The field of those who disagree with the views of the proponents hold that either Ignatius never implied real presence in his letters or, at the very least, there is not enough evidence to say what he really believed. Further, this last group might even make note of conflicting evidence within Ignatius’ own letters. It is to members of these groups that we now turn our attention. We will move from those who feel less strongly about the alleged lack of real presence in Ignatius to those who take a more strong position on Ignatius and his writings.

H. B. Swete
Swete, in an article written during the turn of the last century, assigns Ignatius to a school of thought that tended toward a position that “is shown to spiritualise the words of the Institution so far as to obscure their reference to His actual Flesh and Blood.”<note: H. B. Swete, “Eucharistic Belief in the Second and Third Centuries,” The Journal of Theological Studies 3 (1902): 168. repr.in Worship in Early Christianity (New York: Garland Publishing, 1993).> Later, he identifies this more with mysticism than real presence and notes that, on the one hand, Ignatius seems clear in the context of anti-docetist polemic, but, on the other hand, he is ambiguous when the “Docetae are not in view.”<note: Ibid., 116.>  He uses the Ad Smyrnaeans 6 and Ad Philadelphians 4 as an example of the former and Ad Trallians 8 and Ad Romans 7 for the latter. Swete, then, seems to imply that Ignatius is ambiguous overall, and the reader cannot be very certain about anything that he is writing because of these apparent contradictions.

Everett Ferguson
The researcher may be able to locate at least two sources written on the subject of the Eucharist in the second century written by Ferguson. One, included in a festschrift, covers the period of the New Testament through the Medieval period. In this article Ferguson does not even mention Ignatius. It would seem that he thinks that, in the overall scheme of this doctrine’s development, Ignatius is irrelevant. Instead, he begins with Justin to describe the overall view of the second century. The value of this article is that he clearly states that his own view of the Eucharist is to identify it with the Old Testament Passover. Inasmuch as the Passover commemorated the events of the original Passover, likewise the Eucharist commemorated the original sacrifice of Christ: “The historical deliverance is unrepeatable, but its effects are reaffirmed.”<note: Everett Ferguson, “The Lord’s Supper: The Early Church Through the Medieval Period,” in The Lord’s Supper: Believers Church Perspectives (ed. Dale R. Stoffer: Scottdale, Penn.: Herald Press, 1997), 21-22.>

The other source is Ferguson’s chapter on “The Language of the Real Presence About the Lord’s Supper.”<note: Everett Ferguson, Early Christians Speak: Faith and Life in the First Three Centuries. 3rd ed. (Abilene, TX: ACU Press, 1999) 103-14.> In this chapter, he argues that realistic language finds its way into the ante-Nicene fathers for two reasons. The first reason is that they are merely reiterating the language of the New Testament (i.e. “this is my body…this is my blood”). The second reason is because they are arguing against heresy, the main heresies being first Docetism, then later, Gnosticism. He explains the use of “flesh” as opposed to “body” as being necessary because it affirmed the difference between Docetism and orthodoxy.  The Docetists could affirm at least the form of a body, but the term, “flesh” better substantiated its significance as a real body made of actual flesh and blood.<note: Ibid., 106.> Further, Ferguson believes that the locus of Ignatius’ eucharistic theology is Johannine even if it does predate Ignatius’ actual reception of a gospel or epistle written by that apostle.<note: Ibid., 107.>

In the final analysis, Ferguson sees little to warrant a view that holds to real presence in the writings of Ignatius. He does not totally exclude the possibility, but notes that repetition of New Testament language and context mitigate against any strong case for real presence in the writings of Ignatius.

Paul H. Jones
Jones, in is book on the historical development of the doctrine of the Eucharist does not see any firm development of real presence until the ninth century:

Because the doctrine of Christ’s eucharistic presence was not thematized and the early church’s liturgical celebrations were deliberately private, rumors quickly spread concerning the treasonous and immoral practices that attended these assemblies. In correspondence between Pliny and Trajan, for example, accusations extended beyond social and political concerns to doctrinal issues. That is, the realistic manner in which the early Christians spoke of the presence and consumption of the body and blood of Christ elicited charges of cannibalism. Thus, for practical reasons the doctrine of the real presence of Christ in the eucharist surfaced in accusations, although early church theologians did not elaborate a distinct doctrine of real presence.<note: Paul H. Jones, Christ’s Eucharistic Presence: A History of the Doctrine. (New York: Peter Lang, 1994) 28.>

In dealing with Ignatius and the issue of real presence specifically, Jones postulates a continuum with realism at one end and symbolism at the other.  He states that there is not enough evidence to locate any ante-Nicene churchman at the extremes of this continuum, but he does place Ignatius as the closest to realism while placing Clement and Origen at the other end of the continuum.<note: Ibid., 28-29.> His description of what is occurring during the ante-Nicene period is one of “oscillation” between these two extremes.<note: Ibid., 29>  In doing so, he presents a stronger but more generalized view toward the development of the doctrine as a whole. He denies that any firm view was fixed in the thought and writings of theologians until the ninth century. While this view lacks the necessary specificity toward Ignatius, it does underscore the problem of a historical a priori argument for real presence in Ignatius.  The question must be asked – how can Ignatius teach  real presence when its very definition has yet to be determined? To be able to affirm this, one must believe that the doctrine existed in the second century because it had existed from the beginning of the church.

S. M. Gibbard
In a little known and less celebrated paper presented to the Fourth International Conference of Patristic Studies in 1963, Gibbard lays out a short but very organized analysis and refutation of the concept of real presence in the Ignatian epistles.  Gibbard finds five distinctly ‘catholic’ emphases within the writings of Ignatius. First, he uses sacrificial terms to describe the Eucharist like thusiasterion or ‘altar’ (Eph. 5.2, Magn.17.2, Phil. 4.1).  Martyrdom is also an altar (Rom. 2.2). Second, he describes the elements of the Eucharist is a very realistic way (Smyrn. 7.1, Trall. 8.1, Phil. 5.1, Rom. 7.3). Third, he ascribes powerful life giving forces to the Eucharist (Eph. 20.2, Eph. 13). Fourth, he stresses the efficacy of the Eucharist on the basis of a qualified administrator - the bishop (Smyrn. 8.1).  This may be qualified by his defining the whole church by its components of congregants and officers (Rom. 5.2, cf. Smyrn. 8.2). Fifth, he “emphasises the corporate aspect of the eucharist.” (Phil. 4, cf. Eph. 5.20, 2, Magn. 7:1-12).<note: S. M. Gibbard, “The Eucharist in the Ignatian Epistles,” Papers Presented at the Fourth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held at Christ Church, Oxford, 1963 8 (1966): 214-15.>

Gibbard believes that each of these ideas are found in some seminal form in the NT, but that Ignatius takes them a bit further.<note: Ibid., 116.> Therefore, he gives three possible reasons for this development over and beyond the New Testament, each one increasingly more likely than the previous: First, Ignatius was influenced by the mystery religions as in H.W. Bartsch: Gnostisches Gut und Gemeindetradition bei Ignatius von Antiochien 99-117.  There are problems because Bartsch relies on the Ad Polycarp 7.1 passage and the attainment to God.  This is not a reference to Eucharist but to martyrdom. Bartsch sees simlar mystery religion in Ad Smyrnaeans 7.1 because he sees “agape” here as “to hold an agape.” Second, Ignatius writes in an overdramatic and impassioned manner as in Ad Romans 4.1.  Some have even suggested Ignatius to be somewhat neurotic. Third, and most likely, Ignatius’ debate with the Docetists brought out some unusual polemic.  The Eucharist became the means flushing out the Docetists and reinforcing the truth of the incarnation.  Just as prayer was a revealer of doctrine in the early church, so too the Eucharist became a shibboleth separating orthodox believer from Docetist.  This panacea of sorts could be applied to doubts concerning the incarnation and problems with unity.  Both of these were resultant issues with the Docetists.<note: Ibid., 217-18.>  In a final gloss that almost smacks of a truism, Gibbard adds, “In this sense the heretics are the elucidators, if not the formulators, of the doctrines of the church.”<note: Ibid., 218.> Gibbard, then, believes that the context of Docetism provides a satisfactory explanation for the realistic language of Ignatius without actually teaching a paleo real presence.

Summary and Conclusion
In this paper we have covered the background of Ignatius and his historical situation, the debate spanning the last 125 years in liturgical studies, those who argue for real presence in Ignatius, and those who argue against it. It is prudent to suggest that there is difficulty in taking any position too dogmatically because of many apparent contradictions, evidence of metaphorical language, and an urgent context full of passion on the part of Ignatius in his writing of these letters. Those who suggest that Ignatius gives us a clear example of real presence very early in the second century are seriously over-reaching. Those who would suggest that Ignatius gives us no possibility to construe his words as implying real presence would be over-reaching as well.  A via media ought to be prescribed for such a situation, but I believe that this middle way leans away from the certainty of Ignatius holding to real presence. At the same time, it cannot categorically deny the possibility of its existence because the corpus is too small and filled with contradictions.

