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Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion
Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity
The historical separation between Judaism and Christianity is often figured as a clearly defined break of a single entity into two separate religions. Following this model, there would have been one religion known as Judaism before the birth of Christ, which then took on a hybrid identity. Even before its subsequent division, certain beliefs and practices of this composite would have been identifiable as Christian or Jewish.In Border Lines , however, Daniel Boyarin makes a striking case for a very different way of thinking about the historical development that is the partition of Judaeo-Christianity.
There were no characteristics or features that could be described as uniquely Jewish or Christian in late antiquity, Boyarin argues. Rather, Jesus-following Jews and Jews who did not follow Jesus lived on a cultural map in which beliefs, such as that in a second divine being, and practices, such as keeping kosher or maintaining the Sabbath, were widely and variably distributed. The ultimate distinctions between Judaism and Christianity were imposed from above by "border-makers," heresiologists anxious to construct a discrete identity for Christianity. By defining some beliefs and practices as Christian and others as Jewish or heretical, they moved ideas, behaviors, and people to one side or another of an artificial border—and, Boyarin significantly contends, invented the very notion of religion.
There were no characteristics or features that could be described as uniquely Jewish or Christian in late antiquity, Boyarin argues. Rather, Jesus-following Jews and Jews who did not follow Jesus lived on a cultural map in which beliefs, such as that in a second divine being, and practices, such as keeping kosher or maintaining the Sabbath, were widely and variably distributed. The ultimate distinctions between Judaism and Christianity were imposed from above by "border-makers," heresiologists anxious to construct a discrete identity for Christianity. By defining some beliefs and practices as Christian and others as Jewish or heretical, they moved ideas, behaviors, and people to one side or another of an artificial border—and, Boyarin significantly contends, invented the very notion of religion.
392 pages, Paperback
First published May 17, 2004
About the author
Daniel Boyarin
44 books87 followersDaniel Boyarin, Taubman Professor of Talmudic Culture and rhetoric at the University of California, Berkeley, is the recipient of numerous awards and fellowships. His books include A Radical Jew, Border Lines, and Socrates and the Fat Rabbis. He lives in Berkeley, California.
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August 31, 2022
Don't read this review if your faith depends on believing your scriptures and related writings are historical documents.
Well, of course they are historical documents. What I mean is don't read this if you take them literally as history, meaning that for you their truth claims are established by their being the historical events and perspectives on which your faith is founded.
I used to have a dim view of Daniel Boyarin based on what I thought he was saying in some very short vignettes. Looking back at something I wrote nearly nine years ago, I wasn't impressed by him, based on some short vignettes. This book changed my mind, which I shouldn't have made up based on such limited information -- but that's what so often happens, doesn't it?
Thanks to my husband Dennis for bringing this book to my attention.
As to when Christianity and Judaism became separate, people think, if they bother to think of it at all, that some groups remained Jewish while others followed Jesus and became Christian. Meanwhile, or so they think, there were some Jewish Christian groups who were not looked on kindly by either Jews or Christians and ultimately were not allowed to exist. The "Ebionites," for example.
Boyarin argues that the changes and incursions that occurred were not geographical divisions among various groups of people, but were theological. The differentiation that occurred was theological.
Makes sense, since back then they didn't have the internet. They didn't have television. Or radio. Or telegrams. Or even the printing press. They could get letters, sometimes. Even though travel was arduous, they could receive visitors. The divisions of which we're speaking didn't occur in 34 or 70 CE, or when the Gospels were written down (at which time there was not yet an official Christian canon). How could the word have been gotten out to every hill and valley?
According to Boyarin, the theological distinctions we now accept did not exist. Instead beliefs were mixed and variously distributed. How did they settle out into theological claims that separated Christians and Jews?
He begins with the story of a metaphorical border line and a bicycle-mounted smuggler whom the border guards can't catch. They know he's a smuggler, but where is he hiding the contraband? Each time he crosses the border line, the guards search him for it, but they find nothing. What is he smuggling?
The answer: bicycles.
That is to say, the bicycles are the theological concepts being smuggled back and forth across that border line. And those inadvertent exchanges between groups led in time to the settling out of the theological particulate that came to define Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity.
Views we think originated with Christianity had long been prevalent in the landscape of Judaism. During the formation of Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity, views we now think of as "Christian" were "exported" from Judaism and "imported" into Christianity, and vice versa, via this "smuggling" process. Boyarin particularly focuses on Logos as a mediating figure between Heaven and earth -- God and humanity -- and how that concept became an earmark of Christianity while rejected by Jews as the "two powers in Heaven" view.
The way Boyarin shows this is by meticulous focus on scripture and other ancient writings in the context of reference to the ideas of other scholars in the field. He progresses little by little to make his various cases, with much citing of prior theories and books. And with many footnotes.
I find this exciting.
The settling out did not occur in short order as we tend to think, but over centuries, fourth for Christianity and late fifth/sixth for Judaism. This is because the powers-that-be weren't so in the beginning, but had to establish their respective hegemonies. That took time.
The way things would be seen needed to be nailed down, and the chain of tradition/apostolic succession established -- not from the beginning, as we like to think, but working backward, to create the edifice to support the approved conclusions.
Until this enterprise began, there was no "heresy" in our sense. There was the Greek word "hairesis," referring to a school of thought. Only after Christianity -- and, for a few centuries, Judaism as well -- established an orthodoxy, a right way of understanding, did heresy in our sense make its appearance. In a fascinating move, Boyarin refers to such an orthodoxy as a "church," whether Christian or Jewish: a right way of thinking and believing.
Boyarin asserts that Christians invented the concept of religion as we know it.
You'll probably find that odd, for surely the Romans and others, and beyond the known world, Asians (Hindus, Buddhists and the like) had religion. Well, we think they did because we're reading our current understanding of the concept back into their times. They did have practices and a way of life, but what they did not have was a free-standing attribute of a person that could be accepted, rejected or replaced. That's what was new. What other groups had were undistinguishable from their ways of life, that is, from their ways.
It's sometimes said that during the several generation-long Exile in Babylonia, after the destruction of the first Temple, that God became "portable," i.e., no longer tied to the land. Well, yes, but Jews/Judeans were still Jews/Judeans. Their Hebrew way went right long with them. In those years of the sixth century BCE, it remained their way of life, not an attribute or "faith" in the modern sense.
Why did the new concept, religion, emerge?
It was needed because Christianity had an identity crisis. They were not a historical people with a traditional way of life -- or, rather, they began as Jews but had moved toward absorbing others from beyond the group traditionally viewed as Jews -- and were now possessed of a new faith they wanted to spread to all and sundry.
