Bible as a Human Witness to Divine Revelation: Hearing the Word of God Through Historically Dissimilar Traditions

LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES

469 Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series

Editors Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge

Founding Editors David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn

Editorial Board Richard J. Coggins, Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon, Norman K. Gottwald, Gina Hens-Piazza, John Jarick, Andrew D. H. Mayes, Carol Meyers, Patrick D. Miller, Yvonne Sherwood

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THE BIBLE AS A HUMAN WITNESS TO DIVINE REVELATION

Hearing the Word of God Through Historically Dissimilar Traditions

edited by

Randall Heskett and Brian Irwin

Copyright © 2010 by Randall Heskett and Brian Irwin

Published by T & T Clark International A Continuum imprint 80 Maiden Lane, New York, NY 10038 The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX www.continuumbooks.com Visit the T & T Clark blog at www.tandtclarkblog.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, T & T Clark International.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN: 978-0567-02851-8 (hardback) Typeset and copy-edited by Forthcoming Publications Ltd. (www.forthpub.com) Printed in the United States of America by Thomson-Shore, Inc

Gerald Sheppard (April 26, 1946 – November 15, 2003)

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CONTENTS Preface Acknowledgments Abbreviations List of Contributors

xi xv xvii xxi

Gerald T. Sheppard: A Biographical Sketch

xxiii

Part I HEARING THE WORD OF GOD THROUGH HISTORICALLY DISSIMILAR TRADITIONS PRIESTS FOR THE KINGDOM— TWO PRIESTHOODS FOR TWO REGIMES Walter Brueggemann

3

“IF YOU LISTEN TO MY VOICE…” (EXODUS 19:5): THE MYSTERY OF REVELATION Erich Zenger

15

DEUTERONOMY 29–34 AND THE FORMATION OF THE TORAH Randall Heskett

32

JEHOIACHIN AND JOSEPH: HOPE AT THE CLOSE OF THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY John E. Harvey

51

SEAMS IN THE BOOK OF ISAIAH: LOOKING FOR ANSWERS Paul D. Wegner

62

SCRIBAL CULTURE AND THE COMPOSITION OF THE BOOK OF ISAIAH Robert R. Wilson

95

AN INTERPRETATION OF THE DEATH OF ISAIAH’S SERVANT Stephen L. Cook

108

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

MICAH 7:8–20: RE-EVALUATING THE IDENTITY OF THE ENEMY James D. Nogalski

125

SOCIAL DRAMA IN THE PSALMS OF INDIVIDUAL LAMENT Norman K. Gottwald

143

ARE INDIVIDUAL COMPLAINT PSALMS REALLY PRAYERS? RECOGNIZING SOCIAL ADDRESS AS CHARACTERISTIC OF INDIVIDUAL COMPLAINTS W. Derek Suderman

153

GOD AS THE OBJECT OF ANGER IN THE PSALMS David John C. Zub

171

THE CONTRIBUTION OF ECCLESIASTES TO BIBLICAL THEOLOGY Peter Enns

185

THE DANIEL AND QOHELET EPILOGUES: A SIMILAR EDITORIAL ACTIVITY? (QOHELET 12:8–14 AND DANIEL 12:1–13) Pedro Zamora

202

JUSTIFICATION BY FAITH: A CASE OF HEARING THE ONE GOSPEL THROUGH HISTORICALLY DISSIMILAR TRADITIONS Frank D. Macchia

223

DIVINE ACTION AND BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION: HOW THE ORDINARY WORDS OF MEN AND WOMEN BECOME THE LIVING WORD OF GOD IN SCRIPTURE Michael T. Dempsey

235

Part II ADDITIONAL STUDIES “COLD DEAD HANDS UPON OUR THRESHOLD”: JOSEPHINE BUTLER’S READING OF THE STORY OF THE LEVITE’S CONCUBINE, JUDGES 19–21 Marion Ann Taylor

259

THE PORTRAYAL OF ASSYRIA IN THE BOOKS OF KINGS Marvin A. Sweeney

274

Contents SPEAKING OR SMOULDERING LIPS IN SONG OF SONGS 7:10 (ENG. 9)? Jennifer Pfenniger

ix

285

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN APOCALYPTICISM AND THE ORIGINS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT CANON OF SCRIPTURE David G. Meade

302

IN THE BOSOM OF THE BELOVED DISCIPLE: THE FOURTH GOSPEL’S NARRATIVE OPENNESS TO READERS Robert C. Fennell

322

The Published Works of Gerald T. Sheppard

337

Index of References Index of Authors

344 359

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PREFACE This volume is presented with respect and affection in honor and memory of Gerald T. Sheppard. Gerry Sheppard was a person whose work, teaching, and life affected and in
uenced many. His publications were numerous and touched on several elds of study. In his over 100 reviews, essays, articles, and books, Gerry Sheppard engaged subjects as diverse as Pentecostalism, history of interpretation, hermeneutics, the canonical approach to the Old Testament, and the interplay between eschatology and politics. This volume celebrates his lifelong devotion to biblical and theological studies and his great breadth of intellectual interests. The contributors have attempted to honor his legacy by focusing on different ways in which the reader of the Bible can hear the word of God even if various historical traditions bear witness to that voice in a dissimilar fashion. Gerry’s longtime friend and mentor Brevard Childs often expressed his deep appreciation for Gerry’s article “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,”1 and it was at his suggestion that it was chosen as the theme of this Festschrift. Sheppard focused on the formation of whole biblical books and how they functioned within the inter-testimony of scripture. He noted, for example, how the book of Daniel (9:2) calls attention to the book of Jeremiah as being among “the books” ()JCAD3, UBJKCJCMPJK). In his HarperCollins commentary on Isaiah, he advanced the idea that a “text” is a modern concept and Scripture is self-described as a “testimony.” Drawing on Michel Foucault, he described how using the modern term “author” created serious problems in reading ancient scriptures and obfuscated the scriptural function of the “designated writer.” He coined the phrases “canon-conscious” and “scripture-conscious redactions” to distinguish between any ordinary level of tradition history and later editorial levels, which betray consciousness of Scripture. He would say that Old Testament and New Testament writers like the apostle Paul were not conscious that they were writing Scripture. He was equally convinced, 1. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,” Int 36, no. 1 (1982): 21–33. 1

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however, that scripture-conscious editors would leave their “publisher’s notes” to give clues on how to interpret the Bible scripturally. Gerry maintained that it was often the case that these scripture-conscious editors would show biblical books to be commentary on Torah (Ps 1:1; Josh 1:7–8; Isa 1:10) or would place the Old Testament within the framework of three idioms of revelation—Torah, Prophets, and Wisdom (Pss 1–2 and 2 Sam 23:1–7). In Isa 8, for example, he showed how later editing semantically transforms the “torah” of the prophet (8:16) to be reminiscent of the Mosaic Torah (8:20). He suggested that the editors of the wisdom literature showed that wisdom is incomplete without hearing it in response to Torah and Prophets (e.g. Prov 30:3–6 answers a series of wisdom quests by citing Torah and Prophets; Qoh 12:13–14 cites from Torah as a solution to Qoheleth’s query). Sheppard called attention to these greater markers in the latter formation of Scripture and in so doing called many to a deeper understanding of Scripture.2 This volume represents just a small cross-section of Gerry’s wide and varied interests. Most of the essays in this collection address the same theme, “Hearing the Word of God Through Historically Dissimilar Traditions”; the rst of these treat this subject in relation to the Torah. In his “Priests for the Kingdom—Two Priesthoods for Two Regimes” Walter Brueggemann, for example, has written an essay on various historical problems within the book of Genesis, beginning with von Rad’s and Noth’s use of source criticism and his own understanding of how historically dissimilar texts can function within Scripture. Erich Zenger considers what it means to hear God’s voice and also describes how hearing God’s voice invokes messianic interpretation. Randall Heskett writes about how dissimilar traditions in Deut 29–34 have been woven together by scripture-conscious editing in order to frame a completed Torah.

2. See his, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament (BZAW 151; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1979); “Isaiah 1–39,” in Harper’s Bible Commentary (ed. James L. Mays et al.; San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 542–70; “The Book of Isaiah: Competing Structures According to a Late Modern Description of Its Shape and Scope,” in Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1992 (ed. E. H. Lovering Jr.; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars, 1992), 549–82; “The Book of Isaiah as a Human Witness to Revelation within the Religions of Judaism and Christianity,” in Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1993 (ed. E. H. Lovering Jr.; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars, 1993), 274–80; “The ‘Scope’ of Isaiah as a Book of Jewish and Christian Scripture,” in New Visions of Isaiah (ed. Roy F. Melugin and Marvin A. Sweeney; JSOTSup 214; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic, 1996), 257–81. 1

Preface

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Several essays focus on the Neviim. In a study connecting Torahtraditions with the Former Prophets, John E. Harvey describes Joseph– Jehoiachin parallels, claiming that DtrH has framed Jehoiachin to be a new Joseph. Four essays treat subjects related to the interpretation and formation of books in the Latter Prophets. Robert R. Wilson and Gerry shared an interest in the prophetic word, as well as an association with Yale University, where Gerry attended some of Professor Wilson’s classes. In his contribution, Professor Wilson explores the impact that scribal culture had on the formation of the book of Isaiah. Paul D. Wegner describes seams in the book of Isaiah in its latter formation. Stephen L. Cook writes on “An Interpretation of the Death of Isaiah’s Servant,” describing the signicance of the Servant’s suffering. Showing the intertestimony between Isaiah and Micah. James Nogalski re-evaluates the identity of the enemy and YHWH’s afrmative response to deliver and restore. In the area of Ketuvim, three pieces take up Gerry’s interest in the Psalter. In his “Social Drama in the Psalms of Individual Lament,” Norman K. Gottwald has provided a social-critical reading of the Psalms that builds on the work of Erhard Gerstenberger and Gerald Sheppard. Derek Suderman discusses how the common tendency to dene prayer as direct address to, or dialogue with, God and then to identify individual complaints as prayers proves fundamentally problematic. David Zub describes how the book of Psalms is a resource that can help give voice to the formful expression of the anger that is so much a part of grief and the human experience. In wisdom literature, Peter Enns depicts how Ecclesiastes (Qoheleth), read in conjunction with other wisdom books, brings to the surface in a profound, theological, and startling sense numerous biblical theological possibilities, which ripely contribute to the conversation of biblical theology. Building on Sheppard’s work on the epilogue of Qohelet (12:8– 14), Pedro Zamora describes how the conclusion to the book of Daniel (Dan 12:1–13) functions similarly. In a testimony to Sheppard’s breadth, theologians Frank D. Macchia and Michael T. Dempsey draw connections between Sheppard’s work on “Hearing the Word of God Through Historically Dissimilar Traditions” and the work of Karl Barth to show how human words testify to divine revelation. Macchia’s article is entitled “Justication by Faith: A Case of Hearing the One Gospel Through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,” and Dempsey writes on “Divine Action and Biblical Interpretation: How the Ordinary Words of Men and Women become the Living Word of God in Scripture.” 1

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While Gerald Sheppard was best known as an Old Testament scholar, his fertile and industrious mind ranged far and wide across the intellectual landscape. This innate curiosity and sweeping interest are re
ected in the “Additional Studies” that conclude this work. In a fashion that celebrates Gerry’s work in the history of interpretation and his passion for the poor and oppressed, Marion Ann Taylor provides a striking account of Josephine Butler’s reading of the story of the Levite’s Concubine in Judg 19–21. Marvin A. Sweeney, with whom Gerry participated in the Society of Biblical Literature Isaiah seminar, provides a historical study of Assyria in 1–2 Kings. Jennifer Pfenniger’s essay on Song of Songs 7:9 (Eng. 10) suggests a new reading of this verse and offers a glimpse into what was Gerry’s nal area of research. In his contribution, David G. Meade explores how a growing apocalyptic ideology, and the literary output that resulted, led to the development of a “canon consciousness” within the early Christian communities. Robert Fennell writes about the form and function of passages which testify to the “Beloved Disciple” in the Fourth Gospel. Few scholars have responded to the questions of modernity with the originality and breadth re
ected in the work of Gerald Sheppard. Not only did he show the limits of historical criticisms but also their necessity in describing the formation of Scripture. The contributors and editors hope that this volume will enhance a dialogue that responds to modernity but moves closer to describing the form and function of Scripture. The editors are grateful to T&T Clark International/Continuum and to Anne Sheppard for helping to make this volume possible.

1

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Throughout the life of this project, Gerry’s wife, Anne Sheppard, was generous with her time and insight. Her assistance through personal meetings and many phone conversations was of enormous benefit to the editors. As this project was first developing, conversations with Gerry’s mentor at Yale, the late Brevard Childs, led to the choice of its theme. The editors wish to express their appreciation for Professor Child’s life of scholarship and mentoring that has extended to touch even this undertaking. Our wives, Kim Beckman-Heskett and Elaine Irwin, deserve thanks for their support and encouragement throughout the course of this project. The editors are grateful to Wanda Chin, Registrar of Emmanuel College in Toronto, who at a busy time of the year graciously responded to our requests for assistance. Jonathan Weverink and Natasja Vanderberg in the Advanced Degree office of the Toronto School of Theology, Euan Cameron of Union Seminary in New York City, and Anna Sousa and Jennie Jones of the Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations Department at the University of Toronto assisted with information about Gerry’s activities at their institutions. Thanks are also due to Katie Gallof, our editor at T&T Clark, and to our copy-editor, Duncan Burns of Forthcoming Publications, for their patience, support, and responses to questions during the editorial process.

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ABBREVIATIONS AB ABRL ABS Agora ALUOS AnBib ANEP ANET Anton AOAT AOTC ARAB ATD AUSS BA BARead BBB BDB BETL BHS Bib BJRL BJS BKAT BN BTB BWA(N)T BZ BZAW CAH CBQ CBQMS 1

Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Reference Library Archaeology and Biblical Studies Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God Annual of Leeds University Oriental Society Analecta biblica Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. Princeton, 1954 Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Edited by J. B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton, 1969 Antonianum Alter Orient und Altes Testament Abingdon Old Testament Commentaries Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia. Daniel David Luckenbill. 2 vols. Chicago, 1926–27 Das Alte Testament Deutsch Andrews University Seminary Studies Biblical Archaeologist Biblical Archaeologist Reader Bonner biblische Beiträge Brown, F., S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs. A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament. Oxford, 1907 Biblioteca ephemeridum theologicarum lovaniensium Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia. Edited by K. Elliger and W. Rudolph. Stuttgart, 1983 Biblica Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester Brown Judaic Studies Biblischer Kommentar, Altes Testament. Edited by M. Noth and H. W. Wolff Biblische Notizen Biblical Theology Bulletin Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten (und Neuen) Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beiheft zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Cambridge Ancient History Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quarterly Monograph Series

xviii CC CD ConBOT COS CTM DibHam Dtr DtrH EBib ETL EvT ExpTim FAT FOTL FzB GBS HALOT

HAT HKAT HTKAT HTR HTS HUCA IBC ICC Int JANESCU JBL JEH JETS JQR JSJSup JSNTSup JSOTSup KAT KHC LD LHBOTS LSTS LXX

M Marc. 1

The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation Continental Commentaries Cairo Damascus Coniectanea biblica: Old Testament Series The Context of Scripture. Edited by W. W. Hallo. 3 vols. Leiden, 1997–2002 Concordia Theological Monthly Dibre Hame’orot (Words of the Luminaries) Deuteronomist Deuteronomistic History Etudes biblique Ephemerides theologicae lovanienses Evangelische Theologie Expository Times Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forms of the Old Testament Literature Forschung zur Bibel Guides to Biblical Scholarship Koehler, L., W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament. Translated and edited under the supervision of M. E. J. Richardson. 4 vols. Leiden, 1994–99 Handbuch zum Alten Testament Handkommentar zum Alten Testament Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament Harvard Theological Review Harvard Theological Studies Hebrew Union College Annual Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Preaching and Teaching International Critical Commentary Interpretation Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society of Columbia University Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of Ecclesiastical History Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society Jewish Quarterly Review Supplements to the Journal for the Study of Judaism Journal for the Study of the New Testament: Supplement Series Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kurzer Hand-Commentar zum Alten Testament Lectio divina Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies Library of Second Temple Studies Septuagint MilÜamah (War Scroll) Adversus Marcionem

Abbreviations ModTheol MT

NCB NEchtB NJPS

NTSup OBO OBT OTE OTL Pneuma QD QM RA RB RevExp RevQ RRelRes SBLDS SBLEJL SBLSP SBLSymS SBS SBT SHS ST SWARC Tg. Ps.-J. ThTo TJ TOTC TS TynBul VT VTSup WBC WMANT WUNT ZAW ZDMG ZS ZTK

1

Modern Theology Masoretic text New Century Bible Neue Echter Bibel Tanakh: The Holy Scriptures: The New JPS Translation according to the Traditional Hebrew Text Supplements to Novum Testamentum Orbis Biblicus et orientalis Overtures to Biblical Theology Old Testament Essays Old Testament Library Pneuma: Journal for the Society of Pentecostal Studies Quaestiones disputatae Qumran MilÜamah (War Scroll) Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale Revue biblique Review and Expositor Revue de Qumran Review of Religious Research Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature Early Judaism and its Literature Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers Society of Biblical Literature Symposium Series Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Studies in Biblical Theology Scripture and Hermeneutics Series Studia theologica Studies from the World Alliance of Reformed Churches Targum Pseudo-Jonathan Theology Today Trinity Journal Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries Texts and Studies Tyndale Bulletin Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft Zeitschrift für Semitistik und verwandte Gebiete Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

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CONTRIBUTORS Walter Brueggemann. Professor Emeritus of Old Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Georgia. Stephen L. Cook. Catherine N. McBurney Professor of Old Testament Language and Literature at Virginia Theological Seminary in Alexandria, Virginia. Michael T. Dempsey. Associate Professor of Theology at St. John’s University in New York City. Peter Enns, Ph.D. (Harvard). An independent scholar living in Lansdale, Pennsylvania. Robert C. Fennell. Assistant Professor, Systematic and Historical Theology at Atlantic School of Theology in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Norman K. Gottwald. Adjunct Professor of Old Testament, Pacic School of Religion in Berkeley, California and Professor Emeritus of Biblical Studies at New York Theological Seminary in New York City. John E. Harvey. Instructor in Biblical Studies at Thorneloe University and Registrar at Thorneloe College School of Theology, both in Sudbury, Ontario. Randall Heskett. President of Boulder University. Brian P. Irwin. Assistant Professor of Old Testament/Hebrew Scripture at Knox College, a Presbyterian seminary on the campus of the University of Toronto. Frank D. Macchia. Professor of Systematic Theology at Vanguard University of Southern California in Costa Mesa, California. 1

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David G. Meade, Ph.D. (Nottingham). A retired New Testament scholar and United Methodist minister living in Rochester, New York. James D. Nogalski. Professor of Old Testament at Baylor University in Waco, Texas. Jennifer Pfenniger. Adjunct Lecturer in Hebrew Language at Emmanuel College, University of Toronto, Toronto, Ontario. W. Derek Suderman. Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at Conrad Grebel University College, a Mennonite college at the University of Waterloo in Waterloo, Ontario. Marvin A. Sweeney. Professor of Hebrew Bible at Claremont School of Theology and Professor of Religion at Claremont Graduate University in Claremont, California. Marion Ann Taylor. Professor of Old Testament at Wycliffe College at the University of Toronto. Paul D. Wegner. Professor of Old Testament at Phoenix Seminary in Phoenix, Arizona. Robert R. Wilson. Hoober Professor of Religious Studies and Professor of Old Testament at Yale Divinity School in New Haven, Connecticut. Pedro Zamora. Professor of Old Testament and Rector at Seminario Evangélico Unido de Teología in El Escorial, Spain. Erich Zenger. Professor Emeritus of Old/First Testament, University of Münster, Münster, Germany. David John C. Zub, Th.D. (Emmanuel College). A theologian and ordained minister in the United Church of Canada.

1

GERALD T. SHEPPARD: A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Gerald Thomas Sheppard was born in Memphis, Tenn. on April 26, 1946 and died November 15, 2003 in the company of his wife Anne in Niagara Falls, Ontario. Gerry touched many lives through his scholarship, teaching, humor, and his relationships with students, colleagues, and friends. As a boy, Gerry once took rst place in a standing broad jump competition. The single-minded focus, coiled energy, and joy in achievement that he brought to athletics served him well in his intellectual pursuits and propelled him to outstanding academic achievement at every level. He began his college career at Bethany Bible College (now Bethany University), an Assemblies of God school in Santa Cruz, Calif. During his sophomore year, however, he switched to the elds of chemistry and physics at the nearby Contra Costa College where he quickly distinguished himself by winning the “Chemical Publishing Handbook Award in Qualitative Analysis.” Later, he returned to Bethany where he resumed his study of the Bible and became Student Body President. On completing his bachelor’s degree, Gerry enrolled at Fuller Theological Seminary where he won a “Layne Foundation Fellowship.” From Fuller, Gerry moved on to Yale Divinity School to study under Brevard Childs. While at Yale, he continued his pattern of academic success, once again receiving a “Layne Foundation Fellowship” and adding to it the “William F. Butler Fellowship.” While a doctoral student he served as a Teaching Fellow for Hebrew and Introduction to Old Testament and later as Instructor in Biblical Hebrew. Most notably, it was at Yale that Gerry became a valued conversation partner with Childs as the latter worked through the ramications of his developing canonical approach. It was at Yale that Gerry also developed into a creative biblical scholar in his own right. On completing his doctorate, Gerry accepted a position at Union Theological Seminary in New York City (1976–85) eventually rising to the rank of “Associate Professor of Old Testament.” Life in New York was expensive, and so even while enjoying the prestige of a position at Union, Gerry would spend his evenings working as a copy editor for a local publisher. Later, he would say that it was the material he read while “moonlighting” that contributed to his wide range of interests. 1

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While in New York, Gerry moved beyond the walls of Union to support other, often-neglected, Christian communities in the city. On one occasion he was invited to speak at a Pentecostal graduation ceremony at 125th St. in Harlem. As he was leaving his ofce with his Yale doctoral robe draped over his arm, a colleague asked him where he was going. On hearing Gerry’s answer, the colleague responded, “You must have a wonderful ministry with those people.” When Gerry nished speaking at the Pentecostal graduation, a man in attendance asked him where he taught. Hearing Gerry’s reply, the man replied, “You must have a wonderful ministry with those people”! In 1985, Gerry moved to Toronto with his second wife Anne and his two sons and stepdaughter. There he assumed the position of “Associate Professor of Old Testament Literature and Exegesis” at Emmanuel College in Victoria University at the University of Toronto, being promoted to full professor in 1987. Shortly thereafter, he was dually appointed to the Department of Religious Studies at the University of Toronto. In Toronto, he served as chair of the Biblical Studies department at the Toronto School of Theology and as Director of Advanced Degree Studies at Emmanuel College. Outside of the Biblical Studies department his wide range of gifts and interests allowed him to sit on dissertation committees in the departments of theology, history, philosophy, and English literature. In the ecumenical context of Toronto School of Theology, Gerry became deeply involved in Jewish–Christian dialogue. While he eventually joined the United Church of Canada, Gerry remained rst and foremost a Pentecostal. First ordained in the Assemblies of God, when that denomination joined the National Association of Evangelicals he moved to the Church of God in Christ, a primarily African-American, Pentecostal Church which, while “evangelistic” in its interests, nonetheless stood aloof from the “Evangelical” movement that was then dominated by dispensationalism and a brand of politics that Gerry eschewed. This re
ection on his own roots and his unease with aspects of the Evangelical movement in the United States resulted in some of his most engaging articles. In his “socio-theological dynamic” study, “Prophetic vs. Priestly Religion: The Changing Role of Women Clergy in Classical Pentecostal Churches,”1 he showed that the Pentecostal movement was founded on a “prophetic model” and how a later shift to a “priestly model” left blacks and women marginalized. In two other articles, “Pentecostals and the Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism: 1. Charles H. Barfoot and Gerald T. Sheppard, “Prophetic Vs. Priestly Religion: The Changing Role of Women Clergy in Classical Pentecostal Churches,” RRelRes 22, no. 1 (1980): 2–17. 1

Gerald T. Sheppard: A Biographical Sketch

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The Anatomy of an Uneasy Relationship” and “Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition”2 he made a strong case that Pentecostals originally did not have the same interpretational, eschatological, and theological characteristics that typied Fundamentalists or Evangelicals. For similar reasons, he was always a Pentecostal and never charismatic. Despite his origins outside of mainline American Protestantism, Gerry had a signicant impact in ecclesiastical circles beyond Pentecostalism. With his move to Emmanuel College in 1985, Gerry’s ministry expanded to include the United Church of Canada. In that denomination, Gerry retained the passion for the marginalized that was a product of his Pentecostal roots. He despised religious elitism in all its forms—whether it be in those who claimed to have the “truth” or those who looked down on fellow Christians who were less educated or of a lower socio-economic status. As a member of the United Church’s Theology and Faith Committee, he helped draft the denomination’s then-controversial, but groundbreaking statement of afrmation of same-sex relationships. During this period he was a valued theological resource and sought-after speaker at many denominational gatherings. Gerry’s publications were immense. His C.V. ran to over one hundred items, including reviews, articles, books, edited volumes, concise commentaries, as well as encyclopedia and dictionary entries. Projects under way at the time of his passing would have added hundreds of additional pages of material to this corpus. He was perhaps best known and most cited for his published dissertation, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct.3 Of this work, one leading voice on Wisdom literature once remarked that it was “one of the most important works on wisdom that I have read.” When the canonical approach of Gerry’s mentor Brevard Childs was assailed by one particularly bellicose critic, Child’s rebuttal was undergirded by appeal to Gerry’s article, “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions.”4 Although Childs did not live to complete his contribution to this Festschrift, he was at least able to express his appreciation of Gerry by selecting the subject of this article as the theme of the volume. 2. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Pentecostals and the Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism: The Anatomy of an Uneasy Relationship,” Pneuma 6, no. 2 (1984): 5–33; “Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition: Part One,” Agora 1, no. 4 (1978): 4–5, 17–22; and “Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition: Part Two,” Agora 2, no. 1 (1978): 14–19. 3. Gerald T. Sheppard, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament (BZAW 151; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979). 4. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,” Int (1982): 21–33. 1

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In addition to producing his own original research, Gerry was passionate about resurrecting important works from the history of interpretation. In this vein, he published a series of reprints of seventeenth-century biblical works, each with contemporary hermeneutical essays: The Geneva Bible (1989), William Perkin’s commentary on Galatians (1989), and Joseph Hall’s commentary on Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs (1991).5 A source of frustration for Gerry was the time it took for journals to consider an article and subsequent requests for changes that re
ected a misunderstanding of his work. As a consequence, Gerry often preferred to publish by invitation or in more obscure refereed journals. Among his more signicant essays falling into this category are: “ ‘Two-Party’ Rhetoric amid ‘Postmodern’ Debates over Christian Scripture and Theology”;6 essays on biblical interpretation in Europe from the eighteenth through the twentieth centuries;7 “Pentecostals, Globalization, and Postmodern Hermeneutics: Implications for the Politics of Scriptural Interpretation”;8 and “Issues in Contemporary Translation: Late Modern Vantages and Lessons from Past Epochs.”9 Unlike most Old Testament scholars, Gerry was not afraid to produce articles that grappled with contemporary 5. Gerald T. Sheppard, ed., The Geneva Bible: The Annotated New Testament, 1602 Edition, with Introductory Essays (Pilgrim Classic Commentaries; New York: Pilgrim, 1989); A Commentary on Galatians (1617) by William Perkins, with Introductory Essays (Pilgrim Classic Commentaries; New York: Pilgrim, 1989); and Solomon’s Divine Arts: Joseph Hall’s Representation of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs (1609), with Introductory Essay (Pilgrim Classic Commentaries; Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim, 1991). 6. Gerald T. Sheppard, “ ‘Two-Party’ Rhetoric Amid ‘Postmodern’ Debates Over Christian Scripture and Theology,” in Re-Forming the Center: American Protestantism, 1900 to the Present (ed. Douglas Jacobsen and William Vance Trollinger Jr.; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998), 445–66. 7. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Biblical Interpretation in the 18th & 19th Centuries, Introduction to Part 4,” in Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters (ed. Donald K. McKim; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1998), 257–80, and “Biblical Interpretation in Europe in the 20th Century, Introduction to Part 5,” in McKim, ed., Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters, 403–22. 8. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Pentecostals, Globalization, and Postmodern Hermeneutics: Implications for the Politics of Scriptural Interpretation,” in The Globalization of Pentecostalism: A Religion Made to Travel (ed. Murray Dempster, Byron Klaus, and Douglas Petersen; Carlisle: Regnum, 1999), 289–312. 9. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Issues in Contemporary Translation: Late Modern Vantages and Lessons from Past Epochs,” in On the Way to Nineveh: Studies in Honor of George M. Landes (ed. Stephen L. Cook and Sara C. Winter; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1999), 257–85. 1

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political realities, writing such provocative pieces as “The Politics of Biblical Eschatology: Ronald Reagan and the Impending Nuclear Armageddon”10 and “Does the Bible Categorically Condemn Homosexuality?—A Qualied ‘No’.”11 In 2001, the insightful “Biblical Wisdom Literature at the End of the Modern Age” returned to the area he rst explored in his dissertation two and a half decades earlier.12 At the time of his passing he was at work on a major commentary on Song of Songs and had completed drafts of two volumes on Pentecostal and Evangelical Hermeneutics. Even as he made his mark on academia, Gerry found it to be a place in which he was never entirely comfortable. He lamented the fundamental unhealthiness of an academic world that was based on criticism rather than praise. He struggled with the competitive spirit and jealousy that sometimes characterized the relationships among scholars. As a Pentecostal who was well-received in the academy, Gerry sometimes found himself misunderstood by both the Pentecostal and scholarly worlds. During times when this was the case, he found great comfort from a select group of fellow Pentecostal scholars (among them being James Washington, David Daniels, Murray Dempster, Frank Macchia, and Marvin Erisman), colleagues who understood the struggle that a Pentecostal might have in the academic world. One of the rst Pentecostals to earn a Ph.D. in the Religious Studies Department at Yale University, Gerry once remarked that he was drawn to wisdom literature because this provided a way of responding to his Pentecostal roots. Gerry’s creative mind was something that was not limited to academic work. Although few of his colleagues or students at Union likely realized it, while in New York Gerry partnered with Robert Benton, screenwriter for such lms as Bonnie and Clyde (1967), Superman (1978), and Kramer vs. Kramer (1979) to develop a screenplay for a lm on Jesus. Unfortunately, the appearance around the same time of Martin Scorcese’s The Last Temptation of Christ meant that the project was put on hold and never subsequently completed. While in Toronto, Gerry was also quietly producing material on biblical subjects for Reader’s Digest Books. 10. Larry Jones and Gerald T. Sheppard, “The Politics of Biblical Eschatology: Ronald Reagan and the Impending Nuclear Armageddon,” Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 8, no. 1 (1984): 16–19; see also, “On Reagan, Prophecy and Nuclear War,” Old Westbury Review 2 (1986): 9–22. 11. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Does the Bible Categorically Condemn Homosexuality? A Qualied ‘No’,” The Alberta Report (March 11, 1991), 42–43. 12. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Biblical Wisdom Literature at the End of the Modern Age,” in Congress Volume: Oslo 1998 (ed. André Lemaire and Magne Sæbø; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 369–98. 1

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Although he did not supervise many doctoral students,13 Gerry was an inspiring teacher and mentor who made the Old Testament come alive. Many of his statements caught students off-guard. On occasion, he goodnaturedly referred to the New Testament as “a circumstantial clause built on the main predication of the Old.” Each year he told his Introduction to Old Testament class, “The New Testament was the second-greatest disappointment to the Church next to the death of Christ. What his early followers really wanted was for Christ to return to set up a kingdom of peace and justice.” In that same course Gerry would remark about the human testimony of Scripture, “God has a knack for asking what seem to be silly questions…‘Adam, where are you?’ ‘Cain, where is your brother Abel’—sometimes God wants us to know what he knows.” Another of Gerry’s declarations—“The Gospel stands out against morality. The purpose of the Church should be to call the bluff on any attempts of nding morality in the Gospel”—brought one freshman divinity student to tears and forced her, for the rst time, to come face-to-face with the concept of grace. As Principal Peter Wyatt of Emmanuel College put it, Gerry was “a formidable intellect” who was “large-souled and great-hearted.” Through most of his life, Gerry’s days were infused with humor. As a young man, he and friend Roger Flessing developed a stand-up routine that they performed at Assembly of God youth conferences and later at other Church and academic gatherings. He enjoyed having fun with words. While he was at Bethany College, he once came across a sign at the Assembly of God district ofces that read, “GOD CARES, JOHN 3:16.” Casting a furtive glance, Gerry changed it to read, “DOG RACES, JAN 16.”—an alteration that left denominational ofcials sputtering. At Emmanuel College in Toronto, humor was a staple in Gerry’s classroom. Echoing down the halls of the college, his laugh was unmistakable. 13. The roster of advanced degree students that Gerry supervised includes the following: John Course (“Speech and Response: A Rhetorical Analysis of the Introductions to the Speeches in the Book of Job [Chaps. 4–24]” [Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 1990]); Ruth Barrett (“House as a Wisdom Metaphor in Solomonic Literature” [Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 1993]); Daniel Epp-Tiessen (“Concerning the Prophets: True and False Prophecy in Jeremiah 23:9–29:32” [Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 1994]); Ronald Huggins (“Romans 7 and the Ordo Salutis: In the Nineteenth-Century American Revivalist Tradition” [Th.D. diss., Wycliffe College, Toronto School of Theology, and University of Toronto, 1997]); Dong-Chul Shin (“A Comparison of Form-Critical Units to the Paragraph Divisions of Ancient Manuscripts of Isaiah 1–2” [Th.M. thesis, Emmanuel College, Toronto School of Theology, and University of Toronto, 2000]); and Randall Heskett (“Messianism in the Book of Isaiah as a Whole” [Ph.D. diss, University of St. Michael’s College, 2001]). 1

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While Gerry enjoyed life and inspired others, a series of family tragedies contributed to personal illness that eventually resulted in his death at a time when he was at the height of his powers and full of contributions to make to both the academy and the Church. His death was a shock and the loss felt by his family, friends, colleagues, and students was immense. When Gerry taught the story of the binding of Isaac, he would often relate the Rabbinic story of how the angels snatched the soul of Isaac from the altar and took him to heaven to study Torah.14 It is the expectation of the editors and contributors to this volume that today Gerry is doing the same. May his memory be for a blessing.

14. Tg. Ps.-J. 22:19. 1

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Part I

HEARING THE WORD OF GOD THROUGH HISTORICALLY DISSIMILAR TRADITIONS

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PRIESTS FOR THE KINGDOM— TWO PRIESTHOODS FOR TWO REGIMES Walter Brueggemann

Critical Pentateuchal study in the twentieth century has been dominated by the work of Gerhard von Rad and Martin Noth. In 1938 von Rad had already published his dening, programmatic work on “The Hexateuch” wherein he identied the dominant themes of the “credo tradition” as Exodus and land entry.1 To that analysis of themes he added in his subsequent discussion the traditions of creation, ancestors, and Sinai. Von Rad’s primary interest was theological, as his essay no doubt arose out of the struggles of the Confessing Church in Germany and became the programmatic outline of the rst volume of Old Testament Theology wherein he exposited the several themes of “The Hexateuch.”2 In 1943, Noth followed von Rad with a more sober historical analysis of the traditions but with attention to the same outline of themes.3 1. While both von Rad and Noth took the older, long-dominant issue of source analysis seriously and were themselves well schooled in that perspective, source analysis was never their primary concern. As Hans Heinrich Schmid has observed, von Rad’s use of the term “Yahwist” was offered with a considerable ambiguity, sometimes referring to “the J source,” but more intentionally referring to the narrative credo confession of Israel’s Yahwistic faith.4 It is clear that von Rad’s own concern 1. Gerhard von Rad, “The Form Critical Problem of the Hexateuch,” in The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966), 1–78. 2. Gerhard von Rad, Old Testament Theology. Vol. 1, The Theology of Israel’s Historical Traditions (San Francisco, Calif.: HarperSanFrancisco, 1962). 3. Martin Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions (trans. Bernhard W. Anderson; Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1972). 4. Hans Heinrich Schmid, Der sogenannte Jahwist: Beobachtungen und Fragen zur Pentateuchforschung (Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 1976). 1

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was very much the latter subject. In any case, the outcome of the work of von Rad and Noth was to commit critical scholarship for the foreseeable future to the study of a series of themes, each of which could be considered historically (so Noth) and each of which carried confessional afrmation for what became Israel’s “canonical” faith (so von Rad). The liability of such a perspective is that the materials slotted in the several themes were treated so discretely as to compartmentalize Israel’s faith. Consequently, the events of the dramatic whole of the entire narrative were minimized.5 In the following discussion, I will consider two texts that are located in quite different and distinctive themes of the Pentateuch, in order to re
ect on the heuristic value of interfacing dissimilar texts, especially texts that are situated in different themes. In offering this study, I am glad to express my great appreciation for Gerry Sheppard’s contribution to our common work and common life in the discipline; he was indeed a generative force among us that empowered many of the rest of us in our work. 2. The narrative account of Gen 47:13–26 is, of course, situated in the theme of “promises to the ancestors,” even though it does not serve that theme very well: It is generally accepted that in the history of Joseph the Yahwist has incorporated into his work a tale which was in all essentials already a nished and complete work. Every reader is well aware how neatly it fulls its present function of leading up to Israel’s growth to nationhood in Egypt. When we look more closely, however, we cannot fail to see that, despite this, it has a signicance of its own. Its transitional function in the history of Israel is wholly secondary to its original purpose. It is a story of divine guidance, a testimony to God’s providential care, nding its conclusion in a state of “salvation” in which all the earlier tensions of the narrative are resolved.6 *** This Joseph story, a masterpiece of narrative art, is traditio-historically a latecomer in the sphere of the Pentateuchal narrative. Its function as a connecting piece between the themes “promise to the patriarchs” and “guidance out of Egypt” makes this probable at the outset. The formulations of the “historical credo” that have been preserved contained no 5. The more recent critical work of Rolf Rendtorff and Erhard Blum has not departed from the general perspective established by von Rad and Noth, though they do try to overcome the source distinctions of the older scholarship. 6. Von Rad, “The Form Critical Problem of the Hexateuch,” 59–60. 1

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reference at all to the Joseph story but say only that “Jacob and his sons went down to Egypt” (so Josh. 24:4), presumably because of a famine, and thus the connection between the two themes is immediately established. Consistent with this, the Joseph story shows itself to be a traditiohistorically late construction by its discursive narrative style and by its combination of numerous individual narratives, which in their present context are no longer independent, into a systematically planned and purposively unied composition which represents the most comprehensive, self-contained complex within the entire Pentateuchal narrative.7

In fact, this narrative text is an odd t under the theme of “promise,” for the narrative is anti-promise and is more likely an overture to the Exodus narrative, a very different theme.8 Whereas the general theme of Gen 12– 50 is YHWH’s “promise of the land,” this text is more precisely about the loss and forfeiture to the land to Pharaoh, the great enemy of YHWH. The dramatic account of Joseph’s land management in this narrative exhibits that primal servant of Pharaoh—albeit an Israelite—effecting Pharaoh’s rapacious land policies with faithfulness, consistency, and discipline. Kass is surely correct to suggest that the entire narrative concerning Joseph attests to the “Egyptianization of Joseph,” so that the distinctive claim of Israel—and the God of Israel—are decisively overridden in the service of Pharaonic hegemony.9 Joseph, on behalf of Pharaoh, in turn seized from the hungry peasants rst their money (47:14), then their livestock, their means of production (47:16–17), and nally their land, which thereby passed into royal ownership in a trade for food of Pharaoh’s state monopoly (47:19).10 The outcome of the drama of exchange between the hungry peasants and the royal food monopoly is the complete transfer of land ownership:

7. Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 208. 8. Noth observes: “This theme is loosely joined to the following theme of ‘guidance out of Egypt’ by the statement that eventually there arose a king in Egypt who did not know Joseph (Ex 1:8 [J]) and that at the same time the family of Jacob had grown into a numerous and mighty people (Ex 1:7 [P]; 1:9 [J])” (ibid.). 9. Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (New York: Free Press, 2003), 569–72. Kass (p. 629) comments: “The text turns its attention to Joseph’s activities as manager of the Egyptian land during the nal years of the famine. Here we see Joseph’s administrative genius at work, but in ways that make clear why that genius is not and cannot be the guiding power in Israel. For Joseph’s dealings in Egypt, and what these dealings show of his feelings about pagan earthly power, only conrm for the reader why Jacob feels little enthusiasm for both Egypt and his son’s successes, and why, in the sequel, he will undertake measures to counteract the Egyptianization of his nation.” 10. Ibid., 632–33. 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation So Joseph bought all the land of Egypt for Pharaoh. All the Egyptians sold their elds, because the famine was severe upon them; and the land became Pharaoh’s. (Gen 47:20, NRSV)

The new social arrangement engineered by Joseph causes the peasants to become state slaves (v. 21) who were subject to the new economic arrangement of tendentious rental arrangements (v. 23). The most remarkable element in the narrative report is the articulation of peasant gratitude that expresses appreciation for the rescue of their lives through the usurpatious policies of the state. This gratitude leads to a readiness to be slaves of Pharaoh: They said, “You have saved our lives; may it please my lord, we will be slaves to Pharaoh.” (Gen 47:25, NRSV)

The outcome is most astonishing, made all the more remarkable by the laconic tone of the statement and the fact that the narrative has no critical observation to make about this enslavement, but treats the report in a matter-of-fact, “business as usual” temper. What has happened to the peasant population is indeed momentous. The narrative of Gen 12–50 has heretofore been completely preoccupied with YHWH’s land promise and land gift to the ancestors. But here, in a way that contradicts all that has gone before in the narrative, the land is reclaimed for royal monopoly and away from any community of promise. It is evident, then, that this narrative prepares the way for the Exodus narrative to follow, and the harsh, violent contest between Pharaoh (and the gods of Egypt; Exod 12:12) and YHWH, in order to see who will rule the land and who will determine the future of the slaves. For our purpose of comparing dissimilar texts, we focus in this narrative account on two elements. First, in v. 20 it is reported as an inevitable outcome of Joseph’s administration that “all the land of Egypt belongs to Pharaoh…the land became Pharaoh’s.” That sweeping claim would seem to be total and unqualied, except that in the next verses that unqualied claim is twice qualied: Only the land of the priests he did not buy; for the priests had a xed allowance from Pharaoh, and lived on the allowance that Pharaoh gave them; therefore they did not sell their land… The land of the priests alone did not become Pharaoh’s. (Gen 47:22, 26, NRSV)

The comment concerning the priestly retention of land is passed over without interpretive comment or even any expression of curiosity. This provision may be simply, as v. 22 suggests, the acknowledgment that the priestly land was exempt from royal conscation according to older statute. But even if the exemption is a matter of Egyptian law, we may 1

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wonder why that particular law was respected by absolute royal power and why the state did not override that claim as it seems to have overridden many other social claims. One need not be excessively suspicious to entertain the thought that the royal exemption for the priests, in addition to being “good law,” could also have been “good politics.” Clearly royal power—in the ancient world as in the contemporary world—requires priestly legitimization and blessing of some sort. Consequently we may imagine that the priestly exemption was a tradeoff of land for legitimacy so that Pharaoh could claim the blessing of the gods for his monopolistic work. Evidently the Egyptian gods, in whose image Pharaoh ruled, were not inimitable to the practice of such usurpatious monopoly. It is clear in the Exodus narrative that is to follow that Pharaoh proceeds on the assumption of absolute authority, an absoluteness that surely required divine sanction. Thus we may imagine that the priestly exemption was at least indirectly a contribution to the political absoluteness that in turn evoked the Exodus rebellion among the slaves. The religious dimension of the narrative is understated; the notices of vv. 22 and 26, however, cause the alert reader to judge Pharaoh as the carrier of divine symbols in the interest of the monopoly of the state economy. In the face of the regime, the priests are not only economically dependent; they are also without any ground for protest against Pharaonic usurpatious policies. 3. When we come to Exod 19:3–6, we are in a world of another tradition. These verses initiate the Sinai tradition, a quite distinct theme for von Rad and Noth.11 Apart from the introductory vv. 1–2 that are from the P source, this material butts up against Exod 18; but Exod 18 is the conclusion of the rst part of the sojourn material, again a theme quite distinct from the Exodus tradition. Verses 3–6 are commonly regarded as a core element of the primary claim of the Exodus, and provide a way of linking the Exodus tradition to the Sinai tradition that von Rad took to be a late intrusion into Israel’s credo recital.12 The rubric of v. 3 suggests that the tradition intends to signal that this utterance on the lips of Moses is constitutive of normative 11. See Noth, A History of Pentateuchal Traditions, 59–62; von Rad, Old Testament Theology, 1:187–279. 12. On this text, see James Muilenburg, “The Form and Structure of the Covenantal Formulations,” in Hearing and Speaking the Word: Selections from the Works of James Muilenburg (ed. Thomas F. Best; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984), 112–18. 1

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lore, words that are to be utilized in time to come for the “telling” of Israel’s life with YHWH. This normative lore consists in two primary points. First, the statement recalls the Exodus tradition and places the Exodus memory at the very head of the Sinai covenant. This dening allusion to the Exodus is not unlike the reference to the Exodus in the introduction to the Decalogue in Exod 20:2. In both cases, the tradition is at pains to connect the two traditions, even though scholarship has kept them quite distinct. Second, with a transitional “now therefore” (9EH) the voice of Moses summons Israel to radical obedience in hearing and keeping, the rst offered with an innitive absolute. It is likely that the intensity of the innitive absolute with the rst verb also applies to the second verb, “keep,” even though the second verb has no explicit reinforcement by an innitive absolute. The formulation serves—in something like subsequent Deuteronomic fashion—to make the status of covenant people conditional upon Torah obedience. Thus vv. 4–5 serve to link Exodus and the Sinai covenant. This dual afrmation is followed in vv. 5b–6a with an acclamation that properly situates Israel as YHWH’s special people: Indeed, the whole earth is mine, but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation. (Exod 19:5b–6a, NRSV)

After the singling out of Israel for special status in v. 5ab, these verses move in the opposite direction to make a sweeping claim that all the land, and by implication all the people in the land, belong to YHWH and are YHWH’s subjects and creatures. Given that sweeping statement, the next phrase is again a surprise (v. 6). Even though all belong to YHWH, Israel is a second time singled out for special status and special responsibility in the general realm of YHWH’s sovereignty. That special status is to be amid all the peoples in the land, a “kingdom of priests.” The phrase suggests a sacerdotal function that is readily conversant with power; the following phrase, “holy nation,” again nicely links the sacerdotal adjective “holy” with the political term “nation.”13 The rhetoric is quite precise in juxtaposing a special religious status for Israel in an arena that is quite self-consciously political.14 It is not at all obvious what this special status for Israel portends. We may suggest, however, that the 13. It is important to notice that the term is JH8 (“nation”) and not ) (“people”), thus introducing a political dimension into the Sinai transaction at the outset. 14. The “treaty hypothesis” of George Mendenhall, a hypothesis formed in the mid-twentieth century, made clear that the “religious” tradition of Israel was from the outset cast in political categories. For all the critique and renement of Mendenhall’s thesis, this point remains unassailable. 1

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“priestly nation” is to evidence, testify to, and legitimate YHWH’s sovereignty over all of the land so that through Israel, YHWH’s claim over all the land will become evident even to those who are not under Torah and not in covenant. While these familiar verses are often taken in a quite intensely theological direction—especially in Christian interpretation with reference to 1 Pet 2:9–10—we should not miss the militant assertion of YHWH’s sovereignty over all of the land—“the whole land is mine”—a claim that is parallel to the rst commandment of Exod 20 that seeks to deny any other divine claimant to the land where Israel will live out covenant. 4. The juxtaposition of Gen 47:13–26 and Exod 19:3–6 clearly concerns dissimilar texts, the precise assignment made for this volume of essays. Whereas Gen 47 is in the ancestral traditions, Exod 19:3–6 links the Exodus tradition to Sinai. According to the accepted analysis of von Rad and Noth, moreover, these texts lodged in distinct themes have no special linkage to each other. The dissimilarity is further accented when Gen 47 is viewed, as is commonly the case, as a political-legal settlement between priests and Pharaonic power, whereas Exod 19 is commonly understood in acutely theological terms as an “ecclesial” provision. Given that they are genuinely dissimilar, there are two reasons for suggesting an interface between them. First, both texts make a sweeping claim for sovereignty over the land: So Joseph bought all the land (9>5 ) of Egypt for Pharaoh…the land (#C ) belongs to Pharaoh. (Gen 47:20) All the land (#C ) belongs to me. (Exod 19:5)

The Hebrew phrasing is parallel: (Gen 47:20) 9CA= #C 9 J9EH

(Exod 19:5) #C 9=< J=

Both texts assert unqualied sovereignty over all the territory. In the rst case, the narrator reports the fact of the matter. In the second, the claim is in YHWH’s own mouth. The claims are parallel. Second, priests gure prominently in both texts. In Gen 47:22, 26, the priests are exempted from the royal land conscation. In the second, the priesthood of Israel is given special status; in the subsequent traditions that special status yields promised land, but that is not explicit here.15 15. On the priestly endowment of “portion” as land and as communion with YHWH, see Gerhard von Rad, “ ‘Righteousness’ and ‘Life’ in the Cultic Language 1

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Neither text is forthcoming about the relationship between (a) the sweeping claim of sovereignty over the land, and (b) the special role of the priests. I suggest that in both cases the function of the priesthood is to give social legitimacy to monarchal claims of sovereignty, though of course the high claim made for YHWH’s sovereignty in the second case could not explicitly state a priestly grant of legitimacy to YHWH, for YHWH is already fully legitimated in the faith of Israel. In terms of social reality, however, the status of special land for special rulers requires social legitimacy even if it is needed to re
ect an already granted theological legitimacy. It is my suggestion that these two statements are parallel and together exhibit the decisive contestation concerning sovereignty over the land. Genesis 47 is situated just outside the Exodus theme to ensure that the Exodus struggle occurs because of Pharaoh’s illegitimate claim of sovereignty over land and over slaves.16 Exodus 19 is situated just at the beginning of the Sinai tradition to dramatize the “regime change” that occurred in the exodus and to articulate the rightful rule of YHWH over the land. The two texts together bracket the Exodus tradition behind and before; in context the Exodus narrative may then be interpreted as a contestation over land between the two claimants, one of whom has all the land in Gen 47, the other who has all the land in Exod 19. It is easy enough then to conclude that the plague cycle of Exod 11:7–11 is designed to evidence YHWH’s sovereignty over the land of Egypt, albeit in negative and violent ways. It becomes clear in that narrative cycle that YHWH is free to cause whatever YHWH wills in the land of Egypt and that Pharaoh in turn is helpless to resist whatever it is that is evoked by YHWH over the land of Egypt. The conclusion to be drawn is that YHWH is the real ruler over the land and that Pharaoh is powerless to preside over the land. The immediate effect of this show of power by YHWH over the land is to make clear Pharaoh’s impotence even over the land he claims to rule, an impotence rooted in an illegitimate claim of sovereignty that his priests cannot effectively validate or legitimate.17 Thus the exodus constitutes a failure of his priests as it does of him.

of the Psalms,” in The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (New York: McGraw–Hill, 1966), 243–66. 16. See Walter Brueggemann, “Pharaoh as Vassal: A Study of a Political Metaphor,” CBQ 57 (1995): 27–51. 17. Exod 8:18 dramatically asserts Pharaoh’s ultimate impotence: “They could not!” 1

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5. The study of dissimilar texts may be enacted simply by a comparison of the texts themselves, as I have done in the above discussion. In fact, however, this argument concerns more than a simple comparison and contrast. It includes an important interpretive assumption that should be made explicit. It seems obvious that the Gen 47 text is about a politicaleconomic-legal matter in which there is no mention of God (or Egyptian gods) and no overt theological issue. By contrast, the text in Exod 19 is fraught with theological claim and does not seem to relate to any political-economic reality in particular. Thus the dissimilarity is deep and to compare them is indeed like “apples and oranges.” But of course we are not innocent about texts that appear to be plainly political and economic (as in our rst text), nor are we excessively deistic about texts that are explicitly theological (as in our second text). Our interpretive awareness of the subtlety and complexity of texts is given in an aphorism of Karl Marx: The criticism of heaven is thus transformed into the criticism of earth, the criticism of religion into the criticism of law, and the criticism of theology into the criticism of politics.18

By this statement Marx meant that any political-economic agenda is shot through with theological force, and that theological matters are inescapably permeated with political and economic leverage. Thus in our case, the text of Gen 47 is evidently political, economic, and legal—but we know it is saturated with theological claim, namely, that Pharaoh presides over the land, is entitled to all of the produce of the land, and is divinely legitimate in his reduction of the peasantry to slavery. This is an immense theological claim, one made regularly by high concentrations of power that practice exploitation and claim a “moral right” to do so. Marx’s aphorism thus invites us to read beneath the lines of political hegemony and economic usurpation to see an idolatrous theological claim, recognized as idolatrous in an exodus community because of the praxis of exploitation. The exodus tradition knew, long before the rediscovery of Marx, that the face of idolatry is not in religious practice but in the economic practice of the exploitation of the neighbor.

18. See David McLellan, The Thought of Karl Marx: An Introduction (London: Macmillan, 1971), 22. 1

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The matter is reversed in our second text. The articulation of YHWH in Exod 19 is fully and directly theological, for it speaks of covenantal obedience. As Marx had understood, a critique of religion entails a critique of law and politics. The claim of YHWH, theological as it is, in context is clearly a political claim that the land to which Israel is destined, in which Israel will obey YHWH’s Torah, is a land to be reordered according to the will and purpose of the new sovereign. Thus all the cultural, political, and theological con
icts with “the Canaanites” to be accented by the Deuteronomists in time to come concern not merely theological claim, but also socioeconomic, political practices in relationship to the Lord of the covenant. It becomes clear, then, that both texts are political-economic and concern power in the land. Both texts, moreover, are theological and concern a claim of legitimacy represented by priests that is implied but not stated. The range of spheres of reality re
ected in Marx’s aphorism are all at work in both texts as they are in all texts. The exodus drama of Exod 1– 15 is staged—repeatedly staged—so that Israel may ever again re-perform the con
ict of sovereigns and know the outcome that is scripted in the tradition. The drama of con
ict and victory—which results in the drama, in the emancipation of all the slaves that had been subjugated—is designed for many re-enactments and many retellings: Then the Lord said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh; for I have hardened his heart and the heart of his ofcials, in order that I may show these signs of mine among them, and that you may tell your children and grandchildren how I have made fools of the Egyptians and what signs I have done among them—so that you may know that I am the Lord.” (Exod 10:1–2, NRSV)

6. The connection of divine sovereignty and land via priestly legitimacy in these texts poses an overriding question for biblical faith that continues to be the overriding issue in contemporary globalization. Both texts are about land theology, the way in which the speci
city of the land is connected to the large rule of YHWH who emancipates slaves and commands neighbor love in the newly reorganized land. To that end I cite three texts: (1) In 2 Sam 3:12, Abner, the treasonable leader of the Saulide movement makes a proposal to David; Abner is ready to submit the remnant of Saulide power to Davidic control. The opening of the negotiation is with the terse question on the lips of Abner: To whom does the land belong? (#C J>=) 1

BRUEGGEMANN Priests for the Kingdom

13

In context, the issue is whether the land will be governed by Saul (Abner) or by David. I cite the text to indicate that this is always the question in ancient Israel and in the world more generally. It is the question posed in the contestation of the Exodus narrative between the two claimants to sovereignty, Pharaoh in Gen 47 and YHWH in Exod 19. The news celebrated by the women in Exod 15:21 is that the question of land possession has been answered; the land belongs to YHWH: And Miriam sang to them: “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; horse and rider he has thrown into the sea.” (Exod 15:21, NRSV)

YHWH is fully sovereign over the land as David had become fully sovereign in human scale. (2) In the provision for Jubilee in Lev 25, the premise is that the practice of economic restoration is grounded in the awareness that the land belongs to YHWH and must not nally be possessed by any other: The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants. (Lev 25:23, NRSV)

The key phrase is #C 9 J=. The claim of the land, rooted in YHWH’s defeat of other claimants, becomes the ground for the radical ethic of the Jubilee. (3) Most familiarly, Ps 24 begins with a like claim: The earth is the Lord’s (#C 9 9H9J=) and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it; for he has founded it on the seas, and established it on the rivers. (Ps 24:1–2, NRSV)

The operative words at the beginning are #C 9 9H9J=. Here the claim is grounded in creation and not in the Exodus contestation. The upshot of the claim, however, is the same. YHWH’s sovereignty over land issues in a precise ethic (Ps 24:3–4). The conclusion of the psalm, moreover, is a celebration of the sovereignty of the one who governs the land. It is not unlike the great doxological procession of Exod 15:1–18 that celebrates the defeat of Pharaoh and all rivals for control of the land: Lift up your heads, O gates! and be lifted up, O ancient doors! that the King of glory may come in. Who is the King of glory? The Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord, mighty in battle. Life up your heads, O gates! and be lifted up, O ancient doors! that the King of glory may come in. 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory. (Ps 24:7–10, NRSV)

The psalm makes clear the connection between theological claim (24:1– 2), alternative ethic (24:3–4), and liturgical enactment (24:7–10). We may imagine that the priests who led the procession in these latter verses understood very well the liturgy of legitimacy that they repeatedly conducted.19 From the comparison of the dissimilar texts of Gen 47:13–26 and Exod 19:3–6, I have taken the liberty of citing 2 Sam 3:12; Lev 25:23, and Ps 24:1. I do so to evidence the rich heuristic value of considering dissimilar texts. I have no doubt Gerry Sheppard, with his rich capacity, had precisely such heuristic ventures in mind in his appreciation of dissimilarity.

19. On YHWH’s recovery of the land in priestly horizon, see Kalinda Rose Stevenson, The Vision of Transformation: The Territorial Rhetoric of Ezekiel 40–48 (SBLDS 154; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1996). 1

“IF YOU LISTEN TO MY VOICE…” (EXODUS 19:5): THE MYSTERY OF REVELATION* Erich Zenger

One of my fondest memories of Gerry Sheppard was of an intensive and stimulating dialogue we had at the IOSOT meeting in Oslo in 1998. I admired Gerry for his charism of combining literary analysis and theological interpretation in such a way that the biblical texts themselves begin to speak and, in doing so, initiate the kind of hearing in which the God-mystery opens itself to us. The following essay attempts to take up this specic biblical hermeneutic and apply it concretely to the theme of this Festschrift. I hope in doing so to honor his memory. 1. “Oh, that today you would listen to his voice” (Psalm 95:7) Sanhedrin 98a in the Babylonian Talmud contains the following midrash: (Once upon a time) Rabbi Jehoshua ben Levi met (the prophet) Elijah, who was coming down from heaven as a precursor of the Messiah, at the entrance to the cave of Rabbi Shimon ben Jochai… He asked Elijah: “When will Messiah come?” He answered him: “Go and ask him yourself!” “But where is he?” “At the gates of Rome.” “And how will I recognize him?” “He is sitting among the poor who are suffering from diseases, and all of them take the bandages off all their wounds at the same time and put new ones on; but each time he takes off just one bandage and puts a new one on (each in turn), for he says to himself: ‘It may be that (unexpectedly) someone will have need of me, and so there must be no delay.’ ” Then Rabbi Jehoshua ben Levi went to the Messiah and greeted him with the words: “Peace to you, my Lord and Master!” He answered: “Peace to you, son of Levi!” He asked him: “When will my Lord come?” The Messiah answered: “Today!” Then Rabbi Jehoshua ben Levi returned to Elijah, who asked him: “What did Messiah tell you?” He said: “Peace to you, son of Levi!” And Elijah asked again: “Did he promise you and your father the life of the world to come?” Then Rabbi Jehoshua ben Levi said * I wish to thank Linda M. Maloney for translating my contribution into English. 1

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angrily: “He lied to me; for he said: ‘Today I will come, and still he has not come!’ ” Then Elijah said to him: “You did not understand. What he meant was: Today, if you listen to his [i.e. God’s] voice (Ps. 95:7).”

The midrash has a twofold point. One emphasis is to show the Messiah as a fellow sufferer among the sick and the poor. The Messiah shares their life and so prepares himself for his coming as Messiah. The Messiah who will bring the reign of God does not come in some spectacular event that shatters and terries the world. He does not come as a gigantic, elevated king and wielder of power, but as one who has suffered in his own body the pains and needs of ordinary people, and therefore knows what they need. This is a critical rejection of all forms of messianic anticipation that desire the salvation of the world as a divine miracle or an apocalyptic battle conducted by a messianic king. A second point of emphasis is expressed in Rabbi Jehoshua ben Levi’s disappointment and anger: “He lied to me; for he said: Today I will come. And he has not come.” This disappointment expresses the misunderstanding that it is vital or sufcient to know the date and time of salvation in order to participate in it. By means of a reference to Ps 95, the midrash has the prophet Elijah say that what is vital is something quite different, and tell what that is. Elijah explains what the Messiah meant when he said: “Today I will come.” This is not a “today” in the sense of the calendar or the clock. It is a “today” lled with its own content: “Today, if you listen to God’s voice.” This is an allusion to the seventh verse of Ps 95, which is part of the composition made up of Pss 93–100, all of which hymn God’s rulership over the world and at the same time express longing that it may be realized.1 The psalm has two parts.2 The rst part is a hymnic praise of divine rule: 1a 1b 2a 2b

Come let us sing praise to YHWH, let us shout for joy to the rock of our salvation! Let us come before his countenance with songs of thanksgiving, and rejoice in him with songs.

1. On this, see Erich Zenger, “Theophanien des Königgottes JHWH: Transformationen von Psalm 29 in den Teilkompositionen Ps 28–30 und Ps 93–100,” in The Book of Psalms: Composition and Reception (ed. Peter W. Flint and Patrick D. Miller, Jr.; VTSup 99; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 422–39. 2. For an analysis and interpretation of the psalm, see Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger, Psalms 2: A Commentary on Psalms 51–100 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 458–62; against the option for the original unity of Ps 95 adopted there, it seems to me more likely that the primary version is present in Ps 95:1–7c, which was then redactionally expanded by Ps 95:7d–11. 1

ZENGER The Mystery of Revelation 3a 3b 4a 4b 5a 5b 6a 6b 7a 7b 7c

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For YHWH is a great God, a great king above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the heights of the mountains are his also. His is the sea, he made it, and the dry land, his hands have formed it. Come! Let us bow down and bend the knee, let us kneel before YHWH, who created us. For he is our God and we are the people of his pasture, the sheep of his hand.

This is a confession full of enthusiasm and positively ecstatic joy— holding fast to the message that the God of Israel is the God who sustains and rules over all creation. Be it noted that when this psalm was rst formulated and sung Israel was not a world power, nor was the God of Israel a, much less the, God whom the surrounding nations regarded and venerated as their own. The pathos of this psalm was therefore no legitimation of Israel’s power, but the passionate objection to the apparently superior power of the other gods and to the temptation in one’s own heart to trust in the seemingly mightier gods of the other nations. Thus the rst part of this psalm is a hymnic afrmation of the hope for the coming of the world-rulership of the God of Israel in spite of all doubt and all resistance. And the psalm also says an enthusiastic “yes” to Israel’s election and its being called into the service of the King of the universe: “Yes, he shall be our God and we will be led by him, our good shepherd; we are the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand.” However, this festive hymn breaks off very suddenly. The praise falls silent and an individual voice cries out, provocatively draining the festal mood of the singing community of its magic: 7d Oh, that today you would listen to his voice!

This voice, in direct discourse,
ings a word of God at the community that wants to celebrate and honor the King of the universe with festive worship, with prayers, songs, and sacrices, a word uttered with prophetic acerbity.3 To paraphrase, this voice says: “It is not prayers and sacrices I desire, but that you hear and obey. I do not desire a heart that is drunken with the idea of God, but a listening heart that opens itself to my words in order to learn and do my will.” The psalm continues:

3. For the function and relevance of quotations of divine words in the Psalms, see Andrea Doeker, Die Funktion der Gottesrede in den Psalmen (BBB 135; Berlin: Philo, 2002); for Ps 95, see pp. 249–58. 1

The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

18 8a 8b 9a 9b 10a 10b 10c 11a 11b

“Harden not your heart as at Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert! There your ancestors tempted me, they put me to the test, although they had seen my works. Forty years I detested [that] generation, and I said: They are a people wayward in heart, they do not know my ways. Therefore I swore in my wrath: They shall never enter into my place of rest.”

What a contrast between the conclusion of this divine discourse and the confession of trust with which the rst part of the psalm had ended! 7b 7c

We are the people of his pasture, the sheep of his hand.

Against their expectation of being pastured by their good shepherd and led to restful waters, this shepherd sets his oath: 11b

They shall never enter into my place of rest!

Certainly this oath is not a dogmatic declaration by God; it is a kind of shock therapy with which God attempts to open their ears, closed or grown shut, so that they will nally hear, listen, and understand. A restored alertness is essential if the divine rule lauded in the psalm is to break into this world. Renewed hearing must not happen soon or sometime or other, but “today.” 2. “Hearing is better than sacri
ce” (1 Samuel 15:22) The basso ostinato of the biblical texts is that the primary and most important thing is hearing the word of God. Biblical religion is not an imagination of the divine, but the reception of history as word, listening to the speech of prophetic women and men, and attention to the instruction of the priests and the teachers of wisdom. Imperative appeals to “hear this word of YHWH” run throughout the whole First Testament. Even “heaven and earth” are called upon to listen as fellow witnesses to God’s speaking to Israel. “Hear this word,” “YHWH has spoken,” “The word of YHWH,” “Then the word of YHWH came to N.N.”—these are the repeatedly recurring formulas in the prophetic books4 that make it clear that Israel’s relationship to its God must be lived out primarily in

4. These formulas (“messenger formula,” “word-event formula,” “divine speech formula,” “formula to reinforce the words”) generally have a structurally relevant function in the prophetic books as well. 1

ZENGER The Mystery of Revelation

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listening and obeying. However, the truth that biblical religion is a religion of hearing is expressed with prophetic force when cultic sacrices, the fundamental acts of ancient piety, are devalued, and even rejected, in favor of the demand for hearing. Thus Samuel, in the narrative of the rejection of Saul (which is, from a number of points of view, not unproblematic), says to the king: Has YHWH as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrices, as in listening to the voice of YHWH? Surely, to hear is better than sacrice, and to heed than the fat of rams… Because you have rejected the word of YHWH, he has also rejected you as king. (1 Sam 15:22–23b)

The contrast between obedience and sacrice is, in fact, a proprium of biblical religion. It is articulated, often with ironic acerbity, in the so-called cult-critical passages of the First Testament. These are found not only in the prophetic books, but also in Israel’s Wisdom and prayer traditions. The book of Amos makes especially graphic use of this opposition when it has even YHWH say: I hate, I despise your liturgical festivals, and I cannot smell your worship services, I take no pleasure in your sacricial offerings, and I can no longer look upon the food offerings of your fatted animals. Take away from me the noise of your psalms, I can no longer listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever
owing stream. (Amos 5:21–24)5

Qoheleth, who taught in Jerusalem around 300 B.C.E., polemicizes in like vein. He, too, emphasizes in the passage of his book that criticizes religion, 4:17–5:6, that the desire and ability to hear are the fundamental preconditions for fear of God, that is, a right relationship to God: Restrain your steps when you go to the house of God; draw near to listen and not, like the fools, to offer sacrices… Never be rash with your mouth, nor let your heart be quick to utter a word before God, for God is in heaven, and you upon earth;

5. On this, see Erich Zenger, “ ‘Ich nde Wohlgefallen an Liebe, nicht an Opfer’ (Hos 6,6). Ersttestamentliche Stellungnahmen zum Verhältnis von Kult und Ethos,” in Die diakonale Dimension der Liturgie (ed. Benedikt Kranemann, Thomas Sternberg and W. Zahner; QD 218; Freiburg: Herder, 2006), 16–30. 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation therefore let your words be few… With many dreams come vanities and a multitude of words; but fear God! (Qoh 4:17–5:1, 6 [Eng. 5:1–2, 7])

This is the rst section in the book of Ecclesiastes in which Qoheleth speaks directly to his pupils or readers. That underscores the explosive force of his counsels. They are an unmistakable critique of sacrices and the Temple. They strike to the heart of ancient piety, in which biblical Israel also participated. In ancient times the worship of God included the presentation of sacrices with prayers sung or said out loud. Certainly there was criticism of sacrices and the cult in Israel before Qoheleth. We have already cited an example from Amos’s critique of worship, but similar polemics could be cited from other prophetic books, especially that of Isaiah and Hosea against the false notion that with sacrices one could purchase exemption from right action toward God and one’s neighbor (e.g. Isa 1:11; Hos 6:6). Similarly, in the book of Psalms we frequently nd the idea that prayer is more pleasing to God than sacrices (e.g. Pss 51:17–19; 69:31–32).6 Qoheleth takes up this line of criticism and intensies it: one should listen rather than sacrice as fools do. In place of longer and louder prayers, one should stand silently and humbly before God in order to make oneself available, in obedience, to the divine mystery. When Qoheleth says “draw near to listen,” he deliberately leaves open the question of what one should listen to. Most of his hearers or readers at the time would, as a matter of course, have thought of the Torah, which was read in worship. But probably Qoheleth’s perspective is much deeper, as the summary admonition at the end of the whole section 4:17–5:6 indicates: “but fear God!” In light of that, we could probably paraphrase Qoheleth’s advice thus: “When you go to the house of God, enter and try to be still, so that you may hear God, who wants to speak to you…”7 Qoheleth makes concrete, as an admonition for individuals, what the book of Jeremiah has the prophet say, in ch. 7, in an ironic speech in the Temple:

6. The antithesis between sacrice and listening to God’s word/Torah is developed especially in Ps 40:7–9. On this see Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger, Die Psalmen. Psalm 1–50 (NEchtB 29; Würzburg: Echter, 1993), 256. 7. For the interpretation of Qoh 4:17–5:6, see especially Ludger SchwienhorstSchönberger, Kohelet (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 309–23; Andreas Vonach, Nähere dich, um Gott zu hören. Glaubensvorstellungen und Glaubensvermittlung im Koheletbuch (BBB 125; Berlin: Philo, 1999). 1

ZENGER The Mystery of Revelation

21

Thus says YHWH Sabaoth, the God of Israel: Add your burnt offerings to your sacrices, and eat the
esh. For in the day that I brought your ancestors out of the land of Egypt, I did not speak to them or command them concerning burnt offerings and sacrices. But this command I gave them, “Listen to my voice, and I will be your God, and you shall be my people. Walk only in the way that I command you, so that it may be well with you.” Yet they did not listen or incline their ear, but, in the stubbornness of their evil will, they walked in their own counsels… (Jer 7:21–24)

3. “On Sinai/Horeb you did not see, but only heard!” (Deuteronomy 4:12) The Temple speech in Jer 7 alludes to the great encounter between God and Israel on the journey from Egyptian slavery to the land of life and freedom. At Sinai, as the book of Exodus narrates and Moses recapitulates in the book of Deuteronomy, in his solemn farewell discourse on the day of his death, the people did not see God’s form, but heard God’s voice. The narrative in Exod 19 paints an imposing backdrop for this ultimately indescribable event, when a whole nation hears the voice of the God who speaks in human language in order to reveal himself. Exodus 19 is an artistic narrative whose subject is the mystery of revelation.8 Verses 1–3a set the scene. Its theological perspective is provocative enough: this revelation takes place in the wilderness, in the midst of the journey from the house of slavery in Egypt to the land of life. This location may be connected with the “early history” of the God YHWH, developed by the application of religious-historical method, as protector deity of semi-nomads in the region between the North Arabian desert and the area east and west of the Arabah.9 More important for the narrative context is that the narrative locates this foundational event, which constitutes Israel as the people of God, on Israel’s path toward freedom—for in the view of the Bible, God’s revelation aims to establish freedom. Verses 3b–6 present a solemn message from God, partly stated in poetic parallelisms, which Moses is to deliver to the “house of Jacob.”10 8. See Christoph Dohmen, Exodus 19–40 (HTKAT; Freiburg: Herder, 2004), 44–81. 9. See Erich Zenger, “Der Monotheismus Israels. Entstehung – Prol – Relevanz,” in Ist der Glaube Feind der Freiheit? Die neue Debatte um den Monotheismus (ed. Thomas Söding; QD 196; Freiburg: Herder, 2003), 10–22. 10. The allusion is to Gen 46:27: the little group of seventy who went down to Egypt with Jacob has now become the great nation of the “children of Israel.” 1

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The message begins with a generalized formula recalling what YHWH had done for Israel at the Exodus from Egypt (v. 4). What is crucial is that this recollection, which pointedly summarizes the Exodus as YHWH’s miraculously sustaining and bringing Israel to himself, that is, into his presence,11 is the basis for the demand made on Israel in vv. 5–6, that is, the proclamation of Israel’s unique dignity among all the nations of the world that is linked to it. The why and wherefore of YHWH’s bringing Israel to himself is expressed in three deeply signicant statements that, taken together, emphasize Israel’s special relationship to YHWH through a play on words describing YHWH’s kingship and royal authority. First, through the Exodus, Israel has become the “royal treasure” or “crown jewel” (9=8D) of YHWH, King of the universe. Second, YHWH has chosen Israel to be “a kingdom of priests,” that is, a kingdom whose citizens are all “priests” because they have the privilege of special closeness to God.12 Third, Israel is the people of YHWH the king, which he has set aside as a “holy people” that will accept being hallowed for and through him, in accordance with the agenda: “You shall be holy, for I, YHWH your God, am holy!” (Lev 19:2). Here, at the very beginning of the great Sinai pericope in Exod 19– Num 10, we nd proclaimed Israel’s God-given and inalienable “essential characteristics.” Within this narrative, these characteristics are made most concrete, by the manifold rules of life in the Torah, to which the introductory condition in v. 5 refers: “if you listen to my voice and keep my covenant.” That is, Israel will realize its dignity as crown jewel, as YHWH’s priestly and holy people, when and insofar as it listens to God’s voice and does what that voice tells it to do. When Israel hears and listens to God, it will become what, from Sinai and through the God of Sinai, it is.13 Verses 7–8 depict the giving of this message from God to the people through Moses, the people’s reaction to it, and Moses’ consequent report to God. Verses 9–15 depict the preparations for the theophany described in vv. 16–19, toward which the narrative aims as its climax. The 11. Probably this is not the metaphor of the eagle, but that of the protecting wings of the vulture, which is probably also the background for the metaphor of the protection/shadow of YHWH’s wings in the Psalms. 12. The frequently stated opinion that v. 6 proclaims the rule of the priests over the nation (“you will be a kingdom whose rulers are priests”) is not very likely from an exegetical standpoint; nor is it correct to say that here the early post-exilic notion of theocracy in Judah is being legitimated, since in the Persian period there was no “rule by priests” in Judah. That emerged only in the Hellenistic period. 13. See especially Georg Steins, “Priesterherrschaft oder Volk von Priestern? Zu einem exegetischen Problem in Ex 19,6,” BZ 45 (2001): 20–36. 1

ZENGER The Mystery of Revelation

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theophany is the inbreaking of the Holy into this world, the encounter of YHWH with his people. The prescriptions for sanctication and the taboo laid on the mountain during the time of the revelatory event make it clear that this is something that shatters and transforms the profane “everyday,” an event to which one may only expose oneself after appropriate preparation and by setting aside every factor that might become an obstacle to it. The narrative, by its use of the very terminology of the Exodus in v. 17, indicates that ultimately the Exodus is all about Israel’s being led out to this encounter with the God of Sinai: “Then Moses led the people out to meet God.” The God-encounter proper is narrated in vv. 16–19 with an abundance of overlapping images used to express the ineffable. With the lens of religious-historical criticism it has been possible here to discern traditions about a storm- and weather-god (cloud, thunder, lightning), a God of battles and war (rising column of smoke), a volcano-god (earthquake, re), and a sun-god (appearance in the morning). But elements from cultic rituals and feasts (rites of preparation, festive clothing, procession, blowing the shofar) are also incorporated. Literary-critical exegesis previously derived from this its arguments for the separation of textual layers.14 I consider the whole to be a magnicent mixture of metaphors that serves as a narrative setting of the scene for the principal statement that is to follow in v. 19b. The powerful staging of the revelation, its beginning marked in v. 16 with the indication of time, “On the third day,”15 and its dramatic intensity developed by means of reinforcing repetitions,16 swings, at its climax, and without preparation,17 into a highly theological narration that steps outside the world of the imagery: “Moses would speak and God would answer him in a (human) voice” (v. 19b).18 That is the unique theological point: the biblical God speaks in 14. See the table setting out the different positions in Erich Zenger, Die Sinaitheophanie. Untersuchungen zum jahwistischen und elohistischen Geschichtswerk (FB 3; Würzburg: Echter, 1979), 207–10. 15. Important events frequently take place on the third day: for example, Abraham’s arrival at Mt. Moriah in Gen 22, and the resurrection of Jesus. 16. Verses 18 and 19a are in part literal repetitions of v. 17, but intensied by “very.” 17. Syntactically striking in the Hebrew text as well, vv. 19a and 19b are placed alongside one another without any link. Verse 19a is an element of the narrated event, while v. 19b, which follows asyndetically, lies outside the narrative and represents a commentary on the narrated event. 18. This must be the translation (it is reinforced also by rabbinic exegesis), and not “…and God answered him aloud ” (Luther) or “…and God answered him in thunder” (Einheitsübersetzung; NRSV) or “As Moses spoke, God answered him in thunder” (NJPS). 1

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a human way and with human words to Moses and his people. Still more precisely: the text even reverses the usual picture, in which God speaks and the human being is to answer. Here, instead, it says that Moses spoke to God and God answered him in a human voice—and not with some kind of oracular signs. Thus in the biblical sense God’s revelation is an answer and a response. That God’s revelation in the form of a human voice at the same time retains its mysterious character—because, after all, it is God’s voice—is then underscored by Exod 20:18–21, in a summary commentary on the event narrated in Exod 19–20. Exodus 20:18 is particularly signicant in the context of our brief re
ection19 on the mystery of revelation; it says: “And the whole people saw the voices/the thunder and the
ames and the voice of the shofar and the smoking mountain.” Both in rabbinic interpretation and in recent Jewish and Christian exegesis there have been many speculations on how the individual elements of this verse can be understood as a recapitulation of Exod 19–20.20 What is especially surprising is that here the verb “to see” is connected also with objects that, strictly speaking, one cannot “see,” but only “hear.” In addition, the rst object is the plural “the voices/the (peals of) thunder,” even though previously in Exod 19 we nd only the singular of =HB. The discussion of these interpretations cannot be reviewed here. I will only present one explanation that is found in Mekhilta de Rabbi Ishmael (which reviews a number of different interpretations of this verse!), because this explanation lies within the horizon of the theology of revelation that is hinted at in Exod 19:19—and because it gives narrative support to the theology of revelation that is summarized in Ps 62:12. The corresponding passage in the Mekhilta reads: “And the whole people saw the voices (Exod 20:18)—a voice of the myriad of voices and a
ame of the myriad of
ames. And how many voices were there, and how many
ames? It is not to be understood in this way; rather, what is meant is: They were heard by the human being according to his or her ability, for it says: ‘The voice of the Eternal in (according to) the ability (of each individual)’ (Ps 29:4).” This (anonymously transmitted) interpretation begins with the plural combinations at the beginning of Exod 20:18: “And the whole people saw the voices and the ames…” The 19. The statements in Exod 20:19–21 about Moses as mediator of revelation are no less important. 20. See Michael Konkel, “Was hörte Israel am Sinai? Methodische Anmerkung zur Kontextanalyse des Dekalogs,” in Die Zehn Worte. Der Dekalog als Testfall des Pentateuchkritik (ed. Christian Frevel, Michael Konkel, and Johannes Schnocks; QD 212; Freiburg: Herder, 2005), 11–42. 1

ZENGER The Mystery of Revelation

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interpretation rst rejects the idea that these two plurals could express merely the quantity of the divine voices and the divine
ames. Instead, what is at stake is the mystery that the one divine revelation is given in manifold ways to each individual woman and man among the people of God assembled at Sinai—according to the ability and needs of the individual. This interpretation is supported by a reference to Ps 29:4: “The voice of YHWH—in power!” The psalm verse, which in its context refers to the power of YHWH’s revealing voice to harness chaos, is interpreted by Mekhilta in the sense of a theology of revelation that re
ects human beings as the recipients of revelation. The “power” of YHWH’s voice that is hymned in Ps 29:4 is now applied to the power of human beings who hear this voice as the voice of YHWH—according to their different abilities and opportunities. Because the biblical God speaks with a human voice (Exod 19:19) that is heard by people according to their ability, YHWH’s revelatory voice has an inexhaustible fullness of meanings and messages. This is classically formulated in the tractate Shabbat in the Babylonian Talmud (b. Šab. 88b): “R. Johanan said: What does it mean when it is written, ‘The Lord sends forth his word, great is the multitude of messengers’ (Ps 68:12)? Each individual word that came forth from the mouth of the Power (God) separated into seventy tongues. In the school of R. Ishmael it is taught: ‘(Is not my word like re, says the Lord) and like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?’ (Jer 23:29). As (a rock) is shattered into so many fragments (by the) hammer, so also every word that came forth from the mouth of the Holy One, blessed be he, separated into seventy tongues” (Šab. 88b). That is the mystery of revelation. It happens through those who hear God’s voice—according to their ability.21 This is illustrated paradigmatically in the narrative about the encounter between God and Elijah on Mt. Horeb. God shows himself to Elijah in just that way that Elijah can “bear” in his situation: Elijah perceives him as “the voice of a thin sighing” (Luther: “a still, small voice”). Here a look at the Hebrew word is revealing: qôl demm daqq. The root dmm, which underlies demm, refers to the quiet after a storm (in a theophany, as also for Elijah after his rage). This quiet is not the alternative to doing, not the opposite of powerful action, but its enhancement and, as the rest of the chapter shows, the possible beginning of a new action. And the word daqq, something like thin, ne, emaciated (like the cows in one of Pharaoh’s dreams in the Joseph story), again shows the 21. See Erich Zenger, Am Fuß des Sinai. Gottesbilder im Ersten Testament (2d ed.; Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1994), 101–9. 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation connection between God’s appearance and Elijah’s situation. Elijah sees God in the only way in which, in this situation, he is able to see and to endure God. Thin and emaciated—that is a good description of Elijah’s own situation. Thus the story in 1 Kings 19 reveals itself as one that tells of God’s solidarity especially with the weak, the despondent, the despairing. But this observation should not lead to a new denition of God, since God is no more fully described in the “voice of a thin sighing” than in storm, earthquake, and re. God appears to Elijah in the only way in which Elijah can see him.22

Moses, in the great paraenesis placed on his lips by the fourth chapter of the book of Deuteronomy, emphasizes that what happens at Sinai is fundamentally about hearing, and not seeing, and that what is seen at Sinai is only for the purpose of opening Israel’s ear: Do not forget the events that you have seen with your own eyes, and the words that you have heard.23 Do not let them slip from your mind all the days of your life! Make them known to your children and your children’s children! Do not forget the day when you stood before YHWH, your God, at Horeb. YHWH said to me: Assemble the people for me! I will let them hear my words, so that they may learn to fear me as long as they live in the land, and may teach their children so. You approached and stood at the foot of the mountain, and the mountain was burning: Fire, up to the very heavens, obscurity, clouds, and darkness. YHWH spoke to you out of the re. You heard the voice of the words but saw no form. You heard only the voice.24 YHWH revealed his covenant to you, and he charged you to observe it: the Ten Words. (Deut 4:9–13)

Moses himself had to learn that what is at issue is hearing, not seeing God, as the book of Exodus relates. On the one hand the Sinai narrative shows Moses going up the mountain onto which YHWH has descended in re, and Moses there speaks with the Living One as with a gure bodily present. Therefore the biblical narrative can even say that when Moses entered the tent of meeting/tent of revelation “YHWH spoke to Moses face to face, as people speak with one another” (Exod 33:11). But in 22. Jürgen Ebach, Kassandra und Jona. Gegen die Macht des Schicksals (Frankfurt: Athenäum, 1987), 97–98. 23. Thus with the Einheitsübersetzung, explained by Georg Braulik, Deuteronomium 116,17 (NEchtB 15; Würzburg: Echter, 1986), 41: “49 the events and the words, double translation of Hebrew debrm, here applied to hearing and seeing.” 24. Contrary to what most translations assume, =HB in 4:12, in my opinion, does not mean “thunder,” “peal,” or “sound,” but “voice.” It also does not mean “voice of thunder” (thus Karin Finsterbusch, Weisung für Israel. Studien zu religiösen Lehren und Lernen im Deuteronomium und in seinem Umfeld [FAT 44; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005], 136 n. 83). 1

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contrast to this we have to consider and listen to the narrative that expressly refuses Moses the vision of God and points him toward hearing the divine mystery. When Moses asks YHWH two things: “Let me know your ways!” and “Show me your glory/your face!” the second petition is immediately rejected by God: “You cannot see my face. No one can see my face. You can only see my back” (Exod 33:20, 23, paraphrase). The rest of the narrative shows that the curious statement “You can only see my back” is to be heard, or read, as a positive response to the rst petition, “Let me know your ways!” For when Moses descends from the mountain YHWH comes down in the cloud and passes (shrouded in the cloud?) by Moses. What the narrative probably intends is that as Moses looks at this passing and sees only God’s back he hears how God in a sense exegetes himself by describing in solemn words his saving, forgiving, and judging acts.25 The things said of God in Exod 34:6–7 are, moreover, the statements most frequently quoted and reformulated within the Bible itself, which underscores their importance.26 In the context of the narrative in Exod 33–34 they are, to the extent that they are proclaimed by the God who is passing by Moses, the answer to Moses’ rst petition: “Let me know your ways.” In hearing these words, Moses is to realize who God is and what God demands of Moses and his people. 4. “All this we will do, and we will hear” (Exodus 24:7) According to the book of Deuteronomy, Israel is constituted as YHWH’s people by hearing, as stated in what is even today the central liturgical confessional text of Judaism, the so-called Shema Israel (Deut 6:4): Hear, O Israel, YHWH is our God; YHWH is One (or: YHWH is alone).

Just as Israel, in listening to the voice of God at Sinai/Horeb, became God’s people, in fulllment of the promise given to Moses (“If you listen to my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession out of all the peoples,” Exod 19:5), so Israel will be newly constituted as 25. On Exod 34:6–7, see especially, Matthias Franz, Der barmherzige und gnädige Gott. Die Gnadenrede vom Sinai (Exodus 34,6–7) und ihre Parallelen im Alten Testament und seiner Umwelt (BWA[N]T 160; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2003); Ruth Scoralick, Gottes Güte und Gottes Zorn. Die Gottesprädikationen Ex 34,6f und ihre intertextuellen Beziehungen zum Zwölfprophetenbuch (Herders Biblische Studien 33; Freiburg: Herder, 2002). 26. In post-biblical Judaism Maimonides developed out of these statements about God the teaching of the thirteen ways of God’s working (Middot). The appeal to these thirteen Middot of God is at the center of the Jewish liturgy on Yom Kippur. 1

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God’s people in every generation if it hears the voice of the God of Sinai, especially the voice of the Torah. Every generation, in a sense, stands at the base of Sinai and must surrender itself, daring to hear. And where that hearing happens, Israel moves into the horizon of that today of which Ps 95:7 speaks. The book of Deuteronomy itself underscores that it is in the hearing of the Torah of Sinai, even at a distance from Sinai, that this Israel-constituting “today” comes to pass. Therefore Moses can say in the elds of Moab to Israelites who were not themselves at Sinai/Horeb as their ancestors had been: “YHWH, our God, made a covenant with us at Horeb. It was not with our ancestors that YHWH made this covenant, but with us who stand here today, with all of us, the living” (Deut 5:2–3). And although they themselves were not at Sinai, or at best were small children, Moses can continue: “YHWH spoke with you face to face out of the re” (Deut 5:4). Exodus 24:7 shows how and where this “hearing” takes place. In response to Moses’ reading of the Book of the Covenant, the people say: “We will do all this and we will hear” (Exod 24:7). Israel only really hears God by doing the Torah. The explicit characterization of Israel, at the end of the Pentateuch, as hearer of the word of God delivered through Joshua, the successor of Moses, is a fundamental feature of the tradition. The time of the long march from Egypt through the wilderness to the borders of the Promised Land is thus in a sense depicted as Israel’s great school for hearing, a metamorphosis from a not-listening to listening people of God. When Moses brings the Israelites in Egypt the message of their liberation, their reaction, according to Exod 6:9, was: “They did not listen to him, because of their broken spirit and their cruel slavery.” This note that “they did not listen” appears again and again during their journey through the desert.27 At the end, however, in Deut 34:9, we read: “the Israelites listened to him [i.e. Joshua] and did what YHWH had commanded Moses.”28 Now the entry into the Land of Promise can begin: they go in as hearers of the word. The biblical tradition has summed up its perception that right hearing is the precondition for the inbreaking of the realm of justice and peace willed by the biblical God in a glorious and almost fairy-tale story strongly shaped in its form and motifs by Egyptian tradition. This is 27. Num 14:22 speaks of the “not listening” of the Exodus generation as the reason for their death before the entry into the Land. 28. Deut 34:9 asserts the fulllment of what had been promised by YHWH himself in Num 27:20; at the same time, Deut 34:9 must be seen within the horizon of Deut 18:15. Since Deut 34:10–12 is a kind of colophon to the Pentateuch, we may regard the statement in Deut 34:9 about the Israelites’ “listening” as a programmatic closing for the Pentateuch. 1

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the programmatic overture with which the reign of the young Solomon opens in 1 Kings. The narrative is inspired by the tale, frequently encountered in Egyptian texts, in which the crown prince or young king goes to a temple near the royal residence where he has an encounter with God and then brings rich offerings to the deity. A classic example of this tradition is the so-called Sphinx Stele of Thutmose IV, which situates the crown prince’s dream of the god at the feet of the famous sphinx of Giza; there the god Harmachis promises him the rulership that belongs to him, over all Egypt, and when he awakens from the dream he proclaims a great cultic festival!29 The structure of this event is found also in the biblical story in 1 Kgs 3. The young Solomon travels from his city of Jerusalem to the pilgrimage sanctuary of Gibeon, 9 km to the northwest. He passes the night there, in the sanctuary, in order to receive a word from God through the liturgical action of incubation (sleeping in the temple). There God appears to him in a dream and offers to fulll a wish for him as he assumes the royal throne. Solomon does not ask, as we would expect from the Egyptian model, for a long life, wealth, and power over his enemies; instead, he says: “Give your servant a listening heart, so that he may rule your people well and know how to discern between good and evil!” (1 Kgs 3:9). He receives his answer from God: Because you have asked this, and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the life of your enemies, but have asked for yourself the ability to hear what is right, I now do according to your word. See, I give you a wise and discerning heart, so that there has been none before you and none will come after you who is your equal. But I give you also what you have not asked: wealth and honor…and long life. (1 Kgs 3:11–12)

The listening heart is here the precondition for everything else. The metaphor of the “listening heart” is both Egyptian and Israelite. “Heart” is not a metaphor for feeling; rather, it is the organ of the intellect and the center of personal identity. In this conception the heart is that part of the human being in which all sense impressions come together, are stored, and are contemplated. From the “heart” then go forth all the person’s judgments and decisions. To that extent the “heart” is the place within the person that “hears” everything that comes from outside and reacts to it. But it was especially true—in Egypt and in Israel—that the heart was the organ through which God is “heard” and through which God “dwells within” the person. Thus the heart is the human organ of reception for discerning the order of the world and of life that is willed by God. 29. See “A Divine Oracle Through a Dream,” ANET, 449. 1

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In 1988, the Egyptologist Hellmut Brunner drew attention to an Egyptian text containing the expression “listening heart,” previously known only from the Bible. The following passage appears on a statue of Amenophis, son of Hapu, who was a master builder and high ofcial of Amenophis III, in the temple at Karnak: “I am truly outstanding among all the people, one with a listening heart, when he seeks counsel among what is strange like one whose heart was present.” Brunner comments on this passage as follows: “What Amenophis, son of Hapu, revered at a later period as a sage and ‘holy one,’ emphasizes as something most unusual is that his heart was able to give ‘counsel’ even in the face of things unusual, strange—that is, phenomena that had not yet been received into the traditional Egyptian worldview, but that in this period of such openness toward Asia and Nubia were appearing everywhere— that he understood how to classify such new and confusing phenomena so that he could react to them rightly—and he was able to do this because of his ‘listening heart.’ ”30 The “art of listening” is the core of what could be called Egyptian— and, analogously, Jewish—“education.” The conclusion of the Wisdom of Ptahhotep, which sings the praise of listening in more than a hundred verses, is applicable to both: Useful is listening to a son who hears. If hearing enters the hearer, the hearer becomes one who is heard. To listen well is to speak well, and the one who listens possesses what is useful. Splendid is listening to one who hears, listening is better than all else, for it manifests perfect love. How good it is for a son to grasp his father’s words! In this way he will reach old age, for one who listens is beloved of God, but the one who does not listen is hated of God. It is the heart that makes of its owner a listener or a non-listener. A man’s heart is his life, prosperity, and health. It is the hearer who listens to what is said, and one who loves to listen is one who does what is said.31

30. Helmut Brunner, Das hörende Herz. Kleine Schriften zur Religions- und Geistergeschichte Ägyptens (OBO 80; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 4–5. 31. See “The Instruction of the Vizier Ptah-hotep,” ANET, 414. See also http:// maat.soatopia.org/ptahhotep_maxims.htm. 1

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Against this background the answer given in the midrash in tractate Sanhedrin to the question “when will Messiah come?”—“Today, if you listen to his voice”—acquires deep signicance: Today, if you love listening. Today, if you hear in your heart. Today, if you do what this voice of God says to you.

