More Citations: A Fateful Turning of the Spheres . . .

Mandaean Gnostics

Here's another article I wrote, this one on Gnosticism and the breaking of fate:

Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism - Jstor by HJ Hodges - ‎1997 - ‎Cited by 6 - ‎Related articles DETERMINISM: HIPPARCHAN "TREPIDATION". AND THE BREAKING OF FATE. BY. HORACE JEFFERY HODGES. Introduction. Of all the intellectual systems ...

This was published way back in 1997, so it should have a few more citations:

Cosmology and Fate in Gnosticism and Graeco-Roman Antiquity: Under ...  Nicola F. Denzey - 2013 - ‎Social Science In a provocative article, Horace [Jeffery] Hodges points out the highly technical nature of ... Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate," VC 51/4 (1997), 368.

Classifying Christians: Ethnography, Heresiology, and the Limits of ...  Todd S. Berzon - 2016 - ‎Religion On astrological determinism among the Gnostics, see Horace Jeffrey (sic., Jeffery) Hodges, ... Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate," VC 51.4 (1997): 359–73; ...

The Books of Jeu and the Pistis Sophia as Handbooks to Eternity: ...  Erin Evans - 2015 - ‎Religion Hodges, H.J., "Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism: Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate," Vigiliae Christianae 51 (1997), 359–373.

Knowledge and Religious Authority in the Pseudo-Clementines: ...  Nicole Kelley - 2006 - ‎Religion ... power of astral determinism see Horace Jeffery Hodges, "Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism: Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate ...

There are actually several more citations, but they would be harder to copy and paste here.

Astrology in Gnosticism

Bullsh*t

The friend whom I referred to as a thought-thief also displayed a lack of integrity on the issue of astrology in Gnosticism. She gave a presentation on Gnosticism and was asked if astrology was found in the gnostic system. She said she hadn't noticed it.

I spoke up and said, "I can answer this question. Astrology is pervasive in Gnosticism."

My friend didn't like to hear that, and she said to me later that when one visits another person's seminar for the first time, one should remain courteously silent.

I knew that  was bullsh*t, and that the real reason was that she was embarrassed at being so totally wrong on such a basic point in a field within which she was supposedly an expert.

The Gnostic Conception of the Evil Cosmos and the Soteriological Breaking of Fate

Claudia Maggi
(I Presume)

I occasionally come across references to my scholarly writings, and the passage below in Italian (April 2007, Puissances de l'âme, Varia, "La concezione plotiniana dell’uomo tra fascino e autodominio: la questione degli influssi astrali" ("The Plotinian conception of man between charm and self-control: the question of astral influences") by Claudia Maggi (p. 353-371) for Etudes Platoniciennes) discusses an article of mine on astrological fate and the views of Gnostics:

La demonizzazione del cosmo sensibile che è, secondo Hodges, la più grande innovazione apportata dallo gnosticismo al pensiero antico spiegherebbe l’obiezione gnostica al determinismo astrale. Questo è legato alla rottura del regno spirituale attuata da Sophia: nella caduta, Sophia avrebbe perso parte della sua sostanza spirituale; il Dio inferiore, prodotto accidentalmente dalla sua caduta, avrebbe intrappolato la sostanza persa da Sophia all’interno di corpi umani materiali, per assicurarsi l’asservimento dei quali avrebbe assegnato sette entità subordinate ai sette pianeti, assegnando loro il compito, come fato, di tenere legati gli uomini al mondo della materia. Hodges ritiene che gli gnostici intravidero nell’idea che la regolarità del cielo potesse influenzare gli eventi sulla Terra la prova di un progetto malvagio il cui scopo era intrappolare l’uomo. Al contrario è probabile che almeno alcuni gnostici utilizzassero le irregolarità celesti dimostrate da Ipparco con la precessione degli equinozi come prova di un intervento soteriologico nel mondo che consentiva di rompere il solo apparente determinismo causato dal movimento regolare del cielo.

In this passage, Maggi directs us to see H. J. Hodges, "Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism: Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate" (Vigiliae Christianae 51 (1997), 359-360; 372-373). For those readers who don't know Italian, here's a loose translation:

The demonization of the intelligible cosmos, which is, according to Hodges, the greatest innovation brought by Gnosticism to ancient thought, would explain the Gnostic objection to astral determinism. This is related to the breakdown of the spiritual realm accomplished by Sophia: in her fall, Sophia had lost some of her spiritual substance; the inferior god, accidentally produced by her fall, trapped the substance lost by Sophia within material human bodies, to secure the enslavement of which he would assign seven entities subordinate to the seven planets, assigning them the task, as fate, of keeping human beings connected to the world of matter. Hodges thinks that the Gnostics saw, in the idea that the regularity of the planetary heavens could influence events on Earth, evidence of an evil project whose aim was to trap human beings in the world. In contrast to this fateful cosmic regularity, Hodges finds probable evidence that at least some Gnostics used the celestial irregularities demonstrated by Hipparchus with the precession (or rather, in this article, with the "trepidation") of the equinoxes as proof of a soteriological intervention in the cosmos that enabled a breaking of the determinism caused by the regular movement of the planetary heavens.

Something like this is what I meant. This article of mine has been used and cited quite a few times in the scholarly world, so here is the evidence that I could have added something of value to the debates over gnosticism, if only I had received the support of a friend who wouldn't write the recommendation I needed when I was applying for a job. But that's a long time ago . . .

Postmodern Proverbs: Marriage of Convenience

Bad/Good

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions . . . and also bad intentions."

Moral: The Cat's Paw

Hermeneutic of Dissuspicion: Know left from right, but let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing.

Conclusion: The Entirety is Incoherent.

Todd S. Berzon Briefly Cites Me on Astrological Determinism

Google Images

Professor Todd S. Berzon, in his book Classifying Christians: Ethnography, Heresiology, and the Limits of Knowledge in Late Antiquity (2016), cites me on page 4, in footnote 17:

On astrological determinism among the Gnostics, see Horace Jeffrey Hodges, "Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism: Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate," VC 51.4 (1997): 359–73.

He also cites Professor Nicola Denzey Lewis, whom I blogged on yesterday, so he probably learned of me in her book.

This citation of my article is merely a footnote, but that's not nothing, so I wish my name were spelled right ("Jeffery," not "Jeffrey"), but I seem fated to suffer such misrecognition, due to the unusual spelling of my name.

And I wish I weren't named "Horace" . . .

Another Scholar Citing Me: Nicola F. Denzey on Cosmology and Fate

Cosmology and Fate

Amazon

Nicola F. Denzey, in her book Cosmology and Fate in Gnosticism and Graeco-Roman Antiquity: Under Pitiless Skies (2013), cites me:

In a provocative article, Horace Hodges points out the highly technical nature of Pistis Sophia's astrological theory, including jargon such as 'squares,' 'trines' and '(periods of) influence.'[11] Jesus tells his disciples that he rotated the sphere of the zodiac first to the left then to the right, such that the stars would seem to move eastward along the ecliptic, then westward, thus thwarting the predictive powers of the astrologers based on now-antiquated knowledge of celestial movements. Hodges raises the possibility that somehow, the Hellenistic Greek astronomer Hipparchus's 'discovery' of the precession of the equinoxes (an apparent eastward motion of the zodiacal signs) and 'trepidation' - an apparent retrograde motion of the stars - eventually made its way into the Pistis Sophia's soteriology and cosmology. Since Hipparchus's work was known and cited by the Roman Greek astronomer Ptolemy (90–168 CE), it is perhaps not entirely controversial to suggest that Hipparchus's discoveries 'trickled down' to various religious authors of the second century CE, who posited in turn that only a deity of tremendous power might have effected such a dramatic cosmic shift as rotating the cosmic axis. Furthermore, the workings of this deity were known only to a privileged few through revelation or initiation; others (most notably, here, the supposedly learned astrologers peddling an alternate and intractable theory of determinism) only perpetuated a theory of enslavement that had been stealthily and irrevocably undone.

She adds a footnote:

[11] Horace Jeffrey Hodges, "Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism: Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate," VC 51/4 (1997), 368. In my opinion, Hodges accepts too uncritically the outdated notion that individuals in antiquity suffered a sense of cosmic pessimism and enslavement; nevertheless, the article provides some interesting insights into the cosmology of a woefully neglected text.

