Aseneth: A tale from the religious frontier

Introduction

The entertaining, but enigmatic, parabiblical text (Joseph and) Aseneth has attracted increasing amounts of attention in recent years. ¹ Some scholars have focused on its literary characteristics, while others have wrestled with the fairly intractable problems of text, dating, and religious context. ² A text which has been argued could be Jewish, Christian, or Gnostic and dated to periods varying from the second-century B.C.E. to the fifth-century C.E. naturally invites continuing discussion.

This paper approaches the text from a historical point of view, developing further arguments for a later date (after 115 C.E.) and for an origin among “god-fearer” (theosebeis) groups. In particular, I suggest that the move to a matrilineal definition of Jewish status would have prompted stronger interest in the conversion of women and could have stimulated the composition of Aseneth. I take no position on the vexed question of whether the short or one of the longer versions represents the Urtext. I use Burchard’s eclectic version of the long recension as revised by Fink, ³ simply as presenting the fullest development of the narrative available to us from antiquity. Most recently, Patricia Ahearne-Kroll has gone so far as to argue that the manuscripts “provide multiple tellings of a fairly fixed storyline, not multiple copies of a fairly fixed text” and that the textual arguments of Burchard and Fink are not sufficiently grounded in the details of the manuscript tradition. ⁴

Tim Whitmarsh has recently commented,

The very fact that Aseneth is an ideologically and religiously non-specific text, that already in antiquity is translated into new linguistic and cultural registers, should warn us against fixating on quests after an originary text with a single coherent message. ⁵

Similarly, Inowlocki starts her study of Aseneth by pointing out that it sits “at the crossroads of several cultures” and insists on the need to avoid trying to fit the text into a single defined cultural or religious category. ⁶ I shall argue that Aseneth is to be located on the boundaries between Judaism and a mystically inclined, monotheistically oriented paganism.

Could Aseneth be a Christian text?

Batiffol, who produced the first complete modern edition of the Greek text in 1889, believed it to be a Christian work of late antiquity. ⁷ This view was immediately challenged in favor of a Jewish origin, which remained the scholarly consensus until the possibility of a Christian context was cautiously reopened by Ross Shepard Kraemer. ⁸ Kraemer places considerable emphasis on the use of Joseph and Aseneth as allegorical figures in Syriac Christian writers such as Aphrahat and Ephrem. ⁹ But the examples she cites all specifically signal that a Christian message is intended. In Aseneth, there are no signals pointing the reader toward an allegorical or esoteric interpretation of the text: we are presented with a straight, almost naive narrative, embellished with some prayers.

Kraemer also cites parallels with the second-century Syriac Acts of Thomas, while acknowledging the very different views of marriage in the two works. Thomas is obsessed with virginity, including a (to modern readers) bizarre scene where Christ appears in a wedding chamber to successfully exhort the couple not to consummate their marriage! ¹⁰ In Aseneth, while the protagonists are initially presented as chaste, the whole point of the story is that they marry and have children. The two views of family life are utterly incompatible with each other. Lipsett makes the point that female virginity in Aseneth differs from its role in Christian literature: “female virginity in Joseph and Aseneth is not a sustainable state, but a state of profound liminality, uniquely capable of representing transformation,” ¹¹ in Aseneth’s case by conversion and marriage.

Many arguments for a Jewish origin tend to assume that a parabiblical work on Old Testament themes that is not explicitly Christian must be Jewish. That assumption has been challenged by Davila, whose starting point is that a work preserved by Christians is Christian unless there is a positive reason to think otherwise. ¹² There is no trace of Jewish transmission or awareness of the text of Aseneth before modern times.

Among the criteria set out by Davila for identifying Jewish parabiblical works is, “Concern with Jewish ethnic and national interests, particularly self-identification as a Jew . . . .” ¹³ When Davila considers the specific case of Aseneth, he accepts that there are no Christian features that are not clearly interpolations, but feels there are no exclusively Jewish features either. ¹⁴ One detail, however, that does suggest a close knowledge of Jewish tradition is the reference at Jos. Asen 12.2 to God who “placed great stones on the abyss of the waters,” surely a reference to the tradition of the stone or shard which prevented the waters under the earth from rising up and overwhelming it. ¹⁵ Davila concludes that “A Christian could have written the story to teach that Christians should not be unequally yoked with unbelievers.”