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DEUTERONOMY 29–34 AND THE FORMATION OF THE TORAH Randall Heskett

Back when I was an undergraduate student at Bethany Bible College, our Greek and Hebrew Professor, Dr. Rider, often commented about Gerald Sheppard, who at the time was teaching at the “liberal” Union Theological Seminary in New York City. When I later attended the S.T.M. program at Yale, Brevard Childs spoke very highly of Gerry, and when I asked him if there was anyone in the whole world who was a top-notch scholar of both Old Testament and Hermeneutics, he told me, “Gerry Sheppard is the only one who comes to mind.” Subsequently, Childs contacted Dr. Sheppard, suggesting that I study with him for my Ph.D.: “You will love Gerry, he is a reball,” Childs added. With that, I moved to Toronto, where Gerry at that time was teaching, becoming his graduate student and Teaching Assistant. Gerry arranged for me to have teaching responsibilities at the Toronto School of Theology; I do not regret for a moment making this move. Gerry understood my pedagogical needs. Our common interests and the experiences that we shared were rich. We had both graduated from Bethany College in California, both understood Pentecostal interpretation, and had a wide variety of shared interests. We both had studied several ancient Near Eastern languages. We shared interests in the history of interpretation, theology, ethics, sciences, and philosophy. We both loved cooking and even prepared several gourmet meals together. He once told me that his relationship with me was just as close as his relationship with Childs. In our daily conversations, weekly lunches, and even Christmas dinners together, Gerry helped me to understand the role that this wider context of disciplines played in the interpretation of Scripture, greater theological discourse, and the wholeness of life. Gerry’s mentorship even helped me to address the larger issues of my latest monograph, The Road to Wholeness, a topic on which Anne Sheppard noted that Gerry always wanted to write. A day does not go by where I do not either consult Gerry’s publications for help or simply ask myself how Gerry would have treated a certain problem that seems insoluble. As my mentor, later 1

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colleague, and close friend, I miss him greatly. This paper demonstrates one way in which he taught me to describe how smaller units t into the greater perspective of the macrocosm. Throughout the history of interpretation, readers of Scripture with widely varying perspectives have used source-critical methodology to assign the date and “authorship” of Deuteronomy to time periods and gures other than Moses. Whereas de Wette argued source-critically that the writer of Deuteronomy was a “pious fraud,”1 fundamentalists used the same basic approach to assign the “authorship” of the death of Moses to Joshua, thereby creating (ironically) their own “J” source (J for Joshua).2 Form-critical approaches have given rise to the work of von Rad, who claimed that Deuteronomy’s original “paraenetic” function found its setting in the amphictyony cult,3 Weinfeld, who assigns the provenance of this book to the wisdom circles of the royal court of Judah,4 and George Mendenhall, who argues that the book of Deuteronomy takes on the very form of a Hittite suzerain–vassal treaty.5 The application of redaction criticism to Deuteronomy was a key element in the work of Martin Noth, who argued that the core of Deuteronomy consisted of chs. 12–26, with 4:44–11:32 serving as the original introduction to the law and 27:1–30:20 as the conclusion. Noth maintained that much of this material may have belonged initially to the Deuteronomistic History (Deuteronomy–2 Kings; hereafter DtrH). According to Noth, Deut 4:44– 30:20 is “Deuteronomic Law,” which is a separate complex of traditions whose entire literary growth “must be dated before Dtr.”6 In Noth’s words, “Deut. 1–3 (4) is not the introduction to the Deuteronomic law but the beginning of the Deuteronomistic historical narrative” after the communication of Deuteronomic law.7 1. W. M. L. de Wette, Lehrbuch der historisch-kritischen Einleitung in die kanonischen und apokryphischen Bücher des Alten Testaments (8th ed.; Berlin: Reimer, 1869). 2. See, for example, Gleason L. Archer Jr., Encyclopedia of Bible Dif
culties (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1982), 154. 3. Gerhard von Rad, Das Gottesvolk im Deuteronomium (BWANT 3/11 [= 47]; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1929). 4. Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972). 5. George E. Mendenhall, “Ancient Oriental and Biblical Law and Covenant Forms in Israelite Traditions,” BA 17 (1954): 26–46, 50–70; “Covenant Forms in Israelite Tradition,” in The Biblical Archaeologist Reader (ed. Edward F. Campbell and David Noel Freedman; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1970), 3:25–53 (31). 6. Martin Noth, The Deuteronomistic History (trans. Jane Doull, John Barton, and Michael D. Rutter; JSOTSup 15; Shefeld: JSOT, 1981), 16. 7. Ibid., 14. 1

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While source criticism rightly called attention to the serious historical problems and naiveté of Mosaic “authorship,” it also introduced a rift between the biblical text8 and Moses’ scriptural function as the human gure who testies to revelation and who holds the entire Torah together. While form criticism sought to establish the original oral performance and to understand the aesthetics that governed the Gattung of various traditions, no matter how accurate, it atomized the biblical text into its various pre-biblical oral forms that preceded the scriptural form and function of the Torah as a whole. Most scholars would agree with Noth that the original Deuteronomic traditions originated in the time of Josiah and initially belonged to a DtrH. Nevertheless, Noth thought that the Deuteronomic law was the accumulation of traditional materials that developed over time and referred back to Moses. Purely on historical grounds, the “book of the torah” that Hilkiah found in the temple (2 Kgs 22:8) was probably the core tradition of “D” (Deut 12–26), which is usually associated with the reforms of Josiah and also serves as the stipulations of a treaty between God and Israel. However, the theory of a DtrH has a great potential to ignore the form and function of the Mosaic Torah, which reached its scriptural form after the book of Deuteronomy was separated from that “history” and added to the Tetrateuch in order to complete the Torah in postexilic era. The strength of source and form criticisms is that they isolate pre-biblical traditions and help us to understand how the many pre-biblical pieces may have been woven into the tapestry of the vast biblical text. Even redaction criticism, having the capacity to describe the form and function of Scripture, can also isolate pre-biblical traditions that pre-date Jewish Scripture. These older modern methods have sought to satisfy a modern appetite for history at the expense of ignoring the scriptural form and function of a completed Mosaic Torah that accompanied the establishment of early Judaism in the postexilic era. Since several scholars in the past twenty-ve years have tried to describe the Pentateuch as a whole, this essay seeks to focus on how Deut 29–34 illumines the scriptural function of the Torah. Although these chapters are often dismissed as “a miscellaneous collection of unrelated passages”,9 I aim to show the impact of scripture-conscious editing when these chapters were added to the biblical book of Deuteronomy, which in Hebrew is called )JC359 9= or simply )JC35. This 8. See Sheppard’s, “Isaiah,” in The HarperCollins Bible Commentary (ed. James L. Mays et al.; San Francisco, Calif.: HarperCollins, 2000), 489–97. 9. Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 219. 1

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endeavour raises several questions: What impact does the postexilic, editorial addition of Deut 29–34 have upon the formation of the scriptural scroll of Torah as a whole and what in turn is meant by DtrH in the assessment of Israelite traditions that subsequently became part of Jewish Scripture? Moreover, what becomes of the book of Deuteronomy and its relationship to the Tetrateuch after it has been separated from that “history” and has been added as the last book of the Mosaic Torah (Genesis to Deuteronomy)? What are the implications for how the books from Joshua to 2 Kings in the DtrH came to be presented as biblical books of Scripture? Deuteronomy 29–34 seem to contain later material which reinterprets the earlier D core. Sheppard’s colleague, Brian Peckham, ascribes most of chs. 29–34 to late editors who build on Dtr1 (Dtr1 = Deut 29:1a, 9a, 11, 13–14; 31:1, 2a, 3a, 6). For example, Peckham suggests that the P source (P = Num 27:12–13, 15–23; Deut 1:3; 32:48–50, 51b–52; 34:1aAGb, 2–5, 7–9)10 and Dtr2 (Dtr2 = 29:1b–8, 9b–10, 12, 15–28; 30:1–20; 31:2b, 3b–5, 7–30; 32:1–47, 51; 33:1–29; 34:1a, 6, 10–12) provide later reworking of the earlier core.11 Peckham rejects Noth’s theory that there was an earlier D core that was incorporated into the DtrH. He argues that Noth’s theory of an original D tradition is incompatible with Noth’s insight that Dtr is the “author” of a history. Thus, for Peckham, the Dtr1 history is continuous from the beginning of Deuteronomy. The Dtr1 texts cited above in Peckham’s analysis are part of a Dtr1 history. For Peckham, Dtr2 (the exilic Deuteronomist) segments the book with interpretive commentary and is one whose editorial additions, corrections, and running commentary on Dtr1 make it seem as if it were an earlier D tradition.12 I do not have the condence of Peckham with regard to identifying which sources lie behind these later levels of editing; in this essay, I will show the impact of these later levels of tradition history. Whether or not the exact source designation and dating can be determined, later materials permeate the majority of Deut 29–34. Yet for what purpose? Peckham’s theory is most pertinent to my argument because, in his view, the book of Deuteronomy reached its present scriptural form in 10. Brian Peckham, History and Prophecy: The Development of the Late Judean Literary Traditions (ed. David Noel Freedman; ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1993), 257. 11. See the tables in Brian Peckham, The Composition of the Deuteronomistic History (HSM 35; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1985), 95–140. 12. See Peckham’s detailed refutation of Noth in “The Composition of Deuteronomy 5–11,” in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth: Essays in Honor of David Noel Freedman in Celebration of His Sixtieth Birthday (ed. Carol L. Meyers and M. O’Connor; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1983), 217–40. 1

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the postexilic era when the Torah/Pentateuch was established as the authoritative canon for Jewish faith and practice. In my opinion, Mendenhall convincingly demonstrates that the core of the Deuteronomic traditions is cast in suzerain–vassal treaty formulae that bind Israel to YHWH as its suzerain. Although Mendenhall would argue that Deut 32 re
ects this treaty ideology, I wish to argue that this material does not contain this treaty language but has been added to this Deuteronomic core.13 Deuteronomy 32 and its function within chs. 29–34 has striking impact upon the rest of Deuteronomy and the entire Pentateuch. Within these chapters, the later editors have provided “publisher’s notes” (Sheppard’s terminology, which I adopt here), which inform the reader of how to read Scripture and its function within the community of faith. Moses’ Song in Deut 32 was traditionally interpreted as early as Philo as Moses’ last will and testament just as 2 Sam 23:1–7 was viewed as David’s last will and testament. Now within the latter formation of the book of Deuteronomy, the editors have regarded this song to be J?33 5= = C J, “a testimony” or “witness against Israel” (Deut 31:19). Moreover, these editorial remarks tell us that “this song will confront them as a witness” (Deut 31:21) but for what purpose and to what subject does this song testify? Deuteronomy 31:26 equates this witness with the very Torah itself, when Moses as the designated (not historical) writer instructs the Levites to “place this book of the Torah beside the ark of the covenant of YHWH their [sic. ‘your’] God that it may remain there as a witness against you.” Similarly, Deut 31:28 states: “Take this book of the Torah and put it beside the ark of the covenant of the LORD your God; let it remain there as a testimony (5) against you.” Deuteronomy 31:30 claims that this is the testimony of Moses who “recited the words of this song, to the very end, in the hearing of the whole assembly of Israel.” Likewise, Deut 32:44–46 states: When Moses had nished reciting all these words to all Israel, he said to them: “Take to heart all the words that I am giving in witness (5H) against you today; give them as a command to your children, so that they may diligently observe all the words of this Torah.”

Therefore within the latter formation of Torah, these publisher’s notes portray Scripture itself as a human testimony to divine revelation and Deut 29:29 denes this revelation accordingly: “The secret things belong 13. See George Mendenhall, “Samuel’s ‘Broken Rîb’: Deuteronomy 32,” in A Song of Power and the Power of Song: Essays on the Book of Deuteronomy (ed. Duane L. Christensen; Sources for Biblical and Theological Study 3; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1993), 169–80. 1

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to the LORD our God, but the revealed things belong to us and to our children forever, to observe all the words of this Torah…” This verse then names the Torah as the very subject matter of God’s unique revelation to Israel. Torah then performs a dual function, most specically as the subject matter of the entire Tanakh/Old Testament, but also one of three idioms of revelation, which along with wisdom and prophecy provides a specic arena for revelation to operate (each idiom testifying to Torah as revealed subject matter). The inference here is that, if God had not revealed the Torah to Moses, it would have remained secret; that it was communicated to Moses gives it the status of revelation. As the designated writer, however, Moses testies to a revelation that now belongs to each successive generation. Not only do these words inform the reader about how to interpret Torah as both a category and subject matter of this revelation, but they also set the precedent for how each subsequent generation may read the rest of Scripture. Nevertheless, what would keep one from arguing that these later chapters of Deuteronomy were added merely to conclude )JC359 9= , but with no interpretive impact on the Tetrateuch? Why can we not simply argue that this Torah mentioned in this book speaks about Deuteronomy alone but not the postexilic Mosaic Torah? Although such a question can be easily answered by nonchalantly reading the Torah synchronically, we who have drunk from the well of modernity need historical-critical indicators to be convinced that the “torah” mentioned in Deuteronomy is indeed “intended” to be read as the postexilic Torah of Moses. First of all, the moment that one picks up a lexicon or makes historical claims, he or she has nullied any synchronic approach. Second, since modern scholarship has little or no problem assigning most of these concluding chapters of Deuteronomy—most specically the death of Moses— to later hands, such diachronic insight, which is often used effectively to disprove the historical authenticity of Mosaic “authorship”—and rightly so—also may provide one of the clues to reading the Pentateuch as a whole because the later editors may have incorporated Deuteronomy with the Tetrateuch to form one Mosaic Torah. How? The very fact that the death of Moses has been removed possibly from its original position in Num 27 and has been placed subsequently in Deut 34 shows the inclusion of Deuteronomy into a ve book Pentateuch. While Noth believed that these verses belonged to a later Deuteronomistic writer or editor, many scholars trace the verses about the death of Moses in Deut 34:7–9 to a later “Priestly” redactor who moved the material from Numbers to the end of Deuteronomy because they correspond to Priestly material about Aaron’s death and Joshua’s succession 1

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in Num 20:29 and 27:18–23.14 Von Rad argues that because of “the reference to Joshua, his charisma and his ofce,” this passage, which describes the death of Moses, “refers to Num. 27:18ff (P).”15 S. R. Driver acknowledges that the death of Moses is a later addition, but says that we cannot be sure if it belongs to a later JE or P.16 Moreover, while such references to “the plains of Moab” and “Mount Nebo” (v. 1) and to “Abraham, Isaac and Jacob” (v. 4) have led Mayes to assign these verses to Priestly additions, Olson calls these verses “post-Deuteronomic addition by a redactor who was editing the entire Pentateuch.”17 These verses provide publisher’s notes that describe Moses’ function in the Pentateuch. In an analogous way, the New Testament editors followed this model to provide similar “publisher’s notes” by removing the book of Acts from Luke and later adding John 21 while incorporating John’s account of the Gospel into the collection to round off those books that read together as four accounts or testimonies to the one Gospel (,"5" ."22"*0/ ,"5", ."3,0/ ,"5" -06,"/ ,"5" *8"//)/). This strategy emulates how the books of Moses, though separate in their macro-structure, testify to one Torah. Acts, like Deuteronomy, then, would be about and for the next generation. If the core chapters of Deuteronomy once did belong to the DtrH, they have indeed been detached from this pre-biblical tradition and now belong to a ve-book Torah. In essence, this designation of DtrH cannot function as a category within the scriptural or biblical context, but at best may be viewed as a pre-biblical tradition. Therefore, within the latter formation of Scripture, after Deuteronomy has been separated from the “history” and joined with the Torah, Josh 1:7–8 now names the Mosaic Torah as the revelation to which the testimony of the text bears witness and the subject matter to which the scriptural category of “Former Prophets” (Joshua–Kings) now provides witness and even commentary. Nevertheless, another problem arises out of modern scholarship: Can we call the Pentateuch a “Mosaic Torah” or “the Five Books of Moses” if modern-critical methods indeed show that Moses did not historically 14. For instance, the following: A. D. H. Mayes, Deuteronomy (NCB; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1981), 413; Lothar Perlitt, “Priesterschrift im Deuteronomium?,” ZAW (Suppl.) 100 (1988): 65–88; Dennis T. Olson, Deuteronomy and the Death of Moses: A Theological Reading (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 166–67. 15. See Gerhard von Rad, Deuteronomy: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1966), 210. 16. See S. R. Driver, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Deuteronomy (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1895), 425. 17. See Olson, Deuteronomy and the Death of Moses, 166. 1

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“recite the words of this song, to the very end…” (Deut 31:30) and did not historically “nish writing down in a book the words of this Torah to the very end” (Deut 31:24)? First, we must acknowledge the sheer necessity of historical-critical methodology in the modern quest to describe origins and levels of tradition history. Yet, when scholars limit the meaning of Scripture to original “authors” and the intent of the “editors,” they often fail to describe the meaning of Scripture. Such attempts to impose the modern notion of “authorship” on the biblical text stem from a modern understanding of history and individualism. No wonder scholars made such source-critical allegations that the writer was a “pious fraud” or limited the meaning of Deuteronomy to form-critical efforts that culminated in assigning the provenance of this book to either the wisdom circles of the royal court of Judah or the oral setting of a suzerain–vassal treaty. If Moses was not the “author” of the Pentateuch and Deuteronomy was not originally connected to the rst four books, then Noth had no alternative but to determine Deuteronomic origins and their relationship to the books that follow. This modern notion of “authorship” may have spawned thousands of theories as to the various sources or oral forms that made up the Pentateuch, but no exegete from the modern era disputed that Moses could not have written about his own death and therefore could not be the “author” of the entire Pentateuch. Like the early supporters of the documentary hypothesis, fundamentalists obliviously shared the same epistemological category of those whom they condemned. Hence, they too had no other alternative but to apply source-critical theory in order to solve the problems of Moses’ death by assigning it to Joshua as another source and yet leave as much of their own conservative theory of Mosaic “authorship” intact as possible. Yet, they too never comprehended how they had sacriced Moses’ function of holding together the entire Pentateuch by acquiescing to one form of plural authorship. While in the pre-modern era the Talmud (Baba Batra 15a) speculated that Joshua wrote the words about the death of Moses and Ibn Ezra said that it must have come from a later writer, neither commentary applied the modern notion of authorship. These attempts to determine “authorship” became the inevitable result of the modern era, leaving no other alternative but to atomize the Torah into multiple authorships, depending on how many sources the various theories would allow the text to stretch18 to before it broke.

18. Frei’s term; see Hans W. Frei, “The ‘Literal Reading’ of Biblical Narrative in the Christian Tradition: Does It Stretch or Will It Break?,” in Bible and the Narrative Tradition (ed. Frank McConnell; New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), 36–77. 1

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The paradox here lies in how both fundamentalists and liberals seemed to subject the biblical text to the same modern criteria of history and science. While one camp defends the historical Mosaic “authorship,” the other disregards it on similar epistemological grounds—and both agree that the death of Moses is not an autobiography (except for a few of what Sheppard called “sub-modern” conservative Christians and some Orthodox Jews who believe that Moses was given insight into his own death and did indeed write about it before he died). Through buying into the modern notion of authorship, literalistic interpreters had no other alternative but to step over the line into the same arena that spawned the liberal solution of assigning a portion of historical authorship to a gure other than Moses. Whether they chose two authors (Moses and Joshua), four authors (J-E-D-P), or more, each camp forfeited Moses’ function within the whole Torah. Just as such individuals as Spinoza, Bleek, Colenso, Graf, Kuenen, Simon, and Eichhorn each preceded Wellhausen, they all began their source-critical quest on the undisputable premise that Moses could not have written about his own death. Hence, they each subsequently built on other criteria such as divine names, priestly distinctions, anachronisms, chronological accuracy, contradictions, repetitions, and dislocation of narratives, and so on, thus expanding on this initial observation of Moses’ death.19 Literalistic interpreters, too, commenced with the death of Moses but eventually had to adjudicate whether or not the text could accommodate other sources. This scenario is striking: the irony turns on the fact that both Evangelicals and Fundamentalists originally found common ground in their view of Mosaic “authorship,” both beginning at the same place as did their liberal opponents by assigning authorship of Moses’ death to the penmanship of a source other than Moses. In making this modern-interpretive shift, many twentieth- and twenty-rst-century Evangelical scholars have not only assigned the death of Moses to another source, where both their modern-fundamentalist kin and liberal enemies unwittingly commenced, but they have even followed the steps of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century liberal schools to the degree that it is fashionable in many Evangelical circles now to use the nomenclature, “J-E-D-P.”20 Representing two sides of the 19. See Abraham Kuenen, An Historico-critical Inquiry into the Origin and Composition of the Hexateuch: (Pentateuch and Book of Joshua) (trans. P. H. Wicksteed; London: Macmillan, 1886), xxxix. Here he shows that Wellhausen was not a pioneer but a grand consolidator. 20. In 1978 Robert Gundry resigned from the Evangelical Theological Society in the wake of fundamentalist attacks over his use of historical-critical methods. In his “Historical Criticism and the Evangelical” (JETS 42, no. 2 [1999]: 193–210), 1

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same coin, each theological party inadvertently applied source criticism, and literalistic interpreters ironically bought into the very project that they so vehemently disdained, thus forfeiting the scriptural function of Moses within the scroll of Torah as a whole. If the successes of the modern era have yielded new problems and diminishing returns, then it is time for biblical scholarship to rethink the role of epistemology and the biblical text—especially in the area of “authorship.” What does it mean that Deut 29–34 so poignantly links Moses to the Pentateuch? In Deut 31, the editors speak of Moses in the third person as the one who “wrote” (3E<) all the words of the Torah and the Song that testies to this Torah (31:9, 19, 22, 24). This is also reminiscent of his function as the designated writer, but Moses is not called an author. In his brilliant essay, “What is an Author?,” Michel Foucault has elegantly described how the word “author” is a modern term that carries all of the baggage of the modern era, including individualism and a Cartesian view of history and science, and so is something that cannot do justice to an ancient text. The modern notion of authorship rests on an individual writing a text to a contemporary audience, and prohibits plagiarism or multiple sources without proper citation. Ancient texts, however, were not composed with such modern requirements in mind. Childs suggests that, unlike the modern idea of authorship where a written piece is the sole property of the author, the Old Testament is “traditional, communal and developing.”21 The Old Testament never ruled out a later voice adding to the compositions. There is no ancient Hebrew or Greek word for “author” (just as there is no ancient word for “history”). Within the history of pre-modern interpretation, God was always the author. On these grounds, Foucault suggests that writers of ancient texts are not authors but writers by designation. Since there is no

Osborne declared his own support for an evangelical “higher criticism.” The Dean at the Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Kenneth Kantzer, defended Osborne’s approach. Gerald Sheppard described the shift and resistance to historical criticisms in the Evangelical wing in his “Recovering the Natural Sense of the Text,” ThTo 88, no. 3 (1981): 330–37. For a conservative appraisal of Evangelicals who use historical-critical methods, see Robert L. Thomas and F. David Darnell, ed., The Jesus Crisis: The Inroads of Historical Criticism into Evangelical Scholarship (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Kregel, 1998). See also the review the same work by Stephen T. Pegler, “Jesus Crisis: The Inroads of Historical Criticism into Evangelical Scholarship,” TJ 21, no. 1 (2000): 97–102. Finally, see Richard Coleman, “Biblical Inerrancy: Are We Going Anywhere?,” TJ 31, no. 4 (1975): 295–303. 21. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture, 574. 1

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ancient Hebrew word for author (the Bible only telling us that individuals “wrote” certain books), the terminology of “designated writer” better describes the function of Moses and others whose names are attached to a biblical composition. Hence, Moses functions as the “designated writer” of the Torah, who holds the greater text together and who testies to revelation—namely, the Torah. His name gives provenance to the text. Since Deut 29–34 names Moses’ words as a testimony to revelation, Moses as designated writer fullls this human function and leaves this legacy as his last will and testament. The Torah then sets the precedent for the rest of Scripture by designating the scriptural function as a human testimony to revelation. Somehow, biblical texts need to be set in time and space with a human voice because it affects how one hears the words and demarcates the text as an arena in which revelation operates. As the one who has been associated with the Torah in this manner, Deut 34:10–12 names Moses as the prophet par excellence. Biblical prophets clearly are not the authors of whole books (e.g. Isaiah or Amos) but serve as the designated writers whose human testimony holds together the entire composition and bears witness to the Torah as revelation. Hence, this term describes their function as the designated writers of Scripture. Moses and David are called prophets because they are intermediary gures who speak forth God’s word, even if their words are spoken to God as in the Psalms. While Solomon is never called a prophet in the Old Testament, the Targum does call him a “prophet” who attests to the revelatory nature of the collection that bears his name. First Kings 6:11–13 does cast Solomon as a prophet declaring that “the C35 of YHWH came unto Solomon…” Solomon is then connected to wisdom within the context of Scripture in the same way that Moses is associated with Torah and David with the Psalms, each being human witnesses to revelation. The word “prophet” cannot serve as a modern historical indicator but describes a scriptural function. Old Testament writers must be prophets just as New Testament writers are called apostles. Therefore, Blenkinsopp rightly comments that the Torah is a prophetic book. This also provides a precedent for the rest of Scripture. Therefore, since the editors tell us in Deut 34:10 that “there has never again arisen a prophet in Israel like Moses,” his role exceeds that of other biblical prophets in that he is linked with the very subject matter of Jewish Scripture. For example, when the Pentateuch reached its scriptural form, there were probably other competing Torahs (e.g. Ezek 40–48) which prompted scripture-conscious editors to lift up Moses as the greatest of all prophets. Ezekiel 40–48 still receives a place within Scripture as a prophetic document but does not receive the same canonical status 1

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as does the Torah of Moses. That is why it is vital for us to see the presence of Moses as the key gure who is presented as a designated writer. This legitimizes him as the writer of Torah. In a similar manner, the later added chapter of the Gospel according to John, after Luke has been removed from Acts and this Gospel account was inserted, designates John as writer. While the Gospel acknowledges that “There are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain all the books that could be written,” prominence is given to “the disciple who testies to these things and has written them down, and we know that his testimony is true” (John 21:24–25). This publisher’s note protects the four Gospel accounts from competing Gospel traditions (e.g. The Gospel of Thomas, The Secret Book of John, The Gospel of Phillip, The Gospel of Bartholomew, The Gospel of Nicodemus, The Infancy Gospel of James, and so on) in the same way that Deut 34:10–12 distinguishes the Mosaic Torah from competing “toroth.” Even Q itself is incorporated into these testimonies to the Gospel rather than being given canonical status on its own. While the present study afrms the existence of the various pre-biblical sources that predate the latter formation of the Torah and that these ve books retain this prehistory that now has been ratied, we cannot allow these sources to provide the scriptural meaning of the Pentateuch. Since the editors clearly intended for us to see the Pentateuch as a whole, we need to reject the temptation of thinking that we can identify either, J, E, D, or P’s theology. The various sources have put a different spin on things, but they have not given their theology. The term “theology” is really a Christian construct, one which speaks of an abstract discipline whereby the scholar must go far beyond the biblical literature. We need to realize that the source-critical designations in the Pentateuch have been necessary in dening historical origins, while also realizing that this methodological pursuit begins the exegetical conversation but does not end it or solve it. For example, the fact that the so-called “J” and “E” sources anthropomorphize God in a way that “P” and “D” do not, re
ects how dissimilar traditions can function as human witnesses to one divine revelation. As a human witness, isolated biblical passages or pre-biblical sources bear the weaknesses and limitations of mere mortals, but when held together with the Torah as subject matter, we can speak of a theology since the human words point to a revelation that gives the text a divine function. That is why we need to try to understand how these human testimonies of the text can each bear witness to a revelation that is much bigger than the limits of the text. 1

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By way of analogy, John’s account to the Gospel names Jesus Christ as the subject matter of Christian Scripture—even the revelation to whom Moses now testies—stating, “You search the scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that testify on my behalf” (John 5:39; also 5:46). The point taken here is that the words on the page are not revelation, but testify to that divine reality. If a family were driving down the highway from Toronto to Niagara Falls and saw a sign that said, “Niagara Falls,” they would not be enjoying the wonder of that location if they were to stop and have a picnic around that sign. The sign, like Scripture, merely points to or testies to its subject matter. To use de Saussure’s terminology, the words on the page function as the “signier” and the revelation is that which is “signied.” This key unlocks the door to how one hears the voice of God through historically dissimilar traditions when applying radical and liberal historical-critical methods to describe the Torah as Scripture. Hence, in the Pentateuch, we have a presentation of different antique traditions but not their theology. As we see in the prayers of the Psalms, what has been lost is the antique liturgy that has been reinterpreted within the scriptural context so that the words are not lifeless or meaningless, but are given a new life. Gerald Sheppard and I have both used the analogy of the quilt to describe the historical composition of the Torah, whereby the individual pieces are like the sources themselves. Each piece in its isolated form does not represent the whole product but only its prehistory. I once received a quilt that was made out of men’s suits. Paying attention to the suit patterns told me something about the aesthetics and makeup of the quilt, but if I were to identify the genre of this beautiful workmanship as individual suits without regarding their greater aesthetic pattern, I would have only apprehended its pre-history and lost the form and function of the quilt as a whole. Just as any good quilt maker leaves some seams to be seen and other seams to be hidden, a good editor will allow some editorial features to remain esoteric and others to be conspicuously obtrusive, thus functioning as publisher’s notes. In this manner, Deut 29–34 overtly provides scripture-conscious editing, editing which has described and testied to a whole Torah with explicit editorial markers that set a precedent for how to read biblical or scriptural books. While these pieces once functioned as suits, their signicance was semantically transformed into a quilt. Metaphorically speaking, my grandmother did not care that the quilt was made up of suits but only that it provided warmth at night. I, however, interested in the formation of the quilt, could tell methodologically which suit patterns were worn by doctors, lawyers, businessmen, and 1

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even nerds. I could even describe the form and function of one suit pattern, which could only be worn at the annual Church Christmas pageant because I had seen the minister wear it at the oral performance of a particular children’s Christmas program in Toronto. I knew the Sitz im Leben of that suit well. Nevertheless, had I appreciated that suit more than the quilt (an unlikely scenario), I would have lost the entire form and function of that beautiful quilt. I would much rather see the entire pattern and aesthetics of that beautiful craftsmanship on my bed than to limit its form and function all for the mere pleasure of wearing that Christmas suit at the big holiday event. As a result of our modern preoccupation with origins, we have all too often focused on the meaning of pre-biblical sources and failed to see how their meaning has been ratied within the scriptural form of the Torah. Nevertheless, many scholars have also misconstrued the signicance of Scripture as the “intent” of the “nal editor,” who somehow functions as some sort of author whose “relecture” determines the meaning of the text. Such use of redaction criticism often serves as the backlash to earlier uses of historical criticisms, but it also carries the baggage of the modern agenda and fails to illumine the text as Scripture. For example, any attempts to anchor the meaning of Deut 31–34 in the one event of a postexilic Deuteronomistic (or even Priestly) redaction, would only limit its meaning to that one time frame, to this editor’s intent, and his or her contemporary audience. Childs’ position that Scripture is “traditional, communal and developing” and attracts later voices to add to the compositions does not seek somehow to harmonize divergent or contradictory historical traditions, but endeavors to leave these tensions intact so that Scripture may function as a human testimony to revelation. Biblical scholarship must overcome its temptation to re-anchor each layer of tradition history within one specic historical time period or else the biblical text will lose its ability to function as Scripture. For example, Sanders’ use of “Canon Criticism” seeks to establish a “canonical hermeneutic,” which aims to identify a consistent factor in the process of tradition history. In this way, he hopes to explain how the same normative tradition might properly lead to vastly different interpretations in different times and circumstances.22 He searches for this pattern behind 22. This theory of redaction harmonizes differences in redactional layers that stand worlds apart from one another. Sanders called this factor “the canonical hermeneutic,” while acknowledging that not every interpretation found in Scripture itself met that standard. See James A. Sanders, Canon and Community: A Guide to Canonical Criticism (GBS; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), as well as his From Sacred Story to Sacred Text: Canon as Paradigm (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987). 1

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every redactional reinterpretation of preceding tradition. One main problem with this approach is that the formation of Scripture is not merely one or two incidental phases in the process of tradition history. For Sanders, certain moments of reinterpretation constitute a “canonical hermeneutic,” which is unconvincing because every single change in tradition cannot operate under the same pattern. This line of criticism seems to be a pious accounting for all the changes in tradition history. The things that give rise to changes in the text are not so predictable but are tremendously diverse. If the biblical level is one more moment of actualization, namely the product of the “nal” redactor as “author” and its application for his or her postexilic audience, then the Bible must be irrelevant to all of its readers in the twenty-rst century.23 One cannot say precisely when a lump of clay becomes a pot. However, the Torah clearly provides a model for all biblical books in a manner that establishes the biblical witness for all future generations (Gen 45:10; Exod 10:2; 12:4– 26; Deut 6:2, 7, 20, 21; 11:19, 21; 12:28; 29:22–35; 30:1–5; 32:46). If we reduce the text and its meaning to one level of editing—even if it is the latest level—we rule out all other levels of tradition history and anchor the text in one time frame that has no application to successive generations. This issue was addressed during the Rabbinic period when the nal form of Scripture became the foundation for additional Midrash, both haggadic and halakic.24 Such harmonization of historically dissimilar traditions fails to account for the Scripture’s function as a human testimony. Therefore, within the scriptural context, each new generation is not opening up “somebody else’s mail” when they read Scripture because the book of Deuteronomy has been edited into Torah in order to provide an eschatological tension, which always looks forward to a next generation. Consequently, the Mosaic Torah has been laden with editorial markers that set a precedent for how to read biblical books in a manner which distinguishes the Torah as the revealed subject matter just as we have seen in Deut 29:29 and 31:26–28. For example, the editorial introductions of the Former Prophets and the Psalter begin by admonishing the reader to study these books as meditations on Torah (Josh 1:7–8; Pss 1:1–3; 2:1 [98I]). Therefore, just as Deut 32 represents Moses’ last will and testament as a canonical marker that tells how to read the Torah as 23. David G. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon: An Investigation into the Relationship of Authorship and Authority in Jewish and Earliest Christian Tradition (WUNT 39; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1986), 22–26, 211–12. 24. See Michael Fishbane, Biblical Myth and Rabbinic Mythmaking (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 1

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Scripture, we should not be surprised that 2 Sam 23:1–7, which provides David’s last will and testament, also invites the reader to interpret David’s life in light of all three idioms of revelation—the Torah as revealed subject matter, the prophetic promises made to David, and wisdom.25 Since the formation of the book of Isaiah seems to have taken place within the shadow of the editors of Torah, we also nd references to Torah that exceed by the context the pre-exilic situation or the original con
ict within so-called Second Isaiah.26 Hence, the book of Isaiah speaks, like the book of Torah, “to your children, and your children’s children, and to all who are far off,”27 so that within every generation the book may be read by the “next generation” as a testimony to revelation. Therefore, we also should not be surprised that the last verses of Malachi 25. See Gerald Sheppard, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament (BZAW 151; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1980). 26. At a late level of formation of the book of Isaiah the editors invite the readers to hear the book as a whole as a comment on Torah. Early references to “torah” were originally employed in the sense of the prophet’s teaching. Yet, Isa 8:19–20 seems to add comments to vv. 16–18 and probably date from the post exilic age. At this later editorial level the Torah of God becomes “reminiscent of the Mosaic law.” The “torah” of the prophet has been “identied with divine Torah, known most clearly in the books of Moses.” Consequently, the book of Isaiah has a prologue that introduces the Torah as the subject-matter for which one reads the words of the prophet in which Isa 1:10 anchors the prophetic message in the Torah as the Word of God. See Gerald T. Sheppard, “Isaiah 1–39,” in Harper’s Bible Commentary (ed. James L. Mays; San Francisco, Calif.: Harper & Row, 1988), 548. See Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1996), 53. That is why the later editors of the scroll of Isaiah have reinterpreted the former things, which originally belonged to the con
ict of prophet against prophet, within the broader context of Scripture so that they now come from the beginning (40:21) and from creation (41:4, 8; 44:24–25) and may explicitly have the Mosaic Torah and Genesis in mind. Israel is called to look back to its beginning, even to Abraham the rst prophet, to Sarah (51:1–2), to Noah (54:9), and of course to Moses (63:11–12). Moreover, we hear the words JEC35 CED3 =^ (“I did not speak in secret,” 45:19; 48:16) repeated, the repetition of which tells us that YHWH’s revelation has not been concealed “from the beginning” ( C>). This phrase is probably related to the oral reading of the Torah or YHWH’s revelation through the prophets. Even the twiceused expression “you are my witnesses” (43:10, 12) is only found elsewhere in Josh 24 during the covenant renewal, where the people are called to witness the conditions of the Torah. The former things within the postexilic scroll of Isaiah preclude the Torah traditions (42:4, 24) and now serve as a conrmation of the word of God (40:8) and even the Mosaic Torah (42:21; 43). 27. See Exod 10:2; 12:24, 26–27; Deut 4:9; 6:2, 7, 20–21; 12:28; 23:8; 29:29; 31:13; 32:46. 1

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end the twelve prophets with an admonition to “Remember the Torah of my servant Moses, when I commanded him on Horeb the statutes and ordinances for all of Israel” (MT 3:22 [Eng. 4:4]). In conclusion, Deut 29–34 ts within a greater macrostructure, whereby the ve books of Torah hold together as a whole. For example, Gen 15:13–14 adumbrates the exodus event. The Toledot formula holds together the larger book of Genesis and connects it to the book of Exodus (Gen 24; see also 5:1; 9:18; 10:1, 32; 11:10, 27; 25:15; Exod 6:16, 19). Even the very sequence, beginnings, and endings of the books of the Pentateuch betray the forces of a sweeping editorial activity that brings ve books together into one Torah.28 The verses that refer to Moses as the designated writer, whom God spoke to face to face (Exod 37:11; Deut 34:10), and who nished writing the Torah to the end, also make a connection back to Exodus (Exod 24:3; 34:27; Deut 31:9). Most strikingly, the death of Moses was strategically moved from Num 27 to the end of Deuteronomy so that these nal verses would conclude the Torah with this conclusive event and thereby include this fth book with the Tetrateuch in order to compose one Torah. Therefore, these observations not only impact the scriptural function of the Pentateuch but provide evidence that the DtrH cannot exist within Scripture and is a pre-biblical tradition at best. The older source-critical models could only describe the pre-biblical Deuteronomic origins during Josiah’s reform and the original relationship of this so-called D core with the books that follow. Yet it failed to describe the form and function of Deuteronomy within the latter formation of the Pentateuch. While we must acknowledge the possibility of an original pre-biblical Deuteronomic core and that its original connection with Joshua–Kings may very well have formed what is termed the DtrH, we cannot afrm this as a biblical category. The DtrH does not exist within the latter formation of 28. Note the mention of the Joseph’s Death (Gen 50 and Exod 1), the twelve tribes (Gen 49; Exod 1:1–4), and the bones of Joseph (Gen 50:25; Exod 13:19) at the end of Genesis and beginning of Exodus. The sequence begins with Moses receiving the Torah at Sinai in Exodus. Exodus ends with Moses standing outside the tent of meeting and Leviticus begins with YHWH’s summons to Moses from the tent of meeting. Leviticus ends with Moses receiving the commandments at Mt. Sinai and Numbers begins at the wilderness of Sinai in the tent of meeting. Numbers ends with Moses in the plains of Moab and Deuteronomy begins with Moses beyond the Jordan. This succession represents a movement from Israel’s own land into slavery, through the wilderness experiences, and journey back to the promised land. See Brevard Childs, “The Old Testament as Scripture of the Church,” CTM 43, no. 12 (1972): 709–22. 1

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Scripture. Within this scriptural context, Josh 1:7–8 does not refer to the core traditions of Deuteronomy (even if this was the original referent). But now, looking back on a completed ve-book Torah as subject matter, it informs readers that, in all of the stories which follow, if the Israelites meditate on the Mosaic Torah, they will nd success and prosperity. Hence, within the scriptural context of the Former Prophets (Joshua– Kings), these stories, re
ecting back on the Torah, provide testimonies, meditations, or commentaries on the very Torah that functions as the subject matter of Scripture. Perhaps the most acrimonious rift in biblical scholarship—in which one camp questions the “authenticity” and historicity of the Mosaic Torah and the other strives to harmonize historically dissimilar traditions and defend the Bible as an inerrant referent to history—originated because both sides failed to understand what it meant to read the Pentateuch as Scripture. Modern scholarship had identied the various historically dissimilar traditions, anachronisms, chronological inaccuracies, and contradictions as problems instead of recognizing how these attributes fulll a scriptural function. Part of the beauty behind these so-called problems lies in the fact that the words on the biblical page truly are human but the revelation to which they testify is divine. Luther says that God’s word does not become good news as we understand it by virtue of its inclusion in a book. For him, “the Gospel really is not that which is contained in books and composed in letters, but [is] rather an oral preaching and a living word, a voice which resounds throughout the whole world and is publicly proclaimed.”29 The epistemological shift in the modern era distracted biblical scholars from their task of reading the Bible as such a human testimony. Therefore, scholarship was unable to appreciate what it meant for Moses, as the designated writer of the Torah, to function as such a witness to divine revelation. Moses’ role as mediator describes him as the human gure who testies to a revelation that would have remained secret to God if Moses had not related it to Israel (Deut 29:29; 31:26; 32:46). Hence, the very last verses of Torah name Moses as the prophet par excellence (Deut 34:10–12)—not to place him as the individual author, but to describe his scriptural function and to safeguard the Mosaic Torah from other competing Torah traditions (e.g. Ezek 40– 48). Therefore, the last chapters of Deuteronomy have semantically transformed the meaning of earlier traditions so that the ve books of Moses bear witness to the very revelation that has been named as Torah 29. Quoted in Roland H. Bainton, Here I Stand: A Life of Martin Luther (New York: Abingdon, 1950), 224. 1

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itself—a category which, on one hand, functions as an idiom of revelation like wisdom and prophets, and, on the other hand, serves as the subject matter of Jewish Scripture itself. These chapters also provided publisher’s notes that dened the very nature of biblical interpretation and set a precedent for the scripture-conscious editing of other biblical books. Since we nd historically dissimilar traditions left in tension throughout the Pentateuch, we must remember that Scripture functions as a human testimony to revelation. As Karl Barth so elegantly points out, with all of the elements that prove to be human, “Scripture as the original and legitimate witness of divine revelation is itself the Word of God.”30

30. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics. Vol. 1, Book 2, The Doctrine of the Word of God: Prolegomena to Church Dogmatics (ed. G. W. Bromiley and T. F. Torrance; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1956), 502. 1

JEHOIACHIN AND JOSEPH: HOPE AT THE CLOSE OF THE DEUTERONOMISTIC HISTORY* John E. Harvey

A perennial question in the study of the Deuteronomistic History (DtrH) concerns its ending, 2 Kgs 25:27–30. What hope, if indeed there is one, does this conclusion provide? Noth argued that the close of the DtrH underlines the nal demise of the nation, and that the passage offered no hope whatsoever.1 Contrary to Noth’s interpretation is that of von Rad, who asserted that the passage adumbrates a restoration of the Davidic monarchy.2 Disagreeing with both Noth and von Rad was Wolff, who believed that the passage is to be understood in light of the repeated calls to repentance in the DtrH: Israel would prosper in exile if she repented.3 Subsequent interpreters have tended to side with one of these views.4 More recently there has been a shift away from such interpretations. Nobil has argued that the close of the DtrH marks an attempt by an exilic redactor to “round off” the enneateuch.5 This redactor did so by using * I am gratefully indebted to the late Gerry Sheppard for our many conversations concerning the in
uence that early Pentateuchal writings had upon later writers. The hermeneutical theory that the present study presupposes owes its existence to such conversations. 1. Martin Noth, The Deuteronomistic History (JSOTSup 15; Shefeld: JSOT, 1981), 97–99. 2. Gerhard von Rad, Studies in Deuteronomy (SBT 9; London: SCM, 1953), 74–91. See also his Old Testament Theology (2 vols.; New York: Harper & Row, 1962), 1:334–47. 3. Hans Walter Wolff, “The Kerygma of the Deuteronomistic Historical Work,” in The Vitality of Old Testament Traditions (ed. Walter Brueggemann and Hans Walter Wolff; Atlanta, Ga.: John Knox, 1978), 83–100. 4. See the notes in Donald F. Murray, “Of All the Years the Hopes—or Fears? Jehoiachin in Babylon (2 Kings 25:27–30),” JBL 120 (2001): 246–47. 5. Marco Nobile, “Un Contributo alla Lettura Sincronica della Redazione Genesi—2 Re, Sulla Base del Filo Narrativo Offerto da 2Re 25,27–30,” Anton 61 (1986): 207–24. 1

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various names and turns of phrase that aligned the close of the DtrH with various portions of the preceding books, especially Genesis. Begg furthered Nobil’s observation by contending that the close of the DtrH affords a pro-Babylonian perspective: with Jeremiah, Dtr wanted Judah to submit to her Babylonian overlord so that she might prosper. Although Judah was bereft of land, king, and temple, God was still with her.6 In essay article I will complement the work of Begg by asserting that his pro-Babylonian interpretation is consonant with Dtr’s presentation of Jehoiachin as a new Joseph, who, like Joseph before him, was exalted by a foreign king. The implied question that the close of the DtrH raises is, “Will Judah prosper in Babylon even as Israel had prospered in Egypt?” Certainly a principal reason why scholarship has not come to a consensus regarding the interpretation of 2 Kgs 25:27–30 is that this passage is riddled with ambiguity. This is why most scholars have sought to support their interpretation by encouraging readers to interpret 2 Kgs 25:27–30 in light of one or another theme in the DtrH. Noth would have us interpret the close of the DtrH in light of the many passages that foretell a nal and certain demise of the nation. Von Rad would have us interpret the passage in light of the recurring promise to David: Judah’s hopes for a scion of David rested in Jehoiachin. Similarly, Wolff would have us understand Jehoiachin’s manumission as an invitation to Jehoiachin and the people to repent that they might prosper once again. While the hermeneutical problem is broached the same way by Noth, von Rad, and Wolff (i.e. interpreting the ambiguous particular in light of the general), each of them fails to do justice to the passage itself. Noth’s interpretation is remiss because it seemingly has little regard for Dtr’s writing skills. Given that Dtr was a tremendous literary artist, it is most odd that he would conclude his lengthy history in such a matter-of-fact manner with no theological comment.7 Von Rad’s contention that the pericope points, however laconically, to the continuation of the dynastic promise fails to do justice to the nal words of the pericope: “Day by day the king gave Jehoiachin a regular allowance as long as he lived.” Begg correctly notes that the formula HJJI J>J =< (“all the days of his life”) is used in the DtrH with reference to characters who had died (see Josh 4:14; 1 Sam 7:15; 1 Kgs 15:5–6).8 Von Rad’s interpretation also fails to explain why 6. Christopher T. Begg, “The Signicance of Jehoiachin’s Release: A New Proposal,” JSOT 36 (1986): 49–56. See also Begg’s “The Interpretation of the Gedaliah Episode (2 Kgs 25:22–26) in Context,” Anton 62 (1987): 3–11. 7. Begg, “Release,” 50. 8. Ibid., 53. In this regard, some have wrongly contended that the manumission of Jehoiachin implies the eventual re-establishment of the Davidic dynasty. For 1

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there is no mention of any extension of Jehoiachin’s privileges—whether in the present or the future, whether to his people or to his sons.9 Wolff’s interpretation is problematic simply because there is no mention of repentance by Jehoiachin.10 Contrary to Noth, the passage itself does not refer to the demise of the nation. Contrary to von Rad, the passage has nothing to say about the re-birth of the Davidic dynasty, for it closes with a dead and (narratively speaking) sonless Jehoiachin. Finally, contrary to Wolff, in no way does the passage suggest that Jehoiachin was repentant. Following Begg, my contention that by patterning Jehoiachin after Joseph in 2 Kgs 25:27–30 Dtr was encouraging a pro-Babylonian perspective does justice both to the passage itself as well as to its greater contexts. The Babylonians are presented “as the agents of Yahweh’s judgment on Judah” (see 2 Kgs 20:19; 24:3–4, 13).11 There is, similarly, a notable absence of any “explicit condemnation of Babylon’s treatment of Judah” (contrast this with the condemnation of Assyria in 2 Kgs 18– 20).12 More specic than these points is the assurance that Gedaliah gave to those who were tempted to
ee to Egypt from Jerusalem: “Do not be afraid because of the Chaldean ofcials; live in the land, serve the king of Babylon, and it shall be well with you” (2 Kgs 25:24). Gedaliah’s assurance goes unanswered by what follows, for a certain Ishmael assassinated Gedaliah, and the people
ed to Egypt out of fear for the Babylonians. I say a “certain” Ishmael for the use of this name is here an allusion the Ishmael of Genesis repute, and the implied reader is invited to re
ect on the host of other parallels between such gures. The few things that Genesis tells us of Ishmael parallel what we know of the Ishmael in 2 Kings. Both gures presumably had sympathies with Egypt: Ishmael of Genesis was the son of Hagar, Abram’s Egyptian maidservant (Gen 16:1, 3); and Ishmael of Kings led the people to Egypt (2 Kgs 25:26). Each Ishmael was “royal”: Ishmael of Genesis, the rst son of Abram, was to be “the father of twelve rulers,” and made “into a great nation”

example, see James A. Sanders, Torah and Canon (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1972), 14–15; Jon D. Levenson, “The Last Four Verses in Kings,” JBL 103 (1984): 353–61. 9. Begg, “Release,” 52. Donald F. Murray, “Of all the Years the Hopes—or Fears? Jehoiachin in Babylon [2 Kings 25:27–30],” JBL 120 (2001): 245–65, emphasizes this point: while Chronicles refers to Jehoiachin’s sons (1 Chr 3:17–18), the fact that the close of the DtrH does not mention them “simply sets the absence of any such reference into starker relief.” 10. Begg, “Release,” 51. 11. Ibid., 54. 12. Ibid. 1

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(Gen 17:20); and Ishmael of Kings was similarly “of royal blood” (2 Kgs 25:25). The two Ishmaels were equally fractious: Ishmael of Genesis was to become a “wild ass of a man” who was to “live in hostility toward all his brothers” (Gen 16:12); Ishmael of Kings similarly assassinated Gedaliah and the men of Judah and Babylon who were with him (2 Kgs 25:25).13 The Ishmael–Ishmael parallel is akin to the Joseph–Jehoiachin parallel that immediately follows. Almost every line of 2 Kgs 25:27–30 alludes to the Joseph story. As Pharaoh was to “lift the head” (( CE …  J) of the cupbearer by releasing him from prison (Gen 40:13), so Evilmerodach the king of Babylon “lifted the head” ( CE …  ?) of Jehoiachin by releasing him from prison (2 Kgs 25:27).14 The clause “lifted the head” is an association trigger insofar as it calls the reader’s attention to the only other instance in which it is used with reference to the manumission of a prisoner. Evil-merodach’s “speaking good” to Joseph similarly nds its re
ex in Pharaoh’s statements to Joseph: “See, I have placed you over all the land of Egypt” (Gen 41:41); “I am Pharaoh, and without your word no man will lift hand or foot in all the land of Egypt” (Gen 41:44). As Pharaoh positioned Joseph over Egypt (Gen 41:40–43), so Evil-merodach exalted the throne of Jehoiachin above those of other kings (2 Kgs 25:28). At this point the word play on the clause “lifted up the head” (2 Kgs 25:27) is akin to the way in which it is used in the Joseph narrative. As Joseph changed his clothes before meeting Pharaoh (Gen 41:14), and as Pharaoh gave Joseph a change of clothes (Gen 41:43), so upon being exalted by Evil-merodach Jehoiachin put aside his prison clothes (2 Kgs 25:29).15 Again, as Pharaoh provided Egypt with food through Joseph (Gen 41:55–57), so Jehoiachin was given food by Evil-merodach (2 Kgs 25:29). Finally, as Pharaoh then blessed Joseph with wealth (Gen 41:43), so Evil-merodach blessed 13. The con
uence of the two Ishmaels accords with Dtr’s use of personal names elsewhere. The rape of Judah’s step-daughter becomes the pattern for the rape of Tamar the daughter of David (John E. Harvey, Retelling the Torah: The Deuteronomistic Historian’s Use of Tetrateuchal Narratives [JSOTSup 403; London: T&T Clark International, 2004], 56–57). Phinehas, who killed Zimri and Cozbi “at the entrance to the tent of meeting” for their cultic infraction (Num 25:6–8), anticipates Phinehas the son of Eli who lay with women “at the entrance to the tent of meeting” and was killed for this cultic infraction (1 Sam 2:22, 25) (Harvey, Retelling, 82). Again, the wealthy shepherd Laban the father-in-law of Jacob becomes the pattern for the wealthy shepherd “Nabal” (an inversion of “Laban”) the husband of Abigail and nemesis of David (ibid., 63–64). 14. Murray, “Jehoiachin in Babylon,” 253, 256, also notes this. 15. Murray (ibid., 257 n. 31) also notes this. 1

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Jehoiachin with an allowance (2 Kgs 25:30). That parallels exist, then, between Jehoiachin and Joseph is clear enough, but little has been written concerning the interpretive signicance of such parallels.16 As with many of the parallel stories that Dtr drew between Genesis– Numbers and his history, the Ishmael–Ishmael parallels exist to alert the reader to the fact that the Ishmael of 2 Kings was akin to the Ishmael of Genesis.17 This conclusion is based on the observation that when Dtr sought to use a Tetrateuchal pattern for purposes of parody or inversion, he did so by modifying the Tetrateuchal pattern accordingly, or by calling attention to his purpose in the given Deuteronomistic narrative itself or, as is often the case, in the ensuing narrative—and this is clearly not the case with Dtr’s use of the Ishmael pattern in 2 Kgs 25. What is true of the Ishmael–Ishmael parallels, may not, however, be true of the Joseph–Jehoiachin parallels, for Dtr may well have drawn such parallels precisely to make the point that, unlike the Joseph story, the favor that was bestowed upon Jehoiachin would not lead to the prosperity of the people. One cannot argue denitively one way or the other because the manner in which Dtr upset Tetrateuchal patterns often becomes clear in ensuing narratives, and given the fact that 2 Kgs 25:27–30 is the nal narrative in a very long history, there is no way of knowing whether Dtr drew the Joseph–Jehoiachin parallel in order to fulll or frustrate the Joseph schema (i.e. making Jehoiachin a new Joseph who saves the people in a foreign land, or making Jehoiachin only into a would-be Joseph who fails to save the people in a foreign land). In order to support this contention, I will use examples from the DtrH that show Dtr’s proclivity to frustrate Tetrateuchal patterns. Perhaps the most extensive parallel between the Tetrateuch and the DtrH is that between the divine punishment of Sodom and the murder of the Levite’s concubine (Gen 18–19; Judg 19–21).18 As Abraham requested the messengers to receive his hospitality, so the Bethlehemite urged the Levite to remain as his guest (Gen 18:1–5; Judg 19:1–9). More specically, as Abraham “saw” ( CJH) the messengers and ran “to meet them” ()E CB=), so the Bethlehemite “saw [the Levite]” (H9 CJH) and was glad “to meet him” (HE CB=, Gen 18:2; Judg 19:3). As Abraham 16. A notable exception to this is the essay by Jan Jaynes Granowski, “Jehoiachin at the King’s Table: A Reading of the Ending of the Second Book of Kings,” in Reading Between Texts: Intertextuality and the Hebrew Bible (ed. Danna Nolan Fewell; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1992), 183–86. 17. By “parallel stories” I mean stories that share common words and themes that, apart from such commonalities, have nothing to do with each other. 18. I have adapted the following from Harvey, Retelling, 90–91. 1

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then said to the messengers “let me fetch a morsel of bread ()I=EA)… afterward you may go on (HC3E CI ),” so the Bethlehemite then said to the Levite, “Eat a morsel of bread ()I=EA) and afterward you may go (H<=E CI H)” (Gen 18:5; Judg 19:5). Shortly thereafter, Lot, who was a resident alien in Sodom (Gen 19:9), urged the messengers to “spend the night” (H?J=H) at his home and wash their feet ()<J=8C H4ICH), even though they expressed the desire to stay “in the town square” (3HIC3) (Gen 19:1–3). Similarly, the resident alien of Gibeah successfully coaxed the Levite not to “stay the night in the town square” (3HIC3 *=E= ) and the Levite and his companions thereupon “washed their feet” (H4ICJH )9J=8C, Judg 19:20–21).19 Both Lot and the resident alien of Gibeah then provided a feast for the visitor(s) (Gen 19:3; Judg 19:21). The episodes with the townsmen also play out in the same way. “The men of the city” (CJ9 J? ) “gathered about/to the house” (EJ39= H3D? / EJ39E H3D?, Gen 19:4; Judg 19:22), and they demanded that the host “bring out” (Hiphil of 4J) the men/man “who came to” (= 3C / (J= H 3C ) the host in order that they might “have sex with” (5J in a purpose clause) them/him (Gen 19:5; Judg 19:22). Both hosts then “went out to them” ()9J= 4JH) to dissuade them (Gen 19:6; Judg 19:23). In each account the host stated, “Please my brothers, do not commit wrong” (HCE JI ?= , Gen 19:7; ? HCE= JI = , Judg 19:23). The host’s proposed solution to the dilemma is the same in each account: he introduced his proposal with the particle (9?9) (“behold”) and thereupon offered two female relations (Lot’s daughters/the host’s daughter and the Levite’s concubine) in place of the visitor(s). The host said that he would “bring out” ( ?9 J4H ) the women/woman and the townsmen could do whatever they wished to them ()<J?J3 3H9 )9= H H). The townsmen, however, were not to harm the visitor(s)—requests that the townsmen refused (Gen 19:8–9; Judg 19:24–25). The visitor(s) then acted to bring resolution to the con
ict: the messengers struck the townsmen with blindness, and the Levite pushed his concubine out to the rapacious horde (Gen 19:10–11; Judg 19:25). On the following morning the visitor(s) left the city (Gen 19:15–22; Judg 19:27–28);20 and as the LORD destroyed Sodom for its sin, so Israel destroyed Gibeah for the rape of the concubine (Gen 19:12–29; Judg 20). Dtr’s purpose in drawing such parallels was more than simply equating the ethical laxity of Sodom with that of Gibeah. One difference between the parallels suggests that Dtr 19. Note also that just as Lot “urged” the messengers ()3C4AJH, Gen 19:3) to stay with him, so the concubine’s father “urged” the Levite (H3C4AJH, Judg 19:7) to stay with him. 20. The departure of the messengers is implicit in Gen 19:22. 1

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was making the point that Israel in the period of the Judges was worse than Sodom, for whereas in the Sodom story God intervened to ward off the rapacious crowd, in Judges there was no such divine intervention, and rape and dismemberment followed. As with Gen 18–19, Dtr used the story of the Akedah (Gen 22:1–19) to underline the absence of divine intervention in the narrative concerning the Levite and his concubine (Judg 19).21 The parallels between such accounts include the following. As Abraham took along with him one ass, two servants, and a familial relation, so the Levite took two asses, one servant, and a familial relation (Gen 22:3; Judg 19:10–11).22 Abraham and Isaac journeyed together (H5IJ )9J? H<=JH) to Moriah even as the Levite and his father-in-law ate together (H5IJ )9J? H=< JH, Gen 22:6, 8; Judg 19:6).23 As Abraham “arose … in the morning…and went” ((=JH…CB33…)<JH, Gen 22:3), so the Levite “arose in the morning… to go” (E<==…CB33 )<JH, Judg 19:8). Abraham and the Levite similarly journeyed in the region of Jerusalem—Abraham was to take Isaac to the land of Moriah, and after departing from his father-in-law the Levite journeyed to Jebus (Gen 22:2; Judg 19:10). As with Abraham (Gen 22:4), the host then “lifted his eyes and saw” ( CJH HJ?J  JH, Judg 19:17)—Abraham saw the mountain that the LORD had chosen, and the host saw the Levite in the town square of Gibeah. Finally, both Abraham and the Levite raised their knives against the relation (Gen 22:10; Judg 19:29). The clause “and he took the knife” (E=< >9E IBJH) occurs just prior to divine intervention in Gen 22, and in Judg 19 it occurs immediately before the dismemberment of the concubine.24 Finally, just as at the close of the Akedah Abraham named the site of the near-sacrice “the LORD will see” even “as it is said” (Gen 22:14), so at the close of the Gibeah story the narrator tells the reader that “all who saw [the corpse] said” (Judg 19:30). As with other instances, the absence of divine intervention in Judg 19 is striking when it is contrasted with the Akedah. This contrast is highlighted by the parallel “and he took the knife.” Whereas in Genesis this clause refers to the divine provision of a ram to Abraham, in Judges it pertains to the Levite’s dismembering of his concubine’s corpse. Similar to the parallels between Gen 18–19 and Judg 20, then, whereas Isaac was spared by the LORD, the concubine was dismembered. Once again, the absence of divine intervention is a poignant 21. I adapted the following from Harvey, Retelling, 94. 22. These are the only instances in which there is an enumeration of asses and servants accompanying a man on a journey. 23. This phrase occurs only in these two narratives. 24. This clause appears only in these two instances, as does the singular E=< >. 1

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reminder of pre-monarchic Israel’s alienation from God. Parallel narratives and the absence of divine intervention is implicit in the ongoing treatment, for just as parallels take bizarre twists in the story of the Levite’s concubine, so they might in the Jehoiachin case. Dtr’s favorite schema evidently involved Moses. Many would-be Moses characters tease the implied readers by having them think that each such character might be “a prophet like Moses.” Joshua, Gideon, Samuel, Hadad, Solomon, Jeroboam, and Elijah are all presented as newMoses gures.25 But just at the point of delivering Israel, such characters cease to follow the Moses pattern. The Moses pattern might come to an abrupt end, or, more imaginatively, it might transfer to another pattern— such that the would-be Moses characters become apostates like Aaron! This is true of both Gideon and Jeroboam. The parallels shared by Moses and Gideon include the following. As the Egyptians oppressed Israel in the time of Moses and the Israelites “cried out to the LORD,” so in the time of Gideon the Midianites oppressed Israel whose “cry” rose up to God (Exod 2:23; Judg 6:6). The connection between Moses and Gideon is furthered by Gideon’s reference to the deliverance from Egypt in his question, “Where are all his wonders about which our fathers told us, saying, ‘Truly the LORD brought us up from Egypt’?” (Judg 6:13). Gideon’s reference to “all his wonders” (HJE =A?=<) is parallel to the LORD’s statement to Moses that he was to smite Egypt “with all [his] wonders” (JE =A? =<3, Exod 3:20). The link with the deliverance from Egypt is similarly furthered by the oracle of an unnamed prophet: “I brought you up out of Egypt and freed you from the house of bondage. I rescued you from the Egyptians” (Judg 6:8–9). The calls of Moses and Gideon also share parallel features. As “the messenger of the LORD appeared to [Moses]” (HJ= 9H9J ( => CJH, Exod 3:2), so “the messenger of the LORD appeared to [Gideon]” ( CJH 9H9J ( => HJ= , Judg 6:12).26 Both gures were afraid to look at the theophany (Exod 3:6; Judg 6:22). As God nevertheless said to Moses, “I will send you,” so he said to Gideon, “have I not sent you?” (Exod 3:10; Judg 6:14). Both Moses and Gideon regarded themselves as unequal to the task of delivering Israel, but the LORD nevertheless assured them of his presence—the LORD said to both Moses and Gideon “for I will be with you” ((> 9J9 J<, Exod 3:12; Judg 6:16).27 Again, both Moses and Gideon received signs from the LORD as conrmations that he would

25. Harvey, Retelling, 69–81. 26. This word string only appears in these two instances (cf. Judg 13:3). 27. This clause only occurs in these instances. 1

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grant them success—the LORD gave signs to Moses (Exod 4:1–9), and Gideon requested signs from the LORD (Judg 6:36–40). In response to the people’s request that Gideon rule over them Gideon stated, “I will not rule over you myself, nor shall my son rule over you; the LORD alone shall rule over you” (Judg 8:23), yet immediately following this pious rejection Gideon nevertheless requested the earrings of the Israelites. It is at this point that the parallels with Moses cease and Gideon becomes a new, apostate Aaron. As Aaron told the Israelites to take off their rings of gold (39K9 J>K?, Exod 32:2), so at Gideon’s request the Israelites gave him their rings of gold (39K J>K?, Judg 8:24). Aaron thereupon made a molten calf from the rings, and the people worshipped the calf (Exod 32:4, 8), just as Gideon made an ephod from the rings and the people worshipped it (Judg 8:27). Concerning Jeroboam, Dtr used Moses (the rst deliverer of Israel) and Aaron (the rst apostate of Israel) as models. The parallels between these gures are striking and serve to accentuate Jeroboam’s sin. Both Moses and Jeroboam lived under oppressive kings who forced the people to build or rebuild cities: Moses’ people built Pithom and Rameses under Pharaoh, and Jeroboam rebuilt Jerusalem under Solomon (Exod 1:11; 1 Kgs 11:27–28). Both gures nevertheless enjoyed positions of grandeur—Moses in Pharaoh’s court and Jeroboam in the court of Solomon (Exod 2:10–11; 1 Kgs 11:28). As Moses then
ed from Pharaoh to Midian, so Jeroboam
ed from Solomon to King Shishak of Egypt (Exod 2:15; 1 Kgs 11:40). Like Moses, Jeroboam returned to his land after the death of his enemy (Exod 4:19–20; 1 Kgs 11:40; 12:1–3). There is also a parallel between Moses and his people and Jeroboam and his people: Moses and Aaron asked Pharaoh to give the people reprieve from their labors for worship, and the people asked Rehoboam the son of Jeroboam to lighten their labors (Exod 5:1; 1 Kgs 12:4, 9–10). Both Pharaoh and Jeroboam were thereafter confronted by miracles, stubbornly refused to obey the LORD, but nevertheless sought divine healing. Moses confronted Pharaoh with ten miracles and while Pharaoh was initially deant, he nevertheless pled for mercy (Exod 7–12). A man of God similarly confronted Jeroboam by miraculously destroying the altar, and although Jeroboam was initially recalcitrant he too pled for mercy (1 Kgs 13:1–6). Coupling the parallels shared by Moses and Jeroboam are those between Aaron and Jeroboam. The literary contexts of the sins of Aaron parallel those of Jeroboam. Aaron’s offence follows the climax of the Tetrateuch—the covenant and guidelines for the construction of the tabernacle (Exod 19–31), and Jeroboam’s apostasy follows the cultic pinnacle of the DtrH—Solomon’s construction of the temple and 1

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worship in Jerusalem (1 Kgs 6–8). More specically, just as Aaron made the molten calf from gold in response to the request of the people, so Jeroboam’s decision to make the two golden calves was initiated by his counselors (Exod 32:1; 1 Kgs 12:28). The subsequent declarations of Aaron and Jeroboam are almost identical: “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up from the land of Egypt” (Exod 32:4, 8); “Behold your gods, O Israel, who brought you up from the land of Egypt” (1 Kgs 12:28). After the construction of the calf/calves both Aaron and Jeroboam celebrated a festival, for which Aaron built an altar and Jeroboam ascended an altar (Exod 32:5–6; 1 Kgs 12:32–33). Just as Moses then ordered the Levites to slay the transgressors who worshipped the calf, so a man of God prophesied that Josiah would slaughter the priests who sacriced at the calf of Bethel (Exod 32:26–28; 1 Kgs 13:2). Like Gideon, Jeroboam had thus also become an apostate Aaron. As with his use of the Sodom story, then, Dtr was wont to frustrate the Moses story by cutting it short or twisting it. I return, then, to the Joseph–Jehoiachin parallels. In the preceding paragraphs I contended that viewing Jehoiachin as a new Joseph is consistent with various instances in which Dtr patterned his characters after Tetrateuchal deliverance gures. But I also noted how Dtr was inclined to present various stories and characters as inversions of the given Tetrateuchal episodes. For example, unlike both the Sodom episode and that of Abraham’s near-sacrice of Isaac, divine deliverance for Gibeah is noticeably absent; and while Gideon and Jeroboam were well on their way to becoming deliverers like Moses, they ironically became Aaronic apostates. The questions remain: Did Dtr draw such parallels in order to “fulll” or “frustrate” the Tetrateuchal pattern? That is to say, was Jehoiachin for Dtr a new Joseph who would bring prosperity to the people in a foreign land, or was Jehoiachin more akin to the various wouldbe Moses characters who were of little or no help to the people? In support of the “fulll” response is the hope that the continuation of the Joseph–Jehoiachin parallel brings us into Exodus. To be sure, Joseph died, but in the same verse we read that “the Israelites were fruitful and multiplied greatly and became exceedingly numerous so that the land was lled with them” (Exod 1:7). So also, Jehoiachin had died, but the nation, like Israel of old, was poised to become exceedingly great. God would indeed intervene—even as he had done in times past. In support of the “frustrate” response to the question is the observation that the Joseph–Jehoiachin parallels end in Gen 41, and the nation must go through chapters (centuries?) of slavery before it ever hopes to have a new Exodus. Because there does not exist an ensuing narrative in the 1

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DtrH, the readers could not know with any certainty what sort of Joseph this Jehoiachin was.28 In any case, whether Jehoiachin was of a fullling or a frustrating ilk, this interpretation of 2 Kgs 25:27–30 is consistent with the pro-Babylonian concern of 2 Kgs 21–25.

28. Meik Gerhards similarly contends that the close of the DtrH leaves the readers with uncertainty. God may indeed intervene on behalf of Israel, but there is no suggestion of the restoration of the Davidic dynasty (“Die Begnadigung Jojachins— Überlegungen zu 2 Kön 25,27–30 [mit einem Anhang zu den Nennungen Jojachins auf Zuteilungslisten aus Babylon],” BN 94 [1998]: 52–67). Jeremy Schipper similarly contends that the close presents hope of a “tolerable exilic future” (“ ‘Signicant Resonances’ with Mephibosheth in 2 Kgs 25:27–30: A Response to Donald F. Murray,” JBL 124 [2005]: 521–29). Following Wolff, B. Becking contends that the adumbrated hope is contingent on Israel’s repentance; see Becking’s “Jehojachin’s Amnesty, Salvation for Israel? Notes on 2 Kings 25, 27–30,” in Pentateuchal and Deuteronomistic Studies: Papers Read at the Thirteenth IOSOT Conference, Leuven 1988 (ed. Christianus Brekelmans and Johan Lust; BETL 94; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1990), 282–93 (293). 1

SEAMS IN THE BOOK OF ISAIAH: LOOKING FOR ANSWERS* Paul D. Wegner

Not long ago scholars were very interested in seams in the Psalter, especially how the so-called seam psalms might assist in understanding the book as a whole.1 Gerald Wilson, a student of Brevard Childs, argued that books 1–3 were organized around Davidic royal psalms, which functioned as “seams” to provide the theological shaping of the Psalter; he then argued that books 4–5 were organized around psalms of hllwyhhwdw. This seminal work opened up new vistas in Psalm studies and many works examining the structure of the Psalter have followed.2 However, surprisingly little has been done to advance this idea and apply it to other biblical books. The present study is an attempt to rectify this deciency by making an application to the book of Isaiah. Scholars have noticed signicant unit divisions in the book of Isaiah and many point out what appear to be three introductions to the book (1:1; 2:1; 13:1) that are typically considered to be the result of some form * I am pleased to be asked to offer an essay in honor of Gerald T. Sheppard. Our paths did not cross often enough, but each time they did, we enjoyed creative and informative discussions. 1. G. H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1985); “Evidence of Editorial Divisions in the Hebrew Psalter,” VT 3 (1984): 349–52; “The Shape of the Book of the Psalms,” Int 46 (1992): 129–42; “The Use of Royal Psalms at the ‘Seams’ of the Hebrew Psalter,” JSOT 35 (1986): 85–94; “Shaping the Psalter: A Consideration of Editorial Linkage in the Book of Psalms,” in The Shape and Shaping of the Psalter (ed. J. C. McCann; JSOTSup 159; Shefeld: JSOT, 1993), 72–82; “King, Messiah, and the Reign of God: Revisiting the Royal Psalms and the Shape of the Psalter,” in The Book of Psalms Composition & Reception (ed. P. W. Flint et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 391–406. 2. R. Cole, The Shape and Message of Book III (Psalms 73–89) (Shefeld: Shefeld Academic, 2000); D. C. Mitchell, The Message of the Psalter (Shefeld: Shefeld Academic, 1997); D. M. Howard, Jr., “Editorial Activity in the Psalter: A State-of-the-Field Survey,” Word and World 9 (1989): 274–85; J. H. Walton, “The Psalms: A Cantata about the Davidic Covenant,” JETS 34 (1991): 21–31. 1

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of redactional activity.3 It is also commonly agreed that there is a major division between Isa 39 and 40 because of the signicant change in the historical circumstances surrounding each chapter. Chapter 39 refers to a visit from a Babylonian king, Marodoch-baladan, around 701 B.C.E. and ch. 40 to the return of the remnant from Babylon about 539/8 B.C.E. Since Bernhard Duhm’s commentary in 1892, it has become common to divide Isa 40–66 into a Second and Third Isaiah (comprising chs. 40–55 and 56–66, respectively), but this is not as widely accepted as it once was.4 Given that the repeated introductions have sometimes been used to suggest divisions in Isa 1–39, it seems reasonable that the recurring phrase “there is no peace, says the LORD, for the wicked,” found in its various forms (Isa 48:22; 57:21; 66:24), with the last being a great expansion upon that topic, are equally important divisions of Isa 40–66.5 Scholars have noted these refrains and yet few have taken them seriously to indicate major divisions of the latter part of Isaiah.6 Thus I would like to suggest the following overarching structure for the book of Isaiah:

3. R. E. Clements, Isaiah 1–39 (NCB; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1980), 28, 132; J. D. W. Watts, Isaiah 1–33 (WBC 24; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1985), 4; H. Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary (trans. T. H. Trapp; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 9; C. R. Seitz, Isaiah 1–39 (IBC; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 8–9; M. A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1996), 44–48; J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 73–74, 172–73; B. S. Childs, Isaiah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 11–12; H. G. M. Williamson, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Isaiah 1–5 (ICC; London: T&T Clark International, 2006), 8–9; G. V. Smith, Isaiah 1–39 (NAC 15A; Nashville, Tenn.: Broadman & Holman, 2007), 97, 121. 4. Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaja: übersetzt und erklärt (4th ed.; HKAT 3/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1922). K. Baltzer states: “It must be said, however, that the tripartite division of the book of Isaiah…is no longer unquestionably accepted in research” (Deutero-Isaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 40–55 [ed. Peter Machinist; trans. M. Kohl; Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001], 1). See also C. R. Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny: The Development of the Book of Isaiah: A Reassessment of Isaiah 36–39 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 1–35. 5. F. Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Prophecies of Isaiah (trans. S. R. Driver; 2 vols.; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1890), 1:36; 2:234–35, 355; G. Sheppard, “Isaiah 40–66,” in HarperCollins Bible Commentary (ed. J. L. Mays; New York: Harper Collins, 2000), 489–537; R. Heskett, Messianism Within the Scriptural Scroll of Isaiah (LHBOTS 456; New York: T&T Clark International, 2007), 11. 6. See R. N. Whybray, Isaiah 40–66 (NCB; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1975), 134; J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55: A New Translation with Introduction and 1

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First Introduction: “The vision of Isaiah the son of Amoz that he saw” (1:1) Second Introduction: “The word that Isaiah the son of Amoz saw” (2:1) Third Introduction: “The oracle concerning Babylon that Isaiah the son of Amoz saw” (13:1) Major Historical Break: between ch. 39–40 First Refrain: “There is no peace,” says the LORD, “for the wicked” (48:22) Second Refrain: “There is no peace,” says my God, “for the wicked” (57:21) Third Refrain: “They will go forth and look upon the corpses of the men who have transgressed against me. For their worm will never die and their re will never be quenched; and they will be an abhorrence to all
esh” (66:24)

Several things need to be noted at the beginning of our examination of the structure of the book of Isaiah. First, notice that the wording of each introduction is similar, though not exact7—which is also true of the refrains. Second, the three introductions (1:1; 2:1; 13:1) in Isa 1–39 appear to mirror the three repeated phrases (48:22; 57:21; 66:24) in Isa 40–66, only the introductions begin new units, whereas the refrains conclude them. Finally, the rst introduction (1:1) and the nal phrase (66:24) are clearly the longest and most complete. Many scholars understand Isa 1 to be an introduction to the entire book and maintain that it was added later to highlight the message of the book.8 Scholars have also noticed a strong connection between the Commentary (AB 19A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 296. Blenkinsopp’s third volume states the following concerning Isa 57:20–21: “In this respect, it resembles the dark nale of the book (66:24), which has the effect of excluding the reprobate from the eschatological worship offered in Jerusalem (66:22–23). Perhaps the same scribe added the practically identical nale to chaps. 40–48 (48:22), where its relevance is not so obvious. In that case, it would have served as a structural marker dividing chaps. 40–66 into three sections of nine chapters each, a suggestion rst made, as far as I have been able to determine, by Bernhard Duhm” (Isaiah 56–66: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 19B; New York: Doubleday, 2003], 172–73). I also agree with J. A. Motyer, who argues that the repetition of Isa 35:10 and 51:11 does not seem to join together sections of the book (Isaiah: An Introduction & Commentary [TOTC; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1999], 323–34 n. 1). 7. Notice that the verb in the introduction is the same (i.e. 9KI, “to see, to envision”), but the word used to describe the introduction is different (i.e. *HKI, “vision,” C359, “word,”  >, “oracle”). 8. Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 3; Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, 24; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 63; Childs, Isaiah, 11–12; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 95–97; Williamson, Isaiah 1–5, 151. D. M. Carr notes that the chapter is not really a summary of the book since many elements are missing (“Reaching for the Unity of Isaiah,” JSOT 57 [1993]: 71–80), but it certainly summarizes the primary message of the book. 1

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vocabulary and themes in Isa 1 and Isa 65–66, possibly even forming an inclusio.9 Some of the similar themes and vocabulary are listed in the following table:10 Figure 2. Similarities between Isaiah 1 and 65–66 Vocabulary/Theme “heaven and earth” people “rebelled/transgressed” survivors/not to destroy all of them “I have no pleasure/delight” “seek” sacrices, incense, bulls, lamb abomination “hear the word of the LORD” the woman Zion killing people “rebels” blessings and curses “forsake” abuse of the cult wicked put to “shame” “gardens” you have “chosen” wicked burn in re “re not quenched” Contrast: sons have revolted against me/they are offspring blessed by the LORD

Isaiah 1 1:2 1:2, 28 1:9 1:11 1:12 1:11, 12 1:13, 17 1:11 1:21, 26 1:21 1:23 1:27–28 1:4, 28 1:29–31 1:29 1:29 1:29 1:31 1:31

Isaiah 65–66 65:17; 66:1, 22 66:24 65:8; 66:19 66:4 65:1 65:3, 7; 66:3 66:3; 65:4 66:5 66:7–13 66:3 65:2 65:9–12 65:11 65:3; 66:3, 17 65:13; 66:5 65:3; 66:17 66:4 66:15–16, 24 66:24

1:2

65:23

Though there are signicant relationships between vocabulary and themes in Isa 1 and Isa 65–66, scholars may disagree whether these are sufcient to be considered an inclusio. Several key themes shared by Isa 1 and Isa 65–66 are that Zion will be puried by re (1:25, 31; 66:15– 17, 24), the wicked will be punished (1:24–25, 26–31; 66:16–17, 24), 9. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 44; Childs, Isaiah, 22–23; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 96–97. 10. Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 96–97. See also L. Liebreich, “The Compilation of the Book of Isaiah,” JQR 47 (1956–57): 114–38 (126–27); R. Lack, La symbolique du livre d’Isaïe (AnBib 59; Rome: Pontical Biblical Institute, 1973), 139–41; M. A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–4 and the Post-exilic Understanding of the Isaianic Tradition (BZAW 171; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988), 21–24; D. M. Carr, “Reading Isaiah from Beginning (Isaiah 1) to End (Isaiah 65–66): Multiple Modern Possibilities,” in New Visions of Isaiah (ed. R. F. Melugin and M. A. Sweeney; JSOTSup 214; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic, 1996), 188–218; A. Tomasino, “Isaiah 1.1–2.4 and 63–66, and the Composition of the Isaianic Corpus,” JSOT 57 (1993): 81–98; Childs, Isaiah, 543–44. 1

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and a righteous remnant will be spared (1:27; 65:8–9; 66:18–21). Also, both Isa 1 and Isa 66 build to a climax when Jerusalem is puried, but then end with verses highlighting the judgment of the wicked, an apparent anticlimax that seems at least to some scholars to be somewhat articial.11 1. The Introductions (Isaiah 1–39) The curious appearance of Isaiah’s full name (e.g. Isaiah, the son of Amoz) in both Isa 1:1 and 2:1 has prompted scholars to suggest multiple theories of the book’s formation. The biblical book most closely resembling this oddity is Zechariah (Zech 1:1, 7; 7:1), where the prophet’s full name is spelled out in both Zech 1:1 and 1:7. This feature is often used to divide the book of Zechariah, as Carol and Eric Meyer have done: This chronological heading is the rst of three such headings (1:1; 1:7; 7:1) in Zechariah. It serves, along with a formula indicating the transmission of a divine message…to indicate a major unit in Zechariah’s prophecies. Accordingly we have divided Zechariah 1–8 into three sections: Part One, 1:1–6; Part Two, 1:7–6:15; Part Three, 7:1–8:23.12

The redactional nature of these introductions is certainly plausible, but their repetitiveness seems awkward to modern readers. Some have suggested the multiple introductions are indicative of earlier groups of passages that circulated separately for some time—a view that goes back at least as far as John Calvin.13 Given the fact that there are clear markers in the book of Isaiah that resemble markers used to divide other biblical books into major sections, it would be worthwhile to examine these divisions more closely to see if they may relate to an overall unifying structure of the book. a. First Introduction (1:1) The rst introduction is similar to other prophetic books and contains the following elements: 11. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 37; Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 293; C. Westermann, Isaiah 40–66: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969), 424–29; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 86–87; J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66 (AB 19B; New York: Doubleday, 2003), 311–17; Williamson, Isaiah 1–5, 151–55. 12. Carol L. Meyers and Eric M. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 25B; Garden City: Doubleday, 1987), 89. 13. John Calvin, Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (trans. W. Pringle; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1947), 1:xxxii. 1

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An introductory statement The prophet’s name Its recipients The date of the prophecies (i.e. during the reigns of which kings)

The two prophetic books that are most similar to the initial introduction of Isaiah are Amos and Micah. Interestingly, these are also traditionally thought to be eighth-century prophets.14 Only pre-exilic prophets used the verb 9KI (“to see or envision”) to describe how they received their prophecies (Amos 1:1; Mic 1:1; Hab 1:1), and this term is used in each of the introductions in the book of Isaiah. Only the books of Isaiah, Nahum, and Obadiah are called a “vision” (*HKI) in their introductions. There is general agreement that ch. 1 entails an introduction of some sort, but the extent of this introduction is more frequently debated. Is it the introduction for chs. 1,15 1–4,16 1–12,17 1–39,18 or the whole book?19 Chapter 1 appears to be a complete unit progressing from judgment to restoration, though the restoration will only be for a remnant of Jerusalem/Zion (“its repentant ones,” 1:27) and the wicked will be brought to an end (1:28, 31). The structure of the rst chapter appears in the following table:

14. There is still signicant disagreement about the dating. H. Wildberger suggests that the wording “Judah and Jerusalem” (1:1) is indicative of a postexilic date (Isaiah 1–12, 3; see also D. Jones, “The Traditio of the Oracles of Isaiah of Jerusalem,” ZAW 67 [1955]: 226–46). D. N. Freedman argues that the forms of the names of the kings suggest an earlier date (“Headings in the Books of the EighthCentury Prophets,” AUSS 25 [1987]: 9–26). 15. B. Gemser, “The Rîb- or Controversy-Pattern in Hebrew Mentality,” in Wisdom in Israel and the Ancient Near East, Presented to Professor Harold Henry Rowley (ed. M. Noth and D. W. Thomas; VTSup 3; Leiden: Brill, 1955), 120–37; L. G. Rignell, “Isaiah Chapter 1: Some Exegetical Remarks with Special Reference to the Relationship between the Text and the Book of Deuteronomy,” ST 11 (1957): 140–58; R. North, “Angel-Prophet or Satan-Prophet,” ZAW 82 (1970): 31–67. 16. J. D. W. Watts, “The Formation of Isaiah Ch.1: Its Context in Chs. 1–4,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1978 Seminar Papers (ed. P. Achtemeier; SBLSP 13; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1978), 1:109–19. 17. G. B. Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Isaiah I– XXVII (ICC; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1912), 1; Childs, Isaiah, 9. 18. C. von Orelli, The Prophecies of Isaiah (trans. J. S. Banks; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1889), 13; see also, Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 3. 19. E. J. Young, The Book of Isaiah (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1965), 1:27; Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, 24; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 44; Childs, Isaiah, 11; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 175; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 97. Williamson suggests both an introduction to ch. 1 and the book as a whole (Isaiah 1–5, 15). 1

Figure 3. Structure of Isaiah 1 PART ONE OF ISAIAH Introduction 1 (1:1)

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There are two critical elements within this structure: (1) the nal section (1:27–31) contains a detailed discussion of the punishment for those who reject the LORD, an image found consistently at the end of each major section of the book; and (2) the palistrophe concerning Jerusalem (called “the faithful city”) summarizes God’s plan for his people, a theme that occurs consistently throughout the rst part of the book. If this chapter is progressing toward a goal, then its climax would likely be the labeling of Jerusalem as “the city of righteousness, a faithful city”; however, this is followed by a clarication that only “the repentant ones” (or a remnant) will see this restoration (1:27) and the rest will be punished (1:28–31). The nal section (1:27–31) may refer back to vv. 18– 20, explaining that a choice must be made—obey God and live, or rebel and be devoured by the sword. I would suggest that vv. 27–31, which almost appear to be out of place, are a seam that summarizes the main thought of this chapter (Zion will be redeemed, a remnant will be spared, but the wicked will be punished) and prepares the reader for the next section. Isaiah 2–12 describes the restoration of Zion (1:27), only in much greater detail. b. Second Introduction (2:1) The second introduction, using wording consistent with Micah and Amos, states that Isaiah saw (9KI) “the word/matter” (C359) concerning Judah and Jerusalem. The Hebrew verb 9KI is commonly associated with visions (*HKI) or dreams ()H=I), but the prophets also used it as a term for messages from God. Clements summarizes a general consensus that has arisen concerning this second introduction: The appearance of a further heading in 2:1, albeit much briefer than that given in 1:1, provides some clear guide to the way in which the present book was put together. Undoubtedly this superscription originally formed an opening to a collection of Isaiah’s prophecies, rather than representing a deliberate repetition of the one that had been given earlier in 1:1. Moreover we may fairly condently assert that the heading in 2:1 is older than that in 1:1, and that the latter was added, either along with or subsequently to, the prefacing of ch. 1 to the whole Isaianic collection (at least as far as ch. 32*).20

Several scholars have offered a late date for this introduction21 and, again, there is signicant disagreement as to the extent of the introduction in 20. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 38. 21. Jones, “Traditio,” 226–46; Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 83; Childs, Isaiah, 28– 29; Tomasino, “Isaiah 1.1–2.4,” 81–98; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 95–96; Williamson, Isaiah 1–5, 9. 1

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2:1. Does it serve to introduce only 2:2–4,22 or does it introduce chs. 2– 4,23 2–5,24 2–10,25 or 2–12?26 Williamson makes a reasonable argument that: The occurrence of a similar form of heading at 13.1 clearly indicates that 2–12 is the outer limits which may be considered. Since we have already been led by the similar form of 1.1 to take note of this style of heading, it would seem that at the synchronic level this is indeed the stretch of text which is here introduced.27

Apart from questions on the extent of this introduction, there is also the question of why it was included here. Because of the similarity in content between chs. 1 and 2–3, Peter Ackroyd argued the new introduction was inserted at the beginning of ch. 2 by a redactor in order to indicate that 2:2–4 came from Isaiah.28 But why would such an indication be needed following the introduction in 1:1? Williamson offers a more plausible explanation: 2.1 was probably added at the same time as 13.1 as a structural marker in the exilic version of Isaiah and it was therefore intended to introduce such parts of 2–12 as were included within that form of the book. Although later additions, such as 4.2–6, have somewhat distorted this pattern, it remains the most attractive option to accept that the heading still functions to introduce the expanded and full text of 2–12.29

His structural argument seems strong even though he acknowledges a problem with 4:2–6; however, his exilic dating of this unit may not be integral to his arguments on its structure.

22. B. Wiklander, Prophecy as Literature: A Text-Linguistic and Rhetorical Approach to Isaiah 2–4 (ConBOT 22; Uppsala: Gleerup, 1984), 94. 23. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 38–39; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 45; Motyer, Isaiah, 50–51. 24. S. Mowinkel, Prophecy and Tradition: The Prophetic Books in Light of the Study of Growth and History of the Tradition (Oslo: Dybwad, 1946), 54; Young, Isaiah, 1:94; see also J. N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah Chapters 1–39 (NICOT; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1986), 114. 25. G. Fohrer, “Entstehung, Komposition und Überleiferung von Jesaja 1–39,” in Studien zur alttestamentlichen Prophetie (1949–1965) (BZAW 99; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1967), 116. 26. A. H. Bartelt, The Book around Immanuel: Style and Structure in Isaiah 2– 12 (Biblical and Judaic Studies 4; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1996), 235; Childs, Isaiah, 28; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 189. 27. Williamson, Isaiah 1–5, 163. 28. P. R. Ackroyd, “A Note on Isaiah 2,1,” ZAW 75 (1963): 320–21. 29. Williamson, Isaiah 1–5, 165. 1

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Several scholars have noted a structural unit in Isa 2–4 that begins and ends with the glorious future for Israel (e.g. 2:1–4; 4:2–6),30 but in the middle describes the present wickedness that Yahweh will need to purge (using the terminology of Isa 4:4). Childs may be correct in arguing that the theme of the “faithful city” introduced in Isa 1:21–26 is picked up in Isa 2:2, which then links these two passages together.31 If this connection is correct, then the righteousness found in Zion will be spread throughout the world as other nations come to learn about God’s law (2:3–4). Another interesting connection is that ch. 1 indicates that God’s people have abandoned the LORD (1:4), and therefore God responds by abandoning them (2:6). The inclusio pattern in Isa 2–4 intentionally draws a stark contrast between Israel’s present corrupt condition and the hope of its future purication.32 The next section engenders much less agreement. It is the view of this author that chs. 5–12 contain a palistrophe beginning with a description of Israel’s deled condition in the “Song of the Vineyard” (Isa 5:1–7) and progressing toward the “Song of Thanksgiving” (Isa 12:1–6) in which God is praised for his great deliverance of Israel. This palistrophe is depicted in Fig. 4:33 Figure 4. Palistrophe of Isaiah 5–12 A

Song of the Vineyard (5:1–7) B

Six Woe Oracles (5:8–23) C

An Uplifted Hand Oracle (5:24–30) D

C B A

The Isaianic Memoir (6:1–9:7)

Four Uplifted Hand Oracles (9:8–10:4) A Woe Oracle (10:5–11:16)

Song of Thanksgiving (12:1–6)

According to this structure, God’s deliverance is accomplished through the punishment described in the “woe oracles” and the “uplifted hand oracles.” The theme of Isa 5–12 is similar to the two earlier sections (Isa 1; 2–4) where God will use re to burn away Israel’s dross (1:25) and 30. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 38; Oswalt, Isaiah, Chapters 1–39, 112; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 89–90; Isaiah 1–4, 134–84; Motyer, Isaiah, 50–51; Childs, Isaiah, 28; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 122. 31. Childs, Isaiah, 29. 32. Ibid., 35. 33. P. D. Wegner, An Examination of Kingship and Messianic Expectation in Isaiah 1–35 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1992), 88–89. 1

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water to purge away their lth (4:4). In the heart of this palistrophe lies the “Isaianic Memoir,” where Isaiah is called to announce God’s plan of purging and deliverance for his people.34 Therefore, both Isa 2–4 and 5– 12 describe in signicantly different ways the same progression of judgment to restoration. However, once again the restoration will not include all of Jerusalem/Zion, only the repentant ones (3:10; 4:2–3; 6:13; 10:20–23; 11:11–12, 16); the wicked will be thoroughly punished (3:11; 4:3–4; 8:19–22; 10:3–4, 23, 33–34; 11:11, 15). If the structure for Isa 2–12 I have proposed is correct, then there are two signicant problems for our theory of seams in the book of Isaiah. First, the introduction (2:1) suggests that this section begins in ch. 2 and continues through ch. 12, but as I have noted there are two very clear units within this section (Isa 2–4; 5–12). Second, there is no apparent seam at the end of ch. 12. Isaiah 12 is a “song of thanksgiving,” thanking God for the amazing deliverance he brought about, with no mention of purging or a remnant being spared, as found in the rst seam (1:27–31). Even more problematic, the seam that was anticipated at the end of the section in ch. 12 appears instead in 4:2–6. These verses perform a dual role: (1) they summarize the main theme of this unit, namely, that God will purge Jerusalem/Zion (“washed away the lth” and “purged the bloodshed,” 4:4), leaving only a remnant (“the survivors of Israel,” 4:2; “he who is left in Zion,” 4:3), and (2) they prepare the reader for the next major section, which in this case would be Isa 13–23. This preparation is quite interesting, for if 2:2–4 and 4:2–6 are intended to be read together, then nations will stream to Zion to hear about Israel’s God and “the fruit of the earth” (4:2) may refer to this remnant coming from the nations. 35 This verse continues, “the fruit of the earth will be for the pride and adornment of the survivors of Israel,” thus suggesting a remnant from Israel will be proud of, and adorned by, a remnant from other nations. If this is the proper interpretation of the passage, then these verses (2:2–4 and 4:2–6) prepare the reader for Isa 13–23 in that God’s purging, which started in Israel, will continue to other nations and a remnant will emerge from them as well. This brings clarity to 14:1–2 which states that strangers will join themselves to the house of Jacob and be an inheritance to Israel. The structure of this section differs from ch. 1 in that the seam is not at the end of the section in ch. 12, but appears in ch. 4. The message of the seam in Isa 4:2–6 follows closely the one found in 1:27–31, but further highlights the outcomes of this restoration. So how do chs. 5–12 34. Ibid., 63–215. 35. See also Williamson’s explanation (Isaiah 1–5, 308–10). 1

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align with this structure? The answer appears to lie in the structure and
ow of thought in the central portion of Isa 2–4. Isaiah 2:5 says “the house of Jacob” is called to walk in the light of the LORD and then gives four results (each new section beginning with J<) of Israel’s sinfulness: (1) God has abandoned his people (2:6), (2) God will have a day (of reckoning) (2:12), (3) God will remove leaders and food from Judah (3:1), and (4) Judah will fall (3:8). Up until Isa 3:13 the sins of Israel’s leaders are being described, but at v. 13 God “rises to contend” and judge his people, specically the elders (*
“you have consumed the vineyard,” “the spoil of the poor is in their houses”

v. 15:

“why have you crushed my people,” “why have you ground the face of the poor”

This charge ends with the phrase “declares the Lord Yahweh of hosts” (EH 34 9H9J J?5 ) ?). The passage then continues by describing the punishment reserved for the “daughters of Zion” (Isa 3:16–4:1). There is no doubt that 3:13–15 are a major turning point in the descriptions of the judgments to be poured out on God’s people, beginning with the leaders and princes and then the daughters of Zion.36 God’s main charge against Israel is that the leaders had “consumed” (C3, “to burn or consume”) his vineyard (v. 14). Isaiah 5:5 picks up the same phrase when the vineyard owner claims that he will allow his vineyard to be “burned or consumed” (C3), which is the only other occurrence of this phrase in Isaiah. I view this phrase as an intentional link to Isa 5–12, one which provides a further detailed description of the purging of God’s people and its ultimate restoration. See Fig. 5 (overleaf). If this structure is correct, then the seam (4:2–6) for the second section of Isaiah (2:1–12:6) contains all the crucial elements—namely, there will be purging of Jerusalem, the wicked will be destroyed, and only a righteous remnant will remain (e.g. “survivors of Israel,” 4:2; “he who is left,” 4:3). The palistrophe in Isa 5–12 begins with the despicable condition of Israel in the “Song of the Vineyard” and ends with the “Song of Thanksgiving” praising God for Israel’s deliverance, but the key elements of the palistrophe (“woe oracles,” “uplifted hand oracles”) indicate that Israel will go through severe punishments to get to her ultimate glorication. The central unit of the palistrophe is the “Isaianic memoir,” which implies that Isaiah’s ministry will be crucial to its ultimate success. 36. 1QIsaa has an open line before and after Isa 3:13–15. 1

Figure 5. Second Section of Isaiah (Chapters 2–12) Introduction 2 (2:1)

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Rather than disrupting the
ow of thought that the author/editor had already created by encapsulating the present situation (2:5–4:1) within the glorious future for Israel (2:2–4; 4:2–6), the author/editor chose to complete that structure and then link the further development of God’s plan by using the “vineyard” motif. The seam prepares readers for the “oracles to the nations” (Isa 13–23) by the description of nations coming to Zion to learn of God’s ways and, even more, by the consistent theme in the “oracles to the nations” that a remnant will emerge from those nations as well (contrast that with the “oracles to the nations” in other prophetic books). It is possible that the phrases at the end of ch. 12 (e.g. v. 5, “let this be known throughout the earth”; v. 6, “for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel”) are also intended to prepare the reader for the “oracles to the nations” by demonstrating God’s protection and care for his nation and punishment to the foreign nations who harm his people. c. Third Introduction (13:1) The third introduction is similar in wording, though not in order, to the second, only this time it is called an oracle (  >) that Isaiah saw (9KI, see Hab 1:1). It comes at the beginning of a series of oracles to the nations, a familiar element in other prophetic books (Jer 46–51; Ezek 25–32; Amos 1:3–2:16; Zeph 2:4–15). However, the introduction seems to be primarily related to the rst oracle of Babylon and not the whole section which includes many other nations (e.g. Philistia, Moab, Damascus, Ethiopia, Tyre). A number of scholars view this introduction as a later redaction37 added to the beginning of the new section. There is once again some disagreement as to the extent of this section, but most scholars see the oracles to the nations (Isa 13–23) as a unit.38 Several scholars continue this unit to Isa 24–27 and argue that these chapters are intended to expand the “oracles to the nations” to encompass a universal perspective.39 However, once we get to Isa 28–33 there is a 37. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 132; Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, 131–32; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 212–14; H. Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27 (trans. T. H. Trapp; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 1–2; Childs, Isaiah, 113–16; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 271–73; Williamson, Isaiah 1–5, 15. 38. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 129–31; Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, 115–19 (Isa 13–27); Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 212–14; Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 1–2; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 271–73 (Isa 13–27); Childs, Isaiah, 113–16. 39. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 196–97; Seitz, Isaiah 1–39, 172–79; Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 446–47; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 271–73; Childs, Isaiah, 171–72; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 405. 1

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clear shift in content to judgment on Israel by the Assyrians. Gary Smith is one of the few to argue in favor a connection from Isa 13 all the way to Isa 35: All these chapters deal with God’s rule over the nations, including his judgment of the oppressors and his salvation of the righteous in Zion… In these chapters the prophet is attempting to persuade his audience in the besieged city of Jerusalem not to foolishly put their trust in other nations or their own defensive fortications. Instead, they need to trust in God’s sovereign ability to save them and God’s plan to establish his righteous kingdom.40

Smith may be correct in this overall assessment of these chapters, but even he notes there are several units within this larger section, as most scholars contend. Thus once again this third section (Isa 13–39) appears to be comprised of multiple smaller units, which at least include: (1) the “oracles to the nations” (chs. 13–23); (2) “the little Apocalypse” (chs. 24–27); (3) punishment/restoration oracles (chs. 28–35); and (4) the “Isaianic narratives” (chs. 36–39). It is much less clear how these smaller units are related to each other, though valuable work has been done on the redactional relationship of these later chapters to the rest of the book.41 Beuken and others have demonstrated strong intertextual connections between sections of the book and have also made a good case for Isa 36–39 being a bridge between so-called First and Second Isaiah. But why is Isa 13–39 arranged in the way that it is? Why is there so little mention of Assyria among the “oracles to the nations” (e.g. 14:24–27)? Why does Isa 24–27 describe the future judgments and restoration on the nations and then Isa 34–35 cover very similar types of material? What is the purpose for the so-called Isaianic narratives and how do they relate to the rest of the section? I propose that Isa 13–39 contains an overarching structure that can answer most of these questions. This section appears to form a palistrophe similar in form and content to those found in each of the earlier sections. Figure 6 (opposite) summarizes the data.

40. Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 468. 41. Only a few of these works can be mentioned: W. A. M. Beuken, “Jesaja 33 als Spiegeltext im Jesajabuch,” ETL 67 (1991): 5–35; “Isaiah 34: Lament in Isaianic Context,” OTE 5 (1992): 78–102; M. Pope, “Isaiah 34 in Relation to Isaiah 35, 40–66,” JBL 71 (1952): 235–43; O. H. Steck, Bereitete Heimkehr. Jesaja 35 als redaktionelle Brücke zwischen dem Ersten und dem Zweiten Jesaja (SBS 121; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1985); Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 420–54; J. Vermeylen, Du prophète Isaïe à l’apocalyptique (2 vols.; EBib; Paris: Gabalda, 1977– 78), 1:439–46; H. G. M. Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 213–20. 1

Figure 6. Structure of Isaiah 13–39 Introduction 3 (13:1)

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The rst unit within this third section of Isaiah is fairly well dened and is commonly called “the oracles to the nations” (Isa 13–23). God has a message of judgment for each of Israel’s neighbors, but several of them will also have a remnant that turns to God (e.g. from Cush [18:7]; Egypt [19:19–25]; Tyre [23:17–18]; see esp. Isa 19:23–24). One particular oracle to the nations that stands out is the small one directed to Assyria (14:24–27[28?]), which has two interesting aspects. First, it claims to have already happened (v. 24, 9EJ9 *<), apparently referring back to Isa 10:24–28 and the events surrounding 701 B.C.E.42 These verses not only speak of the destruction of Assyria in the land of Israel, but also the deliverance of Israel from servitude (the “yoke” is removed from their “shoulders,” 10:25). Second, 14:26 says this plan is devised against the whole earth, implying that those who go against his people will suffer the same fate as Assyria.43 Thus the smallest “oracle to the nations” provides the rationale for all of these oracles by pronouncing punishment on any nation that ghts against God’s people. The last unit in the third section of Isaiah is commonly called the “Isaianic narratives” (chs. 36–39) and describes in detail the events surrounding 701 B.C.E. Any nation needing proof of divine judgment on anyone that harms Israel need only look at this description of Assyria’s punishment. There are two balanced units in the palistrophe: a description of the judgment on nations that harm Israel in the “Oracles to the nations” (chs. 13–23) and a description of God’s judgment specically on Assyria in the “Isaianic narratives” (chs. 36–39). The next unit in Isa 13–39 is sometimes called “The little apocalypse” (Isa 24–27). This terminology is certainly an overstatement, but it does describe the destruction of the earth in terms reminiscent of the book of Revelation.44 However, its message remains consistent with the rest of 42. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 145–47 (part of a Josianic redaction); Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 81–85; Childs, Isaiah, 127; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 289; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 319–23. 43. See Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 147; Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27, 84–85; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 229 (and perhaps Babylon in particular); Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 289. Childs (Isaiah, 127) states: “The passage further establishes the typological link between Assyria and Babylon. Just as God’s plan against Assyria has been unfolded and Assyria has been destroyed, so also the promise to include equally arrogant Babylon is part of the selfsame promise.” However, Isa 14:26 suggests that it goes much further than merely Assyria and Babylon—even to the whole earth. 44. I agree with H. Wildberger (Isaiah 28–39 [trans. T. H. Trapp; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002], 317) that this passage merely contains apocalyptic elements and is not apocalyptic material in the technical sense. Accordingly, I will use the term in a general, descriptive sense. 1

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the book of Isaiah—God will punish the wicked (e.g. 24:1–12, 17–22), a remnant will remain (24:13b–16; 26:1–9; 27:12–13), and God will rule on Mt. Zion (e.g. 24:23b; 27:2–6). As several scholars have noted, Isa 24–27 is well positioned after the “oracles against the nations,” for following the description of God’s destruction of Babylon, Philistia, Moab, Damascus, Ethiopia, and so on, this section begins, “Behold the Lord lays the earth waste” (24:1). Elements of the future time in Isa 24– 27 are continued in Isa 34–35.45 Isaiah 27 ends with God “threshing” (3I, “to beat out”) from the stream of the Euphrates to the brook of Egypt (see also, Gen 15:18) while collecting his children (i.e. the remnant). Isaiah 34 picks up the theme of judgment on the nations and combines that in ch. 35 with a description of God’s nal kingdom. This nal kingdom will be a place of “joy and gladness” (35:10), as well as a time of safety from wild animals (35:9), reminiscent of 11:6–9 and 65:25. Also a remnant is implied in the phrases “the redeemed of the LORD” (35:9) and the “ransomed of the LORD” (35:10). Scholars have attempted to highlight the strong connections between chs. 34–35 (often called a “diptych pattern” since the work of Beuken) and material both preceding (Isa 6; 13; 24; 27) and following them (Isa 40; 43; 51; 62; 63; 65). I suggest the themes of chs. 24–27 and their further development in Isa 34–35 should be viewed as parallel units in the palistrophe of chs. 13–39. The middle unit of this palistrophe (Isa 28–33) is interspersed with woe oracles followed by restoration oracles, as Fig. 7 (overleaf) indicates. These eight woe oracles are primarily concerned with events in the context of 701 B.C.E. and reiterate the theme that the wicked in Israel will be punished whereas a righteous remnant will be spared (28:5–6, 16; 33:15–16)—the same message found in each of the major sections of Isaiah. The center of the palistrophe lies here, where the destruction of Assyria is a prime example to the rest of the nations that punishment will be directed toward those who do harm to God’s people (cf. 14:24– 27). The unit ends with God’s protection, prosperity, and health (33:17– 24) poured out upon his people and their iniquity being forgiven (33:24).46

45. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 271–72; Wildberger, Isaiah 28–39, 84–85; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 229 (and perhaps Babylon in particular); Childs, Isaiah, 247; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 289. 46. See Beuken’s suggestions (“Jesaja 33,” 5–35) and Childs’s critique (Isaiah, 248–49). 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation Figure 7. Structure of Isaiah 28–33 Judgment Woe (Drunkards) Isa 28:1–4 Woe (Leaders) Isa 28:7–15 Woe (Leaders) Isa 28:18–22 Woe (Ariel + Other) Isa 29:1–16 Woe (Rebellious ones) Isa 30:1–17 Woe (Unbelieving ones) Isa 31:1–4 Woe (Women) Isa 32:9–14 Destroyer Punished Isa 33:1

Restoration Restoration (Isa 28:5–6) Restoration (Isa 28:16–17) Restoration (Isa 28:23–29) Restoration (Isa 29:17–24) Restoration (Isa 30:18–33) Restoration (Isa 31:5–32:9) Restoration (Isa 32:15–20) Restoration (Isa 33:2–24)

The nal unit of Isa 13–39, often called the “Isaianic narratives” (Isa 36–39), describes Assyria’s destruction hinted at in the “oracles to the nations,” but even more importantly provides the bridge between Isa 13– 39 and the next major section.47 Isaiah 36–39 is also the largest seam connecting sections of the book, however, the message is the same—a thorough purging of the wicked from God’s people, but the saving of a righteous remnant (37:31–32, even in terms reminiscent of Isa 4:2–6). The end of Isa 37 and all of Isa 38 may also be a subtle jab at the gods of Assyria, for Sennacherib’s god could not save him even within his own temple, whereas Yahweh protected Hezekiah and granted him fteen more years of life. Several scholars have pointed out that the “Isaianic narratives” are not in chronological order,48 thus suggesting an intentional arrangement possibly to contrast Yahweh to the Assyrian gods, but even more to make a connection with the next major part of the book. Isaiah’s message to Hezekiah of the Babylonian deportation of his offspring and his wealth sets the stage for the events in Isa 40–66. It is even possible that Hezekiah’s response, “for there will be peace and truth in my days” (39:8), may be an intentional contrast to the three refrains in the latter part of the book which state that there will be “no peace for the wicked.”