Quite a citation! Very complex! Of course, I'd need to review my article to be sure that my argument is correctly summarized. Also, "Jeffrey" should be "Jeffery." And I wish I weren't named "Horace" - but that's not the fault of the writer.

UPDATE: Nicola F. Denzey also goes by Nicola Denzey Lewis, which I ought to have noted before since her book was published under that name.

Boasting and Boosting with Bruno!

Jeffery
and
Bruno Littlemore

The other day over at the Marmot's Hole, I had the chance to play historian on a brief discussion of the reason for the American Civil War. One commentator had cited certain historians who claimed that the war was about states' rights. I objected by citing Wikipedia - yes, Wikipedia, because ease of access sometimes trumps scholarly rectitude - and posting this remark:

On the other hand, one significant figure, Confederate Vice President Alexander Stephens, delivered the Cornerstone Speech (aka Cornerstone Address) at the Athenaeum in Savannah, Georgia, on March 21, 1861, and he said of the Confederate Constitution, that:

"Our new Government is founded upon . . . the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery, subordination to the superior race, is his natural and normal condition."

This would seem to indicate that the South saw slavery as a significant issue - possibly the most significant? - of the war.

I was actually thanked for that helpful tidbit, so I responded in an agreeable manner:

The states' rights interpretation was part of revisionist history that opposed the older historical interpretation that the war was about slavery. Not that there's anything wrong in principle with revisionist history, generally speaking (no, not General Lee speaking!). Merely that revisionism, while useful in calling attention to different interpretations, tends to exaggerate its own interpretation. Why? Because there are careers to be made!

I gained this insight too late to make personal use of it even though I had something extraordinary to say about John's Gospel and Gnosticism . . .

I was then asked what "extraordinary" thing I'd had to say "about John's Gospel and Gnosticism", so I replied and linked to a couple of online sites:

Here are two online sites, each with a presentation I gave on John and Gnosticism in late 1999:

"'Ethical' Dualism of Food in The Gospel of John"

"Gift-Giving Across the Sacred-Profane Divide: A Maussian Analysis of Heavenly Versus Earthly Food in Gnosticism and John’s Gospel"

The audiences of academics were very interested in my reinterpretation, but no university department cared enough even to interview me for a position.

My career therefore took a different turn, which is how I ended up here in South Korea.

Such such is life.

And life does go on . . .

More Vanity Googling . . .

Volume 5 Shown

Brill

I did some vanity Googling again and discovered my name . . . or sort of my name . . . acknowledged in Volume 2 in the series of which Volume 5 is depicted above: "Jeffrey H. Hodges":

Thanks also to Jeffrey H. Hodges at the University of Tübingen, for providing an additional collation of the text of the synopsis against the facsimile edition and the photographs of BG 8502, and for his many suggestions for improvements in the translation.

This was written by Michael Waldstein, with whom I worked for several months on the Gnostic text The Apocryphon of John, deciphering facsimiles of the Coptic original, a task exceedingly obscure! Michael had asked my assistance because I had not only mastered Coptic, I had constructed my own synopsis of the four copies of The Apocryphon of John, employing a scissors-and-paste method, the "collation" that he refers to, if I recall.

Despite getting my name wrong -- an error shared with so many other illustrious individuals -- Michael was quite helpful and supportive in our time at Tübingen, once leaning over in a seminar to whisper, "It's an interesting point," when I drew a link between a Gnostic text and a New Testament passage that our German colleagues tended to dismiss. Michael was Austrian. I don't know that his nationality made a difference, but I appreciated his support . . . though I no longer recall the point that I was making.

Maybe that poor recall accounts for the radically different direction that my career has taken . . . not quite good enough for religious studies.

And Citing My Doctoral Thesis on John's Gospel . . .

Amazon Books

I thought that I'd long been forgotten by the world of religious studies, but as I was doing some vanity Googling, I stumbled upon this recent book, published only last year by Dr. Esther Kobel, that cites my doctoral thesis, Food as Synecdoche in John's Gospel and Gnostic Texts, rather extensively in fact, often with approval, though parting ways where I go too far . . . in Kobel's opinion. There's no need to take my blog readers through each citation, but the summary provided might be of interest . . . even if the Kobel does get my name rather radically wrong, e.g., "Jefferey H. Hodges," "Jeffery Horace Hodges," and so forth:

The challenge of considering all Johannine passages containing meal scenes and food issues has been met by Jefferey H. Hodges in a doctoral thesis entitled Food as Synecdoche in John's Gospel and Gnostic Texts. Hodges explores the ingesting images in various religious traditions including Gnosticism. To date, this is the most comprehensive study of Johannine food imagery and its symbolic interpretation. Hodges suggests that basically all food passages explored are to be understood as eucharistic. Hodges also identifies a synecdochical use of food in the Gospel of John, according to which food signifies and is part of the heavenly as well as earthly realms. This dualism related to food is then compared to dualisms in Gnostic texts and texts of late-antiquity Judaism and Early Christianity. Although there are obvious parallels between John's food-related dualism, and the respective dualism found in Gnostic texts, Hodges affirms that the latter significantly differ from the former. The Johannine understanding presupposes an ethical dualism: a righteous God and a world that has grown sinful. The Gnostic texts, however, presuppose the dualism to be ontological: a perfect spiritual realm, versus the evil, material world. Thus, Hodges suggests, there is a different meaning to Jesus' avoidance of food[,] different from the abstention revealed in Gnostic texts. Drawing on his investigation into early Jewish traditions, Hodges suggests that vinegar symbolizes the corrupted world. By accepting the earthly vinegar at the crucifixion, Jesus synecdochically consumes the entire world, and thereby eliminates its sinfulness. The fact that this happens willingly points to an irreconcilable difference when compared with Gnostic thinking. Johannine uses of food, Hodges argues, derive not from Gnosticism (despite the obvious parallels) but from Jewish traditions. (Esther Kobel, Dining with John: Communal Meals and Identity Formation in the Fourth Gospel in its Historical and Cultural Context, Brill Academic Publishers, 2011)

For any readers interested in pursuing this further, there's an online pdf copy of the book on Google Scholar, where one can use the search function to look for "Hodges" and see what Dr. Kobel says about my thesis.

I just wish I knew why my name is so difficult for everybody, for Kobel is neither the first nor that last to stumble over its spelling and the order of its first and middle names (and even my surname here in Korea) . . .

Grave News about Jesus in Japan . . .

Christ's Grave Notice

Photo by Andrew Pothecary

CNNGO

Graphic designer Andrew Pothecary, an occasional photographer, took the above photo for a CNN report offered in an article, "Did Jesus Christ live and die in northern Japan?" (CNN Global Experiences, February 16, 2012). The short answer, of course, is "No" -- and the long answer is "Hell No!" -- but this 'grave' notice begs to differ:

When Jesus Christ was 21 years old, he came to Japan and pursued knowledge of divinity for 12 years. He went back to Judea at age 33, and engaged in his mission. However, at that time, people in Judea would not accept Christ's preaching. Instead, they arrested him and tried to crucify him on a cross. His younger brother, Isukiri casually took Christ's place and ended his life on the cross.

Christ, who escaped the crucifixion, went through the ups and downs of travel, and again came to Japan. He settled right here in what is now called Herai Village, and died at the age of 106.

On this holy ground, there is dedicated a burial mound on the right to deify Christ, and a grave on the left to deify Isukiri.

The above description was given in a testament by Jesus Christ.

I suppose I should try to figure out precisely how this legend came about, but I lack the time and energy. Supposedly, according to Pothcary, "a local Shinto priest came across the 'evidence' now housed in the museum in 1935." I think Pothecary means that the Shinto priest came across some document in 1935. I suspect that the Shinto priest read some Gnostic writings, for a few Gnostic texts speak of Judas Iscariot (i.e., Isukiri) as being crucified instead of Jesus. The identification of Judas as Jesus's brother might stem from the Gospel of Thomas, which -- if I recall -- refers to "Judas Thomas" (a different Judas) as the brother of Jesus. The name "Thomas" is Aramaic, by the way, and means "twin" (rendered in the Greek version as "Judas Didymus," i.e., "Judas the Twin"). Somebody has undoubtedly looked into all this, so I need not do so.

As for the 'grave' notice, I like how Judas "casually" takes the place of Jesus on the cross -- I can just imagine Judas walking up to the arrested Jesus and saying, "Hey, Bro, I'll take it from here, 'cause I'm feelin' kinda guilty 'bout betrayin' you an' all . . ."

