Was Daniel 7.13's ‘Son of Man’ Modeled after the ‘New Adam’ of the Animal Apocalypse (1 Enoch 90)? A Comparative Study

1. Introduction

1 Enoch (1 En.), a collection of apocalyptic texts dating from the fourth century bce to the first century ce, has been described as ‘the most important text in the corpus of Jewish literature from the Hellenistic and Roman periods’ (Nickelsburg 2001: 1). The Enoch tradition was a major influence on Early Judaism and Christianity, yet it is this very influence that renders the Enoch tradition problematic because this corpus was ultimately rejected by both orthodox Christianity and rabbinical Judaism and excluded from their respective canons. For almost two millennia, this corpus was lost, marginalized by both religious traditions, with the sole exception being the Ethiopic Church, from which it was recovered in the late eighteenth century. It would be naïve, therefore, to suppose that these two millennia of marginalization have not resulted in a tendency to regard this tradition with some suspicion. After all, admitting that Enochic traditions influenced Early Judaism and Christianity is tantamount to saying that a noncanonical text-tradition played a formative role in shaping our canonical texts. Fortunately, such canonical considerations are anachronistic for the Second Temple period.

1 Enoch has effectively challenged the long-standing assumption that the book of Daniel was the earliest apocalypse and apocalyptic text in Second Temple Judaism. The book of Daniel is, of course, the oldest work of apocalyptic literature in the Hebrew Bible, and its ‘son of man’ traditions played a major role in shaping Early Jewish messianism. But the Book of the Watchers predates the book of Daniel. It would be naïve, again, to suppose that there is no scholarly resistance to the idea that Daniel imitated, borrowed, or adapted Enochic motifs, images, or ideas (Beckwith 2002), but the Animal Apocalypse (1 En. 85–90) was composed at approximately the same time as Daniel 7, and this temporal, geographical, and linguistic proximity between traditions warrants investigation. The purpose of this article, therefore, is to explore the relationship between Daniel 7 and the Animal Apocalypse, in particular the escatological savior figures in Daniel 7 and Animal Apocalypse 90.

Unfortunately, we do not know very much about the social contexts) in which these texts originated, were produced, or transmitted, so we will have to tease out the nature of the relationship, if any, between the texts. It would be methodologically prudent, therefore, to begin by conceding that the author of the Animal Apocalypse may have adapted Danielic motifs. After all, Daniel 7 was utilized in the composition of 4Q246, the Parables, Q, the Gospels, and 4 Ezra. Surely it is possible that the author of the Animal Apocalypse could also have known and used Daniel. Alternatively, is also possible that the author of Daniel 7 borrowed ideas and motifs from the Enoch tradition, in particular, traditions found in the Animal Apocalypse. In either case, we would ideally be willing and able to bracket our concerns with Daniel's or the Animal Apocalypse's authority, canonical status, tradition, and inspiration. Our task is not to police or reinscribe the borders and boundaries between the canonical and non-canonical.

Daniel and the Animal Apocalypse are both ‘pseudepigraphical’. Both texts originated in a cultural milieu of phenomenal literary creativity and imitation. Both texts are Judean Aramaic literary compositions written either during or shortly after the Maccabean crisis (Grabbe 1991). Did the author(s) of either of these texts know the work of the other?

2. Literary Dependency: Methods and Approaches

Cases of alleged genealogical literary dependence face a formidable burden of proof (Klauck 1982). Furthermore, there is no reliable guidebook available for diagnosing cases of literary dependence (Brodie 2006: 43–49). The burden lies with the one claiming dependence. Nonetheless, when warranted, texts can and should be compared to other texts in terms of direct literary dependence (Doering 2006: 13–42, esp. 20–21; Smith 1990: 51; Mill 1879: 2). In such cases, the possibility of historical transmission must be shown. Accordingly, some scholars have delineated categories of registering similarity and difference. Karlheinz Müller offers four general categories delineating direct relationship: (1) adoption without modification; (2) adaptation; (3) reorganization; and (4) rejection (Müller 1985). Lutz Doering has also differentiated between ‘common tradition’ and direct dependence of a literary nature (Doering 1999; Seelig 2001: 316–19). In either case, we must be able to (re)construct or ‘discern’ the processes of transmission. In such cases of alleged influence or dependence, there should be evidence of some form of ‘exclusive similarity’, that is, similarities found exclusively in the presumed source text and recipient text as opposed to ‘inclusive similarity’, where similarities found in numerous works may simply be the result of a shared culture or ‘semiotic community’ (Cozijnsen 1998: 88; Shaw 1961: 58–71; but see Hermerén 1975: 207–19, 218–19). Genetic relationships between texts can also be established ‘by the presence of individually specific order or content from independent to dependent text’ (Crossan 1998: 118–19). Thomas L. Brodie has also proposed a number of helpful criteria: (1) external plausibility; (2) internal similarities; and (3) intelligibility of the differences. External plausibility requires that cases of alleged dependence must be plausible, that is, those making such claims must substantiate those claims with evidence that the author of the alleged dependent text could have had access to the independent text. Internal similarities between allegedly related texts can include shared themes, plot devices, motifs, the extent and order of the alleged similarities, and distinctive linguistic details. Finally, intelligibility of differences posits that differences between texts can sometimes be misleading, giving the (false) impression that two texts are not genealogically related when they are. Differences can be creative (re)interpretations. Brodie criticizes the assumption that literary dependence is only worth considering in cases where differences are limited as opposed to ‘dealing with the complexity of diverse kinds of literary relationship’ (Brodie 2001: 110). He notes that

