TOBIAS NICKLAS
IT is quite difficult to give a more or less exhaustive overview of the influence of Jewish scriptures on Early Christian Apocrypha. There are at least two reasons why this is so. First, there is no fixed corpus of ‘Christian Apocrypha’—even if we limit our study to (late) ancient writings it is not reasonable to cover all of the many different texts which could be counted among ‘Christian Apocrypha’. This makes it necessary to draw a rough sketch and attempt to describe some major patterns which can be found in many different writings. Second, although intertextual relations between apocryphal writings and what we now call the Hebrew Bible or Old Testament abound, there was no fixed Jewish ‘canon’ (in the sense of a fixed list of writings)—neither in the form of a Tanak nor as ‘the’ Septuagint—in the period when many Early Christian Apocrypha emerged. If the following overview speaks about ‘Old Testament’, ‘Septuagint’, or ‘Hebrew Bible’ intertexts, this is—at least in a certain sense—an anachronism. A very good example mirroring the situation is Melito of Sardis’ († c.180 CE) well-known letter to Onesimus, which is quoted by Eusebius in his Church History (Hist. eccl. 4.26.13–14). Obviously Onesimus had asked Melito several times to give him the correct number and sequence of ‘Old Testament’ books—here we find perhaps the oldest evidence for the use of this term. In his response to this—at least in our modern eyes—simple question Melito states that he had travelled to the Orient which gave him the chance to undertake detailed investigations of the problem, and finally gives a list of books which is very close to today’s canon of the Hebrew Bible, but lacks the Book of Esther and deuterocanonical/apocryphal writings like Tobit or 1–2 Maccabees. Only one generation after Melito, Tertullian in his On Female Fashion (De cultu feminarum 1.3) discusses the idea of fallen angels, and uses the book of 1 Enoch, although this text ‘is not accepted by some’ according to Tertullian. Other examples could be added. On the whole, this shows us that there has been at least an idea of a collection of authoritative Jewish scriptures which were taken over by most (or at least many) Christian groups. However, this also shows that the concrete extent and limits of this collection remained a matter of debate for a long time, and, perhaps even more, many Christians seemingly did not have a clear understanding of these limits. The fact, however, that even the earliest Jewish followers of Christ like Paul speak about ‘scripture’ or ‘scriptures’, the ‘Law’, ‘Moses’, and /or the ‘prophets’, shows that there must have been a widespread concept of Jewish ‘scriptures’. Thus it makes sense to discuss relations between ancient Christian writings—here ‘Christian Apocrypha’—and what can be called Jewish ‘scripture’ or ‘scriptures’.
In the struggle to show that their ideas of truth were not something completely ‘new’, but had very old roots, (many) ‘Christian’ groups not only used ‘Old Testament’ writings but also tried to show that only their readings of these texts were appropriate. At the same time, they had to demonstrate that ‘Jews’—or better, Jewish non-believers in Jesus Christ—did not really understand them properly (for further reading, see Nicklas 2013a [lit.]). The struggle for an appropriate reading of Jewish scriptures is mirrored in many ancient Christian texts—perhaps the most prominent example being Justin Martyr’s well-known Dialogue with Trypho. But even several narrative texts show that at least some ancient Christian groups tried to prove that only their—christological—reading of many parts of Jewish scriptures made sense. A very good example can be found in the New Testament Gospel of John where Jesus claims that Moses’ writings in fact speak about him, Jesus (John 5.45–7). That, of course, means that his Jewish counterparts did not really believe in the scriptures, because otherwise they would have believed in Jesus. In the so-called ‘Unknown Gospel’ on Papyrus Egerton 2 (+ Papyrus Cologne 255) a similar dispute between Jesus and Jewish ‘experts of the Law’ can be found. This apocryphal text weaves together the abovementioned John 5.45 with other Johannine passages such as John 5.39 and 9.29 (for further reading, see Nicklas 2008 and 2009). The text states: ‘“Do not think that I have come to accuse you before my Father. There is already someone who accuses you: Moses, in whom you have hope.” But when they said: “We know that God has spoken to Moses, but of you we do not know where you come from”, Jesus responded to them and said: ‘Now accusation will be made against your unbelief in relation to what he gave testimony of. For if you believed Moses, you would also have believed me. Because he has written about me to your forefathers …’ (translation Nicklas 2009: 25). After these words the second- or third-century fragment breaks off. Scenes like this perhaps do not suggest that ‘Christian’ groups were claiming to use Jewish scriptures only for their own purposes from this point forward. Of course, this text presumes that Moses’ writings, i.e. the Torah, are still authoritative scriptures for the Jews as well; however, it proposes a new reading—‘Moses has written about me’—and claims that this is the only appropriate reading: everybody who does not know ‘where Jesus comes from’ cannot understand scripture correctly.
