to it,7 this account is not up to doing justice to Plotinus’ thought. For, such an approach would never bring even an approximate knowledge of the One, because it is ‘above all things’8 in its own way; hence, as a matter of simple logic, any negative procedure would have to be infinite.9 In fact, the expression ‘above being’ does not refer to any logical procedure that gets to the essence by subtraction. Rather, it refers to an ethical and cathartic process that helps man to enter into the spiritual dimension, which is presumably beyond any logic and in which the One manifests itself. We can infer this much from Enneads, V.5.6.15ff.: For anyone who wants to do this has put himself out of the way of following at all, even the least distance, in its traces; but just as he who wishes to see the intelligible nature will contemplate what is beyond the perceptible if he has no mental image of the perceptible, so he who wishes to contemplate what is beyond the intelligible will contemplate it when he has let all the intelligible go; he will learn that it is by means of the intelligible, but what it is like by letting the intelligible go.
In this way, we do not have knowledge but experience of the One. And the unnameableness that Plotinus attributes to God does not mean giving up on a grasp of Him. Rather, it points to a route that is an alternative to the normal denomination, that offers a characterisation above words, alongside which there remains, for practical and contingent uses, a wholly allusive and approximate characterisation, which we may say is ‘below words,’10 because in this case language is less meaningful than normal. On this basis we must still make sense of the enigmatic claim of V.3.13.1 about the word epekeina which, according to Plotinus, ‘among all the others is the only true one, but it is not its name.’ E.g., Enneads, V.3.14; VI.8.8.11, 21. E.g., Enneads, VI.5.3.9; VI.8.21; III.8.10; V.2.1. 9 Not to say improper; see Enneads, VI.3.19.5ff. 10 Enneads, V.5.6.23ff.: “But we in our travail do not know what we ought to say, and are speaking of what cannot be spoken, and give it a name because we want to indicate it to ourselves as best we can” (trans. Armstrong). 7
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In this connection, we may appeal to a passage in Porphyry of Tyre’s commentary on Plato’s Parmenides, where the issue is the distinction between a name and truth: those who say, concerning knowledge of God, rather what He is not, are better that those who say what He is, even if what they say is true (kan legetai alethos), for they are not able to understand what they say.11
Porphyry is claiming that a negative characterisation of the Principle is better than a positive one, even one that is true. And he explains why: a man may have a genuine definition of God, but not be able to understand it. We might note that a negative characterisation may also run the same risk of not being understood; yet while the negative characterisation is a step on the path towards the transcendence of the intelligible, the positive one would put us on the intellectual plane which, from the outset, is inappropriate for dealing with the First Principle.12 If we can use what Porphyry says to understand Plotinus, we can clarify the meaning of the phrase, ‘it is not its name’ as giving ‘name’ a noetic value and ‘true’ a supernoetic sense. Because of the inadequacy of all noetic characterisations of the One, we can explain the difference between a name and the truth in Plotinus and between truth and a negative characterisation in Porphyry, where the roles of truth are swapped over in the two cases. In the first case, truth is adequate; in the second, inadequate. We are still looking for a more exact definition of the word ‘name’ in Plotinus. And, as always, we must appeal to Plato, for whom a name turns out to be naturally linked to things and their essences, though it is connected to them in a relation like that between a copy and a model.13 If it is to preserve the labelling function of names,14 the relation in question nevertheless infects names with all the weakness of the ‘iconic’ relation. For, in such a relation, the copy is related to the model in such a way as to have less value than it; and this is Plato’s reason for having limited faith in it as a means of communication: 11 Porphyry, Commentary on Plato’s ‘Parmenides,’ 91, 26; see P. Hadot, Porfirio: Commentario al Parmenide di Platone, Italian translation by G. Girgenti, Milan, 1993, p. 83 and notes. 12 Porphyry, Commentary on Plato’s ‘Parmenides,’ X 6ff. 13 Cratylus, 390. 14 Cratylus, 338B–C.