Dennis R. MacDonald (2001: 2) has also developed criteria for establishing literary dependence in terms of literary µíµησiς in ancient texts. These six criteria are (1) accessibility, (2) analogy, (3) density, (4) order, (5) distinctiveness, and (6) interpretability (MacDonald 1994; 2000; 2003). The first criterion, accessibility, requires that an author could have had access to an ‘antetext’ (MacDonald 2001: 2). The second criterion, analogy, ‘asks if the ancient authors imitated the same proposed model’ (MacDonald 2003: 4). Analogy thus examines the possibility that other (ancient) authors also utilized an ‘antetext’ and ‘seeks for examples of imitations of the same story by other authors’ since the case for dependence is strengthened by examples of other analogies. Criteria 3, 4 and 5 ‘examine similarities between two texts that might indicate mimesis’. Criterion 3, density, investigates the number and volume of parallels between any two texts (MacDonald 2003: 5). Criterion 4, order, looks for common or similar sequences in the parallels, since if parallels appear in the same order, the case for dependence is strengthened. MacDonald's fifth criterion, distinctiveness, attempts to determine the rarity and particularity of the influences, looking for examples of a telling word, phrase, context, or motif (MacDonald 2003: 5). The argument for distinctive traits is ‘cumulative’ and texts that display several distinctive traits in common make a prima facie case for literary dependence. MacDonald's sixth criterion, interpretability, asks how literary dependence may be meaningful in a particular context, and thus involves an assessment not only of strategic differences between the texts, but ‘an assessment of why the author may have targeted the model for imitation’ (MacDonald 2001: 7). Ancient authors not only imitate or emulate other works as antetexts, but also ‘transvalue’ other texts, that is, radically modify, subvert and/or transform their ‘antetexts’. Such imitations are often found in narrative devices of plot, motifs, and characterizations, but not necessarily in precise verbal agreements. Imitations can thus be disguised by an author utilizing a variety of sources and borrowing from several models (‘mimetic eclecticism’).

It is not likely that a direct literary relationship can be demonstrated between Daniel 7 and Animal Apocalypse 90. There are no obvious instances of literary dependence in either direction and we lack a full Aramaic text of the Animal Apocalypse. Furthermore, we know very little about the individuals who wrote these texts, let alone the communities and traditions they were related to. In order for a direct literary relationship to be posited, a comparative analysis must meet and fulfill certain criteria in a manner arguably more compelling than positing independent or coincidentally developing traditions. Despite this burden of proof, a comparative study of Daniel 7 and Animal Apocalypse 90 does not require literary dependence to posit meaningful relationship. We must look for shared themes and motifs as the question and possibility of non-literary relationship, or oral tradition, can be posited as a secondary form of ‘textual’ transmission. After all, there are many ways that the Enoch traditions could have been encountered, absorbed, and incorporated by different authors. Conversely, it is certainly possible, as the reception history of Daniel 7 illustrates, that Daniel's vision was known to contemporary scribes. Let us begin, then, with a brief review of the contents of Daniel 7 and Animal Apocalypse 90.