Horace Jeffery Hodges: "Crossing the Sacred-Profane Divide in Gnosticism and John's Gospel"

Ewha Womans University Press

Yesterday saw the arrival of my copy of Trans-Humanities, a journal published by Ewha Womans University, containing my most recent publication, "Crossing the Sacred-Profane Divide in Gnosticism and John's Gospel" (Trans-Humanities, 2011, Volume 4, Number 1). Readers with interest enough to obtain a copy can find my article on pages 163-176. Here's the abstract:

Abstract

Marcel Mauss and Mary Douglas together offer a theoretical understanding of gift-giving that enables us to draw a crucial distinction between the crossing of the sacred-profane boundary in Gnostic systems and the Johannine one. This distinction is particularly evident when such crossing leads to transactions involving the offer of nourishment. The sacred and the profane do not easily mix in any system, but in Gnostic texts and John's Gospel, the conflict between these dynamic forces of the two realms is presented as working itself out differently. This conflict is irresolvable in the former due to its substance dualism, but it is resolvable in the latter due to its ethical dualism. Gifts of nourishment accentuate this difference, such that the reciprocity and ambiguity that Mauss sees in gift-giving work out their implications differently. Conflict is shown to be accentuated in Gnostic systems, but ultimately resolved in the Johannine one. (Horace Jeffery Hodges, "Crossing the Sacred-Profane Divide in Gnosticism and John's Gospel," Trans-Humanities, 2011, Volume 4, Number 1, page 176)

For a taste of the article itself, here's the introduction:

Perhaps, as has been said, we live today in a fast-changing world in which cultural boundaries undergo rapid deconstruction and reconstruction. But in our emphasis upon the radical transformations that occur in our present age, we might forget that boundaries have always been contested. Such forgetfulness draws a line between our time and the past, but a drawn line presents a challenge. This paper will attempt to cross that implicit, temporal boundary, along with some disciplinary boundaries, e.g., anthropology and religious studies, and thereby offer a new horizon on boundary-crossing in some ancient texts. The boundary in question is the one between the profane and the sacred, and a few things need to be said here by way of introduction. This border between the profane and the sacred identifies a division between the ordinary and the extraordinary. Although the sacred realm is generally considered to contain dynamic power, each of these two realms can be understood as having a power of its own. Particularly in Gnosticism, due to its radical substance dualism, the profane realm has significant power at odds with the sacred realm. Similarly, canonical Christianity presupposes a power within the profane realm. The opposition of these forces poses problems for anyone or anything moving across the sacred-profane border. An earthly descent by a sacred being thus constitutes a precarious excursion, particularly if this involves an encounter with earthly nourishment, and especially if this nourishment is presented as a gift, as we shall come to see through applying the insights of Marcel Mauss on reciprocity and ambiguity in gift-giving. To understand the danger better, consider the social role that food and drink play. In an anthropological study on the role of drinking, Mary Douglas notes how drinks can "act as markers of personal identity and of boundaries of inclusion and exclusion" ("Distinctive" 8). Much the same holds for food, which, as Douglas notes, "actually delivers good fellowship" ("Standard" 12). Food and drink as gifts increase the force of this bonding and reciprocity, and when nourishment as a gift crosses the sacred-profane border, some very interesting consequences result that depend upon the difference between the sacred and the profane and upon the intention of the giver or recipient. In Gnostic systems, with their substance dualism of good spirit and evil matter, genuine gift-giving cannot occur, for neither true bonding nor actual reciprocity is possible between two intrinsically antithetical realms. Such gifts are pseudo-gifts intended for subverting the power of the one accepting them. This contrasts with systems based upon an ethical dualism of good and evil, where genuine gift-giving across the sacred-profane divide is possible. To illustrate this difference, this paper will focus upon the descent of heavenly figures in Gnostic texts and the purportedly 'Gnostic' Gospel of John, their encounter with gifts of earthly nourishment, and their own gifts of heavenly nourishment.

Douglas, Mary. "A Distinctive Anthropological Perspective." Constructive Drinking: Perspectives on Drink from Anthropology. Ed. Mary Douglas. Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987.

---. "Standard Social Uses of Food: Introduction." Food in the Social Order: Studies of Food and Festivities in Three American Communities. New York: 1984.

Perhaps that will prove enticing, my gift to you of food for thought . . .

Harold W. Attridge on Melchizedek in Hebrews

Harold W. Attridge

(Image from Yale Divinity School)

I reported briefly on Melchizedek in the New Testament book of Hebrews back in October, and since my Bible study group is looking into this mysterious figure later this morning, I thought that I'd post what Harold Attridge has to say in his Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, starting first with his translation of Hebrews 7:1-3:

(1) Now this "Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of God Most High," he "who met Abraham when he returned from the defeat of the kings and blessed him, (2) to whom Abraham apportioned a tithe of all things," who is interpreted first as "king of righteousness," then also "king of Salem," that is 'king of peace," (3) being without father, mother, or lineage, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but likened to the Son of God, he remains a priest perpetually. (Attridge, Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989, page 186a)

Attridge then offers a five-page commentary that I won't quote, but I will quote an excursus of his that's not quite as lengthy, though it's also long:

Excursus: Melchizedek

The mysterious figure of Melchizedek generated considerable interest, beginning in Jewish apocalyptic circles and continuing, partly on the basis of Hebrews's brief remarks, throughout the patristic period. While for historians such as the anonymous Samaritan known as Pseudo-Eupolemus and for Josephus Melchizedek remained a human priest-king, for other Jewish authors he became something more.

Philo typically finds in Melchizedek an allegorical symbol. In interpreting Gen 14 he begins, as does Hebrews, with etymology and an argumentum e silentio [i.e., argument from silence]. His allegory then becomes complex, uncovering a variety of referents in the many scriptural symbols in the passage. In two respects his handling of Melchizedek parallels the moves he makes in allegorizing other scriptural priests. A political interpretation of Melchizedek in terms of a good king leads into a psychological interpretation in terms of the human mind (νοῦς [i.e., nous]). Finally, as with other priests, Melchizedek becomes a symbol of the divine Logos, although in a revelatory rather than creative function. There are no traces of any particular Melchizedek myth and there is no warrant for the view that Melchizedek is understood to be a heavenly figure. Whether, as in the case of his notion of priestly angels, speculation on a heavenly being ultimately underlies Philo's allegory is unclear.

More solid evidence of speculation on a heavenly Melchizedek has been found at Qumran in a fragmentary document, 11QMelch. The text, which forms part of an eschatological midrash on Lev 5:9-13, is paleographically datable to the early first century CE [i.e., =AD], or, more likely, to the late first century BCE [i.e., =BC]. In the fragment, the Jubilee year of Leviticus is interpreted as the eschatological release of the captives of Belial, the name of the angelic leader of the forces of darkness common at Qumran. The agent of this release is Melchizedek, whose function is primarily judgmental. As part of the eschatological redemption that he provides, iniquities are removed and expiation effected. These are clearly priestly functions, although Melchizedek is not explicitly called a priest. As a judge he is identified with the אלהים [i.e., 'elohiym] of Ps 82:1, who "stands in the assembly of El and judges in the midst of the Elohim." He is thus a heavenly being, probably modeled after or even identical with the angel Michael, Belial's regular adversary. This image of Melchizedek indicates one strand of speculation on his heavenly status, but, like the notion of a priestly messiah to which it may be related, this speculation is hardly the direct source of Hebrews's image of the priest-king.

Further evidence of possibly relevant speculation on Melchizedek as a heavenly being is found in 2 Enoch and among the Nag Hammadi texts. Dating the first work, which survives only in Old Slavonic, is problematic and its manuscript tradition complex. The work was probably composed in the first century CE, and the basic Melchizedek legend, found more fully in witnesses to a longer recension, is certainly not a Christian interpolation and is probably an original component of the work. According to this legend, the great-grandson of Enoch and the brother of Noah, the priest Nir, has a son, miraculously conceived and born from the corpse of his mother. This child, Melchizedek, is chosen to be saved from the flood to continue the line of priests that began with Seth. How the succession is to occur is not clear, since the child is taken by Michael [i.e., Michael the angel] to paradise where he is to remain forever. The Melchizedek whom Abraham is to meet is another individual, possibly a reincarnation, and at least a copy of the original, now heavenly, Melchizedek. From the Abrahamic Melchizedek a succession of priests will culminate in an eschatological High Priest, the "word and power of God." He too will be a Melchizedek, whose precise functions are unclear, apart from performing great miracles. While there are probably Christian interpolations in this account, the basic scheme of successive Melchizedeks, modeled on the original and exalted one, is hardly Christian.