I have developed five reasons why we might be able to say that Ignatius could have something short of real presence in mind in his letters.  First, Ignatius presents too little information. At no time is he very clear, and when he seems clear he contradicts himself elsewhere. Such is the situation when Ad Smyrnaeans 7.1 is compared with Ad Trallians 8.1, Ad Philadephians 5.1, and Ad Romans 7.3. While the first reference equates the elements of the Eucharist with the flesh of Christ, the others equivocate and relate the elements with faith, gospel, and love respectively.<note: Smyrn. 7.1 “They abstain from the eucharist and prayer, since they do not confess that the eucharist is the flesh of our saviour Jesus Christ, which suffered on behalf of our sins and which the Father raised in his kindess. . .” (Ignatius, Smyrn. 7.1[Ehrman, LCL]) Trall. 8.1 “. . . You should therefore take up gentleness and create yourselves anew in faith, which is the flesh of the Lord, and in love, which is the blood of Jesus Christ.” (Ignatius, Trall. 7.1 [Ehrman, LCL]) Phld 5.1 “But your prayer to God will perfect me, so that I may attain to God by the lot that I have been mercifully assigned, when I flee to the gospel as to the flesh of Jesus and to the apostles as to the presbytery of the church.” (Ignatius, Phld. 5.1 [Ehrman, LCL])Rom. 7.3 “. . . I desire the bread of God, which is the flesh of Jesus Christ, from the seed of David; and for drink I desire his blood, which is imperishable love.” (Ignatius, Rom. 7.3 [Ehrman, LCL]).> Second, the equivocation mentioned above lends itself to great ambiguity that cannot be surmounted for a clearer understanding. While Schoedel and Kelly may think that all the real presence passages in Ignatius ought to be interpreted in light of Ad Smyrnaeans 7.1, this seems a bit arbitrary especially given its polemical context. Third, the similarity of Ignatius verbiage to John’s means that we have to enough of a difference between  John’s gospel and Ignatius to make a distinctively different case. How we understand John will inevitably determine how we understand Ignatius. Fourth, there seems to be too much assumption as to the clarity of Ignatius argument. Roman Catholic ressourcement argues that Docetism in the context supports its assertion that Ignatius speaks rather clearly of real presence. This argument is only valid if we assume that Ignatius was advancing a valid argument. The case may actually be quite to the contrary given the circumstances of travel fatigue, passionate feelings, impending torture, and near death. Fifth, and finally, a definite instance of real presence in Ignatius seems a bit early for such clear statements if we take the development of doctrines seriously.  This is by no means a hard and fast rule, but if difficulty is encountered with the Justin, Irenaeus, Clement, and Origen. How can we be more certain of Ignatius who predates them? Those who argue for a realistic Ignatius deny both Bauer and any view of doctrinal development. Indeed, they imply a very advanced pristine orthodoxy very early in the history of the church. If they do no allow this for the doctrines of Trinity and atonement, why should they for the Eucharist?

In summary, while we cannot argue that Ignatius had no concept of real presence in his writings, we can argue that his writings do not give enough evidence that he taught real presence with any certainty. He provides for us, perhaps, necessary conditions for real presence, but certainly no sufficient conditions for real presence.

Any student of Ignatius that does not see real presence in the eucharistic references of Ignatius of Antioch is bound to find himself or herself in the minority. While not examining every survey that has been written on the subject, a rough sample of the literature from the last century will demonstrate this to be the case. There does not seem to be alignment on this issue according to theological basis, or even alignment based upon one’s understanding of New Testament passages on the same subject.  Those who claim real presence to exist in Ignatius’ theology have no problem disagreeing with him. It is interesting to note that several Roman Catholic theologians have very recently written on Ignatius with a view toward bolstering the assumption that real presence does indeed go back to John because Ignatius so clearly teaches it. For our purposes here we will look at four distinct proponents for real presence in the writings of Ignatius. We will start by looking first at a decidedly Roman Catholic group of Scholars and move through Schoedel to Kelly.

Roman Catholic Scholarship
This first group of scholars that support the notion of real presence language in the writings of Ignatius are the products of either Roman Catholic scholarship or Roman Catholicism directly. They are not alone, but they are recent representatives who have written something on either Ignatius or the Eucharist. Each of these tends to wax eloquent and, at some times, devotional when reflecting on the words of Ignatius. There is a bit less scholarly dispassionance and a bit more overt admiration for Ignatian thought so far as they understand it. Oftentimes these authors tend to give less reason for their belief in Ignatian real presence and come close to merely asserting it as fact. Here is a summary of their literature:
Bradshaw
Paul Bradshaw has written one of the latest attempts to refute the four-action Eucharistic theory of Dix. The thrust of his argument against Dix is that he believes the second century rite for the Eucharist to be very fluid and thus susceptible to influence from both Judaism and paganism. With regard to real presence, Bradshaw suddenly, all doubts are swept aside, sees it within the text of Ignatius. He never explains his view in a substantive manner.  For Bradshaw, the most oblique allusion to the idea of real presence by Ignatius becomes a most certain proof for it,<note:  This is exemplified in his distinction between savrx and sw:ma. (Bradshaw, Eucharistic Origins, 87-89.)> but he is not alone in this. In New Testament studies this would be classified as a sort of maximalist exegetical fallacy, reading all sorts of meaning into a trivial use of free variation. Interestingly, Bradshaw notes that with many of the early Fathers there was a lack of connection between the flesh of Christ and sacrifice.  There is the connection between flesh in the sacrament and the very body of Christ, but not a connection to the sacrifice of his body and blood.  Indeed, Bradshaw believes even Justin to be ignorant of the connection.  The implication is that flesh and blood, as pictured in the Eucharist, are connected to the incarnate Lord not the sacrificed body of the Lord.<note: Bradshaw, Eucharistic Origins, 89.> Perhaps there is a hint of Irenaean recapitulation in this idea. In commenting on Heintz, Bradshaw sees a parallel between real presence at the invocation and the miracle of the incarnation:

Heintz is undoubtedly correct in recognizing that an intentional parallel is being drawn by Justin between the process of incarnation and of eucharistic consecration here, just as Ignatius had earlier insisted on the equivalent reality of Christ’s incarnation and of his eucharistic presence.<note: Ibid., 92-93.>

In review, Bradshaw spends little energy defending a near assertion that Ignatius speaks in ‘realistic’ terms. Instead he finds other fanciful connections based upon the assumption of realism within the Ignatian corpus.
Cummings
Cummings seeks to place Ignatius within a long tradition of eucharistic teaching from Ignatius to Wainwright. His list is not exclusively Roman Catholic. He includes reformers and even John Wesley.  Ignatius is his first subject, and he finds real presence in the writing of Ignatius in much the same manner as Johanny. In Cummings and in Johanny the defense is made of real presence based upon Docetism rather than in spite of it.  Protestants tend to dismiss the real presence language in Ignatius because he uses it in a reaction to the Docetists.  These Catholic theologians tend to think it strengthens their case for real presence: “There can be no separation of Christ and the Eucharist. If God did not really become one of us, then not only is the Eucharist “unreal” but so also is our transformation that it is supposed to bring about.”<note: Cummings, Eucharistic Doctors, 15.> Cummings describes a eucharistic union being effected by the observation of the sacrament.  Based upon Ad Philippians 4 and the “one cup of union,” Cummings does not believe that this union with Christ’s blood, but union from his blood. Hence,

The union of the Christian community, as Ignatius understands it, comes from Christ’s body and blood.  It is not a union we experience and symbolize with Christ. It is a union effected, brought about by the Eucharist.  The church, presided over by the one bishop, is “the single altar of sacrifice” in which this unity-making Eucharist is celebrated.<note: Ibid., 14.>

Cummings also identifies the charity or agape of Ad Smyrnaeans 7 with the agape of 1 John 4:16 and its God-abiding-in-them notion.  Thus, he ties the real presence he sees in Ignatius to the moral life. Cummings believes that the reference also may refer to the agape feast, but admits it is only speculation and unnecessary.<note: Ibid., 15.> When he arrives at Ad Ephesians 20.2 he sees the realism even if it is embryonic: “This is the language of mysticism, and should be taken with the utmost seriousness.  It is the eucharistic realism of St. John’s gospel in Ignatian language.  It is the eucharistic realism of the Catholic tradition as it begins to develop in the post-apostolic period.”<note: Ibid., 17.> Cummings interpretation of John colors his interpretation of Ignatius.
Summarizing Cummings, it can be clearly seen that he does less to prove what Ignatius meant and more to demonstrate how neatly Ignatius’ eucharistic teaching fits within a broader tradition. This gives the skeptical reader a sense that Cummings is being a bit parochial in is understanding of Eucharist. He sees parallels to Ignatius’ eucharistic teaching everywhere, but he fails to answer any possible critics.  This clearly seems to be a conversation between agreeable friends, rather than a defense of a debatable position.

LaVerdiere
LaVerdiere tries to provide a theology of the Eucharist as it passes from the New Testament into the early church. He starts with 1 Corinthians and ends with Justin’s Dialogue with Trypho – roughly the period from 56 to 155. In his post-apostolic history he does not regard the Didache’s Eucharist as a valid Eucharist, but he holds to the validity Ignatius’ Eucharists along with the stipulations he places upon it.<note: LaVerdiere, The Eucharist in the New Testament and the Early Church (Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 1996), 148.> He provides a thorough study covering each of Ignatius’ ecclesiastical letters; however, he omits the letter to Polycarp. LaVerdiere clearly believes that Ignatius believed in and promoted real presence. He does not so much defend his interpretation as much as he explains it. For him, Christ’s bodily presence has three different contexts:

For Ignatius, Christ was truly human, the word made flesh, in his historical life, in his risen life, and in the sacramental gift of himself in the Eucharist. There is a difference, of course, between the historical and risen presence of Christ. There is also a difference between his risen presence and his sacramental presence in the Eucharist. There is more than one way of being bodily present in the flesh.<note: Ibid., 162.>

LaVerdiere also make as much of the savrx - sw:ma language in Ignatius as Bradshaw does.
Concluding with LaVerdiere, there is again little argument for a position as much as the elucidation of a concept. As with the others, there is a connection between the necessity of real presence as it is attached to the incarnation. For them there is no incarnation without real presence and vice-versa. This seems to one of the central truths that they allegedly find stressed in Ignatius.