The fact that many Christian groups began to read more parts of the Jewish scriptures as speaking or prophesying about Jesus Christ can also be seen in many quotations and allusions that we find in early Christian literature. Perhaps most revealing is the fact that many early Christian stories about Jesus are interwoven with allusions to Jewish scriptures—a well-known example is the pattern of allusions to and quotations of Psalm 22 in the Markan and Matthean passion accounts (for further reading, see Nicklas 2013b). Patterns of narrative allusions to ‘Old Testament’ intertexts can also be found in many apocryphal gospels. At least in some cases they seem to witness the existence of early Christian collections of ‘Testimonia’. An interesting example for the second-century development of motifs created from allusions to ‘Old Testament’ subtexts is the passion and resurrection account of the Gospel of Peter, probably dating to some time after the middle of the second century (see also Foster 2010: 169–72: 150–90 CE; and Nicklas 2013c). While the Gospel of Peter gives only one (quite vague) explicit quotation (Deut. 21.22–3 both in Gos. Pet. 5 and in Gos. Pet. 15), the text is full of allusions to ‘Old Testament’ intertexts. These, however, are partly mediated via the (probably) older accounts which came to be part of the New Testament, as is the case with the very vague allusion to Ps. 21 LXX in Jesus’ cry on the cross (Gos. Pet. 19; see Mark 15.34; Matt. 27.46): ‘And the Lord cried out and said: “My power, power, you have forsaken me.” And having said this he was taken up’ (translation Kraus and Nicklas).
In other cases, however, the Gospel of Peter seems to be nearer to the Old Testament intertexts than its canonical parallels. This is especially the case in Gos. Pet. 9: ‘And others stood there and spat into his face, and others slapped him on the cheeks, others pricked him with a reed, and some scourged him and said: “With this honour let us honour the Son of God”’ (translation Kraus and Nicklas). Unlike any of the canonical accounts of Jesus’ mocking, the Gospel of Peter offers exactly the three motifs of abusing Jesus, which can also be found in Isa. 50.6, a passage about the Suffering Servant. Gos. Pet. 16 moreover offers an interpretation of Ps. 68.22 LXX: contrary to the canonical Gospels, the Gospel of Peter does not only mention gall and vinegar, it seems to understand the drink offered to Jesus as poisonous—only one of several examples where the Gospel of Peter understands the Jewish scriptures as prophecies of the Jews’ responsibility for Jesus’ death.
But, of course, narrative interpretations of Jewish scriptures are not only limited to passion accounts: a lot of well-known motifs (with a high impact even for later times) are to be found in apocryphal infancy gospels. For example Matt. 2.1–12 only mentions (an unknown number of) magi coming from the East to Jerusalem to render homage to the newborn king of Israel; apocryphal traditions, however, speak about three holy kings. One of the earliest texts where we find this idea is the Syriac Cave of Treasures, a late antique apocryphal text (for a discussion of the exact date see Ri 2000; Leonhard 2001) narrating the history of the world from the creation to the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth: here the magi are called kings from Persia, Saba, and Seba. This is not done out of pure delight for new and (possibly) obscure details; it is rather an interpretation of Psalm 71.10 LXX which speaks about Israel’s peaceful king who receives gifts from the kings of Tarshish, Saba, and Seba. For the Cave of Treasures, Jesus is this peaceful, Solomon-like king, and Matthew’s magi are interpreted as these kings. Only one problem remains: because Tarshish is usually located on the Iberian Peninsula in the West and, according to Matt. 2, the magi are coming from the East, the text has to replace Tarshish by an eastern country well known for its magi—Persia.