3. The ‘One Like a Son of Man’ in Daniel 7.13

In Dan. 7.13, a figure identified as ‘one like a son of man’ appears in a heavenly court before the ‘Ancient of Days’, and his arrival coincides with the eschatological vindication of Israel. The ‘son of man’ does not come down to earth to lead the battle nor is he ever explicitly identified as a particular individual (Kim 1983: 19). The ‘son of man’ comes with the clouds of heaven and is given ‘dominion, glory and a kingdom’. The Danielic ‘son of man’ is not a traditional Davidic figure (Collins 1992; 1995: 36; Slater 1995; Charlesworth 1980; Nickelsburg 1992; Tödt 1965; Jüngel 1967; Hahn 1969; Fuller 1954; 1962; 1965; 1985; Barrett 1967; Borsch 1963; 1967; 1970; 1992). Daniel 9.25 does describe a ‘messiah/anointed prince’ who will be ‘cut off, but does not identify or even relate the ‘prince’ of 9.25 with the ‘one like a son of man’ of 7.13. It is in the Parables, and perhaps 4Q246, that the Danielic figure is first conflated with royal messianic expectations (Collins 1993: 80–81; Kim 1983: 26; Marshall 1966: 350; 1994: 73; Hooker 1967: 78; Higgins 1969: 155; Dunn 1997: 209; Evans 1995; Schiffman 1995: 344; Betz and Riesner 1994: 93–97). Some scholars see the ‘son of man’ as a symbol of Israel, but the ‘son of man’ is best understood as the archangel Michael, the ‘prince of Israel’ (Collins 2007: 217; Gaide 1969: 101–102; Lacocque 1976: 133; Goldingay 1989: 172; Emerton 1958; Rowland 1982: 182; Day 1985: 167–77, esp. 172). Daniel 12.1 explicitly describes the arrival of Michael, ‘the great prince, the protector of your people’. In a similar vein, according to Dan. 7.21–22, it is ‘the holy ones’ who gain ‘possession of the kingdom’. In 7.27, ‘kingship and dominion’ is given to the ‘people of the holy ones of the Most High’. Most scholars see the ‘holy ones’ as a reference to angels (Collins 1974; Procksch 1927: 429; Noth 1966; 1966; Dequeker 1960; 1973; Albright 1957; Coppens 1969). In the vast majority of cases, the Qumran corpus, like the Hebrew Bible, uses the term ‘holy ones’ for angels (Deut. 33.2; Ps. 89.6, 8; Job 5.1; 15.15; Zech. 14.5; 1 En. 1.9; Mark 8.38; 13.27; Mt. 13.40–42, 47–50; 16.27; 24.31; 25.31; Lk. 9.26; 1QM 12.7–8). Angels were highly venerated in Early Judaism and Qumran (Stuckenbruck 1995; Noll 1979; Davidson 1992).

Considering the time, place, and social setting of its composition, the book of Daniel rightly belongs ‘in the domain of resistance literature’ (Collins 1977: 207; 1985; Grabbe 1989; Sim 1995: 6–7, 9–11), and may be related to the Hasidim (Plöger 1968; Hengel 1974: I, 175–218; Collins 1977: 201; Davies 1977; Redditt 1998). The author intends to ‘inspire active but non-militant resistance’ (Collins 1977: 208). Daniel does not ‘exclude a national restoration on the earthly level’, but military resistance is only ‘a little help’ (Dan. 11.34). The book of Daniel uses the term the ‘wise’ to refer to a specific group or circle of elite among the righteous of Israel, the ‭םיליכשמ‬ (Dan. 11.33–35; 12.3, 10). This was most likely a scribal community of some kind (Davies 2001: 255; Newsom 1990). There are several references to a maskil in 1QS (3.13; 9.12.21; 1QSb 3.22), which suggests that ‘the maskilim of Daniel and the writings from Qumran…are connected by more than literary dependence’ (Davies 2002: 262). There is little agreement, however, among specialists in determining the identification of these groups. Tiller (2005: 26) reminds us that

Similarly, Lange (2005) suggests it may be more helpful to think in terms of ‘a wider apocalyptic milieu’. Collins (1999) proposes that we think in terms of ‘a multiplicity of groups’, ‘quite small and loosely structured’, although he holds open the possibility that these groups ‘all came together eventually in the community of the new covenant which we know from the Scrolls’. In any case, the author responsible for Daniel has, like the authors of the Enochic literature and the Qumran community, inherited ‘non-Palestinian traditions’ (Davies 2002: 257; Collins 1997; Emerton 1958; Cross 1973: 345 n. 8; Nicholson 1979: 206; VanderKam 1984; Neugebauer 1985; Grelot 1958a; 1958b).

4. The ‘New Adam’ of the Animal Apocalypse (1 En. 90)

A major theme of the Enoch tradition is the coming judgment in which God will restore the original creation and reverse the misfortunes of the current age. The Enochic tradition posed an alternative to ‘normative’ Jewish traditions of an orderly world in positing a secret tradition of the origins of evil (Boccaccini 1998: 71). This tradition, characterized by its pronounced eschatology and emphasis on revealed Wisdom, may have also presented itself as ‘an alternative or rival to the Mosaic Torah’ (Nickelsburg 1998: 124; 2007). The Temple priesthood, to the extent that it presumed to be able to mediate atonement for sin, was mistaken, and its administration was not only impure, but a potential instrument of evil.

The Enochic texts served a number of functions at Qumran (Nickelsburg 2001: 109–12). The texts were compatible with the religious thought of the Qumran community. The calendrical material informed their community life and religious observances. The texts ‘informed and undergirded the community's high escatological consciousness’, supported the community's ‘dualistic cosmology’ and its ‘claims to possess special revelation’. The Enochic tradition also provided a critique of the Temple and a theological system of sin and the demonic realm.

