Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Intertestamental Apocalyptic
Because it is so extraordinarily difficult to treat apocalyptic literature precisely, a few prefatory remarks are required to mention difficulties and call attention to the procedure followed here.
The difficulties begin with scholarly disagreement about the extent (not to mention the essential characteristics!) of apocalyptic literature. Some works usually labelled ‘apocalyptic’ contain relatively small apocalyptic sections (e.g. Life of Adam and Eve). Not a few works are rejected in toto by some investigators. Thus, although A. Nissen marshals five reasons for accepting Jubilees as an example of genuine apocalyptic, K. Koch assesses those reasons as inconclusive. D. S. Russell presents the mediating view adopted here: ‘Jubilees is not, strictly speaking, an apocalyptic book; but it belongs to the same milieu.’ Similarly, G. E. Ladd says that the Psalms of Solomon and the Sibylline Oracles are not really apocalyptic, ‘although they include elements of apocalyptic eschatology’. Again, however, I shall for convenience include them in that category.
The second problem relates to large numbers of conflicting opinions about the date, provenance, and Sitz im Leben of many of the books. The complexity of the discussion threatens to mire the student in a bog of speculation before he can say anything certain. By and large, the present section follows majority opinion on these matters. Therefore it does not, for example, follow M. R. James who thinks that the Testament of Abraham is a christian work. More difficult is 2 Enoch. Although some have thought it to be a christian document dependent on the Apocalypse of Peter, it seems best to follow Russell in giving ‘the benefit of the doubt to the earlier dating’, even while recognising that the book as we have it is by no means free from christian influence. There is also a wide diversity of scholarly opinion on the date and provenance of the Testament of Moses (=Assumption of Moses≠Apocalypse of Moses), and of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, which M. de Jonge thinks to be not so much interpolated by Christians as compiled by them from Jewish sources. Such opinions, though in the minority, encourage restraint in drawing major conclusions from disputed and unsupported passages. With some hesitation, I have excluded from this chapter both canonical apocalyptic and apocalyptically-oriented books among the Dead Sea Scrolls, as they are being treated elsewhere.
The adjective ‘intertestamental’ also bears explanation. It is used to designate a general period, but it does not suggest that no Jewish apocalyptic which post-dates a New Testament work has been included. The major Jewish apocalypses from about 200 bc to approximately ad 100 are covered by the rubric. For various reasons I have not included references to little known or barely accessible works.
One final preliminary point concerns the problem of ascertaining the nature and degree of extra-Jewish influences on Jewish apocalyptic. A number of scholars minimise the Jewish content in favour of overwhelming Iranian or Hellenistic influence. F. M. Cross thinks the taproot goes back through a Hebrew milieu to Canaanite myth and epic poetry;1 G. von Rad looks to Wisdom literature;1 and P. D. Hanson says that apocalyptic not only reaches back for its earliest beginnings to the second and third millennia bc, but was long naturalised within Israel but suppressed by the prophets.1 It would certainly be wrong to deny significant foreign influence on Jewish apocalyptic, and indeed it is not difficult to find elements, say, of Iranian astrology or Zoroastrian schematisation of history. But sweeping statements are too easily made; judicious documentation and nuanced statements about a plurality of contributing backgrounds are needed.1 The conclusion of L. Morris, although it could do with qualification, is surely correct, and is basic to this chapter: ‘Nobody seems to have disposed of the stubborn fact that apocalyptic is a Jewish and Christian phenomenon. It is hard to see this literature as derived from a source which does not know it. Granted that there have been borrowings from many sources, the main idea is surely Jewish.’1
the apocalyptic literature
The freedom of man is expressed more strongly in apocalyptic than in anything so far mentioned. Men are told to make their hearts good and their ways straight (T. Sim. 5.2), to choose between light and darkness, between the law of the Lord and the works of Beliar (T. Levi 19.1). The Life of Adam 4.3 gives new overtones to the story of the fall by a formidable emphasis on Adam’s voluntary repentance; the Testament of Simeon 2.13; 3.4f. does a similar thing for Simeon. The doctrine of two spirits (T. Jud. 20.1–3), two ‘inclinations’ (T. Ash. 1.3–9; 5.1ff.; etc.), two ways (2 En. 30.15) comes up in various forms, and in each case there is emphasis on the responsibility of man to choose between the two. When God made man, he showed him two ways and told him which was good and which was bad, so as to learn who in the human race bear love toward God, and who bear him hatred (2 En. 30.15). According to 2 Enoch, man still has freedom of will, even if the incorporation of the soul into the body, with its limitations, biases its preferences towards evil.
Of course, there is some variation from book to book as to the extent of moral freedom since the fall. In 2 Esdras 3:20–22, man has a cor malignum. This is denied by 2 Baruch, which, although it sees man as a danger both to himself and to angels (56.10), nevertheless repeatedly emphasises the unfettered freedom of man’s will (e.g. 19.1, 3; 54.15, 19; 85.7). In 2 Enoch 31.6–8, we learn that the Satan, conceiving thought against Adam, seduced Eve, but did not touch Adam. As a result, God cursed ignorance and man’s evil fruit, his works; but he did not curse man, nor the earth, nor other creatures. Indeed, in the same book, Jeremiah is pure from sin (9:1).
