How One became Two and then Became Three in One.

Two Gods in Heaven by Peter Schafer

The idea of the Christian Trinity seems like such a departure from what I’ve been taught about Jewish Monotheism that I thought the idea was invented ex nihilo.[1]

Some odd passages seem to gesture at more than one God in heaven. For example, Abraham meets with three strangers, but that seems to be God and two angels, not the Trinity. As do English monarchs, God refers to himself elsewhere in the plural case. These “proof texts” seem to have an easy explanation.

Yet, we have something going on in the Baptismal formula in Matthew 28:19–20, which commands that catechumens be baptized “in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” So, clearly, within 40 years of Jesus’s crucifixion, we have something “Trinitarian” going on.[2]

How did a Jewish culture come to accept such a non-Jewish concept?

The answer should not involve denying the premise by arguing that Trinitarianism was a pagan concept. The early Church and apostles were Jewish, and many Jews in the diaspora became Christians. According to some scholars, there was no clear demarcation between Christians and Jews until at least the second century. Other scholars, including Peter Schafer, argue for a far longer period of separation.

According to some scholars, including Peter Schafer and Daniel Boyarin, Judaism was pre-adapted to accept Trinitarianism because it already incorporated a binitarian idea into its theological and social understanding. From that perspective, Christian beliefs about a Father, Son, and Holy Spirit were not such a radical innovation.

One thing to keep in mind is that first-century Judaism is not the Judaism we are familiar with. First-century Judaism was far more diverse because the destruction of the Temple in 70 AD ended those forms based on the Temple. What was left was Christianity and what became rabbinical Judaism, both daughter religions of Judaism.

Schafer and Boyarin stress in various books that Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity essentially developed in tandem. Each group adopted or rejected ideas from the other.[3] The idea of “schismogenesis” — where one group deliberately distinguishes itself from a neighboring group by adopting contrary mores or customs — applies to Schafer and Boyarin’s presentation.[4]

Central to the binitarian speculations of Temple Judaism was the vision of “one like a Son of Man” in chapters 7 through 12 of the book of Daniel. One of the visions is that someone who looks like a human being (“one like a Son of Man”) is presented to the Ancient One and is “given dominion and glory and kingship forever.” To wit:

(Dan. 7:9) I watched until thrones were set in place, and an Ancient of Days (‘atiq yomin) took his seat; his clothing was white as snow, and the hair of his head like pure wool; his throne was fiery flames, and its wheels were burning fire. (10) A river of fire issued and came forth from before him. Thousands upon thousands served him, and myriads upon myriads stood attending him. The court sat in judgment, and the books were opened. … (13) As I watched in the night visions, I saw one like a human being coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him. (14) To him was given dominion and glory and kingship; all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (p. 20). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

Schafer and Boyarin read Daniel based on prior Jewish texts describing God as both a young warrior and an old monarch. These types were divided into separate persons in Daniel.

However, that doesn’t mean that there were two Gods. In some way, the two persons, or powers, were grammatically confused. References to one turned into references to the other. The clues and effects are subtle, but Jewish readers were attentive.[5]

This ties into the thread of Wisdom literature. According to Schafer, the wisdom tradition “probably goes back to the third century BCE” in the book of Proverbs. The wisdom tradition personified God’s wisdom as a created being who was present at creation. (Prov. 8.22, 29–30.) The Wisdom of Solomon identifies Wisdom with the Logos.[6] As with the “two powers,” there is a confusion between God and Wisdom:

Wisdom flows from God. In a platonic sense, she is the archetype of his perfection and at the same time his emanation, which imparts God’s glory and active workings into the earthly world: “In every generation she passes into holy souls and makes them friends of God, and prophets” (7:27).

Now we have come full circle. Wisdom is (in biblical terms) with God and is enthroned with him, yet at the same time she is identical to him as the platonic archetype, emanating as God’s working into the souls of humankind. This drive of Wisdom to be immanent in the earthly world of human beings is — with varied accents — common to all three books of wisdom. In the biblical Book of Proverbs, it is still expressed with reserve, as directly after Wisdom plays before God the text continues somewhat cryptically, “I was playing in his inhabited world, finding delight in humankind” (Prov. 8:31). In Wisdom of Solomon, the drive toward immanence is philosophical, and in Jesus Sirach, it assumes a totally new form. The author of Jesus Sirach lets there be no doubt where the personified wisdom ultimately belongs:

(24:8) Then the Creator of all things gave me a command, and my Creator chose the place for my tent. He said, “Make your dwelling in Jacob, and in Israel receive your inheritance.”

