At the uncertain boundary between apostolic memory and post-apostolic reflection, the so-called Epistle of Barnabas emerges as a fervent cry for Christian distinctiveness. More than a letter, it is a manifesto against Judaizing regression, an impassioned plea for spiritual maturity, and an allegorical tour de force in interpreting the Old Testament through the lens of Christ. Although long attributed to Paul’s companion, this anonymous voice resounds with Alexandrian echoes, steeped in mysticism and militant orthodoxy. Whether apostolic or not, it captures the early Church’s determination to distinguish the new covenant not only from the old, but from every misunderstanding of the old.
Editions
The textual history of the Epistle of Barnabas is labyrinthine. Early editions in Greek and Latin were incomplete, preserving only fragments (the first four chapters and part of the fifth), known in Latin through Archbishop Ussher (Oxford, 1643, lost to fire in 1644), Luc d’Achery (Paris, 1645), and Isaac Voss (Amsterdam, 1646).
The first full Greek text appeared thanks to Tischendorf’s 1862 edition of the Codex Sinaiticus, where it follows the Book of Revelation. This fourth-century manuscript, discovered by Tischendorf in 1859 at the monastery of St. Catherine on Mount Sinai, is now housed in St. Petersburg. In 1875, Bryennios discovered a second Greek manuscript (dated 1056) in Constantinople, alongside the Epistle of Clement, later collated by Hilgenfeld and used by Zahn, Harnack, and Gebhardt in their 1876 edition of the Patres Apostolici. Hilgenfeld’s critical edition of 1877 remains a milestone, enhanced by Bryennios’ collations.
Significant commentaries include those by Hefele-Funk (1878), Müller (1869), and Hilgenfeld. English translations have been provided by Wake (1693), Roberts and Donaldson (1867), Hoole (1872), Rendall (1877), and Sharpe (1880). German translators include Hefele (1840), Scholz (1865), Mayer (1869), and Riggenbach (1873).
1. Contents and Doctrine
The epistle opens anonymously and without reference to its recipients, calling its readers “sons and daughters in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,” and concluding with a benediction of peace. It presents itself not as a treatise from a master, but a meditation from an equal.
Its primary thrust is doctrinal (chapters 1–17), culminating in ethical exhortations to walk the “way of light” and avoid the “way of darkness” (chapters 18–21). Its thematic purpose aligns with Hebrews: to demonstrate Christianity as the divinely ordained fulfillment and replacement of Judaism. Yet it is less measured, less theologically refined. Here, the Mosaic covenant is not a preparatory stage, but a misunderstanding—the very law of Moses is declared broken so that the love of Christ might be imprinted on the heart.
The author targets not the spiritual meaning of the Old Testament, but its “carnal” misapprehension. His exegesis is strikingly allegorical. He dismisses the literal meaning of Jewish rituals: sacrifices, Sabbaths, dietary laws, and temple worship are reinterpreted as symbolic moral teachings. Dietary laws become metaphors for moral categories of people. The six days of creation signify six millennia of history; the seventh, a millennial rest; the eighth, eternity itself, prefigured by Sunday.
This radical hermeneutic leads to a powerful—if polemical—conclusion: the Jews have misunderstood their own Scriptures; the Christians are the true Israel. In its anti-Judaism, Barnabas goes further than any other post-apostolic writer, which has led some to accuse him of Gnostic or antinomian tendencies. But such judgments are unjust. He does not reject law per se; he exalts the new law of Christ. His voice is passionate, if unbalanced—echoing Paul’s fierce arguments in Galatians and Colossians, yet lacking Paul’s nuance. He may be regarded as a kind of proto-Orthodox Gnostic: anti-legalist, mystical, yet ultimately loyal to Christian orthodoxy.
The epistle’s historical and apologetic value is significant. It testifies to the observance of Sunday as the “eighth day,” celebrates the resurrection, and likely quotes Matthew 22:14 (“Many are called, few chosen”) with the formula “as it is written.” It also paraphrases Matthew 9:13 and draws from Pauline epistles, First Peter, and Revelation. Quotations from the Old Testament abound—especially Genesis, Exodus, Deuteronomy, Psalms, and Isaiah—alongside references to IV Esdras and Enoch.
2. Authorship
Early church fathers, notably Clement of Alexandria and Origen, ascribed the epistle to the apostle Barnabas, Paul’s companion. Origen regarded it with near-canonical reverence. The Codex Sinaiticus includes it immediately after Revelation, suggesting its liturgical use in some churches. Eusebius and Jerome, while naming Barnabas as author, considered it apocryphal—valuable, but not canonical.
Despite this strong external testimony, internal evidence favors a later, anonymous author. The tone and content of the epistle exceed what one might expect from Barnabas, especially given his historic role as mediator between Paul and the Judaizing apostles. His fierce rejection of the Mosaic law seems inconsistent with the conciliatory figure of Acts. Yet, human psychology and theological development being what they are, it’s possible that Barnabas experienced a personal transformation. Still, the writer’s speculative exegesis and harsh polemics feel alien to the apostolic voice.
If Barnabas wrote this epistle, he could not be the author of Hebrews, and vice versa—the theological chasm between the two is simply too vast. More likely, the author was a Jewish Christian from Alexandria, familiar with Philo’s methods and immersed in the allegorical school. Egypt was the first region to embrace the epistle, and the Codex Sinaiticus itself likely originated from Alexandria or Caesarea.
The intended readers were Jewish Christians tempted by ceremonialism. Though some scholars argue for Gentile recipients based on the epistle’s tone, the blending of Jewish-Christian motifs suggests a mixed audience in a region where Judaism still exerted cultural influence.
3. Date of Composition
The destruction of Jerusalem is presupposed as a completed event, situating the text post-70 A.D. Yet the work likely predates Hadrian’s rebuilding of the city as Aelia Capitolina (circa 120). Many scholars place its composition between 70 and 100 A.D. Some—like Wieseler and Funk—favor the Domitianic period (81–96), identifying the “little horn” of Daniel as Domitian. Others see evidence for a pre-98 date (before the death of Nerva). Funk and Hilgenfeld lean toward a late first-century composition, possibly as early as 79.
In sum, the Epistle of Barnabas is a fervent witness to the early Church’s struggle to define itself over and against the Judaism from which it emerged. While its authorship remains debated, and its theology sometimes teeters into excess, it remains a precious relic of early Christian thought: mystical, militant, and unapologetically Christian.
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