Rivka Nir took Davila’s discussion of Aseneth much further in arguing that the text is Christian. ¹⁶ She correctly points out that the process of Aseneth’s conversion does not match the classic rabbinic treatments of conversion. ¹⁷ Very oddly she insists that “exhortation to virginity is the principal aim of the work” and sees Aseneth as a symbol of the consecrated virgins of the Syrian Church, ¹⁸ though her children are destined to be the ancestors of the two half tribes of Joseph. Her attempt to dismiss this awkward feature of the story as simply reflecting “the literary constraints on the author” is deeply unconvincing. ¹⁹ Nir sees features of the early Christian Eucharist in the references to the “ointment of incorruption” and the honeycomb scene. ²⁰ She also argues that Aseneth’s bridal washing of face and hands represents Christian baptism, but runs into difficulties with the subsequent removal of Aseneth’s veil. ²¹ In fact, Aseneth’s face washing, while producing spectacular results, ²² resembles neither Christian baptism nor the immersion of Jewish converts. While Nir can point to Christian eucharistic parallels for some elements of the honeycomb episode, there are great difficulties in seeing this scene as a Eucharist: the complete replacement of bread and wine by a honeycomb would not be recognized by a Christian reader, while the scene occurs before Aseneth’s alleged (self-)baptism in chapter 18. Nir points out that some of the Syrian Fathers use Joseph and Aseneth as “types” of Christ and the Church, but the cases she cites all make the typology explicit; ²³ there is no such prompt to the reader of Aseneth. ²⁴ More generally, Nir’s approach suffers from a view of Judaism as a monolithic silo, defined by rabbinic norms, implying that deviations from rabbinic norms of conversion render the work non-Jewish and therefore probably Christian if there are any parallels with Christian images and ideas. ²⁵

Davila referred to the possibility of Christian interpolation in Aseneth. ²⁶ This question was investigated by Holz, who argued for interpolation and editing by Christians, especially in the triad of blessed bread, cup, and unguent. ²⁷ Holz tends to present top down arguments, starting from a very traditional view of rabbinic Judaism. His findings on the “triad” and the phrase “son of God” were largely overturned by Chesnutt’s analysis of these passages. ²⁸ Holz also generally fails to consider the possible existence of religious groups which are identifiable neither with rabbinic Judaism nor with Christianity. While references to Joseph and other servants of God as “sons of God” is consistent with Jewish usage, identifying Joseph as the “first-born son of God” ²⁹ may be an addition by a Christian scribe familiar with the concept of Joseph as a “type” of Christ. A recent study of the question by Kim, however, argues that references to Joseph as “firstborn” serve to point to the rivalry between Joseph and Pharaoh’s eldest son over Aseneth and, further, to the contrast between the destiny of Israel as “firstborn son of God” (LXX Ex. 4:22) and the fate of the Egyptian firstborn at the time of the Exodus.30 The passage (Jos. Asen. 16:7) where the “man from heaven” makes a cross mark on the honeycomb might be seen as a Christian interpolation, but it is noteworthy that the text, albeit problematic at this point, seems to carefully avoid mentioning the word “cross”:-

“And <again> the man put out his <right> hand and <touched> the east facing edge of the honeycomb with his index finger and <he drew (his finger) to the west facing edge>, and the path of his finger became like blood. And a second time he put out his hand and <touched> with his finger the edge of the honeycomb which faced north and <he drew (his finger) to the south facing edge>, and the path of <his> finger became like blood.”

Such avoidance of the word “cross” would be consistent with a Jewish author writing after the emergence of Christianity. ^30a

The earliest witness to the text is a sixth-century Syriac manuscript of the Church History of Ps-Zacharias. The Syriac translation of Aseneth was commissioned from one Moses of Aggel by an unknown individual who had “read the story (jstwrj = historia) in the old Greek book you sent me,” but had “not understood the meaning (t’wrj = theoria).” ³¹ Moses responds by saying that he can explain the “truth” of the theoria of the text very briefly; he then begins a theological allegory, thought by Burchard to refer to the Monophysite version of the Virgin Birth; the text breaks off incomplete, but what we have is not very easy to relate to the story of Aseneth. ³² Perhaps the unknown Syrian had not understood the (inner) meaning of Aseneth simply because the text carries no hidden Christian message.