The Animal Apocalypse, written during the Maccabean revolt (Baumgarten 1997: 170; Collins 1998: 53–56, 90; Nickelsburg and VanderKam 2004: 9–10; Rowland 1982: 252), is an allegory representing the history of the world from the creation of Adam to the end-time. Composed in Aramaic (Milik 1976; note the Aramaic construction of 1 En. 89.36 in 4QEn^c 4 10: ‭שונא‬ ‭אוהו‬ ‭ךפהחא‬ ‭ןד [א]רמ[א, ‘that sheep was changed and was a man’), the Animal Apocalypse is one of two dream-visions in the Book of Dream Visions and was ‘originally an independent work’ (Tiller 1993: 98–99). Nonetheless, it shares the basic worldview of other Enoch texts, and was probably written in Judea (Tiller 1993: 83, 101, 118–19).

Patrick Tiller proposes that it originated within ‘a sociological group of students of Enochic traditions’ (Tiller 1993: 124), a group given to speculations about hidden heavenly tablets, the secrets of creation, and the mysteries of the beginning and end-times. This was not a static tradition, and political and religious loyalties may have changed over time (Tiller 1993: 118).

Devorah Dimant (1984: 544) has suggested that the ‘lambs’ of the Animal Apocalypse correspond to the Dead Sea community described as a ‘plant root’ in CD. Loren Stuckenbruck (2005: 96) also affirms the existence of a particular group responsible for the Animal Apocalypse and the Enoch traditions, but it is not clear whether this group had a genealogical relationship to the Dead Sea community. Consequently, there is still considerable debate on the militant (or pacifistic) orientation of the group (Collins 1977: 205; Albertz 2002, 195, 197–98; Assefa 2007), as well as the anti- or non-Mosaic character of the Enochic corpus as a whole (Bachmann 2009 and 2011).

A major theme of the Animal Apocalypse is the periodization of history from the first days of creation to the ‘end of days’. Enoch's vision includes the Flood, the punishment of the fallen angels and the history of Israel in symbolic or ‘zoomorphic’ form. Although the Animal Apocalypse has a marked ‘lack of interest in the Davidic monarchy’ (Collins 2005b: 62), its author looked forward to a glorious redemption: Enoch sees that the end-time will reverse the earlier state of humanity (Black 1985: 82–83; Knibb 1978: II, 216; Tiller 1993: 383):

Here the ‘anthropological restoration of humanity to the primordial conditions enjoyed by Adam’ is inaugurated by ‘a new individual’ who represents a ‘restored Adamic humanity’ (Tiller 1993: 383–85; VanderKam 1995: 84–85; Nickelsburg 2001: I, 407). The ‘white bull’ is a ‘second Adam’ who appears at the ‘end of days’ (Black 1985: 20–21; Milik 1976: 45; Oegema 1998: 56; Hengel 1974: 344; Kvanvig 2007: 194). He is an ‘eschatological redeemer’ and quasi-messianic figure (Black 1985: 20–21; Pedersen 1926: 419; Oegema 1998: 68–69; Baumgarten 1997: 171; Nickelsburg 1987: 55–56; 2001: 406–407; Lindars 1984: 14; Regev 2007: 209; Tiller 1993: 19–20, 365–92; Boccaccini 2007: 263–89, esp. 273; Bautch 2007: 354; Scroggs 1966: 23; Kvanvig 2007: 210).

The Enoch tradition looked to the remote Edenic past, not the monarchial age, for its hope of eschatological restoration (Tiller 1993: 388): the eschatological Adam has a very specific function: to be a ‘catalyst for the transformation of all humanity’ (Tiller 1993: 385). There will be ‘neither Jew nor Gentile, but one Adamic race’ (Tiller 1993: 385). His role is predestined and has a salvific significance, envisioning ‘a return to the beginning’ and catalyzing ‘the transformation of all the species into white bulls, the one species from which all of them came’ (Nickelsburg 2001: 407). This is a ‘universal transformation’ (Boccaccini 1998: 93; Regev 2007: 217) inaugurated by the appearance of an eschatological savior in an ideal human form.

5. Daniel 7 and 1 Enoch 90: A Comparative Analysis

The relationships between the Enochic traditions, Essenism, Daniel, and the Qumran community are complex and obscure (Collins 2005a; 2007b: 284). Many fragments from Qumran ‘do not correspond to anything in Daniel or 1 Enoch, yet…preserve an overlap of traditions contained in both books’ (Stuckenbruck 2002: 370). The ‘pseudo-Danielic’ literature of 4Q243–45 seems to have read Daniel in light of 1 Enoch 83–90, perhaps as a way to mediate between Enochic and Danielic eschatology (Boccaccini 1998: 81–86; Collins and Flint 1996; Collins 1996). In these texts, the historical perspective is expanded far beyond the exile in order to include all of world history, including the Flood, as in the Animal Apocalypse.