Another very well-known example can be added: today a traditional crib without an ox and an ass seems unthinkable. None of the canonical accounts of nativity, however, mentions even one of these creatures. While our oldest witness for the motif of ox and ass in the stable goes back to Origen’s Homilies on Luke 2.13–16, it became widespread via the (probably) seventh-century apocryphal Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew; see also the parallels in the Irish Leabhar Breac. In chapter 14 of the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew we read: ‘And on the third day after the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, Mary went out of the cave, and entering a stable, placed the child in the stall, and the ox and the ass, genuflecting, adored him.’ The text goes on in a ‘typical’ Matthean manner—explaining the motif by two fulfilment quotations from the ‘Old Testament’: ‘Then was fulfilled that which was said by Isaiah the prophet, saying, ‘The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib’ [Isa. 1.3]. The animals, therefore, having him in their midst, incessantly adored him. Then was fulfilled that which was said by Habakkuk the prophet, saying, ‘Between two animals you are made manifest.’ Joseph remained with Mary three days in the same place’ (translation Elliott 2005: 88–9).
It becomes clear that even if apocryphal infancy stories contain many details and dates that we do not find in the texts which came to be part of the New Testament, some of them at least were not developed simply out of sheer delight for telling crude and strange stories, but rather out of theological motives. In the cases already mentioned at least, the story of Jesus and his family was understood as fulfilment of Old Testament narratives which otherwise would have remained obscure.
Other ‘Christian’ texts are (more or less) entirely interwoven with allusions to ‘Old Testament’ and ‘Early Jewish’ intertexts or almost completely made up of motifs and images that we also find in the Jewish scriptures. The most well-known ‘New Testament’ example is surely the book of Revelation whose author could even be called a ‘new Ezekiel’ (see Hieke 2004); but there are also a few highly interesting apocryphal texts that work in comparable ways. Perhaps the best example of such a technique is 5 Ezra, a Christian apocalyptic text probably dating from the turn of the second to the third century CE, which has been transmitted in some manuscripts of the Vulgate as chapters 1–2 of 4 Ezra. While the text, comparable to the book of Revelation, does not contain any explicit quotations, it is full of allusions to very different ‘Old Testament’ parallels mainly from the prophetic literature. Interestingly, one of the most important intertexts is the Book of Baruch, today counted among the deuterocanonical or apocryphal writings of the Old Testament: 5 Ezra 2.2–5 is, for example, a close parallel to Baruch 4.8–23 (see Bergren 1990: 257–8)—parallels are italicized:
The mother who bore them [i.e. Israel] says to them: ‘Go, children, because I am a widow and forsaken. I brought you up with gladness, I will send you away with mourning and sadness, because you sinned before the Lord God and did iniquity in his presence. But now, what will I do for you? for I am a widow and forsaken by my children. Go children, seek mercy from the Lord, for I am desolate. (translation Bergren 1990: 403)
What does this mean for our overall question? 5 Ezra can be understood as a (Jewish?)–Christian relecture (‘re-reading’) of motifs, images, and texts we also find in the Jewish scriptures; it wants to be a very ancient prophecy, but one dealing with ‘actual’ matters. Baruch is interesting because it describes Israel in a desperate situation; but while Baruch ends with the promise of future hope for Israel and (especially) Jerusalem, 5 Ezra uses the material to write a prophecy of Israel’s ultimate rejection and the election of a new people of God.