47. See the works by R. F. Melugin (The Formation of Isaiah 40–55 [BZAW 141; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972], 82–84, 176–78), Ackroyd (“Isaiah 36–39: Structure and Function,” in Von Kanaan bis Kerala: Fst. für J. P. M. van der Ploeg OP [ed. W. C. Delsman et al.; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982], 3–21), Seitz (Zion’s Final Destiny), and Sweeney (Isaiah 1–39, 42, 454–511), all of which demonstrate that chs. 36–39 not only conclude the traditions of Isa 1–39, but also introduce the writings of Isa 40–66. Similar ideas have been suggested for chs. 34– 35 (Beuken, “Isaiah 34,” 78–102; Steck, Bereitete Heimkehr, 45–79; see also Sweeney’s summary, Isaiah 1–39, 42–45). 48. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 294; Childs, Isaiah, 264–65; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 458–61; Smith, Isaiah 1–39, 635–36. 1

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2. The Three Divisions of Isaiah 40–66 Most scholars are well aware of the recurring refrain in Isa 40–66; however, few understand it as a signicant way to divide the latter part of the book. Norman Whybray summarizes the features of this refrain: “This verse [Isa 48:22] is virtually identical with 57:21. Here it is clearly an interpolation unrelated to the context, perhaps added by an editor as a marker: its double occurrence divides Isa 40–66 into three roughly equal parts.”49 But why do so few see these recurring refrains as a legitimate way to divide the book? At least part of the answer to this question lies in the commonly assumed divisions proposed by Bernhard Duhm.50 While many scholars have questioned Duhm’s independent development of what he called “Proto-Isaiah” (chs. 1–39), his later divisions and their suggested developments into “Deutero-Isaiah” (chs. 40–55) and “TritoIsaiah” (chs. 56–66) have been more readily accepted. These so-called independent works were divided largely upon differences in style and form, vocabulary, and theological emphases.51 Blenkinsopp summarizes Duhm’s brief arguments as follows: According to Duhm, the difference between chaps. 40–55 and chaps. 56–66 is largely a difference of subject matter, since the interest of the theocratic author of 56–66 in such legal matters as sacrice and Sabbath is not shared by the prophetic author of 40–55. Concern with such matters requires a later date, with a community well established and having to deal with opposition from their Northern neighbors in Samaria, who were intent on building a schismatic temple. This suggested to Duhm a date shortly before Nehemiah’s arrival in Jerusalem in the mid-fth century. Deutero-Isaiah and Trito-Isaiah were rst brought together around the beginning of the second century B.C.E., and the book of Isaiah achieved its nal form under the Hasmonean Queen Salome (78–69 B.C.E.), the golden age of Pharisaism and scribalism.52

I agree with Blenkinsopp’s conclusion that “Duhm’s Trito-Isaianic hypothesis has achieved a surprisingly large measure of success, considering how brief and laconic his arguments in its favor were.”53 While several elements of Duhm’s theory are open to question, in this short study I will focus only on some weaknesses in his divisions of the book. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 1

Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 134. Duhm, Jesaja. See Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 38. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 27. Ibid.

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Most scholars identify a major division between Isa 39 and 40.54 The main arguments proffered in support are the: signicantly different historical backgrounds for both parts of the book (Isa 1–39 generally presupposes a pre-exilic background, whereas Isa 40–66 assumes a postexilic background), signicantly different styles and genres, differences in vocabulary and even how specic words are used. Even so, several modern scholars have suggested important links to material earlier in the book (see the discussion above). Klaus Baltzer also notes: There are relationships in points of detail too. Isaiah 40 would seem to presuppose Isaiah 6 (the chapter describing the installation of the prophet Isaiah) or its tradition. The presupposition in both passages is the concept of the divine council. The “oracles concerning Babylon” in Isa 13:1–14:23 and 21:1–10 play a part in the description of Babylon’s downfall in 46:1–2 and 47:1–15. In DtIsa messianic expectations are transferred to Cyrus (45:1). The literary problem of the composition of Isaiah I must undoubtedly be seen in a more differentiated way than Duhm’s formation allows.55

To Baltzer’s comments it might be added that the latter chapters of Isa 1–39 appear to form a bridge with Isa 40–66, as I noted above. Duhm’s divisions of Isaiah and his hypothetical development of these sections as completely separate works have been questioned by a number of scholars. It is more common for modern scholars to emphasize unity of the book of Isaiah not on authorial grounds, but on literary, structural, and theological grounds. Ronald E. Clements,56 Rolf Rendtorff,57 Roy F. Melugin,58 Christopher R. Seitz,59 Brevard S. Childs,60 Hugh G. M. Williamson,61 and others62 have suggested a fairly signicant relationship 54. E.g. Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 2, 8, 21–23; Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 20–43; Childs, Isaiah, 289–91; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 41–81; Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah, 1–2. 55. Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah, 1. 56. R. E. Clements, “Beyond Tradition-History: Deutero-Isaianic Development of First Isaiah’s Themes,” JSOT 31 (1985): 95–113; “The Prophecies of Isaiah and the Fall of Jerusalem,” VT 30 (1980): 421–36; “The Unity of the Book of Isaiah,” Int 36 (1982): 117–29. 57. R. Rendtorff, “The Book of Isaiah: A Complex Unity—Synchronic and Diachronic Reading,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1991 Seminar Papers (ed. E. H. Lovering, Jr.; SBLSP 30; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1991), 8–20 (repr. in Melugin and Sweeney, eds., New Visions of Isaiah, 32–49). 58. Melugin, Formation. 59. Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny, 1–35; Isaiah 1–39, 239–42. 60. B. S. Childs, “The Canonical Shape of the Prophetic Literature,” Int 32 (1978): 46–55; Isaiah, 260–66; Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 311–38. 61. Williamson, Book Called Isaiah. 1

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between both parts of Isaiah in that Isa 40–66 picks up themes presented in Isa 1–39 and develops them. One of the most compelling arguments for this relationship is the use of “former and latter” terminology in Isa 40–66 where the author/redactor understands God’s “latter” works to be a fulllment of his “former” works (42:9; 46:9; 48:3; 61:4; 65:7, 16– 17).63 Williamson takes this idea even further and argues that Second Isaiah was never intended to be a separate work, but a later editing and expansion of the former.64 According to Seitz, Duhm’s theory has such serious problems that even the “original theory” must now be questioned.65 My suggestion is that there are two major breaks in Isa 40–66 indicated by the recurring refrains (48:22; 57:21; 66:24). Other scholars have noted the signicant differences in material between the Cyrus texts (chs. 40–48) and the servant texts (chs. 49–53), as my rst division suggests. Baltzer explains: Even where the unity of Isaiah 40–55 is presupposed, the differences between chaps. 40–48 and 49–55 have been explained by the methods of literary criticism. The special position of the Cyrus texts has raised literary questions, and the same is true about all of the Servant of God texts. Attempts have been made to work out the revision that the text has undergone and to elicit strata that run right through it. Exact and scrupulous though the observations and reconstructions are, the question is still whether the explanatory model taken as the basis in each given case is adequate… The link between the Jacob–Israel tradition in Isaiah 40–48 and the Zion/Jerusalem tradition in Isaiah 49–55 is programmatic for DtIsa’s work as a whole.66

Even Joseph Blenkinsopp, who does not see a signicant break between Isa 48 and 49, admits: “The nal injunction to leave Babylon and the Chaldeans behind while inviting the whole world to join in the celebration of the redemptive intervention of God on their behalf (vv. 20–21) 62. Ackroyd, “Isaiah 36–39,” 3–21; Steck, Bereitete Heimkehr, 45–79; Beuken, “Jesaja 33,” 5–35; “Isaiah 34,” 78–102; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 41–48. 63. Clements, “Unity,” 117–29; Childs, Introduction, 328–38; Heskett, Messianism, 31–37. 64. Williamson, Book Called Isaiah. 65. Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny, 12. In lieu of the distinctions of Deutero-Isaiah and Trito-Isaiah, Steck uses the term “Grossjesaja” to refer to Isa 40–66 (Heimkehr, 9). See also H. Barth, Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit: Israel und Assur als Thema einer produktiven Neuinterpretation der Jesajaüberlieferung (WMANT 48; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 298. 66. Baltzer, Deutero-Isaiah, 4–5. See also, Peter Wilcox and David PattonWilliams, “The Servant Songs in Deutero-Isaiah,” JSOT 42 (1988): 79–102. 1

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serves to round off chaps. 40–48.”67 There is also a signicant change in person between these two chapters: Isa 48 ends with the Lord speaking, then Isa 49:1 begins with the servant speaking. Thus evidence favors a signicant break between Isa 48 and 49 based upon the
ow of thought, types of material (Cyrus texts vs. Servant texts), and even the speaker. Duhm’s break between Isa 55 and 56 is likewise questionable. Is Isa 55 really intended to conclude Deutero–Isaiah? It is not my purpose here to question whether or not there are signicant differences between the material in Isa 40–55 and 56–66, but rather whether Duhm’s division after ch. 55 is correct.68 The exhortation that begins in Isa 55:1 appears to continue on into Isa 56, where the Lord exhorts his readers to “preserve justice and do righteousness”69 in light of the fact that his “salvation is about to come” (56:1). This salvation most likely refers back to 55:12–13 where Israel will “go out with joy and be led forth with peace,” a repeated theme in Isa 49–56 (49:6, 8; 51:5–8; 52:7, 10; 56:1). Even the idea of holding fast to the covenant in 55:3 continues into 56:4–6 and provides the foundation for this deliverance. It is far too simplistic to suggest that the phrase “Thus says the LORD” beginning ch. 56 indicates a new oracle. This phrase may signify the beginning of a new oracle (e.g. 50:1), but more often announces a conclusion based upon an earlier discussion (43:14, 16; 44:2, 6, 24; 45:1, 11, 18; 48:17; 49:7, 8).70 Some have argued that Trito-Isaiah’s theology is signicantly different, but there are also important similarities to Isa 1–39. The idea of foreigners joining themselves to Israel (56:6) was mentioned in 14:1; 19:22–25; and 23:17–18. Also, three of the sins mentioned in 56:10– 57:13 may have earlier referents, (1) sending out envoys ((JC4, 57:9) may be reminiscent of Israel’s plea to Egypt for help (18:2; 20:3–6; 30:1–7; 31:1–3; 36:6, 9), (2) worship on the high places (i.e. “under oaks,” 57:5; “upon high and lofty mountains,” 57:7) is reminiscent of 1:29 and 36:7 (worship on the high places is not a sin mentioned in postexilic times), and (3) child sacrice is mentioned in pre-exilic times (Isa 57:5; see Ahaz [2 Kgs 16:3]; 2 Kgs 17:17; Manasseh [2 Kgs 21:6]) and is another sin not mentioned later in Israel. Lastly, an interesting structure precedes most of the so-called Servant Songs (Isa 42:1–9; 49:1–13[?]; 50:4–11; 52:13–53:12) and continues right into what is called Trito-Isaiah: 67. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 295. 68. See Childs, Isaiah, 441–49. 69. Cf. Isa 51:6–8; 54:14. 70. Childs, Isaiah, 453. See also Baltzer’s argument on Isa 44:2 (Deutero-Isaiah, 184–85). 1

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Figure 8. Introductions to “Servant Songs” Introductory Statement Isa 41:28: “When I looked, there is no one and among these there is no counselor who, when I ask them, would give an answer.” No Introduction (beginning of the section) Isa 50:2: “Why was there no one when I came? (When) I called, there was none to answer?” Isa 51:18: “There is not one to guide her among all the sons she has borne, nor is there one to grasp her by the hand among all the sons she has reared.”

Servant Songs 42:1–9: First Servant Song

49:1–13(?): Second Servant Song 50:4–11: Third Servant Song

52:13–53:12: Fourth Servant Song

The only so-called Servant Song that lacks an introductory statement is 49:1–13(?), which begins a totally new section. Even so-called TritoIsaiah continues this practice, with 59:16 preparing the reader for what is coming in 61:1–3, which some scholars treat as almost a fth servant song.71 Whether we agree with this interpretation or not,72 it is interesting that the practice of including an introductory statement is quite similar to what is found in so-called Second Isaiah. Others have also shown signicant connections between Isa 1–39 and 40–66, and this should at least cause us to question whether Isa 56–66 forms a completely separate work. If the
ow of thought from Isa 55 continues into Isa 56, the next signicant break would be following the Lord’s promised deliverance in 57:14–21. Isaiah 57:16 summarizes the earlier chapters by saying that God will not contend forever—his earlier punishment was merely redemptive and intended to bring Israel back to himself (vv. 18–19). God’s deliverance will bring peace to those who turn to him (v. 19), but there will be “no peace” for the wicked (vv. 20– 21). If there is a natural breaking point following 57:21, then one of Duhm’s key distinctions between “Deutero” and “Trito” Isaiahs has been 71. Delitzsch, Isaiah, 2:395–98; W. W. Cannon, “Isaiah 61,1–3 and Ebed-Jahweh Poem,” ZAW 47 (1929): 284–88; Young, Isaiah, 3:458–60; J. N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah, Chapters 40–66 (NICOT; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1998), 561– 68; Motyer, Isaiah, 376–77. See the discussion by Heskett, Messianism, 225–63. 72. See the discussions in W. A. M. Beuken, “Servant and Herald of Good Tidings: Isaiah 61 as an Interpretation of Isaiah 40–55,” in The Book of Isaiah/Le livre d’Isaïe (ed. J. Vermeylen; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1989), 411–42; Childs, Isaiah, 501–6; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 55–66, 220–27. 1

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undermined since now the mention of sacrices and sabbaths is actually in “Deutero-Isaiah.” Having noted some potential
aws in how the book has been divided, let us examine the three refrains to see if they provide a more plausible division of the text. a. Section 1 (Isaiah 40–48) Isaiah 40–48 addresses two primary questions posed in Isa 40: (1) is God is able to deliver his people (40:12–26), and (2) is God willing (40:27– 31)? The answer to both is laid out in a palistrophic structure (illustrated in Fig. 9, opposite) that leads the reader to conclude, “Yes, God is both willing and able to deliver Israel.” The center unit of the palistrophe is in 44:1–45:7 where God claims he is the only God and that idols could never have delivered Israel (44:9– 20). The ultimate proof that God is the only true God is offered in Isa 44:1–45:7, as well as in three passages before (41:2–4, 25–26; 42:1–9) and three passages that follow (45:13; 46:11; 48:14–15). Ultimately, God will use Cyrus to deliver his people. The assertion in ch. 44 that idols could never have accomplished this great deliverance is likewise found in ve passages before (40:18–20; 41:5–7, 21–24, 29; 42:17) and ve passages afterward (45:16, 20–21; 46:1–7; 47:12–15; 48:5). I would suggest that the nal section of Isa 40–48 (48:17–22) is the seam. It begins and ends with the phrase “says the Lord,” an inclusio pattern used to unite the material. God reminds Israel that his ways and laws would have protected them and provided blessings, if only they had obeyed. Instead, God will have to deliver them again and bring them out of Babylon (v. 20). Verse 21 recollects the abundant provisions that God had provided for Israel during the wilderness wanderings, especially the abundance of water that he brought from the rock (Exod 17:6). God is faithful and will redeem his people, but the refrain exhorts them not to forget that the wicked will never have peace (v. 22). Several scholars note that the refrain (v. 22) seems to lack a strong connection to the material preceding it.73 Given this and the literarycritical evidence of a signicant difference between the Cyrus texts and the servant texts, it seems reasonable to view 48:17–22 as an intentional seam. Similar to Isa 1–39, this seam contains a message of deliverance for the nation of Israel, who would soon be brought out of Babylon, and a message of punishment for the wicked. However, the structure of the seam appears almost articial since the message of punishment (v. 22) is almost tacked onto the message of deliverance from Babylon. 73. Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 134; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55, 292. 1

Figure 9. Structure of Isaiah 40–48

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One other interesting difference is that each of the three seams in Isa 1–39 makes clear references to a righteous remnant being delivered, but the three seams in the latter part of Isaiah provide only indirect references. Isaiah 48:19 may explain why—namely, a remnant is all that is left. This verse implies that Israel’s disobedience has caused a signicant depletion of the nation, which could have been avoided. b. Section 2 (Isaiah 49–57) This section contains three of the so-called Servant Songs and ends with a refrain (57:21) similar to the earlier refrain in Isa 48:22, with one slight variation: 48:22 reads “says the Lord” whereas 57:21 reads “says my God.” Possibly this is an intentional shift in names for God since the title rst used in Isa 40–48 is “your God” (40:1) and at the end is “the Lord” (48:22), whereas in Isa 49–57 the titles are reversed—“Lord” (49:1) appears rst, then “my God” (57:21). There is much greater disagreement concerning this division; in fact, few even mention it as a possibility. However, as discussed above, the logic of this division of the text does make sense and most scholars have noted at least some division here.74 Blenkinsopp states: “the concluding vv. 20–21 about the fate of the reprobate would be an addendum in keeping with the positive–negative alternation in the second part of the book, noted earlier.”75 He later states that a scribe added these verses, possibly the same one that added the refrain to Isa 48:22 as a structural marker.76 But Blenkinsopp does not comment on why a scribe would make such an addition. The structure of Isa 49–57 seems to build to a climax of Zion’s glorious future (ch. 54) and God’s gracious mercy (chs. 55–56), but it still ends with a message of punishment for the wicked (56:9–57:21). Duhm apparently made the division earlier due to the anticlimactic mention of punishment for the wicked. I have already noted, however, that punishment of the wicked is a common theme found in each section marked by a refrain. In this section purging and cleansing is already in process and thus restoration is coming. Isaiah 57:16 assures the readers that God will not contend forever, but that he will heal them (v. 18). Figure 10 summarizes the data:

74. Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 327–31; Whybray, Isaiah 40–66, 208–9; Oswalt, Isaiah, Chapters 40–66, 485; Childs, Isaiah, 468; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 166–73. 75. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 168. 76. Ibid., 172–73. 1

Figure 10. Section 2 (Isaiah 49–57)

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Once again the message of Isa 49–57 is similar to the previous sections. It clearly describes the deliverance God will bring and underscores that the wicked will not see this deliverance. God had turned his back on Israel for a short time, but now he is ready to deliver. The destruction that was directed toward Israel will now be directed toward her enemies. The refrain accords well with the ending of this section (Isa 56:9– 57:21) and its emphasis on rebuking the wicked leaders of Israel (the wicked will have no peace, 57:21). While all of 56:9–57:21 could be considered the seam, it is more likely that the seam begins in 57:14 and v. 13b serves as a bridge. Verse 13 mentions that the wicked will be carried away by the wind, but those who take refuge in God will inherit the land. This section could end with the punishment of the wicked leaders and a general statement of blessing for those who take refuge in God, but it would be lacking a specic description of God’s deliverance and who exactly would be delivered, as found at the end of each previous section. Therefore the seam (57:14–21) deals with both themes: (1) God dwells with those who are “contrite and lowly of spirit” (v. 15), a denite characteristic of a righteous person, and (2) God has punished Israel and now is the time for healing and peace (vv. 17–19). It then contrasts the plight of the righteous (“peace, peace to him who is far and to him who is near…and I will heal him”) with the plight of the wicked—“no peace” for them (vv. 20–21). c. Section 3: Isaiah 58–66 This section begins with a call to true repentance (58:1) and ends with an expanded refrain (66:24). Its message is similar to the earlier sections— God will bring deliverance to Zion (59:20) and punish the wicked (59:17–18; 63:1–6; 65:11–12; 66:16–17, 24), but a remnant will be delivered (65:8, 13–15; 66:19). (See Fig. 11 opposite.) Even scholars who do not see Isa 58:1 as beginning a new major section, note that it begins a smaller unit, as Blenkinsopp has argued: In contrast to what precedes and follows, chaps. 58–59 have a consistency of subject matter, approach, and tone that sets them apart as a distinct section. They also begin with a command to a prophet to do what prophets traditionally do (58:1) and end with a rare intrusion of the propheticauthorial voice (59:12). The rst passage, 58:1–14, is, in addition, clearly distinguished from what precedes it by mar lohay (“says my God,” 57:21), and the conclusion is equally clearly delineated by “this is what YHVH has spoken” (58:14).77

77. Ibid., 176. 1

Figure 11. Section 3 (Isaiah 58–66)

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The nal refrain ends the book, but it is more difcult to determine where the nal seam begins. Many scholars following the form-critical approach have identied multiple smaller units within the nal chapter of Isaiah.78 But this still leaves several unresolved questions, such as: Why did the author/redactor place these segments here? Or, what is the author/redactor wish to convey? Many have argued that there are similar themes and vocabulary between Isa 1 and 65–66 (see my earlier discussion). I propose that these chapters not only form an inclusio, but that Isa 65–66 explains how God will handle the issues initially introduced in ch. 1. These issues are highlighted below: Figure 12. Comparing Isaiah 1 to Isaiah 65–66 Isaiah 1 vv. 2–3: My sons have rebelled against me

Isaiah 65–66 65:1–2: “I permitted myself to be found by those who did not seek for me” v. 4: They are a sinful people weighed 65:3–7: “The people who continually down with iniquity provoke me to my face” (followed by a list of their sins) “I will measure into their bosom payment for their former deeds” 65:8–15: God will spare a remnant: vv. 5–9: Israel has been severely punished by God: “Where will you be “My servants will eat, but you will be hungry. Behold, my servants will stricken again, as you continue in drink, but you will be thirsty” rebellion?” But a remnant will be spared vv. 10–20: A plea for true repentance 65:16: Outcome of true repentance vv. 21–26: Zion will be redeemed 65:17–25: New heaven and new earth: “I create Jerusalem for rejoicing and her people for gladness” v. 27: “Zion will be redeemed with 66:1–14: “But to this one I will look, justice and her repentant ones with to him who is humble and contrite of righteousness” spirit and who trembles at my word… Be joyful with Jerusalem and rejoice for her… [Y]ou will be comforted in Jerusalem” vv. 28–31: But transgressors will be 66:15–24: “For behold the Lord will crushed… “the two of them shall burn come in re…their re will not be together and there will be none to quenched” quench (them)” 66:18–23: A remnant is highlighted one more time 78. Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 423–29; Childs, Isaiah, 532–34; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 56–66, 311. 1

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Isaiah 65–66 follows the same
ow of thought as ch. 1 and is a much fuller discussion of its key concepts and themes. These nal chapters highlight how God worked out his plan throughout the book. A stubborn and rebellious nation will be brought back to him. This will require severe punishment and even then only a remnant will be spared. This remnant will be a humble and contrite people who will come to Jerusalem and be protected by their God. Those who continue to rebel against God (i.e. the wicked) will be punished. The nal message of judgment for the wicked (66:24) that marks the end of the book of Isaiah seems almost anticlimactic,79 but consistent with the seam pattern: each major section of Isaiah ends with a seam that portrays a righteous remnant returning to God and the unrepentant wicked being punished. Just as the rst seam in Isaiah is a short, veverse summary (1:27–31) that “Zion will be redeemed—the wickedness will be burned away and only a righteous remnant will be spared,” so too the last seam is short. Its last seven verses (66:18–24) summarize the outcome of God’s plan and contain a new twist; the remnant (i.e. survivors) comes not only from Israel but all nations to serve God. The nal verse is a thorough description of the punishment of the wicked (“their re will not be quenched,” v. 24). 3. Conclusion I have argued that the book of Isaiah has an overall structure delineated by three introductions (1:1; 2:1; 13:1) and three refrains (48:22; 57:21; 66:24) that serve as seams. This intentional structure may have been overlooked because of older, outdated assumptions as to how the book developed. The structure of the book is indeed complicated, as indicated by the great variety of suggestions as to its arrangement and structure, but it seems best to use the hints in the text for its arrangement. The seams, located in 1:27–31; 4:2–6; 39:1–8; 48:17–22; 57:16–21; 66:18– 24, bring a cohesiveness by echoing the overall message of the book: God will purge the nation of Israel and bring forth a righteous remnant, but the wicked will be punished. The nal refrain is more climactic, as the remnant it describes comes not only from Israel but from all nations (66:18–19). If what I propose is correct, then the seams are indeed

79. O. C. Whitehouse, Isaiah XL–LXVI (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1908), 339; Westermann, Isaiah 40–66, 429; Duhm, Jesaja, 475; C. C. Torrey, The Second Isaiah: A New Interpretation (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1929), 475; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 55–66, 309–10, 317. 1

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important for joining the book of Isaiah together and providing an overall structure to a book that has been largely divided into smaller and smaller units over the past ve or six decades. It is my hope to stimulate further discussion of the nature and purpose of these overlooked seams.

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SCRIBAL CULTURE AND THE COMPOSITION OF THE BOOK OF ISAIAH Robert R. Wilson

For many years scholars considered the book of Isaiah to be a composite work containing three independent and unrelated sections. Isaiah 1–39 contained the words of the eighth-century prophet, sometimes called Isaiah of Jerusalem or First Isaiah; Isa 40–55 was the work of an anonymous prophet writing in the Babylonian Exile, an individual usually called Second Isaiah; and Isa 56–66 was the work of another unknown prophet writing in the Second Temple period, usually called Third Isaiah. In its most extreme form, this theory of the book’s composition claimed that the three major sections of the book originally circulated separately and were copied onto the same scroll only at a late date and only because there was additional room at the end of the scroll containing First Isaiah.1 More moderate approaches correctly recognized theological and linguistic echoes in the three sections and sometimes attributed these echoes to the disciples or “school” of the original prophet, but the basic independence of the sections was nevertheless maintained. This picture of the book’s literary history began to be questioned in the 1970s, when scholars became more interested in the editing of the book and in its literary and theological character. The rst real challenge to the traditional view probably came from the work of Vermeylen, who identied seven editorial layers in Isa 1–35, the fth of which had strong similarities to the work of Third Isaiah. This analysis suggested that Third Isaiah may have had a role in the shaping of First Isaiah and opened the door to the possibility that the hand of Second Isaiah as well was to be found in the rst part of the book.2 A similar argument was advanced by Ackroyd, who saw Second Isaiah at work in Isa 1–12 and 1. See, for example, Robert H. Pfeiffer, Introduction to the Old Testament (New York: Harper, 1948), 447–48. 2. Jacques Vermeylen, Du prophète Isaïe à l’apocalyptique (2 vols.; EBib; Paris: Gabalda, 1977–78). 1

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in the story of the Assyrian invasion of 701 B.C.E. in Isa 36–39.3 These early efforts generated an enormous amount of subsequent discussion, most of it too complex to treat in this brief essay.4 However, particularly in
uential were the contributions of Clements, Sweeney, Williamson, Conrad, Childs, and Seitz, all of whom struggled to understand the overall unity of the book and the way in which later authors or editors related to the prophecies of the original prophet.5 Gerald T. Sheppard was actively involved in the modern discussion of the way in which the various parts of Isaiah relate to each other, and, like his teacher Brevard Childs, was particularly concerned to understand how the overall structure of the book could be understood. Sheppard made a number of contributions to the debate, including a commentary on Isa 1–39.6 However, in order to clarify some of the unresolved 3. Peter R. Ackroyd, “Isaiah i–xii: Presentation of a Prophet,” in Congress Volume: Göttingen, 1977 (ed. John A. Emerton et al.; VTSup 29; Leiden: Brill, 1978), 16–48; “Isaiah 36–39: Structure and Function,” in Von Kanaan bis Kerala: Festschrift für Prof. Mag. Dr. Dr. J. P. M. van der Ploeg O.P. zur Vollendung des siebzigsten Lebensjahres am 4. Juli 1979 ; überreicht von Kollegen, Freunden und Schülern (ed. J. R. Nelis et al.; AOAT 211; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1982), 3–21. 4. For a discussion of the current state of Isaiah research, see Marvin A. Sweeney, “The Book of Isaiah in Recent Research,” in Recent Research on the Major Prophets (ed. Alan J. Hauser; Shefeld: Shefeld Phoenix, 2008), 78–92. In the same volume see also the following: Sweeney, “Re-evaluating Isaiah 1–39 in Recent Critical Research,” 93–117; Hyun Chul Paul Kim, “Recent Scholarship on Isaiah 1– 39,” 118–41; and Roy F. Melugin, “Isaiah 40–66 in Recent Research: The ‘Unity’ Movement,” 142–94. 5. Ronald E. Clements, Isaiah 1–39 (NCB; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1980); “The Unity of the Book of Isaiah,” Int 36 (1982): 117–29; and “Isaiah: A Book without an Ending,” JSOT 97 (2002): 109–26; Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–4 and the Post-exilic Understanding of the Isaiah Tradition (BZAW 171; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1988); Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1996); H. G. M. Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah: Deutero-Isaiah’s Role in Composition and Redaction (Oxford: Clarendon, 1994); Edgar W. Conrad, Reading Isaiah (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991); Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2001); “Critique of Recent Intertextual Canonical Interpretation,” ZAW 115 (2003): 173–84; The Struggle to Understand Isaiah as Christian Scripture (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2004); Christopher R. Seitz, “Isaiah 1–66: Making Sense of the Whole,” in Reading and Preaching the Book of Isaiah (ed. Christopher R. Seitz; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 105–26; and Zion’s Final Destiny: The Development of the Book of Isaiah: A Reassessment of Isaiah 36–39 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). 6. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Isaiah 1–39,” in Harper’s Bible Commentary (ed. James L. Mays et al.; San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 542–70. 1

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problems in the current discussion and to suggest a new path of research, I will focus on two of his contributions. In 1992 Sheppard wrote an article reviewing several recent treatments of the structure of Isaiah, all of which were trying to describe how the book was unied through the work of its various authors and editors.7 Sheppard’s discussion focuses on the work of Sweeney, Conrad, and Seitz, whose books are analyzed against the background of contemporary literary theory.8 In his critique, Sheppard shows that although all three authors are concerned with the book’s overall structure, they each have a different idea of what that structure is and how it might function in the book. Setting his analysis in a broader context, Sheppard then shows how this problem is shared by many of the scholars who are trying to understand how the book can be unied when there is no unity of authorship. A variety of different approaches are taken. For some scholars, the structure is primarily a literary one, with repeated formulas and phrases appearing in the various parts of the book in order to unify it. For others, there is an interpretive effort involved, with later authors in the Isaiah tradition supplying a midrashic or proto-midrashic interpretation of First Isaiah’s original oral or written text. Still others seek the unity of the book in overarching themes of some sort, while others look for a theological unity of theme or interpretive process. In some cases scholars simply talk vaguely about intertextuality, echo, or allusion, while others speak of Fortschreibung or relecture. Sheppard has criticisms of all of these positions, as well as a proposal of his own. In spite of further discussion in the scholarly literature his basic point still stands, namely, that it is still not clear what the authors and editors who shaped Isaiah were doing, how they were doing it, or even why they were doing it. These later writers can be shown to have employed a variety of literary devices and motifs in their work, but their overall goals remain obscure. In a second article, Sheppard provided some hints about a new area of investigation that might help to resolve the problem just described, although he may not have intended this outcome.9 In this article Sheppard attempts to support the thesis of Hermann Barth that during Josiah’s reign, shortly before the fall of Nineveh in 612 B.C.E., there was an 7. Gerald T. Sheppard, “The Book of Isaiah: Competing Structures according to a Late Modern Description of Its Shape and Scope,” in Society of Biblical Literature 1992 Seminar Papers (ed. Eugene H. Lovering, Jr.; SBLSP 31; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1992), 549–82. 8. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–4; Conrad, Reading Isaiah; Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny. 9. Gerald T. Sheppard, “The Anti-Assyrian Redaction and the Canonical Context of Isaiah 1–39,” JBL 104, no. 2 (1985): 193–216. 1

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(anti-)Assyrian redaction of Isaiah’s original oracles.10 As one piece of evidence for this redaction, Barth argues that Isa 5:25–30 once followed the invective at the end of Isa 9:7–20, but that 5:25–30 was displaced to its present location, thereby breaking up a text that was once unied by the refrain, “For all this his anger is not turned away and his hand is stretched out still.” The dislocation now expands the area of text covered by the refrain and indicates that Judah, along with Ephraim, is under God’s judgment. This theme is then extended to include Assyria in Isa 10:1–4, and appears in other anti-Assyria passages in 11:11, 15; 13:7; and 14:24–27, all of which refer to God’s plan for Assyria’s destruction. Sheppard points out that the dislocation creates a double inclusio around the so-called Testimony of Isaiah in Isa 6:1–8:18, a literary device attested elsewhere in editorial contexts. Sheppard then argues that the anti-Assyrian redaction also includes two other dislocations: Isa 5:15–16, dislocated from 2:6–21, and Isa 3:13–15, dislocated from 5:1–7. These dislocations too refocus the original text of First Isaiah. Furthermore, in addition to arguing that dislocations of this sort are a standard editorial device used by the anti-Assyrian redactor, Sheppard points out that Isa 5:7 has characteristics of the so-called summary–appraisal form, which both summarizes the preceding material and interprets it in general moral terms. The summary–appraisal form, rst identied by Childs, is, according to Sheppard, conned to passages associated with the anti-Assyrian redaction.11 This particular literary form, then, may be another editorial device used by the anti-Assyrian redactor, and because of the “wisdom”
avor of the language associated with this form, Sheppard suggests that the redactor is to be located in scribal circles. Even if not all of Sheppard’s suggestions are convincing, his second article has demonstrated two points that deserve further exploration. First, the sort of editorial techniques that he identies in the antiAssyrian redaction are clearly those that are applied only to written texts. It is hard to imagine them operating at the oral level. This fact might suggest that the Isaiah tradition had already reached the written stage before textual manipulation began. Second, Sheppard’s comments concerning the summary–appraisal form suggest that scribes were involved in the editorial process. Taken together, these two observations point to 10. Hermann Barth, Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit: Israel und Assur als Thema einer produktiven Neuinterpretation de Jesajaüberlieferung (WMANT 48; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977). 11. Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 3; Naperville, Ill.: Allenson, 1967), 128–36. 1

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the possibility that recent research on scribal culture and the formation of the Hebrew Bible might shed some light on the process by which the book of Isaiah came to be in its present form. Although in recent years a number of scholars have discussed the topic of literacy in ancient Israel and how writing and oral tradition might have related to each other historically, the subject of a “scribal culture” in Israel is a fairly recent one. For our purposes, a convenient starting point from which to trace the discussion is the work of Philip Davies, whose comments on the role of scribes in Israel grow out of his understanding of the extent of ancient Israelite literacy. In Davies’s opinion, literacy was not widespread, and for this reason there was little need for scribes outside of governmental and priestly circles. This relatively small arena for scribal activity in turn delayed the production of written biblical texts until the Persian period or later. Even then, writing was a monopoly of scribal elites, who created texts to support their own interests as well as the interests of the government and the religious establishment. The Hebrew Bible as we now have it was the creation of the scribes, who worked on behalf of the ruling elites.12 In the case of the creation of the prophetic literature, Davies believes that early Israelite oracle givers existed but that very little record of their words and deeds remains. Oral transmission of prophetic words was minimal, although Davies suggests that divine oracles that mentioned the king were included in letters sent to the palace and subsequently stored in the royal archives. In time, these oracles might have been recopied on scrolls and arranged according to their source, but these oracle collections would not have resembled the Bible’s prophetic books as they now exist. Only in the Persian Period or later, as Israelites began to be interested in writing down a national history, were the oracle collections supplied with historical and cultural contexts of the sort now found in Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Eventually some of the oracles from the collections found their way into the historical narratives themselves, creating the prophetic stories now found in Samuel and Kings.13

12. Philip R. Davies, Scribes and Schools: The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1998). 13. Philip R. Davies, “ ‘Pen of Iron, Point of Diamond’ (Jer. 17:1): Prophecy as Writing,” in Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy (ed. Ehud Ben Zvi and Michael H. Floyd; Atlanta, Ga.: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000), 65–81. A more sophisticated view of the relationship between oral and written literary transmission in ancient Israel may be found in Susan Niditch, Oral World and Written Word (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1996); James Crenshaw, “Transmitting Prophecy across Generations,” in Ben Zvi and 1

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Davies’s discussion of scribal activity in ancient Israel immediately provoked a scholarly reaction, and in recent years three major contributions to the debate have appeared. All three of these treatments pay much more attention to the ancient Near Eastern context of Israelite scribal activity than does Davies, and for this reason all three are more nuanced and more moderate. The rst major treatment of scribal activity to appear after Davies’s book was provided by William Schniedewind, who follows Davies in believing that writing does not develop in a culture without the support of highly developed forms of government. In Schniedewind’s opinion, text production in a culture occurs only in periods marked by strong hierarchical government. For this reason the rst scribes in Israel were royal scribes, who began to appear on the scene when the monarchy itself appeared, in the Davidic period. However, Schniedewind locates the rst real
ourishing of biblical literature in the time of Hezekiah, when political and economic conditions encouraged the king to strengthen the Judean state. In order to undergird the new state, Hezekiah’s scribes created literature that celebrated the original founders of the state, David and Solomon. The “Men of Hezekiah” (Prov 25:1) collected the proverbs of Solomon and possibly also the material in Song of Songs and Qohelet that was linked to Solomon. In the interests of supporting royal Judean claims, the scribes may have also written the pro-monarchical texts of First Isaiah, which emphasize divine protection for Zion and support for the Davidic line. The same themes were also included in the rst edition of the book of Kings, and perhaps even in the earliest version of what would become the Torah. The intense literary activity of Hezekiah’s time continued into the reign of Josiah, when the temple priests also began to produce written work. The book of the Torah found in the Temple was presumably written by priests or at least by scribes employed by the Temple. Thus by Josiah’s reign two scribal elites were producing writings advancing the interests of the palace and the temple and laying in place the foundation for con
icts between the two groups. Literary production of this sort continued until the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, when both the government and the religious establishment ceased to be able to support scribal activity. After the fall of Jerusalem, the scribes extended earlier versions of Kings and Jeremiah in order to provide an explanation for the disaster, although Schniedewind is unclear about the context in which such literary activity might have taken place, and he can only Floyd, eds., Writings and Speech, 31–44; and Joachim Schaper, “Exilic and Postexilic Prophecy and the Orality/Literacy Problem,” VT 55 (2005): 324–42. 1

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guess how pre-exilic royal and temple writings were preserved during the Babylonian exile. Nevertheless, literary activity did not begin again until the Period of the Return, when the rebuilding of the Temple again provided a context for priestly scribal activity. On the political front, the Davidic line was never restored, and scribal activity in the context of government was slow to recover.14 Schniedewind’s work on Israelite scribal activity was followed quickly by a major study by David Carr. In contrast to Schniedewind, Carr focused his study on how scribes passed on their received material from generation to generation. Carr recognizes that scribes in Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Greece copied classic texts as part of their scribal training, but he points out that memorization of texts was also a major part of the scribal curriculum. Oral transmission and text production occurred at the same time and interacted, so that one did not dominate the other. However, memorization was particularly important because it forced the scribes to internalize the fundamental texts of their national, religious, and scribal heritage. This aspect of their training made them part of a distinctive scribal culture. In ancient Israel this process was probably informal, and only a few people undertook scribal training, in spite of the relative simplicity of the writing system. Most of the scribes were undoubtedly ofcials of some sort, who originally were associated with the royal court. With the disappearance of the monarchy during the exile in Babylon, the setting for text production shifted to the religious sphere, although it is not clear how Carr envisions this taking place in the absence of a Jewish temple in Babylon. When the Jerusalem temple was rebuilt after the exile, text production began again, although oral transmission of texts continued to take place.15 The most recent contribution to the study of scribal culture in ancient Israel comes from Karel van der Toorn. His book is both more through and more balanced in many ways than the works of Davies, Schniedewind, and Carr and is particularly strong in its treatment of the ancient Near Eastern context of Israelite scribal practice. Van der Toorn stresses the difculties involved in producing written literature in antiquity. Writing books was an expensive and highly specialized business, and even in Israel, where an alphabetic script was in use, scribes would have been highly trained specialists, who probably were highly rewarded for their efforts both in social status and in compensation. They were 14. William M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 15. David M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005). 1

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scholars, who knew more than the basics of writing. Certainly they would have been employed by the state, which needed such people in order to run the government. However, Van der Toorn believes that the scribes who wrote the Bible were more likely to have been associated with the temple. This suggests that they may have also been priests or Levites, and such people were likely to have been involved with the production of the prophetic literature. In order to illustrate the process of producing a biblical prophetic book, Van der Toorn rst looks at what was involved in copying texts in Mesopotamia and Egypt. When scribal practice is examined in these neighboring cultures, it immediately becomes clear that more is involved than the simple copying of texts, although that certainly did take place. When scribes simply copied existing texts, they often indicated on the text that it was accurately copied and recorded the location of the original on which the copy was based. In the case of new texts, the basic contents of the text were usually dictated by the person who had the text written, just as in Jer 36 where the prophet is said to have dictated the contents of a scroll to the scribe Baruch. The scribes, however, were responsible for putting the dictated contents into the proper form. A certain amount of editorial freedom was involved in this process, although Van der Toorn feels that the scribes likely did not stray too far from the original dictation. Van der Toorn illustrates this process by citing three versions of an oracle from an oracular speaker recorded in letters from Mari. All three accounts of the speaker’s oracle from Dagan of Terqa include the same proverb underlining a warning that the king should not trust the ruler of Eshnunna, and the basic message of the speaker is the same in all three letters. However, the details of the letters vary, a phenomenon that is probably due to scribal shaping during the writing process. On other occasions scribes copy a text, but they also invent new material which is incorporated into it. Sometimes this “new” material comes from another version of the same text, and sometimes it comes from an unrelated text or perhaps even from an oral tradition. On other occasions the scribes simply create new material on their own. The biblical parallel that Van der Toorn uses to illustrate this process is the material in Chronicles that does not have parallels in Kings. Sometimes this additional material is said to have come from an extrabiblical source, while at other times free invention or reuse of biblical material outside of Kings is involved. Another type of scribal activity involves the simple collection of material. Mesopotamian scribes did a great deal of collecting and assembled all sorts of lists. In the case of oracular materials, the scribes 1

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seem to have recorded individual divine messages on single tablets, and those tablets were eventually copied onto larger ones. A similar process may lie behind the composition of some biblical prophetic texts, as in the case of Jer 2, where the large number of introductory oracle formulas employed in the chapter suggests that it is composed of originally independent oracles. Sometimes the scribes expanded the texts they copied, creating a situation of textual growth sometimes called Fortschreibung or relecture. Numerous examples of this phenomenon can be found in Mesopotamian literary and cultic texts, and prophetic versions of the same thing are visible in Jeremiah, where the Greek text of the book is shorter than the existing Hebrew text. The evidence of the Qumran Jeremiah texts suggests that the Masoretic text has been expanded in various ways, usually through supplying additional details, adding missing formulas or titles, or providing clarications and aids to interpretation. Still another type of scribal technique was the wholesale adaptation of material into a new context. Psalm 20, for example, seems to have adapted a Phoenician psalm, an Aramaic version of which has recently been discovered. Scholars have long suggested that a similar process may have been at work in the case of Ps 29, which may be an adaptation of a Canaanite original, although in this case no extrabiblical parallel has actually been found. Although Van der Toorn does not supply examples of the phenomenon of adaptation in the biblical prophets, in fact there are examples of prophetic texts simply incorporating or lightly adapting the words of other prophets. For example, Isa 2:2–4 is paralleled by Mic 4:1–3, although it is hard to know in this case which text is original. Similarly Jer 23:30 complains about prophets who steal oracles from each other, a possible reference to the scribal adaptation of prophetic material at the written or oral level. Finally, scribes sometimes integrated two or more texts to create a new original. According to Van der Toorn, the best example of this technique is the combining of two accounts of the
ood story in Gen 6–9, although the combination of literary sources in Exod 1–12 could supply another example. Following his general discussion of how scribes worked, Van der Toorn gives an interpretation of the book of Jeremiah as a scribal artifact. Van der Toorn feels that Jeremiah himself is unlikely to have written any of his own oracles, even though he is said to have been a priest. Rather, the oral words of the prophet were remembered by his supporters and certainly by the prophet himself. When he is said to have dictated them to Baruch in Jer 36, Jeremiah is probably dictating what he remembered, although there is no way to connect the scroll in the story with any 1

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existing text in the book of Jeremiah. However, in Van der Toorn’s opinion, Jeremiah’s oracles did not remain in oral form very long. Rather, as in the case of all prophetic books, oral communications from the prophet were fairly quickly written down and preserved by the supporters. These individual written oracles were then made into collections by scribes, who were very likely themselves among Jeremiah’s supporters. Similarly, at a later stage of the development of the book of Jeremiah, scribal supporters created the portrait of Jeremiah now found in the so-called biographical material. This section of the book was not simply a free creation of the scribes but was based on their memories of the prophet, along with the memories of other supporters. Still, the biographical narratives are intended to express a particular point of view concerning the prophet and may not be biography in the modern sense. The so-called sermons of the prophet were created in the same way and may represent an effort at trying to interpret the prophet’s words in a new context.16 Against the background of these studies of the nature of scribal culture in ancient Israel, it is possible to make several observations that may help to clarify the compositional history of the book of Isaiah. First, none of the treatments of scribal culture are very helpful in trying to determine the setting of the composition and editing of Isaiah. Davies’s effort to date the creation of prophetic literature to the Persian Period does not provide sufcient time to account for the book’s development. Similarly, Schniedewind’s limitation of scribal activity to the palace or to the Temple is not adequate either. Even though First Isaiah does indeed seem to be an advocate of the divine election of Zion and of the Davidic monarchy, Second Isaiah does not say much about the Davidic line and applies royal language either to God or to the Persian king, Cyrus (Isa 45). It is unlikely that the scribes who wrote Second Isaiah had Persian political connections, although that possibility has been suggested. The possibility that the scribes responsible for writing and editing Isaiah were related to the Temple is more likely, although this view is difcult to maintain during the time of the Babylonian exile, the time when most scholars feel Second Isaiah was written. Schniedewind’s analysis has difculty accounting for any scribal activity in Babylon during the exile, and for this reason he is unable to account for the composition of Second Isaiah and for Second Isaiah in
uences in First Isaiah. Van der Toorn’s suggestion that the priestly scribes responsible for Second Isaiah were also supporters of the prophet is more promising. In the end, all of the modern studies of scribal culture may be 16. Karel van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2007), esp. 109–41, 173–204. 1

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viewing scribal activity too narrowly. The extrabiblical evidence suggests that scribes worked for the government and for the temples, but also that they worked on their own in other contexts as well. In particular, scribes were involved in writing up and certifying private economic transactions, writing wills and marriage documents, and generally doing any writing that private citizens wanted done. Scribes presumably also taught the scribal art, either in schools or in private tutorials.17 It may well be, then, that the scribes involved in creating Second Isaiah were scribes who had carved out their own independent scribal businesses in Babylon and were not working in a temple context, although presumably they intended to do so again if they were able to return to Jerusalem. They were presumably also supporters of First Isaiah, and their motivations for reworking the earlier Isaiah traditions may have had as much to do with their belief in the truth of the original prophecies as with their particular scribal context. Second, it is fairly clear from all of the studies of scribal culture that the composition and editing of the book of Isaiah involved work on a written text. It is likely that very little oral material was involved in the process. It has been widely accepted that this is true for the creation of Second Isaiah and Third Isaiah, and it may well be true of First Isaiah as well. As Van der Toorn has suggested with respect to prophetic literature in general, the oracles of Isaiah were probably written down rather soon after they were delivered. Following the initial scribal creation of First Isaiah, the composition of the remainder of the book, with all of its editorial layers, should be considered a literary process involving written texts. Within the text of First Isaiah, writing seems to have played a role in the prophet’s view of his activities. In Isa 8:1 he is told to write the symbolic name of his as yet unborn son and to have it witnessed. In 8:16–17 he is told to seal the teaching, while in Isa 29:11–12 the vision is compared to a sealed book which cannot be read. Both of these references imply that the work of First Isaiah was already in written form. The written character of First Isaiah is explicit in Isa 30:8, where the prophet is told to write his revelations on a tablet and to inscribe them in a book so that they will be an eternal witness.18 17. For an illuminating discussion of the variety of activities in which scribes engaged in Mesopotamia, see Michel Tanret, “The Works and the Days… On Scribal Activity in Old Babylonian Sippar-Amnnum,” RA 98 (2004): 33–62. 18. For a discussion of the importance of writing in First Isaiah and in later biblical and Jewish tradition, see Williamson, The Book Called Isaiah, 94–115; Schaper, “Exilic and Post-exilic Prophecy,” 324–42; and Hindy Najman, “The Symbolic Signicance of Writing in Ancient Judaism,” in The Idea of Biblical 1

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Third, discussions of the structure and coherence of the book of Isaiah would benet from Van der Toorn’s discussion of the variety of editorial and creative techniques that scribes employ in their work. Many of the things that he describes can be seen in the book, and the variety of techniques employed needs to be appreciated. Such variety should caution against seeking the unity of Isaiah in a single theme or motif. While describing unity in this way is not out of the question, the nature of scribal activity makes it unlikely. All of this suggests that Sheppard’s observations about the lack of agreement on the question of structure may well re
ect a reality in the Isaiah tradition that cannot be circumvented. Finally, Van der Toorn’s observation that the scribes responsible for the book of Isaiah were also supporters of First Isaiah suggests that the dynamic relationship between prophets and their supporters needs to be remembered when trying to understand why the Isaiah scribes did what they did. A prophet’s supporters believe that the prophet truly delivers a divine word. As a result of that belief, the supporters believe that what the prophet says is true, and if the prophet refers to future events, those prophecies will inevitably come to pass. The Isaiah community seems to have taken this belief one step further. They seem to have believed that First Isaiah’s prophecies were eternally true and were not exhausted by a single fulllment. Therefore prophecies delivered in one historical situation and proven to be accurate in that situation could be considered valid prophecies for future situations as well. In order to understand the application of the prophecies in the future, one had only to look at the past. Thus Isaiah’s words during the Ephraimite threat were proven true and then were considered equally valid during the Assyrian crisis of 701. They were valid again in the aftermath of the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians. The issue underlying the interpretive tradition is not a worry about unfullled prophecy but a concern to see how eternally true prophecies can be understood to be fullled in the present. The notion of the eternality of the prophetic divine word is the “secret” which is hidden from those outside the Isaiah community. To those on the outside, the present meaning of the prophecies is sealed and cannot be understood. Only those within the community, those who have “been instructed” (Isa 8:16; 50:4), understand the truth and look for the continuous fulllment of First Isaiah’s words. For them the word of God is eternally true and will inevitably be fullled over and over again.

Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James L. Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith H. Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2004), 139–73. 1

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This theme of the inevitable fulllment of the divine word is one of the tradition’s overarching themes, although it is certainly not the only one. It is particularly visible in Isa 40–55, where questions about the fulllment are raised by those outside. For those within the community, however, the truth is clear. The divine word is eternal. It stands forever (40:8). The word has already gone forth in the prophecies of First Isaiah, and nothing can prevent its fulllment in the present exilic situation (55:10–11) or in any future context that is still unknown.

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AN INTERPRETATION OF THE DEATH OF ISAIAH’S SERVANT Stephen L. Cook

Readers have long appreciated the spiritual depth and power of the set of poems within Isa 40–66 known as the Servant Songs.1 Second Isaiah’s powerful vision of servanthood blossoms in these poems, as their protagonist brings God’s salvation to earth through his mission of humility and other-centeredness. The poems compel the attention of readers, but also quickly launch us into a struggle to understand Isaiah’s Servant of the Lord. How are we to interpret this anonymous gure? Who is he and how are we to come to terms with his death and its meaning for human existence? Drawing on social-scientic theory and a close reading of Isa 53, I hope here to offer a brief compelling sketch of the Suffering Servant and his soteriological work. I contribute this essay in honor of Dr. Gerald T. Sheppard, a brilliant scholar, inspiring colleague, and supportive friend. It is a privilege to be 1. The Servant Song poems about an ideal Servant of the Lord include Isa 42:1– 4; 49:1–6; 50:4–9; 52:13–53:12; and 61:1–3. Textual snippets associated with the Servant include Isa 48:16; 51:16; and 59:21. For an introduction to these texts, see Stephen L. Cook, Conversations with Scripture: 2 Isaiah (Anglican Association of Biblical Scholars Study Series; Harrisburg, Pa.: Morehouse, 2008), 17, 67–76. The interpretation of the Songs is highly controverted (Randall Heskett provides a thorough critical overview in his Messianism within the Scriptural Scroll of Isaiah [LHBOTS 456; New York: T&T Clark International, 2007], 133–72). For an approach very different from my own, arguing that the protagonist of the Servant Songs must be the nation of Israel (as elsewhere in Second Isaiah) or a reconstructed prophet “Deutero-Isaiah,” see Harry M. Orlinsky and Norman H. Snaith, Studies on the Second Part of the Book of Isaiah (VTSup 14; Leiden: Brill, 1977); Tryggve N. D. Mettinger, A Farewell to the Servant Songs: A Critical Examination of an Exegetical Axiom (Lund: Gleerup, 1983). For a recent collection of essays on the interpretation of the Servant of the Lord of Isa 53 in the Hebrew Bible, New Testament, early Christian, and Rabbinic literature, see Bernd Janowski and Peter Stuhlmacher, eds., The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 in Jewish and Christian Sources (trans. D. P. Bailey; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2004; originally published as Der leidende Gottesknecht [Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1996]). 1

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included in this scholarly collection published in tribute to the memory of the biblical researcher who perhaps best understood and advanced the canonical approach to biblical interpretation developed and championed by Yale’s Brevard S. Childs. I wish to thank my colleague and friend Dr. Randall Heskett for inviting me. I rst met Gerry Sheppard when teaching at Union Theological Seminary in New York City in the mid-1990s. Like me, he had also trained at Yale and begun his scholarly career teaching at Union. He was thus uniquely positioned to offer sagacious advice that helped me thrive in that challenging setting. Our relationship quickly grew, and I learned a very great deal from him about hermeneutics, Isaiah, and all matters biblical. It is tting for this essay to treat Isaiah, since the study of Isaiah’s book was one of Gerry’s great loves and one of his focal research and publication areas.2 Among Gerald Sheppard’s many powerful insights was the hermeneutical observation that the Hebrew Bible embraces a plethora of historically dissimilar traditions that all witness to the selfsame God. That insight rings especially true when one begins to take stock of the Scriptures’ many dissimilar approaches to atonement. The atoning work of Isaiah’s Servant proves especially challenging to reconcile with other biblical visions of the reunion of God and humanity. One gropes to isolate other biblical examples of vicarious human suffering with the power to transform the human spirit. Perhaps the most direct parallel to the atoning work of Isaiah’s Servant appears in Abraham’s awful self-sacrice played out in Gen 22. The ancestor’s obedience upon the dreadful mountain in the land of Moriah exhibited a profound faith, steadfast to the point of sacricing the beloved one, Isaac—Abraham’s very life (Gen 22:2).3 As a result of 2. For a collection of essays on the history of interpretation of Isaiah dedicated to Gerald T. Sheppard, see Claire Mathews McGinnis and Patricia K. Tull, ed., As Those Who Are Taught: The Interpretation of Isaiah from the LXX to the SBL (SBLSymS 27; Atlanta, Ga.: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006). For a sketch of Sheppard’s hermeneutical and theological understanding of the focal text of the present essay, Isa 52:13–53:12, see Heskett, Messianism, 161–62. 3. Note how v. 2 piles up four different expressions identifying Isaac, each one expressing more powerfully Abraham’s attachment to his son: “Take now your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac.” The second of these expressions, “your only son” (“your 5JIJ”) describes Isaac as irreplaceable, but also has profounder implications. The speakers of both Ps 22:21 and Ps 35:17 use the same expression (5JIJ) to refer to their own dear lives, which they hold priceless. The cross-references suggest that Abraham’s sacrice in Gen 22 was the sacrice of his own dear life, his own being. In making this sacrice, he became a model Suffering Servant of God. 1

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his obedient, sacricial suffering, “all the nations of the earth gain blessing for themselves” (Gen 22:18). They nd new connection with God. The Suffering Servant of Isaiah likewise brings blessing to the nations and transforms earth (Isa 42:6; 49:6). In view of this parallel, it is a telling fact that in Second Isaiah God recognizes Abraham as God’s unique divine servant, “my friend” (Isa 41:8). Aiming for atonement, Israel’s prophets normally call their audiences to “return” or “repent” (3H), but not the authors of Isaiah’s Servant Songs. They advance a dissimilar tradition with its own unique spiritual emphases. Aligning themselves with a priestly theology, they land on the theme that people must make ritual “reparation” for their iniquities () ). Specically, they come to understand the Suffering Servant’s sacrice as the people’s reparation offering (Isa 53:10), a priestly technical term (Lev 5:14–6:7). This offering is the specic sacrice one uses when in dire straits due to momentous offenses against God (cf. Lev 5:17–19; Ezra 10:19). It is the appropriate offering for Second Isaiah’s audience of Judean exiles, imprisoned in Babylonia due to fatal sacrilege, that is, irreverence before God’s burning sanctity (see 2 Chr 36:14; Lev 5:15–16). Second Isaiah greatly enriches the overall biblical presentation of atonement by seconding and expanding the priestly idea of sacricial reparation, which is dissimilar to other biblical notions of returning to God. The Servant Songs maintain that the dynamics of the reparation offering have a powerful role to play in the reconciliation of earth and heaven even despite the Babylonian destruction of the Jerusalem cult in 587 B.C.E. In the exegesis below, I clarify Second Isaiah’s understanding of the soteriological workings of the Servant’s act of atoning sacrice. 1. Approaching the Servant Songs A strong tendency in the history of interpretation has been to understand the protagonist of the Servant Songs as a particular gure of antiquity from around the time that Second Isaiah was written. Over the years, scholars have interpreted Isaiah’s Servant as King Hezekiah, King Jehoiachin, the prophet Jeremiah, the Persian ruler Cyrus, and the restoration Other signs within the text betray the depth of Abraham’s self-sacrice. The Hebrew root behind “only son” reappears in the adverb “together” in 22:6. Abraham and Isaac ascend Mt. Moriah “together,” united in love. While Isaac carries the wood of the offering, Abraham holds on to the
int and knife, keeping the dangerous implements well away from his son. Abraham’s loving care for Isaac is nothing short of breathtaking. 1

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leader Zerubbabel, among many others. The problem has been that none of these gures displays the range of traits and virtues that the Suffering Servant projects. None silently and purposively embraces suffering for others’ benet as the Servant does (Isa 50:6; 53:7, 10). None is a light to the nations, spreading God’s salvation to the end of the earth (Isa 49:6; cf. 42:1, 4). None was vindicated by God on the far side of the grave (Isa 53:9–10).4 The two suggestions that the Servant must be the so-called exilic prophet “Deutero-Isaiah” or else the personied nation of Israel as a whole have been particularly in
uential, and they still ll the pages of guidebooks and commentaries.5 Both are wrongheaded. The rst view, that an anonymous author of the Servant Songs is portraying his own experience within the Babylonian exile, is open to the same objections that pertain to identications of the Servant as a known biblical gure contemporary with the poems. No gure of the exilic era, not even an anonymous one, succeeded in incarnating true servanthood and spreading salvation to all earth’s nations in the manner of the Servant of the Lord. The community of faith would not have blithely preserved the false claims of such a gure as canonical Scripture. Moreover, a strictly historical interpretation of the Servant Songs sharpens the focus of the poems in a way that their texts appear to resist. It is too facile, in my view, to reify the Servant Songs as bare artifacts of the exilic-era given their multidimensional literary character, which includes dynamic resonances with portrayals of ideal servanthood elsewhere in Scripture. The Servant Songs resonate strongly not only with the portrait of Abraham’s self-sacrice in Gen 22 (as noted above) but also with other key biblical texts, such as the portrait of a spirit-empowered and other-centered Messiah in Isa 11.6 Given these signicant and 4. One the literal death of the servant, see Heskett, Messianism, 182–83, 198. 5. See in particular the in
uential studies of Orlinsky (“The So-called Servant of the Lord and Suffering Servant in Second Isaiah,” in Studies on the Second Part of the Book of Isaiah [VTSup 14; Leiden: Brill, 1977], 1–133) and Mettinger (A Farewell to the Servant Songs) referenced in n. 1 above. Orlinsky argued that Isaiah’s Servant always refers either to Israel or to the author of Isa 40–55. Mettinger maintained that the Servant Songs must be read as integral parts of their contexts within Isa 40–55 and that their descriptions of the Servant refer to Israel/Jacob. Joseph Blenkinsopp hears the voice of an exilic-era “prophetic leader and teacher” in the Servant Song material of 48:16; 49:1–6; and 50:4–9, and nds his death recorded in the “threnody” of 52:13–53:12 (Isaiah 56–66: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 19B; New York: Doubleday, 2003], 65). 6. On the connection with Gen 22, see my discussion above. On the literary allusions to Isa 11 in the Servant Song of Isa 42, see Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet 1

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intriguing intertextual allusions, the Servant Songs appear much more like a series of poetic meditations on servanthood in the Scriptures than
at reports about a historical personage known to the authors. The second, collective (or communal) interpretation of the Servant as the entire people of Israel, though also commonplace, is equally problematic.7 The Servant cannot be historical Israel proper, since whereas the sinful people have committed fatal sacrilege and been sent far from God (Isa 50:1), he has lived blameless before the Lord (Isa 53:5). He dies without any taint of violence or deceit (Isa 53:9). What is true is that the Servant embodies ideal Israel and takes up its task in the world for a time. (God appoints the Servant to embody Israel at Isa 49:3, where the Lord says to him, “You are now Israel.”) We now know that the Servant Songs t into place as part of an arching thematic progression that runs through Isa 40–66, in which the Servant eventually births “progeny” that become the new, ideal Israel of God.8 The Servant has a specic mission on behalf of the people of Israel (Isa 49:5–6; 53:8)—to lead them back to God. To be exact, God summons the Servant in order “to bring Jacob back to him, and that Israel might be gathered to him” (Isa 49:5). Presented with him by the Lord, the people must choose whether to accept him or not (Isa 50:10–11). What is more, God commissions the Servant to the task of world mission that historical Israel had left unfullled (Isa 49:6). There is no logic in equating the Servant with Israel/Jacob at large. Not only do I believe the particular identications of the Servant that scholars commonly offer incorrect, but also I nd misguided the entire Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Contraversions: Jews and Other Differences; Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1998), 246–47. Sommer shows how Isa 42:1–9 contains half a dozen verbal and thematic correspondences with Isa 11 and how it interprets the earlier text as possessing global ramications (the “land” of Israel in 11:4 becomes the entire “earth” in 42:5). 7. For powerful arguments to this effect, see Heskett, Messianism, 176–79, 195. 8. Isa 40–66 understands that a new, radically inclusive spiritual Israel is going to appear on earth (Isa 44:3–5), the “offspring” of the Suffering Servant, who will include foreigners and outcasts (see Isa 53:10; 54:17; 59:21; 61:9; 65:23; 66:22). See, for example, Alec J. Motyer, The Prophecy of Isaiah: An Introduction and Commentary (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1993), 395; Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 430–31, 458, 504–5, 538. The observation that the Suffering Servant bears progeny/seed who become the protagonists of Third Isaiah, the “servants” (plural), is credited to the seminal 1990 article by W. A. M. Beuken, “The Main Theme of Trito-Isaiah: ‘The Servants of YHWH,’ ” JSOT 47 (1990): 67–87. Beuken argues that Second Isaiah’s Servant transfers his righteousness and mission to a plurality of “servants,” his “offspring.” 1

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search for a historical person or group behind Isaiah’s Servant poetry.9 Instead of this approach, I understand the Servant of the Lord as a theological image, and the text itself as a dramatic rumination. Insights into the nature of poetry’s performative dynamic that have been achieving prominence since the late twentieth century help me to ground the position I am taking. Though to some it still seems a radical thought, we are increasingly aware that poems may have a life of their own. They may possess a freestanding power, a self-contained energy, constrained by neither the minds of their writers nor a requirement to mirror the world around them. A poem may be full of rich, playful, expansive language that transcends the intentions and machinations of its human creator. It may portray a quality of existence that has been forgotten or that remains undiscovered in the world. Rather than imitating the known, it may reveal something new to humanity, perhaps something completely unheard of. It may create something beautiful all its own. Sketching a biography or reporting on historical events is not the point of Isaiah’s Servant Songs. No scholar’s suggestion of a historical reference of these poems has won the eld or really even proved moderately convincing. Rather, these poetic works have enthralled readers and transformed their lives quite apart from telling some individual person’s ancient story or reporting objective facts of the past. The poems are works of meditation on Scripture; they are an inspiring body of theological and spiritual “prophecy” radically open to the future. Their numerous echoes and allusions to biblical exemplars of servanthood make them an ideal spiritual drama or artistic re
ection, aiming to portray and inspire servanthood in its noblest form. Echoing Scriptures about God’s hopes and plans for humanity, such as Gen 17 and 22, Ps 72, and Isa 11, the poems bring servanthood dramatically to life. In this understanding, the Servant Songs use language not simply to supply information about the past, but to set something going—to bring to life an exemplar of God’s image, an ideal representative of God on earth. This gure is powerful enough to rise up out of the text, seize us as readers, and change our lives. As David J. A. Clines has written, Isa 53’s “lack of specicity refuses to let it be tied down to one spot on the globe, or frozen at one point in history: it opens up the possibility that the poem can become true in a variety of circumstances—that is its work.”10

9. See the discussion of Heskett, Messianism, 172–74, 219–21, 224. 10. David J. A. Clines, I, He, We, and They: A Literary Approach to Isaiah 53 (JSOTSup 1; Shefeld: JSOT, 1976), 61. 1

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2. Intimacy as the Center of the Fourth Servant Song (Isaiah 52:13–53:12) The protagonist of the Servant Songs lives for the sake of others, especially for the sake of togetherness with them, not to preserve and advance himself in isolation. The ultimate expression of such a lifestyle is to risk one’s life—even lose it—out of care for others (Isa 50:6). God vindicates this form of life (50:7–8). Indeed, it is God’s own mode of being, the way of living that displays God’s glory on earth (49:3; 60:21; 61:3). It is right to describe the Servant of the Lord as God’s apprentice.11 In his hand, “the will of the LORD shall prosper” (53:10; cf. 50:10). To take up the life-mode of servanthood is to work at living into humanity’s creation in God’s image, humanity’s imago Dei (Gen 1:27).12 It is to embrace God’s intention for a community of friendship and love on earth; and, it is to live the fullest possible expression of human nature, completely real and completely free. Perhaps no one has captured this truth better than the twentieth-century Scottish philosopher and moralist, John Macmurray. In a programmatic statement of his philosophy, Macmurray wrote: “It is our nature, as persons, to…have the center of intention and realization outside ourselves, in that which is other than ourselves.”13 Jesus of Nazareth put it more simply, if more enigmatically: “Those want to save their life must lose it” (Mark 8:35).

11. The image of God as a woman in labor in Isa 42:14 is a good example of God’s embrace of servant frailty in Second Isaiah. The mystery Isa 42:14 latches onto is that a woman’s vulnerability during labor is nothing less than power, the power to bring about new life—something a “powerful” male cannot do! This theological theme that vulnerability and frailty are a source of true, marvelous power lies at the core of the Suffering Servant’s life and witness. 12. As already noted, the writers of Second Isaiah were proponents of priestly theology (such as the theology behind the reparation offering, the ) ). I have argued elsewhere for their identity as Aaronide priests (see Cook, 2 Isaiah, 14–17; cf. Robert R. Wilson, “The Community of the Second Isaiah,” in Reading and Preaching the Book of Isaiah [ed. C. Seitz; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988], 53–70). They were doubtless advocates of the Bible’s Priestly version of Creation, which upholds humanity’s creation in God’s image. It is illuminating and even startling to compare the language used of the Servant in Isa 52:13 with the language used of God in Isa 6:1. The Hebrew verbs ()HC and  ?) describing the two beings are identical, making it hard to deny that Isaiah’s gure of the Servant of the Lord is God’s true image on earth. 13. Quoted in Frank G. Kirkpatrick, Community: A Trinity of Models (Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1986), 188. 1

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Macmurray is far from advocating being used as a doormat or even giving up on the chance for self-actualization. He is promoting a pattern of life in community where commitment to others purely for others’ sake builds up the entire body. Everyone’s human potential is actualized when a community of friends upholds fellowship as its ultimate end, an end in itself. Within such fellowship, the sel
ess love of others bestows value and worthiness on each individual, supporting the
ourishing of each one’s potential. The Servant Songs of Isaiah do not reveal the Servant’s ultimate fate, the nal extent of his sufferings, until we arrive at the fourth Song, Isa 52:13–53:12. With the fourth Song, we reach a spiritually climactic text, one which has entranced brilliant minds and devout spirits for centuries. Examining it, we encounter the Servant to a startlingly profound extent and wrestle most directly with our response to his work. In studying the rst three Servant Songs, readers are left to gauge their own reactions to the Servant’s experience. We learn much about him from God and from his own confessions, but miss a dialog with others who are also grappling with his signicance. This is a gure that provokes responses, and we would welcome discussion partners in guring out the Servant’s signicance for us. The fourth Servant Song provides just such a dialog. The fourth Song is unique in guiding us through the changing reactions of witnesses to the Servant’s sufferings, people who confess they are spiritually transformed by what they experience. Let us pick up the poem with 52:3, as the chorus of witnesses has begun to share openly their history with the Servant. 3

He was despised and rejected by others; / a man of suffering and acquainted with inrmity; // and as one from whom others hide their faces / he was despised, and we held him of no account. // 4 Surely our inrmities he, he has borne / and our diseases he carried; // yet we accounted him stricken, / struck down by God, and af
icted. // 5 But he was wounded for our transgressions, / crushed for our iniquities; // upon him was the punishment that made us whole, / and by his bruises we are healed. // 6 All we like sheep have gone astray; / we have all turned to our own way, // and the LORD has laid on him / the iniquity of us all. // 1

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I have chosen to present a section of the poem where a startling transition takes place. Extra spacing following upon the lines of v. 3 mark the point where it occurs. In the poetic lines immediately preceding the transition, a chorus of voices speaks to us of the Servant of the Lord, but in an impersonal, rather un
attering way. The gure comes across as repellent to people, someone people treat as scum. The tone and perspective of the chorus change suddenly and markedly as the next strophe begins in v. 4. The Hebrew adverb *< (“surely”) at the start of v. 4 emphasizes a new perception, indeed, an about-face. The chorus voices no ne-tuning of perspective but a conversion. The narrators have reached a startling, new conclusion. The Servant’s sufferings are not his own to bear, but are vicarious. What does it mean to realize that the Servant suffers vicariously? The poetry, in answering this question, focuses on emerging new relationships, on persons newly participating radically in each other’s lives. The Servant’s experience encompasses his observers’ lives, entangling them in an immediate and personal way. By setting pronouns such as “our” and “we” together next to pronouns such as “he” and “him,” the poetry of vv. 4, 5, and 6 coveys the narrators’ new experience of relationship to the Servant and each other. Notice, for example, the use of “he” and “our” in the initial parallelism of v. 4: )=3D H?J3 <>H  ? H9 H?J=I *< , “Surely our inrmities he, he has borne / and our diseases he carried //.” The repeated pronouns interlock the parties, while at the same time driving home the wonder of their mysterious solidarity. “Our burdens are piled on him, on him!” The sound of the poetry reinforces this truth, since the words “he” and “our” in Hebrew both use long-u sounds. Verse 5 exhibits the same poetic pattern: H?JE?H> <5> H?A> ==I> H9H, “But he was wounded for our transgressions, / crushed for our iniquities //.” In both verses, the sounds of the pronominal elements also project an eerie awe: u-u-u-u, u-u-u-u. Through careful poetic composition, the chorus is expressing how, for them, the Servant has startlingly become the signicant-other of existence. At the nale of the strophe lies a confession of sin (v. 6). The narrators’ consciences have awakened because they have linked the Servant’s suffering directly to their own wrongdoing, selshness, and apathy. Our sins did this to him, our sins! To have made such a link is to have experienced a rush of empathy for the Servant in his miseries. The chorus is letting us know they have come to care deeply about the Servant’s fate, for which they realize their responsibility. 1

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The rise of conscience in v. 6 presupposes the reality of a new closeness between the chorus and the Servant. Our narrators have become preoccupied with the Servant’s intentions and actions, his very being. They have embraced him both as innocent sufferer and as friend, someone who has acted with nothing but their welfare in mind. In a core way, as we observe in the spiritual transformation of the chorus, our poem is about the rise of intimacy on earth. 3. A Social-Scienti
c Model Connecting Vicarious Sacri
ce and Human Intimacy I have been greatly helped in understanding the connection of servanthood and human relationship in the fourth Servant Song by the investigations of the French philosopher Georges Bataille into the meaning of religious sacrice.14 Bataille understands the sacrice of victims in the world’s harsh rites and strange myths as nothing other than a search for lost intimacy. In these rites and myths, a victim’s transformation into a sacrice radiates pure intimacy to all onlookers, re-establishing the profundity of living beings. In Bataille’s theory, the aim of religious sacrice is the aim of all religion: to confront a world of cold calculation. In this cold,
at world— our own real world—social operations reduce everything and everyone to utilitarian terms. The drive to make a prot, to succeed, or to be on top, weighs down everyone, making us forget our common humanity. Pushed aside is our common need for mutuality, for human friendship. To feel our human crisis of avarice for yourself, look closely at the world’s treatment of the Servant. Twice in v. 3 the poem describes the Servant as 9K3?, “despised,” a Hebrew term for evaluating worth. People assign the Servant no worth because they believe him under God’s curse and of no use for them. Verse 3 ends by reporting, “We held him of no account,” of zero value based on a calculus of usefulness. “Struck down by God” (v. 4), his moral debts seemed to negate his importance for others. Utilitarian calculation is everyone’s standard for evaluating this gure. It is a poverty-stricken world where people are objects, evaluated in utilitarian terms. To make another person a thing is not only to dehumanize him or her but also to become estranged from one’s own true self. Eventually, of course, the poem prohibits this view of the Servant, this

14. Georges Bataille, The Accursed Share: An Essay on General Economy (trans. R. Hurley; New York: Zone, 1991). 1

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view of the world. The chorus confesses their startling conclusion that the Servant’s agonizing ordeal renders the world’s normal logic impossible. If Bataille’s theory of sacrice is correct, the most powerful event in the poem is the chorus’ perception of the Servant as innocent, falsely accused. No economic or moral calculus can account for what he endures at the hands of his fellows. Far from a worthless sinner or a piece of scum, the Servant suffered and died undeservedly. Once this truth comes out, everything in the poem immediately changes. The Servant is no mere object, safe to ignore, but a subject, a signicant other, an intimate. The one everyone considered subhuman turns out to be their best friend on earth, a friend with everything to live for who gave it all up for them, pro
tlessly. Discovering a friend like this can change one’s whole stance towards the world. It removes utility and calculation from the human equation, making everything new. The sacricial death of an innocent victim is a shocking, senseless act, Bataille emphasizes, but something blessed may come of it. Its potential lies in its very lack of sense and gain. Since the victim’s death is blatantly and horribly for nothing, it violently severs all connection between him and the cold, calculating world of mundane life. No longer can anyone consider the victim a commodity, an object, or a thing. In one blow, with his protless “consumption,” the world of avarice is short-circuited. The violent, protless consumption involved in the horrible excesses of sacrice necessarily overturns all cold calculations, withdrawing the victim from the order of things. The sacricial drama moves victim and witnesses together to a place where they nd a true intimate participation in each other’s existence. It brings them to a place where they rediscover their mysterious, human solidarity. The Servant’s violent immolation is a horrible but necessary means of renewing human mutuality on earth. Bataille illustrates his theory with the example of old Mexico’s Aztec sacricial rites. Between an Aztec captive’s consecration and death, the people sang, danced, and feasted with him. His captor treated him as his own
esh and blood, publicly calling him son. In short, the Aztecs lavished attention on their sacricial victims. Their pains at intimacy have obvious parallels to the conduct of the chorus in our Servant Song. Verse upon verse of poetry is lavished on the Servant, as if the chorus is unable to contain their surprise and joy at the mystery of his self. As a modern, ethical people, we must immediately renounce the ancient Mexican practice of human sacrice. No matter how high the ideals of the Aztecs, their victims’ immolation was not voluntary. Nothing can justify their murders. I am similarly dismayed at the human 1

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sin that appears in Isa 53. Here in shocking clarity is portrayed the coldness and violence that curses all human life. His fellow human beings— people similar to you and me—victimize and kill the Servant. The Servant differs, however, from the prisoners the Aztecs sacriced. Unlike them, he puts himself in harm’s way out of a personal stance of other-centeredness. He voluntarily “makes his life an offering” (vv. 10, 12). His silent resolve (v. 7), voluntary submission to God (v. 12), and sense of weighty purpose (v. 11) make us hesitate before jumping to renounce his gift of intimacy in the drama of our poem. Aztec mythology relates how the gift of light would never have come to humanity without the voluntary sacrice of an ugly, leprous god named Nanauatzin.15 While the other gods made excuses, Nanauatzin committed himself to die in order to
ood the grim, cold world with sunshine. Having worked up his courage, he cast himself, crackling and sizzling, into a ery hearth called teotexcalli. Immediately transformed into the sun, he rose in the east and spread rays of warmth in every direction. The goodness and will power of this brave little god, according to the myth, put all other deities to shame. The work of the Suffering Servant is no less virtuous and laudable. When all is said and done, the Suffering Servant undergoes the horrible ordeal that he must undergo if he is to undo the reduction of others to things, that is, to objects of use. The reader is rightly lled with remorse—even anguish—that intimacy and community have vanished from earth to the point where such extremes are necessary. It is not our place, however, to renounce the Servant’s gift of himself, his gift of intimacy. To reject this gift as too primitive, too bloody, or too much like a wretched Aztec rite is likely to rebuff the only means of making things new on earth. Our world is so cold, so
at, and so full of avarice, the Servant cannot set it right without embracing the primal violence of his mission. Submission to deadly violence is the harsh price he pays for birthing a new world of intimacy, of human mutuality. To him, the price is worth it. 4. Inclusive Sacri
ce: The Death of Self-Orientation Let us continue to explore the fourth Servant Song in Isa 53, moving to the next two strophes in vv. 7–9 and vv. 10–12. These nal strophes of the poem move the Servant’s suffering to its awful conclusion and reveal its true signicance in God’s eyes: 15. See Jeffrey Carter, Understanding Religious Sacri
ce: A Reader (Controversies in the Study of Religion; London: Continuum, 2003), 165–66. 1

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He was oppressed, and he was af
icted, / yet he did not open his mouth; // like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, / and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, / so he did not open his mouth. // 8 By a perversion of justice he was taken away. / Who could have imagined his future? // For he was cut off from the land of the living, / stricken for the transgression of my people. // 9 They made his grave with the wicked / and his tomb with the rich, // although he had done no violence, / and there was no deceit in his mouth. // 10 Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him with pain. // If he gives his life as a reparation-offering for sin () ), / he shall see his offspring, and shall prolong his days; // through him the will of the LORD shall prosper. / 11 Out of his anguish he shall see light; // he shall nd satisfaction through his knowledge. / The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous, / and he shall bear their iniquities. // 12 Therefore I will allot him a portion with the great, / and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; // because he poured out himself to death, / and was numbered with the transgressors; // yet he bore the sin of many, / and made intercession for the transgressors. //

With these nal strophes of the poem, the Servant’s ordeal emerges clearly as a ritual sacrice. Directly, v. 10 declares that he presents himself before God as an atonement offering, specically a reparationoffering for sin. Images in the surrounding verses, including the gure’s lack of any blemish (v. 9; cf. Lev 1:3) and his comparison to a lamb led to the slaughter (v. 7), reinforce this ritual interpretation of his work. Just as ritual sacrices, especially certain key types, aimed to make things right between God and Israel, the Servant, by means of his suffering, literally “bore the sin of many, / and made intercession for the transgressors // ” (v. 12, using the cultic, atonement diction of Exod 28:38; Lev 10:17; 16:22).16 His anguish serves to “make many righteous” (v. 11). These explicit images of sacricial ritual do not catch us off guard, for we have seen how Georges Bataille’s theory of sacrice has ready points of contact with our passage and serves well to illuminate its ritual, sacricial dynamic. Nevertheless, the concept of sacrice—the death 16. For discussion, see Heskett, Messianism, 187–89, 192. 1

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of an animal (never mind a human being) as an offering to God—will inevitably seem foreign and obnoxious in a sanitary culture where even a butcher’s shop feels uncomfortable. Contemporary citizens of the global north tend to balk at anything resembling the bloody rites of Aztec priests. As the celebrated cultural theorist, René Girard, has written: “The very concept of a deity, much less a deity who receives blood sacrices, has little reality in this day and age.”17 To grasp the mystery of our text, however, we must take a deep breath and begin to grapple directly with blood sacrice. We can immediately put aside ideas of primitive magic, bribing God for favors, and like notions, and turn instead to the sophisticated and intricate world of Israel’s priestly torah and its sacricial symbolism. We must start with the specic vocabulary of Isa 53:10, which describes the Servant’s death in technical priestly terms. Israel’s priestly instruction, as seen in books such as Leviticus, included a variety of specialized offerings, each designated with technical vocabulary, and Isa 53:10 re
ects a careful choice from among this range. The Servant’s death is not just any sacrice but an ) , a “reparation offering.” As mentioned in this essay’s introduction, such an offering atones for sacrilege, that is, failure to respect God’s burning sanctity. This is signicant, for in the book of Isaiah, Israel’s primary ailment, and the reason for its exile, is its uncleanness in the face of God’s transcendent holiness (see Isa 6:5, 11–12). The reparation offering also pertains specically to cases of unrecognized sin, where experiences of God’s wrath awaken consciousness of sin and force a vigorous self-reappraisal. The people of Israel in exile, like the chorus of witnesses in our poem, are startled to experience God’s chastening and scourging (53:5). In this experience, they recognize the magnitude of their sin and its awful repercussions (53:4a, 6). Among ancient Israel’s sacrices, the reparation offering aims to make people come to grips with their wrongdoing through giving up and turning over a precious part of their lives. The guilty provide this type of sacrice when they realize their guilt, take responsibility for it, and undo all their grasping for advantage, for personal prot. Taking responsibility for sin is central to Isa 53’s poetry. The Servant’s sacrice shocks people into realizing their embedded selshness. By getting to know the Servant and his experience, the chorus begins to realize their personal guilt: “We have all gone our own way,” taken their own self-centered course, they admit (v. 6). This has had a violent, 17. René Girard, Violence and the Sacred (trans. P. Gregory; Baltimore, Md.: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977), 6. 1

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murderous effect on others. One in particular was tortured (v. 7), beaten bloody (v. 8), and thrown in a grave with the wicked (v. 9). All this happened despite the Servant’s innocence, since he had never hurt a soul (v. 9). With this deeply profound realization, the witnesses of the Servant’s death understand his paradoxical, vicarious sacrice as a reparation offering () ) overturning their avarice. They accept blame for their part in the world’s alienation and estrangement (v. 10). The Servant’s death as their representative somehow offers up a part of their very selves to be consumed pro
tlessly, thus transforming them. “By his bruises we are healed,” they confess (v. 5). As a healing, transformative event, his death not only substitutes for one that they deserve but also provokes, as a profound effect, the demise of that within them that holds them back from wholeness. The Servant’s suffering death, in other words, entails what theologians call an inclusive place taking. In his death, those who understand and identify with him in some profound sense die as well. How precisely do we who witness and embrace the Servant’s ordeal die with him? I believe the mystery of servanthood, as Second Isaiah upholds it throughout its poems, provides the answer. When a true servant of God puts love for neighbor rst, giving the self a back seat, the neighbor’s need for self-protection and self-promotion vanishes. The neighbor’s self is sufciently upheld by the unconditional love of the servant-friend that self-centeredness begins to wither and die. Upheld by the friend’s determined other-centeredness, his protless, gratuitous devotion, the neighbor is pushed to let go of self-concern and turn outward in friendship, love, and intimacy. The focus on “our own way” of 53:6 vanishes. We “die” with the friend. Close study of the theories of scholars such as John Macmurray and Georges Bataille, cited above, has helped me to see this. In the Servant Songs of Isaiah, we have the ultimate gift of freedom from the prison house of self-concern. The Servant puts not just any neighbors before himself but his enemies, that is, those who perpetrate an unforgivable disdain and violence against him that cries out for revenge (see Isa 50:6–7). As the Servant makes his sacrice, the chorus of witnesses realizes that the narcissistic world in which they have been living is upside down. As he dies, the Servant’s ordeal converts them from judgmental scoffers to frail, self-convicted human beings (53:5–6). He includes them in his death and they embrace a death-judgment for their self-centeredness and cold calculations. Due to the Servant’s work, self-orientation and self-righteousness die within the souls of those who identify with him in his death. Since the 1

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Servant is not just wounded, but submits fully to death (53:9, 12), he denitively defeats the tyranny of self to the profound benet of humanity. The atoning work of the Servant is no symbolic contrivance, by means of which God lets sinners off the hook. No one goes scot-free in our poem, though lives are healed and sins are forgiven. Rather, the sacricial event of our text is a means of establishing Second Isaiah’s ideal of servanthood, of widespread other-centeredness on earth. Through his ultimate, archetypal act of other-centeredness—giving up one’s life in love for those consumed with hate—the Servant paves the way for others to join him in his form of life. These are the “offspring” or “seed” of the Servant that 53:10 mentions and that the remainder of Isaiah’s book interprets.18 Concisely put, I am arguing that those who embrace the Servant’s uniquely sacricial death are amazed to discover in it both their own self-orientation and its death-sentence. Transformed by this realization, they begin life anew, fully human, fully free, as servants of the Lord, the Servant’s “offspring” of 53:10. 5. The Suffering Offspring of the Servant of the Lord (Isaiah 53:10) Since, as I have suggested, Isaiah’s Servant of the Lord is an archetypal gure, that is, a meditation on true servanthood, the ideal he embodies has found many valid instantiations within concrete existence throughout the centuries. The Servant has reached out from the Bible to grasp the lives of Jews, Christians, and others, bringing readers to a new understanding of themselves and the direction of their lives. Isaiah 53:10 has proved correct in its promise directed to the Servant, “He shall see his offspring.” This happens each time true servanthood comes to expression in a human life on earth. Permit me to offer two representative examples. The rst comes from within the Hebrew Bible itself, specically from the book of Daniel’s vision of ideal gures who closely embody the Servant’s virtues. Daniel 11:33–35; 12:2–3 presents what is perhaps history’s rst known explicit incarnation of Isaiah’s ideal form of servanthood. The passage uses the language of Isaiah’s Servant of the Lord to portray the suffering and martyrdom of wise Jews under Antiochus IV 18. For treatments of the Servant’s seed/offspring, see the references listed in n. 8 above, and Henri Blocher, Songs of the Servant: Isaiah’s Good News (Vancouver, B.C.: Regent College Publishing, 2005), 75–76. 1

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Epiphanes in the second century B.C.E. Isaiah’s servant-image of ministry clearly inspired the model of quiet faithfulness that these Jews embraced during the Maccabean con
ict. Specic language drawn from Isa 53 is unmistakable in Dan 11:33– 35; 12:2–3.19 Like the Servant of the Lord, who acts “wisely” (=<, Isa 52:13 NIV), who is endowed with knowledge (Isa 53:11), Daniel’s protagonists possess unique spiritual insight (they are )J=J< >; Dan 11:33, 35; 12:3). Putting their insight to good use in the manner of the Servant, they act effectively on behalf of “the many” ()J3C=, Isa 53:11; Dan 11:33; 12:2)—an inclusive Hebrew idiom referring to the whole circle of the faithful.20 Specically, mirroring the Suffering Servant’s atoning work of justication, they make the faithful righteous (Hiphil of B54, Isa 53:11; Dan 12:3). As their reward, they share the Servant’s vindication and lofty exaltation (Isa 52:13; Dan 12:3). Much later in history, the work of Albert Schweitzer (1875–1965) in West Gabon, Africa, again embodied many of the spiritual traits of Isaiah’s Servant. Schweitzer, a gifted organist and theologian, gave up his university chair to become a missionary physician. He founded Lambaréné hospital in what was then French Equatorial Africa. The personal sacrices he made in his life never approached the primal depths of suffering seen in Isa 53, where servanthood entails disgurement and death. Nevertheless, in an imperfect, shadowlike way, his life may rightly be considered a sort of vicarious atonement on behalf of his country people. By abandoning his prestigious career for a ministry of healing in Lambaréné, Schweitzer envisioned himself making reparation for the harm Europe had in
icted on Africa. His personal self-sacrice had a profound spiritual in
uence on his generation, since, learning of his work, his contemporaries came better to appreciate their complicity and guilt in colonialism’s evils. By working this transforming effect on those whom he represented back at home, Schweitzer’s other-centeredness exemplied the sacricial ideals of Isa 53. His sel
essness generated renewal and intimacy among the world’s peoples. 19. See Harold L. Ginsberg, “The Oldest Interpretation of the Suffering Servant,” VT 3 (1953): 400–404; George W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (HTS 26; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1972), 24; John J. Collins, Daniel (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1993), 385, 93; C. L. Seow, Daniel (Westminster Bible Companion; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2003), 181. 20. See also, Ps 40:3; Mark 10:45; 14:24; Rom 5:15. See Blocher, Songs of the Servant, 74–75; Richard J. Clifford, Psalms 1–72 (AOTC; Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, 2002), 204; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 19A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 350. 1

MICAH 7:8–20: RE-EVALUATING THE IDENTITY OF THE ENEMY* James D. Nogalski

1. The Problem1 Micah 7:8–20 is unusual among Old Testament texts in that one may speak of a relatively strong consensus on three fronts. First, since Stade, most scholars agree that the passage belongs to the latest compositional level of the book, and presumes a postexilic setting in its present form.2 Second, since Gunkel, most scholars recognize a postexilic liturgical setting, or in more recent literature, at least a liturgical pattern, in Mic 7:8– 20.3 Third, most scholars either presume or argue explicitly that these * This study is dedicated to the memory of Gerald Shepherd. His untimely death not only robbed family and friends of a valued loved one, it robbed the discipline of Biblical Studies of a person whose insights and creativity still had much to offer. He will be missed, but his legacy will endure through his own writings, through the questions he raised, and the people whose lives he touched. 1. This study further develops ideas noted in James D. Nogalski, Literary Precursors to the Book of the Twelve (BZAW 217; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1993), 144–70. 2. Bernhard Stade, “Strei
ichter auf die Entstehung der jetzigen Gestalt der alttestamentlichen Prophetenschriften,” ZAW 23 (1903): 163–71. Hillers represents a rare exception; see Delbert R. Hillers, A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Micah (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 89. 3. While variations exist regarding how best to describe the liturgical character, the presence of liturgical elements is widely recognized: Stade, “Strei
ichter auf die Entstehung der jetzigen Gestalt”; Karl Marti, Das Dodekapropheton (KHC 13; Tübingen: Mohr, 1904), 298; Bernhard Duhm, “Anmerkungen zu den Zwölf Propheten II,” ZAW 31 (1911): 92–93; Hermann Gunkel, “Der Micha-Schluss. Zur Einführung in die literaturgeschichtliche Arbeit am AT,” ZS 2 (1924): 145–78 (see also Gunkel’s “The Close of Micah: A Prophetical Liturgy,” in What Remains of the Old Testament [London: Allen & Unwin, 1928], 115–49); Bo Reicke, “Liturgical Traditions in Mic 7,” HTR 60 (1967): 349–67; Otto Eissfeldt, “Ein Psalm aus NordIsrael: Micha 7:7–20,” ZDMG 112 (1962): 259–68 (repr. in Kleine Schriften [1963]: 4:63–72); T. Lescow, “Redaktionsgeschichtliche Analyse von Micha 6–7,” ZAW 84 (1972): 182–212; James L. Mays, Micah: A Commentary (OTL; London: SCM, 1976), 155. 1

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verses, or signicant portions of them, originated independently from the book in which they now reside.4 Evidence for the rst two opinions need not be challenged here. There are good reasons for presuming postexilic concerns motivate Mic 7:8–20. The destitution of Zion re
ected in 7:8– 13 presupposes the time after 587 B.C.E. Likewise, the text itself clearly indicates that the author worked with a liturgical pattern. The dialogical vacillation of speakers in a pattern of address and response requires such a model, and the documentable parallels within Old Testament literature make it the most plausible framework from which to read the text. The assumption that Mic 7:8–20 originated independently of its literary context, however, creates considerable difculty for determining the concrete identity of the enemy within these verses. To be sure, the text does not make the identity of the enemy explicit. The only concrete references to the enemy appear in 7:8 and 7:10, where the enemy is cited using feminine singular references.5 Efforts at determining the original identity of this enemy have not succeeded. Three suggestions dominate the literature: Edom, Babylon, and an unspecied collective enemy. Yet each of these suggestions creates problems for understanding 7:8–20. Edom is the entity most frequently suggested for the enemy mentioned in Mic 7:8–10.6 The assumption of a late date for these verses gives rise to this suggestion in light of numerous anti-Edom passages during the exilic and postexilic period.7 Despite the frequency with which Edom is suggested, this option is the most unlikely for syntactical reasons. The enemy in 7:8–10 is feminine, but no other Old Testament text refers generically to Edom using feminine address.8 Additionally, Edom plays no role elsewhere in the book of Micah, requiring one to assume these 4. For example, Hans Walter Wolff, Micah: A Commentary (trans. Gary Stansell; CC; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1990), 215–17; Wilhelm Rudolph, Micha–Nahum– Habakkuk–Zephanja (KAT 13/3; Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1975), 131. 5. The enemy is both addressed directly, and in the third person. This change of perspective should be treated as a stylistic variation, however, not the result of separate sources. 6. See, for example, Mays, Micah, 158–59, who follows Gunkel and Sellin. 7. For example, Obadiah; Mal 1:2–5; Jer 49:7–22; Ezek 35, etc. Lescow typies those who understand 7:8–10 as a liturgy of repentance from the early exilic period (Lescow, “Redaktionsgeschichtliche Analyse von Micha 6–7,” 205). 8. One noted exception appears in Obad 1, but the parallel in Jer 49:14 makes clear that the original addressee of that oracle was the city Bozrah. See the discussion of the relationship between Obad 1–5; Jer 49:14–16 + 49:9; and Amos 9:1–4 in James D. Nogalski, Redactional Processes in the Book of the Twelve (BZAW 218; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1993), 61–74. Edom does appear in Lam 4:21 as feminine, but only with the specic title “daughter of Edom.” 1

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verses originated separately from the book, without offering adequate explanations as to how or why they were incorporated into their present location. Babylon appears elsewhere in feminine singular form, but the assumption of Babylon creates chronological difculties for the text as a whole.9 The entire context, but particularly Mic 7:8–10, re
ects an enemy in an ascendant position over against Jerusalem.10 Babylon could hardly have been so described in the postexilic period after its overthrow by the Persians in 539 B.C.E. Thus, if Babylon were the original enemy in 7:8– 10, this portion of the “liturgy” could not stem from the postexilic period. Thus, as with the suggestion of Edom, the assumption that Babylon was the enemy requires that these verses circulated independently of the book, and that someone incorporated them into Micah, together with other pre-existing blocks, without making the referent explicit, or by deliberately omitting reference to Babylon. Several recent commentaries contend that the feminine singular reference intends a collective enemy.11 Several of these commentators even translate the references to the singular enemy in Mic 7:8–10 as plural in order to emphasize the collective nature. While syntactically possible, the feminine singular “enemy,” appearing in both verbal and pronominal forms, makes this collective explanation unsatisfactory if another explanation can be found. Like both of the other suggestions, proponents of the assumption of a collective enemy typically concede independent origin for Mic 7:8–10 at some point following the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 B.C.E.12 Thus, all three suggestions for the identity of the enemy create substantial problems for a concrete determination of the original enemy, and for the current position of Mic 7:8–10. Edom as the enemy is extremely 9. For example, Wolff believes that the enemy was likely Babylon (Wolff, Micah, 220). 10. Mic 7:8 states, “Though I dwell in darkness…” A desolate Zion who waits for deliverance, “Until he (YHWH) pleads my case and executes justice for me,” is re
ected in Mic 7:9. See also Mic 7:18, “He does not retain his anger forever.” 11. For example, see Ralph Smith, Micah–Malachi (WBC 32; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1984), 58; Leslie C. Allen, The Books of Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), 390–91; Hillers, Micah, 87; Rudolph, Micha–Nahum–Habakkuk–Zephanja, 131–32; and Marvin A. Sweeney, The Twelve Prophets (Berit Olam; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2000), 408–14. 12. So Allen, Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah, 394. Hillers (Micah, 89) represents an exception since he wants to date the entire passage in the eighth century. Even Hillers, however, is cautious about doing so, since he states: “I prefer to hold that it ts conditions of Micah’s time, but to leave open the possibility of later origin.” 1

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unlikely because of the feminine form of address. Assumption of Babylon as the original enemy requires a date prior to 539 B.C.E. The supposition of a collective enemy requires that one explain away the singular forms. None of these suggestions adequately explain why Mic 7:8–20 found their way into the book of Micah. 2. The Intertextual Phenomenon All three suggestions mentioned above presume that Mic 7:8–10 originated independently of the book. Additionally, many presume or argue explicitly that 7:8–10 originated independently of the remainder of the component parts of 7:8–20. As a prelude to challenging this assumption, it is necessary to document the existence of an extensive intertextual phenomenon between Mic 7:8–20 and Isa 9–12. This intertextuality will then serve as the basis for understanding 7:8–10 as an integral part of Mic 7:8–20, and for seeing the entire complex as a literary construct created explicitly to conclude Micah. As the table opposite indicates, almost every verse in Mic 7:8–20 contains elements which also appear in the anti-Assyrian polemic of Isa 9–12. These common elements represent a wide variety of vocabulary and motifs, and it is striking that they occur with such regularity in these two diverse passages. The question, of course, arises as to the explanation for these common elements. Do they represent coincidental similarities to which one may not attach any interpretive weight? Does one passage manifest a dependency upon the other, and if so, how does one characterize that dependency? Which text draws from which, and for what reason? It is doubtful that the occurrence of these elements may be attributed to chance. These elements are too extensive, and their backgrounds are too diverse to suggest credibly that such an integrated series of parallels would occur by happenstance. These parallels include specic vocabulary, and common motifs which are not natural counterparts in two unrelated passages. Both passages combine such terms as darkness and light with rejoicing (Mic 7:8/Isa 9:1–2); trampling the enemy like mire/ mud in the streets (Mic 7:10/Isa 10:6); the verb “to build” (Mic 7:11/Isa 9:9); the “rod” of YHWH (Mic 7:14/Isa 10:5, 15, 24); “forest” and “Carmel” (Mic 7:14/Isa 10:18); the anger of YHWH (Mic 7:18/Isa 10:25). Additionally, very close synonyms buttress the common vocabulary, such as with the appearance of YHWH’s indignation (,K in Mic 7:9) and rage ()K in Isa 10:25); complete destruction (Isa 10:23) and desolation (Mic 7:13). 1

6:16 7:1 7:2 7:3 7:4 7:5–6 7:7 7:8 7:9 7:10 7:10 7:11

Micah 6:16; 7:1–20 Statutes of Omri Woe is me There are no godly/upright ones Bribe of prince, judge Day when punishment and confusion will come There is no one to trust I will wait for the God of my salvation Do not rejoice my enemy Though I am in darkness YHWH is my light I will bear YHWH’s indignation (his anger) My enemy said where is your God? My enemy will be trampled down like mire of the streets A day for building your walls your boundary will become distant

10:1 10:1 10:2 10:1 10:3 10:3–4 12:2 9:1–2 10:25 — 10:6 9:9

10:13 10:3 (continued overleaf)

1

Isaiah 9–12 Evil Statutes Woe to those who enact The unjust acts of YHWH’s people Unjust legal decisions Day of punishment There is nowhere to turn for help Behold, God is my salvation The people who dwell in darkness will see a great light, and will rejoice Soon my indignation against you will be spent, and my anger will turn to their (Assyria’s) destruction (But see Isa 36:18–20 = 2 Kgs 18:32b–35) Assyria was sent against the people of my fury to trample them down like mud in the streets The bricks have fallen, but we will rebuild with smooth stones (see especially 2 Chr 32:5) Assyria says I removed the boundaries of the peoples Destruction will come from afar

7:12

He will come from Assyria and the cities of Egypt

10:6, 12 10:24 10:26

7:13 7:14

7:15 7:16 7:18

7:19

1

unto the river (Euphrates) and the sea and the mountains And the land becomes desolate

—

Shepherd your people with your rod a forest in the midst of Carmel

10:5 10:18

YHWH’s going forth from Egypt Nations will see YHWH’s noisy deeds and be ashamed of their own might The remnant of his possession will survive his anger He will again have compassion ()IC) on us.