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (pp. 28–29). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

So, Wisdom is both a part of God and somehow separate from God.

Schafer relies on Wisdom 24:23 to conclude that Wisdom is embodied in the book of the Torah.

(24:23) All this (tauta panta) is the book of the covenant (biblos diathēkēs) of the Most High God, the law (nomos) that Moses commanded us as an inheritance for the congregations of Jacob. “

All this” refers to everything that had previously been said about wisdom; all this is now interpreted as the Book of the Covenant between God and his people Israel — that is, as the Torah (Greek nomos). Wisdom, God’s personified messenger on earth, is now embodied in a book, the book of the Torah. This reinterpretation of biblical wisdom paved the way that classical rabbinic Judaism would take: from personified Wisdom to the book of the Torah, which needs to be interpreted.

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (pp. 29–30). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

Christianity went in a different direction, namely, Wisdom/Logos continued to be personified in a person:

In contrast to this, New Testament Christianity continues the line of the personified (male) Logos, referring it to Jesus: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1).

This Christological interpretation can be found, of all places, in the oldest complete Palestinian targum on the Pentateuch that we know of: the so-called Codex Neofiti. In the Aramaic translation of the Codex Neofiti, Genesis 1:1 reads, Mileqadmin be-hokhmah bera de-YYY’ shakhlel yat shemayya we-yat ar’a,11 which can only be translated literally as, “In the beginning, by means of wisdom, the son of God perfected the heaven and the earth.”

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (pp. 30–31). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

Philo of Alexandria — whose life encompassed that of Christ — accepted the idea of the Logos bridging between the immutable God and the created world.

The “two powers” idea continued into Rabbinic Judaism. The Son of Man figure in Daniel led to speculation about other figures occupying that space, including Melchisedek or an angel. One such speculation from the Ethiopic Book of Enoch, the Third Book of Enoch, and Hekhalot literature[7] had Enoch — who was taken and was no more — being transformed into the angel Metatron. Metatron — not actually named in the Bible — was theorized to be the angel that God assigned to escort the Jews to the Promised Land. This angel carried the name of God and was given divine authority. Metatron was eventually described as a kind of lesser God.[8] Schafer explains the reasoning in this passage:

Rav Idith immediately falls for the heretic’s provocation, admitting that the “Lord” (YHWH) is Metatron and even offering an explanation for it: Metatron is the angel with the same name as God — namely, YHWH. The proof text for this (Exod. 23:21) tones it down only marginally by proving “only” that God’s name is contained “in” Metatron, which presumably means “in his name.” With that the heretic’s trap snaps shut, and he immediately retorts, if God and Metatron have the same name (that is, YHWH), and hence the two are interchangeable, then it is only logical for us also to revere Metatron, which in plain language means that we worship him as a second God. The heretic does not even need to refer explicitly to the context of the Bible verse Exodus 23:21, which the rabbi so carelessly cited — which is unmistakably about an angel whom God will send in front of Israel and Israel must obey: “Be attentive to him and listen to his voice; do not rebel against him (al tamer bo).”

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (p. 126). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

Of this same angel, Exodus 23:21 says that this angel will not forgive transgressions. Since the forgiveness of sins was a prerogative of God, this angel seemed to have the power and authority of God. This made for speculation.