Needful knowledge was not withheld even from the Gentiles (2 Bar. 51.16; 59.2), and so their rebellion is entirely their own fault (2 En. 7.3). The Psalms of Solomon 9:7 agrees that our works are subject to our own choice and power;1 while in the concrete case, we learn that Terah refused to listen to God’s voice because he chose not to, even though Abraham chose positively (Apoc. Ab. ii, 26). There is, then, ‘the greatest stress upon man’s unfettered choice between good and evil, upon his unrestricted capacity to obey the law and to transgress it. Man’s will (is) free.’1
Although the apocalyptists give more space to eschatology than to ethics, it is incorrect to pit these two motifs against each other and conclude that the writers are escapists with little sense of responsibility. Apocalyptic, says W. D. Davies, is ‘no less concerned with the observance of Torah than was Pharisaism.’1 There is a sense in which such a sweeping statement is correct, and indeed the necessary antidote to L. Morris’s judgment of the apocalyptists: ‘But when all this is said the ethical imperative is not characteristic of them as it is of the prophets. In the last resort their interest is in eschatology, not ethics.’1 Davies is correct inasmuch as the pervasive merit theology (see below) presupposes the centrality of Torah and Torah’s ethics; there is no participation in the felicity of the life to come without personal meritorious righteousness. Morris is correct inasmuch as the apocalyptists are not interested in setting forth detailed ethical teaching (Tests. 12 Pats. and Jub. 20.1ff. excepted); but it would be wrong to draw from this the conclusion that the apocalyptic eschatological perspective encouraged moral indolence. The constant emphasis on judgment, and on God as the sovereign, righteous Judge, confirms the reasonableness of this conclusion (cf. Jub. 5.1ff. with 7.25; Sib. Or. iii. 71, 97; iv, 40–44; Ps. Sol. 9:4; 17:4; etc.).
With these observations in mind, it is not surprising to discover many instances of God responding to man’s initiative, and few the other way around. Some such passages merely echo the Old Testament: e.g. God blesses Abraham because of his faithfulness (Jub. 18.15), and men are told to turn and offer many sacrifices in the hope that God will listen (Sib. Or. iii,624–9). But the nature and number of such passages suggest a drift to a situation where the iniative in God-and-man relationships has passed from God to men (the introduction of the eschaton excepted). Men first turn and repent, and then God hears (Jub. 1.15ff., 23; T. Jud. 23.5; T. Dan. 5.9; 6.4). Hence, at the time of the exodus it was the ‘sheep’ in Egypt who first sought the Lord (1 En. 89.16). Abraham chooses God (Jub. 12.19ff.); and it appears that although God created Abraham according to his good pleasure, that good pleasure was established by his advance knowledge of what a righteous fellow Abraham would be (Jub. 16.26). Indeed, everyone who performs God’s law will be loved by him (T. Jos. 11.2; cf. 18.1). This is demonstrated by the fact that God responds to men who seek him by making their way smooth and preserving the works of their hands (Ps. Sol. 6:1–3). A concrete example lies in God’s determination to lay the ages to come before Abraham because Abraham has loved to search him out (Apoc. Ab. ii, 9).
Few of the above examples in themselves would be conclusive to establish this shift in initiative. Moreover, it would be inaccurate to suggest that human freedom is completely unbounded. In the language of prayer and testimony, the apocalyptists still speak of God creating a right spirit in his people, strengthening them to do his will, not permitting them to wander and keeping them back from sin (Jub. 1.19ff.; 21.25; 22.7–10; Ps. Sol. 16:1ff., 7:9f.; cf. T. Benj. 6.1). Following the exile, at the end of days God will stir up for himself a faithful people whom he shall save for eternity, while the impious, those who have refused to love the law, shall be punished by God their king (Vita Ad. 29.7ff.). The human will needs God’s strengthening (Jub. 21.25; 22.10). This moral dynamic has a negative counterpart in Martyrdom of Isaiah 2.4, where Manasseh is made strong in his sin by the angel of lawlessness. One book, 2 Esdras, is especially aware of the need for an inner dynamic in a man. Although it explicitly teaches human freedom (7:127–130; 8:59f.), it contains such ‘an agonised confession of moral impotence’1 as to become tantamount to a denial of freedom, indeed an ‘unconscious and unexpected cry … for a moral dynamic, which legalism could not supply’.2 (Cf. 2 Esd. 3:20) From this discussion, then, it is clear that at least some apocalyptic writers who saw the human will as free did not understand such freedom to mean that God did not influence or strengthen the will.
Yet for all that there is nevertheless a shift in initiative from God to man. This is best seen in the manner in which the apocalyptists handle election (on which see below); but it is also attested by the extraordinary extravagance of the praise accorded to special men. Jacob, for example, appears marvellously strong and merciful in his wars with Esau (Jub. 37f.). After Jacob’s death, the surviving brothers get along famously (Jub. 46.1f.). Jubilees is particularly excessive, but it is by no means unique. Abraham, above all other Old Testament figures, is singled out for an abundance of praise (e.g. Jub. 17.15; Test. Ab. §1( )). He is nothing less than sinless (Test. Ab. §10( )). The archangel Michael loves to listen to his conversation (Test. Ab. §2( )), and even Death becomes beautiful because of Abraham’s worthiness (Test. Ab. §17( )). He seems to have figured out the folly of idolatry all by himself (Apoc. Ab. i,1–8). In the matter of Sarah, Pharaoh is said to have seized her and then been punished by the Lord: i.e. Abraham is whitewashed (Jub. 13.13). And the insolent petulance he exhibits toward God in refusing to die (Apoc. Ab. ( )) is simply colossal. Small wonder he can afford to brag a little just before his death (Jub. 21.2ff.).