The Book of Giants (4Q530) also attests to how the ‘Danielic and Enochic apocalyptic traditions overlap’ (Stuckenbruck 2001: 371; 1997a). 4Q243–45 find their ‘closest analogy’ in the Animal Apocalypse, which suggests ‘a blending of Danielic and Enochic traditions which takes a form found in neither Daniel nor the Animal Apocalypse’ (Stuckenbruck 2002: 375). The preserved fragments show ‘a cross-fertilization between intellectual traditions associated with both Daniel and Enoch’ (Stuckenbruck 2002: 376), suggesting that ‘the author of Daniel knew the early Enochic traditions well enough to draw upon and then adapt them for his own purposes’ (Stuckenbruck 2002: 385; cf. 1997b; Elgvin 1998: 150).

The book of Daniel has a close relationship with the Book of the Watchers. The term ‘Watcher’ itself (‭ריע‬), so commonly used in the Book of the Watchers (10.7, 9; 12.2, 3; 13.10, 14.1, 3; 15.2, 9; 16.1, 2; 22.6 Aramaic) is also used in Daniel for ‘angel’ (Dan. 4.13, 17, 23). The book of Daniel is also the only book in the Hebrew Bible to name Gabriel (Dan. 8.16; 9.21) and Michael (Dan. 10.13, 21; 12.1), angels that are also named in the Book of the Watchers (9.1; 20.5, 7). Finally, we should not forget the similar throne visions in Dan. 7.9–10 and the Book of the Watchers 14.18–22. Both Daniel and the Animal Apocalypse employ the theme of escatological judgment and vindication, and since both texts were preserved at Qumran and feature a (quasi-) ‘Babylonian’ seer, it would seem to strain credulity not to conclude that these two visionary texts—composed at the same time, in the same geographical area, and both responding to the same politico-religious conflict—are related. Both texts share a number of general features: a first-person visionary account of an ideal human (or human-like) being who enjoys an intimate relationship with God and who will appear to inaugurate a new age of universal salvation. The two texts display a striking number of similarities (see table below):

OPEN IN VIEWER

Animal Apocalypse 90	Daniel 7
ca. 165 bce	ca. 165 bce
Judean	Judean
Aramaic	Aramaic
eschatological	eschatological
apocalyptic vision	apocalyptic vision
scene on earth	scene in heaven
Adamic figure	Angelic figure
quasi-messianic	quasi-messianic
non-Davidic	non-Davidic
universal salvation	universal salvation

Given the high number of general similarities and that both texts endorse, at least in the interim, the Maccabean revolt, is there anything in their differences that might reveal the nature of their historical relationship? In other words, is there any discernible evidence or indication that the author of Daniel 7 knew the Animal Apocalypse or that the author of the Animal Apocalypse knew Daniel 7? If the former, what did the author of Daniel hope to accomplish? If the latter, did the author of the Animal Apocalypse find fault with Daniel's vision or its outcome and seek to correct it? In the Book of the Watchers, it is Michael who defeats the evil angels (15.8–10). In the Parables, Michael also appears before the ‘Lord of Glory’ (1 En. 40), defeating the evil angels (1 En. 54). Similarly, in the book of Daniel, Michael receives the kingdom on behalf of the ‘holy ones’ and the ‘people of the holy ones’. Michael has a central role in the eschatological defeat of the evil kingdoms as Daniel envisions angelic powers overthrowing the final evil kingdom and restoring the ‘kingdom’ of Israel. The author of Daniel does not endorse the idea that evil comes from the fallen angels, but rather from the oppression of wicked empires. The dominant identifying marker of the ‘son of man’ figure in Dan. 7.13 is not Davidic, but angelic. Similarly, the Adamic figure in the Animal Apocalypse 90 is not explicitly Davidic (Koch 1996). Consequently, it can safely be said that neither Daniel nor the Animal Apocalypse envision eschatological redemption emanating (solely or exclusively) from Davidic dynastic ideology. The Animal Apocalypse does appear to endorse the Maccabean struggle, although its ultimate vision is an era of eschatological nonviolence. The Maccabean revolt is envisioned as the inauguration of the end-time which will bring in the true fulfillment of divine will. Similarly, Daniel does not deny or condemn the efficacy of Maccabean efforts, but they are only ‘a little help’. Consequently, it is safe to say that neither text sees military action as sufficient.

Here we must proceed with due caution. The book of Daniel betrays no explicit or overt, let alone unmistakable reference to the Enoch tradition. This silence is conspicuous, given that we know the Enoch tradition enjoyed popularity in at least some Jewish scribal circles at the time. Does the author of Daniel ignore it on purpose? Is it a rival, competing, or complementary tradition? Utilizing the different criteria developed by Müller, Doering, Crossan, Brodie, and MacDonald, we may safely eliminate coincidence and ‘common tradition’ as plausible explanations for the multiple parallels between the two contemporary texts.