10:23

10:19 10:34 10:26 10:33 10:20–22

12:1

I sent Assyria against a godless nation and Jerusalem Assyria will strike you like a rod in the way Egypt did God will raise the sea with his staff as he did in Egypt (see Isa 11:11–12) There will be complete destruction in the midst of the whole land Assyria is the rod of my anger (see also 10:15, 24) YHWH will destroy the glory of Assyria’s forest and his thicket (=>C<) and the rest of the trees of his forest will be reduced YHWH will cut down the thickets of the forest Parting of the sea when leaving Egypt YHWH will destroy Assyria noisily and any other nation of stature A remnant will remain from the destruction of Israel. (See 11:11: YHWH will recover the remnant of his people a second time.) Although you were angry with me, your anger is turned away, and you comfort ()I?) me.

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Finally, the diversity of motifs appearing in both passages cements the conclusion that the combination of these elements is no accident: rejoicing at the eventual deliverance of YHWH, despite the current situation (Mic 7:8/Isa 9:1–2); YHWH’s anger and indignation against his own people will lead to the punishment of the enemy (Mic 7:9–10/Isa 10:6, 25); rebuilding of city structures (Mic 7:11/Isa 9:9); reference to the exodus from Egypt (Mic 7:15/Isa 10:26); defeat and fear of the nations (Mic 7:16/Isa 10:33; 11:14–16); survival of a remnant (Mic 7:18/Isa 10:20–22); YHWH will again have compassion despite his anger (Mic 7:19/Isa 12:1). Thus, the remarkable consistency of common vocabulary, themes, and motifs argues strongly that a relationship exists between these two passages. Given the existence of a relationship between these two texts, scholarly consensus requires that any dependency must be on the part of the author of Mic 7:8–20. While no one doubts that Isa 9–12 contains diverse material in its own right, there is likewise little doubt that the vast majority of these chapters had attained written form long before the destruction of Jerusalem. By contrast, scholarly consensus argues that Mic 7:8–20 presupposes Jerusalem’s destruction. Hence, there is no reason to doubt that Mic 7:8–20 draws from Isa 9–12, and not the other way around. How then does one characterize the dependency of Mic 7:8–20 upon Isa 9–12? Before turning to a specic proposal, it is necessary to point out one other phenomenon, because it offers another clue as to how the author of Mic 7:8–20 works. Two signicant motifs in Mic 7:8–20 exhibit a distinct similarity to portions of the Hezekiah narratives. Micah 7:10 quotes Zion’s enemy asking the taunting question: “Where is your God?” Second Kings 18:32b–35 (= Isa 36:18–20) depicts a speech delivered by the messenger of the “king of Assyria” (2 Kgs 18:31 = Isa 36:16), who delivers a speech to the people of Jerusalem in the time of Hezekiah just prior to Sennacherib’s siege. This speech utilizes the question, “Where is the god of ‘X’?” as a refrain to claim that the gods of other countries were of no value to them when Assyria’s military machine was turned against them. This refrain climaxes with a question regarding the power of Jerusalem’s god (2 Kgs 18:35 = Isa 36:30), which essentially parallels the question in Mic 7:11. A second noticeable motif in Mic 7:8–20 appearing in the Hezekiah traditions relates to the phraseology of Mic 7:11. In this verse YHWH promises the personied Zion the building of walls and extension of the boundary. Second Chronicles 32:5 re
ects an interesting tradition attributed to Hezekiah, namely, that in response to the threat of attack from Sennacherib, Hezekiah rebuilt the city wall that had fallen down, and 1

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built another wall outside it, effectively extending Jerusalem’s boundary prior to the siege. Thus, in addition to the awareness of the anti-Assyrian polemic of Isa 9–12, Mic 7:8–20 contains echoes of two specic motifs which appear in the Hezekiah traditions. 3. A Proposal Concerning the Intertextual Signi
cance The discussion above demonstrates that Mic 7:8–20 re
ects the awareness of an anti-Assyrian polemic from Isa 9–12 and evidences motifs specically found in traditions surrounding Hezekiah. How does one characterize this dependency upon these elements? The intertextuality operating within Mic 7:8–20 provides strong evidence that this so-called liturgy did not arise independently, but that it was created with full awareness of its position in Micah. The anti-Assyrian polemic and the connection to the motifs from the Hezekiah traditions form a natural inclusio to Mic 1:1, where it is stated that Micah preached during the reigns of Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah. The extent of the intertextuality suggests that the entire passage should be read as though it were set in this time period, as though it comments upon the entire Assyrian period. When one does so, not only does such a reading make sense, but it also illuminates several enigmatic elements that have puzzled scholars concerning Mic 7:8–20. Reading 7:8–20 with these echoes not only allows one to ascertain the hermeneutical movement running through 7:8–20, it illuminates the qualication of promissory elements within the liturgical framework. The liturgical framework and the presupposition of an Assyrian period setting (created by a postexilic author), must be kept in mind constantly when interpreting 7:8–20. The constellation of this passage incorporates a three-fold movement within a liturgical framework, one which is created by the change in speakers evident in the text. This liturgical pattern may be outlined as follows: (1) Mic 7:8–13, Zion’s song of condence and YHWH’s response; (2) 7:14–15, The prophet’s intercession and YHWH’s response; and (3) 7:16–20*, the people’s response.13 Understanding how the 13. One portion of this nal movement does not conform to this pattern. Mic 7:19b cannot be a speech of the people, because it addresses the people using a third masculine plural reference: “And you will cast all of their sins into the depths of the sea.” The identity of the masculine singular referent is obviously YHWH, since only YHWH could cast the sins into the depths of the sea. The speaker cannot be the people since elsewhere in this section the people speak using rst common plural references (Mic 7:17, 19). This elimination allows only two possibilities. Either the liturgy is so created that the prophet breaks in for a short speech, or else this verse represents a later editorial insertion. Tradition-critical and redaction-critical evidence 1

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presumption of an Assyrian setting on the part of the author effects the interpretation requires a closer look at these verses. The rst constellation involves the personied Zion’s song of condence in Mic 7:8–10 and the divine response offering a qualied promise in 7:11–13. In 7:8–10, Zion afrms her condence in YHWH, despite the current situation which Zion accepts as punishment for sin (7:9). The verses are addressed to an unspecied feminine enemy. Having already noted the problems inherent in typical suggestions of the identity of this enemy, several interrelated observations allow one to postulate that Nineveh personied is presumed as the enemy in these verses. Micah 7:8–10 involves the conceptualization of two feminine entities. One feminine entity speaks to and about another feminine enemy. The identities of these speakers may be deduced as Zion and Nineveh personied. The identity of the personied Zion as the speaker is evident on the basis of Old Testament tradition-historical considerations, from the immediate context, and from broader phenomena in Western Semitic culture.14 Indeed, Zion is almost universally recognized as the speaker in these verses, although the conceptualization of Zion is often muted into that of the congregation rather than allowing the force of the metaphor and the tradition of Zion as personied city to permeate the text.15

points strongly toward the latter, because this half-verse clearly takes up the language of Jon 2:4, drawing a parallel between the “salvation” of Jonah and the salvation of the congregation in Mic 7:19b. For further development of these thoughts, see Nogalski, Literary Precursors, 152–53. For reasons listed there, Mic 7:19b will not be included in the discussion that follows. 14. The personied Zion as city appears elsewhere in Old Testament texts such as Isa 60–62; Zeph 3:11–20; Ezek 16; 23, etc. The immediate context reveals the speaker is considered a city since the promise in 7:11 involves the rebuilding of her walls. Within the broader phenomenon of Western Semitic culture, capital cities were often personied. See the evidence and interpretations in Aloysius Fitzgerald, “The Mythological Background for the Presentation of Jerusalem as a Queen and False Worship as Adultery in the Old Testament,” CBQ 34 (1972): 403–16; John J. Schmitt, “The Motherhood of God and Zion as Mother,” RB 92 (1985): 557–69; Mayer I. Gruber, “The Motherhood of God in Second Isaiah,” RB 90 (1983): 351– 59; Mark E. Biddle, “The Figure of Lady Jerusalem: Identication, Deication, and Personication of Cities in the Ancient Near East,” in The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective (ed. Bernard F. Batto, William W. Hallo, and Lawson K. Younger; Scripture in Context 4; Lewiston, N.Y.: Mellen, 1991), 173–94; O. H. Steck, “Zion als Gelände und Gestalt. Überlegungen zur Wahrnehmung Jerusalems als Stadt und Frau im Alten Testaments,” ZTK 86 (1989): 261–81. 15. See, for example, Allen, Joel, Obadiah, Jonah and Micah, 394; Smith, Micah–Malachi, 58. 1

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For many of the same reasons, Nineveh appears as the most likely enemy portrayed in these verses. The immediate context has many parallels indicating awareness of Isaiah’s anti-Assyrian polemic. The broader background of Western Semitic culture demonstrates it was common for capital cities to be personied as women. The specic personication of Nineveh as a woman appears in other Old Testament texts, namely, in Nah 2–3. Finally, the assumption of Nineveh as the enemy eliminates one of the primary enigmas of this passage, namely, anonymity of the enemy. Traditions regarding the identity of the prophet Micah categorically portray him as a prophet in the Assyrian period.16 Any redactional continuation of Micah in the postexilic period could hardly have been ignorant of the historical associations of that prophet. Likewise, Sennacherib’s siege of Jerusalem during the reign of Hezekiah would naturally spring to mind as the threat to which Zion alludes in Mic 7:8–10. All of these observations imply the enemy in these verses is the personied Nineveh. The divine response to Zion’s condence appears in Mic 7:11–13. These verses also appear most coherent when read as a commentary upon the Assyrian period if one is to maintain the unity of the verses. Formally, these verses presuppose their context, but the speaker changes. Micah 7:11–12 address Zion explicitly, indicating Zion can no longer be the speaker as in 7:8–10. The nature of the promises in these verses indicates YHWH is now understood as the speaker, as he afrms that Zion’s condence is not unfounded. The divine response continues formally through 7:13, since the speaker changes again in 7:14. Yet, despite a consistent divine speaker, these verses (7:11–13) evidence considerable tension with one another. Formally, Mic 7:11 announces a promise to Zion, which apparently continues without interruption in 7:12. Micah 7:13, however, just as clearly announces desolation. How does one account for the change from promise to destruction within the same divine response? One could, of course, postulate an interpolation from a later hand, but a rationale for such an interpolation is unclear. Micah 7:11–12 continue the second feminine singular sufxes and references from the immediate context, leaving 7:13 as the most likely candidate for interpolation, yet the decisive judgment pronouncement of this verse makes it very difcult to believe someone would have added it to a context of salvation. As with

16. Not only does the Deuteronomistic superscription of Mic 1:1 place Micah’s ministry in the reigns of Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, but also Jer 26:18 locates the prophet in the reign of Hezekiah. 1

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the song of condence in 7:8–10, the presumption that the postexilic author is writing about the Assyrian period, combined with careful observations concerning the promises in 7:11–13, alleviates the tension within these verses considerably. Micah 7:11 is promissory in nature. It promises Zion that the walls will be rebuilt and the boundary expanded. Typically, this verse is interpreted in light of Jerusalem’s destruction in 587 B.C.E. as evidence that the verses were composed prior to Nehemiah. Indeed, when 7:11 is so read, the next verse adds to the impression of a promise of Zion’s restoration. Micah 7:12 continues the thought of 7:11 when it promises “and he will come unto you from Assyria even to Egypt, and from Egypt even to the Euphrates, and from sea to sea, and mountain to mountain.” Under the in
uence of the promise in 7:11, this verse is normally interpreted as a reference to the return of the diaspora Jews from Assyria, Egypt, Babylon, and all the regions to which YHWH’s people had been exiled. Certainly, this reading is possible syntactically. The problem comes with the attempt to incorporate 7:13 into the picture, since it speaks in no uncertain terms of desolation: “And the land (#C 9) will become a desolation because of its inhabitants, on account of the fruit of their deeds.”17 The sins of the inhabitants have already been depicted in 1:7, 9, 13; 2:1–11; 3:1–12; 6:1–16. Three interrelated observations, which challenge conventional readings of 7:11–13, may be submitted to clarify the progression of thought. First, as already stated, 7:13 refers to the desolation of the land, not universal desolation. Second, this pronouncement of desolation upon the land in 7:13 contrasts intentionally with the promise to Zion in 7:11, re
ecting an awareness of the historical aftermath of the Assyrian period. The Northern Kingdom was destroyed, and its capital sacked. Much of Judah came under Assyrian control. The fact that Jerusalem remained intact physically and politically coincides with the promise in 7:11. In fact, when one notes the explicit parallels to the Chronicler’s Hezekiah tradition, one may even understand the phraseology of 7:11 as specically related to the events surrounding Sennacherib’s siege. It is Jerusalem which receives the promise for the rebuilding and expansion. This promise to (re)build the walls and expand the boundary, coincides remarkably well with the Chronicler’s account in which Hezekiah

17. Typically, scholars translate #C in Mic 7:13 universally. Tradition-critically, the association of “desolation” with #C elsewhere refers to the land, and not the entire world. Note the interpretive translation of the LXX, for example. For further discussion, see Nogalski, Literary Precursors, 148–49. 1

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rebuilds one wall, and builds another wall outside it, thereby expanding the boundary of Jerusalem, not the entire land.18 Third, while Mic 7:12 is tied syntactically to 7:11, it does not necessarily follow that this verse promises the return of the exiles. The verse announces only that he will come to you, but does not explicitly state either the identity or the purpose of the one who comes. The formulation of H3 + 5, normally understood to refer to the return of the Diaspora, also appears in Old Testament texts to describe military campaigns.19 The LXX interprets 7:12 as an announcement of judgment. In addition, the order in which the political entities are mentioned in 7:12 poetically 18. The question of the date and historicity of the Chronicler’s account plays no major role in this observation. There are now a considerable number of supporters for an early version of the Chronicler’s history which was already compiled in the sixth century, meaning it would have been available in written form at the time of composition of Mic 7:8–20. If the older theory that the Chronicler’s account was not composed prior to the end of the fourth century continues to hold up, the likelihood that the Chronicler would have drawn upon an older tradition that Hezekiah expanded the walls of Jerusalem implies that this tradition would have been known earlier in the postexilic period as well. It appears that something approaching a consensus is emerging that 1 and 2 Chronicles themselves have protracted redaction histories, which predate the attachment of these works to Ezra and Nehemiah, with the earliest version appearing around the end of the sixth century. The catalyst for this theory is due in large part to the article by Frank Moore Cross, “A Reconstruction of the Judean Restoration,” JBL 94 (1975): 4–18 (esp. 11–14). Cross argues for three versions of Chronicles, with initial composition containing 2 Chr 20:1–30 set shortly after 520 B.C.E. Cross’s second redaction occurred following Ezra’s mission around 458 B.C.E., and the third appeared around 400 B.C.E. While some disagreement may still be noted, many recent commentators accept the basic thrust of his arguments for a relatively early and separate version of the Chronicler’s history. See discussions in Roddy Braun, 1 Chronicles (WBC 14; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1986), xxv–xxix; David L. Petersen, Late Israelite Prophecy: Studies in Deutero-Prophetic Literature and in Chronicles (SBLMS 23; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1977), 68–77, 100–102; Magne Saebø, “Chronistische Theologie/ Chronistisches Geschichtswerk,” in Theologische Realenzyklopädie 8 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1981), 74–87 (esp. 79–80). Some, especially in the German-speaking realm, date the written version of Chronicles considerably later. See Reinhard Gregor Kratz, The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (trans. John Bowden; London: T&T Clark International, 2005). 19. The formulation in Mic 7:12, the verb H3 + 5, can be used to describe a military campaign. Compare, for example, Judg 7:13; 9:52. For a partial understanding of the combination of the entities, see Lam 5:6, 9, which specically mentions submission to Egypt and Assyria as reasons for Babylon’s ability to destroy Jerusalem. It also depicts difculties following the destruction of Jerusalem which arose from the surrounding regions. 1

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outlines the political history of the 100+ years following the siege of Sennacherib. Assyrian domination of the region was followed by Egyptian control. Egyptian control gave way to the despotic rule of Babylon, which in turn left Israel open to scavenging attacks from the likes of Tyre and Edom during the exilic period. Hence, while this verse is correctly taken as evidence of a postexilic situation, it need not be treated as a promise of restoration. Rather, it makes more sense as a re
ection upon the foreign domination of the seventh and early sixth centuries. One may thus state with certainty that Mic 7:12 can be read as an announcement of the political domination to come in the years following Hezekiah. Does it necessarily follow, however, that the verse should be read in this manner? In response, one may note that such a reading smoothes the transition to 7:13 dramatically. Micah 7:12–13 announces the coming political domination (7:12) which, in turn, results in the desolation of the land (#C 9). But does this reading of projected desolation in 7:12–13 not leave the promise of 7:11 as a conceptual straggler? The answer is no, when one remembers that the promise in 7:11 can be read in light of the preparatory actions of Hezekiah prior to the arrival of Sennacherib. Jerusalem is not promised eschatological peace, but is promised time to fortify herself prior to Assyrian attack. One should neither lose sight of the fact that 7:8–11 offers the divine response to Zion’s afrmation in 7:8–10, nor that the verses announce the land will be desolated on account of the sins of its inhabitants in 7:13. The next major section of the passage is the prophetic intercession and divine response, which begins with the change of speaker in Mic 7:14, and concludes with a short response of YHWH in 7:15b. One may isolate the prophet and YHWH as the participants in the constellation from the text itself. The intercession in 7:14–15a is addressed to YHWH directly in the second masculine singular. Theologically, only YHWH could perform the deeds requested in these verses. The speaker of the intercession must be deduced from the context. Given the intercessory form of 7:14–15a, one could make a case for either the prophet or the people as the speaker. However, the divine response to the intercession in 7:15b states explicitly, “I will show him miracles.”20 This masculine singular reference in the third person clearly intends “people” in 7:14, syntactically and conceptually. Thus, by a simple process of elimination, one may condently determine the prophet as speaker, interceding to YHWH on behalf of the

20. So MT. The frequent suggestion to emend Mic 7:15b on the basis of the LXX ignores the interpretive nature of the entire context in the LXX. It is highly dubious that any emendations based upon the LXX carry much weight in these verses. 1

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people. YHWH responds with an afrmative message about the people. A careful evaluation of the content of this intercession, particularly when read against the intertextual background of Isa 9–12, provides a very different slant to the interpretation than is normally understood. The opening phrase of the intercession (“Shepherd your people with your rod…”) is almost universally understood in purely positive terms as a prophetic intercession to a benign shepherd gure who is called upon to tend his
ock. Several observations contest this interpretation. First, the intertextuality of this entire passage creates a much more negative impression when YHWH’s rod (3) is read in conjunction with Isa 10:5, 15, 24. The same word appears in that context as a highly charged metaphor signifying the punitive powers of Assyria under the commission of YHWH. Assyria is YHWH’s rod of punishment. Second, the immediate context in Mic 7:13 calls for the desolation of the land, and it is in this context that the need for petition should be read. Third, an identical syntactical construction (the use of the verb shepherd + an object + the preposition 3 + an instrument) appears in Mic 5:5, where the negative connotations of the phrase are clearly recognizable. Fourth, while most associate the shepherd imagery with positive traditions, several Old Testament passages use shepherd imagery negatively.21 Fifth, the images of YHWH’s rod and staff appear overwhelmingly with negative connotations in the Old Testament.22 Sixth, Zion’s afrmation in Mic 7:8–10 includes both a recognition of punishment and an acknowledgment that the punishment was deserved.23 It is not surprising, therefore, to nd an implicit acceptance of YHWH’s punishment in the petition of the prophet. Thus, intertextually, contextually (both immediate and broader), syntactically, and tradition-historically, the phrase “Shepherd your people with your rod” implies an acceptance of punishment, not a request to a benevolent shepherd who ignores the sins of his people. How do these negative images relate to that which follows, where the prophet asks for a return to the former relationship between YHWH and the people? Again, tradition-historical observations go a long way toward explaining the remainder of the petition. Three geo-political entities play a role in the prophetic petition of Mic 7:14–15a. These three entities, Carmel, Bashan, and Gilead, have periodically prompted the suggestion that the “liturgy” has a Northern provenance because they comprised 21. For example, Ezek 34:13; Zech 11:4; Ps 49:14. 22. Only one exception can be found. Ps 23:4 mentions the “rod” and “staff” of YHWH positively. 23. The punishment is recognized in Mic 7:8 (“Though I dwell in darkness…”), and it is acknowledged as proper in Mic 7:9 (“because I have sinned against him”). 1

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substantial portions of the Northern Kingdom.24 However, the call for the restoration of these Northern regions makes perfect sense when read in light of the contextual awareness of the Assyrian period and its aftermath. Contextually, the only promise delivered to this point in the text is a qualied promise, delivered to Jerusalem following her confession (7:11). By contrast, YHWH has announced desolation for the land (#C 9) in 7:13, so it is not surprising that the prophet petitions for a restoration of the people “as in the days of old.” Just as signicant is the fact that the regions cited in 7:14 have considerable attestation in prophetic literature as precisely those regions which were lost to the “king of Assyria.”25 The oracle against Babylon in Jer 50:17–19 unites the punishment of the “king of Assyria” and the “king of Babylon,” incorporating precisely those areas mentioned in the prophetic petition of Mic 7:14: Israel is a scattered
ock, the lions have driven them away. The rst one who devoured him was the king of Assyria, and this last one who has broken his bones is Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon. Therefore, thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: “Behold I am going to punish the king of Babylon and his land, just as I punished the king of Assyria. And I shall bring Israel back to his pasture, and he will graze on Carmel and Bashan, and his desire will be satised in the hill country of Ephraim and Gilead.” (Jer 50:17–19)

Thus, these regions were considered forfeitures to the Assyrian military machine. Their presence in Mic 7:14, when read in light of the punitive character of the opening phrase, simultaneously functions as an implicit acceptance of YHWH’s punishment and a petition that this punishment not be one of total annihilation. The verses implore YHWH to leave at least a remnant of his
ock (the one dwelling alone).26 YHWH then promises to show miracles to the people. What is signicant about this

24. See, for example, F. Crawford Burkitt, “Micah 6 and 7: A Northern Prophecy,” JBL 45 (1926): 159–61; Otto Eissfeldt, “Ein Psalm aus Nordisrael Mi 7:7–20,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 112 (1962): 259–68 (repr. in Kleine Schriften [1968]). 25. See Magnus Ottoson, Gilead: Tradition and History (Lund: Gleerup, 1969), 236–38. Biblical passages re
ecting both the awareness of this loss, and hope for a change in the status of these regions, add weight to the suspicion that many of those restoration movements of the postexilic period desired re-unication of Northern and Southern territories. See Amos 9:11–12; Obad 19–21; Isa 10:16–18; 19:23–24; 29:17; 32:15–16; 33:9; 37:24; and particularly Jer 50:17–19. For a fuller treatment of the relationship of these passages to a Carmel/thicket tradition which plays on the loss of this territory, see Nogalski, Literary Precursors, 159–61. 26. See also the parallel expression in Mic 7:18: “the remnant of his possession.” 1

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petition and response between the prophet and YHWH is that it presumes YHWH’s miraculous deliverance, but it does not rescind the punishment. The punishment will still occur, but YHWH will ultimately bring deliverance. Micah 7:8–10 manifests a similar dialectic of the afrmation of YHWH’s deliverance in the midst of punishment. It will become evident in the response of the people which follows that they likewise afrm YHWH’s ultimate deliverance, despite the fact that the current situation contradicts this hope.27 The nal unit of the passage, Mic 7:16–20*, portrays the grateful response of the people.28 Just as the prophetic petition in 7:14–15a reacted to the destruction announced in 7:13, so the response of the people expounds upon YHWH’s positive afrmation in 7:15b, where YHWH announces that he will show the people miracles. Immediately thereafter, the people describe the future in terms which explicate the “miracles” announced in 7:15b. Despite the fact that 7:16 contains no explicit markers denoting the speaker, one may conrm the people as the speaker on the basis of 7:17, where the reference to “our God,” together with the direct address to YHWH (“They will be afraid before you”), unequivocally requires the people as speakers.29 Formally, the presence of an inclusio between 7:14 and 7:20 (“as in/from the days of old”) unites these verses on more than a casual basis. Thematically, this response of the people has two parts, which correspond chiastically to the themes of the prophetic intercession (7:14–15a) and the divine response (7:15b): Speaker Prophet YHWH People

Unit and Content vv. 14–15a: Petition: Despite punishment, restore your people as in the days of old v. 15b: Response: I will show him miracles vv. 16–17: We will see the nations come trembling to YHWH 18–20: YHWH will have compassion as in the days of old

27. Mic 7:19 states explicitly that YHWH “…will again have compassion on us,” with the clear implication that the compassion has not yet manifested itself in historical events. 28. Mic 7:19b is excluded in this discussion. For the rationale, see above discussion and note. 29. There is no reason to follow BHS in claiming the phrase “to YHWH our God” is secondary. The very next phrase, with its direct address to YHWH, means that Mic 7:16–17 cannot be a continuation of the divine speech in Mic 7:15b. Since YHWH is being addressed in 7:17, and since 7:17 is tied syntactically to 7:16, one may state condently that already in 7:16 one should picture the people addressing YHWH. 1

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YHWH’s announcement of miracles is interpreted as the military overthrow of the nations, while the people afrm that YHWH will ultimately restore the relationship with his people. Several observations relate this response to the rst part of the “liturgical” constellation as well. First, the interpretation of YHWH’s miracle as having a dramatic effect upon the nations coincides with the announcement of the military attacks in Mic 7:12. Since the land will be attacked by a series of nations (7:12), it is tting that these nations will come to YHWH in fear and trepidation as a result of the deeds which he will perform. Second, the present situation is viewed as the result of the sinful act of YHWH’s people in 7:18, which corresponds to the same presumption on the part of Zion in 7:9. Third, 7:18 presumes that forgiveness follows the punishment, as does Zion’s afrmation in 7:9. The people speak from the situation of punishment with the condence of change for the better (“He will again have compassion upon us… He does not retain his anger forever”). Another unifying factor for this portion of the “liturgy” is the fact that the intertextual parallels to Isa 9–12 continue in Mic 7:16–20* in a manner which sheds interesting light upon the context. Isaiah 10:33 helps to explain the phraseology of Mic 7:16. Micah 7:16 states that the nations “will see and be ashamed of all their might.” This fear is understandable in light of the pronouncement in Isa 10:33–34, where the prophet predicts the destruction of Assyria and any other enemies of stature. These verses utilize a tree metaphor for Assyria, but also threaten any other resplendent “trees.”30 Knowledge of the message of Isa 10:33–34 may be detected in Mic 7:16, despite the fact that the metaphor of the trees is not picked up. When Mic 7:16 states that the nations “will be ashamed of all their might,” its phraseology is highly suggestive that the nations realize it is their might which threatens them before YHWH. This shame corresponds to the abasement of the lofty trees (= mighty nations) in Isa 10:33. A second major parallel appears in the concluding verses. In terms of form and vocabulary, Mic 7:18–20 bears a striking resemblance to Isa 12:1–6. Both passages offer thanksgiving for YHWH’s future deliverance.31 Both conclude extended passages regarding threats from the nations sent by YHWH as punishment to a recalcitrant people. In both 30. Hence, “Those who are tall in stature will be cut down, and those who are lofty will be abased.” 31. The majority of Isa 12:1–6 is expressed as thanksgiving for comfort already received, but the introductory H99 )HJ3 formula makes clear that the events themselves still lie in the future. 1

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cases, Assyria plays the primary role of YHWH’s instrument, but it is not the sole nation intended. Both passages take consolation in YHWH’s compassion and comfort. 4. Summary The preceding analysis provides substantial evidence challenging the assumption that Mic 7:8–20 arose independently from the book of Micah. Recognition of an intertextual relationship between this passage, Isa 9–12, and traditions surrounding Hezekiah, allows one to trace the operative hermeneutic of the postexilic author of Mic 7:8–20 who composed this “liturgy” for the corpus set in the Assyrian period, as though it was foreshadowing events to come. This assumption of an Assyrianperiod perspective derives from the time in which the prophet Micah preached (see Mic 1:1). The “liturgical” constellation comprises three sub-units: Zion’s song of condence and YHWH’s qualied response (Mic 7:8–13), the prophet’s intercession and YHWH’s afrmative response (7:14–15), and the grateful response of the people (7:16–20*). A personied Nineveh is the dominant enemy of Zion in 7:8–10, while the remainder of the verses incorporate a broader historical outlook, but one which still draws upon the anti-Assyrian polemic in Isaiah. Jerusalem is promised time to prepare for the oncoming attacks (7:11–12), but punishment for the land is not rescinded (7:13). The prophet petitions YHWH in a manner which simultaneously accepts YHWH’s punishment while calling for restoration of signicant portions of the Northern Kingdom originally lost to the Assyrians (7:14–15a). Following YHWH’s afrmative response (7:15b) the people express their condence that YHWH will deliver a remnant from the power of the nations (7:16–17) and restore the relationship to the way it was before the sinful acts of his people (7:18–20*).

1

SOCIAL DRAMA IN THE PSALMS OF INDIVIDUAL LAMENT Norman K. Gottwald

In The Hebrew Bible: A Socio-Literary Introduction, I set forth the hypothesis that the psalms of individual lament served to support and advocate for oppressed Israelites in the absence of a trustworthy judicial system. I suggested that this ritual mechanism indicates that personnel of the Temple establishment, who presided over the performance of the laments, sympathized with and sought to alleviate the misery of “the poor and needy.”1 Gerald Sheppard, in dialogue with my hypothesis, pointed out the prominence in the lament psalms of hostile friends, neighbors, even family members, who are pictured among the menacing “enemies” with whom the lamenting victims have to contend. Noting the tensions and con
icts that are frequent in peasant societies, family and peer violence understandably appear alongside the violence meted out by social and political superiors, particularly those engaged in seizing the lands of agrarian freeholders.2 In the performance of the laments, Sheppard suggests a scenario that would provide, not simply an emotionally cathartic effect for the victim, but an actual intervention in the con
ict situation being lamented. On the basis of occasional details in the psalms and anthropological studies of lament in agrarian societies, he claims that the laments were spoken out loud, and, judging by their content, vociferously so. The onlookers would include kinfolk supporting the aggrieved who would have some detailed understanding of the source of the lamenter’s pain and anguish. Likewise, the “enemies” would experience the lament performance, 1. Norman K. Gottwald, The Hebrew Bible: A Socio-Literary Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 537–41. 2. Gerald T. Sheppard, “ ‘Enemies’ and the Politics of Prayer,” in The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His Sixty-
fth Birthday (ed. David Jobling, Peggy L. Day, and Gerald T. Sheppard; Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim, 1991), 61–82. 1

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either directly as members of the audience or indirectly through the grapevine of community gossip. As a result, the lament performance served to spread the word about the injustice done to the lamenter, with the hope that the social shame heaped upon the victim might boomerang on the perpetrator. On occasion, the perpetrator might cease attacking the lamenter in the face of community disfavor or because of actual repentance. The individual thanksgiving psalms, although not so numerous as individual laments, imply that sometimes there was a favorable outcome for the sufferer. As for the state of Psalms studies to date, the vast majority of research has been and continues to be devoted to literary and theological inquiry. Even the Sitzen im Leben of the genres have come to be restricted largely to the cult in a narrowly circumscribed manner. By contrast, Sheppard has offered a sociological reading of the individual lament genre that connects the genre directly with social and economic life. Among interpreters of the psalms, Erhard Gerstenberger has, almost single-handedly, insisted on the referential nature of the psalms in re
ecting the life conditions found at all levels of society: family, neighborhood, tribe, state, and ethnic enclave. This “social layering” runs cumulatively throughout the history of the composition and transmission of the psalms. Although we cannot certainly date most of the Psalms beyond identifying some of them as pre-exilic or postexilic, we can construct a plausible social historical typology of the psalms that grounds them provisionally in one or another of the social niches particular to each social level as these levels altered their congurations throughout the history of Israel.3 Sheppard draws insightfully on anthropological studies of prayer in peasant societies by F. G. Bailey, Max Gluckman and Ian M. Lewis in order to construct a model of public prayer amid domestic con
ict. In this essay I will employ Victor Turner’s scenario of social drama as a heuristic device to illuminate the way that the lamenter’s mini-drama “nests” within a comparable macro-drama involving the larger Israelite society. 3. See Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Psalms (2 vols.; FOTL 14–15; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988–2001); “Social Sciences and Form Criticism,” in Relating to the Text: Interdisciplinary and Form-critical Insights on the Bible (ed. Timothy J. Sandoval and Carleen Mandolfo; JSOTSup 384; London: T&T Clark, 2003), 84–99; and “The Psalms: Genres, Life Situations, and Theologies. Towards a Hermeneutics of Social Stratication,” in Diachronic and Synchronic: Reading the Psalms in Real Time. Proceedings of the Baylor Symposium on the Book of Psalms (ed. Joel S. Burnett, W. H. Bellinger Jr., and W. Dennis Tucker Jr.; LHBOTS 488; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 81–92. 1

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Turner denes Social Dramas as “units of aharmonic or disharmonic [i.e. dissonant, discordant] process, arising in con
ict situations. Typically, they have four phases of public action.”4 He nds drama to be a much more apt metaphor for society than mechanical, organic, or cybernetic metaphors, since drama does justice to the volatile ebb and
ow of social process shaped by contingent human interactions. Turner developed the drama metaphor while studying the Ndembu people of Zambia (1957, 1967) and applied it to the con
ict between Henry II and Thomas Becket and to the Hidalgo insurrection in nineteenth-century Mexico, Subsequently, he used social drama as a lens to interpret the social history of Iceland as articulated in Icelandic sagas.5 The stages of social drama bear some resemblance to Walter Brueggemann’s three-fold typology of the psalms—orientation, disorientation, new orientation— except that Turner’s model is more culturally and socially grounded.6 According to Turner, the rst phase in social drama is a “Breach of regular, norm-governed social relations…between persons or groups within the same system of social relations.”7 In the individual lament psalms, the social drama opens with the assertion that unnamed “enemies” have treated the psalmist unjustly, falsely accusing him of crimes, depriving him of his possessions, his good name, and threatening his very life. He is stigmatized and ostracized as a “sinner” by friends and kin, sometimes even by family. These “enemies” have violated the norms and moral code of society by their dishonesty and violence. In short, the lamenter has lost physical, emotional, social and even religious support. The suppliant appeals to God to protect him from his enemies and vindicate him by public demonstration of his innocence and by return of the property and livelihood that the pursuers have stolen. A number of the laments state or imply physical illness. Only occasionally, in the so-called penitential psalms, does the sufferer confess that his sins have made him ill. In most instances, the illness is inexplicable, 4. Victor Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1974), 37–44; and From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play (Performance Studies Series 1; New York: Performing Arts Journal, 1982), 61–88. 5. Victor Turner, “An Anthropological Approach to the Icelandic Saga,” in The Translation of Culture: Essays to E. E. Evan-Pritchard (ed. T. O. Beidelmann; London: Tavistock, 1971), 349–74. 6. Walter Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984). 7. Victor Turner, Revelation and Divination in Ndembu Ritual (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1975), 38. 1

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even in the face of the hostile public taunting of the sufferer as deserving of his disease. The suppliant appeals to God to lift the illness and restore him to health and to honored standing in his community. Interspersed with the “I” voice of the suppliant are frequent brief generalizing statements about the perpetrators and victims in society at large (e.g. 5:11–12; 7:12–16; 34:11–22; 62:8–12; 102:12–22). The “rich” and “wicked” appear as a word pair for the perpetrators, and the “poor” and “needy” as a word pair for the victims. The larger social drama gathers up and amplies the social drama of the individual lamenter. These generalizations serve to validate the sufferer’s complaints since many in society are shown to be in situations similar to his. These references to the wider social drama may have been spoken by the person ofciating at the lament ritual. This background assumption of widespread social oppression and unrest closely parallels the witness of the prophets and sages, who decry injustice and the legal codes that strive to inculcate and enforce social and economic justice.8 The second phase in social drama is mounting Crisis, “during which… there is a tendency for the breach to widen and extend until it becomes coextensive with some dominant cleavage in the widest set of relevant social relations to which the con
icting or antagonistic parties belong.”9 The suppliant bewails the increasing attacks of his enemies and the social isolation that cuts him off from support and consolation. He is on the verge of death, virtually hopeless and helpless in the sea of troubles that engulf him. The plight of the individual lamenter is placed in the context of spreading corruption and violence committed not by “a few bad apples” but by a cross-section of the rich and powerful. Surveying the course of Israel’s history we can identify recurrent social dramas in which breaches of the moral order and mounting crisis tear at the social and political fabric. There come to mind Solomon’s oppressive treatment of his peasant subjects, the virtual civil war that initiated Omri’s reign in the north, the growing rift between rich and poor in eighth-century Israel and Judah, ongoing injustice in Judah that overwhelms efforts at reform and issues in the fall of Judah, the rapacious loan sharks in the period of the restoration who foreclose on their impoverished debtors. One can say that an ongoing series of social dramas punctuate the history of Israel with “breaches” and “crises” that are only partially resolved. 8. See Devadasan Premnath, Eighth Century Prophets: A Social Analysis (St. Louis, Miss.: Chalice, 2003), and J. David Pleins, The Social Visions of the Hebrew Bible: A Theological Approach (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2001). 9. Turner, Revelation and Divination, 38–39. 1

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But the mounting crisis for the individual sufferer is not simply social and physical. It is deeply cultural and ideological. The culture is permeated by the condence that those who are just will be rewarded with a happy and prosperous life. Yet the experience of those speaking in the individual laments is an unnerving tale of hardship, declining fortune, loss of goods and of good name. Most of all it is a shaking of foundational trust in God as the guarantor of the moral order. Job is only an extreme case of the unjust suffering that motivates the individual laments. The isolated lamenter, absorbed in his own plight, is simultaneously aware that he is typical of other sufferers and that he speaks in part as a representative of all who likewise suffer breaches of the moral order. The third phase of the social drama is Redressive Action “to limit the spread of crisis” by undertaking “adjustive and redressive mechanisms, informal or formal, institutionalized or ad hoc…swiftly brought into operation by leading or structurally representative members of the disturbed social system.”10 The anguish of the individual lament is that there has been no redressive action. The illness has not been healed. The attacks on his person and property have not been restrained. The isolation from his community has not been broken. No one has given him back his honor. The suppliant is still “stuck” in the crisis stage of the social drama, yearning for the redressive action which seems just within reach and yet so far away. Redressive actions taken by leading members of society and state have not reached down to those who speak in the individual laments. The effects of public actions such as Jeroboam’s lifting of Solomon’s labor corvée or the pre-exilic reforms of Hezekiah and Josiah or the postexilic intervention of Nehemiah in the debt cycle, or the issuance of reformist laws in the Covenant Code, the Deuteronomic Code and the Holiness Code, are not felt in the psalms. At best, in the royal psalms we have declarations of the king’s maintenance of a just social order on behalf of all his subjects, yet even this promise is made with uncertainty as to its fulllment (e.g. Pss 45 and 72).11 This is not to say that the macro redressive actions had no effect, since they clearly did in some cases, such as Jeroboam’s relief of the corvée laborers and Nehemiah’s rescue of the imperiled debtors. The point is that the redress was not always far-reaching, depending as it did on the 10. Ibid., 39–41. 11. See David Jobling, “Deconstruction and the Political Analysis of Biblical Texts: A Jamesonian Reading of Psalm 72,” in Ideological Criticism of Biblical Texts (ed. David Jobling and Tina Pippin; Semeia 59; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1992), 95–127. 1

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cooperation of many social actors who would prot from maintaining the status quo. Nor does the reform necessarily endure. A one-time debt release does not solve the systemic reality that the poor cultivators depend on getting loans to survive and thus the debt cycle starts all over again as a sheer matter of survival. The individual lament, lacking as it does any evidence of relief by society’s leaders, is an anticipatory ritual of redress offering at least limited public religious solace for the lamenter. The socio-cultural effect of the individual lament performed as a public ritual was considerable. It demonstrated a measure of support by the cultic personnel who supervised the ritual. It placed a stamp of approval on the very act of lamenting, since the complaint was deemed worthy of recitation on religious turf. The effect on the victim was cathartic in that it broke the public silence concerning his misery. It may occasionally have changed the behavior of a perpetrator. The insistent, almost hysterical, crying out in the psalms is expressive of pent-up grief and anger that has at last found a socially and religiously legitimated channel of expression. Furthermore, the anticipatory force of the lament comes to light in the so-called “certainty of being heard” motif that is found in many of the laments (e.g. 22:22–32; 55:16–19; 56:9–13, 22–23; 71:22–24). The ritual is a desperate “as if” action in which the suppliant imagines, even experiences, himself vindicated. At this point, Victor Turner’s work in The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure12 intersects with the social drama. Building on Arnold van Gennep’s typology in The Rites of Passage,13 Turner nds that ritual often contains an experience of “liminality,” of being on the edge or threshold, in transition from one condition of life to another condition.14 The “timeless” space of liminality is fraught with great risk and with great potential. The past recedes and the indeterminate future looms ahead. The psalmist must decide either to shrink back and tone down his complaint or to plunge ahead in the zero/sum gamble that he will be heard by God and by fellow Israelites who are in a position to aid him. This is the zone of “anti-structure” where the past is surrendered and the unknown future is embraced with fear and hope.

12. Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Chicago: Aldine, 1969). 13. Arnold van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (1909; repr., Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960). 14. Turner, The Ritual Process, 94–130; and From Ritual to Theatre, 20–60. 1

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The fourth and nal phase of social drama “consists either of the Reintegration of the disturbed social group or of the social recognition and legitimation of irreparable Schism between the contesting parties”.15 Sometimes, however, the resolution is inconclusive, the reconciliation is supercial and a tense truce between the opponents lingers on until this illusory peace is broken in new congurations as future breaches once more shatter the status quo.16 On the macro level, emphatic schism separated the northern tribes from Judah and a new state was formed. In various shapes this schism persisted with the ultimate result of two different versions of the same religious traditions surfacing in the split between Samaritans and Judahites. Much later, the Hasmonean dynasty provoked sharply opposed visions of religious politics. One dramatic result of this unresolved rupture was the founding of the Dead Sea community irreconcilably opposed to the political and religious leadership of Jerusalem. Other social dramas bedeviled Israel and Judah under the monarchy. The major breach was social injustice increasing as a wealthy ruling class bore down on the subject peasantry. This breach is amply documented by prophetic oracles which vividly describe the breach, trace the mounting crisis, and call for redress by the king, landowners, merchants, and priests. Efforts at redress by Hezekiah and Josiah met with only limited success. The result was a “forced schism” between the leadership of Israel and Judah and their subjects when conquering Assyria and Neo-Babylonia deported the social, political and religious elite to distant lands. A tenuous reintegration occurred when the deported leadership returned to rule over Judah as a Persian province. Even so, abusive social practices reappeared in the restored community and Nehemiah had to intervene boldly in the con
ict between rich creditors and poor debtors to restore a semblance of economic justice. Intertwined with this drama of social injustice was the drama of foreign domination by a succession of stronger states. In the long haul there was sufcient reintegration of the antagonists in Israel’s history to sustain a continuity of culture and religion, but not without internal strains that generated new social dramas. The extent of the social, political and religious differences among Judahites after the exile is amply attested by the amazing kaleidoscope of literary genres and contradictory outlooks on life that were included in the sacred writings. 15. Turner, Revelation and Divination, 41 (latter emphasis mine). 16. Ibid., 41–44. 1

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The gathering of the venerated writings in the three-fold canon both symbolized and strengthened the sought-after unity of the people, but at the price of accepting system-threatening diversity in the populace. It is true that the sacred writings articulated a fairly coherent remembered past that held leaders and people morally and religiously accountable to the norms of Israel’s God. The social drama became increasingly weighted as a religious drama. But there existed no simple standard for religious delity and partisan disputes over issues of faith and practice kept unresolved social dramas smoldering within the larger social drama of Israel’s survival as a people. The endemic struggle between overlords and peasants deed the reintegration process by the very nature of the stubborn exploitative system that beneted rulers and penalized subjects.17 It remains to characterize the reintegration or schism of individual psalmists who have suffered breach, mounting crisis, and experienced the liminal anticipation of redress. What would it have taken to reintegrate these alienated folk? It would have required some culturally recognized signal that God had heard their cry by a cessation or pause in the enemy attacks, by some sign of a human advocate, by acceptance back into community and family, and by recovery from bodily or mental illness. In many cases it seems that this was the upshot of the micro social drama staged by the individual laments. So, in what form did occasional relief reach the lamenter? Sometimes the oppressing enemy backed off, either due to community disapproval or restraint imposed by reforms set in motion at the macro level. Sometimes the falsely accused was vindicated by a court of law or by a shift in public opinion. Sometimes, family, friends and neighbors restored the honor of the sufferer, convinced of his innocence and shocked by the deceit and violence of his persecutors. The sufferer was sometimes cured of his illness. Any or all of these turns of fortune would be understood by the psalmist and his audience as the work of God largely by means of human agency. Reintegrated into his social circle and condent of divine aid, the delivered psalmist turns to thanksgiving and is as profuse in praise of his salvation as he had been garrulous about his misery. It is probable that this reintegration was marked by sacrice and a meal with his family and kin (e.g. 5:1; 27:6; 43:3; 50:14, 23; 54:6; 107:22). The psalmist who has

17. Walter J. Houston, Contending for Justice: Ideologies and Theologies of Social Justice in the Old Testament (LHBOTS 428; London: T&T Clark International, 2006); William R. Domeris, Touching the Heart of God: The Social Construction of Poverty Among Biblical Peasants (LHBOTS 466; London: T&T Clark International, 2007). 1

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felt cut off from corporate worship now rejoices in joining “the great congregation” where he will testify to his deliverance (e.g. 22:25; 26:12; 35:18; 43:3; 107:22). On the other hand, it is evident that many sufferers found no relief. They were declared guilty of crimes by false witness and bribery, robbed of their land and livelihood, scorned by the community, hounded to death by their enemies, or perished from their disease. This must have been the fate of most of the population that had reason to lament, even if they did not do so in a formal way. It is clear from the pages of prophetic and wisdom literature that the ranks of the impoverished and oppressed rose in tandem with the enrichment of the elite. These unfortunates “dropped out” of the religious record. In many cases they probably lost faith in the God of Israel and in the religious institutions that failed them. The editing of the book of Psalms is itself a literary acknowledgment of the social drama of premised justice breached by gross injustice. The individual laments are concentrated toward the rst half of the book, while hymns of praise and thanksgiving dominate the last half. The compilation thus mimics the movement from breach through crisis and redress to eventual reintegration. Furthermore, royal psalms (e.g. Pss 2; 18; 110; 132; 144) and psalms extolling Torah (e.g. Pss 1; 15; 19; 119) bring Israel’s traditions to bear on the existential lament and thanksgiving. Moreover, didactic psalms address the disillusion and loss of faith that the wicked rich and righteous poor provoke. In essence, they counsel patience and trust in God, assuring readers and performers of the Psalms that the prosperity of the wicked is momentary, whereas the righteous poor and oppressed, such as the voices we hear in the individual laments, will have their reward in due time (e.g. Pss 37; 49; 73; 112). While we imagine that the psalms of individual lament were intoned as part of a ritual performed in the Jerusalem temple, that setting speaks only for their nal destination in the collected book of Psalms. Laments of this type surely predated the edited book of Psalms. Some arose in family and local kin group settings. Some no doubt were performed in the First Temple and still others at sites of worship or public discourse outside Jerusalem. There is very little specic to the Jerusalem temple in the content of the individual lament psalms. There are a few references suggesting that some psalms originated outside Jerusalem but were oriented in the direction of the temple (e.g. 3:4; 5:7; 28:2; 43:4; 138:2). A number of the psalms carry traces of a northern origin which almost certainly means that they were transmitted for as much as two centuries or more before being collected in the book of Psalms and revised for a Jerusalem setting (e.g. 29; 48; 68:1–23; 80). 1

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Intertextually, a comparison of the narrative of debt relief in Neh 5 and the Psalms is pertinent to the issue of the kinds of social settings that gave rise to the individual laments and would have been appropriate for their use.18 Nehemiah 5 has two features that are relevant to our inquiry. First, the passage contains the arc of a social drama in which there is excessive debt (breach), imposed over time and impoverishing the debtors (mounting crisis), the “executive order” of Nehemiah to cancel the debts (redressive action), and a concluding ceremony in which the creditors pledge to cancel the debts and there is social peace between debtors and creditors (reintegration). The setting bears generic resemblance to the psalms: the extremity of the suffering due to loss of land and surrender of their sons and daughters to debt slavery, the clamorous cry of the debtors as they indict their creditors with cruelty and heartlessness, the appeal of the debtors to someone with the authority and power to rescue them, and the public recognition that the debtors’ cause is just and the creditors are in the wrong and must restore the land they have taken. The second relevant feature of Neh 5 is the proximate chronological convergence of the narrative and the compilation of the book of Psalms. Of course it is precisely the last two phases of the social drama that the suppliants in the psalms of individual lament are desperately seeking but are unable to attain. They have no helper and do not have recourse to a just hearing. No redressive action and reintegration has rounded out their social drama. It is entirely realistic, however, to imagine many of the debtors in the narrative as the suppliants in the psalms before in concert they were able to get the sympathetic ear of Nehemiah. The governorship of Nehemiah is dated to the mid-fth century and it is during this postexilic era that the book of Psalms is generally believed to have been composed out of pre-existing individual psalms and blocs of psalms in smaller collections. The debtors who were literate would have been able to read the laments in the book of Psalms or in some prior form, or, if illiterate, would have had access to the ritual format of the individual lament as an oral performance. By employing the social drama metaphor to discern both the dynamic structure of the laments and the
ow of con
ictual social events to which the laments refer and in the midst of which they were created, I hope to have advanced the socio-critical reading of the Psalms another step in the direction that Erhard Gerstenberger and Gerald Sheppard have proposed. 18. Norman K. Gottwald, “The Expropriated and the Expropriators in Nehemiah 5,” in Concepts of Class in Ancient Israel (ed. Mark R. Sneed; South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 201; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1999), 1–19. 1

ARE INDIVIDUAL COMPLAINT PSALMS REALLY PRAYERS? RECOGNIZING SOCIAL ADDRESS AS CHARACTERISTIC OF INDIVIDUAL COMPLAINTS W. Derek Suderman

Although not universally held, many scholars describe prayer as direct address to or dialogue with God. While there are reasons to question this denition, the further step of naming individual complaint psalms as prayers compounds the problem. In this essay I argue that, given this denition, individual complaints as a genre do not qualify as prayers. Instead, one needs to recognize that either individual complaints contain prayer(s) but are not prayers in their entirety or that they redene the concept of prayer itself. In either case I contend that individual complaints can best be understood as oral speech addressed to both divine and social audiences, which are or have the potential to be heard and overheard by both other people and God. However one denes prayer, social address should be recognized as characteristic of individual complaint psalms. To tackle this issue I will brie
y outline some of the difculties with dening prayer and subsequently identify three options in scholarship for describing the connection between individual complaint psalms and prayer. I will then discuss an unfortunate example where one scholar has simultaneously adopted mutually exclusive options related to all three possibilities previously outlined, which adds to the confusion. Finally, I will critically draw upon the work of Gerald T. Sheppard to provide an improved description of the relationship between individual complaint psalms and prayer that recognizes social address as a characteristic element. 1. On De
ning Prayer Describing the relationship between individual complaint psalms and prayer requires a denition or at least a description of each element. While much attention has been given to the former, the second element 1

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has garnered less explicit argumentation. The ensuing discussion concentrates on this second issue to provide the basis for what follows. While many scholars recognize the difculty of dening prayer, most believe it consists of at least two elements; prayer is (1) direct address or some form of dialogue, and (2) addressed to God (or the gods). For instance, Walter Brueggemann explicitly links these two elements directly to the Psalter: “The psalms are prayers addressed to a known, named, identi
able you.”1 In a similar vein, Samuel Balentine states: All prayer is directed to God. In broad terms both the certainty of divine presence and the uncertainty of this presence most often determine the human response to God. These two responses are articulated generally as praise and lament, the one full of condence, the other of fear.2

Balentine re
ects further on both the importance and difculty of providing a “working denition” of prayer, and points to “intentionality” as an important criterion. Thus, he links prayer to “key Hebrew words” or narrative introductions as well as those “texts that lack specic prayer language or clear introductions but nevertheless…convey intentional and weighty address to God.”3 While the rst element re
ects Balentine’s particular interest in narrative contexts, the second proves broad enough to include most narrative conversation between human and divine characters, as long as the content meets the ambiguous criterion of “intentional and weighty address.” For him, prayer consists of direct address to God, but no formal or internal requirements are necessary. Patrick Miller provides a more far-reaching treatment of prayer in the Bible, describing those found in the Psalms, narrative contexts, as well as the New Testament. He suggests that prayer may (1) involve vocabulary that “suggests its character as a conversation or dialogue with God,” (2) be associated with formal places and situations of worship, (3) be identied “by a specic set of terms that all have to do with ‘crying out’ or ‘calling out’ for help,” and (4) involve vocabulary that “has to do with seeking direction or instruction from God.”4 While worship settings imply a social element, Miller’s description also appears to assume direct address to the divine as the basic characteristic of prayer.

1. Walter Brueggemann, The Psalms and the Life of Faith (ed. Patrick D. Miller; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 34 (original emphasis). 2. Samuel E. Balentine, Prayer in the Hebrew Bible: The Drama of Divine– Human Dialogue (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 33 (emphasis added). 3. Ibid., 31. 4. Patrick D. Miller, Jr., They Cried to the Lord: The Form and Theology of Biblical Prayer (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 46–48 (original emphasis). 1

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In contrast to a comprehensive attempt to describe prayer in the Bible, other scholars immediately limit the scope of their investigation with a specic denition. Thus, Rodney A. Werline inaugurates his study with the following statement: “A penitential prayer is a direct address to God in which an individual or group confesses sins and petitions for forgiveness.”5 Anneli Aejmelaeus adopts an even narrower focus, describing prayer as primarily imperative petition to God.6 While second-person address remains primary, some scholars contend that certain third-person statements about God also qualify as prayer. For instance, Moshe Greenberg states: As used here, prayer refers to nonpsalmic speech to God—less often about God—expressing dependence, subjection, or obligation; it includes petition, confession, benediction, and curse (but excludes references to nothing more than oracle-seeking).7

Although he explicitly removes psalms from consideration,8 Greenberg identies the possibility of third-person speech about God tting within prayer, but limits this mainly to the “baruk formula.”9 While he speaks of patterned address within prayer as being analogous to and even emerging from social speech, he does not discuss the potential of address to other people existing within prayer. Judith H. Newman’s “working denition” also allows for some thirdperson speech about God within prayer. For her, prayer “is address to God that is initiated by humans; it is not conversational in nature; and it includes address to God in the second person, although it can include third person description of God.”10 Thus, Newman distinguishes her

5. Rodney Alan Werline, Penitential Prayer in Second Temple Judaism: The Development of a Religious Institution (SBLEJL 13; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1998), 2. 6. Anneli Aejmelaeus, The Traditional Prayer in the Psalms (BZAW 167; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1986), 10. See the extended discussion of this work below. 7. Moshe Greenberg, Biblical Prose Prayer as a Window to the Popular Religion of Ancient Israel (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 7 (emphasis added). 8. Greenberg does so because his goal is to recover popular rather than formalized religion, and since he sees psalms as emerging from professionals rather than the “commoners” these do not contribute to this aim. See Greenberg, Biblical Prose Prayer, 6. 9. Ibid., 31–37. 10. Judith H. Newman, Praying by the Book: The Scripturalization of Prayer in Second Temple Judaism (SBLEJL 14; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1999), 6–7 (emphasis added). 1

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approach from Balentine by removing dialogue from consideration and disagrees with Greenberg’s inclusion of “third-person blessing” within prayer.11 While both Greenberg and Newman allow for some thirdperson speech within prayer, they disagree on the nature of this element; Greenberg focuses on benedictions such as “blessed be the LORD” rather than direct explicit and implicit social address, while the third-person elements Newman includes are not immediately identied. H.-J. Kraus adopts a contrasting approach. Rather than delimit his analysis by providing an initial denition of prayer, Kraus attempts to use categories present within the biblical material itself.12 Thus, he critiques Gunkel’s category of “individual laments” and introduces “prayer songs” (his rendering of 9=AE) as an improved alternative; while “prayer songs of the individual” represent one sub-category within this group, this classication occurs at a secondary rather than primary formcritical level.13 Kraus’s proposal allows for the possibility of third-person speech about God within “prayer songs.” Thus, despite its complete lack of direct address to God, Kraus places Ps 11 within this category: From this unique arrangement of the psalm we may already infer that the classication “prayer song” can only be a very general, comprehensive, temporary, and preliminary description, one that is in need of clarication and concretization by means of inquiry into the situation of the psalmist.14

Thus, Kraus recognizes the ambiguity of his approach, and seeks the answers to such difculties within the psalmist’s “situation.” In true form-critical fashion he is less interested in a denition of prayer than in connecting the description of various forms to the social settings in which they functioned. Perhaps the current difculty should not be surprising since tension regarding how to understand prayer already exists within the seminal work of Gunkel and Begrich. In the description of individual complaint psalms in their Introduction to the Psalms, these scholars frequently state that prayer consists of second-person address to God. For instance:

11. Ibid., 6–7. Though suitable according to her denition, Newman also brackets out second person “blessings” from her discussion “because of their distinguishable form-critical structure.” 12. Kraus does this so as “not to employ in our groupings foreign categories and designations that introduce modern aspects.” See Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 1–59 (trans. Hilton C. Oswald; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 40. 13. For his critique of Gunkel and his description of “prayer songs,” including those of the individual, see, Kraus, Psalms 1–59, 38–43 and 47–56, respectively. 14. Ibid., 201. 1

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It is instructive to observe how in those places where the pious one seeks to rouse himself to trust, the connection to YHWH in the form of prayer is lost. Then the psalmist speaks of God in the third person.15

Here the use of third person proves antithetical to prayer, or at least the “form of prayer.”16 While Gunkel and Begrich generally describe prayer as second person address to the divine they also identify third-person “wishes” as address to God, since jussives act as statements through which “YHWH is addressed and commanded to do something.”17 However, once a statement like “may God tear you down” directed towards a social audience qualies as prayer, both the criteria of direct address and that of a divine audience prove suspect.18 As we have seen, Gunkel and Begrich themselves both identify prayer as second-person address to God but also claim that some third-person descriptions of God and even elements addressed to others also qualify. Consequently, both those scholars who dene prayer as second-person address and others who include some third-person elements have precedents in the Introduction. Despite form criticism’s traditional emphasis on linking psalm genres to their respective settings in life, the lack of differentiation between elements addressed to God and those directed towards others also appears rooted in Gunkel’s work. Thus, while many scholars assert that prayer involves (1) direct address that (2) is made to God, neither criterion proves as straightforward as one might assume. Despite these difculties the default position in current scholarship remains largely unchanged. In the case of individual complaint psalms, however, such a description is only partially accurate. Indeed, both aspects of this common depiction prove problematic, since psalms of this type neither consist solely of direct address nor does such

15. Hermann Gunkel and Joachim Begrich, Introduction to Psalms: The Genres of the Religious Lyric of Israel (trans. James D. Nogalski; Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press, 1998), 172 (emphasis added). This assumption appears repeatedly, including: “Indeed, the condence escalates in tone to the point of a happy and secure certainty which requires nothing more than to petition for what he hopes will happen. Therefore, he foregoes the form of the prayer, that is the address to the deity” (ibid., 171). 16. Gerstenberger makes the same assumption, but uses the phrase “prayer style.” See his discussion of Ps 55 in Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Psalms, Part 1: With an Introduction to Cultic Poetry (FOTL 14; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1988), 255. 17. Gunkel and Begrich, Introduction to Psalms, 164. 18. For this and other specic examples, see, ibid., 167 (emphasis added). 1

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direct speech always address the divine. If one maintains this common denition of prayer, then the relationship between individual complaint psalms and prayer needs to be redescribed.19 2. Are Individual Complaint Psalms Prayers? On the basis of the dominant description of prayer, several options emerge for describing the relationship between these two categories: (1) either individual complaints are prayers, (2) some are prayers while others are not, or (3) individual complaints contain prayers but are not prayers in their entirety.20 The rst option, which simply identies individual complaint psalms as prayers, represents a truism prevalent among scholars. However, if one adopts a denition of prayer that consists of direct address to or dialogue with God, then the prevalence of social address within them creates an inevitable tension between prayer and individual complaint psalms. Indeed, since third-person speech about God appears consistently and direct address to people appears frequently within psalms of this type,21 one cannot maintain the common denition of prayer as direct address to, or dialogue with, God while simultaneously holding that individual complaint psalms are prayers in their entirety. With this denition individual complaints cannot simply be identied as a type or subcategory of prayer; therefore, the rst option must be rejected as inaccurate and unsatisfactory. While this problem does not necessarily require the rejection of the common denition of prayer, it does make it impossible to identify individual complaints as prayers without some form of qualication. The remaining possibilities qualify and nuance this unsatisfactory rst option. 19. Elsewhere I provide multiple examples where the audience of individual complaint psalms shifts back and forth between addressing God, others, and the psalmist himself. While Ps 55 provides one of the most striking examples, the prevalence of such shifts in address within psalms of this type underscores the need to redescribe the relationship between individual complaint psalms and prayer. See W. Derek Suderman, “Prayers Heard and Overheard: Shifting Address and Methodological Matrices in Psalms Scholarship” (Ph.D. diss., University of St. Michael’s College, 2007). 20. Another possibility would be simply to deny that individual complaints are prayers at all. However, since no scholar consulted took such a position, this option will be set aside without further discussion. 21. For a description of the prominence of shifts of address between various addressees, see the section, “Shifting Address in Individual Complaint Psalms,” in Suderman, “Prayers Heard and Overheard,” 100–191. 1

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A second option would be that some individual complaints are prayers while others are not. If only individual complaints that address God in their entirety qualify as prayers then the number of psalms classied as belonging to this type would dwindle signicantly, since approximately two thirds of them contain social or self-address in either explicit or implicit form. Another approach could be to argue that only those psalms whose primary audience is God should be regarded as prayers. If this line of argument were adopted, some delineation and consequent application of criteria for determining primary and secondary addressees would be necessary.22 Invoking any of these criteria would exclude several psalms generally classied form-critically as individual complaints on the basis that God is displaced as the principal addressee; the criteria themselves would also be open to critique as arbitrary measuring sticks. Again, as in the rst option, dening prayer as exclusively consisting of direct address to the divine would ensure that social address within these psalms garners less attention. Thus, while more logically consistent than the rst, the second option also proves unsatisfactory. Finally, one could argue that individual complaint psalms contain prayers but are not prayers in their entirety, and still maintain the dominant denition of prayer as direct address to God. From this perspective, individual complaints move back and forth between prayer and other elements, including social address. This description of the psalmist moving in and out of prayer within individual complaint psalms proves more accurate than the rst option and provides an improved description over the second. Indeed, unless one changes the denition of prayer itself to include social as well as divine address, this is the only option that accounts for the prevalent shifts in address between divine and social audiences. While some scholars who hold this third position consistently recognize social address in individual complaint psalms,23 the assumption that prayer consists only of direct address to God has led others to adopt narrow investigations that sideline social address. Indeed, for some the relationship between prayer and individual complaints appears to be predetermined by this a priori understanding of prayer. As a result, rather 22. One could conceivably identify the primary audience by the relative length of sections addressing different audiences, the order in which they appear, or various other means. 23. Gerstenberger, who contends that individual complaints emerge from smallgroup liturgical settings, mentions this element most consistently; see Gerstenberger, Psalms, Part 1. However, his primary focus lies in identifying the forms of speech present in the Psalms rather than attending to shifts in address and their implications. 1

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than beginning with individual complaint psalms in their entirety, the rst step becomes isolating those sections within such psalms that address God. Anneli Aejmelaeus’s work on “traditional prayer” provides a particularly striking example of such an approach. 3. Employing Incompatible Options: A Case Study In her book, The Traditional Prayer in the Psalms, Aejmelaeus seeks to uncover the basic structure of individual complaint psalms by focusing on imperative address to God within them. The rst section of the work consists of working through all of the terms used to address the divine in this way, while the second looks at these elements within their “immediate context.”24 Through this form-critical analysis Aejmelaeus discovers a recurring pattern, identied as “traditional prayer,” whose appearance, employment, and modication then prompts the relative dating of various psalms. Aejmelaeus states that her approach “will, I believe, enable the texts themselves to reveal something more of their character and origin. The present work is an attempt in this direction.”25 While the scope of the work is clear and she presents a cogent argument, the methodology Aejmelaeus adopts excises the social element of these psalms from the outset. For instance, she immediately delimits the “texts” she studies through her denition of prayer: The purpose of the present study is to inquire into the most central element of the individual complaint psalms, that part of the psalm which may be called prayer in the strict sense of the word… Complaint as such may appear as a description of misery and suffering with its standard expressions and metaphors, without necessarily even mentioning God. Prayer, on the other hand, is of its very essence speech to God in the vocative sense, as well as the use of pronouns and verbal forms in second person singular, particularly the imperative. In the presence of an unquestionable prayer even elements that in themselves do not address God appear as parts of the prayer.26

Thus, Aejmelaeus sees prayer as direct address to God by denition, epitomized most concretely in imperative petition. As a result of this description, however, Aejmelaeus immediately feels compelled to justify why she opts to sideline “third person subjunctives” or jussives. While she also cites the need to limit the scope of her project,27 the principle 24. 25. 26. 27. 1

Aejmelaeus, The Traditional Prayer in the Psalms, 54. Ibid., 9–10. Ibid., 10 (emphasis added). Ibid., 12.

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reason for eliminating this element appears to be its inherent grammatical ambiguity, since: “It is often difcult to distinguish between e.g., a clause that expresses belief in the punishment coming to an enemy from God and one that desires it.”28 While sympathetic to both concerns, eliminating jussives from consideration and dening prayer as she does prompts Aejmelaeus to overextend her argument. As long as she identies imperative petition as prayer, then individual complaints contain prayers but are not necessarily prayers in their entirety—the third option discussed above. However, this delimitation of the topic leads Aejmelaeus to adopt a circular argument by violating the implicit distinction between prayer and the genre designation required by this option. As stated previously, individual complaints cannot simultaneously contain prayers, understood as direct address to God, and be prayers in their entirety. Nonetheless, not only does prayer consist of direct address to God and necessarily contain imperative petition, in her view no psalm lacking this element should be considered an individual complaint either. As she states later: However, among the psalms commonly regarded as individual complaints a few contain no imperative petition at all, viz. Ps 11, 52, 62, and 63. Since Ps 11, 52, and 62 are for the most part addressed to the enemy—only the last verses of Ps 52:11 and 62:13 address God—the genre of these psalms should probably be reconsidered. They are hardly prayer psalms. Ps 63 again is comparable to Ps 23, a psalm of condence with an address to God but with no explicit petition.29

In her view “imperative petition” proves so signicant within individual complaint psalms that Aejmelaeus assumes that those lacking this element do not belong to the category; in effect, even psalms with direct address to God may not qualify as individual complaints if this is not imperative address. Since her reconstructed pattern of traditional prayer displaces other criteria, Aejmelaeus can claim that “the OT Psalter does not contain complaints as distinct from prayer.”30 Such a contention proves circular, however, since it is only possible by rst eliminating those individual complaints lacking such an element from the category.

28. Ibid., 11–12. 29. Ibid., 50. 30. Ibid., 10. And again: “On the other hand, not all psalms of the Psalter contain imperative petitions. As for the psalms generally regarded as individual complaint psalms, most of them reveal several occurrences of imperative petitions, which to this genre seem to be more or less indispensable. The ones with no occurrence hardly justify their inclusion in the genre of individual complaint” (ibid., 15). 1

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In effect, Aejmelaeus adopts all three of the options listed above without recognizing their incompatibility. By identifying prayer, at least “in the strict sense of the word,” as imperative address to God, she adopts the third option listed above in which individual complaints contain prayer(s). As the quotation above re
ects, Aejmelaeus also suggests that the extent of social address in some psalms disqualify them from being individual complaints, a stance which re
ects the second option. Finally, her equation of individual complaint psalms with prayer prompts Aejmelaeus to claim that psalms which do not address God do not belong in the genre, which re
ects the reasoning of the rst option discarded above as logically inconsistent. Taken to its extreme, Aejmelaeus’s reasoning would allow that even those psalms that address God but do not do so in the imperative may be disqualied from the genre of individual complaints, and potentially even from the category of prayer itself. As this brief survey demonstrates, Aejmelaeus’s claim to describe something emerging “from the texts themselves” proves thoroughly imbued with the methodological approach employed and the assumptions presupposed.31 By limiting the elements considered, as well as the context in which they are placed, Aejmelaeus displays a relative neglect of social address in individual complaint psalms. Since the context explored remains that immediately surrounding imperative address to God, categories such as imperative and other address to a social audience, speech about God in third person, and appearances of the “subjunctive” receive sparse consideration.32 In this instance, an argument regarding imperative address to God over
ows the boundaries of its method and leads to the suggestion that those psalms without such forms should be disqualied as individual complaints. In effect, Aejmelaeus’s denition of “prayer” has trumped complaint as a category. Having outlined several options regarding the relationship between individual complaint psalms and prayer, the social element of prayer has been largely overlooked in each case. In an extreme example, Aejmelaeus identies imperative address to God as the constitutive element of psalms of this type, which leads her to concentrate exclusively on the “immediate context” of such occurrences and dismiss elements of individual complaints not directed to the divine. In contrast to such an 31. Ibid., 9–10. 32. The limitation of the study’s scope to the “immediate context” of imperative address results in an apparent paucity of social address (ibid., 47). However, once one considers instances of address within the broader context of entire psalms, social address proves to be a signicantly more prominent feature than she suggests. See Suderman, “Prayers Heard and Overheard,” 100–191. 1

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approach, focusing on shifts in address places the importance of social address within psalms of this type in stark relief. The discussion to follow explores the implications of such shifts and argues that social address, whether as direct or indirect forms, should be recognized as a characteristic element of individual complaint psalms. 4. Hearing and Overhearing Prayer: Recognizing Social Address as Characteristic of Individual Complaint Psalms In his article on enemies and prayer in the Psalms, Gerald T. Sheppard argues that prayers in the Bible are generally said out loud and can consequently be “overheard,” an element he sees as a characteristic feature of biblical prayer. While he draws primarily on sociological and anthropological studies, his approach accounts for the shifts in address found within individual complaint psalms and provides an important corrective for considering their relationship to prayer. Building on the socio-literary work of Norman K. Gottwald, and particularly the assumption that prayers are heard in public,33 Sheppard argues that prayer should be understood as a profoundly social and political act. Employing anthropological studies of prayer in peasant societies, Sheppard adds to Gottwald’s contention that the enemies of the psalms represent hostile authorities by suggesting that they are often “intimate enemies” rather than distant ones.34 These studies also concur with his contention that prayer should be understood as being spoken orally and meant to elicit social as well as divine response.35 Finally, Sheppard questions the common tendency among form critics to assume a development from early oral to later written prayer, arguing instead for a continuation of oral prayer alongside its written expression.36

33. Gerald T. Sheppard, “ ‘Enemies’ and the Politics of Prayer in the Book of Psalms,” in The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday (ed. David Jobling, Peggy L. Day, and Gerald T. Sheppard; Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim, 1991), 61–83 (69). 34. As Sheppard states: “Furthermore, in peasant societies the ‘enemies’ frequently include one’s peers who become unfriendly, aloof, inhospitable, uncaring, or openly antagonistic. Likewise, the psalms are replete with comments about betrayal by friends, neighbors, and family… So, if psalms often consider ruling authorities enemies, as Gottwald emphasizes, they just as often assume the enemy is a peer, a neighbor, or a member of the family” (“ ‘Enemies’ and the Politics of Prayer,” 70). 35. Ibid., 71. 36. Ibid. 1

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Turning to biblical material, Sheppard draws on the accounts of Hannah’s prayer in 1 Sam 1 and the book of Job to argue that prayer should also be understood as an oral rather than a written phenomena within this corpus. As he states: Clearly, the tradition assumes that Eli’s inability to overhear the prayer is exceptional rather than normal. As in the case of Job, prayers are not considered in general elsewhere in the Old Testament to be secretive, silent, or private exercises. The capacity of a prayer to be overheard is a characteristic rather than an incidental feature of it.37

For Sheppard, this oral element and the consequent possibility that prayers can be overheard underscore their social and political nature. After noting the three parties Westermann identies as central to the lament, Sheppard contrasts his own perspective with Westermann’s position that the enemies are generally oblivious to the psalmist’s words: On this point, I am proposing the opposite circumstance, namely, that prayers are assumed to be overheard or, later, heard about by friends and enemies alike; and, furthermore, “enemies” mentioned in these prayers, as often as not, belong to the very same social setting in which one prays. The presence of overhearing “enemies” is integral to the prayer situation and in
uences the perceived function of prayer socially, rhetorically, religiously, and politically.38

Since Sheppard’s reconstruction of the social context of prayer prompts him to identify indirect address as a characteristic of prayer, this in turn leads him to describe the ways in which this element functions in the Psalter: I nd three principal ways in which the enemy is indirectly addressed in these prayers: (1) as someone whom the psalmist, through overheard prayer, implicitly exposes in public and from whom protection is now sought; (2) through indictments or threats against the enemy; and (3) by harsh commands, advice, or instruction given to the enemy, often in hope for the conversion of the enemy.39

From this basis Sheppard then develops each element, drawing on various examples. What Sheppard proposes from a sociological and anthropological perspective proves consistent with an exploration into shifts in address in individual complaint psalms. On grammatical grounds one can see that individual complaints consistently both address God and speak about the divine in third person, just as they both describe 37. Ibid., 72. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., 73. 1

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enemies and address them directly. In other words, the rhetorical situation implicit in most psalms of this type re
ects the possibility of speaking in different ways to different audiences. Further, if we follow Sheppard’s argument and hear these psalms as oral rather than reading them simply as written texts, each audience also has the potential to overhear what is being said to someone else. Thus, when a petitioner moves from addressing God directly to addressing the enemy, one can assume that the divine, though no longer the immediate audience, overhears what is being said. The opposite also obtains, since shifting from direct address to an enemy or supporter to addressing God contains the implicit possibility if not expectation that the “other” is able to hear the speaker’s words to God as well. Nonetheless, Sheppard’s description of indirect address does not adequately differentiate among addressees. While he provides a helpful list of social aspects of prayer, the three elements he identies are sometimes addressed to the divine, but can also be spoken directly to the enemy (see Ps 55:13 [Heb. 14]). The third category proves particularly telling in this regard. When exhortation is given directly “to the enemy” in Ps 55 and elsewhere, this represents an instance of direct rather than indirect discourse. Similar comments could be made regarding the other two elements; in Ps 55 the “friend” is not “implicitly” but explicitly exposed. Similarly, “indictments or threats” against the enemy are often addressed to God but can also be addressed to other people directly (see Ps 6:8 [Heb. 9]); this may re
ect instances of direct rather than indirect address. As the quotation above illustrates, Sheppard’s depiction of direct speech to others as “indirect address” relates once again to the broader issue regarding the relationship between individual complaints and prayer. Like most of the scholars discussed previously, Sheppard assumes that prayer constitutes address to the divine, since God is “the primary listener.”40 Given this starting point, social address—even when employed in direct, second-person speech—becomes indirect in light of its primary divine audience. At the same time, however, Sheppard recognizes that God is not the only audience, noting that instances of address to others also prove common within the Psalms.41 Indeed, it is only in this sense that the elements listed above could be depicted as indirect address. However, if we speak of individual complaints in their entirety, then these psalms necessarily include the possibility of direct as well as indirect social address. Put succinctly, while prayer in the common denition addresses God, individual complaints frequently address others 40. Ibid., 74. 41. Here Sheppard refers to such social address as “asides” (ibid., 74–75). 1

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as well. Thus, although such persons indeed “overhear” those elements directed to God, they also may “hear” elements spoken directly to them. Once one considers each individual complaint psalm as a whole, more often than not the psalmist addresses others in addition to God, and so the implicit and often explicit social audience does more than simply “overhear.”42 Identifying this “overheard” nature as characteristic of individual complaint psalms claries several related issues. For instance, each psalm classied as having more than one addressee then also re
ects instances of indirect address. To refer to the example cited above, the psalmist explicitly addresses both God and the treacherous friend early in Ps 55. In vv. 16–22, however, the psalmist does not speak directly towards either party previously identied; nonetheless, both God and the “friend” presumably overhear what is being said about them to another audience. The possibility of overhearing a complaint also sheds light on the ambiguity identied earlier, since jussives can perform a double, if not triple, function; they can simultaneously call on divine action to address a wrong, expose and warn erstwhile enemies, and even foster support among potential supporters.43 While the ambiguous nature of jussives led Aejmelaeus to exclude them from her study, it is precisely this ambiguity that enables them to function well in this regard. Recognizing social address as a characteristic element of individual complaint psalms also contributes to an improved description of various formal elements. For instance, from this perspective both the common sub-category of “psalms of condence” as well as shorter “expressions of condence” within a given psalm become more than private re
ections. In light of the implicit social situation characteristic of the majority of individual complaints, this condent tone also re
ects the function 42. This difculty in Sheppard’s description is re
ected in the following: “Other psalms indirectly address the enemy as well as any potential enemies among those who overhear. Prayers may contain statements in the second person, in the form of a command…or a repartee” (ibid., 77). The examples listed clarify that Sheppard is speaking of social address in second person here, which would consequently be better described as direct rather than indirect address. Even if one grants that other people are not the primary addressees of the psalms in question, rhetorically speaking the elements listed are not statements directed to a divine audience and overheard socially, but addressed to a social audience and overheard by God. 43. Sheppard suggests that the nature of this primary address to God “explains why the enemies do not need to be named” and offers a level of protection to the psalmist. He also notes that explicitly naming the enemy would have also been a live option, citing Neh 6:14. Of course, the lack of specic referents also enables the psalms to function as vehicles which can be reused in different circumstances (ibid., 73–75). 1

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of comforting supporters while simultaneously exhorting, warning, and even threatening adversaries. Such a perspective provides increased precision by differentiating between a note of condence directed towards God which may be overheard socially (“I trust you, O my God”) and a similarly condent claim addressed to someone else (“the LORD has listened and has heard my prayer”). While formally equivalent, the former articulates condence, while the latter carries an implicit exhortation if not thinly veiled threat. Further, this perspective may also be helpfully applied to those psalms which appear to be directed towards only one addressee. Though Ps 11 never calls on God directly, in light of the prevalence of intermingled address and audiences found elsewhere in individual complaints, one can assume that the psalm addresses the LORD indirectly. Thus, while stated to the psalmist’s adversaries, the claim that God “tests the righteous and the wicked” also represents an indirect appeal to God to embody this description in the current situation. Similarly, those psalms that explicitly address only God can also be heard in light of a broader social audience. Just as God overhears complaints aimed directly at the psalmist’s foes (Ps 11), those addressed to the divine regarding the “enemy” also have the potential to be overheard by others, friend and foe alike (Ps 5). To reiterate, however, ndings regarding the extent of explicit social address should not be overlooked when emphasizing the possibility of “overheard” complaints or indirect address. Often the implied human observers around the psalmist do not just overhear, but hear; not only does the psalmist address God, but people are also addressed directly. Although Sheppard suggests a sharp distinction between his perspective and that of Westermann, in my view the current investigation also appears amenable to the latter’s overall perspective. As Westermann states: Nevertheless, as an event the lament is by nature threefold. In every lament there are “the others” and—expressed or implied—they always have something to do with the lament. For the one who utters the lament is never an isolated individual standing alone; the lamenter is always a member of a group. This fundamental structure is the common feature of all the laments in the O.T.; it unites all their varied expressions.44

While Sheppard sees his position as contrary to that of Westermann, the disjuncture he identies appears to re
ect methodological differences and divergent goals between the two scholars rather than the mutually exclusive nature of their respective proposals. Westermann seeks to 44. Claus Westermann, Praise and Lament in the Psalms (trans. Keith R. Crim and Richard N. Soulen; Atlanta, Ga.: John Knox, 1981), 169–70. 1

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return to a more form-centered analysis of individual laments, explicitly situating his work as a reaction against the tendency to prioritize setting.45 In contrast, Sheppard draws upon the social setting of prayer, expanding the eld of comparison beyond societies contemporary with ancient Israel to include current anthropological studies. In effect, Sheppard adopts a form-critical style of argumentation focused on function and based on a reconstruction of the social contexts of prayer in the tradition history of the Psalter, while Westermann also employs a form-critical approach, but one that emphasizes the form of lament and its change over time. In my view, Westermann’s threefold description of individual complaints remains helpful, but one that should be supplemented by Sheppard’s insight that enemies may not stand afar off, but may in fact be part of the psalmist’s immediate social circle. In effect, by maintaining his focus on formal and thematic characteristics rather than shifts of address in these psalms, Westermann does not pursue the full implications of his insight; the others are not simply another element, but the recipients of both direct and indirect address within individual complaint psalms. While Sheppard recognizes this element, his description of social address as “indirect” does not go far enough, since the psalmist often addresses a social audience directly. Finally, prompted by his “canonical approach,” Sheppard raises a signicant issue which can only be mentioned here but also deserves further attention. Moving beyond a purely comparative or tradition historical investigation he seeks to describe the Psalter as part of scripture: My study will conclude with some further suggestions about how the originating sociopolitical situation is partially retained, but also how the scriptural presentation subverted, reoriented, or semantically transformed other moments in the same prebiblical traditions when they became a part of scripture.46

Thus, Sheppard explores lines of continuity but also of discontinuity that exist between scripture and the tradition history lying behind it. As the rst element in this regard Sheppard discusses the psalm titles or superscriptions, which he suggests allow readers to overhear the psalms analogously, as may have occurred earlier in their tradition history. Sheppard contends that hearing these psalms in light of the persons and situations identied in their superscriptions remains a viable option, which also allows for contemporary scholars to interpret a similar text as 45. Ibid., 165. 46. Sheppard, “ ‘Enemies’ and the Politics of Prayer,” 78. 1

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those in the pre-critical history of interpretation.47 However, maintaining psalm titles as part of the text to be interpreted moves against prevailing tendencies, since these elements have been consistent casualties of critical methodologies within Psalms scholarship—even among rhetorical and structuralist critics who otherwise espouse a synchronic approach.48 Sheppard’s work underscores the need for greater recognition of the interplay between text and context within critical methods, as well as an increased self-awareness of the assumptions scholars hold. In contrast to the approach of Aejmelaeus that focuses solely on imperative address to God and its immediate surroundings, once one allows individual complaint psalms in their entirety to provide the context for interpretation, social address emerges as a characteristic feature of this psalm type. Thus, individual complaint psalms can best be heard as oral speech addressed to both God and other people, a perspective which accounts for the prevalence of shifts of address within them and recognizes social address in both direct and indirect forms. 5. Conclusion Walter Brueggemann states: “The psalms are prayers addressed to a known, named, identi
able you.”49 Although individual complaints are often linked to such a perspective, it remains only partially accurate. While the vast majority of psalms of this type address the divine directly, most also include elements of social address. Along with Gerald Sheppard I too see social address as a characteristic element of individual complaints. Going further than Sheppard, I contend that instances of direct address to enemies and others suggest that the social audience frequently does more than simply overhear, but hears or hears about elements addressed directly to them. Thus, in addition to speaking to a divine audience, individual complaint psalms also address a largely unknown, unnamed, unidentiable, and social you. As already seen, increased recognition of social address in individual complaint psalms has several implications. For instance, the common 47. Pre-critical is not used pejoratively here, but only to identify interpretation that preceded the advent of “biblical criticism” as it is commonly known. 48. See the section, “Author, Text, and Context in Divergent Methodological Matrices,” in Suderman, “Prayers Heard and Overheard,” 13–99. For further discussion of both the implications of this scriptural context and its current scholarly neglect, see also the section, “Individual Complaints and their Interpretive Contexts” (ibid., 215–24). 49. Brueggemann, The Psalms and the Life of Faith, 34 (original emphasis). 1

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tendency to dene prayer as direct address to, or dialogue with, God and then identify individual complaints as prayers proves fundamentally problematic. While stating that individual complaints contain prayer(s) but are not such in their entirety proves more accurate than other possibilities, this perspective has led some to downplay the amount and importance of social address within psalms of this type. Although referring to this psalm type as “individual” accurately re
ects the “I” of the speaker, unfortunately this label may also blur the prevalence of shifts in address and the multiple audiences they re
ect. While I have attempted to provide an improved description of the relationship between individual complaint psalms and prayer, further discussion regarding the link between address to God and social address is necessary. More exploration of this topic may challenge the prevalent description of prayer itself; Sheppard’s depiction of prayer as primarily, but therefore not exclusively, addressed to God may be a step in this direction. Nonetheless, whatever one’s denition of prayer, social address should be recognized as a characteristic element of individual complaint psalms rather than either being overlooked or excised as an aberration.

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GOD AS THE OBJECT OF ANGER IN THE PSALMS* David John C. Zub

Almost one third of the compositions in the book of Psalms are identied as psalms of lament.1 Psalms of this type are typied by a vocalized complaint within the distinctive structure of the poem. Frequently, these complaints are specic to the psalm in which they are voiced. For instance, Pss 22, 38, and 102 refer to sickness; Pss 7, 35, 37, and 69 refer to injustice against the speaker. Many of the individual psalms of lament have the distinctive and entirely human feature of expressing anger. Some of these psalms express anger at God, a notion foreign to current practices of Western Christianity. This essay, offered in memory and honor of my teacher, Gerry Sheppard, will examine several psalms containing expressions of anger at God and will consider the form, structure, and intertextual relationship of these expressions within the Tanakh. The function of these psalms as prayer will be explored along with the issue of anger as a legitimate factor in the relationship between God and human beings. Psalms 13, 22, 88, and 89 will be specically considered, with reference made to other psalms of lament within the Psalter and throughout the Hebrew Bible. * This study grew out of an assignment written for Gerald Sheppard’s secondyear Master of Divinity course on the Psalms. An earlier version was rst published in Church Divinity 1991–1992 (ed. F. S. Tebbe; Donaldson, Ind.: Graduate Theological Foundation, 1992). Professor Sheppard’s course was among the rst I took at Emmanuel after transferring from Queen’s Theological College. I was privileged to have him as a teacher several times before graduating with an M.Div. in 1993. Not only was he warm and encouraging during my M.Div. studies, with a ready, open door and an encyclopedic knowledge of his own disciplines, he often conveyed a mastery of multi-disciplinary integration that both appealed to and challenged me during the years in which I was engaged in Th.D. studies. His life was a model of knowledge, wit, and friendship; his death was a tremendous blow to so many of us who continue to owe him so much. 1. Claus Westermann, The Psalms: Structure, Content & Message (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1980), 53. 1

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1. The Formula of Grief The structure of the individual psalms of lament has been well documented by scholars such as Westermann2 and Brueggemann.3 Psalm 13 gives the briefest example of the essential form and structure of the individual lament. This psalm can be represented in the following outline:4 ADDRESS:

Lord

v. 1a

“How long, O Lord?”

LAMENT:

Thou I

v. 1a v. 3c

“How long will you forget me? “How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?”

v. 4

“Consider and answer me! Lighten my eyes! “Let my heart rejoice in your salvation

PETITION

v. 6b MOTIVATION:

v. 4b v. 5b

“Lest I sleep the sleep of death…” “Lest my enemies rejoice…”

TRUST

v. 6a

“But I trusted in your steadfast love…”

PRAISE

v. 6c

“I will sing to the LORD…”

This psalm immediately launches into the heart of human suffering. It begins by repeatedly demanding an answer to the situation of grief as it involves God (in God’s perceived absence), self, and the “enemy”:5 How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul… How long shall my enemy be exalted over me? (13:1–2)

The use of repetition as a poetic device is even more compelling in Hebrew, where the repetitive phrase (9? 5) (13:2–3) sighs out the despair of the complainant. The lament is clearly made: God has forgotten me, turned from me. I am suffering. My enemy is exalted over me. How long will this go on?

2. Ibid., 54–60. 3. Walter Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms: A Theological Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984), 58–60. 4. My translation. Versication here follows BHS. Unless otherwise indicated, all translations are from the NRSV. 5. Westermann, Psalms: Structure, Content & Message, 55. 1

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Psalm 22 is a much longer work that structurally resembles Ps 13.6 It begins with an address, closely followed by a lament that includes God’s abandonment (v. 1, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”), human suffering (v. 2, “I cry by day…”), and the enemy (vv. 12–13, “Many bulls encircle me…”). The psalm contains a confession of trust (vv. 3–5, 9–10), a petition (vv. 11, 19–21) with a motivation (v. 11b, “…there is no one to help me…”), and a lengthy declaration of praise (vv. 22–31). The pray-er of Ps 88 appears to be obsessed with imminent death. The structure consists of an address (vv. 1–2), lament (vv. 3–9), a renewed plea with motivation (vv. 10–12, “Do the shades rise up to praise you?”), and a nal plea that includes the perspective of having been abandoned by God (vv. 13–18, “…why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me?”). The most remarkable aspect of this psalm is the absence of any overt statement of trust. The poem ends, in fact, on a note of despair emphasizing that God’s abandonment has “caused friend and neighbour to shun me; my companions are in darkness” (v. 18). Psalm 89 appears to be a mixed composition that includes elements of the community lament and enthronement psalms. The community is personied in the Davidic gure and the lament is voiced in the third person (vv. 38–52). The address precedes the lament in the body of the longer poem. The lament section begins with the complaint (vv. 38–45), including abandonment of person and covenant, the enemy, and suffering (“…you have covered him with shame”). Verse 46 contains another haunting expression of God’s abandonment (9> 5) similar to the one found in Ps 13. This is followed by a petition, which includes a statement of motivation (“Remember how short my time is…”). The expression of trust that follows is more implied than stated within vv. 49–50, which calls upon God to remember the “steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore…” The poem ends with a succinct statement of praise: “Blessed be the LORD forever. Amen and Amen.” Each psalm contains a complaint that hints at the reason for the complaint. In Pss 13, 22 and 89 the complaint concerns “enemies.” The prayer in Ps 88 is made by someone who is desperately sick with an unnamed malady. Each poem implies that God could alleviate the suffering if God chose to do so. Finally, each poem expresses the corollary to this belief: if God is with us when we prosper, we suffer because God 6. The intertextual relationship of the psalm with the New Testament (Matt 27:46; Mark 15:34) will not be dealt with in this essay. For a discussion of the cross as lament in suffering and thanksgiving, see John Reumann, “Psalm 22 at the Cross,” Int 28 (1974): 39–58 (39). 1

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abandons us. This expression of abandonment is considered to be unjust and each prayer articulates anger at God for God’s abandonment. This expression of anger over God’s abandonment says something, therefore, about God’s presence. 2. The Refuge The book of Psalms does not stand alone in scripture. The validity of any claim to canon that these poems have is dependent upon their reference and relationship with the rest of the scriptures. This relationship is established by direct reference to other texts or by using formulaic devices and metaphors found in the Hebrew texts. The prayer is therefore placed within a framework that is supported by a common tradition and belief system, which is expressed in accessible language. One of the references commonly used to describe God throughout the Hebrew scriptures is “refuge”: The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold and my refuge, my savior; you save me from violence. (2 Sam 22:2b–3) Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge. (Ps 57:1) [The branch of the LORD] will serve…as a refuge and a shelter from the storm and rain. (Isa 4:6) O LORD, my strength and my stronghold, my refuge in the day of trouble. (Jer 16:19)

Other references to God as “refuge” can be found in Ruth 2:12; Prov 14:31 and 30:5; Zeph 3:12; Deut 32:37; Judg 9:15; Nah 1:7, and, of course, throughout the book of Psalms. It is clear that there was a common understanding of the notion that God is a refuge, a source of protection for the believer, and that certain words (38 >, DH?>, 9DI) conveyed this notion to the pray-er and to those listening to the recitation. There is a sense conveyed by this metaphor and its correlative images (rocks that protect from the elements; a shield that protects from the swords of enemies) that the “refuge” is a place to which one can run when there is no place else to go. When the pray-er has reached the limit of his or her own resources and the elements of the surrounding environment have apparently conspired against all hope of personal recovery, then the 1

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pray-er bolts for the cover of the refuge. This colloquial statement serves as an admission and a conrmation of the fragility of life. The perilous nature of life constitutes another common feature of the four laments examined here. Though none contain an overt expression of God as a refuge, there are expressions of God’s “steadfast love” (5DI) in 13:5; 88:11; 89:1–2, 14, 24, 28, 33, and 49. These statements stand as an afrmation of God’s past intercession and a trust in God’s ability to be seen in benevolence and protection—to be a “refuge.” However, the pray-er of these four psalms has experienced the total frailty of life and the chaos of impending destruction. He or she has
ed to the cleft in the rock, but has found no refuge. The pray-er has reached out with every expectation of salvation and safety and has found none. When one prays with the expectation that prayers are always answered, and receives no apparent answer, anxiety is provoked. To the pray-er, there are only two possibilities: the pray-er has unconsciously sinned, perhaps by seeking refuge apart from God (such as in Deut 32), and is suffering just punishment for the sin; or God has capriciously abandoned the pray-er. Both possibilities offer a burden of anxiety, for they speak of either personal responsibility or of an unjust God. 3. The Anxiety of Job All four psalms examined here explore an experience of abandonment, with Ps 88 doing so in a way that is reminiscent of the title character in the book of Job. Job 3 is a lament of extraordinary suffering in which the central gure questions the event of his conception and asks: “Why is light given to one in misery, and life to the bitter in soul?” (3:20; also Jer 15:10–21). Later, in 23:8–9, Job describes God’s apparent absence from his life: If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.

Finally, in ch. 31, Job lays open the facts of the case in a manner that implies God’s absence: “If I have done anything to deserve my torment, show it to me. But I have not sinned, and therefore my punishment is not just. Oh that I had one to hear me!” (31:35). The character of Job is engaged in lament based on the belief that the world is founded upon some kind of cosmic justice. To the characters of the book of Job, God’s universe is created with a quid pro quo (reward and punishment) system that Tsevat refers to as “the principle of 1

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retribution.”7 Job’s experience is cognitively dissonant: he knows that God’s creation is based upon a principle of retribution; he knows that God is just; and Job knows, with equal certainty, that he has not sinned in any way that merits the “punishment” that he is experiencing. In trying to reconcile the three incompatible aspects of his situation, Job tries every manner of rationalization that he can manufacture. Job’s situation expresses an irreconcilable dilemma that Tsevat represents in a triangle:

In this schema, G = God, J = Job (who represents “the upright man”), and R = the principle of retribution, or the justice of creation. In this book, the friends cancel “J”: Job must have sinned while God cancels “R”. The pertinent point here is that in his struggle to come to terms with his situation, Job comes very close to cancelling “G.” The human belief in the principle of retribution is so intense that humanity will consider the notion of God’s non-existence before letting go of the notion of cosmic quid pro quo. Job considers the injustice of his situation as proof of God’s absence, and the absence provokes Job’s anger. His keening lament throughout the book is as much a lament for the loss of his reality as it is a lament for the loss of his children, health, and wealth. It is this dilemma that confronts the pray-er of the psalms of lament. The book of Job proposes that the principle of retribution is not always a factor in God’s world. Instead, it is suggested that there is some form of randomness in the world that is the price of creation. The notion of “the just God” simply cannot be reconciled with human reality.8 The four 7. Matitiahu Tsevat, “The Meaning of the Book of Job,” HUCA 37 (1966): 73–106. 8. Ibid., 104. Tsevat does not exclude the possibility of God’s activity in the world, but asks that the possibility of God as self-limiting, though not necessarily limited, be considered: “The Book of Job…presents the purest moral theory in the Bible… [I]t would be a grave error to interpret its denial of divine retribution as constituting a legitimate excuse for man from his obligations to establish justice on earth. Justice is not woven into the stuff of the universe, nor is God occupied with its administration but it is an ideal to be realized by society and in it… [Job] does not exclude the possibility of God’s obligating Himself to abide by human standards in 1

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psalms and Job re
ect this abiding crux. The experience of cognitive dissonance (inconsistency among aspects of knowledge, feelings, and behavior) creates intense anxiety. The aetiology of that anxiety is connected to the loss of those things that provide security, stability, and joy in human existence (e.g. safety, loved ones, wealth, and health). The anxiety that results from the loss of such things can give rise to grief which in turn can be expressed in anger. 4. The Formfulness of Grief 9 Brueggemann asserts that the form of the lament psalm is consistent with its function, which is to evoke rehabilitation and restoration. Brueggemann also asserts that the use of the form in Israel and elsewhere acknowledges that grief itself is formful. The contemporary characterization of grief also acknowledges a form that corresponds to the psalmic expression of grief:10 (1)

Denial: Israel’s speech begins with the covenantal address, which calls upon the pray-er’s understanding of history. In the absence of history, the modern supplicant expresses denial.