These two phenomena, whitewashing and bragging, are fairly extensively distributed throughout the historical surveys found in apocalyptic literature. Sometimes whitewashing is accomplished by mere suppression: e.g. Isaac’s deceit in the matter of Abimelech (Gen. 26) is not recorded at the appropriate place in Jubilees 24. At other times whitewashing is explicit. It was the Lord who ordained that Levi and Simeon destroy the Shechemites (Jub. 30.5f.; T. Levi 5.1ff.). Isaac comes round to love Jacob more than Esau (Jub. 35.13); and Jacob is cleared of any ungracious behaviour toward Leah by making up to her after Rachel’s death, and discovering what a wonderful woman she really is (Jub. 36.23f.). Adam is often whitewashed at the expense of Eve (e.g. Vita Ad. 13.1ff.); and once there is the bald assertion that the fathers and forefathers did not tempt God so as to transgress (Test. Mos. 9.3f.).
Boasting occurs not less frequently. Even Jacob manages to brag that he has not sinned (Jub. 25.4ff.). The book with the greatest concentration of such pretensions, ironically, is the one with the greatest number of ethical maxims, viz. The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs (e.g. T. Iss. 3.1–8; 7.1; T. Naph. 1.6ff.; T. Jos. 10.1ff.) Perhaps it is not so ironical after all; for if free will and ethical sensitivity are joined, it is difficult to see why conceit of accomplishment should not become a mark of virtue. Zebulun’s only sin was a sin of ignorance (!) in the matter of selling his brother Joseph (T. Zeb. 1.4f.); and so he was rewarded by God (5.2; cf. 6.4–8.3 (v.l.)). Even 2 Esdras, which is far and away the most pessimistic of the apocalyptic books when it comes to assessing human nature, states that the Most High revealed many things to Ezra because of his righteous conduct (10:38f.; 13:53b–6). We have again penetrated near the heart of merit theology.
Turning now from man and his freedom to God and his sovereignty, we come upon numerous references to the creatorship of God (Jub. 2.1ff.; 12.19; 1 En. 9.1ff.; Sib. Or. iii, 35; Test. Mos. 12.3; 2 En. 24.2; 2 Esd. 3:4; 6:1–6; 7:70; 9:2; Apoc. Ab. 1, 8; etc.). Belief in this truth is shared by all the apocalyptists, whether they understand God to have made the world ex nihilo, or no (cf. 2 En. 24.2 and 25.1). Since God is the creator of all, all belongs to him, and he is the ultimate ruler (Slav. Vit. Ad. 33.1; 34.4; Jub. 12.4, 17f.). His sovereignty extends to the whole creation (1 En. 84.2f.), and he gives good things to all men (T. Gad 7.2), for he rules the world with compassion and righteousness (Test. Mos. 12.17). The unlimited extent of God’s sovereignty is frequently underscored by the force of multiplied epithets and descriptive clauses (e.g. Test. Mos. 4.1ff.; 2 Bar. 21.1ff.; 54.13; Ps. Sol. 2:34f.). The Sibylline Oracles have as chief concern the unity and sovereignty of God (e.g. iii,11f.).
Some elements of the Old Testament presentation of divine ‘ultimacy’ crop up. Abraham praises God who caused him to see day (Jub. 22.7). Rebecca blesses God for giving her Jacob as a pure son and a holy seed (25.12ff.). Similarly, it was the Lord who opened Rachel’s womb (28.24). The Lord stands as the ultimate cause of Joseph’s prosperity (40; 43.19). Valour is given by the Most High (T. Sim. 2.5), who is also credited with preventing murder by not permitting Dan to find Joseph alone (T. Dan. 1.9; cf. 6.5, where the angel of peace will keep Israel from an extremity of sin). And when Israel does indeed sin, God not only does not restrain Pompey from attacking her (Ps. Sol. 2:1—a ‘passive’ undertaking), he actually brings nations against his people (2:24). Pompey ought to recognise God’s sovereignty (Ps. Sol. 2:32f.).
Morris rightly insists that the dualism between good and evil is never absolute: God remains objectively sovereign.2 God, and only God, is sufficient to bind evil spirits; and even the chief of such spirits, Mastema, is helpless without the divine permission (Jub. 10.2ff.). Ultimately, God is sovereign over evil, which cannot occur without his indulgence (1 En. 9.1–11). God created all forces; there is none who resists him, none who does not subject himself to God or labour for his sole rule (2 En. 33.7 ).
God’s rule in apocalyptic is conceived in distinctly deterministic categories. History can in principle be systematically arranged and schematised, even if there is little agreement as to the scheme (compare, for example, the Apocalypse of Weeks in 1 Enoch, and the two different schemes of jubilees in Jubilees and the Assumption of Moses). But schematisation of history entails history’s predetermination. ‘There was therefore an inevitability about history; through travail and persecution it would move unerringly to its predetermined goal—the defeat of evil and the establishment of God’s kingdom in the time of the End. The past was fixed; the future was fixed also.’2 (Cf. Jub. 1.26ff.; 6.29–38; Vit. Ad. 29.1ff.; 1 En. 89f.; Sib. Or. iv, 47ff.; Test. Mos. 2.3ff.; 6.1ff.; 12.3ff.; 2 En. 65.3f.; 2 Bar. 27–30; 2 Esd. 4:28–32; etc.) None of God’s words and thoughts lack fulfilment (Sib. Or. iii,698–701). The destinies of not only Levi and Judah are ordained by God (Jub. 31.31; 52.21), but those of all the tribes (52.21). Whatever is, is determined by God, including people for destruction (Apoc. Ab. ii,22). The number of the elect is likewise determined, and until that number is filled up, salvation cannot come (2 Esd. 4:36; cf. Rev. 6:11). The ‘times’ are so rigidly determined as to appear to take on an almost ontological status (cf. especially 2 Esd. 4:36f.; 7:74).