A very similar notion seems to underlies the fragmentary Nag Hammadi tractate Melchizedek (NHC 9, 1 [i.e., = Nag Hammadi Codex 9, 1]), dated between the second and fourth centuries. Although the text has undergone Christian and Gnostic revision, the framework of the story and its conception of Melchizedek are earlier. According to this account, Melchizedek, a human figure modeled on the heavenly Christ, has a vision of the eschatological tole he is destined to play, in which he is equated with Jesus. This Melchizedek story has interesting formal similarities to the legend in 2 Enoch and could have been adapted from such a source where a heavenly and eschatological Melchizedek of the sort found at Qumran was identified with Christ.

The inspiration for Hebrews' treatment of Melchizedek probably derives from one or another of these speculative trends, one that saw Melchizedek as an angelic defender of Israel (Qumran) or as an exalted, possibly angelic, heavenly priest (Philo?, 2 Enoch, 3 Enoch, Nag Hammadi). In neither case are the parallels exact and exhaustive, but they do indicate contexts in which the "eternal life" of Melchizedek would be more than a literary conceit.

Subsequent reflections on Melchizedek in Jewish circles occasionally portray him as an eschatological figure and he is sometimes identified with Michael [i.e., Michael the angel]. More commonly, possibly for apologetic purposes, Melchizedek is domesticated by being identified with Shem. In other contexts, his significance is diminished, since he loses his office because he has blessed Abraham before God. Accordingly Ps 110 is construed unfavorably for Melchizedek.

More fanciful speculation develops in Christian circles, some of which may be based on Jewish traditions of Melchizedek as a heavenly being. Particularly interesting are reports of the so-called Melchizedekians. In Rome of the late second century, certain Monarchians, led by one Theodotus the banker, maintained the view that Christ, who came upon Jesus at baptism, was inferior to Melchizedek, the name of a major "heavenly power." This mythic structure parallels that of 2 Enoch and the Nag Hammadi tractate Melchizedek, while the language of a heavenly "power" is found frequently in early Gnostic sources. The earliest witness to this movement, Hippolytus, does not give any indication of the use of Hebrews or Ps 110 in the development of the theory about Melchizedek, and this theory probably derived directly from Jewish models.

The image of Melchizedek as an angelic priestly intercessor, found particularly in Ps.-Tertullian may suggest the sort of Jewish Melcizedek speculation that was involved. That speculation bears a striking resemblance to the tradition of Jesus as a heavenly priest that probably underlies the christological portrait of Hebrews. Perhaps the heavenly Melchizedek known to our author was such a figure. If so, it is at most implicit in his title (7:1). Further intimations of the speculation on Melchizedek as heavenly intercessor may be found in Origen's opinion that Melchizedek was an angel and in the Gnostic Pistis Sophia and Books of Jeu. There, Melchizedek, the "paralemptor [i.e., "light-bringer"?]," periodically descends from the world of light into the archontic spheres, gathers up light particles or souls, and brings them on high. The older function of angelic intermediaries who bring human prayers to God has here been transformed into a specifically Gnostic scheme.

Later speculation, much of it catalogued by Epiphanius, proposed a variety of further identifications of Melchizedek in Hebrews, as a pre-incarnation of the Son, a manifestation or incarnation of the Holy Spirit, or even of the Father. These patristic opinions indicate the suggestive ambiguity of the figure of Melchizedek in Hebrews, although they contribute little to the question of "Melchizedek's" origin and function. (Attridge, Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1989, pages 192a-195a)

Thus ends Professor Attridge's excursus and my extensive typing. This is what I'll offer to read aloud in this morning's study of Hebrews, adding my own clarifying expansions on what Attridge might sometimes have only referred to.

I've twice met Professor Attridge, incidentally, once in 1999 at an AAR-SBL conference in Boston when he showed up at Professor Michael Stone's 'Jerusalem Seminar' reunion during that same conference and a second time in 2005 at an SBL international conference in Singapore when he showed up for a talk that I gave on gift-giving in John's Gospel. I liked the man and wish that we could have had more contact.

But here I am, rather far these days from religious studies . . .

Gnostic Milton? John Rumrich on A.D. Nuttall's Alternative Trinity

A. D. Nuttall

The Alternative Trinity:

Gnostic Heresy in Marlowe, Milton, and Blake

(Image from Amazon.com)

Yesterday, I promised to offer John Rumrich's words on 'Gnosticism' in Milton. Actually, as we'll see, Rumrich doesn't think that there is Gnosticism in Milton, as he tells us in his review of A. D. Nuttall's Alternative Trinity. He opens his review in Modern Philology (Volume 99, Number 2 (2001), page 306) with general praise for the "local insights," then summarizes Nuttall's argument:

Nuttall's . . . thesis [is] that gnosticism provided Marlowe, Milton, and Blake with a refuge from oppressive Christian orthodoxies. Perhaps no critic is so gifted as to make a coherent, consistent argument out of gnosticism, a notorious thicket of philosophical doctrine and theological attitude. To make matters worse, until 1945, much of what was known about gnostic thinking derived from hostile, fragmentary accounts written by orthodox Chrisian writers. Nuttall, however, isolates a relatively simple structure basic to the gnostic religious tangle -- that of the alternative Trinity, "in which the Father is a tyrant, not complemented but opposed by the Son" (p. 3). Informing this antagonistic family relation, moreover, is the gnostic insistence on the goodness of knowledge, an ethical-epistemological premise that makes a villain of the forbidding Father portrayed in Genesis. It is he who prohibits tasting of the tree of knowledge, while the unfairly maligned serpent recommends disobedience in a noble cause and may even be seen as an ally or alter-ego of the Son.

While this is an interesting take on Gnosticism, the identification of the "Father" with the ignorant 'god' derided in Gnostic myth might be problematic, depending upon what Nuttall means by this. I haven't read the book, but if he means that Gnosticism itself depicted the "Father" as "a tyrant," then he would seem to have misconstrued Gnosticism, for the ignorant 'god' of the Gnostic genealogies is no Father to the Son. Perhaps, however, Nuttall means that the Father as portrayed in Milton (as well as in Marlowe and Blake) is portrayed as the equivalent to Gnosticism's ignorant 'god'.

Rumrich does note that some individuals, including many 17th-century Protestants, have seen the arbitray God of Calvinism as a tyrant with some of the characteristics of the malicious 'god' of Gnosticism, a tenuous link but interesting to note since "Nuttall is surely right to observe that a quasi-Calvinist plotline seems to govern the miserable progress of Satan, whose destiny is to supply a vessel for the brimming wrath of God."

I've also noticed that Satan after his fall from heaven seems to characterize the "totally depraved" individual of Calvinist anthropology, for he is so utterly incapable of choosing to accept salvation -- based on God's fiat in Paradise Lost 5.600-615 that any angel who rebels will be forever damned -- that this fallen archangel seems to have inherited the preterite's role in Calvin's theological system.

But does that make Milton a gnostic? Rumrich wouldn't seem to think so, and also doesn't think that Milton makes Satan into the beneficial serpent of some gnostic systems:

Nuttall is surely right to observe that a quasi-Calvinist plotline seems to govern the miserable progress of Satan, whose destiny is to supply a vessel for the brimming wrath of God. Like Pharaoh, Satan is provoked and exasperated by God to pursue worse crimes and suffer worse torment. Nuttall also maintains against Dennis Danielson that Milton does indeed embrace a version of the heresy of the fortunate fall and that the epic poet's deity works with Satan to bring humanity into the heightened awareness of a postlapsarian moral framework -- much to be preferred to the instinctive morality of unblemished innocence, at least from the gnostic perspective. Hence, in Nuttall's view, the gnostic opposition of God and the Son is for Milton internalized within the paternal deity: "the tyrannical Jahweh generates, mysteriously, a second self, who wills all that the tyrant forbade. Here, if you like, is the alternative Trinity we have been seeking" (p. 166). Even if we do like, little in Nuttall's reading moves us to accept this conclusion. The narrative offers no hint of such an internal generation transforming the deity, and the effects of the fall as pictured in Milton's epic can hardly be described as intellectually or morally beneficial. The narrative displays Adam and Eve behaving quite stupidly and malignantly after they disobey, a pathetic display of degeneracy that Nuttall neglects to take into account but that contradicts the premises of his interpretation.