Johanny
Johnanny presents his article on Ignatius in a festschrift edited by Rordorf. His pattern for reasoning that real presence is visible in the letters of Ignatius follows that of the other Roman Catholic scholars already mentioned. He seems especially close to LaVerdiere in his presentation. Like some of the others he sees Ignatius as a mystic, but that this ought not stop the reader from taking Ignatius seriously. In this, he at least allows for some of the over-reaching that is down at other points of Ignatius’ argument. Like LaVerdiere, Johanny connects incarnation, passion and Eucharist.  He believes that the Ignatius’ point in Ad Smyrnaeans 7.1 was to bring out this threefold meaning with an emphasis on Eucharist. For Johanny the Eucharist is a proxy making the believing memorializing participant into a real participant in the incarnation and passion of Christ without actually taking them back to the historical moment.<note: Raymond Johanny, “Ignatius of Antioch,” in The Eucharist of the Early Christians (ed. Willy Rordorf et al., trans. Matthew J. O’Connell; Collegeville, Minn.: The Liturgical Press, 1990), 57-58.> Later, he attaches martyrdom to the threefold essence of the eucharistic referent, making it fourfold.<note: Ibid., 65.> He does actually struggle with the Ignatius’ way of thinking, but ultimately responds affirming real presence in the thought of Ignatius:

Faith and love have as their object the flesh and blood of Christ who was born of David’s line. This flesh and blood become the Christian’s food in the eucharist, our source of immortality.  They also feed him in the sense that they must be perceived and lived in by faith and love.  The two aspects are inseparable: faith and love are necessary for receiving the eucharist, but they are also the fruit of the eucharist.<note: Ibid., 63.>

By this reasoning, Johanny is able to reconcile the equating of the bread and wine to the body and blood as well as faith and love which Ignatius does in Ad Romans 7.2-3 and Ad Trallians 8.1. This is his way of getting around Ignatius’ obvious equivocating statements. Without introducing the influence of paganism to Ignatius’ idea of the Eucharist, this would seem unnatural. Johanny mentions nothing of pagan influence.
Summarizing Johanny, the reader finds perhaps the most developed ideas of the Roman Catholic group with some attempt to answer the apparent problems with the view. His answers, however, produce more questions. Is it possible to find such developed mystical theology in the very brief writings of an obviously impassioned man with a very short time to live separated from the present by nearly 2000 years? Can we say this much of Paul’s eucharistic theology which sports a canonically larger corpus?
With all of these scholars, there is a difficulty with the multiplication of more problems.  There were some valiant attempts that demonstrated some creative thinking, but the product produced yet another generation of problems. The skeptical mind gets the impression that they are trying to make the circumstances fit prior assumptions. Belief in the real presence and even a specific theology regarding the real presence presents itself anteriorly to their understanding of Ignatius, an almost obvious a priori assumption.

William R. Schoedel
Arguably Schoedel is the foremost scholar on Ignatian studies. The now retired Professor of Classics and Religious Studies from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign is one of only two or three modern commentators on the text of the Ignatian letters. Writing in the Introduction of his commentary he finds only one passage that can be clearly thought to be referring to real presence: Ad Smyrnaeans 7.1. Although he tempers his claims for real presence in other passages, on this one he feels certain: “Yet that passage is sufficiently impressive as to suggest that sacramental realism is taken for granted (and even emphasized) by Ignatius.”<note: William R. Schoedel,  Ignatius of Antioch: A Commentary on the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch (Hermeneia, editor Helmut Koester. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), 21.> If Schoedel is to be exegeted correctly, it would seem that he is saying that Ad Smyrnaeans 7.1 is the most perspicuous passage by which all less clear passages ought to be understood. This argument would have merit only if the sure marker could be found here and not in some other passage.  The exegetical debate reduces to which passage is the clear passage, which is a chief determiner of serious exegetical difficulties.

J. N. D. Kelly
Surprisingly J. N. D. Kelly takes a similar view to Ignatius’ language as Schoedel. His somewhat more than passing comment suggests that Ignatius’ alleged real presence statements in view of Docetism may be interpreted as actual real presence statements on this basis alone:

Ignatius roundly declares that ‘the eucharist is the flesh of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins and which the Father in His goodness raised’[Rom. 7.3]. The bread is the flesh of Jesus, the cup His blood. Clearly he intends this realism to be taken strictly, for he makes it the basis of his argument against the Docetists’ denial of the reality of Christ’s body.<note: J. N. D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines, Revised ed. (San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1978), 197.
>

Kelly further argues from the standpoint of Justin and Irenaeus who, for him, seem to actually indicate the point in the rite when the elements change into body and blood.  Kelly’s interpretation allows the marginally more clear passages of Justin and Irenaeus to interpret the less clear text of Ignatius. While this logic may have its merits, it still presupposes that the condition present in the clearest and later text is built upon a teaching which must have predated that text.  It is, at best, a circular argument. He sees Ignatius as one of the early exponents of real presence and Justin and Irenaeus as mere clarifiers of Ignatius somewhat less clear assumptions.
In summary, the proponents of the view that Ignatius’ writings represent early evidence for a doctrine of real presence range from the Roman Catholic resourcement school to the less obvioiusly theologically committed schools of Schoedel and Kelly. It may be important at this time to note that both the theologically committed resourcement school and those who hold, in varying degrees, to Bauers hypothesis possess models of first century Christianity that presuppose the a belief in a very early real presence doctrine. The former tends to believe it because orthodoxy precedes heresy, while the latter tends to believe it because orthodoxy arises out of competing heresies. Bauer himself makes ample provision for a highly mystical and even real understanding of Ignatius in this quote:

The impression of a pronounced syncretism is further deepened when we observe the presence of magic and star worship, mysteries and alchemy, combined with gross superstition and a tendency toward Indian gymnosophistry, which makes Ignatius’ fanatical desire for martyrdom somewhat more explicable to us.<note: Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 65. >

While Bauer recognizes this as the source of Ignatius’ longing for martyrdom, it is not difficult to see how this could be applied to the real presence. Bauer could easily argue that real presence hints at the sort of things as “star worship, mysteries and alchemy, combined with gross superstition.”

There are several contextual issues that must be investigated with respect to Ignatius’ understanding of the Eucharist. These provide perspective on what framework Ignatius was using when he discussed the Eucharist.  They provide important clues as to how Ignatius might be understood.  They also provide parameters delimiting how much can or cannot be understood about his eucharistic views from his writings.  The first issue is the current liturgical debate inasmuch as it employs Ignatius as a source.  The second issue is the nature of Ignatius’ language and rhetoric as he employs it in his letters. The third and final issue is the significance of the Eucharist in Ignatian theology.

The Current Liturgical Debate
The object of this study is to examine Ignatius’ contribution to our understanding of the Eucharist and to determine whether or not Ignatius intentionally contributed the concept of real presence as understood by Roman Catholics, Orthodox, Anglo-Catholics, and Lutherans.  In order to do this, it seems fitting to briefly examine the character of recent studies regarding liturgy.  Bauer’s hypothesis led many with a ressourcement bent to seek for the origins of church practice and liturgy as much as it sent the sixteenth-century reformers back to Scripture.

Ever since the days of Lietzmann and Dix, there has been controversy surrounding the formulation of the eucharistic liturgy. Recently, it has been Bradshaw’s thesis to debunk the work of Dix.<note: Paul F. Bradshaw, Eucharistic Origins (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), vi.> Bauer’s work would predate Dix’s by some ten years.  Lietzmann’s Messe und Herrenmahl predated Bauer by about the same amount.<note: Robert Douglas Richardson, introduction to Mass and Lord’s Supper: A Study in the History of the Liturgy, by Hans Lietzmann (trans. Dorothea H. G. Reeve; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1953), ix.>  Lietzmann is responsible for giving us the idea of the two different liturgies for the Eucharist. One was modeled upon Petrine and Jewish piety, while the other upon Pauline practice with an emphasis on memorializing the passion. The former emphasized the fellowship meal, and the latter the elemental anemnesis. Bauer would, of course, emphasize the pluriform nature of all theology and liturgy during the early centuries of church history. Thus, Lietzmann’s proposal would fit nicely with Bauer’s hypothesis.  Later, Dix, while conceding perhaps a window of openness for form with respect to the Eucharist sought to prove an early establishment for the liturgical entity which he thought captured the very essence of Christianity: “Of all christian ‘ritual patterns’ that of the eucharist is by common consent central as most important.”<note: Gregory Dix, The Shape of the Liturgy, (3rd ed.; New York: Continuum, 2005), xxix.> Dix would go on to describe a eucharistic tradition that moved from the sevenfold form of the Last Supper to the fourfold form we have today.<note: Dix explains the ‘seven-action scheme’ as “Our Lord (1) took bread; (2) ‘gave thanks’ over it; (3) broke it; (4) distributed it, saying certain words. Later He (5) took a cup; (6) ‘gave thanks’ over then; (7) handed it to His disciples, saying certain words.” The fourfold tradition he explains thusly: “(1) the offertory; bread and wine are ‘taken’ and placed on the table together. (2) The prayer; the president gives thanks to God over bread and wine together. (3) The fraction; the bread is broken. (4) The communion; the bread and wine are distributed together.” (ibid., 48.)>  This provided the rite some protection from the more relativistic forces at work in Bauer’s thought.  The Eucharist becomes the essential rite of Christianity despite the fact that Bauer’s thesis had demolished the ecclesiastical model regarding other doctrines. Dix’s model is currently under siege by a host of liturgical scholars. Bradshaw’s ideas drew heavily from the writings of McGowan who also discounted Dix’s thesis of early eucharistic unity.<note: Andrew, McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists: Food and Drink in Early Christian Ritual Meals, (NewYork: Oxford University Press, 1999), 18-21.> McGowan makes much of the variations of eucharistic liturgy. He primarily examines the various traditions regarding the contents of the cup, and even the place of the agape in relation to the paschal celebration. Bradshaw’s contribution, which will be dealt with later, is significant. While he entertains doubts concerning the essential unity of the essential rite with Christianity, he seems to have little doubt as to the meaning of Ignatius’ ‘realistic’ language. Bradshaw’s stated purpose is to refute Dix’ view of an early standardization of the liturgy of the Eucharist.  This he seems to succeed in doing, however the very doubt he employs to cast aspersions on an early standardization he fails to employ when discussing real presence with respect to the text of Ignatius.<note: Bradshaw, Eucharistic Origins, 87ff.> It would seem that variations as to order, elements, and significance would include the issue of real presence. If so, might it be that if present order can be read back into primordial chaos, could scholars be reading real presence back into the text of Ignatius? On the other hand, could a pluriform second-century Christianiy  include a concept like real presence?