Moreover, following Brodie, we may preliminarily concede that genealogical dependence is certainly plausible in this case. The author(s) of Daniel 7 or the Animal Apocalypse 90 could well have had access to the other. There are also internal similarities, including a shared eschatological theme and plot. Following MacDonald, we can affirm that the texts were indeed accessible, that Daniel 7 was indeed imitated by other authors, and that there are a number of shared motifs. But are the similarities distinctive, interpretable, and intelligible? In order to posit genealogical dependence, there must be some sort of ‘exclusive similarity’ between two texts (i.e. similarities found exclusively in the presumed source text and recipient text). Following Müller, we would need to admit that this is not an adoption without modification, nor an outright polemical rejection. Rather, it is either a creative adaptation or a reorganization. So why would one author have borrowed, imitated, or appropriated the other's work?

6. Assessing the Evidence

Did the author of the Animal Apocalypse know and seek to correct Daniel's vision so as to expand the horizons of its eschatological fulfillment, utilizing an Urzeit/Endzeit framework? The influence of Dan. 7.13 on the composition of the Parables is well known (VanderKam 2002), as is its influence on Q, the Gospels, and 4 Ezra (Evans 2006: 45–46). Daniel 7.13 influenced the author of the Parables, but that author also conflated the ‘son of man’ figure with Davidic messianism while simultaneously retaining much of the Enochic theological tradition. In the Parables, the ‘son of man’ belongs to the Urzeit (1 En. 48). This is as reminiscent of the figure of Adam as it is of the figure of Wisdom. The Parables represent an amalgamation of the Daniel and Enoch traditions (such as we see at Qumran), but in a Judean setting, which helps explain why it favors both Daniel and Davidic messianism and yet found its way into Q and Matthew. The reception history of Dan. 7.13—once the angelic ‘son of man’ figure was conflated with Davidic royal messianism in 4Q246, the Parables, the Gospels, and 4 Ezra—overshadowed the contemporary authority of the Enochic tradition. Given the demonstrated creative exegesis of Daniel 7 in Early Judaism and Christianity, positing Danielic influence on the Animal Apocalypse would seem to be an appealing conclusion, considering Daniel's authority as a highly influential (and ultimately canonical) text. Yet these developments had not yet occurred at the time of the composition of Daniel 7.

Could the author of Animal Apocalypse have disapproved of Daniel's disregard for the fallen angels tradition or the more limited scope of its vision of redemption? These are possibilities, to be sure. Yet considering that the Book of the Watchers predates the composition of Daniel, that the Qumran evidence strongly suggests Daniel's use of Enoch, the cross-fertilization of these traditions, and that there is no explicit counter-polemic against Danielic ideas in the Animal Apocalypse, it does not seem likely that the author of Animal Apocalypse used Daniel. We must now consider Daniel's possible use of the Animal Apocalypse.

7. The Case for Enochic Influence on Daniel 7

Here we may proceed with some observations. Naturally, these tentative suggestions are subject to revision, but it is worth noting the political and religious functions of pseudepigraphy. Daniel is an Israelite seer who trumps the ‘Chaldean’ wisdom tradition. He is wiser than the ‘wise men of Babylon’. Here we might recall the Babylonian origins of the Enoch tradition. The author of Daniel may be challenging the Enoch tradition's authority and Babylonian provenance by positioning ‘Daniel’ as the wisest man in the Babylonian court who prophesies the ‘kingdom’ going to Israel. It is also noteworthy that Dan. 8.3–14 features an elaborate vision with ‘rams’ with ‘horns’ and ‘goats’ which is also interpreted politically (8.18–26). This immediately brings to mind the Animal Apocalypse's zoomorphic history, although Daniel is a far more restrained example of this. The Animal Apocalypse tells the story of Israel within human history by appealing to the symbolic figures of bulls, goats, sheep, rams, and cows (see also 89.10, 42, for other figures). In Animal Apocalypse 89.42, King Saul and King David are both ‘rams’. Similarly, in Daniel 8, the kings of Media and Persia are depicted as ‘rams’. In Animal Apocalypse 86.3–4, the Enochic story of the fallen angels is retold, and the Watchers are identified as ‘stars’ that ‘cast themselves down from heaven’ and became bulls. In Dan. 12.2–3, the righteous ‘sheep’ become ‘stars’:

Those who ‘arise’ will be immortal ‘stars’. In the Animal Apocalypse, angels are symbolically identified as ‘stars’. Daniel 12.1 also describes how Michael, ‘the great prince, the protector of your people, shall arise’, which strongly suggests identifying Michael with the ‘son of man’ of Daniel 7. The ‘son of man’ figure receives ‘dominion and glory and kingship’ (Dan. 7.14). This is interpreted, in Dan. 7.27, to signify ‘the kingship and dominion…given to the people of the holy ones of the Most High; their kingdom shall be an everlasting kingdom’. The symbiotic relationship between the ‘son of man’ and ‘Israel’ is further supported by Dan. 12.1, where the author describes the arrival of Michael, ‘the great prince, the protector of your people’. The distinctive use of ‘zoomorphic’ symbology for prophetic visions, the similar use of ‘rams’ for ‘kings’, and ‘stars’ for angels or angel-like immortal beings suggest that the author of Daniel may indeed have known and utilized the Animal Apocalypse.