(2)

Anger: How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever. (13:1) My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (22:1) O LORD, why do you cast me off? (88:14) How long, O LORD? Will you hide yourself forever? (89:46)

(3)

Bargaining: …I will sleep the sleep of death, and my enemy will say, “I have prevailed.” (13:3) I will tell of your name…in the midst of the congregation I will praise you. (22:22) Do the shades rise up to praise you? (88:10) Remember how short my time is… (89:47)

regard to specic occasions and contexts… God, while often the author of the standards for human conduct is Himself bound by them only in exceptional cases.” 9. Walter Brueggemann, “The Formfulness of Grief,” Int 31 (1977): 263–75. The taxonomy that follows is from E. Kubler Ross, On Death and Dying (New York: Macmillan, 1969). 10. Brueggemann, “The Formfulness of Grief,” 268–70. 1

178 (4)

The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation Depression: But I am a worm, and not human. (22:6) I am counted among those who go down to the Pit: I am like those who have no help… (88:4) …you have covered him with shame… (89:45)

(5)

Acceptance: I will sing to the LORD, because he has dealt bountifully with me. (13:6) From you comes my praise in the great congregation… (22:25–31) Blessed be the LORD forever. (89:52)

This comparison of the psalms with a contemporary taxonomy of grief indicates several aspects about the psalms of lament and their authors. First, we can see that the accessible, even simple language of the psalms in no way indicates an ignorant or unsophisticated authorship. On the contrary, to express the complex aspects of grief in personal and colloquial language while maintaining the generalized quality of the psalms is an act of genius. Second, the psalms of lament serve as an acknowledgment of the subjective reality of grief. These poems validate the pray-er’s feelings and fears. There is no indication that the pray-er’s feelings are invalid. Those feelings are concerned with a loss of social standing and self-worth, a sense of being oppressed by enemies or a disease, and a sense of abandonment and isolation. Third, a sense of the normalcy of these feelings is communicated without arguing with the content. Although sophisticated in both theological and human understanding, the prayers are not intended as theological treatises. The psalms of lament do not communicate what people think, but what they feel. Psalms are a formulaic prayer, and prayer expresses the subjective reality of life that includes the manifestation of anxiety caused by cognitive dissonance: I am suffering; God makes sinners suffer; but I have not sinned in such a way as to deserve this. Therefore God has treated me unjustly—God has abandoned me: “My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?” The psalms of lament validate the subjective reality of human suffering, which includes a sense of separation and isolation from community and even from God. At some point in the process of grief, a legitimate human response is anger. Anger is directed against that agent which is seen to be responsible for loss and suffering. This will include the source of the condition itself, whether the “enemy” or the illness. But if the dominant myths and values of the community of faith include the notion that God is imminently involved in all human affairs, that God is the 1

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administrator of justice, or even that God could will the end of the suffering and the restitution of that which is lost, then the object of the anger will be God. Whether this is theologically right or wrong is irrelevant to the function of the psalms of lament. Their existence is inspired by the reality that people will feel—and must express—anger toward God when it is perceived that God is the cause of suffering or is refusing to alleviate it. Sheppard points out that there is a compellingly political aspect to prayer, which is even more apparent when prayer is spoken out loud and intended to be overheard, as was probably the case in the Temple cult of Israel.11 The psalms of lament were intended to be heard by God and by those people in close proximity. These psalms may have been, then, an implicit appeal to the congregation to act on God’s behalf in alleviating the suffering or enacting justice. This association between the apparent absence of God and being isolated by the community is made in the psalms, for there are references to the community permitting, even enabling, the suffering: “They surround me like a
ood all day long.… You have caused friend and neighbor to shun me; my companions are in darkness” (88:17–18). One of the functions of the psalms of lament is to name the source of suffering within the community in a generalized way. In this way, the problem is “out in the open” for the discernment of the community and for their possible action and activity. There is some indication that the rst level of that activity is in the saying of the prayer with the sufferer. Psalm 22, for instance, demonstrates the possibility of collective response in the changing of the person/object of the verse: One: All: One:

You who fear the LORD, praise him! For…he did not hide his face from me, but heard when I cried to him. From you comes my praise in the great congregation; my vows I will pay before those who fear him. (Ps 22:23–25)

It is apparent that the pray-er is not talking to God, but rather to the congregation that is near. In the same way, indirect address identies those who may have enabled the suffering, or who are doing nothing about it (88:18). This may have served a certain shame value in the community that exhorted others to help, or which identied those who stood in the shadows as poor examples of faithful living. In either case, there is 11. E.g. 1 Sam 1:12–19. G. T. Sheppard, “ ‘Enemies’ and the Politics of Prayer in the Book of Psalms,” in The Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman Gottwald (ed. David Jobling, Peggy L. Day, and Gerald Sheppard; Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim, 1991), 61–83. 1

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a real expectation that some form of transformative action will occur as a result of the prayer. The suffering will stop, restitution will be made, and the community will renew the former position of the supplicant. God’s face will again be turned toward the sufferer. The chaos of suffering will be ended and the order of God’s creation will be restored. By laying the situation before the community, an expectation for activity must be considered. Words have the power to demand a response. In expressing anger at God the supplicant does the same thing. Any address to God, even in anger, makes an afrmation about God: God can transform the suffering into a state of renewal or reconciliation with the world.12 God as the object of anger proclaims faith in God’s ability, even in God’s desire, to sustain those who are faithful in God. A connection is therefore made between those psalms and passages that identify God as the object of anger, and the imprecatory passages and psalms that call for God’s justice to be seen in the punishment of enemies: But you, O LORD of hosts, O just Judge, who test the thoughts and the mind, let me see Your retribution upon them, for I lay my case before you. (Jer 11:20) Condemn them, O God; let them fall by their own devices… (Ps 5:11) Through You we gore our foes; by Your name we trample our adversaries… (Ps 44:6) …a blessing on him who seizes your babies and dashes them against the rocks! (Ps 137:9)

It is in statements such as these that the criterion for seeing God’s justice is established.13 It is essential to understand the Israelite notion of retribution. In their self-understanding as God’s chosen people they sought for the continuation of their race, and therefore they demanded that God not permit the perpetuation of anything that could destroy the chosen people. The enemies are representative of the powers of chaos that threaten the order of creation that God established with that covenant.14 God is called upon to restore order. The expression of anger toward God afrms the belief that God is imminent and capable of rehabilitating a right relationship: 12. Brueggemann, “Formfulness of Grief,” 266. 13. Sheila Carney, “God Damn God: A Re
ection on Expressing Anger in Prayer,” BTB 13 (1983): 116–20. 14. Ibid., 116. 1

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But You, O LORD, are enthroned forever, Your throne endures through the ages. Why have You forgotten us utterly, forsaken us for all time? Take us back, O LORD, to Yourself. (Lam 5:19–21)

5. Incomplete Agony: Anger in Contemporary Liturgy It seems to me that Christianity does nothing to promote anger, and anger is my only way out of self-hatred.15

Modern Christian liturgy appears to have evolved in a way that does not make this afrmatory address about God.16 Our understanding of the relationship between God and human beings has been in
uenced strongly by Stoicism, which leads us to believe that reason is the highest (and emotion the lowest) manifestation of Creation. For instance, Phil 4:4–13 (“… for I have learned to be content with whatever I have…”) and 1 Thess 4:13 (“… so that you do not grieve as others do who have no hope…”) are indicative of Stoic in
uence and an understanding of a passionless, impassable, wholly transcendent God. It is difcult to reconcile this view of God with the God described in Mark 15:34 and Ps 22. There, God is a familiar, close gure, an intimate God toward whom we may express our grief in all of its stages. This is the God who does not seem to be recognized in the modern Church. As Sheila Carney puts it, “The psalms have often been called a school of prayer. If this is true, then it must be said that Christians, in recent years at least, have been quite selective in their approach to the curriculum.”17 She goes on to point out that the Liturgy of the Hours and the common Lectionary edit and omit several psalms in such a way as to eliminate afrmations about God through the personal expression of anger. An Inclusive-Language Lectionary: Readings for Year B, for instance, contains Ps 22, but the prayer is split. Verses 1–18, which Christians have adopted as prophetic of the Passion, is used for Good Friday. Verses 25–31 are set for the fth Sunday after Easter, and

15. An excerpt from an unpublished poem written by an incest survivor, provided by Tracy Trothen. At that time, Dr. Trothen was a Ph.D. candidate at the Toronto School of Theology. Today she is Associate Professor and Head of Theological Studies at Queen’s Theological College, Kingston, Ontario, Canada. 16. Erhard S. Gerstenberger, “Enemies and Evildoers in the Psalms: A Challenge to Christian Preaching,” Horizons to Christian Preaching 4, no. 5 (1982–83): 61–77. 17. Carney, “God Damn God,” 116. 1

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presented outside of the context of lament as a psalm of praise. Psalm 88 is entirely absent.18 The Service Book for The United Church of Canada does include imprecatory psalms and psalms expressing anger at God in the “Table of Lessons.” However, acknowledgment of the legitimate expression of anger, including anger toward God, is absent from the liturgical resources. For instance, there is no reference to anger made in the section entitled, “The Burial of a Child,” which is veiled in a passionless language of transcendence: “May the words of thy Son our Saviour, which reveal his love for little children, speak peace to their troubled hearts…”19 In the section entitled “Intercessions,” reference to grief and suffering is expressed in terms of sorrow, perplexity, loneliness, etc.20 These prayers acknowledge every aspect of grief except for the aspect of anger. It is curious that this aspect of grief is somehow forgotten or deemed inappropriate for the ears of the congregations. This is not to say that members of the Church ignore the subjective reality of experiencing anger. Many participants in Christian communion, ordained and lay, endeavor to celebrate creation in all of its manifestations. The point is that the formal liturgy of the people who confess to the event of Jesus Christ does not boldly meet this aspect of humanness. Why this is so is difcult to identify. Perhaps there is a real threat in praying these psalms because it brings us face to face with the violence and anger within us.21 Perhaps it is because the Church, while it still clings to its Constantinian status, is more closely identied with the “enemies” of the psalms than with the complainant.22 What is essential is that this gap in our awareness be identied and addressed. The North American experience is shaped largely by a philosophy that assumes the world to be constantly improving and that those who are not 18. An Inclusive-Language Lectionary: Readings for Year B (Atlanta: Cooperative Publication Association by John Knox Press, 1987). 19. The United Church of Canada, The Service Book (Toronto, Ont.: Canec, 1986). 20. This section goes through aspects of suffering where the worship leader says, “For all those who…” and the people answer, “We beseech thee to hear us, O God.” When a Divinity student at Queen’s Theological College in Kingston, Ontario rewrote the prayers to say, “For all those who are angry…,” another quipped, “Let them come back when they’ve settled down!” 21. Carney, “God Damn God,” 117. 22. For one view of the church’s anxiety-provoked avoidance of anger, see Christopher Levan, “Homosexuality and the Ironies of a Constantinian Church,” in Theological Reections on Ministry and Sexual Orientation (ed. Pamela Dickey Young; Burlington, Ont.: Trinity, 1990), n.p. 1

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visibly participating in the wealth and opportunity of our society are responsible for their own suffering. This modern form of the principle of retribution, which is really a form of Pelagianism, is more ofcial than spontaneous. We do not live optimistically, but in fact increase the negative effects of our consumptive behavior by hoarding more than is necessary against the possibility of failure. When we take property, food, and money out of circulation it leaves less for the homeless, hungry, and impoverished of the world. Victim blaming, combined with this anxietyprovoked acquisitiveness, produces in our society a genuine inability to recognize suffering. Anger, which is a normal aspect of all forms of suffering, is encountered defensively and is misappropriated as a criticism and a direct threat to the “God-given” benets of the social order.23 On both the systems and individual level, anger is too often seen as a prelude to disintegration rather than to the event of resurrection and reunion that are foundational to our witness of God. So foreign is the experience of human anger and suffering to the liturgical expression of the church that dozens of secular self-help groups thrive in North American society, fullling the necessary function of formful lament and thanksgiving that the church has abandoned. The manifesto for many of these groups is almost psalmic. Some of these groups (e.g. Alcoholics Anonymous), which often meet on church premises, are often charged rent for fullling what should be part of the church’s social mission. Loving relationships, including the relationship between human being and God, can only become whole in the full expression of experience. When an aspect of human experience is denied expression, the result is disintegrative: grief is invalidated while frustration, bitterness, and disabling emotional festering are provoked. It is one of the best-kept secrets of Christianity that a primary tool for formal expression of anger within the community of faith lives within the psalms of lament. In the eighteenth century, for instance, Abigail Abbot Bailey kept a diary that documented her spiritual journey through years of abuse by her husband, and his incestuous violation of their eldest daughter. It is a masterpiece of intertextual paraphrase. In a compelling version of Ps 55, she wrote:

23. An interesting contrast might be made here between the institutions that are developed within a culture that have appropriated a pagan concept of the “immortality of the soul,” and therefore try to erect “eternal” institutions” (e.g. the Constantinian Church) with practices that are based upon a condence in the Christian anticipation of the resurrection. 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation …who is this cruel oppressor? This grievous rod in the hands of the High and Lofty One, by whom I am thus sorely chastised? It was not an enemy; then I could have borne it. Neither was it he that hated me in days past; for then I would have hid myself from him. But it was the man mine equal, my guide, my friend, my husband!24

The witness of the psalms of lament to suffering in human beings is as pertinent today as when they were rst written. As Bailey’s tortured re
ections indicate, Ps 55 is the prayer for the victim of family violence. Perhaps Ps 88 is accessible to the person suffering with an incurable disease, who feels abandoned by friends and family who are afraid of the disease. It might easily be the prayer of the abuser under the divine hand of judgment. In some cases, Ps 22 would be more appropriate at a child’s funeral than the safe familiarity of Ps 23. Psalm 13 might be recited with passion by someone caught in the headlights of injustice. Faith is a dialogue demanding of both human being and God: “Turn, O LORD! How long! Show mercy to your servants” (Ps 90:13). As Brueggemann points out, “being condent of God does not lead to passive acceptance…[but] to a vigorous pressing of the issues…”25 It is the work of the church to transform the disintegrative suffering of the world into the suffering of becoming—the suffering of one struggling to Golgotha and communion with God.26 This can only be done by acknowledging all expressions of humanness, including the expression of anger in grief—even anger at God. The book of Psalms is a resource that can help us give voice to the formful expression of the anger that is so much a part of grief and the human experience.

24. A. A. Bailey, Religion and Domestic Violence in Early New England: The Memoirs of Abigail Abbot Bailey (ed. Ann Taves; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989), 73. 25. Brueggemann, The Message of the Psalms, 113. 26. The material in this nal section owes much to a lecture by Douglas John Hall (formerly of McGill University, Montreal, Quebec) delivered at a symposium on suffering and Christian response held in Kingston, Ont., Canada on March 8, 1991. 1

THE CONTRIBUTION OF ECCLESIASTES TO BIBLICAL THEOLOGY Peter Enns

I would rst like to offer a word of deep appreciation, not only for the opportunity to contribute to this volume, but to Gerald Sheppard himself and his legacy of sensitive and constructive re
ection on the study of Scripture. His work on Ecclesiastes specically, namely, the theological value of the epilogue,1 and most decidedly in the area of a wisdom hermeneutic,2 were a breath of fresh air to me as I began thinking seriously of the role of Israel’s diverse wisdom tradition in how we think of Israelite religion and the contemporary Christian use of Scripture. I hope this essay re
ects something of the debt I and all students of Scripture owe him in helping us see the thoroughly human character of Scripture, and how the word of God can be heard, not despite, but actually through the historically dissimilar traditions contained therein. 1. Introduction Since the latter half of the twentieth century, the task of Biblical Theology has been variously dened and has seen various articulations. A perennial topic of this discussion is the place of those portions of Scripture that are not as overtly amenable to a biblical theological paradigm. Often the focus of such discussions has settled on Israel’s wisdom tradition, namely, the books of Ecclesiastes, Proverbs, and Job, as well as others texts that bear marks of wisdom in
uence. The awkward t of the wisdom tradition with Biblical Theology has certainly been a function of the narrow redemptive-historical focus of this eld of study. In recent decades, however, a welcome effort has been expended to broaden the biblical theological task to include these otherwise stubborn books. 1. Gerald T. Sheppard, “The Epilogue to Qoheleth as Theological Commentary,” CBQ 39 (1977): 182–89. 2. Gerald T. Sheppard, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament (BZAW 151; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1979). 1

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Of these three biblical wisdom books, Ecclesiastes presents the greatest challenges for Biblical Theology. This is due not only to the absence of redemptive-historical characteristics, but to the very nature of book’s contents. Contradictions within the book challenge any attempt to articulate a consistent theology (e.g. 1:18 and 2:13; 5:11 [Eng., v. 10] and 10:19; 7:3 and 8:15). Equally challenging are the tensions between Qohelet’s thought and the “mainstream” biblical witness of the Old Testament (e.g. death [3:19–20], righteousness [7:16], God’s judgment [9:1–2], and pleasure [2:10, compare to Num 15:39]). Qohelet is clearly not a company man, and much of his relentless heterodoxy focuses on his rather dim view of God, namely, what he perceives to be God’s unpredictable and unjust behavior (an aspect of Qohelet’s theology that does not receive as much attention as it should). Qohelet’s overall frustration and even anger toward God are announced quite plainly at the end of 1:13: “It is a grievous task God has given to humanity to occupy him.” This task refers to the previous sentence, namely, Qohelet’s wisdom-investigation of all that is done “under the sun.” He announces himself in v. 12, and in v. 13 he explains his task and gives the pessimistic evaluation, all in summary fashion. Not only is his task grievous, but it is one that God has given to humanity. One might say that for Qohelet, God poses a theological problem. He does not seem to be so much concerned whether God is just, can be trusted, and so on. Nor does he seem eager to defend God’s justice, as one might in a theodicy. He seems already to have made up his mind. For these (and other) reasons, Ecclesiastes presents us with a wonderful opportunity, precisely because of its independent spirit, to engage the broader task of Biblical Theology and the contribution of Ecclesiastes. Toward that end, we can only offer some preliminary, but hopefully helpful, observations. 2. Toward an Understanding of Biblical Theology It is no perfunctory move to observe that exegesis is the bedrock of Biblical Theology. Central to exegesis is an understanding of a given text in the context of (1) its historical setting, and (2) the author’s thoughts in a book as a whole. Of course, often we know very little of the original setting of a passage or book. Moreover, it is often the case that a distinction needs to be made between the context of the instigating event/utterance and the context of the nal form of the larger corpus of which that text is a part. This is notably the case with the formation of the Pentateuch, but also affects every other segment of the Old Testament (former and latter prophets, psalms, wisdom). At any rate, in exegeting particular 1

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passages we are already engaged in doing Biblical Theology in a true sense. Exegesis is not a preliminary, neutral step. Rather, the very questions we bring to any text are already informed by a variety of implicit factors that re
ect the limited nature of all human knowing (e.g. cultural setting, theological categories, etc.). Put simply, exegesis has a circular dimension, although the exegetical exercise also helps us be more critical of some of our pre-commitments. The image, then, as others have said, is more of a hermeneutical spiral than a circle. The task of Biblical Theology is to put the exegetical pieces of the whole together. This synthetic task begins with Biblical Theology on the book level, which is how the term Biblical Theology has often been understood. It is assumed, and rightly so, that any book has a theological integrity of its own (regardless of its oral or literary pre-history), and the task of exegesis is to try to bring that theology to the surface. In that sense it is “biblical” rather than applying dogmatic or other types of categories onto the ancient text (although realizing, again, the complex issue of how our own context informs us in our exegetical task). With Ecclesiastes, the relationship between the parts and the theology of the book as a whole is a bit more complex than we might nd in other books, due to its tensions and ambiguities, and in view of the essentially positive evaluation Qohelet receives from the frame narrator in 12:9–11.3 Hence, it is necessary for interpreters to be much more intentional in moving back and forth between the trees of exegesis and the forest of Biblical Theology. With an understanding of the theology of the book of Ecclesiastes— which is to appreciate and embrace the theological tensions within the book and with dominant strands of Old Testament theology—we can consider the biblical theological dimension of the book on the broader canonical level.4 Such a move assumes that the books of Scripture can 3. Space does not permit a discussion of the role of the frame narrator in the book of Ecclesiastes, but I am of the opinion that the closing verses of the book (12:9–14) offer a positive evaluation of Qohelet’s theology while also encouraging the reader to move beyond Qohelet’s pessimistic, despairing observations. I lay out my reasoning more fully in “)5 9=< and the Evaluation of Qohelet’s Wisdom in Qoh 12:13, or The ‘A is So, and What’s More, B’ Theology of Ecclesiastes,” in The Idea of Biblical Interpretation: Essays in Honor of James Kugel (ed. Hindy Najman and Judith Newman; JSJSup 83; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 125–37, and “Ecclesiastes 1: Book Of,” in Dictionary of the Old Testament: Wisdom, Poetry, and Writings (ed. Tremper Longman III and Peter Enns; Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP, 2008), 121–32. The point is that Qohelet’s view of things cannot be swept away as a heterodox foil to orthodox Israelite faith. The frame narrator does not allow this option. 4. Readers of the present volume will no doubt hear strong echos of Sheppard’s own work on theological diversity in Scripture in my thoughts in this essay. I refer 1

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and should be in conversation with one another. This is my assumption as well, although I would quickly add that this canonical conversation can just as easily be lled with tension as harmony. In fact, this is to be expected, since a canonical conversation does not aim to obliterate the distinctives of any particular book—even one as difcult to pin down as Ecclesiastes. I do not assume, therefore, that harmony is preferable to tension, especially when dealing with Ecclesiastes, although I have no predilection to exaggerating diversity. The reason I have come to embrace the tensions between Ecclesiastes and other portions of Scripture is because exegetical integrity demands it. If we impose a unity (which is not to say that all unity is imposed), we will nd ourselves in the unfortunate position of eviscerating both exegesis and theology by defending forced readings of those texts that mitigate against such supercial unity. Rather, I would prefer—as best as I can—to allow the parts of Scripture to play off of each other. Such a conversation allows the various biblical voices to speak from the context of their own historical particularities. A Biblical Theology in the broader sense of the word is really an attempt to capture the nature of this biblical conversation. And since it is a theological conversation, it is also understood that any biblical theological construction we may offer must remain open to further clarication, which is to say Biblical Theology is a journey as much as it is a destination. Even though we all approach Scripture with preconceptions, we must at the very least be hermeneutically self-conscious enough to know how those preconceptions affect our understanding of Scripture. This is very different from saying that our preconceptions should not affect us. They always do. But by being aware of the hermeneutical process we will, hopefully, be more open to allowing that process to be engaged, critiqued, and corrected if need be. So, for example, we may all have a notion of what wisdom is, and then judge Ecclesiastes on the basis of that notion. That is ne as an entryway to the hermeneutical spiral, but there must also come a point where a reading of Ecclesiastes should affect one’s preconceived notions of wisdom, especially since it is biblical (i.e. all the canonical books)5 wisdom that is being discussed. With Ecclesiastes, the specically to Sheppard’s “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,” Int 36 (1982): 21–33. 5. With the inclusion of Ben Sira and the Book of Wisdom, the deuterocanonical wisdom books of the Roman Catholic and Orthodox traditions, the intracanonical conversation is even more complex. In these books we see evidence of a shift in the nature of wisdom in the Second Temple period, where torah and wisdom are 1

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overarching theological issue that comes into play is one’s theology of God and whether or not a text worthy of being called “God’s word” would feature some of the things Qohelet says, things that offer such a different perspective from other Old Testament books. The problem, however, is that even our doctrine of God (especially our doctrine of God) should be driven by the witness of Scripture as a whole rather than by our own theological preferences and the inevitable privileging of certain texts that follows. The voice of Scripture can easily be muted when an ecclesiastical confession or tradition determines Scripture’s proper interpretation rather than being in conversation with Scripture, that is, when an external authority becomes the truth rather than being subject to the Scripture, the alleged source of truth. In such cases, Biblical Theology, and with that a proper understanding of Scripture, is cut off at the knees. Misplaced notions of what God does or does not do or allow can adversely affect our ability to hear the very obvious tensions that the author of Ecclesiastes seems intent to lay before us and that are afrmed by the frame narrator. A rigid and constricting view of what is appropriate for God to do can, ironically, hinder the biblical theological task. All of this re
ects my conviction that we must be ever diligent to allow Scripture to take us where it will, to be willing to explore new avenues and to take theological risks, if that seems warranted by the text. Consequently, a Biblical Theology that involves Ecclesiastes will not see its task as alleviating tension in favor of a theological unity that, supposedly, is more consistent with God’s character. Rather, it will explore the unique contribution a book like Ecclesiastes offers to our understanding of what the Bible as a whole is saying about God and humanity. In its broadest sense, I understand Biblical Theology to come to its nal statement in the person and work of Christ and in the life of the body of Christ, the church. Christians confess Jesus as God’s nal declaration of who he is by which all previous declarations (the Old Testament) receive their ultimate context of interpretation. This is not to say that we now can dismiss Qohelet’s struggles in light of the gospel, as some Christian interpreters, contemporary and otherwise, have implied. In fact, the complete opposite is the case. We now bring the voice of Ecclesiastes into conversation with the gospel, realizing in somewhat paradoxical fashion that, in Christ, we see the climactic (and therefore conjoined in ways not evident in the Hebrew Bible (e.g. Sir 24) and rehearsals of sacred history are seen as wisdom-activities (Sir 44–50; Wis. of Sol. 10–19). In other words, with these wisdom books, wisdom has taken on a dynamic redemptivehistorical dimension. 1

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nal) revelation of God, while also realizing that the God presented in Ecclesiastes may help us understand better what that nal revelation means. What does a Christian understanding of Ecclesiastes entail? It is not an exercise in “seeing Jesus” in every verse of Ecclesiastes. Nor is it an exercise in comparing and contrasting Ecclesiastes and the gospel to see where the former falls short, or worse, reading Ecclesiastes in such a way that brings it into happy alignment with preferred theological categories. Rather, it is allowing the gospel to orient us to the types of questions we bring to Ecclesiastes, as well as seeing how the theological contours of Ecclesiastes contribute to our understanding of Old Testament theology as a whole and what the God presented in Ecclesiastes later did in Christ. The fact that Ecclesiastes is at best alluded to only once in the New Testament6 presents us, however, with the possibility that Ecclesiastes did not work itself into the rst Christians’ theological re
ections. Genesis, Psalms, Deuteronomy, and Isaiah were very popular texts for drawing out the signicance of Jesus the Messiah vis-à-vis the Old Testament story, but Ecclesiastes is at best an echo. Still, the essential absence of Ecclesiastes from the New Testament is by no means a deterrent for its implicit value for the biblical theological task. It is, rather, an invitation. It is the church’s obligation, in view of the biblical theological trajectories already set by the New Testament writers, to bring all of the Old Testament into this larger theological conversation. Although the Christian canon consists of “two parts,” the Old Testament and New Testament, the biblical theological task is brought into sharper relief if we articulate the relationship between the testaments somewhat differently. The New Testament can be understood as a commentary on the Old Testament in light of the person and work of Christ. In other words, the New Testament explains Christ in light of Israel’s Scripture while at the same time modeling how Israel’s Scripture is now to be understood in light of that reality. The reality of the coming of Christ puts all of Scripture (the Old Testament) in a fresh light by placing it in the broadest redemptive-historical context. The event complex that towers over and gives nal denition to all others is the death/resurrection/ascension of the Son of God, which resulted in the creation of a new people of God, made up of Jew and Gentile together, who are now not divided by law but united by the grace of YHWH through faith in his messiah. 6. Rom 3:12 may echo Eccl 7:20. The “frustration” of creation in Rom 8:20 may echo Qohelet’s “absurd” (NBUBJP UIK of Rom 8:20 is the word used in the LXX translation of Ecclesiastes for =39). 1

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To illustrate the point, it may help to think of the New Testament as analogous to developments in Judaism. For Jews the reality of the exile, followed by essential banishment in their own home land under foreign rule, then the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, are all events that needed to be understood in light of Israel’s Scripture. These events were then brought to bear in their re-interpretation of Scripture. The resulting theological efforts for classical Judaism were eventually the Talmud and other important Jewish works such as the midrashim. (Note that I am leaving out of the picture here other, earlier developments in Judaism such as those of the Qumran community and other early Second Temple literature.) Judaism is a response of a people to its own Scripture in light of changing circumstances. The New Testament is, in this sense, a Christian Talmud. I am not suggesting that the Talmud and New Testament are interchangeable, and we can all walk hand in hand into an interfaith sunset. To be sure, Classical Judaism still found its ultimate purpose in Torah observance (with necessary adjustments) whereas the rst Christians understood God’s purposes now to be summed up in the Messiah. I am suggesting, however, that both share a similar hermeneutical posture, that of rethinking Scripture in light of paradigm-shifting events. Both faiths answer a similar question of self-denition at the intersection of ancient Scripture and contemporary events that forced a posture of tremendous theological creativity and innovation. For Christians, however, that contemporary event is not exile but the death and resurrection of the Son of God: “Now that Jesus has come, how do we understand what it means to be the people of God?” That question necessarily and invariably becomes a deeply hermeneutical one, as God’s antecedent word must be drawn into the answer. To be “God’s people,” after all, implies an understanding of the inviolable relationship between Jesus and his fulllment of Israel’s Scripture. This is why the Old Testament is cited well over 300 times, and is alluded to at least 1000 times, in the New Testament.7 To put it yet another way, postbiblical Jewish and Christian literature are both exercises in Biblical Theology, of bringing the past to bear on the present and vice-versa. For Christians this task is one where all of Scripture is brought under the authority of the risen Christ and where the work of Christ is understood more deeply on the basis of Israel’s Scripture. Moreover, the fact that the New Testament, especially those books that deal explicitly with the post-Easter church (i.e. everything but 7. My source for these statistics is Barbara Aland et al., eds., The Greek New Testament (4th rev. ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1993), 887–901. 1

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the Gospels), is so focused on the belief and praxis of the church indicates that the biblical theological task is not complete until one has understood its implications for the reconstituted people of God. In other words, bringing Scripture to bear, in Christ, on the life of the church is the nal dimension of Biblical Theology. It addresses the question, “How are we today the people of God?” This is precisely the same question asked in Scripture at various junctures, for example, the Chronicler living in the postexilic period and Paul living at the outset of the postresurrection period. It is the very practical question of “who are we” that gives Scripture itself its developmental, progressive, trajectories. The climax of those trajectories is seen not only in how Christ brings them to their nal expression, but in how those trajectories are realized in the body of Christ, the church. The application of God’s antecedent revelation in an “in Christ” way is an extension of the biblical theological work evinced in Scripture itself. This is what the Christians today have in common with the New Testament writers. They, too, are living in the post-Easter universe; both live in the same eschatological moment. The church, therefore, puts itself under apostolic authority by following the lead of the New Testament writers by further developing the biblical theological trajectories begun under the Spirit’s guidance. Such an approach to a Biblical Theology of Ecclesiastes will help us see how the various hermeneutical horizons interplay while also giving necessary supremacy to God’s nal statement in Christ. I wish to avoid, though, a facile notion of supersessionism, which could imply that the Old Testament is of no theological value. It certainly is of indisputable value, as the New Testament itself shows again and again by its very persistence in engaging the Old Testament. However, if we learn anything from the New Testament’s commentary on the Old Testament, it is that the Old Testament does not ultimately stand on its own. In view of the resurrection, it must now be rethought in light of the gospel, that which the Old Testament authors strained to see but could not (1 Pet 1:10–12; Heb 1:1–3). This is what it means, in principle, to understand Ecclesiastes or any other Old Testament book Christianly. In what follows, we will explore the intersection between Ecclesiastes and Biblical Theology by focusing on Ecclesiastes in the narrow context of biblical wisdom. Further explorations would need to broaden the circle to include the contribution Ecclesiastes makes to the broader redemptive-historical impulse of the Old Testament. A nal exploration would engage how Ecclesiastes can be in conversation with Christ and the church as described in the New Testament. In order to remain focussed on the topic that is the theme of the present volume, the latter two cannot be addressed here, although investigating the relationship 1

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between Ecclesiastes and the other wisdom books (Proverbs and Job) will already suggest important and promising theological trajectories. 3. Ecclesiastes and Wisdom in Biblical Theological Conversation As mentioned above, comparing and contrasting Ecclesiastes to Proverbs and Job results in broadening our denition of biblical wisdom rather than privileging one expression as standing guard over another. To put it another way, we must allow the descriptive task to inform our prescriptive conclusions. That is, without wishing to overstate the case, the legacy of any theological task that attempts to be faithful to Scripture. How, then, can Ecclesiastes contribute to our notion of wisdom? This can be seen in observing the innerbiblical conversation between the three biblical wisdom books. The difculty is that these three books are quite different from each other. On one level it may be legitimate to ask whether the term “wisdom” can really do justice to these three books. But as I see it, we should neither allow the diversity of these books to cast doubt upon their belonging together, nor should the common label “wisdom” justify seeking an articial unity. I would prefer to maintain the conventional designation and then ask what it is about these books that permits the common designation. Can we, therefore, offer a denition of “wisdom” that is both sufciently broad yet meaningful enough to hold the biblical wisdom books together? The following denition of wisdom can provide one entryway to that discussion: Wisdom is concerned with mastery of life. How one masters life, amid all the ups and downs—when things go well and not so well—is a denition that captures an important element of wisdom literature. The biblical wisdom books each contribute to the discussion in their own way. We bear in mind, however, that these books do not function as “how-to” books or Christian owner’s manuals. It is common to think of Proverbs, for example, as the book we run to that “tells me what to do.” This is not how wisdom literature works. A “howto” approach can be particularly problematic in reading Ecclesiastes, for it encourages readers to go to the supposedly “less skeptical” passages, such as the carpe diem passages (e.g. 2:24–26), to nd some safe guidance and jettison the “less favorable” passages (which is most of the book). But this does not capture the force of these carpe diem passages. They are not Qohelet’s more sober moments that are worthy of emulation but notes of resignation, as can be plainly seen in each instance.8 8. For example, note Qohelet’s pessimistic summations of these passages: 2:26; 3:14, 22. See, too, 3:9, which casts a dismal view of the “times and seasons” outlined 1

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Proverbs Following the path of wisdom is more than citing a few passages. The nature of wisdom, God’s wisdom, is deeper and subtler than this. On the surface, Proverbs seems to be a book of “wise sayings to live by,” a tendency seen, for example, in publications of the New Testament that include Proverbs and Psalms, implying that the point of these books is somewhat obvious or more immediately accessible than others. But a close reading of Proverbs shows that the issue is much more complex. Proverbs 26:4–5 illustrates the point succinctly: 26:4

Do not answer a fool according to his folly, or you will be like him yourself.9

26:5

Answer a fool according to his folly, or he will be wise in his own eyes.

Already here we get a hint of the complexities involved in handling wisdom literature. Proverbs is not a rulebook that simply tells you what to do. These are both wise sayings, to be sure, even though they give contrary advice. It is because they are both wise sayings that it takes wisdom to know how—indeed, when or even if—to apply them. It takes wisdom to discern what situation calls for which proverb. Wisdom requires that we read not just the proverb but read the situation. Such situational elements are not hidden in a few corners of Proverbs. Consider, for example, what Proverbs says about riches. Simply scanning the passages below will illustrate. 10:15

The wealth of the rich is their fortied city, but poverty is the ruin of the poor.

18:11

The wealth of the rich is their fortied city; they imagine it an unscalable wall.

The rst half of each proverb is the same, but the second half of each tells a very different story. For some, wealth as a fortied city is a security against poverty, for others a source of arrogance. The applicability of the proverbs is context dependent. Consider also the following pair:

in 3:1–8, a portion of Ecclesiastes that is typically misunderstood as offering a sense of solace and comfort, popularized by the well-known 1960s folk song “Turn, Turn, Turn” (written by Pete Seeger and performed by the Byrds). 9. Unless otherwise indicated, the biblical quotations that follow are from the NIV. 1

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The wages of the righteous bring them life, but the income of the wicked brings them punishment.

11:4

Wealth is worthless in the day of wrath, but righteousness delivers from death.

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In 10:16, we see that wealth is more or less neutral and that its benet depends on the quality of the person possessing it, whether righteous or wicked. In 11:4, any benets of wealth are neutralized “in the day of wrath.” Only righteousness can deliver from death: 11:28

Whoever trusts in his riches will fall, but the righteous will thrive like a green leaf.

Here we see that one’s downfall is in trusting riches. The righteous, however, will survive, although there is no mention whether the righteous have wealth. As in 10:16, wealth seems to be neutral and what counts is one’s character. But then in 19:4 we see an endorsement of wealth regardless of other factors. 19:4

Wealth brings many friends, but a poor man’s friend deserts him.

What Proverbs has to say about wealth is diverse and demands a mature understanding of the circumstances of the individual. One cannot isolate one of these statements and make it of absolute validity, applicable to each and every situation. Neither can these statements be harmonized to say the same thing. Wealth can be a sign of blessing or it can be abused to the individual’s peril. Which proverb applies right now? It depends— and it is these two words that help us get to the heart of the situational dimension of Proverbs. This raises the issue of biblical authority, which is not only relevant for Proverbs and wisdom, but other portions of the Old Testament such as the Psalms. In what sense is Proverbs authoritative? The issue as I see it is more the nature of that authority. We should observe that Proverbs has a largely descriptive quality rather than being overt commands. To be sure, this is wisdom and so not merely observations, but the text has an implicit prescriptive function—still, the mode of presentation is signicant. Both their descriptive form and diverse content suggest that “authority” for the book of Proverbs must mean more than just “do what it says,” “obey this verse because it is in the Bible.” Proverbs, because of its atomistic character, is one book of the Old Testament that seems to invite prooftexting, but the fact of the matter is that it is precisely Proverbs that, when properly understood, seems to be designed to resist prooftexting. Proverbs are not meant merely to be “cited” or “read” in 1

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order to harvest the information content: they are meant to be pondered, lived with, meditated on, and acted upon. It is necessary to do so in order to understand them. Their meanings are not obvious, nor is their relevance. They can be general, vague, obscure, and so it takes effort to know how to use them. Proverbs, in other words, is not just a book of wise sayings to make the simple wise (1:4). It is also a book for wise people (1:5) who are on a life-long journey to gain more and more wisdom in order to attain a more god-like life—or, as I suggested above, to master life. It may help to come at this by using creation as a metaphor. To master life means to live according to the order in the universe that God has laid down, the order that re
ects his nature, his wisdom. Wisdom is order, just like creation. Genesis 1 speaks of God ordering the chaos. Wisdom, likewise, is God’s order, not on the cosmic level, but on the level of everyday life. This is one way to understand such passages as Prov 3:18– 20 and 8:22–31, where creation and wisdom are closely connected concepts. The purpose of wisdom literature is to pull back the curtain to let us catch a glimpse of the pattern, the order that God has laid down for life, even if our perception and understanding of that order are incomplete. The wisdom quest, according to Proverbs, is to seek diligently this order that God has established and to conform our lives to it. In doing so, one is living in such a way where mastery of life is being realized more and more. Job How, then, does Job t into this denition of “mastery of life?” Job is one who is struggling to discern this order. Unlike Proverbs, the book of Job does not focus on explicating this order more clearly through wise observations. Rather (and this is true of Ecclesiastes as well), Job focuses on the intersection of divine order and human experience and the tensions between the two. Job is a complex literary and theological work. For the purpose of
eshing out the relationship between Ecclesiastes and Proverbs and Job, however, I will restrict my focus to the theological tension represented by the speeches of Job’s four friends. In brief, Job’s friends say what one would expect an orthodox Israelite to say. Anyone grounded in the teaching of Proverbs or Deuteronomy would immediately recognize the validity of their words. Take the following four representative examples: Job 5:17–18 (Eliphaz): Blessed is the man whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. For he wounds, but he also binds up; he injures, but his hands also heal. 1

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Job 8:20–22 (Bildad): Surely God does not reject a blameless man or strengthen the hands of evildoers. He will yet ll your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy. Your enemies will be clothed in shame, and the tents of the wicked will be no more. Job 11:13–20 (Zophar): Yet if you devote your heart to him and stretch out your hands to him, if you put away the sin that is in your hand and allow no evil to dwell in your tent, then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand rm and without fear. You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning. You will be secure, because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety. You will lie down, with no one to make you afraid, and many will court your favor. But the eyes of the wicked will fail, and escape will elude them; their hope will become a dying gasp. Job 36:5–7 (Elihu): God is mighty, but does not despise men; he is mighty, and rm in his purpose. He does not keep the wicked alive but gives the af
icted their rights. He does not take his eyes off the righteous; he enthrones them with kings and exalts them forever.

Much of what undergirds the comments of Job’s friends is the belief that the universe is ordered. It is God’s universe and things happen for reasons; actions have consequences. Is this not what we read all through Proverbs or the Law? Job’s circumstances, which we see, are actually consequences. They have causes, even if we don’t see them. For some, the observations of Job’s friends are neutralized because they reason from consequence to cause rather than from cause to consequence. Because they infer due cause, whereas Proverbs and Deuteronomy move from cause to consequence, one might be tempted to render invalid the observations of Job’s friends. This strikes me as a supercial objection. Job’s friends are perfectly within their “biblical right” to say what they do. Since God is just, Job’s friends reason that, if certain behaviors lead to certain consequences, the presence of those consequences must be a result of certain behavior—lest the justice of God and the truth of Scripture be called into question.10 10. We might recall here John 9:1, when Jesus heals the man born blind, and was asked “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents?” Jesus puts such thinking to rest, but it is worth noting that the question was raised somewhat naturally. The notion that some negative circumstance (such as suffering) is a result of sin seems to be a perfectly reasonable reaction. Jesus’ response should not be seen as correcting the errant theology of his readers vis-à-vis biblical teaching, but as a realignment of Old Testament expectation. 1

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Job’s friends are not absolutely wrong in making this reverse connection from consequence to deed. But they lack wisdom in that they merely prooftext, that is, they make a supercial appeal to a theology of retribution such as we nd in Proverbs or Deuteronomy (note, the appeal is supercial, not the theology of retribution). It is not wrong to appeal to traditional categories (the frame narrator of Ecclesiastes does this very thing in 12:13–14 with his admonition to “fear God and keep his commandments”). But, you have to appeal to them wisely, keeping in mind the “it depends” factor. Job’s friends needed to exercise wisdom to know how—indeed, if—these categories applied to Job in this instance. There are circumstances concerning Job that they are not aware of, which are outlined in the chs. 1–2. Readers know why Job is suffering: the accuser challenges God to test whether Job is really a worshipper of God or whether he is a fair-weather believer. We know this, but Job and his friends never do. Instead, the book goes into great detail describing how Job and four of his friends struggle to interpret Job’s suffering. Job’s friends understand the traditional categories of wisdom, but they fail in applying them rigidly to Job (in a “how-to” or “owner’s manual” way). For Job, condence in the functionality of the traditional categories is precisely what is now in question. He does not doubt that bad actions lead to bad consequences. The problem for Job is that he is experiencing the latter, but has not engaged in the former. He is having a theological/ faith crisis. So how is Job a wisdom book? It, too, concerns mastery of life—how to live well. The specic problem being addressed is the all-too-common experience where the biblical portrait and the everyday world do not align. The divine pattern of conduct is not re
ected in one’s experience. Although they are very different kinds of books, Proverbs and Job share at least one important aspect, that the wise God has ordered the world not only physically but socially/behaviorally. Proverbs helps us see this order, if only in glimpses. Job is wrestling with the common human experience where the divine order is not re
ected in the human drama. It is worth repeating that nowhere does Job reject the pattern on the basis of his experience. Rather, his agony re
ects his commitment to assuming the validity of the pattern. This disconnect is, as I said, what fuels Job’s distress. Ecclesiastes How then does Ecclesiastes address the issue of wisdom and the mastery of life? Like Job, the issue in Ecclesiastes is the disconnect between the divine pattern and human experience. Our author, however, is relentless 1

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in not letting God off the hook. Job’s sufferings, both physical and emotional, are deep, but he is silenced, in the end, by God’s voice. Qohelet’s God is distant (4:17–5:6 [Eng. 5:1–7]) and hardly worth the effort to bring into the conversation, and so Qohelet does not bother; he simply accuses. It is not until we get to the frame narrator’s conclusion (12:9– 14) that we see the solution offered to Qohelet and those who might participate in his despair. 1. Qohelet is wise (12:9–10); 2. Qohelet’s words are not meant to be comfortable (12:11); 3. although Qohelet is wise, do not go beyond his words (12:12); 4. the proper response in view of, not despite, Qohelet’s wisdom is the traditional Israelite categories of “fear God and keep his commandments” (12:13–14). There is no answer given to Qohelet as we see given to Job, from God’s mouth, stunning the complainer to silence. Rather, the complaints are afrmed as wise, but the reader is challenged to move beyond this state, even against all reason, to one of fear of God and obedience to his commands, that is, to continue being a faithful Israelite regardless of the absurdity. Rather than “how dare you question me,” as we see in Job, here we read “Yes, it is tough, but follow God anyway.” Despite the differences between Job and Ecclesiastes, they are united in one overarching notion, namely, that, at the end, it is all about who God is and what is required of his people. But whereas the book of Job offers a defense of God’s character, no such thing is found in Ecclesiastes. No attempt is made to dull the scalpel of Qohelet’s incisive observations. The reader is simply told to keep going, not by ignoring the pain but by looking right at it. As Winston Churchill reportedly said, “If you are going through hell, keep going.” Job’s complaints receive their answer from God out of the whirlwind, although, in a way, it was no answer—at least not the one readers might expect (“Well, you see Job, let me explain. An accusing member of the divine council came up to me and challenged me, and I just couldn’t let it rest”). Still, at least Job got an answer. The readers of Ecclesiastes, however, are left to ponder how “fear and obedience” can actually bring meaning to life in the face of Qohelet’s relentless skepticism concerning the very system that he spends roughly twelve chapters undermining. To that question they get no answer. They are only told Qohelet is wise, to fear and obey despite the circumstances (12:13), and to know that God will set all things right (12:14).

1

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One should sense at this point how inadequate the frame narrator’s answer would be for Qohelet himself! Throughout his monologue he has been pecking away at the very notion that the frame narrator here declares with condence. Qohelet has been saying, “Life is unjust, and therefore God is unjust. So why bother?” The frame narrator responds by acknowledging Qohelet’s observations as nothing less than wise, but then says in effect, “Bother anyway. God is just. Obey him.” But this is precisely where the strength and wisdom of Ecclesiastes can be seen, not despite the despair but through it. In Proverbs and Job, there is still the expectation that all things nd their nal answer in the wise God. Qohelet offers no such resolution, but the readers are told to fear and obey anyway, not because he has seen the just God, but as a precondition to seeing the just God. 4. Conclusion This is the unique way in which Ecclesiastes contributes to the wisdom conversation of Proverbs and Job. For Proverbs, things are not necessarily crystal clear, but the wise God is seen in the pattern of conduct laid out for humanity. Job’s struggles are a function of his ultimate trust in the pattern; his despair comes as a result of his inability to see how his sufferings follow from his behavior. Qohelet has given up on the viability of the pattern altogether, and so shows no hesitation in giving God an earful. The frame narrator’s evaluation, to put it yet another way, is “Good point, Qohelet—but—fear and obey anyway.” Against such a posture of faith in the face of the utter impossibility of faith there is no defense. The frame narrator’s nal two verses are a cold slap in the face, not of childish cynicism, but against a true, legitimate, “wise” despair that comes from peering into the darkest well of absurdity of the human drama. Qohelet has plumbed the depths, but the answer remains the same. To master life is not a program of several steps, where each success leads to others. Life is hard. All three wisdom books make this point in their own way, and Ecclesiastes takes it as far as it will go. One hears, perhaps, a distant echo of the famous saying, attributed (falsely?) to Tertullian “I believe because it is absurd,” or countless others who have obeyed even when it truly renders asunder every shred of commonsense they have. To live wisely, to master life, is to expect to be redressed by the most challenging circumstances imaginable—and to emerge steady and sure. In this sense, Ecclesiastes is indeed wisdom literature. Even in the face of undeniable evidence to the contrary, where every shred of 1

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evidence says that God is either absent or unjust, wisdom reigns. Such a view of Ecclesiastes can also bring to the surface numerous biblical theological possibilities, where Ecclesiastes ceases simply being an example of bad theology and can be seen as a profound, if also startling, piece of theology in its own right, ripe to contribute to the biblical theological conversation.

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THE DANIEL AND QOHELET EPILOGUES: A SIMILAR EDITORIAL ACTIVITY? (QOHELET 12:8–14 AND DANIEL 12:1–13)* Pedro Zamora

12:8 “Hardly a breath…!” says the Preacher, “All is a breath, hardly a breath!” 9 But there was a benet in which the Preacher was wise: He constantly taught the people knowledge, pondering, investigating and coining many proverbs. 10 The Preacher worked to nd authoritative words and what is written earnestly, that is, words of truth. 11 The words of the wise are like goads / custodians, and like nails / (night) guards rmly xed are the masterpieces given by any of the masters. 12 Thus, besides these, listen my child: The writing of many books has no end, and much study exhausts the
esh. 13 The end of the address just heard is as follows: Fear God and obey his commandments, for this is the sum of man, 14 because, as regards all deeds, God will bring judgment, including all that is hidden, be it good or evil. (Author’s translation)

Although it could just be a literary device, there is no doubt that Qoh 12:8–14 functions as an editorial epilogue to the book. It clearly speaks of the designated writer in third person, summarizes his work, and offers a synthesis and some conclusions. Out of this a key question arises: What * This essay is an updated version of a portion of my doctoral thesis, published as Fe, política, y economía en Eclesiastés. Eclesiastés a la luz de la Biblia hebrea, Sira y Qumrán (Asociación Bíblica Española 38; Estella: Verbo Divino, 2002). I dedicate it to the memory of G. T. Sheppard in gratitude for his teaching and friendship, and also to his wife Anne. I wish to thank my colleague Dr. Mark Abbott for translating this essay. 1

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is the purpose of the editorial epilogue with respect to the message of the book as a whole? Another book in the Writings, Daniel, may not end with an editorial epilogue, but does speak of the “sealing” of the book (e.g. 12:4, 9) in a way that raises a question about the verses’ relation to the rest of Daniel and thereby resonates with Qohelet’s epilogue. My work analyzes the epilogue of Qohelet and the end of Daniel, and comparing the two, seeks to show traces of similar impulses and editorial interests in both. 1. The Fundamental Issue of the Qohelet Epilogue Some authors see a break between the message of Qohelet and that of its epilogue,1 while others afrm a total and perfect continuity;2 still others establish a complex ideological relationship between the book and the epilogue.3 What all of these positions make clear, however, is that the relationship between the epilogue and the book needs to be given more attention than in many other books of the Hebrew Bible. Shields maintains that, although partially favorable towards Qohelet himself, the epilogist is unequivocally critical to the sages as a group. It appears that the epilogist may thus have employed Qohelet’s words in order to reveal the failure of 1. For an overview of the problematical relationship between book and epilogue, see J. Vílchez, Eclesiastés o Qohélet (Estella: Verbo Divino, 1994), 413–21; C. L. Seow, “ ‘Beyond them, my son, be warned’: The Epilogue of Qohelet Revisited,” in Wisdom, You Are My Sister: Studies in Honor of Roland E. Murphy, O. Carm., on the Occasion of his Eightieth Birthday (ed. M. L. Barré; CBQMS 29; Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1997), 125–41; and J. M. Auwers, “Problèmes d’interprétation de l’épilogue de Qohélet,” in Qohelet in the Context of Wisdom (ed. A. Schoors; BETL 136; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1998), 267–82. 2. For example, A. G. Shead, “Reading Ecclesiastes ‘Epilologically,’ ” TynBul 48 (1997): 67–91, who provides a statistical study of the presence of the epilogual vocabulary in the rest of the work. 3. For example, F. J. Backhaus, “Der Weisheit letzter Schluss! Qoh 12,9–14 im Kontext von Traditionsgeschichte und beginnender Kanonisierung,” BN 72 (1994): 28–59; M. V. Fox, “Frame Narrative and Composition in the Book of Qohelet,” HUCA 48 (1977): 83–106; D. Georgi, “Die Aristoteles- und Theophrastausgabe des Andronikus von Rhodus: Ein Beitrag zur Kanonsproblematik,” in Konsequente Traditionsgeschichte. Festschrift für Klaus Baltzer zum 65. Geburstag (ed. R. Bartelmus et al.; OBO 126; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1993), 45–78; G. T. Sheppard, “The Epilogue to Qoheleth as Theological Commentary,” CBQ 39 (1977): 182–89; and G. H. Wilson, “ ‘The Words of the Wise’: The Intent and Signicance of Qohelet 12:9–14,” JBL 103 (1984): 175–92. 1

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation the sages and warn their prospective students to adhere to the commands of God. The book of Qohelet thus functions as a tract designed to discredit the wisdom movement, using the sage Qohelet’s own words in order to do so.4

According to Shields, the editor of Qohelet considered the content of the book proper to be categorically negative and unacceptable for any believer whose foundation is the Torah received as Sacred Scripture. Therefore, the epilogue constitutes the only source of true teaching in the entire book of Qohelet, and in this manner acquires a primordial function. At the opposite extreme we nd Fox, who concludes: The distance the epilogist sets between himself and Qohelet is protective rather than polemical… Qohelet, for his part, is not made into an unreliable persona; he does not self-destruct. Qohelet is a persona: it is the author’s voice we hear speaking through the mask. To be sure, Qohelet shows an awareness of the uncertain basis of his knowledge, but this awareness is part of his message and does not undermine his reliability. There is little doubt that the author means us to take Qohelet’s words seriously—his pessimistic, querulous re
ections as well as his afrmations of ethical-religious values. In any case, there is no ideological con
ict between Qohelet’s teachings and the epilogue. Both express the author’s views, but with different tones and emphases.5

In other words, Fox maintains that two literary personae, Qohelet and the epilogist, each communicate the voice of a single author and that this is an appropriate instrument to express a sophisticated and nuanced message. These two examples identify the fundamental issues that exist with regard to the epilogue, namely, its purpose and function within the book as a whole. Put another way: Is Qoh 12:8–14—independent of its possible redactors—a true corollary of the book, or is it a kind of simple postscriptum or corrective appendix that has little or nothing to do with the rest of the book? This question has theological implications, for how one answers will determine how one will interpret the theological contribution of the book within the Hebrew canon.6

4. M. A. Shields, “Ecclesiastes and the End of Wisdom,” TynBul 50 (1999): 117–39 (117). 5. Fox, “Frame Narrative and Composition,” 315. 6. For a complete study of the main theological implications of the different readings of the epilogue, see Auwers, “Problèmes d’interprétation de l’épilogue de Qohélet.” 1

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2. The Epilogue: Resizing Qohelet in the Framework of the Canonical and Theological Task One specic cause of the controversies about the epilogue is that its explicit Torah character contrasts with the marked secular7 tone of the main body.8 In this regard, it is worth noting that in the main body of the book the themes of the “fear of God” and “judgment” appear already. Where they appear, however, they do not stand in isolation, but have been capably connected with the natural physical limitations of man (e.g. 3:14, 17). Common interests that connect the epilogue and the body of Qohelet can also be seen in the reference to “his commandments” (HJEH4>, 12:13), and the statements related to fear and judgment in 8:4–6, a text that is a secular version of the epilogue’s conclusion.9 For this reason I believe that even the version most explicitly Torah-like seeks expressly to connect with the fundamental assumptions of the main body of the book. It should also be pointed out that if the editor, more Torahlike in the epilogue, has respected the secular and scientic character of the editorial prologue (1:1–11), it is due to his intention to recognize two perfectly distinct autonomous realities—the Creation and the Torah— whose respective inherent limits make them both necessary.10 This seems to be re
ected in the epilogue where there is a clear praise of science— albeit scribal-sapiential science (12:9–11)—which at the same time establishes its limits (12:12). Alongside this, the necessity of the Torah is afrmed in a way that shows that it is not a source of ultimate knowledge, which will only be given in judgment, about which little is known (12:13–14). It is essential to point out that science is also taken seriously 7. Throughout this essay my use of “secular” is in keeping with Qohelet’s focus, “under the sun,” that is, from the “saeculum.” The geological and historical hymn of 1:4–11 is the best token to this focus. 8. For example, James Crenshaw, Ecclesiastes (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1987), 189–90; Kurt Galling, Die fünf Megilloth (HAT 18; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1969), 124–25; Aarre Lauha, Kohelet (BKAT 19; Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1978), 220–22; and Walther Zimmerli, Das Buch des Predigers Salomo (ATD 16/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1962), 249–50. This observation, however, requires much nuancing, because the epilogue lacks a specic claim to inspiration or particular divine illumination—including the “second epilogue” (12:12–14), which is more circumspect than is usually perceived. 9. In this text God is like the king, and man is before God as the subject before a king who has sovereign authority (L. Alonso-Schökel, Eclesiastés y Sabiduría [Madrid: Cristiandad, 1974], 53). 10. I have treated in depth the secularist and scientic character of the prologue in my Fe, política, y economía en Eclesiastés, 27–77. 1

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in the epilogue and its limits are established only according to its own epistemological bases; the same occurs with the Torah. My translation of the epilogue attempts to re
ect the balance between its secular character and its circumspect Torah-like tone. A key to this understanding is the interpretation of CEJH (12:9), which the versions translate as an adverb (“besides” or “moreover”). However, I believe it is essential to keep in mind the importance of the root CEJ elsewhere in Qohelet, where all of its forms mean “benet,” “advantage,” or “gain.” Such usage responds to one of the explicit and fundamental questions of the work about the outcome of human projects in general (1:3 and 6:11: “What does man gain?”), or of the homo faber/œconomicus (3:9: “What is the prot to the high ofcial?”), or also of the homo spiritualissimus (5:15: “What is to be gained by one who toils for the wind/spirit?”),11 or additionally of the homo sapiens (6:8; also 2:13; 7:12: “What is the advantage of the wise?”). Therefore, the use of the root CEJ in Qohelet serves throughout to distill the true meaning of the catchphrase of 1:2, that sharp political-economic and philosophical-religious critique of all human efforts to produce a “plus” in any eld (economic, labor, religious, etc.). Consequently, when one arrives at its corollary, it is impossible to separate the catchphrase )J=39 =39 of 12:8 from the question about the “benet” or “gain” (*HCEJ / CEHJ). This is the reason for my translation of CEJH as “benet” or “gain” and the inclusion of 12:8 in the epilogue, taking the introductory copula of 12:9 as adversative. If my translation is correct, it would emphasize the editor’s laudatory tone beyond what is usually perceived. Moreover, it would also highlight the epilogue as an absolutely positive response to the question of the book about the “benet.” Against the vacillations about the benet that “words/affairs” ()JC35, 1:8) report,12 there is a palpable benet in Qohelet’s research: his teaching to the people. This at the same time raises the question about the meaning of this teaching. Before focusing on that, however, we need emphasize the signicance of a single fact: Qohelet, immersed in a critical personal task, could hardly perceive any benet except the necessity of enjoying the gift of God (2:24–26). Now, however, the editor presents a vicarious function of his arid and 11. In my opinion, the use of IHC in Qohelet is ironic: on the one hand it is used in its materiality (“wind”) against those who are caught up in human affairs, but on the other hand it is employed ironically against those new religious groups for whom reality is penetrated by spirits. I offered a thorough treatment of the theme of the “spirit” in Qohelet in my Fe, política, y economía en Eclesiastés, 241–75. 12. In the book of Qohelet as a whole, )JC35 should be understood as studies, analyses, speeches, or any other form of “wisdom/science” (9>). 1

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apparently sterile sapiential work: the people have been the main beneciary. It is certainly interesting that this benet of Qohelet’s wisdom would not be for himself but for the “people” ()), who receive his teachings. Such a fact is not surprising, however, if we think of the vigorous criticism that Qohelet aims against all form and pretense of power and knowledge, and if we take into consideration that his own name points in this same populist direction. Commentators often point out this democratic aspect of qoheletian wisdom, while at the same time speculating about its more social signicance, inquiring about themes and the possible existence of schools, forms of teaching (in private or public circles), possible peripatetic in
uences on this teacher, and so on.13 It is also noteworthy that Qohelet does not use other more restrictive terms like “assembly/congregation” (=9B, 95) or “community/ commune” (5IJ, 9CH3I) that have a more restricted sense and a more religious connotation (assembly of the faithful, community of disciples or followers, etc.). All of this can lead one to deduce that from the editor’s perspective Qohelet taught everyone, possibly with a special emphasis on the “common people” and not only to his disciples or to a community of followers and sympathizers. It can be observed that Qohelet becomes increasingly “popular” throughout chs. 3–12, so that the powerful king and rich landowner gure at the beginning of the book completely disappears by the epilogue.14 That is, this popular function of Qohelet, or at least the closeness to the people that the epilogue attributes to him, does not appear suddenly but as a corollary of the process of transformation into a true master-scribe whose professional labor is now described in detail and, curiously, from its most secular and strictly professional side (12:9–10b: “Pondering, investigating, and coining many proverbs…”), even though it could have an undeniable religious transcendence.15 As noted already, 13. According to A. Bonora (El libro de Qohélet [Barcelona: Herder, 1994], 203), Qohelet was a master disseminator of the wisdom that received peripatetic in
uence. He also perceives traces of his academic activity in the scholastic method employed throughout the main body of the work: “the master invites to debate, to analyze and verify a sentence or a saying, a widespread opinion, a common place.” This is a method that Bonora sees re
ected in the use of the three verbs in 12:9b. 14. See E. S. Christianson, A Time to Tell: Narrative Strategies in Ecclesiastes (JSOTSup 280; Shefeld: JSOT, 1998), for whom the book of Qohelet is structured around the progressive unveiling of its protagonist. 15. The translation of Qohelet as “preacher” followed by Jerome and Luther, responds quite well to the popular character of its protagonist. Another alternative would be “commoner,” if by such one understands a popular or charismatic leader of the community. Such a rendering, however, loses the aspect of teaching. Vílchez (Eclesiastés o Qohélet, 425–31) offers a good presentation of the proposed interpre1

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the epilogue does not speak to us at all, at least not explicitly, of an inspired or illumined activity, but of one based strictly on scribalsapiential science, underlining once more the editor’s interest in the more secular and technical aspects of this activity. Without a doubt the detailed description indicates that it is mainly through literary activity that the preacher forms the people. For all intents and purposes, if the activities of 12:9b on rst glance may be limited to oral activity, 12:10b (3HE > play with a semantic ambivalence that justies the double translation that I employ. Hence the rst, which in the Hebrew Bible means “goad,” also meant “guardian” or “gatekeeper” in Post-Classical Hebrew (already present in Qohelet), while the second could be read as the plural of C>> (“guard duty”) in place of the Masoretic plural of C> >. Incidentally, C>> can have the clear priestly connotations of the temple watch (e.g. 1 Chr 26:12; Neh 7:3; 13:30; CD 4:2; 1QM 2:2; see M. Jastrow, Dictionary of the Targumim, the Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature [New York: Pardes, 1950], 856). This reading is important not only because it would conrm the connotation of “xing” of the previous translation, but also points to a pretense of legitimate authority (over the interpretation of the Torah?). 1

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sharpness but the
xing or nailing of the mentioned material.19 Here in v. 11—and also in v. 10 although more elliptically—the editor raises his praise a step above the mere secular or professional activity well described in 12:9 and marks Qohelet’s work with a special aura by using a language that suggests that the result encompasses a special literary corpus. Thus he rst places Qohelet’s words on a par with a known and authorized collection ()J>I9 JC35, “Words of the Wise”) and then insinuates that there already exists a demarcation for this corpus (whose compositions are “like goads, and like nails”), which distinguishes it from the rest of the literary-exegetical production that may follow, anticipating in this way the scope established by 12:12. The same can also be deduced from the use of “words of the wise” in Proverbs, where they appear in the same editorial context (1:6; 22:17) and seem to refer to a more or less dened corpus.20 Furthermore, “words of authority and what is written correctly, that is, words of truth” point to the drafting or xing of authorized texts. More to the point, these locutions seem to go beyond a mere xing of “proverbs” ()J=>) referred to in 12:9—Could it be an oblique reference to the book of Proverbs?21—and point to a creative outcome that forms part of the CEHJ (“benet”) that the qoheletian activity has left behind. This afrmation to a great extent is grounded in the understanding of #AIJC35, not so much as “benecial words” as found in most versions, but as it is deduced from the study of the use of #AI in Qohelet and Qumran: “valuable/valid (authorized?) words.”22 It is very 19. Lohnk, “Les épilogues du livre de Qohélet,” 88, points out that the EH?H3C5 spur the animals to movement, while the EHC> > holds them in place in order to give them guidance. That is to say, on the one hand there is a stimulating creation, but on the other an intent to x the interpretation (supposedly of the Torah). As I understand it, this is the pretense that will stimulate the process of the xing of the Torah itself. Therefore, I believe that it is the exegetical interest that will nally drive the stabilization of the text, and from there traditum and traditio may no longer be so easily differentiated. 20. In addition to the two quotations from Proverbs, another parallel mention of “the words of the sages” does not appear in the entire Hebrew Bible except in Qoh 9:17, whose exhortation “the words of the sages heard in quietness” seems to refer the reader to Prov 22:17 (“Incline your ear and listen/obey the words of the sages,” or rather, “Incline your ear and listen—Words of the Sages—and apply your heart to my wisdom…”). That is to say, this quote seems to re
ect the necessity of a time of withdrawal from the habitual tasks and the dedication of oneself to meditation and re
exion on the texts of the sages, texts that seem already to constitute a collection. 21. Wilson, “ ‘The Words of the Wise,’” 178–83. 22. In addition, we should take into account the following data. First, J. Targarona Borràs, Diccionario Hebreo-Español (Barcelona: Riopiedras, 1995), includes for our term the meanings “interest,” “benet” and “value.” Second, in Mal 3:12 and 1

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possible, therefore, that the epilogue is really a re
ection of the xing process of the teachings of the teachers of Judah, who had a hand in the stabilization of the scriptural text. If my argument is correct, it is possible to perceive in Qohelet a re
ection of the dawn of canonical consciousness.23 It is risky to try to pin down whether this text contains an explicit reference to the formation of Sacred Scriptures, or only a separate exegetical corpus. The impression is that there is a clear amalgamation of both, and that at this stage they cannot be totally differentiated. In fact, what is sometimes presented as a contradiction between 12:9–11 and 12:12–14, is in reality a faithful re
ection of the following process. On the one hand, the work of the sages-scribes who compile and order the materials is foundational to their main contribution, which is to update and apply the Torah. On the other hand, this more hermeneutically oriented creative activity will reinforce the process of textual stabilization of the Torah, hence both directions are re
ected already in 12:9–11. Beneath this bidirectional development lies another process of growing differentiation between Torah and interpretation, between traditum and traditio, and this is precisely what we nd in 12:12–14. In these verses, consistent with 1:8, there is a criticism of the permanent composition of )JCAD (“books”), among which are doubtlessly included those that offer a permanent reinterpretation of the Torah from the most diverse and random elds of knowledge. It is difcult to decide to what extent such criticism attempts to end various interpretations, written or oral, but the direction of this part of the epilogue is clear: to deny the possibility of a true increase in the ultimate science (knowledge of the ultimate). This, in turn, conveys a narrower view on the Torah than that pretended by the ontological focus on the rise. Consequently, the process of scripturalization will be driven by the tension between these two views. Curiously, this process is rational at its foundation, since it presupposes establishing a rational base of differentiation between revelation and its human interpretation. It should be kept in mind that this recognized body of sages dominated Isa 54:12 #AI appears in an adjectival position similar to ours where its obvious meaning is “valuable.” Third, the possibility needs to be considered that the author could have been thinking of a play on words between #AIJ?3 (“precious stones”) and #AIJC35 (“precious words”). That is, in reality he would have been thinking of “words of great value,” which is conrmed precisely by the use of the verbs 4> and B3. 23. See G. T. Sheppard, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament (BZAW 151; Berlin: de Gruyter 1980), 110, who follows I. L. Seeligman, “Voraussetzungen der Midraschexegese,” in Congress Volume: Copenhagen, 1953 (VTSup 1; Leiden: Brill, 1953), 150–81. 1

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secular knowledge, and such was their popular and ofcial credibility that many of their activities and decisions lacked even an explicit biblical foundation.24 If this is so, it means that the formation of the Scriptures has among its vital impulses a scientic and secular character that gave it greater credibility thanks to the great recognition enjoyed by the sages who participated in it. Is it so unusual, then, that these sages would be capable of creating or integrating a work like Qohelet? Is it so surprising that Qohelet would have been conceived of as an attack of a clearly secular nature against pretences of political or religious power and go on to acquire a great religious transcendence? Is it not for this reason that the epilogue does nothing more than place itself in the main direction of the work, drawing out somewhat more explicitly this important religious transcendence? What has been said up to this point should be considered in the light of the context of the epilogue in a period of literary blooming—be it the Medo-Persian or Hellenistic period—driven above all by the multiplication of teachers and the diversity of literary works that threatened profoundly to affect the cohesion of the people, and thereby Judaism as well. This background requires a clarication and connects with Qohelet’s concern about the scientic and technological enterprise itself. If the qoheletian criticism undermines all basis of any attempted developmentalism, including hermeneutical development, it may be afrmed that the epilogue of Qohelet not only points to the “closing” of the Canon, as Sheppard suggests,25 but that it is the work itself that provides the theological ammunition to those in favor of a closing of the canonization process and its denitive separation from the hermeneutical and exegetical process, at least as it concerns its written format. To be sure, such closing and separation is best done based on the authority of one of the recognized teachers and, as we have presented, on his authority in secular and even scientic subjects. It is also worth remembering that in this context the “people” are a very important reference point in that the entire process of scripturalization or canonization re
ects the pretence of superiority over them, and for this reason they are not the only thing that serves as a stable foundation for the religious institutions. Therefore, the teachers of yesteryear, those who were considered servants of the people, offered a stable religious foundation due to their 24. Thus points out A. Guttmann, Rabbinic Judaism in the Making: A Chapter in the History of the Halakhah from Ezra to Judah (Detroit, Mich.: Wayne State University Press, 1970), 9, for the so-called Sopheric period. Later teachers, such as Jesus ben Sira, will appeal more explicitly to the Scripture. 25. Sheppard, “The Epilogue to Qoheleth,” 185–89. 1

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relative immunity to political interference. As a result of this, their in
uence among the people grew enormously and along with it the idea of Sacred Scripture.26 Accordingly, it is not strange that there is a demonstrated interest in presenting Qohelet as one of those sages that had obtained widespread credibility among the people and who had contributed not only to the alphabetization but also the scripturalization of the people. To summarize, if earlier we spoke of the editor afrming the professional activity of Qohelet, it could be said more precisely that the editor puts Qohelet on a pedestal in the pantheon of the sages, specifying that this pantheon is unique and remains segregated from the rest of the sages and teachers who, during the time of the editors, continue to perform the same work and claim the same attributions and capabilities. Indeed, it is worth asking whether Qohelet is not a collective name representing this body of sages that was able to transform the spirit received from the Torah in a profoundly secular impulse, and vice versa, such that the secular drive received from paganism was channeled towards the Torah. In any case, it seems clear that the epilogue does nothing more than highlight the distinctly ambivalent character of the work. We turn now to the interesting clues of a similar editorial activity in the book of Daniel.27 3. The “Closing” of Daniel The previous observations about the epilogue of Qohelet nd a very interesting echo in the conclusion to the book of Daniel (12:1–13) which seems to re
ect an editorial activity marked by the same tension between the two fundamental impulses detected in the epilogue of Qohelet. 3.1. The Book of Daniel In Daniel, the “sage” or “scholar” (the participle =J< > in the Hebrew section, )J: 1:4; 11:33, 35; 12:3, 10; )J
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prototype of sage proposed by the unied edition of the book (Daniel A + Daniel B):29 Young men without physical defect and handsome, versed in every branch of wisdom, endowed with knowledge and insight, and competent to serve in the king’s palace; they were to be taught the literature and language of the Chaldeans. (1:4) Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever. (12:3)

These two verses represent two very different models of sages which the nal editor of the canonical work sees as equally valid. Hence it should be understood that the sage of Daniel A, who receives the revelation of Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams, and the sage of Daniel B, who receives the visions and interpretation directly and who is interested in the exegesis of Jeremiah’s prophecy (Dan 9:1–3), are the same persona dramatis even if not the same historic person. Consequently, it may be said that this work does not intend so much to discredit secular science as to present a Jewish faith that is capable of a revelation of greater knowledge, and at the same time to subsume secular science. The nal editor rejects an autonomous humanistic faith that represents the power of the pagan empires and is opposed by the divinely informed science of Daniel and his friends.30 For this same editor, however, the scientic appearance of the discourse is a source of credibility, and from this there arises an interest in fusing all the areas of knowledge into a unique total model called Daniel, which can serve as the model for the teachers of the last times.31 Precisely, the service that this integral sage lends is now not only political-administrative, represented by the service that he gave to Nebuchadnezzar (Daniel A), but a much more social or popular one (although no less political), which has a bearing on the people ()) or the multitudes ()J3C). It is helpful to explore more fully the extent to which Daniel’s social in
uence functions as a model for the proper activity of these sages. In the Hebrew section of the book, Daniel’s wisdom acquires a new characteristic that was not present in the Aramaic: the expert skill in the 29. By Daniel A is meant the sage of the tales in chs. 1–6 and by Daniel B the sage of the visions in chs. 7–12. For a good summary of the critical implications of the distinction between the two sages, see J. J. Collins, Daniel, with an Introduction to Apocalyptic Literature (FOTL 20; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), 27–30. 30. J. Goldingay, Daniel (WBC 30; Dallas, Tex.: Word, 1989), 9–10, points out that in ch. 1 the use of the verb *E? with God as subject stands out (vv. 2, 9, 12, 16– 17). Likewise on p. 27 he afrms that the reiteration of God gave “relativizes military power, political power, and the power of human wisdom.” 31. Dan 11:33–35; 12:3, 10; Goldingay, Daniel, 13. 1

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exegesis of received prophecy (written). Royal wisdom—a symbol of humanist and secular culture and power—already appears linked with “literature” (CAD) in 1:4; but this is developed further on in 1:17, associating such secular culture with another mantic culture of more profound knowledge, and attributing both to a divine gift: “To these four young men God gave knowledge and skill in every aspect of literature and wisdom/ science; Daniel also had insight into all visions and dreams” (1:17). From the contrast between the secular knowledge of the four young men and the revealed wisdom of one of them, Daniel, is inferred that the prole of the integral sage includes both secular and religious knowledge (revelation and its exegesis).32 It should not be surprising that throughout the Hebrew section of Daniel the root =< (“to be prudent, to understand”) always connotes exegesis, or more generically exegetical understanding, since all of its instances are given in the context of his interest in the interpretation of Jeremiah’s oracle (9:13, 22, 25). More specically, all of these occurrences are framed in the answer that Daniel receives about his exegetical interest, for which “understand” here means interpret correctly, that is, interpret under inspiration (vision). In this way the Hebrew section of Daniel absorbs the Aramaic section of Daniel with the result that exegesis and mantic knowledge are joined. In fact, as Knibb points out,33 beginning with ch. 9 the implicit exegetical activity is accentuated as the editor resorts more to intertextuality. Such textual connections are subtly achieved so that not even the text of Jeremiah alluded to in 9:1–3 is cited or transcribed literally, although it does play with a selection of its words.34 Through all of this, and within this model of total sage that the nal edition presents to the reader, a self-consciousness of the “sages/scholars ()J=< >) as inspired scribes predominates in their scribal activity, that is, as interpreters of the Scriptures.35 32. For this development I rely considerably on M. A. Knibb, “You are Wiser than Daniel…,” in The Book of Daniel in the Light of New Findings (ed. A. S. van der Woude; BETL 106; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1993), 399–411. Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel, 479–90, and “From Scribalism to Rabbinism: Perspectives on the Emergence of Classical Judaism,” in The Sage in Israel and the Ancient Near East (ed. J. G. Gammie and L. G. Perdue; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 439–56 (443–44), has also treated Dan 9 in a very interesting way. 33. Knibb, “You are Wiser than Daniel…,” 404. 34. Knibb (ibid., 405) expresses it as follows: “In spite of the fact that Dan 9 depends explicitly on the prophecy of the 70 years, one may not speak of the reuse of the language of Jeremiah.” 35. Goldingay, Daniel, 303, reaches this same conclusion, although based on different support. 1

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This self-consciousness intertwines with the sages’ appropriation of the gure of the Suffering Servant of Isa 52:13–53:13, as has already been pointed out by Ginsberg, who was followed by Fishbane and Knibb.36 Knibb speaks for all when he writes: It has long been recognized that Daniel 12:3, which refers to “the wise” ()J=< >) as “those who lead many to righteousness” (9JBJ54> )J3C), contains a reminiscence of the fourth Servant Song (Isa. 52:13–53:12), namely of Isaiah 53:11, “The righteous one, my servant, will make many righteous” ()J3C= J53 BJ54 BJ54J). It is also signicant, as Ginsberg pointed out, that at the beginning of the Servant Song the verb kal is used of the servant (J53 =J< J 9?9). The implication of these reminiscences is that “the wise” applied the passage about the servant to themselves and believed that their suffering (Dan 11:33) would be followed by their vindication.37

All of this is to say that the visionary scribes behind the text of Daniel self-consciously associate themselves with the people, inasmuch as this is the best vindication of their scribal and intellectual labor. In fact, they are classied as “sages of the people” (11:33), re
ecting the profound identication that existed between these two groups. This identication has much to do with the high level of interest in education within Judaism,38 and this is strengthened by Hellenistic in
uence as well as by a certain distancing of the strictest form of Yahwism from political power, as is made clear in the context of ch. 11, as defended by Davies.39 These sages, then, nd an alternative power in the religious education of the people, which was facilitated by the increasing use of books. This is re
ected very artistically in three fundamental symbols of Daniel: the book, the court, and the secret.40 Davies shows how in the ght for power churning within Judaism during the Hellenistic period, the weight of the written text is increasing. Stated brie
y, it seems clear in Daniel that the scientic-mantic power of the royal scribes derived from their knowledge of secular literature, but particularly from the decrees and political texts, which served as a model of the power of the scribes of the celestial

36. Ginsberg, “The Oldest Interpretation of the Suffering Servant,” VT 3 (1953): 400–404 (402–3); Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 493; and Knibb, “You are Wiser than Daniel…,” 406–7. 37. Knibb, “You are Wiser than Daniel…,” 402–3. 38. J. A. Montgomery, The Book of Daniel: A Critical and Exegetical Commentary (ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1927), 458. 39. Philip R. Davies, “Reading Daniel Sociologically,” in van der Woude, ed., The Book of Daniel, 354–55. 40. Ibid., 352–56. 1

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court.41 To these the power comes from a superior knowledge (interpretation) of the Scriptures, so that their own works are “touched” by divine authority. Although Davies does not arrive at this conclusion, it seems obvious that the “scholars” ()J=< >) of Daniel promote the book not only as a means of dissemination of their ideas but to establish continuity with the process of scripturalization and a source of authority for this group—necessary steps given their marginalization with relation to both institutional power and the Temple.42 In fact, Daniel seems to re
ect the efforts of these )J=< > to present themselves as a valid alternative to the Temple, since their daily activity and their martyrdom is as expiatory and purifying as that of the daily sacrice (5J>E) for the people.43 In other words, they perceive themselves as having a vicarious function for the people. In light of this it may be said with Davies44 that in Daniel there “exists an ethos of scripture, including an ideology of scripture.” As already noted, such an approach to scripture doubtlessly has to do with a more democratic, or at least a more popular or anti-classist ethos and ideology that makes the sages much more independent from the institutions of power of the epoch. For this reason there exists a risk of radical rupture with institutions such as the Temple that gave impulse to the process of scripturalization.45 To summarize, the “sages/scholars” ()J=< >) described by Daniel were able to increase their in
uence over the people

41. It should be noted that Dan 10:21 speaks of the “book/true record” (E> 3E<) in a way that refers to the celestial book (1 En 81:1) where God has recorded all historical and personal events, which is then revealed to the sage for his human record (D. S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic [London: SCM, 1964], 107–8). 42. Davies, “Reading Daniel Sociologically,” 356, argues that in the Second Temple period books were not produced for public consumption. However, G. Cavallo, Libros, editores y público en el mundo antiguo. Guía histórica y crítica (trans. J. Signes Codoñer; Madrid: Alianza Editorial, 1995), 9–14, shows the existence of a paradigm shift from an oral culture to a book culture in Greece in the fth century. While this book culture did not include the same levels of literacy as are present in the West today, the great literary activity of Qumran demonstrates that Cavallo’s thesis is certain, and that culture spread with Hellenism. 43. Davies, “Reading Daniel Sociologically,” 359–62. 44. Ibid., 354. 45. In this respect the theory of Georgi (“Die Aristoteles- und Theophrastausgabe des Andronikus von Rhodus,” 45–78) about the development of the canon on the basis of the catalog of books recommended by the Temple to the Palestinian schools and those of the Diaspora, which would be used as textbooks, comes to mind. Consider also the priestly appropriation of this process presented by the Chronicler (2 Chr 17:7–9). 1

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thanks to their vicarious consciousness, their conviction of being inspired, and their discovery of an effective weapon, the CAD, by which they disseminated their own interpretation of the Scriptures. In this way they compensate for their marginalization in relation to the ofcial realms of power and make themselves a de facto power to be considered. For this reason it should not surprise that a movement arises within the same process of scripturalization against these pretences represented by the book of Daniel. That is, a movement will emerge that is opposed to the continuity of the process of scripturalization, and with it a process of differentiation between inspiration, canon, interpretation and similar questions that will lead to a demarcation of the canon. 3.2. The “Closing” or Epilogue of Daniel (12:1–13) Identifying the boundaries of the concluding section of Daniel is a challenging task. These verses are not presented as an editorial elaboration but as the nal part or conclusion of a revelation. The fact that these verses are the last ones in Daniel makes it clear, however, that they are intended to function as the conclusion of the work. An examination of these verses shows that this section has certain similarities with the epilogue of Qohelet. Within this material, Dan 12:1–4 is the conclusion of the nal revelation that began in 10:1, while 12:5–13 seems to be a redactional appendix in the form of an epilogue.46 In v. 9, however, the editor has repeated elements from 12:1–4 (e.g. )EI, “to close,” and )ED, “to seal”) in a way that includes the previous section as part of a single unit, even if redactionally one may speak, two epilogues.47 With this clarication in mind, we move on to the main issue of the text, which for us has to do with a selection of themes of a marked “epilogal” character that invite the comparison with Qohelet. Three elements are present in both epilogues: (1) the vindication of that professional class that in Daniel are called the )J=< >, (2) the establishment of some epistemological limits considered inherent to the message of the work, and (3) a nal conclusion about the activity of said sages—the security of a denitive judgment.

46. L. F. Hartman and A. di Lella, The Book of Daniel (AB 23; New York: Doubleday, 1977), 310–15. 47. On the purely scribal character of 12:9, see also Shalom M. Paul, “Daniel 12:9: A Technical Mesopotamian Scribal Term,” in Sefer Moshe: The Moshe Weinfeld Jubilee Volume: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East, Qumran and Post-Biblical Judaism (ed. C. Cohen, A. Hurvitz, and S. Paul; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2004), 115–18. 1

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We shall examine each of these elements in turn. That there is a deliberate panegyric and vindictive purpose of the )J=< > is undeniable, not only for the reasons expressed previously, but because in 12:3 they are granted a particular destiny that, surprisingly, coincides with the desires of the emperors but that has been denied to them by divine sovereignty.48 This is expressed by the nominal and verbal use of the root C9K (“to shine, warn, instruct”), whose Torah-like connotations in the Hebrew Bible are hard to extract.49 Bearing in mind that Daniel makes a midrash of the use of C9K in Ezek 8:2, it becomes evident that Daniel ascribes a destiny in the celestial court to the wise masters of the Law, based on their vicarious function in behalf of the people (12:3). This perspective presented by this part of the epilogue is very important because it condenses the self-consciousness of the )J=< > represented here. One could summarize by saying that the )J=< > feel that they are not only those who continue the mosaic and prophetic work but are the means and instruments of its culmination. In my opinion, this is the way the body of data about the book of Daniel as well as its epilogue should be interpreted. It is here that the importance of their vindication by the people becomes evident, since this social and professional group now appropriates for itself a vicarious function that never was such an explicit part of its consciousness, with the exception of course of the editor of Qohelet and the tradition represented by the hymns of the Servant of Yahweh. Such consciousness, taken to its extreme, generates some epistemological pretensions that are portrayed throughout Daniel in different forms. However, the epilogue combines an afrmation in line with the main body of the work that is quite optimistic with respect to the accessibility of the )J=< > to the mystery,50 with another afrmation more 48. According to Goldingay, Daniel, 308, the )J=< > receive the honors, the power and celestial status that the northern king claimed. 49. G. J. Botterweck and H. Ringgren, Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, vol. 4 (trans. D. E. Green; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 41–42. Throughout the Hebrew Bible, the majority of the verbal occurrences of C9K have some connection with Torah instruction (Exod 18:20; 2 Chr 19:10; Lev 15:31; Ps 19:2) or with the prophetic word of warning or condemnation (Ezek 3:17–18, 19–21 [quasiparallel in 33:3, 4–6, 7–9]). In 2 Kgs 6:10, Qoh 4:13 and Ezra 4:22 it appears in a political context meaning “to warn,” “to decree” or “to be on guard.” Finally, the meaning “splendor” occurs in an unequivocal way in Ezek 8:2, although it plays with the divine C9K as a source of the prophetic oracle. About its use in Ezekiel, Dan 12:3 will develop “a paranomastic construction” (ibid., 46), which is the same as saying that this last text is a Midrash of the previous one. 50. Verses 1–4 are part of the revelation and as such provide knowledge. In addition, v. 4 should be understood in a positive sense, because its language points to 1

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cautious that encloses them within certain limits. This caution is expressed by Daniel’s lack of comprehension, captured by 12:8, and also in the answer of the angel, who simply makes the possible “solution” more obtuse, at least in the historical horizon.51 Furthermore, Young52 rightly points out that the prayer of 12:9 (“Look, Daniel, because these words are to be closed and sealed until the time of the end”) is a requirement to abandon a speculative investigation of the book, because once the original copy has been placed in safekeeping, the ability to understand it will depend very much on timing. In fact, 12:10 seems to insinuate that the proper timing and understanding nally comes from the hand of the martyr, since this verse opposes the impious ones—who in their evil do not understand—along with their victims (the “many” and “wise/teachers”). Victims will be able to understand the persecution, or at least their leaders will be able to comprehend.53 Without a doubt there is no stronger dissuasion against sterile speculation on revelations than martyrdom, and evidently this has to do with faithfulness to the Torah. A nal point of interest is the theme of judgment, conveyed by the separation of the just, (12:2–3), and the theme of recompense (=CH8) (12:13). In this context the term =CH8 does not mean “recompense” as much as “destiny,”54 and although shared with the group of the “sages” the authentication of documents that bore the deposit and seal of a copy as a requirement prior to its “publication,” that is, the multiplication of copies (E. J. Young, Daniel [Geneva Series of Commentaries; Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1972], 257). For this reason the debated locution of v. 4b should be translated “let many investigate and let knowledge increase/spread,” since it is part of the “proselytizing” and formative activities of the )J=< > who attempt to attract “many” ()J3C) of the people precisely by means of the book culture, and more specically by means of this book, entering in this way into competition with the expansion of Hellenistic culture. It should also be observed that this knowledge provided by the investigation of Daniel coincides with the laudatory tone of Qoh 12:11 to the )J>
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and the “many,” it refers most of all to the individual and distinct destiny of the person. In this term we encounter a concept that is added in this epilogue that does not appear explicitly in the body of the work. The question of the distinction between justice and injustice, and accordingly between the just and unjust, is a dominant concern in Daniel, and one that nds echoes in Qohelet (3:16–20).55 The marginalization of the “sages/scholars” in relation to the Temple along with their profound vicarious consciousness resulted in the development of sacricial concepts fused with martyrdom, providing a paradoxical answer to that pressing question: where the impious rule and subjugate the pious, the pious emerge purer than ever (11:35; 12:10). By relegating the nal judgment to “the end of days” (12:3), the epilogue shrouds its historical realization, the details being denied even to Daniel himself (12:7–9). Clouding things further is the deliberate contrast between the dates given in vv. 11 and 12, which makes interpretation even more problematic. 4. The Epilogues of Qohelet and Daniel Contrasted As we have seen, the editors of Qohelet and Daniel share important interests. A vicarious character is present in both prologues (Qohelet’s and Daniel’s wisdom is for the good of people), with that in Daniel featuring a martyrdom-like character not present in Qohelet. With respect to the access to ultimate knowledge, both maintain contrasting positions, but it is curious that the respective epilogues nuance these so that now we can nd a certain meeting point between them. In fact, the optimism shown by Daniel is notably constrained in his epilogue, while the qoheletian negativism is positivized by its editor. Indeed, it seems that certain parts of both epilogues have an identical objective, that is, to close the path to a growing literary corpus, whereupon both editors show the same epistemological attitude: knowledge is possible, both at the natural as well as the revealed level, but it is limited in both elds. I also believe that one can speak of an undercurrent of individual judgment common to both epilogues. Of even greater signicance in both epilogues may be the postponement of nal judgment to a more or less undened kind of eon that is inaccessible to humanity. It may also be noted that in both contexts the Torah implicitly occupies a primordial place in the judgment. This is perceived in the comparison of the generic language of Qohelet (“fear God and obey his commandments”) with the symbolic language of Daniel (“those inscribed in the book,” “the sages will shine 55. My treatment of the theodicy in Ecclesiastes, centered on ch. 3, is found in my Fe, política, y economía en Eclesiastés, 209–75. 1

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with the splendor of the rmament and those who justify many…” etc.). Finally, it is worth remembering that, like Qohelet, the book of Daniel also clearly belongs to the culture of the book, which in the Jewish framework is immersed in a process of scripturalization and is linked to the exegetical enterprise and, furthermore, carries with it an irrefutable secular ethos. I would summarize the symmetry between the epilogues of Qohelet and Daniel as follows: the epilogue of Qohelet, in order to preserve the mutual autonomy of Science and the Torah, “saves” the work of Qohelet in direct proportion to the limit established by the epilogue of Daniel within the reach of his apocalyptic vision, avoiding in this way the absolutization of the revelation that would overwhelm Science. Ergo: are we not speaking about a very similar theology between the editors of both works? 5. Conclusion Qohelet’s epilogue has not been redacted against the secular message of the book, nor as a mere ofcial sanction of the sages in order to “canonize” it. Both extremes exceed an editorial task. In contrast, the epilogue adheres closely to the editorial role, be it ctitious or real. The editor’s main purpose is to highlight the relevance of the book as a precise accounting of the limits of the sources of knowledge so valued as wisdom (reason and experience) or revelation (Torah). In the same way Daniel’s epilogue sanctions revelation and its illuminated exegesis, but also denes its limits. For this reason it is possible to detect in both epilogues a similar editorial activity, that is, one either carried out by the same editors or by different gures driven by very similar ideals. I believe it is feasible, therefore, to situate this editorial activity as part of the complex process of scripturalization that at one point in the process led to the classication of the received literary traditions and, as part of this, to the closing off of its development. It is the same process that some authors detect in the epilogue of Deut 34:9–12.56 Therefore, the epilogues serve to classify the works that are encapsulated within the proto-canon to which they already seem to belong. For this reason the epilogues, more than sanctioning their canonical character, situate them within it and in this way facilitate the dialogue between the different 56. James Blenkinsopp, Prophecy and Canon: A Contribution to the Study of Jewish Origins (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1977), 80–95; Roger Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church and Its Background in Early Judaism (London: SPCK, 1985), 134–35, 149. 1

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books. Thanks to these epilogues—among other editorial resources—it has been possible to create a canon rich in very distinct messages and at the same time a relation of “unstable equilibrium” or “unresolved tension” that has been shown to be so fruitful.57

57. Blenkinsopp, Prophecy and Canon, 94. 1

JUSTIFICATION BY FAITH: A CASE OF HEARING THE ONE GOSPEL THROUGH HISTORICALLY DISSIMILAR TRADITIONS Frank D. Macchia

1. Introduction: Clarifying Barth I came to know Gerald Sheppard while I was a student in the late 1970s in the Master of Divinity program at Union Theological Seminary in New York. He was my advisor and I soon discovered that we shared a background in the Pentecostal movement. It did not take us long to become friends, a friendship that lasted throughout the remaining years of his life. I spent countless hours in those days at Union discussing hermeneutics with Professor Sheppard at both his home and his ofce, and I ended up taking nearly all of my biblical studies requirements from him. I found my work under him to be formative and enlightening. I did not always understand him (in fact, I rarely did entirely), which only made me want to come back again and again for further clarication and discussion. Later, during my doctoral studies at Basel, I took a hermeneutics colloquium with Heinrich Ott that lasted several semesters. Some of the most signicant contributions that I made to those discussions were due to Gerald Sheppard’s in
uence. There were also moments during those many hermeneutical discussions in which a light came on in my head and I found myself thinking, “That’s what he meant!” In addition to Sheppard’s in
uence on my doctoral studies, my doctoral studies in Karl Barth’s theology (among other things) at Basel enhanced my appreciation for Sheppard’s richly theological hermeneutic. This Barthian in
uence is implicit in Sheppard’s brilliant essay, “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions.”1 Sheppard took from Barth the seminal insight that all of Scripture is a witness to its chief subject matter, namely, the 1. Gerald Sheppard, “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,” Int 36 (1982): 21–33. 1

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grace of God as heard and appropriated by the community of faith.2 This connection is worth exploring more thoroughly. Though all of Scripture bears witness to revelation for Barth, the two are not identical. Barth struggled to preserve the distinction between the human witness of Scripture and the divine event of revelation. After all, the Bible is not a set of oracles given directly from God that bypasses human mediation.3 On the other hand, Barth was clear that the scriptural text participates in the revelation of the Word of God in the church precisely as a human witness that struggles in diverse ways and in human weakness to point to something beyond itself, which is the implicit strength of its witness.4 The function of Scripture in pointing to its chief subject matter did not discount for Barth the importance of historical criticism in analyzing the historical context and development of diverse biblical texts. Though historical criticism has a place in the interpretation of the Bible for Barth, the Bible for him is not just a collection of sources for getting at the history and religion of a people.5 The Bible by its very nature points to something beyond. For Barth, this “something” to which the text points is not human religion, experience, or morality but chie
y Christ, and, more broadly, the Triune God who embraces sinful humanity in the richness of a grace that both judges and redeems. In seeing how the Bible points to its own chief subject matter, we allow the Bible to determine how it is interpreted. No general hermeneutic can exercise a totalitarian claim on the people of God, since the Bible is a free text that exercises a formative in
uence on how it is to be read and heard.6 If the Bible cannot be read “unhistorically” for Barth, it also cannot be read “unbiblically” or in a way that ignores its essential witness.7 Since all Scripture points implicitly beyond itself to its chief subject matter, Barth stresses how this subject matter comes to us in all of the voices of Scripture, no matter how offensive or difcult these texts may 2. Karl Barth wrote: “Now revelation is no more and no less than the life of God Himself turned to us, the Word of God coming to us by the Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ” (Church Dogmatics. Col. 1, bk. 2, The Doctrine of the Word of God: Prolegomena to Church Dogmatics [ed. G. W. Bromiley and T. F. Torrance; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1956], 483). 3. Ibid., 521, see also 499. 4. Ibid., 479–82. 5. Ibid., 492–93. Barth began to speak of the Bible’s role beyond merely functioning as sources for historical reconstruction in his early and now-famous essay, “The Strange New World within the Bible,” in The Word of God and the Word of Man (trans. Douglas Horton; New York: Harper & Row, 1967), 28–50. 6. Ibid., 472. 7. Ibid., 466–67. 1

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appear or how many tensions, even contradictions, we may detect between them. It is not the case that some Scripture is offensive while others are enlightening. For Barth, all of it is to some degree offensive, while all of it points in some way to the chief subject matter, even if only indirectly. We do not have the option of choosing one canonical voice or text over another (though some will carry more weight or be more determinative than others); we must rather discern how they all point to the same revelation of the one God (Barth was especially hard here on Luther’s one-sided clinging to the Gospel at the relative neglect of Law).8 He noted that, “there are obvious overlappings and contradictions” among the canonical voices so that we can speak of the canon as a “varied whole.”9 Within this variety, there is a Gospel implicit in the Law and a Law implicit in the Gospel.10 In all of this diversity and overlapping, however, the canon is still a single robe indwelt by Christ and this robe cannot be torn asunder.11 As the robe of Christ, the chief subject matter of Scripture for Barth is not an abstract concept but the living God coming to us in grace. Barth was thus convinced that revelation relativizes the tensions and differences between the various parts of the biblical witness, so that revelation only occurs in their unied witness.12 With the canon “we have to do with a single witness, i.e., a witness which points in a single direction and points to a single truth.”13 In this unied witness that moves from anticipation to recollection, Moses and the prophets stand “side-by-side” with the evangelists and the apostles as heralds of Jesus Christ.14 Barth noted as well that in the event of revelation the author and the reader also stand side-by-side as the hermeneutical gap between text and reader is relativized by the one Word of the Gospel. He wrote: “The conversation between the original record and the reader moves around the subject matter until the distinction between yesterday and today becomes impossible.”15 Sheppard agreed with the fundamental hermeneutical moves made by Barth, especially Barth’s point that Scripture witnesses in a diverse but also a unied way to “revelation” or its chief subject matter, a matter that 8. Ibid., 509. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid., 481–82. 11. Ibid., 484–85. 12. Ibid., 481–85 (482). 13. Ibid., 484. 14. Ibid., 490. 15. Karl Barth, The Epistle to the Romans (1933; trans. Edwyn C. Hoskyns; repr., London: Oxford University Press, 1977), 7. 1