There is a fundamental objection to all such attempts to suggest a possibly Christian context for Aseneth. At least until the end of the fourth century, Christianity struggled to assert its identity over against Judaism, many of whose communities were rich and powerful. Epigraphic and archeological evidence from Asia Minor and Syria for the third/fourth centuries shows Jewish communities networked into local elites and able to erect opulent synagogue buildings. ³³ At Acmonia (in Phrygia), we find a High Priestess of the Imperial cult endowing a synagogue in the first-century C.E., while by the third century, Jews were holding civic magistracies. Apamea, also in Phrygia, has yielded a series of coins from the third century featuring Noah’s ark, suggesting strong Jewish influence over the city administration. ³⁴ At Aphrodisias and Sardis, in the fourth century, we find city Councillors as members or associates of the synagogue. The surviving inscription from the Aphrodisias community suggests a building with an imposing marble gateway. Probably by the late-fourth century, Sardis had an enormous synagogue, the main hall being 50m long with a capacity for around 1,000 worshippers. ³⁵ Fourth-century Apamea (in Syria) boasted a large synagogue, decorated with mosaics contributed by members and benefactors. ³⁶ By the fourth century, the Jewish Nasi, or Patriarch, held a high honorary rank in the imperial civil service. ³⁷ In the 380s, John Chrysostom delivered his angry denunciations of judaising Christians in Antioch, while in 383, Gratian decreed penalties for Christians who joined in Jewish worship; as late as 408, Theodosius felt it necessary to prohibit satirical attacks on Christianity in Purim celebrations. ³⁸ It is to my mind inconceivable that a Christian in these circumstances could have tried to deliver a Christian message through a book which is about a dramatic conversion to Judaism and which has no hints to the reader that it carries an esoteric meaning.

The situation was quite different by the high Middle Ages, when there is evidence that Aseneth does become a symbol of the perfect convert, at a time of many forced conversions of Jews, and also a prefiguring of the romantic conversions of Muslim princesses who had fallen in love with Christians, found in some medieval romances. ³⁹

Some have pointed to the ethics of non-retaliation which appear in the narrative of the last section of the text as evidence of Christian authorship or influence. ⁴⁰ Nir cites several New Testament parallels for the phrase “it is not fitting for us to render evil for evil” and also refers to parallels in the Testament of Levi. ⁴¹ Unfortunately, this ethical principle is by no means confined to Christianity. Zerbe showed that this principle is present in Jewish and in some Greek philosophical traditions, citing passages from Proverbs, Ben Sira, Philo, Plato, and Epictetus. ⁴² Bolyki pointed out that the term theosebes applied to themselves by Joseph and Levi is not normally applied to themselves by Christians and that the positive command to love one’s enemies is not strongly featured in Aseneth. ⁴³

Further arguments against a Christian origin for Aseneth were put forward by Collins, who argued that marriage across religious boundaries was a much bigger issue for Jews than Christians. ⁴⁴ The issue in Aseneth’s conversion is not belief in salvation, but a simple rejection of idolatry. There is no mention of baptism and the description of Aseneth’s beauty being like the daughters of the Hebrews (1:5) would sit very oddly in a Christian text. ⁴⁵

Chesnutt has shown from parallels in rabbinic literature that imagery of new creation and new birth associated with conversion, sometimes held to be Christian, is well embedded in Jewish tradition. But he does note that “By all estimates, Joseph & Aseneth is a very syncretistic work.” ⁴⁶ I will return to the syncretistic elements of the text later.

Dating

Dates put forward for this text have varied from the second-century B.C.E. to the fifth-century C.E., with first-century B.C.E./C.E. widely accepted. ⁴⁷ The wide knowledge of the Septuagint displayed by the text (especially in Aseneth’s prayers) is generally agreed to suggest a terminus post quem of ca. 100 B.C.E. ⁴⁸ There is more to be said, with due caution, given the inscrutable nature of the text.

Attempts by Bohak and Hacham to relate the narrative to Jewish involvement in the politics of late Ptolemaic Egypt are ingeniously argued, but one has to ask whether it is fundamentally probable that a work driven by the literary traditions of the Greek novel and by an exalted, mystical conception of conversion to Judaism is likely to have been inspired by contemporary politics. Similar objections apply to Burchard’s suggestion of Rome’s annexation of the Nabataean kingdom (106 C.E.) as a terminus ante quem, based on reference in the text to the plan for Pharaoh’s son to marry the daughter of the King of Moab. ⁴⁹ Others have suggested the friendly relations between Pharoah and Joseph indicate a date before Roman control of Egypt or, at any rate before the outbreak of serious anti-Jewish feeling in 38 C.E. ⁵⁰ Again, it seems unlikely that the trigger for such an intensely religious text as Aseneth would come from the political environment.

The conversion of males to Judaism was in principle outlawed by Antoninus Pius’ rescript outlawing circumcision, except in the case of sons of Jews. ⁵¹ In 329, Constantine forbade all conversions, including women, to Judaism. ⁵² Prima facie, it would seem unlikely that someone would compose a celebration of conversion to Judaism, presenting Aseneth as the ideal woman convert, after that rescript. However, it may be rash to see this date as a hard terminus ante quem. Fourth-century C.E. inscriptions from the community of Aphrodisias mention male converts. ⁵³ A further rescript of Constantius II in 353 forbade Christians to convert to Judaism, while the canons of the Council of Laodicea and the anti-Jewish sermons of John Chrysostom in the 380s attempted to outlaw various judaising practices among Christians. ⁵⁴ In 388, Theodosius I forbade all marriages between Christian and Jews, a practice already outlawed in canon law since the early-fourth century. By 409, a decree of Honorius and Theodosius proclaims somewhat petulantly,

Although those that have committed this crime [of abandoning Christianity for Judaism] shall be legally condemned under the laws of the ancient emperors, still it does not bother us to admonish repeatedly, that those imbued in the Christian mysteries shall not be forced to adopt the Jewish perversity . . . . ⁵⁵

Given the above imperial legislation, it is possible that some of these male converts in the diaspora may not have been circumcised. Philo refers to uncircumcised proselytes, while there is some debate in the Talmud about whether both circumcision and immersion were required for valid male conversions. ⁵⁶ Cohen identifies a minority strand in rabbinic thought which identified any denier of idolatry as a Jew. ⁵⁷

Various possible termini ante quem, based on textual witnesses and close parallels in Christian literature, especially in the Syriac Passion of St Irene, are noted by editors and surveyed by Burchard. ⁵⁸ Some have argued that the twelfth-century Liber de Locis Sanctis, by Peter the Deacon took a reference to the “house of Asennec” from the lost portion of the Peregrinatio Egeriae of ca. 400 C.E. The Syriac Liber Graduum (ca. 400 C.E.) refers rather generally to non-retaliation in the context of a brother’s plot; this might be a reminiscence of Jos. Asen 28:9–17. A closer and more convincing parallel is provided by the Passion of St Irene, of fifth century or earlier date. This work features the theme of a princess in a tower with attendant maidens; her father urges an unwelcome marriage upon her and she proceeds to throw her idols out of the window and receives an angelic visitor who renames her Irene, instead of Penelope. As previously noted, the earliest witness to the text of Aseneth is the sixth-century Syriac translation contained in the Church History of Ps-Zacharias the Rhetor. This refers to an “old Greek book” as the source. This book could well have been written in the fifth century or even earlier, but the fifth century is the latest credible date.

A more promising line of enquiry may be to consider what prompted someone to write up the conversion of Aseneth, glorifying converts, especially women converts, in the process. A decisive factor, not hitherto proposed, could well have been the move from determining inherited Jewish status by patrilineal descent to matrilineal descent. Whereas in biblical times, a woman was expected to follow the religion of her husband’s household, a decision to make inherited Jewish status depend on the mother’s status would inevitably lead to an emphasis on the conversion of non-Jewish intended brides.

Dating this change is difficult. ⁵⁹ Some have held that it originated with Ezra, in the fifth (or early fourth) century B.C.E., in the light of his expulsion of foreign wives and their children from the Jerusalem community (Ezra 9:1–2, 10:1–17, cf. Mal 2:11, 12). However, Ezra’s emphasis is entirely on the possibly idolatrous habits of the foreign wives, not on the status of their children, reflecting and widening the Torah prohibition on marrying Canaanite women (Deut 7:3–4). Cohen has shown that there is no sure trace of the matrilineal principle in the literature of the later Second Temple period. ⁶⁰ The first clear statement of the matrilineal principle occurs in the Mishnah at Kiddushin 3:12:

And any woman who does not have the potential for a valid marriage either with this man or with other men, the offspring is like her. And what [man] is this? This is offspring of a slave woman or a gentile woman. (trans. Cohen)

The Mishnah reached its present form early in the third-century C.E. However, it contains material from many generations of Rabbis and layers of editing. There are some reasons for supposing this section of Kiddushin could date back to the Yavneh period (ca. 70–132 C.E.). ⁶¹

Aptowitzer suggested that the conversion of Queen Helena of Adiabene, who became a noted benefactor of Jerusalem, could have stimulated the celebration of the archetypal woman convert in our text. The suggestion is not unattractive and Chesnutt was perhaps too quick to dismiss it as “entirely conjectural.” However, Helena was one of perhaps many converts and her story will have had greater impact in Syria and Mesopotamia than in Egypt, which remains the most likely place of composition of Aseneth. ⁶² Furthermore, both of the rather weak narrative parallels offered by Aptowitzer rely on accepting anecdotes in the Mishnah as historically linked to Helena. ⁶³

Paul’s colleague Timothy, son of a Jewish woman and a Greek, is sometimes cited as an example of Jewish status conferred by the mother; we are told in Acts that Paul had Timothy circumcised “because of the Jews” (Acts 16:1–3). Cohen has argued cogently that the natural sense of the passage is that Timothy was not held to be Jewish and that that was the understanding of most patristic commentators on the passage. ⁶⁴

If the introduction of the matrilineal principle was a trigger for the composition of Aseneth, a second century or possibly early-third century date is implied. Support for such a date is provided by Hezser’s observation that Aseneth contains plot features associated with both the two earlier Greek novels (Xenophon of Ephesus and Chariton) and the later ones, which show the influence of the Second Sophistic. ⁶⁵ It is often stated that an Egyptian origin later than 115 C.E. is unlikely, given the disruption and partial destruction of the Jewish community of Egypt in the wake of the diaspora revolt of 115–17. However, where there is evidence of a possibly later date, the events of the diaspora revolt cannot be used to rule out a date in, say, the later second century, even from Egypt. One might equally argue that a tale which features harmonious relations between a Jew and the Egyptian ruling class and which ends with a Jew on the throne of Egypt is rather suited to the psychology of a community recovering from disaster and suppression and turning toward the consolations of nostalgia. Ahearne-Kroll argues that Aseneth “endowed the present for Hellenistic Jews in Egypt with a heroic past.” ⁶⁶ This view of the past is as relevant in times of communal trouble like second-century C.E. Egypt, as in more prosperous late Ptolemaic times. My argument assumes, of course, that the diaspora community from which Aseneth originated was open to accepting some developments in halacha from the Rabbis in the Land of Israel. And it remains possible that the work could have been composed at an earlier date under patrilineal rules of Jewish status.

Religious context

Aseneth may not be an orthodox Christian text, but it does not fit the model of rabbinic Judaism either, especially in respect of the crucial process of conversion. As previous writers have noted, these are by no means the only contexts in which Aseneth can be located.

The classic rabbinic text on the process of conversion is found in Yevamot:

Our Rabbis taught: If at the present time a man desires to become a proselyte, he is to be addressed as follows: “What reason have you for desiring to become a proselyte; do you not know that Israel at the present time are persecuted and oppressed, despised, harassed and overcome by afflictions?” If he replies, “I know and yet am unworthy,” he is accepted forthwith, and is given instruction in some of the minor and some of the major commandments . . . And as he is informed of the punishment for the transgression of the commandments, so is he informed of the reward granted for their fulfilment. He is told, “Be it known to you that the world to come was made only for the righteous, and that Israel at the present time are unable to bear either too much prosperity. or too much suffering.” He is not, however, to be persuaded or dissuaded too much. If he accepted, he is circumcised forthwith . . . As soon as he is healed arrangements are made for his immediate ablution, when two learned men must stand by his side and acquaint him with some of the minor commandments and with some of the major ones. When he comes up after his ablution he is deemed to be an Israelite in all respects.

In the case of a woman proselyte, women make her sit in the water up to her neck, while two learned men stand outside and give her instruction in some of the minor commandments and some of the major ones. (b. Yevamot 47a-b)

The key steps outlined in this text are as follows:

In Aseneth’s case, her desire to embrace Judaism is clearly expressed—but in solitude (Jos. Asen. 11:10–14). She receives no instruction in Torah from Joseph, but is told by the visionary angel who visits her after 7 days of fasting that “the ineffable mysteries of the Most High have been revealed” to her (16:14, trans. Burchard in OTP II). She does not immerse herself completely in water while preparing for her wedding, but simply washes her face, albeit with spectacularly beautifying results (18:9). ⁶⁸ What is insisted on repeatedly throughout the narrative of Aseneth’s conversion is her rejection of idolatry (As. 9, 10:10–13, 11–13 passim). Joseph’s prayer for her (8:9) is in terms of mystical and spiritual enlightenment and renewal to eternal life, not sober observation of Jewish law. The encounter with the angel further develops the themes of eternal life, spiritual renewal, and the high standing with God of repentant idolaters, of whom Aseneth is destined to be the ideal archetype.

A further major difference from rabbinic conversion practice is the fact that her initial motivation for conversion is her admiration and desire for Joseph. Conversion for the sake of marriage was expressly outlawed by the ancient Rabbis. ⁶⁹ The text makes no attempt to gloss over romantic and erotic elements of the story, using many of the conventions of the Greek romantic novel. The protagonists are resolutely upper class, virginal, and beautiful. Much of the action takes place in a palace, some of whose sumptuous fittings are described. ⁷⁰ There are some significant differences from pagan Greek novels, as pointed out by Pervo, who notes that Aseneth’s most important transformatory adventures are largely internal. ⁷¹ While the union of the spiritual and the erotic has a venerable precedent in the Song of Songs, this path was not followed in mainstream Judaism or Christianity. ⁷² In this respect, Aseneth stands on the borders of Judaism and paganism. Lipsett suggests the image of the “locked garden” (of virginity; Song 4:12) may be relevant to the description of the locked courtyard garden of Aseneth’s home (Jos. Asen. 2:10–12). ⁷³ Heszer and Loader read Aseneth as making a playful case for conversion in a context of marriage, noting the appearance of erotic motifs in the narrative. ⁷⁴ Whitmarsh explicitly emphasizes the provocative conjunction of erotic and religious elements in the narrative, pointing out that when Joseph and the transformed Aseneth finally kiss (19:10, 11), that kiss symbolizes “the convergence of erotic desire, religious values and (implicitly) the language of family life.” ⁷⁵ This convergence is developed further by Glass, who shows how desire is a trigger for spiritual transformation, starting at 9:1–2; the man from heaven looks just like Joseph (14:9), a feature with clear sexual overtones. Aseneth’s physical reaction to her first sight of Joseph (6:1) features some of the classic symptoms of desire in Greek writing, although the specific vocabulary is not classical. ⁷⁶ At 8:5, Joseph’s gesture of rejection is expressed in a way that hints at male desire, while there is a suggestion of some arousal on Aseneth’s part. ⁷⁷ In the last section of her penitential hymn (21:21), Aseneth says that it is Joseph, “the powerful one of God,” who “snared me with his beauty” and “lead me to the God of eternity.” Glass concludes that “In Joseph & Aseneth, experiencing the divine clearly entails an erotic element.” ⁷⁸ Marriage to a transformed Aseneth vindicates Joseph’s erotic charisma for the Egyptian women and Aseneth’s scornful beauty, contrasting with the violent sexuality expressed by Pharoah’s son in the last section of the story. ⁷⁹ Aseneth may have abandoned idolatry and been transformed by her inner acceptance of the God of Israel, but she is not a convert most Talmudic Rabbis would have recognized. ⁸⁰

In spite of Joseph’s refusal to kiss the pagan Aseneth (8:5–7), her father Pentephres earlier in the story had spoken of Joseph as both the “powerful one of God” and as a beneficent ruler over Egypt (4:7–8), who is in some sense already astride the boundary between Jews and Egyptians, while the pagan Aseneth had already been compared in her looks to the “daughters of the Hebrews” (1:5). Similarly, Joseph’s resplendent costume on his arrival in Heliopolis is open to interpretation in terms of high priestly robes, Egyptian divine attributes and the sun god, Helios. And Joseph’s marriage is presided over by Pharaoh (20:6–21:8), who is nowhere stated to be a convert or “god-fearer,” but does bless the happy couple in the name of the Most High God (21:6). ⁸¹

Nevertheless, the text clearly celebrates the status of those who abandon idolatry for the God of Israel. In her penitential prayers (11:3–5), Aseneth accepts the loss of existing family ties following her conversion (although her parents do not in fact abandon her). Great emphasis is placed on Jacob’s acceptance of her as daughter-in-law, in spite of his earlier warning to Joseph about “strange women.” ⁸² Thiessen has argued persuasively that Aseneth’s 8-day conversion process echoes the 8 days before the circumcision of a newly born Jewish male and the eight-day process of the consecration of Israelite priests (Lev 8). ⁸³

The celebration of Aseneth as a convert is quite different to the majority of rabbinic traditions about Aseneth. Only two texts identify her as a convert; most midrashim make her the illegitimate daughter of Dinah with various ingenious solutions to her being brought up by an Egyptian priest. ⁸⁴

So, in what kind of religious context are we to place Aseneth, if it belongs neither with orthodox Christianity nor with rabbinic Judaism? A range of other possibilities exist: Essene, Gnostic, ⁸⁵ Samaritan, and “god-fearer” (theosebeis) groups have all been put forward as potential contexts for Aseneth.

Kraemer made the case for a possible Samaritan origin. ⁸⁶ While she cites some intriguing parallels with Samaritan ideas, one of her key texts is not traceable before the eighteenth century and she admits that the evidence is not conclusive.

Parallels with the Syriac Odes of Solomon, adduced by Kraemer, are also interesting. ⁸⁷ While the Odes are explicitly Christian, their poetic approach to theology is very unlike anything else in early Christian writing, to the extent that Harnack thought they were a Christian adaptation of a Jewish mystical psalm book. ⁸⁸ One Ode presents a gender-bending version of the Trinity which is definitely beyond the frontiers of orthodox Christianity. ⁸⁹ They also would appear to emanate from a group identifiably Christian, but situated right on the frontiers of anything like Christian orthodoxy. In the same way, the world of Aseneth falls on the Jewish side of the Jewish–Christian border, but is far from the norms of rabbinic Judaism as promulgated in Palestine. As Kraemer puts it, “Nothing mitigates compellingly in favour of Jewish authorship, but nothing mitigates absolutely against it either.” ⁹⁰

Other parallels with more orthodox Syriac Christian literature are cited by Kraemer, notably from Aphrahat and Ephrem. ⁹¹ Aseneth acquires immortality and infallible knowledge of divine mysteries (Jos. Asen. 21:4), features of the concept of divinisation sketched by Ephrem. ⁹² Furthermore, Ephrem’s symbolic explanation of bees in Judg 14 as connected with the resurrection of the dead may well be relevant to the mysterious bees which surround Aseneth at the climax of her conversion experience. ⁹³

One might be tempted to argue from these parallels with Syriac literature and from the fact that the text first surfaces in the Syriac-speaking world for a Syrian origin for Aseneth. A Syrian origin is possible, but the evidence is not strong enough to rule out the traditional ascription to Egypt, based on details of the setting. ⁹⁴ The argument for an Egyptian origin has recently been reinforced by Jill Hicks-Keeton on the basis of the distinctive concern for the negotiation of Jewish identity in an Egyptian setting displayed by known Egyptian Jewish writers such as Philo. ⁹⁵

Aseneth may have some connections with Valentinian Gnostic circles, but it would exceed the evidence to claim it as an actual Gnostic text. Chesnutt pointed out that the Aseneth narrative lacks the essential characteristics of a gnostic salvation story; we do not encounter the dualism and otherworldliness of Gnosticism, while the Man from Heaven does not effect Aseneth’s conversion, but simply confirms it. ⁹⁶ Segelberg pointed out parallels with the gnostic Gospel of Philip, where anointing oil is made from the olives of the Tree of Life in Paradise and the Eucharist appears to have the following three elements—bread, cup, and oil. ⁹⁷ In Aseneth, the honeycomb is made by “the bees of the paradise of delight . . . from the dew of the roses of life and all of the flowers that are in the paradise of God” (16:14, Fink’s text). There are other parallels in the Gospel of Philip, not hitherto noted by commentators, which could be indicators of some Valentinian Gnostic influence over Aseneth, ⁹⁸ implying a date in the late-second century or later. The following passages are noteworthy: the “cup of prayer” which enables the drinker “to receive . . . the living man” (75:15–21), “spiritual love” as a “fragrant anointing” (77:35–78:3), the ideal spiritual bride who provides ointment and crumbs from her table for the uninitiated, who are likened to dogs (82:19–23) and sacramental kisses (59:1–6). ⁹⁹

It is clear from the New Testament ¹⁰⁰ and epigraphic documents (especially from Asia Minor) ¹⁰¹ that synagogues in the Greek-speaking diaspora attracted a certain number of non-Jewish associates, drawn by an interest in Jewish ethical teaching and/or monotheism. These people seem to be referred to in Greek as theosebeis. ¹⁰² There is controversy as to whether the term theosebeis denotes a defined class of synagogue “Associate Members,” who had not formally converted to Judaism. ¹⁰³ The specifics of this controversy need not detain us, as what is important for my argument is that some people who associated with Jewish communities—whether a formally defined group or not—were described as theosebeis. But practices may well have varied between different groups of theosebeis. It is possible, as argued by Stephen Mitchell, that some of these people expressed their religious feelings through the cult of the anonymous, aniconic divinity Theos Hypsistos, which continued into the fourth century. ¹⁰⁴ Hypsistos is regularly used as an epithet for the God of Israel in Aseneth and in the Septuagint. ¹⁰⁵

Kraemer argues that Aseneth could originate from theosebes circles (but also makes the case for a possible Christian or Jewish origin, stressing throughout the syncretistic elements of the text, arriving at an essentially agnostic position as regards the text’s religious context). ¹⁰⁶ She points out that Joseph is described as theosebes, as are Levi, Jacob, and others of the family (4:7, 23:9, 23:10, 28:7, 29:3). At 8:5–7, Joseph describes the god-fearing man and woman. Glass suggests that the frequent use of theos hypsistos to refer to the God of Israel gives the Jewish God a more universal appeal, rendering Him more accessible to people on the fringe of the Jewish community. ¹⁰⁷ Attribution to a borderline group like theosebeis would go far to explain the ambiguous religious atmosphere of the text, Jewish, but Greek, fiercely monotheistic and opposed to idolatry, but steeped in the language of religious mysteries far from rabbinic Judaism. Indeed, it is only such a vaguely defined group of people with connections to Judaism, but not “insiders,” who could be responsible for such a text which is so fiercely opposed to idolatry, but is yet replete with echoes of other religious and mystical traditions. This will become clearer from a brief examination of the miraculous bees which swarm on Aseneth’s lips (16:17–17:2). Commentators have invoked a whole series of possible references and resonances. These include the biblical symbolism of honey (including erotic associations at Song 4:11, 5:1), sometimes linked to the presence of the bee hieroglyph in Egyptian royal titulature, ¹⁰⁸ Neoplatonist symbols of immortality, ¹⁰⁹ the cult of Artemis at Ephesus, ¹¹⁰ and the Pythia at Delphi. ¹¹¹ While Porphyry’s description of the bees in the cave of the Nymphs as a symbol of “bridal souls” focused on (re)birth bears some resemblance to the role of bees in the regeneration of Aseneth as Joseph’s bride, the parallels do not seem to be close enough to necessitate a date in the very late-third or early-fourth century. ¹¹² Aseneth is promised immortality by her angelic visitor; Inowlocki notes that honey is sometimes a symbol of immortality in pagan tradition. ¹¹³ It is part of the richness of this text that it can resonate with so many traditions, while not clearly identifying with any one of them. Such an approach is well suited to an origin in a fringe group, possibly identifying as theosebeis, on the boundaries of Judaism and a mystically oriented paganism. ¹¹⁴

A notable feature of the text is the frequent reference in exalted language to a triad of cup, bread, and “unguent” (χρίσµα; first at 8:5). At 8:5, Joseph refers to the “God-fearing man who blesses the Living God with his mouth and eats blessed bread of life and drinks a blessed cup of immortality and is anointed with blessed oil of incorruptibility.” Chesnutt pointed out that eating the honeycomb is equated to Aseneth’s consuming blessed bread and wine in her future Jewish life, all of these foodstuffs being seen as food of the angels (16:16); it follows that all the Jewish characters in some sense share in the immortal life of angels, Jacob being specifically compared to an angel (22:7) and Joseph being credited with a superhuman bearing (5:4–7, 6:2–6). ¹¹⁵ The link between cleaving to God and “incorruption” was highlighted by Philo, commenting on Deut 4:4, in a passage which also contains solar symbolism. ¹¹⁶ While this does not amount to a fully developed sacramental view of eating, drinking, and anointing, ¹¹⁷ it goes significantly beyond a simple act of blessing at meal or bath time. The simple blessing of rabbinic tradition is here endowed with mystical overtones which connect the speaker of the blessing to some higher mode of life, associated with the incorruptibility of angelic natures. ¹¹⁸

Conclusion

Certainty over dating, context, or geographic origin is impossible with such an ambivalent text. We can only make more or less plausible suggestions. I have suggested in this paper that Aseneth may well emanate from a group located in the spiritual borderlands of Judaism, paganism, and Christianity, possibly from theosebeis. I have argued that the text has closer connections to Judaism than to any form of Christianity, but significant non-rabbinic elements in the account of Aseneth’s conversion and in the symbolism of bread, cup, unguent, and honey suggest connections with more mystical circles. The prominence of the term theosebes and the use of Hypsistos as a divine epithet are consistent with an origin among “god-fearers.” As to dating, I suggest that the change in Judaism from determining status by matrilineal, instead of patrilineal descent could have triggered the composition of the text, making a second century or early-third century C.E. date a real possibility. But a more traditional earlier dating cannot be ruled out.

This is a text that does not fit neatly into the boxes historians of religion like to use. Fringe Jewish, fringe Gnostic, fringe pagan—a case can be made for all. Perhaps this explains its wide and enduring appeal for more than a millennium, from Ethiopia to England. ¹¹⁹