The Nature of Ignatius’ Language and Rhetoric
Barnard relates the most jaded view of Ignatius’ language found yet in the literature:

Ignatius cannot wholly be explained in terms of modern psychology although his language sometimes betrays an exuberance and wildness which could be interpreted as neurotic. However we must never forget that Ignatius was a condemned prisoner who was being transported across Asia Minor in the custody of Roman soldiers.<note: It must be noted the Barnard does not think Ignatius cannot be taken seriously at all.  Quite the contrary, he believes that Ignatius provides a unique opportunity for study once all the variables of his situation are fully understood. (L. W. Barnard, “The Background of St. Ignatius of Antioch,” Vigiliae Christianae 17: 193.)>

This sentiment is echoed by other writers as well.  Ignatius employs some rather impassioned and colorful speech. He will, by no means, lull to sleep even the most casual of readers. So prolific are his metaphors and mythological language that MacQuarrie seeks to demythologize him after the order of Bultmann.<note: John MacQuarrie, “True Life in Death,” Journal of Bible and Religion 31: 200-207.> It is perhaps the magical-like phrase of Ignatius in which he calls the Eucharist the “medicine of immortality”<note: ????????? ?????????. (Ignatius, Eph. 20.2).> that garners the most attention because of its obvious connection to pagan terminology.  Schoedel, in his commentary, provides several paragraphs of material ranging from its identification with the drug that Isis used to raise Horus from the dead to Seneca’s reference to the hemlock drunk by Socrates as the medicamentum inmortalitatis.<note: William R. Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch: A Commentary on the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch, Hermeneia, ed. Helmut Koester, (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1985), 97-98.> This sort of language has proved to be the undoing of any easy assumptions upon Ignatius’ orthodoxy. Based upon statements like this, the Religionsgeschichtliche Schule would identify Ignatius with Gnosticism and Asiatic mystery religions such as Schlier and Bartsch have arugued.<note: Mikael Isacson, To Each Their Own Letter: Structure, Themes, and Rhetorical Strategies in the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch, (ConBNT 42; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2004, 15).> Bauer, of course, believed this very strongly.<note: Of Syrian religion in general: (Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy, 65). Of Ignatius in particular: (ibid., 67).>

As far as Ignatius’ rhetoric, the premier study has been done by Perler who notes similarities with what is known as “Asianic” rhetoric. Schoedel describes this rhetoric as emphasizing the pathos:

Indeed, figures of speech of all kinds were popular (metaphors, comparisons, oxymorons, paronomasia, hyperbole, etc). . .Most of these features . . . are abundantly illustrated in the letters of Ignatius. Indeed they seem exaggerated under the impact of the bishop’s religious fervor and his impassioned reflections on the significance of his impending martyrdom.<note: Schoedel, Ignatius of Antioch, 8-9.>

It was also Perler that demonstrated a similarity of vocabulary between IV Maccabees, that both are examples of “Asianic” rhetoric.<note: Schoedel, “Polycarp of Smyrna and Ignatius of Antioch,” 311.> Young notes that the origins of the expiatory suffering themes found in Ignatius may be linked to ideas expressed in 4 Maccabees.<note: Frances M. Young, The Use of Sacrificial Ideas in Greek Christian Writers From the New Testament to John Chrysostom, (Patristic Monograph Series 5; Cambridge, Mass.: The Philadelphia Patristic Foundation, 1979), 109.>

It can be concluded, then, that any exposition of Ignatius’ linguistic intent must take into account not only his impassioned situation but also the particular rhetoric that he employed. To understand Ignatius in terms of wooden literalism would probably overstate Ignatius’ case, thus falling short of the true intent of the author.

The Significance of the Eucharist in Ignatian Theology
The Eucharist for Ignatius carries primary significance. In some ways it is a sort of panacea for the ills that plague the churches of Asia Minor. In his letter to the Ephesians, he points to the Eucharist as being the very point of gathering in worship. If they remain outside the sanctuary (qusiasthrivou), they “lack the bread of God.”<note: Ignatius, Eph., 5.2. (Ehrman,  LCL).> He urges them later, in the same letter, to give thanks or to celebrate the Eucharist (??????????? ???? ??????????? ????).<note: Ibid., 13.1.> To the Philadelphians he urges them to “be eager” to observe the Eucharist.<note: Ignatius, Phld., 4.1.> To the Smyrnaeans the Eucharist is shown by Ignatius to be the point of division between consistent belief and schismatic belief.<note: Ignatius, Smyrn., 7.> The Eucharist is thought to be valid only when a bishop or his representative is present at the meal with the church.<note: Ibid., 8.> Ignatius’ view of the Eucharist is one that brings about unity. It is that which separates orthodox from heretic. It is that which unifies the body of Christ in one confession under one bishop.<note: “The union of the Christian community, as Ignatius understands it, comes from Christ’s body and blood.  It is not a union we experience and symbolize with Christ. It is a union effected, brought about by the Eucharist.  The church, presided over by the one bishop, is “the single altar of sacrifice” in which this unity-making Eucharist is celebrated.” (Cummings, Eucharistic Doctors, 14).>

Ignatius seems to have directly referred to or, at least, alluded to the Eucharist in all seven of his letters, and he seems to have thought it to be the antidote for heresy and schism as much as medicine of immortality. This concentration on a singular theme may warp its meaning by the weight placed upon its significance.

Note: citations and notes are now embedded in the text with brackets around them.

Other than one reference by Eusebius and another by Polycarp, there is little direct external evidence to the life and ministry of Ignatius.  His letters stand as his best biography even if they are meager in describing the entirety of life, ministry, and teaching.

Life and Times of Ignatius of Antioch
Although his episcopal successions are debatable, Eusebius tells us that he was the second bishop after Peter in Antioch during the reign of Trajan.<note: Eusebius, Hist. eccl., 3.36.> Polycarp makes a passing reference to Ignatius’ martyrdom along with other believers’ martyrdom in his letter to the Philippians.<note: Polycarp, Phil., 9.> His see was located in Syrian Antioch, and he was arrested for some offense connected to his religion.  The precise nature of this condemnation is uncertain especially given recent studies which underscore the fact that there was little persecution occurring in the region of Antioch as evidenced by the absence of reference to such in Ignatius’ own letters.  Trevett argues that the peace in Antioch mentioned in Ignatius’ letters<note: Ignatius, Phld. 10.1; Smyrn. 11.1; Pol. 7.1.> is best explained by a cessation of strife in the church at Antioch and quite possibly a strife brought about by Ignatius’ own personality.<note: Christine Trevett, A Study of Ignatius of Antioch in Syria and Asia (Lewiston, N.Y.: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1992), 56-66.> Cummings echoes this sentiment.<note: Owen F. Cummings, Eucharistic Doctors: A Theological History (New York: Paulist Press, 2005), 9.> Scholars debate the circumstances surrounding the arrest and condemnation of Ignatius. On the one hand, he could have appealed to Rome much like Paul, if he was a citizen of Rome. On the other hand, this hardly fits the context of his letters where he speaks of himself as already condemned and expecting to be thrown to the beasts - uncharacteristic of a Roman citizen, imploring the Roman believers not to intervene on his behalf. The alternate explanation has usually been to explain his being sent to Rome as a donation to the Emperor for the Roman games. Davies believes both to be unlikely, and that the ultimate reason to send Ignatius to Rome was to rid the area of a troublesome character.<note: Steven L. Davies, “The Predicament of Ignatius of Antioch,” Vigiliae Christianae 30: 178.> The date of Ignatius’ death is not without some mystery, but recent discussions by both Trevett and Davies place it between 110 and 115.  Davies places the terminus ante quem for Ignatius’ death at 113,<note: Davies’ argument is rather baroque, resting on an intricate reconstruction of the administrations of several Roman and territorial bureaucrats. (ibid., 178.)> whereas Trevett places it at 115.<note: In contradistinction to Davies, Trevett selects her date based upon the date of the Antiochene earthquake of 115. (Christine Trevett, “Ignatius ‘To the Romans’ and I Clement LIV-LVI,” Vigiliae Christianae 43: 36.)>  The exact details of Ignatius’ death are not to be found in any reliable sources. That he did indeed die a martyr’s death seems somewhat attested to by Polycarp, although this is not altogether without question. <note: Polycarp, Phil., 9. (Cf. 13).>

The Time and Occasion of the Letters
The letters of Ignatius were written during his travels from Antioch to Rome.  The number of these letters has been of some controversy. Most scholars speak of three recensions with respect to the Ignatian correspondence: the long (L), the middle (M) and the short (S). The middle recension is the accepted norm for scholarship today. It hearkens back to the original seven letters mentioned by Eusebius.<note: Eusebius, Hist. eccl., 3.36> Again, Schoedel’s explanation is very beneficial for understanding the history of the controversy.<note: William R. Schoedel, “Polycarp of Smyrna and Ignatius of Antioch,” ANRW 27.1: 286-292.> Of the middle recension, the letters are divided into two groups determined by provenance. The first group consists of letters written from Smyrna to congregations in Ephesus, Magnesia, Tralles, and Rome.  The second group of letters was written from Troas and written to the congregations at Philadelphia and Smyrna. A personal letter to Polycarp at Smyrna is included with this last group.<note: Eusebius, Hist. eccl., 3.36.>