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Names, I maintain, are in no case stable. Nothing prevents the things that are now called round from being called straight and the straight round, and those who have transposed the names and use them in the opposite way will find them no less stable than they are now.15
Because the background to this passage involves a strong attack on writing, we should nevertheless bear in mind how the fixity of the name is called on as a marker of its inadequacy to render the mobility of thought.16 Plato indicates that the proper referent of a name is intellection and that the proper referent of intellection is the object known. The other functions of knowledge (name, definition, image and science) are more loosely related and are therefore less important: Of these four things (names, definitions, images and knowledge) the closest by affinity and similarity to the fifth (namely the given thing) is intellective intuition.17
As we have said, Plotinus’ view is not very different from Plato’s. In his view too, name and word interpose a distance, a sort of falling away, from intellection. But it is a distancing that is necessary because it allows memory and the fixing of thought. At Enneads, IV.3.30.1ff. we find the following: But what is it that remembers thoughts? Does the image-making power remember these too? But if an image ( phantasia), accompanies every intellectual act, perhaps if this image remains, being a kind of picture of the thought, in this way there would be memory of what was known; but if not, we must look for some other explanation. Perhaps the reception into the image-making power wonld be of the verbal expression which accompanies the act of intelligence. The intellectual act is without parts and has not, so to speak, come out into the open, but remains unobserved within, but the verbal expression unfolds its content and brings it out of the intellectual act into the image-making power (ek tou noematos eis to fantastikon), and so shows the intellectual act as if in a mirror, and this is how there is apprehension and persistence and memory of it.18
He is thus convinced that there is a noetic image and that this corresponds to a name or a word. When it come to God, because there Letter VII, 343A–B, trans. L. A. Post. Letter VII, 343A: “No-one in their right mind would dare to trust his thought to such a means of expression, to an immobile means.” 17 Letter VII, 342D. 18 Trans. Armstrong, with slight changes. 15
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is no possibility whatever of intellection, nor, a fortiori, can there be any image or name of it. The proof of this is that the term arretos is often used in connection with the anoetos.19 Yet, it is the very expressive weakness of a name, and precisely because it is connected with the imagination, that paradoxically gives it the practical usefulness that Plotinus recognises,20 because it allows immediate and effective use. The direction of our reasoning so far can be summarised as follows. The inversion in the meaning given to the ‘namelessness’ of the Principle as between Plato and Plotinus does not flow only from their conceptions of the expressive power of a name. For that did not change greatly. Rather, it follows from a profound change in the overall understanding of the Principle, which is no longer posited in the ontological sphere, but in the henological. It therefore requires a new theory of naming, and specifically the negative characterisation that we have described as being ‘above words.’ This has ethical and existential consequences in that it opens up the spiritual conditions for the intuition of God and for contact with Him, though it does not reveal His nature and essence. Hence, this is a way that is always open and never concluded. Philo of Alexandria and the Language of God At this point, it is interesting to consider just when this transformation came about. And a first point of reference here could be Philo of Alexandria. Philo elaborated a special conception of language, which he set out on the basis of what he found in the Bible.21 The biblical account presents at least five types of language and so at least five types of name: (1) the creative word of God; (2) the word given by God following the Creation; (3) the word that derives from Adam in naming Creation; (4) the word of Moses; and, finally, (5) human word
19 Enneads, V.3.10.42 and Porphyry, Commentary on Plato’s ‘Parmenides,’ XIV 14 (anennoetos). 20 ‘It is inevitable to give a name to the One’: Enneads, VI.9.5.30. 21 In this connection, I am much indebted to the reflections of F. Calabi, “Lingua di Dio, lingua degli uomini. Filone alessandrino e la traduzione della Bibbia,” Castelli di Yale, 2 (1997) pp. 95–113, 95ff.
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and language.22 This range can be reduced to three basic categories: (a) the word that constitutes being; (b) the word that represents it faithfully; and (c) the word that represents it imperfectly or by convention (human speech). For Philo, the most important fact about the first two types of word—the creative and the perfectly expressive—is that they both belong to the same language. This is Hebrew, which was God’s language at and after the Creation and at the moment of the fixing of some terms, as well as being the language of Adam and of Moses. On these grounds, it could be said that the very word that constitutes being is then able to recognise it. In this way, much more than in the Platonic scheme, the foundation of language, or at least of names considered as language’s simplest elements, is absolutely guaranteed, because it is assured by God Himself. As a result, in Philo’s conception, the relation between name and reality is very strong. So much so that it implies that not even proper names are conventional, because they too fall under the principle that ‘a change of name calls for a change of reality.’23 Etymology, or rather Philo’s allegorical interpretation of names, is thus a proof not only of the names’ adequacy, but also of their metaphysico-theological foundedness, because these names are all of biblical origin and, hence, the fruit of revelation. We encounter a further substantial difference from Plato’s view in the notion of revelation, one that gives a special complexion to Philo’s theory of language. We have seen that, in Plato and Plotinus, along with the characterisation of the Principle that is ‘above words,’ there is also one that is ‘below words.’ This latter is of its nature approximate and arises from men’s needs. Yet for Philo, this sort of denomination is the fruit of revelation: God replies: ‘First tell them that I am He Who is 24 that they may learn the difference between what is and what is not, and also the further
22 In addition to this typology, we should bear in mind also the distinction that Philo makes between the thought word and the expressed word (as in On Flight and Finding, 92 and On the Unchangeableness of God, 82), according to which the former has an absolute priority. 23 Calabi, ‘Lingua di Dio . . .’ p. 98, cf. Philo, Questions on Genesis, VI 194: ‘Isaac knew that in changing the names he would have changed the things themselves.’ 24 Exodus, 3:14.
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lesson that no name at all can properly be used of Me, to Whom alone existence belongs.25
In the light of the objective character of language, the name of God ought to reveal something about His essence.26 In the case in hand, it would properly refer to His stability27 as opposed to the precariousness and instability of the sensible world.28 Thus does Philo affirm the ineffability of God, though he has at least one name that is adequate, namely, being. We get a measure of how far we have come by comparing this with Plato’s position. Unnameableness here is no longer a symptom of the indefiniteness and irrationality of the object. Rather, it is a sign of its infinity and, in consequence, of the subject’s inability to grasp its reality:29 God’s essence is indeed necessarily unknowable.30 We have thus arrived at a view none too distant from Plotinus,’ especially given that Philo too recognises a kind of negative theology in which the via negationis and the via eminentiæ 31 coincide. In this respect, then, Philo is an important forerunner of Plotinus. That he may have been Plotinus’ first forerunner as regards the ineffability and unnameableness of the Principle is, in my view, a hypothesis that should not be discounted, even though it calls for wide-ranging research if it is to be supported. Such research may be helped by some observations on the evolution of the notion of arreton in Middle Pythagoreanism. 25 Moses, I.75, trans. Colson and Whitaker, emphases added; see also The Worse Attacks the Better, 160. 26 I say ‘ought’ because some passages of Philo can be taken to mean that the biblical expression ‘He Who is’ does not really express the nature of God, but only His existence. Thus, for example, he says in On Dreams, ‘for it is not of the nature of Him that is to be spoken of, but simply to be. Testimony to this is afforded also by the divine response made to Moses’ question whether he has a name, even “I am He that is,” an anwser that was put in that manner so that, there being nothing in God that man is in any way able to grasp with his mind, he may nevertheless know His existence’ (I. 230). Likewise, On the Change of Names, 11. 27 The Worse Attacks the Better, 159. 28 Aristobulus took the same view (Fr. 2.10.10; cf. R. Radice, La filosofia di Aristobulo e i suoi nessi con il De Mundo attribuito ad Aristotele, preface by A. P. Bos, Milan, 2nd ed. 1995, p. 191) and he may also have proclaimed the ineffability of God, though there is no direct evidence that he did so. 29 On the Change of Names, 7. 30 See On the Special Laws, I.32. Unlike the Hermetics, Philo did not claim that God lacked an essence, but he did assert that the divine essence is necessarily unknowable. 31 Cf. On the Contemplative Life, 2; Præm. 40; R. Radice, Allegoria e paradigmi etici in Filone di Alessandria. Commentario al Legum Allegoriæ. Preface C. Kraus Reggiani, Milan, 2000, pp. 28ff.
