The word ἁρπαγμός is first attested here in extant Greek literature, and only rarely in later non-Christian texts. Its meaning is a notorious crux interpretum. This chapter offers a fresh translation and explanation of its presence at the start of our hymnic piece, building on the recent proposals of David E. Fredrickson (Eros and the Christ: Longing and Envy in Paul’s Christology, 2013).
The usual patterns of Greek word formation create the expectation that, as a word ending in -μός, ἁρπαγμός will have an active sense. That is confirmed by its position in a double accusative construction in which ἁρπαγμός is contrasted with the active “being that is in a manner equal with God”. The existence of other words that can mean “something grasped” (ἅρπαγμα, ἁρπαγή), or “seizure of things, possessions” (ἁρπαγή) suggests ἁρπαγμός is carefully chosen here to denote a distinct kind of (act of) aggressive seizing. That conclusion is consistent with the results of our examination of τὸ εἶναι ἴσα θεῷ in Chapters 4 and 5: in 2:6b–c Christ rejects any identification of one kind of (an active) mode of living or being with an active kind of seizing.
Though ἁρπαγμός has sometimes been given the word “robbery,” it is never used for the seizing of a thing or a possession. Two clear instances of ἁρπαγμός in near-contemporary texts use the word to denote “abduction for marriage,” “seizure for sexual union,” that is the seizing of persons, not things (Plutarch—On the Education of Children 15 (Moralia 12a), Vettius Valens Anthology 2.38, cf. a variant reading of Pausanias, Description of Greece 1.20.3). A careful analysis of these shows that Paul must have known the word had this meaning.
Accepting the “erotic abduction” or “kidnap marriage” translation of ἁρπαγμός leads to various translation possibilities. Christ “reckoned the being that is in a manner equal with God not an act of erotic abduction, marriage abduction,” or “he reckoned the God-equal modus entis not erotic abduction”. Or, more loosely, Christ “reckoned God’s way of being not (erotic) union with mortals by abduction”.
Such a translation approach produces two possible interpretations of the role of οὐχ ἁρπαγμόν in the hymn; one minimalist, one maximalist. At a minimum, οὐχ ἁρπαγμὸν ἡγήσατο marks a simple negation: the pre-existent Christ rejects erotic abduction as a modus vivendi for one who is God-equal. On a second, maximalist, reading, the οὐχ ἁρπαγμὸν ἡγήσατο of v. 6b marks a negation of that kind of erotic abduction (a violent, degrading, and deceitful one), but it does so in order to say, or to imply, that Christ endorses and takes up another kind of erotic activity, or that he seeks some kind of conjugal union by some other means.
In a provocative study, David Fredrickson has recently argued for this maximalist interpretation, appealing to other parts of the letter for the presence of an erotic theme, some details of the hymn itself, and a sympathetic assessment of Greek and Latin erotic traditions, which were a prominent feature of first-century culture and religion. But problems in F.’s monograph give reason to doubt some details of his assessment of the evidence and its extent. For example, he downplays the scriptural language in the hymn and misses some obvious ways in which the letter appears to distance itself from the Greek and Roman erotic tradition. In particular, there is no interest in beauty (despite the presence of much that is ocular— σκοπέω, βλέπω in 2:4, 3:2, 17), especially in the virtue list (4:8), where we might expect it. I assess in detail Fredrickson’s arguments for the maximalist case in Chapter 7. In the rest of this chapter, consolidating F.’s arguments, I set out historical and interpretative grounds for the minimalist case for thinking that in this first-century letter, and in this Christological narrative, ἁρπαγμός must denote a kind of erotic abduction.
A brief review of Paul’s hostility to pagan sexual practices and contemporary Jewish texts that comment on the issue of marriage by abduction show Paul must have been aware of the phenomenon. Abduction marriage was a feature of ancient life, that was sometimes accepted and legalised. It featured among the founding stories of Rome and was a premise of the Homeric Cycle. Some justified the practice on the grounds that women wanted their lover to use force. In philosophical circles, there was an old and vigorous debate about sexual ethics and the position of (different kinds of) eros in the order of being. Philosophers of all stripes wrote about and debated erotic and related matters. Generally, they tried to eliminate or control passion and its destructive psychological and social effects.
Christ’s rejection of erotic abduction can now be seen as part of the author’s attempt to position his claims for Christ within a contemporary conversation. The hymn positions its Christology between two constituencies—popular religion and philosophy. The harpagmos clause addresses potential objections of the philosophers and the educated to the endorsement of the popular belief in divine self-transformation, by siding with its critics in their disdain for the gods’ unethical use of force and deception. The word—and its only attested ancient meaning—makes excellent sense given the hymn’s concerns and its first-century context. It contributes to the hymn’s peculiar ethical vision. The gods come with force to satisfy their heightened state of desire—their “erotomania”. Christ comes to reveal the character of the one God, as self-gift. He neither threatens nor deceives (though he is misperceived). He comes as a non-gendered ἄνθρωπος, not as an ἀνήρ with a supercharged libido. He comes to reveal God’s capacity for cruciform vulnerability to a world controlled by a pantheon of playboys and sex sirens.
So, the ouk harpagmos line fits very well with the Christ Hymn’s appeal to stories of the gods’ self-transformations—it’s interaction with popular pagan religion. Secondly, Christ hereby rejects one common understanding of the privileged position of powerful young men and rulers who claimed a divine identity or status. The gods’ lawless erotic conquests were used to inspire and justify a human disregard for respectful sexual conventions. Several texts show that the bachelor’s life was commonly thought to be “equal to god (τὸν δ’ ᾔθεον <βίον> … ἰσόθεον νομίζουσι)” because their unmarried status gave them “licence for whoring and enjoying various sordid and cheap pleasures” (Antipater of Tarsus, On Marriage frag. 63). Other sources show that the use of male force was justified and stimulated by the example of the gods’ pursuit of beautiful women and youths. So, Christ’s rejection of erotic abductions speaks to a popular audience too: Christ is god-equal, but not in that way.
There is also good circumstantial evidence that the adulterous and promiscuous behaviour of some emperors was justified, or inspired, by a similar logic: the likes of Caligula and Nero took women who were already married because they believed that they, above all men, were entitled to the same sexual or conjugal privileges of Zeus and the immortals. Following Caroline Vout (Power and Eroticism in Imperial Rome), that behaviour should be understood as a demonstration of imperial power. Imperium was “phallocratic”. An emperor’s potency was demonstrated by his sexual prowess and transcendence of ordinary laws.
In conclusion, ἁρπαγμός in Phil 2:6b means “erotic abduction” or “kidnap marriage”. Christ rejects the popular pagan belief that the truly divine—gods and goddesses of myth—employs its supreme power to force themselves sexually upon beautiful mortals. He rejects also, therefore, any notion that self-styled “god-equal” mortals, especially rulers and emperors, can legitimately appeal to the age-old stories about the gods to justify force and deception to bed beautiful men and women. The rivalry between Christ and the Caesars is present from the start of the hymn. But recognising the presence of that rivalry does not mean, as some have supposed, that the hymn’s concerns are primarily political and not theological.