It should not be thought that only abstract ‘times’ and ‘destinies’ are controlled by God: specific events likewise fall within his purview. The murder of Abel by Cain appears to have been fixed in advance (Vit. Ad. 22.4; Apoc. Mos. 3.2). Isaiah tells Hezekiah how monstrous his son will be, insisting that the future events he describes are determined, even though they are the counsel of Sammael (Mar. Isa. 1:7–13).2 Enoch foretells the flood to Noah (1 En. 65.1ff.). The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs include many specific ‘predictions’ (e.g. T. Levi 10.5; 14.1ff.; 15.6; T. Zeb. 9.7; etc.), and the day of Abraham’s death is destined (Test. Ab. §15( )).
A number of beliefs about divine sovereignty serve purposes quite like those in the Old Testament. For example, the fact that God is creator and ruler calls men to worship him only (Jub. 12.4, 19f.). Again, because God made all things in order, men are exhorted not to corrupt their ways (T. Naph. 2.9ff.). Divine omniscience entails perfect judgment (1 En. 9.11). God’s election of his people functions in one place as the basis for a plea for mercy (2 Bar. 48.20); yet in a book which so consistently underscores the value and efficacy of good works (e.g. 2.2; 14.7, 12f.; 51.7; 63.3, 5; 67.6; 85.2, 10; cf. infra), it is less than clear that God chose the people out of grace. It is in any case more common to discover that beliefs about divine sovereignty serve purposes rather unlike their functions in the Old Testament, providing some indication of the new form the sovereignty-responsibility tension is assuming. In a confused passage (T. Naph. 2.2–5), the potter and clay model is used to bolster thorough-going determinism, yet suddenly stops short of ascribing evil to God. In the Sibylline Oracles, which are apparently addressed to pagans, belief in God’s sovereignty is the basis for arguing against idol worship and wicked behaviour, but it is never used to support a doctrine of gracious election.
Completely determined are the nature and time of arrival of the messianic kingdom, the new age, the day of judgment, the restoration of all things, the end of time—however the eschaton is variously conceived. Fully developed eschatological dualism does not appear until 2 Esdras (e.g. 7:50, 113; 8:1). Yet, as H. Ringgren insists, ‘The thought is not explicitly formulated in the oldest apocalypses, but the conception stands out clearly in the background.’2
Why, then, do some scholars maximise God’s distance from history in apocalyptic thought? H. D. Betz says the apocalyptists have ‘dispensed with historical thinking’.2 W. R. Murdock insists that in Jewish apocalyptic God does not act in history, except to reveal secrets to certain choice men.2 A. Nissen,2 followed by G. E. Ladd,2 enunciates the fairly common view that for the apocalyptists God does not rule from the beginning of the exile on (some would add: until 165 bc). Nissen depends heavily on 1 En. 89 and Dan. 11:36 (Ladd, solely on the former); but K. Koch, commenting on Nissen’s essay, correctly remarks that the very opposite can be deduced from the passages cited.2
On the other hand, some scholars make much of apocalyptic’s deterministic view of history. J. Bright, for example, says that ‘[Apocalypticism] represented a legitimate, if bazarre, expression of [Israel’s] faith in the God who is sovereign Lord of History.’3 T. W. Manson writes, ‘Apocalyptic is really an attempt to rationalise and systematise the predictive side of Prophecy as one side of the whole providential ordering of the Universe.’3 R. H. Charles goes so far as to argue that the unity of history is first grasped by the apocalyptists;3 while D. S. Russell, more moderately, thinks apocalyptic carried prophecy to its logical conclusion, seeing all history sub specie aeternitatis, tying together the temporal and the eternal by the divine purpose.3
The chasm between the two viewpoints could not be wider. The first—that God had relinquished control of history with all of the divine activity reserved for a supernatural inbreaking at some imminent juncture—although it cannot be sustained in the light of all this evidence, is not completely mistaken. As expressed, it is surely erroneous; but what has led its supporters to their conclusion? The consciousness that there is a problem is seen by H. H. Rowley’s argument that for the apocalyptist God is in control despite appearances. In the prophets the tension between God’s role and man’s role takes place in history; while in apocalyptic, the focus of attention is on man’s role in history, with all his sin exposed, and on God’s act (which can only be God’s) at the end of history.3 Rowley is thus trying to have his cake and eat it too: God is in control of history even if God really acts only at the end of history.
A more helpful distinction comes from G. E. Ladd. He differentiates between prophetic-apocalyptic and non-prophetic apocalyptic. The latter is devoid of the sense of God’s acts in history and looks to the end, while the former retains the consciousness of God’s acts in history even while retaining the two-age structure. Non-prophetic apocalyptic is completely pessimistic about history; prophetic-apocalyptic allows a much more positive picture.3 Ladd is thus able to draw attention to some notable differences between New Testament apocalyptic and much of the apocalyptic that comes earlier. But the distinction fails to answer the pressing question of God’s relation to history in intertestamental apocalyptic, most of which Ladd classifies as non-prophetic apocalyptic—even though, as we have shown, God is reigning in some sense, and the times are determined.