Perhaps our present tendency to retroject our current understanding of religion back into the past is causing a confusion some find useful. The Establishment Clause of the First Amendment does not permit the insertion of the dominant faith into the public sphere. But the Free Exercise Clause, by broadening religion from the tenets of the dominant faith to ways or practices that cannot be suppressed, leads to the insertion of those ways and possibly to the dismantling of the Establishment Clause by those so inclined.
At any rate: new stuff, convincingly presented.
I did think his support for the assertion that Judaism quit being a religion (in his sense) and reverted to being a way was more limited than I expected and was anticlimactic. But this book was published in 2004. Maybe he's since had more to say.
Recommended for those with curiosity about these things. And fortitude: it's not that long -- 228 pages -- but then there are those end notes, amounting to another 146 pages.
I personally don't think learning about these things undermines religion. I think I'm inclined toward the Spinozan variety, though. (I say that humbly, considering my limited understanding of Spinoza and my variations on the theme.)
Well, of course they are historical documents. What I mean is don't read this if you take them literally as history, meaning that for you their truth claims are established by their being the historical events and perspectives on which your faith is founded.
I used to have a dim view of Daniel Boyarin based on what I thought he was saying in some very short vignettes. Looking back at something I wrote nearly nine years ago, I wasn't impressed by him, based on some short vignettes. This book changed my mind, which I shouldn't have made up based on such limited information -- but that's what so often happens, doesn't it?
Thanks to my husband Dennis for bringing this book to my attention.
As to when Christianity and Judaism became separate, people think, if they bother to think of it at all, that some groups remained Jewish while others followed Jesus and became Christian. Meanwhile, or so they think, there were some Jewish Christian groups who were not looked on kindly by either Jews or Christians and ultimately were not allowed to exist. The "Ebionites," for example.
Boyarin argues that the changes and incursions that occurred were not geographical divisions among various groups of people, but were theological. The differentiation that occurred was theological.
Makes sense, since back then they didn't have the internet. They didn't have television. Or radio. Or telegrams. Or even the printing press. They could get letters, sometimes. Even though travel was arduous, they could receive visitors. The divisions of which we're speaking didn't occur in 34 or 70 CE, or when the Gospels were written down (at which time there was not yet an official Christian canon). How could the word have been gotten out to every hill and valley?
According to Boyarin, the theological distinctions we now accept did not exist. Instead beliefs were mixed and variously distributed. How did they settle out into theological claims that separated Christians and Jews?
He begins with the story of a metaphorical border line and a bicycle-mounted smuggler whom the border guards can't catch. They know he's a smuggler, but where is he hiding the contraband? Each time he crosses the border line, the guards search him for it, but they find nothing. What is he smuggling?
The answer: bicycles.
That is to say, the bicycles are the theological concepts being smuggled back and forth across that border line. And those inadvertent exchanges between groups led in time to the settling out of the theological particulate that came to define Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity.
Views we think originated with Christianity had long been prevalent in the landscape of Judaism. During the formation of Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity, views we now think of as "Christian" were "exported" from Judaism and "imported" into Christianity, and vice versa, via this "smuggling" process. Boyarin particularly focuses on Logos as a mediating figure between Heaven and earth -- God and humanity -- and how that concept became an earmark of Christianity while rejected by Jews as the "two powers in Heaven" view.
The way Boyarin shows this is by meticulous focus on scripture and other ancient writings in the context of reference to the ideas of other scholars in the field. He progresses little by little to make his various cases, with much citing of prior theories and books. And with many footnotes.
I find this exciting.
The settling out did not occur in short order as we tend to think, but over centuries, fourth for Christianity and late fifth/sixth for Judaism. This is because the powers-that-be weren't so in the beginning, but had to establish their respective hegemonies. That took time.
The way things would be seen needed to be nailed down, and the chain of tradition/apostolic succession established -- not from the beginning, as we like to think, but working backward, to create the edifice to support the approved conclusions.
Until this enterprise began, there was no "heresy" in our sense. There was the Greek word "hairesis," referring to a school of thought. Only after Christianity -- and, for a few centuries, Judaism as well -- established an orthodoxy, a right way of understanding, did heresy in our sense make its appearance. In a fascinating move, Boyarin refers to such an orthodoxy as a "church," whether Christian or Jewish: a right way of thinking and believing.
Boyarin asserts that Christians invented the concept of religion as we know it.
You'll probably find that odd, for surely the Romans and others, and beyond the known world, Asians (Hindus, Buddhists and the like) had religion. Well, we think they did because we're reading our current understanding of the concept back into their times. They did have practices and a way of life, but what they did not have was a free-standing attribute of a person that could be accepted, rejected or replaced. That's what was new. What other groups had were undistinguishable from their ways of life, that is, from their ways.
It's sometimes said that during the several generation-long Exile in Babylonia, after the destruction of the first Temple, that God became "portable," i.e., no longer tied to the land. Well, yes, but Jews/Judeans were still Jews/Judeans. Their Hebrew way went right long with them. In those years of the sixth century BCE, it remained their way of life, not an attribute or "faith" in the modern sense.
Why did the new concept, religion, emerge?
It was needed because Christianity had an identity crisis. They were not a historical people with a traditional way of life -- or, rather, they began as Jews but had moved toward absorbing others from beyond the group traditionally viewed as Jews -- and were now possessed of a new faith they wanted to spread to all and sundry.
Perhaps our present tendency to retroject our current understanding of religion back into the past is causing a confusion some find useful. The Establishment Clause of the First Amendment does not permit the insertion of the dominant faith into the public sphere. But the Free Exercise Clause, by broadening religion from the tenets of the dominant faith to ways or practices that cannot be suppressed, leads to the insertion of those ways and possibly to the dismantling of the Establishment Clause by those so inclined.
At any rate: new stuff, convincingly presented.
I did think his support for the assertion that Judaism quit being a religion (in his sense) and reverted to being a way was more limited than I expected and was anticlimactic. But this book was published in 2004. Maybe he's since had more to say.
Recommended for those with curiosity about these things. And fortitude: it's not that long -- 228 pages -- but then there are those end notes, amounting to another 146 pages.
I personally don't think learning about these things undermines religion. I think I'm inclined toward the Spinozan variety, though. (I say that humbly, considering my limited understanding of Spinoza and my variations on the theme.)
January 4, 2014
Anyone interested in the origins of Christianity and its development into the Patristic era will, at some point, have to account for the parting of ways between Christianity and Judaism. It is this popular notion of "parting ways" that Daniel Boyarin contests in his book, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity. As the subtitle makes clear enough, Boyarin detects, not a peaceful, inevitable split between these two "religions", but a partition - an enforced dissolution.
