As a Jewish scholar who has been engaged in the study and teaching of Jewish–Christian relations for over twelve years, I have thought a great deal about the past history of Jewish–Christian relations, especially in relation to the Bible. During that time I have noticed increasing interest being shown in scholarly and religious circles to both the Jewish context of the New Testament as well as to the influence of Jewish biblical interpretation on the formation and development of Christianity.

For understandable reasons, it has generally been assumed that Judaism influenced Christianity but relatively little attention has been given to the other side of the same coin: the question of the influence of Christianity upon Judaism. Did Christian teaching and interpretation influence the Jewish commentators? The purpose of this book is to consider this relatively unexplored question, to ask whether this influence developed into a two-way encounter and to investigate to what extent Jews and Christians are bound by the Bible. On the basis of a study of the Binding of Isaac, I examine whether there was some kind of a meeting or interaction between Jewish and Christian interpreters during the first six centuries CE and what this may tell us about relations between Jews and Christians in late antiquity.

The background to this book is a reawakening among scholars to the Jewish origins of Christianity, a trend that became noticeable in the first half of the twentieth century.

This book has been in and on my mind for seven years. During that time I have felt as if I had accompanied Abraham and Isaac on their journey to and from Moriah.

I would like to thank my colleagues at the Centre for Jewish–Christian Relations (CJCR), especially Deborah Patterson-Jones, Melanie Wright, Lucia Faltin, Maty Matychak and Tunde Formadi. CJCR provides a wonderful forum to engage in the study and teaching of Jewish–Christian relations. I also acknowledge with gratitude the students at CJCR, especially those who elected to study my course on Jewish and Christian Biblical Interpretation. They have helped me think through the ideas discussed in this book.

I would like to acknowledge the support of other colleagues who have been kind enough to offer constructive comments. They include James Carleton Paget, William Horbury and Robert Hayward. During my PhD research I was guided by Nicholas de Lange, to whom I am most grateful, and was taught patristic Greek by Liz Irwin, whose patience was beyond measure.

The support of my fellow Trustees at the CJCR has also been a great help in the writing of this book, especially Martin Forward and Julius Lipner who cajoled me into completing the manuscript, as well as Barry Fenton, Bob Glatter, Leslie Griffiths, Peter Halban, David Leibowitz and Clemens Nathan.

Thanks also to Kevin Taylor and Kate Brett of Cambridge University Press who have been most encouraging.

Jewish and Christian interest in the Binding of Isaac has remained as strong in modern times as it did in the first six centuries CE. The biblical story continues to attract significant attention in theological writings as well as in the arts and literature. Modern writers have somewhat different concerns from those in late antiquity but, like the rabbis and church fathers, they ask similar questions of the biblical narrative and their writings demonstrate a continuing exegetical encounter. Clearly it is not possible to refer to many of the modern works that deal with Genesis 22, but the writings briefly discussed below are, in my view, among the most significant as well as representative. They are also to a certain extent inter-related, which reinforces the main thesis of Bound by the Bible: that Jews and Christians share not only a common biblical text but also a common exegetical tradition.

Arguably, modern theological interpretations of the Akedah begin with the writings of one the most prominent post-enlightenment Christian theo-logians, Søren Kierkegaard and his book Fear and Trembling, a title chosen to describe Kierkegaard's discomfort with Genesis 22. His approach to the Sacrifice of Isaac significantly differs from that of the church fathers and the rabbis. Reflecting the dilemma of the post-enlightenment, he grapples with different philosophical and ethical issues. One century earlier, Immanuel Kant admitted he was unable to accept that God would command a man to kill his son – an act that he deemed unethical – and concluded that Abraham should have replied to God as follows: ‘That I must not kill my good son is quite certain, but that you who appear to me as God are indeed God, of this I can never become certain …’ In other words, Abraham should have rejected the command because it was opposed to the moral law.