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The Evolution of Arreton in the Hellenistic Period
The Middle Pythagoreans The following appears in a passage of the De Principiis that has come down to us as by the Pythagorean Archytas of Tarentum: It is necessary that there are two principles, one which has the series of ordered and defined objects, the other which has the series of disordered and indefinite objects and the former is identifiable with the name, it has a rational character (rhetan kai logon echousan) and holds together both the things that are defined and those that are not . . . On the contrary, the principle that is irrational and not identifiable with a name (alogon kai arreton) corrupts the ordered being and dissolves the realities that are generated and in being, and having always to do with things, assimilates them to itself.32
The same opposition between retan kai logon hechousan and alogon kai arreton is cited with the same meaning a little further on (line 20), and a similar relation can be found in Eurythus33 and Damippus34 in relation to eutuchia, a terms that should perhaps be taken in the sense of the ‘imponderable’ because unpredictable and irrational. But we have to wait until what is probably a later text,35 which has been attributed to Lysis of Tarentum, to find an apparently non-Platonic use of arreton. Here, God is defined as arithmos arretos;36 but this is a fleeting reference whose meaning is probably not technical and should be taken to mean a number that is so high as to be beyond words.37 Thus, in the Middle Pythagoreanism of the fourth to second centuries ..., the term arreton is generally taken in the negative sense that can be traced back to Plato.
32 H. Thesleff, The Pythagorean Texts of the Hellenistic Period, Abo, 1965, pp. 19, 5–12. 33 Thesleff, The Pythagorean Texts, p. 88, 12ff. 34 Thesleff, The Pythagorean Texts, p. 68, 12. 35 H. Thesleff, An Introduction to the Pythagorean Writings of the Hellenistic Period, Abo, 1961, p. 114. 36 Thesleff, The Pythagorean Texts, p. 114, 15f. 37 There is a similar definition by Opismus: tou megistou ton arithmon ten para ton engutato hyperochen.
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Middle Platonism Moving on to the Middle Platonism that takes us up to and beyond Philo, we find that the picture has changed substantially because the positive sense of arreton has become fairly widespread. Given that our present purpose is to offer a summary programme, we shall do no more than mention two texts of Alcinous38 and Apuleius. At Didaskalikos, X 165, 5, Alcinous does not connect the ‘unsayableness’ of the Principle with its incomprehensibility. Rather, he brings together two attributes of the divinity that, in the light of what we have seen so far, would seem to be irreconcilable. The words of the text run as follows: arretos di’ esti kai noi monoi leptos. It is clear that the term’s meaning has shifted in a way that comes out at Didaskalikos X 164, 7–8, where Alcinous is referring to Plato’s Seventh Letter (341C5). In that passage, the ‘unsayableness’ is taken to mean the impossibility of communication and not the impossibility of understanding. In this way, the Principle can be grasped, but it cannot be communicated or promulgated. We find a similar position in Apuleius.39 Here, God is called, among other things, indictus et innominabilis, but the reference is to another Platonic texts, namely, Timaeus, 28C2–4. Numenius’ Synthesis We thus arrive at the threshold of Plotinus with Numenius, who appears to bring together the two traditions on the question of the unnameableness-unsayableness of the Principle. On the one hand there is the positive, Philonian, account; and on the other, the negative, Platonic, one. Numenius regards matter40 to be as unknowable as he does the First Intellect;41 but he reserves the word aphatos for God,42 or rather for the eremia thespesios. Fragment 17, which attributes to the First Intellect the features of being autoon at the same time as being pantapasin agnooumenon, is not entirely clear. How, after all, could what is being-for-itself turn out
38 39 40 41 42
Didaskalikos, X 164, 31ff., especially 165, 5. De Platone et eius dogmate, V, 190. See fr. 13, Leemans. See fr. 26, Leemans. The expression aphatos kai adiegetos is similar to arretos.