Readers be warned, this is a rather complex work. Boyarin approaches the phenomena as a post-colonial historian. Which, if I were to summarize, means that he walks into the past holding everyone suspect. Any historical event is an opportunity to dig up an underlying conspiracy. And not the kind of conspiracy that consists of bizarre, extraordinary events. But the kind that lurks within seemingly mundane actions. No one is innocent - all are participating within the power structures of the day and often unknowingly marginalizing the weak and uneducated. The sociological theories that contribute to the post-colonial project are quite sophisticated. The terminology will likely be new for those who are unfamiliar with PC thought; it certainly was for me.
In an attempt to present clearly and briefly Boyarin's central thesis, I will have to limit the comprehensiveness of this review. Many of the smaller arguments and sub-points will regretfully be unstated.
Boyarin's reconstruction of the interaction between Christianity and Judaism is as follows. Christianity began as a sect within Judaism - and continued so throughout the New Testament period. It was not until the time of Justin Martyr, the mid 2nd century, that Christianity began to truly become "other" than Judaism. This "parting of ways" was not a natural process determined by the difference of theology between the two entities. Rather, it was an imposed partition rendered by the heresiologists (i.e., Justin Martyr). On Boyarin's account, the heresiologists were not only defending orthodoxy, they were constructing it. They were not simply identifying heresies and heretics, they were producing them.
In doing so, they were constructing their own identity. Because Christianity had no specific geographic or ethnic qualities, she had to find here identity within beliefs. It was theology which unified, not common ancestry. This detachment of religion from ethnic and cultural ties is what Boyarin terms the "disembedding" of religion. Essential to Boyarin's account of Christianity's identity-formation-through-orthodoxy, is the role it plays for Judaism of the late antiquity. Prior to the ante-Nicene heresiologists, Judaism was a conglomerate of Judaisms - a coalition of sects, all under the umbrella of Judaism. However, upon the (dubious?) work of Justin Martyr, Judaism was rendered a "religion" like Christianity. It became an orthodoxy to which one must subscribe if he wishes to maintain his Jewish identity. According to Boyarin, this construction of Jewish orthodoxy was in large part due to Justin's production of Christian orthodoxy. Christianity set itself over against Judaism. To be a Christian was to be a not-Jew. Thus, Justin needed to determine what it was to be a Jew - strictly so a Christian could not be that.
Thus, the pluralism that was allegedly present prior to Justin, was dissolved under his labor. The border lines were drawn and their was now Christianity, and there was Judaism. Hybrids were deemed heretics.
Boyarin demonstrates his scheme through charting out the history of Logos theology. Logos theology being the belief in "two powers in heaven"; God Himself, and a second power, variously known as Wisdom, Memra, Sophia, etc. This was the portion I was especially looking forward to. According to Boyaring, this Logos theology, which has often been considered the doctrine which demanded Christianity's split away from Judaism, was not actually a Christian innovation. Rather, it was a notion deeply embedded within the Judaism of the 2nd Temple period. Complexity within the Godhead was not a novelty within the New Testament. On the contrary, Boyarin thinks it was likely predominant. Thus, the accounts which implement Logos theology as the key to the "parting of ways" are mistaken. However, it is clear within the 2nd century that this became a major contention between Jews and Christians. For Justin, a Christian was one who held to Logos theology and a Jew was one who rejected it. So how did this come to be?
Boyarin argues that Justin is not portraying Jewish orthodoxy when he records their rejection of Logos, rather, he is constructing it. Justin, or at least those like him, is responsible for the removal of Logos theology from Judaism. What once had a lasting heritage in Judaism became a strictly Christian doctrine.
Yet the story does not end there. Boyarin goes on to draw up the story of Judaism in the 6th century. Namely, the point in which it rejects the Christian innovation of orthodoxy. The game that the Christians had lured the Jews into playing, the game of "religion", would ultimately be rejected by the Jewish community. In his reading of the Babylonian Talmud, the pluralism recorded is not historical to the Talmud's references, but rather to the Talmud's redactors. The pluralism of late Judaism has been "remembered into" the history of the Rabbis. Judaism rejected its status as an orthodoxy, and became a reembedded religion. To be a Jew was no longer to hold to certain doctrine, rather it was to be a certain ethnicity. In the end, Judaism became something wholly other than Christianity, not simply in content, but in category. Judaism ceased to be a "religion" like Christianity. Thus, as it was in the days of the Apostles, one could again be a Jew and a Christian, or a Christian and a Jew.
I close with a few thoughts of my own. I think Boyarin has published an incredibly erudite and creative work. His reading of the Talmud was impressive and rather persuasive, and he certainly made imaginative connections while maintaing credibility. However, I am surprised he did not give any time to drawing up a history of the 1st century interaction between Judaism and Christianity. That lack seemed to be a major lacuna in this volume. Likewise, his suspicion toward all the actors of antiquity is a bit exhausting. But that goes more at his ideology than his history (Ah, I'm a fool - as if they can be separated). I also think that he has overplayed the presence of Logos theology. I don't doubt its presence within the 1st century theological milieu, however, I do doubt its dominance.
In truth, it was quite a bit of work to get through this one. I can't say I particularly enjoyed it, however, it was definitely provocative and served as a good wake up to the importance of the 2nd century for Christian theological development. Proper motivation to once more take a long look at the Church Fathers' role in the theological process. A decent book, no doubt, yet not likely one to which I will return often.
Note: This book was received free of charge in exchange for an honest review.
Readers be warned, this is a rather complex work. Boyarin approaches the phenomena as a post-colonial historian. Which, if I were to summarize, means that he walks into the past holding everyone suspect. Any historical event is an opportunity to dig up an underlying conspiracy. And not the kind of conspiracy that consists of bizarre, extraordinary events. But the kind that lurks within seemingly mundane actions. No one is innocent - all are participating within the power structures of the day and often unknowingly marginalizing the weak and uneducated. The sociological theories that contribute to the post-colonial project are quite sophisticated. The terminology will likely be new for those who are unfamiliar with PC thought; it certainly was for me.
In an attempt to present clearly and briefly Boyarin's central thesis, I will have to limit the comprehensiveness of this review. Many of the smaller arguments and sub-points will regretfully be unstated.
Boyarin's reconstruction of the interaction between Christianity and Judaism is as follows. Christianity began as a sect within Judaism - and continued so throughout the New Testament period. It was not until the time of Justin Martyr, the mid 2nd century, that Christianity began to truly become "other" than Judaism. This "parting of ways" was not a natural process determined by the difference of theology between the two entities. Rather, it was an imposed partition rendered by the heresiologists (i.e., Justin Martyr). On Boyarin's account, the heresiologists were not only defending orthodoxy, they were constructing it. They were not simply identifying heresies and heretics, they were producing them.