The solution to the problem lies in a more sweeping understanding of what is meant by such phrases as ‘God acting in history’. What Ladd really means by ‘prophetic apocalyptic’ is not so much an apocalyptic eschatological perspective which still retains the consciousness of God’s acts in history, but an apocalyptic eschatological perspective which still retains the consciousness of God’s saving acts in history. In apocalyptic, God is still acting in history; but he is acting in such a way that evil is having its day, the grapes of wrath are being stored, and the suffering people of God hang on grimly while they anticipate the new age. During the new age, God’s judgment is executed against sinners, and his people enjoy felicity: i.e. God takes positive saving action on behalf of his people. It is understandable, therefore, why his people view the present age pessimistically.
Two small caveats must be entered. (1) God’s saving activity in intertestamental apocalyptic is not quite reserved for the age to come. 2 Esdras 4:36 informs us that the number of the elect is determined. The same thought is implicit elsewhere. Since the end comes only when their number is complete, the process of making up the number of the elect might well be thought of as a saving action of God within the present evil age. But this, it must be noted, has to do with the designation of the status of individuals, not the emancipation of the people of God individually or as a whole, nor with the introduction of a new heaven and earth. (2) Related to this is the meaning placed upon the phrase ‘God’s saving activity’. It means the observable good which comes about as the concrete result of divine action. This limitation is necessary in order to exclude those divine acts which guarantee the special place and designation of God’s people in history, i.e. in this evil age (e.g. God created the world for the salvation of his people, Test. Mos. 1.12–14; 2 Esd. 6:55; the law was a special gift to Israel, 2 Esd. 3:19f.; 9:31f.; God chastens his people now—indeed, not as much as they deserve, 2 Bar. 78.5; 84.11), but which do not at the present time bring material and pleasurable blessings to them.
Those scholars then who maximise God’s distance from history are interested in God’s positive, saving activity. Those on the other hand who see God in control of history, focus on his non-saving activity. This simple observation takes us once again to the heart of the sovereignty-responsibility tension: the nature of God. The apocalyptic literature judges quite erroneous two opposing views of God: (1) that view which so stresses God’s good actions that his otherwise limitless sovereignty is tacitly circumscribed; or (2) that view which describes God’s sovereignty in such a way that his positive, salvific activity cannot be adequately distinguished from his general providence, his ‘ultimacy’. The latter error flattens the varieties of God’s activity, makes all reality his immediate responsibility, forbids distinctions between good and evil and reduces human beings to manipulated robots. Monotheism, and Jewish apocalyptic monotheism in particular, requires notions both of God’s total sovereignty and of his special activity on behalf of his people. Such a two-fold conception of God is already found in the Old Testament. In apocalyptic, however, the solution to the tension takes on eschatological overtones. The emphasis on the eschatological dimension is making the two aspects oscillate in an unexpected fashion. God’s ultimacy is presupposed during the present age; but his saving activity is by and large reserved for the age to come. This distinction must in no way weaken the fact that the two ages are related by the divine purpose, the evil age moving in a predetermined way towards the eschaton.
This conclusion is confirmed by comparing the dominant theodicy of intertestamental apocalyptic literature with that of intertestamental non-apocalyptic literature, in which the eschatological dualism fades to a shadow. In the non-apocalyptic literature, as we have seen, the most important theodicy is based on merit theology. In bald terms, human goodness eventually pays. Harsh experience forces the ‘eventually’ to take on the occasional eschatological overtone. But in apocalyptic, in which the structure of eschatological dualism is becoming fully assembled, and behind which in all likelihood experience is even harsher, the heart of theodicy lies in the hope of the new age. ‘Apocalyptic was a Judeo-Christian world-view which located the believer in a minority community and gave his life meaning by relating it to the end, soon to come, which would reverse his present status.’3 Indeed, when J. J. Collins argues that the chief factor distinguishing prophecy from apocalyptic is the transcendence of death in the latter,3 the concluding paragraphs of his essay reveal he is really talking about post-death theodicy. The whole structure of intertestamental apocalyptic thought, in which God’s saving action is reserved for the eschaton, requires that the final vindication of God await the advent of that eschaton.
Three further caveats are required in order to secure a balanced presentation of this area of apocalyptic thought.
(i) As noted earlier, a significant proportion of the individual apocalyptic books are not really apocalyptic in nature. Further, many of the apocalyptic visions summarise history under the guise of prophecy (as opposed to the eschatological dimensions of the visions). Whenever one or the other of these two conditions occurs, theodicies more typical of the non-apocalyptic intertestamental literature appear. In the life summaries of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, for example, or in the descriptions of Abraham or Enoch, the merits of the revered saint in question, and his corresponding attractiveness to God and earned blessings from him, become highly prominent.
(ii) The predominance of the underlying eschatological theodicy in apocalyptic literature does not preclude other types, even within thoroughly apocalyptic sections. God is vindicated of any possible charge of wrongdoing in the trial of Abraham concerning the sacrifice of his son, inasmuch as Mastema is said to be behind the temptation (Jub. 17.15—much as in the case of Job). Concerning the fall, not only do we learn that God made everything good in the first place (T. Naph. 2.8), but that nothing was wrong with the fruit until the Satan poisoned it (Apoc. Mos. 19.3). The adversary tempted Eve when her two protecting angels were away worshipping (Vit. Ad. 33.1–3; i.e. God had afforded Eve adequate protection in principle?). Answers, of course, may differ from book to book. For example, 2 Baruch and 2 Enoch trace sin back to the first pair, while 1 Enoch and Jubilees go back to wicked angels behind them.