Despite this critique, Rumrich says that scholars who take the trouble to read Nuttall's book "will be rewarded along the way by a wonderfully informative and provocative series of insights into the theology, poetry, and culture of early Modern England," so -- as Satan says in Paradise Lost 1.106 -- "All is not lost."

That's enough for today, for I have to head to the Ewha campus and teach graduate students how to write good paragraphs.

Gnostic Strains in Milton?

John Martin, The Bridge over Chaos (mezzotint)

Paradise Lost 10.312 (1827)

(Image from Darkness Visible)

I'm rather occupied this week with a program organized at Ewha Womans University by BK 21 for teaching graduate students how to write. The abbreviation "BK 21" stands for "Brain Korea 21" -- the "21" referring to the "Twenty-First Century" (and "Brain Korea" being shorthand for "raising Korea's brainpower," I guess). My working time, however, has not been abbreviated; rather, it has expanded to cover the hours from 9 to 6. I thus have only a little time for posting, so my post today will merely just touch on a possible theme in John Milton's Paradise Lost.

On the Milton List yesterday morning during a discussion of the myth of Isis and Osiris -- which Milton refers to in Areopagitica to illustrate how "Truth" has been torn apart and scattered and thus needs to be gathered and reassembled -- I raised the question of Gnostic strains in Paradise Lost:

Interesting discussion on the scattering and collecting myth of Isis and Osiris.

As for the passage in Milton's Areopagitica, while it is obviously part of the interpretive tradition concerning this myth, I recall, however, wondering if the Gnostic myth lay in the background to Milton's thinking -- the scattering and regathering of the portion of Sophia lost in the world.

This raises the larger issue of possible Gnostic influence upon Milton. I can never think of that great realm of Chaos in Paradise Lost without wondering if Milton was influenced by Manichaean views on the eternity of darkness in conflict with the light.

Has anyone written on this sort of thing in Milton?

I'm not arguing that Milton was a Gnostic. He certainly wasn't that! But he might have picked up on some Gnostic imagery. Michael Bryson responded to my query:

I think the question of a Gnostic element to (and/or influence on) Milton's thinking is a very interesting one. I am currently working on a project which will take up that question, as part of a larger work on Milton and negative theology, neoplatonic thought, and the basic idea of the God behind (or beyond) "God."

Most of what I am encountering in Milton criticism simply dismisses the idea, however, regarding Gnosticism as somehow antithetical to Milton's thought (I've done the same -- I made a comment, which I now regret, along similar lines near the beginning of The Tyranny of Heaven). I think one of the key questions is, if there is an influence, or even a compatibility of concerns at work between Gnostic thought and Milton's work, what particular branch of "Gnosticism" might be the most likely candidate, and through what sources (the great refuters like Ireneaeus, Tertullian, Hyppolitus, etc., or elsewhere?) might Milton be encountering these ideas? And if the ideas are present and at work in his writing, to what use is he putting them?

I also think the scenes with the old "anarch" Chaos might be fruitfully explained either through, or alongside of, explorations of Gnostic ideas. Zoarastrian ideas (and their possible influence on post-exilic Hebraic thought) come to mind as well.

Questions only at this point...

And also for me, merely questions. John Rumrich responded to our questions by posting his review of A. D. Nuttall's The Alternative Trinity: Gnostic Heresy in Marlowe, Milton, and Blake (Oxford, 1998), which I might comment upon tomorrow.

Coptic Gnostic Seminar: Anecdote of a Jarring Event

Not Classically Antique Mason Jars
"Anecdote of the Jar" . . . or two
(Image from Wikipedia)

In the late autumn of 1993, I was living and studying in Tübingen, Germany, and as part of that study, I attended -- along with Christoph Markschies, Michael Waldstein, Michael Theobald, Jim Kautt, Mr. Quack (unsure about that spelling), and one or two others -- a seminar conducted by Alexander Böhlig on Coptic Gnostic texts. One of these texts was The Apocryphon of John, from the Nag Hammadi Library.

Böhlig had asked me to prepare a long passage from the Apocryphon, so I read through it carefully in Coptic but only roughly sketching out in my mind German and English renderings. I figured that I could translate it readily enough into understandable German even if I were to make errors in doing so.

That didn't work out so well, as I recorded in my journal on November 12, 1993. Some of what I wrote in that entry was an attempt to reproduce the dialogue that took place in German, which I wasn't very good at, I confess. I'll post my entry in all its errors but also translate the German parts parenthetically into English:

My attempt at translating the Coptic of The Apocryphon of John directly into German failed miserably. I tried, but Professor Böhlig could not understand my German -- primarily, I think, for acoustic reasons . . . at least, now, I think so. At the time, I assumed the fault lay [entirely] in my faulty German.

I had just finished translating a clause about the entire creation lighting up -- I had used the term "ausstrahlen" (to shine) -- when Böhlig interrupted to ask me what I had done with [the Coptic expression] "o enouoeine" (as I recall). I answered that I was uncertain how one translated the qualitative here, but that the qualitative -- he interrupted again, telling me, rather brusquely, to translate it. So I repeated "Die ganze Schöpfung strahltete aus." ("The entire creation shone.")

"Strahlte" ("Shone"), he said.

I looked about the room, puzzled. "Vielleicht ist mein Deutsch falsch" ("Perhaps my German is incorrect"), I volunteered.

So Markschies inquired what I would say in English.

"The entire creation shone," I told him.

"Richtig" ("Right"), they agreed, and Waldstein suggested I continue in English.

But just to make sure, I said, "Ja, wenn niemand etwas dagegen hat." ("Yes, if no one has anything against that.")

No one objected, and so I began again, in English this time, though I had earlier prepared [if merely roughly] the whole exercise in my head in German as well as in English. I finished three lines, following each of which Böhlig impatiently translated into German. Then, after the third line, he stopped me with these words, "So, Sie haben es alles auf Englisch vorbereitet. Das geht nicht. Hier haben wir ein Seminar auf Deutsch -- Sie haben es night rightig getan. Herr Waldstein, könnten Sie übersetzen?" ("So, you have prepared it all in English. That won't do. Here, we have a seminar in German -- you have not done this correctly. Mr. Waldstein, could you translate?")

After a moment's stunned silence, he began [translating]. For a brief moment, I grew intensely angry, clenched my teeth, and fought back my urge to launch a verbal attack. But I remained angry for another five minutes -- plus I felt disappointed that no one had risen to my defense.

Later, however, I got my "revenge" -- though I remained polite (something I hope that I can always do in the face of rudeness). The end of the second hour had arrived, and we had just come across the form "ker-hote" in the BG text; Codices II and III (as I recall) had the qualitative "ko enhote," and Böhlig suggested that "ker-hote" showed an error somewhere, perhaps in the transcription from the original Coptic, explaining that the form "er," a Construct state, does not occur in the bipartite system. But, of course, he spoke German, using terms I didn't know, and it took me a few minutes to figure out his meaning. When I had it, he was already asking Herr Quack (my transliteration of his name, for which I apologize) -- an expert, one who comes to us from Egyptology -- his opinion on this odd form.

Quack said he could not say, speaking from an etymological perspective, where this came from, even assuming its validity as a form.

I had just opened my mouth to speak when Böhlig switched the focus to the next line of Coptic. I let it pass until that had been finished, then I began to speak, saying, "Wenn wir --" ("If we --")

"Wir haben keine Zeit mehr" ("We have no more time"), he announced.

I glanced at my watch, seeing that the minute hand had already moved a minute or two past 11:00, but I determined to speak anyway: "Ich habe eine Antwort für dieser Problem mit 'ker-hote'" ("I have an answer for this problem with 'ker-hote'"), I announced. "Es ist eine Ausnahme. Wenn es kein 'definite Artikel' gibt, dann kann man dieser Constuctus benutzen, in der erste Präsent." ("It is an exception. When there is no 'definite article,' then one can use this Construct form in the first present.")

For a moment, now, Böhlig grew silent. Then, "Ja . . . ja, das is möglich. Wenn es kein bestimmte Artikel gibt, dann könnte es sein . . ." ("Yes . . . yes, that is possible. When there is no definite article, then that could be . . .")

Nobody else spoke, but everybody knew that I had come out on top.