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to be unknowable, when the Platonic tradition holds the exact opposite? Perhaps this can be explained by reference to the tradition of Philo and the Alexandrian Jews, of which Numenius almost certainly was aware.43 From Philo’s point of view, the terms autoon and agnooumenon are not in conflict, because the former corresponds to the name of God that comes to men not by way of knowledge but through revelation,44 while the latter expresses the impossibility of knowing the God’s essence noetically. As is well known, Numenius was an important reference point for Plotinus.45 So it is not unlikely that some of the Philonian inheritance descended to him by way of Numenius. But I am not convinced that this was the only, and perhaps not even the principal, lineage for the transmission of this influence. Indeed, I strongly suspect that Gnosticism may have constituted another line of communication. For this has much in common with Philo’s thought,46 and both Numenius47 and Plotinus take account of it, sometimes for the purposes of dispute and sometimes not. Gnostic Pressures on Plotinus In his Life of Plotinus (16), Porphyry tells us that in Plotinus’ day there was a group of Gnostics who appealed to the philosophy of the ancients, and against whom Plotinus felt impelled to argue in Enneads, II 9. In any case, Porphyry gives us clear enough indications and, 43 See fragments 9a, 9b and 19, Leemans. But note that we can also find in Porphyry the unnameableness of the One-Principle (Commentary on the ‘Parmenides,’ I 4: arretou kai akatonomastou) as well as the identification of the One with being (Hadot, Porfirio, p. 27); from which follows the unnameableness of being. Hadot notes (ibid.) that this equivalence would have been inconceivable for Plotinus. 44 Exodus 3:14; cf. Numenius fr. 22, Leemans. 45 Porphyry, Life of Plotinus 17, 1ff.: ‘Because in Greece some said that Plotinus copied Numenius . . .’ 46 For a certain period, the doctrines of the Oracles and Hermetism went along with those of Gnosticism. All three movements date to the first three centuries of the common era, a period of intense religious and philosophical syncretism, as we can see from the fact that the library at Nag Hammadi, which was probably the property of Gnostic Christians, contains also many Hermetic writings. Despite their differences of detail, these three movements share a philosophical and religious vision that it is almost impossible to separate fully from that of the Alexandrian Jews. There are also noteworthy convergences on the question of unnameableness, which we leave to one side for obvious reasons of space. 47 P. Impara, Il trattato sul bene di Numenio, Rome, 1980, p. 16.
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what is more, texts have been found in the Nag Hammadi library that could well be the same as those of the Gnostics whom Plotinus argues against. A fairly general identification of these individuals would lead us to the school of the Sethians,48 as well as, of course, the authors whose writings are mentioned by name in Porphyry’s biography.49 The reference to Seth in these authors agrees with what we find in Philo’s On the Posterity and Exile of Cain (esp. 170ff.), in which Seth’s genealogy is described and a number of important similarities with Gnostic doctrine can be made out. In this light, we should take seriously Philo’s allegorical interpretation of Seth’s name as meaning ‘other seed.’ I see no objection to regarding these Gnostics as forming a link between Philo and Plotinus,50 even granting that some of Plotinus’ themes are similar, at least conceptually if not literally, to what we find in Philo. Indeed, at Enneads, II.9.6.1ff., we find the following: And what ought one to say of the other beings they introduce, their ‘Exiles’ ( paroikeseis) and ‘Impressions’ (antitupous) and ‘Repentings’ (metanoias)? For if they say that these are affections of the soul, when it has changed its purpose, and ‘Impressions’ when it is contemplating, in a way, images of realities and not the realities themselves, then these are the terms of people inventing a new jargon to recommend their own school: they contrive this meretricious language as if they had no connection with the ancient Hellenic school, though the Hellenes knew all this and knew it clearly, and spoke without delusive pomposity of ascents from the cave and advancing gradually closer and closer to a truer vision. Generally speaking, some of these peoples’ doctrines have been taken from Plato, but others, all the new ideas they have brought in to establish a philosophy of their own, are things they have found outside the truth.
Plotinus’ point in this passage seems clear enough. He aims to show that what was right in the ‘specialities’ of Gnostic doctrine, with which they sought to build a new and original philosophical system, 48 Testi gnostici ed. L. Moraldi, Turin, 1982, p. 53 (the English translations follow the text and numeration of The Nag Hammadi Library ed. J. M. Robinson, San Francisco, 3rd ed., 1990) 49 In particular the treatises Zostrianos (NHC, VIII 1) and Allogenes (NHC XI 3). 50 In fact, Plotinus himself makes great play of the philosophical poverty, or lack of systematic rigour, in Gnostic thought. But the fact that he engages with them in dialectic means that he regards them as to some extent his competitors. In any case the philosophy of that period, with its mystic tendencies, concentrated on matters that had little to do with pure theory and much more to do with religion; for that reason, it was hard for a confrontation with Gnosticism to be avoided.