Did an exegetical encounter take place in Jewish and Christian interpretations of Genesis 22.1–14 over many hundreds of years? By the term ‘exegetical encounter’ I mean that a Jewish interpretation either influenced, or was influenced by, a Christian interpretation and vice versa. The term does not imply that Jewish and Christian exegetes met to discuss their interpretations (although this might not be ruled out); rather, an exegetical encounter indicates awareness by one exegete of the exegetical tradition of another, revealed in the interpretations.

In my view, the existence (or non-existence) of an exegetical encounter sheds light on the extent of interaction between Judaism and Christianity in late antiquity. It may also have relevance for the contemporary Christian–Jewish relationship because the study of the Bible as well as Jewish and Christian biblical interpretation is becoming increasingly popular in the present dialogue between Christians and Jews.

In particular, I consider the writings of the Greek church fathers and the Palestinian rabbis before the Islamic conquest of Palestine, so chosen because writings after this period possess the additional and complicating factor of the possible influence of Islam. Although I refer to the writings of the Latin fathers as well as to the Syriac writings, and also make reference to the Babylonian Talmud, the focus is primarily on the Palestinian tradition and the works of the Greek fathers. The reason for this is that, if examples of an exegetical encounter are to be discovered, evidence will be found in these writings.

So far we have examined Genesis 22 from oral and written perspectives, but the purpose of this chapter is to consider the story from the perspective of the artist. Artistic interpretation has often been ignored in studies of biblical interpretation. Biblical commentaries, for example, rarely pay attention to figurative representation except on their front cover. This is partly because the question as to whether the artist has played a role in interpreting biblical stories is raised by the Bible itself. The well-known command in Exodus 20 has been interpreted to mean that Jews and Christians would automatically have opposed every form of figurative visual representation:

These verses were discussed by Josephus, who was known for being hostile to images. Roman writers of the first century such as Tacitus and Pliny also remarked about the absence of statues and images in Jewish cities and synagogues. However, before it is too readily assumed that these writings demonstrate a lack of artistic representations, even Josephus reported that there existed groups, such as the Hasmonean family in the first century BCE, who produced figurative art.

Bound by the Bible has shed light on the exegetical relationship between Judaism and Christianity in the first six centuries CE and has demonstrated that the encounter was closer than had previously been suggested. By developing a series of criteria, which recognize the occurrence of an exegetical encounter, a relationship based on familiarity has been depicted. Numerous examples have been uncovered, not in isolation but multiply attested, which makes an exegetical encounter a significant factor in Jewish and Christian interpretations. While each example on its own may be explained as coincidental, or as a result of the exegetes separately arriving at the same conclusion, multiple attestation strongly implies an exegetical encounter.

The exegetical approach overcomes some of the weaknesses of previous studies of Jewish–Christian relations, such as dependence on the existence of parallels or on the dating of significant texts. The choice of Genesis 22 provides a biblical text that is of much interest to both Jews and Christians and that is similar in both the Greek and Hebrew versions.

During the course of this study three categories of interpretation have been identified: first, shared interpretations, which indicate a common approach to the biblical text; second, interpretations that indicate a possible exegetical encounter; third, interpretations that indicate a probable exegetical encounter.

Bound by the Bible has highlighted the following examples of shared interpretations:

• Both the rabbis and church fathers are concerned to respond to the charge that God desired human sacrifice (vv. 1–2).

• Both the rabbis and church fathers explain that the Akedah enabled Abraham to be exalted throughout the world (vv. 1–2).

• […]

Recent studies of early Christian traditions about the resurrection of Jesus have generally overlooked the objections which were raised by opponents of Christianity in the first and second centuries. This is somewhat surprising. Historians know how important it is to consider evidence or arguments which are an embarrassment to the eventual ‘winners’. Astute theologians always listen carefully to the voices of ‘outsiders’.