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is the offer of grace by the living God rather than an abstract concept like covenant or some other term used by the biblical theology movement to harmonize historically-diverse texts. If there is a complaint to level against Barth it would be that he did not clarify sufciently the role of the canon’s formation in the community’s discernment of its chief subject matter. Sheppard points to what may be termed “canon conscious redactions” that serve to indicate how certain canonical voices relate to others in their joint witness to Scripture’s chief subject matter. For example, the prologue to Qohelet set Qohelet within a broader context of Solomonic wisdom and identied wisdom with Torah. This did not serve to harmonize different traditions as much as interrelate them within a broader, differentiated witness.16 Even the order of the biblical books (such as the Gospels before Romans, or Romans before James) in
uenced how the voices of the canon were heard in their joint witness to their chief subject matter. I was especially struck by Sheppard’s insight into how the Gospels function in the New Testament in a way very similar to how the Pentateuch functioned in the Old Testament, namely, as the foundational message of the people of God. The end result is that Paul’s stance vis-àvis the Jerusalem church concerning the subordinate role of the law in relation to promise in discerning the message of grace found in the Hebrew Scriptures is introduced and qualied by the profound role of the law in its witness to life found rst in the Gospels.17 According to Jesus, not one stroke of the pen in the written law is overlooked in the life of abundant grace wholly dedicated to loving God (Matt 5:17–18). On the other hand, James’s qualication of the Pauline message is given towards the end of the New Testament canon, only after the message is given by the towering book of Romans and its elaboration in Galatians. James qualies Paul, and not the other way around. Sheppard also pointed to the function of hermeneutical constructs (Torah, Wisdom, Prophecy, and, eventually, Gospel) in shaping how the community of faith came to actively receive Scripture’s chief subject matter. The magisterium in
uences how the church reads this subject matter as well. The history behind the formation of the canon (and beyond) reveals that the community of faith was not just passive hearers of the Word of God revealed in Scripture but actively “constructed” in their hearing as well. Perhaps one hears Barth warning at this admission that revelation is in danger of being highjacked by the community’s experientially or ecclesiastically motivated interpretive constructions. I 16. Sheppard, “Canonization,” 24–25. 17. Ibid., 30–32. 1

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think Sheppard would not have denied that the canon is a free text in its role in bearing witness to its chief subject matter, only that the community of faith has always played an active role in the formation of this witness, as well as in how the revelation that incarnates it is heard and understood. A little Heidegger may not be so bad after all. The kind of nuance suggested by how the community of faith reads the canon’s unied witness helps to guide our appreciation of the differentiated unity of the biblical witness to the one message of grace that is higher than us all or that is impossible to grasp in its fullness once and for all. Sheppard looks to promising movements within the church, such as various forms of liberation theology, to contribute fresh readings of the Bible’s witness to the challenging gospel of the grace of God. What can also be helpful in my view is for exegetes and theologians to
esh out how Sheppard’s canonical approach to the witness of the biblical text adds fresh insights into particular biblical themes. Allow me to apply Sheppard’s insights by focusing on a canonically conscious reading of the doctrine of justication by grace through faith. 2. Justi
cation in the Gospels and Paul When one thinks of justication, one thinks immediately of Pauline theology. Justication by faith in the context of Pauline theology, however, has recently become a topic of vigorous debate. One cannot deny at least forensic overtones in Paul’s understanding of justication through Christ’s death and resurrection (Rom 3:21–31; 4:25). For Paul, God acted decisively in the crucixion of Jesus to claim sinners and to declare them just (Rom 3:21–31). The term “sinner” was without a doubt an essentially Gentile category within Paul’s Jewish world. But Paul highlighted the curse of the law experienced by Israel and notes that the dividing line between Jew and Gentile as a division between “just” and “sinner” in this light does not work. The Jew is not “just” since Israel does not live under the blessings promised in the law within the Old Testament (Deut 28–30; see Gal 3:10–14). On the other hand, Gentile sinners may be just by faith in Christ. Both Jew and Gentile end up being sinners and both end up becoming just in the same way, namely, by faith in Christ. Paul in effect judaizes Gentiles and gentilizes Jews! The judgment of God enacted in the cross of Christ and the universality of sin made up the theological background for this curious exchange between these groups in Paul’s theology. Though still widely regarded as forensic in thrust, Paul’s concept of justication is arguably more than mere legal acquittal. In fact, the 1

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reduction of the Pauline notion of justication to a forensic acquittal has now been called into question on several different fronts. First, Ernst Käsemann has shown that justication in Paul has vast apocalyptic implications. The “rightwising” of the sinners in Christ is by no means limited to the forgiveness of humans (Gentiles and also Jews) but implies also a powerful liberation of the entire creation through the apocalyptic victory of the Christ event.18 The crucial issue in justication is thus “new creation” rather than the narrow and relatively peripheral concern over circumcision (Gal 6:15). Second, the so-called “new perspective on Paul” has pointed to the ecclesial, even social, implications of justication in Paul, so that rightwising through the death and resurrection of Jesus initiates a new humanity reconciled by faith rather than by the works of the law (Eph 2:11–22).19 Third, there has been a revival of interest among Protestants in the nature of faith beyond mental assent and as a participation in the divine nature. Justication by faith thus becomes a life-transforming experience that connects mainstream Protestant soteriology essentially with the Eastern notion of theosis and the Mennonite concern over ethics.20 Lastly, I have been particularly interested in the pneumatological dimension of justication in Paul, so that Paul’s refusal to allow justication to come about via obedience to the law is due fundamentally to the fact that the law, though intended as a witness to life, ended up being powerless to fulll it, witnessing to the sinner of death instead (Rom 7:10; Gal 3:21). The Spirit received via faith in Christ is what most directly causes “justication that brings life” (Rom 5:18). The crucial question for Paul in relation to justication is thus whether one has received the Spirit by faith in Christ or through the works of the law (Gal 3:2).21 There is no question even within these efforts to notice the broader implications of justication in Paul to note also that Paul’s forensic understanding of justication does not leave much room for a positive role for the law. He stresses the incapacity of the law to bring life due to 18. Ernst Käsemann, Perspectives on Paul (trans. Margaret Kohl; Mif
intown, Pa.: Sigler, 1996), 170–82. 19. See N. T. Wright, What Paul Really Said: Was Paul of Tarsus the Real Founder of Christianity? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 114–29. 20. See Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen, One with God: Salvation as Justi
cation and Dei
cation (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2005). Note also Thomas Finger, “An Anabaptist Perspective on Justication,” in Justi
cation and Sancti
cation in the Traditions of the Reformation (ed. Milan Opoenský and Páraic Réamonn; SWRC 42; Geneva: World Alliance of Reformed Churches, 1999), 53. 21. See my Justi
ed in the Spirit: Creation, Redemption, and the Triune God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, forthcoming). 1

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the sinfulness of human
esh (Rom 8:3; Gal 1:18). There appears little room in this accent for a positive role for the law in the fulllment of the justied life. There is a hint here and there that the law is fullled through the love of Christ and the life of the Spirit so that the justied life may be viewed as at least implicitly dedicated to the thrust or spirit of the law (Rom 2:29; 8:2; 13:8–10). The law, however, plays a signicantly subordinate role for him. Its function is temporal and conditioned by certain necessities in the life of Israel (“because of transgressions”) until the promise received and embraced through faith by Abraham could be fullled through faith in Christ (Gal 3:19). The ubiquitous presence of sin highlights for Paul the failure of the people of God to grasp the gift of life through the law and mandates that justication comes by way of Christ’s atoning sacrice, victorious resurrection, and gracious outpouring of the Spirit of life (e.g. Rom 4:25; 5:18). One needs to look elsewhere in the canon to discern the positive role of the law in the justied life. One thing is certain: a canon-conscious approach to the theology of justication will seek to counterbalance Paul on justication with other biblical voices, especially the foundational witness of the Gospels in the New Testament canon (which, as Sheppard has noted, functioned within the New Testament in a way similar to how the Pentateuch functioned within the Old Testament). Interestingly, Jürgen Moltmann has argued that the traditional Evangelical theology of justication by faith and not law has focused too exclusively on Pauline theology. The result has been a failure to grasp the more explicitly social, ethical, and eschatological implications of justication that come through most vividly in the Gospels, especially in its message of the righteousness of the Kingdom of God.22 A “sinner” in the Gospels is an outcast and the rightwising of the sinner in this light has direct social implications. The publican (or the leper for that matter) is rightwised by the mercy of God while the privileged Pharisee is denied mercy in his implicit preoccupation with his own superiority over the outcast (Luke 18:12–14). Justication in the light of the coming Kingdom of God places those who glory in themselves and deny mercy to others outside of the reordering of life brought about by the justice of the Kingdom of God. Justication is thus located in the Gospels within an even more explicitly social setting than is discernible in Paul’s writings. The rightwising in the Gospels is understood in broader service to the arrival of the Kingdom of God and its reordering of society. 22. Jürgen Moltmann, “Was heist heute ‘evangelisch’? Von der Rechtfertigungslehre zur Reich-Gottes-Theologie,” EvT 57 (1997): 41–46. 1

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I might add that the law in the Gospels is granted a more prominent role in the God-given witness to righteousness and life than we have in the Pauline writings. In placing his accent on the coming reign of God, Jesus made it clear that the law will in no wise be laid aside as irrelevant (Matt 5:17–18). In fact, life reordered by the grace of God will go beyond the prescriptions of the law in a way that respects them but is also consistent with the excessive and abundant life to which the law could only bear a dim witness. So the man who is convinced he had always respected the prescriptions of the law and is, therefore, in right order with God is challenged by Jesus to sell all that he has and give it away to the poor (Luke 18:18–29). Really following the law thrusts one within the reality to which the law bore witness, namely, a stream of abundant and excessive mercy that knows no limit. Justication in the Gospels provides a rich background against which Pauline accents may be highlighted, augmented, or even qualied. Sheppard grants us insight into the role of the Gospels in providing us with the fundamental message of the grace of God in Christ which is then elaborated on throughout the rest of the New Testament. This canonical insight can offer us a fruitful approach to justication in the New Testament that opens us up to the holistic and differentiated understanding of rightwising given in the Old Testament. The rightwising of humanity in the Old Testament is hardly limited to forgiveness. It
ows down as a mighty stream, implying a gift of new life that reconciles and is reconciling (Amos 5:24). The Hebrew understanding of the gift of righteousness is saving righteousness, having the power to alter reality in conformity to God’s will. Brevard Childs has thus noted that righteousness in the Old Testament “consists, above all, in acts of the saving deeds of redemption” by which God maintains and protects the divine promise to fulll covenant obligations with Israel and the creation.23 This insight into the righteousness of God is arrived at in the Hebrew canon only through a tense vacillation between divine self-regard and regard for others. Walter Brueggemann has demonstrated that there are texts in which God’s graciousness is motivated by divine holiness, righteousness, glory, or self-regard. For example, in Ezekiel God acts faithfully to manifest God’s holiness (20:41), sanctify God’s great name (36:23), and in support of God’s holy name (39:25). It would even seem that “Yahweh in effect has no interest in Israel, but Israel is a convenient ready-at-hand vehicle for the assertion and enactment of Yahweh’s

23. Brevard S. Childs, Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments: Theological Reection on the Christian Bible (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 488. 1

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self-regard.”24 In Exodus too, God states that God will deliver Israel “to gain glory for myself over Pharaoh” (Exod 14:4, 7). Yet, God also suffers rejection and pain in pursuing Israel in Hos 1–2 as someone might pursue an unfaithful spouse (or as a parent yearns for the return of a wayward child, as in 11:1–4). Brueggemann notes that “Yahweh moves back and forth between self-regard and regard for Israel, sovereignty and pathos.”25 God’s righteous self-regard as sovereign Lord is fullled in God’s loving compassion and saving deeds (Isa 45:8, 23–24; 51:6–8; Pss 71:19; 89:17; 96:13; 98:9; 111:3; Dan 9:16–18). In fact, such “convergence of sovereignty and compassion is the staple of Israel’s faith. When this convergence functions well, Israel’s testimony renders a coherent picture of a character of constancy and reliability.”26 This dominant tradition “should be regarded as normative for theological interpretation and be allowed to govern other texts.”27 The tension continues to be resolved as one reaches the “cruciform” claim for God made in the New Testament.28 Righteousness in the Old Testament turns out to be a right ordering of life by the power of God, a “new creation.” The forensic quality of rightwising has broad implications in the Old Testament reaching to a “cosmic order” that spans law, wisdom, nature, and politics. God’s judgments overcome the opposition and establish God’s order for the world.29 The law may be followed, for it is near to the heart as well as the mouth (Deut 30:14), though its ultimate fulllment awaits the arrival of the Spirit (Deut 30:6; Ezek 36:26). Only then will the gift of life promised by the law be received. The contrast between promise and law in Paul is understandable in the light of his context and message, but it is onesided in the light of the Old Testament and requires qualication. There is promise implicit in the law as well, the promise of life, justied life ordered to the will of God in the world. In the light of such insights it seems that a reading of Paul in relation to the Gospels can put us in touch more profoundly with the Old Testament background of justication and can open up a richer canonical context for developing a multi-dimensional theology of justication that goes beyond older debates and that even provides a bridge between Paul and James. We will round out this discussion with a few words about justication in James. 24. Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 308. 25. Ibid., 309. 26. Ibid., 306. 27. Ibid., 309. 28. Ibid., 311. 29. See Childs, Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments, 490. 1

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3. Paul and James It seems reasonable to assume that James responded to some version of the Pauline message of justication by grace through faith.30 That Paul is the loudest voice in the New Testament concerning justication and is heard in the canon prior to James’s qualication is signicant. As noted already, James qualies Paul and not the other way around. Still, Paul is heard only after the setting provided by the Gospels, so that James’s qualication has already been anticipated to some degree by that canonical reality. James does not deny that everything comes from faith as received from the hand of God (1:5–6, 17). Indeed, every good gift comes from the hand of the faithful God (1:17). Nothing arises fundamentally from human work for James, for “He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of rstfruits of all he created” (1:18). One may thus argue that justication for James is fundamentally by grace through faith. Yet, justication as James understands the term also involves a public expression that serves to vindicate the living faith claimed by the believer, a point that drives chapter two. Thus, James does not simply advocate justication by faith and works as though the two are equal in signicance. The inequality of the two and the priority and all-encompassing nature of grace are implied by the spirituality described above that informs the discussion of justication by faith and works in James. Tellingly, our passage on living faith in ch. 2 is sandwiched in between a discussion of the need to obey the word of God rather than merely “listen” (1:19–26) and a passage about unruly speech springing forth from an unruly inner life, like a certain kind of spring that gives forth the same kind of water or a certain kind of tree that bears a corresponding type of fruit (3:1–12). Obviously, James had in mind a notion of living faith that involves the willful determination of the believer (doing and not only hearing) but which arises even more fundamentally from a change deep within (becoming a certain kind of spring or tree). True faith takes place for James in the context of a relationship with God that changes us into friends of God and into a just community, inspiring willful expressions of this loyalty in our treatment of others (3:26). We are born anew and called upon to embrace in faith and make

30. I agree here with Wiard Popkes that James’s perceived “opposition has some relation to Pauline thought”; “Two Interpretations of ‘Justication’ in the New Testament Re
ections on Galatians 2:15–21 and James 2:21–25,” ST 59 (2005): 129–46 (133). 1

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good use of God’s good gifts. Faith for James does not seem to be very different in substance from what we might term from a Pauline perspective the work of living faith that is connected to the Spirit and to new birth. Indeed, for James, God wills to “give us birth through the word of truth that we might be a kind of rst-fruits of all he created” (1:18). This observed similarity between James and Paul is not meant as a denial that James occupied to some extent a very different thought world from Paul’s. Paul’s heavy focus on Christ and the Spirit (implicitly Trinitarian structure) is nowhere to be found in James. James speaks simply of “God” or the “Father of lights.” But there is no question that for James God alone is the source of the wisdom that leads to good deeds (3:13), for this wisdom “comes from heaven” (3:17) and is received by unwavering faith: “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without nding fault, and it will be given to him. But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt…” (1:5–6). This unwavering faith is rooted in God’s unchanging faithfulness to give us every good gift, even to grant us spiritual rebirth: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of rst-fruits of all he created” (1:17–18). Again, we have a language that is analogous to Paul’s emphasis on the reception of the Spirit by faith as the source of every good thing. We must keep in mind that the teaching about justication as being by works and not by faith alone (2:24) is directed in James to those professing faith in God but contradicting it in life. James’s concern is not to describe how one comes to genuine faith but rather what genuine faith in God looks like in the public sphere. The works discussed are the works of faith and the wisdom that produces good works (3:13) is attained in faith (1:5–6). Justication is thus by faith and works for James, but not in the same sense.31 Faith has the priority in justication, a justication that faith’s works then “complete” or incarnate (1:26). The implication is that justi
cation is by faith but that this justi
cation is embodied in a changed life that is evidenced in genuine works of faith. James is especially clear that faith is thus also completed by the dedicated life that
ows from it, for faith requires embodiment to be genuine, living faith: “As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith

31. I found Kenneth Collins’s discussion of Wesley’s soteriology helpful in arriving at this formulation. See Kenneth Collins, The Theology of John Wesley: Holy Love and the Shape of Grace (Nashville: Abingdon, 2007), 163. 1

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without deeds is dead” (2:26). In a sense, “faith” completed by works is functionally the same as living faith as Paul would have understood it. Every other use of the term “faith” in James should be bracketed by quotation marks. The last striking feature of justication in James is that the righteousness involved in justication, though a gift through and through, is also a harvest to be reaped in life (3:18). Justication is “by works” in the sense that it is continuously sought and grasped in a faith that is embodied in the virtuous life and that bears the fruit of good deeds. Good deeds are called “deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom” (3:13). This humility, and the wisdom at its base, causes one to honor the poor and to resist being seduced by the arrogance of riches or social power (1:9–11; 2:1–4; 3:13; 4:13–16; 5:1–6). The justied life incarnates itself penultimately within the just community that manifests the justice of God and allows that justice to bear genuine fruit in a community formed around humble regard for one another and obedience to God and God’s righteous law. The fruit of such good works is but the rst-fruits of God’s own creation (1:18). 4. Concluding Remarks Sheppard’s suggestion that the Gospels are the foundation block of the New Testament canon (the “Pentateuch” of the New Testament so to speak) has signicant implications for relating Paul’s theology of justication more profoundly to the Old Testament witness as well as more fruitfully to the later witness of James. Implications in Paul’s witness can surface more brightly and his arguments can be offset or augmented. The broader apocalyptic, ethical, and eschatological dimensions of justication only implied here and there in Paul come out in bright colors in the Gospels while the base of the social implications of justication in the virtuous life and the just community implied in Paul come forth in loud tones in James. The role of the law in the justied life can be negotiated within the tensions found among various canonical voices, including those of the Old Testament. In the end, traditional debates between forensic and transformative (or forensic and ethical) versions of being “rightwised” or justied by grace through faith can be placed within the canonical context in such a way that all sides can see value in the other. It would be possible among different ecclesiastical families to hear the one Gospel amidst historically dissimilar traditions, rst within the canon, but also within the historical development of the church. Justication and liberation will no longer be viewed as alien categories. 1

DIVINE ACTION AND BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION: HOW THE ORDINARY WORDS OF MEN AND WOMEN BECOME THE LIVING WORD OF GOD IN SCRIPTURE* Michael T. Dempsey

1. Introduction One of the most important questions facing the scholarly interpretation of scripture in contemporary theology and biblical studies concerns the relation between the use of historical critical methodologies and theological exegesis in and for the Church. This challenge is not new. Since the emergence of modern historical methodologies, scholars have been aware of the con
icting interests of both Church and academy in biblical interpretation. Yet most scholarly work in the Bible has yet to grapple with the complexities on one side or the other. One of the great achievements of Gerry Sheppard, as readers of this book will surely know, lies in his contribution to this important area of inquiry. Yet, Sheppard is not alone in his work as he stands in a lineage of great thinkers that passes through his teachers Hans Frei and Brevard Childs, who were themselves students of perhaps the most important theologian of the twentieth century, Karl Barth. Although Sheppard developed his insights on this issue in relative independence from Barth, there is an important connection between the two that makes a study of Karl Barth’s biblical hermeneutics salutary to a work that honors the enormous achievement of Gerry Sheppard. Indeed, both Sheppard and Barth were concerned to connect the text of biblical revelation with the subject matter of Christian theology in ways that few others have even considered; and they each did so, moreover, to address one of the most pressing questions of modern * A version of this study originally appeared as “Biblical Hermeneutics and Spiritual Interpretation: The Revelatory Presence of God in Karl Barth’s Theology of Scripture,” BTB 37, no. 3 (2007): 120–31. I wish to thank Biblical Theology Bulletin for granting permission to publish a revised version of my work as part of this Festschrift. 1

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theology: How can we understand the ordinary words of men and women in the Bible to function as the Word of the living God of scripture without depriving them of their humanity or secularizing the biblical revelation to which they testify?1 This essay offers an interpretation of Karl Barth’s theology of scripture in order to address that question with the hope that scholars and pastors may continue to learn with Gerry Sheppard and Karl Barth how to engage in the theological interpretation of scripture for the Christian faithful so that the Bible may once again speak with a power and authority that God alone can provide. In a recent book by on the hermeneutical principles of Karl Barth, Richard E. Burnett argues that Barth had already developed his hermeneutical principles well before the publication of the rst edition of his famous commentary on Romans.2 After a careful scrutiny of six unpublished preface drafts to the Römerbrief, Burnett was able to determine that, by as early as the summer of 1918, Barth had not only identied the shortcomings of the empathic tradition of hermeneutics since Schleiermacher but also rejected the universalizing, historicizing, and psychologizing tendencies that would come to characterize much of subsequent biblical scholarship. Taking its cue from Hans George Gadamer’s remark that Barth’s Römerbrief represents a “hermeneutical manifesto” that challenged the reigning hegemony of empathic hermeneutics, Burnett argues that Barth’s break with theological liberalism did not come from a new theological method or theory of interpretation, but simply from having come to terms with the inability of modern hermeneutical theory to understand the unique subject matter of scripture: God. According to Burnett, Barth immediately recognized the danger of grounding an interpretation of scripture in the human capacity to empathize with another. For Barth, such a grounding would necessarily presuppose a universal core of humanity—“the assumption that each person contains a minimum of everybody else,” which would mean that all interpretation would ultimately boil down to a comparison with oneself.3 As Burnett shows, such an approach is especially disastrous in theology in Barth’s view, because human beings cannot empathize or identify with a subject matter that is “wholly other.” Hence, for Barth, the “wholesale anthropologization of theology” since Schleiermacher in which “man increasingly became the subject of theology and God his 1. Gerald T. Sheppard, The Future of the Bible: Beyond Liberalism and Literalism (Toronto, Ont.: United Church Publishing House, 1990). 2. Richard E. Burnett, Karl Barth’s Theological Exegesis: The Hermeneutical Principles of the Römerbrief Period (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004). 3. Ibid., 155, 187. 1

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predicate,” had, in reality, very little to do with God or with the witness of scripture and everything to do with a psychological point of contact between the reader and the author.4 Barth develops his hermeneutical principles in greater detail in Church Dogmatics. In this later re
ection Barth goes beyond critiquing the empathic hermeneutics of Schleiermacher and the modern tradition of disinterested scholarly inquiry and historicism by offering a constructive theology of scripture with powerful spiritual resources for revitalizing contemporary theology and biblical studies. At the same time, Barth does not reject, but even embraces the insights and value of historical-critical methodologies. Although Barth has long been lambasted as a biblicist, anti-historicist, and polemical proponent of an outdated and irrelevant neo-orthodoxy,5 Barth’s critical, dialectical retrieval of the Bible as a human witness to divine revelation ignores neither modern questions of historicity nor spiritual questions of divine inspiration. Indeed, one of Barth’s most extraordinary contributions to biblical studies is his ability and insistence that theology maintain both readings of scripture simultaneously. Consider, for example, his open admission that scripture can be
awed by social, cultural, religious, and even theological perspectives: [T]he vulnerability of the Bible, i.e., its capacity for error, also extends to its religious or theological content… [T]he biblical authors shared the outlook and spoke the language of their own day… [A]t point after point we nd them echoing contemporaries in time and space who did not share their experience and witness often resembling them so closely that it is impossible to distinguish between them. Not only part but all that they say is historically related and conditioned…[so that] many parts… cannot be accepted as religious and theological literature.6

Yet Barth also urges his readers not to set out deliberately to detect errors in scripture, but, rather, to replace a “hermeneutic of suspicion” with a “hermeneutic of trust” so that modern scholars learn to stand with (not against or above) the biblical testimony:7 to read scripture as a human testimony to God’s action in history. How, then, does Barth read scripture according to this radical dialectic of divine and human agency? How does he manage to navigate between the historical
aws of the biblical writers and their divine and infallible 4. Ibid., 39. 5. See Gary Dorrien, Theology without Weapons: The Barthian Revolt in Modern Theology (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2000), 6–10. 6. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics (ed. G. W. Bromiley and T. F. Torrence; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1956), vol. 1, bk. 2, 509. 7. Burnett, Karl Barth’s Theological Exegesis, 125–26. 1

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source without undermining the humanity of the biblical proclamation or proceeding as though he were privy to some sort of intellectual mastery of his divine subject matter? Most important for our present day, how does Barth understand the divine act of grace in the human words of the Bible which testies to itself in the witness of scripture so that today’s Church can preach and teach the Word of God to a world desperate for spiritual and ecclesial renewal without sacricing the demanding tasks of historical criticisms? Today, the Church is itself embroiled in this very challenge, torn as it currently is between secularism and fundamentalism, between Ebionitism and Docetism, as many prospective parishioners dabble in new age spiritualities or migrate to some factions of Pentecostal or other charismatic communities.8 The answers to these questions bring us to the spiritual nature of Barth’s way of reading scripture and doing theology, as is so well known by the students of Gerry Sheppard. Despite the enormous in
uence Barth 8. Sheppard makes an important distinction between the original, grassroots and “prophetic” Pentecostal movement and the later “priestly” movement which aligned itself with the National Association of Evangelicals, with such litmus tests as inerrancy, political conservatism, and discrimination against those groups who were prevalent among the original founders of the movement, such as women and African Americans. For his study on the tension between Anglo-American Pentecostal and fundamentalist biblical interpretation, see his “Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition: Part One,” Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 1, no. 4 (Spring 1978): 4–5, 17–22; and “Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition: Part Two,” Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 2, no. 1 (Summer 1978): 14–19. For his social-scientic analysis of the roles of women within ecstatic relation, see his work with Charles Barfoot, “Prophetic vs. Priestly Religion: The Changing Role of Women Clergy in Classical Pentecostal Church,” RRelRes 22, no. 1 (1980): 2–17. See also his articles, “Pentecostalism and the Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism: The Anatomy of an Uneasy Relationship,” Pneuma 6, no. 2 (1984): 5–33; “The Seduction of Pentecostals within the Politics of Exegesis: The Nicene Creed, Filioque, and the Pentecostal Ambivalence Regarding an Ecumenical Challenge of a Common Confession of Apostolic Faith,” in The Distinctiveness of Pentecostal-Charismatic Theology: Papers of the 15th Annual Meeting of the Society for Pentecostal Studies (November 1985) (Gaithersburg, Md.: Society for Pentecostal Studies, 1985); “The Nicene Creed, Filioque and the Pentecostal Movements in the United States,” in Spirit of Truth: Ecumenical Perspectives on the Holy Spirit (ed. T. Stylianopoulous and S. Mark Heim; Brookline, Mass.: Holy Cross Orthodox, 1986), 171–86; “James Tinney’s ‘The Pentecostal Coalition for Human Rights’ versus Jerry Falwell’s ‘The Moral Majority’,” Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 4, no. 4 (Spring 1981): 18–22; and “Pentecostals, Globalization, and Postmodern Hermeneutics,” in The Globalization of Pentecostalism: A Religion Made to Travel (ed. M. W. Dempster, B. D. Klaus, and D. Petersen; Oxford: Regnum, 1999), 289–312. 1

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has had on contemporary theology, his contribution in the important areas of biblical hermeneutics and what is commonly called “spirituality” has yet to be fully realized or adequately implemented. Few biblical scholars engage in spiritual readings of scripture and many who do seldom specialize in historical-critical and literary methodologies. Far more interested in understanding a text in itself and in terms of its human authors and redactors, most historical and literary studies neglect a key component of the scriptural witness, namely, that the Bible itself is chie
y interested in proclaiming the good news of God’s salvic action in history (John 20:31) that takes place both through the incarnation of Jesus Christ and through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in biblical interpretation (2 Pet 1:20). Yet, modern methods of biblical hermeneutics have appropriated secular methodologies that sacrice spiritual interpretation. This has led not only to the secularization of biblical interpretation, but also to the increasing factionalization among scholars and clergy seeking competing hermeneutical theories to interpret the transcendent Word of God. As I argue in this essay, Barth’s approach provides the resources to revitalize biblical interpretation and to bring scholars together precisely because his approach does not come from a human theory of interpretation, but from the active presence of God’s Word and Spirit in the “earthen vessels” of human interpretation (2 Cor 4:7). By focusing on the explicitly theological nature of biblical interpretation, I hope to show that Barth offers concrete, spiritual wisdom for an historically informed theological interpretation of scripture so that scholarly interpretation and pastoral application may benet from insights that come, ultimately, from the intimate encounter with God in the life of the individual interpreter in the Church. Prior to the modern era, the notion of the presence of God in scriptural interpretation had often played a profound role in the classical tradition. According to Barth, however, the problem of the secularization of scripture is not unique to the modern era, in which scholars embrace the purely secular methodologies of the academy and eschew the kinds of spiritual and meditative practices that once animated biblical re
ection. Even in the patristic period, Barth argues, the tendency to understand the Bible itself as the Word of God, dictated directly by God and not received as a human witness to revelation, undermined the genuine humanity of the biblical proclamation in order to nd a secure foundation for the Word of God. The result of the patristic notion of “dictation,” according to Barth, was a “naïve secularization” and “a transmuting of the word of man which is real only in appearance” into the Word of God itself, so that “the whole mystery of the freedom of [God’s] presence… was lost…both in the mouths of the biblical witnesses and also in our 1

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ears and hearts.”9 The same may be said of much evangelical and fundamentalist interpretation today. If the Bible itself is the Word of God and human only in appearance, then biblical exegetes may proceed as if they already know what God has and is saying and, hence, need not submit themselves to the actual presence of God through the Spirit. Hence, for Barth, it is not only modern Ebionitism that robs scripture of its revelatory force, by concerning itself with a strictly human interpretation of a strictly human text in which the scholar gains a mastery of scripture by discerning the meaning of its many authors and redactors, but also the Docetism of modern fundamentalist and patristic exegesis which assumes that the Word of God and its interpretation are always immediately available. In both cases, the Bible is not understood as a fully human witness to revelation whose interpretation depends upon the gracious mystery of God’s actual presence. Barth’s point is precisely that the Bible becomes the Word of God only when God, in God’s freedom and love, becomes present to the human interpreter and makes use of the biblical testimony to make the Word heard and understood in the world today. The result of this bold insight, as I shall argue, is nothing less than a spiritual and transformative interpretation of scripture for the Christian life that recognizes its full humanity while deriving its central content from the active power and presence of God. 2. Theological Liberalism and the Hermeneutical Problem of God Many theologians and pastors unfamiliar with Barth’s thought may have been dissuaded to visit his theological works because of his reputation for polemics, rhetoric, or simply because of the massive length of the Church Dogmatics itself. Yet, as Hans Frei has shown, Barth wrote lengthy and elaborate prose in order to reconstitute an ecclesial and biblical language that had long gone out of style in the era of secular modernity.10 Barth not only sought to give theologians and pastors a humble example to speak boldly of God, but also sought to turn their theological gaze away from themselves and return it to what had always been the subject matter of Christian theology: God. As Barth frequently said, God is God, and theologians, exegetes, and preachers all have the daunting task of speaking about this most elusive subject matter. Hence, for Barth, the central hermeneutical problem of scripture has always been the problem of the knowledge of God, the answer to which cannot be 9. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 518. 10. John Webster, Barth (Outstanding Christian Thinkers; New York: Continuum, 2000), 50. 1

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resolved through hermeneutical theory or scholarly examination. Rather, for Barth and much of the pre-modern tradition, the understanding of God’s Word in scripture can only come from God’s Word and Spirit, which is received in faith and obedience. Moreover, from Barth’s perspective, most modern hermeneutical theories about scripture fail to understand that without God’s gracious involvement, one’s interpretation is inevitably going to be a projection of the interpreter’s imagination, wishes, and aspirations that says more about the individual interpreter than about scripture’s transcendent subject matter. Barth’s entire theological program, it may be said, was to reorient human thoughts so that they receive their meaning from God’s revelation in the Gospel and not interpret the Gospel according to human thoughts, feelings, or experiences. As Barth succinctly stated, “It is not the right human thoughts about God which form the content of the Bible, but the right divine thoughts about men.”11 It is important to realize that when Barth was a preacher, before he had entered the international stage of theology with the publication of his commentary on Romans, he had followed the tradition of his liberal predecessors by making references from the pulpit to his own personal experiences, political views, and the latest ndings of historical scholarship. Yet he also observed that such appeals lacked the authority and condence maintained by the more conservatively educated colleagues who had a host of authoritative doctrines and positions from which to preach to their congregations. In short, because Barth still wanted to ground faith in the authority of his own experience of God, he believed that his own personal experience was above the Word of God, as if he had already mastered it, and hence was not in need of learning that message anew in ever-changing historical situations.12 Many scholars today are similarly claiming their experience as grounds for faith and revelation. For many, turning to personal experience as a source for theology and biblical interpretation has proved to be refreshing, to say the least, given the authoritarian ecclesial structure and doctrinaire theology of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In rejecting any theology that even sounded authoritarian, many have been drawn toward the experiential approaches of theologians, such as Karl Rahner and Bernard Lonergan, who offered far more personal and less 11. Karl Barth, The Word of God and the Word of Man (trans. D. Horton; Gloucester, Mass.: Peter Smith, 1978), 43. 12. Bruce L. McCormack, Karl Barth’s Critically Realistic Dialectical Theology: Its Genesis and Development 1909–1936 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 124–25. 1

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authoritarian alternatives to talk about God on the basis of a general anthropology of human experience and consciousness. From Barth’s perspective, however, the problem with most anthropological methodologies is not only that they claim to explain, in universalist fashion, all of human experience (e.g. Lonergan’s theory of cognition), but also that they are concerned, inevitably, to explain by way of Immanuel Kant how human beings can talk about a subject matter that “exceeds the grasp of human reason” (Aquinas’s apt phrase repeated three times in the Summa Theologiae I.1.1). What Aquinas and Barth both realized, however, was that it is not human beings who can storm the gates of heaven to nd a “natural knowledge” of God by turning inward, but God who humbles himself in a human being to greet human beings on earth and lift them up to share in the glory of God’s life. Indeed, the same may be said of biblical interpretation, insofar as human beings, as Barth insisted, have no innate capacity for interpreting the Word of God apart from efcacious or operative grace. With this, Aquinas and the whole pre-modern tradition would heartily agree: “The author of Holy Writ is God in whose power it is to signify his meaning.”13 Hence, as Barth realized in the preface drafts to the Römerbrief, at its root the hermeneutical problem is the problem of the knowledge of God who, apart from grace, is shrouded in holy mystery. It is precisely for this reason that biblical hermeneutics depends fundamentally upon the power and presence of God’s revelation to make the being of God known and understood; and this can only be received in the corresponding human act of faith and obedience to the revealed Word and his Holy Spirit. 3. The Role of Faith, Obedience, and God in Biblical Interpretation We rst see the implications of Barth’s theology of scripture for the Christian life in the opening pages of his treatise in Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, when he describes the attitude of biblical interpretation as one of faith and obedience. Since the task of theology, for Barth, is to inquire after the agreement of Church proclamation with biblical revelation, theology ought always to begin with scripture, or, more precisely, with the attempt to be obedient to scripture. Yet, obedience, like faith itself, is not something that one can simply turn on at a moment of one’s choosing; it too is an act of God which confronts human beings in their own freedom and history. According to Barth, 13. St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica (trans. Fathers of the Dominican Province; New York: Benzinger, 1948), I.1.10. 1

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faith…is not a determination of human action which man can give to it at will or maintain at will once it is received… [I]t is the gracious address of God to man, the free personal presence of Jesus Christ in his activity. Hence…at every step and with every statement [theology] presupposes the free grace of God… It always rests with God and not with us whether our hearing is real hearing and our obedience real obedience.14

Since theology rests upon exegesis for Barth,15 exegesis itself must rest upon the power of God’s continuing revelatory activity. If [our reading] is a witness of revelation, and if however tacit, there is a genuine and necessary obedience to it, then the witness itself and as such—as well as the revelation which it attests—is necessarily in the power of the revelation of the Word of God attested by it…16

Hence, for Barth, the obedient rendering of scripture is intimately bound up both with the interpreter’s personal life of faith and the concrete action of God. As Barth many times has stated, the Word of God “forces itself upon us,”17 so that the perception of its truth “is always a matter of the divine election of grace.”18 “It is only by revelation that revelation can be spoken in the Bible…and heard as the real substance of the Bible…[for] the biblical witness must itself be attested by what it attests.”19 Thus if the actual perception of scripture’s revelatory force is possible only “as it gives itself to us,”20 it would seem that the experience of revelation would sit at the very center of biblical re
ection. Yet Barth is not at all interested in reading the Bible merely as a record of extraordinary experiences. Indeed, he denies that the actual perception of this witness has essentially anything to do with special experiences or illuminations,21 even though he readily admits pneumatic “states” are ordinary and to be expected.22 Rather, what fascinates Barth is that the biblical writers do not talk about themselves nor do they suggest that their own experiences or interpretations are central to the proclamation. On the contrary, their words always point away from themselves and toward the living God of the covenant. The biblical writers, Barth argues,

14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 1

Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 18. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 462. Ibid., 459 (emphasis added). Ibid., 456. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 21. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 469. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 92. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 458. Ibid., 516, 537.

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Placing God and God’s action at the very center of biblical interpretation is not only a bold maneuver in an age rife with secularism and historicism, but also stands, as we have seen, dramatically opposed to the empathic tradition of Schleiermacher whose quest was to understand an author even better than she understands herself. For Barth, who offers the rst sustained response to, and critique of, modern hermeneutics, the empathic tradition does theology and biblical interpretation a great disservice in that its concentration on anthropology and experience actually leads people to turn to themselves, but not to God! While it may appear as an empathic attempt to understand another with love and understanding, for Barth the anthropological approach of empathic hermeneutics actually lacks love and understanding because the reader is more interested in understanding the author’s personality, history, or piety than in taking seriously the content of the message of the proclamation itself. My exposition cannot possibly consist in an interpretation of the speaker. Did he say something to me only to display himself? I should be guilty of a shameless violence against him, if the only result of my encounter with him were that I now knew him or knew him better than before. What lack of love! Did he not say anything to me at all? Did he not therefore desire I should see him not in abstracto but in his specic and concrete relationship to the thing described or intended in his word, that I should see him from the standpoint and in light of this thing? How much wrong is being continually perpetrated, how much intolerable obstruction of human relationships, how much isolation and impoverishment forced upon individuals has its only basis in the fact that we do not take seriously a claim which in itself is clear as the day, the claim which arises whenever one person addresses a word to another.24

Therefore, instead of beginning with the assumption of a common humanity or an intuition or experience of the other in one’s experience of oneself, Barth insists that exegesis must begin with “the concrete relationship of the thing attested” in the biblical testimony itself: God’s revelation in Jesus Christ. This, then, is Barth’s “universal rule of interpretation,” that “a text can be read and understood and expounded only

23. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 112. 24. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 465. 1

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with reference to and in the light of its theme.”25 Although such a special hermeneutic may be applied to the interpretation of any text, for Barth the main theme, subject matter, and content of scripture is God and God’s concrete relationship with the person of faith. Citing 1 Cor 2:6–16, Barth notes that what the individual receives is the knowledge of the “benets of divine wisdom,” the mind of Christ, which simply is not available for those who live according to the
esh (ZVYJLP@K EF= BORSXQPK). Rather, such knowledge is only available for those to whom the Spirit has revealed it (QOFVNBUJLP K), enabling them to live in the Spirit and to judge all things accordingly (BOBLSJOFJ UB@ QB OUB): “It is only spiritually,” Barth insists, “i.e., on the basis of the same work of the Spirit, by which he can know and therefore speak about these benets.”26 4. Eisegesis or Surrender? Barth’s Challenge to the Biblical Interpreter If Barth’s rst rule of biblical hermeneutics is to listen to the actual subject matter, theme, and content of the biblical proclamation,27 his second rule is to recognize that there is a constant temptation to avoid reading the text in this way, that is, of eisegesis—of reading one’s own meaning into a text. Here, Barth’s comments are especially apt for those prone to charismatic or literalistic renderings of the divine Word. Always aware of the tendency to read scripture in a way that justies oneself or sanctions a previously adopted position, Barth warns us that more often than not we shall mishear what the prophets and apostles have to say and, instead, hear only what we ourselves want them to say. [W]e will…hear as we always do, as though we already know, and can partly tell ourselves what we are to hear. Our supposed listening is in fact a strange mixture of hearing and our own speaking, and, in accordance with the usual rule, it is most likely that our own speaking will be the really decisive event…28

To overcome what Barth calls the “sickness with which all exposition is almost incurably af
icted…of an insolent and arbitrary reading in,”29 Barth’s advice is “devastatingly simple.”30 We must learn to begin our reading of scripture with constant, critical self-awareness of our own 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 1

Ibid., 493. Ibid., 515–16. Burnett, Karl Barth’s Theological Exegesis, 125. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 470. Ibid. Webster, Barth, 66.

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“evil domination of the text”31 and be prepared to listen as if we did not know what God wants to say. Quite simply, there is no guarantee against eisegesis. The only guarantee is when God steps in and testies through the revelation of Christ made known by the Holy Spirit which can only be accepted in faith. In short, Barth offers the simple, timeless wisdom of turning to and trusting in God rather than ourselves. If we are prepared to do this, Barth states, if we are genuinely prepared to listen to God and not project our own desires and needs onto God, then the interpretation of scripture may become a spiritual event in which we are drawn into an act of God’s self-communication. Inevitably, this too has extraordinary anthropological implications for the life of faith and Christian experience: We have to know the mystery of the substance if we are really to meet it, if we are really to be open and ready, really to give ourselves to it, when we are told it, that it may really meet us as the substance. And when it is a matter of understanding, the knowledge of this mystery will create in us a peculiar fear and reserve which is not at all unusual to us. We will then know that in the face of this subject matter, there can be no question of our achieving, as we do in others, the condent approach which masters and subdues the matter. It is rather a question of our being gripped by the subject-matter—not gripped physically, not making an experience of it and the like, although (ironically) that can happen—but really gripped, so that it is only as those who are mastered by the subject-matter, who are subdued by it, that we can investigate the humanity of the word by which it is told us.32

Hence, from Barth’s perspective, the proper interpretation of scripture begins with the full and
awed human proclamation of scripture as it points to and is inspired by God. But everything depends on the fact that scriptural interpretation is not under human control; it is never something that can be accessed or assessed merely by means of scholarly interpretation or historical reconstruction. But whether or not this experience is the experience, this attitude the attitude, and these thoughts the thoughts of faith…is decided spiritually, i.e., not by faith, but by the Word believed. Hence one cannot lay down conditions which, if observed, guarantee hearing the Word. There is no method by which revelation can be made revelation that is actually received, no method of scriptural exegesis which is truly pneumatic… There is nothing of this kind because God’s Word is a mystery in the sense that it truly strikes us spiritually, i.e., in all circumstances only through the Holy Spirit, in all its indirectness only directly from God.33 31. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 471. 32. Ibid., 470. 33. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 83. 1

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Hence, scriptural interpretation requires more than technical mastery of ancient languages, cultures, or traditions; it also requires that one develop certain “spiritual skills” of the interpreter,34 such as those that involve faith, prayer, and the act of constant listening to God as the necessary condition for the possibility of faithful and accurate interpretation. In this sense, then, another essential hermeneutical principle is subordination and surrender to the Word of God. For Barth, “we can only ask about revelation when we surrender to the expectation and recollection” of this event.35 Focusing on God’s action in Christ as the center of the biblical proclamation, Barth can therefore read the Old Testament as it points forward in anticipation to this event and the New Testament as it looks backwards in recollection. Yet, hearing the Word of God in the present, positioned, as it were, between the dialectic of recollection and expectation does not become automatically necessary through the human work of subordination and surrender. Rather, interpretation becomes both necessary and free only as God brings the human interpreter into the light of God’s presence itself, making theological exegesis a distinct and unique spiritual exercise. Moreover, to subordinate oneself before God means to acknowledge that one does not begin one’s exposition with the Word of God itself. Rather, one ought to begin reading scripture with the assumption that one always begins with
awed human ideas and images of God.36 Thus, to avoid eisegesis, one must, as it were, empty oneself of preconceived ideas and prepare the way for God to enter “the inner chamber” of one’s heart, as Anselm once put it in his Proslogium. This should not mean that interpreters allow their own ideas to be supplanted by the biblical word as if their thoughts were unimportant.37 Nor does it mean that interpretation is simply a passive act of waiting on God.38 On the contrary, Barth maintains that interpretation is the active response to God in prayer; it is the act of “persistence in waiting and knocking,”39 of listening and re-listening to the human words that testify to God’s Word as if one has not and will never hear the nal word on the matter. If one is not prepared to do this continually, Barth suggests, if one is not prepared to admit the need for continual divine guidance, then one is simply repeating biblical or doctrinal formulations like a parrot mimics his master 34. Webster, Barth, 67. 35. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 492. 36. Ibid., 716. 37. Ibid., 718. 38. John Webster, “On the Clarity of Holy Scripture,” in Confessing God: Essays in Christian Dogmatics II (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 2005), 65. 39. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 533. 1

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while dressing oneself up in the feathers of orthodoxy.40 Furthermore, subordination cannot mean that one accepts absolutely everything that the biblical writers say on every subject. Instead, one is required only to surrender to the words of the prophets and apostles insofar as they point to God, and, in this way, one remains faithful to the Church by remaining faithful to God.41 Properly conceived, the hermeneutical principles of subordination and surrender have nothing to do with a kind of biblical or ecclesial authoritarianism that so often is associated with Barth’s name. As we have seen, these principles have everything to do with the concrete action and presence of God in individual, ecclesial exegesis. Barth writes: the individual in the Church certainly cannot and ought not to accept it as Holy Scripture just because the Church does. He can and should himself be obedient only to Holy Scripture as it reveals itself to him and in that way forces itself upon him, as it compels him to accept it.42

Yet the individual, for Barth, always belongs to the Church and must therefore recognize the Church’s rightful authority and superiority over that individual.43 However, Barth does not simply reject a biblical authoritarianism only to replace it with an ecclesial version of the same. Just as the individual claims no power or authority apart from the Church and the Word, and receives authority through humility and submission to the Word, so too does the Church receive its mediate, relative, and formal authority from God in its own acts of subordination and surrender. This means that the Church must avoid “trying to speak out as though it were infallible and nal…by surrendering itself to Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit.”44 The Church ought therefore to avoid any “direct appeal to Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit in support of its words and attitudes and decisions,” acting as though it had full command over the Word and thus was not in need of ongoing assistance.45 For Barth, such appeals not only vitiate the divine freedom and sovereignty but also place an unbearable burden to speak in the place of Christ. Hence, while Barth might sound like a biblical or ecclesial authoritarian who, as Paul Tillich once quipped, “throws the truth like stones at the heads of people,”46 his theology ought

40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 1

Ibid., 718. Ibid., 475. Ibid., 479. Ibid., 588. Ibid., 586. Ibid. Webster, Barth, 14.

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not to be simply characterized by Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s infamous phrase: “like it or lump it.”47 Despite Barth’s well-known reputation for rhetoric and polemics, his theology of scripture actually belies any human authoritarianism by arguing that understanding, interpretation, and authority in the Church always require an attitude of subordination, humility, and obedience to God which is made possible only insofar as God is “actually present and gracious”48 to the individual in the Church. Most importantly, to subordinate oneself before God in the Church, as an inferior before a superior, involves the constant effort to remove oneself from the interpretive process, to focus neither on human needs nor on the desire for authority but only on God’s Word in the Bible itself. According to Barth, if we are truly prepared to let go of our own needs and place ourselves at the mercy of God, then we shall hear the Word of God “more strongly and gloriously the less we interfere with our clumsy and insolent attempts to attain to it.”49 Thus we must not start with human needs or agendas (which always opens the door to eisegesis), but cultivate a life of humble and ceaseless prayer and submission, of actively listening to God to specify what those needs really are. While it might seem as though God’s involvement in interpretation would be proportional to the human ability to “let go,” for Barth, human preparatory work and the intensity of faith and prayers never condition God nor guarantee the hearing of the divine Word. If this were the case, then the freedom of God’s speech would be limited and conditioned by creatures, which would inevitably sacrice the divine freedom at the heart of biblical interpretation and place salvation and exegesis in the hopeless hands of sinful human beings. Finally, even academic theology must recognize the fundamentally spiritual nature of biblical exegesis. As he never tires of repeating, “the choice of dogmatic method can be made only with the intention of placing human thinking and speaking on the path of total surrender to the controlling power of its object.”50 “Essentially,” Barth insists, “the dogmatician [and therefore the exegete] can do only what the preacher does: in obedience he must dare to say what he has heard and to give out what he has received.”51 Theology grounded in biblical exegesis, therefore, “consists in this openness to receive new truth…in unceasing 47. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison (ed. E. Bethge; New York: Colliers, 1971), 286. 48. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 586–87. 49. Ibid., 503. 50. Ibid., 567. 51. Ibid., 853. 1

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and ready vigilance to see that the object is able to speak for itself.”52 Situating theology in God’s dynamic involvement in the personal and intellectual life of faith, so that theology and exegesis never degenerate into a “dead orthodoxy,” Barth steadfastly maintains that: [even] the quality of dogmatic work depends decisively not on its consisting, for example, merely in a series of conceptual manipulations, but on its being penetrated down to its last and apparently least important details by an unceasing supplication for the Holy Spirit…which no technique or toil can compel, but for which we can only pray.53

5. The Event of Divine Revelation in the Spiritual Interpretation of Scripture One of the most important resources that one nds in Barth’s theology of scripture consists in his powerful descriptions of the being and action of God in itself and for others: the immanent and economic Trinity, and not simply God in human experience. Not content to leave biblical interpretation to the secular methodologies of the academy or the vagaries of imaginative individual experiences, Barth relies on faith to locate biblical exegesis in the event of God’s being itself. Yet here, as elsewhere, Barth’s grounding of theology in the event of God’s Word and Spirit as the single conditio sine qua non for spiritual interpretation has profound anthropological implications for the spiritual life of faith in biblical interpretation. As Barth explains, “to say the ‘Word of God’ is to say the work of God. It is not to contemplate a state or a fact but to watch an event.”54 This event is the being and activity of God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Since the interpretation of scripture derives its knowledge from this event in the mystery of the miracle of grace, all interpretation, if it is to re
ect its transcendent subject matter, must be bound up with God’s Word and Spirit. What this means both for the Christian life and for biblical interpretation is nothing other than a life of total dependence upon God. This is its center, which is beyond all striving and grasping. All we can do in our interpretation is to turn to God with openness, praying that God invites us into the inner circle of God’s Triune being and reality. In recollection of the pure presence of God in Jesus Christ, and with the expectation for

52. Ibid., 867. 53. Ibid., 776. See also, for example, Church Dogmatics, vol. 3, bk. 3, 147–48. 54. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 527. 1

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God’s future action, we can only will “to let the new thing happen to us which if we hear it, will become event in our life and in the life of the whole world.”55 It is a matter of the event or the events of the presence of the Word of God in our own present: not the experience of its presence but its actual presence, the presence upon which God decides, which we cannot create or anticipate, but the presence, which as the inconceivable, free presence of God Himself decides our past and future, dening our recollection as thankfulness and our expectation as hope.56

Rejecting any Kantian anthropological pre-conditions for the possibility of understanding God, Barth simply denies that the actual perception of revelation as such is a possibility of human existence. Statements about the event of God’s being and activity, therefore, are analytic statements and not synthetic,57 which would reduce God to a predicate of human experience and give human beings the responsibility of knowing God without God. Thus, for Barth, there is no “natural” knowledge of God which could be accessed simply by turning to individual experience or subjectivity. Yet, as Barth contends, this is not to say that human beings have no experience of God or grace. It is only to say that the experience of God as such is only possible through God, not through human beings. Indeed, far from emphasizing the absence of God, for Barth, the experience of God is always a miraculous “experience of His presence” to which we can respond only by “letting ourselves be continually led” in ever new and exciting directions.58 Instead, however, of seeing in this rejection of the human ability to know God a denial of the creature before the Creator, Barth nds in it the greatest hope and liberation precisely because understanding does not rest on human shoulders. Hence, the biblical exegete must assign faith, obedience, and prayer a much more important role than is usually found in academic biblical interpretation. Indeed, for Barth, the individual who prays to God with humble hope and gentle condence can not only “expect and experience an answer in so far as he believes and obeys and prays…but…will be amazed at the fullness of the divine answer in which he participates.”59

55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 1

Ibid., 527–28. Ibid., 533. Ibid., 22. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 206–7. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 3, bk. 3, 288.

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The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation As to when, where, and how the Bible shows itself to us in this event as the Word of God, we do not decide, but the Word of God Himself decides… [Yet] we can and should expect this act afresh. We can and should cling to the written word, as Jesus commanded… We can and should search the Scriptures asking about this witness. We can and should therefore pray that this witness may be made to us. But it does not lie— and this is why prayer must have the last word—in our power but only in God’s that this event should take place and therefore this witness of Scripture be made to us.60

How liberating this is for Barth! Indeed, how liberating it is for us to know that the proper form of biblical interpretation does not consist in technical mastery but in humble surrender and prayer for illumination, such that one might join St. Anselm’s proclamation, at the climax of his argument for God’s existence: “I thank thee, gracious Lord, I thank thee; because what I formerly believed by thy bounty, I now so understand by thine illumination.”61 Precisely through this submission and prayer do we nd our greatest liberation, for we learn to trust more in God’s gracious presence than in our own exegetical prowess or theoretical expertise. In this sense, then, human life with the Holy Spirit entails “an ultimate and most profound irresponsibility”62 insofar as everything depends on God, even human obedience, and for this we can only be grateful. While many might nd in this a dangerous shirking of academic and ecclesial responsibility to bring the Bible to bear on our various communities, one must recall that Barth was writing to scholars and pastors whose institutions were overrun with the modernization. Further, he was not writing to charismatic Bible groups or to fundamentalists whose “enthusiastic rapture” overcame the distance between the reader and God and overlooked the “offence” of the Gospel itself.63 Nor was Barth advocating the “free exegesis” of modern liberalism.64 Rather he was committed to clearing an open space for a free Word of God, so that intellectual and ecclesial readers learn to trust the uncontrollable presence of God, a presence which alone liberates us from the sinful domination of the text that is so very evident in both fundamentalist Docetism and liberal Ebionitism. Implicit in Barth’s hermeneutic of surrender and subordination is an urging to readers that they be content in their weakness, humility, 60. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 531. 61. St. Anselm of Canterbury, “Proslogium,” in St. Anselm: Basic Writings (trans. S. N. Deane; LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court, 1993). 62. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 274. 63. Ibid., 512. 64. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 1, 106. 1

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lowliness, for they must trust that the most “indestructible strength” is not within the realm of human possibility but belongs to God alone.65 In this Barth stands rm with St. Paul in acknowledging that the mystery of faith is both a “complete enslavement and…a complete liberation.”66 As Barth tells us, with God and the work of the Holy Spirit, we become “free from worry about [ourselves]…free from worry about others…and free from worry about the whole development of human affairs in the Church and world.”67 The implications for biblical exegesis, historical criticism, and the life of faith are thus both radical and liberating indeed for they not only accept the full humanity of the biblical testimony, but also trust in the presence of God in our own interpretation of the revealed Word. Yet, precisely because God makes use of human witness and interpretation, the biblical exegete is liberated from having to discern the essential from the inessential in scripture, so that the faithful and accurate interpretation is and remains a gift from the spiritual presence of the Word of God in our fallible and faithful human efforts. As Barth concludes: We are therefore absolved from trying to force this event to happen… It is the man who is faithful in seeking, asking and praying, who knows that the faithfulness of God and not his own faithfulness decides. But we are completely absolved from differentiating in the Bible between the divine and the human, the content and the form, the spirit and the letter… And we may differentiate between them as we do in the understanding of a human word. But the event in which the word of man proves itself the Word of God is one which we cannot bring about. We are absolved from differentiating the Word of God in the Bible from other contents, infallible portions and expressions from erroneous ones, the infallible from the fallible, and from imagining that by means of such discoveries we can create for ourselves encounters with the genuine Word of God in the Bible.68

6. Conclusion What I have attempted to underline in the foregoing pages is the spiritual nature of Barth’s biblical and dogmatic theology. Yet it is not a “spirituality” that is grounded in human thought, feeling, experience, or the imagination as one so commonly nds today.69 Neither is it a spirituality 65. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 537. 66. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 3, bk. 3, 247. 67. Barth, Church Dogmatics, vol. 1, bk. 2, 275. 68. Ibid., 531. 69. Luke T. Johnson, “Imagining the World Scripture Imagines,” ModTheol 14, no. 2 (1998): 165–80. 1

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which grounds the understanding of God in a general human openness to the transcendent, nor rests in the debatable arguments of historical reconstruction or literary theory. It is simply a theology of the spiritual life of faith, prayer, and obedience which endeavors only to hear God, even as it knows that it most likely hears its own voice, wishes, and aspirations and is all too eager to give them divine authority. Yet, for Barth, somewhere in the midst of this dialectical juxtaposition of self-denial and divine afrmation, the miracle actually happens according to God’s good pleasure: we hear the voice of God in Jesus Christ by the power and presence of the Holy Spirit, not only in the recollection of the past or in the expectation of the future, but here and now, the Word of God becomes for us an event in which God draws us into God’s time, the time of Jesus Christ and his the resurrection from the dead. Yet, paradoxically, when this miracle does happen, we are not remotely interested in it as an extraordinary experience in our lives. Indeed, Barth, along with many of the great Saints of the Church, would agree that to such an event we can make no special claim, for it only happens to us by drawing us away from ourselves and pointing and binding us to God. As Barth would say, “how could it be otherwise?,” for if we have heard the Word of God uttered among us without any special claim for ourselves, we have heard it only because God has claimed us as God’s own and drawn us into God’s inner Trinitarian life. Critics of course are likely to charge that if the decisive element is the actual presence of God, then there is no scholarly way of evaluating one particular interpretation in relation to another;70 moreover, that all interpretations are inevitably established in personal experience, feeling, and consciousness.71 Thus there would be no way a community of faith could nd common ground on which to assess the claims of a spiritual hermeneutic. But all such charges fail to acknowledge that, ultimately, human beings cannot access and evaluate spiritual revelation that is wholly other through their intellectual or exegetical efforts alone, and that a truly transformative interpretation can only come from being mastered by the subject matter itself. While it may indeed prove difcult to evaluate con
icting interpretations of scripture, Barth’s point is not to offer concrete ways to “pin down” one reading of scripture over another, but to disabuse us of the modern preoccupation with achieving a nal meaning of the text, which quickly becomes an idol, so that we might learn to 70. David H. Kelsey, Proving Doctrine: The Uses of Scripture in Modern Theology (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity International, 1999), 49. 71. Rosemary Radford Ruether, Sexism and God-Talk: Toward a Feminist Theology (San Francisco, Calif.: Harper & Row, 1983), 12. 1

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cultivate the proper spiritual and exegetical skills to learn from God what God’s Word and Spirit are saying in the revelation attested in scripture. As demonstrated throughout this essay, everything depends on faith that God actually determines the content of the human witness and interpretation, allowing the individual to express the interpretation of this witness in their own words. Hence, in response to scholars who might protest the seemingly otherworldly and impractical nature of such an approach, Barth would counter that the very nature of such questions demonstrates the prideful human attempt to control the subject matter on the terms of individual or communal experience. This apparent “weakness” in Barth’s thought is, of course, his greatest strength and it is neither otherworldly nor impractical. Indeed, Barth’s approach not only has the most concrete implications for the life of faith precisely because it does not rest on scholarly or theological technique, which would only amount to academic works-righteousness, but also on the gracious and free election of God which enters our otherwise feeble attempts to make God’s own meaning heard, understood, and applied in the world today. Though foolish in the eyes of the world (1 Cor 2), Barth’s simple, practical wisdom for biblical interpretation and the Christian life establishes theological exegesis on the historical and continuing revelation of God’s Word and Spirit and encourages interpreters to nurture a life of ceaseless prayer and humble surrender so that they might speak and write with the power and authority that God alone can provide. At the heart of Barth’s theology, and what is lacking most in the secular anthropological approaches of much modern theology and hermeneutical theory, is the presence of God which alone overcomes human weakness and heals the divisions and factions tearing the Church and world apart. This is not to say that Barth has all the answers to the many problems faced by scholars, pastors, and exegetes today, but only that his theological approach to scripture points to and trusts in God as the source and norm for the answers to those problems. Indeed, those who heed well this wisdom may soon discover for themselves the freedom, liberation, and strength that are most fully transformative in and of human weakness when they come from revelation itself, the Word made
esh who is present in our midst. The hope of this essay has been to show that Karl Barth offers a model for the theological interpretation of scripture for the Christian life that recognizes both the limitations of spiritually exclusionary, historicalcritical and literary readings of scripture, as well as the dangers inherent in spiritual interpretations that are simplistic or naïve. Most importantly, Barth’s theological interpretation of scripture complements the work of 1

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Gerry Sheppard because it underlines the enormous potential of reading scripture as a human and historical witness to the Word of God, a witness that faithfully confesses that the proper interpretation of scripture is attained as a gift of God or not at all. This is, as Sheppard himself might say, the only way in which we can understand a text that seems intent on interpreting us. To this end, Barth’s comment on Anselm’s argument for the existence of God is thus applicable, as well, in his spiritual approach to biblical hermeneutics. What is at stake here is not just the right way to seek God, but in addition God’s presence, on which the whole grace of Christian knowledge primarily depends… Everything depends not only on the fact that God grants him the grace to think correctly about him, but also on the fact that God himself comes within his system as the object of his thinking, that he “shows” himself to the thinker and in so doing modies “correct” thinking [about God].72

72. Karl Barth, Anselm: Fides Quarens Intellectum: Anselm’s Proof for the Existence of God in the Context of His Theological Scheme (trans. I. W. Robertson; Pittsburgh, Pa.: Pickwick, 1960), 38–39. 1

Part II

ADDITIONAL STUDIES

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“COLD DEAD HANDS UPON OUR THRESHOLD”: JOSEPHINE BUTLER’S READING OF THE STORY OF THE LEVITE’S CONCUBINE, JUDGES 19–21* Marion Ann Taylor

1. Introduction In Jacqueline Lapsley’s book on how to read women’s stories in the Old Testament, she encourages readers to listen to the whispers of the text that sound forth God’s Word.1 Lapsley uses a variety of interpretive strategies to read texts, including a feminist critical perspective, a close narrative reading of the Hebrew text, attention to placement within a biblical book and its larger canonical context, intertextual associations, and theological re
ection. She especially highlights the importance of three strategies for reading stories of women in Old Testament narratives in particular: “(1) attending to women’s words, (2) attending to the narrator’s perspective, and (3) attending to textual world view.”2 In her reading of the story of the Levite’s concubine in Judg 19, Lapsley notices * This essay is dedicated to the memory of my highly esteemed colleague, mentor, and friend, Gerry Sheppard. Gerry’s interest in the history of the interpretation of the Bible was well known. He taught and published in the area. His essays in Donald K. McKim’s Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1998) and his work on Joseph Hall’s Solomon’s Divine Arts (ed. Gerald T. Sheppard; Pilgrim Classic Commentaries; Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim, 1991) are examples of his ne work in this area of Old Testament studies. He was very supportive of my work in recovering the forgotten writings of women interpreters. He was the proud owner of a copy of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Women in Sacred History (New York: Fords, Howard & Hulbert, 1873). An earlier version of this study was read at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Washington, D.C., November 2006. I am grateful for the support of an ATS Lilly Research Grant for supporting my research into the writings of Josephine Butler and other nineteenth-century women. 1. Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Whispering the Word: Hearing Women’s Stories in the Old Testament (Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2005). 2. Ibid., 2. 1

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the silences of the woman and highlights the importance of listening to the narrator’s perspective in this horric account. Lapsley suggests that the narrator provides the reader with gentle guides for ethical and theological re
ection. She avers that the story is not simply another argument for monarchy, but an invitation to re
ect ethically upon the problems inherent in violence. She sees God in such narrative details as the silence of women and the concubine’s dying on the doorstep and she suggests Christian readers consider parallels with the theology of the cross.3 The writings of the nineteenth-century Christian social activist Josephine Butler (1828–1906)4 show similar concerns and reading strategies, which suggest that modern biblical feminists are not the rst women to be drawn to listen to the whispers of the Word found in the stories of women in Scripture.5 In fact, Butler even uses the expression “hear a whisper from on high” in one of her addresses that features an exposition of Judg 19.6 She believed that she had a prophetic call to listen and to proclaim God’s whispers through her writings, public addresses, 3. Ibid., 67. 4. For biographical information on Butler see Helen Mathers, “Butler, Josephine Elizabeth,” in Biographical Dictionary of Evangelicals (ed. Timothy Larsen, David Bebbington, and Mark A. Noll; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2003). For a discussion of her spirituality see Helen Mathers, “The Evangelical Spirituality of a Victorian Feminist: Josephine Butler,” JEH 52 (2001): 282–312. For a discussion of Butler’s theology see Lucretia A. Flamming, “ ‘And Your Sons and Daughters will Prophesy’: The Voice and Vision of Josephine Butler,” in Women’s Theology in Nineteenth-Century Britain: Trans
guring the Faith of Their Fathers (ed. Julie Melnyk; New York: Garland, 1998), 151–64. 5. See Lapsley’s discussion of feminist writers who have commented on Judg 19–21. She writes that some of disturbing depictions of victimization of women in the Bible “have provoked some feminist critics to press the case that the Bible is actually and sometimes irredeemably patriarchal, and even in some cases misogynistic.” She suggests that it is important to determine how violence is portrayed and see if there is an implicit commentary on that violence in scripture (Lapsley, Whispering the Word, 35). 6. In her address to nearly 400 women, Butler argued that God was behind “this great work…that by brave con
ict with the powers of darkness, we, even we, can hasten the advent of that day of grace for which we daily hope and pray.” She thought that more women would join “God’s battle,” which she likened to that of Joshua: “if they could once for all, hear a whisper from on high—telling them that it is the will of God, that by their opposition to this evil legislation they should make a permanent inroad upon the kingdom of Satan.” Josephine Butler, The Duty of Women in relation to our great Social Evil, and recent Legislation thereupon: being an address, delivered by Mrs. Josephine E. Butler, in the County Hall, Carlisle, on the Monday of Nov. 25th, 1870—nearly 400 ladies present (Carlisle: Hudson Scott & Sons, 1870), 3–4. 1

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and sermons.7 In this essay, I examine Josephine Butler’s published writings on the story of the Levite’s concubine in Judg 19–21, since they exemplify a number of her reading strategies, including her womanly or motherly approach, as well as her attempts to nd the story’s redemptive message. Like many twentieth- and twenty-rst century feminist writers, Butler wrestled with the problem of the violence against women in this story and sought to hear God’s whispers in the text—whispers, she argued, that called for systemic change regarding laws and personal attitudes towards victimizers and victims of prostitution. 2. Social Context On November 25, 1870, Josephine Butler spoke to an audience of nearly four hundred women on her vision of what the women of England needed to do to overturn the Contagious Disease Acts that were enacted by Parliament in 1864 and amended and extended by acts of 1866 and 1869. This legislation and its subsequent amendments allowed magistrates to conduct a physical examination of a prostitute for venereal disease. Women found with a sexually transmitted disease were hospitalized until cured; women who refused examination were imprisoned. The Contagious Disease Acts intended to protect men from infected women. Butler and others felt that the laws discriminated against women, as the legislation contained no similar sanctions against men.8 In 1869, Butler was asked to consider taking on the leadership of the Ladies’ Association Against the Contagious Diseases Act. She had already had considerable 7. “If the gift of prophesy is considered in this its true light, it puts out of court altogether the objections, the wranglings and doubts which have tormented Christendom so long, as to the supposed prohibitions of the Apostle in the matter of the open and acknowledged teaching of inspired women. That women as well as men were destined by God to be prophets, was fully acknowledged by St. Paul—by his acts as well as his words… St. Paul could not have disapproved of women prophesying without being guilty of a neglect of, or a supreme contempt for one of the most momentous of the prophetic utterances of Scripture (in the book of Joel) ‘Your sons and your daughters will prophesy.’ ” Josephine Butler, Prophets and Prophetesses: Some Thoughts for the Present Times (Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Mawson, Swan & Morgan, 1898), 5. 8. Butler discusses the campaign against the Contagious Diseases Laws in J. E. Butler, Personal Reminiscences of a Great Crusade (London: Horace Marshall, 1896). See also Glen Petrie, A Singular Iniquity: The Campaigns of Josephine Butler (London: Macmillan, 1971); Paul McHugh, Prostitution and Victorian Social Reform (London: Croom Helm, 1980); Judith Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society: Women, Class and the State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), 90–147. 1

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experience working with prostitutes and was recognized as a person who understood the causes of prostitution and the women involved in the sex trade. The tragic death of her ve-year-old daughter Eva when she fell from a balcony in their home in 1863 had propelled Butler to work with other unhappy and broken women.9 Going into the streets of Liverpool she worked with women in the local workhouse and rescued young prostitutes from the streets, often bringing them home to be nursed back to health or to die in peace. A small envelope-making business provided employment for those who were in good health. Butler also campaigned for women’s rights in education, law, and employment.10 Butler took up the leadership of the campaign against the Contagious Disease Law reluctantly but she was convinced that God was calling her into this work. Her diary entry of September 1869 records the agony she experienced as she wrestled with feelings of anger against the legislation of Parliament which had “sanctioned this great wickedness,” and her reluctance to take up God’s Jonah-like charge to her: Nothing so wears me out, body and soul, as anger, fruitless anger; and this thing lls me, with such an anger, and even hatred, that I fear to face it. The thought of this atrocity kills charity and hinders my prayers. But there is surely a way of being angry without sin. I pray Thee, O God, to give me a deep, well-governed, and lifelong hatred of all such injustice, tyranny and cruelty; and at the same time give me that divine compassion which is willing to live and suffer long for love to souls, so to
ing itself into the breach and die at once.11

Butler’s work on women’s behalf took her out of the private sphere, where women were expected to rule as the angel or priest of the home, and into the public sphere.12 In the public sphere, Butler
ourished. A 9. Josephine Butler, Recollections of George Butler (Bristol: J. W. Arrowsmith, 1892), 183. 10. Ibid., 183–86. 11. Josephine Butler, Josephine Butler: An Autobiographical Memoir (ed. George W. Johnson and Lucy A. Johnson; Bristol: J. W. Arrowsmith, 1913), 91. 12. By moving outside of the private sphere of the home, Butler was challenging the dominant cult of domesticity. She became a public gure both through her writings and her public lectures and sermons. Unlike Butler, many of her contemporaries used their published writings alone to move them into the more public world of the academy, the church, and the government. Like Butler, these women used their pens to preach. They gained a voice without a body. Objections to women speaking in public were overcome, as writing “allows a faceless, disembodied utterance to go forth without a timbre or tone, unaccompanied by braids or bosoms or other enticements to male desire” (L. Robert Stevens, “Intertextual Construction of Faith: Julia Wedgwood [1833–1913],” in Melnyk, ed., Women’s Theology, 84). See the 1

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beautiful, rened, elegant, and highly articulate woman, she impressed audiences with her gifts for public speaking and spirituality. She toured the country trying to convince women and men—who alone could vote to repeal the laws—that the Contagious Diseases laws needed to be repealed. She spoke courageously in public about sexuality, a subject that Victorian women assiduously avoided.13 Indeed, in her address of 1870 she mentions the waning zeal among the women on the various local committees involved in the war against the contagious diseases laws, noting that even members of the committees, “nd the subject so painful, that they are glad to cease from working in the matter.”14 Butler, however, needed masses of women to be onside with her and it is as part of her appeal to women to take up the cause of the oppressed prostitutes that Butler discusses the story of the Levite’s concubine in 1870. This story was one that Butler often returned to during the thirty-year period she was involved in battling what she viewed as a great wickedness against women. As Helen Mathers observed, “nothing, neither home, children nor her frequent prolonged illnesses,” diverted Butler, “the dedicated enemy of sin,” from her mission.15 In 1898, Butler again published an exposition on the story of the Levite’s concubine.16 3. Female Interpretations of Judges 19–21 in the Nineteenth Century Nineteenth-century women writing on Scripture generally avoided commenting on texts that addressed issues relating to human sexuality. In her commentary on the Bible published in 1805, for example, Sarah discussion of the world of women in nineteenth-century Britain and America in Marion Ann Taylor and Heather E. Weir, eds., Let Her Speak for Herself: Nineteenth-Century Women Writing on Women in Genesis (Waco, Tex.: Baylor University Press, 2006), 2–10. See also Lucretia A. Flammang’s discussion of public and private spheres in the nineteenth century in “Josephine Butler’s Rhetoric of Liberation: Prophetic Voice in the Victorian Women’s Movement” (Ph.D. diss., University of Iowa, 1997), 5–14. 13. As Mathers writes “The risk of contempt was greatest for middle-class women who were supposed to have no knowledge of such impurity. Josephine Butler spoke on public platforms about venereal disease and the rights of prostitutes and endured public and private hostility as a result” (Mathers, “The Evangelical Spirituality of a Victorian Feminist,” 283). 14. Butler, The Duty of Women, 1. 15. Mathers, “The Evangelical Spirituality of a Victorian Feminist,” 288. 16. Josephine E. Butler, “A Typical Tragedy: Dead Hands upon the Threshold,” The Storm-Bell 10 (December 1898): 111–15. 1

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Trimmer advised her readers to pass over the Song of Songs in its entirely: “The Book is understood to relate to Christ and his church, but being all in gurative language it is not easy to explain it; you may therefore pass it over, without puzzling yourself to understand it, as all which it is designed to teach us is taught in plainer words in other parts of Scripture.”17 Not surprisingly, Trimmer summarized Judg 19–21 in one succinct paragraph: These chapters give an account of some shocking and dreadful things that happened in Israel in the days of Phineas, the son of Eleazer, the grandson of Aaron, when the Israelites had in great measure forsaken the Lord, particularly the tribe of Benjamin, and committed all kinds of abominable deeds, which at last occasioned a civil war, and almost all the tribes of Benjamin were cut off. Observe, that the tribes were now made instruments of punishment to one another.”18

Writing a fuller commentary on these texts in 1817, Mary Cornwallis focused on the chronology of the story, noting that this story, together with the story of Lot and the men of Sodom (Gen 19), demonstrates “to what a romantic height the laws of hospitality were carried for many centuries.”19 Unlike Trimmer, however, Cornwallis voices her disapprobation, suggesting that the men involved made an unreasonable and faithless decision. Instead she proposes that it would have been “more agreeable to reason and religion” to have restrained the men as long as possible and trusted God to keep the “innocent inhabitants” safe and “to have defended life and honour to the last, than to have made such a horrid compromise with monsters in wickedness.”20 Cornwallis at least acknowledges the evil perpetrated by the “monsters in wickedness”; she also judges the actions of the men inside the house to be immoral. Cornwallis does not attempt further moral or spiritual applications of the story. Butler’s contemporary, Annie Besant (1847–1933), simply acknowledges the sordid nature of the story, judging it to be “the horribly disgusting tale of the Levite and his concubine.”21 Many nineteenthcentury readers of Scripture shared Besant’s verdict. Set against these 17. Mrs. Sarah Trimmer, A Help to the Unlearned in the Study of the Holy Scriptures: Being an Attempt to Explain the Bible in a Familiar Way (London: F. C. & J. Rivington, 1805), 387. 18. Ibid., 174. 19. Mary Cornwallis, Observations, Critical, Explanatory, and Practical on the Canonical Scriptures, vol. 1 (London: Baldwin, Cradock & Joy, 1820), 316. 20. Ibid. 21. Annie Besant, Woman’s Position According to the Bible (London: Freethought, 1885), 3. 1

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comments on the story of the Levite’s concubine are the two published interpretations of Josephine Butler. Butler dared to rehearse the story’s darkest scenes in detail and found in them God’s message for her world. 4. Hearing God’s Whispers in Judges 19–21 In her rst published exposition on the Judg 19 (1870), Butler passes over the early scenes of the story, including the ve days at the concubine’s home where the Levite and the woman’s father eat and drink before the Levite nally decides to return to the hill country of Ephraim with his concubine. Butler’s exclusion of the early part of the story is not surprising as it allows her pass over the problem of why the concubine left her husband in the rst place. She does, however, assume that the concubine was a prostitute, reading Judg 19:2, “[his concubine] played the whore against him,” literally.22 Later in her exposition of the story Butler works hard to humanize the character of prostitutes in her valiant effort to recruit women to support the campaign against the Contagious Disease Laws and such related social problems as the trafcking of women and children.23 Butler’s exposition of the story of the Levite’s concubine begins with the episode at Gibeah of Benjamin where the Levite and his concubine stayed the night (Judg 19:12). Butler reveals her hermeneutical approach suggesting that this story is one of the “many tragical histories recorded in the Old Testament, that true mirror of the faith and the righteousness, but also of the depravity of man.”24 Since Butler believes that Scripture mirrors all of life for the reader, differences between the cultural contexts of the text and the reader mean little to her. She fuses the horizons of the original story and the present, reading Judg 19 as a story about abused, voiceless, and powerless women throughout history. Believing that contemporary attitudes towards women mimicked those in the text, Butler 22. The KJV translates the difcult Hebrew phrase H8=JA HJ= 9?KEH as “[his concubine] played the whore against him.” The Hebrew phrase “she fornicated against him” is difcult, but as Lapsley explains the context of the woman’s leaving to return to her father’s house together with what follows supports the idea that she left her husband without his consent and that “this act of autonomy constitutes a ‘metaphoric act of fornication.’ ” Lapsley, Whispering the Word, 38. 23. Perhaps Butler as a very careful reader of texts picked up on what a number of recent scholars have suggested are subtle narrative clues to the reader suggesting that there were good reasons for the concubine to leave her self-centered husband in the rst place (ibid.). 24. Butler, The Duty of Women, 5. 1

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reads the story of the Levite’s concubine as a prophetic commentary on life in the nineteenth century. She hears the biblical story as a critique of nineteenth-century attitudes toward women, especially victimized women. Similarly, writing in 1898, Butler avers: “certain brief and tragical incidents recorded in the Old Testament Scriptures which are strikingly typical…represent, in miniature, portions of the history of mankind as a whole.”25 The story of the Levite’s concubine, she suggests, is the best example of a representative story in the Old Testament; she actually entitles her work of 1898, “A Typical Tragedy: Dead Hands upon the Threshold.”26 Butler also is aware that her typical reading of this “terrible and pathetic story” is unique.27 She confesses that she has never heard anyone preach or write on the story nor does she “remember to have seen its terrible typical signicance suggested.”28 Boldly, Butler infuses the story with new life, reading it through a distinctive set of lenses as a female reader with a heart for the oppressed, her special mission being the plight of the prostitute for whom she speaks. Writing in 1894 on the story of Hagar, whom she views as another oppressed victim, Butler named her distinctive hermeneutic as “a motherly, a womanly reading” of the story; adapting the traditional topos of humility, she names her interpretive method “theologically worthless,” but then boldly declares, “Be it so!”29 Before the large crowd of Victorian women in 1870, Butler rehearses the “ghastly details” of the story—“the clamouring of the sons of Belial round the door, the suspense, the parley, till, in the cowardice of selfdefense, the man brings out that helpless woman, and casts her among the hellish horrors of that awful night.”30 She continues using the words of Scripture to describe the events of the night leading to the narrator’s pronouncement that she was dead. Butler then interprets the story, calling attention to the poignant parallels between the abuse of the concubine and the situation of contemporary prostitutes. Using the text as a mirror, she dramatically declares: “there is a weak and prostrate gure lying at our door; to this door she turns for help, though it be but her dying fall; her hands are upon the threshold—dead hands
ung forward in mute and terrible appeal to the God above, who, looking down from heaven, sees not that prostrate form alone, but on the one side the powers of hell, on 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 1

Butler, “A Typical Tragedy,” 111. Ibid., 111–15. Butler, “A Typical Tragedy,” 111. Ibid. Josephine E. Butler, The Lady of Shunem (London: H. Marshall, 1894), 74. Butler, The Duty of Women, 5.

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the other, in their safe dwelling-place, the selsh sleepers to whom the pale cold hands appeal in vain.”31 The fate of the Levite’s concubine, Butler argues, is that of outcast women throughout history “cast forth in answer to the clamorous cries of insatiable human lusts, and then left…to perish in the outer darkness,” while the men, who Butler argues are ordained by both nature and God’s law to protect women, sleep.32 The voice of the victim, Butler suggests is “too weak to be heard,” the door blocking her return is “too heavily barred for her to open…her only appeal is her heavy corpse-like fall beside the door, her silence when invoked, and her cold dead hands stretched forth.”33 Here Butler anticipates what feminist biblical scholar Phyllis Trible explains when she notes how the narrator shifts the focus to the fallen concubine: “For the rst time since the beginning of the story, the lone female is the subject of active verbs, though she is no longer a subject with power to act… [S]he has no choice but to ‘fall down at the doorway of the house.’ ”34 Butler, effectively bridging the gap between the world of the text and world of her audience, asserts: “an outraged corpse” lies at our door, “crushed with the heaped and pitiless weight of the sins of others and her own.”35 She calls women to action, declaring: “We have slept long and soundly while that woman bore the hell without. Shall we sleep still?”36 She appeals further to the audience’s sense of divine justice asking what would happen if God showed us the kind of mercy we showed the victim. Butler then provides illustrations of actual cases of child prostitution in England and France. She describes how the Contagious Disease Acts allow men to subject even young girls to abusive physical examinations. With this she asks for support for the war against the trafcking of the souls and bodies of women and children, the war against brothels, and the war “against the faithless, godless, despairing legislation” enacted in the Contagious Diseases Acts.37 In her 1870 address, Butler does not engage the bloodshed that follows the story of the rape of the concubine. Rather, in her address to women living in a culture that vilied and ignored prostitutes, she attempts to 31. Ibid., 5–6. 32. Ibid., 6. 33. Ibid. 34. Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (OBT; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 77. 35. Butler, The Duty of Women, 6. 36. Ibid., 7. 37. Ibid. 1

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humanize the face of a prostitute. She does this by highlighting God’s care for oppressed women, Jesus’ treatment of prostitutes, outcasts, and women like herself—a sinner saved by grace. Butler uses a number of interpretive techniques to draw her audience into an empathetic reading of Judg 19. First, she uses Luke’s story of Jesus being anointed by the immoral woman of the city, who perfumed and kissed his feet and then experienced Jesus’ forgiveness (Luke 7:36–50), as an intertext for the story of the concubine in Judg 19. Butler suggests that her audience refrains from judging the moral character of either the concubine or contemporary prostitutes. Second, Butler draws together the image of the door knocked upon by Jesus in Rev 3:20 (“Behold, I stand at the door, and knock”) and the door that separated the concubine from those safe in the house, the door that separated life from death. The common image of a door that opens up to life links the two texts and Butler imagines that Jesus was there with the slain concubine at the door while those inside the door slept unaware of their meeting.38 Like Butler, Trible points to the symbolic signicance of the word “door” in the Judges story. According to Trible, “the door or doorway marks the boundary between hospitality and hostility.”39 Third, Butler alludes to the story of the woman with the issue of blood touching the hem of Jesus’ garment in Luke 8:40–48, suggesting “those cold faint hands, falling on the threshold, groping hopelessly, have stolen in the darkness some virtue from His [Jesus] garment’s hem.”40 Instead of anointing Jesus with oil and tears, Butler imagines that the concubine washed Jesus feet with “cold death dews of a forehead branded with shame and hiding itself in the dust.”41 Using three New Testament texts, then, Butler brings Jesus into the story of the rape of the Levite’s concubine. So to the poignant theological question: Where is God in the midst of this horric the story? Butler answers, Jesus is there at the door with the concubine. Not surprisingly, Butler concludes her address with a call to women to extend their love to fallen women, outcasts and sinners, as they too are in God’s image. In 1898, when Butler returned to this story, her context had changed. The Contagious Disease Laws in England had been repealed, but similar laws still existed in other countries. While the position of women in English society in terms of work, education, and law had changed considerably, there was still work to be done for the downtrodden, indeed for all oppressed women and children. While Butler still feels called to 38. 39. 40. 41. 1

Ibid., 11. Trible, Texts of Terror, 77. Butler, The Duty of Women, 11. Ibid.

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be an advocate for oppressed women, she is now interested in such larger questions as the relationship between how a society treats women and its sustainability as a society. Her exposition of Judg 19–21 in her later years is, in my opinion, more profound than her earlier work. It embraces the fuller story as Butler explores what happens before and after the concubine’s death. It also addresses the story’s underlying assumptions about women. Butler raises the issues implied in Cornwallis’s commentary regarding the men’s failure to defend and honor the “innocent inhabitants.”42 Butler notes that “the Levite and his host alike accepted it as natural and not so vile a thing, that the woman (the weaker and more delicately fashioned one43) should be made a forced minister to demoniacal lust.”44 By addressing the underlying assumptions of the Levite and his host regarding women’s nature, place, and value, Butler is entering into one of the most important debates in the nineteenth century—the Woman Question. Butler picks up on what Lapsley identies as an implicit critique of the men’s actions in the text itself: While not remarking explicitly on it, the narrator, like the modern reader, censures the Levite’s action, and this casts into doubt the cultural logic of valuing men’s sexuality and ultimate safety over women’s. The culture may well prefer to sacrice women instead of men in extreme situations of this kind, but that does not mean that the narrator allows this perspective to pass uncriticized.45

Butler recognizes that women have been treated like the concubine was treated “through the long, long, night of the world’s history.”46 Only systemic social reform would change the way women are treated. In her 1870 exposition of the story of the Levite’s concubine, Butler tried to redeem the horrors of the story by placing Jesus with the victim in her suffering and death. She also found hope in God’s whispers to contemporary listeners who could work to transform the plight of the victimized in their world. In her later exposition, Butler invokes the language of substitutionary atonement in her description of the concubine’s role in the story: “the Levite took his companion, the woman, and 42. Cornwallis, Observations, 316. 43. Butler’s description of the woman as weak and more delicately fashioned reminds us that Butler shared assumptions with her culture about woman’s nature, role, and place and even physiology. See the discussion of the Woman Question in nineteenth-century Britain and America in Taylor and Weir, eds., Let Her Speak for Herself, 2–10, 442, 445. 44. Butler, “A Typical Tragedy,” 112. 45. Lapsley, Whispering the Word, 46. 46. Butler, “A Typical Tragedy,” 112. 1

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thrust her forth to become, in his place, the victim of their diabolical passions. And he returned to his rest until morning…her lord…had deliberately sacriced her in his strong instinct of self-preservation.”47 This tragedy, Butler opines, repeated throughout history, “the story of the egotism of man and the sacrice of womanhood to that egotism” has invoked “a curse” which hangs “like a dark cloud and threatening cloud over the nations of the earth.”48 Redemption for Butler has been placed into the hands of people who work to change the world. Like Butler, Trible nds meaning in the woman’s Christ-like death, suggesting her tombstone read, “to an unnamed woman, concubine from Bethlehem, her body broken and given to many.”49 Butler’s stronger critique of the evils of patriarchy continues in her later exposition as she calls attention to the Levite’s nal orders to his concubine the morning following the rape: “As usual he gives her his orders which she has ever too abjectly obeyed. ‘Up and let us be going… Up—why do you lie sleeping there?’ It is time to go on our journey.”50 Her death, however, marks the end of his “lordship” over his concubine. Preaching with her pen, Butler identies the concubine as the corpse as still lying “at our doors, prone. Its cold dead hands are upon our threshold, stretched out in dumb, dread appeal to all the families and homes of the earth. We are none of us guiltless, men or women. Our silent acquiescence in the crime of this murder has contributed, and is contributing, to the woe which follows and is following.”51 The story is no longer one of the past; its horizon is the present. Finally, Butler considers the implications of the story’s sequel, the tribal war which virtually destroyed the Benjaminites. She develops at length the idea of the interconnectivity of a society’s treatment of women and its sustainability: “womanhood prostrate, breathing her last, is most surely found on the stage of the drama of a people’s decay, or a nation’s overthrow.”52 Butler speaks from experience, knowledge, and passion to 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid. 49. Trible depicts the concubine as a Christ-gure: “Truly the hour is at hand, and the woman is betrayed into the hands of sinners—no one helps her…. [T]hey have all fallen away in the darkness of night.” Trible, Texts of Terror, 64, 76. 50. Butler, “A Typical Tragedy,” 112. 51. Ibid., 112–13. 52. “Whenever a portion of womankind is devoted by the State to infamy, respect for woman becomes weaker and dies. Her voice is scarcely heard when, with pure lips and burning heart she pleads for the release from shameful bondage of her sisters…we can all see that the same passions which incite man to tyrannize over the weak at his own door, to grasp advantages purchased by the blood and tears of his 1

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the heart and the head to her audience; she is a compelling advocate. Butler closes her essay by speaking biographically about her thirty years of representing the outcast, of uttering her voice.53 She pleads passionately that her readers will hear that voice: “O! hear it, I beseech you!”54 She gives testimony to her own spiritual experience of having her heart “pierced” by God for these outcasts; blending the image of the “cold outstretched hands” of the concubine with images of apocalyptic hope from the prophets and the apocalypse, she avers that her sorrows will only be comforted when the sorrows of victims are assuaged. Butler’s nal words of benediction are at once hopeful and ominous: her hope is based on God’s sovereignty and signs of the coming Kingdom which bring judgment and the end of suffering. 5. Conclusions Josephine Butler was a nineteenth-century woman who heard the whispers from on high when she read Scripture and with conviction proclaimed and embodied God’s word to her generation. Butler’s approach to reading Scripture anticipates that articulated by Lapsley and practiced by many modern feminists. Her hermeneutic, brilliantly
eshed out in her expositions of the story of the Levite’s concubine, was birthed by her experiences of personal tragedy, her work with marginalized women, her convictions about women’s nature and place in society, her personal sense of prophetic call, her commitment to social justice, and her apocalyptic vision of a better world. Butler read Scripture carefully, attentive to the plight of the outcast. Indeed, she read the story from the victim’s perspective, actually becoming the voice of the outcast. She identied so closely with the female victims in Scripture that she called herself “the woman of the city,” making it less easy for her Victorian audience to fellowmen, even his fellow citizens, to doom to destruction hundreds of his sinful fellow women for the supposed safeguarding of his equally sinful fellow men, we can see that these passions are all but identical with those which ‘make for war’ There is a real though subtle connection between the passions and lusts which curse our domestic and social life, and those which break out, ever and anon, in hatred between nations, and which give play to the instinct of destruction” (ibid., 113–14). 53. Butler uses what Florence calls testimonial authority. In her book Florence shows how Anne Hutchinson (1591–1643), Sarah Osborn (1714–1796), and Jarena Lee (1783–?) used testimonial authority in their communities: “They were seen as women who deeply engaged and embodied Scripture; women who heard, hosted and lived the text” (Ann Carter Florence, Preaching as Testimony [Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2007], 78). 54. Butler, “A Typical Tragedy,” 115. 1

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ignore the urban prostitute’s cries, to cast her out to the evil monsters, and to ignore her even in her death. Similarly, she argued that Jesus was with victims of sexual violence, again making it difcult for Christians to judge and ignore prostitutes. The whispers of God that Butler heard as she read Scripture were not really softly spoken words but rather loud shouts, calling for action and change. Butler believed that she was called to rally both women and men to work for the transformation of society, to overturn such unjust laws as the Contagious Diseases Acts, and to bring social and spiritual redemption to the millions of victims whose “cold dead hands now stretched upon the threshold of our social and national life, lifted to the throne of God in adoring and wondering praise for his nal deliverance. ‘Thy dead men shall live,’ all who have been done to death in sorrow and anguish; and ‘God shall wipe the tears from all faces.’ ”55 Like many nineteenth-century biblical interpreters, Josephine Butler was not formally trained to interpret Scripture. Yet, her expository gifts were recognized by such renowned writers and churchmen as the venerable John Henry Newman, who said of her biblical interpretation: “She reads Scripture like a child and interprets it like an angel.”56 Butler’s angelic interpretations which voiced God’s whispers were not simply based on an early feminist experiential hermeneutic, they were also rooted in such traditional scholarly interpretive methods as typology and association as she linked stories and images from various parts of Scripture together, reading individual stories in light of the message of the whole canon. Although her exposition of Judg 19–21 does not give evidence of her knowledge of nineteenth-century scholarly debates about Scripture’s nature and prehistory, she was well apprised of the intellectual currents of her day. Indeed, she consciously challenged the hegemony of the rational, scientic approach to the study of Scriptures that sought to uncover a single authorial meaning.57 Her exposition of the Hagar story especially shows her understanding of the humanness of Scripture and the legitimacy of multiple interpretations of text. Butler’s 55. Ibid. 56. Quoted in E. Moberly Bell, Josephine Butler: Flame of Fire (London: Constable, 1962), 209. 57. Mathers cites Josephine Butler’s letter to the renowned Greek scholar Benjamin Jowett, with whom her husband attended Oxford, in which Butler defends her convictions about biblical interpretation. Unfortunately Jowett’s response to Butler has not survived. Mathers describes them as “chalk and cheese,” Jowett the advocate of reason and biblical criticism and Butler the passionate advocate of her personal experiences of Christ (Helen Mathers, “The Evangelical Spirituality of a Victorian Feminist: Josephine Butler,” 298). 1

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readings of Scripture also had a prophetic and disturbing edge, which bothered many but also moved many to work for the great changes that Butler lived to see. Josephine Butler is remembered as a woman who changed her world. Her interpretive work deserves to be recovered. It is remarkable for its depth of insight into the text. It models an early feminist approach to interpretation at a time in history when such approaches were neither recognized nor even named. She is a foremother of faith whose voice deserves to be heard again.