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was traceable to earlier Greek philosophy, while the things they added were of little value but only caused confusion. Yet the three terms that Plotinus picks on as standing for the Gnostics’ philosophical pretension are paroikesis, antitupos and metanoia. Of these, at least the first and the last have important antecedents in Philo.51 He dedicated the whole of the third treatise On the Virtues to metanoia and paroikesis, in the sense of a sojourn, is absolutely basic to his account of the migration of souls.52 These convergences give grounds for seeing a fairly close relation between Philo and the Jewish culture of Alexandria in general, and they may support the idea of Gnosticism as a vehicle for the spread of that culture’s underlying ideas. This is consistent with both (a) the fact that Philo was regarded as a Platonist and, up to a certain point, was one; and (b) the fact that, at least from Numenius onwards, philosophy took on roles traditionally occupied by religion and, in particular, by the sort of cultivated religiosity of which, in the first centuries of the common era, Gnosticism was so important an instance. Having once established the possibility of a relation between Philo and the Sethian Gnostics, we can easily understand the account these latter gave of the unnameableness of God, for instance in the treatise The Three Steles of Seth or in the Gospel of the Egyptians, as the following extracts testify: And [thou] knowest one, for this one who belongs to thee is on every side. We are not able to express him. For thy light shines upon us. Present a command to us to see thee, so that we may be saved Knowledge of thee, it is the salvation of us all. Present a Command. When thou dost command, we have been saved. Truly we have been saved. We have seen thee by mind. Thou art them all, for thou dost save them all, he who was not saved, nor was he saved through them. For thou, thou hast commanded us. Thou art one, thou art one, just as there is one (who) will say to thee: Thou art one, thou art a single living spirit. How shall we give thee a name? We do not have it. For thou art the existence of the all. Thou art the life of them all. Thou art the mind of them all. [For] thou [art he in whom they all] rejoice.53 51 The second, antitupos, has no direct antecedent in Philo, but, from what Plotinus explains, it could be identified in its meaning with tupos (imprint), which would give it an essential role in anthropology and psychology. 52 See R. Radice, ‘Il concetto di migrazione in Filone di Alessandria,’ introduction to Philo’s La migrazione all’eterno, Milan, 1988; on paroikesis and migration, p. 50. 53 Three Steles of Seth, NHC VIII 5 125 10ff.; trans. Robinson, pp. 400–1, emphasis added.
“ ”
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The [holy] book [of the Egyptians] about the great invisible [Spirit, the] Father whose name cannot be uttered, [he who came] forth from the heights of [the perfection, the] light of the light of the [aeons of light], the light of the [silence of the] providence
the Father of the silence, the light] of the word and the truth, [the] light [of the incorruptions, the] infinite light, [the] radiance from the aeons of light of the unrevealable, unmarked, ageless, unproclaimable Father the aeon of the aeons, Autogenes, self-begotten, self-producing, alien the really true aeon.54
Thus the theme of the ineffability of the God-Principle is a strong presence and worked out in all its nuances (unmarked, unproclaimable Father). Moreover, the justification of this ineffability can be found in treatises such as Eugnostos the Blessed and the Wisdom of Jesus Christ: No one rules over him, since he has no name; for whoever has a name is the creation of another. He is unnameable. He has no human form; for whoever has human form is the creation of another.55 The Savior said, “He Who Is is ineffable. No sovereignty knew him, no authority, no subjection, nor did any creature from the foundation of the world until now, except himself, and anyone to whom he wills to make revelation through him who is from the First Light. From now on I am the great Savior. For he is immortal and eternal. Now he is eternal, having no birth; for everyone who has birth will perish. He is unbegotten, having no beginning; for everyone who has a beginning has an end. No one rules whoever has a name is the creation of another. He is unnameable. He has no human form; for whoever has human form is the creation of another.”56
The Gnostic tradition thus adds a further meaning to the concept of the ineffability or unnameableness of the God-Principle, which has clear roots in Philo’s theory of language. This concerns the creative power of the word: if the word is creative, everything that is created has a name and what has no name was not created. And this is precisely the main feature of the Principle. The outline we have sketched illustrates how rich in meanings is the theme of ineffability. In the period under consideration, ineffability is connected to two questions of the greatest importance: that of the (positive) infinity of the Principle; and that of the value and representativeness of a ‘name.’ As to the former of these, we can see that 54 Gospel of the Egyptians, NHC III 40–1, transl Böhlig and Wisse, p. 209, emphasis added. 55 Wisdom of Jesus Christ, III, 4 94, trans. Parrot, p. 224, emphasis added. 56 Eugnostos the Blessed, NHC III, 3 72, trans. Parrot, p. 224, emphasis added.
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Philo marks the moment of change within Platonism, and that Numenius represents an intermediate position. As to the latter, Plotinus continues the Platonic tradition, while Philo and the Gnostics take a different route based on a strong conception of a name. What singles Plotinus out lies in what we have called the meaning ‘above words’ of a negative characterisation, where, however, the name reveals the lack of objectivity, and is distinguished from truth, in such a way as to display all its subjectivity,57 as pointing to an existential condition that is open to the transcendent.
57
In the sense of inhering in the subject.