(iii) The tensions inherent in the apocalyptic Weltanschauung, and the painful historical circumstances which have given rise to them, not surprisingly call forth two works whose primary themes include theodicy. (1) The first of these is 2 Baruch.3 A great part of the answer of this book to the problem of evil turns on the freedom of the will (e.g. 19.1–3; cf. Apoc. Ab. ii, 23–6). Even the Gentiles originally enjoyed all needful knowledge; but pride kept them from the knowledge of the law, for the choice of evil on man’s part is deliberate (59.2; 51.16). The conclusion must be that Gentiles have always worked impiety and wickedness (62.7). (2) The second, and even more important, is the Salathiel Apocalypse of 2 Esdras. Like Habakkuk, the author asks why God’s people suffer at the hands of the Gentiles whose sins are even worse than those of the chosen people. But he learns that God’s ways are inscrutable and man’s intelligence limited (4:1–32; 5:35f.). Both the course and duration of the present world are predetermined (4:33–50). In any case, despite appearances God’s love for Israel never falters (5:31–40; cf. 8:47). But in any event, the coming age will resolve all problems for the few who are precious and worth saving (7:49–61). The crucial theodicy, then, is the eschatological one. When the seer remains unsatisfied by these answers (7:62–9), appeal is made to God’s compassion (7:132–40).3
Before the relationship in this literature between man’s freedom and God’s sovereignty can be examined, the apocalyptic viewpoint on election must be outlined. This viewpoint bears superficial similarity to election in previously considered literature (even, for example, in so small a detail as God’s choice of the land, 2 En. 40.2); but in two respects it is really quite different. (1) The first, though well-known, is relatively incidental to the present study: the Messiah is presented as God’s Elect One, notably but not exclusively in 1 Enoch (e.g. 1 En. 39.6; 40.4f.; 45.3f.; 46.3; 61.8; cf. Apoc. Ab. ii, 31). The title apparently goes back to Isaiah 42:1. (2) The second, however, is crucial: merit theology transforms election into a divine choice which is neither lost in divine ‘unknownness’ nor based on sovereign love bestowed in defiance of demerit, but which is explicitly grounded on human righteousness and worth. God chose the people to whom he could find no equal (2 Bar. 48.20). Israel alone is God’s elect people (2 Esd. 5:23–30; 6:58; 8:16; etc.), those for whom the world was made (6:55; 7:11). Although the law was a special gift to Israel (3:19f.; 9:31f.) it was sinfully refused by the other nations (7:23f., 72): by implication, Israel alone made the right choice. God chose Jacob’s seed from all that he saw (Jub. 2.20). Those whom the Elect One chooses are the righteous and holy (1 En. 51.2), prompting P. Volz to remark, ‘They are the elect, because God has chosen them for participation in salvation, on the basis of their piety.’4 Clearly, the very term ‘elect’ undergoes a shift in semantic value, and as an adjective it becomes a synonym for ‘righteous’: the righteous perform elect works (1 En. 38.2), and men must choose an elect life (1 En. 94.4). In 1 Enoch, God’s people are often designated ‘elect and righteous’ or the like (e.g. 1.1; 5.7; 41.2; 50.1). This semantic shift in ‘election’ necessarily provokes concomitant shifts in the meanings of ‘grace’ and ‘mercy’. A major part of E. P. Sanders’s argument, to be considered in detail a little further on, is that in intertestamental Judaism the prevailing ‘covenantal nomism’ continues to hold that salvation is according to grace or mercy, and condemnation is according to works. But this repeated assertion fails to come to grips with the diluted value of ‘grace’ and ‘mercy’. God may be ‘gracious’ to his people, but it is no longer grace in defiance of demerit and rooted in the sovereign goodness of God. Rather, it is a kind response to merit.
A few passages are admittedly ambiguous, but in most of these cases the idea of human merit is not too far away, and in none of them does election ever spring from grace. In the Testament of Levi 2.4; 4.4, for example, it is God who ‘chooses’ Levi; but it seems to be in response to Levi’s prayer. Although God’s people are called beloved for his name’s sake (2 Bar. 21.21), in context it is clear that they are somewhat superior to the surrounding types. God chose Abraham (2 Esd. 3:13ff.) and raised up David (3:23); but perhaps the contextual description of the sinfulness of the people at that time is meant to establish a black-versus-white contrast. Enoch was chosen of all men to be the writer of all creation (2 En. 64.5; cf. 65.11f.); but there can be no doubt that the total representation of the man suggests he deserved the honour. The same holds true for God’s choice of Abraham (Apoc. Ab. ii,10). In a few instances the mention of election functions as the basis of a plea to God to remember his covenant promises to the fathers (e.g. Ass. Mos. 4.1ff.; Ps. Sol. 9:16–19; 17:5–28; cf. 7:8), and here the worth of the fathers is not brought up; but neither is God’s grace. The overwhelming evidence is accurately summarised by G. Schrenk, who points out that election is now ‘in terms of merit, namely, that the people is chosen because none is more worthy.’4
A few passages restrict the number of the elect so as to exclude some Israelites. In the Psalms of Solomon the pious are a smaller group than the whole nation. In 2 Baruch 40.2, the Messiah protects only a remnant of the people, viz. those left alive. (Among the passages with this narrowing tendency, cf. Jub. 1.29; 1 En. 51.1f.; Sib. Or. iii,69; Test. Mos. 1.12f.; 5.1ff.) The sinners of Israel are progressively being excluded, the more so since, conceptually speaking, the difference between being righteous and being elect is scarcely discernible. The fact that different parties tend to define who is and who is not righteous in different ways leads to certain sectarian limitations on election found at Qumran (infra).