This speculation entered the midrash,[9] where it was treated with great hostility, along with those who advocated “two powers” theology. For example, Metatron gets demoted and flogged, and Rabbi Aher (Elisha ben Avuhah), who advocates otherwise, is disgraced. The fact that this theology had to be repudiated by the Rabbinic literature is good evidence that this had some traction (and that it was too close to the hated Christian mutation to be tolerated in early Rabbinic Judaism, such are the forces of schismogenesis.) Schafer notes:

With his exegesis of Exodus 23:21, Rav Idith opened a Pandora’s box, saying exactly what the heretic wanted to hear — namely, that Metatron is a second divine figure next to God, as the author of the Third Book of Enoch also claimed. Of course, this is neither his personal opinion nor that of his rabbinic colleagues, but he lets himself be cornered by the heretic, who consistently has the better arguments and well-nigh imposes this conclusion on him. Rav Idith obviously rejects the heretic so vehemently because the heretic’s opinion was not merely a side issue that the rabbis could simply disregard. On the contrary, it was a view that had found a place in the heart of rabbinic — or more precisely, Babylonian rabbinic — Judaism.90 The notion of two Gods in heaven was attractive and had become, in influential rabbinic circles, even acceptable. This is the only way to explain the rabbi’s harsh and yet awkward reply. There is reason to assume that here too the direct opponents of the rabbi can be found among those circles that stand behind the Hekhalot literature and especially the Third Book of Enoch.

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (pp. 127–128). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

Things are different in the past. History is complicated. Schafer notes:

Not until the nineteenth century did monotheism become the generally valid norm, not least under the influence of Protestant Christianity.[10]

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (p. 134). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

Schafer observes:

The proximity of binitarian ideas of pre-Christian ancient Judaism to thoughts and images as encountered in the New Testament is obvious. This is not merely a matter of parallels, much less equations, but rather of the fundamental insight that Second Temple Judaism prepared the stock on which the New Testament could draw. The fact that this, apart from many other themes, also applies to the notion of a “second” God next to the “first” God is an insight that is only slowly beginning to gain acceptance.

Schäfer, Peter. Two Gods in Heaven: Jewish Concepts of God in Antiquity (pp. 135–136). Princeton University Press. Kindle Edition.

This is a relatively short read. It is informative and generally accessible, covering ground previously covered by Schafer. I would recommend it as a useful way of understanding the complexity of human intellectual development as a general theme and the context of Christian theology, in particular.

Footnotes:

[1] To be clear, I am a practicing Catholic. “Invention ex nihilo” could be rephrased as “revealed truth.” The point is that from the perspective of a person not acquainted with the “intertestamental” books of Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus, language that elevates other beings to a seeming parity with God must seem problematic as a matter of historical development.

[2] “Trinity” was coined in the late second century. The ideas supporting the term were around long before a theory for Trinitarianism was worked out.

[3] See https://medium.com/@peterseanEsq/the-long-breakup-11cd7ac3d1f2

[4] The idea of “schismogenesis” is central to Graeber & Wengrow’s “The Dawn of Everything.” See https://medium.com/free-factor/in-search-of-deep-history-3e1e9587ca4e

[5] In a prior book, Schafer seemed to have emphasized the plurality of thrones set up in Daniel as evidence for a binitarian reading. In this book, Schafer criticizes Boyarin for reading “two thrones” into the text, which Schafer believes can only be done by an anachronistic reading of subsequent Jewish speculation back into the text of Daniel. In this book, Schafer observes that the other thrones — more than two — were set up for the “heavenly court.”

[6] Schafer annoyingly advises that the Wisdom of Solomon is non-canonical. This is true for Jews and Protestants but not for the majority of Christians.

[7] According to Wiki — — “The Hekhalot literature (sometimes transliterated Heichalot) from the Hebrew word for “Palaces”, relating to visions of ascents into heavenly palaces. The genre overlaps with Merkabah or “Chariot” literature, concerning Ezekiel’s chariot, so the two are sometimes referred to together as “Books of the Palaces and the Chariot” (ספרות ההיכלות והמרכבה‎). The Hekhalot literature is a genre of Jewish esoteric and revelatory texts produced some time between late antiquity — some believe from Talmudic times or earlier — to the Early Middle Ages.”

[8] Metatron is called Akatriel by a different tradition.

[9] Midrash is defined as: “Midrash (מדרשׁ) is an interpretive act, seeking the answers to religious questions (both practical and theological) by plumbing the meaning of the words of the Torah. (In the Bible, the root d-r-sh [דרשׁ] is used to mean inquiring into any matter, including occasionally to seek out God’s word.) Midrash responds to contemporary problems and crafts new stories, making connections between new Jewish realities and the unchanging biblical text.”

[10] What delayed pure monotheism was Kabbalism, which had its own gnostic emanations and powers.