INDEX OF PHILONIC PASSAGES
128 128 143 143 143 121 122
On the Life of Abraham (De Abrahamo) 1 59 4–5 68 12 57 17 55 27 55, 57, 141 57 55, 59 72 58 98 72 99 55 122 124, 127 127 141 188 58 196 137 201 55 212 138 216 138 251 55 275 68 276 68
48– 49 49 52 57 65 90 –94 94
On the Eternity of the World (De aeternitate mundi) 4 82 19 62 55 84 56 83, 83 57 84 68 84 111 82 120–122 75 121 75, 81 144 87
On the Preliminary Studies (De congressu eruditionis gratia) 28 138 129 135 130 143 164 137
On Agriculture (De agricultura) 89 133 161 164 161–162 162 174ss 153 175 159 179 154 On the Cherubim (De cherubim) 21 82 37 153 42 126, 128 43–44 125
On the Confusion of Tongues (De confusione linguarum) 31–32 133, 141 35 87 68 55 91 59 106 140 107–109 142 129 55, 57 130 55 132 143 165 143
On the Contemplative Life (De vita contemplativa) 2 175 17 82 25 128 74 152 On the Decalogue (De decalogo) 41 127 47 123 159 86 That the Worse Attacks the Better (Quod deterius potiori insidari soleat) 32 144 68 143 103 143 119 143 143 126
184
155 159 160 178
82 175 175 73, 143
On God (De Deus) 5 16 23–26 26 45–48 48 54 61 86 86ss 87ss 88 89 132ss 134 134–135 142–143 159–165 164–165 172 177
40 144 134 133 132 146 85 123 158 157, 158 164 159 158 161 162 162 137, 138 138 145 136 137
On Drunkenness (De ebrietate) 2 150, 159 63 162 98 141 143 61, 151, 160 146 127 158 162 203 162 Against Flaccus (In Flaccum) 2 99 3 100 4 99 7 99 9–10 100 12–13 100 15 100 17 100 19 101 19–20 101 23 112 27 112 29 101 33 102 34–35 102 36 102
39 42 43 45 46 49 52 54 55 69 73–77 77 82–83 98 101–102 111 116 142 153 154 158–160 162 163–165 166 167 169 173 176 225 243
57 112 63, 100 64 64, 100 64 103 65 62 103 103 113 104 105 106 115 114 106 107 107 107 107, 108 107 108 107 108 108 101 105 105
On Flight and Finding et inventione) 8,82 68–72 85 87–108 92 108 108–109 113 113ss 115 115–116 119ss
(De fuga 162 127 127 156 174 160 156 159 155 158, 159, 163 156 149
On Giants (De gigantibus) 1 60 30 162 48–51 134 54 128 58–59 84 58–60 84 64 138
185
Who Is the Heir? (Quis rerum divinarum heres sit) 14 47 24 48 45–46 136 54 82 63 80 70 138 96–99 66 128 82 277 58 Hypothetica 6 6,2 6,3
60 61 61
On the Life of Joseph (De Iosepho) 28 55 50 55 140 136 203 55 Allegorical Interpretation (Legum 1,1 48, 49, 1,2 48, 49, 1,8 48, 49 1,9 48 1,10 49 1,11 49 1,12 48, 49 1,14 49 1,15 48, 49 1,16 49, 50, 1,17 50, 51, 1,17ss 157 1,17–18 51 1,18 49 1,19 –21 50 1,21 50 1,23 49 1,24 49 1,28 48, 49, 1,31 49, 50, 1,32 48, 49 1,41 51 1,41 (=43) 51 1,43 49 1,48 50 1,49 –50 143 1,52 49, 51 1,53 51 1,56 49, 51 1,61 49, 50
allegoriae) 50 51
51 157, 158
50 51
1,63 1,63 (=78.79) 1,76 1,80 1,81 1,90 1,90 (97) 1,96 1,104 1,105 1,108 2,29 2,53 2,55 2,56 3,3 3,27 3,71 3,75 3,100 3,103 3,104 3,206–208 3,213 3,217–219 3,225 3,226 3,231
49, 50, 51 50 49, 51 50, 51 51 49, 51 50 51 122, 127 51 61 160 135 136 136 123, 126 123, 126, 127 127 135 124, 127 80 135 85 137 128 88 80, 88 80
On the Embassy to Gaius (Legatio ad Gaium) 1–2 8 3 71 4 55, 59 110 114 132 105 154 –157 20 155 63 156 13, 65 157 12 158 63 162 114 182 12 190 21 198–202 114 200 65 203 64, 115 205 58, 65, 115 211 22 212 65 214 64 214 –215 60, 64 215 65 216 63, 65
186 223 259 268 281 281–282 288 312–313 315 338 339 344 346–348 350 359 368
104 114 12 64, 65 64 64 65 65 114 114 114 114 12 105 105
On the Migration of Abraham (De migratione Abrahami) 13 138 14 59, 62 20 54 91–93 70 146 138 148–149 137 158 135 175 138 187 58 On Moses (De vita Mosis) 1,2 61 1,5 57, 58, 64 1,8 60, 64 1,15 55 1,57 34 1,75 175 1,105 55 1,143–147 55 1,149 72 1,178–180 55 1,216 55 1,218 55 1,243 55, 58 1,252 55 1,263 55 1,276 55 1,278 55 1,284 55 1,288–289 55 1,295 55 1,305 55 1,311 55 2,3 61 2,5–7 33 2,14 132
2,26 2,31 2,32 2,37 2,38 2,40 2,41 2,41– 42 2,71 2,138 2,153 2,161 2,189 2,224 2,271 2,291 2,292
56 56 55 56 56 56, 57 56 56 128 138 128 84 138 55 84 62 61