On the other hand, some apocalyptic thought tends toward universalism. Unfortunately, discussion of ‘universalism’ is semantically problematic.
Universalism in religion may mean either that the dominion and power of the deity are world-wide, or that his favour and self-revelation are world-wide. The first meaning involves the essence and nature of the deity; the second involves his manifestation among men. Since monotheism asserts that there is but one creator and ruler of the universe, it is perforce universalistic in the first sense. But there is no inner necessity that compels it to distribute the favour of the one God equally among all men. That the God creates and governs all does not of itself imply that all are equal in his sight. Nothing prohibits his choosing a particular group among men as his elect. Indeed the monotheistic religions have always assumed that he does just that. This idea circumscribes the realm in which God’s favour is manifested without, however, affecting the universality of his dominion.4
There are other ambiguities. In apocalyptic, the more liberal emphasis is generally the older (e.g. 1 En. 10.21; cf. Sib. Or. iii,757–61); but the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs seems to be an exception (T. Levi 4.4; T. Zeb. 9.8 (v. 1.); T. Naph. 8.4; T. Ash. 7.3). Other questions must be asked. Do the references to ‘all the Gentiles’ and ‘all nations’ mean ‘all Gentiles without exception’ or ‘all Gentiles without distinction’? How is universalism (however understood) related to eschatology? What part, if any, does a ‘mission’ outlook play in early apocalyptic thinking?4
Above all, the wide diversity of views within the literature must be given full weight. As D. S. Russell points out, the perspective ranges from the almost gleeful assignation of all but the elite of Israel to hell fire, to liberal universalism.4 Jubilees, 2 Enoch, 2 Esdras and many isolated texts in other books (e.g. 1 En. 91.9; 2 Bar. 82.3–9; Test. Mos. 10.7–10), offer no hope for the Gentiles. In 1 Enoch 90.20–36, some nations submit to Israel and partake of the final blessings; while in 2 Baruch 72.2ff., nations are spared selectively on the basis of their attitude toward Israel. Further, even when a more liberal attitude is upheld, Israel remains in centre stage. In the Sibylline Oracles, for example, salvation is extended beyond Israel, ‘without thereby the superiority of God’s people being violated’.4 Apocalyptic becomes harsher with time; but M.-J. Lagrange catches the spirit of much of it: ‘Far from renouncing the passionate nationalism of Israel, it [apocalyptic] pushed it to the point of exasperation, even while simultaneously remaining under higher aspirations. The righteous will be well rewarded as righteous, and the sinners punished for their evil: but it goes without saying that the righteous are the true Israel.’4
Perhaps the most important observation about apocalyptic universalism, from the point of view of this study, concerns the basis of Gentile salvation whenever such salvation is envisaged. However many Gentiles are saved, not only are they not called ‘elect’, they are accepted solely on the basis of their own goodness—sometimes measured in terms of their attitude toward Israel. This is consistent with merit theology; and it is on this theme that a little more attention must now be focused.
Glorification of the law is a dominant motif of Jewish apocalyptic (e.g. 2 Bar. 15.5; 48.2; 77.16; 2 Esdr. 9:29–37). The law is eternally valid, manifest in time (Jub. 2.18ff., 31ff.). People perish for ignoring the law (Jub. 1.10ff.). Levi is given the ‘sovereignty’ among his brethren because he is to know the law of God (T. Reub. 15.4). This stress on law constitutes the necessary backdrop to the explicit merit theology. Salvation and blessing are specifically and repeatedly attributed to accumulated merits (e.g. Jub. 30.19ff.; 1 En. 1.8; 38.4; Frag. Bk. Noah 108.7ff.; T. Naph. 8.5; T. Gad 5.9–11; Ps. Sol. 9:8). The righteous are saved by their works (2 Bar. 51.7; 67.6), and prayers are answered on the same ground (2 Bar. 63.3, 5; 85.2). The righteous constantly examine themselves; and as for sins of ignorance, atonement may be secured by such procedures as fasting (Ps. Sol. 3:8f.). Chastening also blots out sin (Ps. Sol. 13:8f.). Even Adam will be raised up to life again if subsequent to the fall he keeps himself from all sin (Apoc. Mos. 28.3f.). Now it is no more a question of Jacob’s having been chosen before his birth; rather, Abraham, still alive, witnesses the deeds of both Jacob and Esau and perceives that God will choose Jacob (Jub. 19.12ff.; cf. 22.10).
More sophisticated characteristics of merit theology also appear. The Jews receive mercy on account of the patriarchs, Abraham and Isaac and Jacob (T. Levi 15.4). The sinlessness of the fathers functions elsewhere as an encouragement to endure suffering and death rather than succumb to sin (Test. Mos. 9.3f.). The works of evil and the works of righteousness are balanced against each other in the judgment of Zion (2 Bar. 14.7). The good works of the righteous not only give confidence at death (2 Bar. 14.12f.), but serve as a tower of strength to the people (2.2), and remain a lasting ground of merit (14.7; 84.10). Indeed, 3 Baruch 11.9 (later than our period) pictures the vessel where the merits of the righteous are stored. Inevitably, a case arises where a soul comes to judgment freighted down with equal merits and demerits (Test. Ab. §§12–14( )). The only hope for that soul, which must await decision, is the merit (prayers) of others.