In doing so, they were constructing their own identity. Because Christianity had no specific geographic or ethnic qualities, she had to find here identity within beliefs. It was theology which unified, not common ancestry. This detachment of religion from ethnic and cultural ties is what Boyarin terms the "disembedding" of religion. Essential to Boyarin's account of Christianity's identity-formation-through-orthodoxy, is the role it plays for Judaism of the late antiquity. Prior to the ante-Nicene heresiologists, Judaism was a conglomerate of Judaisms - a coalition of sects, all under the umbrella of Judaism. However, upon the (dubious?) work of Justin Martyr, Judaism was rendered a "religion" like Christianity. It became an orthodoxy to which one must subscribe if he wishes to maintain his Jewish identity. According to Boyarin, this construction of Jewish orthodoxy was in large part due to Justin's production of Christian orthodoxy. Christianity set itself over against Judaism. To be a Christian was to be a not-Jew. Thus, Justin needed to determine what it was to be a Jew - strictly so a Christian could not be that.
Thus, the pluralism that was allegedly present prior to Justin, was dissolved under his labor. The border lines were drawn and their was now Christianity, and there was Judaism. Hybrids were deemed heretics.
Boyarin demonstrates his scheme through charting out the history of Logos theology. Logos theology being the belief in "two powers in heaven"; God Himself, and a second power, variously known as Wisdom, Memra, Sophia, etc. This was the portion I was especially looking forward to. According to Boyaring, this Logos theology, which has often been considered the doctrine which demanded Christianity's split away from Judaism, was not actually a Christian innovation. Rather, it was a notion deeply embedded within the Judaism of the 2nd Temple period. Complexity within the Godhead was not a novelty within the New Testament. On the contrary, Boyarin thinks it was likely predominant. Thus, the accounts which implement Logos theology as the key to the "parting of ways" are mistaken. However, it is clear within the 2nd century that this became a major contention between Jews and Christians. For Justin, a Christian was one who held to Logos theology and a Jew was one who rejected it. So how did this come to be?
Boyarin argues that Justin is not portraying Jewish orthodoxy when he records their rejection of Logos, rather, he is constructing it. Justin, or at least those like him, is responsible for the removal of Logos theology from Judaism. What once had a lasting heritage in Judaism became a strictly Christian doctrine.
Yet the story does not end there. Boyarin goes on to draw up the story of Judaism in the 6th century. Namely, the point in which it rejects the Christian innovation of orthodoxy. The game that the Christians had lured the Jews into playing, the game of "religion", would ultimately be rejected by the Jewish community. In his reading of the Babylonian Talmud, the pluralism recorded is not historical to the Talmud's references, but rather to the Talmud's redactors. The pluralism of late Judaism has been "remembered into" the history of the Rabbis. Judaism rejected its status as an orthodoxy, and became a reembedded religion. To be a Jew was no longer to hold to certain doctrine, rather it was to be a certain ethnicity. In the end, Judaism became something wholly other than Christianity, not simply in content, but in category. Judaism ceased to be a "religion" like Christianity. Thus, as it was in the days of the Apostles, one could again be a Jew and a Christian, or a Christian and a Jew.
I close with a few thoughts of my own. I think Boyarin has published an incredibly erudite and creative work. His reading of the Talmud was impressive and rather persuasive, and he certainly made imaginative connections while maintaing credibility. However, I am surprised he did not give any time to drawing up a history of the 1st century interaction between Judaism and Christianity. That lack seemed to be a major lacuna in this volume. Likewise, his suspicion toward all the actors of antiquity is a bit exhausting. But that goes more at his ideology than his history (Ah, I'm a fool - as if they can be separated). I also think that he has overplayed the presence of Logos theology. I don't doubt its presence within the 1st century theological milieu, however, I do doubt its dominance.
In truth, it was quite a bit of work to get through this one. I can't say I particularly enjoyed it, however, it was definitely provocative and served as a good wake up to the importance of the 2nd century for Christian theological development. Proper motivation to once more take a long look at the Church Fathers' role in the theological process. A decent book, no doubt, yet not likely one to which I will return often.
Note: This book was received free of charge in exchange for an honest review.
April 12, 2026
Reading the preface to this book feels like entering a time warp. Writing in 2003, Daniel Boyarin reflects on a personal conundrum regarding the interaction between his academic project of exploring the shared cultural and intellectual landscape out of which rabbinic Judaism and orthodox Christianity as we know them today both took shape—the “Jewishness” of those early communities we retrospectively identify as Christian and the “Christianness” of those we retrospectively identify as Jewish, problematizing the efforts of “border-makers” in each tradition to construct a discrete identity for itself in opposition to the other—and the disturbing political developments of his time: namely, the ethnic cleansing of Palestine and the “crusade” in Iraq, the ideological scaffolding for which was provided in part by a cynical and history-obfuscating alliance of right-wing Zionist Jews and evangelical Christians that made nation-state allegiances and a violent geopolitical project into the cornerstones of a new shared identity—and Islam into a shared enemy. Despite his own perfectly traditional identity as an Orthodox Jew, Boyarin found himself under fire for refusing to endorse this novel and bellicose model of Jewish-Christian solidarity and wondering whether his own unabashed fascination with Christianity and his work on the common heritage of both “religions” (this appellation itself being a bit problematic from a Jewish perspective, as Boyarin reveals in this book) were inadvertently contributing to it.
Of course, with the changing of a few names, all of this could have been written today, with Gaza made a wasteland, accelerating settler violence and the ghettoization of the Palestinian population in the West Bank, and a ghastly war of aggression by the United States and Israel on Iran and Lebanon; at a time in which the Secretary of War (as the department has been officially/unofficially renamed), adorned with crusader-themed tattoos, prays for “overwhelming violence” against “those who deserve no mercy,” and the American president, acclaimed a new messiah by his Christian Dominionist boosters, threatens the destruction of “a whole civilization.”
Boyarin contends that while the “historical sense” of this book concerns events that occurred in late antiquity—the process by which the discursive strategy of heresiology, the practice of taxonomizing who was “in” or “out” of the arbitrary boundaries of the communities their would-be authorities sought to consolidate, drove the congealment of the vast and diverse field of theological-mythological-liturgical-philosophical-genealogical specimens that dotted the landscape of the proto-Judaeo-Christian world in the period immediately following the destruction of the shared cultic anchor of the Temple in 70 CE into two camps: the Great Church of the Fathers and the Israel of the Rabbis, both of which retroactively posited their own continuity and purity—the “moral sense” is pertinent to our time, in which a new class of heresiologists seeks to instrumentalize Christian and Jewish identity by redefining them in the service of national chauvinism, depriving both of their essential genius, embodied most faithfully when both traditions—or rather, the wide spectrum of traditions that became two traditions—too weak to impose ecclesial-political boundaries, to marginalize, to oppress, or to kill, instead took the part of the runaway slave, the exile, and the stranger, bearing witness to the primacy of truth and awaiting a universal kingdom of justice.