In his letters, Ignatius addresses either conditions with which he was familiar in his own church or those issues of which he has knowledge pertaining to the churches to which the letters are addressed. He stresses unity in the face of heresy. This unity is preserved by means of submission to ecclesiastical authorities and an intensified serious practice of the Eucharist. Ignatius also says much about his own view of the spiritual life in the context of his impending martyrdom. There seems to be connection between the attainment of unity in the churches; his martyrdom; and that which, for him, it emulates, the Eucharist.<note: Madeleine Grace, “The Ponderings of Ignatius of Antioch and John Chrisostom on the Great Gift of the Eucharist,” Diakonia 34: 98. Bradshaw and Cummings also express this view in various ways and in various places in their works on the Eucharist.> The mystical nature of Ignatius’ theology cannot be denied. In fact, many seem willing to identify him with the same sort of mysticism that can be found in both John and Paul.  For Ignatius, the Eucharist plays a vital role in the maintenance of orthodoxy under one bishop with heretics either excluding themselves or being actively excluded by the orthodox community.<note: Ignatius. Smyrn., 7.1-2.>

The identity of the heretics has been questioned for some time.  In his letter to the Philadelphians, Ignatius warns against whose who “should interpret Judaism”<note: Ignatius, Phld., 6.1 (Ehrman, LCL).> to the believers there.  The passage begins in chapter six in the letter to the Philadelphians, and extends through chapter nine. Again, in his letter to the Magnesians, Ignatius warns and reproves Judaizers in chapters eight through ten.  There seems, however to be little evidence of this sort of heresy to be extant in the vicinity and congregations of any of the other churches.  Ignatius also addresses a form of docetism.  It is perhaps to this sort of heresy that his famous passages on the Eucharist carry seem to be directed. The letters to the Ephesians, Trallians and Smyrnaeans all contain evidence of this heresy in these areas as Ignatius proceeds to argue against their views. His letter to the Magnesians gives some evidence for Docetism being present there as well.  The questions remain, as Goulder frames it, were Philadelphia and Magnesia the only churches plagued by Judaizing?  Secondly, how broad was the problem with Docetism in Asia? Thirdly, were the heresies held by one and the same homogenous species of heretic – some form of judaizing-docetists?  Goulder proposes an actual identity for this final suggestion. He believes that what is at issue with Ignatius is Ebionitism.  The heretics, to Goulder’s reckoning, were Ebionites; but there are other views.<note: Here and in several other places one can trace the lineage of this debate. Those who hold to a single judaistic-docetic sect are Zahn, Lightfoot, Bauer, and Barrett.  Schoedel, Donahue, Meinhold hold to a two group view while Paulsen “sits on the fence.” Trevett holds to a three group view. See note 10 in this citation for a full bibliography. (Michael D. Goulder, “Ignatius’ ‘Docetists,’” Vigiliae Christianae 53: 16-30.)> These heresies along with the ever nearing death of Ignatius combine to provide an interesting thrust to the message of Ignatius.  It is our task to examine just one of the implications of this message.

The second century church fathers have been notorious for their lack of specificity with regard to theological dogmas that would be guarded with great tenacity later in church history.  Students of Patristics have expended a good deal of research and writing trying to determine what view a particular church father held in the area of Christology, Pneumatology, or some other important doctrine.  The writings of Ignatius of Antioch have been subjected to similar scrutiny. His views regarding church order have been thoroughly studied.  His understanding of the relationship between God and man as the ideal of the Christian life has been researched.  The exact identities of his heretics have been investigated.¹ His representation of being either of the minority opinion or majority opinion concerning a broad set of theological opinion has been questioned.² Many more trails of thought have been examined with mixed results, but last in our list, but never the least in consideration has been the nature of his view on the Eucharist.  The question is often asked whether or not Ignatius believed in the doctrine of real presence as it pertained to the elements of the Eucharist.

Ignatius is one of the most enigmatic characters of the early second century.  At the same time, we have a reasonable corpus from which to draw material that can be used to evaluate his teaching.  Nevertheless, clear writing is often the issue.  How much that can be said about what Ignatius believed hinges upon how clearly he says it, and how unequivocal is his semantic habit. It will be the goal of this paper to give the background of Ignatius, the parameters of this argument as it relates to the liturgical entity of the Eucharist, the exponents and arguments of the sundry opinions in respect to Ignatius, and to argue that views supporting Ignatius’ alleged belief  that Christ was really present in the elements of the Eucharist rest upon the poor footing of Ignatius’ own equivocal language and the habit of later schlolars toward simplistic ressourcement.

______________________________

¹A good synopsis of the trajectory of thought in these other areas of investigation may be found in Schoedel’s extremely helpful article in ANRW.  (William R. Schoedel, “Polycarp of Smyrna and Ignatius of Antioch,” Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt 27.1:272-358.)

²Bauer believed that Ignatius may have represented some form of minority report. He supports this with an assertion as to the way minority viewpoints have a way of moving toward strong dictatorial style leadership.  He believes that Ignatius’ letters with admonitions seem modeled after this dictatorial style. (Walter Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (Mifflintown, Pa.: Sigler Press, 1996), 62-63; repr. of Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (trans.  Philadelphia Seminar on Christian Origins and edited by Robert A. Kraft and Gerhard Krodel; Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1971); trans. of second German edition with added appendices by, Georg Strecker.)

Somewhat a product of a spiritual formation group on the campus of Trinity International University hosted with Scott Manetsch, D. A. Carson’s Christ and Culture Revisited seeks to offer a contemporary evangelical response to the increasingly pronounced cabal that Christianity ought to conform to the needs and desires of the culture. In this project, Carson applies three steps to his process. First, he reviews and critiques H. Richard Niebuhr’s ostensibly seminal work on the subject in question. Second , he updates the discussion by offering a mild chastening critique to modernity, a more severe chastening critique toward postmodernity, and less severe critique of evangelicals who claim to embrace postmodernity (emergents, emergings, and other sundry culture hacks). In this last movement of his second step, Carson takes the time to respond to criticism of his views expressed on the “emerging” church movement. Third, he then reprocesses conceptions about church and culture in attempt to divest it of some evangelical capitulations to modernity as well as striving to clear up muddled and uneven thinking in this relationship.

While certainly a reasonable critique of what is happening in much of Christendom today and a reasonable attempt to forestall much of the eliding between Christianity and culture, Carson’s critique seems to get most of the diagnosis right, but falls short in the regimen he prescribes for recovery. This fault may be mitigated by the fact that his eschatology does not allow him to attempt a usher in the Kingdom. Indeed, Carson seems to recognize the importance of eschatology in the discussion.

Carson begins by reviewing Niebuhr. In preparation, this reviewer reread that classic and found most of his critique to be “spot on.” Carson focuses on about four distinct deficiencies and misconceptions that Niebuhr promulgates. Being evangelical, Carson is quick to point out that Niebuhr inconsistently grants or withholds the name “Christian” from specific groups. For instance, Niebuhr is willing to grant Gnostics a place within Christianity under the “Christ of Culture” motif, but he is unwilling to let Mormons and other Arians to be considered Christians. Carson also correctly observes that Niebuhr uses Scripture unevenly which seems to match Niebuhr’s view of the canon. Niebuhr, he points out, does not see an inherent unity in the canon, but merely an assortment of individual teachings and accounts in Scripture. In this way, Scripture amounts to a highly stylized catalog of religious suggestion devoid of distinctive theological proposition. Methodologically, Carson rightly criticizes the bases of Niebuhr’s whole enterprise. When no motifs can be said to be exemplified within any individual or movement within Christianity with any consistency, the merits of the whole study fall into question. Carson suggests that a misunderstanding of what Christianity and culture entail may reside at the root of this problem.

To help alleviate the aforementioned problems, Carson prescribes several “non-negotiables of biblical theology.” What is on the list ought to comprise the minimum of any Christian response to these issues, but what is perhaps most obvious is what is not on the list. Carson’s list includes creation and fall, distinctions between Old Testament and New Testament, and a real eschatology. While biblical authority is implied, inerrency is never demanded. This would seem to portend failure due to unjustifiable use of half-measures. With these non-negotiables, Carson believes that we can avoid the pitfalls of (post)modernity and answer the issues that the Christ vs. culture conflict raises. The middle non-negotiable raises some questions, but it provides a clue to Carson’s main interest which will become more evident in the last third of the book. Carson is not so much interested in the interface or conflict between Christ and culture so much as he is interested in the relationship of the Christian religion to the State. While Carson readily acknowledges the “bric-a-brac” of competing and overlapping cultures, he seems to myopically concentrate on this issue of the jurisdictions for Church and State. In his final analysis of Niebuhr, Carson does pick up on Niebuhr’s unwillingness to engage the Scriptures seriously regarding their authority over this dilemma. Niebuhr specifically finds Augustine puzzlingly in error because he sees this universal kingdom, but Augustine does not accept the implication of soteriological universalism. Niebuhr, gushing over F. D. Maurice, cannot understand how Augustine came so close but stopped short of this seemingly obvious conclusion. Niebuhr can only attribute this lack of follow through to Augustine’s perception that universalism would be inconsistent with other portions of Scripture. Carson rightfully marks this as a strength in Augustine, not a weakness. Augustine was willing to let Scripture judge his system; he would not allow his system to stand in judgment over Scripture.

In his second section, Carson attempts a definition of Christ and culture. Much of this provides an answer and correction to some of his critics. Carson seems determined to set the record right - that he is somewhat of a chastened modernist not lover of all things Enlightenment. This is where Carson begins to woefully follow a compromised path between Enlightenment modernism and postmodernity. First, he dismisses rather out of hand the concept of “high culture.” He does not care for T. S. Eliot’s idea that culture is something that can be achieved, yet he uses one of Eliot’s concepts for its heuristic value. Carson cannot accept the idea of high culture or low culture, only different cultures. The only consolation in all of this is that he stops just short of cultural relativism by admitting that some cultures are better others. Now, this reviewer realizes that failing to distinguish between high culture and low culture does not necessarily preempt the valuing of cultures, but it does bring up the question of how the former distinction is not valid, but the latter is.