I wrote more about what then transpired, but I'll spare you and simply summarize. Professor Böhlig was much more polite after that and offered to help me with my German. Also, some of the other participants afterwards informed me that my German, while not perfect, had been passable enough, but that Böhlig simply had not been able to hear well enough to make out what I was saying. I could forgive him that, for he was over 80 years old. He probably had not heard the others give me 'permission' to switch to English.

However, I do still wonder why -- at the moment of that jarring event -- no one spoke up on my behalf. The Swiss Catholic theologian Hans Küng once remarked in his own seminar that Germans lack civic courage. I don't know if that was the reason in this case. Probably not. Most likely, the others simply felt too much respect for Böhlig to explain to him that his hearing was poor.

By the way -- just in case anyone is interested -- the grammatical point at stake in the Coptic discussion was the application of Jernstedt's Rule, which states that in Coptic, an infinitive cannot be used in the Construct form for the first present verbal conjugation. The expression "ker-hote" (from "er-hote," i.e., "to become afraid," with the second person singular pronoun "k" prefixed, thus "you become afraid") uses the infinitive in the Construct form, but this is acceptable because compound verbs are an exception to Jernstedt's Rule (unless the compound verb occurs with the definite article on the noun or if the nominal element is a part of the body, e.g., foot, hand, etc., in which case, it follows Jernstedt's Rule).

Christoph Markschies - Gnosis: An Introduction

Gnosis: An Introduction

Christoph Markschies

(Image from Amazon.com)

I mentioned that I finally found the time and opportunity to read Gnosis: An Introduction (London: T&T Clark Ltd., 2003), a concise little book at only 145 pages written by Christoph Markschies.

As I noted previously, Markschies and I were not well-aquainted, but we certainly knew each other after several years in Tübingen attending Martin Hengel's Friday seminars, which stretched from 8 to 12 p.m. with only a single break for sparkling apple juice and bretzels (a large German-style, soft pretzel). The first time that I heard Markschies speak, I realized -- despite my poor German -- that he was brilliant. He seemed to recall everything that he had read, could cite it to chapter and verse, and was able to evaluate its significance for some argument or other.

I asked another student about him, and she told me that Markschies was very good at reading books but less good at reading people. I don't know if that was correct, but I did note that when I once brought along to Alexander Böhlig's seminar on Gnosis an offprint of my article "Gnostic Liberation from Astrological Determinism: Hipparchan 'Trepidation' and the Breaking of Fate" (Vigiliae Christianae , Vol. 51, Nr. 4, 1997, E. J. Brill: Leiden, 359-373) and was showing it to the Austrian scholar Michael Waldstein, Markschies also looked at it and kept it for himself, apparently assuming that I was offering him that particular copy when Walstein asked Markschies if he had seen my publication. I was happy to provide him a copy, of course, for I had enough offprints for the seminar's participants, but I don't know if Markschies ever read the article, for he never mentioned it to me after that. Böhlig, for his part, requested a copy and later told me that it was "very interesting."

Well, I find Markschies's little introduction to Gnosis 'very interesting' and have very little disagreement. I had at one time read about every Gnostic text known, including ancient reports on Gnostics and even all of the Manichaean fragments -- expecting to pursue a career religious studies (but life got in the way) -- so I am satisfied that Markschies knows what he is talking about even though he acknowledges that his book is merely "a short survey . . . and not a developed argument with all the evidence, together with a critical discussion of the secondary literature" (Markschies, Gnosis, p. ix). Perhaps, however, we simply share the same prejudices.

I like that Markschies provides a typological model for his conception of Gnosis:

[B]y 'gnosis' I understand those movements which express their particular interest in the rational comprehension of the state of things by insight ('knowledge') in systems that as a rule are characterized by a particular collection of ideas or motives in the texts.

1) The experience of a completely other-worldly, distant, supreme God;

2) the introduction, which among other things is conditioned by this, of further divine figures, or the splitting up of existing figures into figures that are closer to human beings than the remote supreme 'God';

3) the estimation of the world and matter as evil creation and an experience, conditioned by this, of the alienation of the gnostic in the world;

4) the introduction of a distinct creator God or assistant: within the Platonic tradition he is called 'craftsman' -- Greek demiurgos -- and is sometimes described as merely ignorant, but sometimes also as evil;

5) the explanation of this state of affairs by a mythological drama in which a divine element that falls from its sphere into an evil world slumbers in human beings of one class as a divine spark and can be freed from this;

6) knowledge ('gnosis') about this state, which, however, can be gained only through a redeemer figure from the other world who descents from a higher sphere and ascends to it again;

7) the redemption of human beings through the knowledge of 'that God (or the spark) in them' (TestVer, NHC IX, 3, 56, 15-20), and finally

8) a tendency towards dualism in different types which can express itself in the concept of God, in the opposition of spirit and matter, and in anthropology.

This typological model, which is used as a basis here, corresponds, moreover, to the concept of 'gnosis' depicted by many ancient Christian theologians and non-Christian thinkers. (Markschies, Gnosis, pp. 16-17)

Some might consider this to be question-begging, setting up a model of Gnosis and then going forth into the ancient texts to find confirmation, but I think that what Markschies means to say is that this typological model of Gnosis expresses its most interesting complex of characteristics because these are precisely the ones that lie at the heart of whether Gnosticism as a system is pre- or post-Christian.

I agree with his assessment that Gnosticism developed from Christianity, not vice-versa.

By the way, John Bowden's translation -- or perhaps the original German -- is generally clear enough but occasionally odd. I wonder, for example, about the following remark concerning the Manichaen text Xuastvanift:

In this work, . . . unwitting sins against human beings animals, birds, fish and reptiles are addressed. (Markschies, Gnosis, p. 107)

Animals? Shouldn't that be "mammals"? People back in the Ozarks of my childhood used to say "animals" when they meant "mammals," but a scholarly translation should be more precise (or is British English different on the meaning of "animal"?).

Also, I think that the following distinction could have been better expressed:

The system of the later so-called 'Barbelo-gnostics' would thus belong, like the systems of Simon, Menander, Saturninus or Basilides, with the presuppostions of the great synthesis of the 'Valentinians', and the clear differences would be explained by a reduction and correction of the wealth of mythology.

I think that this means that the Barbelo-gnostics shared the same presuppositions as the Valentinians but had developed a far more elaborate mythological system . . . yet, I am not entirely certain. Perhaps this is less a translation oddity on Bowden's part and more an obscure manner of expression on Markschies's part.

Despite the occasional oddities of expression, the book is generally clear and accessible for the non-expert and even for the non-scholar, and I found it especially useful for refreshing my knowledge of a field in which I once worked.

Back from Soraksan Nature Preserve

Daechongbong Peak (대청봉), Soraksan (설악산)

Taebaek Mountain Range (태백산맥)

Gangwon Province, South Korea

(Image from Wikipedia)

My wife's 'prediction' turned out correct. I did NOT blog during vacation.

Nevertheless, I had a good time, and have photographs to prove it . . . eventually. For the nonce, satisfy yourself with an official image from Wikipedia's collection. This one's of Daechongbong Peak (대청봉), which at 5,603 feet (1,708 meters) towers more than a mile above sea level. That might not sound like much, but it rises from a low altitude, for nearby lies the coast of the East Sea (i.e., Sea of Japan).

I also managed to read the very short book Gnosis: An Introduction, by Christoph Markschies, a man whom I knew during my time at Tübingen. I can't say that I knew him well, but we attended Martin Hengel's Friday evening seminar on Judaism and early Christianity for about four years together and also took part in a couple of seminars on Gnosticism under Alexander Böhlig. I'll have more to say about these things in the next few days.

For now, though, I have more than 70 emails to drudge through.

"Dualisms of Sustenance: Gnosticism and the Gospel of John"

Nag Hammadi Codices

(Image from Wikipedia)

A few days ago, I finally received the offprints for the article on John's Gospel that I published in Volume 22 (June 2008) of The Journal of Classical Studies, a scholarly journal put out by The Korean Association for the Western Ancient History and Culture.