Does this mean that the author of Daniel was ideologically opposed to the Enoch tradition? Gabriele Boccaccini has argued that Daniel takes an ‘anti-Enochic stance’, defending the Mosaic Torah and the legitimacy of the Temple (Boccaccini 1998: 82–83; cf. 1987; 1991), suggesting that the corruption of the world is caused not by fallen angels, but ‘the Jewish people's transgression of the Mosaic covenant’ (Boccaccini 1998: 84). Yet there is no explicit evidence of an ‘anti-Enochic’ position in Daniel. Imitation need not signify competition.

By the early second century bce, the Enoch tradition(s) were revered by influential members of the Jewish intellectual and religious elite and the composition of a new text (Daniel) rivaling the eschatological vision of (the pre-Israelite) Enoch could have sought to replace it in a manner more amenable to a new or different group competing for power and authority.

Did the author of the Animal Apocalypse find Daniel's vision incomplete or needing correction? Or was the author of Daniel challenging or rivaling the Enoch tradition? The evidence is inconclusive, but it is highly unlikely that these two authors coincidentally responded to the socio-political pressures of the Antiochean crisis with remarkably similar ‘apocalyptic’ visions of eschatological salvation. We must fall back on inference. The Enoch tradition, especially the Book of the Watchers and the Astronomical Book, precedes the composition of Daniel 7. The Qumran evidence illustrates Daniel's use of Enoch, and the Qumran community clearly saw both Daniel and the Enoch traditions as authoritative and compatible. There is no compelling reason to posit an ideological opposition between Daniel and the Animal Apocalypse.

If the vision described in the Animal Apocalypse 90 influenced the composition of Daniel 7, this could have far-reaching implications. First, it would mean that the literary, historical, and theological origins of the ‘son of man’ vision in Daniel (and its subsequent tradents) derive, in part, from Daniel's adaptation of the Enochic Adam. This influence could theoretically expand the horizons of cultural and theological influences on Daniel 7 beyond the angelic, messianic, and Canaanite to include the God/Adam relationship, perhaps mediated by the relationship between El and Baal in Ugaritic literature (Lacocque 2002: 121–22; Koch 2002: 421–26).

Second, Daniel's use of the Animal Apocalypse urges us to revisit a now largely discredited tradition. The Religionsgeschichtliche Schule maintained that the literary, historical, and theological origin of the ‘son of man’ tradition derived from a heavenly Anthropos-Primal Man myth. It located the cultural background of Paul's thought in ancient Near Eastern speculation on the myth of the ‘Primal Man’ (Urmensch), arguing that this myth influenced the biblical Adam narrative and, combined with Jewish messianism, produced the ‘son of man’ tradition (Reitzenstein 1978: 426–96; Bousset 178, 188–200; Bultmann 1951–55: I, 174, 251, 289–90; Brandenburger 1962; Creed 1925; Murmelstein 1928; Staerk 1938: 7–138; Kraeling 1927; Manson 1955: 174–90; Mowinckel 1956: 420–37; Cullmann 1963: 139–52). This thesis has been severely criticized (Colpe 1961; Wedderburn 1970), especially as a wide range of Adamic speculations were conflated with other ideas, for example, the ‘Primal Man’, Manichaeism, Mandaeanism, Zoroastrianism's Gayomart, and so on, to construct a ‘son of man concept’ (Collins and Collins 2008: 76–77; Colpe 1961; 1972; Leivestadt 1972; Vermes 1984: 96–98; Perrin 1974: 26; Lindars 1984: 3). The ‘Primal Man’ may be a scholarly invention produced by conflating different motifs over long expansive periods of time and space (Colpe 1961: 191; Scroggs 1966: ix; Black 1954: 177). The sources used to (re)construct this myth are post-Pauline and there is no clear evidence of a pre-Christian Gnostic conception of a ‘Primal Man’ (Black 1954: 171–72).