There are, it is true, some voices within the Jewish apocalyptic tradition which do not quite fit into this pattern, even if those who point this out overstate the differences. For example, R. H. Charles says that the Testament of Moses (cf. especially 12.3–13) in its concepts of righteousness and grace is closer to the Old Testament than to the rabbis. God’s call ‘alike of the individual as of the nation was a matter of grace, and the covenant relation between God and Israel was based on divine grace and not on human merit.’4 It is necessary to cite the entire relevant passage:
(12.3) Joshua, do not despise thyself, but set thy mind at ease, and hearken to my words. (4) All the nations which are in the earth hath God created and us, He hath foreseen them and us from the beginning of the creation of the earth unto the end of the age, and nothing has been neglected by him even to the least thing, but all things He hath foreseen and caused all to come forth [textual uncertainty]. (5) [Yea] all things which are to be in this earth the Lord hath foreseen and lo! they are brought forward [into the light.… (6) The Lord] hath on their behalf appointed me to [pray] for their sins and [make intercession] for them. (7) For not for any virtue or strength of mine, but of His good pleasure have His compassion and longsuffering fallen to my lot. (8) For I say unto you, Joshua: it is not on account of the godliness of this people that thou shalt root out the nations. (9) The lights of the heaven, the foundations of the earth have been made and approved by God and are under the signet ring of His right hand. (10) Those, therefore, who do and fulfill the commandments of God shall increase and be prospered: (11) But those who sin and set at nought the commandments shall be without the blessings before mentioned, and they shall be punished with many torments by the nations. (12) But wholly to root out and destroy them is not permitted. (13) For God will go forth who has foreseen all things for ever, and His covenant has been established and by the oath which … [text ends].4
Granted that Charles’ translation is accurate,4 his conclusion that God’s call is ‘a matter of grace’ appears extravagant. There are several mitigating factors: (1) The Testament of Moses purports to retell the events of Deuteronomy 31–4, and so it is not surprising if some of the attitudes of Deuteronomy are reflected in this book. More surprising is the discovery of how blurred the detail of the reflection really is. (2) The grace of God is nowhere explicitly spelled out in these verses. (3) It is true that neither the election of Moses (v.7) nor the promise of victory to the nations (v.8) are attributable to the godliness and worth of Moses and the people respectively, and indeed this is atypical of Jewish apocalyptic; but the root cause in both cases has more to do with God’s sweeping determination of events (vv.4f. and 9 respectively) than with sovereign, electing grace. (4) The same sort of determination offers a whitewashing rationale for Israel’s failure to defeat all the pagan nations (v.12). (5) The way God has structured the world, merit theology still determines who is blessed and who is punished (vv.9–11). (6) Elsewhere in the book, there is the explicit statement that the forefathers did not tempt God so as to transgress his commands (9.3f.). (7) The election of Moses may possibly be disconnected from his worth in this passage in order to agree with the doctrine of Moses’ pre-existence (1.14). (8) In v.8 it is not so much the election of Israel that is in view as Israel’s appointment to the task of annihilating the Canaanites.
In a similar fashion, G. Schrenk goes much too far when he affirms that the function of the merciful righteousness of God in 2 Esdras 8:36 ‘approximates closely to the usage of Paul.’5 2 Esdras 8:36 is placed on the praying lips of pessimistic Ezra. The divine reply (8:37–40), however, sets aside this part of Ezra’s prayer. God will not concern himself with the creation of those who have sinned, nor with their death, judgment, and perdition. He will rejoice rather over the creation of the righteous. This is consistent with the idea found elsewhere, to the effect that if many have sinned, many others have been righteous (2 Bar. 21.11).
There is one kind of genuine exception which cannot be gainsaid. Unlike the bulk of Jewish apocalyptic literature, 2 Enoch 53.1 and 2 Esdras 7:102–15 come out against the belief that others can effectively pray for us when we sin.5 There is no helper for us when we sin, and no repentance after death (62.2). But this exception remains within the borders of a full-blown merit theology. There are other inconsistencies. A few texts suggest that man’s status in the after-life, or in the eschaton, is pre-determined (e.g. 1 En. 41.8; Ps. Sol. 5:6; 2 En. 49.2). Most, however, insist it depends on man’s own righteousness (e.g. 1 En. 41.1, 5; 43.2; 61.8; 2 Bar. 54.15, 19; cf. 3 Bar. 11.9; 12.4f.; 15.2f.).
To sum up: freedom of the human will is taught in the most unequivocal fashion; but so also is the divine determining. This study has therefore validated the conclusions of several scholars who have stressed the co-existence of both themes in apocalyptic. Yet these twin poles of the Old Testament tension are being forced apart. History is more determined than ever; but at the same time the freedom of the human will is becoming so absolute it is difficult to conceive how logical contradiction can be avoided. Moreover, perhaps because of the eschatological dualism, there is a reduction in the sense of the immediate presence of God.
But however great the tension between divine sovereignty and human responsibility in Jewish apocalyptic literature, there is one aspect of that tension which has been virtually eliminated, viz. election. The combined forces of the drumming merit theology and the apocalyptic brand of eschatological dualism have snuffed out the tension in this area. The former makes man earn his own salvation; the latter makes the present evil world less the sphere of God’s saving activity than a platform for probationary examination.