On the Change of Names (De mutationae nominum) 7 175 11 175 71 55 107 122, 127 185 136 189 59 220 155 On the Creation of the (De opificio mundi) 1–6 89 151–152
World 32 72 126
On Planting (De plantatione) 25 136 98 162 112 85 115 85 139ss 152 169 55 On the Posterity of Cain (De posteritate Caini) 10 143 17–31 144 22 144 22–31 131 28–29 141 32 144 35 143 42 143 49 –52 143 52 162
187
100–102 118 173 180
138 141 128 144
On Rewards and Punishments (De praemiis et poenis) 2 164 12–13 143 14 55, 57 17 82 23 55, 57, 61 31 55, 55, 57 40 175 44 55 53–56 61 62 164 62–63 135 120–121 127 That Every Good Person Is Free (Quod omnis probus liber sit) 2 83 28 133 29 83 68 83 75 60, 64 84 142 153 82 On Providence (De providentia) 2,50 75, 82 Questions and Answers on Exodus (Quaestiones et solutiones in Exodum) 1,12 146 On the Sacrifices of Abel and Cain (De sacrificiis Abelis et Caini) 3 135 5 143 28 162 60 127, 128 62 126, 128 68 132 90 133 137 163 On Sobriety (De sobrietate) 45 55 On Dreams (De somniis) 1,58 61 1,82 126
1,117 1,158 1,164 1,179 1,230 1,244 –248 1,246–248 1,252–253 1,254 2,8 2,11 2,14 2,25 2,150 2,225–231 2,250 2,276 2,279
47 132 125 137 175 139 137 152 152 83 142 83 153 162 134 55 59, 126 59
On the Special Laws (De specialibus legibus) 1,32 175 1,51–52 67 1,52 67 1,56 122 1,98 151 1,113 68, 70 1,141 60 1,168 72, 86 1,180 86 1,190 72 1,191 70 1,200 81 1,228 164 1,248ss 159 1,248–249 154 1,249 155 1,260 82 1,269 82 1,315 34 1,319 122 1,344 143, 144 1.97 72 2,41 55 2,86 55 2,119 65 2,120 –121 65 2,145 55 2,147 59 2,148 70 2,150 72 2,162 72 2,163–164 72 2,165 67 2,167 71, 72
188 2,217–218 2,73 3,4 –5 3,32 3,40 3,63 3,89 3,205 3,207 3,209 4,61 4,78
60 67 53 69 122 69 70 69 161 70 61 69
4,100 4,101 4,102 4,106 4,159 4,167–168 4,224
69 70 134 70 66, 67 139 58
On Virtue (De virtutibus) 172 75, 86 178 128 212 57
INDEX OF MODERN SCHOLARS Adinolfi, M., 108 Adler, M., 151 Amir, Y., 25, 27, 29, 32, 34, 35, 145 Amphoux, C.-B., 109 Armstrong, A. H., 167, 168, 170, 172 Arnaldez, R., 45, 47, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 61, 68, 72, 127, 144 Azariah de’ Rossi, 27, 43 Bacher, 43 Baer, R. A., 125 Bardy, G., 27 Barthèlemy, D., 35, 42, 49 Baumgartner, W., 81 Beckaert, A., 29 Belkin, S., 30, 54, 68 Berger, K., 68 Bernays, J., 12, 22 Bertram, B., 133 Bianchi, U., 118, 128 Bickerman, E. J., 8, 16, 18 Bigatti, R., 2 Birnbaum, E., 54, 55, 127 Black, M., 82 Blass, F., 51 Boertin, M., 147 Bogaert, P. M., 26 Böhlig, 181 Bonora, A., 64 Booth, R. P., 71 Borgen, P., 27, 29, 45–47, 54, 66, 124 Bornkamm, G., 119 Bos, 175 Boschi, B. G. L., 58 Bouffartigue, J., 136 Bouhot, J.-P., 109 Bousset, 39 Bowra, C. M., 76, 79, 85, 88 Boyancé, P., 81 Bréhier, E., 68 Brenton, L. C. L., 148, 150–53, 155, 156 Briend, J., 26 Brooke, A. E., 28 Buffière, F., 83
Cacciari, A., 5, 6 Cadiou, R., 34, 38, 46 Calabi, F., 1, 4, 6, 35, 53, 124, 142, 173, 174 Calvetti, G., 2 Canfora, L., 33 Casel, O., 117 Cataldi, M., 78 Cazeaux, J., 31, 77, 109 Cazelles, H., 34, 118 Cerfaux, M., 120 Charles, R. H., 84 Chiesa, B., 58 Chilton, C. W., 14 Christiansen, I., 31 Ciani, M. G., 79 Cohen, N. G., 47 Cohn, L., 28, 36, 38, 40, 43, 46, 49, 50, 58, 122 Colson, F. H., 32, 33, 40, 48, 50, 54, 55, 59–61, 66, 95, 102, 122, 149, 151–62, 175 Conybeare, F. C., 28, 39 Cothenet, É., 26 Cox, R. R., 47 Curtius, E. R., 153 Dal Pra, M., 6 Danby, H., 148, 165 Daniel, S., 120 Daniélou, J., 29, 35 Daraki, M., 93 Daube, D., 38 Daumas, F., 61 Davies, W., 38 De Romilly, J., 92 De Vaux, J., 147 Debrunner, A., 51 Decharneux, B., 123 Decleva Caizzi, F., 93 Delling, G., 58, 59 Destro, A., 104 Deutsch, F., 126, 144 Dillon, J., 45 Dodd, C. H., 38 Douglas, M., 160
190