Carson’s thesis for the book may be found in this second section. At the bottom of page 82, Carson states that his argument for the remainder of the book may be summed up as an explanation of “how a robust biblical theology tends to safeguard Christians against the most egregious reductionisms.” A couple pages later, Carson clarifies this by stating that a “stance” can be considered more Christian if it takes into account the three biblical non-negotiables he listed in the previous chapter. This reviewer will return to this later.

What follows the discussion on cultures and what views on culture may understood as Christian is a discussion on postmodernism. Carson begins by pointing to its transient nature as evidenced in its rather passe* status in Europe. His critique of postmodernity is somewhat withering even if his description of what should replace it is not very imaginative. He returns to his distinction between “hard” and “soft” postmodernism, and equates the latter with a “chastened modernism” (90). He accuses “unchastened postmodernism” of tracking in the direction of relativism, and he reserves his harshest judgment for this philosophical category calling it “not only idolatrous and anti-Christian but border[ing] on the self-refuting and the silly.” (94). He takes the time to answer and critique James K. A. Smith’s version of christianized “hard” postmodernity a la Radical Orthodoxy. Although Carson is clear to commend what he finds commendable in this movement, he also dismisses its rather cavalier attitude toward Scripture. Admittedly, Smith’s attempts to save Christianity from Lyotard’s criticism of metanarratives seems a bit thin. Indeed, this criticism was leveled at Smith’s version of Radical Orthodoxy by R. R. Reno in the February 2000 issue of First Things (http://www.firstthings.com/article.php3?id_article=2542). Carson’s response to the lack of certainty in this Christian form of “hard” postmodernity is to question its starting point. He consistently points back to a biblical worldview and seems to claim that this worldview provides the Sache for a Christian understanding of the world.

In his third and final section, Carson takes all of the aforementioned subject material and concentrates it on the relationship of the Christian to the state. Beginning with the Enlightenment’s trend toward secularization he traces the failures of some modern democracies. He notes that the modernistic impulse of current secular democracies has led to their decline. He admits that the secular allure of modernity has lead to the demise of moral authority. He discusses the relationships between church and state particularly in light of other religious claims to authority by such religions as Islam. To be quite honest, this last section is the most disappointing of the book. After developing a description of current trends in post modern epistemology, Carson narrows his discussion to just one facet of that larger discussion. Nothing here is very new. Nothing here advances the discussion and seems rather more muddled than the earlier two sections. Indeed, his research seems to be lacking, and he seems to be offering up ad hoc advice. His insistence on a recognition of an already - not yet understanding of kingdom as a means of navigating these difficult waters of living as redeemed citizens in a fallen world provides the only promising glimmer in this discussion.

By way of critique, this reviewer finds a few difficulties; some of which have been alluded to earlier. First, the unity of the work is questionable. The connection of his review of Christ and Culture to the remainder of the work is tenuous at best. It focuses in on a very narrow cross-section of this interface. Carson’s work speaks to the popular level, but it also seems to lack unity. It promises to deliver more than it actually does. We need a more robust discussion of this subject at this time. We need something more substantial and serious. An update to his Gagging of God would have been nice. Second, while many of his criticisms of “hard” postmodernity, in particular those directed toward the Christian variety, are on the mark; he does not engage their ethos completely. Carson merely points them back to Scripture and, in particular, certain “non-negotiables” found in Scripture. This in itself would not exhibit poor methodology except for the fact that he never fully demonstrates how this “hard” Christian postmodernity fails to really interact with Scripture. The fact is, Smith’s postmodern Christianity merely uses Scripture as a buffet of truths; some of which they desire and place on their tray, and some of which they do not desire and will not take. The same may also be said of postmodernity’s use of tradition. The problem is not necessarily that they place tradition on an equal footing with Scripture as much as the fact that they treat tradition just as they do Scripture. There is more that could be said here, but this is a review not a monograph. Also, Carson seems to be proposing yet another reductionism of Christianity with his three “non-negotiables.” For all those negative feelings people display toward fundamentalists, he proposes yet another set of fundamentals. The wisdom of this might be questioned, for the problem with fundamentalism is not the fundamentals but the implicit truncation of orthodoxy to the fundamentals. Finally, the overall direction of the book was disappointing. This reviewer believes that more people might be interested in understanding how Christianity interfaces with the broader culture (all that “bric-a-brac”), not just the Christian’s relationship to the state. What could have helped with Carson’s argument would have been the retaining and explaining of the pilgrim motif in Scripture and tradition. Instead the reader is treated to this rather hip already - not yet eschatological language.

Perhaps the passage of time and the further labors of Carson will give the church a more exhaustive and well constructed statement on the dilemma of Christ and culture. While the first two thirds of this volume show considerable promise, its narrow focus in the last third seems to miss some of the points the post-evangelicals like Smith are making. This reviewer is unaware of what publications are forthcoming, and it may well be that Carson intends to provide a more extended application of the whole Christ and culture dilemma. He does indeed seem to recognize that culture is more broad than church and state for this is the line of argument he mounts against Niebuhr. This provides a helpful introduction to the problem of Christ and culture, but is by no means definitive.

Capes Trinity and Eternity, Saguenay River, Quebec, Canada

The doctrine of the Trinity is the most immense of all the doctrines of religion. It is the foundation of theology. Christianity, in the last analysis is Trinitarianism. Take out of the New Testament the persons of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and there is no God left. Take out of the Christian consciousness the thoughts and affections that relate to the Father , the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and there is no Christian consciousness left. The Trinity is the constitutive idea of evangelical theology, and the formative idea of the evangelical experience. The immensity of the doctrine makes it of necessity a mystery; but a mystery which like night enfolds in its unfathomed depths the bright stars–points of light, compared with which there is no light so keen and glittering. Mysterious as it is, the Trinity of the Divine Revelation is the doctrine that holds in it all the hope of man; for it holds within it the infinite pity of the Incarnation and the infinite mercy of the Redemption.

And it shares its mysteriousness with the doctrine of the Divine Eternity. It is difficult to say which is most baffling to the human comprehension, the all-comprehending, simultaneous, successionless consciousness of the Infinite One, or his trinal personality. Yet no theist rejects the doctrine of the Divine eternity because of its mystery. The two doctrines are antithetic and correlative. On one of the Northern rivers stand two cliffs fronting each other, shooting their pinnacles into the blue ether, and sending their roots down to the foundations of the earth. They have name them Trinity and Eternity. So stand, antithetic and confronting, in the Christian scheme, the trinity of the eternity of God.

– William G. T. Shedd in his "Introductory Essay" to A. H. Haddan’s translation of On the Trinity by Augustine of Hippo as found in NPNF vol. 3, pp. 10-11.

After examining just some of the highlights and interesting exegesis contained in the commentaries of both Hippolytus and Jerome, what can be said about them? What, if any, is the relationship of one to the other? How do they compare? A cursory reading of both texts would readily yield to substantive remarks about their similarity and dissimilarity. Reasons as to why these comparisons exist may not be as readily ascertained. Here is a list of comparative differences:First, while both are relatively aware of the history of the Mediterranean world from Daniel’s day to their present situation, it seems that Jerome has a more firm grasp of it and a greater interest in it. This is evidenced by some of the gratuitous historical comments that he makes with regard to historical personalities and events. Hippolytus possesses a grasp of the history, but it seems of secondary importance to him.

Second, Jerome is almost decidedly anti-allegorical even if he does defend it. He makes few if any allegorical references, and even those that he does make seem more to be similitudes than allegories. Several examples were given above that illustrate the highly allegorical nature of Hippolytus’ exegesis (or shall we even use that word!). Jerome’s adherence to a literal understanding of the text may be attributed to his apologetic against Porphyry.

Third, related to the previous comment, Jerome reads the text more closely. He constructs his text in a verse-by-verse manner. Hippolytus, by contrast, seems to comment on what seems to be important to him at the moment. For instance, he almost completely ignores the text in Daniel that contains his preamble to the dreams, and many other items of lesser interest remain uncommented.

Fourth, Jerome’s work takes on a decidedly apologetic notion. Jerome defends the prophecy of Daniel from the skeptical Porphyry who employs a very early “hermeneutic of suspicion.” Hippolytus has only minor controversies with various conflicting viewpoints here and there throughout his commentary.

Fifth, a progression may be noted in eschatology from Hippolytus to Jerome. Whereas Hippolytus begins the destruction of an any-moment Second Coming; Jerome denies a literal millennium. Jerome goes further than Hippolytus, who still holds to the millennium as a Sabbath rest for the earth. Clearly, an evolution can be seen of which the only slightly later Augustine would transform into a non-literal Postmillennialism if not an outright Amillennialism.

Sixth, Hippolytus interacts more with other Scripture. Jerome does not fail to interact with other Scripture, but it does not become the very idiom in which he writes. Hippolytus carries on style that highlights his dependence on Scriptural modes of thinking much like the later Puritan divines:

Hippolytus’ commentary is inundated with biblical quotations: lengthy biblical pericopes or short passages constantly are interwove with his own comments, while on the other hand brief scriptural phrases or terms are so fully and subtly integrated into his own sentences that only a specialist’s eye can detect them. One could argue plausibly that the biblical texts cited verbatim by him cover more space than his own analysis of them.

Seventh, only Jerome critically examines and weighs the opinions of other commentators. It might be argued that Hippolytus writes for devotional purposes which would increase the piety of a Christian through a proper understanding of the Word. Jerome, on the other hand, seems driven by the need to answer Porphyry. His interest is not so much to encourage piety as it is to defend the prophecy of Daniel against the critics.

These seven (and Hippolytus would find this number fitting) differences may be demonstrated easily from the text. There are perhaps more and more subtle differences that would open to the interests of a longer and more involved study. To my knowledge there are no extant published articles or monographs that compare the two commentaries. Most comparisons occur in the brief venue of a patristics eschatology overview.