As ‘Christian’ theologies—if they are not, for example, Marcionite—usually cannot be understood without their roots in ‘Old Testament’ ideas of God and his history with Israel and the world, many Christian apocryphal texts show theological ideas that are more or less deeply connected with ideas that find their roots in Jewish scripture. This is the case even where there is no explicit quotation from or allusion to these Jewish texts. The number of examples is surely countless: one could start with the idea of one God who created heaven and earth, the idea of his spirit, the coming of a messianic figure, a chosen people, a covenant, his coming kingdom, or one could discuss the relation of ‘Christian’ ethical ideas to what we find in the Torah, etc. One text which illustrates this point especially well is Apocalypse of Peter 4. Today, this passage of the originally Greek Apocalypse of Peter is only extant in an Ethiopic translation; the original text was composed during the first decades of the second century CE; the question whether its place of origin was Egypt (Alexandria?) or Palestine (during the Bar-Kokhba War) is still a matter of debate (see Norelli 1991; Bauckham 1998; Nicklas 2011). The text reads as follows:
1 And see now what will happen to them in the last days when the Day of God comes. 2 And on the day of judgment which is the punishment from God, from the east to the west [and] all the children of man will be gathered before my Father who lives forever 3 and he will command Gehenna that it opens its bars of adamant and give back all which is his in it. 4 And as for the beasts and the birds, [and] he will command (that) they bring back all the flesh which they have eaten since he wants that men appear. 5 For there is nothing which perishes for God and there is nothing which is impossible for him. All is as his. All (will be) on the day of punishment, on the judgment day for (it is) with the word of God. 6 And all will be in accordance with how he creates the world. [and] Everything in it he commanded (to be) and everything was. So likewise it will be in the last days. 7 For everything is possible for God and therefore thus it says in scripture: the son of man prophesied to each of the bones. 8 And you said to the bone: ‘Bone (be) to bones in limbs, tendons and nerves, and flesh and skin and hair on it.’ 9 And soul and spirit the great Uriel [and] will give at the command of God, for God has appointed him over his resurrection of the dead at the day of judgment. 10 And see (pl.) and understand (pl.) the seeds which were sown into the ground. Like a dry thing which is without soul it is sown into the ground and it lives and bears fruit 11 and the earth will give back in accordance with (its) pledge what has been entrusted to it: and this is what dies. The seed which has been sown into the ground and revives and is given life (is) man. 12 How much more (will he not revive) those who believe in him and his elect ones, for whose sake he made (the earth)? God will raise them up on the day of judgment. 13 And all (things or people?) the earth will give back on the day of judgment, for in it (i.e., the day) it (i.e., the earth) must be judged at the same time, and heaven with it. (translation: Buchholz 1988)
What is, perhaps, most striking is that this ‘Christian’ text offers us a scenario of the final judgement and resurrection of the dead in which Jesus of Nazareth does not play any role. He appears only in chapter 5—after many of the most important things have happened. What we have here is thus a scenario of the end of times which could be interpreted more or less as a Second Temple Jewish writing if we had only this fragment. Of course, we find almost every pattern of relationship to Jewish scriptures mentioned earlier (for more details see Nicklas 2013d): Apocalypse of Peter 4.8 even quotes an ‘Old Testament’ passage from Ezek. 37 and thereby shows that it understands this text, comparable to early Jewish witnesses like 4QPseudo-Ezek., as a prophecy of bodily resurrection. Moreover, the connection between creation and resurrection of the dead in Apocalypse of Peter 4.6 goes back to Isa. 43.18–19, Dan. 11.29 Theod., Lam. 5.21, or Ezek. 36.11, while motifs like the idea of a ‘Day of God’ (or ‘Day of the Lord’; see Isa. 2.12, 13.6–9, 30.7; Zech. 13.1, 14.1–9; Mal. 3.2, 19–21, 23, etc.) or the idea that for God nothing is impossible (see for example Gen. 18.14; Job 42.2) clearly find their background in Jewish scriptures. And finally, even if ‘the great Uriel’ is no ‘Old Testament figure’, we know this archangel from early Jewish writings like 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, and some of the Sibylline Oracles. One could add many other examples, but it is already evident that Apocalypse of Peter 4 could be understood as a ‘Jewish’ fragment in a ‘Christian’ apocryphal text.