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THE PORTRAYAL OF ASSYRIA IN THE BOOKS OF KINGS Marvin A. Sweeney

1. Introduction Gerald Sheppard was a highly valued friend and colleague. He was one of the original members of the Society of Biblical Literature “Formation of the Book of Isaiah” Seminar, which I founded together with the late Roy Melugin in 1990. His work on the hermeneutics of reading biblical texts, particularly his interest in the function of wisdom as a hermeneutical construct,1 was particularly in
uential in my own thinking about the didactic character of the book of Isaiah as a form of prophetic Torah as well as the didactic function of biblical narrative from throughout the Torah, Prophets, and Writings.2 The present essay is an attempt to study the portrayal of the Assyrian empire in the books of Kings in an effort to demonstrate some of the didactic interests in the Kings narratives. 2. Assyria in the Book of Kings The Assyrian empire clearly plays a major role in the presentation of Israel’s and Judah’s history in 1–2 Kings.3 Assyria is well known in 1. Gerald T. Sheppard, Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament (BZAW 151; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1980); see also his study, “The Anti-Assyrian Redaction and the Canonical Context of Isaiah 1– 39,” JBL 14 (1985): 193–216, which in
uenced my own thinking on the Josianic redaction of Isa 1–39 and other forms of biblical literature (see my King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001]). 2. See, for example, Marvin A. Sweeney, “The Book of Isaiah as Prophetic Torah,” in New Visions of Isaiah (ed. Roy F. Melugin and Marvin A. Sweeney; JSOTSup 214; Shefeld: Shefeld Academic, 1996), 50–67, as well as “Form Criticism,” in Dictionary of the Old Testament: Wisdom, Poetry, and Writings (ed. Tremper Longman III and Peter Enns; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2008), 227–41. For Sheppard’s understanding of Torah in relation to the book of Isaiah, see his essay, “The ‘Scope’ of Isaiah as a Book of Jewish and Christian Scriptures,” in Melugin and Sweeney, eds., New Visions of Isaiah, 257–81. 3. For a full treatment of the passages from Kings treated in this study, see my 1 and 2 Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 2007). 1

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1–2 Kings as YHWH’s agent of punishment who destroys the northern kingdom of Israel as a consequence of its idolatrous behavior beginning in the reign of its rst king, Jeroboam ben Nebat, and continuing through the course of its two hundred year history. Second Kings 17 makes it clear that YHWH brought the Assyrian empire against Israel as a result of its sins from the time of Jeroboam on—sins that included rejecting YHWH and engaging in illicit religious practice and the worship of foreign gods. Assyria also acts as YHWH’s agent of punishment against southern Judah, although here the biblical presentation is more nuanced. Judah is subjugated to Assyria during the reign of Ahaz ben Jotham when the Judean king calls upon the Assyrians for assistance following an attack by the Syro-Ephraimitic coalition (1 Kgs 16). After Judah is saved by the Assyrians, Ahaz gives orders to build a new altar for the Jerusalem Temple based on the model of an altar he saw in Damascus while conferring with his Assyrian overlord, Tiglath-pileser III. When Hezekiah ben Ahaz attempts a revolt against Assyria, the Assyrian King Sennacherib invades and devastates Judah. Hezekiah and Jerusalem are delivered, however, when Hezekiah turns to YHWH for assistance. As a result, the Assyrian army is devastated, Sennacherib is assassinated, and the Assyrians never again play a role in Judean history in the books of Kings. A problem emerges, however, when one considers historical records from the period. Whereas 1–2 Kings focus on Israel and Judah’s relations with Assyria only during the late eighth century—particularly during the reigns of Kings Hoshea of Israel and Ahaz and Hezekiah of Judah—seven examples of historical records from Assyria and Egypt and other texts from the Bible show a very different presentation of Israel’s and Judah’s relations with the Assyrian empire, from the reign of King Ahab ben Omri of Israel in the mid-ninth century through the reign of King Josiah ben Amon in the mid- to late seventh century B.C.E. Each of these examples is examined in an effort to reconstruct the course of Israel’s and Judah’s relations with Assyria from the mid-ninth century B.C.E. through the late seventh century B.C.E. and the import of this reconstruction for understanding Kings’ theological agenda in its presentation of Israelite and Judean history. The paper demonstrates that both Israel and Judah served as vassals of Assyria from the reign of the Jehu dynasty on, that Israel was destroyed as a result of abrogating its relationship with Assyria, and that Judah continued to serve as a vassal of Assyria (and Assyria’s ally Egypt) until Assyria and Egypt were defeated by the Babylonians in 609 and 605 B.C.E. respectively. Kings does not present objective history, but a theological assessment of history that is designed to rally Judean readers to YHWH by explaining Assyrian invasion as a result of Israelite and Judean apostasy. Kings thereby 1

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serves a didactic function insofar as its attempts to rally Judean readers to YHWH is designed to promote Temple worship and adherence to YHWH’s divine Torah as the foundations for the construction of Jewish life in the aftermath of the Babylonian Exile. Insofar as Kings employs its portrayal of the Assyrian empire as the agent of divine punishment for Israel’s and Judah’s alleged abrogation of YHWH’s Torah, Kings may be recognized as an example of divine Torah or didactic narrative itself. 3. Assyria’s Role in Israelite and Judean History The rst example is the reference to Israel’s role in a coalition of nations that successfully blocked King Shalmaneser III from invading western Asia in 853 B.C.E. The annals of Shalmaneser III maintain that the Assyrian monarch faced a coalition of nations led by Adad-idri (Hadadezer) of Damascus when the Assyrian army attempted to cross the Euphrates River at Qarqar in 853 B.C.E. in an effort to invade Aram and western Asia.4 Included among the coalition is King Ahab of Israel, who led a contingent of two thousand chariots and ten thousand foot soldiers. Although Shalmaneser in characteristic form claims to have won a great victory over the coalition at Qarqar, interpreters have noted that Shalmaneser’s advance was halted. Scholarly discussion has focused especially on the tensions between the Assyrian account of this battle and biblical records in 1 Kgs 16–22 concerning the reign of Ahab ben Omri of Israel, namely that Ahab does not enter into a coalition with Hadadezer of Damascus against Assyria, but instead goes to war against the Arameans at Ramoth Gilead in an effort to stop Hadadezer (Ben Hadad) from taking control of Israel’s trans-Jordanian territories.5 Many interpreters argue that the narratives concerning Israel’s wars with Aram, including Ahab’s death at Ramoth Gilead, were fabricated as part of a larger effort to portray Ahab as a sinful monarch and thereby serve the DtrH theological interpretation of history.6 A variety of inscriptions,

4. For an English translation of these texts, see ANET 276–82, esp. 278–79; COS 2.113; see also David D. Luckenbill, Ancient Records of Assyria and Babylonia (London: Histories & Mysteries of Man, 1989), secs. 610–11 (Hereafter, ARAB). 5. For an overview discussion of Shalmaneser’s reign, see A. K. Grayson, CAH 3, pt. 1, 259–69. 6. See, e.g., C. F. Whitley, “The Deuteronomic Presentation of the House of Omri,” VT 2 (1952): 137–52; J. Maxwell Miller, “The Elisha Cycle and the Accounts of the Omride Wars,” JBL 85 (1966): 441–54; Miller, “The Rest of the Acts of Jehoahaz (1 Kings 20. 22, 1–38),” ZAW 80 (1968): 337–42; Wayne Pitard, Ancient Damascus: An Historical Study of the Ancient City State from Earliest 1

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however, including the Moabite Stone, the Deir !Alla inscription, and the Tel Dan Inscription, provide evidence that Israel did indeed lose control of the Trans-Jordan to Aram and Moab during the mid-ninth through the mid-eighth century B.C.E.7 As I have argued elsewhere, such a scenario presupposes that Ahab did indeed serve as a member of the Aramean anti-Assyrian coalition, but losses of trained chariot soldiers left Israel vulnerable to its erstwhile ally after the Assyrian threat had passed.8 For the present purposes, Aram’s subsequent attacks against Israel provide the context whereby Israel ultimately turned to Assyria as an ally in an effort to contain Aram and regain its lost territory in the Trans-Jordan (see below). The Kings narrative deliberately ignores Ahab’s former alliance with Aram to oppose the Assyrians, but the claim that the Ahab narratives are fabricated is unwarranted. Kings may shape its presentation of history to serve its theological agenda, but there are insufcient grounds to argue that it simply invented the Ahab narratives, particularly the narrative concerning Ahab’s death at Ramoth Gilead, to serve that agenda. Ahab may have been killed in battle at Ramoth Gilead defending his nation against Aramean invasion, but the Kings narrative makes sure to portray Ahab’s death as a judgment from YHWH for his role in the murder of Naboth of Jezreel (1 Kgs 21). The second example is King Jehu’s submission to Shalmaneser III at some point during his reign (842–815 B.C.E.) following his overthrow of the house of Omri. The famous Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III portrays King Jehu of Israel bowing in submission at the feet of Shalmaneser III.9 The account of Jehu’s reign in 2 Kgs 9–10 ignores Jehu’s relationship with Assyria and instead emphasizes his role in overthrowing the house of Omri and his zeal on behalf of YHWH to eradicate the in
uence of Baal worship in Israel that was identied with the Omride kings. The narrative also emphasizes Jehu’s subjugation to Aram, insofar as Hazael was able to take control of Israel’s Trans-Jordanian territories following Times Until Its Fall to the Assyrians in 732 BCE (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1987), 114–44. 7. For the Moabite Stone, see ANET 320–21; COS 2.23; for the Deir !Alla Inscription, see JoAnne Hackett, The Balaam Text from Deir !Alla (Chico, Calif.: Scholars Press, 1984) and Meindert Dijkstra, “Is Balaam also Among the Prophets?,” JBL 114 (1995): 43–64; for the Tel Dan Inscription, see Avraham Biran and Joseph Naveh, “An Aramaic Stele Fragment from Tel Dan,” IEJ 43 (1993): 81–98; Biran and Naveh, “The Tel Dan Inscription: A New Fragment,” IEJ 45 (1995): 1–18. 8. Sweeney, 1 and 2 Kings, 254–58. 9. See James A. Pritchard, The Ancient Near East in Pictures Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1969), 355, see also 351–54 (hereafter, ANEP). 1

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Jehu’s assassination of Jehoram ben Ahab and Jezebel, the Tyrian-born widow of Ahab. Although Kings views Jehu’s revolt favorably, particularly because of its pro-YHWH and anti-Baal agenda, it continues to accuse him of abandoning YHWH’s Torah. While most interpreters consider the evidence of Jehu’s submission to Shalmaneser III to be a mere tribute gathering expedition without lasting consequence,10 Jehu’s relationship with Assyria has lasting consequences, particularly since it provides the foundation by which Israel ultimately overcomes its Aramean opponents. By establishing a treaty with Assyria, Israel places Aram in a vise between Assyria to the north and Israel to the south that will ultimately force the Arameans to lift their pressure against Israel in order to protect their northern borders with Assyria. When Aram withdraws, Israel is able to
ourish, which is precisely what happens when Jehoash ben Jehoahaz of Israel defeats the Arameans—his son, Jeroboam ben Jehoash, is left to preside over a peaceful and prosperous Israelite kingdom as large as that of Solomon. The third example is the continuing subservience to Assyria of Jehu’s grandson, Joash ben Jehoahaz of Israel, who continued to serve as a vassal during the reign of Adad Nirari III. A stela of the Assyrian King Adad-Nirari III and the local governor Nergal-eresh found during the excavations at Tell al Rimah, identied with the site of ancient Qatara in the Sinjar region west of Mosul/Nineveh, includes a certain Ia’asu the Samaritan among the tributaries of the king.11 Insofar as Adad-Nirari III reigned 810–783 B.C.E.,12 Ia’asu the Samaritan must be identied with Joash ben Joahaz of Israel who ruled Israel 801–786 B.C.E. Second Kings 13:10–14:16 portrays Joash’s reign as evil—as it does for every king of Israel—but in contrast to the reverses at the hands of the Arameans described for the house of Jehu during the reigns of Joash’s grandfather Jehu (842–815 B.C.E.) and his father Jehoahaz (815–801 B.C.E.), Joash was able to recover the towns taken from Israel by Aram during the reign of his father Jehoahaz. We also read that Joash was able to subdue a Judean revolt against Israel led by King Amaziah ben Joash of Judah (800–783 B.C.E.). The Kings narrative makes no mention of Joash’s 10. E.g., Grayson, CAH 3, pt. 1, 262–63. 11. See Stephanie Page, “A Stele of Adad Nirari III and Nergal Ereš from Tell al Rimah,” Iraq 30 (1968): 139–53, which lists King Jehoash ben Jehoahaz ben Jehu of Israel as a tributary of Adad Nirari III of Assyria. For discussion of the implications of this alliance, see my 1 and 2 Kings, 330–32, 357–58; and The Twelve Prophets (Berit Olam; Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2000), 13–24, 110–12. 12. For discussion of Adad Nirari III’s reign, see Grayson, CAH 3, pt. 1, 271–76; J. D. Hawkins, CAH 3, pt. 1, 399–401. 1

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relationship with Adad-Nirari III. It simply states that Hazael of Aram died during the reign of Joash and was succeeded by his son Ben Hadad, leaving the reader with the impression that Ben Hadad was less capable than his father or that Joash was more capable than Jehoahaz. Nevertheless, the relationship between Adad Nirari III and Joash must be considered. Insofar as Assyria and Israel were allied during this period, Aram would have been pressured by enemies to the north and south, forcing it to divide its forces to contend with both. With Adad-Nirari III exerting pressure against Aram to the north, Joash would have had a freer hand to move against Aram in the south and thus the opportunity to recover territories that had been lost during the reign of his father. He would also have had greater freedom to exert control over Judah to his own south without fear of exploitation of the situation by the Arameans. Indeed, the idyllic portrayal in 2 Kgs 14:23–29 of the reign of Joash’s son, Jeroboam II (786–746 B.C.E.), who ruled over a kingdom like that of Solomon extending from Lebo-Hamath to the north to the Sea of the Arabah in the south, makes great sense if we take the alliance between Assyria into account. Because of the alliance between the house of Jehu and the Assyrian empire, Aram was contained and Judah could count on no aid from Aram or any other source in its own attempts to break free from northern Israelite control.13 The fourth example is the Syro-Ephraimitic War of 735–732 B.C.E. and its impact on Israel and Judah. Here, biblical sources in 2 Kgs 16 and Isa 7–9 provide the basic account of an alliance struck between King Pekah of Israel and King Rezin of Aram that was designed to face the Assyrian empire.14 The Syro-Ephraimitic alliance succeeded in convincing most of the petty states of western Asia to join, but King Jotham of Judah refused to do so and thus Judah, under the rule of Jotham’s son Ahaz, was attacked with the object of removing Ahaz from the throne and replacing him with a presumably compliant ben Tabeel, whose name suggests that he comes from the Trans-Jordanian region of Israel, the very area where Aram had extensive in
uence.15 When Judah was attacked, Ahaz ignored Isaiah’s advice to trust in YHWH and appealed to the Assyrian monarch, Tiglath-pileser III, for assistance. The result was 13. For treatment of the regnal account of Jeroboam ben Joash in 2 Kgs 14:23– 29, see my 1 and 2 Kings, 367–69. 14. For discussion of 2 Kgs 16 and Isa 7:1–9:6, see my 1 and 2 Kings, 378–86; and Isaiah 1–39, with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 143–88. 15. For discussion of the Syro-Ephraimitic War, see Henri Cazelles, “The SyroEphraimitic War,” ABD 6:282–85. 1

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the destruction of Aram and the death of Rezin, the reduction of northern Israel and the death of Pekah, and the subjugation of Judah and Ahaz. Most interpreters assume that the Syro-Ephraimitic episode was the result of Assyrian imperial aggression awakened under Tiglath-pileser III. This is true in principle, but it is important to recognize the nuances behind the biblical accounts. First, the rise of the pro-Aramean Pekah to the throne followed a series of royal assassinations in Israel in which pro-Assyrian and pro-Aramean factions were contending for control of the throne and Israel’s foreign policy (see 2 Kgs 15–16). The last Jehu monarch, Zechariah, was assassinated in 746 B.C.E. and replaced by Shallum, who was himself assassinated and replaced by Menahem, who in turn submitted to King Pul (Tiglath-pileser III). We may recognize here that the assassination of Zechariah was motivated by an attempt to shift Israel from alliance with Assyria to Aram, but the rapid assassination of Shallum restored Israel to its former relationship with Assyria. Menahem’s son, Pekahiah, in turn was quickly assassinated and replaced by the clearly pro-Aramean Pekah, who led Israel into the SyroEphramitic alliance, presumably to free both Israel and Aram of Assyrian control. In this regard, it is striking to note the prophet Hosea’s repeated criticisms of Israel’s relationship with Assyria and Egypt and his statements that call for Israel to remember that its ancestors came from Aram.16 This context puts Assyria’s actions into a new light, making it clear that Tiglath-pileser did not act simply out of a desire for expansion and aggression; he acted against an ally, Israel, that had turned against him by joining Aram in revolt and crushed both, destroying Aram and stripping Israel of its territories in the Trans-Jordan, the Galil, and the coastal plain. As for Judah, Tiglath-pileser continued to treat Ahaz as a vassal, having just saved Ahaz’s neck by invading Aram and Israel. The fth example is the account of Sennacherib’s 701 B.C.E. invasion of Judah in 2 Kgs 18–20/Isa 36–39 and in his own records. The discrepancies between the biblical and Assyrian accounts are well known. There are differences between 2 Kgs 18–20 and Isa 36–39, and I have attempted to demonstrate that the Isa 36–39 account is derived from the account in 2 Kgs 18–20 in an effort to “whitewash” the character of Hezekiah.17 Both biblical accounts agree that Sennacherib invaded Judah during the reign of Hezekiah (715–687/6 B.C.E.), devastated the land of Judah, besieged Jerusalem and demanded the surrender of Hezekiah, that Hezekiah prayed to YHWH for assistance, that YHWH sent the angel of 16. See my treatment of Hosea in The Twelve Prophets, 3–144. 17. For treatment of 2 Kgs 18–20, see my 1 and 2 Kings, 397–424, and for treatment of Isa 1–39, see my Isaiah 1–39, 454–511. 1

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death against the Assyrians, killing some 185,000 Assyrian troops and forcing Sennacherib to withdraw, and that Sennacherib was assassinated by his own sons in the temple of his own god, Nisroch. Sennacherib for his part claims a great victory in which he invaded Judah, devastated the Judean countryside and took hundreds of thousands of captives, besieged Jerusalem and demanded Hezekiah’s surrender, took vast quantities of tribute from Hezekiah as a result of his victory—some of which match gures given in the account of Hezekiah’s earlier tribute to Sennacherib in 2 Kgs 18 (but absent from Isa 36)—and left Hezekiah on the throne.18 Other relevant factors are that Assyria continued to exercise hegemony over western Asia and Judah in particular through the reign of Hezekiah’s son Manasseh and that Sennacherib was assassinated by some of his own sons, but in 681 B.C.E. not in 701 B.C.E. In attempting to sort out the discrepancies, scholars have generally concluded that the biblical and Assyrian accounts represent self-serving versions of the same event in which Sennacherib did devastate Judah and besiege Jerusalem, but reached an agreement in which Hezekiah submitted to Sennacherib, paid a huge indemnity, and retained his throne, allowing Sennacherib to move quickly against Hezekiah’s Babylonian ally, Merodach Baladan.19 Just as Sennacherib’s account was a propagandistic tool meant to claim victory and hide the fact that he was not able to destroy Hezekiah, so the biblical account also serves propagandistic efforts by promoting faith in YHWH as the decisive factor in Hezekiah’s deliverance in terms very much like that of the Exodus from Egypt. The sixth example takes up the accounts of the reign of King Manasseh of Judah in 2 Kgs 21 and 2 Chr 33 when read in relation to each other and in relation to Assyrian historical records.20 Second Kings 21 portrays Manasseh, the longest-reigning monarch of the Davidic line, as the most corrupt king of Judah, whose actions were so wicked that YHWH decided to destroy Jerusalem and exile the nations some sixty years after Manasseh’s death. I have tried to demonstrate elsewhere that this is a clear case of theodicy insofar as the Kings account is designed to defend the righteousness of YHWH in relation to the destruction of 18. For Sennacherib’s account of the siege of Jerusalem, see ANET 287–88; COS 2.119B; ARAB, secs. 239–40. For an account of Sennacherib’s reign, see Grayson, CAH 3, pt. 2, 103–22. 19. Ibid., 109–11. 20. In addition to my treatment of 2 Kings 21 in 1 and 2 Kings, 424–34, see my study, “King Manasseh of Judah and the Problem of Theodicy in the Deuteronomistic History,” in Good Kings and Bad Kings: The Kingdom of Judah in the Seventh Century B.C.E. (ed. Lester L. Grabbe; LHBOTS 393; London: T&T Clark, 2005), 264–78. 1

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Jerusalem by charging that King Manasseh is responsible for the destruction of the city because of the enormity of his sins. Proof for such a contention comes from a reading of 2 Chr 33 and Assyrian history. Second Chronicles 33 does not portray Manasseh as the party responsible for the destruction of Jerusalem; in keeping with priestly theology, 2 Chr 36 charges that the generation of the exile was responsible for its own fate by corrupting the Jerusalem Temple. Although 2 Chr 33 begins with an account of Manasseh’s sinful acts like those of 2 Kgs 21, it shifts by portraying Manasseh being dragged in chains to Babylon to appear before the Assyrian king. As a result of this experience, 2 Chr 33 maintains that Manasseh repented upon his return to Jerusalem and proceeded to act justly and build up Jerusalem and Judah for the duration of his reign. Many interpreters dismiss the Chronicler’s account due largely to a deep antipathy to priestly literature and suspicion of its historical claims.21 Although Chronicles is clearly written from the standpoint of priestly theology, it does include a number of credible historical points, such as its account of Rehoboam’s fortresses, Hezekiah’s digging of the Siloam tunnel, and Josiah’s death in battle against Pharaoh Necho of Egypt at Megiddo.22 In the case of Manasseh, the Babylonian revolt against Assyria in 552–548 explains the Chronicler’s account of Manasseh being dragged in chains to Babylon to appear before the Assyrian king. Babylon, under the rule of Shamash Shum Ukin, brother of the Assyrian king Assurbanipal, revolted against Assyria in 552 B.C.E.23 Assurbanipal fought for ve difcult years to put down the revolt. Insofar as Manasseh was the son of Hezekiah, who had allied with Merodach Baladan to revolt against Sennacherib some fty years earlier, Assurbanipal would have reason to suspect that Manasseh might come to the aid of his father’s erstwhile ally and took action to ensure that Manasseh was sufciently intimidated so that he would stay out of the revolt. Indeed, Assyria remained the suzerain of Judah throughout the reign of Manasseh, even though the Babylonian revolt would surely have weakened Assyria’s position. Modern scholars can only speculate as to Manasseh’s religious views and spirituality, but Kings and Chronicles 21. For discussion of 2 Chr 33, see esp. Sara Japhet, I and II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 999–1014; H. G. M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles (NCB; London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 388–96. 22. See e.g., Andrew G. Vaughn, Theology, History, and Archaeology in the Chronicler’s Account of Hezekiah (ABS 4; Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press, 1999). 23. For treatment of Assurbanipal’s reign, including the Babylonian revolt, see Grayson, CAH 3, pt. 2, 142–61. 1

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both agree; Manasseh did not take part in the Babylonian revolt against Assyria. Finally, the seventh example is the death of King Josiah at the hands of Pharaoh Necho of Egypt at Megiddo in 609 B.C.E. I have argued elsewhere that Josiah’s reform was an effort to assert Judah’s independence from Assyria and to reassert Davidic rule over northern Israel during the period of Assyria’s decline following the Babylonian revolt against Assyria.24 Following Assurbanipal’s death in 631 or 627 B.C.E., Nebopolassar of Babylon, supported by his Medean allies, revolted against Assyria in 627 B.C.E. and ultimately destroyed Assyria in 609 B.C.E.25 The year 627 B.C.E. corresponds to Josiah’s twelfth year, which Chronicles claims is the year that Josiah’s heart turned to YHWH. Kings only begins the account of Josiah’s reform in the eighteenth year of his reign. A key issue here is the role of Pharaoh Necho of Egypt, his relationship with Assyria, and his role in killing Josiah.26 Assyria conquered Egypt in 671 B.C.E., but withdrew from Egypt in 664 B.C.E. Many interpreters believe that the Assyrian withdrawal was made due to defeat or weakness,27 but the continuing relationship between Egypt and Assyria must be considered. Assyria installed the twenty-sixth Saite Egyptian dynasty in 664 B.C.E. beginning with Pharaoh Necho I to serve as its ally and agent for controlling Egypt. Necho’s son, Psamtek, ruled very successfully during the years 664–610 B.C.E. until he was succeeded by his own son Necho II, who killed Josiah in 609 B.C.E. Although many interpreters believed that Psamtek and Necho acted as independent agents during this period, the Babylonian Chronicle makes it clear that Egypt repeatedly sent forces to Mesopotamia as late as 617 B.C.E. to provide support for the Assyrians against the advancing Babylonians and Medes.28 Although Egypt would hardly be considered a full vassal at this point, these are the actions of an ally that attempts to support its partner. When Necho met Josiah at Megiddo in 609, Necho was marching north to support Assyria in what would prove to be Assyria’s nal stand against Babylon at Haran. For his own part, Josiah came from the Davidic line with its history of alliance with Babylon. In short, Josiah 24. In addition to my discussion of 2 Kgs 22–23 in 1 and 2 Kings, 434–50, see my King Josiah of Judah. 25. For discussion of Nebopolassar’s revolt against Assyria and its consequences, see Joan Oates, CAH 3, pt. 2, 161–93. 26. For discussion of Egypt’s involvement in western Asia during the late seventh century B.C.E., see T. G. H. James, CAH 3, pt. 2, 677–747, esp. 714–20. 27. See James, CAH 3, pt. 2, 711–12. 28. See ANET 305. 1

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attempted to serve his own ally’s interests by attempting to stop Egypt from reaching the Assyrians at Haran. Josiah did delay Necho, insofar as Necho only arrived after Assyria had been defeated, although the attempt cost Josiah his life and Judah remained under Egyptian control until the Babylonians drove the Egyptians out in 605 B.C.E. Egypt may have been the immediate cause of Josiah’s death, but Necho was acting on behalf of his ally Assyria against a wayward vassal of the Assyrian empire. Kings portrays Josiah as a righteous man, who turned to YHWH and who died as a result of YHWH’s mercy so that he would not see the destruction of Jerusalem and exile of the people as a result of his grandfather Manasseh’s sins. 4. Conclusion As these examples show, Assyria played a major role in Israel’s and Judah’s history from the time of the Omride monarchs of Israel in the ninth century B.C.E. through the reign of Josiah of Judah in the late seventh century B.C.E. King Ahab fought Assyria, Kings Jehu and Joash of Israel submitted to Assyria to ease pressure from Aram, Kings Zechariah and Pekahiah were Assyrian allies who were assassinated by pre-Aramean factions, King Pekah of Israel allied with Aram to oppose Assyria and died for doing so, Kings Ahaz, Hezekiah, and Manasseh of Judah remained Assyrian vassals even after Hezekiah’s revolt, and King Josiah of Judah attempted to assert Judah’s independence from Assyria but died at the hands of Egypt, another ally of Assyria in the late seventh century. Kings mentions little of this and limits itself to portraying Assyria as an unreasonable invader during the reign of Ahaz and as a power defeated by the hand of YHWH—much like Egypt at the Exodus— during Hezekiah’s revolt. Although Kings does present a great deal of historically reliable material, interpreters must take into account its theological agenda; that is, it is a theological re
ection on history which attempts to convince its readers to turn to YHWH, the deity that defeated Assyria in Hezekiah’s time much as YHWH defeated Egypt at the Exodus.29 Such an agenda points to the didactic character of the Kings narrative that in turn identies Kings as an expression of divine Torah or instruction.

29. This paper was originally presented as part of a special session devoted to Assyria at the Annual Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature Pacic Coast Region, Pasadena, Calif., March 31, 2008. 1

SPEAKING OR SMOULDERING LIPS IN SONG OF SONGS 7:10 (ENG. 9)?* Jennifer Pfenniger

Gerald Sheppard taught his rst (and only) doctoral seminar on the Hebrew text of the Song of Songs in the Spring term of 2001 at Emmanuel College. Those students who participated in it, of whom I was one, were incredibly blessed by Gerry’s attentiveness, reverence, and relentless fascination in approaching this sacred scroll. At that time, he had begun to write a commentary on the Song for the Interpretation series, and in class he shared generously from his evolving insights and manuscript. Unfortunately, the community at large was deprived of Gerry’s illumination of the Song, since this work remains incomplete and unpublished. The rst point he shared with our class about the Song, though, demonstrates at once his vigorous and unyielding exploration of the Hebrew text in all its fullness of possibility and semantic conveyance. He reminded us that the beginning words of the Song in Hebrew relay “The Song of the Songs,” rather than “The Song of Songs” as is commonly relayed. He next conded that his commentary discussion regarding the repercussions of such an acknowledgment had already reached fty pages. The following essay derives from Gerry’s gift of a meticulous approach to Biblical Hebrew, and is dedicated to his memory. One of the passages in the Song of Songs that has generated extended and vigorous discussion is 7:10 (Eng. 9): And thy mouth like the best wine, That goeth down smoothly for my beloved, Gliding through the lips of those that are asleep. (RV)

* I wish to thank my colleague Tristan Major for his careful and instructive reading through several drafts of this study. 1

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These disputed lines, which follow upon the exultation of a female lover, correspond to the Hebrew words: )JCJ>= J5H5= (=H9 3H9 *JJ< (= J5H5= (=H9 (“that goeth down smoothly for my beloved, gliding through the lips of those that are asleep”). Such a break is introduced to explain the unexpected appearance of J5H5 (“my beloved”), a term used elsewhere in the Song to represent a female voice addressing her male lover (e.g., 1:13, 14, 16; 2:3, 8, 9, 10, 16, 17; 4:16; 5:2, 4, 5, 6 [twice], 8, 10, 16; 6:2, 3 [twice]; 7:11 [Eng. 10], 12 [Eng. 11], 14 [Eng. 13]; 8:14). The female pronominal sufx (– appended to the noun (I (“mouth”) in the rst phrase suggests that 7:10 (Eng. 9) begins with a male address to a woman. The inclusion of J5H5= (“for my beloved”) in the second phrase, however, excludes, or at least brings into question, the probability of a sustained female addressee. Given the appearance of J5H5= after a male address, an abrupt change of speaker must be understood. Delitzsch supports this narrative structure with reference to the style of ancient Greek drama. He explains: “Is the circumstance that Shulamith interrupts the king, and carries forward his words, not that which frequently also occurs in the Greek drama, as e.g., Euripides, Phoenissae, v. 608? The text as it stands before us requires an interchange of the speakers, and nothing prevents the supposition of such an interchange.”1 Delitzsch continues to suggest that the combination of the lmed preposition and J5H5 is here employed as a standard expression, ledôdî, used 1. Franz Delitzsch, Commentary on the Song of Songs and Ecclesiastes (trans. M. G. Easton; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1877), 132. 1

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when a bride drinks to her groom. Fox also supports a change of speaker and envisions the woman as impatiently completing the man’s sentence, “showing that she reciprocates his desire and is eager to fulll his wishes. His desire and hers are in such harmony that they can be uttered in a single sentence.”2 An alternative and widely accepted view, however, is that both phrases are spoken by the male lover. Gordis advances this position by understanding J5H5= as an apocopated plural for )J5H5= (“for lovers”), nding similar cases in Isa 5:1, where J5H5 ECJ denotes )J5H5 ECJ (“a song of lovers”), and Song 8:2, where J?>C DJD> represents DJD> )J?>C (“from juice of pomegranates”). Out of this, he proposes that Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) be rendered: “thy palate is like good wine, giving vigor to lovers, stirring the lips of the sleepers (with desire).”3 The virtue of such a reading, he suggests, is to leave the MT intact and provide in )J5H5= a somewhat explanatory parallel to )J?J (“sleepers”). In a similar fashion, the NEB regards J5H5= as plural, but understands it in the abstract sense of )J5H5 (“love,” “love-making”), translating “caresses.” The NEB retains the consonants of J5&H+5! but vocalizes it as J5"H+5!, producing the phrase: “and your whispers like spiced wine
owing smoothly to welcome my caresses.” Like the NEB, Ginsburg (insisting that the male lover speaks all of Song 7:10 [Eng. 9]) associates (I with speech rather than mouth or palate, and J5H5= with a more forcible and striking illustration of the nature of both the wine and the woman’s speech. He explains: “Her voice is not merely compared to wine, valued because it is sweet to everybody; but to such wine as would be sweet to a friend, and on that account is more valuable and pleasant.”4 His translation of 7:10 (Eng. 9), therefore, reads: “and thy speech as delicious wine, which to my friend
ows down with mellowed sweetness, and causes slumbering lips to speak.” Hitzig has attempted to make sense of the reference to J5H5=, by proposing that the presence of J5H5= in the following verse, J=H J5H5= J? HEBHE (Song 7:11 [Eng. 10]), has created a vertical dittographical error.5 The RSV proceeds similarly, deleting J5H5= entirely and translating: “and your kisses like the best wine that goes down smoothly.” 2. Michael V. Fox, The Song of Songs and the Ancient Egyptian Love Songs (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), 163. 3. Robert Gordis, The Song of Songs: A Study, Modern Translation and Commentary (TS 20; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1954), 97. 4. Christian David Ginsburg, The Song of Songs, Translated from the Original Hebrew with a Commentary, Historical and Critical (London: Longman, 1857), 181. 5. As noted by Marvin H. Pope, Song of Songs: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 7C; Garden City: Doubleday, 1977), 641. 1

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While none of the above attempts to decipher and contextualize the use of J5H5= in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) may be rejected out of hand, not one satisfactorily accounts for the Hebrew text as it stands. The likelihood of Delitzsch’s and Fox’s proposals is limited by the fact that they are recognized nowhere else in the Song. The RSV accepts Hitzig’s unlikely dittographical hypothesis, even though the result is the disavowal of an entire Hebrew word. Ginsburg’s suggestion to replace the pleasing effects of a lover’s “mouth” with a friend’s “speech” does little to address the fundamental concern over taking the so far exclusive female epithet J5H5= to refer to a male. Gordis’ pluralized and abstracted understanding of “my caresses” for “my love” does engage the dilemma involving the masculine and feminine second person address within the same phrase, yet lacks persuasiveness in the discontinuity of the imagery created by the “palate” giving vigor to lovers while they are asleep. Before any of the above theories are accepted, it must be asked whether there is another way of understanding the MT—one that both makes sense within the context and maintains the exact form as it has been transmitted. 2. The Repercussions of (
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object sufxes. He states, “a short vowel is lengthened, if the syllable becomes open,” for example, 5"J% (“he knew”) shifts to H+5%J (“he knew him”). He includes the clarication: “in the Piel…a short a-vowel in forms like 5>2!=: is reduced: H+5>!=: (she taught him).”6 Second, according to Seow’s chart of attested forms of object sufxes used with perfects, (–

represents the second feminine singular object form employed with a masculine singular perfect verb.7 Third, Seow makes clear that in the third person masculine singular perfect of all III-hê verbal patterns, the nal weak radical is lost before the object sufx. The addition of a second feminine singular sufx to a third masculine singular Piel perfect verb 9 (< !I:

By this analysis, the ww preceding (
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Further, in 7:10 (Eng. 9), the word )JCJ>= is most often translated “smoothly” (i.e. “wine
owing smoothly”), on analogy with )JCJ>3 in Prov 23:31. But whereas the RSV, REB, and NJPS interpret the word )JCJ>3 in Prov 23:31 with the sense of red wine sparkling in the cup and going down “smoothly”—a likely in
uence for the translation in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9)—the word and its context in Proverbs is very misunderstood. For example, the LXX understands it as describing wine, which “afterwards” causes one to “go more naked than a pestle” (FB@O HB@S FJK UB@K GJB MBK LBJ= UB@ QPUI SJB EX_]K UPV@K PGRBMNPV K TPV VTUFSPO QFSJQBUI TFJK HVNOP UFSPK V QFSPV). The Vulgate translates: “look not at the wine’s tawny glow, sparkling there in the glass beside thee; how insinuating its address!” (Ne intuearis vinum quandro avescit, cum splenduerit in vitro color ejus: ingreditur blande). While the NEB has “do not gulp down the wine, the strong red wine, when the droplets form on the side of the cup,” the KJV interprets the same passage as: “look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright.” Without exposing further the underlying Hebrew, it is clear that )JCJ>3 and its debatable context in Prov 23:31 has produced variant and somewhat cryptic readings. In light of this, to interpret )JCJ>= in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) as “smoothly” solely on the basis of the use of )JCJ>3 in Prov 23:31 appears conjectural at best. If, on the other hand, one accepts the proposal to take ( then maintains its more frequent sense of “what is right,” “what ought to be done,” “that which is just and meet,” or even “that which is true or right” (e.g. Job 6:25; Prov 11:24; Song 1:4, “Rightly do they love you!”).10 If this is the case, it seems appropriate also that the lmed preposition afxed to )JCJ> represents something that modies the manner in which the male lover will nally come to his beloved. HALOT offers several categories under the entry for lmed, including expressions of “temporality” (e.g. CB3=, “in the morning,” Amos 4:4; C>=, “when it rains,” Jer 10:13; )HJ9 IHC=, “in the cool of the day,” Gen 3:8), and expressions of exact relationships (e.g. C=, “in riches,” 1 Kgs 10:23; BHE>= “for sweetness,” Ezek 3:3).11 “Rightly” or “in rightness,” then, would express the timing or exact relationship in which the male lover comes for, and accepts, his beloved’s love. Finally, as acknowledged by Gordis’s apocopated plural argument outlined above (Section 1), the word J5H5 in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) seems to signify an abstract sense of “love,” rather than the specic address “my beloved” used at times throughout the Song to denote the women’s 10. BDB, “)JC&7J> ,” 375. 11. HALOT, “=,” 508. 1

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acknowledgment of her lover. The former use of J5H5 is demonstrated also in Song 1:2, where the woman states, “your love ((J55) is better than wine,” and in 1:4, apparently by the Daughters of Jerusalem, “we will exult your love ((J55) more than wine.” The male lover also employs this more general use of 5H5 in 4:10: “how sweet is your love ((J55), my sister, a bride; how much better is your love ((J55) than wine.” The rst two phrases of 7:10 (Eng. 9), therefore, which are most easily understood as being spoken together by the anonymous narrator, now read: Narrator:

He waits for you like good wine: Coming for love in rightness.

It remains, however, to ask what relevance this new consideration of (
1

12. HALOT, “335,” 208. 13. BDB, “[3325%!],” 179. 14. BDB, “35!,@ ” 179.

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directional sense of
owing to, toward, or over something. Twenty occurrences appear as the feminine singular construct Qal participle within the standard phrase 35H 3=I E3K #C (“land
owing with [lit. of] milk and honey”). Sixteen occur as the masculine or feminine singular Qal participle representing Hebrew “he or she who has the discharge.” Once, in Lev 15:25, the singular masculine imperfect Qal form (3HKJ%) is found. Three occurrences employ the plural masculine narrative preterite Qal (H3K-J%H") with the phrase )J> H3HKJH CH4, describing how water “gushed forth” from the smitten rock (Pss 78:20; 105:41; Isa 48:21; see RSV, NJPS). One instance, Jer 49:4, employs the masculine singular Qal participle as an adjective delineating a “
owing” valley ((B> 3K). Discussion of the nal occurrence of 3HK in Lam 4:9, which involves a change in semantic not syntactical components, will be taken up later. All of the above renderings of the Hebrew cognate 3HK, then, demonstrate a direct translation of the intransitive verb “to
ow” without any innate nuance of
owing to, toward, or over something. Based on the above examples, one would expect the nal phrase of Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) to be translated nonsensically, as “gliding lips of sleepers,” rather than with an object taking a preposition as “gliding over lips of sleepers.” Further, while it is true that direction of movement in Biblical Hebrew is at times expressed without a preposition or the directive 9 (e.g. Gen 10:11, CH 4J H99 #C 9*>, “from that land he went to Assyria,” or Exod 17:10, 9389  C H=, “they went up to the top of the hill”), the lack of evidence for any Biblical Hebrew verb meaning “to
ow” being interpreted in this way stymies such a reading. The specic instances of the verbs (=J, “to go on” (Josh 4:18; Joel 4:18 [Eng. 3:18]), C9?, “to
ow, become bright” (Isa 2:2; 60:5; Jer 31:12; 51:44; Mic 4:1), =K?, “to
ow” (Ps 147:18; Isa 48:21; Song 4:16), ,H4, “to
ow, over
ow” (Lam 3:54), C8?, “to be poured out, spread out” (Job 20:28), and ==K, “to
ow, tremble” (Isa 63:19 [Eng. 64:1]; 64:2 [Eng. 3]) reveal a consistent pattern whereby the subject (whether nations, waters, spices, goods, mountains)
ows “unto,” “out of,” “at,” or “over” an object only when the respective prepositions = , *>, and = are present. In a few instances, a verb of
owing is immediately followed by a noun without a preposition, as in Joel 4:18 (Eng. 3:18): )J> H<=J 95H9J JBJA =
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Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) to function similarly, since this would produce “gliding with lips,” or “gliding by means of lips.” In English translations of Song 7:10 (Eng. 9), the additions “over” (RSV, NRSV, REB, NJPS), “through” (RV, NEB), and “on” (NJB) between 33H5 and )J?J JEA within the phrase )J?J JEA 33H5, appear unfounded. Murphy is one of the few commentators to note this. In keeping with the ancient versions and the work of Rudolph, he suggests that “perhaps the nal 3 in 33H5 should be attached to or duplicated before the next word as preposition (‘over’).”16 In light of the foregoing discussion, it is difcult to make sense of 33H5 if it refers to gliding in respect to lips. Another way of understanding 33H5 must be sought, but before doing so the phrase )J?J JEA must be examined. 4. “Lips of Sleepers” in Relation to the Cognate Root 335 I, “To Flow” The ancient versions yield several different interpretations of )J?J JEA . The Vulgate has dignum… labiisque et dentibus illius ad ruminandum (“worthy…for his lips and teeth to ruminate”), and the LXX JLBOPV NFOPK YFJMFTJO NPV LBJ= PEPV_TJO (“suiting my lips and teeth”). Both of these versions arrive at their reading by changing the rst yôd in )J?J to a ww. In addition, both understand the nal mêm either to be enclitic (“my lips and my teeth”)—similar to the way an enclitic mêm sometimes follows the possessive sufx of a noun in the Ugaritic language17—or the dual form of the second noun (“my lips and two teeth”), where, as in English, the rst common singular sufx “my” (here J-:) is also carried over to “teeth.”18 This interpretation helps make better sense of 335 I, for it allows for a straightforward image of wine
owing over (or causing to move) lips and teeth of non-sleepers. Another attempt to make the reference to )J?J JEA meaningful has been made by Schoville, who eliminates one of the yôds after JEA and before )J?J as a scribal reduplication. The repointed )J?J becomes the adjective J?&,7 “red, scarlet” (the nal mêm once again considered enclitic), rendering the translation “gliding o’er scarlet lips.”19 This 16. Murphy, The Song of Songs, 184. 17. Proposed by Pope, Song of Songs, 641. Note that the Vulgate employs the third person possessive demonstrative, that is, “his (illius) lips and teeth,” in the same manner. 18. Proposed by D. N. Freedman, quoted by Pope, Song of Songs, 641. 19. Keith N. Schoville, “The Impact of the Ras Shamra Texts on the Study of the Song of Songs” (Ph.D. diss., University of Wisconsin, 1969), 99. 1

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suggestion has been adopted by Fox, who notes that the “lips are compared to a thread of scarlet in 4:3,” and that the LXX translation, “my lips and teeth,” is not suitable “since the girl is speaking here, and the ‘wine’ of her palate will drip not on her lips and teeth, but on her lover’s.”20 Both of the above suggestions help make sense of )J?J JEA , especially if the verb is understood to be from the root 335 I, “to
ow” or “to drip.” These conjectures, however, remain open to critique. As Fox makes clear, the enclitic mêm as rst common singular sufx attached to “lips and teeth” is problematic, whether the phrase )JCJ>= J5H5= (=H9 (“
owing smoothly to my beloved”) is understood as an abrupt change of speaker or not.21 The idea of wine
owing smoothly to “my” beloved, and then dripping on “my,” that is, the same speaker’s lips, does not make sense. Another change of speaker could perhaps be proposed, but this seems even more unlikely. Schoville’s translation “gliding over scarlet lips” sidesteps this difculty, but requires emendation, lacks scholarly support in the ancient versions, and hinges on the mechanics of another, albeit related, language. Further, even if Schoville’s emendation is upheld, his position still assumes the prepositional insertion associated with a mouth (or palate) gliding over or through its object, as discussed earlier. Much has been done with the phrase )J?J JEA (“lips of sleepers”) to support the theory that 335 I, a cognate verb meaning “to
ow,” is indicated in and congruent with the context of Song 7:10 (Eng. 9). The adjustments required, however, either within the Hebrew words themselves, or syntactically in relation to other components of the passage, prompt the question of whether the second cognate derivative, 335 II, more appropriately forms the verb in 7:10 (Eng. 9). Perhaps the meaning conveyed by 335 II supports the Hebrew text, including “lips of sleepers,” as it stands. 5. 33H5 as Derived from the Cognate Root 335 II, “To Speak” As mentioned earlier, HALOT distinguishes between two verbs of the root 335. The second of the homonyms, 335 II, is thought to be cognate with Akkadian dababu, “speak, plead in court, litigate,” and Arabic dabba, “defend.” The Vulgate’s ad ruminandum, “to ruminate,” in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) may understand 335 in reference to these cognates, as does the KJV in its translation “causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.” Rashi, Ibn Ezra, Rashbam, Mendelssohn, Kleuker, Hengstenberg, 20. Fox, The Song of Songs, 163. 21. Ibid. 1

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Fürst, Delitzsch, and Ginsburg afrm this rendering of 335, viewing 33 H+5! as its Poel and thus causative form,22 to be translated “causing to speak.” Such a meaning could very well exist in Hebrew. Both HALOT and Gesenius suggest that an Akkadian noun derivative of 335, dibbti, meaning “word, lawsuit,” underlies the Biblical Hebrew word 935, “report, rumor.” The term 935 is used nine times in the Old Testament (Gen 37:2; Num 13:32; 14:36–37; Jer 20:10; Ezek 36:3; Ps 31:14 [Eng. 13]; Prov 10:18; 25:10), most often denoting “slander,” and sometimes paired with 9C to represent “evil report.” In Gen 37:2, for example, 9C )E35 refers to the bad report Joseph brings to his father regarding his half brothers. Any attempt to evaluate the view that 335 in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) refers to some form of speaking or moving of lips must rst reckon with what is meant by )J?J JEA . The KJV translates the phrase “the lips of those that are asleep”; the RV and RSV similarly render “lips of sleepers.” The word 9A is a feminine noun usually understood to mean “lip, speech, or edge.”23 *J is an adjective denoting “sleeping.”24 The above translations, then, are usually represented by the simplest rendering of their construct form (“lips of sleepers”) as governed by the verb 335 II (“causing to speak”). Ginsburg appeals to an epistle of Horace (Epist. lib. i. Ep. v. 19) in reference to wine, “Whom have not bountiful cups made eloquent?” (Fecundi calices quem non fecere disertum?), to support the above understanding. He explains: “the wine is of such an animating nature, that it even causes silent lips to speak.”25 Delitzsch adds further support for a literal translation (“lips of sleepers”) by reference to the talmudic proverb (Yebamot 97a; y. Moed Qaman, iii.7): “if anyone in this world adduces the saying of a righteous man in his name,” then his lips smack (“bullire, stillare, manare”) in the grave (C3B3 EH33H5 HJEHEA ).26 He explains: “thus: brought into the condition of the over
owing, the after-experience of drink that has been partaken of, and which returns again, as it were, ruminando.”27 For Delitzsch, then, )J?J JEA represents the lips of sleepers which inaudibly and involuntary move or “smack” in response 22. Ginsburg, The Song of Songs, 182. Ginsburg is one of the only commentators who addresses whether 33H5 actually represents a Poel and thus causative form of 335. He states the following: “33 H+5! is the Poel of 3325,% a form frequently used in verbs " (comp. == H+9, Eccl. vii. 7; Ps. lix. 7; Gesen. §67, 8), and, like the Piel, is often the causative of Kal, Gesen. §55, 1.” 23. BDB, “9A7 7,” 973. 24. BDB, “* J,% ” 445. 25. Ginsburg, The Song of Songs, 182. 26. Delitzsch, Commentary on the Song of Songs, 133. 27. Ibid. 1

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to “delightful dreams” and “hallucinations” brought on by a prior overindulgence of love.28 Pope, apparently in reference to the same talmudic passage, suggests a different explanation: “if, however, the ‘sleepers’ are the dead whose lips move or ooze in the grave, as some Jewish sages supposed, one may think of the libations offered to one’s ancestors in the funerary communion meals.”29 The above attempts to make sense of )J?J JEA in reference to the verb 335 II are questionable. First, while one can agree with Pope that wine is well known for “loosening lips to eloquence,” it is just as well known for its pernicious abilities—reducing intelligent, intelligible speech to inane mutterings (Prov 23:33).30 Horace’s epistle, then, adds little of value to any discussion of the role of wine in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9). Second, Pope’s reference to “sleepers” and common funerary rights seems bizarre and out of context. Murphy writes: “who are the sleepers? It seems arbitrary to identify these with the lovers, yet they cannot (against Pope) reasonably be identied with anyone else.”31 Third, it is open to debate whether )J?J JEA 33H5 )JCJ>= J5H5= (=H9 refers primarily to 3H9 *JJ or (= J5H5= (=H9 and 3H9 *JJ is especially apparent where translators or commentators use the plural “kisses” (instead of the usual “mouth,” “palate,” “speech”) for (
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Which makes the lips of sleepers move.”34 Those who uphold a 335 II translation (“causing to speak”) for 33H5, then, tend to carry the mouthto-wine analogy through both phrases, )JCJ>= J5H5= (=H9 and 33H5 )J?J JEA (as Delitzsch does), essentially viewing them as parallel structures describing the effects of good wine (and thus the lover’s palate). If, however, as argued above, the translation “causing to speak” for 33H5 is dependent upon a Poel (and thus causative) conjugation of 335 II (“speak”), the present form 33 H+5!, does not represent an exact counterpart to (= H+9 (e.g. a masculine singular active Qal participle), but rather, a third person masculine singular perfect conjugation of the Poel stem meaning “he/it caused to speak.” In short, one cannot honor the Poel causative force, while concurrently upholding a Qal participial form. If the causative force is adopted, then an accurate translation of 335 II in its Poel perfect conguration, and in its Song 7:9b context, should read: [And your mouth, like the best wine]35 going to my love smoothly. It caused to speak the lips of sleepers.

This rendering incorporates the correct causative Poel force of the proposed verb in the perfect conguration which makes the Poel stem possible. It appears that many translators honor the proper participial form of (= H+9 only to coerce a kind of parallel participial translation for 33 H+5!, which is unsupported in the Hebrew unless the desired Poel stem is dropped and the nal phrase translated in the Qal, “speaking the lips of sleepers.” Finally, if the above complications are overlooked, and the wine analogy followed through to the nal phrase, “causing to speak the lips of sleepers,” the question remains: Does it make sense to think that only the “best” wine causes the lips of sleepers to speak? Despite the view of Pope that the gure of speech refers to the powerful and stirring (even ritualized) effect that “the best” wine has upon “lips of sleepers,” it remains that good wine—even “the best”—does not achieve this effect faster or more easily than substandard wine. Similarly unconvincing is Stadelmann’s view that the wine is “of superior quality” because it

34. Delitzsch, Commentary on the Song of Songs, 131. 35. Note the hypothetical use of this rst phrase (as argued against in section 2) to demonstrate further what is usually read, and hence the necessity for the root 335 to carry a Poel force, yet Qal participial form. 1

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“
ows smoothly” down the throat, whereas “a more astringent wine leaves a certain bitterness in the mouth.”36 Although it is possible to understand 33H5 by reference to 335 II and the idea of making movement or causing to speak, the results are only marginally more satisfying than those achieved by reference to 335 I. Some scholars go further, however, and identify a reference to 3HK in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9), a possibility that we will now consider. 6. 33H5 as Related to the Hebrew Root 3HK, “To Flow” It has been suggested that the meaning for 33H5 in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) is derived not from the root 335 but from 3HK. Ewald notes this possibility when he proposes that the protosemitic root 3H5 develops into the Hebrew consonants 3HK, and Aramaic, 3H5. Accordingly, the meaning of both verbal forms is identical: “to
ow.”37 Fox makes the same observation when he supports his translation of Song 7.10b (Eng. 9b)—“dripping on scarlet lips”—by stating that “DBB in mishnaic Hebrew… means
ow or drip (= Aramaic DWB, cognate to Hebrew ZWB), meanings appropriate to this context.”38 Murphy, however, supports a direct relation of the Hebrew consonants 3H5 to their protosemitic notion of “to
ow,” and suggests that the occurrence of 33H5 in Song 7.10b (Eng. 9b) derives from 3H5 rather than 335.39 Such a proposal ts well morphologically, since a close reading of 33 H+5! suggests that it represents the less well-attested Polel stem associated with middle ww Hebrew roots, and thus displays one of three possible congurations: a Polel innitive construct, a Polel second person masculine singular imperative, or a Polel third person masculine singular perfect formation. All three carry the causative force associated with the Polel stem. However, since Ewald, Fox, and Murphy ascribe to 3H5 a meaning identical with 335 I, “to trickle,
ow, drip,” they reproduce the 335 I results listed in section 3, although now demonstrating the Polel innitive construct option of 3H5, for example, Murphy’s “
owing smoothly for my lover.” For Ewald, Fox, and Murphy, then, viewing 33H5 as either a Polel stem of the second ww root 3H5 or Poel stem of the geminate root 335 I is inconsequential—both carry a causative meaning of “to
ow,” and generate essentially the same results in relation to 335 I above. If this is 36. Stadelmann, Love and Politics, 184. 37. Heinrich Georg Augustus Ewald, Das Hohelied Salomos übersetzt und mit Einleitung, Anmerkungen und einem Anhang (Göttingen: Deuerlich, 1826), 118. 38. Fox, The Song of Songs, 163. See section 4 above regarding Fox’s rendering of “scarlet.” 39. Murphy, The Song of Songs, 183. 1

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the case, however, both readings are vulnerable to the same objections leveled against 335 I. Neither commentator, though, contemplates fully the spectrum of semantic possibilities that becomes available through the change of the middle radical (i.e. H instead of 3). Fully considering such possibilities, however, is an essential rst step before resorting to the non-Hebrew roots 335 I or 335 II. 7. 33H5 as Related to the Hebrew Root 3H5, “To Pine” As mentioned earlier, the root 3HK, which Ewald and Fox equate with the protosemitic root 3H5, is also found in Lam 4:9. There the context is the depravity caused by the famine in Jerusalem. The LXX, reading the verb 3HK, translates the verse as follows: TETH. The slain with the sword were better than they that were slain with hunger: they have departed (FQPSFV RITBO), pierced through from want of the fruits of the eld.

For the issue at hand, the Hebrew in the second part of the verse is most important: J5 E3H?E> )JCB5> H3HKJ )9. The LXX translates H3HKJ with the Greek verb FQPSFV RITBO According to Bauer, SFX means “
ow” or guratively, “over
ow with” or “have more than enough of something,” as in HI_O S FPVTBO HB MB LBJ= NFMJ (“a land
owing with milk and honey”). The prex FQP, meaning “from” or “away from” gives the verb a sense of “
ow away from,” hence the LXX’s “depart.” While the LXX’s translation re
ects the usual understanding of 3HK, that is, “
ow,” the Vulgate appears to interpret the verb differently: Quoniam isti extabuerunt consumpti. “Extabuerunt,” here corresponding to the Hebrew verb H3HKJ, is translated “waste away entirely, vanish, disappear.” The English translations appear to follow in a similar fashion, interpreting H3HKJ )9 to mean “for these pine away” (KJV), “who pined away” (RSV, NJPS), “these wasted away” (NEB), and “who wasted away” (REB). Gesenius lists 3HK as indeed having another meaning “to pine away, to die” (based on Lam 4:9).40 He links this second denition to the Aramaic cognate 3H5 (“to
ow, to
ow away, to become liquid”) and Arabic dwb (“to pine away with hunger or sickness”). Both Gesenius and BDB also cite a native Hebrew verb 3H5, “to pine away, languish.” It is listed as occurring only as a Hiphil feminine plural participle in Lev 26:16 (A? E3J5>), apparently describing a kind of disease which causes one’s soul or life to pine away. 40. William Gesenius, Gesenius’s Hebrew and Chaldee Lexicon to the Old Testament Scriptures (trans. and ed. S. P. Tregelles; New York: John Wiley, 1879), 240. 1

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Interestingly, the verb form 33H5 in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) attests morphologically to a second causative rendering of 3H5, either a Polel imperative second masculine singular “you cause to pine!,” a Polel innitive construct “causing to pine,” or Polel perfect third masculine perfect “he causes to pine.” Employing both the previous reconguration for (
He waits for you like good wine: Coming for love in rightness. He causes to pine the lips of sleepers!41

This way of understanding these verbs introduces an element of timing, which has so far been less pronounced but is certainly present throughout the Song (e.g. “until the day breathes” [2:17; 4:6]) as well as the repercussions of that timing, such as the yearning and pain experienced and recounted by the female lover as she awaits her lover’s committal response. The adjurations in 3:5, “do not rouse or awaken love until it please,” and 5:8, “if you meet my beloved, tell him this: that I am faint with love,” portray a deeper sense of meaning when read within the context of the above metaphor. The lovers want love to deepen in its own fullness of time (like good wine pouring forth in rightness and fruition), yet simultaneously suffer the resulting agony and languishing that such awaiting brings. The mysterious “lips of sleepers,” then, represents those of the female lover who is described as sleeping (9?J) in Song 5:2a (“I was sleeping, but my heart was awake”). The masculine plural form by which this phrase is relayed )J?J JEA thus recognizes that just as the woman pines for love’s consummation, so does the man, leaving the lips of both sleepless, restless, and unfullled.42 Further, the phraseology of the above translation of Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) ts well into the linguistic structure of the surrounding verses, and averts the standard combining of 7:10 (Eng. 9) with 7:9 (Eng. 8), to form the syntactical unit 7:9–10 (Eng. 8–9). This common merge, upon rst glance, seems appropriate since 7:9 (Eng. 8) ends: “O may your breasts be like clusters of the vine and the scent of your breath like apples!” A tting transition, then, to the usual rendering “and may your kisses be like the best wine.” It is however, unnecessary, since 7:9 (Eng. 8) already 41. Or, alternatively, the innitive construct option of 3H5 used in interpreting 33H5 could place all three utterances in the mouth of the narrator: “He waits for you like good wine: coming for love in rightness, causing to pine the lips of sleepers!” 42. Another explanation, proposed by André Robert, is that )J?J JEA represents “a plural of generalization,” designating the woman. André Robert, Le Cantique des Cantiques (La sainte Bible 18; Paris: Cerf, 1951), 274–75. 1

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provides an adequate conclusion to the extended description of 7:2–9 (Eng. 1–8). In addition, 7:10 (Eng. 9) provides an understandable opportunity for the provocative and profound voice of the anonymous narrator, since it follows the conclusion of the man’s desire to “climb the palm tree,” and prefaces the woman’s desire that he come for her love “in rightness.” Finally, hearing the nal two phrases of 7:10 (Eng. 9) from the mouth of the heroine helps make sense of the conclusive tone of her next statement (7:11 [Eng. 10]): “I am my Beloved’s, and for me is his desire.” What conclusion is to be drawn from the above discussion of evidence? It seems that the case for understanding 3H5 in Lam 4:9 to mean “pine, languish” is convincing and challenges the view that the options for interpreting 33H5 in Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) are limited to 335 I and II, “glide” and “speak” respectively. 33H5, as a Polel representation of 3H5 (“pine”), makes better sense within the context of Song 7:10 (Eng. 9) than a Poel of 335 on the grounds that it represents a more favorable semantic conguration (e.g. “he causes to pine” as opposed to a third masculine singular perfect “it caused to glide,” or “it caused to speak”) and transmits a way of understanding which ts well within the context of Song of Songs as it stands. A chief advantage of the solution proposed above is that it avoids the need to introduce new or obscure data, such as funerary rights, slumbering lips which smack or speak, or images of liquids passing over sleeping lips, but relies instead on a Hebrew root (3H5) that is attested elsewhere in Hebrew Scripture. By recognizing 33H5 as deriving from the Hebrew root 3H5 instead of a hapax legomenon, and understanding the conguration (
1

ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN APOCALYPTICISM AND THE ORIGINS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT CANON OF SCRIPTURE David G. Meade

During the latter half of the twentieth century, textual discoveries such as those at Qumran and Nag Hammadi, along with a new generation of Jewish and Christian scholars investigating the diversity of ancient Jewish and Christian communities, have spurred a larger historical investigation into the origins of Hebrew and Christian Scripture. This has taken the study of canon out of its dusty nineteenth-century practice of listing patristic and rabbinic citations, and placed it at the center of theological inquiry.1 Pioneers in this perspective of “canon consciousness” in both the layers of the text and communities, as well as the hermeneutics of such a perspective, have been Hebrew Bible scholars Gerald T. Sheppard,2 1. The classic approach to canon studies is by my Princeton mentor, Bruce M. Metzger, The Canon of the New Testament: Its Origin, Development, and Signi
cance (1987; repr., Oxford: Clarendon, 1997). Similarly, Craig Allert, A High View of Scripture? The Authority of the Bible and the Formation of the New Testament Canon (Evangelical Resourcement: Ancient Sources for the Church’s Future; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007). See also H. Gamble, The New Testament Canon: Its Making and Meaning (GBS; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985). 2. Besides the seminal Interpretation article (Gerald T. Sheppard, “Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions,” Int 36 [1982]: 21–33) that forms the focal point of this Festschrift, one should note that Sheppard’s The Future of the Bible: Beyond Liberalism and Literalism (Toronto, Ont.: United Church Publishing House, 1990) records his legacy and encouragement for the future of canonical studies. Beyond his publications, Gerry Sheppard’s nest gift was his care in the mentoring of his students. During the 1990s, while I was Director of United Theological Seminary at Buffalo, I hired one of his students, Dr. Randall Heskett, as an instructor. The result was an abiding friendship and the merging of the dialogue and scholarship of our two great doctoral mentors. The collegiality and friendship that began then and has grown since is a testimony to the “pattern of teaching” (2 Tim 1:13) of both our doctoral mentors, and as such is an 1

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Brevard S. Childs, and James A. Sanders, and my own doctoral mentor in New Testament studies, James D. G. Dunn.3 Without the foundation and dialogue of Gerald Sheppard and his colleagues (and detractors!), my own contribution to the relationship of canon to pseudonymity and Scripture formation would not have been possible.4 Many others have followed the lead of Sheppard et al. in recognizing and valuing this canonical consciousness approach and its implications.5 Yet this new focus has precipitated a crisis of authority and identity that calls into question the very nature and purpose of canon, particularly in the New Testament. When investigation into the criteria of canonization used by the early church reveals that in many cases they were wrong (apostolicity, authorship, date, universality),6 and when documents from a type of Christianity not well represented by the canon (e.g. Gnosticism) tell a very different story,7 or when the New Testament itself is found to be full of con
icting ideology,8 then the whole superstructure of canon as a ground for orthodoxy, whether through the Protestant principle of embodiment of the very principle of “canon consciousness” that Gerald Sheppard, James Dunn, and others have sought to instill in our minds and hearts. 3. See Dunn’s early and seminal work related canon and the diversity of voices in the New Testament, Unity and Diversity in the New Testament: An Inquiry into the Character of Earliest Christianity (2d ed.; London: SCM; Philadelphia: Trinity, 1990). 4. David G. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon: An Investigation into the Relationship of Authorship and Authority in Jewish and Earliest Christian Tradition (WUNT 39; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1986; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988). 5. A good overview is Scott Hahn, Craig Bartholomew, Robin Parry, Christopher Seitz, and Al Wolters, eds., Canon and Biblical Interpretation (SHS 7; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007). Even ancient manuscripts have been examined from this perspective; see Craig A. Evans and H. Daniel Zacharias, eds., Jewish and Christian Scripture as Artifact and Canon (LSTS 70; New York: T&T Clark, 2009). Such studies have led to a great deal of interfaith and interdisciplinary dialogue. See Christine Helmer and Christof Landmesser, eds., One Scripture or Many? Canon from Biblical, Theological, and Philosophical Perspectives (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 6. See Kurt Aland, The Problem of the New Testament Canon (Contemporary Studies in Theology 2; London: Mowbray, 1962); Isodor Frank, Der Sinn der Kanonbildung; eine historisch-theologische Untersuchung der Zeit vom 1. Clemensbrief bis Irenäus von Lyon (Freiburger theologische Studien 90; Freiburg: Herder, 1971). 7. For example, Elaine Pagels, The Gnostic Gospels (New York: Vintage, 1989). 8. Best expressed by Ernst Käsemann, “The Canon of the New Testament and the Unity of the Church,” in Essays on New Testament Themes (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1982), 95–107. 1

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“self-authentication” and sola scriptura, or the Catholic principle of Scripture and tradition, is shaken to its core.9 A central question that arises out of the morass of controversy is the question of the direction from which the canonical process of the New Testament proceeds.10 In other words, is the formation of the New Testament “pushed” from elements inherent within itself or its Jewish origins or is it “pulled” into being by forces of the church and society largely external to the texts themselves? Though the question does not admit to simple answers, I would like to offer some observations in three areas. 1. Canon: The Problem of De
nition The rst area that needs to be addressed is that of denition. There is no point in looking for evidence if there is no agreement on the object of one’s search. What do we mean by the word “canon”? As Gerald Sheppard elucidates in his dictionary article on canon,11 the debate has raged over whether the primary meaning is that of “norm/standard,” or whether it refers to a list or catalogue. The rst might be called a “functional” denition of canon, whereas the second might be called a “formal” denition. Each denition has its proponents and detractors. The “formal” denition of the canon of Scripture is best described by James Barr as: (1) a body of texts, (2) something public, declared authoritative for the whole community, (3) something understood to be permanent and not intended for revision.12 Under this denition of canon, supporters see little articulation of a canon of the New Testament until the end of the second century C.E., a position given classic expression by Hans von Campenhausen.13 The strength of this particular approach is that it recognizes the unique vitality and character of Christianity, which began not as a “religion of the 9. See Walter Bauer, Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity (ed. Robert A. Kraft and Gerhard Krodel; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971), 2. 10. Brevard S. Childs, The New Testament as Canon: An Introduction (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 19. 11. Gerald T. Sheppard, “Canon,” in The Encyclopedia of Religion (ed. Lindsay Jones; 2d ed.; Farmington Hills: Macmillan Reference, 2005), 3:1405–11. 12. James Barr, Holy Scripture: Canon, Authority, Criticism (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983), 71. 13. Hans von Campenhausen, The Formation of the Christian Bible (trans. J. A. Baker; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1972). See also L. M. McDonald, The Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon (Nashville: Abingdon, 1988). 1

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Book,” but a “religion of the Spirit and the Living Christ.” Further, it demonstrates that mere citation, even of authoritative tradition or documents, is in itself not an indication of the conception of Scripture. Many things may be authoritative without be canonical. However, though von Campenhausen and others have acknowledged a “pre-history” of the New Testament canon, the stress placed on the role of the Apostolic and Ante-Nicene fathers and that of heretical movements like Marcionism and Montanism seems to create too wide a disjuncture between the self-consciousness of the rst century and that of the second and subsequent eras. Certainly the idea of closure is born of the late second century, but the assigning of normative authority to Christian texts is much earlier: even reaching into the rst century (e.g. 2 Pet 3:5– 16; 2 Tim 3:16). On analogy with the Old Testament, Judaism had a canon of Scripture long before efforts were made to close it.14 Though some supporters of the “formal” denition of canon have recognized that a text can (at least initially) function as Scripture without being labeled such,15 too frequently this approach simplistically points to the absence of such formulae as equivalent to the absence of an ideology of canon. Further, the “formal” denition of canon is too heavily focused on texts. Jonathan Smith has demonstrated that canon is a process of cultural limitation (especially in the area of divination) coupled with a hermeneutic that overcomes that limitation through ingenuity.16 Thus many pre-literate societies have canons dened as closed lists of divinatory objects.17 Even the idea of the closure of the New Testament canon should not be seen as something unusual, explainable only by appeal to a distinctive Hellenistic love of the “ideal,” expressed in the selective lists or “canon” of Alexandrian scholarship.18 14. James Sanders demonstrates that even the text of the Old Testament, including books long regarded as canonical, was not stabilized until near the end of the rst century C.E. See Sander’s Canon and Community: A Guide to Canonical Criticism (GBS; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984). 15. McDonald, Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, 74. 16. Jonathan Z. Smith, “Sacred Persistence: Toward a Redescription of Canon,” in Approaches to Ancient Judaism: Theory and Practice (ed. William Scott Green; BJS 1; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1978), 11–28. 17. Lest one be tempted to be literalistic in applying the word “canon,” it is important to point out that the rst use of the word to refer to a list of New Testament books is by Athanasius in the fourth century! Thus, even von Campenhausen has applied a later semantic symbol to an earlier idea. 18. Contra McDonald, Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, 44. Rudolf Pfeiffer, History of Classical Scholarship: From the Beginnings to the End of the Hellenistic Age (Oxford: Clarendon, 1968), 204–9, points out that the meaning of 1

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Dissatisfaction with the formal approach to canon led Sheppard and others to the functional denition of the New Testament canon as “authoritative, a rule or standard.” This conforms to the earliest church usage of the word. The original New Testament “canon” was doctrine, not documents.19 Colleagues James Sanders and Brevard Childs founded approaches in “canonical criticism,” a term coined by Sanders and later abandoned by the movement because the functional denition and perspective of canon transcended any particular biblical methodology. Rather than using critical tools to atomize and divide ancient texts and communities, an awareness of the process of canonization or “canon consciousness” in every layer of the tradition, including the nal selection and delimitation of biblical books, gives us insight into all the communities that produced, shaped, and transmitted the canonical literature. The essence of canon is to be found in the quest for identity of organic, religious communities, expressed through authoritative tradition which is both stable and adaptable.20 The strength of the functional approach to canon is that it is able to appreciate the continuity/context between the communities represented in the New Testament and the communities of a later age. Raymond F. Collins has demonstrated that the same principles of canonization found in the later church (liturgical use, orthodoxy, apostolicity, literary form) are expressed concerns of the New Testament era. “A xed canon was the product of the patristic church. Its matrix was the apostolic church, the church of New Testament times.”21 The weakness of the functional approach to canon is that it offers no clear demarcation between traditions and documents that are authoritative and those that are normative. The result is a lack of precision, rendering the word “canon” ineffective and unintelligible.22 Thus when Sanders applies the word “canon” (at canon as closed list is not to be found in classical writings. Indeed, the term “Alexandrian canon” was coined by David Ruhnken in 1768. 19. UX]_ LBOP OJ, Gal 6:16. Cf. also QBSBRI LI, 1 Tim 6:20; 2 Tim 1:12, 14. 20. “A canon begins to take shape rst and foremost because a question of identity or authority has arisen, and a canon begins to become unchangeable or invariable somewhat later, after the question of identity has for the most part been settled” (James Sanders, Torah and Canon [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1972], 91 [original emphasis]). See also Sanders, “Adaptable for Life: The Nature and Function of Canon,” in Magnalia Dei, the Mighty Acts of God: Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright [ed. F. M. Cross Jr., W. E. Lemke, and P. D. Miller, Jr.; Garden City: Doubleday, 1976), 531–60. 21. Raymond Collins, “The Matrix of the New Testament Canon,” BTB 7 (1977): 51–59 (52). 22. This has been Barr’s major bone of contention. See Barr, Holy Scripture. 1

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various “levels”) to liturgical traditions, hymns, and even translations (e.g. KJV), it only serves to muddle the debate. It seems that by focusing on either a formal or a functional denition of canon, the debate about the origins of the New Testament canon has been polarized into the all-or-nothing push versus pull schema of development. Is the New Testament a product of the communities it represents (push) or is it an articial schema imposed by the later church (pull)? I think the key to breaking the impasse is to focus on the origins of the New Testament as Scripture, rather than canon. Since traditions within the context of Judaism and Christianity do not have the stability and normative value of written texts, it seems inappropriate to label such as canon or canonical. Yet to label something as “canonical” or canon only those writings that are articulated as part of an exhaustive list is equally inappropriate. One can have a canon of Scripture without having a closed canon.23 Thus, I propose that there is a meeting point between the functionalists and the formalists, both ideologically and historically. The ideological focal point between the push of tradition and the pull of a closed church canon is Scripture, when New Testament documents begin to be used as normative for Christian life, and when hermeneutical systems arise to interpret those documents for the life of the community. The historical focal point, the birth and development of the idea of additional Scripture, will be the next object of re
ection. 2. Apocalyptic Ideology and the Birth of New Testament Scripture It is my contention that it is apocalypticism that provides the ideological basis and impetus for the emergence of new (later to be called New Testament) Scripture, and that this ideology emerges in a seminal doctrine of Scripture in the post-apostolic documents of the New Testament. This ideology will be discussed in terms of an apocalyptic perspective on the closure of the Old Testament, the doctrine of heavenly books in apocalyptic writings and their antecedents, and the function of the literary genre of “testament.” When von Campenhausen asserts that “the trend to apocalyptic did nothing to further the development of canon,” what he really means is that it did nothing to delimit the canon.24 But before Scripture is collected and limited, it has to be produced and recognized, and in this sense 23. Protestantism has always held that, at least in principle, the canon must always remain open. See Metzger, Canon of the New Testament, 271–75. 24. Von Campenhausen, Formation of the Christian Bible, 5. 1

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apocalyptic is crucial to the New Testament, for it provides the ideological basis for the extension of Scripture.25 At this point it is important to point out that the terminology of “Old Testament” and “New Testament” is anomalous for the primitive church, for the articulation of a New Testament, over and against the Old Testament, is only one way of expanding the sacred Scripture,26 an option that is not articulated until the middle of the second century C.E.27 This observation is conjoined with the widespread consensus that the boundaries of the “Old Testament” were not xed when the church was born, and this is nowhere truer than among the apocalyptically oriented groups of the rst century C.E.28 The religious pluralism of Judaism in the rst century has been amply demonstrated from the Dead Sea Scrolls, which reveal a community for whom neither the text nor the boundaries of the Hebrew Scriptures have been stabilized.29 Indeed, the writer of the book of Jubilees reveals a mindset that was even willing to rewrite Torah itself. Evidence from the New Testament conrms that the primitive church was a more diverse and open community. Allusions and citations of apocryphal and pseudepigraphal literature in the New Testament give ample evidence of the church’s receptivity to additional Scripture.30 It is time to recognize that the canons of the Roman Catholic and Eastern churches more accurately

25. Thus D. Farkasfalvy, “The Early Development of the New Testament Canon,” in The Formation of the New Testament Canon (ed. H. W. Attridge; New York: Paulist, 1983), 98–99, criticizes the “gradual evolution” approach to the New Testament canon, since it never asks the question why the concept of “Scriptures” becomes susceptible of extension. 26. Metzger, cites von Harnack (Adolf von Harnack, The Origin of the New Testament and the Most Important Consequences of the New Creation [trans. J. R. Wilkinson; New Testament Studies 6; New York: Macmillan, 1925], 5), as arguing that the church had four options: (1) the Old Testament alone, (2) an enlarged Old Testament, (3) no Old Testament, (4) a second, authoritative collection (Metzger, Canon of the New Testament, 7 n. 8.) 27. According to von Campenhausen, Formation of the Christian Bible, 21–103, the idea of separating Christ and the Old Testament only came with the move of Christianity into the Gentile world. It was Paul who laid the theological foundations for the division, but it was the second-century fathers who had to articulate the Old Testament as a Christian book. 28. The classic substantiation of this view is found in A. Sundberg, The Old Testament of the Early Church (HTS 20; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1964). 29. See Sanders, Canon and Community, 8–17. 30. See Appendix A of McDonald, Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, 172–77, for a list of 150 such references or allusions in the New Testament. 1

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re
ect the state of rst-century Christian Scriptures, and that conservative efforts to equate the “Old Testament” of Jesus and the New Testament apostles with the rabbinic canon of the Hebrew Bible31 stem from an obsolete Protestant attempt to maintain the doctrine and authentication of Scripture within Scripture, and thus deny the role of the early (Catholic) church.32 Beyond the bounds of common Jewish religious literature, the primitive church began to produce sacred traditions and literature of its own. While it would be premature to label this material immediately as Scripture, it is important to note that the person and words of Jesus immediately took on a normative quality that was even more authoritative than recognized Old Testament Scripture (e.g. Matt 5:21–48; 1 Cor 7:10; 9:14). Further, the foundational Christian belief in the revival of prophecy in the new age of Christ (Acts 2:16–21) created a climate in which religious behavior and belief were not regulated or restricted by documents from the past.33 Though the immediacy and freshness of the prophetic spirit in Jesus and the primitive church in no way implies the self-conscious production of Scripture, there is a signicant aspect of apocalyptic ideology that made the transition from Spirit to Scripture a natural one. I refer to the conception of heavenly books, a topic that, surprisingly, receives little or no attention in scholarly treatment of the origins of canon. Though the concept of heavenly books is prior to the rise of apocalypticism, and may be traced back to ancient Near Eastern roots (especially

31. Whether or not the rabbinic canon was xed at Jamnia in 90 C.E. or earlier is not relevant. The point is that the Pharisaic canon cannot be used to dene a “normative” Judaism before 70 C.E. 32. Contra R. L. Harris, Inspiration and Canonicity of the Bible: An Historical and Exegetical Study (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1957), 131–95; and R. T. Beckwith, The Old Testament Canon of the New Testament Church and Its Background in Early Judaism (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985). Despite his erudition, Beckwith demonstrates his bias by his inconsistent treatment of the evidence. While he constantly lists Old Testament citations or allusions as proof of the closure and parameters of the canon, he dismisses similar material from the apocrypha/pseudepigrapha as mere literary artice. Nowhere is this more transparent than the treatment of Jude 14–15 (quoting 1 En. 1:9). His explanation of this as a tongue in cheek appeal to cherished legends fails to take seriously the midrashic form of Jude’s argument. 33. See J. D. G. Dunn, Jesus and the Spirit (London: SCM, 1975); D. Aune, Prophecy in Early Christianity and the Ancient Mediterranean World (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983); D. Hill, New Testament Prophecy (London: Marshall, Morgan & Scott, 1979). 1

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Babylonian astral religion),34 this ideology nowhere receives such forceful and complex expression as in the literature of apocalyptically oriented groups. There seems to be ve essential types of heavenly books, though the divisions are somewhat articial.35 One of the most familiar is the Book of Life (Dan 12:1; Jub. 30:22; 36:10; Apoc. Zeph. 3:7; 9:2; 1 En. 47:3; 104:1; 108:3; cf. Exod 32:32–33; Isa 4:3; 1QM 12:2–3; 4QDibHam; Luke 10:20; Phil 4:3; Rev 3:5; 13:8; 17:8; 20:12, 15; 21:27).36 This is a record of God’s elect. Second is the equally familiar Book of Deeds, also referred to as a Book of Judgment (Dan 7:10; Jub. 5:13–14; 16:9; 19:9; 24:33; 28:6; 30:19–23; 39:6–7; 1 En. 81:4; 89:62–65, 70–71, 76–77; 90:17–20; 97:6; 98:7–8; 104:7; 4 Ezra 6:20; 2 Bar. 24:1; Apoc. Zeph. 3:6; 7:1–8; Abot 12; 2 En. 19:5; 50:1; 52:15; cf. Mal 3:16; Rev 20:12; Pirke Aboth 2:1). This is a record of all the deeds of humankind, good or evil, which is to be used as a basis of judgment. The third type might be called the Book of Nature (Ps 139:14–16; 1QH 1:24; 1QS 10:6, 8, 11).37 This book is only alluded to, and it is difcult to know whether it was pictured as a separate book containing the laws of nature, or if the references simply imply that the cosmos is a “book” that can be “read” by astrology, divination, and so on. The fourth type might be called the Book of Law or Doctrine (Jub. 3:10, 31; 4:5, 32; 6:17, 28–31, 35; 16:3, 29–30; 28:6; 30:9; 32:10, 15, 28; 33:10; 49:8; 50:13). Found only in Jubilees, it is identied with both the Law of Moses and the sectarian halakah that accompanies it (no distinction is made between the two). Since this type of book often promises judgment, it could be confused with the Book of Deeds. But there is a distinction to be made between a record of deeds used as a basis of judgment and a law that promises judgment if it is broken. There are also denite links between the Book of Law and the Book of Nature, since a great deal of the sectarian halakah is bound up with its cultic calendar based on the solar year (Jub. 1:1–5). 34. See especially, G. Widengren, The Ascension of the Apostle and the Heavenly Book (Uppsala: Lundquist, 1950), and Leo Koep, Das himmlische Buch in Antike und Christentum: eine religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zur altchristlichen Bildersprache (Theophaneia 8; Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1952). 35. The following material and classications are taken nearly verbatim from my book, Pseudonymity and Canon, 78–79. 36. Talmudic references are cited by S. M. Paul, “Heavenly Tablets and the Book of Life,” JANESCU 5 (1973): 245–53 (350–51). 37. Ps 139:16 may refer to another type, the Book of Fate, depending on the rendering of J>=8. See Mitchell Dahood, “The Value of Ugaritic for Textual Criticism,” Bib 40 (1959): 160–70 (168–69), for a plausible solution. 1

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The Book of Law also has an important link to the fth type, the Book of Fate, since prophecy is part of the Torah (Jub. 16:3). The Book of Fate, or as Daniel calls it, the Book of Truth, is perhaps the most important for our understanding of apocalyptic eschatology (Dan 10:21; Jub. 16:9; 23:32; 24:33; 31:32; 32:21–22; 1 En. 81:1–2; 93:1–3; 103:2–3; 106:19; 108:7, 10; T. Levi 5:4; 2 En. 53:2–3; cf. Rev 5:1–5).38 The Book of Fate records the divine plan for the entire course of world history, and thus can easily be regarded as the conceptual source of apocalyptic historical reviews and prophecies concerning the end. The signicance of the widespread attestation to heavenly books in apocalyptic literature and its antecedents should not be underestimated. It is remarkable that in a predominantly oral culture, these societies demonstrate a commonly held belief that all matters relating to physical and spiritual life, the cosmos and history, are contained in written form in heaven. Though the mode of access to these heavenly books varies (angelic messengers, copying, direct transmission, even eating a scroll!), the point is that the earthly literature that results is regarded as a copy of a divine standard. This is why Daniel hardly differentiates between the books of the Old Testament and the heavenly books (Dan 9:2), and the author of 4 Ezra feels he is able to replicate “lost” Scripture, because he has access to the heavenly originals (4 Ezra 14). Another key aspect of the apocalyptic ideology of heavenly books is the linkage of these books with an “apostolic” gure, a “sent” representative of earth who “rises” to heaven and “descends” to earth to mediate divine knowledge from the books.39 Widengren traces this back to the enthronement rituals of Mesopotamian kings, who received the tablets of the gods as a re-enactment of Marduk’s defeat of Kingu.40 The 38. Several fragments from Qumran also refer to deterministic heavenly tablets which convey fate or truth. See A. Dupont-Sommer, The Essene Writings from Qumran (Oxford: Blackwell, 1961), 326; John M. Allegro, “Some Unpublished Fragments of Pseudepigraphical Literature from Qumran’s Fourth Cave,” ALUOS 4 (1962–63): 3–5 (3). The cases of Jub. 16:9 and 24:33 illustrate the difculty of classifying these books since they could easily be classied as books of fate (since they predict an end), deeds (since they note sin) or law (since they assure that disobedience to law will be punished). This difculty reminds us of the danger of making distinctions that may not have been drawn so sharply in antiquity. As well as the literature cited above, see F. Nötscher, “Himmlische Bucher und Schicksalglaube in Qumran,” RevQ 1 (1959): 405–11, reprinted in Friedrich Nötscher, Von Alten zum Neuen Testament (BBB 17; Bonn: P. Hanstein, 1962), 72–79. 39. See especially Widengren, Ascension. 40. Cf. “Enuma Elish,” 4:120–5:66 (ANET 67–68); Widengren, Ascension, 7–21; Koep, Das himmlische Buch, 3–18. 1

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proper regulation of the life of the community is entrusted to this divine representative and his manipulation of the heavenly tablets. Space does not allow for a detailed tracing of this theme in ancient Near Eastern and biblical literature, though one would want to point out that the Hebrew conception of a personal, covenant-making God has greatly modied the impersonal, magical qualities of ancient Near Eastern literature. Regardless of differences and development, heavenly books are closely tied to representative gures in Jewish religion. Thus, Moses receives the stone tablets from God’s hands (Exod 24:12) after ascending the mountain, and descends to mediate the covenant. In the enthronement of Jehoash (2 Kgs 11:12), the high priest Jehoiada xes on him the “testimony,” a synonym for Torah (Exod 29:6; Jer 27:1; 28:14).41 David is depicted as transmitting the plan of the temple from the heavenly writings (1 Chr 28:19). Priestly discernment is regulated by the Urim and Thummim, attached to the sacred vestments. Prophetic participation in the “counsel of Yahweh” (Amos 3:7; Isa 6:1–13; Ezek 1–3; Jer 23:18– 20; Zech 3:7) allowed for a spiritual “ascent” and “descent.” Ezekiel’s commission and message is graphically portrayed in terms of eating a heavenly book (Ezek 2:9–3:4). Thus it is no accident that apocalyptic visionaries expressed their mission to discern the signs of the end and regulate the life of the faithful remnant in terms of revelation of mysteries from the heavenly books. Thus Dan 10:21 relates “what is inscribed in the book of truth,” 1 En. 93:1–2 “recounts from the books,” and the writer of Jubilees develops his halakoth from the same source. There is no question that Christianity inherited much of this apocalyptic ideology, as did other contemporary movements.42 The themes of ascent and descent, apostolic commissioning, and the conception of heavenly books are all part of the world of the New Testament. Yet one must ask how the primitive church moved from the ideology of heavenly books and “apostolic” gures to the transformation of earthly books (especially the non-oracular, occasional, epistolary literature) into “Scripture”: that is, a re
ection of the divine standard. The key may be the application of the literary genre of “testament,” which plays an important role in the stabilization and adaptation of tradition, the key elements of canon that we isolated earlier. The testamentary genre is of great antiquity, and is in no way restricted to apocalyptic literature.43 Two functions of the genre made it 41. Widengren, Ascension, 24–25. See also Koep, Das himmlesche Buch, 18–39. 42. Widengren, Ascension, 40–85, traces the motif of heavenly books and “apostles” into Samaritan, Rabbinic, Mandean, and Hermentic-Gnostic literature. 43. For a detailed examination of the genre of testament in antiquity, see Eckhard von Nordheim, Die Lehre der Alten. Vol 1, Das Testamente als Literaturgattung im 1

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particularly useful in the process of the ideology and formation of Scripture. First, the genre is especially suitable for communicating normative tradition in a stabilized form to succeeding generations. Both James Barr and James Sanders have pointed out (in different ways) the crucial role of Deuteronomy in transforming Israel into a people of the book.44 By depicting the aged Moses as giving a valedictory address to his people, the Deuteronomist is able to incorporate the religious laws and stories of Judah and Israel into a unied and lasting vehicle of identity for Judaism.45 The “nding” of this book in Josiah’s time (2 Chr 34:14) should not be regarded as a mere ruse, but as a pseudepigraphic, testamentary portrayal of authoritative tradition, a tradition that was rooted in and re
ective of the heavenly books rst revealed to Moses. The testamentary genre is also widely used in apocalyptic literature to express and control authoritative traditions. The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs is the most obvious of these, but others abound.46 Indeed, the genres of apocalypse and testament frequently merge, so that the heavenly derived material (including from heavenly books) is delivered by the seer in testamentary fashion. Thus the Astronomical Book (chs. 72–82) and the Book of Dreams (chs. 83–90) of 1 Enoch both are structured around a testamentary setting, where Enoch recounts from the heavenly books to his son, Methuselah. This is also the setting of the Epistle of Enoch (1 En. 9–105), and in this book it is even more transparent that this genre is being used to establish a normative Enoch tradition, calling it Scripture.47 Judentum der hellenistische-romischen Zeit (Leiden: Brill, 1980); Vol. 2, Das Testamente als Literaturgattung im Alten Testamente und im Alten Vorderen Orient (Leiden: Brill, 1985). 44. “It was the Deuteronomic movement, around the eighth and seventh centuries, that began to make something like a ‘scripture’ central to the life of Israel It is here that one hears the words of this ‘book’ are to be poured over and pondered at all times and that nothing is to be added to it or taken away from it (Deut 4:2), the phrase that most clearly formulates what was eventually to become the principle of canon” (Barr, Holy Scripture, 7). See also Sanders, Torah and Canon. 45. Sanders (Torah and Canon, 15–17) points out in particular the signicance of separating cultic and royal legislation from the period of the monarchy and putting it back in the time of Moses, thus helping Judaism to survive in the exile as a “wandering people.” 46. See J. H. Charlesworth, ed., The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. Vol. 1, Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (Garden City: Doubleday, 1983). 47. “And now I know this mystery: For they (the sinners) shall alter the just verdict…they will invent ctitious stories and write out my Scriptures on the basis of their own words. And would that they had written down all the words truthfully on the basis of their own speech, and neither alter nor take away from my words 1

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Though the “epistolary” features of the Epistle of Enoch (Book 5 of 1 Enoch) are supercial, this does point out the second function of the testamentary genre in the service of Scripture formation: its adaptability to epistolary literature. As Richard Bauckham points out, the genre of epistle is meant to transcend the distance of space, while the genre of testament transcends the distance of time. The two t naturally together.48 It is just this conjunction that will allow the writers of the postapostolic portions of the New Testament to begin to articulate an ideological framework for a new (later “New Testament”) Scripture. It is the apostolic letter genre that is so characteristic of New Testament literature, yet this genre in itself gives little impetus toward its use as Scripture, because of its particularity.49 However, when combined with the genre of testament, the personal features of the epistolary genre can be caught up into a larger conguration of the apostolic tradition, that is, Scripture. Thus the meeting point between the “push” of “apostolic” tradition and the “pull” of later ecclesiastical deliberations about canon is to be located in the three bodies of literature that wed epistle and testament near the end of the rst century: the Pastoral Epistles, 2 Peter, and Revelation. Even von Campenhausen agrees that the theological foundation of the New Testament canon lies in Paul’s separation of gospel and law, old covenant and new covenant.50 Yet von Campenhausen maintains that the virtual neglect of Paul after his death resulted in the absence of an articulated doctrine of Scripture until Marcion’s revolutionary new canon of gospel and apostle.51 This thesis has been widely challenged. It is not at all evident that Paul was “neglected,”52 and the literary division of gospel and apostle is at least as old as Luke–Acts.53 Indeed, it may well be that the Lukan writings represent the watershed between the apostolic [emphasis added]. Again know another mystery!: that to the righteous and wise shall be given the Scriptures….” (1 En. 104:10–12, Isaac’s translation). See n. 44 above; see also 1 En. 81:1. 48. Richard Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter (WBC 50; Waco, Tex.,: Word, 1983), 133. 49. See N. Dahl, “The Particularity of the Pauline Epistles as a Problem in the Ancient Church,” in Neotestamentica et Patristica: eine Freundesgabe, Herrn. Professor Dr. Oscar Cullmann zu seinem 60. Geburtstag überreicht (NTSup 6; Leiden: Brill, 1962), 261–71. 50. Von Campenhausen, Formation of the Christian Bible, 35–36. 51. Ibid., 153. 52. See especially D. K. Rensberger, “As the Apostle Teaches: The Development of the Use of Paul’s Letters in Second-Century Christianity” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1981), as cited by Gamble, New Testament Canon, 45 n. 61. 53. See Farkasfalvy, “Early Development.” 1

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and post-apostolic writings of the New Testament, for it is in Luke–Acts that we nd a self-conscious historicizing of Christianity that lays the groundwork for an ongoing “new Israel” that will require new Scriptures.54 Particularly signicant is the way both Peter and Paul are depicted in Acts as founding and guiding the community, frequently expressing themselves in speeches that have strong testamentary overtones.55 It is in the Pastoral Epistles where we meet the full expression of the testamentary depiction of Paul. Though they may not be the rst Pauline pseudepigrapha, they appear to be the rst to intimate a doctrine of Pauline Scripture. I have already treated this in my monograph on New Testament pseudonymity56 and will only provide a summary here. A curious feature of the Pastorals is their nature as a three-fold corpus. There is no evidence that they ever circulated separately, yet why would a pseudepigrapher write three documents instead of one? I contend that it is because the author is beginning to articulate the idea of a Pauline canon of Scripture. Certainly the letters of Paul were collected by the time of the writing of the Pastorals, though the mechanics of that process are highly disputed.57 If the order of the Pastoral Epistles in the Muratorian Canon is correct,58 then these letters may have been written to serve as a conclusion to a Pauline canon, in a way similar to 1 En. 91– 105, or the last chapters of 2 Baruch. In this order, Titus is written for new churches, 1 Timothy for established churches, and 2 Timothy is a concluding testamentary discourse. One should note that the pastorals are not so much interested in summarizing Pauline tradition as securing it. The technique for doing this involves the two principles of canon mentioned earlier in this presentation: the stabilization of sacred traditions and the development of a hermeneutic to adapt it to new situations. Evidence for stabilization is obvious in the Pastorals. Characteristic is the unique and preponderant use of V HJBJOFJO and V HJI K (“to be sound,” “sound,” 1 Tim 1:10; 6:3; 2 Tim 1:13; 4:3; Titus 1:9, 13; 2:1–2). In contrast with Paul’s normal use of QJTUJK (“faith”) as an experiential posture of trust, the Pastorals emphasize it as a set of 54. Luke’s use of LXX historical and grammatical style heightens this awareness. As E. Haenchen (The Acts of the Apostles [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971], 74) observes, “he had the Apostles speak a ‘sacred tongue’.” 55. See O. Knoch, Die “Testamente” des Petrus und Paulus (Stuttgart: KBW, 1973). 56. Meade, Pseudonymity and Canon, 133–39. 57. See the discussion by Gamble, New Testament Canon, 36–38; and literature cited in my Pseudonymity, 134 nn. 89–90. 58. See W. Doty, “The Classication of Epistolary Literature,” CBQ 31 (1969): 192–98. 1

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beliefs, that is, “the” faith (e.g. 1 Tim 4:6; 2 Tim 4:7; Titus 1:13). Similarly, the objectifying word QBSBRI LI (“deposit,” “entrusted goods,” 1 Tim 6:20; 2 Tim 1:12) and the use of QJTUP@K P MP HPK (“faithful [is] the word,” 1 Tim 1:15; 3:1; 4:9; 2 Tim 2:11; Titus 3:8) demonstrate a concern for concrete patterns of teaching and behavior. Yet with this stabilization comes an increasing emphasis on proper interpretation. If traditions have become stabilized in texts, then interpretation must now be extrinsic to the process. Hence appears the emphasis on church ofces in the Pastorals, as a way for providing the proper mediation of a xed Pauline tradition (2 Tim 1:13–14; 2:2). This explains further the address of the Pastorals. If Tertullian’s reference to Paul’s letters to seven churches59 is not based on mere analogy to the book of Revelation but on a tradition that actually precedes it, then the reason why “Paul” writes to “Timothy” and “Titus” is apparent: Paul has spoken (or written) to his representative churches; what is needed is a nal word (testament) to his ofcially sanctioned interpreters: EP LJNPO (“approved,” 2 Tim 2:15) versus BEP LJNPJ (“unapproved,” 2 Tim 3:8; Titus 1:16). It is in the light of this dynamic of stabilized tradition and authoritative interpretation that one should evaluate the references and allusions to “Scripture” in the Pastorals. The classic text is 2 Tim 3:16. Since HSBGI , “scripture,” normally refers to the Old Testament in other New Testament documents, this is the way this text has generally been read. But this verse may be seen within the context of Christian catachesis (2 Tim 3:10, 14–15). There seems to be no clear demarcation between Christian and “Old Testament” instruction or literature. This explains how 1 Tim 5:18, in the only direct Scripture quote in the pastorals (“Scripture says”), merges both Deut 25:4 and a Jesus logion (“the laborer deserves his wages,” Matt 10:10; Luke 10:7), and possibly also incorporates a Pauline teaching (1 Cor 9:9). Though one could argue that the author is simply using a midrashic technique, the fact remains that it is not the author’s comments that are combined with Deuteronomy, but authoritative Christian tradition. This is evidence of a “canon consciousness” of new tradition/revelation. Besides the linkage of HSBGI in 2 Tim 3:16 with the concluding Pauline testamentary discourse in 2 Tim 3–4, a further testamentary linkage to a Pauline “Scripture” might be seen in 1 Timothy (3:14–15; 4:13). Here the issue is Paul’s absence—a theme central to the testamentary genre, and resonant with Paul’s own use of the apostolic letter genre.60 59. Marc. 5.17–21. 60. See R. W. Funk, “The Apostolic Parousia: Form and Signicance,” in Christian History and Interpretation: Studies Presented to John Knox (ed. W. R. 1

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The answer to the survival of the Pauline churches in the post-Pauline period is portrayed as careful attention to Paul’s written instructions, and to the “public reading of scripture, to preaching, and to teaching” (Col 4:16). Though one cannot argue that the author of the Pastorals has isolated a “New Testament” over and against an “Old Testament,” one can certainly assert that, for the Pastorals, “Scripture” includes the writings and/or traditions of Paul. This articulation of additional, Christian Scriptures nds even more forceful expression in the roughly contemporaneous letter of 2 Peter.61 Here the pseudepigraphical, testamentary technique is quite transparent, and few scholars would dispute the nature of its method and motivation. Like the Pastorals, the author of 2 Peter is more concerned to secure tradition than to summarize or expand it. The delay of the parousia is keenly felt, both as a theological problem in itself, and as a motivation for securing the church’s survival in the interregnum. As in the Pastorals, the technique for identity and survival is the two-fold principle of Scripture found earlier, that is, the stabilization of tradition in xed texts, and the development of a hermeneutic to adapt those texts. The testamentary features of 2 Peter are clear, especially with its theme of “reminder/remembrance” (1:12–13, 15), a theme not only directed toward 2 Peter, but toward an earlier Petrine document as well (3:1–2).62 As is common in this literature, Peter is depicted as foreseeing the rise of heresy, and making provision to counter it after his “departure”: rst with authoritative texts, and second with authoritative interpreters (1:20–21; cf. 2:1–3; also 1 En. 104:10–12). Indeed, the movement of 2 Peter toward a rationale of new (later, New Testament) Scripture goes beyond that of the Pastorals. Whereas the Pastorals focus exclusively on Paul, 2 Peter gives evidence of a collection of apostolic Scripture, and may even allude to the division of gospel/apostle (3:2). What is certainly clear is that the author regards Paul’s writings as Farmer, C. F. D. Moule, and R. R. Niebuhr; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 249–68. 61. Second Peter is generally dated around 110–125 C.E., but Bauckham (Jude, 2 Peter, 157–58) presents a compelling argument for placing it in the last decade of the rst century. Von Campenhausens’s dating of the Pastorals and 2 Peter as postMarcionite is untenable, and is born from the need to place them within his historical reconstruction of Marcion as the originator of a New Testament canon. 62. Note especially the linkage of the pronouncement of the “holy prophets,” the “Savior,” and the “apostles” in 3:2 (cf. 1:20). It is clear that the author regards the words (and by implication, the writings) of the apostles as on par with those of the “Old Testament.” (The emphasis here is on the continuity of Scripture, not the distinction of separate collections.) 1

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Scripture (3:15–17), as divinely inspired as previous prophetic writings (1:19–21; 3:15).63 Obviously the author would not accord Paul’s writings such status without including Petrine documents. In fact, the use of I NX_O in 3:15 (“our beloved brother Paul”) may not be an epistolary plural (rare in the New Testament), but an allusion to a “college” of apostles.64 While the Baur hypothesis of Christian origins is rightly to be rejected as too doctrinaire, it is fair to observe that 2 Peter gives evidence of the growing “consensus orthodoxy” that nds full expression in the early Catholic Church. That is, different traditions are now being united in a new conguration so that a collection of writings may speak with one voice, and serve as a vehicle of identity for the community of faith as it faces an uncertain future. In this sense, the author of 2 Peter may be playing the role of a new Deuteronomist, and instead of being placed at the fringes of New Testament theology, it (along with the Pastorals) ought to be afforded the recognition that re
ects their vital role in the development of New Testament Scripture. Though the author of 2 Peter knows no New Testament canon (as xed list), nor even a New Testament as such, the author clearly articulates a doctrine of “other,” that is, Christian, Scripture, which represents a signicant milestone in Christian thought. A third post-apostolic writing in the New Testament that also reveals a growing consciousness of new Scripture is the book of Revelation. Even von Campenhausen admits that Rev 22:18–20 makes the explicit claim to be Scripture, but discounts it as simply the typical claim to selfauthentication of apocalyptic texts, and in no way related to the issues of canon.65 If one denes canon as a xed list, von Campenhausen may be correct, but the book of Revelation does give strong evidence of an emerging doctrine of Christian Scripture. It is highly signicant that the author of Revelation merges the traditional literary genre of apocalypse with elements of the genre of epistle and testament. The letters to the seven churches of Asia in Revelation (a focal point of the Pauline mission) are styled as a type of “apostolic” letter from the risen Christ (with John as secretary). That all seven “letters” are to be put in one “book” (CJCMJPO)66 may give evidence of a 63. In 3:15, “according to the wisdom given him” is a divine passive. See also, Wis. of Sol. 9:17 and T. Fornberg, An Early Church in a Pluralistic Society: A Study of 2 Peter (Lund: Gleerup, 1977), 21. 64. Bauckham, Jude, 2 Peter, 327–28. Bauckham notes that the rst person plural in 1:1, 16–19 clearly relates to such an apostolic group. 65. Von Campenhausen, Formation of the Christian Bible, 215–19. Also McDonald, Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon, 37. 66. Rev 1:11. This does not imply a codex. 1

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growing consciousness that the particularity of individual messages are to be read within the context of a unied collection of an entire corpus. The imagery of this “book” (1:1, also 22:18–19) resonates with the theme of “heavenly books” that is found throughout Revelation (3:5; 5:1–9; 10:2–10; 13:8; 17:8; 20:12, 15; 21:27; 22:19). This conjunction alone gives ample proof that the apocalyptically oriented movement of Christianity was ideologically prepared to produce more Scripture. The reference to the heavenly book in ch. 5 is particularly signicant, since here we have an enthronement scene reminiscent of ancient Near Eastern and Jewish texts, where the conquering Lamb is able to open the scroll and discern its contents. Since there is no specic content to the seventh seal, most scholars feel that the contents of the scroll are “replicated” in chs. 6–22, with the seventh seal represented by chs. 7–22.67 This means the author is presenting his book as an earthly copy of a heavenly book, that is, as Scripture. Further, it is also intriguing that this scroll is depicted in the form of a Roman testament, sealed with the seals of seven witnesses.68 Here is a third post-apostolic New Testament author using the genre of testament to express a normative teaching, this time the apocalyptic visions of the Risen Christ. One wonders at what period the earthly life and teaching of Jesus were regarded in a similar textual fashion. The Gospel of John appears to be a likely candidate (e.g. in 16:12–15; 20:30–31) for such a testamentary approach.69 In any case, with the book of Revelation we have a post-apostolic author who gives full evidence of the apocalyptic ideology that was described earlier as fundamental to the production and recognition of new, Christian, Scripture. Thus it is not surprising when we nd the author concluding with a reference to his work as not only a normative expression of the traditions it contains (22:6–7), but the
nal expression of such traditions, not to be tampered with (22:18–19). The concept of limitation expressed here, and found more implicitly in the Pastorals and 2 Peter, marks the beginning of a process that will ultimately result in a xed canon of Scripture in later centuries.