1. Trakatellis comments in footnote 5 on a study that revealed that a random sample of Hippolytus’ text demonstrated that three-fifths of the overall text was directly attributed to the text of the Bible. (Trakatellis, “LOGOS AGONISTIKOS: Hippolytus’ Commentary on Daniel,” 529.).

Biography

Scholarship on Jerome bears little doubt as to his identity. His slightly later date places him within the more mature age of the church and also during a time of when Christianity was no longer an illicit religion. Jerome was born in Dalmatia c. 340-342 and died in Bethlehem on September 30, 420. He was baptized in Rome and studied at Trier and Aquileia. He then went to Antioch where he was ordained. He traveled to Constantinople and became friends with Gregory of Nazianzus. Jerome moved to Rome and his career was nearly ruined because of a falling out that he had with Pope Damasus. The bulk of his career, that part for which he is best known, took place Bethlehem in 386 where he led an ascetic life.¹

Of course, church historians can hardly forget the correspondence carried on between Jerome and Augustine where two of the greatest minds of the early church differed and agreed on various matters of theological and ecclesiastical importance. Jerome played the archetypical melancholy recluse while Augustine fit the mold of the busy but studious Bishop who always had some opinion to share with the rest of the church.

Commentary Background

The text of Jerome’s commentary on Daniel is accessible to the contemporary reader through two venues. It is accessible in English by means of the translation by Gleason Archer.² It is also available via J. -P. Migne in Latin.³ Of this commentary, it may be noted that some of it may have written prior to his translation of the Old Testament from a predecessor to the Masoretic Text.⁴This is evidenced by the number of times in which clear Septuagintal influence is seen. There are other times when he references the Hebrew text.

There is somewhat of an interlocutor within Jerome’s text, the pagan Neo-platonist who was antagonistic to Christianity, Porphyry. Porphyry doubted the prophetic nature of Daniel and claimed it to be written by someone after the historical events prophesied had occurred. Jerome’s commentary is the single greatest witness to this work by Porphyry, Against the Christians, which was completely destroyed in 448. Jerome brings up Porphyry’s criticisms on a number of occasions (over twenty) and attempts to answer him.

Observations From the Text

He makes the same error as Hippolytus in referring to the lion in Daniel 7:4 as female. Gleason notes that this is an error in the Septuagint or missing the pointing in the Hebrew.⁵ Jerome identifies the kingdoms of the four beasts as the Chaldeans, Medo-Persia, the Greek or Macedonian, and Rome. His discussion, compared to Hippolytus, of the dream involves more detail as to the historical facts, especially names. He also makes comparisons back to the statue vision.⁶

The three ribs in the bear’s mouth could be“three princes who were in charge of the one hundred and twenty satraps.” Jerome avers however that other commentators believe these to be “three kings of the Persians who reigned subsequent to Cyrus,” namely Cambyses, the magi (the translator notes a number discrepancy since there was only one: Smerdis), and Darius. Jerome goes on to mention a whole list of Persian kings, listing fourteen in all. But Jerome does not agree with either of these views. He believes the ribs to be the kingdoms of the Babylonians, the Medes, and the Persians.⁷

Of the Greek empire, he, like Hippolytus, identifies the four wings and four heads as referring to the four generals (Ptolemy, Seleucus, Philip, and Antigonus) among whom Alexander’s empire was divided upon his death.⁸ There is an interesting historical note regarding Alexander:

There was never, after all, any victory won more quickly than Alexander’s, for he traversed all the way from Illyricum in the Adriatic Sea to the Indian Ocean and the Ganges River, not merely fighting battles but winning decisive victories; and in six years he subjugated to his rule a portion of Europe and all of Asia.⁹

Evidently, Jerome was impressed by historically pivotal events and compares them to others, taking in his scope an entire description of Alexander’s prowess. Commenting on “And power was given to it,” (Daniel 7:6) Jerome comments that as stunning as Alexander’s victory was; it was not by means of his own bravery but by God’s will.¹⁰

Jerome refers to the ten horns of Daniel 7:7-8. Rejecting Porphyry, he adheres to the traditional interpretation of the church, one that goes back to Hippolytus. “We should therefore concur with the traditional interpretation of all the commentators of the Christian Church, that at the end of the world, when the Roman Empire is destroyed, there shall be ten kings who will partition the Roman world amongst themselves.”¹¹ He identifies the little horn as a man, notthe Devil or a demon.¹² In a rare appeal to Revelation, Jerome remarks that the words of Daniel 7:9 ff. are similar to Rev. 4:2 ff.¹³ He also relates the rock of Nebuchadnezzar’s image vision as being Christ.¹⁴

In his comments on Daniel 7:14, we begin to see Jerome’s antagonism toward Porphyry. One of the contentions that Jerome seems to constantly battle is Porphyry’s opinion that the little horn or Antichrist is Antiochus Epiphanes. Jerome himself seems to favor a typological fulfillment in Antiochus, but recognizes that there are prophecies that relate to the Antichrist which were never fulfilled in Antiochus.¹⁵

An interesting anti-millennarian comment proceeds from Jerome on Daniel 7:17-18. He says:

The four kingdoms of which we have spoken above were earthly in character. ‘For everything which is of the earth shall return to earth’ (Eccl. 3:20). But the saints shall never possess an earthly kingdom, but only a heavenly. Away, then, with the fable about a millennium!¹⁶

Jerome identifies the ram of Daniel 8 as Darius, but in Daniel 8:4 he expands the referent beyond Darius to the kingdom of Darius and particularly to Darius II. This is the ram pushing westward, northward, and southward.¹⁷

Jerome mentions the comments of others who hold that Antiochus was only a type of Antichrist. This is a statement with which he seems to concur.¹⁸ Jerome relates the narrative inDaniel 9:2 to that of Jeremiah. The desolation of the temple had already been predicted by an earlier prophet.

In trying to determine the significance of the seventy weeks of Daniel, Jerome provides lengthy quotations from several sources: Africanus, Eusebius Pamphilii (of Caesarea) who has two views, Hippolytus (whom he correctly interprets to believe in a gap between the 69th and 70th week, the 70th being reserved for the end of the world), Apollinarius of Laodicea, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Tertullian, and then the views of the rabbis. This is a rather extensive treatment, but he does not seem to offer a firm opinion.¹⁹

On the comment about Daniel 10:4 where Daniel is by the Tigris river, Jerome notes that Ezekiel had a vision by the river, Chebar (Ezekiel 1) and that John the Baptist had one of Jesus at the Jordan (Matthew 3). He has this to say: “therefore those critics should leave off their foolish objections who raise questions about the presence of shadows and symbols in a matter of historical truth and attempt to destroy the truth itself by imagining that they should employ allegorical methods to destroy the historicity of rivers and trees and of Paradise.”²⁰ Apparently, Jerome did not take kindly to those who have doubts about typological references that employ actual place names found in history. He denies that signs and allegories destroy historicity.

Interesting study in textual corruption and vorlage as Jerome explains that Tarsus is not the city of Cilicia, but relates the Hebrew word found in Daniel 10:6 that sounds and looks similar but speaks of it being a stone. He opts for the Septuagint translation defining it as the sea. So, Jonah fled not to Tarsus the city after all, but to the sea.²¹

Jerome identifies the prophecy of Daniel 11 to Ptolemy.²² Comments on Daniel 11:42-45 constitute a fierce diatribe against Porphyry because, as Jerome alleges, these events did not happen to Antiochus.²³

1. Perhaps the best secondary and recent source on the life of Jerome is (J. N. D. Kelly, Jerome: His Life, Writing, and Controversies [London: Duckworth, 1975])

2. Most English translation references in this paper will refer to this translation. (Archer, Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel)

3. The edition used for this paper was the online subscription version offered through ProQuest Information and Learning Company. (J. -P Migne, ed., Patrologia Latina, vol. 217 vols. [Paris, 1844–64])

4. Kelly remarks parenthetically that the text Jerome used was the accepted text of the Jerome’s time and “substantially the same as our ‘Masoretic’ text.” (Kelly, Jerome: His Life, Writing, and Controversies, 159)

5. Archer, Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel, 72.

6. Ibid., 73.

7. Ibid., 74.

8. Ibid., 75.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid., 77.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Ibid., 80.

15. Ibid., 80–81.

16. Ibid., 81.

17. Ibid., 84.

18. Ibid., 87.

19. Ibid., 95–110.

20. Ibid., 112.

21. Ibid., 113.

22. Ibid., 120 ff.

23. Ibid., 140–44.

Hippolytus referred to his intention not only to comment on Daniel, but also to give an account of the Israelites while they were in Babylon. The reference to Daniel’s boyhood in Babylon more than likely includes the Susanna narrative.¹ One might take by inference that Hippolytus did not intend to place Susanna on a par with Daniel, but his comments on Susanna indicate otherwise. In his preamble to Susanna, Hippolytus compares the chronological inversion of placing Susanna after the rest of Daniel to the prophet’s practice, and that this practice was of the Spirit so as to confuse the devil.² From this later passage the implication could be that the Spirit was active in the placement of Susanna as well, but this is uncertain. For Hippolytus, there is no question concerning the historicity of the Susanna narrative. Daniel is considered her vindicator.³ Two things must be answered regarding the order of Daniel and Susanna: (1) did Hippolytus think that their order was also influenced by the Spirit, and (2) what did he believe was the relationship of the Spirit to the chapter on Susanna - mere placement or inspiration? It would seem odd to us to assume that he implies anything other than the equal authority of Susanna with Daniel and the other prophets. In Hippolytus’ time, without such a view of inspiration which would find it necessary to make fine distinctions about inspiration in order to answer the critics, might it be considered improbable to see this sort of advanced distinction? Nevertheless, the New Testament writers often make some fine distinctions regarding this doctrine.