The article is titled "Dualisms of Sustenance: Gnosticism and the Gospel of John," and for those interested in such things, here's the abstract that I provided to my wife for translation into Korean:

The article argues that John's Gospel and Gnostic texts presuppose dualisms of differing kinds and therefore that the fourth gospel is not a secretly Gnostic gospel. Gnosticism assumes a substance dualism, whereas John's Gospel assumes an ethical dualism. Nevertheless, Johannine dualism is so rigorous that it verges on Gnostic dualism, for sin has so pervaded the entirety of the world that it has tainted every part. The world's impurity thus opposes the holiness of the Johannine Jesus. For this reason, Jesus refuses worldly sustenance until the crucifixion scene, when he willingly accepts the 'corrupt' wine of vinegar offered by the world. Unlike Gnostic revealers, who either refuse sustenance entirely or are tricked into accepting it, Jesus takes the world's impurity into himself as part of his mission in cleansing it of its impure taint of sin. To establish this thesis, the article draws upon a close interpretation of Gnostic texts, Jewish texts, and the Johannine text.

Yes, that got put into Korean, for the journal has a mainly Korean scholarly readership, but my article itself is in English, as are two other articles in the June 2008 volume (the other four articles being in Korean). For any Koreans happening to read this, here's the abstract in my wife's Korean translation:

본 논문은 요한복음과 영지주의 텍스트에 깔려 있는 이원주의의 성격이 서로 다름을 밝힘으로써 요한복음이 감추어진 영지주의 복음서라는 기존의 이론에 반박한다. 영지주의는 ‘본질적’ 이원주의를 취하지만 요한복음서의 이원주의는 ‘윤리적’ 이원주의이다. 이러한 구분에도 불구하고 세상 전체에 퍼진 죄로 인해 모든 것이 타락했다는 복음서의 엄격한 이원주의는 영지주의의 이원주의에 닿아 있다. 따라서 세상의 불순성은 요한복음서 예수의 성스러움에 대립한다. 이러한 이유로 예수는 십자가에 못박히기까지 세상의 음식을 거부하고 십자가 처형의 순간에 이르러 세상이 제공하는 ‘상한’ 신 포도주를 기꺼이 받아들인다. 영지주의 칙사들이 음식을 철저히 거절하거나 혹은 속임수에 빠져 음식을 받아들이는 반면에 예수는 세상의 죄를 사하는 자신의 임무를 수행하기 위해 세상의 불순한 죄성을 자신의 것으로 받아 들인다. 본 논문은 영지주의 텍스트와 유대교 텍스트, 그리고 요한복음서의 정밀한 분석을 통해 이러한 주장을 뒷받침하고 있다.

For those with even more interest, I'll post here my paper's rather lengthy introductory remarks, which are rather general and were intended to open the way for my Korean readership to understand the significance of Gnosticism in antiquity as well as its importance for Johannine studies:

Dualisms of Sustenance: Gnosticism and the Gospel of John[1]

To clarify the argument developed in the analysis of food in John's Gospel and Gnostic texts, this article must first cover a few points on Gnosticism, many texts of which occur in Coptic, although one finds texts stretching from Spain to China and in all the various languages along the way. The abundance of Gnostic Coptic texts among an even larger body of heretical and orthodox Coptic Christian texts suggests the importance of Egyptian Christianity. Some words on this point are therefore in order. According to tradition, Egyptian Christianity was founded by St. Mark, purported author of the Gospel of Mark.[2] Egyptian Christianity became a distinct branch of the Christian religion after the Council of Chalcedon in 451 AD, differing from the Catholic and Orthodox churches over Christology. The basic disagreement centered upon the essence of Christ, which the Chalcedonians asserted was one hypostasis of two natures, i.e., full humanity and full divinity.[3] Apparently, the Egyptian church disagreed, arguing that Christ was one nature, the Logos incarnate of full humanity and full divinity. This dispute might be merely a confusion of terms, in which nature (phusis) is being used in two different senses, but disambiguation of this issue is not essential for this article. At any rate, a distinct Coptic Church dates from this period.

Coptic Christianity, however, had already developed through differentiating itself linguistically. Since the first century, Greek letters had been borrowed for writing Coptic, which itself was a direct descendent of the language of the Pharoahs ‐‐ as my old Berkeley professor, David Larkin, used to phrase it. In its early development, Coptic supplemented its 'Greek' alphabet by borrowing several letters from Demotic but also vied with the Demotic writing system for prominence and won out as Demotic came to be used mainly for pagan religious purposes, whereas Coptic became the liturgical language of Egyptian Christianity.

For the purposes of this article, Coptic is mainly significant for its 'accidental' preservation of Gnostic texts, such as (but not limited to) the texts uncovered at Nag Hammadi in December 1945, a collection of codices (as opposed to scrolls) that came to be known by the somewhat grandiose title of "The Nag Hammadi Library." Two of the most famous of these codices are the Gospel of Thomas (of which some fragments also survive in Greek) and the Apocryphon of John, the former of which is perhaps more hermetic than Gnostic and the latter of which purports to reveal the Gnostic visions experienced by John the evangelist. Both texts are believed to derive from the early second century, but the codices themselves are later than that. The Apocryphon of John is a classic Gnostic text, for it describes an ontologically dualistic reality of spirit and matter in which the God of salvation rules over the realm of light and spirit and the god of ignorance rules over the realm of darkness and matter. This latter deity is the creator-god responsible for the formation of the cosmos, which he formed to trap the light, or spirit, that had fallen from above down into the material realm.

This radical dualism of substances implies that the material world is a source of impurity for the spiritual substance of light and weighs down the spirit with its material heaviness. Indeed, taking on more material substance tends to trap one ever more profoundly within the material realm, as the passage below will make clear. The quoted passage is taken from section 20 in an online edition (but sections 70-72 of the print edition) of the Apocryphon of John's short version (Berlin Codex BG 8502,2 and Nag Hammadi Codex III,1), but with variants from the long version noted in cursive brackets (Nag Hammadi Codex II,1 and Nag Hammadi Codex IV,1):

20 The Chief Ruler took him and placed him in paradise, of which he said, 'It is [a] delight for him' but really so that he might deceive him. For their delight (truphē) is bitter and their beauty is licentious. Their delight is a deception and their tree is iniquity. Their fruit is an incurable poison and their promise is death to him. {For [their food (trophē) was bitter and their [beauty] is licentious. Their food was a deception and their trees were [iniquity. Their fruit was an incurable poison] an[d their promise] is [death] to them.} Their tree which they planted is the tree of life.

For my part, I will teach you about the mystery of their life. It is their counterfeit spirit which dwells in them, whose purpose is to make him wander so that he does not know his perfection.

That tree is of this sort: Its root is bitter. Its branches are shadows of death. its leaves are hate and deception. Its fragrance is an ointment of evil. And its fruit is the desire for death. Its seed drinks from darkness {[an]d its seed sprouted [from] darkness.} The dwelling place of those who taste it is Hades. But the tree which they call 'knowledge of good and evil' is the Epinoia of the light. Concerning her they commanded, 'Do not taste (of it),' which means 'do not listen to her.' They issued this commandment against him so that he might not look up to his perfection and realize that he was naked of his perfection.

But as for me, I set them right so that they would eat. (Translation by Michael Waldstein and Frederik Wisse, edited and formatted by Lance Owens).[4]

The important variant is that between "delight" and "food" and may result from a confusion of the two Greek words truphē and trophē, respectively, which occur in these Coptic texts. I think that originally, a pun between the two words was at work, but wordplay or not, the passage sets up a dualism of food in the distinctly different effects rendered by eating fruit from the tree of their life (i.e., of death) or from the tree of perfect knowledge (i.e., of illuminated life). Eating from the former leads to further entrapment within the material world, but eating from the latter leads to release from the bonds of matter and escape into the realm of light.

These prefatory remarks have now prepared the way for this article's main thesis, which argues for a difference between the radical, ontological dualism in Gnostic texts and a moderate, ethical dualism in the Gospel of John and which looks at the synecdochal uses of food in both sorts of texts as a means of providing support for this argument. Much of the debate over the significance of food in John's Gospel has focused upon the literal versus figurative meaning of its passages on nourishment.[5] For example, scholars disagree ‐‐ often vehemently -- about how to interpret the John 6:51c-58 passage exhorting us to eat Jesus's flesh and drink his blood. Did the evangelist (or redactor) expect us to take this literally -- we should really gnaw on Jesus's flesh and guzzle his blood?[6] Or did he expect us to understand these strange words figuratively -- we should 'devour' their message of life? Rather than immediately confronting this difficult passage head‐on, I would like to look more broadly at the Johannine use of food.