While this is, in the case of the Apocalypse of Peter, usually not seen as a major problem, in other texts the problems are more significant. The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, for example, have for a long time been understood as a Jewish Pseudepigraph, a part of Jewish intertestamental literature with a few later, Christian interpolations. This idea has changed dramatically with the work of Marinus De Jonge (see De Jonge 2003; now also Kurowski 2010): it is becoming clear that it is impossible to remove a few ‘Christian’ interpolations and reconstruct an original ‘Jewish’ source. Even if many passages of this text look like an early Jewish literary reworking and expanding of the Old Testament story of Jacob’s Blessing (Gen. 49), it is not possible to reconstruct a Jewish ‘Grundschrift’—and perhaps this ‘Grundschrift’ never even existed! In their final form at least the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs are a Christian writing. Shall we go so far as to call this text a ‘Christian’ apocryphal text? This question should at least be a matter for discussion—and the discussion should not be confined only to the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs; other writings usually counted among the ‘Early Jewish Pseudepigrapha’, for example the Apocalypse of Elijah, cause similar problems (for a broader discussion, see Davila 2005; Kraft 2009). They contain so many motifs, images, and text passages which look as if they are ‘Jewish’, being connected to Jewish thinking or Jewish Scripture(s), and show so few clearly ‘Christian’ details that they have been considered to be ‘Jewish’ pseudepigrapha that were transmitted and interpolated in Christian contexts. It is, however, becoming clearer that reconstructions of their alleged Jewish ‘Grundschrift’ are not possible any more.
The texts already mentioned are also very good examples of another pattern of influence of Jewish scriptures on Christian apocryphal texts. Even in the first pages of the New Testament, starting with Jesus’ genealogy (Matt. 1.1–17), many ‘Old Testament’ characters play decisive roles. While, however, no New Testament book purports to be written by an Old Testament figure, this is certainly the case with several apocryphal writings.
For a long time scholars were convinced it was possible to reconstruct a ‘Jewish’ source of the Ascension of Isaiah, the so-called Martyrdom of Isaiah (which still can be found in many collections of so-called ‘Jewish pseudepigrapha’ or ‘intertestamental’ literature). Now the text is usually considered to be a ‘Christian’ apocalypse probably from the first decades of the second century CE. While it is still a matter of debate whether the Ascension of Isaiah can be read as a unified whole or has been put together from two different early ‘Christian’ texts by a second-century redactor, the idea of a pure Jewish source which could be reconstructed from the Ascension of Isaiah can be put aside (see, among others, the work of Pesce 1983 and Norelli 1995). This text is a clear case showing that the usual criteria for what makes a text ‘Christian’ (or ‘Jewish’) do not always work very well. It is also another good example of what we already recognized with 5 Ezra (and can also be seen with 6 Ezra): at least some early Christians produced prophetic and/or apocalyptic writings under the names of important figures of Israel’s past in order to have ‘ancient’ texts available to deal with contemporary concerns and to prophesy the truth of their ‘new’ movement and its claims. If one tries to get an overview of the production of apocalyptic writings until the end of the Byzantine period, it becomes obvious that the need for this kind of texts to be produced continued for a long time: to give just one example, the list of Byzantine Greek apocryphal apocalypses attributed to Daniel is extremely impressive (see DiTommaso 2005): we know of a Vision of Daniel on the Island of Cyprus, a Vision of Daniel on the Blond Race, Visions of Daniel and Other Holy Men, an Oracle of Daniel on Byzantium, a Proclamation of the Prophet Daniel, a Vision of Daniel on the Future of the Seven-Hilled City, and many others.