Nonetheless, this approach might also have recognized the presence of anthropological themes in the traditions that required explanation and recognized that ‘Adamic’ motifs—motifs of an ideal eschatological humanity—were indeed present in Early Judaism and Christianity. A number of scholars have argued that Paul derived his Christ/Adam typology from Jesus’ identification as the ‘son of man’ (Rawlinson 1978: 122–23; Manson 1955 [1935]: 233–24; Cullmann 1963: 166–81; Barrett 1967: 75–76; Ellis 1957: 96–97; Wedderburn 1970: 86–114; but see Vögtle 1951; 1961; 1963; Fitzmyer 1979: 144; Kim 1983: 184–85; Thrall 1970: 306–307; Fuller 1965: 233–34). Rawlinson (1978: 122–36) argued that Paul combines the apocalyptic ‘son of man’ tradition with the description of Adam being made in the image of God. Barrett (1962: 75–76) proposed that the ‘son of man’ is combined with the post-fall Adam. Black (1954: 172–75, 179) argued for a combination of son of man eschatology with rabbinic speculations about pre- and post-fall Adam, noting that Paul uses the term ἄνθρωπoς interchangeably with the names of Adam and Christ. He also described the ‘second man’ as the ‘man from heaven’ (1 Cor 15.47). J. Jeremias regarded Paul's ‘Adam/Christ antithesis’ as expressing ‘the same thought as underlies Jesus’ self-identification as bar nasha’ (Jeremias 1967: 143). Manson argued that Paul rendered bar nasha as ὁ ἄνθρωπoς and that ‘we have in the Pauline teaching the same conception of the Son of Man as in the teaching of Jesus’ (Manson 1955: 234). Johannes Weiss emphasized the identity of ‘the Man’ with the ‘son of man’ (Weiss 1959). Vincent Taylor identified Paul's ‘heavenly Man’ as the ‘son of man’ (Taylor 1958: 48). Oscar Cullmann concluded that the expression ‘son of man’ provided the starting point for Paul's ideas about the Second/Last Adam (Cullmann 1963: 172, 145). Cullmann argues that ‘the idea of the “Second Adam” goes back to the same root as that of the Son of Man concept… The idea we found in Jesus’ sayings that the Son of Man at the same time represents all humanity is so common in Paul's writings…“Son of Man” and “Second Adam”…are internally united and always belong essentially together’. Ragnar Leivestad argued that Paul's ‘Second Adam’ is a proper interpretation of Jesus’ self-expression (Leivestad 1968: 102–03).

The absence of the term ‘son of man’ in Paul has been explained in a number of ways, including the possibilities that the phrase would have been unintelligible to Paul's Gentile audience and that the ‘son of man’ tradition had not developed yet, but if Daniel's ‘son of man’ tradition was inspired, in part, by the author's knowledge of the ‘messianic’ Adam tradition in the Animal Apocalypse, this could explain why Paul's Adam/Christ typology bears some resemblance to Palestinian ‘son of man’ traditions. James Waddell (2010: 234–59) has recently suggested that the absence of the term ‘son of man’ in Paul can be explained ‘in the context of a first-century Jewish soteriological debate which made reference to the biblical figure of Adam’ (Waddell 2010: 235). Waddell holds that the Greek Life of Adam and Eve represents a pre-70 CE Palestinian Jewish tradition that can be compared to the Christ hymn in Philippians 2 and that these texts represent ‘a soteriological debate “[that] occurred between at least two Jewish groups, those who articulated their soteriology in terms of “Adam” as the prototypical human being according to the traditions that came to be embedded in GLAE on the one hand, and early followers of Jesus who articulated their soteriology in terms of a supersessive Adam christology which had Jesus replacing Adam as both the image and “the glory of God the Father” according to Philippians 2.6–11’ (Waddell 2010: 252). Waddell argues that ‘Paul and the early followers of Jesus considered their christology to be a supersession of a particular Adam-typology contemporaneous with Paul’ and proposes that Paul ‘avoided using Son of Man terminology with reference to Jesus, because of the first-century soteriological debate over how one achieved eternal life’ (Waddell 2010: 258). According to Waddell, the Greek Life of Adam and Eve suggested that ‘it was possible for any human being, created in the image of God as Adam was, to gain access to the mercy of God and paradise through repentance’. Paul, however, ‘argued that this was not enough. For Paul it was necessary for Christ to replace Adam as the image and glory of God’. Consequently, by not referring to Jesus as ‘son of man’, Paul could then ‘avoid subordinating Jesus to Adam’ (Waddell 2010: 259).

It is not necessary, however, to appeal to the Greek Life of Adam and Eve for Paul's Adamic Christology. Paul's association and/or identification of Jesus with Adam derives from Jewish Christian circles familiar with the Animal Apocalypse's vision of a new universal Adamic humanity (Joseph 2012). The ‘son of man’ figure came to predominate in Early Jewish and Christian messianism, but a significant albeit obscured influence on its original Danielic expression—the highly idealized escatological Adam motif inscribed in the Animal Apocalypse—can now be reconstructed in its original Jewish universalist context.