Earp, J. W., 55, 61 Epstein, I., 34 Festorazzi, F., 64 Feuillet, A., 34 Firpo, G., 16 Frankel, Z., 27, 28 Freedman, D. N., 29, 32, 46 Freudenthal, J., 47 Friederich, G., 119 Fuks, A., 21 Gabba, E., 8 Galbiati, E. R., 7 Garbini, G., 57 Gastaldi, S., 91 Giannantoni, G., 93 Girgenti, G., 171 Goodenough, E. R., 54, 61, 119, 120, 128 Goodhart, H. L., 54 Goodman, M., 17, 54 Goulet, R., 148 Graffigna, P., 2, 4, 6, 81, 128 Greenspahn, F. E., 58 Grilli, A., 133, 145, 153 Haase, W., 29, 31, 47, 54 Hadas-Lebel, M., 106, 111 Hadot, P., 171, 178 Hamerton-Kelly, R. G., 47 Harl, M., 52, 62, 131–33, 135, 138, 146 Harvey, G., 86 Hay, D. M., 30 Hecht, R. D., 27, 45 Hegel, 18 Heinemann, I., 54 Hengel, M., 16 Hilgert, E., 54, 58 Holmes, 38, 39 Hornemann, 27 Howard, 44, 49 Impara, G., 178 Ioppolo, A. M., 93, 94 Irigoin, 86 Jellicoe, S., 35, 38, 42 Jowett, 165 Junod, E., 32 Juster, J., 12, 63
Kahle, P., 38 Katz, P., 28, 36, 38, 39, 41, 42, 44–46, 49, 50 Kittel, G., 119 Knox, W. L., 40 Koehler, L., 81 Kraabel, T., 13 Kraft, R. A., 42 Kraus Reggiani, C., 1, 2, 7, 32, 99, 100, 106, 124, 175 Kuntzmann, R., 45 Lanza, D., 91, 103, 104, 114, 115 Lazzeroni, R., 78 Leemans, 177, 178 Lefkowitz, 86 Leisegang, I., 58 Leon, H. J., 20 Lévy, C., 126, 136 Lilla, S., 145, 146 Loisy, A., 117 Lugaresi, L., 96, 98, 104, 109, 110 Mack, B. L., 47, 58 Maddalena, A., 1, 59 Maehler, H., 76 Mangey, T., 36, 38, 43, 49 Markus, R., 163 Mattioli, U., 6 Mazzanti, A. M., 1, 2, 4, 7, 124, 126–28 Mc Lean, N., 28 Méasson, A., 83 Merklein, H., 32 Mez, A., 39 Milgrom, J., 147, 148 Milik, J. T., 84 Millar, F., 54 Minissale, A., 148 Minniti Colonna, M., 76 Miquel, P., 61 Momigliano, A., 8 Mondesért, C., 45, 55, 56, 58, 72, 123 Montanini, F., 117 Montevecchi, O., 7 Moraldi, L., 53, 61, 66–70, 179 Moulinier, L., 160 Mulder, M., 34 Müller, K., 32 Nazzaro, A., 34, 57 Nestle, E., 39
Neusner, J., 63, 69, 160 Newton, M., 71 Nikiprowetzky, V., 31, 34, 45, 53, 56, 57, 68, 81, 87, 159, 164, 165 Nock, A. D., 117, 120, 128 Nohl, H., 18 Noonan, J. T., 60 Orrieux, Cl., 13 Parrot, 181 Parson, 38 Parsons, P., 42 Pascher, J., 137 Passoni Dell’Acqua, A., 3, 7, 64 Pelletier, A., 53, 55, 57, 59, 62, 64, 65, 67 Penna, R., 63 Pèpin, J., 81, 82, 84, 121 Pesce, M., 104 Petit, F., 163 Pfeiffer, 79 Pick, B., 28, 37, 49 Pirot, L., 118 Pohlenz, M., 163 Possevino, 27 Post, L. A., 172 Pouilloux, J., 55, 56, 58, 61, 72 Prato, G. L., 60 Preuschen, E., 18 Prümm, K., 118 Pucci ben Zeev, M., 21 Puech, A., 76, 79, 82, 85, 88 Quast, U., 29 Rabbinowitz, J., 34 Radice, R., 1, 2, 5–7, 54, 155, 157, 158, 175, 180 Rahlfs, H. 28, 41, 42, 50, 51 Reale, G., 1 Rehkopf, F., 51 Reiter, S., 122 Reitzenstein, R., 117 Richter, A. 49 Robert, A., 118 Robertson Nicoll, W., 39 Robinson, 179, 180 Rokeah, D., 57 Rosso Ubigli, L., 3, 7 Runia, D. T., 1, 27, 31, 54, 62, 81 Ryle, H. E., 28, 36–38, 49
191
Sacchi, P., 7, 68, 70, 71 Salvaneschi, E., 3, 8 Sandmel, S., 29, 35, 48, 59, 66 Savinel, P., 55, 56, 58, 61, 72 Scarpat, G., 119 Scarpi, P., 79 Schlosser, J., 45 Schröder, A., 39, 41 Schürer, E., 16, 54 Schürmann, H., 148 Scobie, C. H. H., 148 Shorey, 168 Siegfried, C., 28, 36, 37, 46, 48, 49 Simon, M., 34 Sisti, A., 64 Smallwood, E. M., 53, 59, 63 Smiley, M. T., 78 Snell, B., 76 Soffritti, O., 119 Stein, E., 47 Stemberger, G., 165 Stern, M., 11, 18, 58, 61, 64, 69, 71 Stewart, Z., 117 Steyn, G. J., 35 Stone, M. E., 27, 29, 32 Swete, H. B., 38 Tcherikover, V., 21 Temporini, H., 29, 31, 47 Thackeray, H. St J., 28 Thesleff, H., 176 Thorne, G. W. A., 31, 48 Thyen, H., 120 Tischendorf, 39 Tov, E., 42 Troiani, L., 2, 8, 15, 53, 59, 63 Turnebus, A., 36 Van der Horst, P. W., 68 Vegetti, M., 6, 91, 94, 95, 96, 114 Vermaseren, M. J., 118 Vermes, G., 54 Veyne, P., 96 Vian, G. M., 160 Völker W., 123 Vollmer, H., 39 Von Balthasar, H. U., 93, 96 Walter, N., 61 Wan, S., 30 Weisman, Z., 147 Wendland, P., 28, 38, 40, 43, 58
192
Werner, 27 Wevers, J. W., 29, 51, 158 Whitaker, G. H., 48, 54, 95, 102, 122, 149, 151–63, 175 Wiens, D. H., 118
Will, E., 13 Wilson, 86 Winston, D., 33, 45 Wisse, 181 Wolfson, H. A., 34, 66, 67, 81, 83 Wong, C.-K., 55