There are three reasons for taking this rather off-beat approach. (1) Criticisms of early Christian claims concerning the resurrection of Jesus give us some limited insights into the variety of ancient attitudes to life after death. (2) They help us to appreciate more keenly the ways Christian proclamation of the resurrection was understood or misunderstood by both Jews and pagans. (3) By paying attention to early criticisms we may be able to trace more readily the points at which early Christian traditions about the resurrection have been shaped by apologetic concerns.

The potential value of this approach will be clear. So why have the voices of the critics not been heard? They have been ignored mainly because it is undeniably difficult to uncover the critics' views. We have much more extensive evidence for early polemical comments on the actions and teaching of Jesus. However, by casting the net widely I believe that it is possible to make a number of observations which are relevant to inquiries into the setting, development, and reception of early resurrection traditions, observations which stimulate further theological reflection today.

The origins and the theological significance of the fourfold Gospel raise a set of teasing questions. Why did the early church eventually accept four partly parallel foundation documents, no more, no less? There is no precedent for this either in the OT Scriptures or elsewhere in earliest Christianity. Did retention of four gospels assist or hinder the early church in the presentation of its claims concerning Jesus? No doubt, to some, insistence that there were four gospels implied that there were basic flaws in the single gospels. Was the second-century church's decision to bring together four separate gospels wise? What were, and what are, the theological implications of the fourfold Gospel? A critical theology cannot avoid asking these questions.

In the early decades of the twentieth century, the views of the great giants, Theodore Zahn and Adolf von Harnack, were influential: many scholars accepted their view that the fourfold Gospel emerged very early in the se-cond century, well before Marcion. More recently, particularly under the influence of Hans von Campenhausen, most scholars have accepted that the fourfold Gospel emerged in the second half of the second century and that the Muratorian Fragment and Irenaeus are our primary witnesses.

However, the current consensus on the emergence of the fourfold Gospel is now being challenged from two entirely different starting points.

The completion of a book is a time for stock-taking. Why have I written on this topic, and not another? How have I managed to complete it, given the ever-growing demands teaching and administrative duties make on the time of an academic?

The topics explored in this book are at the very centre of the concerns of anyone interested in earliest Christianity and, indeed, in Christian theology. I have tried to approach them from fresh angles and, where possible, in the light of new evidence. So I have spread my net more widely than is often the case. The questions discussed have captured my interest for a variety of reasons. In some cases I think that I have found new paths through well-traversed territory. In others, I have become dissatisfied with the standard answers.

Chapter 2, ‘Jesus and Gospel’, is a considerably extended version of the Inaugural Lecture I gave as Lady Margaret's Professor of Divinity in the University of Cambridge on 27 April 2000. In my introductory remarks I referred to the debt I owe to my two predecessors in the Cambridge Chair, Professors C. F. D. Moule and Morna Hooker, who were both present.

An earlier version of Chapter 5, ‘The Law of Christ and the Gospel’, was one of eighteen seminar papers given as part of the celebrations of 500th anniversary of the establishment of the Lady Margaret's Professorship in 1502.

The status of Jesus traditions and of the ‘canonical’ gospels gradually grew in the course of the second century. At the beginning of the century there was widespread respect for ‘words of the Lord’ and for ‘the Gospel’ (whether oral or written) in which Jesus traditions were embedded. By the end of the century the early church seemed to be within a whisker of accepting a ‘canon’ of four written gospels, no more, no less.

I do not intend to discuss all the developments and factors which led to the sea change which took place during the second century. In order to do so I would need to offer many hostages to fortune, for at crucial points the evidence is disputed, particularly with reference to the first half of the second century. For example, although the Didache has usually been dated to the first decades of the second century, it is now generally accepted that it contains several layers of traditions, the dating of which is problematic. A major challenge has been mounted to the consensus that Ignatius wrote seven letters in the early years of the second century. I do not think that the challenge is likely to be successful, but discussion of it would be a distraction from my primary task. And do we know the date of II Clement?

I shall focus my attention on two second-century giants whose substantial surviving writings can be dated with some confidence, Justin Martyr and Irenaeus.