The case of Daniel is not the only example of a re-use (if not ‘recycling’) of famous Old Testament figures. One character who plays a decisive role in quite different Christian apocryphal texts is King Solomon. Already in Jewish traditions, starting with the Old Testament book of Proverbs, a number of sapiential, but also poetic writings have been attributed to him. This development went on in Christian circles. One of the most mysterious early ‘Christian’ texts is the early second-century collection of the Odes of Solomon, originally consisting of forty-two poetic writings which are now mainly extant in a Syriac translation of the original Greek. It is, however, not entirely clear why these writings have been attributed to Solomon. Was this title given only by chance—perhaps because of the Odes’ transmission together with the early Jewish Psalms of Solomon? This would surely be the easiest solution of the problem. There are, however, a few lines between the texts themselves and ancient Christian receptions of the Solomon figure which make it very probable that this has not been the case (for further reading, see Nicklas 2013e). First, the Odes contain several motifs which are connected to the figure of Solomon. While 2 Chron. 22.9–10, for example, calls Solomon a ‘man of calmness’, the Odes of Solomon use the idea of ‘calmness’ as a key term for ‘salvation’. This can be seen very well in Ode 26, a text which speaks about ‘Odes of his calmness’ (26.3), discusses the necessity to ‘recognize and be calm’, and finally addresses the singers’ ‘calmness’ (26.12). Moreover, when the Odes again and again speak about ‘peace’ (e.g. 8.7, 9.6, 10.2, 11.3, 35.1, 36.8), this calls to mind the idea that Solomon was understood as a king of peace in important Old Testament traditions (see mainly Ps. 71 LXX). Finally, the Odes are spoken by the voice of one who is loved (3.2–7; 7.1; 8.22; 38.11)—a concept that can be connected to the idea that, according to Ps. 44 LXX and 2 Sam. 12.24–25, Solomon is the ‘Beloved One’. But there are even more connections between the Odes of Solomon and early Christian receptions of the figure of Solomon: at least a certain group of ancient Christian authors establish a connection between Christ and Solomon. While an author like Hippolytus of Rome (170–235 CE) in his Commentary on the Song of Songs reflects on the question that Solomon, even if he was the Son of David, was not the Christ, according to Justin Martyr (Dial. 61.3), the Divine Logos himself spoke through Solomon’s proverbs. It is thus quite possible that the Odes of Solomon can be seen as another very early witness connecting the figures of Christ and Solomon: if this is the case, the text claims to be spoken by the very Solomon whose words are the words of Christ, the divine Logos. Reading, praying, (or singing?) these texts thus can mean joining into a mystical connection with Christ who, like Solomon, is peaceful, calm, and the beloved one.
While it is difficult to establish a firm connection between motifs connecting the Old Testament Solomon figure to the Odes of Solomon, King Solomon plays the leading part in the so-called Testament of Solomon, a Christian text which at its kernel probably goes back to the post-Constantinian fourth century CE (for more information on this text see Busch 2006). Solomon is portrayed here as the dominator of all demons and the greatest of all exorcists. This idea finds its roots in 1 Kings 5.9–13 and has been developed further in texts like Wisdom 7.17–21 and Josephus, Ant. 8.44–6. An important part of the storyline, however, has been developed as an interpretation of 1 Kings 6.7 where we read that during the building of the Solomonic Temple one could not hear a hammer, nor an axe, nor any other iron instrument. This strange statement led to the idea that Solomon built the Temple with the help of demons whom he forced to serve him. The Testament of Solomon thus can, at least in parts be read as an ancient Christian demonology put into the context of a story about the building of the First Temple which is based at least partly on a few short passages from Jewish scripture.
These are but a few examples of texts purporting to come from an Old Testament figure, re-telling stories around it or creating new stories along old lines. Interestingly, some important Old Testament characters seem not to play major roles along these lines: at least as far as I see, there are no Christian apocrypha around David or Aaron—although this is perhaps due to the fact that the Messiah himself is a Davidic figure, and that the Aaronitic priesthood did not play a role in Christian circles. The roles of other figures, however, even increased with the development of more and more apocryphal writings: while at least some apocryphal Ezra-writings have already been mentioned above, there is a circle of (Christian) literature on Adam and Eve, a Syriac Life of Abel, a (‘Christian’ or partly ‘Christian’?) History of Melchizedeck, even a (fabulous) History of the Rechabites, also called the Vision of Zosimos, and much more besides.