Solidarity between the two great post-biblical traditions is necessary and, I would dare to say, providential. They are conjoined twins, with a shared birth and a shared destiny; one cannot delegitimize the other without losing something essential to itself. Whether they live out or betray the greatness of their own kerygmata, they do so in tandem. Right-wing American Christians who decry Israeli ethnonationalism—and conflate political Zionism and Jewishness by denouncing Dispensationalism, as if the question of how Christians should think of the State of Israel were synonymous with that of how they should relate to Jews as a people—while promoting Christian (or white; the distinction between the two categories sometimes gets blurred) nationalism in America—and in so doing almost inevitably transforming Christianity from an ethos into an ethnos, a beleaguered identity group which must therefore expel the stranger—fail to realize that these positions are one and the same: one either opposes ethnonationalism or one doesn’t. The spirit of this book gestures toward a third way between Christian chauvinism, a crude supersessionism that atavises a deeply troubled history (and which itself forms an important part of the background to the Zionism its adherents hypocritically use as an indictment of Jewishness), and a form of Jewish-Christian alliance that sacrifices the soul of each inheritance and makes both of them instruments of base, worldly fantasies of domination, thus making their very survival and propagation merely semantic.
This third way must account for the asymmetry, both in terms of power relations and in the very constitution of their respective identities, between Christianity and Judaism as they emerged as separate categories in late antiquity. Boyarin suggests that much of the discourse employed in the construction of Christianity was motivated by a felt need among a certain subset of those who would become Christians to delineate a distinct identity as neither Jew nor Greek; as a “third race,” or, ultimately, as a completely novel kind of community based on the affirmation of shared doctrines and rituals, disembedded from other forms of human association and collective practice—a religion in the modern sense of the word. Religion, then, as a freestanding category of human behavior and identity constituted primarily if not exclusively by beliefs, is in Boyarin’s view something Christianity invents in the process of inventing itself.
While some of those within the trajectory that retroactively became Jewish participated in a parallel discourse of orthodoxy and heresy—the minut of the Mishna, for example, being analogous to the hairetikos of Justin Martyr, the semantic sense of “heresy” having been transformed from “school of thought” (Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Stoics, Epicureans, etc.) into “deviation placing one outside the bounds of group identity”—the self-constitution of Christianity as a religion required the construction of Judaism as an alternative, “false” religion. But since Judaism ultimately retained the embeddedness of those elements we now isolate and classify as “religious” with other loci of group identity, including ethnic and genealogical relationality—an embeddedness that was virtually ubiquitous in pre-Christian antiquity—there emerged a longstanding and continuing disjointedness between the way Christians understand “Judaism” and the way Jews understand themselves. The modern mind, subconsciously informed by Christian culture, indexing the “religions” of the world, finds Jewish identity curiously liminal; something like a religion; something like a nationality; something like an ethnicity; something, perhaps, like a polity; but impossible to fit into any one box. Yet if there is one lesson to learn from this book, it might be that when a thing refuses to fit neatly into our discursive categories—possibly because it predates those categories—there may be some value in critically examining the categories themselves rather than dismissing the thing as something monstrous, inchoate, or illegitimate.
One part of the book which I found particularly fascinating is Boyarin’s account of how Logos theology—the belief in a second divine hypostasis mediating between the transcendent God and creation, variously named Word, Memra, Wisdom, Metatron, Yahoel—went from being part of the koine of the late Second Temple and early Judaeo-Christian worlds, likely accepted in some form by a majority of its inhabitants, to becoming something exclusively “Christian”—indeed the sine qua non of Christian orthodoxy—and how both Christian and Jewish tradition ended up domesticating the Logos in various ways: Jews by relinquishing it altogether as a Christian thing, the “Two Powers in Heaven” heresy proscribed in the Talmudic literature, and Christians by assimilating it to a unitary Godhead. In both cases, Boyarin suggests, the two orthodoxies curtail the ability of human beings to discover divine truth through reasoned dialogue.
In the Wisdom of Sirach, Wisdom searches the world for a home and ultimately finds one with the people of Israel in the form of the written Torah.
In 1 Enoch, she descends to earth but, contrary to Sirach, finds no dwelling place there, ultimately returning to the heavens.
The prologue of John’s Gospel, unbeknownst to most, tells a similar story. In Boyarin’s interpretation, the prologue is perhaps the earliest known midrash, using scriptural wisdom literature (probably Proverbs 8) to exegete the Genesis creation narrative. For John, all things are created and illuminated through the Word—the text refers to the Logos rather than Wisdom because the scripture being exegeted is that describing God’s speaking of the cosmos into existence, but the Word here takes on the properties of Wisdom and becomes functionally identical to it, as is also the case in Philo and Origen—but the world does not comprehend it, i.e. it finds no home there. Boyarin cross-references the prologue with a passage from one of the Palestinian Targums, which describes “Four Nights” in which the illuminating Memra (Word) appeared: the first two being the night of creation and the night in which the Memra made itself known to Abraham at Mamre (Gen. 15:1).
John 1:10-13, in Boyarin’s view, is likewise describing two previous attempts of the Logos/Wisdom to find a dwelling place in the world: in the logophany at Mamre and in the form of the Pentateuch. While Abraham received the Word and became a son of God, most of his fleshly descendants did not. This is the context of John 8, in which Jesus addresses the Ioudaioi who claim that because they are descended from Abraham, who received the Logos, they are thereby entitled to the status of children of God by virtue of their lineage. Jesus rejects this claim, retorting that only those who receive the Logos become true children of Abraham—and thereby children of God—finally confounding his hearers and revealing to them his identity as the Logos by telling them that Abraham rejoiced to see his day. The Pentateuch was likewise meant to be a vehicle for bringing Logos/Wisdom into the world, but this too proved insufficient due to disobedience or failure to understand its essence on the part of most of the people of Israel. Reflecting the cynicism of 1 Enoch, Wisdom tries, in this account, to make a home in Israel, but the unrighteousness of its people drives her away. This kind of narrative does not reflect a condemnation of Israel from the outside, as it were, but rather an internal self-critique, often reflecting a not-uncommon view that the letter of the Torah was not the only or sufficient way in which God had revealed his ways to the world. Compare 4 Ezra 7:72 and John 7:19:
For John, many of those who had the Torah rejected the Logos to which it bore witness, while others, who were not necessarily part of Israel by physical descent, had received the Word and become children of God. John here agrees with Philo: "those who live in the knowledge of the One are rightly called 'sons of God.'" (Conf. Ling. 145-47)
This entire narrative is, to this point, perfectly “Jewish.” It is only with John 1:14, when the Word/Wisdom of God becomes flesh in the person of Jesus, that a distinctly Christian novum is introduced. This is Wisdom’s latest attempt to enter the world, and as in the past, most of the world will reject it; but those who receive it will dwell in it, and it in them, as sons and daughters of God, even after it has returned from whence it came. That the incarnation of the Word is a more decisive revelation than the written Torah reflects a view that oral teachings are more pristine and authentic than their written counterparts. Jesus here “supersedes” the written Torah only in the sense that his words are the essence of Torah—oral Torah.
