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This chapter highlights the next prominent focal point of the Son of Man concept that originates from Daniel, the so-called Similitudes. The Similitudes are part of the Ethiopic Book of Enoch and are dated by most scholars at around the turn of the first century BCE to the first century CE. One of its main features is the interest in a messianic redeemer figure called the “Son of Man,” which is referred back to Daniel 7, or “the chosen one.” The chapter analyzes the “Head of Days” as the “Ancient of Days” or the “Ancient One” from Daniel, and the “one with the appearance of a man” as the “one like a human being” or “Son of Man” in Daniel. Enoch's question as to the identity and origin of this son of man is not directly answered, but the answer came somewhat later.

Chapter Four demonstrates how Christ’s word from the Cross, ‘It is Finished’, refers back to the opening verses of Genesis, where, unlike every other aspect of creation, which is brought into existence by an imperative, a divine fiat—‘Let it be!’—the particular project of God is given in the subjunctive, ‘Let us make a human being’: a project only completed when Christ lays down his own life in an act of love, unwitting confirmed by Pilate, ‘behold the human being!’. The first part of the chapter shows how this theme is developed by John over the course of the Gospel, most notably in the ‘woman’ who appears in Cana and at the Cross, and in John 16, where she is in travail until a human being is born into the world. This theme is also traced in the Apocalypse, and in writers following on from John: Ignatius of Antioch writing on his way to martyrdom, Melito of Sardis in his Paschal celebration, and Irenaeus of Lyons as a fundamental feature of his account of the whole economy of God leading, in the end, to the true human being. The second part of this chapter explores how this understanding of the human being informs the enigmatic figure of the Son of Man, as he steps dramatically into view at the beginning of the Gospel and appears frequently thereafter, examining John Ashton’s new proposal for interpreting the Son of Man, as a stage in the composition of the Gospel before the idea of Incarnation came to the fore, but argues instead that the Son of Man is the true human being, uniting heaven and earth, ascending the cross to descend as the flesh he offers to the faithful.

This chapter covers another text from Qumran, the so-called Daniel Apocryphon. It refers directly to the Son of Man in the biblical Book of Daniel and has drawn attention from numerous scholars. The chapter describes Daniel Apocryphon as a fragment of an Aramaic scroll dating from the late Herodian period, which is the last third of the first century BCE. Its particular significance comes from its unique, straightforward way of mentioning a “Son of God” and “Son of the Most High.” The chapter also points out the relationship between the most high God El and Elohim-Melchizedek. Although Psalm 82:1 states that Elohim-Melchizedek holds judgment in the midst of the other gods, the judgment at the end of days is actually reserved for the Most High God El, as becomes clear from Psalm 7:8–9.

This chapter is devoted to the continuation of the Son of Man tradition in rabbinic Judaism. It explains how the Son of Man is virtually irrelevant among the rabbis of Palestine, in contrast to the Second Temple period. The point of departure of all binitarian speculations in Judaism is the enigmatic “Son of Man” in the biblical Book of Daniel. This book consists of various parts that were written at different times. It is certain that its final editing took place during the Maccabean period, which is in the first half of the second century BCE. The chapter also discusses who exactly is the Ancient One, who is the “one like a human being,” and who are the holy ones of the Most High.

This chapter describes the rabbinic passage in which some scholars recognize the tradition of Daniel's Son of Man as the young God is in the Mekhilta, a relatively early Palestinian midrash dating from the second half of the third century. This is an exegesis of Exodus 20:2: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt.” The chapter also highlights the subject of the midrash, which are the different manifestations of God, namely, once as a war hero and evidently young man, and once as an old man full of mercy. The young war hero reveals himself at the Sea of Reeds and the merciful old man reveals himself at Sinai. As the usual practice in the midrash, both manifestations are substantiated by bible verses.

This chapter talks about the eschatological connotation of the Son of Man established in Daniel, which came to light with particular clarity in the pseudepigraphic Fourth Book of Ezra. It originated after 70 CE, or more precisely around 100 CE, and is significant in its context because it refers back to the idea of the Son of Man in Daniel 7. It focuses on the line, “like the figure of a man” that is undoubtedly the same as “like a human being” in Daniel 7, although the man mentioned does not come with the clouds of heaven but at first comes up from the depths of the sea and then flies on the clouds of heaven. In contrast to Daniel, the man is not brought to God to receive dominion but instead fights for this dominion and brings final redemption to the people of Israel. With the man's appearance, a multitude gathered from the four corners of the world in order to “make war against the man who came up out of the sea.”

It is not enough just to remain fearful in the face of death, or to draw back before “the cup.” Christ, like all humankind, passed from fear to anxiety. From a recoil before what is imminent (fear), he goes on to pose the question of nothingness and of the possibility of meaning (anxiety). But he does not remain simply in this position of taking what is human in charge. Far from simply shutting himself up in his anxiety, he addresses the Father in a cry of dereliction. The Son is he who suffers from anxiety and passes it to the Father.

The prologue of John’s Gospel presents the glory of Jesus, something closely associated with his beauty, as being already being there from the very beginning of his historical existence and not postponed to his risen state. Jesus is also the Light of the world, which led to the creedal confession of his being Light from Light—or, as we might say, Beauty from Beauty. The beauty of light is the most perfect manifestation of the divine reality. The language of Christ as Light from Light entered Christian theology and liturgy. Glory and beauty attached to the images of the coming Messiah and Son of Man and, even more, to the image of Christ as divine Bridegroom. Augustine rightly acclaimed the beauty of the incarnation.

Terms like diakonia occur only occasionally in the Greek gospels. The leading statement is “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve/diakon-” (Mark 10:45). Many understand this as saying Jesus came “to serve people,” “to help people.” Greek usage requires us to understand, however, that while Jesus rejects any idea of people serving him, his own service is to carry out the mission entrusted to him by his Father. Other diakon- sayings emphasize that, whereas the world works through honor and power, discipleship works in response to the Word of God at a level where power does not operate, as in the case of slaves and children (Mark 9:34–36). Luke inserts the same teaching into the discourse Jesus delivers after his last meal with the disciples (Luke 22:27). The service (diakon-) due to a king (Matthew 25:44) must not be equated to relationships within discipleship.

This chapter takes a look at the supposed meaning of mythic texts. One notable instance is about the Jewish man from Galilee who experienced an early death and in public shame. The debate over the topic of the meaning of these mythic texts has two doubtful assumptions: the meaning of myth is a steady content that is carried on from one context to another, and that antecedents determine the meaning of the mythic texts. It also looks at the portrayal of the Johannine group of Jesus as the Son of Man who came from heaven. This portrayal is seen to include a number of redaction stages and complicated pre-literary traditions. This chapter finally shows that the Christ hymn serves as a master model that establishes the terms of the acting and thinking that are expected of the Philippians when faced with internal conflict and external hostility.

In the 1960s, Dusty Springfield’s voice earned her frequent comparisons to African American vocalists. This chapter argues that Springfield’s vocal sound reveals how racialized listening processes operate. It shows how the historical reception of Black singers in Britain, assumptions about how white women sounded, and a pop music scene that cultivated excitement through engagement with racial otherness moved listeners to hear her voice in racialized terms. The chapter begins with discussion of how Springfield’s story of vocal transformation has been told by her biographers. Then, it consider two key collaborations between Springfield and Black artists: the “Sound of Motown,” a special episode of the TV program Ready Steady Go!, and her 1969 album, Dusty in Memphis. Although separated only by five years, the two performances in question construct Springfield’s relationship to race and identity much differently, responding, in part, to political, cultural, and musical changes that occurred during the intervening years.