And so goes the article, which turns at this juncture from its prefatory remarks on Gnosticism to the 'meat' of its argument, namely, the issue of sustenance in Gnostic texts and John's Gospel that the abstract has already summarized.

Notes:

1. I presented an earlier version of this article at the 1999 AAR/SBL Conference.

2. Stephen J. Davis, The Early Coptic Papacy: The Egyptian Church and Its Leadership in Late Antiquity (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2004), pp. 2-20.

3. Bradley P. Nystrom and David P. Nystrom, The History of Christianity: An Introduction (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2004), pp. 95a-96a.

4. Michael Waldstein and Frederik Wisse, The Apocryphon of John: Synopsis of Nag Hammadi Codices II,1;III,1; And IV,1 With BG 8502,2, Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1995).

5. On an earlier analysis of literal versus figurative meanings, see my doctoral dissertation: Horace Jeffery Hodges, "Food as Synecdoche in John's Gospel and Gnostic Texts" (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1995). My attempt there and in this article is to combine the literal and figurative. Hence my use of the term "synecdoche."

6. I use these crude terms to make a point clear -- namely, that the wording in this portion of the Gospel of John is intentionally provocative. The Greek term trōgōn literally means "gnaw," and the thought of drinking blood would have been particularly abhorent to Jews (on the prohibition against drinking blood, cf., e.g., Leviticus 7:26-27).

For scholars (or anyone) who might be interested, I can provide an electronic version of the entire article.

A Curious Thalesian Tale

Thales of Miletus

Well might he look down

from time to time...

(Image from Livius.org)

In my recent 'literary' diversions touching upon Christmas, Boxing Day, St. Pugnacious, and Islamist song-and-dance, I've detoured from my serious interest in the trial of theoretical curiosity.

As perhaps became apparent from my Ciceronian post, distrust of curiosity for distracting one from more immediate, serious matters did not begin with the Church Fathers, but those fathers were able to mine the rich, classical veins for nuggets of ancient wisdom either explicitly or implicitly critical of curiosity's distractions.

In Plato's dialogue Theaetetus, Socrates criticizes those philosophers who concern themselves with distant, abstract things but neglect practical affairs closer to hand:

[T]he lords of philosophy have never, from their youth upwards, known their way to the Agora, or the dicastery, or the council, or any other political assembly; they neither see nor hear the laws or decrees, as they are called, of the state written or recited; the eagerness of political societies in the attainment of office . . . do not enter even into their dreams. Whether any event has turned out well or ill in the city, what disgrace may have descended to any one from his ancestors, male or female, are matters of which the philosopher no more knows than he can tell, as they say, how many pints are contained in the ocean. Neither is he conscious of his ignorance. For he does not hold aloof in order; that he may gain a reputation; but the truth is, that the outer form of him only is in the city: his mind, disdaining the littlenesses and nothingnesses of human things, is "flying all abroad" as Pindar says, measuring earth and heaven and the things which are under and on the earth and above the heaven, interrogating the whole nature of each and all in their entirety, but not condescending to anything which is within reach. (Plato, Theaetetus, translated by Benjamin Jowett, Part 1, Page 38)

Socrates illustrates this with an anecdote about Thales:

I will illustrate my meaning . . . by the jest which the clever witty Thracian handmaid is said to have made about Thales, when he fell into a well as he was looking up at the stars. She said, that he was so eager to know what was going on in heaven, that he could not see what was before his feet. This is a jest which is equally applicable to all philosophers. For the philosopher is wholly unacquainted with his next-door neighbour; he is ignorant, not only of what he is doing, but he hardly knows whether he is a man or an animal; he is searching into the essence of man, and busy in enquiring what belongs to such a nature to do or suffer different from any other.... (Plato, Theaetetus, translated by Benjamin Jowett, Part 1, Page 39)

The Church Father Tertullian, brilliant rhetorician and skilled lawyer but somewhat neglectful of details, picked up on this anecdote to disparage curiosity:

Now, pray tell me, what wisdom is there in this hankering after conjectural speculations? What proof is afforded to us, notwithstanding the strong confidence of its assertions, by the useless affectation of a scrupulous curiosity, which is tricked out with an artful show of language? It therefore served Thales of Miletus quite right, when, star-gazing as he walked with all the eyes he had, he had the mortification of falling into a well, and was unmercifully twitted by an Egyptian, who said to him, "Is it because you found nothing on earth to look at, that you think you ought to confine your gaze to the sky?" His fall, therefore, is a figurative picture of the philosophers; of those, I mean, who persist in applying their studies to a vain purpose, since they indulge a stupid curiosity on natural objects, which they ought rather (intelligently to direct) to their Creator and Governor. (Tertullian, Ad Nationes, Book II, Chapter 4)

Tertullian knows the story, but he has 'forgotten' that the one who twitted Thales was a Thracian maiden and has substituted, in her stead, an Egyptian. He has also changed the story from one illustrating the point that philosophers ought to apply their intellectual concentration upon practical affairs to one illustrating the point that philosophers ought to direct their curiosity toward God.

Actually, Tertullian's wording has implied that philosophers ought not to "indulge a stupid curiosity on natural objects" but on "their Creator and Governor" -- as the translator has realized and as the Latin original shows:

qui stupidam exerceant curiositatem naturae quam prius in artificem eius et praesidem (Tertullian, Adversus nationes II 4, quoted in Hans Blumenberg, The Legitimacy of the Modern Age, p. 629, n. 68)

Tertullian, however, surely did not mean that one ought to "indulge a stupid curiosity" on one's "Creator and Governor," i.e., God, but (like Homer) had simply nodded off -- and was thus also 'off' his otherwise dependable rhetorical brilliance.

Nitpicking aside, let us turn to Hans Blumenberg, who also notes the Thalesian anecdote and Tertullian's use of it:

The first philosopher to live in Athens, Anaxagoras, could be accused of impiety because he had maintained that the sun was a glowing mass; and even if this accusation was only an explicit formula for the demythologizing of philosophy that he definitively carried out, it was nevertheless certainly not accidental that it became the central charge against him. Perhaps the anecdote about Thales that Plato hands down also has a similar background; the laughter of the Thracian maid over the philosopher who fell in the well while sauntering and observing the stars may represent not only the malicious pleasure of the unfree in observing the consequences of idleness, but also an understanding of the revenge taken by her tellurian gods on the Milesian who devoted his attention entirely to the stars. In the patristic polemics, the gaze upward is still contrasted, as the one capable of transcendence, to the downward gaze of the heathens, who are in the power of material idols. But the Thracian maid's ridicule of the protophilosopher Thales also hints at a further motif, which was to reappear in the course of the process through which the theoretical attitude became questionable: the conflict between the distant and the nearby, between that which has no immediate effect in life and the daily duties of a citizen in a community. He knows his way about the heavens, but he does not see what lies before his feet, sneers the slave girl. (Blumenberg, Legitimacy of the Modern Age, pp. 245-246)

Although Blumenberg implicitly acknowledges that he is speculating in suggesting that the Thracian maid inferred that Thales was being divinely punished for his (curious) attention to the stars instead of to the gods closer to hand, the speculation allows Blumenberg more readily to draw out the implications of the tale for Tertullian:

[F]or Tertullian . . . [curiosity] has scarcely anything to do with the Augustinian "pleasure of the eyes" but exhibits a more 'literary' character, comparable to the vanity of education and the pleasure of dialectical activity. To this the simplicity of the anima idiotica [uneducated soul] is contrasted. To the extent that the cognitive appetite directs itself at nature, it is reprehensible not on account of the nature of its objects but rather because it prefers the inferior realm of the dependent and the conditioned to the immediacy of its relation to its author. Thales's astronomical curiosity is reprimanded for this metaphysical short-sightedness. (Blumenberg, Legitimacy of the Modern Age, p. 302)

Tertullian thus draws out the implication of divine displeasure that Blumenberg has imputed to the Thalesian tale and criticizes philosophers for their "stupid curiosity" about contingent things rather than an intelligent curiosity about the ground of all contingent things, i.e., God.

Augustine, as we have seen, suspects that not merely stupidity but something more demonic is at work in the attractions toward which curiosity leads, but unlike Tertullian, Augustine went through a Gnostic phase, and Blumenberg thinks that he carried over into his orthodox Catholicism a continuing Gnostic distrust of the cosmos.

I'm not sure, however, that Augustine's Manichaean brand of Gnosticism would explain this, but more on that another time.