For all the conventionality of my self-identification as orthodox Jew, I am seriously out of step with my community at this moment, in a position of marginality that is frequently very painful to me. The present is a time in which Jewish orthodoxy has been redefined as including the unquestioning support for a political entity, the State of Israel, and all of its martial adventures. My own vaunted "love" for Christianity has become suspect to me at this moment, for I am writing at a time (2003) in which Jews and Christians (millennial enemies) are suddenly strange bedfellows, collectively engaged in a war or wars against Muslims. Ariel Sharon's war of ethnic cleansing against the Palestinians is applauded by fundamentalist Christians, and American president George W. Bush's crusade against Iraq is cheered by most Jews in the name of a battle against Muslim terrorists. (Ironically—but not accidentally—just as in the first Crusades, Arab Christians are assimilated to Muslims by the discourse of both the Jewish and American Christian anti-Muslim campaigns.) Already I have heard rumblings, ominous warnings, that the import of my critical work is precisely that, of aiding and abetting in the forging of a new identity of Jews and Christians against the Muslims. Perhaps my transgressive love is not transgressive enough, maybe even, in the current social-political context, not transgressive at all but the enactment, or potential enactment, of a dangerous liason.
Of course, with the changing of a few names, all of this could have been written today, with Gaza made a wasteland, accelerating settler violence and the ghettoization of the Palestinian population in the West Bank, and a ghastly war of aggression by the United States and Israel on Iran and Lebanon; at a time in which the Secretary of War (as the department has been officially/unofficially renamed), adorned with crusader-themed tattoos, prays for “overwhelming violence” against “those who deserve no mercy,” and the American president, acclaimed a new messiah by his Christian Dominionist boosters, threatens the destruction of “a whole civilization.”
Boyarin contends that while the “historical sense” of this book concerns events that occurred in late antiquity—the process by which the discursive strategy of heresiology, the practice of taxonomizing who was “in” or “out” of the arbitrary boundaries of the communities their would-be authorities sought to consolidate, drove the congealment of the vast and diverse field of theological-mythological-liturgical-philosophical-genealogical specimens that dotted the landscape of the proto-Judaeo-Christian world in the period immediately following the destruction of the shared cultic anchor of the Temple in 70 CE into two camps: the Great Church of the Fathers and the Israel of the Rabbis, both of which retroactively posited their own continuity and purity—the “moral sense” is pertinent to our time, in which a new class of heresiologists seeks to instrumentalize Christian and Jewish identity by redefining them in the service of national chauvinism, depriving both of their essential genius, embodied most faithfully when both traditions—or rather, the wide spectrum of traditions that became two traditions—too weak to impose ecclesial-political boundaries, to marginalize, to oppress, or to kill, instead took the part of the runaway slave, the exile, and the stranger, bearing witness to the primacy of truth and awaiting a universal kingdom of justice.
Solidarity between the two great post-biblical traditions is necessary and, I would dare to say, providential. They are conjoined twins, with a shared birth and a shared destiny; one cannot delegitimize the other without losing something essential to itself. Whether they live out or betray the greatness of their own kerygmata, they do so in tandem. Right-wing American Christians who decry Israeli ethnonationalism—and conflate political Zionism and Jewishness by denouncing Dispensationalism, as if the question of how Christians should think of the State of Israel were synonymous with that of how they should relate to Jews as a people—while promoting Christian (or white; the distinction between the two categories sometimes gets blurred) nationalism in America—and in so doing almost inevitably transforming Christianity from an ethos into an ethnos, a beleaguered identity group which must therefore expel the stranger—fail to realize that these positions are one and the same: one either opposes ethnonationalism or one doesn’t. The spirit of this book gestures toward a third way between Christian chauvinism, a crude supersessionism that atavises a deeply troubled history (and which itself forms an important part of the background to the Zionism its adherents hypocritically use as an indictment of Jewishness), and a form of Jewish-Christian alliance that sacrifices the soul of each inheritance and makes both of them instruments of base, worldly fantasies of domination, thus making their very survival and propagation merely semantic.
This third way must account for the asymmetry, both in terms of power relations and in the very constitution of their respective identities, between Christianity and Judaism as they emerged as separate categories in late antiquity. Boyarin suggests that much of the discourse employed in the construction of Christianity was motivated by a felt need among a certain subset of those who would become Christians to delineate a distinct identity as neither Jew nor Greek; as a “third race,” or, ultimately, as a completely novel kind of community based on the affirmation of shared doctrines and rituals, disembedded from other forms of human association and collective practice—a religion in the modern sense of the word. Religion, then, as a freestanding category of human behavior and identity constituted primarily if not exclusively by beliefs, is in Boyarin’s view something Christianity invents in the process of inventing itself.
While some of those within the trajectory that retroactively became Jewish participated in a parallel discourse of orthodoxy and heresy—the minut of the Mishna, for example, being analogous to the hairetikos of Justin Martyr, the semantic sense of “heresy” having been transformed from “school of thought” (Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Stoics, Epicureans, etc.) into “deviation placing one outside the bounds of group identity”—the self-constitution of Christianity as a religion required the construction of Judaism as an alternative, “false” religion. But since Judaism ultimately retained the embeddedness of those elements we now isolate and classify as “religious” with other loci of group identity, including ethnic and genealogical relationality—an embeddedness that was virtually ubiquitous in pre-Christian antiquity—there emerged a longstanding and continuing disjointedness between the way Christians understand “Judaism” and the way Jews understand themselves. The modern mind, subconsciously informed by Christian culture, indexing the “religions” of the world, finds Jewish identity curiously liminal; something like a religion; something like a nationality; something like an ethnicity; something, perhaps, like a polity; but impossible to fit into any one box. Yet if there is one lesson to learn from this book, it might be that when a thing refuses to fit neatly into our discursive categories—possibly because it predates those categories—there may be some value in critically examining the categories themselves rather than dismissing the thing as something monstrous, inchoate, or illegitimate.
One part of the book which I found particularly fascinating is Boyarin’s account of how Logos theology—the belief in a second divine hypostasis mediating between the transcendent God and creation, variously named Word, Memra, Wisdom, Metatron, Yahoel—went from being part of the koine of the late Second Temple and early Judaeo-Christian worlds, likely accepted in some form by a majority of its inhabitants, to becoming something exclusively “Christian”—indeed the sine qua non of Christian orthodoxy—and how both Christian and Jewish tradition ended up domesticating the Logos in various ways: Jews by relinquishing it altogether as a Christian thing, the “Two Powers in Heaven” heresy proscribed in the Talmudic literature, and Christians by assimilating it to a unitary Godhead. In both cases, Boyarin suggests, the two orthodoxies curtail the ability of human beings to discover divine truth through reasoned dialogue.