While the examples noted here can be seen as witnesses for ‘Christianities’ that are more or less deeply influenced by their Jewish roots (or, in some cases, perhaps still part of what one could call ‘Judaism’), other Christian groups tried to cut off these roots, or at least drastically reinterpreted them. The most well-known example is surely Marcion, who accepted Jewish scriptures as inspired by a deity, but by the wrong God, who had nothing to do with Jesus’ God, and who created a form of Christianity which tried to be as purified from any ‘Old Testament’ ideas as possible. Interestingly, the author of the Letter to Diognetus, a text usually counted among the Apostolic Fathers, took a similar line: while he admits that Jews worship only one God, the creator of the world who revealed himself via his Son, he totally discredits any kind of Jewish worship and way of life, and tries to define ‘Christianity’ in a way that does not show any connection to Judaism and its scriptures. I do not know of any Christian apocryphal texts that are clearly related to the thought-world of the Letter to Diognetus; however, ideas about cutting off ‘Christianity’ from Jewish roots (and the God of the Jews) can be found in many writings, usually called ‘gnostic’ (on the problems of using this term, see for example Williams 1996; King 2003).
In an important monograph, Gerard P. Luttikhuizen (2006) offers a series of highly interesting examples showing how some ‘Sethian Gnostic’ writings reinterpreted the biblical stories of Creation to make them fit with their own thought worlds. Perhaps the most well-known example is the Apocryphon of John, a text preserved in four manuscripts and also reflected in Irenaeus’ Adv. haer. 1.29. According to Michael Waldstein, the second part of the text can be called a ‘critical midrash on Gen 1–7’ (Waldstein 2001: 96), interpreting Israel’s God as the diabolic creator of the material world, called Jaldabaoth or Samael. This, of course, drastically changes the perspective of the storyline; the words ‘not like Moses said/wrote’ are almost becoming a kind of leitmotif for the text’s retelling of the first seven chapters of Genesis (see mainly NHC II.1 13.20, 22.22, 23.2, 29.6, and parallels). With this background, it is also no surprise that positive Old Testament figures (e.g. Noah) can be reinterpreted in highly negative ways because of their connection to the demiurgical creator. Even if these patterns of interpretation seems extremely strange to us today, Gerard Luttikhuizen finds an interesting parallel to other, more ‘mainstream’ ancient Christian interpretations of Jewish scriptures. He writes: ‘Just like other early Christians, Apoc.John’s mythopoets were convinced that the true significance of the Jewish Scriptures was disclosed when they were read in the light of the Christian revelation. However, the agreement is purely formal because early Christians had very divergent ideas about the actual content and meaning of the revelation brought by Christ. A basic element in the demiurgical gnostic, the Marcionite, and Ptolemy’s Valentinian understanding of the Christian message was the conviction that Christ revealed another God than the Old Testament creator and ruler of the world’ (Luttikhuizen 2006: 27).
As we can see, the spectrum of possible influences of Jewish scriptures on Early Christian Apocrypha shows extreme varieties, which can be seen on different levels. Besides texts—like many of apocryphal Acts of the Apostles—where we find only some casual references to what we now call ‘Old Testament’, there are writings which are—like 5 Ezra—more or less composed from scriptural allusions. In some Early Christian Apocrypha this use of scriptural allusion is so prevalent that their ‘Christian’ character is not easily identifiable—and one could debate whether a text is in fact a ‘Jewish’ Pseudepigraphon with a few redactional ‘Christian’ additions or a ‘real’ Christian text. In some cases at least this also has to do with genres of texts: while many apocryphal Acts are interested in addressing, educating, and entertaining a certain Christian elite, many early Christian apocalypses try to show that they are going back to very ancient times by using the names of great figures of the past.
The whole spectrum of possible connections between Christian apocryphal writings and ‘the’ Jewish scriptures is unmanageable if one focuses on the details. However, there is one thing that most of these texts have in common: they are conscious of the fact that they are part of something new which has to relate itself to its very ancient roots. These ancient roots, however, are now seen from a new perspective—the perspective of the Christ event which could be understood in very different ways, but became a centre of belief for the variety of groups which can be called ‘ancient Christianity’.
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