67. The other alternatives are that the scroll is the Lamb’s book of life, or the Old Testament. Neither of these t either the context or the ideology of the heavenly books as discussed above. 68. Some argue that the scroll is a contract deed, since testaments were not doubly inscribed. But if the author is alluding to Ezek 2:9, this may explain the confusion of imagery. See G. R. Beasley-Murray, The Book of Revelation (NCB; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978), 120–23. 69. It is interesting that by the mid-second century the gospels are being referred to as the “memoirs of the apostles.” 1

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3. Concluding Observations I have suggested in this presentation that an historical and ideological meeting point or middle ground between the functionalist and formalist approach to the formation of the New Testament canon of Scripture can be found, in part, in the apocalyptic ideology that led to the production, recognition, and collection of additional Scripture. The non-closure of the Old Testament, the conception of heavenly books, and the literary genre of testament were the vehicles by which the post-apostolic authors of the New Testament (e.g. the Pastorals, 2 Peter, Revelation) could begin to articulate a doctrine of new, Christian Scripture, and to develop a hermeneutic to interpret these texts.70 These writings provide the link between the “push” of the apostolic traditions of the primitive church, and the “pull” of the ecclesiastical deliberations of the early Catholic Church. Though these observations in no way resolve all of the tensions and questions in the modern debate about canon, I suggest that it does provide a caution to polar extremes. For those who argue that the formation of a New Testament canon is the later church’s illegitimate “freezing” of tradition that borders on idolatry,71 an awareness of the apocalyptic mindset of the New Testament writers will demonstrate that this judgment is based more on twentieth-century epistemology than on a re
ection of the biblical world. Yet those who would seek to absolutize the New Testament, making it the sole source of inspiration and revelation for Christianity, will nd little support for their view in the New Testament itself.72 It is this observation on the “canon consciousness” of the primitive Christian church that brings us full circle back to the work of Gerald 70. Once again, this is not meant to imply the articulation of a New Testament over and against an Old Testament. This was only possible when the rupture of church and synagogue was complete, when Judaism closed its canon as a reaction, in part, to Christianity, and when rising anti-semitism in the church forced it to come to grips with the relationship between pre-Christian (Hebrew) and Christian sacred texts. 71. See E. Best, “Scripture, Tradition, and the Canon of the New Testament,” BJRL 61 (1979): 258–89. 72. “The idea of a near-absolute scriptural control of faith is a quite foreign conception…read into the New Testament…by a later generation, especially in Protestant orthodoxy, for which the concept of scriptural control of religion and doctrine was of absolute importance” (Barr, Holy Scripture, 14). On the early church’s view of inspiration and its relation to both Scripture and tradition, see Metzger, Canon of the New Testament, 255–57; E. Kalin, “The Inspired Community: A Glance At Canon History,” CTM 42 (1971): 541–49; and A. Sundberg, “The Bible Canon and the Christian Doctrine of Inspiration,” Int 29 (1975): 352–71. 1

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Sheppard, and the theme article which is the focal point of this Festschrift.73 Dr. Sheppard demonstrated the “canon-conscious” hermeneutic in the redaction of the Old Testament, especially through the primacy of the theme of Torah, and made some tentative suggestions to scholars of the New Testament to investigate a similar process in their eld of study, noting the primary hermeneutic of “Gospel” in the ordering of New Testament books, and the linkage of Christian Scriptures to Hebrew Scriptures through the theme of promise. It is my hope that both in this article and my prior monograph that some of the fruit of that challenge/invitation can be demonstrated. For too long in New Testament studies—just as Dr. Sheppard observed in his eld—the use of critical tools have been used to set differences in texts, books, and collections over and against each other, with no effort to ascertain how either ancient or modern communities could use these ndings to enhance rather than detract from their function as sacred texts or canon. A common expression of this hermeneutic of “irreconcilable differences” in the New Testament is the issue of the “canon within the canon” in Pauline studies, pitting the “genuine” or historical Paul against his “imitators” in the deutero-Pauline books. A similar division, embraced by conservatives and liberal scholars alike, has been the assumed incompatibility of biblical pseudepigrapha and the function of these texts as canon. Likewise is the devaluing of “early Catholicism” found in later, post-apostolic parts of the New Testament. Perhaps the most garish and offense symbol of this modern-value infused focus on “authentic” versus “redactive” parts of the New Testament are the colored balls used by the Jesus Seminar to judge the relative value of each gospel pericope and logia.74 As Gerald Sheppard said, we cannot return to a pre-critical era. But through the perspective of the “canon conscious” hermeneutic expressed both in the ancient communities behind the biblical texts, and the communities that were involved in the delimiting and usage of those texts, we have helpful guidelines to assist in dealing with the ambiguities, and discovering the richness of the sacred texts and their relevance to the religious challenges that face us, both in history and in the present.

73. Sheppard, “Canonization.” 74. The history of the Jesus Seminar’s work and the canonical movement’s response to these issues are delineated in Hahn et al., eds., Canon and Biblical Interpretation. 1

IN THE BOSOM OF THE BELOVED DISCIPLE: THE FOURTH GOSPEL’S NARRATIVE OPENNESS TO READERS Robert C. Fennell

1. Introduction With unintended understatement, Martin Hengel referred to the Beloved Disciple as having an “enigmatic character.”1 This gure, unique to the Fourth Gospel, is not its main character, of course: Jesus and the Father are the leading gures in the narrative. There is no doubt, however, that the Beloved Disciple arouses our curiosity: everyone loves a good mystery. For centuries the identity of the Beloved Disciple has been the subject of speculation, and his role in the gospel account has been alternately afrmed, assessed, idealized, and dismissed. The present study does not seek to give a complete survey of scholarship on the Beloved Disciple, nor to denitively identify him, nor yet to exhaust the possibilities of his role in, behind, or beyond the text.2 Rather, I intend here to make three brief proposals. First, through exegesis of the passages that refer to the Beloved Disciple, I shall argue that we can glimpse an historical individual “behind” the text. Second, with this exegesis in hand, I shall propose a typological-spiritual reading of the Beloved Disciple as a legitimate and helpful way to interpret this character’s role in the narrative. In each of these two proposals I will also seek to inhabit the world of the narrative itself, assuming to be true that which it assumes to be 1. Martin Hengel, The Johannine Question (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM, 1989), 76. 2. Many excellent recent studies do offer comprehensive treatments of these issues. See, for example, James H. Charlesworth, The Beloved Disciple: Whose Witness Validates the Gospel of John? (Valley Forge: Trinity Press International, 1995); R. Alan Culpepper, John: The Son of Zebedee, The Life of a Legend (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000); and Richard Bauckham, The Testimony of the Beloved Disciple: Narrative, History, and Theology in the Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007). 1

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true. The third proposal suggests a strategy for reading this character in a way that honors the narrative, takes seriously the importance of the world “in front of the text,” and acknowledges the role of readers in making meaning as we read. In these three proposals I hope to honor the profoundly text- and God-honoring interpretive approaches of the late Gerald Sheppard. 2. Glimpsing “John” The passages in the Fourth Gospel that specically identify the Beloved Disciple are relatively few in number. They are allusive and vague, introducing at the midpoint of the story an individual who seems concrete enough, but who cannot be denitively identied.3 He appears only from ch. 13 onward (or so it seems), and only in Jerusalem (with the exception of the seaside Galilean appearance in ch. 21). In the timeframe of Jesus’ earthly sojourn, we meet the Beloved Disciple (at least by this epithet) only in the last 24 hours, then again after Jesus’ resurrection. The rst clear encounter with the Beloved Disciple occurs in 13:21– 30, during Jesus’ farewell discourses. Although modern scholarship has often diminished the historicity of the Fourth Gospel’s narrative, the text reads as if it were offering real historical and geographical details. This pericope contains several detailed notes that suggest historical concreteness: the respective positions of the diners; the dipping of the bread; the information about Judas’ role as treasurer; and that it was night. Detailed notes such as these lend an air of authenticity to the testimony that the gospel presents. Such authenticity is a key claim of the gospel as a whole (see 19:35 and 21:24). The Beloved Disciple’s proximity to Jesus, in particular, is described in curious detail. At such a meal, diners would recline on the left side, eating with the right hand and leaning on the left elbow.4 The Beloved Disciple, at Jesus’ right, was close enough to lean backward and speak to him: by “throwing back his head the disciple 3. This has not prevented countless commentators from trying. Suggestions range from the traditional view of the Beloved Disciple as John, the son of Zebedee, to Thomas, Mary Magdalene, Lazarus, Ananda (the disciple of Gautama Buddha) or even Judas or Paul. See Charlesworth’s The Beloved Disciple, especially Chapter 3, for a comprehensive rundown of the options. 4. For an excellent explanation of the dining arrangements around a triclinium, see Pedar W. Foss, “Age, Gender, and Status Divisions at Mealtime in the Roman House: A Synopsis of the Literary Evidence” (1995), Faculty of Arts, University of Sydney, http://www.arts.usyd.edu.au/departs/classical/dropbox/hgender.html (accessed July 18, 2009). See also William Wardlaw Ramsay, A Manual of Roman Antiquities (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1863), 441. 1

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would be able actually to touch the chest…of Jesus”5—hence the expression in the text (v. 23), that the Beloved Disciple was FO UX]_ LP MQX] UPV_ ’*ITPV_, in or on the bosom of Jesus. This position, at Jesus’ right, would have been the place of the host’s family members in antiquity, if we assume that Jesus was the host of the meal.6 However, what would this arrangement mean if the Beloved Disciple, not Jesus, was the host? It has been argued that this mysterious gure lived in Jerusalem or was in some way a part of the Jerusalem aristocracy.7 If that is so, and recent scholarship is near consensus on at least the former possibility, then it is certainly plausible that he was in fact the host of the meal in a city which would otherwise be little-known to Jesus’ Galilean companions. This places the Beloved Disciple at the corner of the three-sided table, with Jesus in the place of honor (locus consularis), to his left.8 Whether this particular reconstruction of the seating arrangements is accurate or not, or historical or not, the narrative makes it clear that the Beloved Disciple is physically very close to Jesus at the meal, closer even than Peter. This enables him to ask a question that Peter wanted to ask, but for some reason could not or would not: “Lord, who it is [that will betray you]?” (13:23–25). This is one of many subtle intimations in the Fourth Gospel that suggest that Peter’s status and the authority of the Petrine tradition, as foremost among apostolic witnesses, were being challenged.9 It is not Peter who is closest to Jesus, physically or spiritually, at this signicant nal meal. Within the world of the narrative, the Beloved Disciple at this point seems just as real as other characters in the gospel. Outside the text, the “realness” of the Beloved Disciple, whoever he may have been, seems to be important to the redactor(s) and at least some of the early Christian community. The redactor(s) appear(s) to think he is real. The interpolation of an entirely ctitious disciple who sat closer to Jesus than did Peter (the key leader of primitive Christianity) seems fruitless.

5. C. K. Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John (2d ed.; London: SPCK, 1978), 447 6. See Foss, “Age, Gender, and Status Divisions…,” for details about who would have reclined on the host’s couch (lectus imus). 7. The Beloved Disciple’s presence at Jesus’ crucixion in ch. 19, apparently without fear of arrest or harassment, further suggests that he was a person with some standing in Jerusalem. 8. Foss, “Age, Gender, and Status Divisions…” 9. Rivalry with, and criticism of, other Christians was not uncommon in earliest Christianity. Consider Phil 1:15, 17 and 2 Pet 2:1–3. 1

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The brief appearance of the Beloved Disciple at Jesus’ crucixion in 19:25–37 affords him a unique status: he is the only male disciple to attend Jesus’ death. This is signicantly unlike the Synoptic accounts, in which none of the Twelve remain with Jesus to the end. The Beloved Disciple is also attributed honor in that he is commended to Jesus’ mother, and she to him, by Jesus himself. Is this a banal incident, in which a son is providing for his (now socially isolated and vulnerable) mother? It seems rather unlike the Fourth Gospel to include banal details: the whole text is replete with markers relating to time and space, as well as symbolic events and remarks. Bultmann, among others, has suggested that the mother of Jesus represents Israel or Jewish Christians, and the Beloved Disciple the non-Jewish Christian community.10 In this sense, Jesus’ commendations call the Jewish and Gentile communities into unity (or at least into relationship). It is a tempting prospect. But this level of metaphor is not necessary to notice, again, the “realness” or history-like quality of this unnamed disciple. Although Jesus’ “own” rejected him (UB@ JEJB/PJ JEJPJ in 1:11), now Jesus’ emissary, the Beloved Disciple, takes Jesus’ family into his “own” home (UB@ JEJB in 19:27). Since Jesus’ blood brothers are cast in a negative light in 7:5, and are apparently now not present at the crucixion in ch. 19, the narrative may again be quietly asserting the superiority of the Johannine–Christian tradition over that of the Petrine and/or Jamesian–Jerusalem communities.11 This Johannine tradition is narratively embodied not in a “community” that is vaguely present around Jesus, nor by a distinctive set of teachings that might be enumerated. Rather, it is from a specic person (the Beloved Disciple) that we are meant to receive a peculiar eyewitness testimony that authenticates the witness transmitted by the gospel text as a whole (19:35). The community that is responsible for the nal redaction of the text has learned the way of Jesus from their leader or honored elder, the Beloved Disciple (21:24). Accordingly, they lift him up as an eyewitness to the crucixion events that Peter and the other (male) disciples later heard about second-hand. In this way, the Beloved Disciple

10. See Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (trans. G. R. Beasley-Murray, R. W. N. Hoare, and J. K. Riches; ed. G. R. Beasley-Murray; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1971), 483–85. 11. I will not be able here to untangle the various arguments about the nature of the community or communities that underlie the composition of the Fourth Gospel. In the interest of brevity, I refer here to a “Johannine-Christian” community and tradition simply to point (inadequately) to a point of origin for this gospel account that is redactively broader than a single individual (“John”). For the same reason I avoid the conventional practice of referring to “the (Fourth) Evangelist.” 1

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once again accrues honor at the expense of other disciples, whose witness is not as authoritative because it is derivative, at least on this matter. John 19:35 and its apparently self-referential character is the source of the ancient tradition that the Beloved Disciple was the author of the Fourth Gospel (or at least of chs. 1–20). This view is conrmed by 21:24, and together with the incipit with which all known full manuscripts circulated (“gospel according to John”), the Beloved Disciple was traditionally identied as “John” after his eponymous work (either John son of Zebedee or John the Elder).12 At the very least, we can say that these two verses (19:35 and 21:24) depict the Beloved Disciple as the “ideal witness-author”—the one to whom the narrative attributes authorship, and whom the reader is meant to understand as the author. In other words, the narrative supposes him to be the witness-author, even if we might convincingly show that (an)other person(s) actually wrote the text (the empirical author[s]). The Beloved Disciple is undoubtedly, from the perspective of the narrative, the Fourth Gospel’s auctor—the one who guarantees its authenticity.13 Let us return to the narrative. Appearing—or presenting himself—as a particularly faithful follower of Jesus in ch. 19, the Beloved Disciple becomes a son to Jesus’ mother; in effect, he becomes Jesus’ brother, displacing the unbelieving (blood) brothers.14 My argument here, again, is that behind the Beloved Disciple character (narrator?) in the Fourth Gospel there was a real historical person. To have predicated this entire unique tradition about Jesus’ mother and her welfare upon a merely 12. It was the “unanimous tradition from the time of Irenaeus” that the author of the Fourth Gospel was John son of Zebedee, one of the Twelve. J. Painter, The Quest for the Messiah: The History, Literature, and Theology of the Johannine Community (2d ed.; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1993), 88. There are convincing arguments against this, of course, not least of which is the presumed low level of literacy of a Galilean sherman, who would not be capable of composing so rich and sophisticated a document. 13. The strongest statement in the Fourth Gospel attributing authorship to the Beloved Disciple is 21:24: “This is the disciple who is testifying to these things and has written them, and we know that his testimony is true.” However, the ambiguity of P NBRIUI@K P NBSUVSX_O QFSJ= UPV UXO LBJ= P HSB ZBK UBV_UB could also allow the statement to be translated as, “this disciple caused these things to be written” (see Barrett, The Gospel According to St. John, 118–19). In that case, the Beloved Disciple is certainly still the witness-author, the auctor (authoritative source), but not the literal or empirical author. 14. This displacement is underscored again in 20:17–18 in which Mary Magdalene, in response to Jesus’ injunction to “go tell my brothers,” in fact runs to the disciples. 1

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mythic or symbolic gure, the empirical author(s) and redactor(s) would not have been at all persuasive to the earliest readers. In the ancient Christian world, in-person oral testimony was in fact often preferred to (second-hand) written documentation. Greco-Roman historians “preferred the eyewitness who was socially involved or, even better, had been actively participating in the events.”15 Thus a claim to know something about the safekeeping of Jesus’ mother, from rst-person experience, would have been laughable if that knowledge was attributed to a pretend character. By stating and restating that the Beloved Disciple’s personal experience and testimony undergirds the validity of the gospel account, the empirical author(s) and redactor(s) are placing a great deal upon the shoulders of their witness—one whom they, at least, thought was a real person! Between the specic mentions of the Beloved Disciple (noted at 19:25–26 and 19:35), the narrative is again rife with history-like details: the list of persons attending Jesus at the cross; Jesus’ thirst; the jar, sour wine, sponge, and hyssop branch; the breaking of others’ legs but not those of Jesus; the piercing of Jesus’ side and the
ow of blood and water. By “emphasizing the peculiarity of the situation,” such details narratively achieve a realistic and historicizing effect.16 Once again, special attention is given to the Beloved Disciple as a reliable eyewitness to these events of crucial importance to those who follow in the way of Jesus. Even in its practice of carefully narrating an unusual divergence from common practices (namely, breaking/not breaking the legs in 19:32–34), the narrative “reinforce[s] the claim to factual reporting.”17 The stress on the spear-thrust, highlighted by an aside in 19:35–37, emphasizes the fact that Jesus actually died a physical death and underscores the text’s claims to be a valid and trustworthy eyewitness account. One or both of these (Jesus’ death and the credibility of the witnesses) must have been matters of dispute. The gospel’s empirical author(s) and redactor(s) wished to meet such challenges with unique, specic details, as well as a demonstration that their account coheres with or fullls Scripture.18 From the narrative’s perspective, at least, the Beloved 15. Samuel Byrskog, Story as History—History as Story (WUNT 123; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000; repr., Leiden: Brill, 2002), 167. 16. Frank Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy: On the Interpretation of Narrative (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1979), 102. 17. Ibid. 18. John 19:36 perhaps refers to Exod 12:46 or Num 9:12, both of which describe the treatment of the sacricial Passover lamb; John 19:37 echoes Zech 12:10. The narrative in other places similarly seeks to establish part of its validity upon its fulllment of prior Scripture (e.g. 8:17–18; 10:34–38; 20:9). 1

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Disciple is very much a real person, historically located at the heart of lived encounters that real disciples and family members had with the real Jesus. In 20:1–10, the contextual
ag, “it was still dark,” continues the pattern of connecting Beloved Disciple appearances with history-like details, notably allusions to night, darkness, and other time markers. Similarly, we are given the detail that Peter is slower than the Beloved Disciple in reaching Jesus’ empty tomb. When Peter does arrive, the Beloved Disciple defers to him and follows (rather than leads) him into the empty tomb. Although they see the same linen wrapping (mentioned three times) and the cloth that was on Jesus’ head, only the Beloved Disciple “believes.” Again some notion of (spiritual) superiority over Peter is intimated. This is further evidence that a real person exists outside the narrative, a person whom the gospel’s empirical author(s) and redactor(s) knew personally. From the narrative’s perspective, he is sufciently “in the know” that it is even appropriate to cast him in the role of narrator. If this gure were a mere metaphor, asserting his spiritual superiority would be meaningless.19 Again, 21:1–14 refers readers to time markers: night, and the day that follows night.20 Several realistic, history-like details are offered, such as the right and left sides of the boat; the nakedness and dressing of Peter; the distance of the boat from shore; the charcoal re (echoing 18:15); and the 153 sh. These details press the case that the testimony underlying this record is authentic. Kermode notes that no other New Testament text has such an “obtrusive insistence on its own historical reliability.”21 The narrative again nudges Peter off his throne as foremost of all apostles by having the Beloved Disciple prompt Peter into recognizing that it is Jesus on the beach (21:7). Does this mean that the Beloved Disciple knows Jesus better or is closer to him—physically or spiritually? The narrative does not elaborate: there is only intimation. The Beloved Disciple then fades out of the scene, just as he did in ch. 13.

19. To be sure, many have concluded that the Beloved Disciple is merely a ctional construct. For the purposes of this essay, we will sustain the possibility of his “realness” as we remain within the world that the narrative proposes to us. 20. While it is frequently argued in modern criticism that ch. 21 is an epilogue or addendum to the gospel “proper” (namely chs. 1–20), I assume that, from the canonical narrative’s perspective, ch. 21 is integral to the whole and is intended to be part of the story. It is also true that no manuscripts from antiquity have surfaced in which chs. 1–20 circulated without ch. 21. 21. Kermode, The Genesis of Secrecy, 105. 1

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John 21:20–25 is the strongest evidence of all that a real person, in some way close to Jesus, stood somewhere behind the Fourth Gospel as its source, witness-author, or guarantor of authenticity (auctor). John 21:23 alludes to the death of this real person, again identied as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” His death, we are told, caused considerable distress for the Johannine-Christian community. The expectation that he would live to see Christ’s return had proven to be an error, and so 21:22 addresses this. This penultimate editorial pericope seeks to retrieve the misunderstanding from the realm of embarrassment and possible criticism. (Note that no one circulates a “rumor” [21:23] about the death of a merely ctional narrative device!) At the same time, 21:22 perhaps seeks to offer consolation to those who had been troubled by his actual death.22 The verb choice, NFOFJO, in 21:22 and 23, might have conveyed the sense that the Beloved Disciple would “remain alive.” But it is equally or more satisfying to conceive of this as a suggestion that this person’s testimony (the narrative itself, written or retold) will be enduring, even eternal in some way. In any case, the inglorious death of the Gospel’s primary and celebrated witness, who “failed” to be martyred like Peter, required an explanation from the nal redactor(s). To address this, and perhaps to “forestall massive disenchantment and defection from the Community” and “to shore up the Johannine tradition,” 21:22 intimates that Jesus had a special plan for the Beloved Disciple.23 The repetition of the phrase, “if it is my will…what is that to you?” in 21:23 reinforces the JohannineChristian defence of their hero’s mission. The special emphasis that is given in each of his appearances to the credibility of the Beloved Disciple as the source, witness-author, narrator, or ideal author, indicates that “there must have been an extreme need to support the trustworthiness of the Johannine tradition”24 (we have already noted this with respect to 19:35–37, above). In 21:24, the community testies one last time to the credibility and authority that underlies their tradition and gospel, with the effect of commending their own writing as well as themselves as a Christian voice with a uniquely valuable perspective.25

22. Hengel, The Johannine Question, 77. 23. Charlesworth, The Beloved Disciple, 45. 24. Ibid., 47. 25. While two additional passages are often adduced as Beloved Disciple appearances (1:35–42 and 18:15–18), space does not permit a fulsome treatment of these passages. For a convincing exegesis of these pericopae, see Bauckham, The Testimony of the Beloved Disciple. 1

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3. Typology and Anonymity: A Typological-spiritual Reading of the Fourth Gospel Our rst concern in this section is to note the functions of typology and anonymity in this gospel narrative. Leonhard Goppelt et al. distinguish between allegory and typology by noting that while the former refers to “a mystery or some spiritual doctrine,” the latter pregures an expected, tangible fulllment.26 In other words, typology points in a more direct way to a specic and time-bound reality, while allegory is intended to convey “timeless truth.” The specic use of a disciple as a “type,” then, is to present an iconic gure who points to a way of following in fairly concrete terms. Paul S. Minnear, Rachel Bowlby, and others argue that the Fourth Gospel favors types over allegories, both in how the Old Testament is appropriated and in how the gospel account itself functions.27 Goppelt proposes that the Gospel as a whole contains “continuous indications of a comprehensive typological approach.”28 It is a scholarly commonplace to interpret Peter, Nicodemus, Jesus’ mother, and even Judas as ciphers of persons in a specic Johannine-Christian community, or as characters who depict “typical” kinds of disciples: the faithful, seekers, colluders with “the Jews,” and so on. For the purposes of the present study, we simply adopt the view that typological guration is freely employed within the Fourth Gospel. Accordingly, we might posit that the Beloved Disciple could function as a type. The kind of discipleship to which this gure points remains to be seen. With respect to anonymity, we nd quickly that each canonical Gospel account includes several unnamed gures, and the Fourth Gospel is no exception. It offers up many greater and lesser characters (e.g. the Samaritan woman in ch. 4; the royal ofcial; the man born blind; the wine steward in 2:9 and those who make the re in 18:18). The ways in which these characters behave and interact in the story suggest either actual historical referents or narrative devices. Most intriguing of all, the anonymous gures in the Gospels is the Beloved Disciple, “the one whom Jesus loved.” Given his repeated appearances, his important role in the narrative, and the esteem in which 26. Leonhard Goppelt, Typos: The Theological Interpretation of the Old Testament in the New (trans. Donald H. Madvig; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 6. 27. Paul S. Minnear, “The Beloved Disciple in the Gospel of John,” Novum Testamentum 19 (1977): 105–23; Rachel Bowlby, Virginia Woolf: Feminist Destinations (Oxford: Blackwell, 1988). 28. Goppelt, Typos, 181. 1

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he is held, why does this individual remain unnamed? The mystery is provocative. The lack of identication cannot be an unintended oversight. Why omit the name? John 21:23–24 implies that he was well known to the Johannine-Christian community, so his identity is not a mystery to them at least. Did the redactor(s) seek to protect him? From what? Would giving an actual name (like John or Luke) have suggested an ancient Christian authority that this community did not want to acknowledge openly? This seems more likely than the protection hypothesis, but it is exceptionally difcult to unravel: who could this possibly be? There are no recorded characters or persons outside the Fourth Gospel who specically acted or spoke as did the Beloved Disciple. The traditional association of the Beloved Disciple with John, the disciple of Jesus, is plausible, but again the omission of his name is curious. Was he, or were his admirers, simply too modest to name John as the secondary hero of this grand narrative? It is a puzzle. Not everyone nds the Beloved Disciple’s anonymity noteworthy. Schuyler Brown attaches no great importance to the fact: this gure merely “share[s] in the anonymity which is characteristic of second generation Christianity” and all its leadership.29 Similarly, Kevin Quast notes that anonymity and pseudonymity were standard characteristics of earliest Christian literature.30 Yet neither Brown nor Quast resolve our dilemma: in fact, they deepen it. Why would Peter and Andrew, also signicant early Christian leaders, be named, but not this one? The anonymity of the Beloved Disciple cannot be an accident of ction or history. As W. W. Watty ably put it, the Gospel’s author-narrator …is at pains to prove that he knows who is who, what words, names, and titles mean, what actually happened and where[.] He goes out of his way in his desire to establish that his record of events is the reliable account of an eyewitness which can be tested and veried by lexicography, topography and family history.31

29. Schuyler Brown, The Origins of Christianity: A Historical Introduction to the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), 136. Brown here is clearly assuming the anachronistic insertion (into the narrative) of an individual who was not a contemporary of Jesus (hence “second generation” leader), but who was nevertheless a real person. 30. Kevin Quast, Peter and the Beloved Disciple (JSNTSup 32; Shefeld: JSOT, 1989), 19. Pseudonymity is not at issue, of course; the text does not even offer a pseudonym! 31. W. W. Watty, “The Signicance of Anonymity in the Fourth Gospel,” ExpTim 90 (1979): 209–12 (210). 1

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With (an) empirical author(s) or redactor(s) so committed to veriability (even historicity) and to detailed description, why name some (lesser and greater) characters but not the Beloved Disciple? Why speak of this one so cryptically? The anonymity must be purposeful. In quite another usage of anonymity, the narrative seems to be seeking strategically to challenge the authority of the twelve-person apostolic “college.” Andrew’s counterpart in 1:35–40 (unnamed but clearly a disciple), and the two unnamed disciples in 21:2, together represent a category of persons who were just as close to Jesus as the Twelve— indeed, very close to him at the important beginning and end of the narrative. Note also that the Twelve are never enumerated, as they are in the Synoptic Gospels. Were the Twelve an apostolic authority that the Johannine-Christians perceived as rivals? If so, undermining them with the presence of unnamed “other” disciples would have been a political maneuver. By mentioning (but not naming) still other disciples who were just as close to Jesus, the established hierarchy of the Twelve is cast in some doubt. It is a subtle move. Yet the question remains: Why does the Beloved Disciple remain unidentied? His anonymity is underscored by the fact that “in every context where this disciple remains unnamed, other disciples are carefully identied by name.”32 Why consistently decline to name him? The nal possibility, which I adopt here, is that the purposeful narrative strategy is to invite the reader to insert him- or herself into the story of the earliest disciples.33 When the “beloved” remains unnamed, “any disciple, however recent, however late, may be the disciple Jesus loved.”34 In this way, the character is the “ideal reader”35—one who sees 32. Minnear, “The Beloved Disciple,” 105. 33. For a fulsome description of this strategy, see David R. Beck, “The Narrative Function of Anonymity in Fourth Gospel Characterization,” Semeia 63 (1993): 143– 58. Beck states, “Anonymity erases the identity distinction of the name and instead creates a gap that the reader is invited to ll with her/his own identity, entering into the narrative and confronting the circumstances and situation of the character in the text” (ibid., 147). The Beloved Disciple’s “indeterminacy” is especially helpful in creating this narrative effect for the reader: “Nothing is revealed of his familial relationships, social standing, occupation, physical condition, or his past… This greater indeterminacy facilitates the reader’s lling the identity gaps in the beloved disciple’s narrative with her/his own identity, entering and accepting the paradigm of discipleship that the beloved disciple presents” (ibid., 154). 34. Watty, “The Signicance of Anonymity in the Fourth Gospel,” 212. 35. I concur with Richard Bauckham who discredits the popular notion that the Beloved Disciple somehow represents the ideal disciple. The narrative of the Fourth Gospel subverts the superiority of Petrine witness, not necessarily Peter himself. 1

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in this particular gospel account a way of following Jesus that is faithful and true: a way, indeed, that involves giving testimony. Such a reader’s loyalty and closeness to Jesus is represented in the Beloved Disciple’s conduct and physical closeness to Jesus. While there may well have been an actual historical personage whose identity lay behind “the disciple Jesus loved,” this reality is overshadowed by the narrative function of the Beloved Disciple as a type—namely, a faithful intimate of the Lord Jesus—whose identity is available and transferable to all who read this account. The Beloved Disciple remains purposefully anonymous in order to create a narrative “opening” for the reader to enter the story. This does not deny that this disciple really existed. Rather, it is to say that upon the legendary status of a respected and authoritative disciple (someone who was well-known to at least one community), the nal redactor(s) has/ have constructed (or preserved) a character who remains anonymous, and who functions (from the point of view of the narrative) as a stand-in for any faithful reader. Apart from their ofce, status, giftedness, or place in the apostolic hierarchy, reader-disciples are welcome to share in the intimacy that the Beloved shared with Jesus. The Fourth Gospel signals again and again that the reader is important to the storytelling process, to the conveying of the testimony that is so crucial to this account. There are many asides or parenthetical remarks in which the reader is addressed, as if she or he were present and the narrator wanted to say a particular word to her or him. Note 3:22–24: After this Jesus and his disciples went into the Judean countryside… John also was baptizing at Aenon near Salim… John, of course, had not yet been thrown into prison.

For whose benet is this remark about John’s incarceration made? Presumably for the reader, who knows some parts of the Jesus story already. There is a similar explanatory note in 4:9 (“Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans”)—a remark made for the benet of the reader, but not a statement that moves the story along. John 19:35 is very much to the point in this respect: “He who saw this has testied so that you also may believe. His testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth.” This also seems to be very much for the benet of the reader. The second-person address (“that you may believe”) is especially Indeed, in ch. 21, at least some of the focus is placed on Peter, afrming him as the commissioned shepherd of the sheep, “the disciple who through failure and grace is enabled by Jesus to become the chief pastor of the church” (Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006], 396). The Beloved Disciple’s discipleship, as such, is overlooked. See Bauckham, The Testimony of the Beloved Disciple, 82–85. 1

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noteworthy. John 20:31 likewise has a personal second-person address: the narrator is assuming the reader is not disinterested. Thus when read typologically by way of his anonymity, we can build upon the view of the Beloved Disciple as the ideal witness-author. To this depiction we can add the premise that the Beloved Disciple also represents the ideal reader, a witness-evangelist who, through his narrative (in which he is a character but not a specically dened individual), transfers his identity to his readers. Through the Beloved Disciple, readers of the Fourth Gospel are invited to become participants in the story of Jesus, and, beyond the narrative, to share (and shape) the continuing witness of the community of the faithful: that is, to “author” Christian testimony in their own time and place. 4. The Role of the Reader So far we have argued that the Beloved Disciple was a real person, who witness-authored, narrated, or at least was the authoritative source of the Fourth Gospel. Further, we have noted that as a type and an anonym, his narrative appearances permit any reader to insert her- or himself into the continuing story of disciples who follow Jesus (viz. the Christian community). Personal addresses to the reader at various points underscore this. In this nal section, I propose a reading of the Beloved Disciple that builds upon these dual realities and extends openness to readers about how to “believe.” If the Beloved Disciple, as he is narrated in the Fourth Gospel, is principally a disciple-witness, then those readers who receive him as a type need to ask the re
exive questions, “How then shall I witness?” and “What shall be the content of my witness?” The Fourth Gospel specically intimates that content at several junctures: 2:11; 3:31–36; 4:42; 6:68–69; 11:27; 20:31; and elsewhere. In each case, the testimony or witness concerns “believing,” a primary theme of this gospel account as a whole. Notice, however, how believing is treated. The content of “belief” in this gospel is attached to believing in the person and identity of Jesus, rather than specic doctrinal propositions. The reader, however, still needs to engage in meaning-making as she or he encounters the text. Further, as the narrative nears its end, the text charges the reader to begin this meaning-making (believing) process in 19:35 and 20:31: “He who saw this has testied so that you also may believe” and “these are written so that you may come [or continue] to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” 1

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In 20:1–10, it is signicant that the Beloved Disciple does not believe on the basis of Mary Magdalene’s testimony: he believes when he sees for himself (v. 8). This foreshadows Thomas’ stubborn refusal to believe later in the chapter (v. 25). Those who read v. 8 (“he saw and believed”) in light of the whole Christian tradition might supply the notion of belief that “Jesus had been raised from the dead” (indeed many scholars make just this assumption). Verse 9, however, notes that no one at all yet understood that Jesus had been raised! The content of the Beloved Disciple’s belief, therefore, is not elaborated: this is a gap which the reader must
ll. Does the Beloved Disciple believe that the tomb is in fact empty and Jesus is alive? Or does he believe in some larger “Johannine” (perhaps mystical) sense? Or is his believing consistent with the other instances of believing in this narrative: ways of believing that are specically attached to the person and identity of Jesus? The reader is pressed to decide. This ambiguity about “believing,” here and elsewhere, also allows the reader to believe, even when other characters in the narrative do not understand (20:9). Readers may enter the story wherever the (vaguely identied) Beloved Disciple is present (since he represents them as a type) and respond in ways that others historically (or narratively) do not. The lack of semantic clarity in 20:8–9 (“the other disciple, who reached the tomb rst, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand (!) the scripture, that he must rise from the dead”) strikes me as deliberately ambiguous. It enables the expansion of meanings, out from the text, in a way that discursive precision could not. How and what the reader is to believe is simply not dened. The narrated character of the Beloved Disciple himself functions in precisely this way: though a real person existed outside the world of the text, within the text he functions in a more-than-historical way. He is a type, a sign of a way to follow Jesus. But in him the many dimensions of following (and believing) are neither enumerated nor prescribed. A nal lexical note: the link between 13:23 and 1:18 suggests a special relationship between Jesus and the Beloved Disciple (FO UX]_ LP MQX] UPV_ ’*ITPV_ in 13:23), a relationship similar to that shared between Jesus and the Father (FJK UP@O LP MQPO UPV_ QBUSP@K in 1:18). The invitation to the reader to enter the narrative through the Beloved Disciple is equally an invitation to enter a special relationship with Jesus. Just as the Beloved Disciple was “in the bosom of Jesus,” so also the reader is invited to take up that same (privileged) position, to follow faithfully, to give testimony, and to be both ideal reader and ideal witness-author. In so doing, the reader joins not only in the work of the Beloved Disciple, but also the 1

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Holy Spirit and the apostles (see John 15:26–27: “When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf. You also are to testify because you have been with me from the beginning”). The reader of the Fourth Gospel in the end is in fact called upon to be a believer who continues to give testimony about Jesus, and thus extend the story of Jesus and his people through history and into the wider world.

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THE PUBLISHED WORKS OF GERALD T. SHEPPARD

1. Books Authored 1979. Wisdom as a Hermeneutical Construct: A Study in the Sapientializing of the Old Testament. BZAW 151. Berlin: de Gruyter. 1990. The Future of the Bible: Beyond Liberalism and Literalism. Toronto, Ont.: United Church Publishing House. 2. Books Edited 1989. A Commentary on Galatians (1617) by William Perkins, with Introductory Essays. Pilgrim Classic Commentaries. New York: Pilgrim. 1989. The Geneva Bible: The Annotated New Testament, 1602 Edition, with Introductory Essays. Pilgrim Classic Commentaries. New York: Pilgrim. 1991. (With David Jobling and Peggy L. Day.) The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday. Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim. 1991. Solomon’s Divine Arts: Joseph Hall’s Representation of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs (1609), with Introductory Essays. Pilgrim Classic Commentaries. Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim. 3. Chapters in Books 1978. Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will Be Done: The Holy Spirit in Piety and Politics. Pages 12–26 in Living Prayer: How Can a Christian’s Faith Be Expressed in Everyday Life? New York: Union Theological Seminary. 1978. Wisdom and Torah: The Interpretation of Deuteronomy Underlying Sirach 24:23. Pages 166–76 in Biblical and Near Eastern Studies: Essays in Honor of William Sanford Lasor. Edited by Gary A. Tuttle. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. 1985. The Seduction of Pentecostals within the Politics of Exegesis: The Nicene Creed, Filioque, and Pentecostal Ambivalence Regarding an Ecumenical Challenge of a Common Confession of Apostolic Faith. In The Distinctiveness of PentecostalCharismatic Theology: Papers of the 15th Annual Meeting of the Society for Pentecostal Studies (November 1985), 15 pp. Gaithersburg, Md.: Society for Pentecostal Studies. 1986. The Nicean Creed, Filioque, and Pentecostal Movements. Pages 171–86 in Spirit of Truth: Ecumenical Perspectives on the Holy Land. Edited by T. Stylianopoulous and Mark Heim. Brookline, Mass.: Holy Cross Orthodox Press. 1

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1986. An Overview of the Hermeneutical Situation in the United States. Pages 11–36 in Conict and Context: Hermeneutics in the Americas. Edited by Mark Lau Branson and C. Rene Padilla. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. 1987. A Promising Synthesis. Pages 70–75 in A Hermeneutics of Ultimacy: Peril or Promise. Edited by James H. Olthuis. New York: University Press of America. 1988. Isaiah 1–39. Pages 542–70 in Harper’s Bible Commentary. Edited by James L. Mays et al. San Francisco, Calif.: Harper & Row. 1988. True and False Prophecy within Scripture. Pages 262–82 in Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation: Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs. Edited by Gene M. Tucker, David L. Petersen and Robert R. Wilson. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. 1989. Between Reformation and Modern Commentary: The Perception of the Scope of Biblical Books. Pages xlii–lxxi in William Perkins’, a Commentary on Galatians (1617), with Introductory Essays. Edited by Gerald T. Sheppard. New York: Pilgrim. 1989. Biblical Revelation and Human Sexuality. Pages 233–47 in AIDS Issues. Edited by David Hallman. New York: Pilgrim Press. 1989. The Geneva Bible and English Commentary, 1600–1645. Pages 1–4 in The Geneva New Testament: The Annotated New Testament, 1602 Edition, with Introductory Essays. Edited by Gerald T. Sheppard. New York: Pilgrim. 1989. William Perkins’ Exposition among Seventeenth-Century Commentaries, 1600– 1645. Pages vii–xiii in William Perkins’, a Commentary on Galatians (1617), with Introductory Essays. Edited by Gerald T. Sheppard. New York: Pilgrim. 1990. Response to Howard Yoder. Pages 65–69 in Servants of the Word: Ministry in the Believer’s Churches. Edited by David B. Eller. Elgin, Ill.: Brethren. 1991. Christian Interpretation of the Old Testament between Reformation and Modernity. Pages 46–70 in A Commentary on Hebrews 11, 1609 Edition with Introductory Essays. Edited by John H. Augustine. New York: Pilgrim. 1991. “Enemies” and the Politics of Prayer in the Book of Psalms. Pages 61–82 in Bible and the Politics of Exegesis: Essays in Honor of Norman K. Gottwald on His SixtyFifth Birthday. Edited by David Jobling, Peggy L. Day and Gerald T. Sheppard. Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim. 1991. Enemies and the Politics of Prayer in the Book of Psalms. Pages 61–82 in The Bible and the Politics of Exegesis, Essays in Honor of Norman Gottwald. Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim, 1991. Reprinted as 376–91 in The Bible and Liberation: Political and Social Hermeneutics. Edited by Norman K. Gottwald and Richard A. Horsley. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1993. 1991. How Do Neoorthodox and Post-Neoorthodox Theologians Approach the “Doing of Theology” Today? Pages 437–59 in Doing Theology in Today’s World: Essays in Honor of Kenneth S. Kantzer. Edited by John D. Woodbridge and Thomas Edward McComiskey. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan. 1991. Joseph Hall’s Solomon’s Divine Arts among Seventeenth-Century Commentaries, 1600–1645. Pages 1–10 in Solomon’s Divine Arts: Joseph Hall’s Representation of Proverbs, Ecclesiates, and Song of Songs (1609), with Introductory Essays. Edited by Gerald T. Sheppard. Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim. 1991. The Role of the Canonical Context in the Interpretation of the Solomonic Books. Pages 67–107 in Solomon’s Divine Arts: Joseph Hall’s Representation of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs (1609), with Introductory Essays. Edited by Gerald T. Sheppard. Cleveland, Oh.: Pilgrim. 1

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1992. The Role of “Wisdom” in the Interpretation of Scripture. Pages 187–202 in Literary Theory and Biblical Hermeneutics, Acta Universitatis Szegediensis de Attila Jozsef Nominatee, Papers in English and American Studies 4. Edited by Tibor Fabiny. Szeged, Hungary: Attila Jozsef University. 1996. The “Scope” of Isaiah as a Book of Jewish and Christian Scripture. Pages 257–81 in New Visions of Isaiah. Edited by Roy F. Melugin and Marvin A. Sweeney. Shefeld: Shefeld Academic. 1998. “Two-Party” Rhetoric Amid “Postmodern” Debates over Christian Scripture and Theology. Pages 445–66 in Re-Forming the Center: American Protestantism, 1900 to the Present. Edited by Douglas Jacobsen and William Vance Trollinger Jr. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. 1999. Issues in Contemporary Translation: Late Modern Vantages and Lessons from Past Epochs. Pages 257–85 in On the Way to Nineveh: Studies in Honor of George M. Landes. Edited by Stephen L. Cook and Sara C. Winter. Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press. 1999. Pentecostals, Globalization, and Postmodern Hermeneutics: Implications for the Politics of Scriptural Interpretation. Pages 289–312 in The Globalization of Pentecostalism: A Religion Made to Travel. Edited by Murray Dempster, Byron Klaus and Douglas Petersen. Carlisle: Regnum. 2000. Biblical Wisdom Literature at the End of the Modern Age. Pages 369–98 in Congress Volume: Oslo 1998. Edited by André Lemaire and Magne Sæbø. Leiden: Brill. 2000. Isaiah. Pages 489–537 in The HarperCollins Bible Commentary. Edited by James L. Mays et al. San Francisco, Calif.: HarperCollins. 4. Dictionary and Encyclopedia Entries 1987. Canon. Pages 62–69 in vol. 3 of The Encyclopedia of Religion. Edited by Mircea Eliade. New York: Macmillan. 1987. (With William Herbrechtsmeier.) Prophecy. Pages 8–14 in vol. 12 of The Encyclopedia of Religion. Edited by Mircea Eliade. New York: Macmillan. 1988. Wisdom. Pages 1074–82 in vol. 4 of International Standard Bible Encyclopedia. Edited by Geoffrey W. Bromiley. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. 1990. The Poor in the Old Testament. Pages 700–701 in The Mercer Biblical Dictionary. Edited by Watson E. Mills. Macon, Ga.: Mercer University Press. 1991. Various entries. In ABCs of the Bible. Edited by Joseph L. Gardner. Pleasantville, N.Y.: Reader’s Digest. 1992. Canonical Criticism. Pages 861–66 in vol. 1 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by David Noel Freedman et al. New York: Doubleday. 1994. Various entries. In Who’s Who in the Bible: An Illustrated Biographical Dictionary. Edited by Joseph L. Gardner. Pleasantville, N.Y.: Reader’s Digest. 1998. Biblical Interpretation in Europe in the 20th Century, Introduction to Part 5. Pages 403–22 in Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters. Edited by Donald K. McKim. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity. 1998. Biblical Interpretation in the 18th & 19th Centuries, Introduction to Part 4. Pages 257–80 in Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters. Edited by Donald K. McKim. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity. 1

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1998. Childs, Brevard (B. 1923). Pages 575–84 in Historical Handbook of Major Biblical Interpreters. Edited by Donald K. McKim. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press. 1999. Canonical Criticism. Pages 164–67 in vol. 1 of Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation. Edited by John C. Hayes. Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon. 1999. Childs, Brevard. Pages 178–79 in vol. 1 of Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation. Edited by John C. Hayes. Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon. 2000. Bible. Pages 178–80 in Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by David Noel Freedman. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans. 2005. Canon. Pages 1405–11 in vol. 3 of The Encyclopedia of Religion. 2d ed. Edited by Lindsay Jones. Farmington Hills, Mich.: Macmillan Reference. 2005. (With William Herbrechtsmeier.) Prophecy. Pages 7423–29 in vol. 11 of The Encyclopedia of Religion. 2d ed. Edited by Lindsay Jones. Farmington Hills, Mich.: Macmillan Reference. 2007. (With A. C. Thistleton.) Biblical Interpretation in Europe in the 20th Century. Pages 67–87 in Dictionary of of Major Biblical Interpreters. Rev. ed. Edited by Donald K. McKim. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity. 2007. (With A. C. Thistleton.) Biblical Interpretation in the 18th & 19th Centuries. Pages 45–66 in Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters. Rev. ed. Edited by Donald K. McKim. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity. 2007. Childs, Brevard (B. 1923). Pages 301–10 in Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters. Rev. ed. Edited by Donald K. McKim. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity. 5. Articles in Magazines, Journals and Series 1974. Canon Criticism: The Proposal of Brevard Childs and an Assessment for Evangelical Hermeneutics. Studia Biblica et Theologica 4, no. 2:3–17. 1977. Biblical Hermeneutics: The Academic Language of Evangelical Identity. Union Seminary Quarterly Review 32, no. 2:81–94. 1977. The Epilogue to Qoheleth as Theological Commentary. CBQ 39, no. 2:182–89. 1978. Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition: Part One. Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 1, no. 4:4–5, 17–22. 1978. Word and Spirit: Scripture in the Pentecostal Tradition: Part Two. Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 2, no. 1:14–19. 1980. The Gospel Speaks to Blackness: An Interview with Herbert Daughtry. Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 4, no. 1:9, 14–17. 1980. (With Charles H. Barfoot.) Prophetic Vs. Priestly Religion: The Changing Role of Women Clergy in Classical Pentecostal Churches. RRelRes 22, no. 1:2–17. 1981. “The Christian Right: From Prohibition to Pro-Life”: A Symposium with Balfour Brickner, Joseph O’Hare, Richard John Newhouse, Paul Sherry, Gerald Strober, and Marc H. Tannenbaum. Reformed Judaism 9, no. 4:10–12. 1981. James Tinney’s “the Pentecostal Coalition for Human Rights” Versus Jerry Falwell’s “the Moral Majority.” Agora: A Magazine of Opinion within the Assemblies of God 4, no. 5:18–20. 1981. Recovering the Natural Sense (Rejoinder to J. B. Rogers and D. K. McKim, The Authority and Interpretation of the Bible). Theology Today 38, no. 3:330–37.

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1982. Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions. Int 36, no. 1:21–33. 1982. More on Isaiah 5:1–7 as a Juridical Parable (Reply to G. A. Yee). CBQ 44, no. 1:45–47. 1983. Barr on Canon and Childs: Can One Read the Bible as Scripture? Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 7, no. 2:2–4. 1984. Pentecostals and the Hermeneutics of Dispensationalism: The Anatomy of an Uneasy Relationship. Pneuma 6, no. 2:5–33. 1984. (With Larry Jones.) The Politics of Biblical Eschatology: Ronald Reagan and the Impending Nuclear Armageddon. Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 8, no. 1:16–19. 1984. Society of Pentecostal Studies. Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 7, no. 3:22–23. 1985. The Anti-Assyrian Redaction and the Canonical Context of Isaiah 1–39. JBL 104, no. 2:193–216. 1985. Canonization: Hearing the Voice of the Same God through Historically Dissimilar Traditions. Ex Auditu: An Annual of the Frederick Neumann Symposium on Theological Interpretation of Scripture 1:106–14. 1985. The Use of Scripture within the Christian Ethical Debate Concerning Same-Sex Oriented Persons. Union Seminary Quarterly Review 40, no. 1–2:13–35. 1986. The Nicean Creed, Filioque, and Pentecostal Movements in the United States. Greek Orthodox Theological Review 31, no. 3–4:401–16. 1986. (With Larry Jones.) On Reagan, Prophecy and Nuclear War. Old Westbury Review 2:9–22. 1986. The Presentation of Abraham in the Christian Tradition. Face to Face: An Interreligious Bulletin 13:193–216. 1986. A Response to Anderson (Rejoinder to, “Resurrection of Jesus as Hermeneutical Criterion”, Pp. 15–20). Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 9, no. 421–22. 1987. Recent Theological Approaches (A review essay on H. G. Reventlow’s Problems of Old Testament Theology in the Twentieth Century and Brevard Childs’ Old Testament Theology in a Canonical Context). Toronto Journal of Theology 3, no. 2:342–45. 1988. “Blessed Are Those Who Take Refuge in Him” (Psa. 2:11): Biblical Criticism and Deconstruction. Religion and Intellectual Life 5, no. 2:57–66. 1989. Recent OT Commentaries. Toronto Journal of Theology 5, no. 1:104–10. 1990. “Mainlining” Ecumenical Tradition: Are Seminaries Ignoring Economic Context and Political Syntax? Christianity and Crisis 50, no. 5–6:106. 1991. Does the Bible Categorically Condemn Homosexuality? A Qualied “No.” The Alberta Report, March 11:42–43. 1992. The Book of Isaiah: Competing Structures According to a Late Modern Description of Its Shape and Scope. Pages 549–82 in Society of Biblical Literature 1992 Seminar Papers. Edited by Eugene H. Lovering Jr. Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press. 1992. Psalms: How to Read a Book Intent on Reading You. Theology News and Notes [Special Issue in Memory of William Sanford LaSor] 46:14–20. 1992. The Relation of Solomon’s Wisdom to Biblical Prayer. Pages 7–27 in Scriptures and Cultural Conversations: Essays for Heinz Guenther. Edited by John S. Kloppenborg. Toronto Journal of Theology 8, no. 1. 1

342

The Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

1992. Theology and the Book of Psalms. Int 46, no. 2:143–55. 1993. The Book of Isaiah as a Human Witness to Revelation within the Religions of Judaism and Christianity. Pages 274–80 in Society of Biblical Literature 1993 Seminar Papers. Edited by Eugene H. Lovering Jr. Atlanta, Ga.: Society of Biblical Literature. 1993. The Last Words of Hosea. Review & Expositor 90, no. 2:191–204. 1993. Two Turbulent Decades of Research on Isaiah. Toronto Journal of Theology 9, no. 1:107–10. 1994. Biblical Interpretation after Gadamer. Pneuma 16, no. 1:121–41. 1994. Premodern Criticism in the English Protestant Translations of the Psalms During the Seventeenth Century. Pages 346–75 in Society of Biblical Literature Seminar Papers 1993. Edited by Eugene H. Lovering Jr. Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press. 1996. Isaiah as a Scroll or Codex within Jewish and Christian Scripture. Pages 204–24 in Society of Biblical Literature 1996 Seminar Papers. Atlanta, Ga.: Scholars Press. 1996. A Response to Larry Hurtado (a Rejoinder to His Essay on “the Bible and SameSex Erotic Relations”). Canadian Evangelical Review 12:10–16. 2001. Prophecy: From Ancient Israel to the End of the Modern Age. The Spirit and the Church 3, no. 2:47–70. 6. Book Reviews 1977. Review of The Evangelicals: What They Believe, Who They Are, Where They Are Changing, by David F. Wells and John D, Woodbridge. Religious Education 72, no. 1:100–101. 1978. Review of Voices of American Fundamentalism, by C. Allyn Russell. Religious Education 73, no. 1:105–6. 1979. Review of Late Israelite Prophecy: Studies in Deutero-Prophetic Literature and in Chronicles, by David L. Petersen. CBQ 41, no. 1:143–44. 1980. Review of The Authority and Interpretation of the Bible: An Historical Approach, Donald K. McKim. Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 4, no. 2:18–19. 1981. Review of The Authority and Interpretation of the Bible: An Historical Approach, by Donald K. McKim. Theology Today 38, no. 3:330–37. 1981. Review of Ezekiel, V 1: Chapters 1–24, by Walther Zimmerli. Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 5, no. 2:16–17. 1981. Review of Old Testament Theology: A Fresh Approach, by Ronald E. Clements. Theology Today 37, no. 4:503–4. 1982. Review of Isaiah 1–39, by Ronald E. Clements. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 50, no. 2:290. 1983. Review of Those Who Ponder Proverbs: Aphoristic Thinking and Biblical Literature, by James G. Williams. JBL 102, no. 2:319–20. 1983. Review of Wisdom in the Old Testament Traditions, by Donn F. Morgan. JBL 102, no. 3:479–80. 1984. Review of Exodus: A Hermeneutics of Freedom, by J. Severino Croatto. Theological Students Fellowship Bulletin 7, no. 5:19. 1984. Review of The Faith of the Old Testament: A History, by Werner H. Schmidt. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 52, no. 4:761–62. 1984. Review of Traditional Sayings in Old Testament, by Carole R. Fontaine. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 52, no. 1:170–71. 1

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1985. Review of Psalms 101–150, by Leslie C. Allen. Journal of the American Academy of Religion 53, no. 2:290. 1986. Review of Prophecy as Literature A Text-Linguistic and Rhetorical Approach to Isaiah 2–4, by Bertil Wiklander. JBL 105, no. 3:527–28. 1987. Review of Wisdom and the Hebrew Epic, by Burton L. Mack. Journal of Religion 67, no. 1:129–30. 1988. Review of A Between Faith and Criticism: Evangelicals, Scholarship, and the Bible in America, by Mark Noll. Theology Today 45, no. 2):251–52. 1989. Review of Meet the Prophets: A Beginner’s Guide to the Books of the Biblical Prophets—Their Meaning Then and Now, by John W. Miller. Studies in Religion/ Sciences religieuses 18, no. 2:245. 1990. Review of The Hebrew Bible: A Socio-Literary Introduction, by Norman K. Gottwald. Critical Review of Books in Religion: 129–30. 1991. Review of The Bible and Bibles in America: The Bible in American Culture, by Ernest S. Frerichs, ed. Religious Studies and Theology 11, no. 2–3:81–83. 1992. Review of Sacred Word and Sacred Text: Scripture in World Religions, by Harold G. Coward. Critical Review of Books in Religion: 271–74. 1994. Review of History of the Bible as Literature, vol. 1: From Antiquity to 1700, by David Norton. Theology Today 51, no. 3:472. 1998. Review of Beyond Liberalism and Fundamentalism: How Modern and Postmodern Philosophy Set the Theological Agenda, by Nancy C. Murphy. Int 52, no. 4:425–28. 2001. Review of Abraham on Trial: The Social Legacy of Biblical Myth, by Carol Delaney. Shofar 20, no. 1:142–45. 2003. Review of Deutero-Isaiah: A Commentary on Isaiah 40–55, by Klaus Baltzer. Int 57, no. 3:320–22.

1

INDEXES INDEX OF REFERENCES HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT

19:22 22

Genesis 1:27 3:8 5:1 6–9 9:18 10:1 10:11 10:32 11:10 11:27 12–50 15:13–14 15:18 16:1 16:3 16:12 17 17:20 18–19 18:1–5 18:2 18:5 19:1–3 19:3 19:4 19:5 19:6 19:7 19:8–9 19:9 19:10–11 19:12–29

22:1–9 22:2 22:3 22:4 22:6 22:8 22:10 22:14 22:18 24 25:15 37:2 41 41:14 41:40–43 41:41 41:43 41:44 41:55–57 45:10 46:27 47 47:13–26 47:14 47:16–17 47:19 47:20 47:21 47:22 47:23 47:25

114 290 48 103 48 48 292 48 48 48 5, 6 48 79 53 53 54 113 54 55, 57 55 55 56 56 56 56 56 56 56 56 56 56 56

56 23, 57, 109, 111, 113 57 57, 109 57 57 57, 110 57 57 57 110 48 48 295 60 54 54 54 54 54 54 46 21 9–11, 13 4, 9, 14 5 5 5 6, 9 6 6, 7, 9 6 6

47:26 49 50 50:25

6, 7, 9 48 48 48

Exodus 1–15 1–12 1 1:1–4 1:7 1:8 1:9 1:11 2:10–11 2:15 2:23 3:2 3:6 3:10 3:12 3:20 4:1–9 4:19–20 5:1 6:9 6:16 6:19 7–12 10:1–2 10:2 11:7–11 12:4–26 12:12 12:24

12 103 48 48 5, 60 5 5 59 59 59 58 58 58 58 58 58 59 59 59 28 48 48 59 12 46, 47 10 46 6 47

Index of References 12:26–27 12:46 13:19 14:4 14:7 15:1–18 15:21 17:6 17:10 18 18:20 19–31 19–20 19 19:1–3 19:1–2 19:3–6 19:3 19:4–5 19:4 19:5–6 19:5 19:6 19:7–8 19:9–15 19:16–19 19:16 19:17 19:18 19:19 20 20:2 20:18–21 20:18 20:19–21 24:3 24:7 24:12 28:38 29:6 32:1 32:2 32:4

47 327 48 231 231 13 13 86 292 7 218 59 24 9–13, 21, 22 21 7 7, 9, 14, 21 7 8 22 8, 22 8, 9, 15, 22, 27 8, 22 22 22 22, 23 23 23 23 23–25 9 8 24 24 24 48 27, 28 312 120 312 60 59 59, 60

32:5–6 32:8 32:26–28 32:32–33 33–34 33:11 33:20 33:23 34:6–7 34:27 37:11

60 59, 60 60 310 27 26 27 27 27 48 48

Leviticus 1:3 5:14–6:7 5:15–16 5:17–19 10:17 15:25 15:31 16:22 19:2 25 25:23 26:16

120 110 110 110 120 292 218 120 22 13 13, 14 299

Numbers 9:12 10 13:32 14:22 14:36–37 15:39 20:29 25:6–8 27 27:12–13 27:15–23 27:18–23 27:18

327 22 295 28 295 186 38 54 37, 48 35 35 38 38

Deuteronomy 1–3 1:3 4:2 4:4–11:32

33 35 313 33

345 4:9–13 4:9 4:12 4:44–30:20 5:2–3 5:4 6:2 6:4 6:7 6:20–21 6:20 6:21 11:19 11:21 12–26 12:28 18:15 23:8 25:4 28–30 29–34

29:1–8 29:1 29:9–10 29:9 29:11 29:12 29:13–14 29:15–28 29:22–35 29:29 30:1–20 30:1–5 30:6 30:14 31–34 31 31:1 31:2 31:3–5 31:3 31:6

26 47 21, 26 33 28 28 46, 47 27 46, 47 47 46 46 46 46 33, 34 46, 47 28 47 316 227 32, 34– 36, 41, 42, 44, 48 35 35 35 35 35 35 35 35 46 36, 46, 47, 49 35 46 231 231 45 41 35 35 35 35 35

346

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

Deuteronomy (cont.) 31:7–30 35 31:9 41, 48 31:13 47 31:19 36, 41 31:21 36 31:22 41 31:24 39, 41 31:26–28 46 31:26 36, 49 31:28 36 31:30 36, 39 32 36, 175 32:1–47 35 32:37 174 32:44–46 36 32:46 46, 47, 49 32:48–50 35 32:51–52 35 32:51 35 33:1–29 35 34 37 34:1 35, 38 34:2–5 35 34:4 38 34:6 35 34:7–9 35, 37 34:9–12 221 34:9 28 34:10–12 28, 35, 42, 43, 49 34:10 42, 48 Joshua 1:7–8 4:14 4:18 24 24:4 Judges 6:6 6:8–9

38, 46, 49 52 292 47 5

6:12 6:13 6:14 6:16 6:22 6:36–40 7:13 8:23 8:24 8:27 9:15 9:52 13:3 19–21

19

19:1–9 19:2 19:3 19:5 19:6 19:7 19:8 19:10–11 19:10 19:12 19:17 19:20–21 19:21 19:22 19:23 19:24–25 19:25 19:27–28 19:29 19:30 20 Ruth 2:12

58 58

58 58 58 58 58 59 136 59 59 59 174 136 58 55, 259, 261, 263–65, 269, 272 57, 259, 260, 265, 268 55 265 55 56 57 56 57 57 57 265 57 56 56 56 56 56 56 56 57 57 56, 57

174

1 Samuel 1 1:12–19 2:22 2:25 7:15 15:22–23 15:22 17:34 17:36–37

164 179 54 54 52 19 18 291 291

2 Samuel 3:12 17:8 22:2–3 23:1–7

12, 14 291 174 36, 47

1 Kings 3 3:9 3:11–12 6–8 6:11–13 10:23 11:27–28 11:28 11:40 12:1–3 12:4 12:9–10 12:28 12:32–33 13:1–6 13:2 15:5–6 16–22 16 19 21

29 29 29 60 42 290 59 59 59 59 59 59 60 60 59 60 52 276 275 26 277

2 Kings 2:24 6:10 9–10 11:12 13:10–14:16

291 218 277 312 278

Index of References 14:23–29 15–16 16 16:3 17 17:17 18–20 18 18:31 18:32–35 18:35 20:19 21–25 21 21:6 22–23 22:8 24:3–4 24:13 25 25:24 25:25 25:26 25:27–30 25:27 25:28 25:29 25:30

279 280 279 84 275 84 53, 280 281 131 129, 131 131 53 61 281, 282 84 283 34 53 53 55 53 54 53 51–55, 61 54 54 54 55

1 Chronicles 3:17–18 26:12 28:19

53 208 312

2 Chronicles 17:7–9 19:10 20:1–30 32:5 33 34:14 36 36:14

216 218 136 129, 131 281, 282 313 282 110

Ezra 4:22 10:19

218 110

Nehemiah 5 6:14 7:3 13:30

152 166 208 208

Job 1–2 3 3:20 5:17–18 6:25 8:20–22 11:13–20 20:28 23:8–9 31 31:35 32:4 36:5–7

198 175 175 196 290 197 197 292 175 175 175 289 197

Psalms 1 1:1–3 2 2:1 3:4 5 5:1 5:7 5:11–12 5:11 6:8 6:9 Heb. 7 7:12–16 11 13 13:1–2 13:1

151 46 151 46 151 167 150 151 146 180 165 165 171 146 156, 161, 167 171–73, 184 172 172, 177

347 13:2–3 13:3 13:4 13:5 13:6 15 18 19 19:2 20 22

22:1–18 22:1 22:2 22:3–5 22:6 22:9–10 22:11 22:12–13 22:19–21 22:21 22:22–32 22:22–31 22:22 22:23–25 22:25–31 22:25 23 23:4 24 24:1–2 24:1 24:3–4 24:7–10 26:12 27:6 28:2 29 29:4 31:13 Eng. 31:14 34:11–22 35 35:17

172 172, 177 172 172, 175 172, 178 151 151 151 218 103 171, 173, 179, 181, 184 181 173 173 173 178 173 173 173 173 109 148 173 177 179 178, 181 151 161, 184 138 13 13, 14 14 13, 14 14 151 150 151 103, 151 24, 25 295 295 146 171 109

348 Psalms (Heb.) 35:18 37 38 40:3 40:7–9 43:3 43:4 44:6 45 48 49 49:14 50:14 50:23 51:17–19 52 52:11 54:6 55

55:13 55:14 Heb. 55:16–22 55:16–19 56:9–13 56:22–23 57:1 59:7 62 62:8–12 62:12 62:13 63 68:1–23 68:12 69 69:31–32 71:19 71:22–24 72 73 78:20 80

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation 88 151 151, 171 171 124 20 150, 151 151 180 147 151 151 138 150 150 20 161 161 150 158, 165, 166, 183, 184 165 165 166 148 148 148 174 295 161 146 24 161 161 151 25 171 20 231 148 113, 147 151 292 151

88:1–2 88:3–9 88:4 88:10–12 88:10 88:11 88:13–18 88:14 88:18 89 89:1–2 89:14 89:17–18 89:17 89:24 89:28 89:33 89:38–52 89:38–45 89:45 89:46 89:47 89:49–50 89:49 89:52 90:13 93–100 95 95:1–7 95:3–7 95:7–11 95:7–2 95:7 95:8–11 95:11 96:13 98:9 102 102:12–22 105:41 107:22 110 111:3

173, 175, 184 173 173 178 173 177 175 173 177 173, 179 173 175 175 179 231 175 175 175 173 173 178 173, 177 177 173 175 178 184 16 16, 17 16 17 16 16 15–18, 28 18 18 231 231 171 146 292 150, 151 151 231

112 119 125:3 132 137:9 138:2 139:14–16 139:16 144 147:18

151 151 219 151 180 151 310 310 151 292

Proverbs 1:4 1:5 1:6 3:18–20 8:22–31 10:15 10:16 10:18 11:4 11:24 11:28 14:31 18:11 19:4 22:17 23:31 23:33 25:1 25:10 26:4–5 26:4 26:5 28:15 30:5

196 196 209 196 196 194 195 295 195 290 195 174 194 195 209 290 296 100 295 194 194 194 291 174

Ecclesiastes 1:1–11 1:2 1:3 1:4–11 1:8 1:12 1:13 1:18

205 206 206 205 206 186 186 186

Index of References 2:10 2:13 2:24–26 2:26 3–12 3:1–8 3:9 3:14 3:16–20 3:17 3:19–20 3:22 4:13 4:17–5:6 4:17–5:1 5:1–7 Eng. 5:1–2 Eng 5:6 5:7 Eng 5:10 Eng. 5:11 5:15 6:8 6:11 7:3 7:7 7:12 7:16 7:20 8:15 9:1–2 9:17 10:19 11:35 12:3 12:7–9 12:8–14 12:8 12:9–14 12:9–11 12:9–10 12:9 12:10

186 186, 206 193, 206 193 207 194 193 193, 205 220 205 186 193 218 19, 20, 199 20 199 20 20 20 186 186 206 206 206 186 295 206 186 190 186 186 209 186 220 220 220 202, 204 206 187, 199 187, 205, 210 199, 207 206–209 209, 220

12:11 12:12–14 12:12 12:13–14 12:13 12:14 Song of Songs 1:2 1:4 1:13 1:14 1:16 2:3 2:8 2:9 2:10 2:16 2:17 3:5 3:6–11 4:3 4:6 4:10 4:16 5:2 5:4 5:5 5:6 5:8 5:10 5:16 6:2 6:3 6:13 Eng. 7:1–8 Eng. 7:1 7:2–9 7:8 Eng. 7:8–9 Eng. 7:9

199, 208, 209, 220 205, 210 199, 205, 209, 220 198, 199, 205 187, 199, 205 199

349 7:9 Eng.

7:9–10 7:10

7:10 Eng. 7:11

291 290, 291 286 286 286 286 286 286 286 286 286, 300 300 289 294, 295 300 291 286, 292 286, 300 286 286 286 286, 300 286 286 286 286 289 301 289 301 300 300 286, 289, 297, 300

7:11 Eng. 7:12 7:13 Eng. 7:14 8:5 8:14 Isaiah 1–39

1–35 1–12 1–4 1

1:1

1:2–3 1:2 1:4 1:5–9 1:9 1:10–20 1:10 1:11 1:12 1:13

285–88, 290–96, 298, 300, 301 300 285–88, 290–94, 296, 298, 300, 301 286, 287, 301 286, 287, 301 286 286 286 286 289 286

63, 64, 66, 67, 80–86, 88, 95, 274, 280 95 67, 95 67 65–67, 69–71, 92, 93 62, 64, 66, 69, 70, 93 92 65 65, 71, 92 92 65 92 47 20, 65 65 65

350 Isaiah (cont.) 1:17 1:21–26 1:21 1:23 1:24–25 1:25 1:26–31 1:26 1:27–31 1:27–28 1:27 1:28–31 1:28 1:29–31 1:29 1:31 2–12 2–10 2–5 2–4 2–3 2 2:1–12:6 2:1–4 2:1

2:2–4 2:2 2:3–4 2:5–4:1 2:5 2:6–21 2:6 2:12 3:1 3:8 3:10 3:11 3:13–15

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

65 92 65 65 65 65, 71 65 65 69, 72, 93 65 66, 67, 69, 92 69, 92 65, 67 65 65, 84 65, 67 69, 70, 74 70 70 70–73 70 70 73 71, 74 62, 64, 66, 69, 70, 72, 74, 93 70, 72, 75, 103 71, 292 71 74, 75 73 98 71, 73 73 73 73 72 72 73, 98

3:13 3:14 3:15 3:16–4:1 4 4:2–6 4:2–3 4:2 4:3–4 4:3 4:4 4:6 5–12 5:1–7 5:1 5:5 5:7 5:8–23 5:15–16 5:24–30 5:25–30 6 6:1–9:7 6:1–8:18 6:1–13 6:1 6:5 6:11–12 6:13 7–9 8:1 8:16–18 8:16–17 8:16 8:19–22 8:19–20 9–12

9:1–2 9:7–20

73 73, 74 73 73 72 70–75, 80, 93 72 72, 73 72 72, 73, 310 71, 72 174 71–73 71, 74, 98 287 73 98 71, 74 98 71, 74 98 79 71, 74 98 312 114 121 121 72 279 105 47 105 106 72 47 128, 129, 131, 132, 138, 141, 142 128, 129, 131 98

9:8–10:4 9:9 10:1–4 10:1 10:2 10:3–4 10:3 10:5–11:16 10:5 10:6 10:12 10:13 10:15 10:16–18 10:18 10:19 10:20–23 10:20–22 10:23 10:24–28 10:24 10:25 10:26 10:33–34 10:33 10:34 11 11:6–9 11:7 11:11–12 11:11 11:14–16 11:15 11:16 12 12:1–6 12:1 12:2 12:5

71, 74 128, 129, 131 98 129 129 72, 129 129 71, 74 128, 130, 138 128–31 130 129 128, 138 139 128, 130 130 72 130 72, 128, 130 78 128, 130, 138 78, 128, 129, 131 130, 131 72, 141 130, 131, 141 130 111, 113 79 291 72 72, 98 131 72, 98 72 72, 75 71, 74, 141 130, 131 129 75

Index of References 12:6 13–39 13–23 13 13:1–14:23 13:1

13:7 14:1–2 14:1 14:24–27 14:24 14:26 18:2 18:7 19:19–25 19:22–25 19:23–24 20:3–6 21:1–10 23:17–18 24–27 24 24:1–12 24:1 24:13–16 24:17–22 24:23 26:1–9 27 27:2–6 27:12–13 28–33 28:1–4 28:5–6 28:7–15 28:16–17 28:16 28:18–22 28:23–29

75 76, 77, 79, 80 72, 75– 78 79 82 62, 64, 70, 75, 77, 93 98 72 84 76, 78, 79, 98 78 78 84 78 78 84 78, 139 84 82 78, 84 75–79 79 79 79 79 79 79 79 79 79 79 75, 77, 79, 80 77, 80 77, 79, 80 77, 80 77, 80 79 77, 80 77, 80

29:1–16 29:1–6 29:11–12 29:17–24 29:17 30:1–17 30:1–7 30:8 30:18–33 31:1–4 31:1–3 31:5–32:9 32 32:9–14 32:15–20 32:15–16 33:1 33:2–24 33:9 33:15–16 33:17–24 33:24 34–35 34 35 35:9 35:10 36–39

36–36 36 36:6 36:7 36:9 36:16 36:18–20 36:30 37 37:24 37:31–32 38 39–40 39

77 80 105 77, 80 139 77, 80 84 105 77, 80 77, 80 84 77, 80 69 77, 80 77, 80 139 77, 80 77, 80 139 79 79 79 76, 77, 79, 80 79 76, 79 79 64, 79 77, 78, 80, 96, 280 76 77, 281 84 84 84 131 129, 131 131 77, 80 139 80 77, 80 64 63, 77, 82

351 39:1–8 39:8 40–66

40–55

40–48

40–41 40 40:1 40:8 40:12–26 40:18–20 40:21 40:27–31 41:2–4 41:4 41:5–7 41:8 41:21–24 41:25–26 41:27–28 41:28 41:29 42 42:1–13 42:1–9 42:1–7 42:1–4 42:1 42:4 42:5 42:6 42:9 42:10–25 42:14 42:17 42:21 42:24

93 80 63, 64, 80–83, 108, 112 63, 81, 83, 84, 95, 111 64, 83, 84, 86– 88 87 63, 79, 82 86, 88 47, 107 86, 87 86, 87 47 86, 87 86, 87 47 86, 87 47, 110 86, 87 86, 87 87 85 86, 87 111 85 84–87, 112 87 108 111 47, 111 112 110 83 87 114 86, 87 47 47

352

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

Isaiah (cont.) 43 47, 79, 87 43:10 47 43:12 47 43:14 84 43:16 84 44:1–45:7 86, 87 44:2 84 44:3–5 112 44:6 84 44:9–20 86, 87 44:24–25 47 44:24 84 44:28–45:7 87 45 104 45:1 82, 84 45:8–25 87 45:8 231 45:11 84 45:13 86, 87 45:16 86, 87 45:18 84 45:19 47 45:20–21 86, 87 45:23–24 231 46–47 87 46:1–7 86 46:1–2 82, 87 46:5–7 87 46:9 83 46:11 86, 87 47:1–15 82 47:12–15 86, 87 48 83, 84, 87 48:3 83 48:5 86, 87 48:14–15 86, 87 48:16 47, 108, 111 48:17–22 86, 87, 93 48:17 84 48:19 88 48:20–21 83

48:20 48:21 48:22

49–57 49–56 49–55 49–53 49 49:1–13 49:1–6 49:1 49:3 49:5–6 49:5 49:6 49:7 49:8 49:11–21 49:14–26 49:22–26 50 50:1 50:2 50:4–11 50:4–9 50:4 50:6–7 50:6 50:7–8 50:10–11 50:10 51 51:1–52:6 51:1–3 51:1–2 51:4–8 51:5–8 51:6–8 51:9–11 51:11 51:12–16

86 86, 292 63, 64, 81, 83, 86–88, 93 88–90 84 83 83 83, 84 84, 85, 89 108, 111 84, 88 112, 114 112 112 84, 110– 12 84 84 89 89 89 89 84, 112 85, 89 84, 85 108, 111 106 122 111, 114 114 112 114 79 89 89 47 89 84 84, 231 89 64 89

51:16 51:17–23 51:18 52:1–6 52:3 52:4 52:5 52:6 52:7 52:10 52:11–12 52:13–53:13 52:13–53:12

52:13 53

53:4 53:5–6 53:5 53:6 53:7–9 53:7 53:8 53:9–10 53:9 53:10–12 53:10

53:11 53:12 54 54:9 54:12 54:14 54:17

108 89 85, 89 89 115–17 116, 117 116 116, 117 84 84 89 215 84, 85, 89, 108, 109, 111, 114, 115, 215 114, 124 108, 113, 119, 121, 124 121 122 112, 121, 122 121, 122 119 111, 119, 120, 122 112, 122 111 112, 120, 123 119 110–12, 114, 119–23 119, 120, 124, 215 119, 120, 123 88, 89 47 210 84 112

Index of References 55–56 55 55:1–56:8 55:1 55:10–11 55:12–13 56–66

56 56:1 56:4–6 56:6 56:9–57:21 56:10–57:13 57:5 57:7 57:9 57:13 57:14–21 57:14 57:15 57:16–21 57:16 57:17–19 57:18–19 57:18 57:19 57:20–21 57:21

58–66 58–59 58 58:1–14 58:1 58:8–12 58:14 59 59:6 59:11 59:12 59:15–16

88 84, 85 89 84 107 84 63, 81, 84, 85, 95 84, 85 84 84 84 88–90 84 84 84 84 90 85, 90 90 90 93 85, 88 90 85 88 85 64, 85, 88, 90 63, 64, 81, 83, 85, 88– 90, 93 90, 91 90 91 90 90 91 90, 91 91 85 291 90 91

59:17–18 59:21 60–62 60:1–17 60:1–3 60:5 60:18 60:19–20 60:21–22 60:21 61:1–3 61:3 61:4 61:9 62 63 63:1–6 63:5–6 63:5 63:7–64:12 63:11–12 63:19 64:1 Eng. 64:2 64:3 Rng. 64:8–12 65–66 65 65:1–16 65:1–2 65:1 65:2 65:3–7 65:3 65:4 65:7 65:8–15 65:8–9 65:8 65:9–12 65:11–12 65:11 65:12 65:13–15

90 91, 108, 112 91, 133 91 85 292 91 91 91 114 91, 108 114 83 112 79 79 90, 91 91 91 91 47 292 292 292 292 91 65, 92, 93 79 91 92 65 65 92 65 65 65, 83 92 66 65, 90 65 90 65 91 90

353 65:13 65:16–17 65:16 65:17–66:24 65:17–25 65:17–19 65:17 65:20 65:21–25 65:23 65:25 66:1–14 66:1 66:3 66:4 66:5 66:7–13 66:15–24 66:15–17 66:15–16 66:16–17 66:17 66:18–24 66:18–23 66:18–21 66:19 66:22–23 66:22 66:24

Jeremiah 2 7 7:21–24 10:13 11:20 13:25 15:10–21 16:19 20:10 23:18–20 23:29 23:30 26:18

65 83 92 91 92 91 65 91 91 65, 112 79 92 65 65 65, 91 65 65 92 65 65, 91 65, 90 65 93 92 66 65, 90 64 65, 112 63–65, 83, 90, 91, 93

103 20, 21 21 290 180 219 175 174 295 312 25 103 134

354

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

Jeremiah (cont.) 27:1 312 28:14 312 31:12 292 36 102, 103 46–51 75 49:4 292 49:7–22 126 49:9 126 49:14–16 126 50:17–19 139 51:44 292 Lamentations 3:10 3:54 4:9 5:6 5:9 5:19–21 Ezekiel 1–3 2:9–3:4 2:9 3:3 3:17–18 3:19–21 8:2 16 20:41 23 25–32 33:3 33:4–6 33:7–9 34:13 35 36:3 36:23 36:26 39:25 40–48 Daniel 1–6

291 292 292, 299 136 136 181

312 312 319 290 218 218 218 133 230 133 75 218 218 218 138 126 295 230 231 230 42, 49

213

1 1:2 1:4 1:9 1:12 1:16–17 1:17 2:12 2:13 2:14 2:18 2:21 2:24 2:27 2:48 4:3 4:15 5:7 5:8 5:15 7–12 7:10 9 9:1–3 9:2 9:13 9:16–18 9:22 9:25 10:1 10:21 11 11:33–35 11:33 11:35 12:1–13 12:1–4 12:1 12:2–3 12:2

213 213 212–14 213 213 213 214 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 212 213 310 214 213, 214 311 214 231 214 214 217 216, 311, 312 215 123, 124, 213 124, 212, 215, 219 124, 212, 219 202, 212, 217 217, 218 310 123, 124, 219 124

12:3

12:11 12:13

124, 212, 213, 215, 218 203 217 219 203, 217, 219 212, 213, 219 219 219

Hosea 1–2 6:6 6:9 11:1–4 13:8

231 20 289 231 291

Joel 3:18 Eng. 4:18

292 292

Amos 1:1 1:3–2:16 3:7 4:4 5:19 5:21–24 5:24 9:1–4 9:11–12

67 75 312 290 291 19 230 126 139

Obadiah 1–5 19–21

126 139

Jonah 2:4

133

12:4 12:5–13 12:8 12:9 12:10

Micah 1:1 1:7

67, 132, 134, 142 135

Index of References 1:9 1:13 2:1–11 2:5 3:1–12 4:1–3 4:1 5:5 6:1–16 6:16 7:1–20 7:1 7:2 7:3 7:4 7:5–6 7:7 7:8–20

7:8–13 7:8–11 7:8–10

7:8 7:9–10 7:9

7:10 7:11–13 7:11–12 7:11

7:12–13 7:12

135 135 135 219 135 103 292 138 135 129 129 129 129 129 129 129 129 125, 126, 128, 131, 132, 136, 142 126, 132, 142 137 126–28, 133–35, 137, 138, 140, 142 126–29, 131, 138 131 127, 129, 133, 138, 141 126, 128, 129, 131 133–35 134, 142 128, 129, 131, 133–37, 139 137 130, 135–37, 141

7:13

7:20

128, 130, 134, 135, 137–40, 142 132, 137, 138, 140, 142 128, 130, 134, 137, 139, 140 130, 131, 137, 140, 142 132, 140–42 140, 142 130, 131, 140, 141 132, 140 140–42 127, 128, 130, 131, 139, 141 130–33, 140 140

Nahum 1:7 2–3

174 134

7:14–15

7:14

7:15

7:16–20 7:16–17 7:16 7:17 7:18–20 7:18

7:19

Habakkuk 1:1

67, 75

Zephaniah 2:4–15 3:11–20 3:12

75 133 174

Zechariah 1–8 1:1–6 1:1 1:7–6:15 1:7 3:7

66 66 66 66 66 312

355 7:1–8:23 7:1 11:4 12:10

66 66 138 327

Malachi 1:2–5 3:12 3:16 3:22 4:4 Eng

126 209 310 48 48

APOCRYPHA/DEUTEROCANONICAL BOOKS Wisdom of Solomon 9:17 318 10–19 189 Ecclesiasticus 24 189 44–50 189 NEW TESTAMENT Matthew 5:17–18 226, 230 5:21–48 309 10:10 316 27:46 173 Mark 8:35 10:45 14:24 15:34

114 124 124 173, 181

Luke 7:36–50 10:7 10:20 18:12–14 18:18–29

268 316 310 229 230

John 1–20 1:11 1:18

326, 328 325 335

356 John (cont.) 1:35–42 1:35–40 2:9 2:11 3:22–24 3:31–36 4 4:42 5:39 5:46 6:68–69 7:5 8:17–18 9:1 10:34–38 11:27 13 13:21–30 13:23–25 13:23 15:26–27 16:12–15 18:15–18 18:15 18:18 19 19:25–37 19:25–26 19:27 19:32–34 19:35–37 19:35

19:36 19:37 20:1–10 20:8–9 20:8 20:9 20:17–18 20:25 20:30–31 20:31

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation 21 329 332 330 334 333 334 330 334 44 44 334 325 327 197 327 334 323, 328 323 324 324, 335 336 319 329 328 330 324–26 325 327 325 327 327, 329 323, 325–27, 334 327 327 328, 335 335 335 327, 335 326 335 319 239, 334

21:1–14 21:2 21:7 21:20–25 21:22 21:23–24 21:23 21:24–25 21:24 30:31

38, 323, 328, 333 328 332 328 329 329 331 329 43 323, 325, 326, 329 334

6:15 6:16

228 306

Ephesians 2:11–22

228

Philippians 1:15 1:17 4:3 4:4–13

324 324 310 181

Colossians 1:12

219

Acts 2:16–21

309

1 Thessalonians 4:13 181

Romans 2:29 3:12 3:21–31 4:25 5:15 5:18 7:10 8:2 8:3 8:20 13:8–10

229 190 227 227, 229 124 228, 229 228 229 229 190 229

1 Timothy 1:10 1:15 3:1 3:14–15 4:6 4:9 4:13 5:18 6:3 6:20

315 316 316 316 316 316 316 316 315 306, 316

1 Corinthians 2 2:6–16 7:10 9:14

255 245 309 309

2 Timothy 1:12 1:13–14 1:13 1:14 2:2 2:11 2:15 3–4 3:8 3:10 3:14–15 3:16 4:3 4:7

306, 316 316 302, 315 306 316 316 316 316 316 316 316 305, 316 315 316

2 Corinthians 4:7 239 Galatians 1:18 3:2 3:10–14 3:19 3:21

229 228 227 229 228

Index of References Titus 1:9 1:13 1:16 2:1–2 3:8 1:1–3

315 315, 316 316 315 316 192

James 1:5–6 1:9–11 1:17–18 1:17 1:18 1:19–26 1:26 2 2:1–4 2:24 2:26 3:1–12 3:13 3:17 3:18 3:26 4:13–16 5:1–6

232, 233 233 233 232 232, 233 232 233 232 233 233 233 232 233 233 233 232 233 233

1 Peter 1:10–12 2:9–10

192 9

2 Peter 1:1 1:12–13 1:15 1:16–19 1:19–21 1:20–21 1:20 2:1–3 3:1–2 3:2 3:5–16 3:15–17 3:15

318 317 317 318 318 317 239, 317 317, 324 317 317 305 318 318

Jude 14–15

309

Revelation 1:1 3:5 3:20 5 5:1–9 5:1–5 6–22 7–22 10:2–10 13:8 17:8 20:12 20:15 21:27 22:6–7 22:18–20 22:18–19 22:19

318, 319 310, 319 268 319 319 311 319 319 319 310, 319 310, 319 310, 319 310, 319 310, 319 319 318 319 319

PSEUDEPIGRAPHA 1 Enoch 1:9 309 9–105 313 47:3 310 72–82 313 81:1–2 311 81:1 216, 314 81:4 310 83–90 313 89:62–65 310 89:70–71 310 89:76–77 310 90:17–20 310 91–105 315 93:1–3 311 93:1–2 312 97:6 310 98:7–8 310 103:2–3 311 104:1 310 104:10–12 314, 317 104:7 310

357 106:19 108:10 108:3 108:7

311 311 310 311

2 Baruch 24:1

310

2 Enoch 19:5 50:1 52:15 53:2–3

310 310 310 311

4 Ezra 6:20 14

310 311

Apoc. Zeph. 3:6 3:7 7:1–8 9:2

310 310 310 310

Jubilees 1:1–5 3:10 3:31 4:5 4:32 5:13–14 6:17 6:28–31 6:35 16:3 16:9 16:29–30 19:9 23:32 24:33 28:6 30:9 30:19–23 30:22 31:32 32:10

310 310 310 310 310 310 310 310 310 310, 311 310, 311 310 310 311 310, 311 310 310 310 310 311 310

358

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

Jubilees (cont.) 32:15 310 32:21–22 311 32:28 310 33:10 310 36:10 310 39:6–7 310 48:8 310 50:13 310

MISHNAH Abot 12

T. Levi 5:4

TALMUDS b. ¼abbat 88b

25

b. Sanhedrin 98a

16

311

QUMRAN 1QH 1:24

310

1QM 2:2 12:2–3

208 310

B. Batra 15a

39

Yebamot 97a

295

310 310 310

CD 4:2

208

286

Horace Epist. lib. i. Ep. v. 19 295 Tertullian Adversus Marcionem 5:17–21 316

y. Moed Qaman 3:7 295 Pirke Aboth 2:1

1QS 10:6 10:8 10:11

310

CLASSICAL Euripides Phoenissae 6:8

310

INDEX OF AUTHORS Ackroyd, P. R. 70, 80, 83, 96 Aejmelaeus, A. 155, 160–62 Aland, B. 191 Aland, K. 303 Allegro, J. M. 311 Allen, L. C. 127, 133 Allert, C. 302 Alonso-Schökel, L. 205 Archer, G. L., Jr. 33 Aune, D. 309 Auwers, J. M. 203, 204 Backhaus, F. J. 203 Bailey, A. A. 184 Bainton, R. H. 49 Balentine, S. E. 154 Baltzer, K. 63, 82–84 Barfoot, C. 238 Barr, J. 304, 306, 313, 320 Barrett, C. K. 324, 326 Bartelt, A. H. 70 Barth, H. 83, 98 Barth, K. 50, 224, 225, 237, 240, 241, 243–53, 256 Bartholomew, C. 303 Bataille, G. 117 Bauckham, R. 314, 317, 318, 322, 329, 333 Bauer, W. 304 Beasley-Murray, G. R. 319 Beck, D. R. 332 Becking, B. 61 Beckwith, R. 221 Beckwith, R. T. 309 Begg, C. T. 52, 53 Begrich, J. 157 Bell, E. M. 272 Besant, A. 264 Best, E. 320

Beuken, W. A. M. 76, 79, 80, 83, 85, 112 Biddle, M. E. 133 Biran, A. 277 Blenkinsopp, J. 63, 64, 66, 67, 70, 75, 78–82, 84–86, 88, 90, 92, 93, 111, 124, 221, 222 Blocher, H. 123, 124 Bonhoeffer, D. 249 Bonora, A. 207 Borràs, J. T. 209 Botterweck, G. J. 218 Bowlby, R. 330 Braulik, G. 26 Braun, R. 136 Brown, S. 331 Brueggemann, W. 10, 145, 154, 169, 172, 177, 180, 184, 231 Brunner, H. 30 Bultmann, R. 325 Burkitt, F. C. 139 Burnett, R. E. 236, 237, 245 Butler, J. 260–62, 265–72 Byrskog, S. 327 Calvin, J. 66 Campenhausen, H. von 304, 307, 308, 314, 318 Cannon, W. W. 85 Carney, S. 180–82 Carr, D. M. 64, 65, 101 Carter, J. 119 Cavallo, G. 216 Cazelles, H. 279 Charlesworth, J. H. 313, 322, 323, 329 Childs, B. S. 34, 41, 48, 63–65, 67, 69– 71, 75, 78–80, 82–85, 88, 92, 96, 98, 112, 230, 231, 304 Christianson, E. S. 207

360

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

Clements, R. E. 63, 66, 69–71, 75, 78– 80, 82, 83, 96 Clifford, R. J. 124 Clines, D. J. A. 113 Cole, R. 62 Coleman, R. 41 Collins, J. J. 124, 213 Collins, K. 233 Collins, R. 306 Conrad, E. W. 96 Cook, S. L. 108, 114 Cornwallis, M. 264, 269 Crenshaw, J. 99, 100, 205 Cross, F. M. 136 Culpepper, R. A. 322 Dahl, N. 314 Dahood, M. 310 Darnell, F. D. 41 Davies, P. R. 99, 215, 216 Delitzsch, F. 63, 85, 286, 295–97 Dempsey, M. T. 235 di Lella, A. 217 Dijkstra, M. 277 Doeker, A. 17 Dohmen, C. 21 Domeris, W. R. 150 Dorrien, G. 237 Doty, W. 315 Driver, S. R. 38 Duhm, B. 63, 81, 93, 125 Dunn, J. D. G. 303, 309 Dupont-Sommer, A. 311 Ebach, J. 26 Eissfeldt, O. 125, 139 Enns, P. 187 Evans, C. A. 303 Ewald, H. G. A. 298 Farkasfalvy, D. 308, 314 Finger, T. 228 Fishbane, M. 46, 208, 215 Fitzgerald, A. 133 Flamming, L. A. 260, 263 Florence, A. C. 271 Fohrer, G. 70

Fonsterbuch, K. 26 Fornberg, T. 318 Foss, P. W. 323, 324 Fox, M. V. 203, 204, 287, 294, 298 Frank, I. 303 Franz, M. 27 Freedman, D. N. 67 Frei, H. W. 39 Funk, R. W. 316, 317 Galling, K. 205 Gamble, H. 302, 315 Gemser, B. 67 Gennep, A. van 148 Georgi, D. 203, 216 Gerhards, M. 61 Gerstenberger, E. S. 144, 157, 159, 181 Gesenius, W. 292, 299 Ginsberg, H. L. 124, 215, 219 Ginsburg, C. D. 287, 295, 296 Girard, R. 121 Goldingay, J. 213, 214, 218, 219 Goppelt, L. 330 Gordis, R. 287, 296 Gottwald, N. K. 143, 152 Granowski, J. J. 55 Gray, G. B. 67 Grayson, A. K. 276, 278, 281, 282 Greenberg, M. 155 Gruber, M. I. 133 Gundry, R. 40 Gunkel, H. 125, 157 Guttmann, A. 211, 212 Hackett, J. 277 Haenchen, E. 315 Hahn, S. 303, 321 Hall, J. 259 Harnack, A. von 308 Harris, R. L. 309 Hartman, L. F. 217, 219 Harvey, J. E. 54, 55, 57, 58 Hawkins, J. D. 278 Helmer, C. 303 Hengel, M. 322, 329 Heskett, R. 63, 83, 85, 108, 109, 111– 13, 120

Index of Authors Hill, D. 309 Hillers, D. R. 125, 127 Hossfeld, F.-L. 20 Houston, W. J. 150 Howard, D. M., Jr. 62 James, T. G. H. 283 Janowski, B. 108 Japhet, S. 282 Jastrow, M. 208 Jobling, D. 147 Johnson, L. T. 253 Jones, D. 67, 69 Kalin, E. 320 Kärkkäinen, V.-M. 228 Käsemann, E. 228, 303 Kass, L. R. 5 Kelsey, D. H. 254 Kermode, F. 327, 328 Kim, H. C. P. 96 Kirkpatrick, F. G. 114 Knibb, M. A. 214, 215 Knoch, O. 315 Koep, L. 310–12 Konkel, M. 24 Kratz, R. G. 136 Kraus, H.-J. 156 Kuenen, A. 40 Lack, R. 65 Landmesser, C. 303 Lapsley, J. E. 259, 260, 265, 269 Lauha, A. 205 Lescow, T. 125, 126 Levan, C. 182 Levenson, J. D. 53 Liebreich, L. 65 Lohnk, N. 208, 209 Luckenbill, D. D. 276 Macchia, F. D. 228 Marti, K. 125 Mathers, H. 260, 263, 272 Mayes, A. D. H. 38 Mays, J. L. 125, 126 McCormack, B. L. 241

361

McDonald, L. M. 304, 305, 308, 318 McGinnis, C. M. 109 McHugh, P. 261 McKim, D. K. 259 McLellan, D. 11, 219 Meade, D. G. 46, 303, 310, 315 Melugin, R. F. 80, 82, 96 Mendenhall, G. E. 33, 36 Mettinger, T. N. D. 108, 111 Metzger, B. M. 302, 307, 308, 320 Meyers, C. L. 66 Meyers, E. M. 66 Miller, J. M. 276 Miller, P. D., Jr. 154 Minnear, P. S. 330, 332 Mitchell, D. C. 62 Moltmann, J. 229 Montgomery, J. A. 215 Motyer, A. J. 112 Motyer, J. 64, 70, 71, 85 Mowinkel, S. 70 Muilenburg, J. 7 Murphy, R. E. 289, 293, 296, 298 Murray, D. F. 51, 53, 54 Najman, H. 105, 106 Naveh, J. 277 Newman, J. H. 155, 156 Nickelsburg, G. W. E. 124 Niditch, S. 99 Nobile, M. 51 Nogalski, J. D. 125, 126, 133, 135, 139 Nordheim, E. von 312, 313 North, R. 67 Noth, M. 3, 5, 7, 33, 51 Nötscher, F. 311 Oates, J. 283 Olson, D. T. 38 Orelli, C. von 67 Orlinsky, H. M. 108, 111 Oswalt, J. N. 70, 71, 85, 88 Ottoson, M. 139 Page, S. 278 Pagels, E. 303 Painter, J. 326

362

Bible as Human Witness to Divine Revelation

Parry, R. 303 Patton-Williams, D. 83 Paul, S. M. 217, 310 Peckham, B. 35 Pegler, S. T. 41 Perlitt, L. 38 Petersen, D. L. 136 Petrie, G. 261 Pfeiffer, R. 305 Pfeiffer, R. H. 95 Pitard, W. 276, 277 Pleins, J. D. 146 Pope, M. 76, 293, 296 Pope, M. H. 287 Popkes, W. 232 Premnath, D. 146 Pritchard, J. A. 277 Quast, K. 331 Rad, G. von 3, 4, 7, 9, 10, 33, 38, 51 Ramsay, W. W. 323 Reicke, B. 125 Rendtorff, R. 82 Rensberger, D. K. 314 Reumann, J. 173 Rignell, L. G. 67 Ringgren, H. 218 Robert, A. 300 Ross, E. K. 177 Rudolph, W. 126, 127 Ruether, R. R. 254 Russell, D. S. 216 Saebø, M. 136 Sanders, J. 305, 306 Sanders, J. A. 45, 53, 308, 313 Schaper, J. 100 Schipper, J. 61 Schmid, H. H. 3 Schmitt, J. J. 133 Schniedewind, W. M. 101 Schoville, K. N. 293 Schwienhorst-Schönberger, L. 20 Scoralick, R. 27 Seeligman, I. L. 210 Seitz, C. 303

Seitz, C. R. 63, 67, 75, 80, 82, 83, 96, 97 Seow, C. L. 124, 203, 289 Shead, A. G. 203 Sheppard, G. 34, 41, 47, 63, 96, 97, 143, 163–66, 168, 179, 185, 188, 203, 210, 211, 223, 226, 236, 238, 274, 302, 304, 321 Shields, M. A. 204 Smith, G. V. 63–65, 67, 71, 75, 76, 78, 80 Smith, J. Z. 305 Smith, R. 127, 133 Snaith, J. G. 296 Snaith, N. H. 108 Sommer, B. D. 111, 112 Stade, B. 125 Stadelmann, L. 296, 298 Steck, O. H. 76, 80, 83, 133 Steins, G. 22 Stevens, L. R. 262 Stevenson, K. R. 14 Stowe, H. B. 259 Stuhlmacher, P. 108 Suderman, W. D. 158, 162, 169 Sundberg, A. 308, 320 Sweeney, M. A. 47, 63, 65–67, 69–71, 75, 76, 78–80, 83, 96, 97, 127, 274, 277–81, 283 Tanret, M. 105 Taylor, M. A. 263, 269 Thomas, R. L. 41 Tomasino, A. 65, 69 Toorn, K. van der 104 Torrey, C. C. 93 Tov, E. 208 Trible, P. 267, 268, 270 Trimmer, S. 264 Tsevat, M. 176 Tull, P. K. 109 Turner, V. 145–49 Vaughn, A. G. 282 Vermeylen, J. 95 Vílchez, J. 203, 207

Index of Authors Walkowitz, J. 261 Watts, J. D. W. 63, 67 Watty, W. W. 331, 332 Webster, J. 240, 245, 247, 248 Wegner, P. D. 71, 72 Weinfeld, M. 33 Weir, H. E. 263, 269 Werline, R. A. 155 Westermann, C. 66, 88, 92, 93, 167, 168, 171, 172 Wette, W. M. L. de 33 Whitehouse, O. C. 93 Whitley, C. F. 276 Whybray, R. N. 63, 66, 81, 82, 86, 88 Widengren, G. 310–12 Wiklander, B. 70 Wilcox, P. 83

363

Wildberger, H. 63, 64, 67, 69, 75, 78, 79 Williamson, H. G. M. 63, 64, 66, 67, 69, 70, 72, 75, 76, 82, 83, 96, 105, 282 Wilson, G. H. 62, 203, 209 Wilson, R. R. 114 Wolff, H. W. 51, 126, 127 Wolters, A. 303 Wright, N. T. 228 Young, E. J. 67, 85, 219 Zacharias, H. D. 303 Zamora, P. 202, 205, 206, 208, 220 Zenger, E. 16, 19–21, 23, 25 Zimmerli, W. 205 Zub, D. J. C. 171