In the Wisdom of Sirach, Wisdom searches the world for a home and ultimately finds one with the people of Israel in the form of the written Torah.
“From the mouth of the Most High I came forth,
and covered the earth like a mist.
In the heights of heaven I dwelt,
and my throne was in a pillar of cloud.
The vault of heaven I compassed alone,
and walked through the deep abyss.
Over waves of the sea, over all the land,
over every people and nation I held sway.
Among all these I sought a resting place.
In whose inheritance should I abide?
Then the Creator of all gave me his command,
and my Creator chose the spot for my tent.
He said, ‘In Jacob make your dwelling,
in Israel your inheritance.’” (W. Sir. 24:3-8)
In 1 Enoch, she descends to earth but, contrary to Sirach, finds no dwelling place there, ultimately returning to the heavens.
Wisdom could not find a place in which she could dwell;
but a place was found (for her) in the heavens.
Then Wisdom went out to dwell with the children of the people,
but she found no dwelling place.
So Wisdom returned to her place
and she settled permanently among the angels. (1 Enoch 42:1-2)
The prologue of John’s Gospel, unbeknownst to most, tells a similar story. In Boyarin’s interpretation, the prologue is perhaps the earliest known midrash, using scriptural wisdom literature (probably Proverbs 8) to exegete the Genesis creation narrative. For John, all things are created and illuminated through the Word—the text refers to the Logos rather than Wisdom because the scripture being exegeted is that describing God’s speaking of the cosmos into existence, but the Word here takes on the properties of Wisdom and becomes functionally identical to it, as is also the case in Philo and Origen—but the world does not comprehend it, i.e. it finds no home there. Boyarin cross-references the prologue with a passage from one of the Palestinian Targums, which describes “Four Nights” in which the illuminating Memra (Word) appeared: the first two being the night of creation and the night in which the Memra made itself known to Abraham at Mamre (Gen. 15:1).
John 1:10-13, in Boyarin’s view, is likewise describing two previous attempts of the Logos/Wisdom to find a dwelling place in the world: in the logophany at Mamre and in the form of the Pentateuch. While Abraham received the Word and became a son of God, most of his fleshly descendants did not. This is the context of John 8, in which Jesus addresses the Ioudaioi who claim that because they are descended from Abraham, who received the Logos, they are thereby entitled to the status of children of God by virtue of their lineage. Jesus rejects this claim, retorting that only those who receive the Logos become true children of Abraham—and thereby children of God—finally confounding his hearers and revealing to them his identity as the Logos by telling them that Abraham rejoiced to see his day. The Pentateuch was likewise meant to be a vehicle for bringing Logos/Wisdom into the world, but this too proved insufficient due to disobedience or failure to understand its essence on the part of most of the people of Israel. Reflecting the cynicism of 1 Enoch, Wisdom tries, in this account, to make a home in Israel, but the unrighteousness of its people drives her away. This kind of narrative does not reflect a condemnation of Israel from the outside, as it were, but rather an internal self-critique, often reflecting a not-uncommon view that the letter of the Torah was not the only or sufficient way in which God had revealed his ways to the world. Compare 4 Ezra 7:72 and John 7:19:
Though they had understanding they committed iniquity, and though they received the commandments they did not keep them, and though they obtained the Law they dealt unfaithfully with what they received.
Has not Moses given you the Torah? And none of you does the Torah.
For John, many of those who had the Torah rejected the Logos to which it bore witness, while others, who were not necessarily part of Israel by physical descent, had received the Word and become children of God. John here agrees with Philo: "those who live in the knowledge of the One are rightly called 'sons of God.'" (Conf. Ling. 145-47)
This entire narrative is, to this point, perfectly “Jewish.” It is only with John 1:14, when the Word/Wisdom of God becomes flesh in the person of Jesus, that a distinctly Christian novum is introduced. This is Wisdom’s latest attempt to enter the world, and as in the past, most of the world will reject it; but those who receive it will dwell in it, and it in them, as sons and daughters of God, even after it has returned from whence it came. That the incarnation of the Word is a more decisive revelation than the written Torah reflects a view that oral teachings are more pristine and authentic than their written counterparts. Jesus here “supersedes” the written Torah only in the sense that his words are the essence of Torah—oral Torah.
August 20, 2017
This book has excellent analytical methods and close readings of texts showing the mutual emergence of categories of Judaism and Christianity within the context of the Roman and Middle Eastern / Babylonian worlds. It is lucidly argued and densely supported.
August 17, 2010
"Earlier Christian groups (including, or even especially, the Johannine one) distinguished themselves from non-Christian Jews not theologically, but only in their association of various Jewish theologoumena and mythologoumena with this particular Jew, Jesus of Nazarth. The characteristic move that constructs what will become orthodox Christianity is, I think, the combination of Jewish messianic soteriology with equally Jewish Logos theology in the figure of Jesus."
"The vanquishing of real religious dissent in Israel and the safe haven of power and privilege which the Rabbis had achieved by the fifth century enabled a portrayal of themselves as the ultimate democrats and meritocrats. All who would once have produced real dissension were now firmly out of the community, so within: Let pluralism ring!"
Boyarin locates two key moments in the development of what we now call Christianity and Judaism: the second century, when thinkers in both camps developed the notion of heresy, and the late antique development of the Babylonian Talmud, which cemented the Rabbinical character of "Judaism," which, in contradistinction to Christianity, cherished endless disputation and dissensus, and disdained miracles and revelation; at the same time, Christians developed the notion of religion, a belief system disembedded from cultural practice (and, on this point, his diachronic philological analysis of "superstitio" vs. "religio" in the antique world works perfectly) and founded on revelation and miracles and on the unity of the "Fathers" (invented in the fifth century). Notably, there is no record of the disputations of Nicea.
The worst heretics for each camp were those who occupied the middle; each camp created itself as such, in fact, by defining itself against a pure conception of the other. This process of self-definition through othering is of course very familiar to anyone cognizant with postmodern philosophy; so too are the continual exclusions through which identity establishes itself. This is as true for the newly born Christians as Nicea as it is for the newly born Jews in the Babylonian Talmud: neither side is innocent, neither side is pure.