The editors take note that Hippolytus confuses Jehoiachin with Jehoiakim.⁴ This is most likely a textual issue. Another textual corruption is evidenced where it has Jehoiakim (act. Jehoiachin) as ruling three years before Nebuchadnezzar comes up against him. The text of II Chronicles 36:9 has him reigning 3 months and 10 days. The ANF text makes note of this with the alternate Greek word: trimenion⁵ versus tria in Bardy and Lefevre.⁶ Hippolytus may have conflated the accounts of Kings and Chronicles, and he appears to be using the Septuagint. Notably he does not mention the discrepancy between 1 Kings 24:8 and 2 Chronicles 36:9. It might be inferred from this evidence that he either did not read the text closely or he was not interested in reading it critically. He seems to be inserting extra biblical tradition at the point where he speaks of Zedikiah grinding at the mill, dying and being thrown behind the wall of Nineveh, and thus completing Jeremiah’s prophecy of Jeremiah 22:24 ff. He finds two fulfillment cycles: the one concerning the curse in Jeremiah 22:24 ff. and the desolate sanctuary for seventy years of Jeremiah 25:11.⁷

Fragment II in ANF begins at Daniel 7 wherein Hippolytus feminizes the lion (“lioness,” see Jerome on this).⁸ Gleason points out that Jerome does this too, and gives the reason.⁹ Hippolytus identifies the lion with eagle’s wings as Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom, the Bear is the Persians, the three ribs are the Persians, Medes, and Babylonians. He references his comments on the gold and silver portions of the great image. The leopard is identified as the Greek empire and in particular Alexander. Its four wings and four heads are supposed to symbolize the four generals of Alexander upon whom he conferred his kingdom at the time of his death. The fourth beast is the Roman empire.

Hippolytus then begins to draw parallels between the two dreams, that of image and of the beasts. Hippolytus treats the toes of mixed iron and clay from the image. For him, ten toes equal ten kings which are pictured also by the ten horns. The three horns are plucked up, and he identifies them as Egypt, Libya, and Ethiopia: all nations defeated by the Romans. Of course, then there is the stone which he identifies with Christ and his kingdom.¹⁰

Hippolytus perpetuates the interesting connection that is originally by Irenaeus, Hippolytus’ mentor according to tradition. That being that the period of time from creation to the birth of Christ is 5500 years, and that 6000 years need to pass in order for the earth to have her “Sabbath”. This, of course, parallels the creation account:

The Sabbath is the type and emblem of the future kingdom of the saints, when they “shall reign with Christ,” when He comes from heaven as John says in his Apocalypse: for “a day with the Lord is as a thousand years.” Since, then, in six days God made all things, it follows that 6,000 years must be fulfilled.¹¹

The view expressed above was the view that Photius condemned, but with which Irenaeus agreed, and this parallels with the Epistle of Barnabas. This was also in substantial agreement with the Jewish commentators.¹² Hippolytus, however, has an interesting way of proving that the Christ was born in 5500 (years since creation). After educating the reader as to the symbols and types expressed in the Bible, he moves to the dimensions of the Ark of the Covenant. It was two and a half cubits long, one and a half cubits wide, and one and a half cubits high. This measures when “summed up together” five cubits and a half. This allegorically represents the 5500 years. No other proof is given. The ark is the type chosen because as the ark was wood overlaid with gold: “The Virgin, who was the ‘ark overlaid with pure gold,’ with the Word within and the Holy Spirit without; so that the truth is demonstrated, and the ‘ark’ made manifest.”¹³ Later, he states, “And the Saviour appeared in the world, bearing the imperishable ark, His own body, at a time which was the fifth and half, John declares: ‘Now it was the sixth hour,’ he says intimating by that one-half of the day.” So, 5000 adding that half day (500) equals 5500. Hence, there are only 500 years from the birth of Christ to the date he returns.¹⁴ Why is this delay necessary? Hippolytus provides a very evangelical response. The reason why the Lord delays his coming is so that the gospel be proclaimed to the world.¹⁵

Hippolytus seems most definitely post-tribulational in his relating the church to the tribulation. He will come when the ten horns spring up. These are the ten kings, and the Antichrist arises from among them. These, with the Antichrist, will make war against the saints, “then may we expect the manifestation of the Lord from heaven.”¹⁶ This may be one of the first church fathers to set the date far in the future, thus ruining the any-moment watchfulness of the early church. The date is set out in the future by several hundred years, and signs or prophecies precede Christ’s return. Others have noted this.¹⁷

Hippolytus identifies the ram of Daniel 8, who in verse four is pushing westward, northward, and southward as Darius the Persian. He identifies the he-goat from the west as Alexander the Macedonian who has victory over Darius. In this Hippolytus writes some on the history of Alexander’s empire and what happened upon his death. He identifies the four horns as the four generals of Alexander among whom the empire was divided. Of course much of this is identified in the text of Daniel, but the four generals are not. The horn that waxed great in Daniel 8:9, Hippolytus identifies as the Antiochus Epiphanes. Further, he gives the history of his pillaging of Jerusalem and the temple treasure.¹⁸

Hippolytus cross-references Daniel 9:24ff with Jeremiah 25:11. He equates the 70 weeks of Daniel with the 70 years of captivity of which Jeremiah prophesied:

Having mentioned therefore seventy weeks, and having divided them into two parts in order that what was spoken by him to the prophet might be better understood, he proceeds thus, “Unto Christ the Prince shall be seven weeks, “ which make forty-nine years. It was in the twenty-first year that Daniel saw these things in Babylon. Hence, the forty-nine years added to the twenty-one, make up the seventy years of which the blessed Jeremiah spake: “The sanctuary shall be desolate seventy years from the captivity that befell them under Nebuchadnezzar and after these things the people will return , and sacrifice and offering will be presented, when Christ is their Prince.”¹⁹

After digressing into the captivity and the relationship to the restoration under Ezra and Zerubbabel, he speaks of the sacrifice made by Christ and the blotting out of sins. Here he makes an interesting statement that is indicative of the kind of statements that the church fathers make, posing great problems for a Protestant understanding of justification: “But who are they who have reconciliation made for their sins, but they who believe on His name, and propitiate His countenance by good works?”²⁰

Some have noted, based upon his rendering of the prophecy of the lamb breaking the seal, that Hippolytus bears a familiar resemblance to Augustinian and Reformed exegetes in relating the Old and New Testaments. On Revelations 3:7 ff., he speaks of the Lamb breaking the seal of the scroll. This unsealing, for Hippolytus, underscores the kind of ministry that Christ performed who loosed the things of God for the church, ending their being sealed up. It is reminiscent of the statement that what is in the Old concealed is in the New revealed.²¹

The man whom Daniel sees in Daniel 10:5 clothed in linen is identified by Hippolytus as a Christ, “not yet indeed as perfect man, but with the appearance and form of man.”²² What interests us here is the phrase translated “appearance and form,” because it sounds so very docetic. The words, however, in the Bardy and Lefevre text are schemati and phainomenon.²³

An example of Hippolytus’ extreme allegory may be found in his description of the man in Daniel 10:5 and his clothing:

Now the word “Ophaz,” which is a word transferred from Hebrew to Greek, denotes pure gold. With a pure girdle, therefore he was girded round the loins. For the Word was to bear us all, binding us like a girdle round His body, in His own love. The complete body was His, but we are members in His body, united together and sustained by the Word Himself.²⁴

He even allegorizes a misleading transliteration (Tharseis as “Ethiopia.”²⁵ This is rendered as beryl in the KJV in Daniel 10:6. The Hebrew (with prefix) is ctharisish and it is probably best defined as possibly yellow jasper.²⁶

The king of the south’s daughter of Daniel 11:6 is identified as Ptolemaïs, queen of Egypt, who made an agreement with Antiochus. This treaty subsequently failed.²⁷ The king of Daniel 11:36 is called “Shameless” by Hippolytus and is identified as the Antichrist. He is involved in “the abomination that maketh desolate” (KJV) in verse 31. Interestingly, Hippolytus distinguishes between two types of abominations. One is destruction and the other is desolation. Antiochus performed the destruction, but the desolation will be done by Antichrist.²⁸ Hippolytus identifies the two men by the bank of the river in Daniel 12:5ff as the law and the prophets, and he parallels the last few verses of Daniel 12 which speak of the taking away of the sacrifice and the period of waiting to Matthew 24:12-13.²⁹

1. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 177.

2. Ibid., 191.

3. Ibid., 178.

4Hippolytus, On Daniel, 177 See the top of Bardy and Lefevre page 74 wherein the Greek is clearly Jehoiakim when Jehoiachin is in view. Bardy and Lefevre also points to some manuscripts that omit the name altogether. Hippolyte, Bardy, and LeFevre, Hippolyte Commentaire sur Daniel, 74.

5. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 177.

6. Hippolyte, Bardy, and LeFevre, Hippolyte Commentaire sur Daniel, 74.

7. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 178.

8. Ibid., 2.1 (ANF5:178).

9. Gleason L. Archer, Jr., trans., Jerome’s Commentary on Daniel (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Book House, 1958), 72.

10. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 178.

11. Ibid., 179.

12. Ibid.

13. Ibid.

14. Ibid.

15. Ibid.

16. Ibid.

17. John G. Gammie, “A Journey Through Danielic Spaces: The Book of Daniel in the Theology and Piety of the Christian Community,” Interpretation 39 (1985): 148.

18. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 2.8–10 (ANF 5:179–80).

19. Ibid., 2.13 (ANF 5:180).

20. Ibid., 2. 16 (ANF 5:181).

21. Ibid., 2.21 (ANF 5:181–82).

22. Ibid., 2. 24 (ANF 5.182).

23. Hippolyte, Bardy, and LeFevre, Hippolyte Commentaire sur Daniel, 4.25.5 (336).

24. Ibid., 2.25 (ANF 5:182).

25. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 2.25 (ANF 5:182).

26. Francis Brown, S. R. Driver, and Charles A. Briggs, “A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament,” in A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1951), 1076.

27. Hippolytus, On Daniel, 2.33 (ANF 183).

28. Ibid., 2.38–40 (ANF 5.184).

29. Ibid., 2.43–44 (ANF 5:185).