Along the way, Boyarin demonstrates the first- and second-century muddling of "Jew" and "Christian" through analysis of Logos theology, the notion of a second, distinct hypostasis of God (ditheism, more or less). This was a belief many "Jews" and "Christians" shared; and, as well, one that many did NOT share. The lines can be drawn, then, between those who believed in some form of the Logos (some of whom believed in the particular form of the Logos known as Jesus) and those that did not. Boyarin thus manages to save Logos Jews from accusations of being Hellenized: there is a non-Hellenic tradition of the incarnate Logos (Memra, Sophia, Metatron, Yahoel) that's picked up by Philo and as well by the opening to the Gospel of John, which Boyarin reads as a Midrash on the opening of Genesis. He also demonstrates that "both" "sides" ultimately do away with the Logos, the Rabbis by dissolving revelation in favor of disputation, and the Bishops by firming up the mysterious singularity of the Trinity, swallowing up the distinct Logos within a triune but still fundamentally singular God.
I'd give this 5 stars if it were more efficiently written. Boyarin repeats himself frequently; his paragraphs tend to be muddled, with key points buried in the middle and then raised again several pages later; he often engages with secondary sources in the body text rather than in the footnotes, where such disputes rightly belong. My dream version of this book would be about 50 pages shorter, with footnotes (not endnotes) about 50 percent longer. This would reduce the body text to about 100 pages, which would save the book from reading like a crazy quilt looks.
"The vanquishing of real religious dissent in Israel and the safe haven of power and privilege which the Rabbis had achieved by the fifth century enabled a portrayal of themselves as the ultimate democrats and meritocrats. All who would once have produced real dissension were now firmly out of the community, so within: Let pluralism ring!"
Boyarin locates two key moments in the development of what we now call Christianity and Judaism: the second century, when thinkers in both camps developed the notion of heresy, and the late antique development of the Babylonian Talmud, which cemented the Rabbinical character of "Judaism," which, in contradistinction to Christianity, cherished endless disputation and dissensus, and disdained miracles and revelation; at the same time, Christians developed the notion of religion, a belief system disembedded from cultural practice (and, on this point, his diachronic philological analysis of "superstitio" vs. "religio" in the antique world works perfectly) and founded on revelation and miracles and on the unity of the "Fathers" (invented in the fifth century). Notably, there is no record of the disputations of Nicea.
The worst heretics for each camp were those who occupied the middle; each camp created itself as such, in fact, by defining itself against a pure conception of the other. This process of self-definition through othering is of course very familiar to anyone cognizant with postmodern philosophy; so too are the continual exclusions through which identity establishes itself. This is as true for the newly born Christians as Nicea as it is for the newly born Jews in the Babylonian Talmud: neither side is innocent, neither side is pure.
Along the way, Boyarin demonstrates the first- and second-century muddling of "Jew" and "Christian" through analysis of Logos theology, the notion of a second, distinct hypostasis of God (ditheism, more or less). This was a belief many "Jews" and "Christians" shared; and, as well, one that many did NOT share. The lines can be drawn, then, between those who believed in some form of the Logos (some of whom believed in the particular form of the Logos known as Jesus) and those that did not. Boyarin thus manages to save Logos Jews from accusations of being Hellenized: there is a non-Hellenic tradition of the incarnate Logos (Memra, Sophia, Metatron, Yahoel) that's picked up by Philo and as well by the opening to the Gospel of John, which Boyarin reads as a Midrash on the opening of Genesis. He also demonstrates that "both" "sides" ultimately do away with the Logos, the Rabbis by dissolving revelation in favor of disputation, and the Bishops by firming up the mysterious singularity of the Trinity, swallowing up the distinct Logos within a triune but still fundamentally singular God.
I'd give this 5 stars if it were more efficiently written. Boyarin repeats himself frequently; his paragraphs tend to be muddled, with key points buried in the middle and then raised again several pages later; he often engages with secondary sources in the body text rather than in the footnotes, where such disputes rightly belong. My dream version of this book would be about 50 pages shorter, with footnotes (not endnotes) about 50 percent longer. This would reduce the body text to about 100 pages, which would save the book from reading like a crazy quilt looks.
Read
September 12, 2015Although it has serious problems of readability if you do not know enough about the period, Boyarin's work is easily the most revolutionary thesis about the 'parting of the ways'--between Judaism and Christianity--to come out in recent memory. He argues that, in fact, neither Judaism nor Christianity existed before they constructed each other. See also Judith Lieu's Neither Jew Nor Greek?: Constructing Early Christianity (2004).
March 10, 2014
Boyarin is always an interesting read, but having read through Le Boulluec's treatment of Heresiology, it became clear that Boyarin is really just riffin/ripping off of Le Boulluec's Foucauldian treatment of heresiology. The innovation is in the denial of a "parting of the ways" beforehand, but this too is not tied to Boyarin's analysis.
On a personal note, I think the notion of Logos Theology as present in earlier writings (and certainly in Philo) is incorrect.
On a personal note, I think the notion of Logos Theology as present in earlier writings (and certainly in Philo) is incorrect.
October 18, 2025
Deeply theoretical exploration of how “Judaism” and “Christianity” became distinct religions—after centuries of overlap. But fair warning: this is not a casual read. Boyarin writes like the Talmudic scholar and cultural theorist he is, engaging heavily with late antique texts, postcolonial theory, and religious taxonomy. The result is a work that is dense, academic, and at times punishingly intricate—but also illuminating.
August 8, 2017
The broad outline of the argument of this book is convincing. Early Jews having a Logos/divine mediator theology: less so.
July 21, 2025
See my review of "The Jewish Gospels." Same comments.
August 28, 2015
This book should be required reading to any historian of religions and to anyone interested in Judaism and Christianity. Boyarin, in this book, shows how the Judaism (or better, Judaisms) of the Second Temple period are different from rabbinic judaism and with many variations and sects. Some of the judaisms in the period were binitarian. They believed that Logos/Sophia were a second entity, a "second God". This was later known by the rabbis as "Two Powers in Heaven". Boyarin shows that "Christianity" was basically another judaism sect, one that believed that the Logos incarnated as man. So Christianity was not so radical or different in terms of concepts from other judaisms of the period.
Another important analysis in the book is about how christianity "orthodox" leaders and rabbinic judaism leaders beginning in the second century started to develop a discourse on heresies/minim to create borders and boundaries between their own views versus others. Really an amazing book that explains the fantastic and variated world os Second Temple Judaism.
Another important analysis in the book is about how christianity "orthodox" leaders and rabbinic judaism leaders beginning in the second century started to develop a discourse on heresies/minim to create borders and boundaries between their own views versus others. Really an amazing book that explains the fantastic and variated world os Second Temple Judaism.
July 11, 2012
This was academic and thus a slow read, but I can see why it is highly recommended. Boyarin is a top scholar in Judeo-Christian studies, and his insights into the ancient vs. modern worldivew a incredibly helpful, specifically as related to the creation of the religious systems of Christianity and Judaism in the 2nd - 5th centuries. Boyarin's obvious insinuation, although left out of this book, is that the 1st century functioned in the ancient worldview.
November 11, 2014
Very interesting perspective. Boyarin did it right.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews