Congress Volume Ljubljana 2007 (Supplements to Vetus Testamentum)

The President: Prof. Dr. Jože Krašovec Congress Volume Ljubljana 2007 Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Edited by t...

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The President: Prof. Dr. Jože Krašovec

Congress Volume Ljubljana 2007

Supplements to

Vetus Testamentum Edited by the Board of the Quarterly h.m. barstad – r.p. gordon – a. hurvitz – g.n. knoppers a. van der kooij – a. lemaire – c.a. newsom – h. spieckermann j. trebolle barrera – h.g.m. williamson

VOLUME 133

Congress Volume Ljubljana 2007 Edited by

André Lemaire

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

ISSN 0083-5889 ISBN 978 90 04 17977 6 Copyright 2010 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS Preface ................................................................................................. Abbreviations ..................................................................................... Transmission of Semitic Forms of Biblical Proper Names in Greek and Latin Linguistic Traditions ...................................... Jože Krašovec The Genesis of Genesis ..................................................................... David L. Petersen Das Rätsel von Psalm 49 .................................................................. Gianni Barbiero Masora’s Contribution to Biblical Studies – Revival of an Ancient Tool .................................................................................. Aron Dotan Retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique: l’apport des versions grecques de Daniel ................................. Olivier Munnich The Challenge of Hebrew Lexicography Today ........................... David J.A. Clines An Integrated Verb System for Biblical Hebrew Prose and Poetry .............................................................................................. Alviero Nicacci Zwischen Elephantine und Qumran: Das Alte Testament im Rahmen des antiken Judentums ................................................. Reinhard G. Kratz The Earliest Known Manuscripts of Samaritan Arabic Chronicles and Other Texts in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg .............................................................. Haroutyun S. Jamgotchian The Coincidental Textual Nature of the Collections of Ancient Scriptures ........................................................................................ Emanuel Tov The Significance of the Pre-Maccabean Literature from the Qumran Library for the Understanding of the Hebrew Bible ................................................................................................. Armin Lange

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1 27 41

57

71 87

99

129

147

153

171

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contents

Gebete als hermeneutischer Schlüssel zu biblischen Büchern – am Beispiel von Jeremia ............................................................... Georg Fischer Das judäische und das babylonische Jeremiabuch ...................... Hermann-Josef Stipp Konstantinos Oikonomos ex Oikonomon als SeptuagintaInterpret .......................................................................................... Evangelia G. Dafni Principles of Orthodox Hermeneutics .......................................... Vasile Mihoc The Forgotten Divinity of Creation: Suggestions for a Revision of Old Testament Creation Theology in the 21st Century .... Silvia Schroer Philosophical Interpretations of the Sacrifice of Isaac ................ Seizō Sekine Reading Texts Holistically: The Foundation of Biblical Criticism ......................................................................................... John Barton La persuasion coopérative dans le discours sur la loi: pour une analyse de la rhétorique du Code de Sainteté .......................... Jan Joosten The Creation of Man in 2 (Slavonic) Enoch and in Christian Tradition ......................................................................................... Grant Macaskill The Impact of Interpretation on the Evolution of the Church Slavonic Psalter Text up to the Fifteenth Century .................. Catherine Mary MacRobert Biblical Prophecy from a Near Eastern Perspective: The Cases of Kingship and Divine Possession ............................................ Martti Nissinen God’s Repentance and “False Starts” in Biblical History (Genesis 6–9; Exodus 32–34; 1 Samuel 15 and 2 Samuel 7) ..................................................................................... Jean-Pierre Sonnet Hope in Two Keys: Musical Impact and the Poetics of Job 14 ............................................................................................... C.-L. Seow Messianic Passages of the Book of Sirach in the Translation of St. Methodius ................................................................................. Svetlina Nikolova

219 239

265 293

321 339

367

381

399

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441

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contents The Perception of God’s House in the Psalter – A Study of How the Psalmists Understand the Temple ............................. Mary Jerome Obiorah The Second Commandment and “True Worship” in the Iconoclastic Controversy .............................................................. Vladimir Baranov Ezekiel’s Debate with Isaiah ............................................................. Marvin A. Sweeney Farewell to Deutero-Isaiah or Prophecy without a Prophet ...... Ulrich Berges Fondements du message social des prophètes .............................. Francolino J. Gonçalves Towards the Formulation of a Theology of the Septuagint ....... Johann Cook

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541 555 575 597 621

PREFACE The XIXth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament (IOSOT) was held in Ljubljana from 15 to 20 July 2007 under the presidency of Professor Jože Krašovec. Professor Joseph Plevnik was Congress Secretary and Drs. Maksimilijan Matjaž, Maria Carmela Palmisano and Terezija Snežna Večko Associated Secretaries. It was preceded or accompanied by the Vth Congress of the International Organization for Targumic Studies (held 12–13 July), the XIIIth Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies (held 13–14 July), the VIth Congress of the International Organization for Qumran Studies (held 16–18 July) and the XXth Congress of the International Organization for Masoretic Studies (held 16 July). The editor of this volume is grateful to the Organizing Committee, all of the invited lecturers, and Brill for their collaboration in readying this Congress Volume for publication as quickly as possible. It will help all the participants to remember the Ljubljana Congress not only as a scientific but also as a very pleasant and memorable event. A. Lemaire

ABBREVIATIONS AB ABD ABRL AbrN AbrNSup ACEBTS AJSLL ANET AOAT AOF ARM ATANT ATD ATSAT Aug AUSS BBB BDB BEThL BEvT BI Bib BibOr BIOSCS BKAT BN BSac BSOAS BThS

The Anchor Bible The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D.N. Freedman (New York, 1992), 6 vols. Anchor Bible Reference Library Abr-Naharain Abr-Naharain Supplement Amsterdamse Cahiers voor Exegese en Bijbelse Theologie Supplement The American Journal of Semitic Languages and Literature Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, ed. J.B. Pritchard (Princeton, 31969) Alter Orient und Altes Testament Altorientalische Forschungen Archives Royales de Mari Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments Das Alte Testament Deutsch Arbeiten zu Text und Sprache im Alten Testament Augustinianum Andrews University Seminary Studies Bonner Biblische Beiträge F. Brown, S.R. Driver, C.A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford, 1907–) Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie Biblical Interpretation Biblica Biblica et Orientalia Bulletin of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Biblische Kommentar: Altes Testament Biblische Notizen Bibliotheca Sacra Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies Biblisch-Theologische Studien

xii BThZ BWANT BZ BZAW CAD CBC CB OT CBQ CBQMS CBR CCSL CPJ CRINT CSCO DBSup DCH DJD DMOA DSD EB ECC EI EJ EstBib ET ET ETR FAT FOTL FRLANT FzB GKC GCS GRBS

abbreviations Berliner Theologische Zeitschrift Beiträge zur Wissenschaft vom Alten und Neuen Testament Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur ZAW The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago Cambridge Bible Commentary on the New English Bible Coniectanea Biblica. Old Testament Catholic Biblical Quarterly CBQ Monograph Series Currents in Biblical Research Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Corpus Papyrorum Judaicorum, ed. A. Tcherikover (Cambridge MA, 1957–64), 3 vols. Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Dictionnaire de la Bible, Supplément, ed. L. Pirot et alii (Paris, 1928–) The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, ed. D.J.A. Clines (Sheffield, 1991–), vols. 1–5 Discoveries in the Judaean Desert Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui Dead Sea Discoveries Études Bibliques Eerdmans Critical Commentary Eretz-Israel Encylopaedia Judaica Estudios Biblicos English Translation The Expository Times Études Théologiques et Religieuses Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forms of Old Testament Literature Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testament Forschung zur Bibel Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, ed. E. Kautzsch. Trans. A.E. Cowley (Oxford, 1910–) Griechichen Christlichen Schriftsteller Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies

abbreviations HALAT

HALOT

HAT HBS HBTh HCOT HS HSM HSS HThKAT HTR HUCA IBT ICC IDB IDB[S] IEJ Int IOS JANES JAOS JBL JBLMS JBQ JCS JNES JNWSL JQR JSem JSHRZ JSJ JSJSup JSOT JSOTS

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Hebräisches und aramäisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament, ed. L. Koehler – W. Baumgartner et alii (Leiden, 1967–1994), 5 vols. The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, ed. L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner (trans. M.E.J. Richardson; Leiden, 1994–2000), 5 vols Handbuch zum Alten Testament Herders Biblische Studien Horizons in Biblical Theology Historical Commentary on the Old Testament Hebrew Studies Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Semitic Studies Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew University College Annual Interpreting Biblical Texts International Critical Commentary Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, ed. G.A. Buttrick (Nashville, 1962), 4 vols. IDB Supplementary Volume, ed. K. Crim (Nashville, 1976) Israel Exploration Journal Interpretation Israel Oriental Studies Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature JBL Monograph Series Jewish Bible Quarterly Journal of Cuneiform Studies Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Jewish Quarterly Review Journal for Semitics Jüdische Schriften aus hellenistisch-römischer Welt Journal for the Study of Judaism Supplements to JSJ Journal for the Study of the Old Testament JSOT Supplement Series

xiv JSPSup JSQ JSS JTS KAI KAT KEH KHAT KJV LASBF LCL LD LHBOTS LingAeg LThK MARI MDOG NAB NABU NCBC NEchtB NET NICOT NIV NJB NPNF NRSV NTOA NTT OBO OBT OLA OTL OTP OTS PG

abbreviations Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series Jewish Studies Quarterly Journal of Semitic Studies Journal of Theological Studies H. Donner – W. Röllig, Kanaanäische und aramäische Inschriften, 3 vols. (Wiesbaden, 1962–) Kommentar zum Alten Testament Kurtzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament Kurzer Handcommentar zum Alten Testament King James Version Liber Annuus. Studium Biblicum Franciscanum Loeb Classical Library Lectio Divina Library of Hebrew Bible. Old Testament Studies Lingua Aegyptica Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche Mari. Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires Mitteilungen der deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft New American Bible Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires New Century Bible Commentary Neue Echter Bibel New English Translation New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Version New Jerusalem Bible Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers New Revised Standard Version Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus Nieuw Theologisch Tijdschrift Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis Overtures to Biblical Theology Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Old Testament Library Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, ed. J. Charlesworth (Garden City, NY, 1983–1987), 2 vols. Oudtestamentische Studiën Patrolia Graeca ( J. Migne)

abbreviations PL PO POT PRIA QD RB REJ RevQ RGG RivBib RSR RSV RTP SAA SAAB SAAS SBB SBL SBLDS SBLEJL SBLMS SBLSCS SBLSymS SBLWAW SB[PC] SBS ScEs SCS SJOT SSLL STDJ SubBi SVTP SWBAS TADAE TCS

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Patrologia Latina ( J. Migne) Patrologia Orientalis De Prediking van het Oude Testament Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy Quaestiones Disputatae Revue Biblique Revue des Études Juives Revue de Qumrân Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart Rivista Biblica Recherches de Science Religieuse Revised Standard Version Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie State Archives of Assyria State Archives of Assyria Bulletin State Archives of Assyria Studies Stuttgarter biblische Beiträge Society of Biblical Literature Society of Biblical Literature. Dissertation Series Society of Biblical Literature. Early Judaism and its Literature Society of Biblical Literature. Monograph Series Society of Biblical Literature. Septuagint and Cognate Studies Society of Biblical Literature. Symposium Series Society of Biblical Literature. Writings of the Ancient World Sainte Bible (dir. Pirot and Clamer) Stuttgarter Bibelstudien Science et Esprit Septuagint and Cognate Studies Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament Studies in Semitic Languages and Linguistics Studies on the Texts of the Desert of Judah Subsidia Biblica Studia in Veteris Testamenti Pseudepigrapha The Social World of Biblical Antiquity Series B. Porten – A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, A–D (Winona Lake, In, 1988–99) Texts from Cuneiform Sources

xvi TDOT

THAT ThBü ThLZ ThR ThST ThViat ThWAT TOB TOTC Trans TRE TSAJ TWNT TZ UF UTB VF VT VTS WBC WMANT WUNT ZAH ZABR ZAW ZDPV ZThK

abbreviations Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, ed. G.J. Botterweck – H. Ringgren (Transl. J.T. Willis et alii, Grand Rapids, 1974–) Theologische Handwöterbuch zum Alten Testament, ed. E. Jenni – C. Westermann (Munich, 1971–1978) Theologische Bücherei Theologische Literaturzeitung Theologische Rundschau Theologische Studien Theologia Viatorum Theologische Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament Traduction Œcuménique de la Bible Tyndale Old Testament Commentary Transeuphratène Theologische Realenzylopädie Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum / Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism Theologische Wörterbuch zum Neuen Testament, ed. G. Kittel – G. Friedrich (Stuttgart, 1933–69) Theologische Zeitschrift Ugarit-Forschungen Uni-Taschenbücher Verkündigung und Forschung Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary Wissenschaftliche Monographien zum Alten und Neuen Testament Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament Zeitschrift für Althebraistik Zeitschrift für Altorientalische und Biblische Rechtsgeschichte Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift der Deutschen Palästina-Vereins Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche

TRANSMISSION OF SEMITIC FORMS OF BIBLICAL PROPER NAMES IN GREEK AND LATIN LINGUISTIC TRADITIONS Jože Krašovec The transmission of forms of biblical proper names in their origin and early development concerns the manner in which the pre-Masoretic text of the Hebrew Bible and ancient translations in the crucial period for the history of the biblical canon were handed down. The presence of variants in the Dead Sea biblical scrolls, which presumably originated before the Qumran period, confirms the view that in pre-Masoretic times the Hebrew and Aramaic texts were transmitted only in popular, unauthorized forms. This view is supported by the substantial divergences in some cases of the LXX text-forms, such as Samuel, Jeremiah, and Job, which invites the conclusion that the LXX followed a different, pre-Masoretic Hebrew text. It is all the more striking that at least the Torah was sacrosanct and inviolable in text-form even before the close of the Old Testament. This fact helps us to understand why differences between the Dead Sea biblical scrolls, the multiplicity of text-forms of unauthorized pre-Masoretic texts, and the standardized Masoretic text hardly pertain to the forms of biblical proper names.1 In the Textus Receptus of the Hebrew Bible, variant readings of the forms of biblical proper names are so few that the Hebrew and Aramaic forms of these names must have been basically standardized already in the early Hellenistic period. From a methodological point of view it is therefore of utmost importance to consider with equal care all the material available, both the Masoretic and the non-Masoretic forms of pronunciation. It is possible that there are phonetic connections and interdependences of the variously pronounced grammatical

1 Unfortunately, the first English translation of the biblical Dead Sea Scrolls does not bring to light evidence concerning the forms of Hebrew names in the notes. See Martin Abegg Jr., Peter Flint, and Eugene Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls Bible: The Oldest Known Bible: Translated for the First Time into English (New York, N.Y.: HarperCollins Publishers, 1999). The text critical editions of the Hebrew Bible also do not provide a complete state of forms of biblical proper names from the biblical texts in Hebrew/Aramaic and ancient versions.

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forms. There are compelling reasons for assuming the existence of two or more independent ways of pronunciation or dialects. The relative uniformity of biblical proper names in the Hebrew Bible is remarkable in view of the excessive variety of their forms in various ancient versions. Where does this variety come from? This question is particularly urgent for the whole history of the transmission of Greek and Latin forms of biblical proper names, as Greek and Latin much more strongly shaped European cultural and linguistic traditions than did Hebrew and Aramaic. Any evaluation of the forms of biblical proper names in ancient translation languages raises the question of the relationship between the respective original forms and the way they were transcribed or translated into other languages. The uniformity or the variety of the forms of biblical proper names are both attributable to several factors in the original and in translations: uniform prototypes, different linguistic backgrounds, the existence of different dialects, phonetic variation in the course of transmission, multiple textual traditions, the more or less extensive use of the names in communities constituting living traditions, active and intentional alterations, different Bible translators, and different approaches among the original translators. We may rightly speak of the relative individuality of history and tradition of each version, although the individual forms of biblical proper names are only to a certain extent a result of historical circumstances and extant traditions. More important seems to be the individuality of phonetic systems of the most influential ancient languages in the transmission of the biblical texts, i.e., of Hebrew/Aramaic, Greek, and Latin. On the one hand, the Greco-Latin alphabets are inadequate for rendering some Semitic sounds, insofar as these alphabets do not have exact equivalents for Semitic gutturals or sibilants. On the other hand, the pre-Masoretic text of the Hebrew Bible caused translators many phonological problems, because originally it did not contain vowel sounds. I. Historical and Linguistic Factors of Forms of Biblical Proper Names Ancient translators sometimes render differently the same Hebrew name forms in the various biblical books or even within the same book. There are indications that even the most famous translators and

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interpreters, such as Flavius Josephus and Jerome, did not always transcribe the same name the same way. From this fact we may deduce that the Hebrew parent text of the LXX could not have been part of a uniform tradition.2 Codex Alexandrinus (A) and Codex Vaticanus (B) of the LXX, for instance, are composed of different portions, which each belong to different periods, even though these versions are genetically linked. One of the most significant criteria of the works of ancient times is their mixed type. Compilers, revisers or copyists of ancient translators had little reason to alter the form of proper names or to remove apparent discrepancies and inner contradictions of forms. Nevertheless, well-known biblical names manifest an astounding transcription uniformity. This means that the uniformity in writing popular names may be attributable to the uniformity of the oral tradition in a small community, or even in the entire Jewish or Christian community, rather than to the uniformity of the original or to active attempts at harmonization. This fact can best be illustrated by the forms of the names of most general use among the Jewish and Christian population. It is striking that they usually retain the same form throughout the Bible, not just within one or the other section.3 Consideration

2 See especially the recent publications: Folker Siegert, Zwischen Hebräischer Bibel und Altem Testament: Eine Einführung in die Septuaginta (MJSt 9; Münster / Hamburg / Berlin / London: LIT, 2001); Heinz-Josef Fabry and Ulrich Offerhaus (eds.), Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta: Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel (BWANT 153; Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 2001); Adrian Schenker (ed.), The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible: The Relationship between the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuagint Reconsidered (SCSt 52; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003); Siegfried Kreuzer and Jürgen Peter Lesch (eds.), Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta: Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel, Band 2 (BWANT 161; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2004); Isac Leo Seeligmann, The Septuagint Version of Isaiah and Cognate Studies (ed. by Robert Hanhart and Hermann Spieckermann; FAT 40; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004); Ivan Z. Dimitrov, James D.G. Dunn, Ulrich Luz, and Karl-Wilhelm Niebuhr (eds.), Das Alte Testament als christliche Bibel in orthodoxer und westlicher Sicht (WUNT 174; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004); Alfred Rahlfs, revised by Detlef Fraenkel, Verzeichnis der griechischen Handschriften des Alten Testaments, Bd. I, 1: Die Überlieferung bis zum VIII. Jahrhundert (Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum: Auctoritate Academiae Scientiarum Gottingensis editum; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004); Stuart Weeks, Simon Gathercole, and Loren Stuckenbruck (eds.), The Book of Tobit: Texts from the Principal Ancient and Medieval Traditions: With Synopsis, Concordances, and Annotated Texts in Aramaic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and Syriac (PoSub 3; Berlin / New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2004). 3 Since the goal of this study of phonetic systems is to provide a historical record of the forms of biblical proper names in the original and in translations, information on the people of places who bore the names is only rarely relevant. It is important to

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of variants is important in any critical study of the forms of biblical proper names in the original and in ancient translations. The Hebrew Bible contains significant variant forms for the same name or even for the same person. In contrast, in the New Testament most names do not show significant variants. Important to note is also that wellknown proper names are in general practically unvaried. Current forms of biblical proper names have been influenced by the phonetic changes necessitated by their transfer and transliteration from Hebrew and Aramaic into Greek and Latin, and from the latter into other languages. Through Bible translation into Greek, Latin, and other ancient languages many biblical proper names have passed into general usage. On the whole, the frequency of references shows that the pool of names in use in the Bible period was as limited as in all later periods until today. Within Greek and Latin it is evident that popular names were much less exposed to phonetic changes than those that were used more rarely. This means that the uniform proper names reflect a uniform common pronunciation and an orthographic tradition in a living tradition which maintained phonetic stability in spite of the difficulty of phonetically reading the Hebrew consonantal text when Hebrew was no longer a spoken language. The Source Text (Vorlage) of Ancient Translations The practice of Bible translation in the ancient Jewish and Christian communities had arisen from a real need, since Hebrew was no longer understood by the listeners. In Palestinian Synagogues it was customary to read the Bible text first in Hebrew, then by an Aramaic translation. A parallel practice was introduced among the Jews in the Greek-speaking Hellenistic world and in the early Christian Church, except that there the reading of the Hebrew text was followed by a Greek translation. At the earliest stage Bible translations were oral and of an individual nature. The earliest portions are therefore compilations of such earlier fragments as were accessible to compilers. The process of compilation of the earliest translations in various places would account for the emergence of text-types with clear-cut differences between them. Though early translators only occasionally had the previous material

note that family names are basically very rare as they were usually not in use in the Hebrew Bible period. The names of months, musical terms and similar items are not considered in this study.

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available, later compilations reflect the attempt at harmonization of various text-types. Gradually, continuous translations began to be made and came into common use. The state of Aramaic and Greek Bible translations testifies to the fact that no uniform original Aramaic (Targums), Greek (LXX, Aquila, Symmachus, Theodotion) and Latin translations (Vetus Latina, Latin Vulgata) reflecting a uniform Hebrew tradition can be posited. Differences between the branches of the Aramaic, Greek, and Latin traditions are not so much chronological, due to linguistic change in time, as dialectal (reflecting a different linguistic background), or methodological (reflecting different translation and transcription practice). Transcription or translation of proper names into Indo-European languages could be carried out only within the phonetic system of the respective language. A comparative study of the forms of biblical names in transliteration or translation shows that the principles that guided Jews in interpreting the names were changed after the Hebrew Bible period. Relevant are such questions as: How important were the sounds and the meaning of the name to translators? To what extent did scribal and orthographic phenomena internal to Aramaic (Greek, and Latin) influence the way names have been preserved in translations? Which are the typical indicators and specific forms of Aramization of Hebrew name forms? How can one explain the fact that only a few specific names are used in the Bible very frequently? Why were such names much more stable in form than those which were used less frequently? To what degree did tradition determine the change in transmitting biblical names in ancient versions? To what extent and for which purposes were Semitic and non-Semitic foreign names adopted under Persian rule, after the arrival of Hellenism in the East and during the Roman occupation of Palestine with its Latin culture? The sources of transliterations in Greek and Latin translations of the Bible date from the third century bce to the beginning of the fifth century ce. Most forms of proper names in Greek and Latin translations reproduce accurately the Hebrew consonants, while some others indicate increasing corruption in the Greek and Latin spelling in the various mss. The systems of vocalization used by the translators of the LXX, Aquila, Symmachus, Theodotion, Origen, translators of the Vetus Latina and Vetus Vulgata, and Jerome give evidence of a pronunciation of the undoubtedly unvocalized Hebrew text, different from what the Tiberian Masoretes offer us. They used the Hebrew source text (Vorlage) which antedates by centuries the Masoretic Textus Receptus

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with its Tiberian vocalization. The pronunciation of Hebrew had changed substantially between the time of the writing of the Greek originals and the period of later redactions and the work done by the Tiberian Masoretes. This fact is only one of the explanations why the forms of proper names are often rendered in forms that differ from those of the Masora. The Latin Fathers offered ad-hoc renderings from the Greek Bible. Works of the Latin Fathers contain ample extracts from Latin Bible versions. This multiple material of fragmentary versions is subsumed under the name Old Latin or Vetus Latina as a reference term for any Latin text-form independent of the Vulgate. Jerome’s transliterations must be based upon originals (Vorlagen) belonging to different periods. This conclusion is based on philological evidence and is enhanced by Jerome’s occasional clear statements regarding the divergences between his transliteration and the contemporary pronunciation of corresponding Hebrew characters of the same word. Jerome himself definitely indicates various possibilities of pronunciation of the same Hebrew name. In what follows, the basic principles that govern the transliteration of biblical names in the major literary works of the time will be provided according to their main phonological, grammatical, and scribal determinants. General Observations on Transliteration Issues Many phonological and grammatical rules dictate transliteration of biblical proper names. The absence of some letters and sounds in Greek and Latin was the main reason for many phonetic changes in the transfer of names from Hebrew and Aramaic into Greek and Latin. The most important sources for the transliteration of biblical names into Greek are the LXX, the translations by Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion, and the New Testament. Other sources are the various inscriptions, Judean desert documents, the works by Flavius Josephus,4 rabbinic literature, Origen’s Hexapla,5 Vetus Latina, Eusebius’ book

4 For the use of forms of biblical proper names in the writings by Flavius Josephus see Abraham Schalit, Namenwörterbuch zu Flavius Josephus, A Complete Concordance to Flavius Josephus: Supplement I (Leiden: Brill, 1968). 5 See especially the edition by Fridericus Field, Origenis Hexaplorum quae supersunt sive veterum interpretum Graecorum in totum Vetus Testamentum fragmenta I–II (Oxford 1875; reprint in Hildesheim: Olms, 1964).

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on the sites and names of Hebrew places,6 the Vulgate, and Jerome’s works on place names in the Holy Land.7 In contrast to the LXX, Josephus tends to follow official spelling in his orthography. There are some specific phenomena pertinent to the transliteration from Hebrew into Greek: consonant interchange, vowel interchange, confusion in the use of a double or single consonant in Greek, misunderstanding of the declension system, transformation of Semitic suffixes, the declining of gutturals, the declining of the prefix, and scribal errors. Spelling differences between the Hebrew and Greek forms of proper names are not the result of different phonetic laws pertinent to these languages but also of the pronunciation in the time of the LXX, which was different in many respects from that of the Tiberian Grammarians. Transliteration forms of proper names in Greek and Latin indicate how any given name was pronounced in that particu6 See the edition by Paul de Lagarde, Onomastica sacra (Göttingen 1870; 2. ed. 1887; reprint in Hildesheim: Olms, 1966). In this edition the Greek and Latin texts do not appear parallel but in succession: first Latin, then Greek. The editor provides the material with references to biblical and other sources, without introductory notes and commentary. All the more precious is the first scientific edition of the Onomasticon, published by Erich Klostermann, Das Onomastikon der biblischen Ortsnamen (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1904; reprint in Hildesheim: Olms, 1996). More recently several translations of the Onomasticon have been published. There is a Hebrew translation published by Ezra Zion Melamed, The Onomastikon of Eusebius (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1966). An English translation of the Greek text by Eusebius and its Latin translation by Jerome was prepared by G.S.P. Freeman-Grenville, Rupert L. Chapmann III, and Joan E. Taylor, Palestine in the Fourth Century a.d: The Onomasticon by Eusebius of Caesarea (Jerusalem: Carta, 2003). A triglott edition (Greek, Latin, and English) with notes and commentary was published by R. Steven Notley and Ze’ev Safrai, Eusebius, Onomastikon: The Place Names of Divine Scripture (Boston / Leiden: Brill, 2005). Most studies of the book have not focused upon its literary aspect, but upon the identification of sites. See also P. Thomsen, Palästina nach dem Onomasticon des Eusebius, Ph.D. diss. (Tübingen, 1903); idem, ZDPV 26 (1903), pp. 145–188; Ezra Zion Melamed, “The Onomastikon of Eusebius,” Tarbiz 3 (1932), pp. 314–327, 393–409. 7 Of special interest is Jerome’s Latin translation of Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places, which has various designations according to the different manuscripts and printings: Liber de situ et nominibus locorum hebraicorum, Liber de distantiis locorum, Liber locorum et nominum. This Latin version of Eusebius’ Onomasticon became the main source for the research of Palestine in the west. The edition by Paul de Lagarde includes this work under the title Hieronymi de situ et nominibus locorum hebraicorum liber. In addition to translating Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places (Bethlehem 388), Jerome himself composed (Bethlehem 388) a book of Hebrew names, or Glossary of Proper Names in the Old Testament. This book has been edited by Paul de Lagarde, Onomastica sacra, under the title: Hieronymi liber interpretationis hebraicorum nominum (pp. 26–116). A comprehensive study of this work was made by Franz Wutz, Onomastica sacra: Untersuchungen zum Liber interpretationis nominum hebraicorum des Hl. Hieronymus (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1914).

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lar period. Very often proper names are rendered in forms that differ from those of the Masora. Greek codices are not uniform text and must therefore be assigned to different textual types. For a comparative study of the forms of biblical proper names we must consider the complete LXX tradition in comparison with the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, and such sources as Flavius Josephus and Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places. The New Testament material is simple, since most names do not show significant variants. Flavius Josephus is of particular importance because his transcriptions, such as the overall use of vowels as well as the quality of certain vowels, differ from all the recognized branches of the LXX tradition so often and consistently that it is highly unlikely that the underlying forms came from any LXX ms. Josephian transcriptions are comparable to the New Testament ones insofar as they also must have had uniform prototypes. Eusebius’ book is the most important book for the study of the forms of many biblical names in the Roman period. Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places is based on the Bible. Right at the beginning Eusebius mentions the sources and the methods of his work: First, I shall render into the Greek language the names of the nations throughout the world that appear in the divine Scripture with Hebrew names. Then I shall prepare a list (from the place names) of ancient Judaea included in the entire Bible, according to the division of the allotments of the twelve tribes within it. In addition to these things, I shall etch the image of their renowned ancient metropolis – namely Jerusalem – and the temple within it, according to the description of Scripture with the citation of traditions for the places. Following in sequential order I shall attach to these prior preparations from your proposal as a useful (framework) for the entire project, setting out (the ethnic) natures and regions of the cities and villages presented in divine Scripture in the ancestral language, and how they are named by us – whether in like fashion of the ancients or rendered differently. From all of the divinely inspired Scripture I will present the names that are sought, setting out each (entry) in alphabetical order for easy access to the events that have occurred scattered in the readings (of Scripture).8

8 The translation is taken from R. Steven Notley and Ze’ev Safrai, Eusebius, Onomasticon, 3–4.

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In addition to various Greek translations of the Bible, the work of Eusebius is based on the works of Flavius Josephus, Origen (Hexapla), his own knowledge and on written sources long since lost. The arrangement of names is, unfortunately, very inconvenient, as the names under each letter are placed in separate groups in the order of the books of Scripture in which they occur. For instance, under the letter A we have first the names in Genesis, then those in Exodus, and so on. The question is, to which extent and in which aspects the lost written sources supplied Eusebius with material that is not available in extant documents?9 The question of transliteration gains in importance because Jerome’s translation of Eusebius’ book had even greater influence in the Western world’s relation to the Holy Land and in Latin Bible translations. This translation shows very clearly that Greek and Latin alphabets are not completely compatible, for Semitic gutturals, sibilants, and some vowels are not rendered by the same sounds in Greek and Latin. In translating Eusebius’ book Jerome faced basically the same transliteration problems as Eusebius himself. It is a widely accepted view that Jerome’s transliterations must be based upon originals belonging to different periods. Another view is that his contributions are not direct transliterations of Hebrew name forms into Latin characters, but of originals in Greek characters – they are merely a Latin transliteration of Greek texts. At times Jerome explains his own pronunciation of Hebrew, or rather that of his Jewish teachers. His inconsistency in transliterating Hebrew proper names and in using examples for his explanations reflects the state of sources available in his time. Concerning the incredible number of variant forms of biblical proper names, the situation is similar in the LXX. Orthography and phonetics in Hellenistic Greek and in late classical Latin are beset with the difficulty that consonants and especially 9 Erich Klostermann assumes that the data from lost written sources attest to the real value of Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places. In his edition Eusebius: Das Onomastikon der biblischen Ortsnamen, XVI, he describes the relationship between the preserved and lost sources as follows: “Die genannten Quellen, abgesehen etwa von der Hexapla, können wir heute noch direkt benutzen. Aber der Wert des Buches liegt für uns eben nicht in diesen Angaben, sondern in denen, die auf uns jetzt verlorene Quellen, daneben auch auf die eigenen Kenntnisse des Eusebius zurückgehen. Schon für die zahlreichen Bemerkungen über den gegenwärtigen Namen und Zustand mancher biblischen Ortlichkeit wird Eusebius verlorene schriftliche Quellen benutzt haben, wenn er auch diese nach seiner eigenen Ortsanschauung unter Umständen kritisiert hat.”

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vowels were subject to widespread changes. Between 330 bce–200 ce there was no fixed orthography. This situation might be a much more important reason for the striking inconsistency in rendering the transliteration of biblical names. Jerome himself explains his general attitude toward the issue of proper names in the Preface to his book on Hebrew names: Philo, the most erudite man among the Jews, is declared by Origen to have done what I am now doing; he set forth a book of Hebrew Names, classing them under their initial letters, and placing the etymology of each at the side. This work I originally proposed to translate into Latin. It is well known in the Greek world, and is to be found in all libraries. But I found that the copies were so discordant to one another, and the order so confused, that I judged it to be better to say nothing, rather than to write what would justly be condemned. A work of this kind, however, appeared likely to be of use; and my friends Lupulianus and Valerianus urged me to attempt it, because, as they thought, I had made some progress in the knowledge of Hebrew. I, therefore, went through all the books of Scripture in order, and in the restoration which I have now made of the ancient fabric, I think that I have produced a work which may be found valuable by Greeks as well as Latins. I here in the Preface beg the reader to take notice that, if he finds anything omitted in this work, it is reserved for mention in another. I have at this moment on hand a book of Hebrew Questions, an undertaking of a new kind such as has never until now been heard of amongst either the Greeks or the Latins. I say this, not with a view of arrogantly puffing up my own work, but because I know how much labour I have spent on it, and wish to provoke those whose knowledge is deficient to read it. I recommend all those who wish to possess both that work and the present one, and also the book of Hebrew Places, which I am about to publish, to make no account of the Jews and all their ebullitions of vexation. Moreover, I have added the meaning of the words and names in the New Testament, so that the fabric might receive its last touch and might stand complete. I wished also in this to imitate Origen, whom all but the ignorant acknowledge as the greatest teacher of the Churches next to the Apostles; for in this work, which stands among the nobles monuments of his genius, he endeavoured as a Christian to supply what Philo, as a Jew, had omitted.10

10 See Liber interpretationis hebraicorum nominum, edited by Paul de Lagarde, Onomastica Sacra (2. ed. Göttingen 1887; reprint in Hildesheim: Olms, 1966), 26–27. The translation is taken from W.H. Fremantle, G. Lewis and W.G. Martley, The Principal Works of St. Jerome, in: Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Volume 6, St. Jerome: Letters and Select Works (eds. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace; originally published in the United States by the Christian Literature Publishing Company, 1893; reprint in Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson Publishers, second printing 1995), p. 485.

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In order to evaluate this statement by Jerome it is helpful to know that the work was written in the year 388, two years after Jerome had settled at Bethlehem. When he had arrived in the Holy Land three years previously, Jerome set to work to improve his knowledge of Hebrew, with a view to his translation of the Old Testament, which was begun in 391. The three books written in the year 388 – the book of Hebrew Questions, the book on Hebrew Names, and his translation of Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places – may be taken as records of studies preparatory to the Vulgate. This fact means that at this stage Jerome had only a very basic knowledge of Hebrew and perhaps could not foresee the innumerable problems in connection with the phonetic relationship between Hebrew/Aramaic, Greek, and Latin, let alone make the system consistent. Unfortunately, the clumsy arrangement of a separate glossary for each book of the Bible and often uncritical, sometimes even absurd, meanings given to words and names diminish considerably the value of his work on names for today’s critical scholarship.11 In this investigation, we would like to outline the basic grammatical principles that govern the transliteration of biblical names into Greek and Latin. To make evident equivalents and variants from Greek transliterations, all examples will be given in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin forms. We state that since translators were free in their transliteration of biblical names, many alternative forms developed in the spelling of names. The basic phonetic relationship between Semitic languages on the one hand and non-Semitic languages, like Greek and Latin, on the other hand, is so complex that it was hardly possible to establish a unified tradition in writing the forms of biblical proper names within the Greek and Latin cultures. Since the Greek and Latin alphabets are inadequate for transliteration, authors of Greek and Latin Bibles were utter grammatical and cultural innovators.12 11 See the statement by W.H. Fremantle, G. Lewis and W.G. Martley, The Principal Works of St. Jerome, in: Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Volume 6, St. Jerome: Letters and Select Works, XXXI: “It is worthless now except as showing the state of knowledge of the fourth century ad, and that of the author of the Vulgate.” 12 Many important findings about the phonetic relationship between the Hebrew/ Aramaic, Greek and at least partly Latin languages are comprised in the monographs or articles by: Henry St. John Thackeray, A Grammar of the Old Testament in Greek (2. ed. Cambridge 1909; reprint in Hildesheim / Zürich / New York: Olms, 1987); Franz Wutz, “Die Bedeutung der Transkriptionen in der LXX,” BZ 16 (1924), pp. 194–203; idem, Die Transkriptionen von der LXX bis zum Hieronymus (Stuttgart, 1933); Wilhelm Borée, Die alten Ortsnamen Palästinas (Leipzig, 1930; reprint in

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It was natural that authors of Latin Bible translations considered linguistic and cultural factors in the transliteration process for biblical proper names – that is, for Latin, Greek, and Semitic phonetic symbols and their sounds and the established Hellenistic tradition of spelling biblical names. Phonetic peculiarities include the following: historical development of languages; dialectal characteristics of languages; different sources as regards the original text (Vorlage); the lack of vocalic system in Semitic languages in antiquity; the extent of use of biblical names amongst the people. Any comparison between the Semitic Vorlage and Greek and Latin transliteration of biblical proper names shows that both Greek and Latin translators sometimes render the same Semitic name forms, occurring in the various biblical books or even in the same book, differently. This can only be because their Vorlagen could not have belonged to a uniform tradition. A more logical reason is that these variations were no doubt caused by the fact that the consonant system of Semitic languages lacked determination of vocalic system, hence there was more than one possibility for transliterating a particular consonant into Greek or Latin, etc. In the transmission of the Hebrew/Aramaic text the application of fixed laws to all cases was intended, but, unless all errors and confusion somehow

Hildesheim: Olms, 1968); Alexander Sperber, “Hebrew Based upon Greek and Latin Transliterations,” HUCA 12–13 (1937–1938), pp. 103–276; Gerhard Lisowsky, Die Transcription der hebräischen Eigennamen des Pentateuch in der Septuaginta (Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung der Doktorwürde an der Theologischen Fakultät der Universität Basel; Basel, 1940); J. Ziegler, “Transkriptionen in der Ier.-LXXX: Transkription der Eigennamen (EN),” Beiträge zur Ieremias-Septuaginta (Mitteilungen des Septuaginta-Unternehmens VI; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1958), pp. 59–86; A. Murtonen, Hebrew in Its West Semitic Setting: A Comparative Survey of Non-masoretic Hebrew Dialects and Traditions (SSLL 13; Leiden: Brill, 1986); Ran Zadok, The Pre-hellenistic Israelite Anthroponymy and Prosopography (OLA 28; Leuven: Peeters, 1988); Emanuel Tov, “Loan-words, Homophony, and Transliterations in the Septuagint,” The Greek and Hebrew Bible: Collected Essays on the Septuagint (VTS 72; Leiden / Boston / Köln: Brill, 1999), pp. 165–182; idem, “Transliterations of Hebrew Words in the Greek Versions: A Further Characteristic of the Kaige-th Revision?,” The Greek and Hebrew Bible, 501–512; Tal Ilan, Lexicon of Jewish Names in Late Antiquity. Part I: Palestine 330 bce–200 ce (TSAJ 91; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002); Pietro A. Kaswalder OFM, Onomastica Biblica: Fonti scritte e ricerca archeologica (Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press, 2002); Yoel Elitzur, Ancient Place Names in the Holy Land: Preservation and History (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Magnes Press; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2004).

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crept in afterwards, these laws were not consistently carried out in the subsequent transmission of the text. Moreover, much remained uncertain even in texts in which vowel letters were plentiful. The tradition of spelling biblical proper names was surely a guide to the correct reading, yet there were also cases where, of the many possible ways of pronouncing a name, more than one appeared admissible even within the context of existing traditions.13 This fact is best proven by Jerome’s exactness in transliterating biblical proper names from the Greek book on the sites and names of Hebrew places, written by Eusebius, and by his obvious inexactness or inconsistency in his Bible translation, when transliterating the same names from Hebrew into Latin. Greek Bible translations are much older than Latin ones, and they were made by Jews who shared a living Semitic phonetic and cultural tradition. In the post-biblical times, it was customary in the synagogue to read the Bible text first in Hebrew, followed by translation in vernacular languages; in Palestinian synagogues this meant Aramaic, but in Egypt and in many other parts of the Hellenistic political and cultural empire the vernacular was Hellenistic Greek. This is due to the fact that the listeners were not able to comprehend Hebrew. Before there were continuous translations in common use the early Christian church followed the Jewish practice. The individualistic translations were not ad hoc creations in a strict sense, because translators had been committed to listening to oral traditions and to reading earlier fragments as were known to them. The process of joining Semitic linguistic and cultural heritage resulted in many new works; besides the LXX there were the Greek apocryphal writings. Since Latin translations were made in much later periods, mainly without much contact with the Semitic living traditions, the priority of Greek transcriptions compared to Latin ones is beyond any dispute. Any good translation is an interplay of language, philosophy, and tradition in a fusion of the source and target languages. The transliteration of biblical proper names in the Vetus Latina and the Vulgate shows a much wider variety of forms than does the Onomastica Sacra. The state of variants in the Vulgate is similar, as is the state of biblical proper names in Greek translations. In the Vulgate, we find variants that are explicable primarily due to the several possibilities of pronouncing Hebrew/Aramaic names transmitted in

13

See E. Kautzsch and A.E. Cowley, Gesenius’ Hebrew Grammar, § 7, 2 g.

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the consonantal system. Vetus Latina and Jerome render Semitic consonants with the following Latin characters: ‫ א‬has no consonantal value of its own, but serves to carry the respective vowel; ‫ = ב‬b; ‫= ג‬ g; ‫ = ד‬d; ‫ ה‬is without consonantal value and therefore ignored, rarely rendered by h; ‫ ו‬usually serves to carry the respective vowels o or u, sometimes having the value of the consonant v (gemination is not considered); ‫ = ז‬z, sometimes s; ‫ = ח‬usually replaced by a vowel (in the beginning of a name in great majority), sometimes it is rendered by h or (very rarely) by ch or even c; gemination ‫ = טּ‬tt; ‫ = ט‬in the beginning normally t and exceptionally th, in the middle normally th; ‫ = י‬i, in combination with vowels ignored or (in the beginning of a name) sometimes combined with the added h (see Hieremias, Hierusalem); gemination ‫ = כּ‬cch; ‫כ‬/‫ = ך‬ch, sometimes c (see Carmelus); ‫ = ל‬l; ‫= מ‬ m and n (at the end of a name); ‫ = נ‬n and m (at the end of a name); ‫ = ס‬s; ‫ = ע‬usually not expressed, sometimes transliterated with g or h; gemination ‫ = פּ‬pph; ‫ = פ‬ph, sometimes p and f (especially when it stands between vowels); ‫ = צ‬s; gemination ‫ = קּ‬cc; ‫ = ק‬c, sometimes ch; ‫ = ר‬r; ‫שׂ‬/‫ = שׁ‬s, within a name occasionally double s; gemination ‫= תּ‬ usually tth, sometimes thth; ‫ = ת‬usually th, sometimes t. In this connection mention may be made of Jerome’s statement that he did not introduce the letter q into the transliteration system of biblical names because it is a specific Latin letter, not in use in Hebrew and Greek.14 In Latin, Semitic clusters are not transformed by the tendency to euphony to the same extent as in Greek. There are a few changes: ‫חצ‬ = ss in the name Iessihel (Num 26:26); there is an insertion of a b between m and r in the name Mambre (Gen 13:18). The Latin transcription of Hebrew/Aramaic proper names is based on the Greek text and therefore reflects the same Hebrew vowel system. The correspondence between the Greek and Latin vowels is as follows: α = a; ε = e; ει = e; η = e; ι = i; ο = o; ου = u; υ = y; ω = o. The role of tradition is manifest mainly through Latin forms of names that are well-known because their form is much more unified than those less commonly used. Here the comparison between the Vetus Latina and the Vulgate forms of biblical proper names proves illustrative. The Vetus Latina fragments testify to a similar variety

14 See Liber interpretationis hebraicorum nominum 29:25: “Q litteram, quam neque Graeci resonant nec Hebraei, exceptis Latinis nulla alia lingua habet. Unde et a nobis hic penitus praetermissa est.” See P. de Lagarde, Onomastica Sacra, 59.

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of forms as in the LXX and the Vulgate, but not always in the same names. The relationship between Greek and Latin is as follows: α = a; β = b; γ = g; δ = d; ε = e; ζ = z; in classical times probably pronounced like zd, in the Hellenistic and Greco-Roman periods it had the weaker sound of voiced s; η = e; θ = th, rarely t; ι = i, j; κ = c, ch, in gemination cch (see Macchabeus); λ = l; μ = m; ν = n; ξ = x; ο = o; π = p, ph; ρ = r; σ = s; τ single or geminated = t, rarely th; υ = y; φ = ph, rarely p or f; χ = ch, rarely c (probably based on Hebrew ‫ ;)כ‬ψ = ps; ω = o; ου = u. The correspondence of consonants in Greek and Latin in the Latin Onomasticon is as follows: α = a; β = b; γ = g; δ = d; ε = e; ζ = z; η = e; θ = th; ι = i and j; κ = c; λ = l; μ = m; ν = n; ξ = x; ο = o; ου = u; π = p; ρ = r; σ = s; τ = t; υ = y; φ = f; χ = ch; ψ = ps; ω = o. The Greek and Latin alphabets are close enough to each other that the difficulties in transliterating the names from Semitic languages are to a great extent the same in both languages. However, the pronunciation of ancient Greek differs from the present-day Greek, and this is reflected in the history of transliteration of certain Greek consonants, vowels and diphthongs into Latin. The basic close relationship between Greek and Latin phonetics is most clearly manifested in Jerome’s translation of Eusebius’ book on the sites and names of Hebrew places from Greek into Latin. “In spite of the fact that the pronunciation of Hebrew had changed materially between the time of the writing of the Greek originals and the period of Jerome, and despite the fact that Jerome himself was fully aware of the incongruities between the transliteration and the contemporary pronunciation of Hebrew, he made no attempt to avoid these discrepancies by means of corrections, but rather reproduced his originals faithfully and limited himself to mere glosses.”15 On another occasion, Sperber claims: “Jerome has permitted himself only one major deviation from the normal Greek spelling; that is between two vowels immediately following one another he inserted an h to indicate that they are to be pronounced separately.”16 The statement by Sperber is both too general and too simplified. It is true that Jerome normally transliterates Greek forms given by Eusebius faithfully into Latin – even when the Vg form is different. Some well-known names can illustrate the situation: Γεσιὼν Γάβερ (Num 33:35–LXX), Γασιὼν Γαβέρ (Onomasticon), Asiongaber (Vg),

15 16

See Alexander Sperber, Hebrew Based upon Greek and Latin Transliterations, 112. See Hebrew Based upon Greek and Latin Transliterations, 112.

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Gasiongaber (Onomasticon); Γελὼν ∆εβλαθα(ε)ίμ (Num 33,46–LXX, Onomasticon), Elmondeblathaim (Vg), Gelmon Deblathaim (Onomasticon); Γαριζ(ε)ίν (Deut 11:29–LXX, Onomasticon), Garizim (Vg), Garizin (Onomasticon); etc. But Eusebius follows the LXX when writing the name Μωϋσῆς, and Jerome transliterates it in the Onomasticon as Moyses, while in Vg we find the form Moses, except in Bar 1:20; 2:2, 28; Χεβρών is transliterated as Chebron, in Vg almost always Hebron; Ἀερμών (Deut 3:9–LXX), Ἑρμών (Onomasticon) is transliterated with Ermon, but Vg uses the form Hermon; Ἱεριχώ (Deut 32:49) is transliterated with Iericho, but Vg has the form Hiericho; Ἱερυσαλήμ (Josh 10:1) is transliterated with Ierusalem, while Vg has Hierusalem; etc. Jerome uses, however, in the Onomasticon also the forms of names which are different from those used by Eusebius but identical to the forms in Vg: Βαιθήλ (Gen 12:8) / Bethel; Νεβρώδ (Gen 10:8–9) / Nemrod; etc. How can this phenomenon be explained? The most plausible explanation is the assumption that in the time of Jerome Latin forms of biblical proper names were even less unified than the Greek forms, for Latin was open to various other Oriental traditions, including the Hebrew/Aramaic original. Jerome is the best proof of this. Seeing the innumerable Latin manuscripts testifying to innumerable traditions he decided not only to harmonize his translation with LXX and with the Greek original of the New Testament but above all with the Hebrew/Aramaic original. This explains why the forms of biblical proper names in the Vulgate so often follow the Hebrew/Aramaic forms rather than the Septuagint forms, and why Jerome deviates from Greek forms found in Eusebius’ book. This openness to the original is characteristic also of later Western Bible translations, in contrast to the East where the Septuagint was not only the key translation but also the primary source. In the course of the transmission of ms copies of the LXX, its text underwent several major changes beyond the usual amount of alteration inevitable in copying by hand. Origen (ca. 213–ca. 270) produced his sixfold version of the Old Testament, his famous Hexapla. In parallel columns, at each opening of his book, stood the following different texts: a) the Hebrew text, written with only one or two words per line; b) a transliteration of the Hebrew into Greek letters; c) Aquila’s Greek version; d) Symmachus’ Greek version; e) the LXX; f ) Theodotion’s Greek version. Hexapla was probably never copied as a whole, but fragments of this magnum opus are preserved in quotations made by

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various church fathers. It is all the more probable that this monumental work must have been accessible to Eusebius of Caesarea (ca. 260–339) when he wrote the work of Onomasticon. It is well known that Eusebius, with the assistance of his friend Pamphilus, supplied Constantine the Great with fifty copies of the Greek Bible, containing in the Old Testament Origen’s fifth parallel text, with alternative readings from the other versions in the margins. When Eusebius wrote the Onomasticon, a work on biblical place names that laid out the geographical locations of some 600 towns, historical sites, districts, mountains, and rivers and connected them with contemporary Roman place names, he wanted to create the sense of a Christian space and time for Roman Palestine. In keeping with his practice of incorporating in his Church history all the early Christian traditions he could find, it is natural that the book on the sites and names of Hebrew places is a compilation of the various forms of biblical proper names Eusebius encountered in his own time. A comparison of the forms of biblical proper names found in the Septuagint and in the book on the sites and names of Hebrew places shows that Eusebius normally follows LXX forms in his book. This is expected because the LXX had already been for centuries a model of Greek forms of biblical names. Nevertheless, Eusebius uses in the book on the sites and names of Hebrew places forms of names that are different from those found in LXX, for instance Ἀχάδ, in LXX Ἀρχάδ (Gen 10:10). This fact shows that Eusebius was dependent also on the Hebrew/Aramaic original and the living Greek traditions. Before and throughout the Middle ages, the pronunciation of ancient Greek was like that of the contemporary Greeks. Towards the beginning of the 16th century, objections to modern Greek phonetics were raised on the basis of ancient Latin transcription of Greek letters. Greek scholars were divided into two opposite camps, the one led by Desiderius Erasmus and the other by Johannes Reuchlin. The Erasmian school prevailed and substituted a different pronunciation for some letters in the traditional or modern Greek. The cardinal point of dispute was the letter η, in the “modern Greek” pronounced like i (iota), but in the Erasmian school like e.17

17

For the question of the history of Greek pronunciation, see especially Antonius J. Jannaris, An Historical Greek Grammar Chiefly of the Attic Dialect as Written and Spoken from Classical Antiquity down to the Present Time. Founded upon the Ancient Texts, Inscriptions, Papyri and Present Popular Greek (London / New York: Macmillan,

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Due to the consistency of Jerome’s transliteration system in his translation of Eusebius’ book and in his own book of Hebrew names it is most unusual that Jerome uses different forms for the same names in his version of the Bible. Perhaps this happened because the Bible is a huge volume of text and translation work extended to a long period of work time. This allowed a growing of knowledge of grammar, the use of various Hebrew, Greek, and Latin manuscripts, and contact with living traditions in the Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, Latin, and other traditions. Because there was a living tradition it happened that even the reading of Hebrew of the original translator or author may have been affected by the phonetics of the vernacular. The various readings of the Hebrew itself, dialectal differences, mistakes in reading and transmitting the text, the lack of established rules in Hebrew orthography, differences in Hebrew/Aramaic, Greek and Latin phonetics, and the established tradition of well-known names were the reasons for transformation and deformation of many proper names in the Vulgate. The most striking feature of the forms of biblical proper names in the Vulgate is the presence of variants of the same names even within the same books. It is evident that Jerome did not have any intention to unify the forms of proper names. A special phenomenon of dealing with biblical proper names is the frequent etymological translation of proper names instead of transliteration. At times Jerome translates proper names as though they were common names, sometimes introducing brief explanatory glosses.18 Since this is a common feature of ancient Bible translations – in contrast to the period since the Middle Ages – we may here assume a great deal of dependence on the LXX. III. Reasons for the Existence of Variant Forms of Biblical Proper Names In the introduction it was mentioned that in the Textus Receptus of the Hebrew Bible there are fairly few variant forms of biblical proper 1897; reprinted in Hildesheim / Zürich / New York: Olms, 1987), par. 24–89, pp. 31–70. 18 Cf. the note on this issue by Pietro Rossano, “From the Vulgate to the New Vulgate,” in D.M. Goldenberg (ed.), Translation of Scripture: Proceedings of a Conference at the Annenberg Research Institute, May 15–16, 1989 (A Jewish Quarterly Review Supplement: 1990; Philadelphia, Pa.: Annenberg Research Institute), pp. 197–198.

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names. This relative uniformity is remarkable in view of the excessive variety of their forms in various ancient versions. Uniformity or variant orthography of biblical names are, both in the original and in translations, attributable to several factors. Variant Forms in the Hebrew Bible The development of the language implies to a certain extent a development of forms of biblical names. First of all we note that alternative forms developed in the spelling of names. Some names are recorded by a short and a long form. Thus during the Second temple period, the biblical name ‫ יוסף‬was almost universally spelt ‫יהוסף‬. At a slightly later date, the abbreviated form ‫ יוסי‬was obviously preferred for this name. Often the two forms are used for the same name. One of the reasons for this was the existence of two or more independent pronunciations or dialects. Transliteration of the forms of biblical proper names in languages other than Semitic testify that the main reasons for variant readings in these works are primarily attributable to the different phonetic systems of non-Semitic languages. The reasons for variants of biblical proper names in the Hebrew Bible can be classified into five major groups: orthographical, phonological, morphological, semantic and theological.19 The most salient feature is the existence of two or more different names for the same person or place. In the framework of the present study it is sufficient to note that Hebrew and Aramaic variants are constitutive parts of the Textus Receptus. Equally important is the fact that, aside from the evident errors, their spelling is in general well established. Even though the pre-Masoretic text is not provided with vowel signs the grammatical structure of names at least suggests a probable way of reading the names. An additional aid in establishing the spelling is the tradition of well-known names and the etymological meaning of many names.20

19 Cf. Ran Zadok, The Pre-Hellenistic Israelite Anthroponymy and Prosopography, especially pp. 6–12. 20 Gerhard Lisowsky rejects with good arguments the view that neither the text of the LXX nor that of the Hebrew Bible constitutes a sure basis for judging grammatical forms. On pages 7–8 of his study Die Transkription der hebräischen Eigennamen des Pentateuch in der Septuaginta he emphasizes: “. . . wir möchten einwenden, dass es nicht darum geht, unmittelbar zum ursprünglichen Septuagintatext vorzustossen, sondern zunächst darum, den Tatbestand der vorhandenen Handschriften herauszuarbeiten. Den Zweifeln am hebräischen Text kann methodisch begegnet werden. Es gibt nämlich unter den hebräischen Eigennamen eine grosse Zahl solcher, deren Lesung

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Consequently, the readings of the Masoretes are hardly untenable. For all these reasons it is clear that any judgment of the forms of biblical proper names in translation must be closely related to the roots of the original text.21 In the light of the original text it is possible to establish first of all the range of phonetic possibilities and the determinants of spelling by Hebrew/Aramaic grammar. After judgment on these grounds is made the justification of tradition may be considered. Reasons for Variants in the Greek and Latin Bibles Since translators and scribes were very free in their transliteration of biblical names, many other transliteration variations are noted. Transliteration systems and transmission of Greek and Latin forms of biblical names are not uniform and so alternative forms developed in the spelling of names. In general, forms of proper names were transmitted as they were heard. In view of these criteria it is possible to discern which forms are the result of error of any kind. In any evaluation of the forms of names in Greek, Latin, and other translation languages, it is best to begin with the form of the name in Hebrew or Aramaic. A revision of the forms of proper names should begin with the root form of the original. Any contemporary scholarly approach to the forms of biblical names must distinguish between the genesis of the original text or translations, and transmission of the text throughout history until the present.

vollkommen feststeht. Oder wer wollte etwa eine Schreibung wie ‫אוּבן‬ ֵ ‫ ְר‬auch nur im entferntesten anzweifeln? Zu den Eigennamen, die durch ihr häufiges Vorkommen gesichert sind, gesellen sich solche, die etymologisch vollkommen durchsichtig sind, ֶ ‫ ֲא ִב‬.” On page 121, Lisowsky explains his methodology in establishing wie etwa ‫ימ ֶלְך‬ the forms of biblical names appearing in the Pentateuch of the LXX: “Es handelt sich um fast den achten Teil des ganzen Stoffes, sodass mit seiner Behandlung die Gewähr einer tragfähigen Grundlage gegeben ist. Da die hebräische Form völlig gesichert ist, kann sich die Aufmerksamkeit geradeswegs auf die griechische Transskription, und zwar wie sie in B(A) vorliegt, richten.” 21 This finding implies a methodological approach in any research of biblical proper names. Martin Noth states in his work Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung (Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer, 1928), pp. 5–6: „Sodann ist es nicht überflüssig, die Forderung philologischer Sauberkeit bei der Namendeutung auszusprechen. Eine genaue Einsicht in die grammatische und syntaktische Struktur eines Namens und eine philologisch einwandfreie Übersetzung sind die unerlässliche Voraussetzung für seine Deutung, und diese wieder sind für den Einzelfall nur zu gewinnen durch die Einreihung in größere Zusammenhänge. Ich habe darum eine ausführliche Untersuchung über die grammatische Struktur der semitischen Personennamen auf möglichst breiter Grundlage vorausgeschickt.“

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Transmission of biblical proper names caused much more variant readings than did the state of language and culture in the time of the original text’s genesis and of ancient translations. Over the long course of tradition history, transmission of biblical proper names must take into account various transformations of biblical names with the passage of time, common transcriptions of names, short and longer form of names, the process of abbreviation of names, common scribal errors, common name alterations, letter interchange, loss of letters, addition of unnecessary letters to names, letter displacement, misreading due to graphical similarity, the consistent or inconsistent use of a double or single consonant, etc. The aim of modern textual criticism is therefore to establish in the textual history of the Bible categories of readings between minimal and maximal reliability in gradation from unique reading to family reading, popular reading, or majority reading. Such judgments can be made only on the basis of a detailed philological analysis of all extant manuscripts from all historical periods. In regard to the text-forms of Greek and Latin Bibles we note first of all that there is an almost embarrassing number of phonetic variant readings of proper names. A survey of variant readings of proper names in ancient Greek and Latin Bible translations as seen in various mss allows one to trace the boundary between phonetic transliterations that are justified within Semitic, Greek, and Latin linguistic rules and between various forms which transgress linguistic rules. The latter cases are considered errors in transmission of the text. Since the phonetic system of Semitic languages in antiquity was not yet established, errors are much more easily traceable and discernable in instances where consonants were erroneously transliterated, as opposed to cases of vowel spelling. In this connection mention may be made of inconsistent transliteration practice in dealing with duplicated consonants and with the sign ‫ע‬. The firmer the Hebrew and Aramaic forms established by etymological and grammatical data, the clearer it becomes that variants are an inner-Greek and inner-Latin matter. Most errors are a consequence of mistaken reading, hearing, and writing. It follows that in evaluation of forms of names that make more than a single appearance it is possible to illuminate the extent of forms to which they are common or frequent; including common or frequent transcriptions of names, common or frequent scribal errors, common or frequent names alterations, etc.

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Many phonological and grammatical rules dictate the transliteration of biblical names into Greek and Latin; some are influenced by Semitic scribal practices, and some are internal to Greek or Latin. Within the phonetic transliterations that are possible in principle the survey of variants within the whole corpus of manuscripts makes it possible to establish the level of justification in view of frequency of occurrence: unique reading, family reading, popular reading, or majority reading. Comparison between the forms of proper names contained in most important extant mss, as for instance Codices A and B, is already revealing in many respects. It is conspicuous that about one third of proper names in Codices A and B are divergent. Moreover, many forms of proper names are divergent even within the same codex in individual books. Generally speaking, variation of forms depends on the range of possible freedom between a unique form and between several transliteration possibilities on orthographic and phonetic grounds. In ancient times, the transliteration system was in no way consistent.22 No ancient translation was based on a unified and planned transliteration system. IV. General Conclusions The history of Semitic forms of biblical proper names is as complex as the history of the Hebrew Bible from the time of its oral transmission until the establishment of the MT where the forms of proper names do not manifest major variations in pronunciation. Historical records of differences between the forms of proper names are not so much chronological, due to linguistic change, as dialectal, reflecting a different linguistic background. Consistence in transmission of Hebrew and Aramaic forms of proper names reflects the nature of the Hebrew and Aramaic languages and the unbroken use of proper names in the secular and religious traditions.23 The same is true for ancient translations 22 See the statement by Gerhard Lisowsky, Die Transkription der hebräischen Eigennamen des Pentateuch in der Septuaginta, p. 134: “Zusammenfassend lässt sich also sagen, dass das Bild, wie es B bietet, erkennen lässt, dass der griechische Übersetzer das griechische Alphabet zu Transcriptionen unbekümmert herangezogen hat, ‚konsequent‘ verfahrend da, wo der griechische Lautstand schliesslich keine andere Wahl liess, schwankend da, wo Freiheiten möglich waren.“ This statement is valid also in view of other witnesses of ancient text. 23 Among many special studies and grammars some synthetic monographs explain in general and in detail the historical phenomenon of the Hebrew and Aramaic lan-

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of the Bible into Semitic languages. Targumim, for instance, underwent little phonetic change of Hebrew forms of proper names. Semitic languages are based on many common phonetic laws, and therefore the forms of Semitic proper names reflect a remarkable unity in form and content compared to the forms created in translations of the Bible into Greek, Latin, and other non-Semitic languages. The Land of Israel became the Holy Land, not only for Jews but also for Christians and Moslems. Therefore Jews, Christians, and Moslems have had little reason to alter the forms of geographical names of biblical origin radically, as for instance the Roman occupiers did when they introduced totally new names even for principal places of the Holy Land.24 This fact is important in regard to the forms of biblical names in Greek and Latin. The Greek Bible of the Old and New Testaments is a combination of preservation and change of Semitic forms of biblical proper names. In translation of the Hebrew Bible a number of proper names, almost exclusively geographical names, are translated on the basis of their presumed etymological meaning, with most of them transliterated in accordance with their Semitic forms. Even a superficial comparison between Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, and Latin forms of biblical proper names makes it clear that the forms of Hebrew and Aramaic proper names are much more unified and consistent than those in Greek and Latin translations. In addition to this, the Deuterocanonical/Apocryphal part of the Old Testament and the New Testament contain a number of proper names appearing in their Hellenized forms, as a result of the established cultural tradition of Greek and Roman rulers. The complex phonetic relationship between Semitic, Greek, and Latin forms of biblical proper names raises questions concerning the majority of forms in the Greek and Latin traditions. Many scholars conclude that the sources used by Greek and Latin translators could guages: Carl Brockelmann, Grundriss der vergleichenden Grammatik der semitischen Sprachen I–II (Berlin 1908; reprint in Hildesheim: Olms, 1966); Hans Bauer and Pontus Leander, Historische Grammatik der hebräischen Sprache des Alten Testamentes (Halle 1922; reprint in Hildesheim: Olms, 1962); Eduard Yechezkel Kutscher (edited by Raphael Kutscher), A History of the Hebrew Language ( Jerusalem / Leiden: Magnes Press, Hebrew University / Brill, 1982); Edward Lipiński, Semitic Languages: Outline of a comparative Grammar (OLA 80; Leuven: Peeters, 1997). 24 Wilhelm Borée states in his study Die alten Ortsnamen Palästinas, pp. 122–123, that there is striking unity in designation of places in all parts of the Palestine throughout history in spite of change of rulers. However, no explanation for this fact is provided in view of the unique status of the Holy Land.

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not have been part of a uniform tradition. This conclusion is convincing in view of variant forms of biblical names having an indisputable geographical and historical stamp, but not in cases of the innumerable variant readings of the same name in the same manuscript, in various biblical books, or even in the same book. At this point the most important finding of a comparative study of the forms of biblical names throughout history contained in the Hebrew Bible and in Greek and Latin translations is the fact that well-known names are practically without variants and usually retain the same form throughout the Bible, whereas most names of rare occurrence appear in many variant readings. This fact allows the conclusion that well-known names were part of an established living tradition, and therefore an unwritten law, both in Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, Latin, and other cultural environments. They became part of a common and international cultural history. In contrast the less known names became the greatest challenge for translators for three main reasons: firstly, names of rare occurrence could not become part of an established tradition; secondly, the Hebrew and Aramaic texts were not yet provided with vowels, and pronunciation of original forms of names was not sustained by a living tradition; thirdly, the Greek and Latin alphabets are inadequate for transliteration of Semitic characters. Any estimate of the reasons for these differences is valid only if they are considered in their totality. Phonetic variation of the same names is so great both in the LXX and in the Vulgate that we must assume a lack of the will to unify the system of the forms of proper names in translations. The contemporary use of well-known names was therefore of great help to translators. In the case of unusual or unique names it is probable that variant traditions existed. An extraordinary variation in the names surely demonstrates lack of unity in the early Semitic texts and several divergent developments within the Greek traditions. Eusebius’ expositions and identifications of biblical names are a typical example of contact with a vivid tradition. We note that Eusebius’ focus is explicitly on geographical names, and he deals only incidentally with personal names. It is evident that his exposition, identification and explanation of names is not based on an archaeological, topographical or regional, but on a phonetic type of identification. This means that he relies on the similarity of names in Hebrew or Greek. Most of the phonetic identifications are based upon Hebrew tradition. There are hardly any identifications based on the Greek name in the instances in which this differs from the Hebrew. We find

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25

a useful description of phonetic identification of names in the triglott edition of Eusebius work: The phonetic identification utilizes the similarity between the name as it appears in the sources and as it is preserved in the spoken tradition of the region. The final method is a good one, and is based on the fact that because of settlement continuity in the Land of Israel, and the linguistic proximity between languages prevalent among its inhabitants, the original names have been preserved with variations only in pronunciation. Many identifications are based to this day solely on phonetic grounds. Nonetheless, scholars are aware of the need to find regional and archaeological support for any proposed identification. A phonetic identification which does not correspond to the regional data cannot be accepted, and many suggested identifications have been rejected for this reason. From the early study of the Land of Israel to the beginnings of modern scholarship, identifications were based almost exclusively on phonetic similarity. This is true of many travellers and pilgrims, the first scholars, and even is the case for the Onomasticon.25

Eusebius identifies names on the basis of name similarity, even when there is no topographical justification for the proposal. Though many of the identifications provided by him are correct, sometimes his preference to search for phonetic identification leads him to erroneous conclusions. Jerome was quite aware of the incompatibility of the Latin and Greek alphabets for rendering Hebrew sounds.26 We are led to the conclusion that Jerome transliterated names according to his own judgment, probably after having consulted the Hebrew text. We may assume that he was fully aware of the incongruities between the transliteration of proper names in the Greek Bible and the contemporary pronunciation of Hebrew. In translating Eusebius’ book he made no attempt to avoid these discrepancies by means of corrections, but rather reproduced his originals faithfully and limited himself to mere glosses.27 We note that Jerome did not always transcribe the Greek spelling into Latin in a precise manner. In translating the Bible he was bound to the original, to Greek forms, to earlier Latin translations of the Bible, and to contemporary spelling of biblical names in the Latin Church. In combining these factors his decisions reflect a compromise.

25 26 27

See R. Steven Notley and Ze’ev Safrai, Eusebius, Onomasticon, p. xxxiii. Cf. Alexander Sperber, Hebrew Based upon Greek and Latin Transliterations, p. 113. Cf. Alexander Sperber, Hebrew Based upon Greek and Latin Transliterations, p. 110.

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Yet these facts do not explain why Jerome did not unify the forms of biblical proper names in his own translation, although he translated Eusebius’ book and composed his own book of Hebrew names. Even these works do not manifest the will to unify the spelling of proper names. There are no linguistic grounds in the textual history of the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin Bibles allowing the conclusion that unification of linguistic systems was at all desired and thus taken as a value in the ancient world. We must bear in mind that all texts were considered more or less canonical, an essential part of a living tradition. In the flow of living tradition in the long history of biblical interpretation they underwent a complicated series of revisions. No part of the original and of ancient translations was created systematically and in a timely manner that would allow for control over and standardization of spelling. To conclude, it may be stated that the forms of biblical proper names are much more stable and consistent in the Hebrew Bible than in Greek, Latin and other ancient Bible translations. A similar extent of an inexhaustible wealth of variant pronunciation of the same proper names in Greek and Latin translations supports the conclusion that Greek and Latin translators and copyists were, in general, not fluent in Hebrew and thus did not have sufficient support in a living Hebrew phonetic context. This affects personal names of rare use to a far greater extent than geographical names, whose forms are expressed in the oral tradition by a larger circle of the population. Translators and copyists could not easily reach any uniform phonetic system in their work because of the consonantal Hebrew text, which itself allows variations in spelling the original name forms. Copyist errors are the secondary source of variant readings. It is natural to assume that in their expositions of names Flavius Josephus, Eusebius, and Jerome made use of not only the Hebrew and Greek Bibles for forms of Biblical names but also of Jewish literature. Based on this, we may safely conclude that their chosen forms may reflect a variant spelling of majority support within a particular living tradition.

THE GENESIS OF GENESIS David L. Petersen Scholars have, for many generations, been interested in the formation of the book of Genesis. During the late nineteenth and throughout the twentieth centuries, the source critical hypothesis decisively influenced scholars’ views about the origins of this book. And it continues to do so today, since many standard introductions still offer students the time-honored language of JEDP. For the purpose of this presentation, I allude to two volumes, one long and one short, which share the title of this lecture, “The Genesis of Genesis.” In 1892, Benjamin Bacon published a volume titled The Genesis of Genesis; it was “a study of the documentary sources” that made up that biblical book.1 In it, he printed out the book of Genesis, using different fonts to identify the four separate sources. More than six decades later, in 1958, Otto Eissfeldt published a much smaller book with the same title, Die Genesis der Genesis, in which he offered a more popular version of his own source critical approach.2 Though differing in size and in some details, these two books shared at least three perceptions. First, Genesis is made up of long, narrative sources that extend beyond Genesis into Exodus and the rest of the Pentateuch. Second, these narrative sources arose independently – at different times and in different places. Later, they were combined in a more or less mechanical manner. Third, since Genesis was understood to be a combination of sources that yielded part of a longer story which extended into Exodus, neither Bacon nor Eissfeldt discussed Genesis as a book in its own right. In my judgment, all three of these views need to be revised. In this paper, I would like to build on the scholarly work that has taken place during the fifty years after the publication of the second edition of Eissfeldt’s volume and to offer some programmatic proposals

1 B. Bacon, The Genesis of Genesis: A Study of the Documentary Sources of the First Book of Moses in Accordance with the Results of Critical Science illustrating the presence of Bibles within the Bible (Hartford, CT: The Student Publishing Company, 1892). 2 O. Eissfeldt, The Genesis der Genesis: Vom Werdegang der ersten Buches der Bibel (Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1961 [2nd edition]).

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about the genesis of Genesis. My proposals are these. The book of Genesis arose out of a process of theological conflict. The priestly material is far more than a parallel or separate version of events attested in the earlier traditions. Rather, it was written as a response and a challenge to the prior literature. In addition, there is a major break between Genesis and Exodus, a break evident in both the non-priestly and the priestly literature. Further, both the pre-priestly and the priestly literature in Genesis work together to create a coherent whole. The prepriestly literature focuses on both humanity and Israel as families. That concern with family concludes at the end of the first biblical book. The priestly literature in Genesis is organized around two covenants (Gen 9:17) and the tôlĕdôt formulae. These priestly elements are limited to the book of Genesis. Hence, I maintain that Genesis is not simply one portion of the larger Pentateuch; Genesis is a book in its own right.3 I. A Caesura between Genesis and Exodus A significant number of scholars have recently raised serious questions about whether or not it is possible to speak about a Yahwistic or pre-priestly source that extends throughout the Tetrateuch.4 Instead of long narrative strands, these scholars, following Rendtorff’s lead, have identified a number of literary complexes that arose independently and were integrated at a fairly late date. Those “large units” included the primeval history, the patriarchal story (itself made up of smaller entities), Moses and Exodus, Sinai, sojourn in the desert, and occupation of the land.5 It has proven difficult to discern literary (or other) features common to the non-priestly elements of these units. As a result, many scholars, though certainly not all, now hesitate to 3 The term, book, is, of course, anachronistic, since books in the classical sense do not appear until the Greco-Roman period, so K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007). 4 The arguments of R. Rendtorff in Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch (BZAW 17; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1977) exposed the Achilles’ heel of the traditional source critical hypothesis. See, more recently, two volumes of collected essays J. Gertz et al. (eds.), Abschied vom Jahwisten: Die Komposition des Hexateuch in der jüngsten Diskussion (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2002) and T. Dozeman and K. Schmid (eds.), A Farewell to the Yahwist? The Composition of the Pentateuch in Recent European Interpretation (Symposium; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006). 5 R. Rendtorff, The Problem of the Process of Transmission in the Pentateuch (JSOTS 89; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), p. 41; trans. of Das überlieferungsgeschichtliche Problem des Pentateuch.

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speak of a Yahwistic source.6 And just within Genesis itself, there has been a reluctance to identify one author or group responsible for the primeval history, the ancestral literature, and the Joseph short story.7 Genesis is, according to this way of thinking, made up of originally distinct literary complexes. Consistent with this challenge to the notion of a Yahwist, many scholars agree that there is a major caesura between the books of Genesis and Exodus. For example, Konrad Schmid observes four rough edges between Genesis and Exodus: 1) dissonance about the length of Israel’s stay in Egypt, 2) diverse presentations about the status of Israel at the end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus, 3) the absence of references to a sojourn in Egypt made in the promises to the ancestors, and 4) the absence of a connection between the ancestors and the exodus outside the Pentateuch.8 I agree with this judgment and would add another argument to those just named. As one moves from Genesis to Exodus, Israel’s identity changes. Instead of being construed as a family, Israel becomes a different kind of entity, something that can be characterized by the phrase, “a great people,” (ʿam rab) in Gen 50:20. Moreover, early in Exodus, one finds that same notion, now in the mouth of Pharaoh. Israel is a people (ʿam) “more numerous and powerful than we” (Exod 1:9). The transition of Israel from being the “sons of Jacob” to a “people” symbolizes well the break between Genesis and Exodus. If one may agree that there is a major caesura between Gen 50 and Exod 1, is it the case that this break should be construed as one between “the book of Genesis” and that which follows it? Put another way, does Genesis in some way cohere such that the entire book may be distinguished from Exodus et al.? Or, is the break between Gen 50 and Exod 1 only a break between two literary complexes, between the Joseph short story and the narratives depicting Israel in bondage?

6 Some scholars, e.g., J. Blenkinsopp, The Pentateuch: An Introduction to the First Five Books of the Bible (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1992) have contended that what had hitherto been known as Yahwistic texts were additions to an earlier priestly stratum. 7 C. Levin offers a mediating position, suggesting that the Yahwist was an early redactor, uniting the earlier distinct blocks of tradition, “The Yahwist: The Earliest Editor of the Pentateuch,” JBL 126 (2007), pp. 209–230. 8 K. Schmid, “The So-Called Yahwist and the Literary Gap between Genesis and Exodus,” A Farewell to the Yahwist?, pp. 31–35.

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I contend that the break is between Genesis as a book and that which follows it. This contention depends upon an analysis of both the pre-priestly and the priestly material in Genesis. As I have just suggested, there is one motif in the non-priestly literature that permits one to think that these pre-priestly texts in some measure belong together. Though diverse in literary form, all three components of the pre-priestly literature in Genesis share one essential feature: they use the discourse of family. All humanity is treated as a family in the primeval history. The pre-priestly narratives present their characters primarily in familial settings: Adam and Eve as spouses, Cain and Abel as brothers, Noah and Shem in a father-son relationship. Moreover, comprehensive pre-priestly familial genealogies connect all people, both before and after the flood (Gen 4:17–26; 10:1b, 8–19, 21, 24–30). Similarly, Gen 12–36 describe a family over a period of four generations. The author portrays a family that marries within itself – a form of patrilineal endogamy –, but that family also disenfranchises certain of its members (e.g., Ishmael and Esau). Finally, the Joseph short story focuses on the household of Jacob in all its fraternal complexity (and, interestingly, a family that begins to include outsiders: Tamar and Asenath). In fact, it is possible to maintain that considerable portions of Genesis may be characterized as family literature.9 Genesis, in all its generic variety, is, especially in the pre-priestly literature, a book about families. Moreover, a priestly compositor has underscored the importance of family by introducing the tôlĕdôt formulae, which emphasize kinship relationships – whether implicit or explicit – in the earlier texts. As a result, both from the perspectives of the pre-priestly and the priestly literature, one should view the book of Genesis as distinct from the literature that follows it. II. Priestly Literature as a Response At this point, I must turn to a comparison of the priestly material with the prior literature. Those scholars who have discerned a major break between Genesis and Exodus have also regularly contended that the

9

So D. Petersen, “Genesis and Family Values,” JBL 124 (2005), pp. 11–14.

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priestly school integrated the pre-priestly forms of those books.10 Exodus 6:2–8 offers an excellent example of such priestly integrative work. There, a priestly compositor links the period of Moses with an earlier time by referring to the promises made to the ancestors. In addition, that writer construes the time prior to Moses as a period when Israel knew Yahweh as El Shaddai.11 The time of Moses is, of course, associated with the revelation of God’s name, Yahweh. From this perspective, one of the primary roles exercised by the priestly writer is that of a redactor and interpreter, someone who organizes and construes earlier material. However, the priestly authors did far more than integrate and embellish prior traditions. I shall argue that the priestly authors accomplished at least two important things in the book of Genesis. First, they challenged prior versions of Israel’s early existence and did this by offering significant literary and theological alternatives. Second, they created a coherent program, unifying those distinct challenges. Scholars generally agree about what should count as priestly material in Genesis.12 Apart from scattered genealogical and other notes, the following texts are typically included: account of creation (Gen 1:1–2:4a), the Sethite genealogy (Gen 5), the P portions of the flood account, much in the table of nations (Gen 10), the Abrahamic covenant (Gen 17), purchase of Machpelah (Gen 23), Jacob’s trip to Aram (27:46–28:9), and Jacob’s trip to Bethel (35:9–13). I contend that each of these priestly texts was written as a response to the pre-priestly material. Genesis 1 challenges the prior account of creation, particularly as it devolves in Gen 3; Genesis 5 presents an alternate view of earlier humanity, emphasizing their positive capacities; Gen 6–9 rewrite the flood story in decisive ways; Gen 10 thinks about human, and especially linguistic, diversity differently from Gen 11; Gen 17 radically revises Abraham’s covenant as found in the earliest portions of Gen 15; Gen 23 paints a distinctive picture about Israel and the land due to Abraham’s purchase of the field in Machpelah; Jacob is provided with a different rationale for leaving the land (and, 10 For example, J. Gertz, “The Transition between the Books of Genesis and Exodus,” A Farewell to the Yahwist, pp. 73–87. 11 Of course, P also uses Elohim, and not just El Shaddai, in Genesis. 12 So J. Emerton, when attempting to determine whether or not P was “a unity” in Genesis, did not find it necessary to argue at length about which texts should count as part of the priestly Grundwerk, “The Priestly Writer in Genesis,” JTS 39 (1988), pp. 381–391, though Gen 23 presented the most significant questions.

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later, his name is changed for a different reason than it was in chap. 32). Time does not permit an argument on behalf of each of these texts as a priestly response to the prior material. Hence, I will focus on one example, the deluge account. When one examines the priestly version of the flood story, several things stand out, particularly when comparing it to the earlier biblical account. In the post flood scene in the non-priestly story of the deluge, the author offers a promissory note that the deity will never again curse the ground and try to kill off living creatures. The rationale for this promise is, however, odd. The deity says, “I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth.” (Gen 8:21). That is a strange rationale since the deity states that the reason for no more floods is the same as the reason for the flood in the first place, namely, because “every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually” (Gen 6:6). Such a claim means that, for this author, the flood really did not accomplish all that much. The same error-prone human beings that existed before the flood were still around after the flood had ended. For the earliest Israelite author, the flood was not a particularly successful event. It accomplished essentially nothing. It is this judgment that so angered the priestly writer. As a result, we not only have a version of the flood story from his hand, as we did with the creation report, but he also interwove it with the prior report in order to take the edge off the first author’s sardonic version. For our purposes, it is important to focus on the ways in which the priestly writer has challenged the version of his predecessor. They occur in at least five ways. First, the priestly writer offers a different motivation for the flood. For his predecessor, the rationale depended exclusively on error prone humans. For P, the problem is broader. He writes, “Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence. And God saw that the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth.” (Gen 6:11–12). This is an indictment befitting a flood that will destroy all flesh. The priestly writer makes the crime fit the punishment, and, in so doing, revises in a consequential way both the ancient Near Eastern and earlier Israelite versions. In both the Atrahasis myth and the first Israelite account, the punishment goes far beyond the crime. Here we find a priestly thinker providing a theodicy, an apology on behalf of the deity who sent the flood. Second, the priestly writer redefines the flood. It becomes a different event than had been the case in either the ancient Near Eastern

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or the earlier Israelite versions. We find the first hint of this change in Gen 6:17, when the deity says, “I am bringing a flood to destroy all flesh.” The word mabbul, typically translated “flood,” actually means something quite different from a flash flood. Rather, according to Ps 29:10, mabbul refers to the waters over which Yahweh is enthroned, and, by appeal to Northwest Semitic mythology, to waters the deity had conquered. These are dangerous, barely tamed waters, which the deity invokes to wipe out humanity. This redefinition becomes even clearer when one moves to Gen 7:11, a text in which the priestly writer describes the source of the water: “all the fountains of the great deep burst forth and the windows of the heavens were opened.” This is no thunderstorm. It is the virtual reversion of the created order to its pre-created state. Here again, one may perceive a writer trying to create a more rational and theologically defensible version of the flood. If it is designed truly to cleanse the earth from violence, it must be a cosmic event. And it becomes that with the imposition of the cosmic ocean over the earth. The priests have given us a far bigger flood than that present in the Atrahasis myth and in the pre-priestly biblical material. Third, the priestly author gives a higher status to the flood survivor than does the prior Israelite version. Whereas the earlier writer observed that Noah had found favor in the eyes of the deity, the priestly writer thought Noah deserved to survive the flood. He was “a righteous man, blameless in his generation.” He is the same sort of moral hero about whom we hear in the book of Job, someone who was also “blameless and upright.” ( Job 1:1). Here again, the priestly writer is challenging the theological loose ends in his predecessor’s account. Fourth, the priestly author vastly enhances the significance of the flood for future generations. For his predecessor, the post-flood scene rehearsed the sacrifice already attested in the ancient Near Eastern accounts. Moreover, the earlier author affirmed that the ground would never again be cursed and that the rhythms of nature would perdure. However, the priestly author offers much more. When hearing the first words of the deity after the priestly flood, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth,” we know that we are rehearsing the first chapter of Genesis, where those same words occur. By implication, the priestly post-flood scene is undertaking the work of recreation, which is apt, given the scale of the destruction wrought by the flood. Not only are humans given renewed marching orders, they are given a new source for food. To complement the vegetarian diet offered in

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Gen 1, the deity now offers humans the consumption of meat. And this, of course, requires the provision of prescriptions about the proper disposition of the blood found in those animals. Moreover, that comment about blood leads to reflection about the principle of proportional punishment for bloody crime. Finally, the priestly post-flood scene becomes the occasion for the creation of the first covenant, one between the deity and all living earth creatures. Such covenants become a hallmark of the priestly writers’ recasting of earlier traditions in Genesis. In sum, when confronted with the first Israelite version of the flood story, one in which the flood serves no clearly defensible purpose, the priestly writer created a radically different form of the story. The priestly account offered a far more positive outcome of the deluge. It was a version that affected significantly the ways in which humans would live, affecting both their diet and laws. Clearly, a priestly hand has vigorously rewritten a major moment in Israel’s primeval literature. Time does not permit an examination of all such priestly rewritings of earlier narratives. However, almost without exception, they involve a major literary and theological recasting of earlier material. III. The Priestly Program in Genesis Readers might suppose that the priestly material in Genesis was heterogeneous, since it was responding to one and another episode in the prior literature. They might not expect to find a coherent priestly program.13 However, when examining the work of the priestly compositors, one may discern at least three ways in which this material coheres: two covenants integrate the primeval history with the ancestral literature; the priestly compositor advocates a number of rituals; the tôlĕdôt formulae integrate both priestly and pre-priestly literature throughout Genesis. First, the priestly compositor created two major compositions devoted to covenants (Gen 9 and 17). Though other texts have been cited as part of a priestly covenantal repertoire (e.g., Num 25:13, in

13

Not surprisingly, though Emerton, “The Priestly Writer in Genesis,” spoke about “points of contact,” “links,” and “affinities” between various sections of the P material, he never offered a judgment about the ways in which that material might literarily or conceptually cohere.

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which Yahweh grants “a covenant of perpetual priesthood” to the Aaronid Phinehas; Lev 24:8, which associates the loaves of Sabbath bread with a bĕrît ʿôlām), these covenants bear nothing of the significance of the two covenants in Genesis. Further, it seems clear that the priests did not claim that a covenant transpired at Sinai.14 Put simply, the priestly theology of covenant is limited to the book of Genesis. What is that priestly theology of covenant?15 It involves at least five features. First, in both of the priestly texts devoted to a bĕrît in Genesis, the compositor has adapted earlier material. In Gen 9, the author has developed the post-flood scene and introduced the notion of a covenant. In Gen 17, the compositor has revised the notion of bĕrît, which was already present in the earlier tradition, attested in the complex chapter, Gen 15. Though this priestly writer did not invent the notion of a covenant between Yahweh and Abraham, he certainly developed it significantly. Second, the texts associated with the two

14 For a contrary view, see S. McKenzie, Covenant (St. Louis: Chalice, 2000), pp. 46–51. The term bĕrît does not appear in the “P” material involving Sinai. Instead, Exod 31:18; 32:15; 34:29 read “tablets of the testimony.” Or one finds “ark of the testimony (e.g., 25:22; 30:26). In “P,” ʿēdût refers to objects: the ark and the tablets. Exodus 31:18; 32:15; 34:29 refer to tablets of the testimony. This is especially clear in Exod 40:20, “he (Moses) took the ʿēdût and put it in the ark.” There is never a phrase such as “my ʿedût” as there is “my covenant” (9:11; 17:9) in the priestly formulations found in Genesis. ʿēdût refer to “laws” or “requirements,” not more generally to the larger contract, so HALOT. A priestly writer wanted to distinguish the character of the revelation at Sinai from that which transpired earlier. Cf. I. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), pp. 137–148. In specific, Knohl wrote, “After the revelation of the name of Yahweh, the concept of covenant (bryt) disappears from PT, to be replaced by the notion of pact (ʿdut).” 142. See also J. Valeton, “Bedeutung und Stellung des Wort bryt im Priestercodex,” ZAW 12 (1892), pp. 501–512, who maintains that P includes only two significant covenants (Gen 9 and 17). Exodus 31:12–17 declare that “my sabbaths” are a “sign,” (vv. 13, 17) the same word used in the priestly covenantal declarations in Genesis 9:12 and Exod 17:11. In those two cases, the phrase “sign of the covenant” appears. No such phrase occurs in Exod 31. According to Exod 31:17, the observation of the Sabbath constitutes a bĕrît ʿôlām, which is different from claiming that the Sabbath itself is a covenant. Cf. S. Olyan, “Exodus 31:12–17: The Sabbath according to H, or the Sabbath according to P and H,” JBL 124 (2005), pp. 201–209. 15 C. Westermann eschews any attempt to address the priestly notion of covenant, “The agreement between Gen 9 and 17 is limited to the word (berit); there is no agreement in what happens.” Genesis 1–11: A Commentary (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1974), p. 471. W. Zimmerli’s assessment is radically different, “Die Bundeskategorie bildet für P . . . eine grundlegende Kategorie in seinem theologischen Aufriss, “Sinaibund und Abrahambund,” TZ 16 (1960), p. 271. Zimmerli argued that the priestly (and H) tradition developed a tradition of covenant that challenged the notion of covenant associated at Sinai. Cf. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence, pp. 143–144.

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covenants involve the cutting of flesh – animal flesh in the first instance and human flesh in the second instance. Blood is spilled, overtly in the first case, implicitly in the second. Third, the primary emphasis of these covenants is upon the beneficent action of the deity, not on behaviors required of humans.16 To this extent, the priestly covenants guarantee not only the nature of the cosmos; they undergird Israel’s existence through the promises made to Abraham and his progeny. Fourth, both covenants have a “strongly promissory nature.” Blenkinsopp makes this claim about Gen 17, but it is just as true for Gen 9.17 In both texts, there is an emphasis on the future fulfillment of the covenant – Gen 9:12, “for all future generations;” Gen 17:9, “you and your offspring throughout their generations.” Fifth, the priestly notion of covenant involves more than Israel’s relationship with its deity. There are certain norms – though not “conditions,” as is the case at Sinai – expected of all people (Gen 9:1–7) and certain promises made to all humanity. And even the more limited covenant with Abraham sets him within the context of “a multitude of nations” (Gen 17:5).18 In sum, the priestly covenants offer a distinctive theological stance in the book of Genesis. The second of these covenants highlights the role of Abraham, almost certainly at the expense of Moses.19 That stance is different from both its non-P forbears in Genesis and from that which follows it in Exodus, particularly as P denies that Sinai involved the making of a covenant. A second element of the priestly program in Genesis involves ritual or ceremonial behavior. A simple catalogue includes the following: Sabbath (Gen 1), prohibition of the consumption of blood (Gen 9), circumcision (Gen 17), and burial practice (Gen 23). None of these 16 Knohl thinks that the covenants in Gen 9 and 17 involve “moral demands God makes of Noah and Abraham.” The Sanctuary of Silence, p. 141. In my judgment, the ritual demands seem far more prominent than do moral requirements. 17 J. Blenkinsopp, “The Structure of P,” CBQ 38 (1976), p. 279. 18 The act of circumcision includes Ishmael and Abraham’s slaves, though it is not clear that the priestly writer thought that the Ishmaelites would continue that practice. In addition, a post-priestly text in Genesis reports the positive impact this Abraham will have for those surrounding peoples (Gen 12:3). A. de Pury contends that Gen 17 must be understood in a “multi-nation” fashion, including Ishmael within its compass, “Abraham: The Priestly Writer’s ‘Ecumenical’ Ancestor,” in: S. McKenzie and T. Römer (eds.), Rethinking the Foundations: Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible. Essays in Honour of John Van Seters (BZAW 294; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2000), pp. 163–181. 19 So E. Zenger, “Priesterschrift,” Theologische Realenzyklopädie, Vol. 27 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1997), pp. 440–441.

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four elements is directly related to tabernacle or temple praxis. Instead, these rituals were of the sort that could be practiced either outside the land or in a place where there was no access to a temple. And, interestingly, a priestly text that addresses corpse defilement, a topic in principle related to Gen 23, requires a ritual that takes place “outside the camp,” (Num 19:3), i.e., away from the prototypical temple. This prominence of non-temple rituals is striking. One could, of course, suggest that no temple-based rituals could be included because neither the tabernacle nor the temple was yet available. However, there is another possible explanation. Those responsible for preserving and interpreting priestly traditions confronted the challenge of enabling Yahwistic rituals in non-temple contexts. The book of Genesis may have been produced in just such an environ – that of exile. The priests offered a theology of creation and covenant – the two priestly theological hallmarks in Genesis – that would undergird the ritual needs of those in exile.20 Those theological lodestones anchored at least three of these rituals: observance of Sabbath, the prohibition of eating blood, and circumcision, all of which would have been used in exile.21 The third component of the priestly program involves the tôlĕdôt formulae.22 The phrase, “these are the descendants of x,” (or a minimal variant thereof ) appears ten times in the book of Genesis.23 Of these ten occurrences, five appear in the primeval history (2:4a; 5:1; 6:9; 10:1; 11:10) and five in the ancestral literature (11:27; 25:12; 25:19; 36:1; 37:2). This symmetric use of the formula not only organizes the prior material, it integrates what had been originally distinct literature, namely, the primeval history and the ancestral literature. In a similar vein, the formula introduces different forms of literature: genealogy

20 In this regard, it is significant that another biblical text that emphasized creation traditions – Deutero-Isaiah – emerged in exile. 21 D. Carr makes a similar claim, though based on a different set of rituals, “. . . the practices in the P narrative up through Exodus 19 are all customs that assumed particular importance in the exile: circumcision (Genesis 17), Passover (now a clan festival that can be celebrated outside Jerusalem; Exodus 12*), and Sabbath (Exodus 16; cf. Gen 2:1–3]).” Reading the Fractures of Genesis: Historical and Literary Approaches (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), pp. 138–139. 22 The author of these formulae was probably different from the earliest priestly compositor, so B. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), pp. 145–147. 23 The phrase “these are the descendants of . . . x” also appears in Num 3:1 and Ruth 4:18, but clearly does not belong to the structural sequence preserved in Genesis.

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(25:19) and narrative (Gen 37:2). It was even used to comment about both Israelite (37:2) and non-Israelite peoples (36:1). These tôlĕdôt formulae are, interestingly, consistent with the earlier family literature. Both non-priestly and priestly traditions take seriously familial and genealogical connections. The priestly compositor has, however, widened the camera lens. Just as P included all humanity in the Noahic covenant, so, with these tôlĕdôt formulae, the priestly editor has demonstrated the interrelationship not only between Israel and other peoples (e.g., 25:12), but between all peoples and the very structure of the universe (Gen 2:4a). The final tôlĕdôt formula occurs in Gen 37:2, “these are the descendants of Jacob.” This phrase prefaces the Joseph short story, with which the book of Genesis concludes. No further genealogical note was necessary, or even possible, after the Joseph narrative.24 With the move from Genesis to Exodus, Israel became something other than a family. The priestly compositor knew this and, therefore, no longer used the language of tôlĕdôt to describe the Israelite “people” in Egypt. The tôlĕdôt formulae not only underscore the familial character of this book; they help construct the book as distinct from that which follows it. In sum, there is a priestly program in Genesis. And it is limited to Genesis. The existence of such a priestly program in Genesis raises interesting questions about the nature and extent of the basic priestly document. At the outset, I should report that I think Thomas Pola has made a convincing case that a priestly document concludes at the end of the book of Exodus.25 Such a priestly document would, in my view, be one that included a form of the book of Genesis that had already been created by a priestly compositor. As a result, one must reckon with the existence of multiple priestly hands in the Pentateuch and in Genesis. This should not be surprising.26 Early on, source critics distinguished between Pg, the narrative

24 Another priestly writer had offered narrative connective tissue, linking the Joseph short story to that of the Exodus (i.e., in Gen 50:12–14a, 22b, 26a), so J. Gertz, “The Transition between the Books of Genesis and Exodus,” A Farewell to the Yahwist?, p. 86. 25 T. Pola, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift: Beobachtungen zur Literarkritik und Traditionsgeschichte von Pg (WMANT 70; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995). 26 See the analysis of R. Rendtorff, “Two Kinds of P? Some Reflections on the Occasion of the Publishing of Jacob Milgrom’s Commentary on Leviticus 1–16,” JSOT 60 (1993), pp. 75–81.

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material, and Ps, the ritual prescriptions. Then, of course, scholars identified two kinds of priestly literature in Leviticus: the priestly code and the holiness code.27 And just in Genesis, some have argued that Pg reflects multiple hands, e.g., the tôlĕdôt schema is probably later than the prior priestly narratives. To be sure, in Exod 6:2–8, a priestly compositor integrated Genesis with Exodus by means of the El ShaddaiYahweh divine name typology and by reiterating the promises made to Abraham. That same writer may be the one who created an inclusio between the priestly creation account in Gen 1 and the construction of the tabernacle in Exod 39 and 40.28 Attention to these multiple priestly hands in the Pentateuch will likely make us rethink the scope and substance of a priestly Grundwerk. Nonetheless, the primary priestly program in Genesis remains palpable and distinct. IV. Conclusions Let me conclude. The book of Genesis derives from a dynamic theological conflict between the priestly compositors and those who had written earlier accounts of humanity’s and Israel’s origins. Both in its pre-priestly and priestly components, Genesis emerged as literature with its own distinctive posture, characterizing Israel in familial terms and, in the priestly material, focusing on both covenant and distinctive rituals. The motif of family pervades the non-priestly material. In the primeval history, humanity is presented as a family, expanding vastly over time and space, both before and after the flood. In Gen 12–36, Israel exists as a family. In fact, many of the so-called ancestral stories should be described as “family literature.” Finally, the Joseph short story focuses on the fraternal relations in a family of which Jacob is the paternal figure. These three distinct sections in Genesis have been integrated by the deployment of the tôlĕdôt formulae. A priestly redactor has used the discourse of genealogies to enhance the sense of Genesis as a literary whole.

27 J. Milgrom maintains that there are multiple strata in both P and H within Leviticus, e.g., P2 (Lev 11:24–38, 47) and H2 (Lev 23:2ab–3, 39–43, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3: New York: Doubleday, 1991), pp. 1–2. 28 See, for example, Pola’s chart, identifying phrases in Gen 1 with those in Exod 39:32, 42–43, Die ursprüngliche Priesterschrift, p. 361. One may add 40:16,17a, and 33b to this roster of linking texts.

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Genesis was formed as a book with its own literary integrity.29 It is, of course, possible to read Genesis as if it were a book.30 I want to make a stronger claim. Genesis emerged as a book when a priestly compositor responded to and integrated earlier literature. That book of Genesis has now been redacted into a larger composition. There are overt links to the book of Exodus (Exod 6:2–8). However, it remains important to discern the original contours of the first biblical book and the priestly compositors who are responsible for it.

29 A number of scholars have recently maintained that Genesis stands in considerable contrast to that which follows it in the Pentateuch. Knohl has spoken about “the Genesis period,” which in P is distinct from “the Moses period,’ with the revelation of the divine name as the decisive boundary. He, however, thinks that “a priestly torah” portrays both of these periods. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence, pp. 124–164. By way of contrast, J. Blenkinsopp wrote, “It is conceivable that Genesis and Deuteronomy existed at one time as independent texts,” The Pentateuch, p. 45. 30 So E. Fox, “Can Genesis be Read as a Book?” Semeia 46 (1989), pp. 31–40.

DAS RÄTSEL VON PSALM 49 Gianni Barbiero Man hat oftmals versucht, den schwierigen Psalm 49 durch Korrekturen des Masoretischen Textes zu erklären1. Andere Autoren schlagen die Scheidung mancher Verse als Zusätze vor2. Die wohl ausführlichste Monographie über Ps 49 vom P. Casetti trennt literarkritisch einen Grundpsalm in V.11–15,21, welcher gegenüber dem Tod die pessimistische Einschätzung von Kohelet vertritt, von einer umfangreichen Erweiterung in V.2–10,16–203. F.-L. Hossfeld übernimmt diese Schichtung, auch wenn er dabei anmerkt, dass die Gründe dafür bloß inhaltlich sind4. Da M. Witte gezeigt hat, dass auch die „inhaltlichen“ Gründe keineswegs durschschlagend sind, brauche ich sie nicht zu revidieren5. Gegenüber diesen Versuchen, möchte ich eine holistische Lektüre des Psalms vorschlagen6. Ich bin mir wohl bewusst, dass der jetzige Text eine Vorgeschichte hat, ich denke aber, dass seine Vorstufen so hypothetisch sind, dass es sich empfiehlt, von dem kanonischen Text

1

Es genügt dabei, auf den apparatus criticus der BHS hinzuweisen. Kraus spiegelt so die allgemeine Meinung wider: „Ps 49 ist in einem textlich sehr schlechten Zustand überliefert“ (Kraus, p. 518). Selbst M. Witte, der doch sich bemüht, dem MT zu folgen, schlägt Änderungen in V.8,12,14,15 und 19b vor (Witte, pp. 541–543). 2 Als Beispiel dafür gilt der Kommentar von K. Seybold (Seybold, pp. 201–203). Für S. sind V.7 und 9 wahrscheinlich, V.11,12b,14–15 sicher als Zusätze anzunehmen. M. Witte lässt V.9 als Glosse aus (Witte, p. 543). Vor allem wird V.16 oft als unecht empfunden. Für ein Verzeichnis der Autoren, welche die Echtheit von V.16 bestreiten, vgl. Schmitt, pp. 193–194. S. rechnet mit C.A. Briggs, K. Budde, W. Staerk, H. Gunkel (der zusammen mit V.16 auch V.11 als Zusatz annimmt), P.A. Munch (V.6 und 16) und V. Maag. E. Sellin und H. Torczyner möchten V.16 transponieren (siehe Literaturhinweise). 3 Casetti, pp. 25–34. In der Auseinandersetzung mit P. Casetti sieht O. Loretz aus kolometrischen Gründen den Grundpsalm in V.8,11bc,12,17,18,20; die anderen Verse seien „sekundäre Erweiterungen“ (Loretz, p. 205). Das Kriterium und das Ergebnis von Loretz sind m.E. noch weniger überzeugend als die von Casetti. 4 Hossfeld – Zenger, p. 300. 5 Witte, p. 548. 6 Diesen Weg der „close reading“ hat F. de Meyer, schon vor einigen Jahren genau im Hinblick auf Ps 49, methodologisch vorgestellt (vgl. De Meyer).

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auszugehen7. Wenn man den kanonischen Text genau unter die Lupe nimmt, scheint es mir, dass er sinnvoller ist als die vorgeschlagenen Korrekturen und redaktionskritischen Hypothesen. M.E. ist der Text von Ps 49, abgesehen vom Titel, in eine Einleitung (V.2–5), zwei Strophen (V.6–12 und 14–20) und zwei „Refrains“ (V.13 und 21) gegliedert (vgl. Tab. 1). Die beiden Strophen sind jeweils in drei Teile unterteilt, die sich chiastisch entsprechen (A = V.6–7; B = V.8–10; C = V.11–12; C’ = V.14–15ab; B’ = V.15cde–16; A’ = V.17–20)8. Tabelle 1 Einleitung

‫האזינו כל־ישבי חלד׃‬ ‫יחד אשיר ואביון׃‬ ‫והגות לבי תבונות׃‬ ‫אפתח בכנור חידתי׃‬

‫ שמעו־זאת כל־העמים‬2 ‫ גם־בני־אדם גם־בני־איש‬3 ‫ פי ידבר חכמות‬4 ‫ אטה למשל אזני‬5 Erste Strophe

‫עון עקבי יסובני׃‬ ‫וברב עשרם יתהללו׃‬ ‫לא־יתן לאלהים כפרו׃‬ ‫וחדל לעולם׃‬ ‫לא יראה השחת׃‬ ‫ועזבו לאחרים חילם׃‬ ‫קראו בשמותם עלי‬ ‫אדמות׃‬

‫כסיל ובער יאבדו‬ ‫משכנתם לדר ודר‬ ‫נמשל כבהמות נדמו׃‬ ‫ואחריהם בפיהם ירצו‬ ‫סלה׃‬

‫ למה אירא בימי רע‬6 A. V.6–7 ‫ הבטחים על־חילם‬7 ‫ אח לא־פדה יפדה איש‬8 B. V.8–10 ‫ ויקר פדיון נפשם‬9 ‫ ויחי־עוד לנצח‬10 ‫ כי יראה חכמים ימותו יחד‬11 C. V.11–12 ‫ קרבם בתימו לעולם‬12 ‫ ואדם ביקר בל־ילין‬13 Refrain ‫ זה דרכם כסל למו‬14

Zweite Strophe C’. V.14–15ab

7 Zu einem ähnlichen Ergebnis komme ich bei der Analyse von Ps 72. Vgl. meinen „The risks of a fragmented reading of the Psalms: Psalm 72 as a case in point“, ZAW 120 (2008), pp. 67–91. 8 Die Gliederung des Psalms in die drei Teile: V.2–5.6–13 und 14–21 ist oft anerkannt worden (vgl. u.a. Craigie, p. 358; Hossfeld – Zenger, p. 300). Bei der Untergliederung der beiden Strophen 6–13 und 14–21 sind die Meinungen nicht einheitlich. Eine dreiteilige Gliederung wird von M. Girard vertreten (Girard, p. 397). G. Ravasi hingegen teilt die erste Strophe (V.6–12) in die zwei Einheiten 6–9 und 10–12, und die zweite (V.14–20) gleichfalls in 14–16 und 17–20 (Ravasi, pp. 878–879). Der chiastische Aufbau des Psalms wird von D. Pleins betont (Pleins).

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Tabelle 1 (cont.)

‫מזבול לו׃‬ ‫כי יקחני סלה׃‬

‫מות ירעם‬ ‫וצורם לבלות שאול‬ ‫מיד שאול‬ ‫כי־ירבה כבוד ביתו׃‬ ‫לא־ירד אחריו כבודו׃‬ ‫ויודך כי־תיטיב לך׃‬ ‫עד־נצח לא יראו־אור‬ ‫נמשל כבהמות נדמו׃‬

‫ כצאן לשאול שתו‬15 ‫וירדו בם ישרים לבקר‬ B’. V.15cde–16 16 ‫ אך־אלהים יפדה נפשי‬ ‫ אל תירא כי־יעשר איש‬17 A’. V.17–20 ‫ כי לא במותו יקח הכל‬18 ‫ כי־נפשו בחייו יברך‬19 ‫ תבוא עד־דור אבותיו‬20 ‫ אדם ביקר ולא־יבין‬21 Refrain

I. Die Einleitung (V.2–5) Bezüglich der Abgrenzung der Einleitung (V.2–5) herrscht breite Zustimmung bei den Exegeten. Von der Form her unterscheidet sie sich vom Rest des Psalms, außerdem ist sie durch das Wort ‫( אזן‬V.2 und 5) eingerahmt. Sie ist durch einen weisheitlichen Akzent geprägt, zeigt aber auch prophetische Elemente. Es widerspricht z.B. dem weisheitlichen Stil, dass als Adressaten ‫כל העמים‬, „alle Völker“ (V.1), genannt werden9. Dies ist eine kollektive Betonung, die im Psalm nicht isoliert steht10. In einer kanonischen Betrachtung verweist sie auf Ps 47,2, wo die universale Rolle Israels gegenüber den Völkern thematisiert wird (vgl. also 46,11; 47,9; 48,3)11. Hinter dem Weisheitslehrer schimmert somit die Gestalt des Volkes Israels durch, das seine Mittlerrolle gegenüber der Welt einnimmt. In dieser Hinsicht scheint es nicht zufällig, dass die Lehre als ‫הגות‬ ‫„( לבי‬das Murmeln meines Herzens“, V.4) bezeichnet wird. Das Verb ‫ הגה‬wird am Anfang des Psalters für das Meditieren des Gesetzes

9 Vgl. P. Casetti in der Auseinandersetzung mit dem Kommentar von E. Pannier: „An unserer Stelle ist . . . das ‫ כל העמים‬weniger ein Ausdruck der ‚perspectives universelles de la sagesse‘ (Pannier, p. 287), als vielmehr ein – dem prophetischen Stil entlehntes – Mittel“ (Casetti, p. 259). 10 Vgl. z.B. V.15, wo von der Gruppe der ‫ ישרים‬die Rede ist (dazu unten). Die „kollektive“ Dimension des Ps 49 im Hinblick auf die Gruppe der Armen wird mit Recht von J. Lindblom unterstrichen (Lindblom). 11 „Le Ps 49 est le ‚poème instructif ‘ annoncé par le Ps 47,8. Il s’adresse comme lui à tous les peuples (Ps 49:2; 47:2). Il vient préciser la finale du Ps 48 : ‚Lui nous conduira jusqu’à la mort‘ (Ps 48:15)“ (Vesco, p. 443).

44

gianni barbiero

verwendet (Ps 1,2, vgl. Jos 1,8)12. Dies legt nahe, dass die Lehre, die hier vermittelt wird, nicht nur aus der Erfahrung des Psalmisten stammt, sondern auch aus seiner Meditation der Tora13. Typisch weisheitlich sind die beiden Wörter ‫ חכמות‬und ‫תבונות‬ (V.4), die eine strukturelle Rolle spielen. Das Lexem ‫ חכם‬wird nämlich in V.11, am Ende der ersten Strophe wiederaufgenommen, und das Lexem ‫ בין‬in V.21, am Ende des Psalms. Beide Wörter weisen offensichtlich auf den Inhalt des Psalms, d.h. auf V.6–21, hin. Das Objekt der Rede, das in V.4 im Plural steht, wird in V.5 zum Singular. Dabei werden wiederum zwei typisch weisheitliche Wörter, ‫ משל‬und ‫חידה‬, verwendet. Das erste Wort drückt den „Spruch“ aus, aber etymologisch bedeutet es „Vergleich“ (vgl. G παραβολή). Das zweite bezeichnet das „Rätsel“ wie es z.B. in Simsons Geschichte vorkommt (vgl. Ri 14,12–20). Was ist mit diesen Wörtern konkret gemeint? Es ist nicht denkbar, dass der Autor damit auf den ganzen Psalm hinweist, der sich kaum als „Spruch“ und „Rätsel“ einstufen lässt14. Mit Perdue gehe ich davon aus, dass der Inhalt des „Spruches“ und des „Rätsels“ in den beiden Kehrversen V.13 und 21 gegeben ist15. Das legt auch die Tatsache nahe, dass „Spruch“ und „Rätsel“ singulär sind, und dass in beiden Refrains ein „Vergleich“ dargestellt wird. Das Wort ‫ משל‬verbindet nämlich V.5 mit 13 und 21 (‫)נמשל‬. Dass V.13 und 21 auch eine ‫ חידה‬bilden, wird zu erweisen sein. II. Die „Kehrverse“ (V.13.21) V.13 und 21 sind durch wenige Wortassoziationen mit der jeweils vorausgehenden Strophe verbunden. Hingegen sind sie mit der Ein-

12

Vgl dazu Fischer – Lohfink. Das wird auch von A. Weiser betont: „Die feierlichen Worte ‚ich will neigen mein Ohr einem Spruch‘ (zeigen), dass der Dichter ähnlich wie die Propheten das Wort, das er zu sagen hat, als Offenbarung empfängt. Seine Weisheit ist eben nicht Menschenweisheit“ (Weiser, 261). 14 K. Seybold meint, das Rätsel sei der ganze Psalm, d.h. V.6–21 (Seybold, p. 200). P. Casetti denkt an seinen „Grundpsalm“, nämlich an V.5–11 (Casetti, pp. 275–276). Stolz rechnet mit V.6 als Rätsel, und V.16 als Lösung (Stolz, pp. 58–59). 15 Vgl. Perdue, p. 538: „It is our opinion that the riddle is contained in vs. 21 and the shorter, original answer in vs. 13“. Weniger überzeugend ist m.E. sein Korrekturvorschlag, wenn er V.21 so übersetzt: „Man is an ox, for he has no understanding; He is like the fattened cattle who are dumb“, und V.13: „A wealthy man cannot abide; He is like fattened cattle who are slaughtered!“ (p. 539). Die Interpretation der Rätsel, welche Perdue vorschlägt, ist von dieser (m.E. unbegründeten) Übersetzung abhängig. 13

das rätsel von psalm 49

45

leitung nicht nur durch ‫משל‬, sondern auch durch das bedeutende Wort ‫( אדם‬V.3.13.21) verknüpft, welches wiederum auf den universalen Horizont des Psalms hinweist16! Dadurch werden die Kehrverse strukturell von der Strophe getrennt, auch wenn sie inhaltlich dazu gehören: sie haben nämlich eine besondere Rolle. Tabelle 2

‫נמשל כבהמות נדמו‬ ‫נמשל כבהמות נדמו‬

‫ואדם ביקר בל ילין‬ ‫אדם ביקר ולא יבין‬

V.13 V.21

Wie es oft in der alttestamentlichen Poesie der Fall ist, sind die beiden Kehrverse nicht identisch (vgl. Tab. 2)17. Der zweite Halbvers lautet in V.13 wie in V.21 gleich, aber im ersten Halbvers lassen sich drei kleine, aber nicht unbedeutende Unterschiede bemerken. Zunächst einmal wird das Wort ‫ אדם‬in V.13 durch ein (wohl emphatisches18) ‫ ו‬mit dem vorausgehenden Vers verbunden. In V.21 hingegen wird das ‫( ו‬wohl adversativum19) vor das Verb gestellt. Aus dem einen Satz

16 Die Perspektive des Psalms ist nicht soziologisch, sondern anthropologisch (vgl. V.3). „Hier wird eine Sache zur Diskussion gestellt, die schlechterdings jeden betrifft, ein anthropologisches Grundproblem“ (Stolz, p. 58). 17 Deswegen fragt sich P. Casetti u.a., ob V.13 und 21 eigentlich „Kehrverse“ sind. Gegen die verbreitete Tendenz, die beiden Texte zu vereinheitlichen, schließt er sich mit Recht an den MT an und erkennt trotzdem in den beiden Texten, mit ihren Unterschieden, „Kehrverse“ (Casetti, pp. 82–85). Was Casetti mit Belegen aus dem Psalmenbuch behauptet, möchte ich mit Belegen aus dem Hohenlied stützen. Vgl. z.B. die kleinen Varianten bei dem Kehrvers der gegenseitigen Zugehörigkeit der Liebenden (Hld 2:16; 6:3 und 7:11; dazu Barbiero 2004, pp. 115–117, 263–265, 334–335). 18 Vgl. Gesenius – Kautzsch – Bergsträsser, § 154a, Anm. 1b. 19 Diese Deutung ist nicht gewöhnlich. Meistens wird das ‫ ו‬mit allen alten Versionen und 2 hebräischen Manuskripten ausgelassen. Dann ist V.21 praktisch gleichbedeutend mit V.13. So z.B. Alonso Schökel: „L’uomo nell’opulenza non intende: è come le bestie che ammutoliscono“ (Alonso Schökel, p. 784). Zu einem ähnlichen Sinn gelangt, wer das ‫ ו‬als coordinativum (vgl. KJV: „Man that is in honour, and understandeth not, is like the beasts that perish“), oder als emphaticum versteht („Der Mensch in seiner Größe: Ja, er versteht nicht, er ist gleich wie das Vieh, das verschwindet“ [Casetti, p. 294, vgl. pp. 154–156]). Als ‫ ו‬adversativum liest TOB: „L’homme avec ses honneurs, mais qui n’a pas compris, est pareil à la bête qui s’est tue“. Gegen diese Lesung spricht Duhm: „ ‚Ein Mann in Pracht, der aber nicht gescheidt ist‘ hätte zwar an sich einen guten Sinn, aber nicht in diesem Gedicht, da die Weisen nach V.11 ebensogut sterben wie die Dummen“ (Duhm, p. 204). Duhm wäre Recht zu geben, wenn es nicht zwischen V.11 und V.21 V.15cde–16 stünden. Genau diese Verse verhindern, dass V.21 denselben Sinn wie V.13 hat. Die beiden Aussagen von V.11 und V.21 sind nicht kontradiktorisch, sondern komplementär zu verstehen: sie unterscheiden zwischen zwei Arten von „Weisheit“, wie wir noch sehen werden.

46

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werden zwei. Zweitens wird die Negativpartikel ‫ בל‬zu ‫לא‬. Drittens wird im Verb der zentrale Buchstabe ‫ ל‬durch ein ‫ ב‬ersetzt: aus ‫ילין‬ wird ‫יבין‬. V.13 lautet somit: „Ja: Der Mensch in seiner Pracht wird die Nacht nicht überstehen: er ist gleich dem Vieh, das verschwindet“. V.21 hingegen: „Der Mensch in seiner Pracht, der aber nicht versteht, er ist gleich dem Vieh, das verschwindet20“. Diese Änderung ist kaum zufällig. Zum einen gehört das Wortspiel zur Gattung ‫חידה‬, die oft poetisch verfasst ist21. Zum anderen entsprechen die beiden Refrains in ihrem Wortlaut dem Inhalt der jeweils vorausgehenden Strophe (V.6–12 und 14–20), wie noch zu zeigen ist. Die erste Strophe (V.6–12) Makrostrukturell sind V.6–12 in die drei Teile 6–7,8–10 und 11–12 gegliedert (vgl. Tab. 3). Diese Teile spiegeln nicht nur die entsprechende Aufteilung der zweiten Strophe wider22, sondern stehen auch untereinander in Korrelation. In diesem Sinn entsprechen sich V.6–7 Tabelle 3

‫עון עקבי יסובני׃‬ ‫וברב עשרם יתהללו׃‬

a Hochmut

‫ אח לא־פדה יפדה איש לא־יתן לאלהים כפרו׃‬8 B. ‫וחדל לעולם׃‬ ‫ ויקר פדיון נפשם‬9 sing. ‫לא יראה השחת׃‬ ‫ ויחי־עוד לנצח‬10

b Antwort

b’ Antwort a’ Hochmut

‫ למה אירא בימי רע‬6 A. ‫ הבטחים על־חילם‬7 plur.

‫ועזבו לאחרים חילם׃‬

‫כסיל ובער יאבדו‬

‫קראו בשמותם עלי‬ ‫אדמות׃‬

‫משכנתם לדר ודר‬

‫ כי יראה חכמים‬11 A’. ‫ ימותו יחד‬ ‫ קרבם בתימו לעולם‬12 plur.

‫נמשל כבהמות נדמו׃‬

‫ ואדם ביקר בל־ילין‬13 Refr.

20 Das Verb ‫ דמה‬Ni. hat drei Bedeutungen: 1) gleich werden; 2) vertilgt werden; 3) schweigen müssen (vgl. HALAT 216). In Verbindung mit ‫( ילין‬V.13) ist wohl die zweite Bedeutung am wahrscheinlichsten. So ist auch m.E. in V.21, denn das Thema des Psalms ist der Tod. Vielleicht klingt die dritte Bedeutung („schweigen müssen“) auch mit, aber nur als Nebenbedeutung (gegen Raabe, p. 216). 21 „The better rhetorical and literary riddles are poetic, containing such devices as paronomasia, word division, metaphor, simile, allitteration, assonance, rhyme, meter, onomatopoeia, parallelism, and syllabification“ (Perdue, p. 534). 22 Vgl. Tab. 1, oben.

das rätsel von psalm 49

47

und V.11–12 (AA’). Die Inklusion wird durch das Wort ‫( חילם‬V.7 und 11) und durch die Paronomasie ‫( ירא‬V.6) – ‫( ראה‬V.11) signalisiert: Wer keine Angst hatte (V.6), der muss Schreckliches sehen (V.11). Außerdem sind V.6–7 und 11–12 durch das pluralische Subjekt verbunden, während V.8–10 im Singular verfasst sind. Eine Querverbindung zwischen B und A’ bilden die Wörter ‫( יראה‬V.10 und 11) und ‫( לעולם‬V.9 und 12). Vom Inhalt her drücken die Verse einen Kontrast aus, welcher die ganze Strophe prägt. Es wird zum einen die hochmütige Haltung der Reichen gegenüber Gott und den Menschen dargestellt (a), zum anderen wird dieser Haltung eine weisheitliche Antwort gegeben (b), welche die Sicherheit der Reichen als falsch entlarvt. Alles endet ja mit dem Tod. Die beiden kontrastierenden Aussagen sind chiastisch angelegt (abb’a’). Auffallend ist, dass als falsche Sicherheit nicht nur der Reichtum eingestuft wird (V.7.12), sondern auch die Beziehungen zu wichtigen Persönlichkeiten, wie auch immer die schwierigen V.8–10 zu interpretieren sind23, und die Weisheit (V.11)24. Nicht nur der Narr und der Tor sterben, sondern auch die Weisen (‫)חכמים‬. Diese Pointe gegen die Weisheit legt nahe, dass der Verfasser eine besondere Art 23 Ich verstehe V.9 als eine Parenthese: der Gedanke von V.8 geht in V.10 weiter. V.8–10 übersetze ich folgendermaßen: „Kein Mensch kann doch seinen Bruder loskaufen, keiner kann Gott sein Lösegeld geben – zu hoch ist der Kaufpreis für ihr Leben, man muss für immer davon abstehen – damit er auf ewig weiterlebt und das Grab nicht sieht“ (vgl. Delitzsch, pp. 357–358). Dahinter steht m.E. der Gedanke von Ijob 33:23–26 und Hen 98:9. 24 Mit Recht bemerkt P. Casetti, dass die Weisen nicht von ungefähr an der ersten Stelle unter denen, die untergehen, gestellt werden (vgl. V.11). „Dieser Satz (enthält) einen ganz massiven Angriff auf die Weisheit: Die Weisheit führt, allen gegenteilige Beteuerungen zum Trotz, letztlich nicht zum Leben, sie bewährt sich aufs ganze gesehen nicht, und so mag man mit Fug und Recht an ihrer Wahrheit und an ihrem Wert zweifeln“ (Casetti, p. 57; vgl. auch Irsigler, p. 271: „Psalm 49 at the same time criticizes power and wisdom“). Im Kontext werden die Weisen den Reichen gleichgestellt (vgl. V.7,11c). Die Weisheit wird als eine Art von Reichtum gesehen, welche die Illusion geben kann, dass der Mensch den Tod überwinden kann. Der Angriff auf die Weisheit kommt in V.14 wieder: „Da ist ihr Weg – derer, die auf sich selbst vertrauen und derer, die nach ihnen an ihren Worten Gefallen haben“ (vgl. als Hintergrund Hen 98:15; 99:1). Wahrscheinlich nimmt der Verfasser gegen die Schriftgelehrten Stellung, die durch die Schrift eine Art Ewigkeit beanspruchen (vgl. Sir 39:9–11). Es handelt sich dabei um eine falsche, selbstsichere Weisheit (vgl. Jer 9:22–23). Deswegen gibt es zwischen V.11 und V.21 keinen Widerspruch (gegen Duhm, vgl. Anm. 19). Mit dem Verb ‫ בין‬in V.21 drückt der Verfasser eine andere Art von Weisheit als die in V.11 und 14 aus. Es ist die Weisheit der Armen, derer, die verstehen, dass nur Gott aus dem Tod entreißen kann (vgl. V.15cde–16). Mit demselben Verb drückt Ps 73:17 (ein Psalm, welcher eine große Ähnlichkeit mit Ps 49 aufweist) die Einsicht über den Tod aus: „Bis ich eintrat in Gottes Heiligtümer, einsah (‫ )אבינה‬ihr Endgeschick“.

48

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der Weisheit vertritt, die mit der traditionellen nicht deckungsgleich ist25. Der Refrain (V.13) gehört nicht direkt zur Strophe, aber er ist mit den vorausgehenden Versen nicht nur durch das anfängliche ‫ו‬, sondern auch durch die Wörter ‫( יקר‬V.13 und 9) und ‫( אדם‬V.13a und 12c: ‫ )אדמות‬verbunden. Inhaltlich fasst das Binom ‫ יקר – אדם‬die beiden Pole der vorausgehenden Verse zusammen, indem es im Wort ‫ אדם‬die Unbeständigkeit der menschlichen Kondition ausdrückt, die dann durch das Verb ‫ בל ילין‬und durch den Vergleich mit dem Vieh bekräftigt wird. Im Wort ‫ יקר‬hingegen wird die Zumutung eines ewigen Lebens wiederaufgenommen. Doch nicht anders ist der Mensch als das Vieh, das verschwindet! Wäre das der Schluss des Psalms, würde unser Psalmist die pessimistische Einstellung Kohelets gegenüber dem Tod teilen (vgl. Koh 3,18–21)26. Es gibt aber eine weitere Strophe! Die zweite Strophe (V.14–20) V.14–20 sind, wie gesagt, in die drei Teile gegliedert: V.14–15ab, V.15cde–16 und V.17–20 (vgl. Tab. 4). Diese Teile sind chiastisch gegenüber den entsprechenden Teilen der ersten Strophe angelegt, so dass V.14–15ab V.11–12 (CC’); V.15cde–16 V.8–10 (BB’), und V.17–20 V.6–7 (AA’) widerspiegeln (vgl. oben, Tab. 1)27. Darüber hinaus sind

25 Deswegen zielt L. Perdue völlig daneben, wenn er schreibt: „We have, therefore, a wise man drawing upon a motif common to the ancient Near East who, even in the most despairing circumstances, is confident of gaining salvation from death, not because of his morality or piety, but because of the secret wisdom concerning the mysteries of life and death he alone possesses“ (Perdue, p. 542). 26 Während das Buch der Sprichwörter die Weisheit als einen Lebensbaum preist (vgl. Spr 3:16; 8:35; 16:22, vgl. Weish 8,13:17), teilt Kohelet dieselbe Skepsis gegenüber der Weisheit wie Ps 49 (vgl. Koh 2:16; 6:8; 9:3). Über die Beziehungen von Ps 49 zu Kohelet vgl. Barucq. 27 Die Verbindung von V.6–7 mit 17–20 wird durch die Lexeme ‫„( ירא‬fürchten“, V.6 und 17), ‫„( עשר‬reich sein“, V.7 und 17) und ‫„( רבב‬zahlreich sein“, V.7 und 17) signalisiert; die zwischen V.8–10 und 15cde–16 durch ‫„( פדה‬erlösen“, V.8.9 und 16), ‫( אלהים‬V.8 und 16) und ‫( נפש‬V.9 und 16). Man bemerke außerdem die Paronomasie zwischen ‫( אח‬Anfang von V.8) und ‫( אך‬Anfang von V.16). Die Verbindung von V.11–12 mit 14–15ab wird durch ‫( מות‬V.11 [Verb] und 15 [Substantiv]), ‫( כסל‬man bemerke das Spiel zwischen ‫כסיל‬, „dumm“ [V.11] und ‫כסל‬, „Vertrauen“ [V.14]: wer in sich selbst vertraut, der ist dumm), und ‫ אחר‬nahegelegt (V.11 = ‫אחרים‬, „andere Leute“; V.14 = ‫אחריהם‬, „hinter sich“; hier auch ist ein semantisches Spiel angedeutet: wer etwas hinter sich lässt [V.14], der lässt es anderen Leuten [V.11]).

das rätsel von psalm 49

49

die einzelnen Teile auch unter sich, wie in der ersten Strophe, verbunden, so dass sich die beiden rahmenden Teile entsprechen (A, V.14– 15ab; A’, V.17–20). In beiden ist nämlich von den Reichen die Rede, währenddessen in V.15cde–16 (B) von den „Gerechten“ gesprochen wird28. In den rahmenden Teilen (AA’) kann man des weiteren, wie in der ersten Strophe, die Alternierung zwischen der Darstellung des Hochmuts der Reichen (a) und deren weisheitlicher Antwort (b) beobachten. Besonders interessant ist es, dass die Folge HochmutAntwort in V.14–15ab chiastisch der Abfolge in V.11–12 entspricht, so dass die beiden Teile die Figur baab bilden. V.14–15ab dienen somit als Zusammenfassung der ganzen Strophe 6–12. In V.14 wird vor allem die geistliche Dimension des Reichtums und gleichzeitig die falsche Weisheit hervorgehoben. Tabelle 4 a Hochmut b Antwort

‫מזבול לו׃‬ ‫כי יקחני‬ ‫סלה׃‬

—

a’ Hochmut b’ Antwort a“ Hochmut b“ Antwort

‫ואחריהם בפיהם‬ ‫ירצו סלה׃‬ ‫מות ירעם‬

‫ זה דרכם כסל למו‬14

‫וצורם לבלות שאול‬ ‫מיד שאול‬

‫וירדו בם ישרים לבקר‬ ‫ אך־אלהים יפדה נפשי‬16

‫כי־ירבה כבוד ביתו׃‬ ‫לא־ירד אחריו‬ ‫כבודו׃‬ ‫ויודך כי־תיטיב לך׃‬ ‫עד־נצח לא יראו־‬ ‫אור‬ ‫נמשל כבהמות‬ ‫נדמו׃‬

‫ אל תירא כי־יעשר איש‬17 ‫ כי לא במותו יקח הכל‬18

A. V.14–15ab

‫ כצאן לשאול שתו‬15 B. V.15cde–16

A’. V.17–20

‫ כי־ נפשו בחייו יברך‬19 ‫ תבוא עד־דור אבותיו‬20 ‫ אדם ביקר ולא־יבין‬21 Refrain

28 Als Stichwortentsprechungen dienen hier ‫( אחר‬V.14 und 18), und ‫( מות‬V.15 und 18). Darüber hinaus sind Querverbindungen zwischen V.14–15ab und 15cde–16 zu beobachten (‫שאול‬, V.15a und 15d,16), sowie zwischen 15cde–16 und 17–20 (‫נפש‬, V.16 und 19; ‫לקח‬, V.16 und 18). Die Strophe erweist sich als sehr kompakt, so dass die redaktionskritische Hypothese von Casetti und Hossfeld durch diese Beobachtungen keine Stütze findet.

50

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Der umstrittene V.15cde, der eine bekannte crux interpretum bildet29, möchte ich mit Hossfeld30 nach dem Qere des MT übersetzen31: „Aber die Gerechten werden am Morgen32 über sie herrschen33, und ihr Fels (‫ )צורם‬ist da, die Scheol verschwinden zu lassen34 von seinem Palast her35.“ „Fels“ verstehe ich als Bezeichnung Gottes. Hier sind natürlich viele Emendationen vorgeschlagen worden, vor allem

29 Manche Autoren verzichten einfach, die Stelle zu übersetzen (vgl. Kraus, p. 516; Weiser, p. 259). 30 Hossfeld – Zenger, p. 303. Ähnlich auch Pleins, der aber ein Fragezeichen ans Ende stellt: „The just will rule/tread over/on them at dawn, And their Rock [God] ̮ (will) consume the grave [seʾôl] from his exalted dwelling?“ (Pleins, p. 24). Er bezieht das Wort ‫ צור‬nicht auf den Gott Israels, sondern auf den Gott der Reichen (so auch Olofsson, p. 90). Aber ‫ צור‬ist in den Psalmen immer Bezeichnung JHWHs (vgl. Ps 18:3,32,47; 19:15; 28:1; 62:3,7,8; 73:26; 78:35 [‫ ;]צורם‬89:27; 92:16; 94:22; 95:1; 144:1). 31 „Das Qere ‫ צורם‬ist also lectio difficilior, insofern es ohne weiteres als Gottesbezeichnung gedeutet werden kann und dann theologisch – wie übrigens auch syntaktisch – um einiges befremdender ist als ‫( “צירם‬Casetti, p. 145). Auch Olofsson ist mit Casetti einverstanden, und meint, dass G diese Lesung stützt: „The counterpart in LXX, ἡ βοήθεια αὐτῶν, clearly points to the qere form ‫ צוּר‬in the sense ‘rock’, rather than to ‫‘( ִציר‬idol’ or ‘form’), since ‫ צוּר‬as an epithet of God is as a rule translated by θεός (13x) or βοηθός in the Psalter (18:3; 19:15; 78:35; 94:22)“ (Olofsson, p. 91). 32 Von einer Hilfe Gottes am Morgen ist oft im AT und im ganzen Alten Orient die Rede: die Sonne war nämlich der Gott der Gerechtigkeit, und JHWH übernimmt diese Vorstellung. Eine genaue Parallele findet unsere Stelle aber in Mal 3:21, wo vom eschatologischen Gericht die Rede ist („An dem Tag, den ich herbeiführe, werdet ihr die Ruchlosen unter euren Fußsohlen zertreten, so dass sie zu Asche werden“). Eine eschatologische Herrschaft der Gerechten wird auch in Weish 3:8 und Hen 95:3; 96:1; 98:12 dargestellt. Kanonisch betrachtet, nimmt diese Herrschaft auf den vorangehenden Ps 47:4 Bezug („Er unterwirft uns Völker und zwingt Nationen unter unsere Füße“), und die Hilfe am Morgen auf Ps 46:6 („Gott hilft ihr, wenn der Morgen anbricht“). Eine subtile Verbindung zwischen ‫ לבקר‬V.15 und ‫ בל ילין‬V.13 liegt nahe: die Reichen können die Nacht nicht überstehen, weil die Gerechten am Morgen über sie herrschen (vgl. Olofsson, pp. 88–89). 33 Gegen die oft bevorzugte Emendation ‫( וְ יֵ ְרדוּ‬aus dem Verb ‫)ירד‬, bleibe ich bei MT ‫( וַ יִּ ְרדוּ‬aus ‫רדה‬, „treten, herrschen“). Das wajjiqtol verstehe ich futurisch, vielleicht auch ohne die Vokale des MT zu ändern. Das wajjiqtol kann, wenn auch selten, futurische Bedeutung haben, vor allem wenn es einem jiqtol folgt (vgl. Joüon – Muraoka, §118s). 34 MT ‫ ְל ַבלּוֹת‬ist Inf.cs. Pi. von ‫„ בלה‬schwinden lassen“. Die Korrektur-Vorschläge (vgl. BHS) sind unnötig. Als Parallele möchte ich Jes 25:7–8 zitieren, der aber das gleichbedeutende und -lautende Verb ‫ בלע‬verwendet: „Er zerreißt auf diesem Berg die Hülle, die alle Nationen verhüllt, und die Decke, die alle Völker bedeckt. Er beseitigt den Tod (‫ )בלע המות‬für immer“. 35 Über den Ausdruck ‫( מזבל לו‬V.15e) vgl. Bordreuil. Der Hinweis bezieht sich auf den Tempel als „hohe Wohnung“ (vgl. 1 Kön 8:13 = 2 Chr 6:2). Es ist schwer zu sagen, ob es sich dabei um die irdische oder die himmlische Wohnung Gottes handelt (in diesem Sinn vgl. Jes 63:15). Es gibt wie bekannt eine Entsprechung zwischen beiden.

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weil die Gruppe der ‫ ישרים‬als eine fremde Größe empfunden wird36. Aber ein eindeutig kollektiver Akzent war schon im Wort ‫( עמים‬V.2) zu spüren. In unserem Psalm kommen die weisheitliche und die prophetisch-eschatologische Dimension zusammen und sind nicht zu trennen37. Nicht weniger umstritten ist auch V.16, nicht wegen des Textes, sondern wegen der Interpretation: „Gewiss wird Gott meine Seele erlösen aus der Hand der Scheol, denn er wird mich nehmen“. Die Meinungen hierüber sind sehr unterschiedlich. Handelt es sich um eine praemortale, immanente Lösung, also um die Befreiung aus einer tödlichen Gefahr, oder um eine eschatologische Befreiung aus dem Tod? Viele Autoren entscheiden sich für die erste Alternative38. Würde V.16 nur für sich betrachtet werden, so wäre diese Lösung nicht von der Hand zu weisen. Aber wenn der Vers in seinem Kontext gelesen wird, dann ergibt sich ein anderer Zusammenhang39. Strukturell sollen V.15cde–16 zunächst auf dem Hintergrund der vorausgehenden Verse verstanden werden. In V.15cde–16 wird ein Kontrast zu V.15ab dargestellt40. Für die Reichen gilt: „Wie Schafe sind sie für die Scheol bestimmt, der Tod weidet sie“. Für die „Gerechten“, d.h. für die Gruppe der „Armen“41, ist dies anders: Sie sind nicht für die Scheol bestimmt (V.15cde). V.16 stellt 36 Vgl. z.B. EÜ: „Geradewegs sinken sie hinab in das Grab; ihre Gestalt zerfällt, die Unterwelt wird ihre Wohnstatt“. Bei dieser Übersetzung bleibt kaum ein Wort des MT ohne Emendationen. 37 Zur eschatologischen Dimension von Ps 49 vgl. Lindblom. 38 M. Witte unterscheidet bei der „immanenten“ Alternative drei Formen: a) „Erlösung von dem drohenden Tod“, welche der Überzeugung entspricht „von der radikalen Diesseitsorientierung des Alten Testaments und der Rekurs auf die alttestamentliche Vorstellung von einer allgemeinen Gottesferne in der Scheol“. Diese Lösung wird u.a. von H. Gunkel, K. Seybold und D. Pleins vertreten; b) „Erlösung von dem täglichen Tod“, welche von der Meinung ausgeht, dass „Begriffe wie ‚Tod‘, ‚Unterwelt‘ und ‚Grube‘ nicht für den endgültigen Tod des Menschen stehen können, sondern für unterschiedliche Formen immanenter Todeserfahrung“. Dazu gehört exemplarisch K. Marti; c) „Erlösung von dem bösen Tod“. Der Psalm 49 ist damit „Ausdruck der Hoffnung auf Bewahrung vor einem bösen und frühen Tod“. Vertreter dieser Lösung sind u.a. C. Barth und L. Wächter (Witte, pp. 550–552, siehe Literaturangaben). 39 „Durch die Einflechtung von V.16 in den Kontext als Antwort auf das unumgängliche Gesetz des Sterbenmüssens wird die neuartige Konzeption dieses Liedes transparent und die Aufmerksamkeit der Hörer geweckt“ (Schmitt, p. 249). 40 Für die Verbindung von V.15cde mit 16 spricht auch die gleiche Länge des Verses: beide sind nämlich Trikola. Die beiden andere Trikola, V.11 und 12, sind gleichfalls gepaart. 41 Durch die Gegenüberstellung zu den Reichen, d.h. zu denjenigen, die ihr Vertrauen auf sich selbst setzen, werden die ‫ ישרים‬als arm dargestellt, d.h. als Leute die

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dann die Hoffnung der Armen auf eine individuelle Basis, dadurch erklärt sich der Psalmist als ein Angehöriger der Gruppe der Armen42. Seine Weisheit kommt nicht aus der Erfahrung, nicht aus der wissenschaftlichen Beobachtung des Lebens, sondern aus dem Glauben. Sie ist nur theologisch begründet. Zweitens sollen die beiden Verse auf dem Hintergrund von V.8–10, dem Mittelpunkt der ersten Strophe, verstanden werden. Die Verbindung ist evident43. V.8 lautet: „Kein Mensch kann seinen Bruder erlösen (‫“)לא פדה יפדה‬. Wenn V.16 feststellt: „Gewiss wird Gott meine Seele erlösen (‫“)יפדה‬, dann wird dazu eine präzise Antithese ausgedrückt. Kein Mensch, nur Gott kann den Kaufpreis für den Tod bezahlen. Strukturell ist m.E. eindeutig ein Leben nach dem Tod gemeint, denn nirgends sonst gäbe es einen Unterschied zwischen Reichen und Gerechten. Diese Dimension wird in V.16c bekräftigt: ‫כי יקחני‬.44 Mit A. Schmitt45 vertrete ich die Auffassung, dass der Text auf die Entrückung von Enoch46 oder Elias47 anspielt. Unser Psalmist hat diese Vorstellung demokratisiert und auf eine Befreiung nicht aus dem Tod48, sondern

ihr Vertrauen auf Gott, nicht auf den Reichtum noch auf die falsche Weisheit setzen. Zur Parallelstellung von „Gerechten“ und „Armen“ im Psalter vgl. Ps 140:13–14. 42 „Solchem Leben, in dem der Tod das letzte Wort hat, stellt der Dichter sein eigenes gegenüber, in dem Gott das letzte Wort hat. Hier steht das Vertrauen auf einem anderen Fundament und ist anderer Art als das Vertrauen auf sich selbst“ (Weiser, p. 262). 43 V.15cde–16 bilden den Mittelpunkt der zweiten Strophe (B’), und V.8–10 den Mittelpunkt der ersten (B, vgl. Tab. 1). Die beiden Teile sind durch Stichwörter verbunden (vgl. oben, Anm. 27). 44 Es gibt hier ein syntaktisches Problem. MT verbindet ‫ מיד שאול‬mit dem Vorausgehenden, aber damit ist der erste Halbvers überlang. Nach einigen Autoren (vgl. Schmitt, pp. 218–224) gehört ‫ מיד שאול‬zum zweiten Halbvers (‫)כי יקחני‬. M.E. ist V.16 ein Trikolon, wie V.15cde, und das zweite Kolon ist mit dem ersten, nicht mit dem dritten verbunden. 45 Schmitt, pp. 241–249. 46 Gen 5:24 (vgl. Sir 44:16). 47 2 Kön 2:3,5,9,10 (vgl. Sir 48:9; 1 Makk 2:58). 48 Die Entrückung, wie sie im Fall von Enoch und Elias stattfand, impliziert eine Befreiung aus dem Tod. Für diese Lösung spricht sich entschieden Casetti aus, pp. 219–221. Diese Meinung wird auch von Briggs, p. 411; Kittel, p. 182; Podechard, p. 221; Grelot, p. 209, vertreten.

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durch den Tod hindurch aus der Scheol umgedeutet49, im Sinne einer immerwährenden Gemeinschaft mit Gott50. Nur auf diesem Hintergrund sind V.17–20 verständlich, wo dem diesseitigen Glanz der Reichen ihr jenseitiges Geschick gegenübergestellt wird. Nur so ist vor allem der Kehrvers, V.21, zu verstehen. Wenn der Refrain den Inhalt der Strophe widerspiegeln soll, dann muss er anders lauten als in V.13, denn in V.15cde–16 wurde eine neue Dimension eröffnet. So wiederholt der Kehrvers zum einen die Lehre des vorausgehenden: „Der Mensch in seiner Pracht (. . .) er ist gleich dem Vieh, das verschwindet“. Dadurch wird der Inhalt der V.14–15ab.17–20 wiederaufgenommen. Aber dann mit dem Satz ‫ ולא יבין‬nimmt der Verfasser auf V.15cde–16 Bezug. Mit diesem Satz drückt der Psalmist eine Ausnahme aus. Nicht alle „Menschen in Pracht“ sind gleich dem Vieh, nur die, „die nicht verstehen“51. Beim „Verstehen“ ist bestimmt eine scherzhafte Anspielung auf die ‫ חידה‬gemeint. Sind die Leute klug genug, das Rätsel zu lösen? Es handelt sich nicht nur um ein Spiel. Der Einleitung gemäß, spricht der Psalmist nicht nur die Armen an, sondern auch die Reichen (V.3): er hat ein missionarisches Interesse52. Er unterscheidet dabei zwischen Weisheit und Weisheit. In V.11 wurde festgestellt, dass „die Weisen (‫ )חכמים‬sterben“. Wenn in V.21 gesagt wird, dass die Reichen, „die verstehen“ (‫)בין‬, eine Ausnahme bilden, dann ist damit eine andere Art von Weisheit gemeint. Es ist die Weisheit der Armen, die ihr Vertrauen nicht auf sich selbst, sondern auf Gott setzen. Für diese Art von Weisen bzw. Reichen gilt, dass Gott sie jenseits des Todes bei sich aufnimmt. Sie dürfen am Geschick der Armen teilnehmen53. 49 In diesem Sinn verstehen es u.a. Schmitt, pp. 242–243; Hossfeld – Zenger, pp. 306–307; Mays, p. 193; Witte, p. 552. 50 Dieser Sinn von ‫ לקח‬wird von der Parallele Ps 73:24 unterstützt: „Nachher wirst du mich in die Herrlichkeit aufnehmen (‫“)תקחני‬. Der Kontext von V.24 spricht von einer intimen Beziehung zu Gott, welche vom Tod nicht unterbrochen werden kann (vgl. V.23,25–26). 51 „In dem Schlusssatze ist der gemeine Spruch, dass der Mensch davon muss wie das Vieh, in den höheren verwandelt, dass der Mensch nur dann, wenn er nicht den rechten Verstand des Lebens besitzt, wie das Vieh vergeht“ (Hupfeld, p. 669). 52 „This modification opens to the rich a way out“ (Eerdmans, p. 267). 53 Ähnliches geschieht in Ps 22. Nachdem der Psalmist die Armen an sein TodaOpfer eingeladen hat (V.23–27), lädt er auch die Reichen ein (V.28–30). Besonders interessant ist V.30: „Alle Fette der Erde haben gegessen und sich niedergeworfen; vor ihm knien all diejenigen nieder, die in den Staub hinuntergehen und ihr Leben nicht retten können“ (vgl. dazu Barbiero 2000, pp. 122–125).

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Damit hat der Verfasser das „Rätsel“ von V.13 und 21 mit der Leier, d.h. durch seinen Psalm (V.6–12 und 14–20), aufgeschlüsselt (V.5b). Anhang: Übersetzung von Ps 49 1 Für den Chorleiter. Von den Söhnen Korachs. Ein Psalm. 2a 2b 3a 3b 4a 4b 5a 5b

Hört dies, ihr Völker alle, nehmt es zu Ohren, ihr alle Bewohner der Erde, ihr Leute aus dem Volk und vom Adel der Reiche und der Arme zusammen! Mein Mund wird Weisheit sprechen, und das Murmeln meines Herzens wird Einsicht sein. Ich werde mein Ohr einem Spruch neigen, werde mein Rätsel zur Leier aufschlüsseln.

6a 6b 7a 7b 8a 8b 9a 9b 10a 10 b 11a 11b 11c 12a 12b 12c 13a 13b

„Warum soll ich mich fürchten an den Tagen des Unheils, wenn die Schuld meiner Fußstapfen mich umgibt?“. (Die sind), die auf ihr Vermögen vertrauen, und sich der Menge ihres Reichtums rühmen. Kein Mensch kann doch seinen Bruder loskaufen, keiner kann Gott sein Lösegeld geben – zu hoch ist der Kaufpreis für ihr Leben, man muss für immer davon abstehen – damit er auf ewig weiterlebt und das Grab nicht sieht. Gewiss wird er sehen: die Weisen sterben, zusammen gehen der Narr und der Tor zugrunde, und sie lassen andern ihr Vermögen. (Aber) ihr Gedanke (war, dass) ihre Häuser auf ewig (fortdauern), ihre Wohnungen für Geschlecht und Geschlecht; Länder benannten sie nach ihren Namen. Ja: Der Mensch in seiner Pracht wird die Nacht nicht überstehen: er ist gleich dem Vieh, das verschwindet.

14a 14b 15a 15b 15c 15d 15e 16a 16b 16c 17a 17b

Das ist ihr Weg – derer, die auf sich selbst vertrauen und (derer, die) nach ihnen an ihren Worten Gefallen haben. Sela. Wie Schafe sind sie für die Scheol bestimmt, der Tod weidet sie. Aber die Gerechten werden am Morgen über sie herrschen, und ihr Fels (ist da), die Scheol verschwinden zu lassen von seinem Palast her. Gewiss wird Gott meine Seele erlösen aus der Hand der Scheol, denn er wird mich aufnehmen. Sela. Fürchte dich nicht weil einer reich wird, weil die Herrlichkeit seines Hauses sich mehrt,

das rätsel von psalm 49 18a 18b 19a 19b 20a 20b

55

denn in seinem Tod kann er das Ganze nicht mitnehmen, seine Herrlichkeit geht nicht hinter ihm hinunter. Ja, in seinem Leben pries er seine Seele glücklich: „Gewiss wird man dich loben, denn du lässt dir’s wohl sein“. Er wird gehen zum Geschlecht seiner Väter, die für immer das Licht nicht sehen.

21a Der Mensch in seiner Pracht, der aber nicht versteht, 21b er ist gleich dem Vieh, das verschwindet.

Zitierte Literatur Alonso Schökel, L. – Carniti C., I Salmi è I (Roma, 1992). Barbiero, G., „L’eucaristia degli ʿănāwım: Sal 22,23–32“, in: R. Fabris (Hg.), Initium sapientiae. FS F. Festorazzi (SRivBib 36; Bologna, 2000), pp. 113–127. Barbiero, G., Cantico dei cantici (I libri biblici 24; Milano, 2004). Barucq, A., „O Salmo 49 e o Livro de Qohelet“, in: J. Salvador (Hg.), Atualidades bíblicas (Petrópolis, 1971), pp. 297–308. Bordreuil, P., „Mizzĕbul lô: À propos de psaume 49,15“, in: L. Eslinger – G. Taylor (Hg.), Ascribe to the Lord (JSOTS 67; Sheffield, 1988), pp. 93–98. Briggs, C.A. – Briggs, E.G., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Psalms (ICC; Edinburgh, 1906). Casetti, P., Gibt es ein Leben vor dem Tod? Eine Auslegung von Psalm 49 (OBO 44; Freiburg – Göttingen, 1982). Craigie, P.C., Psalms 1–50 (WBC 19; Waco, 1983). De Meyer, F., „The science of literature method of prof. M. Weiss in confrontation with form criticism, exemplified on the basis of Ps 49“, Bijdr. 40 (1979), pp. 152– 167. Delitzsch, F., Die Psalmen (Gießen – Basel, 1984). Duhm, B., Die Psalmen (KHC 14; Tübingen, 1922). Eerdmans, B.D., The Hebrew Book of Psalms (OTS 4; Leiden, 1947). Fischer, G. – Lohfink, N., „Diese Worte sollst du summen. Dtn 6,7 w edibbartā bām – ein verlorenes Schlüssel zur meditativen Kultur in Israel“, PhTh 62 (1983), pp. 59–72. Gesenius, W. – Kautzsch, E. – Bergsträsser, G., Hebräische Grammatik (Hildesheim, 1962). Girard, M., Les Psaumes redécouverts. De la structure au sens (Montréal, 1996). Grelot, P., „La Légende d’Hénoch dans les Apocryphes et dans la Bible: Origine et signification“, RSR 46 (1958), pp. 5–26.183–210. Hossfeld, F.L. – Zenger, E., Die Psalmen I. Psalm 1–50 (NEB; Würzburg, 1993). Hupfeld, H., Die Psalmen I (Gotha, 1888). Irsigler, H., „Quest for justice as reconciliation of the poor and the righteous in Psalms 37, 49 and 73“, ZABR 5 (1999), pp. 258–276. Joüon, P. – Muraoka, T., A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (SubBi 27; Roma 2006). Kittel, R., Die Psalmen (KAT 13; Leipzig, 1922). Kraus, H.-J., Psalmen (BK 15; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1978). Lindblom, J., „Die ‘Eschatologie’ des 49. Psalms“, HSoed 1 (1944), pp. 21–27. Loretz, O., „Ugaritisches und Jüdisches, Weisheit und Tod in Psalm 49“, UF 17 (1985), pp. 182–212. Mays, J.L., Psalms (Interpretation; Louisville, 1994). Olofsson, S., „Death shall be their shepherd: An interpretation of Psalm 49,15 in the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint“, in: C.A. Evans (Hg.), The Interpretation

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of Scripture in Early Judaism and Christianity. Studies in language and tradition ( JSPE.S 33; Sheffield, 2000), pp. 75–105. Pannier, E., Les Psaumes (SB[PC]; Paris, 1950). Perdue, L.G., „The riddles of Psalm 49“, JBL 93 (1974), pp. 533–542. Pleins, J.D., „Death and endurance: Reassessing the literary structure and theology of Psalm 49“, JSOT 69 (1996), pp. 19–27. Podechard, E., Le psautier I (Lyon, 1949). Raabe, P., „Deliberate ambiguity in the Psalter“, JBL 110 (1991), pp. 213–227. Ravasi, G., Il libro dei Salmi, Commento e attualizzazione I (Bologna, 1981). Schmitt, A., Entrückung – Aufnahme – Himmelfahrt. Untersuchungen zu einem Vorstellungsbereich im AT (FzB 10; Würzburg, 1973). Seybold, K., Die Psalmen (HAT I/15; Tübingen, 1996). Stolz, F., Psalmen im nachkultischen Raum (ThSt 129; Zürich, 1983). Vesco, J.-L., Le psautier de David traduit et commenté (LD 210; Paris, 2006). Weiser, A., Die Psalmen (ATD 14/15; Göttingen, 1966). Witte, M., „ ‚Aber Gott wird meine Seele erlösen‘ – Tod und Leben nach Psalm 49“, VT 50 (2000), pp. 540–560.

MASORA’S CONTRIBUTION TO BIBLICAL STUDIES  REVIVAL OF AN ANCIENT TOOL Aron Dotan Modern biblical studies made substantial progress during the last decades. Many new or revived branches of study, developed in affiliated fields, have become by consensus an integral part of biblical studies. While all the great changes took place and practically opened a new era in modern biblical studies, one field of research from ancient times, antedating many others, seems to have been left aside, neglected and forgotten by the major trend of biblical research, namely the Masora. This is an attempt to draw attention to the rich material of the Masora and to its great potential benefits to the study of the Hebrew text. Not only should it become a legitimate partner in biblical studies and an important player in the exegetical orchestra because of its merits, but also because, unlike other relatively modern auxiliary tools, it was conceived originally hundreds of years ago as a means to serve the biblical text. The Masora was originally not an independent field but right from its inception it came into being as a regular auxiliary tool accompanying the Hebrew text.1 It is true that for many years the Masora has not been at the center of interest and did not receive the treatment which it rightly deserved. But recent decades brought change and innovation to this field too. The continued efforts of great scholars of past centuries like Wolf Heidenheim, Solomon Frensdorff, Seligman Baer, Christian David Ginsburg and Paul Kahle, and in our times Gérard E. Weil, Israel Yeivin, and Mordechai Breuer, brought new life into the ancient leaves of the Masora. New editions of prestigious texts have been published, biblical texts in different vocalizations (Tiberian, Babylonian and Palestinian) as well as independent works of Masora and affiliated subjects. The renewed study of all branches of Masora brought great progress in our insight and understanding of the Masora. 1 Cf. e.g. A. Dotan, “Masorah”, EJ, 13 (2007), pp. 603–656; M.J. Mulder, “The Transmission of the Biblical Text”, in: M.J. Mulder (ed.), Mikra, 1988, pp. 87–135.

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The best indication of the growing interest in Masora can be seen as we follow the progressive linkage with the Masora in modern scientific Hebrew Bible editions. The first two editions of Biblia Hebraica, edited by Rudolf Kittel (BH),2 appeared with no marginal Masora notes whatsoever. The third edition of Biblia Hebraica edited by Paul Kahle (BHK),3 has the Masora parva of the Leningrad Codex B19a (L) displayed in its margins. The next edition, the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia (BHS)4 has already both, the Masora parva in the margins and the Masora magna in a separate volume, although, alas, deviating extremely from the original manuscript. And finally, the last edition of Biblia Hebraica Quinta (BHQ), which just started to appear,5 has one of its major advantages the genuine reproduction of both Masoras. It is inconceivable that this potential contribution might be disregarded or even neglected in modern biblical studies. One preliminary terminological remark should be emphasized. It is important to distinguish clearly between the nominal concept “Masora” and the adjective form “masoretic”, which serves a much broader sense than just the adjective of “Masora”. “Masoretic text” refers to the Hebrew text, generally vocalized and accentuated the Tiberian way, as opposed to non-masoretic texts such as the Septuagint Vorlage, the Samaritan and the like. The term Masora, with its basic sense of ‘transmission, tradition’, refers mainly to the whole bulk of additions to the Hebrew text serving for transmitting the exact traditional reading and pronunciation of the text. This includes, in its wider sense, the vocalization marks, diacritical marks, accentuation marks and also all the marginal notes carrying textual information for the benefit of the scribe and the reader. The narrowest sense of Masora refers primarily to this last category.6 In what follows we shall deal mainly with Masora in its narrowest sense. The notes of Masora draw the attention of the reader, sometimes of the scribe, to forms in the text concerning which there is some possibility of error that the reader or the scribe-copyist may make, that is: spelling with or without matres lectionis, certain vowels or accent

2

Leipzig, 1906 and Leipzig, 1913 (printed again Stuttgart, 1925). Stuttgart, 1937, and several consequent reprints. 4 Stuttgart, 1977, also reprinted and emended several times. 5 So far three fascicles have appeared by the Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft Stuttgart: Megilloth 2004; Ezra and Nehemiah 2006; Deuteronomy 2007. 6 Cf. Dotan, “Masorah,” pp. 1418–9. 3

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59

signs, certain grammatical forms, the joining or omission of certain particles, unusual combination of words, etc. In most masoretic notes, the approach is descriptive-comparative and only rarely normative. In general the question is not what is the standard form and does the item in question conform to it, but rather does the item in question conform to the common form, the form of the majority – whether or not it be normal or exceptional – and does the item in question belong to the majority or to the minority.7 This principle necessitates the constant counting of the word-forms, and they are counted in the various divisions of the text (in the entire Bible, in one or two of the three parts of the Bible, in a certain book, or even in a specific section). The notes then refer to this count. The Masora magna (MM) can be regarded as a detailed expansion of the Masora parva (MP).8 A large part of the MP notes occur in greater detail in the MM, with the exception of the qere notes and the indication of unique forms (leta). It may be assumed that originally both types, MM and MP, were parallel systems of representations. In the course of time, due to reasons which do not concern us here, the two Masoras drifted apart, to the extent that we find today many MP notes with no parallel MM, and vice versa. What is worse, they sometimes contradict each other, sometimes even the very text which they are supposed to safeguard. Let us now turn to a number of demonstrations of how Masora can contribute to our research as a working tool in various aspects, among others in pronunciation and recitation, orthographic rules, structure analysis and stylistic delicacies, and of course in semantics and in exegesis and the like.

7 On this essential methodological difference between Masora and Grammar, see A. Dotan, “De la Massora à la grammaire – Les débuts de la pensée grammaticale dans l’hébreu”, JA, 278 (1990), pp. 13–30. 8 This statement is assumed for practical reasons. In what concerns the evolution and development of the two types of Masora it should not be taken literally. There may be indications to the contrary, namely, that the textual information was first laid out in a more detailed fashion as the Masora magna, which in turn served as a basis for the abbreviated notes of the Masora parva. It is hard to decide definitely in favor of either of the two possibilities. For the purpose of this paper a decision is not necessary. It is perhaps wise to regard the two Masoras as parallel entities.

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aron dotan Guide in Orthography

First and foremost the Masora is an authority on spelling. Perhaps the majority of masoretic notes deals with orthography, mainly in matters of plene and defective spelling (‫)מלא וחסר‬, and as such they are instrumental to the scribe. Sometimes even the biblical scholar can find interest in some masoretic information. For instance, the MM to Jos 10:35 in L, quoted by Weil:9 ֹ‫דוּה הֹ ֹג מל ֹ ובֹ חס‬ ָ ‫וַ יִּ ְל ְכּ‬ ‫והאורב‬ ‫עגלונה‬ ‫מעגלונה‬ ‫וילכו‬ ‫מקצה שלש‬

Josh 8:19 Josh 10:34(35) Josh 10:36(37) Num 32:39 2 Ki 18:10

The two last items being spelled defectively without the waw ‫וַ יִּ ְל ְכּ ֻד ָה‬, thus opening the possibility of a reading in the singular ‫וַ יִּ ְל ְכּ ָדהּ‬, a reading that fits the context of these verses, especially the last one, not less, perhaps even better than the plural. Orthographic Rules Even more interesting are the masoretic notes with spelling instructions formulated as an orthographic-phonetic rule, e.g. the MM to Jos 12:9 in L, quoted by Weil.10 It involves the pronunciation and spelling of the name Jericho, whether ‫ יְ ִריחוֹ‬or ‫יְ ֵרחוֹ‬: ‫כל יהושע ומלכים יריחו‬ (2 Ki 25:5) [‫א וישיגו )את צדקיהו( ]אתו‬ ֹ ‫מ‬ ֹ ֹ‫ב‬

(‫וכל קרייה דכותהון )=יְ ֵרחו‬ (1 Ki 16:34) ‫וחד כתב יריחה בימיו בנה חיאל בית האלי‬

ֹ‫ירחו חס‬ In the books of Joshua and Kings (both of them) the form is always ‫ יְ ִריחוֹ‬with one exception (2 Ki 25:5 – ‫ )יְ ֵרחו‬and spelled always with

9 G.E. Weil, ‫ בית צפורה‬Massorah gedolah iuxta codicem Leningradensem B 19 a (Rome, 1971), §1301 (the order of the items here is rearranged, as in Weil). Cf. also C.D. Ginsburg, The Massorah Compiled from Manuscripts, With a Prolegomenon, Analytical Table of Contents and List of Identified Sources and Parallels by A. Dotan, vols. 1–4 (London, 1880–1905; repr.: New York, 1975), vol. 2., letter ‫§ ל‬356. 10 Weil, Massorah, §1312, and see also Ginsburg, Massorah, vol. 1, letter ‫§ י‬624.

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61

final “waw”, with one exception which has final “he” (‫ – יְ ִריחֹה‬1 Ki 16:34). In the rest of the Bible it is always pronounced ‫יְ ֵרחו‬, and when this is the form it is always spelled without “yod”. The orthographic rule regarding the spelling of the feminine pronoun ‫ היא‬in the Pentateuch is well known. It is always spelled with a “waw” (a kind of qere perpetuum) except for eleven (or nine or any other number) cases where it is spelled with “yod”.11 The opposite rule regarding the masculine third person pronoun, not so well known, is given by the MM in L to Qohelet 5:8, quoted by Weil:12

(‫)=וְ הוּא‬ (‫)=וָ הוּא‬

‫ היא וקרֹ הוא וסימנהון‬13ֹ‫הֹ דכותה‬ Ps 73:16 ‫ואחשבה‬ Ecc. 5:8 ‫ויתרון‬ Job 31:11 ‫פלילים‬ 1 Ki 17:15 ‫וביתה‬ 1 Chr 29:16 ‫הכיננו‬

In the five following cases the third person masculine pronoun is spelled with “yod” but the qere is ‫הוּא‬. When discussing the bizarre spelling of ‫ ֿהוא‬in the Pentateuch these items from the Prophets and Hagiographa must be taken into account. Besides, interesting exegetical explanations can be suggested, as for instance, in 1 Ki 17:15 the ָ ‫וּב‬ ֵ ‫ֹאכל הוא והיא‬ ַ ‫ וַ תּ‬,‫וַ ֵתּ ֶלְך וַ ַתּ ֲﬠ ֶש ֹה ִכּ ְד ַבר ֵא ִליָּ הוּ‬. In ketiv is ‫יתהּ יָ ִמים‬ the phrase ‫ותאכל הוא והיא‬, the masculine comes first because of the evident seniority of Elijah over the poor widow, but this puts the verb ‫ ותאכל‬in syntactical disagreement with the following subject. The qere is better grammatically ‫ותאכל ִהיא והוּא וביתה‬, since she is the subject of the phrase, and the verb in the feminine agrees with it. One can explain it also as a feministic triumph over male chauvinism (the Authorized Version rightly renders the qere version: “and she and he and her house did eat many days”).

11 The rule appears quite often in several sources, as, for example, F. Díaz Esteban, Sefer ’Oklah we-’Oklah (Madrid, 1975), §131; Ben-Hayyim Ibn Adonija, Second Rabbinic Bible (Venice, 1525), MM Gen 38:25 et al.; S. Frensdorff, Die Massora Magna (Hannover, 1876; repr.: New York, 1968), p. 234; Ginsburg, Massorah, vol. 1, letter ‫§ ה‬113. 12 Weil, Massorah, §3702, where the order of the items has been rearranged. In Qoheleth, Megilloth, BHQ, p. 36, this MM is quoted correctly with no change of order, but no comment was made there (p. 41*) that the MM covers also ‫ והיא‬forms with prefixed waw. Cf also Ginsburg, Massorah, vol. 1, letter ‫§ ה‬83. 13 ֹ‫ =( דכותה‬as similar [cases]) should rather be read ֹ‫ =( דכתיב‬that is written), as an obvious scribe’s mistake. This is also expected in a contrasting note of qere/ketiv as here.

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Many similar examples can be found for other distinctive marking differences, as for instance the spelling with and without yod indicating plural versus singular (‫ ַ רגְ ֶליָך‬/‫) ַרגְ ֶלָך‬,14 or qamets/patah oppositions indicating pausal versus contextual forms (‫גָּ ֶֹשם‬/‫)גֶּ ֶֹשם‬, and so on. Stress and Pronunciation The influence of the Masora on the pronunciation of the text cannot be overemphasized. Only two examples to demonstrate the important role of the accentuation on details of pronunciation. A MP note like: ֹ‫( ַל ֶשּ ֹ ְכוִ י ל ֹ מלע‬Job 38:36), namely, the word is ֹ֣ ֶ ‫ ַל‬is quite unique, with penult stress.15 The penult realization of ‫שּ ְכוִ י‬ often overlooked,16 but retained by most reliable, prestigious Codices. Likewise MP: ֹ‫( ָצ ָרה ל ֹ מלע‬Is 28:20), which is not only a matter of pronunciation but is important for grammatical analysis, hence for interpretation. Usually the adjective ‫ =( ָצר‬narrow) has a feminine form ‫ ָצ ָרה‬, stressed ultimately: ‫ נָ ְכ ִריָּ ה‬17‫וּב ֵאר ָ֝צ ָר ֺה‬ ְ (Pr 23:27) (= and a strange woman is a narrow pit). However, in this verse the Masora states it is ָ ‫( ִכּ‬usually transpenult: ‫ק ַצר ַה ַמּ ָצע ֵמ ִה ְש ֹ ָתּ ֵר ַע וְ ַה ַמּ ֵסּ ָכה ָצ ָ ֭רה ְכּ ִה ְת ַכּנֵּ ס‬-‫י‬ lated: for the bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it, and the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it). ‫ָצ ָרה‬ is here a verbal form in the past, exactly like its parallel verbal form ‫ ָק ַצר‬. All modern translations missed this point and translated it in the present, as an adjective, instead as a verb in the past tense. Style and Syntax In the matter of syntactic agreement disturbed by male chauvinistic intervention one may refer to a note like MM in L to 1 Ch 7:23:18

14

Cf. also Díaz Esteban, ’Oklah, §§114, 115. The MP note has here an abridged formulation, instead of the complete ‫ַל ֶשּ ְֹכוִ י‬ ֹ‫ =( ל ֹ ומלע‬unique and penult). 16 As for instance by S. Baer, Liber Iobi (Lipsiae, 1875), and see also in the Appendices there, p. 54; C.D. Ginsburg, The Writings (London, 1926), in the apparatus. 17 The ultimate stress is indicated by the sign revia’. The geresh is a pre-positive component of this accent and does not indicate the stress. 18 Similarly, Weil, Massorah, §280; Ginsburg, Massorah, vol. 1, letter ‫י‬, §357; letter ‫ה‬, §323; vol. 2, letter ‫ק‬, §263. 15

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63

‫מ ֹג ותלד ויקרא‬ ֹ ֹ‫כל קריה ותלד ותקרא ב‬ Gen 38:3 ‫ער‬ Ex 2:22 ‫גרשם‬ 1 Chr 7:23 ‫בריעה דדברי ימים‬ ‫עֹ ֹגבֹ סימן‬ Usually there is agreement in the normal formulation where the woman is the subject . . . ‫ותהר ותלד בן ותקרא את שמו‬. This Masora states three instances where there is a change of subject . . . ‫ותלד בן ויקרא את שמו‬ (= she bore a son and he called his name . . .). Usually she bears the son and she calls his name so an so. But there are exceptional male intrusions. The Masora also draws our attention to peculiar constructions which might have been overseen, such as the observation of MP in L to Ex 11:10 on ‫ומשה ואהרן‬, namely: ֹ‫בֹ חד ראש ֹ פסוֹ וחד סו ֹפ פס‬ (= the expression ‫ ומשה ואהרן‬appears twice only, once at the beginning of a verse, as here in Ex, and once at the end of a verse). The MM in situ supplies the details: Num 16:18 Ex 11:10

ֹ‫ומשה ואהרן ב‬ ‫ויעמדו פתח אהל מועד‬ ‫ומשה ואהרן עשו‬

The Num verse is indeed peculiar and noteworthy:

‫ויקחו איש מחתתו ויתנו עליהם אש וישימו עליהם קטרת ויעמדו‬ ‫פתח אהל מועד ומשה ואהרן‬ A MM in L like the one to Job 12:4 Gen 6:9 Job 12:4

ֹ‫צדיק תמים ב‬ ‫נח נח איש צדיק‬ ‫שחוק צדיק תמים‬

can stir up some thoughts about the expression ‫ =( צדיק תמים‬a just and perfect man) being applied to two of the three renown righteous figures mentioned in Ez 14:20: Noah, Daniel and Job. Other items of structure can be instrumental in style analysis, namely the masoretic issue of phrases and word combinations.

64

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In MM 19‫ כל שמיעה בקול במי״ט לקול וסימניהון‬the verb ‫ שמע‬in its various conjugations, when complemented by the indirect object ‫ קול‬in various declensions, is governed generally by the preposition ‫ב‬, except for 19 cases where the indirect object is governed by the preposition ‫ל‬. Some examples: Gen 3:17 Gen 16:2 Ex 3:18 2 Ki 10:6 Song 8:13

‫כי שמעת לקול אשתך‬ ‫וישמע אברם לקול שרי‬ ‫ושמעו לקֹלך‬ ‫ולקֹלי אתם שמעים‬ 20 ‫מקשיבים לקולך השמיעיני‬

We have here at least fourteen different verbal forms: ,‫ וַ יִּ ְֹשׁ ַמע‬,‫ׇשׁ ַמ ְﬠ ָתּ‬ ,‫ ׇשׁ ַמ ְﬠ ִתּי‬,‫ וּ ְֹשׁ ַמע‬,‫שׁמ ִﬠים‬ ְ ,‫ ְשׁ ַמע‬,‫ ׇשׁ ְמעוּ‬,‫ ִתּ ְֹשׁ ַמע‬,‫ יִ ְֹשׁ ְמעוּן‬,‫ יִ ְֹשׁ ְמעוּ‬,‫וְ ׇֹשׁ ְמעוּ‬ ,‫יﬠינִ י‬ ִ ‫ ַה ְֹשׁ ִמ‬,‫ ְשׁ ַמע‬,‫ יִ ְֹשׁ ַמע‬combined with six forms of the indirect object: ‫קוֹלְך‬ ֵ ‫ ְל‬,‫וּלק ִֹלי‬ ְ ,‫ ְלק ָֹלם‬,‫קוֹלי‬ ִ ‫ ְל‬,‫ ְלק ֶֹלָך‬,‫ ְלקוֹל‬. In all other instances of this phrase always ‫ בקול‬etc. is used. Only a complex computer program can give you these results, provided you know how to ask the question. Another, even more sophisticated example would be the preֵ sentation of the stylistic variations of phrases similar to ‫הוֹלְך וְ גָ ֵדל‬ 21 (= becoming great): ֹ‫ה‘ כת‘ בהון הליכה וגדולה יֹשֹי ֹ דֹם‬ [‫יצחק ] ָהלוְֹך וְ גָ ֵדל‬ [‫שמואל ]ה ֵֹלְך וְ גָ ֵדל‬ [‫יהושפט ]ה ֵֹלְך וְ גָ ֵדל‬ [‫] ָהלוְֹך וְ גָ דוֹל‬ ‫דוד‬ [‫הוֹלְך וְ גָ דוֹל‬ ֵ ] ‫מרדכי‬

Gen 26:13 1 Sam 2:26 2 Chr 17:12 2 Sam 5:10 Est. 9:4

A comparative study may shed light on the refined connotations of each compound, and it certainly would be interesting to find out the intricacies and even inconsistencies of the translators for each expression.

Ginsburg, Massorah, vol. 2, letter ‫ש‬, §714. In this case it is only the proximity of the two items that is noted, but there is no grammatical dependence. The indirect object ‫ לקולך‬complements ‫מקשיבים‬, not ‫השמיעיני‬. 21 Ibid., vol. 1, letter ‫ה‬, §225. 19 20

masora’s contribution to biblical studies

65

Parallels of similar word combinations may be encountered in lists of accumulative22 Masora, as for instance:23 ‘‫ז‘ זוגין מן חד חד בחד לישן חד נסב ה וחד לא נסב וסימ‬ Ps 89:30 Dt 11:21 Is 51:6 2 Chr 2:5 1 Ki 8:35 2 Chr 6:26

‫ימי ָֹש ַמיִ ם‬ ֵ ‫ִכּ‬

‫ימי ַה ָֹשּ ַמיִ ם‬ ֵ ‫ִכּ‬ ‫ִכּי ָֹש ַמיִ ם‬ ‫ִכּי ַה ָֹשּ ַמיִ ם‬ ‫ְבּ ֵה ָﬠ ֵצר ָֹש ַמיִ ם‬ . . . ‫ְבּ ֵה ָﬠ ֵצר ַה ָֹשּ ַמיִ ם‬

Seven unique pairs, two words each, of the same construction (with ‫ שמים‬as the second component) one with “he” and one without. Only three pairs are displayed here just to demonstrate the stylistic traits from which exegetical nuances can be gleaned. Exegesis and Midrash The exegetic contribution of the Masora can also be seen in midrashic interpretations which have been interpolated into the body of masoretic notes. Some of these Midrashim have not been preserved in other sources at all, or preserved in sources which are later than the masoretic sources. For instance, in MM to 2 Ki 14:13 in codex L,24 the Masora makes a confrontation of the different accentuations of two identical syntagms, and concludes with a midrashic interpretation. The expressions ֩ with telisha qetanna on ‫ואת‬ ֩ in 2 Ki 14:13 are: ‫ואת אמציהו מלך יהודה‬ (2 Chr 25:23), as opposed to Jer 34:21 ‫צדקיהו מלך יהודה‬-‫ ואת‬with maqqef after -‫ואת‬. The masoretic note says: ,‫ הראשון נתלש מן הממלכות וחזר למלכות‬:‫הראשון תלש והשני חטף‬

‫צדקיהו נחטף מן המלכות ולא חזר למלכות‬

= the former (2 Ki 14:13) is plucked [with the accent telisha = literally ‘plucking’] and the second (Jer 34:21) is snatched quickly [with

22 This is a relatively new term to denote MM lists of items with a common peculiarity (single words, or two or three words) which are unique and marked in the MP by ‫לית‬. 23 Ibid., vol. 2, letter ‫ש‬, §678. 24 Weil, Massorah, §2125. See also MM in A to 2 Chr 25:23.

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the sign maqqef = literally ‘quick reading’ which is actually indicated by the maqqef ]. And the midrashic explanation goes on: the former ‫( נתלש‬with telisha) was plucked from (his) kingship and returned to (his) kingship. The story goes with Amaziah who was defeated and captured by Jehoash and later appears to have returned to his throne (2 Ki 14:8–19); Zedekiah was snatched away from his kingship and did not return to kingship. A similar but shorter version of this midrashic play appears also in the Aleppo codex, MM to 2 Ch 25:23. This means, it is not a random interpolation in one isolated manuscript alone, but is backed up by a most important codex. Another example from codex L is MM to 1 Ch 1:24:25 ‫שם | ארפכשד‬ ‫בפס מן כולם? מלמד שהיה שם כהן‬ ֗ ‫ =( למה משני‬Shem | Arpachshad: why is it (the name ‫ )שם‬different with paseq from all others [this is an unexplained paseq when compared to the adjacent similar verses]? This signifies that Shem was a Cohen). This interpretation is based on an old tradition identifying Shem the son of Noah with Melchizedek king of Salem who was indeed a priest, a Cohen (Gen 14:18). The roots of this tradition are found already in the Talmud,26 in some Aramaic Targums27 and even Rashi ad loc quotes it. A final example of this kind will come from the ancient Pentateuch, British Library codex Or.4445. There MM to Num 1:42 says: ‫ מלמד שלא היה בהם נקבות‬,‫כל שבטים לבני פלוני בר מן חד בני נפתלי‬ = all the tribes [in this chapter, are introduced by] ‫לבני פלוני‬, except one ‫[ בני נפתלי‬without lamed], this signifies that there were no females (= female daughters) among them [in the tribe of Naphtali].

This was inferred from the omision of the lamed of ‫לבני‬. A similar midrashic Masora is found also in MP to the same verse in the Pentateuch codex of Ben Buya‘a, dated 930 ce28 and in MP in situ in Ben-Hayyim’s second Rabbinic Bible (Venice 1525) and also in some Midrashim.29

25

Weil, Massorah, §4005. Babylonian Talmud, Nedarim 32b. 27 Neophiti, Pseudo-Jonathan, Fragment Targum – all in Gen 14:18. 28 Russian Royal Library, Firkovitch second collection, Ms. No. 17. 29 Midrash Leqaḥ Tov (Venice, 1546), Numbers, p. 82a. A contradictory interpretation is given by Rabbi Ya‘aqov Ba‘al Ha-Turim, ad loc, according to which the 26

masora’s contribution to biblical studies

67

Semantics Perhaps one of the high points of the contribution of the Masora may be found in the semantic aspect. By the mere grouping of various words together we are taught a lesson on their meaning. For instance, in MP of L, Is 14:21 to ‫ ָﬠ ִרים‬we have ‫ = חֹ בליש ֹ שנאה‬eight times it occurs in the sense of hatred, namely, enemy (plural of ‫ ָﬠר‬, not of ‫) ִﬠיר‬. These eight are enumerated in the MM to 1 Sam 28:16 on ‫ ָﬠ ֶרָך‬:30 ‫ערך‬ .‫ ח‘ בליש‘ דבבו בקריאה‬Among them there is ‫ ָﬠ ִרים‬of Is 14:21. The ָ ‫ָה ִכינוּ ְל ָבנָ יו ַבּ ֲﬠוֹן ֲא‬ verse reads as follows: ‫יָ ֻקמוּ וְ יָ ְר ֹשוּ ָא ֶרץ‬-‫ ַבּל‬,‫בוֹתם‬ ‫ת ֵבל ָﬠ ִרים‬-‫י‬ ֵ ֵ‫וּמ ְלאוּ ְפנ‬ ָ . Translated in the Authorized Version: ‘Prepare slaughter for his children for the iniquity of their fathers, that they do not rise and possess the land, nor fill the face of the world with cities’. It is evident that “nor” is an unjustified addition, and therefore “cities” is out of context here. The meaning of ‘enemy’ suggested by the Masora is well in place, and ‫ ומלאו פני תבל ערים‬should be rendered “and the face of the world shall be filled with enemies”. This interpretation fits the context and was maintained also by the Aramaic Targum Jonathan, by some medieval Jewish commentators, like Rashi (ad loc.), and by some modern translators, like the French translation by Louis Segond: “Et remplir le monde d’ennemis”. Finally, another source of semantic illumination can be found in the type of notes comparing two unique homonyms ‫בֹ בתרי לישני‬ (= two [equal words] of two meanings), notes which were arranged in lists to be handy for the reader. Such lists are presented in the Okhla we-Okhla masoretic compilation.31 Let us consider the pair in MM L to Job 29:18:32 ֗‫וְ ַכחוֹל בֹ ובתרי לשנ‬ [I will multiply thy seed] as the sand which is on ‫וכחול אשר על שפת‬ the see shore = (Gen 22:17) [I shall] multiply my days as the sand) ‫וכחול ארבה ימים‬ = (Job 29:18)

variation in the text signifies that the tribe of Naphtali consisted of more women than men. 30 Second Rabbinic Bible, Venice, 1525. 31 S. Frensdorff, Das Buch Ochlah W’ochlah (Hannover, 1864), §69; F. Díaz Esteban, Sefer ’Oklah we-’Oklah (Madrid, 1975), §70. 32 This Masora is repeated again in MP ad loc.

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aron dotan

In the Authorized Version quoted above the two ‫ וכחול‬are the same: “and as the sand”. However, the fact that these two are listed as homonyms speaks for another interpretation maintained by the masoretes. It seems they regarded ‫ וכחול‬in Job not as ‘sand’ but rather as the bird ‘phoenix’, which was the emblem of immortality in the ancient East. Thus the verse in Job means “I shall multiply my days like the Phoenix”. This is also the interpretation adopted by many Jewish traditional exegetes, as for instance Rashi:33 ,‫ ולא נקנסה עליו מיתה שלא טעם מעץ הדעת‬.‫עוף ושמו חול‬

‫ולבסוף אלף שנה מתחדש וחוזר לנערותו‬ (= a bird named ‘Ḥ ol’. And it was not condemned to death because it did not taste from the tree of knowledge [in Paradise]. And after a thousand years it rejuvenates and returns to its youth). Another pair would be, for instance, ‫ ָקח‬, according to MM L to Ez 17:5.34 This is also an item in the new homonymic masoretic word list which I discovered and published recently:35 ֹ‫קח בֹ בתר ֹ לשני‬ he placed it by great waters = (Ez 17:5) ‫קח על מים רבים‬ if you will take it [the sword], take it ‫אם אותה תקח לך קח‬ = (1 Sam 21:10)

According to the Authorized Version as quoted above, the two words ‫ ָקח‬are the same: a verbal form of the root ‫לקח‬. However, the fact that these two are listed by the Masora as homonyms speaks for another interpretation maintained by the masoretes, namely, that ‫ ָקח‬in Ez is not a derivation of ‫ לקח‬but rather a word of a different meaning. ‫ָקח‬ would mean in Hebrew ‘a shoot of a plant, a stalk, a stem’, and the ַ ‫ ָקח ַﬠ‬would be rendered ‘a verse in Ezekiel ‫מיִ ם ַר ִבּים ַצ ְפ ָצ ָפה ָש ֹמוֹ‬-‫ל‬ stem on great waters he set as (or: turned into) a willow tree’. Such an explanation has its roots in the Talmudic interpretation,36 where this ‫ ָקח‬is interpreted as a noun: ‫ =( ערבה‬willow). The noun ‫ ָקח‬can be compared to Syriac qūḥa or qāḥa = ‘stem, stalk, young shoot’,37 and has

33

Ad loc., and similarly in the Midrash Genesis Rabba, 19:5. Weil, Massorah, §2843. 35 A. Dotan, The Awakening of Word Lore – From the Masora to the Beginnings of Hebrew Lexicography (Jerusalem, 2005), p. 90. [Hebrew]. 36 Babylonian Talmud, Succa 34a. 37 J. Payne Smith, A Compendious Syriac Dictionary (Oxford, 1903), p. 493a. 34

masora’s contribution to biblical studies

69

therefore nothing to do with the triliteral ‫ לקח‬but rather with a biliteral ‫ קח‬or ‫קוח‬. The Aramaic rendering of the Jonathan Targum of that ִ ִ‫ =( נִ ְצ ֵביהּ ַﬠל ַמיִ ין ַסגּ‬he planted it [the seed, mentioned verse in Ez, ‫יאין‬ before] on great waters) may also be connected with this root, but then ‫ ָקח‬would be a verbal form to mean ‘he planted it’. Alternatively, ‫נִ ְצ ֵביהּ‬ may also be a nominal form (= its plant). Be it as it may, the Masora, in listing it as a homonym, preserves an ancient original tradition, a meaning which escaped the dictionaries of the Hebrew language, and was mentioned as a possibility by a few commentators.38 Conclusion These are just a few examples of cases in which we can learn a great deal from the various aspects of the Masora. We can be guided by it to a better and more genuine understanding of the Hebrew masoretic text, and also to an attitude of respect for the wisdom of the masoretes, which may come useful in our attempts at a more profound understanding of the Hebrew biblical text. The new edition of the Biblia Hebraica Quinta, which for the first time, displays the original text of both MP and MM of codex L alongside the Hebrew text, is an excellent opportunity to integrate the study of Masora and make it part of the regular study of the Hebrew text. Among the many tools which serve us in modern biblical study, the Masora should again take its proper place and thus be returned to the appropriate role which it once played.

38

E.g., W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1, transl: R.E. Clements (Philadelphia, 1979), p. 354; W. Eichrodt, Ezekiel (Philadelphia, 1975), p. 22; M. Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20 (The Anchor Bible, New York, 1986), pp. 310–11; D.I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel 1–24 (Grand Rapids, Michigan/Cambridge, U.K., 1997), p. 528.

RETOUCHES RÉDACTIONNELLES AU TEXTE PROTOMASSORÉTIQUE : L’APPORT DES VERSIONS GRECQUES DE DANIEL Olivier Munnich Dans son récent ouvrage sur Daniel et la littérature apocryphe1, Lorenzo DiTommaso résume ainsi la situation : « The disjunctive nature of this and other internal evidences suggest that MT Daniel is a composite work, the result of a complicated process of composition and redaction ». Dans son commentaire sur Daniel 2, J.J. Collins énumère avec précision les variantes du texte massorétique par rapport aux versions anciennes. Cependant, pas plus que les autres critiques – à l’exception de R.H. Charles3 –, il n’utilise leur témoignage pour la critique et l’histoire du texte hébréo-araméen. Quand j’ai réédité le texte de Daniel-Septante dans la collection de Göttingen, je suis arrivé à la conclusion que les divergences du grec s’expliquent, non par des libertés de traduction, mais par l’existence d’un substrat différent du texte massorétique4. J’ai la même opinion pour la seconde version grecque, attribuée à Théodotion5 : sur certains points, elle harmonise la Septante par rapport au texte massorétique ; sur d’autres elle suppose un substrat encore différent. Dans des cas, peu nombreux mais réels, les leçons des versions grecques sont partagées par le texte des fragments de Qumrân6. Récemment, je pense avoir établi que le modèle de chacune des deux versions grecques présente avec celui de la Peshitta des accords typiques contre le texte massorétique ; ils sont

1 The Book of Daniel and the Apocryphal Daniel Literature (Leiden – Boston, 2005), p. 3. 2 Daniel. A Commentary of the Book of Daniel (Minneapolis, 1993). 3 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary of the Book of Daniel (Oxford, 1929). 4 Septuaginta. Vetus Testamentum graecum. Vol. XVI / Susanna-Daniel-Bel et Draco, ed. J. Ziegler. Editio secunda versionis iuxta LXX O. Munnich (Göttingen, 1999). 5 Cf. O. Munnich, « Les versions grecques de Daniel et leurs substrats sémitiques », in : L. Greenspoon et O. Munnich (éd.), VIII Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies (SCS 41; Atlanta, 1995), pp. 291–308. 6 Cf. O. Munnich, op. cit. à la n. 4, pp. 87–93.

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parfois corroborés par les fragments de Qumrân7. Je me propose ici de montrer que, pour ce livre biblique, on peut mettre le texte massorétique en perspective avec d’autres témoins pour éclairer ce que L. DiTommaso nomme « a complicated process of composition and redaction ». Je me concentrerai ici sur le seul chapitre 7 qui constitue le coeur du livre : il se situe à la jonction des récits de cour (1–6) et des visions (7–12), de la section en araméen (2–7) et de celle en hébreu (8–12). Enfin, le pap. 967, témoin de la Septante ancienne, nous prouve qu’il a existé une édition hébréo-araméenne où les chapitres 7–8 étaient placés après le chapitre 4 et non après le chapitre 6, comme c’est le cas dans le texte massorétique. A ce triple égard, ce chapitre occupe une place significative. Le récit, rappelons-le, comporte deux parties distinctes qui se complètent : on trouve d’abord une description de la vision ; quatre bêtes monstrueuses apparaissent ; un ancien de jours confie le pouvoir à un fils d’homme (v. 1–14) ; ensuite, un être anonyme procure à Daniel l’interprétation : les quatre bêtes sont quatre dynasties et le fils d’homme représente le peuples des saints (du v. 15 à la fin). Le chapitre présente donc une structure littéraire en apparence simple, dans laquelle les étapes sont soulignées par la formule ‫ וַ ֲארוּ‬. . . ‫ ָחזֵ ה ֲהוֵ ית‬, « je contemplais . . . et voici »8. En réalité, les questions que pose Daniel à l’interprète au sujet de la vision sont l’occasion d’une seconde présentation des bêtes (v. 19–22), qui altère la bipartition mentionnée plus haut. Les études critiques se partagent entre deux positions : R.H. Charles, J.A. Montgomery9, entre autres, tiennent l’ensemble du texte pour authentique ; d’autres, depuis G. Hölscher10 (en particulier H.L. Ginsberg11), estiment secondaires les versets relatifs aux onze cornes, dont la « petite corne », figure d’Antiochus Epiphane12 ; cette thèse a été récemment soutenue par R.G. Kratz13 : il

7 « La Peshitta de Daniel et ses relations textuelles avec la Septante », in : D. Böhler, I. Himbaza, Ph. Hugo, L’Ecrit et l’Esprit. Etudes d’histoire du texte et de théologie biblique en hommage à Adrian Schenker (Fribourg, Göttingen, 2005), pp. 229–247. 8 Cf. l’analyse de M. Delcor, Le livre de Daniel (Paris, 1971), pp. 142–143. 9 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Daniel (Edinburgh, 1927). 10 « Die Entstehung des Buches Daniel », Theologische Studien und Kritiken 92 (1919), pp. 113–138. 11 Studies in Daniel (New York, 1948). 12 Pour l’histoire de la question, cf. J.J. Collins, op. cit. à la n. 2, pp. 278–280. 13 Translatio imperii. Untersuchungen zu den aramäischen Danielerzählungen und ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Umfeld (Neukirchen, 1987), pp. 21–42 ; « The Visions

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 73 reprend l’idée que le texte massorétique intègre une « horn-revision »: ce qui concerne les dix cornes et la petite corne (soit les versets 7bβ, 8, 11a, 20–22, 24–25) constituerait une révision maccabéenne. En outre, selon de nombreux critiques dont R.G. Kratz, il a probablement existé une forme originale du récit qui s’arrêtait après les v. 17–18 auxquels succédait immédiatement le v. 28a, c’est-à-dire le dernier verset du chapitre actuel. L’interprétation de la quatrième bête (v. 19–27) serait plus tardive mais antérieure à la « horn-revision »14. Ces analyses se fondent sur la critique interne du TM sans considérer – sauf de façon ponctuelle – l’apport des versions. Dans celles-ci, on constate un mouvement récurrent de gloses qui affecte les versions et le TM lui-même ; sa fréquence exclut qu’on se trouve face à des phénomènes tardifs survenus au cours de la transmission des textes ; on est en présence d’interventions sur le texte araméen lui-même qu’utilisèrent les auteurs des traductions grecques et syriaque. Dans ce qui suit, nous mentionnons dans le lemme la leçon que nous tenons pour authentique et après celui-ci l’élément secondaire. Parfois, telle version repose sur un texte glosé pour la clarté :

ְ ְ‫וּפ ַשׁר ִ ִמ ַלּיָּ א י‬ ְ ‫ר־לי‬ ִ ‫ל־דּנָ ה וַ ֲא ַמ‬ ְ ‫ל־כּ‬ ָ ‫א־מנֵּ הּ ַע‬ ִ ‫יבא ֶא ְב ֵﬠ‬ ָ ‫וְ יַ ִצ‬, « et je v. 16 ‫הוֹד ִענַּ נִ י‬ lui demandais la vérité sur tout cela et il me (la) dit et la signification des choses, il me la fit connaître » ‫ר־לי‬ ִ ‫ ]וַ ֲא ַמ‬+ τὴν ἀκρίβειαν θ´ Pesh. v. 24 ‫ ַﬠ ְשׂ ָרה ַמ ְל ִכין יְ ֻקמוּן וְ ָא ֳח ָרן יְ קוּם ַא ֲח ֵריהוֹן‬, « dix rois se lèveront et un autre se lèvera après eux » ‫ ]וְ ָא ֲח ָרן‬+ βασιλεύς o´ v. 24 ‫ ]וְ הוּא יִ ְשׁנֵ א‬+ κακοῖς o´, θ´ (« et il surpassera en maux ») v. 25 ‫וְ יִ ְם ַבּר ְל ַה ְשׁנָ יָ ה זִ ְמנִ ין וְ ָדת וְ יִ ְתיַ ֲהבוּן ִבּ ֵידהּ‬, « et il aura la pensée de changer les temps et la loi et ils seront livrés dans ses mains » ‫ ]וְ יִ ְתיַ ֲהבוּן‬+ πάντα o´. Dans d’autres cas, le substrat des versions semble aligné sur un lieu parallèle : v. 6 ‫ ]וַ ֲארוּ ָא ֳח ִרי‬+ θηρίον o´, θ´, Pesh., cf. v. 5 ‫וַ ֲארוּ ֵחיוָ ה ָא ֳח ִרי‬ v. 7 ‫ ] ְמ ַשׁנְּ יָ ה‬+ περισσῶς θ´ (« différant extrêmement »), cf. v. 7 supra ‫ = יַ ִתּ ָירא‬περισσῶς of Daniel », in : J.J. Collins, P.W. Flint (éd.), The Book of Daniel. Composition and Reception (Leiden, Boston, Köln, 2001), vol. 1, pp. 91–113. 14 Cf. R.G. Kratz, art. cit. à la n. 13, p. 99.

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v. 19 ‫( ָכּ ְלּהוֹן‬ketib) / ‫( ָכּ ְלּ ֵהין‬qéré)] πᾶν θηρίον θ´, cf. v. 7 ‫ל־חיוָ ָתא‬ ֵ ‫ ָכּ‬. A diverses reprises, le texte massorétique lui-même paraît avoir intégré un élément secondaire : v. 3 καὶ τέσσαρα θηρία o´] + ‫ ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬TM (‫)וְ ַא ְר ַבּע ֵחיוָ ן ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬, θ´, Pesh. Si Dan-o´ évoque « quatre bêtes » et non « quatre grandes bêtes » au début de la description, ce ne peut être par suite d’une haplographie commise par le traducteur ou présente dans son substrat ; en effet, un phénomène analogue survient, pour cet adjectif, au v. 17 : ‫ִא ֵלּין ֵחיוָ ָתא‬ ‫ ] ַר ְב ְר ָב ָתא‬ταῦτα τὰ θηρία θ´. Au v. 7, l’adjectif ‫ ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬paraît secondaire : (οἱ ὀδόντες αὐτοῦ) σιδηροῖ θ´] + ‫ ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬TM, o´ ; pr. ‫ ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬Pesh. La leçon de θ´, jointe à l’éventuelle variante du syriaque, suggère que le texte massorétique comporte ici une addition. Dans l’énumération initiale des quatre bêtes, on signalera quelques phénomènes rédactionnels : au v. 5 (‫) ֵחיוָ ה ָא ֳח ִרי ִתנְ יָ נָ ה‬, la deuxième bête est qualifiée dans le texte massorétique par deux adjectifs juxtaposés : ‫ ָא ֳח ִרי‬, « autre » et ‫ ִתנְ יָ נָ ה‬, « deuxième » ; le second n’est pas reflété par Dan-o´ et le premier ne l’est ni par Dan-θ´ ni par la Peshitta ; en revanche, Dan-o´ semble le mentionner de deux façons (μετ᾿ αὐτὴν ἄλλο θηρίον). La formulation originelle pourrait donc être, non pas ‫( וַ ֲארוּ ֵחיוָ ה ָא ֳח ִרי ִתנְ יָ נָ ה ָדּ ְמיָ ה ְלדב‬TM), mais ‫וַ ֲארוּ ֵחיוָ ה ָדּ ְמיָ ה ְלדב‬. De tels phénomènes rédactionnels ont un parallèle exact au chapitre 2, quand Daniel évoque les quatre royaumes correspondant aux quatre matériaux de la statue vue en rêve par le roi : 2:39– ָ ‫וּמ ְלכוּ ְת ִל‬ ַ ‫וּב ְת ָרְך ְתּקוּם ַמ ְלכוּ ָא ֳח ִרי ֲא ַרעא ִמנָּ ְך‬ ָ 40init. ‫יתיָ א ָא ֳח ִרי ךִּ י‬

‫יעיָ ה‬ ָ ‫וּמ ְלכוּ ְר ִב‬ ַ 40 ‫כל־א ְר ָעא‬ ֲ ‫נְ ָח ָשׁא ךִּ י ִת ְשׁ ַלט ְבּ‬ καὶ μετὰ σὲ στήσεται βασιλεία ἐλάττων σοῦ, καὶ βασιλεία χαλκοῦ, ἣ κυριεύσει πάσης τῆς γῆς 40καὶ ἑτέρα βασιλεία βασιλεία1°] + αλλη 967 Vict. = TM | βασιλεία2° Mu.] pr. τριτη 967 88-Syh Vict. = TM 40 καὶ ἑτέρα βασιλεία Mu.] κ. βασιλεια τεταρτη 88-Syh = TM; quartum autem regnum Vict. ; + εσται 967 = TM.

Dan-o´ repose ici sur un substrat qui souligne moins que le texte massorétique les articulations du récit : au v. 39, le grec évoque « un royaume inférieur à toi » (βασιλεία ἐλάττων σοῦ) là où le texte massorétique écrit ‫רי ֲא ַרעא ִמנָּ ְך‬/ִ ‫ ַמ ְלכוּ ָא ֳח‬, « un autre royaume inférieur à

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 75 toi ». Au v. 40 on lit ἑτέρα βασιλεία, « un autre royaume » là où le texte massorétique, reflété par les manuscrits hexaplaires, comporte la forָ ‫וּמ ְלכוּ ְר ִב‬ ַ ). A la fin mulation suivante : « un quatrième royaume » (‫יעיָ ה‬ du v. 39, nous avons estimé que l’unique mention d’un adjectif ordinal était secondaire en Dan-o´ ainsi sans doute que dans son substrat. En somme, aux chapitres 2 et 7, une révision du texte araméen a souligné la succession des éléments par l’introduction d’adjectifs ordinaux, absents de la formulation originale. Au v. 5 du chap. 7, Dan-o´ ne présente pas d’omission par haplographie : ἐν τῷ στόματι αὐτῆς o´] + ‫ ֵבּין ִשׁנַּ יַ הּ‬M θ´ Pesh. ; la mention de signes hexaplaires prouve que dès l’époque d’Origène les termes étaient absents du grec ; l’expression « entre ses dents » est donc vraisemblablement une addition explicative. Au v. 9, Dan-o´ reflète sans doute l’état authentique du texte araméen : χιόνα o´] + ‫ ִחוָּ ר‬M θ´ Pesh. ; l’Ancien de jours a un vêtement comparable à la neige (ἔχων περιβολὴν ὡσεὶ χιόνα) ; le rapprochement avec la suite du verset – ‫אשׁהּ‬ ֵ ‫וּשׂ ַער ַר‬ ְ ‫ ַכּ ֲע ַמר נְ ַקא‬, « sa chevelure est comparable à la laine pure » – a suscité, par parallélisme, l’addition dans le texte massorétique de l’adjectif ‫ ִחוָּ ר‬: ‫בוּשׁהּ ִכּ ְת ַלג ִחוָּ ר‬ ֵ ‫ ְל‬, « un vêtement blanc comme neige ». Le texte araméen a donc connu des retouches de détail qui se situent au plan de la formulation et non du contenu du texte ; elles s’apparentent à des phénomènes d’harmonisation et d’explicitation. Dans certains cas, le texte massorétique semble incorporer lui-même une addition, tandis que Dan-o´ reflète l’état ancien du texte. Dans un cas, l’écart dépasse le niveau de la formulation et concerne l’histoire de la comַ ‫ יְ ִה‬. . . ‫ל־שׁ ַמיָּ א‬ ְ ‫בוּתא ִדּי ַמ ְל ְכוָ ת ְתּחוֹת ָכ‬ ָ ‫)וּר‬ ְ position du recueil : v. 27 (‫יבת‬ ‫ישׁי ֶﬠ ְליוֹנִ ין‬ ֵ ‫ ְל ַﬠם ַק ִדּ‬, « (et la grandeur des royaumes sous tous les cieux . . . sera donnée) au peuple des saints du Très-Haut ». Il n’est pas impossible que l’interprétation apporte ici une précision absente de la vision : les Saints du Très-Haut (v. 18, 22, 25) seraient le peuple des Saints du Très-Haut ; les exégètes s’interrogent sur la valeur que possède ici le mot ‫ ַﬠם‬et sur son adaptation au cadre délibérément abstrait du chapitre15. Or, le témoignage du grec prouve que le mot est une addition secondaire : ‫ ַﬠם‬est absent du substrat de Théodotion : καὶ ἡ μεγαλωσύνη τῶν βασιλέων τῶν ὑποκάτω παντὸς τοῦ οὐρανοῦ ἐδόθη ἁγίοις ὑψίστου ; il ne s’agit pas d’une haplographie, puisque la Septante reflète le mot différemment (καὶ τὴν μεγαλειότητα πάντων τῶν ὑπὸ

15

Cf. R.G. Kratz, Translatio, op. cit. à la n. 13, pp. 28–31.

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τὸν οὐρανὸν βασιλέων ἔδωκε λαῷ ἁγίῳ ὑψίστου) en l’adaptant à la formulation courante dans le Deutéronome : « le peuple saint du Très Haut » ; ce fait corrobore l’idée qu’on se trouve en présence d’une glose. Le mot ‫ ַﬠם‬a donc été ajouté au texte originel, sans doute dans le souci ִ ‫ם־ק‬ ְ ‫וְ ַﬠ‬, de renforcer le lien entre le chapitre 7 et la suite (8:24 ‫דשׁים‬ 12:7 ‫) ַﬠם־ק ֶֹדשׁ‬. Seules les versions grecques gardent la trace de cette intervention rédactionnelle. Aussi est-il légitime de se demander si elles ne manifestent pas d’autres indices de retouches, non plus sur le plan de la simple formulation, mais sur celui de la composition littéraire du texte scripturaire.

The « Horn-Revision » Qu’apporte le témoignage des versions à l’hypothèse d’une addition des versets relatifs aux cornes sur la tête de la quatrième bête (v. 7fin, 8, 11a, 20–22, 24–25) ? Au v. 8, central pour l’examen, on constate que Dan-θ´ suit littéralement le texte massorétique ; en revanche, la Septante présente des particularités remarquables :

ְ ‫יהן‬ ֵ ֵ‫ִמ ְשׂ ַתּ ַכּל ֲהוֵ ית ְבּ ַק ְרנַ ָיּא וַ ֲאלוּ ֶק ֶרן ָא ֳח ִרי זְ ֵﬠ ָירה ִס ְל ָקת ֵבּינ‬ v. 8 ‫וּת ָלת ִמן־‬ ‫א־דא‬ ָ ָ‫ן־ק ָד ַמיָּ הּ וַ ֲאלוּ ַﬠיְ נִ ין ְכּ ַﬠיְ נֵ י ֲאנָ ָשׁא ְבּ ַק ְרנ‬ ֳ ‫ַק ְרנַ יָּ א ַק ְד ָמיָ ָתא ֶא ְת ֲﬠ ַקרוּ ִמ‬ ‫וּפם ְמ ַמ ִלּל ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬ ֻ , « j’observais les cornes et voici, une autre corne, petite, surgit d’entre elles et trois des premières cornes furent arrachées devant elle. Et voici, des yeux comme des yeux d’homme étaient sur cette corne ainsi qu’une bouche qui disait de grandes choses » TM. καὶ βουλαὶ πολλαὶ ἐν τοῖς κέρασιν αὐτοῦ. καὶ ἰδοὺ ἓν κέρας ἀνεφύη ἀνὰ μέσον αὐτῶν μικρὸν ἐν τοῖς κέρασιν αὐτοῦ, καὶ τρία τῶν πρώτων κεράτων ἐξήρθησαν δι᾿ αὐτοῦ · καὶ ἰδοὺ ὀφθαλμοὶ ὡσεὶ ὀφθαλμοὶ ἀνθρώπινοι ἐν τῷ κέρατι τούτῳ καὶ στόμα λαλοῦ μεγάλα, καὶ ἐποίει πόλεμον πρὸς τοὺς ἁγίους o´. Le texte de Dan-o´ présente clairement un doublet : – ἓν κέρας ἀνεφύη ἀνὰ μέσον αὐτῶν – μικρὸν ἐν τοῖς κέρασιν αὐτοῦ. Le grec repose ici sur un substrat araméen où l’adjectif ‫ זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬était placé ֵ ֵ‫ ִס ְל ָקת ֵבּינ‬. En outre, dans le texte massorétique lui-même, après ‫יהן‬

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 77 l’asyndète ‫ ָא ֳח ִרי זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬surprend ; ces deux éléments textuels conduisent donc à la même hypothèse : dans ce verset, l’adjectif ‫ זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬serait le fruit d’une addition, sous la forme ‫ זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬dans le texte massorétique et dans le substrat de Dan-θ´ et sous la forme ‫ זְ ֵﬠ ָירה ְבּ ַק ְרנַ יָּ א‬dans celui de Dan.-o´. La traduction de ‫ ָא ֳח ִרי‬par ἕν corrobore une telle hypothèse ; le traducteur ne confond pas ‫ ָא ֳח ִרי‬avec ‫ ַא ַחת‬ou ‫ ַחד‬mais lit en Dan ַ ‫ ֶק ֶר‬, « une petite 7:8 un texte encore proche de Dan 8:9 : ‫ן־א ָחת ִמ ְצ ִﬠ ָירה‬ corne ». Le texte de Dan-o´ manifeste un troisième emprunt au chap. 8 : καὶ ἐποίει πόλεμον πρὸς τοὺς ἁγίους n’a pas d’équivalent en 7:8 dans le TM mais correspond, pour l’esprit sinon pour la formulation, à Dan 8:10 : la petite corne attaque l’armée des cieux et piétine les étoiles. En définitive, Dan-o´ reflète au v. 8 une forme glosée du texte araméen et laisse supposer qu’un ou deux mots du texte massorétique lui-même sont secondaires (‫ זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬et éventuellement ‫) ָא ֳח ִרי‬. Au début du verset, la divergence considérable entre καὶ βουλαὶ πολλαὶ ἐν τοῖς κέρασιν αὐτοῦ et ‫ ִמ ְשׂ ַתּ ַכּל ֲהוֵ ית ְבּ ַק ְרנַ יָּ א‬suggère aussi la présence dans le texte araméen d’une insertion secondaire : la formulation de Dan-o´ reposerait sur une formulation faisant allusion aux projets impies de la petite corne (Dan 8:24–25, 11:24), tandis que celle du texte massorétique marquerait le souci d’insérer la notation secondaire dans le cadre de la vision. Au v. 8 si le témoignage des versions laisse apparaître des éléments secondaires (‫ זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬ou ‫ ָא ֳח ִרי זְ ֵﬠ ָירה‬et éventuellement ‫) ִמ ְשׂ ַתּ ַכּל ֲהוֵ ית ְבּ ַק ְרנַ יָּ א‬, il ne permet pas d’affirmer ou d’infirmer le caractère secondaire du v. 8 lui-même. La même conclusion vaut à propos des autres versets appartenant à ce que la critique tient pour une révision. Le caractère secondaire de la seconde partie En revanche, l’étude des versions permet, semble-t-il, de confirmer que la forme originelle du texte ne comportait pas l’interprétation finale. En effet, un certain nombre d’indices révèle le caractère secondaire de la deuxième partie. On prendra l’exemple des relations entre le v. 8, examiné plus haut, et le v. 20 :

ְ ‫יהן‬ ֵ ֵ‫ִמ ְשׂ ַתּ ַכּל ֲהוֵ ית ְבּ ֵק ְרנַ יָּ א וַ ֲאלוּ ֶק ֶרן ָא ֳח ִרי זְ ֵﬠ ָירה ִס ְל ָקת ֵבּינ‬ – v. 8 ‫וּת ָלת‬ ‫א־דא‬ ָ ָ‫ן־ק ָד ַמיַּ הּ וַ ֲאלוּ ַﬠיְ נִ ין ְכּ ַﬠיְ נֵ י ֲאנָ ָשׁא ְבּ ַק ְרנ‬ ֳ ‫ן־ק ְרנָ יָּ א ַק ְד ָמיָ ָתא ֶא ְת ֲﬠ ַקרוּ ִמ‬ ָ ‫ִמ‬ ‫וּפם ְמ ַמ ִלּל ַר ְב ְר ָבן‬ ֻ

78

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– v. 20 ‫ן־ק ָד ַמיַּ הּ‬ ֳ ‫אשׁהּ וְ ָא ֳח ִרי ִדּי ִס ְל ַקת וּנְ ַפלוּ ִמ‬ ַ ‫ל־ק ְרנַ יָּ א ֲﬠ ַשׂר ִדּי ְב ֵר‬ ַ ‫וְ ַﬠ‬ ‫ן־ח ְב ָר ַתהּ‬ ַ ‫ ְתּ ָלת וְ ַק ְרנָ א ִד ֵכן וְ ַﬠיְ נִ ין ַלּהּ וְ ֻפם ְמ ַמ ִלּל ַר ְב ְר ָבן וְ ֶחזְ וַ הּ ַרב ִמ‬, « et au sujet des dix cornes qui étaient sur sa tête et de l’autre qui sortit et des trois qui tombèrent en face d’elle et de cette corne : et elle avait des yeux et une bouche qui disait de grandes choses et son allure était plus grande que celle de ses compagnes ». Dan-o´ καὶ περὶ τῶν δέκα κεράτων αὐτοῦ τῶν ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς καὶ τοῦ ἑνὸς τοῦ προσφυέντος, καὶ ἐξέπεσαν δι᾿ αὐτοῦ τρία, καὶ τὸ κέρας ἐκεῖνο εἶχεν ὀφθαλμοὺς καὶ στόμα λαλοῦν μεγάλα, καὶ ἡ πρόσοψις αὐτοῦ ὑπερέφερε τὰ ἄλλα Dan-θ´ καὶ περὶ τῶν κεράτων τῶν δέκα τῶν ἐν τῇ κεφαλῇ αὐτοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἑτέρου τοῦ ἀναβάντος καὶ ἐκτινάξαντος τῶν προτέρων τρία, ᾧ οἱ ὀφθαλμοὶ καὶ στόμα λαλοῦν μεγάλα καὶ ἡ ὅρασις αὐτοῦ μείζων τῶν λοιπῶν.

ֳ ‫וּנְ ַפלוּ ִמ‬, le texte massorétique et Dan-o´ Au v. 20, avec ‫ן־ק ְד ַמיַ הּ ְתּ ָלת‬ ַ ‫וּת ָלת ִמ‬ ְ ), attestent un tour où, comme au v. 8 (‫ן־ק ְרנַ יָּ א ַק ְד ָמיָ ָתא ֶא ְת ֲע ַקרוּ‬ les « cornes » sont le sujet. En revanche, avec καὶ ἐκτινάξαντος τῶν προτέρων τρία, Dan-θ´ repose sur un substrat qui modifie la syntaxe mais suppose, comme au v. 8, le verbe ‫עקר‬. En outre, le texte masֳ ‫ ִמ‬et le substrat de θ’ ‫ ַק ְד ָמיָ ָתא‬, sorétique mentionne au v. 20 ‫ן־ק ָד ַמיָּ הּ‬ soit deux éléments présents au v. 8 dans le texte massorétique. Enfin, si le traducteur syriaque n’harmonise pas spontanément un verset sur l’autre, son substrat présente un nouvel emprunt au v. 8 : ‫ ] ִם ְל ָקת‬+ ֵ ֵ‫ ִם ְל ָקת ֵבּינ‬TM. Or, si deux (ou trois) formes rédac‫̣ܗܨ‬ , cf. v. 8 ‫יהן‬ tionnelles d’un texte empruntent des éléments distincts à une même source, cela suggère que ce texte lui-même est secondaire par rapport à sa source ; la forme massorétique et la forme sur laquelle repose θ’ ne dérivent pas l’une de l’autre par accident : elles rédigent autrement une même expansion du récit. Les divergences sont mineures mais significatives : elles prouvent que la seconde partie du chapitre est une expansion, non une partie du texte originel. Si un texte originellement bref a connu une expansion, il peut paraître logique d’en situer le début au v. 19 ; R.G. Kratz se demande si l’interprétation qui commence alors n’est pas superflue après la réponse donnée à Daniel aux v. 17–1816. Le témoignage des versions offre quel16

Cf. R.G. Kratz, art. cit. à la n. 13, p. 99.

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 79 ques appuis à l’idée que le v. 19 marque une transition ; le texte en semble peu ferme, comme c’est le cas dans le début des chapitres ou des séquences de chapitres :

‫יﬠיְ ָתא‬ ָ ‫ל־חיוְ ָתא ְר ִב‬ ֵ ‫ ֱא ַדיִ ן ְצ ִביִ ן ְצ ִבית ְליָ ָצּ ָבא ַﬠ‬M = τότε ἤθελον ἐξακριβάσασθαι περὶ τοῦ θηρίου τοῦ τετάρτου o´ καὶ ἐζητοῦν ἀκριβῶς περὶ τοῦ θηρίου τοῦ τετάρτου θ´ ‫ܬ ܐܪ‬ ‫ܠ‬ ‫ ܗ‬Pesh.

Au début du verset, le substrat de Dan-θ´ suppose un ְ‫ו‬, comme on en trouve souvent pour introduire des éléments secondaires ; le segment aurait été ultérieurement intégré à la narration grâce à l’emploi de ‫ ֱא ַדיִ ן‬, « alors ». La Peshitta présente l’addition « Moi Daniel », soit le segment présent dans le texte massorétique en 8:15 à la jointure de la vision et de l’interprétation; à la place de ‫ ְצ ִבית‬, « je voulais », Dan-θ´ lit ἐζητοῦν, « je cherchais », c’est-à-dire le verbe que, dans les deux versions grecques, on trouve pour l’hébreu ‫ וָ ֲא ַב ְק ָשׁה‬en 8:15, c’est-à-dire au verset de jointure mentionné auparavant ; quant à la Peshitta, elle reflète un substrat qui combine celui du TM et celui de θ´. Cependant, un peu plus haut, le v. 15 attire l’attention par l’ampleur des écarts entre les différents états du texte, signe d’une importante activité rédactionnelle :

‫אשׁי יְ ַב ֲה ֻלנַּ נִ י‬ ִ ‫רוּחי ֲאנָ ה ָדנִ יֵּ אל ְבּגוֹא נִ ְדנֶ ה וְ ֶהזְ וֵ י ֵר‬ ִ ‫ ֶא ְת ְכ ִריַּ ת‬, « mon esprit fut troublé, à moi Daniel, au-dedans de son enveloppe et les visions de ma tête m’effrayèrent » TM καὶ ἀκηδιάσας ἐγὼ ∆ανιηλ ἐν τούτοις ἐν τῷ ὁράματι τῆς νυκτὸς 16 προσῆλθα o´ ἔφριξε τὸ πνεῦμά μου ἐν τῇ ἔξει μου, ἐγὼ ∆ανιηλ, καὶ αἱ ὁράσεις τῆς κεφαλῆς μου ἐτάρασσόν με θ´. ‫ ]בגוֹא נִ ְדנֶ ה‬ἐν τούτοις o´ = ‫ בגין דנה‬ou ‫בגו דנה‬17 ; ἐν τῇ ἔξει μου θ´ ; ̇ ‫ܘ‬ (« sur ma couche ») Pesh. La comparaison des textes laisse apparaître une incertitude sur la place de ‫ ֲאנָ ה ָדנִ יֵ אל‬, placé – semble-t-il – après ‫ ְבּגוֹא נִ ְדנֶ ה‬ou son équivalent ִ ‫ וְ ֶחזְ וֵ י ֵר‬du texte masdans le substrat de Dan-θ´ et sur l’expression ‫אשׁי‬ sorétique à laquelle correspond en Dan-o´ ἐν τῷ ὁράματι τῆς νυκτός,

17

Cf. R.H. Charles, op. cit. à la n. 3, pp. 188–189.

80

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ce qui suppose dans son substrat ‫יליָ א‬ ְ ‫ ְבּ ֶחזְ וֵ י ֵל‬, soit la formule présente aux v. 7 et 13 ; en outre, on remarque que, dans le substrat de Dan-o´, la transition se réduit à un verbe, suivi de compléments de lieu en apposition ; le substrat peut avoir ici été le suivant : ‫אשׁי‬ ִ ‫י־ר‬ ֵ ֵ‫( ְבּ ֶחזְ ו‬ou ‫רוּחי )? ְבּגִ ין ְדנֶ ה ? ְבּ ְדנֶ ה‬ ִ ‫ ; ֶא ְת ְכּ ִריַּ ת‬en revanche, dans le texte massorétique, la formule s’étoffe par l’addition d’un verbe (‫ )יְ ַב ֲח ֻלנָּ נִ י‬tiré, semble-t-il, du v. 28 (‫ֲאנָ ה ָדנִ יֵ אל ַשׂגִּ יא ַר ְﬠיוֹנַ י יְ ַב ֲה ֻלנַּ נִ י‬ ‫ )וְ זִ יוַ י יִ ְשׁ ַתּנּוֹן ֲﬠ ַלי‬et l’apparition d’une coordination. Le témoignage des versions suggère que la transition du v. 15 a été composée à partir du v. 28 : au v. 15, à la place de l’hapax ‫ ְבּגוֹא נִ ְדנֶ ה‬, le substrat de Dan-θ´ paraît comporter ‫ ְבזִ יוַ י‬, soit le terme présent dans le texte massorétique au v. 28. En résumé, le témoignage des versions montre, en action, la confection d’une jointure. Cette jointure se serait faite au v. 15 à partir du v. 28 qui constituait la fin du texte originel. S’il en était ainsi, il faudrait en conclure qu’une première forme du texte s’achevait au v. 14 qui était immédiatement suivie du v. 28fin. Une telle forme du récit aurait comporté une narration dénuée d’interprétation ; celle-ci aurait été ultérieurement intégrée dans la forme traditionnelle des visions daniéliques, fondée sur la bipartition vision / interprétation. Au contraire, si l’on place la jointure au v. 19, comme certains indices textuels peuvent y inviter, le texte originel aurait comporté une vision suivie d’une brève interprétation (v. 17–18). Cohérence de l’expansion (v. 16–27) Si les données textuelles ne permettent pas de trancher entre ces deux hypothèses, l’étude littéraire de la seconde partie conduit à opter en faveur de la première hypothèse. Les versets 16–18 ne rendent pas superflu le développement qui suit ; Daniel pose deux questions dont ְ ‫ל־כּ‬ ָ ‫א־מנֵּ הּ ַﬠ‬ ִ ‫יבא ֶא ְב ֵﬠ‬ ָ ‫וְ יַ ִצּ‬, la première, de caractère général (v. 16 ‫ל־דּנָ ה‬ « je lui demandais la vérité sur tout cela »), reçoit une réponse générale : ֵ ‫ ַק ִדּ‬, il y aura quatre royaumes et la royauté reviendra aux ‫ישׁי ֶﬠ ְליוֹנִ ין‬ aux Saints du Très-Haut (v. 18). La seconde est particulière et porte sur la quatrième bête. L’impression de répétition vient du fait que la seconde question ainsi que sa réponse mentionnent les « Saints » ou les « Saints du Très-Haut » à plusieurs reprises (v. 21, 22, 25, 27). A nouveau, on cherchera dans les versions les indices de gloses dans le texte scripturaire. Au v. 17, seuls le syriaque et la Vulgate reflètent un texte plein :

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 81

‫ ִא ֵלּין ֵחיוָ ָתא ַר ְב ְר ָב ָתא ִדּי ִאנִּ ין ַא ְר ַבּע ַא ְר ְבּ ָﬠה ַמ ְל ִכין יְ קוּמוּן‬, « ces grandes bêtes qui sont quatre, ce sont quatre rois » ; cependant, ils modifient le contenu de la proposition relative : au tour ‫ ִאנִּ ין ִדּי‬du texte massorétique correspond ‫ܕܚ ܙ‬, ݂ « que tu as vues » dans la Peshitta (comme dans la Vulgate). En revanche, le substrat de la Septante omet ici ‫ִדּי ִאנִּ ין‬ ‫( ַא ְר ַבּע‬ταῦτα τὰ θηρία τὰ μεγάλα) et celui de Théodotion ‫ֵר ְב ְר ָב ָתא‬ ainsi que ‫( ִדּי ִאנִּ ין‬ταῦτα τὰ θηρία τὰ τέσσαρα). Comme au v. 3, on peut supposer, au début du v. 17, une formulation originellement plus brève, telle ‫ ִא ֵלּין ֵחיוָ ָתא‬, « ces (quatre) bêtes ». A la fin du même verset, le texte massorétique mentionne l’apparition des royaumes (‫יְ קוּמוּן‬ ‫ן־א ְר ָﬠא‬ ַ ‫ ִמ‬, – quatre royaumes – s’élèveront de la terre »), Dan-o´ leur disparition (αἳ ἀπολοῦνται ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς) et Dan-θ´ leur apparition et leur disparition (ἀναστήσονται ἐπὶ τῇ γῇ, αἳ ἀρθήσονται). Ἀπολλύναι ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς a de nombreux parallèles dans la Bible grecque (Deut 4:26 Jos 23:13, etc.) mais fait songer au verset en araméen qu’on lit en Jérémie 10:11 :

‫אבדוּ ֶמ ַא ְר ָﬠא‬ ַ ֵ‫י־שׁ ַמיָּ א וְ ַא ְר ָקא ָלא ֲﬠ ַבדוּ י‬ ְ ‫אמרוּן ְלהוֹם ֱא ָל ַהיָ א ִדּ‬ ְ ‫ִכּ ְדנָ ה ֵתּ‬ ‫ן־תּחוֹת ְשׁ ַמיָ א ֵא ֶלּה‬ ְ ‫וּמ‬ ִ , οὕτως ἐρεῖτε αὐτοῖς θεοί, οἳ τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν οὐκ ἐποίησαν ἀπολέσθωσαν ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς καὶ ὑποκάτωθεν τοῦ οὐρανοῦ τούτου. Avec la préposition ‫ ִמן‬, le texte massorétique de Dan 7:17 paraît lui-même composite et Dan-θ´ (ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς) semble refléter une autre préposition. Dans ce verset, on peut se demander si, dans les différents cas, le verbe n’est pas ici une glose. La formulation originelle serait la suivante : ‫ ִא ֵלּין ֵחיוָ ָתא ַא ְר ְבּ ָﬠה ַמ ְל ִכין‬, « ces (quatre) bêtes sont quatre rois »). Au verset suivant, le texte massorétique présente aussi une forte allure de doublet (v. 18) :

‫ד־ﬠ ְל ָמא וְ ַﬠד ָﬠ ַלם‬ ַ ‫כוּתא ַﬠ‬ ָ ‫ישׁי ֶﬠ ְליוֹנִ ין וְ יַ ְח ְסנוּן ַמ ְל‬ ֵ ‫כוּתא ַק ִדּ‬ ָ ‫וִ ַיק ְבּלוּן ַמ ְל‬ ‫ « ָﬠ ְל ַמיָּ א‬et les Saints du Très-Haut recevront le royaume et ils possèderont le royaume pour l’éternité et d’éternité en éternité ». A travers l’emploi du pronom anaphorique, le substrat de Dan-θ´ manifeste un ָ ‫וְ יַ ְח ְסנוּן ַמ ְל‬ effort d’intégration de l’élément peut-être secondaire ‫כוּתא‬ (καὶ παραλήψονται τὴν βασιλείαν ἅγιοι ὑψίστου καὶ καθέξουσι αὐτήν). A la fin du verset, ‫ד־ﬠ ְל ָמא וְ ַﬠד ָﬠ ַלם ָﬠ ְל ַמיָ א‬ ָ ‫ ַﬠ‬ressemble aussi à un doublet. Sans doute le texte originel comportait-il ici : ָ ‫ישׁי ֶﬠ ְליוֹנִ ין ַﬠ‬ ֶ ‫כוּתא ַק ִדּ‬ ָ ‫וִ ַיק ְבּלוּן ַמ ְל‬. Enfin, au (ou ‫ד־ﬠ ְל ָמא ) ָﬠד ָﬠ ַלם ָﬠ ְל ַמיָּ א‬ ָ ‫וְ ַק ְרנַ יָ א ֲﬠ ַשׂר ִמנַּ הּ ַמ ְל‬, « et les dix cornes : v. 24 (‫כוּתה ַﬠ ְשׂ ָרה ַמ ְל ִכין יְ ֻקמוּן‬ de ce royaume se dresseront dix rois »), le texte des versions laisse supposer un style plus elliptique ; en effet, par rapport à l’expression charָ ‫ ִמנַּ הּ ַמ ְל‬, litt. « de lui, ce royaume »), gée du texte massorétique (‫כוּתה‬ Dan-θ´ semble avec τῆς βασιλείας omettre ‫ ִמנּהּ‬et Dan-θ´ avec αὐτοῦ

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ne pas lire ‫כוּתה‬ ָ ‫ ַמ ְל‬dans son substrat. Sans doute le texte juxtaposait-il à l’origine les termes de la vision et leur interprétation ; on peut lui supposer la formulation suivante : ‫וְ ַק ְרנַ יָּ א ֲﬠ ַשׂר ַﬠ ְשׂ ָרה ַמ ְל ִכין יְ ֻקמוּן‬, « et les dix cornes : dix rois se dresseront ». Si la seconde partie du chapitre a subi des gloses ponctuelles, on peut s’interroger sur l’authenticité des v. 19–22 que la critique tient souvent pour secondaires ; en effet, au v. 19, la relance de la description surprend, puisqu’elle se situe à l’intérieur de la question que pose Daniel à propos de la vision qu’il a eue ; en outre, la nouvelle mention d’une vision (v. 21 ‫ ) ָחזֵ ה ֲהוֵ ית‬entre la question et la réponse ne manque pas d’étonner. Les versions ne peuvent ici permettre d’isoler des éléments secondaires, mais elles aident à en supposer l’existence : au v. 19, on remarquera en Dan-o´ les mots καὶ ἰδού avant la description des dents et des griffes de la bête ; or, son équivalent, ‫וַ ֲארוּ‬, introduit souvent dans la vision un élément nouveau ; sans doute, le grec garde-t-il, avec l’adverbe, la trace d’une insertion ou repose-t-il sur un substrat qui cherche, avec cette coordination, à intégrer des mots que le texte massorétique ne fait que juxtaposer aux précédents. De même, deux lectures facilitantes des versions montrent que la syntaxe du texte massorétique garde l’allure de gloses, sommairement intégrées au texte : v. 20 ‫וְ ַק ְרנָ א ִד ֵכּן וְ ַﬠיְ נִ ין ַלהּ‬, « et (au sujet de) cette corne et elle avait des yeux »] om. ‫ וְ ַק ְרנָ א ִד ֵכּן‬θ´ (ᾧ οἱ ὀφθαλμοί) ; om. ְ‫ ו‬2° o´ (καὶ τὸ κέρας ἐκεῖνο εἶχεν ὀφθαλμούς) ; v. 21 ‫ ] ְחזֵ ה ֲהוֵ ית וְ ַק ְרנָ א ִד ֵכּן‬om. ְ‫ ו‬o´ (καὶ κατενόουν τὸ κέρας ἐκεῖνο), Pesh. En un cas, c’est le grec qui garde la formulation première de la glose, tandis que le texte massorétique l’adapte : au v. 22, le verbe araméen marque comme un aboutissement du temps annoncé : ‫וְ זִ ְמנָ א ְמ ָטה‬, « et le moment vint (pour les Saints de posséder le royaume ») ; or, Dan-o´ repose sur un substrat (καὶ ὁ καιρὸς ἐδόθη) qui laisse encore voir que ַ ‫ וְ ַא ְר ָכ ַה ְב ַחיִּ ין יְ ִה‬TM, le v. 22 est une reprise du v. 12 où on lit : ‫יבת ְלהוֹן‬ καὶ χρόνος ζωῆς ἐδόθη αὐτοῖς o´. En définitive, le texte des versions confirme l’impression que le texte massorétique a connu aux v. 19–22 une amplification secondaire, mais il ne permet pas de déterminer ce que comportait originellement le texte.

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 83 Pour apprécier la cohérence de l’expansion et déterminer le verset où elle commence, il convient de restituer, grâce aux versions, la forme qu’elle présentait avant les gloses dont elle a, comme la première partie, été l’objet, ainsi que l’analyse précédente a tenté de le montrer. A partir du v. 23, le texte scripturaire présente un style laconique très comparable à celui du v. 17 ; sur le plan littéraire, la technique consiste à juxtaposer – ou à relier par une copule – une ָ ‫ֵחיוְ ָתא ְר ִב‬ expression de la vision et son interprétation : ‫יﬠיְ ָתא ַמ ְלכוּ‬ ‫יﬠיָ א ֶתּ ֱהוֵ א ְב ַא ְר ָﬠא‬ ָ ‫ ְר ִב‬, « la quatrième bête : un quatrième royaume existera sur la terre » (v. 23). Sur ce point, les versions sont parfois supérieures au texte massorétique : au v. 26 le texte massorétique est le suivant : ‫וְ ִדינָ א יִ ִתּב וְ ָשׁ ְל ָטנֵ הּ יְ ַה ְﬠדּוֹן‬, « et le tribunal siégera et on ôtera son pouvoir » (i.e. celui de la quatrième bête) » ; or, avec la formulation καὶ τὸ κριτήριον ἐκάθισε καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν μεταστήσουσι, seul Dan-θ´ garde la trace du fait que les deux premiers mots araméens sont une reprise littérale du v. 10 : ‫ ִדּינָ א יְ ִתב‬, « et le tribunal siégea », suivie d’une interprétation qui se trouve correspondre à une expression présente au v. 12 : ‫ ְﬠ ִדּיו ָשׁ ְל ָטנְ הוֹן‬, « on ôta leur domination ». Au v. 26, Dan-θ´ reflète donc un parfait (‫)יְ ִתב‬, préférable à l’imparfait (‫ )יִ ִתּב‬du texte massorétique qui, sous l’influence des futurs des versets précédents, transforme en un tableau de la fin des temps ce qui est, en réalité, un segment de la vision suivi de son interprétation. Alors que ce fait n’est plus guère perceptible dans la formulation du TM, il apparaît encore en Dan-o´ au v. 27. En ce lieu, le texte massorétique ne permet plus de repérer les termes de la vision qui sont interprétés et l’on a, à nouveau, l’impression d’une conclusion emphatique énumérant trois termes : ‫יבת‬ ַ ‫ל־שׁ ַמיָּ א יְ ִה‬ ְ ‫בוּתא ִדּי ַמ ְל ְכוָ ת ְתּחוֹת ָכּ‬ ָ ‫כוּתה וְ ָשׁ ְל ָטנָ א ְוּר‬ ָ ‫וּמ ְל‬ ַ , « et le règne, la domination et la grandeur des royaumes sous tous les cieux seront donnés . . . ». Seule, la Septante reflète ici la forme authentique du texte araméen : καὶ τὴν ἐξουσίαν καὶ τὴν βασιλείαν καὶ τὴν μεγαλειότητα πάντων τῶν ὑπὸ τὸν οὐρανὸν βασιλέων ἔδωκε. Son subsָ ‫וּמ ְל‬ ַ ‫וְ ָשׁ ְל ָטנָ א‬, soit une séquence plus proche du trat lit donc au v. 27 ‫כוּתה‬ ַ ‫וְ ֵלהּ יְ ִהיב ָשׁ ְל ָטן וִ ָיקר‬, « et à lui furent donnés la puissance, v. 14 : ‫וּמ ְלכוּ‬ la gloire et le règne »18. Cette proximité entre les v. 14 et 27 devient une identité, si l’on tient compte, au v. 14, du texte original de Daniel,

18

Le texte de Dan-o´ a ultérieurement été corrigé sur le texte massorétique :

ἐξουσίαν . . . βασιλείαν] tr. 88-Syh = TM.

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conservé seulement par o´: καὶ ἐδόθη αὐτῷ ἐξουσία βασιλική19. Le ָ ִ‫ ו‬et lisait donc ‫וּמ ְלכוּ‬ ַ ‫ ָשׁ ְל ָטן‬. En modèle de Dan-o´ ne contenait pas ‫יקר‬ somme, le témoignage de la première version grecque reflète un texte araméen dans lequel le v. 27 reprend littéralement le v. 1420. Au v. 27, les termes de la vision commencent, tout comme l’interprétation, par la copule ְ‫ ; ו‬cela explique qu’au cours de la transmission, la structure se soit obscurcie, les textes anciens n’ayant pas l’équivalent de nos guillemets ; dans un cadre oral, l’intonation permet de distinguer citation et interprétation. En Dan 7, l’interprétation se situe encore dans une telle tradition orale, mais celle-ci est déjà prise dans un cadre littéraire, comme le montre, au v. 16, un détail du début de la seconde partie : ‫הוֹד ִﬠנַּ נִ י‬ ְ ְ‫וּפ ַשׁר ִמ ַלּיָ א י‬ ְ ‫ר־לי‬ ִ ‫ל־דּנָ ה וַ ֲא ַמ‬ ְ ‫ל־כּ‬ ָ ‫א־מנֵּ הּ ַﬠ‬ ִ ‫יבא ֶא ְב ֵﬠ‬ ָ ‫וְ יַ ִצּ‬, « et je lui demandais la vérité sur tout cela et il me parla et me fit connaître la vérité des choses ». Il est possible de comprendre le verbe ‫ ֲא ַמר‬au sens banal de « répondre », comme le fait Dan-o´ (ἀποκριθεὶς δὲ λέγει μοι) ; on peut aussi, comme le substrat de la Peshitta et de Dan-θ´ faire de ‫יבא‬ ָ ‫ יַ ִצּ‬le complément de ce verbe21. Notre hypothèse est différente : en écho au chapitre 2 où le roi demande qu’on lui dise le rêve qu’il a fait avant de le lui interpréter, cette formule du v. 16 fournit la clef de toute la seconde partie : l’interprète mentionne un élément de la vision et en fournit l’interprétation. Or, le témoignage des versions grecques conserve – souvent plus que le texte massorétique – la trace d’une telle structure, fondée sur une reprise littérale de l’élément interprété, suivie de l’interprétation. Deux conclusions peuvent être tirées de ce qui précède. Si la seconde partie du chapitre 7 reprend des éléments de la première pour en fourָ ‫ד־כּה‬ ָ ‫ַﬠ‬ nir, point par point l’interprétation, l’expression du v. 28 ‫סוֹפא‬ ‫י־מ ְלּ ָתא‬ ִ ‫ ִד‬, « jusqu’à ce point la fin des paroles » revêt une importance considérable : que ces mots araméens soient prononcés par l’interprète, par le narrateur ou par un glosateur, ils indiquent que l’interprétation s’arrête au v. 27. Or le témoignage de Dan-o´ a montré que le v. 27 débutait par une reprise littérale du v. 14. Cela prouve qu’une unité s’achevait à la fin du v. 14. L’expansion que constitue l’interprétation

19 Ce texte a aussi été aligné sur le texte massorétique : βασιλικην Tert. III 387.556 Cypr. Consult.] ※ και τιμη βασιλικη 88-Syh Iust. (sine ※) = TM. 20 Au v. 27, la Peshitta garde la trace de l’antéposition de ‫ וְ ָשׁ ְל ָטנָ א‬attestée par Dan-o´ : ‫בוּתא‬ ָ ‫ וְ ָשׁ ְל ָטנָ א ְוּר‬/ ‫כוּתה‬ ָ ‫וּמ ְל‬ ַ ] tr. Pesh. 21 καὶ εἶπέ μοι τὴν ἀκρίβειαν Dan-θ´ = Pesh.

retouches rédactionnelles au texte proto-massorétique 85 de la vision ne commence pas au v. 19 mais au v. 15 : l’étude littéraire, fondée sur le témoignage des versions, permet d’opter entre les deux possibilités qu’offrait l’étude des données textuelles menée plus haut. Il a donc existé une première forme qui ne comportait qu’un récit de vision. Ultérieurement, ce texte a été doté d’une suite présentant l’interprétation de la vision. A cette occasion, la vision initiale a elle-même été précédée d’une notice introductive, situant le cadre de la vision : les v. 1–2 début, qui contiennent pour la première fois dans le recueil la première personne du narrateur Daniel et attestent les mots « vision », « rêve », ont été – le grec le montre – l’objet d’un intense travail rédactionnel, probablement contemportain de l’expansion des v. 15–28fin. Dans le texte massorétique, le chapitre 7 présente la même structure que les chapitres 8–10 : après une brève introduction situant le cadre de la vision, celle-ci est racontée, puis interprétée. L’étude des versions de Daniel laisse voir qu’on a là un stade tardif du texte ; à l’origine, celui-ci ne rapportait qu’une vision. A cet égard, – que le chapitre 7 ait suivi le chapitre 6, comme dans l’ordre du texte massorétique, ou le chapitre 4, comme dans celui de la Septante ancienne (représentée par le papyrus 967) –, sa forme originelle constituait une transition : en tant que récit de vision, le noyau narratif entretient des liens avec les narrations qui précèdent mais aussi avec les visions qui suivent. Dan-o´ repose sur une forme ancienne du texte araméen : au v. 8 seule cette version mentionne la guerre que fait aux Saints la onzième corne (καὶ ἐποίει πόλεμον πρὸς τοὺς ἁγίους) ; or ce motif est repris et interprété dans le texte massorétique et dans les versions au v. 25 où il est question des « Saints du Très-Haut » qu’écrasera un onzième roi ֵ ‫וּל ַק ִדּ‬ ְ ). L’expansion de la seconde partie suppose donc, (‫ישׁי ֶע ְליוֹנִ ין יְ ַב ֵלּא‬ sur ce point, un substrat conforme à celui de Dan-o´. Ainsi, au v. 8, le motif d’une guerre contre les Saints procède sans doute d’une glose, mais celle-ci est antérieure à la rédaction de la seconde partie. Une fois la seconde partie rédigée, sans doute la mention des « Saints » a-t-elle paru déplacée dans la vision et l’éditeur du texte massorétique l’a-t-il éliminée. Par ailleurs, la formulation réduite du v. 15 en Dan-o´ montre que la jointure entre la vision et l’interprétation est encore, dans son substrat, un phénomène récent. Or, dans le substrat de Dan-o´, si ancien (cf. le v. 8) et où la jointure entre les deux sections « prémaccabéennes » (v. 1–14 / v. 15–28) est encore perceptible, la section « maccabéennne » (versets 7bβ, 8, 11a, 20–22, 24–25) est déjà présente. Ce fait paraît exclure que ces versets soient secondaires.

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En outre, l’interprétation des dix cornes ainsi que de la onzième s’insère parfaitement dans la structure littéraire dont les versions grecques ont montré la cohérence. Au v. 24, on a vu que le texte originel juxtaposait probablement une reprise du v. 7 (‫ )וְ ַק ְרנַ יִ ן ֲﬠ ַשׂר ַלהּ‬et son interprétation (‫) ֵﬠ ְשׂ ָרה ַמ ְל ִכין יְ ֻקמוּן וְ ָא ֳח ָרן יְ קוּם‬, soit la forme littéraire qu’on trouve aux v. 26 et 27. Il paraît peu vraisemblable qu’un glosateur ait su insérer une addition dans la structure littéraire de la seconde partie du chapitre. En définitive, l’étude des versions anciennes de Daniel 7 permet, semble-t-il, d’éclairer l’archéologie du texte araméen. Or, leur témoignage confirme de plusieurs façons que les versets dits « maccabéens », relatifs aux dix cornes et à la onzième corne de la quatrième bête, appartiennent à la couche authentique du texte araméen. Sans rendre l’hypothèse d’une « horn-revision » et d’une « révision maccabéenne » impossible, l’étude des versions la fait apparaître comme fort peu plausible.

THE CHALLENGE OF HEBREW LEXICOGRAPHY TODAY David J.A. Clines Samuel Johnson, the great eighteenth-century English dictionarymaker, defined a lexicographer as ‘a harmless drudge, that busies himself in tracing the original, and detailing the signification of words’.1 As the editor of the Dictionary of Classical Hebrew (DCH),2 of which the sixth volume is about to appear,3 I can vouch for the falsity in my experience of the term ‘drudge’, since I find lexicography one of most exciting fields I have ever worked in. But especially I must say that I shall not willingly accept the sobriquet ‘harmless’, and I would rather present the lexicographer’s roles as that of an annoying gadfly, who regards Hebrew lexicography today as a challenge. In the first part of my paper, I will interpret the word ‘of ’ in the title as an objective genitive, and concern myself with the challenge posed to Hebrew lexicography today; in the second part, the ‘of ’ will become a subjective genitive, signifying the challenge made by Hebrew lexicography. I. The Challenge Posed to Hebrew Lexicography Today Here I will discuss some of the challenges for the future of Hebrew dictionary-making that exist today, both economic and scientific. It is now the time to be planning the next dictionary of Classical Hebrew, I suggest, but what will it cost, and how is to be funded? And what should be its governing principles? What are potential users looking for in a dictionary, and how may lexicographers raise the levels of expectation of users? What lessons have been learned from the Hebrew dictionaries of the last 100 years, and what new questions await discussion?

1

Samuel Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language (London, 1755). David J.A. Clines (ed.), The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vols. 1–5 (Sheffield, 1991–2001). 3 David J.A. Clines (ed.), The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, vol. 6 (Sheffield, 2007). 2

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david j.a. clines a. The Economic Challenge

It takes a long time to make a Hebrew dictionary that is more than a recapitulation of dictionaries of the past. If the scholarly world is to have a new dictionary of ancient Hebrew by the middle of the century, it is time to be thinking how it can be done, and what it should look like. According to my reckoning, it will take 20 to 25 years to make a fresh dictionary, and it will consume 75 to 100 person-years at least; which is to say, it will occupy three or four persons full-time over a period of 25 years. If it is to be more than a mere Handwörterbuch for student use and the use of lazy and easily satisfied scholars, if it is to be a full dictionary that remains an international resource for half a century or more, it will cost, I reckon, if the time of those authors is to be paid for, 10 million dollars US, or 7.5 million Euros. That seems a very great sum of money, though it is less than many individual pieces of equipment in our science laboratories, which your university and mine have to buy before anyone can begin to do research. Our $10 m will pay for the whole of the research itself, which makes it quite cheap. And after all, a university will pay $4 m to employ an average professor for a lifetime’s career. How much more valuable than an average professor is a Hebrew dictionary that will last half a century? But who will find that kind of money? National bodies that fund research want to see projects completed in five years, and most publishers will not lay out money they cannot hope to have back in less time than that. Only a collaboration between a scientific funding body and a wealthy publisher possessed of extreme long-range vision could hope to achieve such a dream. Perhaps the model of the printed book, which all of us have grown up with, will not apply to the next Hebrew dictionary. Perhaps the licensing of a gradually growing online dictionary, one that may never be brought to completion but will always be capable of addition and extension, is the model for the future. All the more important, then, that the structure and principles of such a project be thought through for many years, if not decades, in advance, for the design of our next dictionary may last longer than any printed volumes ever could.

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b. The Scientific Challenge The economics and the practicalities of such a project are the necessary envelope within which the academic undertaking will be carried out. The time is long gone when scholars could shut their eyes to the practical aspects of how their work would be disseminated, and could leave it to business people and financiers to determine the outcome of their academic labours. The production and reception of our research is as much a part of the research process as the actual academic research itself – a fact that many funding bodies are themselves realizing today. Nevertheless, despite our recognition of the indispensability of the economic aspects, we are all on safer and more familiar territory when we get to talking about the research itself, and so I will turn to some of the scientific questions that the future of Hebrew lexicography may challenge us with. I will begin with some questions that I would hope we will not need to consider for a future dictionary, questions that have troubled us in the past, but that have, one hopes, more or less melted away. i. A new dictionary should not need to consider: 1. Whether a new dictionary of ancient Hebrew should be a dictionary of Biblical Hebrew or a dictionary of the classical language, incorporating all the evidences for that language, from Sirach to Qumran and the inscriptions. It didn’t need Edward Ullendorff’s article and book4 Is Biblical Hebrew a Language? to make the point – though he made it elegantly – that biblical Hebrew is no more than one manifestation of the ancient language. Though the home of Hebrew language studies has so often been the theological faculty and the seminary, to which all Hebraists can be grateful for their furtherance of Hebrew scholarship, the time is surely past when Hebrew can be thought of as a subdivision of theology. Every dictionary of the ancient language, prior to DCH, if the reference will be forgiven, is now dated, and outdated, by the confines or straitjacket their editors imposed on their work. Even BDB, for example, had available to it the newly discovered Ben Sira, and knew of the Siloam inscription; but because it was a

4 Edward Ullendorff, “Is Biblical Hebrew a Language?”, BSOAS 34 (1971), pp. 241–55; Is Biblical Hebrew a Language? Studies in Semitic Languages and Civilizations (Wiesbaden, 1977).

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lexicon of the Hebrew of the Old Testament it did not register any of the Hebrew words occurring in those texts. 2. Whether such a dictionary should be arranged in strictly alphabetical order or not. Many English-speaking scholars who were brought up on BDB still think it is natural to search for a word under its root (real or presumed), but I would say that the success of the dictionary of Ludwig Koehler and its successors HALAT and HALOT,5 which arranged words alphabetically, has made this the industry standard. 3. Whether each article should attempt to identify a ‘basic’ or ‘original’ meaning of a word. It is a feature of our older dictionaries that concrete senses of words are assumed to be more original than extended or metaphorical senses. I don’t know that anyone believes that any more, though it may seem a natural enough assumption to many biblical scholars. 4. Whether all the Hebrew appearing in the dictionary should be accompanied by a translation in the modern target language. There was a time when consulting the dictionary seems to have been reserved for advanced students, and a high level of competence in Hebrew, especially in vocabulary, is presumed by some of the older dictionaries. Today less can be assumed of users of Hebrew dictionaries, and to provide, as a level playing field for all users, a translation of all the Hebrew in a dictionary seems only reasonable. ii. A new dictionary should need to consider, on the other hand, many unresolved issues of different kinds, among them: 1. Whether to attempt to mention all occurrences. With a corpus in the Hebrew Bible of c. 300,000 words, and no more than a further 100,000 or so in the non-biblical Hebrew texts, the opportunity is open to the Hebrew lexicographer of reporting all occurrences of all but the very most common words. For a compact dictionary that is not necessary, of course; but it is a peculiar advantage in Hebrew that a completely comprehensive dictionary is a possibility, and, more than that, a desirability in that so many of the texts are difficult if not actually cryptic. To commit oneself to comprehensiveness is however

5 Ludwig Koehler, Lexicon in Veteris Testamenti libros (Leiden, 1953); Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner et al., Hebräisches und aramäisches Lexikon zum Alten Testament (Leiden, 1967–94), 5 vols. (HALAT); Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (trans. M.E.J. Richardson; Leiden, 1994–2000), 5 vols. (HALOT).

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to commit oneself to a work of 3000 or 4000 pages, and that may not be welcome on all fronts. In the course of composition of a dictionary it does not of course take very much longer to report all occurrences than to make a selection; for all the occurrences have to be reviewed by the lexicographer, and the process of careful and meaningful selection may well be as time-consuming as a full reporting of the evidence. 2. Whether to display cognates in other languages. I will gladly accept that this is a debatable point. It was something of a scandal when DCH did not offer lists of cognates in other Semitic languages, such as we had become accustomed to in our Hebrew dictionaries. To tell the truth, it was as much because the effort required was daunting and probably incommensurate with the benefits as because of any principle; nevertheless I myself remain averse to hinting – by the provision of lists of cognates – that we can establish the meaning of a Hebrew word on the basis of simple glosses for its Arabic or Akkadian cognates. No harm has come to scholarship through the absence of cognates from the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary or from the Greek–English dictionary of Liddell, Scott and Jones; perhaps more harm has come from the provision of cognates in the latest revision of Gesenius,6 where in some cases the cognates occupy more space than the rest of the article. 3. How the lexical work contained in commentaries and the like of the last hundred years or so is to be reviewed and incorporated in the dictionary. I take it for granted that a dictionary, especially a dictionary these days, cannot be a record of the lexicographer’s personal decisions on disputed points, but should present the evidence or at least bibliographical reference to the evidence. Dictionaries of the last century have increasingly admitted bibliographical references into their articles, but the treatment of the secondary literature, however welcome, is patchy and skimpy when compared with the enormous range of studies that exist. Nonetheless it remains a scientific necessity to review all that has been written on the subject of Hebrew words. How that is to be done within a manageable compass remains something of a mystery.

6 Rudolf Meyer and Herbert Donner, Wilhelm Gesenius. Hebräisches und aramäisches Handwörterbuch über das Alte Testament, 4 vols. to date (Berlin, 18th edn, 1987–).

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4. How to respond to the current demand for definitions rather than mere glosses. A number of biblical lexicographers have recently been urging that the provision of merely translation equivalents for Hebrew words, such as we find in all our current dictionaries, foot for ‫ ֶרגֶ ל‬, run for ‫ רוץ‬and the like, is out of step with current practice in lexicography generally. I myself am uncertain how to respond. I agree that mere translation is sometimes totally inadequate, as, for example, with the word ‫ ַםד‬, which is usually glossed simply as ‘fetters’. What, however, are fetters? I have written this definition: fetters, shackles, an instrument of punishment, binding the feet together but allowing some movement to the person punished, rather than stocks, in which feet (and sometimes also hands) are held fast in holes made in heavy pieces of wood (for which ‫ ַמ ְה ֶפּ ֶכת‬is the term).

On the other hand, it is hard to believe that a definition for ‫ רוץ‬run, even if one could command general consent, would be helpful to anyone. Suggestions have been: ‘to move forward in a linear direction at a pace faster than that of walking’ and ‘to make rapid linear movement’.7 The former would seem to exclude running backward or running on the spot, the latter would include travelling by car. That said, we still need to indicate whether in Hebrew rivers can run, or roads, as they can in some modern languages, and a summary statement of the extant subjects of the verb in classical Hebrew would be a desirability. This is certainly a problem that will not go away, and the next dictionary of ancient Hebrew will have to look quite different on this front from dictionaries we have been used to. 5. How to draw upon the rich resources of mediaeval Hebrew lexicographers, which are almost totally absent from all our contemporary lexica. I do not mean to suggest that all philological observations by these mediaeval authors deserve a place in a modern dictionary of Hebrew, but that some undoubtedly do. The systematic evaluation of such proposals would be a highly technical undertaking, and stands as a challenge to lexicographers of the future. 6. How to incorporate the perspectives and insights of cognitive semantics. This newly developing field, with which the names of Ellen

7 So Frederick William Danker, Greek–English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago, 2000), p. 1015a.

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van Wolde and Christo van der Merwe are associated,8 promises to make important differences in our understanding of the Hebrew vocabulary, and especially of the relationship between words of similar meaning – an aspect of the lexicon that has been relatively poorly handled in all existing dictionaries. 7. How to treat ‘new words’, by which I mean words that have been proposed for the Hebrew lexicon in the last 100 years or so, but have not been recognized by most of the standard lexica. I have made it my business to report in DCH as many of these proposals as I have been able to locate. But I have not at the same time been able to evaluate them, a task that would lead to the indefinite postponement of the Dictionary. It will be for others to undertake a systematic assessment and in consequence perhaps to eliminate from serious consideration a number of those proposals that have been made. 8. How to replace traditional translations of common Hebrew words that have become enshrined in our translations of the Bible and in ordinary scholarly writing. I mean, for example, words like ‫ספר‬, which is usually translated by ‘book’ – though there were no books in ancient Israel,9 like ‫ ִמ ְד ָבּר‬, which is usually translated ‘desert’ or ‘wilderness’ though it properly means ‘grazing land’, ‫ ָכּבֺֹד‬, which is translated ‘glory’ when in reference to the deity, and ‘honour’ when in reference to humans, ‫גְּ בוּל‬, which is not ‘border’, and ‫ ִפּ ֶלגֶ שׁ‬, which is not ‘concubine’. These are just a few of the questions that remain for future Hebrew lexicography. There is not to any of them a self-evidently correct answer – otherwise they would no longer be open questions.

8 See, for example, Ellen van Wolde, “Towards an ‘Integrated Approach’ in Biblical Studies, Illustrated with a Dialogue between Job 28 and Job 38”, in: A. Lemaire (ed.), Congress Volume Leiden 2004 (VTS, 109; Leiden, 2006), pp. 355–380; “Cognitive Linguistics and its Application to Genesis 28:10–22”, in: P. Chatelion Counet and U. Berges (eds.), One Text, a Thousand Methods: Studies in Memory of Sjef van Tilborg (Biblical Interpretation Series 71; Leiden, 2005), pp. 125–148; Christo H. J. van der Merwe, “Lexical Meaning in Biblical Hebrew and Cognitive Semantics: A Case Study”, Bib 87 (2006), pp. 85–95. 9 J. Alberto Soggin commented on this oddity in his “Notes on Two Derivatives of the Root SPR in Hebrew”, in his Old Testament and Oriental Studies (BibOr 29; Rome, 1975), pp. 184–188.

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david j.a. clines II. The Challenge Posed by Hebrew Lexicography Today

The challenge posed by Hebrew lexicography today is a challenge to Hebrew Bible scholars generally, who refer every day in their work on the Bible to particular texts of the Bible in Hebrew or in their own language, and in so doing draw upon the work of lexicography on a daily basis. Such scholars, however, have very many different interests in the field of Hebrew Bible scholarship, from literary to historiographical, from source-critical to gender-critical, and the precise meaning of the words of the Hebrew Bible is not necessarily the top priority in their scholarship. They have become used to having authoritative dictionaries doing all the hard work for them, and not having to make lexicographical decisions for themselves. Now it has become increasingly plain in recent decades that the Hebrew lexicon is in a far greater state of flux and uncertainty than was formerly believed. There are so many newly proposed homonyms and newly proposed senses of words that one cannot take for granted that the word equivalences one learned as a student will any longer be satisfactory. And even the most recent Hebrew lexica do not give an accurate picture of the state of play in Hebrew lexicography. In order to do so, I will need to present some statistics. In BDB there are, by my reckoning, some 1193 words for the letters Samekh to Pe. In Volume 6 of DCH, by comparison, which covers those letters, there are 1981 words, which is to say, 788 words that are not in BDB. Some 40% of the words in this volume of DCH have not appeared in any previous dictionary – HALAT and HALOT have a handful more than BDB, but it makes little difference to the overall picture. Putting it another way, my review of new proposals for Hebrew words made in the scholarly literature of the last 100 years or so yielded 66% more words for the Hebrew lexicon than are to be found in BDB. These figures need to be qualified somewhat. Included in the ‘new words’ are words that appear for the first time in Sirach, the Dead Sea Scrolls and the ancient Hebrew inscriptions, which are corpora of Hebrew texts that were not covered in the older lexica. The chart below shows that, of the 788 new words, 30 appear first in Sirach, 97 in Qumran texts, and 84 in the inscriptions. That leaves 577 words that are new for Biblical Hebrew, which is nevertheless 48% more words than BDB has.10 10 I might mention that the figures for the letters Mem to Nun (constituting Volume 5 of DCH) are similar, though significantly smaller: BDB has 1469 words and

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2500 2000 1500 1000 500

1981 1193

0 BDB

DCH

Fig. 1. Old and new words in Classical Hebrew.

James Barr was able to list, in the appendix to his Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament, 334 new words, which he admitted were ‘only a selection from the total number of philological treatments known to me’.11 Their number, he reckoned, ran to ‘many hundreds, if not thousands, even if one discounts obviously incompetent or fantastic solutions’.12 Unfortunately we do not have access to the many studies he knew of but did not list. My researches for the DCH suggest that there may be as many as 5000 new words for Biblical Hebrew, and 6500 altogether for Classical Hebrew as a whole, compared with the total of c. 8000 for words previously known (i.e. words in our current lexica). This is, to my mind, a revolutionary situation, which constitutes a challenge to all Hebrew Bible scholars, and demands a new approach to the lexicon on the part of all who claim any detailed knowledge of the Hebrew Bible. Today, you cannot rely on your dictionary, since it is outdated; and you cannot rely on any lexicographer, since you have to make up your own mind on the basis of the evidence.

DCH adds 725 new words, which is 49% more. 534 of those new words are in Biblical Hebrew, which is 36% more than in BDB (contrast the 48% figure for Samekh to Pe). For the details, see my article, “725 New Words Beginning with Mem or Nun”, in: M. Augustin and H.M. Niemann (eds.), “Basel und Bibel”. Collected Communications to the XVIIth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament (IOSOT), Basel 2001 (Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des Antiken Judentums, 951; Frankfurt a.M., 2004), pp. 281–296. 11 Oxford, 1968, pp. 320–337 (320). 12 Barr, Comparative Philology and the Text of the Old Testament, p. 9.

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david j.a. clines Inscriptions (84 words) 11%

Qumran (97 words) 12%

Sirach (30 words)

Hebrew Bible (577 words) 73%

Fig. 2. New words in Classical Hebrew, by Corpus.

What kinds of words are these new words? Here are some examples from the letters Samekh to Pe:

‫ ְס ִפינָ ה‬II hold (of ship). Did Jonah go down into the ship, or into its ‫ַס ָפּר‬ ‫ֵס ֶפר‬

hold (Jonah 1:3)?13 barber. Did Jehoiakim cut Baruch’s scroll up with a scribe’s knife or with a barber’s knife (Jer 36:23)?14 II bronze. Did Job wish that his words were written in a book or inscribed in bronze (Job 19:23)?15

Martin Mulzer, “‫( ספינה‬Jona 1,5) (gedeckter) Laderaum’”, BN 104 (2000), pp. 83–94. 14 See Felix Perles, “The Fourteenth Edition of Gesenius–Buhl’s Dictionary”, JQR 18 (1906), pp. 383–390 (385). 15 See M. Dietrich, “Akkadisch sipparu ‘Bronze’, ugaritisch spr, g’prt und hebräisch spr, ‘prt”, UF 17 (1986), p. 401. 13

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‫ֵﬠ ֶמק‬ ‫ֲﬠ ֻב ָדה‬ ‫עלף‬ ‫ְפּדוּת‬

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II strength. Does the war horse paw in the valley or beat the ground with strength (Job 39:21)?16 II cattle. Did Job have many servants (Job 1:3) or many cattle?17 III perfume. In order to seduce Judah, did Tamar wrap herself up or perfume herself (Gen 38:14)?18 II separation. Did Yahweh put a ransom between the Hebrews and the Egyptians, or a separation (Exod 8:19)?19

There are another 570 examples, just for the letters Samekh to Pe. The progress of Hebrew lexicography has manifested itself, I would hasten to add, in much more than the proposal of new words, however numerous they may have been. Needless to say, there have been in addition thousands of new proposals for the meanings of words that we all thought we knew quite well. I take a selection of questions that now arise from words beginning with the letters Samekh to Pe: Does ‫ ֶס ֶבל‬forced labour, corvée work, also perhaps mean corvée basket?20 Should ‫ ֶﬠ ֶבד‬sometimes be translated ‘vassal’?21 Is an ‫ ֲﬠ ָר ָבה‬a poplar rather than a willow?22 In which texts has it been proposed that ‫עֺֹלם‬ ָ everlastingness should be understood as underworld?23

16 See Cyrus H. Gordon, Ugaritic Grammar: The Present Status of the Linguistic Study of the Semitic Alphabetic Texts from Ras Shamra (Rome, 1940), p. 105 no. 624. 17 See Arnold B. Ehrlich, Randglossen zur hebräischen Bibel, I (Leipzig, 1908), pp. 123–124. 18 See Godfrey R. Driver, “Problems of Interpretation in the Heptateuch”, in Mélanges bibliques redigés en l’honneur de André Robert (Travaux de l’Institut catholique de Paris, 4; Paris, 1957), pp. 66–76 (70–71). 19 See A.A. Macintosh, “Exodus viii 19, Distinct Redemption and the Hebrew Roots ‫ פדה‬and ‫”פדד‬, VT 21 (1971), pp. 548–555. 20 See Moshe Held, “The Root ZBL/SBL in Akkadian, Ugaritic and Biblical Hebrew”, in W.W. Hallo (ed.), Essays in Memory of E.A. Speiser (New Haven, 1968), pp. 90–96 (94). 21 See Ziony Zevit, “The Use of ‫ ֶﬠ ֶבד‬as a Diplomatic Term in Jeremiah”, JBL 88 (1969), pp. 74–77. 22 See J.V. Kinnier Wilson, “Hebrew and Akkadian Philological Notes”, JSS 7 (1962), pp. 173–183 (175–77). 23 See Herbert Niehr, “Zur Semantik von nordwestsemitisch ‘lm als ‘Unterwelt’ und ‘Grab’ ”, in Ana šadî Labnāni lū allik: Beiträge zu altorientalischen und mittelmeerischen Kulturen. Festschrift für Wolfgang Röllig (AOAT 247; Kevelaer, 1997), pp. 295–305.

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Does the phrase ‫ עלה ִמן‬occasionally mean, not go up from, but take possession of?24 These are five examples, and I cannot estimate how many more there must be. How are scholars today to access all this new information, or, at least, these new suggestions? The fact is, most English-speaking scholars use (when they use a lexicon at all) one that is 100 years old and that cannot of course reflect the enormous expansion of Semitic and linguistic knowledge of the last century. Many German-speaking scholars are still content with Gesenius–Buhl, of the same vintage. Even HALAT and HALOT are essentially revisions of Koehler’s dictionary that is now half a century old. What is more, most scholars use a dictionary only up to the point where they believe they have found a satisfactory meaning for the text they are studying. They do not as a rule review all the senses of the given word, they do not consider the probabilities of one sense over against another, they do not examine the various ways in which the sentence in question has been translated in the standard translations of our time. They do not compare one dictionary with another, and they do not trace the antecedents of their dictionary’s statements in earlier dictionaries. These careless processes are unworthy of scholarship. The state of Hebrew lexicography as we find it today compels us to abandon all of these positions, and to apply the same standards of enquiry, scepticism, methodological rigour, and familiarity with the secondary literature to the field of lexicography as we apply to historiography, form criticism, source criticism, exegesis and the like. No one thinks it strange to be compelled to review ten different proposals for the exegesis of a verse they are interested in. Why should they think it strange to review many different proposals for the meaning of a word that occurs in their verse? The challenge of Hebrew lexicography to Hebrew Bible scholars today lies before us. It is a challenge to scholars to give up outsourcing the task of making meaning to lexicographers and to take charge of the Hebrew dictionary for themselves – with all due support, of course, from the resources and experience provided by the professional lexicographers.

24 See Mayer Lambert, “Notes exégétiques. III. Exode, i, 10, et Osée, ii, 2”, REJ 39 (1899), pp. 299–303 (300); Georg Beer, Exodus (HAT 1/3; Tübingen, 1939), p. 14.

AN INTEGRATED VERB SYSTEM FOR BIBLICAL HEBREW PROSE AND POETRY Alviero Nicacci

My analysis of the verbal system in Biblical Hebrew (hereafter BH) is based on the text-linguistic approach of Harald Weinrich.1 Another approach called “Discourse Analysis,” especially common among English-speaking scholars, is considered similar to that of Weinrich but is actually totally different.2 In my opinion, in order to be reliable, an approach needs to be based on a correct analysis of the basic types of sentence attested in a language. And this analysis must be done not in isolation but in the text, i.e., in the linguistic unit in which the sentence appears. Weinrich writes, “a grammar which does not accept units beyond the sentence can never even notice let alone resolve the most interesting problems of linguistics.”3 This means that the function(s) of any sentence, both verbal and non verbal, can only be understood in the text. In other words, one will not be able to understand the difference between, e.g., wayyōʾmer YHWH and YHWH ʾāmar, if one considers these sentences by themselves, in isolation from their context; only their use and function in a text can show the difference. My text-linguistic analysis takes into consideration three levels with a bottom-up methodology, i.e., from morphology, up to syntax and to semantics. On the level of morphology, the different verb forms, non-verbal constructions and all the elements of a language are identified; on the level of syntax, the functions of each of them are evaluated; on the level of semantics, the contextual meaning is taken into

1

H. Weinrich, Tempus. Besprochene und erzählte Welt, 4th ed. (Stuttgart, 1985). Cf. my paper “On the Hebrew Verbal System,” in R.D. Bergen (ed.), Biblical Hebrew and Discourse Linguistics (Dallas, Texas, 1994), pp. 117–137. The difference I underline there between text-linguistics and Longacre’s discourse analysis seems to be overlooked by J.-M. Heimerdinger, Topic, Focus and Foreground in Ancient Hebrew Narrative (Sheffield, 1999), esp. p. 222 (cf. n. 8 below), as well as by Muraoka (cf. n. 63 below). 3 English translation by W.E. Watson in my Syntax of the Verb in Classical Hebrew Prose (Sheffield, 1990), p. 19. 2

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consideration as a controlling factor in order to identify the functions and the meaning of each element.4 Further, it is crucial to make a clear distinction between time and tense (Zeit and Tempus). Time is a chronological category with three temporal axes – present, past, and future; tense is a linguistic category regarding the different verb forms and non-verbal constructions that a given language uses to indicate each of the three temporal axes in both historical narrative and direct speech. According to Weinrich, “text” does not mean the whole Biblical corpus.5 His definition is as follows: “A text is a logical (i.e., intelligible and consistent) sequence of linguistic signs, placed between two significant breaks in communication.”6 Little by little, starting from prose, not from poetry, which is more difficult to analyze,7 from clear to less clear passages,8 we can understand how the various types of 4 See on this my paper “On the Hebrew Verbal System,” pp. 117–118, and §1.1 below. On a different approach based on semantics or ‘modality,’ under the conviction that either tense or aspect are inadequate to explain the BH verb system, see G. Hatav, The Semantics of Aspect and Modality. Evidence from English and Biblical Hebrew (Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1997), and my discussion in LASBF 49 (1999), pp. 525–546. Another approach, based on general linguistics and literary criteria rather than on syntactic analysis, is exemplified by K. Shimasaki, Focus Structure in Biblical Hebrew: A Study of Word Order (Bethesda, Maryland, 2002); see my discussion in LASBF 52 (2002), pp. 523–534. 5 Despite the reservation expressed by B.K. Waltke – M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, 1990), §3.3.4; see my review in LASBF 39 (1989), pp. 310–327, esp. pp. 312–313. 6 English translation by W.E. Watson in my Syntax of the Verb, p. 56. 7 Different from poetry, prose characters, location in time and space and sequence of events are clearly indicated. On their part, Waltke – O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax, base their theory on both prose and poetry; see my book review (n. 5 above), pp. 313–314. 8 Heimerdinger, Topic, Focus and Foreground, basically appreciates, among others, my research (but he only refers to Syntax of the Verb) and tries to expand it especially on the direction of pragmatics (pp. 18–20). It seems, however, that his analysis does not follow the principles of analysis outlined above. E.g., he quotes 1 Kgs 14:24 to prove that, contrary to my opinion, first-position qatal is attested in narrative and on this basis he casts some doubts on the description of x-qatal as “a ‘NP + qatal’ clause,” as he puts it (cf. ibid., pp. 200–201). First, however, 1 Kgs 14:24, with a first-place qatal ʿāśû, is almost a unique case in narrative (presently, I only remember 1 Kgs 21:12); second, this qatal could be connected with the preceding wegam that governs another qatal, hāyâ, and thus everything would be in order; third and more important, my designation x-qatal is simply grammatical and does not at all suggest that it has one function only (ibid., p. 201). My third point is proved (for me at least, given that Heimerdinger associates me with Longacre, ibid., n. 26) on the basis of the different functions of x-qatal in narrative and in direct speech (cf. §§1.1; 1.2.a below). Thus, in my view there emerges the need for a solid syntactic analysis of the single sentence in the text as a prerequisite for any linguistic investigation.

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sentences help identify the beginning and the end of a text, how the information is organized and finally the intention of the writer.9 Weinrich’s approach can be applied to every language, ancient and modern. Weinrich himself used it for the analysis of modern languages (German, English, Italian, Spanish) and also of Medieval Latin. His method was first applied to BH by Wolfgang Schneider.10 I applied it to BH prose (not to poetry) in the Italian edition of the Syntax of the Verb, which was then revised and developed in the English edition, and again in a recent Spanish edition.11 I also tried to apply Weinrich’s methodology to Septuagint and New Testament Greek and, recently, to Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic narrative.12 In the course of the years, I progressively came to the conclusion that basically the same verb system of prose also applies to poetry, if only one takes into account the characteristics of poetry.13

9 For a fuller description of whole process, see my paper, “Basic Facts and Theory of the Biblical Hebrew Verb System in Prose,” in: E. Wolde, van (ed.), Narrative Syntax and the Hebrew Bible. Papers of the Tilburg Conference 1996 (Leiden/New York/ Köln, 1997), pp. 167–202. Also see my discussion of the methodology of traditional grammars in my review of Waltke – O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (cf. n. 5 above). Again and again, I feel sorry for difficulties of understanding with colleagues, due to a complicated exposition from my part (for me, too, certain things became clear in the course of time). With regard to T. Goldfajn, Word Order and Time in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (Oxford, 1998), pp. 74–76, I would say that the author engages in a complex discussion on “temporal relations within the two basic set-ups” (ibid., chap. 7) because she does not start with an analysis of the functions of the basic verb forms in historical narrative and in direct speech. 10 W. Schneider, Grammatik des biblischen Hebräisch. Völlig neue Bearbeitung der «Hebräischen Grammatik für den akademischen Unterricht» von Oskar Grether, 5th ed. (München, 1982; 1st ed., 1974). 11 Sintassi del verbo ebraico nella prosa biblica classica (Jerusalem, 1986; a new Italian edition is in preparation); The Syntax of the Verb in Classical Hebrew Prose (Sheffield 1990); Sintaxis del Hebreo Bíblico (Estella, Navarra, 2002). 12 Cf. “Dall’aoristo all’imperfetto o dal primo piano allo sfondo. Un paragone tra sintassi greca e sintassi ebraica,” LASBF 42 (1992), pp. 85–108; “Marked Syntactical Structures in Biblical Greek in Comparison with Biblical Hebrew,” ibid. 43 (1993), pp. 9–69; “La narrativa di Mc 1,” in: M. Adinolfi – P. Kaswalder (eds.), Entrarono a Cafarnao. Lettura interdisciplinare di Mc 1. Studi in onore di P. Virginio Ravanelli (Jerusalem, 1997), pp. 59–71; “La Stèle d’Israël. Grammaire et stratégie de communication,” in: M. Sigrist (ed.), Études égyptologiques et bibliques à la mémoire du Père B. Couroyer (Paris, 1997), pp. 43–107; “On the Heritage of H.J. Polotsky: Assessment of New Insights and an Attempt to Combine His Theory with a Text-Linguistic Approach to Classical Egyptian Narrative,” LingAeg 14 (2006), pp. 409–432. 13 See my paper, “The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry,” in S.E. Fassberg – A. Hurvitz (eds.), Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting. Typological and Historical Perspectives (Jerusalem/Winona Lake, Indiana, 2006), pp. 247–268.

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The purpose of the present paper is to give an overview of the verb system in BH, first in prose (§1), then in poetry (§2), in order to show how poetry relates to prose, in particular to the verb system of direct speech. Finally, I will present some general conclusions (§3). I. In Prose In prose one needs to distinguish historical narrative from direct speech because of their distinctive characteristics. While in historical narrative only the axis of the past is used as the main level of communication, simply because it relates past events,14 in direct speech all the three temporal axes – past, present and future – are used as the main level of communication. In fact, one can narrate past events orally, or describe what is happening right now, or else announce what is going to happen. 1.1. In Historical Narrative In Table 1 a synthesis is presented of my theory of the verbal system in historical narrative.15

14 The other two temporal axes only serve as secondary levels of communication to indicate contemporaneous (present in the past) and prospective (future in the past) information, respectively. An example of a non-verbal sentence for contemporaneity is 2 Kgs. 8:7: wayyābōʾ ʾĕlîšāʿ dammeśeq → ûben-hădad melek ʾărām ḥōleh “afterwards Elisha came to Damascus → while Ben-hadad the king of Syria was sick;” and an example of x-yiqtol for future perspective is Ex 2:4: wattētaṣṣab ʾăḥōtô mērāḥōq ledēʿâ → mah-yyēʿāśeh lô “and his sister stood at a distance, to know → what would be done to him”. 15 Right from the beginning of my research, I decided to avoid the traditional designation of the verb forms – i.e., perfect, inverted perfect, future, inverted future – because it does not fit the functions of the verb forms. Instead, I used the basic paradigmatic designations, which are neutral, i.e., qatal, weqatal, yiqtol and wayyiqtol, respectively. To these I added weyiqtol, which needs to be recognized as a distinctive verb form (see below, §3.3). In the following table and elsewhere, I write (waw-) x-qatal and (waw-) x-yiqtol in order to signal that the waw preceding a ‘x’ element is not significant on the syntactic level (see §3.5, n. 53 below). As will appear from the following analysis, what is significant is the position of the verb form in the sentence. Further, ‘x’ indicates any grammatical element different from a finite verb form, excluding waw (see above) and the negative particles lōʾ and ʾal (which are integral part of the negative constructions).

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Table 1 Beginning of the narrative = antecedent (secondary level)

→ Beginning of the main line = foreground (main level, narrative chain)

→ Off line = background (secondary level)

x-qatal or: non-verbal sentence (waw-) x-yiqtol weqatal cf. Gen 1:1–2 cf. Gen 2:5–6

⎫ ⎧→ non-verbal sentence → wayyiqtol in a chain of ↓ ⎬coordinate verb forms (↔) ⎨→ (waw-) x-yiqtol w qatal ⎭→ Gen 1:3–5 ⎩→→ Gen 1:5, 10, 27; 2:4

→ (waw-) x-qatal

e

→ Gen 2:7–9 cf. Gen 3:14

→ Gen 2:10–14, 24, 25 → Gen 3:16, 17

Note: The symbol → indicates a transition to a verb form or construction of a different syntactic level The symbol ↔ indicates a transition to a verb form of the same syntactic level

a) In order to illustrate historical narrative, let us briefly consider the beginning of Genesis: berēʾšît bārāʾ ʾĕlōhîm ʾēt haššāmayim weʾēt hāʾāreṣ. Since berēʾšît is in the construct state, one should not translate the phrase as an independent sentence, i.e., as “At the beginning God created heaven and earth,” but rather “at the beginning of God-created heaven and earth.” i.e., “When God began to create heaven and earth.”16 In fact, berēʾšît bārāʾ ʾēlōhîm, with qatal as a nomen rectum, is equivalent to beyôm berōʾ ʾĕlōhîm, with the infinitive as a nomen rectum, that we find in 5:1; this means that in this case a finite verb functions as a nominal element.17

16 Thus already Rashi: “you must translate berē’šît bārāʾ ʾĕlōhîm as though it read berēʾšît berōʾ, at the beginning of God’s creating”: A.M. Silbermann – M. Rosenbaum (eds.), Chumash with Targum Onkelos, Haphtaroth and Rashi’s Commentary (Jerusalem, 1934), p. 2. Also according to P. Humbert, the only correct translation is: “Lorsque Dieu commença de créer l’univers, le monde était alors en état chaotique,” as quoted by J.E. Atwell, “An Egyptian Source for Genesis 1,” JTS 51 (2000), pp. 441– 477, p. 451. Further, compare M. Weippert, “Schöpfung am Anfang oder Anfang der Schöpfung?,” ThZ 60 (2004), pp. 5–22. Differently from Weippert and others, I think that the sentence berēʾšît bārāʾ ʾēlōhîm ʾēt haššāmayim weʾēt hāʾāreṣ functions as the first part, or protasis, of a double sentence, while the three coordinate sentences in Gen 1:2 are the second part, or apodosis (see below). 17 Other cases of a finite verb form used as nomen rectum are quoted in P. Joüon – T. Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew (Rome, 2006), §129p-q, along with cases

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Clearly, v. 1 cannot stand alone but is syntactically connected to the following three sentences of v. 2 – wehāʾāreṣ hāyetâ tōhû wābōhû / weḥōšek ʿal-penê tehôm / werûaḥ ʾĕlōhîm meraḥepet ʿal-penê hammāyim –, which function as the main sentence with regard to the first, i.e., “when God began to create heaven and earth, (the situation was as follows:) the earth was without form and void, / darkness was upon the face of the deep, / and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters.” The four sentences of vv. 1–2 constitute what can be called “antecedent information,” i.e., they describe the situation that existed when God began the creation of the universe. After this antecedent, preparatory information, the main historical narrative line starts in v. 3 with wayyiqtol (wayyōʾmer ʾēlōhîm “then God said”) and goes on with a series of selfsame verb forms, all of them coordinate, providing pieces of information which are on the same level, usually in a temporal sequence one after the other: ‘and then . . . and then . . . and then . . .’18 b) Once started, the narrative of Gen 1 shifts from main-line wayyiqtol to different types of sentence, all of which express a secondary line of communication, in order to convey a contemporaneous piece of information, a specification, or a description related to the mainline piece of information to which they are connected. This secondary, background line differs from the coordinate chain expressed by a sequence of wayyiqtol. Let us consider the cases attested in Gen 1: – wayyiqrāʾ ʾĕlōhîm lāʾôr yôm → welaḥōšek qārāʾ lāyelâ “Then God called the light Day, → while the darkness he called Night” (1:5); – wayyiqrāʾ ʾĕlōhîm layyabbāšâ ʾereṣ → ûlemiqwēh hammayim qārāʾ yammîm “Then God called the dry land Earth, → while the gathering of waters he called Seas” (1:10); – ʾēlleh tôledôt haššāmayim wehāʾāreṣ behibbāreʾām / beyôm ʿăsôt YHWH ʾĕlōhîm ʾereṣ wešāmāyim “Now, these are the generations of

in which the finite verb is preceded by ʾăšer, a fact that confirms that the finite verb is used here as a substantive. Still, Muraoka rejects the idea that in this and similar cases the sentence is “complex or compound” (see ibid., p. 525, n. 2; also see below, §1.1.c). 18 Besides clearly expressing a temporal sequence (pace Cook, n. 23 below), a chain of wayyiqtol can indicate a logical sequence, a conclusion, as is the case with the two parallel statements in Gen 2:1 (wayekullû haššāmayim wehāʾāreṣ “thus the heavens and the earth were finished”) and 2:2 (wayekal ʾĕlōhîm . . . melaʾktô “thus God finished . . . his work”).

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the heavens and the earth when they were created, / in the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens” (2:4). Both waw-x-qatal constructions in 1:5 and 1:10 express a circumstance of the previous wayyiqtol to which they are related as background to foreground; the non-verbal sentence in 2:4 is the first of the 10 Toledot formulas that structure the whole book of Genesis at the level of the last redaction.19 Thus the first “text” (in Weinrich’s terms) of the Bible extends from Gen 1:1 to 2:3.20 Then the second text starts with secondary-line constructions, as the first. In fact, in verses 2:5–6 there is no wayyiqtol, but the verb forms used are waw-x-yiqtol and coordinate weqatal related to the axis of the past, indicating repetition, or continuous information: – 5 wekōl śiaḥ haśśādeh ṭerem yihyeh bāʾāreṣ “Now, no plant of the field was yet in the earth;” wekol-ʿēśeb haśśādeh ṭerem yiṣmāḥ . . . “no herb of the field was yet springing up . . .” – 6 weʾēd yaʿăleh min-hāʾāreṣ ↔ wehišqâ ʾet-kol-penê-hāʾădāmâ “and a mist used to come up from the earth ↔ and water the whole face of the ground.” Thus vv. 4–6 provide antecedent, preparatory information for the second text of the Bible, and in v. 7 the main line of the narrative starts with wayyiqtol: wayyiṣer YHWH ʾēlohîm ʾet-hāʾādām ʿāpār min-hāʾădāmâ “then the Lord God formed man with dust from the ground.” The main line goes on with a series of wayyiqtol until the next “significant break in communication” that appears in 3:1: wehannāḥāš hāyâ ʿārûm mikkōl ḥayyat haśśādeh ʾăšer ʿăšâ YHWH ʾĕlōhîm “now, the serpent was more subtle than any other wild creature that the Lord God had made.”21

19 Cf. my paper “Organizzazione canonica della Bibbia ebraica. Tra sintassi e retorica,” RivBiblIt 43 (1995), pp. 9–29, esp. pp. 21–23. 20 In “Analysis of Biblical Narrative,” in: R.D. Bergen (ed.), Biblical Hebrew and Discourse Linguistics (Dallas, 1994), pp. 175–198, I considered Gen 2:4 as the conclusion of the first text, instead of the beginning of the second (pp. 182–183). It remains valid however that this verse can not be split into two parts, as literary critics do, because of its chiastic arrangement (cf. Syntax of the Verb, pp. 200–201, n. 26). 21 Thus, in 3:1 the third text of the Bible starts and extends until 4:1, where a new piece of “antecedent information” appears (wehādām yādāʿ ʾet-ḥawwâ ʾištô “now,

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At this point, I think we can understand that the categories of tense and aspect are both significant in the BH verb system. Tense, because the verb forms are able to indicate the location of the information in a definite temporal axis. Aspect, because it explains the difference between, e.g., waw-x-qatal indicating a unique piece of information (cf. Gen 1:5, 10), and waw-x-yiqtol indicating a continuous, habitual piece of information, or a description (cf. 2:5–6).22 Note, however, that tense is the basic, decisive category for the main line of communication, or foreground wayyiqtol, while aspect is a complementary category, relevant for the secondary level of communication, or background wawx-qatal and waw-x-yiqtol. Both are necessary, but unmistakably tense has the primacy. In summary, we can say that in Gen 1:1–3 we have a tense transition from x-qatal (berēʾšît bārāʾ ʾēlōhîm) to wayyiqtol (wayyōʾmer ʾĕlōhîm, v. 3), i.e., from antecedent information to main line of communication. In 1:5, 10 we have an inverted tense transition from mainline, foreground wayyiqtol (wayyiqrāʾ ʾēlōhîm lāʾôr yôm / wayyiqrāʾ ʾēlōhîm layyabbāšâ ʾereṣ) to secondary-line, background waw-x-qatal (welaḥōšek qārāʾ lāyelâ / ûlemiqwēh hammayim qārāʾ yammîm). The semantic function of this tense transition is to avoid coordination and temporal sequence as with wayyiqtol, which would give: “then God called the light Day, then he called the darkness Night.” On the contrary, the tense transition from wayyiqtol to waw-x-qatal expresses contemporaneity, rather than succession, and contrast: “then he called the light . . ., while the darkness he called . . .”23

Adam knew Eve his wife”) and thus the fourth text begins, and so on. One should continue this kind of syntactic analysis in order to identify the different units of the text and how they are structured as to form major sections and even a whole, large history extending from Genesis to 2 Kings. On this, see my paper “Organizzazione canonica della Bibbia ebraica. Tra sintassi e retorica,” pp. 13–18. 22 In my Syntax of the Verb, §133, I accepted the term “mode of action, ‘Aktionsart’,” which includes “simultaneous or prior action, single or repeated action, emphasis” (p. 165), while I excluded as irrelevant “the category of ‘perfective-imperfective’ or ‘complete-incomplete’ (‘Aspekt’)” (p. 166). Here I use ‘aspect’ in the sense of mode of action.’ 23 Concerning J.A. Cook, “The Semantics of Verbal Pragmatics: Clarifying the Roles of wayyiqtol and weqatal in Biblical Hebrew Prose,” JSS 49 (2004), pp. 247–273, I would say that the answer to his questions – “what are the language processes that create the distinction between foreground and background and how are those distinctions marked in language?” (p. 254) is simple: it is the basic types of sentence, ‘verb-x’ vs. ‘x – verb’ (cf. §3.1 below), that distinguish foreground vs. background. This distinction is based on grammar and syntax, while meaning comes as a consequence on the

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c) Another tense transition from wayyiqtol to x-qatal is attested in Gen 1:27. After a main-level narrative sentence with wayyiqtol – wayyibrāʾ ʾĕlōhîm ʾet-hāʾādām beṣalmô “then God created man in his own image” – we have two sentences with x-qatal that explain the first sentence: beṣelem ʾĕlōhîm bārāʾ ʾōtô “It was in the image of God that he created him,” zākār ûneqēbâ bārāʾ ʾōtām “it was male and female that he created them.”

This is no simple repetition. It is a specification of the first plain sentence by means of two marked sentences and a wonderful proclamation of the dignity of the human being in his unity (“he created him”) and in his diversity (“he created them”). Clearly, beṣelem ʾēlōhîm and zākār ûneqēbâ are not simple complements, as in a plain sentence; rather, they are the new element, and therefore the syntactic predicate, as in a marked sentence. This means that the two sentences are not verbal but nominal. Following W. Schneider who named this kind of sentence “zusammengesetzter Nominalsatz,” I called it the “complex (or ‘compound’) nominal clause” to distinguish it from the “simple nominal (or ‘non-verbal) clause,” i.e., the one without a finite verb.24 basis of context. Note, however, that foreground vs. background does not necessarily mean “more salient” vs. “less salient” (as Cook puts it, p. 255). It only means that the background information is syntactically linked to and dependent on the foreground information. The exact way this happens remains to be decided on the basis of context (semantics; cf. 1.1.c below); and it can happen in order to indicate contemporaneity, anteriority, posteriority, or emphasis, depending on the verb forms or non-verbal constructions used and on semantics. The semantic specification has nothing to do, in my opinion, with the presumed development of wayyiqtol from “a Canaanite *yaqtul conjugation” (as Cook believes, p. 258), because the function and meaning of a verb form are to be determined on the basis of its actual use in the text, i.e., synchronically. In fact, diachronic derivation alone, even if correct, is not sufficient. E.g., Gen 4:18, quoted on p. 258, shows a tense transition ‘wayyiqtol → waw-x-qatal’ (three times) and therefore does not convey “temporally successive events” (as Cook puts it, ibid.) but rather contrast, and should be translated consequently: “then to Enoch Irad was born, while (or: ‘and, on his part,’) Irad begot Mehujael, while Mehujael begot Methusael, while Methusael begot Lamech.” Only a chain of wayyiqtol would have conveyed “temporally successive events.” Syntactically and semantically, the three waw-x-qatal sentences are dependent on the preceding wayyiqtol and together they constitute an indivisible text unit. In light of this, Cook’s analysis reflects personal interpretation while it disregards grammar and syntax; also see his examples of wayyiqtol (pp. 259–264). Besides, in his analysis of examples of weqatal (pp. 264–269), Cook does not distinguish direct speech, in which weqatal indicates foreground, from historical narrative, in which it indicates background. 24 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §6.

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Despite the opposition of almost all scholars to this analysis (which, by the way, is not new but was already put forward by Arab Medieval grammarians), it is undeniable in my view.25 At this point, one can appreciate the importance of each of the three levels of the analysis of the basic verb forms in historical narrative mentioned at the beginning. Morphology helps distinguish wayyiqtol from qatal and other constructions used, their form and position in the sentence; syntax concerns the mutual relationship between wayyiqtol, (waw-) x-qatal and the other constructions used in a text according to the criteria of the main line of communication, or foreground, and the secondary line, or background; semantics permits to evaluate the grammatically and syntactically identical tense transition wayyiqtol → (waw-) x-qatal in Gen 1:5, 10 (see above, b) and in 1:27. In fact, only the context helps decide that the ‘x’ element in the first two verses carries no emphasis while in the third it does. In both cases, though, the (waw-) x-qatal is a secondary sentence, depending on the preceding main sentence with wayyiqtol; however, in the second case the sentence is also emphatic, or marked.26 A simple clarification may help understand this analysis. In principle, a grammatically finite verb is expected to be the syntactic predicate of a sentence, while a noun is expected to be the subject or the direct object and a prepositional phrase the indirect complement. However, in every language a reversal of roles is attested, i.e., a finite verb may be nominalized and function as the syntactic subject, or the support for 25 This analysis has been applied to different languages Greek, Coptic and Egyptian by H.J. Polotsky in Études de syntaxe copte (Le Caire, 1944), pp. 24–25, and in “Les transpositions du verbe en égyptien classique,” IOS 6 (1976), pp. 1–50, esp. p. 15, and, on his inspiration, by H.B. Rosén, “Die «zweiten» Tempora des Griechischen. Zum Prädikatsausdruck beim griechischen Verbum,” in East and West. Selected Writings in Linguistics by Haiim B. Rosén, Edited for the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday by a Group of Friends and Disciples, Part One: General and Indo-European Linguistics (München, 1982; originally published in 1957), pp. 303–324. Still, besides T. Muraoka (see n. 17 above), W. Groß, Doppelt besetztes Vorfeld. Syntaktische, pragmatische und übersetzungstechnische Studien zum althebräischen Verbalsatz (Berlin – New York, 2001) strongly rejects this analysis. In his survey on the history of the so-called “zusammengesetzter Nominalsatz” (pp. 32–50), Groß classifies D. Michel, Tempora und Satzstellung in biblischen Hebräisch (Bonn, 1960), and myself as “extreme Vertreter” of that theory (pp. 45–50). Further, E. Jenni, “Ein Querschnitt durch die neuere Althebraistik,” ThR 65 (2000), pp. 1–37, with regard to my Syntax of the Verb affirms without further justification that “wichtige Grundvoraussetzungen entweder fehlen oder nur dogmatisch postuliert werden (vgl. die Definitionen für Nominalsatz und Verbalsatz S. 23ff., für Subjekt und Prädikat S. 29)” (pp. 30–31). 26 Cf. my paper “Finite Verb in the Second Position of the Sentence: Coherence of the Hebrew Verbal System,” ZAW 108 (1996), pp. 434–440.”

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the new information, and a noun, a prepositional phrase or an adverb may function as the syntactic predicate, or the new information. In the first occurrence the result is a plain sentence, in the second a marked sentence. A case in point is Gen 1:27 (see above, c). In the sentence wayyibrāʾ ʾēlōhîm ʾet-hāʾādām beṣalmô every grammatical element plays its expected syntactic function: the verb is the predicate, the noun is the subject, the two nominal phrases are complements. On the contrary, in the two following sentences, beṣelem ʾĕlōhîm bārāʾ ʾōtô / zākār ûneqēbâ bārāʾ ʾōtām, the roles are reversed: the two nominal phrases are the new information, or syntactic predicates, while the finite verbs are the syntactic subjects. Therefore, the first sentence is plain while the following two are marked. In many languages this reversal of roles is done by nominalizing the finite verb with the addition of a relative pronoun (“cleft sentence”), as in the translation above: “it was in the image of God that he created him, / it was male and female that he created them.” A characteristic of BH is that the nominalization can happen simply by demoting the finite verb to the second place of the sentence, even without placing ʾăšer in front of it.27 This fact suggests the importance of word order in BH (cf. §3.4 below). 1.2. In Direct Speech As already mentioned, in direct speech all the three temporal axes can be used as the main level of communication. A synthesis of my theory is presented in Table 2. a) An oral narrative of the past, i.e., a narrative delivered as direct speech, starts with x-qatal or with a qatal in the first place of the sentence without any difference, both indicating the main level of communication, or foreground; it continues with a chain of coordinate wayyiqtol and switches to secondary-level, background constructions – (waw-) x-qatal, non-verbal sentence, (waw-) x-yiqtol and weqatal. Good examples of an oral narrative are the first two discourses by Moses to the Israelites in Deut 1 and 5, in which he recalls the past events that happened to the people. The oral narrative begins with main-line x-qatal in both cases:

27 Cf. my paper “Marked Syntactical Structures in Biblical Greek in Comparison with Biblical Hebrew,” pp. 9–11. Also see n. 17 above.

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Temporal axis

→ Secondary Level (background)

Main Level (foreground)

a) Past

(x-) qatal ↔ continuation wayyiqtol (coordinate, main level) cf. Deut 1:6 ff.; 5:2 ff. (with initial x-qatal) cf. Deut 1:20 (with initial qatal)

→ x-qatal, NVS x-yiqtol, weqatal (background)

b) Present

NVS with/without participle cf. Gen 42:10–11

→ NVS with/without participle

c1) Future Indicative

NVS (esp. with participle) ↔ continuation weqatal cf. Ex 7:17–18; 7:27–29; or: Initial x-yiqtol ↔ continuation weqatal (in a chain)

c2) Future Volitive

→ x-imperative (background) Imperative ↔ weyiqtol (foreground) or: (x-) yiqtol cohortative/jussive → x-yiqtol (background) ↔ weyiqtol (foreground) cf. Num 6:24–26 (→ 6:27 weqatal) N.B.: Imperative ↔ weyiqtol = purpose (‘in order to’); cf. Ex 25:2 (→ 25:8) Imperative → weqatal = consequence (‘thus, therefore’); cf. Lev 1:2

⎫ ⎬ → x-yiqtol (background) ⎭

⎫ ⎬ ⎭

Note: NVS = non-verbal sentence The symbol → indicates a transition to a verb form or construction of a different syntactic level The symbol ↔ indicates a transition to a verb form of the same syntactic level

– YHWH ʾēlōhênû dibbēr ʾēlênû beḥōrēb lēʾmōr “The Lord our God spoke to us in Horeb saying” (1:6); – YHWH ʾēlōhênû kārat ʿimmānû berît beḥōrēb “The Lord our God made a covenant with us in Horeb” (5:2). However, a main-line first-place qatal is also attested, e.g.: – bāʾtem ʿad har hāʾĕmōrî ʾăšer-YHWH ʾĕlōhênû nōtēn lānû “You have come to the hill country of the Amorites, which the Lord our God is about to give us” (Deut 1:20);

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– dibbēr hāʾîš ʾădōnê hāʾāreṣ ʾittānû qāšôt “The man, the lord of the land, spoke roughly to us” (Gen 42:30). The main-line continuation form is wayyiqtol; e.g., in Deut 1, after YHWH ʾĕlōhênû dibbēr ʾēlênû in v. 6 and skipping the reported speech in vv. 7–8, we read the continuation form wāʾōmar ʾālēkem (v. 9). The chain of coordinate wayyiqtol continues uninterrupted (v. 14 wattaʿănû, v. 15 wāʾeqqaḥ, v. 16 waʾaṣawweh, etc.) until v. 34: wayyiqṣōp wayyiššābaʿ lēʾmōr “and (the Lord) was angered, and he swore saying.” Instead, after the reported speech in vv. 35–36, we read in v. 37: gam-bî hitʾannap YHWH, lit. “it is also with me that the Lord became irritated.” Clearly, we have here a tense transition from mainline wayyiqtol to secondary-line x-qatal exactly as in historical narrative (cf. Gen 1:27; §1.1.c above). Distinctively, oral narrative begins not with secondary-level, antecedent constructions as historical narrative (cf. §1.1.a) but directly with main-level, foreground constructions, i.e., first-place qatal or else x-qatal. This fact constitutes a major difference from the historical narrative because in the latter qatal is not a first-place verb form nor does it indicate the main line of communication.28 Apart from this, however, oral narrative develops exactly in the same way as historical narrative. The main line, or foreground, is indicated by wayyiqtol in a chain of identical, coordinated verb forms, and the secondary line, or background, is indicated by (waw-) x-qatal, nonverbal sentence, (waw-) x-yiqtol, or weqatal.29 b) For the present, direct speech uses the non-verbal sentence for the main level of communication and also for the secondary level.30 As already noted, direct speech can switch from one temporal axis to the other and each of them can convey foreground information. This is a difference from historical narrative in which the foreground information is only the one related to the axis of the past, while the

28 An appropriate context to show the difference is where the same information is first given in historical narrative with wayyiqtol, then in oral narrative with qatal of report, which can occupy the second place of the sentence or the first without any visible difference; e.g., wayyiqṣōp parʿōh (narrative information) “and the Pharaoh became angry” (Gen 40:2) vs. parʿōh qāṣap (oral report; Gen 41:10); or wayedabbēr ʾittām qāšôt “and (Joseph) spoke roughly to them” (Gen 42:7) vs. dibbēr hāʾîš ʾădōnê hāʾāreṣ ʾittānû qāšôt (just quoted above; cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §23, for more examples). 29 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §§39–50. 30 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §54.

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axes of the present and of the future convey background information (cf. n. 14 above). E.g., in Gen 42:11 the brothers say to Joseph: kullānû + benê-ʾîš ʾeḥād nāḥenû “All of us, + we are children of one man” (casus pendens + main-line, a non-verbal sentence of type predicate-subject, axis of the present);31 kēnîm ʾănaḥnû “we are honest men” (a coordinate, main-line non-verbal sentence also of type predicate-subject, axis of the present); lōʾ-hāyû ʿābādeykā meraggelîm “your servants have never been spies” (a negated qatal, a main-line construction, axis of the past).

c1) Future can be indicative or volitive. The predictions of the Egyptian plagues are a suitable context to learn how future indicative starts and continues with foreground as well as with background constructions. See, e.g., Ex 7:27–29: weʾim-māʾēn ʾattâ lešallēaḥ “But if you refuse to let (the people) go” (protasis), hinnēh ʾănōkî nōgēp ʾet-kol-gebûlekā baṣepardeʿîm “I am about to plague all your country with frogs” (apodosis with hinnēh + a nonverbal sentence with participle starting the future main line), ↔ 28 wešāraṣ haye’ōr ṣeparde‘îm ↔ weʿālû ↔ ûbāʾû bebêtekā ûbaḥădar miškābekā weʿal-miṭṭātekā ûbebêt ʿăbādeykā ûbeʿammekā ûbetannūreykā ûbemišʿărôteykā “and the Nile shall swarm with frogs ↔ and they shall come up ↔ and shall enter into your house, into your bedchamber and on your bed, and into the houses of your servants and on your people, and into your ovens and your kneading bowls” (three coordinated continuation weqatal, main line in the future indicative); → 29 ûbekâ ûbeʿammekā ûbekol-ʿăbādeykā yaʿălû haṣepardeʿîm “Exactly up on you and on your people and on all your servants shall the frogs come up.” 27

The tense transition from three coordinate, foreground weqatal in v. 28 to a background waw-x-yiqtol in v. 29 is noteworthy. The recurrence of similar complements and of the same verb in v. 29 is not a simple repetition but an emphatic specification. Actually, this tense transition weqatal → waw-x-yiqtol in direct speech exactly corresponds to the tense transition wayyiqtol → waw-x-qatal in historical narrative, specifically in Gen 1:27 (cf. §1.1.c).

31

The fact that kullānû is taken back by nāḥenû shows that it does not belong to the same sentence but is in extraposition, i.e., it is a casus pendens. Syntactically, a casus pendens, as a prepositional phrase, is equivalent to an explicit protasis – in the present case, “As for all of us, + we are . . .;” cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §§119–121.

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c2) A suitable passage to illustrate the future with volitive force is the priestly benediction in Num 6:24–26, where we find a series of firstplace yiqtol and its coordinate continuation form weyiqtol:32 yebārekkā YHWH ↔ wîšmerekā “May the Lord bless you ↔ and may he keep you;” yāʾēr YHWH pānāyw ʾēleykā ↔ wîḥunnekkā “may the Lord make his face to shine upon you, ↔ and may he be gracious to you;” yiśśāʾ YHWH pānāyw ʾēleykā ↔ weyāśēm lekā šālôm “may the Lord lift up his face upon you, ↔ and may he establish for you peace.”

The formula of benediction is enframed by an introduction and a conclusion, both showing non-volitive, indicative constructions. We find, first, a main-line x-yiqtol as is usual at the beginning of a literary unit (cf. §1.2.c1): kōh tebārăkû ʾet-benê yiśrāʾēl . . . “thus you shall bless the children of Israel . . .” (6:23); then, a tense transition weqatal → wawx-yiqtol at the end in order to indicate the result of the benediction of the priests and at the same time of the Lord himself: weśāmû ʾet-šemî ʿal-benê yiśrāʾēl → waʾănî ʾābārăkēm “thus they will put my Name on the Children of Israel → and I, on my part, will bless them” (6:27).33 Thus, the difference between the volitive sequence yiqtol ↔ weyiqtol in the benediction itself (6:24–26) and the non-volitive, indicative sequence x-yiqtol ↔ weqatal → waw-x-yiqtol in the frame (6:23, 27) is clearly indicated. Finally, after an imperative we find both weyiqtol and weqatal. From the analysis above, it follows that the two sequences can not be equivalent, despite the normal disregard of scholars who simply translate both in the same way. The reason is that weyiqtol is volitive, and thus continues the jussive function of the imperative, while the weqatal does not because it is indicative. A way of expressing this difference is as follows: weyiqtol indicates the purpose of the command (volition), while weqatal indicates a simple consequence (non volition). Ex 25:2–8 is a significant passage in this respect: dabbēr ʾel-benê yiśrāʾēl ↔ weyiqḥû-lî terûmâ “Speak to the people of Israel, ↔ in order that they take for me an offering;” 2

32 On volitive yiqtol see my paper “A Neglected Point of Hebrew Syntax: Yiqtol and Position in the Sentence,” LASBF 37 (1987), pp. 7–19. 33 The tense transition weqatal → waw-x-yiqtol means that the Lord’s blessing happens at the same time as the priests pronounce the formula. Instead, if we had twice weqatal, the two pieces of information would have been coordinate and sequential one upon the other.

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alviero nicacci → mēʾēt kol-ʾîš ʾăšer yiddebennû libbô tiqḥû ʾet-terûmātî “it is from every man whose heart will make him willing that you shall take the offering for me;” 3 e w zōʾt hatterūmâ ʾăšer tiqḥû mēʾittām . . . “and this is the offering which you shall take from them . . .” (a list of things to be collectedd follows, vv. 3b-7); → 8 weʿāśû lî miqdāš ↔ wešākantî betôkām “Thus they will make me a sanctuary ↔ and I will dwell in their midst.”

The difference between the volitive sequence imperative ↔ weyiqtol in v. 2 and the non volitive, indicative weqatal in v. 8 is clear. Also clear is the tense transition in v. 2 from main-line, foreground weyiqtol to marked, background x-yiqtol, whose function is to specify from whom the offering is to be collected. On its part, the weqatal in v. 8 denotes an indicative, non volitive, consequence of the collection.34 II. In Poetry Differently from what I thought in the past,35 I, now, think that the functions of the verbal forms in poetry are basically the same as in prose, more precisely in direct speech. The main difference is that direct speech, as prose in general, consists of pieces of information conveyed in a temporal sequence, while poetry communicates segments of information in parallelism. The result is linear vs. segmental communication.36 As a consequence, poetry is able to switch from one temporal axis to another even more freely than direct speech (cf. §1.2.b). A major problem in poetry is the occurring in parallel cola of a form of the past, qatal or wayyiqtol, and a form of the future, yiqtol or weqatal. This phenomenon has been explained by scholars as a Canaanite peculiarity, also found in the Amarna letters, but this is not

34 Examples of the sequence imperative → weqatal are found in a formula of the books of Leviticus and Numbers at the opening of individual text units, i.e., dabbēr ʾel-benê yiśrāʾēl → weʾāmartā ʾălēhem “Speak to the people of Israel. → You shall say to them” (Lev 1:2; 18:2; 23:2, etc.). 35 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, chap. 10. 36 See “Analysing Biblical Hebrew Poetry,” JSOT 74 (1997), pp. 77–93, esp. pp. 77–80, where I analyze the killing of Sisera at the hands of Jael first narrated in prose (Judg 4:19, 21), then celebrated in poetry (5:25–27).

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a suitable solution for BH in my view.37 For my part, I prefer to explore possible solutions in the framework of the BH verb system. a) In principle, qatal and yiqtol may refer each to its specific time axis – past and future, respectively – and therefore simply represent a shift from past to future information, or vice versa; e.g.: – ûdeʿû kî hiplâ YHWH ḥāsîd lô / YHWH yišma‘ beqorʾî ʾēlāyw “But know that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself, / the Lord will hear when I shall call to him” (Psa 4:4); – waYHWH le‘ôlām yēšēb / kônēn lammišpāṭ kisʾô “But the Lord will sit enthroned for ever, / he has established his throne for judgment” (Psa 9:8). b) Another possibility is that in poetry, as in prose (cf. §1.1.b), qatal and yiqtol refer both to the axis of the past. In this case, they signal a shift from main-line, punctual information (qatal, or wayyiqtol) to secondary-line, repeated/habitual/descriptive information (yiqtol, or weqatal); e.g.: – wayyōʾkelû wayyiśbe‘û meʾōd / wetaʾāwātām yābi’ lāhem “And (the Israelites) ate and were well filled, / while what they craved (the Lord) was giving them” (Psa 78:29); – wayepattûhû bepîhem / ûbilšônām yekazzebû-lô “Then they flattered him with their mouths, / while with their tongues they were lying to him” (Psa 78:36). c) Sentence-initial yiqtol and its coordinate, continuation form weyiqtol play a volitive function exactly as in prose (cf. §1.2.c2); e.g.: ʾôdeh YHWH bekol-libbî / ʾăsapperâ kol-nipleʾôteykā / 3 ʾeśmeḥâ we’eʿelṣâ bāk / ʾăzammerâ šimkā ‘elyôn “I want to give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart, / I want to tell of all your wonderful deeds. / I want to be glad and exult in you, / I want to sing praise to your name, o Most High” (Psa 9:2–3). 2

This example confirms that in poetry, much more than in direct speech, we can find a sequence of first-place yiqtol, each parallel to the other,

37 See my discussion in “The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry,” pp. 249– 250, p. 268. In the present paper, I summarize the presentation given there and do not repeat the relevant bibliography.

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rather than a sequence of coordinate continuation weyiqtol; however, one case of weyiqtol is attested in v. 3. d) In some cases, however, sentence-initial yiqtol is not volitive, but functionally is a non-initial yiqtol, i.e., a <x->yiqtol, because an element – lāmmâ in the following example – serves as a “double-duty modifier”:38 1

lāmmâ rāgešû gôyim / ûle’ummîm yehgû-rîq “Why did the nations conspire, / while the peoples were plotting in vain?” 2 yityaṣṣebû malkê-ʾereṣ / ûrôzenîm nôsedû yāḥad / ‘al-YHWH we‘al-mešîḥô “<Why> were the kings of the earth taking their stand, / while the rulers took counsel together, / against the Lord and his anointed?” (Psa 2:1–2).

The adverb lammâ of v. 1 also governs yityaṣsẹ bû of v. 2, which otherwise would have been a first-place, volitive yiqtol. Besides, vv. 1–2 show a parallelism qatal // yiqtol in chiastic, inverted order, i.e., first x-qatal // waw-x-yiqtol, then <x-> yiqtol // waw-x-qatal. e) Further, volitive yiqtol and weyiqtol can play the function of protasis (+ apodosis), as clearly happens in the following example which starts with an explicit protasis: ’im-ʾessaq šāmayim + šām ʾāttâ “If I would ascend to heaven, + you are there,” we’aṣṣî‘â šše’ôl + hinnekkā “and would I make Hades my resting-place, + there you are.” 9 ʾeśśāʾ kanpê-šāḥar / ʾeškenâ beʾaḥărît yām + 10 gam-šām yādekā tanḥēnî ↔ wetōʾḥăzēnî yemînekā “Would I raise the wings of the morning, / would I settle at the extremity of the sea, + even there let your hand guide me, ↔ and let your right hand lay hold of me” (Psa 139:8–10). 8

Note that in v. 9 we have a sequence of two protases + two apodoses. Differently from v. 8, in which the apodoses are both a non-verbal sentence in the axis of the present, in v. 9 the two apodoses are a x-yiqtol ↔ weyiqtol sequence, and the fact that a x-yiqtol is connected to a weyiqtol concerning the same subject shows that they are both volitive.39

38 Cf. W.G.E. Watson, Classical Hebrew Poetry. A Guide to Its Techniques (Sheffield, 1984), pp. 303–306, and my paper “The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry,” §2.3. A long list of double-duty elements is provided by M. Dahood, Psalms III: 101– 150 (Garden City, New York, 1970), pp. 429–444. 39 For criteria to decide when a x-yiqtol form is volitive, not indicative, see my paper, “A Neglected Point of Hebrew Syntax,” §1.3. In the present case, the verb forms

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f) As already mentioned, especially in the Psalms the three temporal axes can alternate in order to mark the dynamics of prayer. E.g., in Psa 31:1–6 the psalmist’s past trust in God and the deliverance received (vv. 2a, 6b, with x-qatal and first-place qatal, respectively) are the firm basis of his prayer (vv. 2b–3, 4b–5a, with volitive yiqtol, imperative and weyiqtol), of his confession of faith (vv. 4a, 5b, with nonverbal sentence) and of his hope for the future (v. 6a, with indicative x-yiqtol): bekā YHWH ḥāsîtî “In you, o Lord, I sought refuge;” ʾal-ʾēbôšâ leʿôlām / beṣidqātekā palleṭēnî / 3 haṭṭēh ʾēlay ʾoznekā / mehērâ haṣṣîlēnî / hĕyēh lî leṣûr-māʿôz / lebêt meṣûdôt lehôšîʿēnî “2 let me never be put to shame; / in your righteousness deliver me! / 3 Incline your ear to me, / speedily rescue me! / Be you for me a rock of refuge, / a strong fortress to save me,” 4 (present) kî-salʿî ûmeṣûdātî ʾāttâ “4 because you are my rock and my fortress” (prayer) ûlemaʿan šimkā tanḥēnî ûtenahălēnî / 5 tôṣîʾēnî mērešet zû ṭāmenû lî “and for your Name’s sake may you lead me and guide me, / 5 take me out of the net which they have laid secretly against me,” (present) kî ʾattâ māʿûzzî “because you are my refuge.” (future) 6 beyādekā ʾapqîd rûḥî “6 Into your hand I will commit my spirit;” (past) pādîtā ʾôtî YHWH ʾēl ʾĕmet “you have redeemed me, o Lord, faithful God” (Psa 31:1–6).

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2

In this perspective, one is encouraged to respect the verbal forms for what they are and try to interpret them accordingly, even when one finds abrupt transitions, e.g., from past qatal to future weqatal as in Psa 86:17: ʿăśēh-ʿimmî ʾôt leṭôbâ / weyirʾû śōneʾay weyēbōšû “Do for me a sign for good, / in order that those who hate me may see and may be put to shame,”

used show that the psalmist switches from a declaration of faith (“you are there / there you are”) to a prayer (“even there let your hand guide me, ↔ and let your right hand lay hold of me”).

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alviero nicacci kî-ʾattâ YHWH ʿăzartanî wenihamtānî “because you, Lord, have helped me (in the past) and will comfort me (in the future).”

As a consequence, there is a strong basis for rejecting misleading, although rather common, labels such as “precative perfect,” as well as “prophetic perfect” and “perfectum confidentiae.”40 One of the main features examined above is the appearance of qatal and yiqtol (including their respective continuation forms) in parallel lines. As indicated above, the two verb forms can be each related to its specific temporal axis, past and future, respectively (§2a), or both related to the past axis (§2.c). This feature can be called “merismus,” which is a way of expressing totality by mentioning the extremes.41 Saying “that the Lord has set apart the godly for himself, / the Lord will hear when I shall call to him” (Psa 4:4 above) means that God has done it in the past and will do it in the future, i.e., always. We can call this type “temporal merismus” in order to distinguish it from another type that can be called “aspectual merismus,” when both qatal and yiqtol refer to the axis of the past. Even in this case, however, the two verb forms are not interchangeable but are distinct on the basis of aspect, i.e., they indicate punctual (qatal) vs. habitual (yiqtol) information. The result is that an event is first announced with a simple past, then described with the imperfect. Although this distinction is more easily recognizable in Romance languages than in English, it is clearly attested in BH and in Greek (aorist vs. imperfect). This is what I have tried to express in the above translation, e.g.: “And they ate and were well filled” (wayyiqtol) vs. “while what they craved (the Lord) was giving them” (waw-x-yiqtol; Psa 78:29); “and (the Israelites) 40 Cf., e.g., Dahood, Psalms III, p. 486 (index); Joüon – Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, §112f-h. Personally, I think that only the “stative perfect” (cf. ibid., §111h) and the “performative perfect” (cf. ibid., §112f; A. Niccacci – M. Pazzini, Il rotolo di Rut. Analisi del testo ebraico [Jerusalem, 2001], p. 94) are correctly identified. On the contrary, it is not justified to translate in the present the so-called “messenger formula” kōh ʾāmar YHWH “thus said the Lord;” cf. J. Krispenz, “Grammatik und Theologie in der Botenformel,” ZAH 11 (1998), pp. 133–139. The same may be said of the “epistolary perfect;” cf. M. Rogland, “The Hebrew ‘Epistolary Perfect’ Revisited,” ZAH 13 (2000), pp. 194–200. In both cases, the qatal refers to the time distance from God’s revelation to prophetic communication, on the one side, and from writing to reading a letter, on the other. 41 Cf. J. Krašovec, Der Merismus in Biblisch-Hebräischen und Nordwestsemitischen (Rome, 1977); Watson, Classical Hebrew Poetry, 321–324; and my paper “The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry,” §2.1–2. I speak here of “temporal/aspectual merismus” (see below), while merismus is usually intended as lexical, on the basis of parallel words.

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ate and were well filled (wayyiqtol) vs. “while with their tongues they were lying to him” (waw-x-yiqtol; Psa 78:36). Another important poetic feature mentioned above is the “doubleduty modifier” (§2.d), a basic consequence of parallelism, according to which different related cola complete and specify each other in terms of grammar, syntax and semantics.42 I hope that this overview of the main characteristics of poetry is enough to show that in BH the different verbal forms and non-verbal constructions play basically the same functions in poetry as in prose. Above all, I do not see any justification for taking qatal and yiqtol – and their respective continuation forms – as equivalent and translate them in the same way. This would nullify the dynamic character of poetry (cf. above). Another common malpractice is to translate yiqtol with the present, especially in poetry. Again, I do not see any justification for doing so because BH possesses a distinctive non-verbal construction to indicate the axis of the present (cf. §1.2.b). Rather, it is appropriate to understand this kind of yiqtol, especially frequent in proverbial sayings, as expressing perennial truths; e.g.: bēn ḥākām yeśammaḥ-ʾāb / ûbēn kesîl tûgat ʾimmô “A wise son will (always) make glad his father, / while a foolish son is a sorrow to his mother” (Prov 10:1).43

For these reasons, I would again emphasize the fact that a Semiticcomparative, diachronic solution is not suitable for BH poetry.44 III. Conclusions 1) In historical narrative, a main, independent sentence is of type ‘verb-x,’ i.e., it has a finite verb in the first place as the predicate, followed by a ‘x’ non-verbal element as the subject or complement, while

42 See my analysis of Prov 10:1–10 and parallel texts in “Analysing Biblical Hebrew Poetry,” §§2–3, according to the four kinds of parallelism identified by A. Berlin, The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism (Bloomington, 1985). 43 Cf. my paper “The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry,” pp. 267–268. In Prov 10:1 we find a temporal parallelism future // present, although in “Analysing Biblical Hebrew Poetry,” p. 81, I incorrectly translated both with a present tense. 44 Unfortunately, I followed this solution for years, even until the Spanish edition Sintaxis del Hebreo Bíblico, §§171–174.

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a secondary, dependent sentence is of type ‘x-verb,’ i.e., the finite verb is in the second place. In the case of ‘x-verb,’ two possibilities are feasible from the point of view of semantics in historical narrative. First, the ‘x’ non-verbal element is emphasized, i.e., it is the new information and functions as the syntactic predicate, while the finite verb functions as the syntactic subject (cf. Gen 1:27; §1.1.c); in this case the sentence is dependent and marked. Second, the ‘x’ element is not emphasized, it is not the syntactic predicate but the whole sentence is syntactically dependent on a main sentence with narrative wayyiqtol, which can either follow (cf. Gen 1:3, following 1:1–2; §1.1.a), or precede (cf. Gen 1:5, 10; §1.1.b).45 In the first case we have a tense transition ‘antecedent information → main line of narrative,’ while in the second case the transition is ‘foreground → background.’ In direct speech, the first type of marked ‘x-yiqtol’ is attested (cf. Ex 7:29 and 25:2b; §1.2.c1) as well as the second type with no emphasis on ‘x’ but with a ‘x-yiqtol’ sentence depending on a preceding mainline weqatal (cf. Num 6:27; §1.2.c2). On the contrary, no direct-speech correspondent for the sequence ‘antecedent information → main line of narrative’ is attested. 2) It follows that in BH the first place of the sentence belongs to the syntactic predicate. Therefore, when the first place is taken by a finite verb, the sentence is syntactically verbal and independent and conveys main line of communication, or foreground. Instead, when the finite verb is demoted to the second place, the sentence is syntactically non verbal and dependent and conveys background information; and this can happen by premising either a non-verbal element – a noun, a prepositional phrase, or an adverb – (syntactic subordination), or an explicitly subordinating particle like ʾăšer, kî, lemaʿan (grammatical and syntactic subordination). 3) Basically, this assessment is also valid for direct speech.46 Still, two special cases in direct speech are to be taken into consideration,

45 Cf. my paper “An Outline of the Hebrew Verbal System in Prose,” LASBF 39 (1989), pp. 7–26. 46 See examples and discussion in my papers, “An Outline of the Hebrew Verbal System in Prose,” pp. 7–11; “Marked Syntactical Structures in Biblical Greek in Comparison with Biblical Hebrew,” pp. 9–36; “Basic Facts and Theory of the Biblical Hebrew Verb System in Prose,” pp. 169–171; and “Types and Functions of the Nominal Sentence,” in: C.L. Miller (ed.), The Verbless Clause in Biblical Hebrew. Linguistic Approaches (Winona Lake, 1999), pp. 215–248. In these papers I also deal with

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and this makes a clear difference from historical narrative. First, at the beginning of an oral narrative, both first-place qatal and x-qatal, despite word order, are verbal, plain sentences and convey main-line information (cf. §1.2.a); second, at the beginning of an announcement concerning the future, indicative x-yiqtol is a verbal, plain sentence and conveys main-line information (cf. §1.2.c1).47 Note, however, that in both cases this only applies to the beginning of a direct speech, while in the course of it the distinction between main-line ‘verb-x’ and secondary-line ‘x-verb’ is valid in direct speech exactly as in historical narrative.48 4) In a non-verbal sentence, as in the verbal one, word order is predicate-subject when the sentence is predicative and main; it is subjectpredicate when the sentence is dependent.49 Because the non-verbal sentence is linked to the axis of the present, in historical narrative it always belongs to the background level and shows the word order subject-predicate (cf. Gen 1:2; §1.1.a).50 But in direct speech, there are cases of a ‘specific interrogation’ – having an interrogative pronoun or adverb, like mî “who?,” mātay “when?,” etc., in the first place of the sentence, which is a marked sentence as it is concerned with a detail of an action or event, different from cases of a ‘general interrogation,’ usually introduced by the particle hă-, which is a main sentence and is concerned with an action of the event itself. 47 Clearly, the reason is that a first-place yiqtol would be volitive, not indicative (see above, §1.2.c2). 48 Another peculiar case concerning word order is the apodosis, in which both firstplace verb forms (i.e., qatal, wayyiqtol, yiqtol, weqatal and in some cases also weyiqtol) and second-place verb forms (i.e., x-qatal and x-yiqtol) are syntactically equivalent and interchangeable within their respective temporal axis (cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §§113–118). However, not even this fact collapses the distinction between first-place and second-place verb forms, nor the theory of word order (pace Goldfajn, Word Order and Time, pp. 99–101, on Gen 22:1 and other similar passages). In fact, the apodosis is by itself a second-place sentence, being preceded by the protasis, and together protasis and apodosis constitute an inseparable ‘double sentence.’ For this reason, this double construction ‘protasis + apodosis’ is actually an expansion of the‘ x-verb’ type of sentence. An expansion in the sense that both elements (i.e., ‘x’ and ‘verb’) are complete sentences (i.e., protasis = circumstantial sentence + apodosis = main sentence), while the ‘x-verb’ type constitutes one single sentence. 49 N.P. Lunn, Word-Order Variation in Biblical Hebrew Poetry. Differentiating Pragmatics and Poetics (Winona Lake, 2006) correctly states that the normal word order is verb-subject-object (VSO, p. 4), but soon after affirms that “a significant proportion of clauses do not [follow this order]. This shows that though VSO is canonical for Biblical Hebrew, it is by no means obligatory” (ibid.). Further, Lunn criticizes me for considering non verbal the sentence with a finite verb form in the second place, simply on the authority of Groß (p. 32, n. 6). However, Lunn’s research is based on statistics rather than on a firm syntactic analysis. 50 The three parallel, coordinate sentences of Gen 1:2 are all syntactically nominal, background structures and show the same word order subject-predicate. In fact, the

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clear examples of predicative, main sentence with (non-verbal) predicate-subject – see Gen 42:11: benê ʾîš-ʾeḥād + nāḥenû / kēnîm + ʾănaḥnû (predicate + subject in both cases; cf. 1.2.b)51 –, as well as of dependent, background sentence with subject-predicate, e.g.: hēn benê-yiśrāʾēl lōʾšāmeʿû ʾēlay weʾêk yišmāʿēnî parʿōh → waʾănî ʿăral śepātāyim (waw + subject + predicate) “behold, the people of Israel have not listened to me; how then shall Pharaoh listen to me, → since I am a man of uncircumcised lips?” (Ex 6:12). The same word order subject-predicate is also found in the presentative sentence, e.g., ʾanî YHWH “I am the Lord.” The presentative sentence is clearly different from the predicative one and despite its word order subject-predicate is a main sentence.52 5) On the basis of the above exposition and other research, we can establish a list of coordinate (main line, foreground) as well as subordinate (secondary line, background) continuation forms and negative counterparts of the verb forms: – The coordinate continuation form of main-line qatal is wayyiqtol, not weqatal, and its negative counterpart is welōʾ-qatal; the negative counterpart of background (waw-) x-qatal is (waw-) x-lōʾ-qatal, while the negative counterpart of wayyiqtol (both narrative and continuation, cf. n. 57 below) is welōʾ-qatal; – the coordinate continuation form of indicative main-line x-yiqtol at the beginning of a textual unit is weqatal and the negative counterpart of both is welōʾ-yiqtol, while in the course of a unit the negative counterpart of background indicative (waw-) x-yiqtol is (waw-) x-lōʾ-yiqtol;

first (wehāʾāreṣ hāyetâ tōhû wābōhû) is a waw-x-qatal, i.e., a syntactically non-verbal sentence with a finite verb (grammatical predicate) in the second place and a noun (grammatical subject) in the first place (cf. §3.2 above), while the following two are non-verbal, with no finite verb form, background sentences, also with word order subject-predicate (↔ weḥōšek ʿal-penê tehôm ↔ werûaḥ ʾĕlōhîm meraḥepet ʿal-penê hammāyim). 51 Note that in the following parallel sentence with a finite verb the word order is the same: lōʾ-hāyû (predicate) + ʿăbādeykā (subject) + meraggelîm (complement of the predicate). This confirms that the word order in a predicative main sentence, be it verbal or non verbal, is predicate-subject. 52 On the non-verbal sentence in general, see my paper “Simple Nominal Clause (SNC) or Verbless Clause in Biblical Hebrew Prose,” ZAH 6 (1993), pp. 216–227. In ex. (12), ibid., p. 220, please read “(S) ʾnky” instead of “(P) ʾnky.”

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– the coordinate continuation form of volitive first-place yiqtol is weyiqtol and its negative counterpart is we’al-yiqtol, while the negative counterpart of background volitive (waw-) x-yiqtol is (waw-) x-ʾal-yiqtol. Two main implications are as follows. First, the so-called ‘waw of coordination’ does not have a place in BH verb system, nor do the socalled ‘inversive waw’53 and ‘waw of apodosis.’ The wayyiqtol, weqatal and weyiqtol verb forms are not the result of waw + yiqtol or qatal, but simply wayyiqtol, weqatal and weyiqtol, i.e., the waw is part of their distinctive morphology.54 Second, among the main verb forms usually considered by scholars – i.e., yiqtol, qatal, wayyiqtol and weqatal – weyiqtol should also be included because it possesses a distinctive morphology and plays a distinctive syntactic function exactly like the other verb forms.55 6) An important consequence of word order is that the main-line, foreground constructions, both verbal and non verbal, clearly locate an event or information in a precise axis of time. Specifically, wayyiqtol and qatal indicate the past,56 x-yiqtol and weqatal indicate the future and the non-verbal sentence indicates the present. Thus, foreground constructions indicate time, while background constructions indicate aspect.57 On the basis of the various verb forms 53 In my opinion, the variant stress ‘w-qatálti’ vs. ‘w-qataltí ’ does not have any syntactic motivation as assumed, e.g., by Joüon – Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, §§115c. Many presumed cases of weqatal indicating non-iterative, simple past are discussed in my review of W. Gross – H. Irsigler – T. Seidl (eds.), Text, Methode und Grammatik. Wolfgang Richter zum 65. Geburtstag (St. Ottilien, 1991), in LASBF 44 (1994), 667–692, §6. Also see my paper “Basic Facts and Theory of the Biblical Hebrew Verb System in Prose,” p. 175, n. 22, on H.-P. Müller, “Nicht-junktiver Gebrauch von w- im Althebräischen,” ZAH 7 (1994), pp. 141–174. 54 For a similar reason, I avoided the traditional designation “waw of apodosis,” simply because, when it appears, the waw is not independent but is part of a specific verb form (wayyiqtol, weqatal or weyiqtol), and also because in the function of apodosis the verb forms with and without waw exchange according to the corresponding temporal axes (cf. above, n. 48). 55 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §§159–160. 56 Remember that in the direct speech (x-) qatal, not wayyiqtol, is found at the start of the main line of an oral narrative (cf. §1.2.a). 57 Notice, however, that, besides the normal narrative wayyiqtol, a continuation wayyiqtol is also clearly attested, e.g., in 1 Sam 28:3: ûšemûʾēl mēt ↔ wayyispedû-lô kol-yiśrāʾēl ↔ wayyiqberuhû bārāmâ ûbeʿîrô “now Samuel had died, ↔ and all Israel had mourned for him ↔ and had buried him in Ramah, his own city.” Differently than what happens in Gen 1:1–3 and normally in historical narrative (§1.1.a), the initial waw-x-qatal conveys here anterior information (“now Samuel had died”) and the two

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and constructions attested, aspect may include circumstance or contrast (x-qatal in historical as well as in oral narrative), contemporaneity (non-verbal sentence with word order subject-predicate both in historical narrative and in direct speech), unique event or information vs. repetition, habitude or description (x-qatal vs. x-yiqtol or weqatal in historical narrative).58 7) In this connection, some indications concerning verb hāyâ are in order.59 First, hāyâ in all its forms is a verb, not a particle, nor a copula; second, each of its forms play a specific role like those of any other verb; third, in no case it is an optional element of the language. One needs to note that three distinct constructions of hāyâ are attested:

following wayyiqtol do not start the main line of communication; rather, they are continuation forms and share the same value (anteriority) of the previous construction because they convey pieces of information that have already been given with narrative wayyiqtol in 1 Sam 25:1. This a clear case of a technique called “resumptive repetition” (cf. my Syntax of the Verb, p. 201, n. 33), i.e., the writer first narrates Samuel’s death, lament and burial (25:1a), then shifts to the story of David and Saul (25:1b-28:2) and at the end takes up again the information of Samuel’s death saying, as it were: “Now (remember that) Samuel had died . . .” – in order to report the case of Saul and the pythoness of Endor. A similar case is Gen 39:1, which resumes the information of 37:28; see my review of Z. Zevit, The Anterior Construction in Classical Hebrew (Atlanta, Georgia, 1998), in LASBF 49 (1999), pp. 507–525, esp. p. 513. The continuation wayyiqtol is clearly different from the narrative one, pace J. Joosten, “The Indicative System of the Biblical Hebrew Verb and its Literary Exploitation,” in: Wolde, van (ed.), Narrative Syntax and the Hebrew Bible, pp. 51–83, esp. pp. 66–67. This usage of wayyiqtol confirms the assumption that the coordinate continuation form of qatal is not weqatal but indeed wayyiqtol (cf. §3.5). 58 Proceeding without definite criteria, traditional grammars assume that every verb form is able to indicate past, present and future, more or less according to personal interpretation; however, interpretation should be subservient to syntax, not vice versa. In a rather complicated study, B. Peckham, “Tense and Mood in Biblical Hebrew,” ZAH 10 (1997), pp. 139–168, excessively underlines word order at the expenses of morphology, syntax and the specific functions of the finite verb forms. Further, a lack of appropriate analysis of the sentence in the text seems to be the cause of many misunderstandings in recent research. As stated above, a verb form indicates time when the sentence is verbal and conveys foreground information, while it indicates aspect when the sentence is not verbal and conveys background information. This is also valid for yiqtol and weqatal, despite the opinion of D. Moomo, “The Imperfect Meaning of Weqatal in Biblical Hebrew,” JNSL 31 (2005), pp. 89–106. Consequently, my reply to the question posed by J. Joosten, “Do the Finite Verbal Forms in Biblical Hebrew Express Aspect?,” JANES 29 (2002), pp. 49–70, is definite: yes, when they are background constructions. 59 Cf. my paper, “Sullo stato sintattico del verbo hāyâ,” LASBF 40 (1990), pp. 9–23; and Syntax of the Verb, chap. 8.

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– (a) it is a verb of complete predication (predicate-subject), e.g., yehî ʾôr / wayehî ʾôr “Let there be light. / And there was light” (Gen 1:3); – (b) it is a verb of incomplete predication, i.e., it needs a predicative complement in order to be complete (e.g., lenepeš ḥayyâ in the following example): wayehî hāʾādām lenepeš ḥayyâ “and the man became a living being” (2:7); – (c) it introduces a ‘two-element syntactic construction,’ or ‘double sentence’ (with protasis, or circumstance + apodosis, or main sentence), e.g.: wayehî [kî hiqqîpû yemê hammišteh + wayyišlaḥ ʾiyyôb] . . . “And it happened [the fact that when the days of the feast had run their course, + Job sent] . . .” (Job 1:5). In my opinion, in (c) the whole double sentence (protasis + apodosis) is the syntactic subject of wayehî, the verbal predicate. As a consequence, such wayehî is not a “fossilized” verb form (i.e., it does not accord with the following noun, when present, simply because it is not its subject), nor a particle, but a wayyiqtol as any other such form; it makes the whole double sentence a verbal construction and, as any wayyiqtol, it establishes literary connection with what precedes.60 This is confirmed by the fact that all the different types of double sentence attested with wayehî are also attested without wayehî.61 This however does not mean that wayehî is an optional element; on the contrary, while with wayehî the whole double sentence is verbal and linked to what precedes, without wayehî the double sentence is non verbal and creates a break in the main line of communication, a break that on the basis of semantics and context can be, as usual (cf. §1.1.b), background of a preceding narrative wayyiqtol or antecedent information at the beginning of a new narrative unit. Finally, what has been said of wayehî in historical narrative is also valid of wehāyâ in the axis of the future in direct speech (foreground), as well as in the axis of the past in narrative (background).62

60 In Syntax of the Verb, §145, I called this wayehî “a macro-syntactic marker of narrativity,” which is correct, while the rest of the paragraph needs revision. 61 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §§111–112. 62 Cf. my Syntax of the Verb, §156. In my opinion, a lack of basic syntactic analysis leads T. Li, “‫ ויהי‬as a Discourse Marker in Kings,” AUSS 44 (2006), pp. 221–239, to opposite conclusions: wayehî is said to be “an optional discourse marker,” indicating “the beginning of narrative segments,” instead of connection with what precedes.

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8) A correct evaluation of the single sentence in the text is the first, basic step toward a reliable analysis of BH verb system.63 The single sentence must be the starting point, otherwise the analysis runs the risk of being an imposition from outside, instead of a deduction from the text. Different proposals starting from general semitistics, or from a theory of literary genres, of pragmatic factors, or from interpretation, are hardly suitable for BH.64 Syntax must be the starting point, a syntax firmly established on the basis of morphology and of semantic context. I would insist that without a clear definition of the single sentence linguistic analysis has no firm basis.65 As indicated from the beginning, the best model that allows a correct linguistic analysis is, in my opinion, the one proposed by H. Weinrich. On its basis, it is possible to identify the specific functions of every verb form and non-verbal construction of BH, as well as of other languages. One only needs to take into account the categories of time and tense, of historical narrative and direct speech, and of the main and secondary lines of communication. And all the functions are to be identified in the text, not deduced from outside. The result will be that

63 See the beginning of the present paper. In his preface to the revised English edition of Joüon – Muraoka, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, Muraoka justifies his refusal to revise the original exposition concerning syntax by expressing a “fundamental reservation” about the approach he calls “text-linguistics or discourse grammar” (p. xviii). Again, I need to stress that these two approaches can not be equated (see n. 2 above). In fact, my analysis starts from the single sentence in the text, i.e., my methodology is ‘bottom-up,’ not ‘top-down’ as Longacre’s discourse analysis. On my part, I would insist that the approach of Joüon and of traditional grammars is much too fragmentary and dependent on interpretation, with the result that every verb form can have every time value. See my book review of P. Joüon, A Grammar of Biblical Hebrew, Translated and Revised by T. Muraoka, Vol. II, Part Three: Syntax, Paradigms and Indices (Roma, 1991), in LASBF 43 (1993), pp. 528–533, and also of three, in different way, followers of Longacre: D.A. Dawson, Text-Linguistics and Biblical Hebrew (Sheffield, 1994), ibid. 45 (1995), pp. 543–580; Y. Endo, The Verbal System of Classical Hebrew in the Joseph Story (Assen/Maastricht, 1996), ibid. 46 (1996), pp. 434–441; and F.J. Del Barco del Barco, Profecía y sintaxis. El uso de las formas verbales en los Profetas Menores preexílicos (Madrid, 2003), ibid. 52 (2002), pp. 534–540. 64 Cf., e.g., T.D. Andersen, “The Evolution of the Hebrew Verbal System,” ZAH 13 (2000), pp. 1–66. Diachronic research may be stimulating, but synchronic analysis remains basic and decisive. An attempt to combine the two perspectives is done by P.J. Gentry, “The System of the Finite Verb in Classical Biblical Hebrew,” HS 39 (1998), pp. 7–39. 65 Cf. “Ebraico biblico e linguistica,” Henoch 20 (1998), pp. 189–207, where I discuss several recent linguistic approaches, particularly that of W. Groß, Die Satzteilfolge in Verbalsatz alttestamentlicher Prosa: Untersucht an den Büchern Dtn, Ri und 2Kön (Tübingen, 1996).

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the BH verb system, far from being a mess, is wonderfully structured despite the small number of verb forms used.66 Finally, I wish to underline the fact that such text-linguistic analysis is not an exacting, futile undertaking. Far from it, a correct analysis of this kind is the crucial first step for every interpretation. It is the only way to understand how an author organizes his information and the intent and dynamics of his communication.67

66 In HS 46 (2006) a number of lectures are published from a 2004 symposium on the subject “Can Biblical Texts be Dated Linguistically?” Without entering into details and discussing the various papers, I wish to state again that, according to my research, the BH verb system as such remains unchanged in clearly late books like Chronicles; see my analysis of the parallel texts 2 Sam 5–7 // 1 Chr 11–17 in Lettura sintattica della prosa ebraico-biblica. Principi e applicazioni (Jerusalem, 1991), pp. 201–245, and my discussion on the language of Qohelet in “Qohelet o la gioia come fatica e dono di Dio a chi lo teme,” LASBF 52 (2002), pp. 29–102, esp. pp. 33–34, and in “Qohelet. Analisi sintattica, traduzione, composizione,” ibid. 54 (2004), pp. 53–94. Further, in late Biblical books and until the non-Biblical texts from Qumran, I see no trace of the presumed reduction of the so-called ‘inverted verb forms’ (wayyiqtol and weqatal), which then disappear in Mishnaic Hebrew; see my review of Zevit, The Anterior Construction in Classical Hebrew, ibid. 49 (1999), pp. 507–525. The situation may be different in the field of orthography and lexicography; see, e.g., the criteria suggested by A. Hurvitz, “The Recent Debate on Late Biblical Hebrew,” HS 47 (2006), pp. 191–210. 67 In my syntactic analysis of Gen 6:9–8:22 in “Diluvio, sintassi e metodo,” LASBF 44 (1994), pp. 9–46, I did not find in the flood narrative, regarded as one of the basic texts of source criticism, any problem of coherence or doublets. This, however, does not mean that the search for sources should be dismissed in Biblical study. Simply, it should be done in a correct way that respects BH syntax and takes into account the compositional techniques in the light of Ancient Near Eastern literatures.

ZWISCHEN ELEPHANTINE UND QUMRAN: DAS ALTE TESTAMENT IM RAHMEN DES ANTIKEN JUDENTUMS Reinhard G. Kratz Das „Zwischen“ im Titel „Zwischen Elephantine und Qumran“ ist geographisch, zeitlich und inhaltlich gemeint. Womit ich mich in diesem Beitrag, der aus Platzgründen nicht mehr als nur eine Skizze sein kann, beschäftigen möchte, ist die Frage, wo in diesem „Zwischen“ das Alte Testament seinen historischen Ort hat. Mit Elephantine und Qumran sind zwei jüdische Archive und zugleich zwei entgegengesetzte Pole benannt, zwischen denen sich das Alte Testament geographisch, zeitlich und inhaltlich bewegt: das nicht-biblische Judentum von Elephantine und eine Gruppe rigoroser Vertreter des biblischen Judentums in Qumran. Irgendwo „zwischen“ diesen beiden Polen sind die Schriften der hebräischen Bibel anzusiedeln, die in persischer und früher hellenistischer Zeit ihre letzte Gestalt erhielten, an Verbreitung und Autorität gewannen und nach und nach ins Griechische übersetzt wurden. Wie mir scheint, läßt sich der Übergang vom einen zum anderen, vom nicht-biblischen zum biblischen Judentum, teilweise in den biblischen Schriften selbst greifen. Ich werde das Problem zunächst im forschungsgeschichtlichen Zusammenhang exponieren, sodann einige Beispiele anführen, die den Übergang vom nicht-biblischen zum biblischen Judentum im Alten Testament demonstrieren, und abschließend die Richtung andeuten, in der man vielleicht nach einer möglichen Lösung des Problems suchen könnte. I. Das Problem Vor ziemlich genau 200 Jahren, 1806–07, erschienen die „Beiträge zur Einleitung in das Alte Testament“ des damals gerade 27jährigen Wilhelm Martin Leberecht de Wette. Bekanntlich war er der erste, der den historischen Quellenwert der biblischen Schriften radikal in Frage stellte und damit ein geschichtliches Verständnis der Überlieferung einleitete. Dazu gehörte auch die fundamentale Unterscheidung, die er in seinem „Lehrbuch der christlichen Dogmatik in ihrer historischen

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Entwickelung“ von 1813 vornahm, nämlich die Unterscheidung zwischen den beiden Epochen vor und nach dem babylonischen Exil. Zur Bezeichnung des Unterschieds führte er die Begriffe „Hebraismus“ und „Judentum“ (auch „Judaismus“) ein.1 Was de Wette noch fehlte, war ein klares Kriterium zur Unterscheidung dieser von ihm mehr erahnten als klar definierten Epocheneinteilung. Es blieb Julius Wellhausen vorbehalten, dieses Kriterium zu entdecken und zur Grundlage seiner Analyse des Alten Testaments zu machen. Sein Kriterium war, wie jedermann weiß, das mosaische Gesetz. So exponierte der 34jährige Wellhausen in der ersten Auflage seiner „Geschichte Israels I“ von 1878, den späteren „Prolegomena zur Geschichte Israels“, gleich zu Beginn die Frage, „ob das mosaische Gesetz der Ausgangspunkt sei für die Geschichte des alten Israel oder für die Geschichte des Judentums, d.h. der Sekte (in der 2. Auflage von 1883 heißt es: der religiösen Gemeinde, in der 6. Auflage von 1905: der Religionsgemeinde), welche das von Assyrern und Chaldäern vernichtete Volk überlebte“.2 Die von Wellhausen in seinen drei Hauptwerken – den Prolegomena, der Composition und der Geschichte – durchgeführte literarkritische Scheidung der Quellen und die darauf basierende historische Konstruktion der israelitischen und jüdischen Geschichte haben in jüngster Zeit von anderer Seite eine willkommene Bestätigung erfahren. Ich nenne nur die Inschriften von Kuntillet AÏgrud und Ḫ irbet el-Qom.3 Zwei oder drei kleine Inschriften genügten, um das biblische (deuteronomistische) Bild der Religionsgeschichte Israels auch von der epigraphischen Seite her vom Kopf auf die Füße zu stellen. Und auch sonst fügen sich die Archäologie und die neuere Religionsgeschichte Palästinas bestens in den von Wellhausen vorgegebenen Rahmen ein.4 Auch sie zeigen, wie sich aus den unspektakulären

1

Vgl. L. Perlitt, „Hebraismus – Deuteronomismus – Judaismus“, in: Ders., Deuteronomium-Studien (FAT 8; Tübingen, 1994), S. 247–260. 2 In sämtlichen Auflagen auf Seite 1. 3 Nachzusehen bei J. Renz/W. Röllig, Handbuch der Althebräischen Epigraphik I (Darmstadt, 1995), S. 47–64, 199–211. 4 Zur Archäologie: I. Finkelstein/N.A. Silberman, The Bible Unearthed: Archaeology’s New Vision of Ancient Israel and the Origin of Its Sacred Texts (New York u.a. 2001) [deutsch: Keine Posaunen vor Jericho: Die archäologische Wahrheit über die Bibel (München 2002, Sonderausgabe 2006)]. Zur Religionsgeschichte: O. Keel/C. Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole: Neue Erkenntnisse zur Religionsgeschichte Kanaans und Israels aufgrund bislang unerschlossener ikonographischer Quellen (QD 134; Freiburg, 52001); M. Köckert, „Vom einen zum einzigen Gott: Zur Diskussion

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Anfängen der beiden Königreiche Israel und Juda erst nach dem Untergang der beiden Monarchien 722 bzw. 587 v. Chr. diejenige religiöse Gemeinschaft herausgebildet hat, die sich in den biblischen Schriften „Israel“ nennt und sich als ein von ihrem Gott, dem einen und einzigen Gott Jhwh, erwähltes Volk begreift. Eine der zentralen Aufgaben der alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft besteht somit darin, unter Zuhilfenahme aller verfügbaren Quellen und möglichen Methoden im Alten Testament selbst zwischen der Überlieferung des alten Israel in vorexilischer (staatlicher) Zeit und den verschiedenen Stimmen des antiken Judentums in exilisch-nachexilischer (nachstaatlicher) Zeit zu unterscheiden. Diese Arbeit ist von Wellhausen begonnen und seither mit Fleiß betrieben worden, aber noch nicht abgeschlossen. Doch nicht darauf möchte ich hier die Aufmerksamkeit lenken, sondern nur auf eine der beiden Epochen selbst, das antike Judentum. Wellhausen und alle, die ihm folgten, gehen davon aus, daß das Judentum seine alles verbindende Mitte im „Gesetz“, d.h. in der Tora des Mose, hatte. Nun stellt das antike Judentum, was natürlich auch Wellhausen wußte, keineswegs eine Einheit dar. Schon im Alten Testament selbst und darüber hinaus in den Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen unter Einschluß der Schriften von Qumran finden sich ganz unterschiedliche Stimmen, auch solche, die das Bekenntnis zum einen und einzigen Gott Jhwh voraussetzen, sich dafür aber nicht ausdrücklich auf die Tora des Mose berufen. Äußerer Ausdruck diverser Lehrmeinungen und Interessen waren nicht zuletzt die verschiedenen Religionsparteien (Sadduzäer, Pharisäer, Essener u.a.), von denen wir aus dem Neuen Testament, Josephus und anderen Quellen Kenntnis haben. Doch sämtliche Stimmen und Gruppen haben in der Tat eines gemeinsam: Sie alle beziehen sich zwar nicht immer ausdrücklich auf die Tora des Mose, bewegen sich aber in der einen oder anderen Weise im Rahmen der biblischen Tradition, d.h. derjenigen jüdischen Tradition, die sich auf die biblischen Schriften bezieht, sie tradiert und in Anlehnung an sie neue Schriften oder Lehrmeinungen produziert. Ich möchte sie daher alle unter dem Begriff des biblischen Judentums zusammenfassen.

der Religionsgeschichte Israels“, BThZ 15 (1988), S. 137–175; Ders., „Wandlungen Gottes im antiken Israel“, BThZ 22 (2005), S. 3–36; F. Hartenstein, „Religionsgeschichte Israels – ein Überblick über die Forschung seit 1990“, VF 48 (2003), S. 2–28.

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Wo die biblische Tradition entstanden ist und wer die Kreise waren, die für die Überlieferung, Wertschätzung und Verbreitung der biblischen und parabiblischen Schriften verantwortlich waren, ist ein Rätsel. Man kann nur soviel sagen, daß es sich um schriftgelehrte Kreise gehandelt haben muß, die zu historiographischen, rechtlichen, weisheitlichen, prophetischen und priesterlichen Überlieferungen Zugang gehabt haben müssen oder selbst aus einem dieser Milieus stammten.5 Doch wissen wir nicht, ob diese Kreise etwa in der Verwaltung der persischen Provinzen Jehud und Samaria, am Tempel in Jerusalem oder in Schulen des Mutterlandes und der Diaspora tätig waren, oder ob sie vielleicht aus einer dieser Institutionen kamen, aber mittlerweile in irgendeiner Weise anders organisiert waren. Auch darüber läßt sich nur spekulieren. Die epigraphische Evidenz von institutioneller Schreibertätigkeit läßt, von phänomenologischen oder phraseologischen Parallelen abgesehen, (bisher) keinen unmittelbaren Bezug zur biblischen Überlieferung erkennen. Umgekehrt setzt die biblische Überlieferung zweifellos die üblichen Institutionen der vor- wie der nachstaatlichen Zeit voraus, die durch die epigraphische Evidenz für Israel und Juda belegt sind, schöpft aus ihren Traditionsbeständen, erwähnt ihre Existenz und setzt sie gelegentlich direkt oder indirekt als Darstellungsmittel ein. Doch stellt die biblische Tradition aus theologischen Gründen die Institutionen permanent in Frage, so daß man sich nur schwer vorstellen kann, daß sie in diesen Institutionen auch entstanden ist und gepflegt wurde.6 5 An einer genaueren Identifizierung der Trägerkreise versuchen sich T. Veijola, „Die Deuteronomisten als Vorgänger der Schriftgelehrten: Ein Beitrag zur Entstehung des Judentums“, in: Ders., Moses Erben: Studien zum Dekalog, zum Deuteronomismus und zum Schriftgelehrtentum (BWANT 149; Stuttgart, 2000), S. 192–240, sowie E. Otto, „Die Ursprünge der Bundestheologie im Alten Testament und im Alten Orient“, ZAR 4 (1998), S. 1–84. 6 Zur Frage des institutionellen Orts (Hof/Verwaltung, Tempel oder Schule) vgl. A. Lemaire, Les écoles et la formation de la Bible dans l’ancien Israël (OBO 39, Fribourg 1981); Ders., „Schools and Literacy in Ancient Israel and Early Judaism“, in: L. Perdue (Hg.), The Blackwell Companion to the Hebrew Bible (Oxford, 2001), S. 207–217, sowie zuletzt wieder D.M. Carr, Writing on the Tablet of the Heart: Origins of Scripture and Literature (Oxford, 2005) oder K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, MA, 2007). Zur Evidenz vgl. D.W. Jamieson-Drake, Scribes and Schools in Monarchic Judah: A Socio-Archaeological Approach (JSOT.S 109 [SWBAS 9]; Sheffield, 1991); C. Schams, Jewish Scribes in the Second-Temple Period (JSOT.S 291; Sheffield, 1998); zur Diskussion E.A. Knauf, Die Umwelt des Alten Testaments (Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar, Altes Testament 29; Stuttgart, 1994), S. 190–237; Ph.R. Davies, Scribes and Schools: The Canonization of Hebrew Scriptures (Louisville, Kentucky 1998).

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Der einzige historische Beleg für eine institutionsgeschichtlich relevante Organisation, die sich mit dem biblischen Israel identifizierte und daher mit und in der Tradition des biblischen Judentums lebte, ist der Jachad, die Gemeinschaft von Qumran.7 Wer oder was sich dahinter verbirgt, ist ebenfalls umstritten. Da sich in den Höhlen von Qumran jedoch nicht nur die Schriften der Gemeinschaft selbst, sondern auch Handschriften der vor- oder außerqumranischen biblischen und der Bibel nahestehenden Überlieferung gefunden haben, wird man vermuten dürfen, daß diese Überlieferung auch schon vorher in Gemeinschaften wie der des Jachad tradiert, studiert und beherzigt wurde und hier vielleicht sogar ihren genuinen Ort hatte. Die Vielfalt der biblischen Überlieferung entspricht einerseits dem Spektrum der verschiedenen Institutionen, aus denen, wie wiederum das Beispiel von Qumran lehrt, die Mitglieder solcher Gemeinschaften stammen, und spiegelt sich andererseits in der Vielfalt der verschiedenen Religionsparteien des biblischen Judentums wider, von denen die antiken Quellen berichten. Doch das biblische Judentum ist nicht die einzige historische Gestalt des nachexilischen Judentums, die wir kennen. Die Papyri von der Nilinsel Elephantine, dem antiken Jeb, belegen ein anderes Judentum.8 Die dort ansässigen Juden nennen sich selbst nicht „Israel“, sondern „Judäer“, gelegentlich auch „Aramäer“, und scheinen von dem biblischen Judentum, dem „Israel“ des Alten Testaments, nichts zu wissen. Julius Wellhausen schrieb über sie in der siebten Auflage seiner „Israelitischen und jüdischen Geschichte“ von 1914, unmittelbar nachdem die Papyri bekannt wurden: „Von einem merkwürdigen Überrest des vorgesetzlichen Hebraismus, der sich über die Zeit Ezras und Nehemias hinaus an der Grenze Ägyptens und Nubiens erhalten hatte, haben wir jüngst durch glückliche Funde Kenntnis bekommen. (. . .) Im Unterschied von den sogenannten Zehn Stämmen sind diese 7 Auch sie nimmt sich – wie gelegentlich die biblische Überlieferung – die „Schule“ und andere Institutionen für die eigene, von den üblichen Institutionen geschiedene Organisation zum Vorbild. Vgl. dazu A. Lemaire, „L’enseignement essénien et l’école de Qumrân“, in: A. Caquot u.a. (Hg.), Hellenica et Judaica: Hommage à Valentin Nikiprowetzky (Leuven, 1986), S. 191–203; A. Steudel, „ ‚Bereitet den Weg des Herrn‘ – Religiöses Lernen in Qumran“, in: B. Ego/H. Merkel (Hg.), Religiöses Lernen in der biblischen, frühjüdischen und frühchristlichen Überlieferung (WUNT 180; Tübingen, 2005), S. 99–116. 8 Vgl. E.A. Knauf, „Elephantine und das vor-biblische Judentum“, in: R.G. Kratz (Hg.), Religion und Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden (Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 22; Gütersloh, 2002), S. 179–188.

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Juden nicht in dem Heidentum, das sie umgab, aufgegangen, sondern haben in einem entlegenen Winkel der Welt ihr altes Wesen behauptet. (. . .) Sie standen noch auf der vorgesetzlichen Stufe, ähnlich wie die jüdischen Paganen, welche die Bne haGola im Lande vorfanden. (. . .) Dieser fossile Überrest des unreformierten Judentums in fernem Lande liefert demnach eine willkommene Bestätigung dessen, was schon vorher als Ergebnis der kritischen Untersuchung der israelitischen Religionsgeschichte fest stand.“9 In den neueren „Geschichten Israels“ wird den Juden von Elephantine keine große Aufmerksamkeit geschenkt. Insbesondere nach der einschlägigen Monographie von Bezalel Porten „Archives from Elephantine“ aus dem Jahr 1968 gilt weithin als ausgemacht, daß sich die Juden von Elephantine zwar durch ein paar synkretistische Absonderlichkeiten auszeichnen, ansonsten aber durchaus in das Bild vom Judentum passen, das wir aus der Bibel und aus späteren jüdischen Quellen kennen. Unter dieser Voraussetzung werden die Lücken der Überlieferung von Elephantine aus biblischen oder rabbinischen Quellen gefüllt. Aber wird man damit dem historischen Befund gerecht? Religionsgeschichtlich gehört das Judentum von Elephantine tatsächlich noch zum „vorgesetzlichen Hebraismus“ des alten Israel. Wie Wellhausen in Anspielung auf die Verhältnisse, die in Esra-Nehemia oder Tritojesaja und Maleachi getadelt werden, treffend schreibt, ist dieser „vorgesetzliche Hebraismus“ gleichzeitig aber auch in Juda anzutreffen. Sollte selbst in nachexilischer Zeit zunächst noch nicht das biblische Judentum die Regel und Elephantine die Ausnahme, sondern umgekehrt Elephantine, d.h. der „vorgesetzliche Hebraismus“ des alten Israel, die Regel und das biblische Judentum die Ausnahme gewesen sein?10 II. Zwei Fallbeispiele Als Testfall kommen vorzugsweise solche Textdokumente, Phänomene oder Vorgänge in Frage, die nicht nur – historische, gattungsge9 J. Wellhausen, Israelitische und jüdische Geschichte, mit einem Nachwort von R. Smend und einem Stellenregister (Berlin, 102004), S. 176–178. 10 Ähnlich fragt auch H. Niehr, „Religio-Historical Aspects of the ‚Early PostExilic‘ Period“, in: B. Becking/A.C.A. Korpel (Hg.), The Crisis of Israelite Religion: Transformation of Religious Tradition in Exilic and Post-Exilic Times (OTS 42; Leiden: Brill, 1999), S. 228–242, hier 240.

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schichtliche oder sonstige – Differenzen, sondern auch Berührungspunkte oder Schnittstellen zwischen dem Judentum von Elephantine und dem biblischen Judentum im Alten Testament oder in Qumran aufweisen. Nur in solchen Fällen ist wirkliche Vergleichbarkeit gegeben. Zwei solcher Fälle seien kurz angesprochen. Der erste Fall ist die Dokumentation zum Wiederaufbau der beiden Tempel zu Jeb und zu Jerusalem.11 Zwar liegen beide Ereignisse über 100 Jahre auseinander, doch sind die Vorgänge und die Art ihrer Dokumentation derart parallel, daß sie sich vorzüglich zum Vergleich eignen. Hier wie dort lag der Tempel in Trümmern, wurde das Ereignis mit Klagen und Fasten beweint und war der Wiederaufbau nicht ohne Beteiligung der zuständigen persischen Behörden zu erreichen. In beiden Fällen hat sich eine amtliche oder entsprechend stilisierte Korrespondenz erhalten, die den Vorgang dokumentiert und zugleich in seiner Bedeutung für die jeweilige Gemeinschaft reflektiert. Damit entfällt sogar der übliche Abstand zwischen epigraphischer und literarischer Quelle. Die Korrespondenz von Elephantine aus dem Archiv des Jedanja12 zeugt bekanntlich von einem Tempel der „Judäer“ auf Elephantine, der mittlerweile auch archäologisch nachgewiesen ist. Der Tempel war dem Gott Jahu und den anderen Göttern, die neben ihm verehrt wurden, geweiht. Seine Zerstörung geht auf eine Feindschaft mit den benachbarten Chnum-Priestern zurück, die nicht etwa religiöse, sondern politische oder auch nur eigentumsrechtliche Gründe hatte.13 In einem Brief (A 4.3:7), der ebenfalls aus dem Archiv des Jedanja stammt, aber von etwas anderem handelt, wird der Beginn der Feindschaft auf den Aufenthalt des jüdischen Gesandten Hananja in 11 Vgl. dazu R.G. Kratz, „Der Zweite Tempel zu Jeb und zu Jerusalem“, in: Ders., Das Judentum im Zeitalter des Zweiten Tempels (FAT 42; Tübingen, 2004, Studienausgabe 2006), S. 60–78 [ET: „The Second Tempel of Jeb and of Jerusalem“, in: O. Lipschits/M. Oeming (Hg.), Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (Winona Lake, IN, 2006), S. 247–264]. Erst nachträglich bin ich aufmerksam geworden auf den Beitrag von A. Meinhold, „Vergleichbar-/Unvergleichbarkeit des Wiederaufbaus der Tempel von Jerusalem und Elephantine in persischer Zeit“, Orientwissenschaftliche Hefte 6 (2003), S. 35–59. 12 In der Hauptsache A 4.5 sowie A 4.7–10 nach der Zählung von B. Porten/ A. Yardeni, Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt [TADAE] A–D (Winona Lake, IN, 1986–1999). 13 Zu den Gründen vgl. C. von Pilgrim, „Tempel des Jahu und ‚Straße des Königs‘ – Ein Konflikt in der späten Perserzeit auf Elephantine“, in: S. Meyer (Hg.), Egypt – Temple of the Whole World/Ägypten – Tempel der gesamten Welt (FS J. Assmann; Leiden, 2003), S. 303–317.

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Ägypten datiert, auf den wir noch zu sprechen kommen werden. In die komplizierten diplomatischen Bemühungen um den Wiederaufbau waren neben den persischen Behörden auch Stellen in Juda und Samaria einbezogen: Bagohi, der Statthalter von Juda, Delaja und Schelemja, die Söhne Sanballats, des Statthalters von Samaria, sowie Jehohanan, der amtierende Hohepriester von Jerusalem, seine Kollegen und andere judäische Nobilitäten. Mit viel List und Tücke, natürlich auch mit dem Mittel der Bestechung, wurde erreicht, daß die Statthalter von Juda und Samaria ihr nihil obstat zum Tempelbau gaben, und auch die persischen Behörden in Ägypten müssen zugestimmt und den Wiederaufbau zugelassen haben, der mit hoher Wahrscheinlichkeit ebenfalls archäologisch nachgewiesen ist. Der gut dokumentierte Vorgang aus der Zeit um 400 v. Chr. gibt demnach auch Einblick in die damaligen Verhältnisse in Jerusalem.14 Dort hat man die Anfrage aus Elephantine zwar ignoriert und, wie die Korrespondenz ausdrücklich sagt, nicht beantwort. Doch geht daraus indirekt hervor, daß der Hohepriester und die Noblen von Jerusalem nicht etwa überrascht oder entsetzt waren und man auch keine Einwände gegen den Betrieb des Tempels auf Elephantine erhoben hat. Mit dem, was die biblische Überlieferung über dieselbe Zeit zu berichten weiß, haben diese Informationen nur wenig zu tun. Zwar läßt sich der in der Korrespondenz von Elephantine für die Zeit um 410 v. Chr. erwähnte Sanballat, der Statthalter von Samaria und Vater Delajas und Schelemjas, mit dem Sanballat von Neh 2:10 (u.ö.) und der zur gleichen Zeit amtierende Hohepriester von Jerusalem, Johanan, mit dem Hohenpriester gleichen Namens in der Liste Neh 12:22 identifizieren. Doch weder stimmt die Chronologie des Nehemiabuches mit den Daten der Korrespondenz von Elephantine überein noch weiß die Korrespondenz etwas von Esra, dem Schreiber und Priester aus dem hohepriesterlichen Geschlecht Aarons (Esr 7:1–5), oder dem Statthalter Nehemia, geschweige denn von deren beider Mission. Mit annähernd denselben Verhältnissen, wie sie die Korrespondenz von Elephantine für die Zeit um 400 v. Chr. dokumentiert, wird man auch für die Zeit um 500 v. Chr. rechnen müssen. Und selbst wenn wir keine Nachrichten darüber hätten, könnten wir annehmen, daß

14 Vgl. dazu R.G. Kratz, „Statthalter, Hohepriester und Schreiber im perserzeitlichen Juda“, in: Ders., Das Judentum im Zeitalter des Zweiten Tempels (FAT 42; Tübingen 2004, Studienausgabe 2006), S. 93–119.

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sich auch der Wiederaufbau des Jerusalemer Tempels auf ähnliche Weise zugetragen haben muß, wie es für Elephantine epigraphisch und archäologisch belegt ist. Glücklicherweise haben wir aber Nachrichten darüber in Esra 1–6 und den Büchern Haggai und Sacharja. Aufs Ganze gesehen, bestätigen diese Nachrichten die Parallele. Hier wie dort wurde eine Korrespondenz mit persischen Stellen geführt, auf die unbedingte Loyalität der Juden zum Reich der Perser verwiesen und diese Loyalität mit historischen Reminiszenzen, die Erinnerung an Kambyses in Elephantine, an Kyros in Esr 1–6, begründet. Doch so sehr der historische Vorgang und die Art der Dokumentation in Form einer amtlichen Korrespondenz auch vergleichbar sind, läβt sich daraus doch nicht ohne weiteres der Schluβ ziehen, daβ die historische Parallele die biblische Darstellung nur bestätigt. Vielmehr geht die biblische Tradition im einzelnen weit über das hinaus, was man in den Papyri von Elephantine findet. Die historische Reminiszenz an Kyros läßt diesen im Auftrag des jüdischen Gottes Jhwh sprechen und handeln und ordnet ihn in die biblische, des näheren chronistische Heilsgeschichte von David bis in die imaginierte Gegenwart ein. Für die Realisierung des Wiederaufbaus sind nicht in erster Linie die diplomatischen Beziehungen zu den persischen Stellen verantwortlich; hier ist es der Geist Gottes, der in Gestalt der beiden Propheten Haggai und Sacharja den Hohenpriester und den judäischen Statthalter zu ihrem Engagement treiben. Die Restauration des Kultes geschieht nicht nach üblichem Brauch, sondern gemäß der Tora des Mose, wie es Gott geboten und die persischen Könige in seinem Sinne befohlen haben. Kurz: Aus dem Vorgang des Wiederaufbaus des Jerusalemer Tempels ist in der biblischen Tradition ein Exempel für die Durchsetzung des Willens Gottes und seines Gesetzes geworden. Für eine entsprechende Darstellung hätte es auch in der Korrespondenz von Elephantine hinreichend Anlaß und Gelegenheit gegeben. Doch hier ist all das nicht gesagt, nicht etwa, weil es der Gattung nicht entspräche oder gerade nicht ins Konzept gepaßt hätte, sondern offenbar deswegen, weil es außerhalb des Vorstellungshorizontes lag. Auf der anderen Seite ist es nur folgerichtig, wenn die Gemeinschaft von Qumran – im Anschluß an die biblische Überlieferung, nicht zuletzt an die Darstellung des Wiederaufbaus des Heiligtums in Esr 1–6 durch „freiwillige“ Spenden und Opfer15 – sich selbst als Heiligtum versteht, 15

Esr 1:4, 6; 2:68; 3:5 sowie 8:28; vgl. 1Chr 29:5, 6, 9, 14, 17.

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in dem das Gesetz des Mose, die Tora, „freiwillig“ und penibel gehalten wird, und dafür den realen Tempel in Jerusalem nicht braucht. Im Denken der Judäer von Elephantine wäre solches schlechterdings unmöglich gewesen. Zwischen beidem steht die biblische Tradition, die den realen Vorgang des Tempelbaus in Jerusalem transzendiert und zwischen beidem, Elephantine und Qumran, vermittelt. Als zweites Beispiel für den Übergang vom nicht-biblischen in das biblische Judentum greife ich die jüdischen Gesandten Hananja, Esra und Nehemia heraus. Was Esra und Nehemia der biblischen Überlieferung zufolge für Juda und Jerusalem gewesen sein sollen, das war Hananja für das Judentum von Elephantine, in dessen schriftlicher Hinterlassenschaft er gelegentlich auftaucht.16 Er war es, dessen Anwesenheit in Ägypten die Feindschaft zwischen der jüdischen Kolonie und den Chnum-Priestern auslöste, vielleicht, weil er der jüdischen Kolonie den offiziellen Status einer „Garnison der Judäer“ verschafft hatte. Und er war es auch, der den berühmten, sogenannten Passabrief überbrachte, der sowohl eine (leider nicht mehr erhaltene) Botschaft des persischen Königs an den Satrapen Arsames als auch, daran unmittelbar anschließend, genaue Durchführungsbestimmungen für das Mazzot-Fest enthält.17 Wir wissen nicht, woher dieser Hananja kam und welche Stellung er innehatte. Doch war er nicht auf Elephantine zu Hause, sondern kam aus dem Land, vielleicht sogar aus der babylonischen Gola. Offensichtlich fungierte er als jüdischer Gesandter, der die Interessen der persischen Behörden, vielleicht auch der zuständigen Stellen in Juda und Samaria vertrat und zwischen ihnen und den Juden auf Elephantine die Verhandlungen führte. Der Rolle Hananjas als eines offiziellen Gesandten und Übermittlers des „Passabriefes“ im Dienste der persischen Verwaltung ist die biblische Darstellung der Mission Esras und Nehemias zur Reorganisation der Provinz Juda vergleichbar. In beiden Fällen werden Juden vom persischen König entsandt, um die politischen und kultischen Verhältnisse unter ihresgleichen, den „Judäern“ von Elephantine bzw.

16 TADAE A 4.1 und A 4.3. Vgl. I. Kottsieper, „Die Religionspolitik der Achämeniden und die Juden von Elephantine“, in: R.G. Kratz (Hg.), Religion und Religionskontakte im Zeitalter der Achämeniden (Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 22; Gütersloh, 2002), S. 150–178, hier S. 150–158. 17 Eine inhaltliche Beziehung zwischen den beiden Teilen hat Kottsieper, „Religionspolitik“, S. 151–153, anhand des Briefformulars sehr wahrscheinlich gemacht.

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denen in Juda und Jerusalem, zu regeln. Doch der Unterschied könnte kaum größer sein. Hananja steht für Regelungen, die die vorgefundenen Verhältnisse mit Rückendeckung durch die persischen Behörden und wohl auch im Sinne der jüdischen Brüder in Juda im einzelnen vielleicht modifizierten, im ganzen aber bestätigten. Dasselbe kann man, denke ich, von dem Nehemia der ursprünglichen Denkschrift sagen, der den Bau der Mauer in Jerusalem organisiert hat.18 Doch der Esra und der Nehemia der gleichnamigen biblischen Bücher tun das genaue Gegenteil: Sie sollen in einem einzigen Akt und mit nur wenigen Getreuen die bestehenden Verhältnisse von Grund auf verändert und im Sinne der Tora des Mose umgestaltet haben. Unter ihrem Namen meldet sich ein anderes, das biblische Judentum zu Wort, das den Führungsanspruch über das Judentum des Zweiten Tempels erhebt. In diesem biblischen Judentum ist aus Nehemia, dem Sondergesandten zur Erbauung der Mauer, der Statthalter und Eiferer für die Tora des Mose und aus Priester und Schreiber in Gestalt des Esra der Schriftgelehrte und Lehrer der Tora geworden.19 Von hier führt ein direkter Weg zur Gründung der Gemeinschaft von Qumran, des Jachad, und zu dem hier bezeugten „Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit“, wer oder was auch immer sich hinter diesem Titel historisch verbirgt.20

18 Vgl. R.G. Kratz, Die Komposition der erzählenden Bücher des Alten Testament (Göttingen, 2000), S. 68–74 [englisch: The Composition of the Narrative Books of the Old Testament (London/New York, 2005), S. 62–68]; J. Wright, Rebuilding Identity: The Nehemiah-Memoir and its Earliest Readers (BZAW 348; Berlin, 2004). 19 Zur innerbiblischen Rezeptionsgeschichte der Nehemia-Gestalt vgl. die in Anm. 18 angegebene Literatur; zu Esra vgl. Kratz, Komposition, S. 74–90 (Composition, S. 68–83); Ders., „Ezra – Priest and Scribe“, in: L.G. Perdue (Hg.), Sages, Scribes, and Seers: The Sage in the Eastern Mediterranean World (FRLANT 219; Göttingen, 2008), S. 163–188. 20 Vgl. grundlegend G. Jeremias, Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit (STDJ 2; Göttingen, 1963); zur Diskussion J. García Martínez, „The Origins of the Essene Movement and of the Qumran Sect“, in Ders./J. Trebolle Barrera (Hg.), The People of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Leiden, 1995), S. 77–96 sowie J. Maier, „Der Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit“ (Franz-Delitzsch-Vorlesung 5, 1995; Münster, 1996); für den ersten Überblick M.A. Knibb, „Teacher of Righteousness“, in: L.H. Schiffmann/J.C. VanderKam (Hg.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls 2 (Oxford, 2000), S. 918–921. Zu wenig beachtet wird m.E. der Umstand, daß der „Lehrer der Gerechtigkeit“ in dem Gründungsdokument der Gemeinschaft von Qumran, Serekh Ha-Yachad (1QS und 4QS), (noch) nicht vorkommt, sondern erst in der Damaskusschrift (CD) und einigen Pesharim, und daß auch hier auf sehr unterschiedliche Weise von ihm die Rede ist. Methodisch scheint es mir der gebotene Weg zu sein, die verschiedenen literarischen Zeugnisse nicht allzu rasch miteinander zu harmonisieren und zu einem Gesamtbild zusammensetzen zu wollen, sondern jedes Zeugnis zunächst für sich und in der relativen

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Der Unterschied zwischen den Gesandten zeigt sich nicht zuletzt auch in Einzelheiten ihrer Mission, die die religiösen Bräuche und Feste betraf. Schon die Korrespondenz über den Wiederaufbau des Tempels von Jeb erwähnt Klagen und Fasten, wie sie auch für Jerusalem im Alten Testament belegt sind.21 Hierbei handelt es sich allerdings um rein religionsphänomenologische Parallelen, die als solche wenig spezifisch sind und daher nicht viel aussagen. Anders verhält es sich mit den Fest- und Feiertagen, für deren exakte Durchführung Hananja auf Elephantine, Esra und Nehemia in Juda und Jerusalem Sorge zu tragen hatten. Doch hier sind die jüdischen (oder „judäischen“) Gesandten aus der Diaspora sehr verschiedene Wege gegangen, die nicht nur mit den unterschiedlichen historischen Umständen oder der Gattung der Belege, sondern mit der Geschichte der Feste und ihrer verschiedenen Interpretation zu tun haben. Hinreichend bekannt ist die zunehmende Historisierung und Theologisierung der jüdischen Feste im Alten Testament. Erinnert sei nur an die dreifache Interpretation des Altargesetzes von Ex 20:24–26 im Sinne der Kulteinheit und Kultreinheit in Dtn 12 und Lev 17 oder an die Rezeption und Umdeutung des Festkalenders von Ex 23:14–19 in Dtn 16:1–17.22 Auch die theologische Interpretation des Ruhetages von Ex 23:12 als Sabbat „für Jhwh“ im Dekalog sowie die nachgetragenen theologischen Begründungen in Ex 20:8–11 und Dtn 5:12–15 wären zu nennen.23 Weniger bekannt oder wenig beachtet ist hingegen der Sachverhalt, daß man in Elephantine noch den älteren Zustand antrifft, während in Qumran die biblische Interpretation vorausgesetzt ist. Der „Passabrief “, den Hananja nach Elephantine gesandt hat, spricht in seinen erhaltenen Teilen nicht vom Passa, sondern vom Mazzot-Fest. Er hat, soweit wir sehen, die Verbindung von Passa und

Chronologie nicht nur der Handschriften, sondern der Entstehung und auch der literarischen Schichtung der einzelnen Werke zu betrachten. Doch darauf kann hier nicht näher eingegangen werden. 21 Mit TADAE A 4.7:15, 19–22 // A 4.8:14, 19–21 vgl. Thr 2:10 (Trauergewand tragen), Sach 7:5; 8:19 (Fasten, im Trauergewand Neh 9:1, mit Gebet Dan 9:3–4). Anders als in Jer 14:12 werden aus gegebenem Anlaß auch die Speise-, Trank- und Brandopfer eingestellt. 22 Vgl. Kratz, Komposition, S. 122f, 124f, 126 (Composition, S. 118f, 120f, 122); ausführlich dazu B.M. Levinson, Deuteronomy and the Hermeneutics of Legal Innovation (Oxford/New York, 1997). 23 Vgl. R.G. Kratz, „Der Dekalog im Exodusbuch“, VT 44 (1994), S. 205–238, hier S. 211, 222, 237.

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Mazzot möglicherweise nicht gekannt.24 Dasselbe gilt umgekehrt von zwei Ostraka, auf denen nur das Passa erwähnt ist; aus ihnen geht im übrigen nicht hervor, ob das Passa auf Elephantine (gemäß Ex 12–13) in der Familie oder (gemäß Dtn 16) am zentralen Heiligtum begangen wurde.25 Trotz der unterschiedlichen Beleglage ist die Vergleichbarkeit durchaus gegeben. In dem „Passabrief “ werden Bestimmungen für ein Fest übermittelt, das nachweislich eine Geschichte vom Mazzot (Ex 23:15) zum Passa-Mazzot durchlaufen hat (Dtn 16:1–8; vgl. auch Ex 12:1–28; Lev 23:5–7; Num 28:16–25; Esr 6:19–22) und auch im Alten Testament in der Form von Vorschriften belegt ist. Daß es sich bei dem „Passabrief “ nicht um Ausführungsbestimmungen der biblischen Festgesetze handelt, geht aus den Vorschriften selbst hervor, von denen sich manche in der Tora des Mose, andere in der Mishna finden und wieder andere später verworfen wurden.26 Die seinerzeit von Pierre Grelot in dieser Zeitschrift27 vorgeschlagene Kombination des „Passabriefes“ mit der Redaktionsgeschichte des Pentateuchs beruht auf entsprechenden Textkonjekturen und folglich auf purer Spekulation. Vielmehr dürfte es sich in dem „Passabrief “ um Bestimmungen handeln, die auf altem, vermutlich auch in Jerusalem geltendem Brauch beruhen oder einen solchen modifizieren und zugleich die Grundlage für die Aufnahme und eigenwillige Interpretation der Festbestimmungen in der biblischen Überlieferung sowie der davon abhängigen, jüngeren Halakha bilden.28

24 TADAE A 4.1. Zwar ist der Name des Fests als solcher in dem Papyrus von Elephantine nicht erhalten, und es kann nicht ausgeschlossen werden, daß außer dem „Ungesäuerten“ (Z. 6), den Mazzot, an anderer Stelle auch das Passa genannt war, doch bewegte man sich mit dieser Annahme auf schwankendem Boden. Vgl. dazu Erasmus Gaß, „Der Passa-Papyrus (Col 21) – Mythos oder Realität?“, BN 99 (1999), S. 55–68. 25 TADAE D 7.6:9–10; D 7.24:5. Vgl. dazu B. Porten, Archives from Elephantine: The Life of an Ancient Jewish Military Colony (Berkeley/Los Angeles 1968), S. 131f. Zu Mazzot und Passa in den Schriften von Qumran vgl. J.C. VanderKam, „Festivals“, in: L.H. Schiffmann/J.C. VanderKam (Hg.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls 1 (Oxford, 2000), S. 290–292; Ders., „Passover“, ebd. 2, S. 637f. 26 Vgl. Knauf, „Elephantine“, S. 186. 27 Vgl. VT 4 (1954), S. 349–384; 5 (1955), S. 250–265; 6 (1956), S. 174–189; modifiziert in VT 17 (1967), S. 114–117, 201–207, 481–483. 28 Anders jüngst wieder C. Nihan, From Priestly Torah to Pentateuch (FAT II/25; Tübingen, 2007) 572–575, der, Grelot folgend, den Papyrus mit der priesterlichen Redaktion des Pentateuchs in Verbindung bringt und sogar wissen will, daß diese „reflects the activity of priestly scribes in the Temple’s library in Jerusalem from the beginning of the Persian period to its end.“ (ebd. 619).

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Auch der Sabbat ist auf Ostraka belegt.29 Doch im Unterschied zum biblischen Sabbatgebot, für dessen Einhaltung sich das Nehemiabuch stark macht, scheint der Sabbat bei den „Judäern“ von Elephantine kein Ruhetag gewesen zu sein. Eines der Ostraka ist eigens für eine Verabredung zur Arbeit am Sabbat geschrieben.30 Handel und Wandel standen auf Elephantine am Sabbat offenkundig nicht still. Auch hier hat der Umstand, daß der Sabbat einmal im biblischen Dekalog, das andere Mal auf Ostraka Erwähnung findet, nichts zu besagen. Denn der entscheidende Punkt ist nicht die Erwähnung des Sabbats, sondern das Arbeitsverbot am Sabbat, das im einen Fall ausdrücklich angeordnet, im anderen nicht gehalten wird. Ob es sich im letzteren Fall um eine Übertretung des Gebots oder die übliche, erlaubte Praxis handelt, ist aufgrund des einen Ostrakons nicht zu entscheiden und hängt davon ab, ob man die Geltung des Dekalogs für die „Judäer“ von Elephantine voraussetzen darf oder nicht. Da es aber in sämtlichen Dokumenten von Elephantine keinerlei Anhaltspunkte für die Geltung des Dekalogs oder die Tora des Mose im ganzen gibt und in dem betreffenden Ostrakon nichts auf eine Ausnahme hindeutet, wird man davon ausgehen müssen, daß die von dem Ostrakon belegte Praxis die Regel war und auch nichts Anstößiges an sich hatte. Nun könnte man einwenden, daß die Zustände von Elephantine in keiner Weise repräsentativ seien für das nachexilische Judentum im Land und in der übrigen Diaspora. Schon Wellhausen (in der oben zitierten Passage aus seiner Israelitischen und jüdischen Geschichte) erklärt sie als Relikte aus alter Zeit, Fossile, die sich in einem entlegenen Winkel der Welt erhalten hätten. Doch ganz so einfach liegen die Dinge nicht. Die Gestalt des Hananja ist der schlagende Beweis dafür, daß die Verhältnisse auf Elephantine für einige, wenn nicht für weite Teile des judäischen oder sogar des babylonischen Judentums repräsentativ sind. Obwohl er aus Juda oder der babylonischen Gola stammte und hier – dem üblichen Bild zufolge – dem biblischen Judentum der nachexilischen Zeit angehört haben müßte, nennt er die so ganz unbiblischen Juden von Elephantine in dem „Passabrief “

29 TADAE D 7.10:5; D 7.12:9; D 7.16:2; D 7.35:7; vielleicht auch D 7.28:4; D 7.48:5. Vgl. dazu und zum Sabbat in den Texten von Qumran ausführlich L. Doering, Schabbat: Sabbathalacha und-praxis im antiken Judentum und Urchristentum (TSAJ 78; Tübingen, 1999), S. 23–282. 30 TADAE D 7.16; ähnlich D 7. 35; vgl. dazu Doering, S. 29–34.

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ohne irgendwelche Vorbehalte seine „Brüder“. Daraus lassen sich zwei Schlüsse ziehen: Zum einen befand sich das Judentum von Elephantine keineswegs in einem „entlegenen Winkel der Welt“, sondern stand – in der Sache des Tempelbaus wie durch den Gesandten Hananja – in Kontakt zu den Juden im Land. Zum anderen dürften sich die Juden im Land, die gegen ihre unbiblischen Brüder auf Elephantine, soweit zu sehen, nichts einzuwenden hatten, von ihnen auch nicht wesentlich unterschieden haben. Daß diese Schlußfolgerungen nicht völlig abwegig sind, zeigt der Vergleich mit der biblischen Darstellung der nachexilischen Restauration. Denn die biblische Überlieferung setzt exakt diejenigen Zustände voraus, die auf Elephantine herrschten. Besonders aufschlußreich ist in dieser Hinsicht die Episode Neh 13:15–22, die Durchsetzung des Arbeitsverbots am Sabbat durch Nehemia. Nicht nur, daß sich die vorausgesetzten Verhältnisse, der Handel am Sabbat mit Fisch und anderen Waren, in Juda und auf Elephantine aufs Haar gleichen. Auch die Rolle Nehemias, dem man Esras rigoroses Engagement für die Einhaltung der Tora des Mose in der Frage der Mischehen zur Seite stellen kann, spricht Bände. Wiederum ist es die biblische Überlieferung, die zwischen beidem, Elephantine und Qumran, steht und den Weg vom einen zum anderen repräsentiert. III. Ansatzpunkte zur Lösung des Problems Der Tempelbau und die jüdischen Gesandten in Angelegenheiten des Kults sind nur zwei Beispiele, an denen sich der Übergang vom nichtbiblischen zum biblischen Judentum zeigen läßt. Weitere ließen sich mühelos anschließen, etwa die bunte Götterwelt von Elephantine im Verhältnis zum biblischen Monotheismus. Oder auch die Literatur: Achiqar und Behistun-Inschrift auf der einen, die biblische Überlieferung und ihre Rezeption in den Apokryphen und Pseudepigraphen sowie in den qumranischen Schriften auf der anderen Seite. Kann man aus Achiqar und Behistun – gut weisheitlich – lernen, Gott und den König zu fürchten (Prov 24:21), befiehlt die biblische Überlieferung, nur Gott und seinem Wort zu gehorchen. Oder das Rechtswesen: die vielen privatrechtlichen Verträge in Elephantine und ihre Einbindung in das altorientalische (assyrische bzw. ägyptische) Recht auf der einen, die biblischen Rechtskorpora, die davon abhängigen Ordnungen und Regeln des Zusammenlebens des Jachad sowie die hier einsetzende Halakha auf der anderen Seite. Überall stößt man

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auf denselben Befund: auf Elephantine ein nicht-biblisches Judentum, in Qumran das biblische Judentum, und dazwischen die biblische Überlieferung, die – für die vor- wie auch die nachexilische Zeit – beides enthält: nicht-biblisches und biblisches Judentum, und in der die Entwicklung vom einen zum anderen literarhistorisch greifbar ist.31 Doch was fängt man mit diesem Befund an? Elephantine und Qumran sind zwei Archive, die einigermaßen sicher datiert und historisch eingeordnet werden können. Doch wo im antiken Judentum, das offensichtlich keine einheitliche Größe war, haben wir die biblische Überlieferung zu verorten, die in Gestalt des samaritanischen Pentateuchs, der griechischen Übersetzung der Tora in Alexandrien, der Bezeugung im Väterlob des Ben Sira und der Massen von Handschriften und vielen Textfassungen in Qumran so plötzlich, wie aus dem Nichts, auftaucht? Natürlich hatte die biblische Überlieferung eine Vorgeschichte, die bis in die vorexilische Königszeit zurückreicht. Und auch die Verzweigung in die verschiedenen Stränge dieser Überlieferung, die verschieden geprägte Trägerkreise voraussetzt, dürfte schon recht alt sein. Doch macht dies die Sache nicht weniger schwierig. Sofern man nicht einfach der biblischen Überlieferung folgen und aus ihren eigenen Angaben die Trägerkreise extrapolieren möchte, ist und bleibt es vorerst ein Rätsel, in welchen Nischen der israelitischen und judäischen Gesellschaft die biblische Tradition gedeihen und wie sie in nachexilischer Zeit so plötzlich und nachhaltig zur führenden Leitüberlieferung werden konnte. Ich habe dazu keine abschließende, nicht einmal eine vorläufige Lösung anzubieten. Das mag man bemängeln, doch wäre m.E. schon viel gewonnen und der Zweck dieses Beitrags fürs erste erreicht, wenn das Problem erkannt würde. Darüber hinaus möchte ich zum Schluß aber auch wenigstens die Ansatzpunkte nennen, die ich für eine mögliche Lösung des Problems sehe. Da sind zum einen die historischen Fixpunkte: die archäologische und epigraphische Evidenz für die Existenz der beiden Provinzen Juda und Samaria. Danach unterschieden sich die beiden Provinzen in ihrer Verwaltungsstruktur wenig von den sonstigen Verhältnissen im Perserreich und lassen eine gewisse Kontinuität zu den vorexili31

Vgl. R.G. Kratz, „Temple and Torah: Reflections on the Legal Status of the Pentateuch between Elephantine and Qumran“, in: G.N. Knoppers/B.M. Levinson (Hg.), The Pentateuch as Torah: New Models for Understanding Its Promulgation and Acceptance (Winona Lake, IN, 2007), S. 77–103.

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schen Monarchien Juda und Israel erkennen. Hier sind ebenso wie in Elephantine keine Anzeichen für eine weite Verbreitung und Anwendung der biblischen Überlieferung vorhanden. Eine markante, deutlich erkennbare Veränderung in der politischen Struktur hat erst mit der Wiederherstellung des judäischen Königtums im 2. Jh. v. Chr. stattgefunden. Erst die Hasmonäer haben die Tora ausdrücklich und programmatisch zur Grundlage ihrer Herrschaft erklärt und sie mit aller Härte durchgesetzt. Hiermit koinzidiert der Befund von Qumran. Er belegt nicht nur die Existenz des biblischen Judentums am Rande der Gesellschaft und fern der herrschenden gesellschaftlichen Eliten, sondern auch die Auseinandersetzung dieser Gemeinschaft mit anderen Gruppen und Eliten außerhalb von Qumran um die richtige Auslegung der Tora. Was davor geschehen ist, in welchen Kreisen die biblische Überlieferung gepflegt wurde und unter welchen Umständen sie in Samaria und in Juda sowie in der ägyptischen (und babylonischen) Diaspora Fuß gefaßt hat, entzieht sich unserer Kenntnis. Hierfür ist man auf Vermutungen und Hypothesen angewiesen. Man wird dabei verschiedene Faktoren mit in Betracht ziehen müssen, politische, ökonomische, soziologische und geistesgeschichtliche Faktoren, die ineinander greifen. So wird man zunächst sagen müssen, daß die biblische Überlieferung angesichts ihrer sprachlichen und gedanklichen Möglichkeiten zweifellos von intellektuellen Eliten stammt, Angehörigen des Schulbetriebes, der Tempelaristokratie oder der politischen Verwaltung, allerdings solchen, die vermutlich nicht zu den herrschenden Kreisen gehörten und den bestehenden Institutionen durchweg fernstanden. Es sind marginalisierte Eliten, die in den Texten ihre eigene Welt, eine Gegenwelt, konstruierten und auf konkrete Umsetzung dieser Gegenwelt drängten, so wie es etwa im Jachad, der Gemeinschaft von Qumran, auch geschehen ist. Es wird weiter zu untersuchen sein, woher diese Eliten stammten, aus dem Land oder aus der Diaspora, und welche Faktoren zu ihrer Marginalisierung und dem damit verbundenen Ausschluß von der Macht, der konkreten Gestaltung der Welt, beigetragen haben. Beides, die Marginalisierung und der Ausschluß von der konkreten Gestaltung der Welt, könnte der Grund dafür gewesen sein, daß sich am Rande der Gesellschaft eine Gegenwelt, die Welt des biblischen Judentums, aufgebaut hat. Diese Gegenwelt ist zunächst in der Literatur entstanden, bevor sie zur Bildung von Gemeinschaften und

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neuer Institutionen und von hier aus zur Verbreitung und allgemeinen Akzeptanz der biblischen Überlieferung geführt hat. Es wird weiter zu untersuchen sein, wie es zu dieser Ausbreitung und dem zunehmenden Aufstieg des biblischen Judentums zur führenden, ab 70 n. Chr. einzigen Gestalt des Judentums gekommen ist. Mögliche Gründe sind die politisch-militärische Situation und die ökonomischen Verhältnisse der Fremdherrschaft, interne Konflikte zwischen Ansässigen im Land und Heimkehrern aus der Diaspora und nicht zuletzt die geistige Herausforderung, die der Hellenismus für alle Beteiligten darstellte. Auf jeden Fall wird man sagen müssen, daß es dieser – im soziologischen Sinne als Sekte zu bezeichnenden – Gruppierung des biblischen Judentums zu verdanken ist und vielleicht auch nur von einer solchen religiösen Sekte geleistet werden konnte, daß das Judentum den Verlust seiner gewachsenen Strukturen und Institutionen am Zweiten Tempel bis heute überlebt hat.

THE EARLIEST KNOWN MANUSCRIPTS OF SAMARITAN ARABIC CHRONICLES AND OTHER TEXTS IN THE RUSSIAN NATIONAL LIBRARY IN ST. PETERSBURG Haroutyun S. Jamgotchian The study of the surviving Samaritan literature in Hebrew and Aramaic is most effectively done by beginning with the manuscripts, and specifically the Arabic manuscripts. Most of the extant Samaritan MSS belong to periods when the spoken language of the Samaritans was Arabic. Fully satisfactory resolution of all the remaining problems associated with the monuments in Hebrew and Aramaic can only be reached if the investigator takes into consideration how the Hebrew and Aramaic would have been felt by scribes and authors of the Arabic period. New associations of meaning, ranges of meaning, and connotations of Hebrew and Aramaic words and expressions, as well as the grouping of these in the various registers of degree of formality, came about under the pervasive influence of their native language, Arabic. The investigator needs a deep Sprachgefühl for Middle Arabic as it developed over the centuries. The history of the Samaritan Arabic collection of the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg began from the procurement by Tsar Alexander the Second (1855–1881), through the agency of the Karaite community leader Abraham Firkovitch (Aben Reshef ) (1787– 1874), at a cost of 59,500 golden roubles, of a vast number of valuable manuscripts, many of them unique. About the scientific importance of this collection as a whole for history and philology a lot has been written and yet more will be written in the future. We can just underline as an example that for nearly a century now most of the scholarly editions of the Hebrew Bible as well as Christian Old Testament are based on the MSS, which were copied from the XI century (1010) originating from the Cairo Geniza MSS, which were discovered and bought by Abraham S. Firkovitch. This category of Hebrew MSS has more than 18,600 leaves. The MSS of this section can be compared in importance with that of the Dead Sea scrolls. There are 9 MSS of Deuteronomy, 2,700 parchment leaves, 2,350 paper lists, 55 MSS comments on Deuteronomy, and 34 MSS on theological subjects.

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But our main concern here is a category of MSS of equal importance in its own way. These are the compositions and treatises in Samaritan Arabic dating from the IX–XIII century. This section is one of the most significant in Europe, and is deservedly well known. The classification as well as the catalogue of the Samaritan Arabic MSS of the Russian National Library at St. Petersburg was first compiled and published by Abraham Harkavy (1835–1919). We begin with the most widely known chronicle. The famous Scaliger MS of the Samaritan book of Joshua ( JN) remained for a long period the only copy of the work in Europe. The Leyden MS transcribed in Samaritan Characters is written in the most careless and negligent manner, so that its editor Juynboll was often driven to the conjectural readings and emendations, “yet he always placed in the margin the exact or supposed words of the text”. The Leyden ms. is no longer the only complete ms. in Europe, though it is amongst the oldest. Remains of ancient MSS of the Book of Joshua b. Nun ( JN) which were previously listed by A.Y. Borisov (1903–1942) in a fragmentary catalogue were published in 1960. In 1994–1995 we examined these fragments in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. These turned out to come from what had once been ten complete codices, with a total 171 folios. These fragments were published in 1960. Much still remains to be done before this text can be reliably assessed. The old MSS in Europe will also have to be compared. One of the earliest snippets of information about the Book of Joshua b. Nun and the first reference to the content of this monument is in the book which was printed in Hebrew in Constantinople (Istanbul) in 1566. Samuel Shellum, the first publisher of the book Sefer Yuhasin by Abraham Zakkuto (1450–1510) noted that in a ms. he had read a story copied from a Hebrew midrash about Joshua b. Nun, who fought against kings, who were under the control of the Persian king Shobak. We must add here an important piece of information which was kindly offered by Prof. Ruairidh Boid in this paper for which I give my deepest gratitude: “This section of the book is undoubtedly the latest part. Most modern scholars have not noticed that all the kings are Iranian in the widest sense of the word. This means the story must be from the Byzantine period, when Byzantium and Persia were in contest. The mention of Armenia in the same category as Azerbaijan, Kurdistan and Persia is decisive. On the other hand, the original Aramaic translator did not have this late (and tedious) addition before him. Here we give an important instance of the value of the St. Petersburg fragments.

the earliest known manuscripts of samaritan arabic 149 The Leyden ms. has a serious omission by homoioteleuton, so that it seems to the reader as if the translation was made from Hebrew. From the fragments and a couple of the complete European MSS it is beyond doubt that what was written was that the Arabic translation was made from Aramaic, with the translator assuming the Aramaic had been translated from Hebrew, but implying this Hebrew version was no longer extant. This prefatory remark occurs not at the start of the collection, but at the start of the oldest part.” In 1890 Oliver Crane translated the Book of Joshua into English. The MS [Add. 19956] from the British Museum MS was mentioned, but hardly used. Our book on these fragments is accordingly the first systematic textual study. We have determined and classified a sample of 33 various readings in the Joshua b. Nun text. We have also reconstructed on the basis of the abovementioned MSS a number of codices which in later years were scattered into a number of leaves and afterwards were mixed with other fragment units. A number of fragments of the Joshua book belonging to one or more manuscripts were found to contain historical legendary content defined as a Story of Moses. This material is not yet identified. Some of the European MSS of the Joshua book have longer or shorter versions of the same material. MSS of Samaritan Arabic texts of the important history written by Abu ’l-Fath. ‫ اﺑﻮ اﻟﻔﺘﺢ‬were edited in 1865 by Eduardus Vilmar. We have translated this book from Arabic into Russian and edited the text with comments in 1995. This chronicle is one of the last MSS of the Middle ages, summing up the early Samaritan Historiography. The texts of this Chronicle are found in manuscript fragments 19–25 Section VI and 29 in section VIII. Later some divisions were identified by Viktor Lebedev. Amongst the MSS listed by Lebedev is a remarkably good (though not perfect) Hebrew translation of this chronicle signed by the highly learned High Priest Ya’qûb b. Hârûn the Levitical priest in Shechem in the late nineteenth century. In 2002 the Israeli author Milka Levy-Rubin printed the Arabic text with an English translation of the “Continuatio” of the Samaritan Chronicles of Abu ’l-Fath, which evidenced a new turn of the history of the research of the recensions of the Chronicle. In my book Vnov identifitzirovanniye. . . . it is shown how the St. Petersburg fragments often preserved a correct reading corrupted in all the extant complete MSS. It is to be hoped that eventually a new critical edition will be prepared, using the fragments and also adequate photographs of the complete MSS in European libraries.

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The modern scientific textual and exegetical criticism of the Old and New Testaments can be said to have started at the Renaissance. It coincided with an awakening of a new interest in the reading and understanding of Scripture, one obvious manifestation of which was translation into numerous European languages. This task of reading Scripture and letting it speak is not completed and never will be, we trust. In the purely technical domain, however, progress can be measured objectively. As is well known, the textual and editorial criticism of the Old Testament started with the use of the ancient Versions, mainly the Septuagint, and comparison of the recensions of the Pentateuch known at the time. The Samaritan Pentateuch took on a unique importance. Our argument in this paper is that much more can be learnt from the Samaritan Pentateuch than might be imagined by those whose familiarity is confined to the Hebrew. In this connection, we turn to the Arabic translations of the Pentateuch. Abraham Harkavy became the first to realise that the Samaritans had once used the Arabic translation by Sa‘adya (mutatis mutandis) when he identified the Samaritan Arabic fragment Sam II 179 (containing Deut 8:13–26:14) with the translation by Saʿadya, and identified the text with the Arabic column of the Oxford bilingual Samaritan manuscript Bodl. Or. 139 (Usserius). I refer to my analysis of the Arabic fragment Sam IIa 178.2 and 3, at the First Conference of the Société des Etudes Samaritaines in 1988 in Tel-Aviv, under the title « Fragments inconnus de la Traduction arabe du Pentateuque par Sa‘adya al-Fayyoumi dans une adaptation samaritaine ». It was established that the Arabic text transmitted in all the Samaritan MSS is of a significant antiquity within the process of transmission of this translation, taking us back to a stage earlier than that shown in the extant Jewish MSS even those of the same time of copying as the Samaritan witnesses. Necessary alterations to the Jewish translation to conform with the Samaritan text of the Hebrew or to agree with traditional Samaritan exegesis are easily separated out. It was shown to be highly likely that Sa‘adya wrote his translation in Arabic script. The conclusions aroused great interest amongst those present.1 It was shown that the St. Petersburg fragment supported the superiority of the bilingual Samaritan Targum manuscript given the siglum J as a representative

1

See in detail Jamgotchian H. Vnov Identifitzifirovanniye, pp. 40–45.

the earliest known manuscripts of samaritan arabic 151 of the Samaritan transmission of the translation by Sa’adya as well as distinctive Samaritan renderings in specific places. We can therefore conclude with the words of Prof. Abraham Tal.2 “This is the most important MS of the Samaritan Targum known to our Generation”. Tal was speaking of the Aramaic column of the bilingual Jerusalem ms. but it seems the same can now be said of the Arabic column. We can go beyond this. The Arabic texts include treatises on the pronunciation of Hebrew and on Hebrew grammar, and also MSS of the Arabic translation of the Torah with grammatical scholia. This information has exegetical and textual importance in the study of the Pentateuch, and by analogy in the study of the whole of the Old Testament. A tradition of grammar, pronunciation, and implied exegesis is preserved which is independent of the Masoretic tradition. Finally, an observation on the use of the Arabic translations. The Samaritan Targum is not a single translation, but many. The translations seem literal, but are not, if the scholia of the MSS. of the Arabic translation are studied. This line of investigation is almost untouched. In conclusion the Firkovitch collection of MSS in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg, and especially the Samaritan-Arabic section, contains material of diverse types that is necessary for the scientific study of Scripture. The range of types of usefulness is still not generally fully known. Bibliography Jamgotchian H.S., Vnov Identifitsirovanniye i Neopublikovanniye Fragmenti Arabskikh Versiy Samarityanskogo Pyatiknizhiya iz Sobraniya Rossiyskoy Natsionalnoy Biblioteki-SPb (Moskva, 2001), 214c. The Recently Discovered and Other Unpublished Arabic Fragments of the Samaritan Pentateuch from the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg (Moscow, 2001), 214p. (in Russian) ISBN 5-89574-121-5. ——. Drevneyshie Fragmenti Arabo-Samarityanskikh Khronik iz Sobraniya Rossiyskoy Natsionalnoy Biblioteki (Moskva, 2003), 218p. Earliest Fragments of Samaritan Arabic Chronicles in the Russian National Library (Moscow, 2003), 218p. (in Russian). ISBN 5-93660-033-5. My book is a first sample of the establishment of an accurate text of these chronicles and the separation of elements of different dates and origin. Borisov A.Y., “Sobranie Samarityanskikh Rukopisey A. Firkovicha”, Palestinskiy Sbornik. Vipusk (Moscow-Leningrad) 15 (78) (1960), pp. 60–73.

2 The Samaritan Targum of the Pentateuch. Part 3, Introduction (Tel-Aviv, 1983), p. 17.

THE COINCIDENTAL TEXTUAL NATURE OF THE COLLECTIONS OF ANCIENT SCRIPTURES Emanuel Tov The textual theories that have been launched over the past two centuries depict the presumed development of various aspects of the textual transmission, but do not sufficiently clarify the textual background of the diverse Hebrew and translational collections. It is probably fair to say that the textual background of the authoritative collections included in the Masoretic Text (MT), Septuagint (LXX), and Peshitta remains unknown. An analysis of these data is basic for our understanding of these collections and has implications for our perception of the books that are authoritative in Judaism and in several forms of Christianity.1 More is known about the background of the Scripture of the Samaritans and of that of Roman Catholics, incorporating the Samaritan Pentateuch (SP) and the Vulgate, since both of them are rather uniform.2 Our working hypothesis suggests that these collections, in Hebrew and translation, are textually heterogeneous because the collections were composed of scrolls of a different nature and background. Therefore, the collections embody several elements of internal inconsistency. This is more pronounced in the translations than in the Hebrew MT. We do not claim that the collections show no planning at all. We merely suggest that, in addition to visible elements of planning, we should also recognize many unplanned elements. All these elements

1

This includes the Scripture of Arameans, Assyrians, Chaldeans, Maronites, and Melkites. See the edition by G. Lamsa, The Holy Bible from Ancient Eastern Manuscripts (22nd edition; Nashville: Holman Bible Publishers, 1981). 2 The SP is part of a larger group (the SP group) including several so-called pre-Samaritan Qumran scrolls (4QpaleoExodm, 4QExod-Levf, and 4QNumb, and secondarily also 4QDeutn and possibly 4QLevd). This text was used or quoted by two of the manuscripts of 4QRP (4Q158, 364) and by Jubilees and 4QTestimonia. See my paper “The Biblical Texts from the Judaean Desert – An Overview and Analysis of the Published Texts,” in: E.D. Herbert and E. Tov (eds.), The Bible as Book – The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries (London: British Library & Oak Knoll Press in association with The Scriptorium: Center for Christian Antiquities, 2002), pp. 139–166.

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together shaped the present textual shape of the authoritative collections. We turn to the textual form of the books included in these canons, not to the selection of the books contained in them.3 The historical question to be posed regarding the texts included in the authoritative collections is which stage(s) in the textual transmission of these books is (are) reflected in a given collection of sacred writings. In the case of Jewish traditional Scripture, from among the many Hebrew texts available in the last centuries bce, the proto-Masoretic text was chosen as the central text by what may be considered the central stream in Judaism, defined as proto-Pharisaic, Pharisaic, proto-rabbinic, or rabbinic. MT was selected from among a number of available texts, and at the same time it was shaped by these circles, to a small or great extent,4 and perpetuated by them. However, these historical assumptions do not bring us any closer to understanding the textual nature of MT. That text cannot be defined in textual terms, such as harmonizing, non-harmonizing, close to the original text or remote from it, expansionistic or minimalist, pure or corrupt.5 The extant textual theories have not succeeded in illumi-

3 Thus, for example, we do not study the question of why Baruch and Ben Sira were included in the canon of the LXX. The study of the textual features of these texts can be subdivided into historical and textual-transmissional aspects. Some sound replies may be offered, but other replies remain hypothetical. 4 See the examples analyzed by A. Geiger, Urschrift und Übersetzungen der Bibel in ihrer Abhängigkeit von der inner Entwickelung des Judenthums (Breslau: Julius Hainauer, 1857); A. Rofé, “The Onset of Sects in Postexilic Judaism,” in: J. Neusner (ed.), Essays in Tribute of H.C. Kee (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988) 39–49. 5 It is unclear whether the textual status of early books differs in some way from that of the later books. It is possible that the text of the late MT books would be closer to the original form(s) of these books than the text of the early books, since in the latter case a longer time had passed between the last editorial stage and the text frozen in MT. However, that assumption is not necessarily correct. The fact that the early books reflect earlier orthography systems than the late books shows that the spelling systems of the earlier books were updated to a smaller extent than may be expected. By the same token, exponents of late Hebrew are reflected especially in the late biblical books, while the language of the earlier books has not been updated. See A. Hurvitz, The Transition Period in Biblical Hebrew, A Study in Post-Exilic Hebrew and Its Implications for the Dating of Psalms ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1972); R. Polzin, Late Biblical Hebrew – Toward an Historical Typology of Biblical Hebrew Prose (HSM 12; Missoula, Mont.: Scholars Press, 1976); M. Rooker, Biblical Hebrew in Transition: The Language of the Book of Ezekiel (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990); R.M. Wright, Linguistic Evidence for the Pre-Exilic Date of the Yahwistic Source (London: T&T Clark International, 2005); A. Hurvitz, “Can Biblical Texts be Dated Linguistically? Chronological Perspectives in the Historical Study of Biblical Hebrew,”

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 155 nating the background of MT to the same degree that, for example, the Qumran scrolls have elucidated the SP. MT forms the basis for explaining the other texts, but its own nature and background remain a mystery. When turning to the ancient translations, we deal mainly with the shape of the LXX and Peshitta, incorporating the collections of sacred writings in Greek and Syriac.6 Our study pertains to the background of the variety within each of these sources. We suggest that this variety was created at an early stage, in the archetypes of the Hebrew and translational texts. Our working hypothesis is that much coincidence was involved in the inclusion of individual scrolls in these archetypes. In some cases, the lack of planning is visible even in differences between parts of the same book in MT or the LXX, implying that at an earlier stage compositions included in the archetype could have consisted of a number of small or large scrolls, sometimes of a different nature. We start with the ancient versions. With the exception of Jerome’s Vulgate and Saadya Gaon’s much later Arabic version, in antiquity all translation projects of Hebrew Scripture were undertaken over the course of several generations. There were no planning committees for the Greek, Syriac, and Aramaic versions. These enterprises simply grew stage by stage. In the case of the Greek Torah, the translation may have started as an official project, but the subsequent Greek translation enterprises were executed by individuals, and this pertains also to the Aramaic and Syriac versions. Some time after the completion of these translations, the archetypes of the present collections of translated Scriptures were composed, again without a master plan. As a result, these collections contained translations of various types, both because there was no quality control and because no other scrolls were available.

in: A. Lemaire and M. Saebo (eds.), Congress Volume, Oslo 1998 (VTS 80; Leiden: Brill, 2000), pp. 143–60. 6 Our investigations of these collections of authoritative writings would not have been possible without drawing upon an additional source for comparison, the Hebrew, Greek, and Aramaic manuscripts found in the Judean Desert. These texts provide us with many early precursors of the medieval texts of the MT, SP, and the Targumim, and of the LXX as represented in manuscripts of the 4–5th centuries ce. At the same time, the Dead Sea Scrolls also provide us with a variety of Hebrew texts for the analysis. For several biblical books the Qumran manuscripts present us with three, four, five, or more different textual forms, differing in small or large details.

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The group of Greek Scripture texts contained in the collection of the “LXX,” such as represented, for example in the critical editions,7 represents a heterogeneous group of texts, not only regarding their translation character, but also with regard to their date and status (official as opposed to private). Some of the books included in the “LXX” were added to the Greek corpus only at a late date, usually replacing earlier, freer renderings. The books of the LXX contain an amalgam of several different translations. The clearest case is that of Samuel-Kings. Within these books, 2 Sam 11:2–1 Kings 2:11 and 1 Kings 22–2 Kings 25 contain the so-called kaige-Th revision. A similar revision is contained in the “LXX” of Ruth, Lamentations,8 and Ecclesiastes, the latter ascribed to Aquila.9 Likewise, many other units are strikingly diverse. Four different aspects of this variety are involved: (1) Why do the various translation units display different translation styles? For example, the translation of Joshua is often free, while that of its neighbor Judges in both the A and B texts is rather faithful to their underlying Hebrew texts.10 The translation of the OG version of 1 Kings (3 Kingdoms) is relatively literal,11 while that of the adjacent 2 Kings (4 Kingdoms) is much closer to its underlying text. The same pertains to other historical books, Ezra-Nehemiah and Chronicles, which are slavishly literal. Similarly, the Greek versions of Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the Minor Prophets are rather literal, while the translation of Isaiah is free and in places very free. The book of Psalms is presented in a very literal Greek version, while the now adjacent translations of Job and Proverbs are very free and paraphrastic.

7 A. Rahlfs, Septuaginta, id est Vetus Testamentum graece iuxta LXX interpretes (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1935); the various volumes edited by the Septuaginta Unternehmen: Septuaginta, Vetus Testamentum graecum auctoritate academiae litterarum gottingensis editum (Stuttgart: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1926–). 8 Possibly other sections of the “LXX” collection also contained such a late revision, see D. Barthélemy, Les devanciers d’Aquila (VTS 10; Leiden: Brill, 1963), pp. 34 ff. 9 See Barthélemy, Devanciers, pp. 21–30. 10 In the case of Samuel, that Vorlage was often identical to 4QSama. 11 The exegetical sections in that translation were probably translated from a Hebrew text deviating from MT. See my study “3 Kingdoms Compared with Similar Rewritten Compositions,” in: A. Hilhorst et al. (eds.), Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 345–366.

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 157 In an earlier study we suggested that the discrepancies between these versions reflect the diverse personal approaches of the translators.12 We did not find a connection between the content of the biblical book and its translation style, nor were we convinced by other explanations of these internal discrepancies. The apparent heterogeneity of these translations or, in modern terms, the lack of guidelines caused Greek Scripture to be a very uneven collection. (2) Why does the translation character sometimes change in the middle of a book? The alternation of different text types in the Greek manuscripts of 1–4 Kingdoms underscores the impression that the present collection of LXX books is an amalgam of different text types, late and early, original and revised. The attention of scholars has been directed to the question of why our manuscripts display a mixed text, at times original and at times revised. Thus section βγ of Kingdoms starting in the middle of a book (at 2 Sam 11:2 according to Thackeray [n. 13] and Barthélemy [n. 14]) and ending at 1 Kgs 2:11, contains such a revision. Section γδ starting at 1 Kings 22 contains a revision as well. As for the incipit of section βγ, Thackeray asserted that the OG translation had been purposely omitted by the first translator due to its content (“the story of David’s sin and the subsequent disasters of his reign”) and filled in by a later translator.13 Barthélemy likewise suggested that kaige-Th retouched only this section because of his interest in its contents.14 At the same time, Shenkel admitted that “the reason for beginning the KR15 at 10:1 is not yet apparent.”16 Similarly, no plausible solution has been suggested for the incipit of section γδ. Thackeray again ascribed the change of translation type to theological factors, while Barthélemy, followed by Shenkel, suggested that section γδ started at 1 Kings 22 because the LXX inverted the

12 See my study “Approaches towards Scripture Embraced by the Ancient Greek Translators,” in: U. Mittman-Richert et al. (eds.), Der Mensch vor Gott – Forschungen zum Menschenbild in Bibel, antikem Judentum und Koran. Festschrift für Herrmann Lichtenberger zum 60. Geburtstag (Neukirchener: Neukirchen, 2003), pp. 213–228. 13 H. St. J. Thackeray, “The Greek Translators of the Four Books of Kings,” JTS 8 (1906–1907), pp. 262–278 (263). 14 Barthélemy, Devanciers, p. 141. 15 That is the kaige-Th recension. Shenkel started section βγ at 2 Sam 10:1, and not at 11:2, on the basis of textual evidence rather than the contents of the chapters. 16 J.D. Shenkel, Chronology and Textual Development in the Greek Text of Kings (HSM 1; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968), p. 118.

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order of the preceding two chapters 20 and 21.17 Neither of these theories is convincing, I suggest. Since previous theories could not explain adequately the alternation of unrevised and revised sections in the manuscripts of the LXX, I suggest that this alternation derived from a purely mechanical factor.18 The OG translation of Jewish Scriptures required many scrolls, and large books like Samuel-Kings would have been included in several scrolls.19 We suggest that the archetype of the manuscripts of the Greek 1–4 Kingdoms was composed of scrolls consisting of different translation types,20 probably because the compiler of the archetype was unable to obtain scrolls of the same nature, or was unaware of their mixture. Likewise, the differences in translation character between the two parts of the LXX of Jeremiah ( Jeremiah 1–28; Jeremiah 29-Bar 3:8 according to the LXX) may have been caused by the juxtaposition of two scrolls of a different nature.21 The first scroll contained the OG translation, while the second one was revisional. The division point between the two types occurred exactly in the middle of the book according to the sequence of the chapters in the LXX. Similar differences have been spotted between the three segments of Ezekiel (chapters 1–27; 28–39; 40–48).22 The differences between the various parts of these prophetical books are not as dramatic as in the case of 1–4 Kingdoms, yet they are very clear and can only be explained by technical factors such as the juxtaposition of scrolls of a different nature.

17

Barthélemy, Devanciers, 42; Shenkel, Chronology, 63. See my doctoral dissertation: The Septuagint Translation of Jeremiah and Baruch: A Discussion of an Early Revision of Jeremiah 29–52 and Baruch 1:1–3:8 (HSM 8; Missoula, Mont. 1976). 19 This assumption is not supported by Qumran evidence for Hebrew scrolls except for the Torah scrolls. See E. Tov, Scribal Practices and Approaches Reflected in the Texts Found in the Judean Desert (STDJ 54; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2004), p. 181. 20 2 Samuel (Kingdoms) was contained in two different scrolls (2 Sam 1:1–10:1; 2 Sam 10:2–1 Kgs 2:11). 21 See n. 18. Our view was not accepted by S. Soderlund, The Greek Text of Jeremiah: A Revised Hypothesis ( JSOTS 47; Sheffield, 1985), pp. 153–192 on which see the review by J.G. Janzen, “A Critique of Sven Soderlund’s The Greek Text of Jeremiah: A Revised Hypothesis,” BIOSCS 22 (1989), pp. 16–47; T.S.L. Michael, “Bisectioning of Greek Jeremiah: A Problem to Be Revisited?” BIOSCS 39 (2006), pp. 93–104. 22 See H. St. James Thackeray, “The Greek Translators of Ezekiel,” JTS 4 (1902– 1903), pp. 398–411; Tov, Jeremiah and Baruch, 135–51. On the other hand, P.D.M. Turner, The Septuagint Version of Chapters i–xxxix of the Book of Ezekiel. Diss. Oxford University, 1970 believes in the unity of the translation. 18

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 159 The juxtaposition of different scrolls of Samuel–Kings, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel would have occurred in the archetype of the collection of Greek sacred writings, probably in the last century bce or the first century ce.23 Also, in the classical world, large compositions were subdivided into independent units (scrolls), often regardless of their content.24 (3) Why do Greek manuscripts sometimes differ from book to book? For example, codex Vaticanus preserves the best pre-Hexaplaric text in all Scripture books, while in Isaiah it contains a Hexaplaric text.25 This scribe, like other ones, must have copied from scrolls of a different type. (4) A related issue: Why do the various translation units display different types of Hebrew Vorlagen? Some of the Greek books reflect a text very close to MT, as in the case of the kaige-Th sections in Kingdoms. On the other hand, the Vorlage of the Greek text of some books differed much from MT. I refer, for example, to the short texts underlying the Greek Jeremiah, Ezekiel and 1 Samuel 16–18. Additional large differences are visible between the MT and LXX of Joshua and Proverbs, Esther and Daniel.26 The reason for these differences is that different individuals translated the books of Greek Scripture at different times from diverse Hebrew scrolls that reflect different stages in the development of the Hebrew books. The question at stake is not the divergence itself between the Greek and Hebrew books, but rather why these divergences appear in cer23

See Tov, Jeremiah and Baruch, 161–8. See Th. Birt, Das antike Buchwesen in seinem Verhältniss zur Litteratur (Berlin, 1882; repr. Aalen: Scientia, 1971), pp. 131–140; F.W. Hall, A Companion to Classical Studies (Oxford: Clarendon, 1913), pp. 7–8; F.G. Kenyon, “Book Divisions in Greek and Latin Literature,” in: H.M. Lydenberg and A. Keogh (eds.), William Warner Bishop: A Tribute (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1941), pp. 63–76 (especially 73–74); idem, Books and Readers in Ancient Greece and Rome (Oxford: Clarendon, 1951), pp. 64–70; J. van Sickle, “The Book-Roll and Some Conventions of the Poetic Books,” Arethusa 13 (1980), pp. 5–42; H.Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church: A History of Early Christian Texts (New Haven, Conn. and London: Yale University Press, 1995), pp. 42–66. 25 See J. Ziegler, Isaias, Septuaginta, Vetus Testamentum graecum auctoritate Academiae Litterarum gottingensis editum (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1967), pp. 38–40. 26 For a description, see my study “The Nature of the Large-Scale Differences between the LXX and MT S T V, Compared with Similar Evidence in Other Sources,” in: A. Schenker (ed.), The Earliest Text of the Hebrew Bible. The Relationship between the Masoretic Text and the Hebrew Base of the Septuaginta Reconsidered (SCS 52; Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press, 2003), pp. 121–144. 24

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tain books and not in others. Why does the LXX reflect a short text in Jeremiah and Ezekiel and not in its neighbor, Isaiah? Why does the LXX differ so much from MT in Joshua and not in its neighbor Judges? Why does the Greek text of Proverbs differ so much recensionally from MT,27 and not in Psalms or Job. And why does the LXX of Exodus 35–40 differ so much from MT, more so than in any other section of the Torah? In all these cases, we cannot give sound replies. It may be that during the last stage of the development of Hebrew Scripture, the text changed more in these books than in others. But it is also possible that the choice of source text made by the ancient translators was often coincidental. Was it a coincidence that a short Hebrew text like 4QJerb,d was chosen for the Greek translation, and not a scroll of the type of 4QJera,c that is very much similar to MT? I believe that in some cases coincidence was involved. Thus, the translator of the Greek Isaiah chose a manuscript that was close to MT, but possibly at the time of the translation there also existed scrolls of Isaiah that deviated somewhat or much from MT. Such Hebrew scrolls, unknown to us, may have been beyond the reach of the translator of this book. At the same time, I do believe that in some cases the Vorlage of the LXX reflects an earlier stage than the archetype of MT.28 As a result, we will never know how much coincidence was involved in the choice of Hebrew manuscripts by the Greek translators. Summarizing this paragraph, we note that much coincidence was involved in the creation of the archetype by combining scrolls of various types and in the creation of the LXX based on different types of Hebrew scrolls.

27 I believe that the LXX’s large deviations reflect a recensionally different book. See my paper “Recensional Differences between the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint of Proverbs,” in: H.W. Attridge et al. (eds.), Of Scribes and Scrolls, Studies on the Hebrew Bible, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins Presented to John Strugnell on the Occasion of His Sixtieth Birthday (College Theology Society Resources in Religion 5; Lanham, Maryland/New York/London: The College Theology Society University Press of America, 1990), pp. 43–56. Revised version: The Greek and Hebrew Bible – Collected Essays on the Septuagint (VTS 72; Leiden/ Boston/Cologne: Brill, 1999), pp. 419–31. 28 See the study mentioned in n. 26.

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 161 II. Peshitta The diversity of the translation units in the Peshitta resembles that of the LXX. The Christian community of the East created the Syriac translations based on Jewish sources,29 and chose the books of the Peshitta as their sacred writings. These translation units derived from different circles, as shown in detail by Bloch and Weitzman,30 although the discrepancies between them are smaller than in the case of the LXX. III. Targumim We are faced with several different Targumim for the Torah, three for Esther, two for Job, as well as single ones for the Prophets and other Writings. These translations vary considerably, ranging from fairly literal to extremely paraphrastic, the latter containing collections of midrashim (Esther, Canticles). However, there is a misleading aspect in comparing the variety of the Targumim with that of the LXX and Peshitta since the latter two provide single translations for each biblical book, while the Targumim present us with multiple parallel translations of a different nature. Therefore, when comparing Targumim of

29 Some scholars have shown that this translation contains a distinct substratum of Jewish exegesis, especially in the Torah. Y. Maori, The Peshitta Version of the Pentateuch and Early Jewish Exegesis (Hebrew; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1995) claimed that the translation derived from Jewish-Rabbinic circles. Likewise, M.P. Weitzman, The Syriac Version of the Old Testament: An Introduction (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 56; Cambridge, 1999) suggested that the Peshitta derived from Jewish non-Rabbinic circles. Other scholars claimed that the translation originated within the Christian community; the evidence is reviewed in detail by P.B. Dirksen, “The Old Testament Peshitta,” in: M.J. Mulder (ed.), Mikra, Text, Translation, Reading and Interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (CRINT, Section Two, Vol. 1; Assen–Maastricht/Philadelphia, 1988), pp. 255–297 (295), who concludes that “no decisive arguments for either Christian or Jewish authorship have been advanced.” 30 J. Bloch, “The Authorship of the Peshitta,” AJSLL 34–35 (1917–1919), pp. 215–223; Weitzman, The Syriac Version, 164–205: “In the Writings, the profiles vary sufficiently to suggest that almost every book has its own translator” (p. 186). “P has been shown to be the work of different translators; the number perhaps lies in the region of fifteen. This diversity, however, is only part of the picture. There is also a network of linking features which unite all the translators, and show them to have been working on the same greater project” (p. 203). “It would be better to view P as the work of a number of different translators, who nevertheless considered themselves colleagues in a single school” (p. 205).

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the same Scripture book, discrepancies between them are acceptable, because they were created by different individuals. IV. MT The element of coincidence in the creation of the archetype of MT is slighter than in the case of the mentioned translations because the MT collection was more homogeneous and carefully transmitted than the collections of authoritative writings in translation. Nevertheless, we suggest that also the archetype of MT displays some internal discrepancies that were created by the juxtaposition of scrolls of a different nature. These discrepancies come to light in (a) the textual idiosyncrasies of the book of Samuel, (b) the special nature of the Elohistic Psalter, and (c) the special nature of Jeremiah 27–29. a. Textual Idiosyncrasies of the Book of Samuel The frequently corrupt nature of the MT of Samuel (as compared with the LXX and 4QSama) presents a distinct textual feature. Examples have been provided by a long list of commentators from O. Thenius31 and J. Wellhausen32 in the nineteenth century to McCarter33 and CrossParry-Saley34 in modern times, the latter referring especially to 4QSama. All these scholars note the many corruptions in MT, but they do not try to explain this situation other than by assuming a faulty scribe. However, we suggest that the book of Samuel in MT was coincidentally more corrupt than the other books, while at the same time this book reflected several theological idiosyncrasies:

31 O. Thenius, Die Bücher Samuels (KEH 4; Leipzig: Weidmann’sche Buchhandlung, 1842) xxviii–xxix. 32 Der Text der Bücher Samuelis (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1871) 16. For a summary of these views, see A. van der Kooij, “De tekst van Samuel en het tekstkritisch onderzoek,” NTT 36 (1982), pp. 177–204. 33 P.K. McCarter, Jr., I Samuel, II Samuel (AB; Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1980, 1984). 34 F.M. Cross, D.W. Parry, R. Saley, E. Ulrich, Qumran Cave 4. XII: 1–2 Samuel (DJD XVII; Oxford: Clarendon, 2005). The statistics of these corruptions are summarized in F.M. Cross and R.J. Saley, “A Statistical Analysis of the Textual Character of 4QSamuela,” DSD 13 (2006), pp. 46–54.

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 163 a. 1–2 Samuel contains many theophoric names originally consisting of Baal which were replaced with boshet, “shame.”35 These changes form a subgroup of so-called nomistic corrections, that is, changes made in accord with the Torah (nomos).36 b. MT inserted various theological changes in the presumably earlier text of the LXX and 4QSama of 1 Samuel 1–2.37 Likewise, the text common to MT and 4QSama in 1 Sam 2:9a, lacking in the LXX, represents a theological elaboration on the main theme of the Song of Hannah.38 35 For an analysis, see my Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2d rev. ed.; Minneapolis and Assen: Fortress Press/Royal Van Gorcum, 2001), pp. 267–268. For a different view, see M. Tsevat, “Ishboshet and Congeners, The Names and Their Study,” HUCA 46 (1975), pp. 71–87; S. Schorch, “Baal oder Boschet? Ein umstrittenes theophores Element zwischen Religions- und Textgeschichte,” ZAW 112 (2000), pp. 598–611. These names may be compared with parallels in Chronicles. Even though Chronicles was composed after Samuel, its text often preserves earlier textual traditions. Therefore, this phenomenon pertains to the scribe(s) rather than to the author of the biblical books. 36 These changes have been described by A. Rofé with examples from Samuel in its LXX and 4QSama versions, including one example from MT: A. Rofé, “The Nomistic Correction in Biblical Manuscripts and Its Occurrence in 4QSama,” RevQ 14 (1989), pp. 247–254; idem, “The Piety of the Torah-Disciples at the Winding-up of the Hebrew Bible: Josh. 1:8; Ps. 1:2; Isa. 59:21,” in: H. Merklein et al. (eds.), Bibel in jüdischer und christlicher Tradition–Festschrift Johann Maier (Frankfurt a. M., 1993), pp. 78–85. For earlier analyses, see I.L. Seeligmann, “Researches into the Criticism of the Masoretic Text of the Bible,” Tarbiz 25 (1956), pp. 118–139 (Heb. with Eng. summ.) – revised version in: M. Weinfeld (ed.), A Biblical Studies Reader 1 (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1979), pp. 255–278; idem, “Indications of Editorial Alteration and Adaptation in the Massoretic Text and the Septuagint,” VT 11 (1961), pp. 201–221. Similar examples from the LXX of Joshua were analyzed by L. Mazor, “A Nomistic Re-working of the Jericho Conquest Narrative Reflected in LXX to Joshua 6:1–20,” Textus 18 (1995), pp. 47–62. 37 The main difference between MT on the one hand and the LXX and 4QSama on the other is that in certain episodes in the latter two texts, Hannah acts as the main character, while in MT there are two main characters, Hannah and Elkanah. The impression is created that MT did not wish to assign certain actions to Hannah since she was a woman, as it would not have been appropriate for a woman to have played such a central role, especially not in the cult (see 1:23, 24, 25, 28; 2:11). MT ascribed actions to Elkanah that in an earlier version had been ascribed to Hannah. Also Wellhausen, Samuel, 42 prefers the reading of the LXX in 1:28, arguing that it would not make sense for the Greek text to suppress the involvement of Elkanah, which has been mentioned in detail in v 24. Especially difficult is 2:11 in MT: since, at this juncture, Hannah should be considered the main character, it is strange that nothing is said in this verse about her movements. It is thus likely that some statements about Elkanah replaced an earlier story. 38 That addition to the original text reinterprets in a certain way the examples of the changes in the fate of the individual given in vv 4–8. According to this reinterpretation, the sudden changes described in those verses do not exemplify the strength of God, but the power of loyalty to God. It is the person who is loyal to God who will experience an improvement in his condition, and it is the wicked (that is, the

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g. The MT of Samuel shows additional signs of theological reworking.39 Samuel holds a special place in MT as shown by the mentioned unrelated features, its frequently corrupt nature and its theological tendencies. The scroll that was included in the archetype of MT coincidentally was somewhat corrupt. However, its other features were not coincidental, since MT’s theological changes characterized the persons who created the last stage of that book. The theological editing was probably inserted in a somewhat corrupt scroll before it was included in the collection of sacred writings, because otherwise we do not know why Samuel underwent more extensive theological editing in MT than the average biblical book, while this book does not provide more occasions for such changes than other books. b. The Special Position of the Elohistic Psalter The background of the special status of the second and the greater part of the third book of Psalms has not been clarified. In these two Psalter books, elohim is the dominant divine name, while in the other three Psalter books YHWH is the main appellation for God.40 This pertains to Psalms 42–72 (book 2) and Psalms 73–89 (book 3).41 The differences are most clearly visible in the parallel Psalms 14 and 53 where the

ones who are not loyal to God) who will experience a deterioration in his condition. This reinterpretation found in MT and 4QSama of v 9a was probably added after the completion of the MT text of the Song. For an understanding of the background of this verse, it is important to note that the specific use of ‫רשׁﬠ‬, “wicked,” as describing persons who are disloyal to God, occurs mainly in Ezekiel, Psalms and the Wisdom literature. It was the intention of the person who added v 9a that the contents of this verse would be applied to vv 4–8. 39 For example, 1 Sam 2:22 MT as opposed to the LXX and 4QSama. 40 The following statistics are provided by O. Eissfeldt, The Old Testament, An Introduction (New York/Evanston, 1965), p. 449: Psalms 42–83: YHWH 43, elohim 200; remainder of the Psalter: elohim 29, YHWH 642 (in Psalms 84–89 YHWH 31, elohim 7). 41 Probably Psalms 84–89, all or in part, have not been submitted to this revision (see n. 40). However, according to Gese, Psalm 84 belongs to the Elohistic Psalter: H. Gese, “Die Entstehung der Büchereinteilung des Psalters,” in idem, Vom Sinai zum Zion: Alttestamentliche Beiträge zur biblischen Theologie (Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie 64; München: Kaiser, 1974), pp. 159–167 (162). According to F. Brown, S.R. Driver and C.A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959), p. 44, Psalms 84–85 are Elohistic, and according to L. Joffe, “The Elohistic Psalter: What, How, and Why?”, SJOT 15 (2001), pp. 142–169 (169) all these Psalms (84–89) contained the Elohistic Psalter. According to H.-J. Kraus, Psalmen I (Neukirchen– Vluyn; Neukirchener Verlag, 1966) xvi these six Psalms were added to the Elohistic Psalter after that had been completed.

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 165 formulation of Ps 53:3–7 strongly suggests that the Elohistic Psalter replaced the earlier YHWH with elohim.42 The usual explanation given for the wording of the Elohistic Psalter is the shunning away from the use of the Tetragrammaton,43 a feature that is also noticeable in various scribal practices in the Qumran scrolls.44 The replacement of YHWH in the Elohistic Psalms was not complete, however, since forty-three occurrences of that name were overlooked by the reviser. This oversight caused Goulder to doubt the very assumption of revisional activity,45 but no revisional activity in the realm of Hebrew Scripture was ever consistent. Joffe has reviewed the various alternative explanations for the evidence.46 For example, some scholars emphasize that not only the predominance of elohim in the Elohistic Psalter needs to be explained, but also that of YHWH in the other segments.47 However, there is nothing unusual in the predominance of the name YHWH in the Psalms or any other book of Hebrew Scripture since that was the main name of Israel’s God.”48 According to Joffe, this editorial process “was unrelated to and therefore predates any hesitation to pronounce the Tetragrammaton.”49 We do not know at which stage the second and third books of the Psalter were submitted to a revision of the divine name, and we do not understand why this reviser would have limited himself to these two books. Therefore, these changes must have been inserted at an early

42 Cf. 14:2, 4, 7 // 53:3, 5, 7 and 40:14a, 17 // 70:2a, 5. Note also the phrase ‫אלהים‬ ‫אלהי‬/‫ אלהיך‬in 43:4; 45:8; 50:7 as well as Psalm 82:1 “God has taken his place in the

divine council; in the midst of the gods he holds judgment” (NRSV) where we would have expected YHWH in the first stich. 43 See, for example, R. Kittel, Die Psalmen (KAT; Leipzig: Deichertsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1914), p. xxii. 44 See Tov, Scribal Practices, pp. 218–221. 45 M.D. Goulder, The Psalms of the Sons of Korah ( JSOTS 20; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1982), p. 5. 46 Joffe, “Elohistic Psalter”; see also eadem, “The Answer to the Meaning of Life, the Universe and the Elohistic Psalter,” JSOT 27(2002), pp. 223–235. 47 G.H. Wilson, The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter (SBLDS 76; Chico, Ca., 1985), pp. 196–197: “[t]he really striking feature of these data is not so much the reduced occurrence of the name YHWH in the ‘Elohistic Psalter’ as it is the almost complete elimination of elohim as a designation for the God of Israel elsewhere.” 48 Besides, the book of Psalms is a book of artistic creations, and the predominance of YHWH as compared with elohim in most Psalms needs no explanation. Joffe, “Elohistic Psalter,” 165 discards these alternative explanations in detail, concluding that “[a]ll the evidence presented points toward the Elohistic Psalter being the result of a highly skilled editorial process.” 49 Ibid., 165–6.

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stage, before these two books were combined with the other three collections to form the present book of Psalms.50 We suggest that when the archetype of this book was composed, the five books of the Psalter were contained in five different scrolls, and some or all of these scrolls had undergone an Elohistic revision. It is possible that only the second and third books were revised; alternatively, all five books may have been revised. In any event, by coincidence two revised and three unrevised scrolls were juxtaposed in the master copy of the Psalter. This revision took place at an early date, possibly before the creation of MT, since it is presupposed by all ancient sources. Among other things, the Greek translation rather consistently distinguished between the equivalents elohim-theos and YHWH-kyrios. The Qumran copies of the Psalter are based on the MT-form of the Psalter since the Elohistic Psalms do not appear seriatim but are dispersed in the Qumran Psalters in various sequences.51 The revision by the Elohistic reviser involved relatively small changes; there is no evidence that this reviser made any changes beyond those relating to the divine name. That the Elohistic Psalter existed at one time independently can be seen from its duplication of a Psalm also included in the first book (Psalms 14 // 53). c. The Special Position of Jeremiah 27–29 Chapters 27–29 of Jeremiah in MT differ rather consistently from the remainder of Jeremiah in three groups of small details: 1. The name of the king of Babylon is spelled in the MT of chapters 27–29 in its later form, Nebuchadnezzar (except for 29:21 Nebuchadrezzar),52 while in the remainder of the book it occurs in its original form, Nebuchadrezzar.53 Since the name of the king is lacking in all its occurrences in these chapters in the LXX (as well as often

50 Thus also A. Weiser, The Psalms – A Commentary (London: SCM Press, 1962), p. 99: “If the whole Psalter had been assembled when this Elohistic revision was carried out, it would be incomprehensible why that action was confined to this group of Psalms.” A similar idea was suggested by J. Ben-Dov in Shnaton 17 (2007), p. 344 in a review of F.L. Hossfeld, Psalms 2 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia, Fortress: 2005). 51 For details, see the list in P.W. Flint, The Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls & the Book of Psalms (STDJ 17; Leiden/New York/Cologne: Brill, 1997), pp. 257–264. On the other hand, in MasPsa, the Psalms of the Elohistic Psalter appear in the MT sequence. 52 Eight times. Elsewhere, this form occurs in 2 Kings (6 x), Esther (1 x), Daniel (21 x), Ezra-Nehemiah (6 x), Chronicles (5 x). 53 Twenty-nine times. This form also occurs in Ezekiel (4 x).

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 167 elsewhere in the Greek version), these added names in MT of chapters 27–29 may be recognized as a linguistically later layer.54 2. Most theophoric names in Jeremiah are of the long type, for example, Yirmeyahu (241 x altogether). The shorter theophoric names ending with -yah form a minority in the book (73 x).55 On the other hand, in chapters 27–29 the short forms prevail with 35 instances56 as opposed to 8 long forms.57 These shortened forms are a sign of Late Hebrew, and accordingly their frequency rises in Chronicles and in the Qumran scrolls.58 The present MT form of these chapters thus is later than that of the other chapters.59 3. While in the book as a whole the short title “Jeremiah” prevails,60 in chapters 27–29 the long formula “Jeremiah the prophet” appears eight times in MT as opposed to 3 occurrences of the short formula.61 With its short formulas in chapters 27–29,62 the LXX holds a middle course, but is less close to the practice of MT in these chapters than in

54 For an analysis of other secondary elements of the MT layer not represented in the LXX, see my studies “Exegetical Notes on the Hebrew Vorlage of the LXX of Jeremiah 27 (34),” ZAW 91 (1979), pp. 73–93. Revised version: The Greek and Hebrew Bible (1999), pp. 315–331; “The Literary History of the Book of Jeremiah in the Light of Its Textual History,” in: J.H. Tigay (ed.), Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1985), pp. 211–237. Revised version: The Greek and Hebrew Bible (1999), pp. 363–384; “The Characterization of the Additional Layer of the Masoretic Text of Jeremiah,” in: B.A. Levine et al. (eds.), Frank Moore Cross Volume (EI 26, Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society and Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, 1999), pp. 55–63. See also H.-J. Stipp, Das Masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches, Textgeschichtlicher Rang, Eigenarten, Triebkräfte (OBO 136; Freiburg/Göttingen: Universitätsverlag/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994). 55 Gedalyah 4x, Gemariah 1x, Habaziniah 1x, Hananyah 10x, Hilkiah 1x, Hoshaiah 2x, Jaazaniah 1x, Jeconiah 3x, Irijah 2x, Kolaiah 1x, Maaseiah 4x, Neriah 7x, Nethaniah 12x, Zephaniah 4x, Seraiah 5x, Shelemiah 2x, Shemaiah 3x, Shephatiah 1x, Yirmeyah 9x. These figures include chapters 27–29. 56 Gemariah 29:3; Hananiah 28:1, 5, 6, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 15, 17; Hilkiah 29:3; Jeconiah 27:20, 28:4, 29:2; Kolaiah 29:21; Maaseiah 29:21, 25; Shemaiah 29:31, 31, 32; Zedekiah 27:12, 28:1, 29:3; Zephaniah 29:25, 29; Yirmeyah 27:1; 28:5, 6, 10, 11, 12, 12, 15; 29:1. 57 Shema’yahu 29:24; Yirmeyahu 29:27, 29, 30; Yoshiyahu 27:1; Zidkiyahu 27:3, 29:21, 22. 58 See Y. Kutscher, The Language and Linguistic Background of the Isaiah Scroll (1QIsa) (Leiden: Brill, 1974), pp. 4–5. 59 As far as we can tell, the transcriptions in the LXX does not distinguish between the long and short forms (see Yirmeyah/Yirmeyahu, Hananiah/Hananyahu). 60 Ninety-one times as opposed to 23 occurrences of the long formula “Jeremiah the prophet.” 61 28:12; 29:27, 30. 62 28:5, 6, 10, 11, 15; 29:1, 29. In 28:12, the LXX reflects a different formulation.

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the rest of the book. Elsewhere, the LXX often lacks the long formula63 or has the short formula.64 Similarly, in these chapters, the long phrase “Hananiah the prophet” prevails in MT as opposed to the short phrase in the LXX.65 Chapters 27–29 in MT thus differ from the remainder of the book in small details that were presumably changed or added at a late stage in the development of the book. These chapters deal with the same interconnected themes: Jeremiah’s polemic against the false prophets and the idea that Babylon cannot be overthrown. The assumption that these three chapters were once contained in a small scroll is therefore inescapable.66 By implication, the complete book of Jeremiah was originally contained in several small scrolls.67 Only at the very last stage were the contents of these small scrolls transferred to one or two large scrolls, and at that stage the little scroll containing chapters 27–29 coincidentally reflected a reality of the book different from that of the other chapters. This process must have happened at a relatively late stage in the development of the book since these chapters contain different literary sources (chapter 27 is a Dtr reworking of the prophet’s own words [sources A + C], while chapters 28 and 29 contain the biographer’s account [source B]).68 We somehow have to combine the assumption of the two editions (editions I and II) of Jeremiah, and that of the special character of chapters 27–29 in MT.69 It seems to us that the editor of MT (edition II) took for chapters 27–29 a little scroll that coincidentally differed from the scrolls of the other chapters of Jeremiah. Alternatively, that little scroll underwent a different fate in the course of the transmission.

63

20:2; 25:2; 38:9; 46:1; 47:1; 49:34; 50:1. 32:2, 34:6, 36:8, 26; 37:2, 3, 6, 13; 42:4; 46:13. Only in 42:2; 43:6; 45:1; 51:59 do both texts have the long formula. For comparative tables, see J.G. Janzen, Studies in the Text of Jeremiah (HSM 6; Cambridge, Mass.: 1973), pp. 145–148. 65 28:5, 10, 12, 15,17. The full phrase “Hananiah son of Azur the prophet” occurs in both texts at the beginning of the story (28:1). 66 The separate circulation of these three chapters has been posited by other scholars. See N. Sarna, “The Abortive Insurrection in Zedekiah’s Day ( Jer 27–29),” in: M. Haran (ed.), H.L. Ginsberg Volume (EI 14; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1978), pp. 89*–96* (92*–93*) with earlier literature; B. Sommer, “New Light on the Composition of Jeremiah,” CBQ 61 (1999), pp. 646–666. 67 This is not an unusual assumption in view of the writing of part of the book in a single scroll according to chapter 36. 68 See W. Rudolph, Jeremia (HAT; 2nd edition; Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck], 1958), p. 158. 69 See the studies mentioned in n. 54. 64

the coincidental textual nature of the collections 169 V. Summary We set out to test our working hypothesis according to which the collections of authoritative Scripture, in Hebrew and translation, are textually heterogeneous because their contents were often not planned in the modern sense of the word. The major reason for this diversity is connected to the fact that the collections were composed from single scrolls of a different nature and background. We attempted to base this assumption on various examples relating to the LXX, Peshitta, and MT. Also the Qumran corpus is heterogeneous, but that collection did not contain a sealed corpus of authoritative writings so that its heterogeneity is not reflected in any one final group of writings. Lack of planning should be expected in antiquity, but since several collections of ancient Scripture became the basis for Judaism and various Christian denominations, we have to delve into their prehistory. MT has become the basis for Judaism. It is a rather good text, but we cannot close our eyes to the fact that at an earlier time the collection now named MT was composed from scrolls of a different nature. The LXX translation has become hallowed Scripture within Christianity, but we should realize that the collection of ancient Jewish Greek Scripture formed a very diverse and unplanned collection. From a textual point of view one could even say that the fact that this specific group of Greek translations, and not another, has become Christian Scripture is coincidental. For example, had the Greek translators found a different form of Daniel and Esther, without the so-called Additions, the Christian canon would have been different. Coincidence was an important factor in the compilation of the archetypes of the collections, and this factor has to be taken seriously into consideration. Textual transmission is likewise plagued by coincidence, as are all archeological excavations.70

70

See A. Millard, “Only Fragments from the Past: The Role of Accident in Our Knowledge of the Ancient Near East,” in: P. Bienkowski et al. (eds.), Writing and Ancient Near Eastern Society, Papers in Honor of Alan R. Millard (London/London: T & T Clark, 2005), pp. 301–319.

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE PREMACCABEAN LITERATURE FROM THE QUMRAN LIBRARY FOR THE UNDERSTANDING OF THE HEBREW BIBLE Intermarriage in Ezra/Nehemiah – Satan in 1 Chr 21:1 – the Date of Psalm 119* Armin Lange A treasure of ancient Jewish literature was found in 11 caves in the vicinity of Khirbet Qumran. The Qumran manuscript library provides new insights into the religion and culture of Ancient Judaism. The Dead Sea Scrolls in general and the Qumran manuscripts in particular are among the most important collections of ancient manuscripts ever found. With regard to its significance for the understanding of the Hebrew Bible, the Qumran library has mostly been analyzed in three respects: 1) The text critical analysis of the biblical manuscripts from Qumran provides new insights into the textual history of biblical books.1 2) The exegetical and paratextual literature (otherwise called parabiblical literature) from the Qumran library documents the interpretative history of biblical books in Hellenistic times.2 3) The Hebrew * I am indebted to my assistant, Mr. Matthias Weigold, for his careful editing of this article and to Mr. Bennie H. Reynolds III for improving its English. 1 F.M. Cross and S. Talmon (eds.), Qumran and the History of the Biblical Text (Cambridge, MA, 1975); P.W. Skehan, “Qumran IV. Littérature de Qumran A. Textes bibliques,” in DBSup 9 (1979), pp. 805–822; D. Barthélemy, Critique textuelle de l’Ancien Testament, Vol. I–IV (OBO 50; Fribourg/Göttingen, 1982–2005); E. Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2nd ed.; Minneapolis/Assen, 2001); E. Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Hebrew Bible (Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids, 1999); E.D. Herbert and E. Tov (eds.), The Bible as Book: The Hebrew Bible and the Judean Desert Discoveries (London, 2002). Cf. also the contribution of E. Tov to this volume. 2 See e.g. M.E. Stone and E. Chazon (eds.), Biblical Perspectives: Early Use and Interpretation of the Bible in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the First International Symposium of the Orion Center, 12–14 May 1996 (STDJ 28; Leiden, 1998); J. Maier, “Early Jewish Biblical Interpretation in the Qumran Literature,” in: M. Saebø (ed.), Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of its Interpretation, Vol. I: From the Beginnings to the Middle Ages (Until 1300), Part 1: Antiquity (Göttingen, 1996), pp. 108–129; T.H. Lim, Holy Scripture in the Qumran Commentaries and Pauline Letters (Oxford, 1997); M.J. Bernstein, “Interpretation of Scripture,” in: L.H. Schiffman and J.C. VanderKam (eds.), Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Vol. I (Oxford, 2000), pp. 376–383 (for more literature see ibid., pp. 382–383).

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and Aramaic of the Dead Sea Scrolls help to illuminate late biblical Hebrew and biblical Aramaic.3 Aside from these fields, the Qumran library is mostly an unclaimed treasure in the study of the Hebrew Bible. The Qumran Dead Sea Scrolls attest to 38 non-biblical texts composed in pre-Maccabean times. Furthermore, 13 biblical manuscripts were copied in pre-Maccabean times. Often the non-biblical pre-Maccabean texts from the Qumran library were written at the same time as the late biblical books and the late redactions of biblical books. The 38 pre-Maccabean compositions from the Qumran library thus provide insights into a time crucial for the understanding of a significant part of the Hebrew Bible. Although the dating of individual literary works is open to scholarly debate, the list below might give an idea about the pre-Maccabean literature preserved in the Qumran library.4 List of the Pre-Maccabean Non-Biblical Compositions from the Qumran Library

3 For studies on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls, see E. Qimron, The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls (HSS 29; Atlanta, 1986); M.S. Smith, The Origins and Development of the Waw-Consecutive: Northwest Semitic Evidence from Ugarit to Qumran (HSS 39; Atlanta, 1991); T. Muraoka and J.F. Elwolde (eds.), The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira: Proceedings of a Symposium held at Leiden University 11–14 December 1995 (STDJ 26; Leiden, 1997); idem (eds.), Sirach, Scrolls, and Sages: Proceedings of the Second International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Ben Sira, and the Mishnah, held at Leiden University 15–17 December 1997 (STDJ 33; Leiden, 1999); idem (eds.), Diggers at the Well: Proceedings of the Third International Symposium on the Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira (STDJ 36; Leiden, 2000); T. Muraoka, “Hebrew,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Vol. I, pp. 340–345 (for more literature see ibid., 344–345). For studies on the Aramaic of the Dead Sea Scrolls, see e.g., S. Segert, “Bedeutung der Handschriftenfunde am Toten Meer für die Aramaistik,” in: S. Wagner (ed.), Bibel und Qumran: Beiträge zur Erforschung der Beziehungen zwischen Bibel- und Qumranwissenschaft (Berlin, 1968), pp. 183–187; K. Beyer, Die aramäischen Texte vom Toten Meer samt den Inschriften aus Palästina, dem Testament Levis aus der Kairoer Genisa, der Fastenrolle und den alten talmudischen Zitaten: Aramaistische Einleitung, Text, Übersetzung, Deutung, Grammatik, Wörterbuch, deutsch-aramäische Wortliste, Register, Vol. I–II and Ergänzungsband (Göttingen, 1984/1994/2004); T. Muraoka (ed.), Studies in Qumran Aramaic (AbrNSup 3; Leuven, 1992); J.A. Fitzmyer, “Aramaic,” in Encyclopedia of the Dead Sea Scrolls, Vol. I, pp. 48–51 (for more literature see ibid., pp. 50–51). 4 For a list of various pre-Maccabean poetic texts included in later poetic and prose compositions, see also E.M. Schuller, “Prayers and Psalms from the Pre-Maccabean Period,” DSD 13 (2006), pp. 306–318.

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

173

Paratextual Literature Enoch and Giants (Gen 5:21– 24; 6:1–4)

Noah and Genesis 6–9

Gen 12:10–20 Levi and his sons

Joseph Exodus and Joshua Moses (Mosaic Pentateuch/ Mosaic Law)

Joshua 1Samuel-2Kings Jeremiah

Astronomical Enoch (1 Enoch 72–82; 4Q208–211) Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1–36; 4Q201–202, 4Q204 1 i–xiii, 4Q205 1 xi–xii, 4Q206 1 xx–xxii, xxvi–xxviii) Book of Giants (1Q23–24, 2Q26, 4Q203, 4Q206 2–3, 4Q530–533) Book of the Words of Noah (1QapGen [1Q20] v 29–xviii 23) Admonition on the Flood (4Q370) The Matriarch in Danger (1QapGen *xix 10–xx 32)5 Aramaic Levi Document (1Q21?, 4Q213–214b, CLevBodl.Cam, Koutloumousiou 39) Testament of Qahat (4Q542) Visions of Amram (4Q543–549) Text concerning Rachel and Joseph (4Q474) Exodus/Conquest Tradition (4Q374) Temple Scroll (4Q524, 11Q19–21) Apocryphron of Moses (1Q22, 1Q29, 4Q375–376, 4Q408) Apocryphon of Moses? (2Q21) Apocryphal Pentateuch A (4Q368) Apocryphal Pentateuch B (4Q377) Apocryphon of Joshua (4Q378–379, 4Q522, 5Q9, Mas11) Vision of Samuel (4Q160) paraKings et al. (4Q382) Letter of Jeremiah (Jeremiah; 7Q2)

5 For 1QapGen ar *xix 10–xx 32 as a source-text for the Abraham narrative in the Genesis Apocryphon, see A. Lange, “1QGenAp XIX10–XX32 as Paradigm of the Wisdom Didactive Narrative,” in: H.-J. Fabry, A. Lange, and H. Lichtenberger (eds.), Qumranstudien: Vorträge und Beiträge der Teilnehmer des Qumranseminars auf dem internationalen Treffen der Society of Biblical Literature, Münster, 25.-26. Juli 1993 (Schriften des Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum 4; Göttingen, 1996), pp. 191–204.

174 Ezekiel Unidentified

armin lange New Jerusalem (1Q32?, 2Q24, 4Q554–555, 5Q15, 11Q18) Narrative and Poetic Composition (2Q22, 4Q371–373) Narrative Work and Prayer (4Q460)

Other Literature Ecclesiasticus (2Q18, Mas1h) Tobit (4Q196, 4Q197–199, 4Q200) Instruction (1Q26, 4Q415–418a, 4Q418c, 4Q423) Wiles of a Wicked Woman (4Q184) Sapiential Work (4Q185) Prayer of Nabonidus (4Q242) Admonitory Parable (4Q302) Zodiology and Brontology (4Q318) Non Canonical Psalms A–B (4Q380–381) Songs of the Sabbath Sacrifice (4Q400–407, 11Q17, Mas1k) Instruction-like Composition B (4Q424) Narrative B (4Q461) ProtoEsther (4Q550 A–E) Parts of the 4QPsf- and the 11QPsa-Psalter Apocryphal Psalms (11Q11) In this study, I will give three examples of how pre-Maccabean Qumran texts help to better understand late biblical books, i.e. the question of intermarriage in the book of Ezra/Nehemiah, the meaning of ‫שטן‬ in 1 Chr 21:1, and the date of Psalm 119.6 6 I have discussed further examples in “1QGenAp XIX10–XX32 as Paradigm of the Wisdom Didactive Narrative;” “In Diskussion mit dem Tempel: Zur Auseinandersetzung zwischen Kohelet und weisheitlichen Kreisen am Jerusalemer Tempel,” in: A. Schoors (ed.), Qohelet in the Context of Wisdom (BETL 136; Leuven, 1998), pp. 113–159; “Die Endgestalt des protomasoretischen Psalters und die Toraweisheit: Zur Bedeutung der nichtessenischen Weisheitstexte aus Qumran für die Auslegung des protomasoretischen Psalters,” in: E. Zenger (ed.), Der Psalter in Judentum und Christentum (Herders Biblische Studien 18; Freiburg, 1998), pp. 101–136; “Eschatological Wisdom in the Book of Qohelet and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in: L.H. Schiffman et al. (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls Fifty Years after their Discovery: Proceedings of the Jerusalem Congress, July 20–25, 1997 (Jerusalem, 2000), pp. 817–825; “The Determination of Fate by the Oracle of the Lot in the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Hebrew Bible, and Ancient Mesopotamian Literature,” in: D.K. Falk et al. (eds.), Sapiential, Liturgical and Poetical Texts from Qumran: Proceedings of the Third Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies Oslo 1998 (STDJ 35; Leiden, 2000), pp. 39–48;

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

175

Mixed Marriages in Ezra 9–10 and in the Dead Sea Scrolls The question of mixed marriages is a recurring issue in the religious history of Israel and Judah. Victor P. Hamilton’s entry on “Marriage: Old Testament and Ancient Near East” in the Anchor Bible Dictionary7 is characteristic for how this issue is studied in scholarly literature. After discussing mostly deuteronomic and deuteronomistic texts from preexilic and exilic times, Hamilton turns to the book of Ezra/Nehemiah and ancient Jewish literature from the 2nd cent. bce through the 1st cent. ce. In the latter period, a special focus is given to the literature composed in the context of the Hellenistic religious reforms and the Maccabean wars. Jewish literature from early Hellenistic times is mostly ignored. This situation is unfortunate as several Jewish texts which were written in the 3rd cent. bce or earlier engage the issue of mixed marriages. I.e. the Qumran library and other sources preserve Jewish literature which is more or less contemporary to the book of Ezra/Nehemiah8 and can provide a Jewish context for its attitude towards mixed marriages. But before I can address this issue I will survey Jewish attitudes towards exogamy and endogamy from the Iron Age until Persian times. Mixed Marriages from the Iron Age until Persian Times In ancient Israel and Judah, contacts with other cultures and ethnicities were limited for the majority of the Jewish and Israelite populations. As a consequence, exogamy, i.e. intermarriage, was the exception and not the rule. The postexilic book of Ruth is a good example. Although it clearly reflects a positive attitude towards the marriage of a Moabite woman and Jewish man, it does not presuppose intermarriage as a “Considerations Concerning the ‘Spirit of Impurity’ in Zech 13:2,” in: A. Lange et al. (eds.), Die Dämonen – Demons: Die Dämonologie der israelitisch-jüdischen und frühchristlichen Literatur im Kontext ihrer Umwelt – The Demonology of Israelite-Jewish and Early Christian Literature in Context of their Environment (Tübingen, 2003), pp. 254–268; “Die Wurzel phz und ihre Konnotationen,” VT 51 (2001), pp. 497–510; “Die Bedeutung der Weisheitstexte aus Qumran für die Auslegung der Hebräischen Bibel,” in: D.J.A. Clines et al. (eds.), Weisheit in Israel: Beiträge des Symposiums “Das Alte Testament und die Moderne” anlässlich des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads (1901–1971) Heidelberg, 18.–21. Oktober 2001 (Altes Testament und Moderne 12; Münster, 2003), pp. 129–144; “The Pre-Maccabean Literature from the Qumran Library and the Hebrew Bible,” DSD 13 (2006), pp. 276–305. 7 ABD 4 (1992), pp. 559–569 (563–565). 8 For the date of the book of Ezra/Nehemiah, see below, 200–201.

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widespread phenomenon. On the contrary, it needs to go through a significant narrative effort to explain how Ruth as a Moabite became the wife of a Jew (Ruth 1:1–5). The liberal attitude of the postexilic book of Ruth towards mixed marriages is reflected by a wide range of Iron Age traditions. Mostly, the polytheistic religion of Iron Age Israel and Judah did not have a problem with intermarriage. Examples are Esau’s marriages with a Canaanite and two Hittite women (Gen 26:34; 28:6–9), Judah’s marriage with a Canaanite (Gen 38:2), Joseph’s marriage with an Egyptian (Gen 41:45), Moses’ marriage with a Midianite/Kushite (Exod 2:21), Samson’s marriage with a Philistine (Judges 14; 16:4–22), David’s marriage with a Calebite and an Aramean (2 Sam 3:3), Bathsheba’s marriage with a Hittite (2 Sam 11:3), Solomon’s marriage with a multitude of foreigners (1 Kgs 3:1; 11:1; 14:21), and Ahab’s marriage with a Phoenician (1 Kgs 16:31). Furthermore, 1 Kings claims that the mother of the Phoenician king Hiram was from the tribe of Naphtali (1 Kgs 7:13–14). Whether the historicity of these reports is to be doubted or not, they reflect a zeitgeist which accepts the notion of intermarriage. This liberal attitude towards mixed marriages is also reflected in legal texts. Examples are Deut 21:10–14 which allows a warrior to marry a prisoner of war and Lev 24:10 which mentions the son of a Jewish woman and an Egyptian as a member of Israel. Later biblical texts (see e.g. Num 12:1 and 1 Kgs 11:1–13; 16:31–33) criticize some of the exogamous marriages listed above harshly and thus mark a changed attitude towards intermarriages. Most of these criticisms can be found in deuteronomistic texts or deuteronomistic redactions. Hence, deuteronomism with its monolatric or henotheistic thought marks a change in the Jewish attitude towards intermarriages. With the reforms of king Josiah and especially with the extensive development of deuteronomistic thought during the Babylonian exile the exclusive veneration of the national deity of Israel became part of the Jewish cultural identity. The deuteronomistic polemics against the intermarriages of king Solomon (1 Kgs 11:1–13) or king Ahab (1 Kgs 16:31–33) are paradigmatic. Intermarriage causes Jews to follow foreign gods. Hence, mixed marriages were not an ethnic but a cultural challenge. Intermarriages are regarded as diluting the exclusive veneration of YHWH and thus as diluting the Jewish cultural identity (cf. also Exod 34:14–16 [KD]; Deut 7:1–5; Josh. 23:12–13; Judg 3:5–6). That the dilution of cultural identity motivated Jewish criticism of intermarriage is also reflected in the Non-P and P parts of the Pen-

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tateuch. Examples from the Non-P material include criticism of the intermarriage between humans and angels in Gen 6:1–4 and the passage about the so-called rape of Dinah in Genesis 34. Both non-P and P parts of the Pentateuch emphasize the endogamous marriages of Abraham (Gen 11:29; 20:12), Isaac (Genesis 24), and Jacob (Gen 28:1– 29:30). The reports on endogamous marriages of the patriarchs point to a diaspora situation and its special needs for the preservation of cultural identity as a further motivator for the Jewish rejection of intermarriage in exilic times. The most gruesome narrative realization of this need for cultural self-preservation is the Phinehas story (Num 25:6–15). Phinehas and his descendents are rewarded with the perpetual high priesthood because Phinehas murdered a Jew and his Midianite wife on account of their intermarriage. In Persian times, the resettlement policy of the Persian Empire for Coele-Syria9 turned the issue of intermarriages into a prevailing cultural challenge for Second Temple Judaism. The Jewish archives from the Nile island Elephantine attest to intermarriage in its Jewish community.10 And both Josephus and the Samaria Papyri attest to a pattern of intermarriage between the Samarian and Jerusalemite elites.11 Two different strands can be identified in the Persian time campaign for endogamy. Some texts enforce endogamy only for the priests viz. the high priests. In this line of thought, Ezek 44:22 demands that the priests should only marry Israelites.12 And in the same way, Lev 21:14 which belongs to P rules that the high priest is to marry only “a virgin of his people.”13

9

For the Persian resettlement policy see E. Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods: 732–332 bce (New York, 2001), pp. 580–581. 10 Cf. e.g. B. Porten, Archives from Elephantine: The Life of an Ancient Jewish Military Colony (Berkeley, 1968), pp. 3–61, 149, 173–174, 178, 248–253; and T.C. Eshkenazi, “Out from the Shadows: Biblical Women in the Postbiblical Era,” JSOT 54 (1992), pp. 25–43. 11 Cf. F.M. Cross, “Samaria and Jerusalem in the Era of Restoration,” in idem, From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel (Baltimore, 1998), pp. 173–203, esp. 189–197. 12 For a postexilic setting of Ezek 44:22, see e.g. W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel, Vol. II: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel Chapters 25–48 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia, 1983), p. 463. 13 For a Persian time date of Lev 21:14, see E. Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuch (BZAW 189; Berlin, 1990), pp. 319–322.

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Somewhat later, the priestly notion of endogamy is democratized and applied to all Jews. A good example is the Nehemiah memoir’s14 treatment of mixed marriages in Neh 13:23–29. It reflects the problems caused by the Persian resettlement policy by way of attacking the language disabilities of children of mixed couples.  In those days also I saw Jews who had married women of Ashdod, Ammon, and Moab;  and half of their children spoke the language of Ashdod, and they could not speak the language of Judah, but spoke the language of various peoples. (Neh 13:23–24)15

That Nehemiah connects the question of language capabilities with the issue of mixed marriages shows, in the 5th cent. bce exogamy was not rejected due to questions of ethnicity but because of the endangered Jewish cultural identity. Hence, Neh 13:25–27 refers to the negative role model of Solomon’s mixed marriages.  And I contended with them and cursed them and beat some of them and pulled out their hair; and I made them take an oath in the name of God, saying, “You shall not give your daughters to their sons, or take their daughters for your sons or for yourselves.  Did not King Solomon of Israel sin on account of such women? Among the many nations there was no king like him, and he was beloved by his God, and God made him king over all Israel; nevertheless, foreign women made even him to sin.  Shall we then listen to you and do all this great evil and act treacherously against our God by marrying foreign women?”16

14 For the Nehemiah memoir (Neh 1:1–7:72a; 11:1–2; 12:31; 13:4–31) as a document going at least in substantial parts back to Nehemiah himself, see T. Reinmuth, Der Bericht Nehemias: Zur literarischen Eigenart, traditionsgeschichtlichen Prägung und innerbiblischen Rezeption des Ich-Berichts Nehemias (OBO 183; Fribourg/Göttingen, 2002), esp. pp. 263–327. For Neh 13:23–29 as part of the Nehemiah memoir and for its historicity, see U. Kellermann, Nehemia: Quellen, Überlieferung und Geschichte (BZAW 102; Berlin, 1967), pp. 51–55; and H.G.M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC 16; Waco, 1985), p. 394. Different from the Nehemiah memoir, the historicity of the so-called Ezra-memoir (Ezra 7–10; Nehemiah 8) is highly debated (see e.g. the remarks of L.L. Grabbe, “Reconstructing History from the Book of Ezra,” in: P.R. Davies (ed.), Second Temple Studies, Vol. I: Persian Period [JSOTS 117; Sheffield, 1991], pp. 98–106; and D.L. Smith-Christopher, “The Mixed Marriage Crisis in Ezra 9–10 and Nehemiah 13: A Study of the Sociology of the Post-Exilic Judaean Community,” in: T.C. Eskenazi and K.H. Richards (eds.), Second Temple Studies, Vol. II: Temple and Community in the Persian Period [JSOTS 175; Sheffield, 1994], pp. 243–265). It is therefore ignored in my survey of the Persian time rejection of intermarriage. 15 Translation according to NRSV. 16 Translation according to NRSV.

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Unlike 1 Kgs 11:1–13, in Neh 13:26, Solomon’s foreign wives are not accused of having him lured away to the veneration of their gods. Instead Neh 13:26 claims that they caused him to sin (‫ חטא‬Hi.). Mixed marriage causes a general misconduct and violation of Jewish religious culture even if the veneration of other gods is not involved. Intermarriages need to be avoided, because they result in a loss of Jewish conduct and thus of Jewish identity. Hence, Nehemiah summarizes his activities with regard to mixed marriages as a cleansing from anything foreign, i.e. anything that is not receptive to YHWH (Neh 13:30).17 As an extreme example for how to deal with intermarriage, Neh 13:28–29 describe the case of a grandson of the high priest Eliashib and his marriage with the daughter of the Samarian governor Sanballat. Nehemiah drove him out of the Jewish community. Nehemiah’s policy is thus in line with his general exclusion of foreigners from Judaism as attested in Neh 13:1–3. Jews who live in a mixed marriage lose their Jewish cultural identity and need to be removed from Judaism. That Nehemiah’s position is not an exception in the 5th cent. bce is demonstrated by Mal 2:11–12:18  Judah has been faithless, and abomination has been committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah has profaned the sanctuary of the Lord, which he loves, and has married the daughter of a foreign god.  May the Lord cut off from the tents of Jacob anyone who does this – the aroused one and the lover.19

Intermarriage causes the profanation of the sanctuary, therefore anyone who lives in such a marriage needs to be removed from Judaism. In some texts, the democratization of the priestly notion of endogamy went so far that all priestly ideas and rhetoric are removed. This is the case with the warnings of Proverbs 1–9 against the Outsider Woman. Blenkinsopp has shown that they oppose intermarriages among the local Jewish elites of Persian times.20

17 For this meaning of ‫נכר‬, see B. Lang, “‫ נכר‬nkr,” ThWAT 5 (1986), cols. 454–462, esp. 460–461. 18 For a date of Mal 2:11–12 in the 5th cent. bce, see A. Meinholdt, Maleachi (BKAT 14.8; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2006), pp. 190–197. 19 Translation according to NRSV. For the translation “the aroused one and the lover,” see B. Glazier-McDonald, “Malachi 2:12: ʿēr weʿōneh – Another Look,” JBL 105 (1986), pp. 295–298. 20 J. Blenkinsopp, “The Social Context of the ‘Outsider Woman’ in Proverbs 1–9,” Bib 72 (1991), pp. 457–471.

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But not only criticism of intermarriage is preserved from Persian times. The book of Ruth21 tells the story of the Moabite widow of a Jew who successfully integrates herself into Jewish culture and becomes the ancestor of king David. The book of Ruth emphasizes, how Ruth acts according to the law of levirate marriage (Deut 25:5–10) when she searches for a new Jewish husband. It makes the counterargument to Neh 13:23–29 and Mal 2:11–12. Mixed marriages do not pollute the Jewish temple community and do not cause the loss of cultural identity. On the contrary, in following the laws for a levirate marriage (Deut 25:5–10) the foreigner Ruth acts like a role model for Jewish woman. Liberal Attitudes towards Intermarriage in Early Hellenistic Times Early Hellenistic times are characterized by an ongoing process of Greek acculturization in Coele-Syria in general and the Ptolemaic province of Yehud in particular. Good examples are the history of the Tobiad family22 and the book of Ecclesiastes.23 During the late 4th and the 3rd cent. bce mixed marriages are tolerated on the one hand and are rejected radically on the other hand. The book of Esther – in its MT version probably written at the end of the 4th or the beginning of the 3rd cent. bce24 – does not need to justify or defend Esther’s marriage with a Persian king but takes it for granted. In approximately the same period,25 1–2 Chronicles deletes the harsh criticism of intermarriages out of its DtrH base text. Even the many 21 For a Persian time date of the book of Ruth, see e.g. E. Zenger, “Das Buch Rut,” in idem et al., Einleitung in das Alte Testament (5th ed.; Kohlhammer Studienbücher Theologie 1.1; Stuttgart, 2004), pp. 222–229 (226). 22 For the Tobiad family and its Hellenizing preferences, see P. Schäfer, The History of the Jews in the Greco-Roman World (London, 2003), pp. 18–22, 32–34. 23 For Greek influence on Ecclesiastes, see e.g. R. Braun, Koheleth und die frühhellenistische Popularphilosophie (BZAW 130; Berlin, 1973); L. Schwienhorst-Schönberger, Nicht im Menschen gründet das Glück (Koh 2,24): Kohelet im Spannungsfeld jüdischer Weisheit und hellenistischer Philosophie (Herders Biblische Studien 2; Freiburg, 1994). 24 For the date of the book of Esther, cf. e.g. E. Zenger, “Das Buch Esther,” in idem et al., Einleitung in das Alte Testament, pp. 302–311, 307–308. 25 For 1–2 Chronicles und Ezra-Nehemiah as two separate literary works, see below, 200 note 100. For a date of 1–2 Chronicles in early Hellenistic times, see O. Kaiser, Grundriß der Einleitung in die kanonischen und deuterokanonischen Schriften des Alten Testaments, Vol. I: Die erzählenden Werke (Gütersloh, 1992), pp. 147–148; cf. also H.G.M Williamson, Israel in the Book of Chronicles (Cambridge, 1977), pp. 83–86;

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intercultural marriages of Solomon are not touched on, although in the DtrH they serve as an explanation for the divide into a northern and a southern kingdom after Solomon’s death. 2 Chr 8:11 even reports how Solomon moved the daughter of Pharaoh out of the house of David, “for he said, ‘My wife shall not live in the house of King David of Israel, for the places to which the ark of the Lord has come are holy.” The passage does not mention the intercultural character of Solomon’s relation with Pharaoh’s daughter but is concerned with women in general. Pharaoh’s daughter is removed from the David’s palace as women are denied access of the temple’s inner courtyards (cf. 11QTa XXXIX:7; Josephus, J.W. V:198–99; m. Mid. 2:5–6). But 1–2 Chronicles is not just disinterested in the issue of intermarriage, it accepts intermarriages in several cases.26 1 Chr 2:3 notes that the first wife of Judah, Bath-Shua, was a Canaanite who delivered three sons for him. Furthermore, 1 Chr 2:17 notes an intermarriage between the sister of David and an Ishmaelite. One of the most extensive genealogies in the ancient Jewish literature27 begins with the strange note that a man called Sheshan marries his daughter with an Egyptian slave.28  Now Sheshan had no sons, only daughters; but Sheshan had an Egyptian slave, whose name was Jarha.  So Sheshan gave his daughter in marriage to his slave Jarha; and she bore him Attai. (1 Chr 2:34–35)29

Subsequently the mixed marriages of king David with a Calebite and an Aramean from 2 Sam 3:3 are reiterated in 1 Chr 3:1–2. And 1 Chr

idem, 1 and 2 Chronicles: Based on the Revised Standard Version (NCBC; Grand Rapids, 1982), pp. 15–17; M. Oeming, Das wahre Israel: Die “genealogische Vorhalle” 1 Chronik 1–9 (BWANT 128; Stuttgart, 1990), pp. 44–45; S. Japhet, I & II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville, 1993), pp. 23–28; G.N. Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 12; New York, 2003), pp. 101–117; J. Becker, 1 Chronik (NEchtB 18; Würzburg, 1986), pp. 7–8. 26 For the intermarriages reported in the genealogies of 1 Chronicles and their implications pertaining the Chronicler’s tolerance for intermarriages, see G.N. Knoppers, “Intermarriage, Social Complexity, and Ethnic Diversity in the Genealogy of Judah,” JBL 120 (2001), pp. 15–30. 27 Cf. Knoppers, “Intermarriage,” p. 20. 28 S. Japhet shows that a historical reality might be reflected in the report of 1 Chr 2:34–35 how Sheshan through marrying his daughter to his Egyptian slave gained a surrogate son (S. Japhet, “The Israelite Legal and Social Reality as Reflected in Chronicles: A Case Study,” in “Sha‘arei Talmon:” Studies in the Bible, Qumran, and the Ancient Near East presented to Shemaryahu Talmon [Winona Lake, 1992], pp. 79–91; eadem, Commentary, p. 84). 29 Translation according to NRSV.

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4:18 claims that a certain Mered married a daughter of Pharaoh while 1 Chr 4:22 mentions that a person called Saraph married into Moab. As another 3rd cent. bce composition,30 the Praise of the Fathers reflects the attitude of 1–2 Chronicles to intermarriages. The Praise of the Fathers does not mention the endogamy of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, which is emphasized so much in its Pentateuchal Vorlage. When praising Phinehas (Sir 45:23–26), the Praise of the Fathers deletes out of its reiteration of Num 25:6–15 how Phinehas murdered a Jew and his Midianite wife because of their exogamous marriage.31 This is all the more interesting as in the 2nd cent. bce Phinehas’ acts are described in Ps 106:30 as a non-violent procedure.32 By employing the verb ‫ פלל‬in the Piel stem the Psalm describes Phinehas as a mediator33 and not a murderer. As in the DtrH, Solomon’s attitude towards women provides the grounds for his condemnation in the Praise of the Fathers. But different from the DtrH, not his intercultural marriages are what causes him to sin but female influence as such. This has been pointed out by John G. Snaith: On the other hand the final judgement on Solomon in 1 Kings 11:1–3 is hostile because he had allowed his foreign wives and concubines to introduce idolatry. Ben Sira also condemns him, mentioning how he

30 In my opinion, the Praise of the Fathers is a source text which was included in the book of Ecclesiasticus and expanded by Ben Sira. In chapter 50, the Praise of the Fathers was enlarged with the praise of the high priest Simon II. This redactional enlargement of the Praise of the Fathers is evidenced by the disproportionate accentuation of Simon II, who after all was only of minor importance in the history of Israel. In addition, Enoch is praised in Sir 49:14 a second time (cf. Sir 44:16), and a praise of Joseph, Shem, Seth, and Enosh is appended in Sir 49:15–16 because they were not mentioned in the Praise of Fathers proper. In my opinion, the best explanation for these facts is that Ben Sira incorporated in chapters 44–49 an older composition and enlarged it for his purposes. The version of the Praise of the Fathers reworked by Ben Sira must necessarily be dated earlier than Ben Sira’s book itself, i.e. to the 3rd cent. bce. Because a collection of the twelve minor prophets was not known before the 3rd cent. bce, an even older date is excluded by the reference to them in Sir 49:10. 31 Cf. J.G. Snaith, Ecclesiasticus or Wisdom of Jesus Son of Sirach (CBC; Cambridge, 1974), pp. 226–227. A similar omission can be observed in the reiteration of Num 25:6–15 in 1 Macc 2:54. 32 For a 2nd cent. bce date of Psalm 106, see G.J Brooke, “Psalms 105 and 106 at Qumran,” RevQ 14 (1989–1990), pp. 267–292 [280–282, 291]). For the complicated intertextuality between Psalm 106 and 1 Chr 16:8–33, cf. R.G. Kratz, “Die Tora Davids: Psalm 1 und die doxologische Fünfteilung des Psalters,” ZTK 93 (1996), pp. 1–34 (15–16). 33 For this meaning of ‫ פלל‬in the Piel, see H.-P. Stähli, “‫ פלל‬pll hitp. beten,” THAT 2 (1975), cols. 427–432 (427).

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gave himself up to his women’s control (verse 19), but idolatry is not mentioned and, in view of what Ben Sira has said concerning women’s influence on men (25: 13–26; 42: 13), that “Woman is the origin of sin” (25: 24), lack of self-discipline with women seems to be Solomon’s chief sin!34

At the end of the Praise of the Fathers, Nehemiah is praised only for building Jerusalem’s walls but not for any of his religious reforms among which his condemnation of intermarriages and his exclusion of foreigners rank prominently in the book of Ezra/Nehemiah. The memory of Nehemiah also is lasting; he raised for us the walls that had fallen, and set up the gates and bars and rebuilt our ruined houses. (Sir 49:13)35

As with Chronicles, the Praise of the Fathers does not display an active support of intermarriages but does not seem to condemn them either. Indifferent tolerance is probably the best way to describe its attitude. The Rejection of Intermarriage and Practice of Endogamy in Early Hellenistic Times Indifference is not the only way though intermarriages are appreciated in early Hellenistic times. The Book of the Words of Noah in 1QapGen ar (1Q20), the Book of Watchers, the Aramaic Levi Document, the Temple Scroll, and the book of Tobit point towards a rejection of intermarriages by the majority of Judean Jewry in early Hellenistic times. The Book of the Words of Noah (BWN)36 The only copy of the BWN is part of a collective manuscript from the Qumran library called 1QGenesis Apocryphon. In this manuscript, the Book of the Words of Noah covers 1QapGen ar V:29-XVIII:?. Next to the graphic structural markers, the heading preserved in 1QapGen ar V:29 (‫“ כתב מלי נח‬The Book of the Words of Noah”) indicates that 1QapGen ar V:29-XVIII:? attests to an independent literary work, i.e.

34

Snaith, Ecclesiasticus, p. 236 Translation according to RSV. 36 My ideas on the topic of intermarriage in the BWN are significantly influenced by discussions with my assistant, Mr. Matthias Weigold, whom I owe a special gratitude for this invigorating discourse. 35

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the Book of the Words of Noah.37 The BWN is a re-narration of Genesis 6–9, which enlarges the Biblical story significantly. Among these additions are two apocalyptic dream visions of Noah and a detailed description of the apportionment of the earth to Noah’s sons. Different parts of the Book of the Words of Noah are incorporated into the book of Jubilees (Jubilees 8–9), the Third Sibylline Oracle (Sib Or III:110–61), and the War Scroll (1QM I–II).38 And it is possible that even earlier the book of Tobit is influenced by the BWN in its mention of Noah’s endogamy (Tob 4:12).39 The widespread authority of the Book of Words of Noah already in the middle of the 2nd cent. bce and possibly earlier argues for a date no later than the 3rd cent. bce. A date in the 3rd cent. bce or even earlier could be confirmed by a possible literary dependency of ALD 12:1 on the text preserved in 1QapGen ar VI:8 (see below, 194–195). According to Morgenstern, Qimron, and 37 See R.C. Steiner, “The Heading of the Book of the Words of Noah on a Fragment of the Genesis Apocryphon: New Light on a ‘Lost’ Work,” DSD 2 (1995), pp. 66–71; cf. also M.E. Stone, “The Book(s) Attributed to Noah,” DSD 13 (2006), pp. 4–23 (8). The heading ‫ כתב מלי נח‬is reminiscent of 1 En 14:1 (4QEnc ar 1 vi 9) where the vision of Enoch is described as ‫“ ספר מלי קושטֺ]א‬the book of the words of truth.” Similarly, in 4Q543 1 1 (par. 4Q545 1 i 1), the Vision of Amram is entitled ‫כתב מלי‬ ‫“ חזֺו ֺת ﬠֺמֺרם‬the book of the words of the vision of Amram.” This reading of 1QapGen ar V:29-XVIII:? has been criticized by D. Dimant, “Noah in Early Jewish Literature,” in: M.E. Stone and T.A. Bergen (eds.), Biblical Figures Outside the Bible (Harrisburg, 1998), pp. 122–150, 144–146; eadem, “Two ‘Scientific’ Fictions: The So-Called Book of Noah and the Alleged Quotation of Jubilees in CD 16:3–4,” in: P.W. Flint et al. (eds.), Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Qumran, and the Septuagint Presented to Eugene Ulrich (VTS 101; Leiden, 2006), pp. 230–249 (240–242), and M. Bernstein, “Noah and the Flood at Qumran,” in: D.W. Parry and E. Ulrich (eds.), The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls: Technological Innovation, New Texts, and Reformulated Issues (STDJ 30; Leiden, 1999), pp. 199–231 (226–231). But both graphical markers and a heading indicate the beginning of a new book. External markers in a manuscript take precedent over textual observations. Cf. also my more detailed argumentation in “The Parabiblical Literature of the Qumran Library and the Canonical History of the Hebrew Bible,” in: S.M. Paul et al. (eds.), Emanuel: Studies in Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (VTS 94; Leiden, 2003), pp. 305–321 (312–313). Furthermore, the discussion whether 1QapGen V:29XVIII:? preserves an independent literary work or not should be separated from its identification with the Book of Noah mentioned in later sources as the one does not necessarily need to be connected with the other. For an overview about later mentions of a Book of Noah, see e.g. F. García Martínez, Qumran and Apocalyptic: Studies in the Aramaic Texts from Qumran (STDJ 9; Leiden, 1992), pp. 24–43, and Stone, “Book(s) Attributed to Noah,” pp. 9–23. 38 For the reception of the Book of the Words of Noah in the literature of Second Temple Judaism see J.M. Scott, “The Division of the Earth in Jubilees 8:11–9:15 and Early Christian Chronography,” in: M. Albani et al. (eds.), Studies in the Book of Jubilees (TSAJ 65; Tübingen, 1997), pp. 295–323 (300–303). 39 See below, n. 95.

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Sivan, this date is confirmed by the Aramaic peculiarities of the Book of the Words of Noah.40 The BWN addresses the issues of intermarriage and endogamy repeatedly. Endogamy is first mentioned at a crucial place in the narrative of the BWN. 1QapGen ar VI:6–9 argues that god saved Noah from the deluge because of his righteousness. The text is guided by Gen 6:8–10. But different from Gen 6:8 it gives a reason why Noah was regarded righteous by god. vacat  Then I, Noah, became a man, and I clung to uprightness and strengthened myself in [. . .]  [Ba]raqiel, and I took ’Imzera‘, his daughter, as my wife; she conceived from me and bore me th[re]e sons [and daughters]  [. . .] Then I took wives for my sons from the daughters of my brothers, and I gave my daughters to the sons of my brothers according to the eternal law  [which] the Most High gave to human beings. vacat (1QapGen VI:6–9)41

Although Noah’s endogamy is not mentioned in the preserved text it must have fallen victim to manuscript damage as the texts emphasizes how Noah arranged endogamous marriages for his sons.42 The endogamy of Noah43 and his sons is the only example given by the BWN, how Noah came true to his claim “I clung to uprightness” (1QapGen ar VI:6). Noah’s righteousness is thus his practice of endogamy. And it is Noah’s righteousness which saved him and his family from the flood. Hence, in the preserved text of the BWN, Noah and his family were saved from the flood because of their endogamous marriages. The crucial importance of endogamy for the BWN is also illustrated by its claim that Noah and his sons practiced endogamy according to the “eternal law” (‫ כדת חוק ﬠלמא‬1QapGen ar VI:8). The phrase “eternal law” refers to the heavenly law otherwise mentioned in connection

40 M. Morgenstern, E. Qimron, and D. Siwan, “The Hitherto Unpublished Columns of the Genesis Apocryphon,” AbrN 33 (1995), pp. 30–54 (33–36). 41 Translation according to J.A. Fitzmyer, The Genesis Apocryphon of Qumran Cave 1 (1Q20): A Commentary (3rd ed.; BibOr 18B; Rome, 2004), p. 77. 42 Cf. Bernstein, “Noah and the Flood,” p. 208. 43 E. Qimron, “Toward a New Edition of the 1QGenesis Apocryphon,” in The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls, pp. 106–169, esp. 107–108, reads 1QapGen ar VI:6–9 as referring to interfamily marriage. But there is no reason for a distinction between interfamily marriage and marriage inside one’s own people in the BWN. With Noah as the forefather of postdiluvian humanity both categories are one and the same.

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with the heavenly tablets.44 In the BWN intermarriage means a violation not just of the Torah but of the heavenly law itself. The second time the BWN addresses the question of intermarriage is found in 1QapGen ar VI:20. The manuscript 1QapGen ar is rather deteriorated at this place. What is preserved shows that the BWN reiterates the story of the fallen angels and their female spouses of Gen 6:1–4. ‫קדישין די ﬠם בנת אנו]שא‬ holy ones who were with the daughters of m[en] (1QapGen ar VI:20)45

Immediately after the mention of the intermarriage between holy ones and human women, the BWN describes the deluge. Although this sequence is guided by the book of Genesis, it seems likely that for the BWN the angelic exogamy of the fallen holy ones caused the deluge. If leading to universal destruction the key importance of the intermarriage prohibition cannot be overstated for the BWN. Whether the BWN’s enforcement of endogamy is also reflected in the numbers of sons and daughters born to Shem, Ham, and Japheth in 1QapGen ar XII:10–1246 must remain speculation. It is remarkable though that Shem on the one hand has five sons and five daughters (lines 10–11) allowing five endogamous couples. On the other hand, Ham has four sons and seven daughters and Japheth seven sons and four daughters. The offspring of Shem – out of which Judah developed – is thus the only one which provides the perfect match for endogamous couples while the sons and daughters of Ham and Japheth would have needed to look outside their forming ethnic and cultural groups for a partner. During the discussion of my presentation, W. Loader suggested that the mingling of the boughs of cedar trees which Noah saw in a dream vision (1QapGen ar XIV:16–17) might also support endogamy and

44 That the phrase ‫“( כדת חוק ﬠלמא‬according to the eternal law”; 1QapGen ar VI:8) refers to the heavenly tablets becomes apparent when read in light of Jub 28:6, where the heavenly tablets are mentioned in connection with marriage (cf. Fitzmyer, Genesis Apocryphon, p. 148). For the idea of the heavenly tablets see A. Lange, Weisheit und Prädestination: Weisheitliche Urordnung und Prädestination in den Textfunden von Qumran (STDJ 18; Leiden, 1995), pp. 69–79. 45 Transcription and translation according to Fitzmyer, Genesis Apocryphon, pp. 76–77. 46 Thus J.C. VanderKam, “The Granddaughters and Grandsons of Noah,” RevQ 16 (1993–1995), pp. 457–461 (460–461).

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reject intermarriage. Yet what is preserved of this dream vision is too deteriorated to go beyond speculation. The manuscript deterioration of 1QapGen ar makes conclusions about the socio-cultural context of the BWN’s attitude to exogamy impossible, too. A comparison with the Book of Watchers (BW) would argue for an anti-Hellenistic background, i.e. the preservation of Jewish cultural identity by way of ethnic isolation. Therefore, I will turn now to the question of intermarriage in the BW. The Book of Watchers (BW) The BW is a paratext to Gen 5:21–24 and Gen 6:1–4. It is preserved in deteriorated Aramaic manuscripts from the Qumran library (4QEna-b ar [4Q201–202]; 4QEnc ar [4Q204] 1 i–xiii; 4QEnd ar [4Q205] 1 xi–xii; 4QEne ar [4Q206] 1 xx–xxii, xxvi–xxviii) and in an Ethiopic translation of the Greek translation of the Aramaic original attested by 1 Enoch 1–36. The earliest manuscript is 4QEna ar which was produced in the first half of the 2nd cent. bce.47 Milik has shown that copyist errors and the orthography of 4QEna ar argue for a date of its Vorlage in the 3rd cent. bce. “4QEna seems to have been made from a very old copy, dating from the third century at the very least; note in this connection the instances of strictly consonated orthography, as ‫ חנך‬in i 1, and also the confusion in the forms of letters: a Pe in the archetype has been read by error as Yod, hence ‫ ביום‬instead of ‫ בפום‬in ii 13.”48 Logical inconsistencies like the absence of Enoch in 1 Enoch 6–11 indicate that the BW is the result of a complex history of redactional growth. As the BW is preserved complete only in an Ethiopic translation of a Greek translation of the original Aramaic, caution is advised when it comes to the reconstruction of the BW’s redaction history. Parts of 1 Enoch 6–11 seem to preserve the narrative kernel of the BW, which was first enlarged by 1 Enoch 12–19 and later by 1 Enoch 17–19. 1 Enoch 1–5; 20–36 were added to 1 Enoch 6–19 in one or more later redactions.49 47 J.T. Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford, 1976), p. 140. 48 Milik, Books of Enoch, p. 141. 49 For the literary growth of the BW, see G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” JBL 96 (1977), pp. 383–405 (384–386); idem, 1 Enoch, Vol. I: Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, 2001), p. 165 and ad loc. Cf. also C.A. Newsom, “The Development of 1 Enoch 6–19: Cosmology and Judgment,” CBQ 42 (1980), pp. 310–329. For a summary of various reconstructions of the BW’s redactional history, see E.J.C. Tigchelaar, Prophets

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Taking the BW’s dependence on various Jewish scriptures from exilic and post-exilic times (see e.g. Ezekiel 1–2; 40–44 in 1 En 14:8–16:450) and its somewhat intricate redactional history into consideration, it seems highly unlikely that the BW was finalized before the 3rd cent. bce while a later date is excluded by Milik’s observations concerning the Vorlage of 4QEna ar. As the only complete version is an Ethiopic translation of a Greek translation of the original Aramaic text the identification of earlier strata of the BW is fraught with difficulty. Therefore, I will restrict myself to an analysis of the final stage of the BW although it seems possible that the earliest form of 1 Enoch 6–11, the so-called Shemihazah myth could be situated in the context of the polemics against intermarriage in the 5th cent. bce.51 In the final stage of the BW, the intermarriage of the fallen heavenly watchers with human women is a recurring theme. It has even been described as “one of the basic oppositions of the myth of the fallen angels in 1 En 6–11.”52 In its understanding of intermarriage, the BW draws hence on Gen 6:1–4. 1 Enoch 6–11 reports how the heavenly watchers recognize the beauty of human women, go down to earth, marry them and procreate with them. This union is qualified in 1 En 9:9 as defilement. The watchers’ intermarriage has two consequences. On the one hand, the watchers teach their spouses different forms of knowledge and corrupt humanity in this way (1 En 7:1; 8:1–3). Later on, in 1 En 9:6, the BW qualifies this knowledge as hidden:53

of Old and the Day of the End: Zechariah, the Book of Watchers and Apocalyptic (OTS 35; Leiden, 1996), pp. 152–164. 50 Cf. Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, Vol. I, pp. 254–256. 51 R. Rubinkiewicz, “The Book of Noah (1 Enoch 6–11) and Ezra’s Reform,” Folia Orientalia 25 (1988), pp. 151–155, understands an early stratum of 1 Enoch 6–11 in the context of Ezra’s ban of intermarriages. It would warn of the catastrophic consequences which intermarriage and the idolatry caused by it could have. In the final stage of the book of Ezra/Nehemiah this idea was redirected to battle Greek influence in particular. 52 D.W. Suter, “Fallen Angel, Fallen Priest: The Problem of Family Purity in 1 Enoch 6–16,” HUCA 50 (1979), pp. 115–135 (122). 53 See K. Koch, “ ‘Adam, was hast Du getan?’ Erkenntnis und Fall in der zwischentestamentlichen Literatur,” in: U. Gleßmer and M. Krause (eds.), Vor der Wende der Zeiten: Beiträge zur apokalyptischen Literatur: Gesammelte Aufsätze Band 3 (Neukirchen Vluyn, 1996), pp. 181–217 (187–194).

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

189

You see what Asael has done, who has taught all iniquity upon the earth, and has revealed the eternal mysteries that are in heaven, which the sons of men were striving to learn. (1 En 9:6)54

On the other hand, the Watcher’s offspring, the giants, devastate the earth by devouring it (1 En 7:3–6). In 1 En 9:9, this is summarized as follows: And now behold, the daughters of men have born sons from them, giants, half-breeds. And the blood of men is shed upon the earth, and the whole earth is filled with iniquity.55

At the end of the myth, 1 Enoch 9–11 describes how the angels which remained in heaven petition god to help his creation, how the deluge will come upon the earth as a just punishment and cleansing, how the watchers will be bound for seventy generations, and how after the day of their judgement a time of eternal righteousness will evolve. The remaining chapters of the BW (1 Enoch 12–36) describe how Enoch becomes an intermediary between the fallen watchers and god and how Enoch fulfils this function by way of an otherworldly journey. It has been argued that the terminology of defilement as well as the former priestly status of the fallen watchers in the heavenly sanctuary would show that the BW attacks intermarriages between priests and Jewish women of non-priestly background.56 While this seems possible for the so-called Shemihazah myth as the earliest stratum of the BW, later redaction(s) added considerable amounts of Greek mythology to the narrative and turned it into an anti-Hellenistic text.57 There is surprising correspondence between various parts of Greek mythology on the one hand and 1 Enoch 6–11 as well as later parts of the BW on the other hand – a correspondence which was already recognized by ancient Jewish authors (cf. Josephus, AJ I:73).58

54

Translation according to Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, Vol. I, p. 202. Translation according to Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, Vol. I, p. 202. 56 See e.g. Suter, “Fallen Angel,” pp. 119–124; G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Enoch, Levi, and Peter: Recipients of Revelation in Upper Galilee,” JBL 100 (1981), pp. 575–600 (585); M. Himmelfarb, “Levi, Phinehas, and the Problem of Intermarriage at the Time of the Maccabean Revolt,” JSQ 6 (1999), pp. 1–24 (12). 57 Cf. Rubinkiewicz, “Book of Noah,” pp. 151–155. 58 For the influence of Greek myth on the BW, see T.F. Glasson, Greek Influence in Jewish Eschatology (London, 1961), passim; Nickelsburg, “Apocalyptic and Myth,” pp. 395–397 (399–404); idem, 1 Enoch, Vol. I, pp. 191–193; R. Bartelmus, Heroentum in Israel und seiner Umwelt: Eine traditionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu Gen 6, 1–4 und verwandten Texten im Alten Testament und der altorientalischen Literatur 55

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The titan Prometheus teaches forbidden knowledge (Plato, Prot 320c–322a)

The Watchers teach forbidden knowledge (1 Enoch 7–8; 9:8!)

Prometheus was bound by Zeus (Hesiod, Theog 521–523)

The Watchers will be bound (1 En 10:4, 12)

Pandora’s box as humanities’ punishment for Prometheus’ gift of fire (Hesiod, Theog 570–577)

The Watchers’ teaching as a cause of the deluge (1 Enoch 9–11)

The titan Kronos devours all of his children (Hesiod, Theog 453)

The giants devour everything on earth (1 En 7:3–6)

The titans are banned to Tartaros (Homer, Il. XIV:279; Hesiod, Theog 697, 851; Homeric Hymn to Apollo 335; Pausanias, Descr VIII:37,3)

The watchers will be banned to a special place of punishment (1 En 18:11–19:2; 21)

Other parallels with the partly angelic parentage of the giants include myths about the partly divine parentage of various Greek heroes and a passage from Hesiod’s Catalogues of Women and Eoiae: Now all the gods were divided through strife; for at that very time Zeus who thunders on high was meditating marvellous deeds, even to mingle storm and tempest over the boundless earth, and already he was hastening to make an utter end of the race of mortal men, declaring that he would destroy the lives of the demi-gods, that the children of the gods should not mate with wretched mortals, seeing their fate with their own eyes; but that the blessed gods henceforth even as aforetime should have their living and their habitations apart from men. But on those who were born of immortals and of mankind verily Zeus laid toil and sorrow upon sorrow.59

By combining Greek myth with Jewish myth the BW slanders Greek culture as something that was taught already once by the watchers

(ATANT 65; Zürich, 1979), pp. 160–166; J.C. VanderKam, Enoch and the Growth of an Apocalyptic Tradition (CBQMS 16; Washington, 1984), pp. 126–128. Nickelsburg claims (“Apocalyptic and Myth,” pp. 396–97; 1 Enoch, Vol. I, p. 170) that in an early stratum the giants of the BW are a parody on the claims of various diadochi of divine parentage. If this would be true one should expect the BW to draw more parallels between the giants and the diadochi. But except for angelic vs. divine parentage there are no parallels between the two groups, such as a depiction of the giants as rulers. 59 Translation according to H.G. Evelyn-White, Hesiod: The Homeric Hymns and Homerica: With an English Translation (LCL; London, 1959), pp. 199, 201.

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

191

to their exogamous wives. As a consequence the deluge came. The implication for a time of increased Greek cultural influence is evident. Greek acculturization is comparable to the teaching of the fallen heavenly watchers. Its consequences will be as bad as the deluge was. But the BW does not just issue a general warning against Hellenism. It is more specific and attacks the mixed marriages of watchers and human women. As the union between watchers and humans brought forth the giants, mixed marriages between Jews and Greeks will also have terrible consequences and threaten Judaism in its very existence. Greek intermarriage provokes Jewish conversion to Hellenism and thus to idolatry. The consequences for Judaism might be as catastrophic as the deluge was. The BW tells the story of the intermarriages between watchers and humans to encounter and battle Greek influence on Judaism in favour of traditional Jewish culture. This interpretation is confirmed by Uriel’s words about the fallen watchers at their place of punishment in 1 En 19:1. And Uriel said to me, “There stand the angels who mingled with the women. And their spirits – having assumed many forms – bring destruction on men and lead them astray to sacrifice to demons as to gods until the day of the great judgment, in which they will be judged with finality.60

In this text, the influence of the fallen watchers leads to sacrificing to false gods and thus to a loss of religious integrity for humankind. Vice versa such a loss of religious integrity happens also to the fallen watchers as a consequence of their intermarriage. 1 En 9:8; 12:4; and 15:3 all emphasize that the watchers are defiled due to their sexual union with human women.61 As a consequence their religious integrity is lost. This rhetoric of defilement affiliates the BW with the Aramaic Levi Document. The Aramaic Levi Document (ALD) The ALD is extant in Aramaic manuscripts from the Qumran library (4QLevia-f ar [4Q213, 213a, 213b, 214, 214a, 215] + 1QTLevi ar 60

Translation according to Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch, Vol. I, p. 276. Cf. I. Fröhlich, “Mamzēr in Qumran Texts – the Problem of Mixed Marriages in Ezra’s Time: Law Literature and Practice,” Trans 29 (2005), pp. 103–115 (113–114); W. Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality: Attitudes towards Sexuality in the Early Enoch Literature, the Aramaic Levi Document, and the Book of Jubilees (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), pp. 13–15, 29–30. 61

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armin lange

[1Q21]?), from the Cairo Genizah (CLevBodl.Cam), and in part from a Greek copy of the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs from Mount Athos (Koutloumousiou 39). It is a description of the life of Levi told by Levi himself in the 1st person singular which is based on various parts of the Pentateuch and other Jewish texts (see e.g. Genesis 34; Exod 32:25–29; Num 25:6–13; Deut 33:8–11; and Mal 2:4–8). A developing common scholarly opinion dates the ALD in the late 4th or 3rd cent. bce.62 This date is indicated by the ALD’s incorporation into the book of Jubilees (cf. Jub 30:1–32:9), by its non polemic use of a solar calendar, by an ethical dualism which does not reflect the Hellenistic religious reforms, and by an appreciation of the absolute authority of the high priest, which is typical for the end of the 4th cent. bce. While the BWN and the BW developed their rejection of intermarriage out of their interpretation of Gen 6:1–4 and 6:5–10:32, the Aramaic Levi Document focuses on Genesis 34 and Lev 21:14. ALD 1 (ALD 1c 15–23)63 is a re-narration of Genesis 34: 1:1 ·· you/she defiled the so[ns of (?) ac-] | cording to the manner of all people [ ] | to do according to the law (or: to do so) in all [. . . took counsel with] | Jacob my father and Reu[ben my brother . . .] | 1:2 and we said to them:[. . .] |  “[I]f desire our daughter so that we all become broth[ers] | and friends, 1:3 circumcise your fleshly foreskin | and look like us, and (then) you will be sealed | like us with the circumcision [of tru]th and we will be br[others] | for y[ou] . .64

62 See e.g. Milik, Books of Enoch, p. 24; idem, “Écrits préesséniens de Qumrân: d’Hénoch à Amram,” in Qumrân: Sa piété, sa théologie et son milieu (BETL 46; ParisGembloux/Leuven, 1978), pp. 92–106 (96); M.E. Stone, “Ideal Figures and Social Context: Priest and Sage in the Early Second Temple Age,” in: P.D. Miller et al. (eds.), Ancient Israelite Religion: Essays in Honor of Frank Moore Cross (Philadelphia, 1987), pp. 575–586 (585 n. 20); idem, “Enoch, Aramaic Levi, and Sectarian Origins,” JSJ 19 (1988), pp. 159–170 (159–160 n. 2); idem, “Aramaic Levi in Its Context,” JSQ 9 (2002), pp. 307–326 (318–319); R.A. Kugler, From Patriarch to Priest: The Levi-Priestly Tradition from Aramaic Levi to Testament of Levi (SBLEJL 9; Atlanta, 1996) pp. 134–135; H. Drawnel, An Aramaic Wisdom Text from Qumran: A New Interpretation of the Levi Document (JSJSup 86; Leiden, 2004), pp. 63–75; J.C. Greenfield, M.E. Stone, and E. Eshel, The Aramaic Levi Document: Edition, Translation, Commentary (SVTP 19; Leiden, 2004), pp. 19–22. 63 The ALD is quoted according to the counts developed by Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document. The counting of alternate editions and manuscripts is given in parenthesis. 64 Translation according to Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, p. 57.

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

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The text is badly damaged and it is uncertain whether the ALD understood Shechem’s intercourse with Dinah as rape or as consensual. The potential marriage that might have developed out of this (enforced) sexual act was understood by the ALD as a forbidden mixed marriage – this much can be deduced from Jub 30:5–23 which bases its account on the ALD.65 In what is still preserved, the argument why the Shechemites need to circumcise themselves is different from Gen 34:14. An uncircumcised husband of Dinah would not be a disgrace (‫ ;חרפה‬Gen 34:14) but a defilement (‫“ טֺמאת‬you/she defiled;” cf. Gen 34:5).66 Intermarriage is thus a cause of religious uncleanness in the ALD, i.e. it endangers the religious Jewish identity. Hence, in case of a marriage between a Jewish woman and a foreigner, the ALD requires conversion to Judaism.67 Levi’s ascent to the priesthood is at least in part motivated by his violent response to Dinah’s possible intercultural union. Levi’s mass murder of the male population of a whole city is the initial cause that motivates god to appoint him as (high) priest.68 It comes therefore as no surprise that as part of instructing Levi in his freshly acquired priesthood Isaac admonishes him to marry inside his family. 6:1 And he said to me, Levi my son, beware of all uncleanliness and |  of all sin, your judgment is greater than that of all flesh. 6:2 And now, my son, I will show | you the true law and I will not hide | anything from you, to teach you the law | of the priesthood. 6:3 First of all, be<wa>re |  my son of all fornication and impurity and of all | harlotry. 6:4 And marry a woman | from my family and do not defile your seed with harlots, | since you are holy seed, and sanctify | your seed like the holy place since you are called |  a holy priest for all the seed of | Abraham. 6:5

65

Himmelfarb, “Levi,” p. 3. Cf. Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, p. 229; Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality, pp. 90–94. 67 C.E. Hayes’s claim that in the ALD endogamy is only concerned with the prohibition of priestly intermarriage (“Intermarriage and Impurity in Ancient Jewish Sources,” HTR 92 [1999], pp. 3–36 (14); cf. idem, Gentile Impurities and Jewish Identities: Intermarriage and Conversion from the Bible to the Talmud [Oxford, 2002], p. 72) ignores its re-narration of Genesis 34 and seems to be based on an interpretation of the fragmentary Cairo Genizah manuscript without recognition of the ALD’s other textual witnesses. 68 For Levi as a highpriest, see R.A. Kugler, “Halakic Interpretative Strategies at Qumran: A Case Study” in: M. Bernstein et al. (eds.), Legal Texts and Legal Issues: Proceedings of the Second Meeting of the International Organization for Qumran Studies Cambridge 1995: Published in Honor of J.M. Baumgarten (STDJ 23; Leiden, 1997), pp. 131–140 (135). 66

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armin lange You are near to God and near | to all his holy ones. Now, be pure | in your flesh from every impurity of man. (ALD 6:1–5 [ALD 13–18])69

Isaac’s instruction is influenced by Lev 21:14: “but a virgin of his people he (scil. the high priest) shall take as wife.” That in ALD 6:4 (ALD 17) Isaac speaks of ‫“( מן משפחתי‬from my family”) as opposed to the ‫“( מﬠמיו‬his peoples”) of its base text in Lev 21:14 does not suggest a more restricted application of the prohibition of intermarriage in the sense of marrying inside one’s (priestly) family.70 For the time of the patriarchs, ancient Judaism perceived the family of Levi (‫ )משפחה‬and the peoples of Israel (‫ )ﬠם‬as identical.71 Levi and his descendants are described as a holy seed (ALD 6:4 [ALD 17]) – a concept which is enlarged in Ezra 9:2 to include the people of Israel as a whole. According to ALD 6:3–4 (ALD 16–17), intermarriage would defile this holiness as much as would a marriage with a harlot.72 In ALD 6:3 (ALD 16), exogamy is thus prohibited for Levi and his descendants to avoid defilement of the special sanctity and purity of the priesthood. Not only the religious integrity of Judaism as a whole, but the institution of the (high) priest in particular is endangered by wives of non-Jewish backgrounds. Later in the narrative, ALD 11–12 (ALD 62–81) report how Levi adhered to Isaac’s advice.73 According to ALD 11:1 (ALD 62) Levi marries Milka, the daughter of Bethuel. ALD 12:1 (ALD 73) describes how Levi marries his sons with daughters of his brothers. According to ALD 12:3 (ALD 75) Amram, son of Kohath, stays in line for the high priesthood (see 11:6 [67]) and is thus married with Levi’s daughter Jochebed. How much the concept of endogamy is at work in ALD 12:1 (ALD 73) becomes clear when it is recognized that the phrase ‫“( ולבני ]נסבת נשין מ[ן ֺ בנת אחי‬and for my sons [I took wives fro]m the daughters of my brothers”) depends on the

69

Translation according to Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, p. 75. 70 Contra Kugler, “Halakic Interpretative Strategies,” pp. 134–135; Himmelfarb, “Levi,” pp. 5–6; Hayes, Gentile Impurities, p. 72; Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, p. 267. 71 Thus J.M. Baumgarten in a conversation with R.A. Kugler (see Kugler, “Halakic Interpretative Strategies,” p. 134 n. 15). Cf. Kugler, From Patriarch to Priest, p. 103 (“The admonition, that Levi marry [sic] within the community, seems to imply that a woman’s non-Israelite parentage would qualify her for the label ‫זנה‬, ‘harlot’ ”); Loader, Enoch, Levi, and Jubilees on Sexuality, pp. 101–102. 72 Cf. Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, pp. 63, 267–68. 73 Cf. Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, p. 267.

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BWN (1QapGen VI:8 ‫“ לבני נסבת נשין מן בנת אחי‬for my sons I took wives from the daughters of my brother”).74 For the ALD, intermarriage defiles both Israel and the high priest. They endanger thus the religious integrity of Judaism and are a threat to the Jewish religious identity The Temple Scroll (T) The Temple Scroll (4QTb [4Q524]; 11QTa-c [11Q19–21]) combines parts of the Pentateuch and formerly unknown passages, and claims to have been revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai. For T, the terminus ad quem is set by its oldest preserved manuscript, 4QTb (4Q524), which is dated paleographically around 150 bce.75 The terminus post quem can be derived from relative chronology and the history of architecture. D.D. Swanson argues that T depends on 1–2 Chronicles which were written in late Persian or early Hellenistic times.76 As M. Broshi has shown, in Palestine the spiral staircase described in T for the north-western tower of the Temple (11QTa XXX:3–XXXI:9) and the peristyles situated in the middle and the outer courtyards are attested only from Hellenistic times onwards.77 Both observations argue for a terminus post quem in the 3rd cent. bce. In my opinion, the extremely free approach to T ’s Pentateuchal Vorlage and its own claim to be an authoritative legal text recommend a date in the 3rd cent. bce. T addresses the question of intermarriage thrice, i.e. in 11QTa II:11– 15; LVII:15–17; LXIII:10–15. 11QTa II is a conflation of Exod 34:11–16 with Deut 7:25–26. By way of this compilation, T clarifies in its introduction who belongs to its temple community. That T does this by way of repeating the ordinances for the separation from the people living in the promised land from Exod 34:11–16, shows that it responds to the growing Hellenization of the Ptolemaic province Yehud (see above,

74

See Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, pp. 304, 311. See E. Puech, Qumrân grotte 4 XVIII: Textes hébreux (4Q521–4Q528, 4Q576– 4Q579) (DJD 25; Oxford, 1998), pp. 87–88. 76 D.D. Swanson, The Temple Scroll and the Bible: The Methodology of 11QT (STDJ 14; Leiden, 1995), pp. 237–239. 77 M. Broshi, “Visionary Architecture and Town Planning in the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in: D. Dimant and L.H. Schiffman (eds.), Time to Prepare the Way in the Wilderness (STDJ 16; Leiden, 1995), pp. 9–22 (19). 75

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180).78 For T, Hellenistic acculturization corresponds to practicing the indigenous religions of the promised land. In this way, T ascertains that Hellenizing Jews like the author of Ecclesiastes are excluded from its ideal Temple community.79  . . . And you shall worship no [other] go[d, for the Lord, whose name is]  [Jealous], is a jealous God. Take heed, lest you make [a covenant with the inhabitants of the land,]  [and when they play the harlot] after [their go]ds [and] sacrifice to [their gods and invite you,]  [you eat of their sacrifices, and] you t[ake of their daughters for your sons, and their80 daughters play the]  [harlot after] their [gods] and ma[ke your sons play the harlot after] (11QTa II:11–15)

Except for small changes, 11QTa II:11–15 is an almost exact copy of Exod 34:14–16. In both texts, intermarriage leads to the veneration of foreign gods. Hence, T considers intermarriage between Jewish men and foreign women as a serious threat to the ideal temple community and forbids it strictly. As with the BW, the BWN, and the ALD, intermarriage poses a threat to the religious-cultural identity of Judaism for T. Hence, it is considered a serious violation of the covenant and it is strictly forbidden. An application of T ’s intermarriage prohibition can be found in the ordinances for the king. 11QTa LVII:15–17 forbids the king to marry a non-Jewish woman. And he shall not take a wife from all  the daughters of the nations, but from his father’s house he shall take unto himself a wife,  from the family of his father. (11QTa LVII:15–17)81

In this text, T combines references to marry inside one’s family from Gen 24:37–38 and Num 36:6–8 with the prescription of Lev 21:13–14

78

Contra J. Maier, Die Tempelrolle vom Toten Meer und das “Neue Jerusalem”: 11Q19 und 11Q20; 1Q32, 2Q24, 4Q554–555, 5Q15 und 11Q18: Übersetzung und Erläuterung: Mit Grundrissen der Tempelhofanlage und Skizzen zur Stadtplanung (3rd ed.; München/Basel, 1997), pp. 54–55, who regards idolatry for T as a matter of the past and thinks thus that T inserted an already existing text into 11QTa II. For Jews practicing non-Jewish religion in the 3rd cent. bce, see e.g. CPJ, Vol. I, no. 4 (of the Zenon archive). 79 If not noted otherwise, the below translation is according to Y. Yadin, The Temple Scroll, Vol. I–III (Jerusalem, 1977–83), Vol. II, p. 305. 80 Translation and reconstruction contra Yadin (Temple Scroll, Vol. II, pp. 3, 305) with J. Maier, Die Tempelrolle vom Toten Meer, p. 57. 81 Translation according to Yadin, Temple Scroll, Vol. II, p. 407.

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that the high priest shall marry a virgin.82 Different from the MT version of Lev 21:13 and similar to the LXX which adds ἐκ τοῦ γένους (“out of your people”) to the ‫“( אשה בבתוליה‬a woman which is in the standing of a virgin”) of MT, T specifies that the virgin the king is supposed to marry needs to be out of “his father’s house.”83 In this way, T applies priestly halakhah to the king. The king is commanded to marry only inside “his father’s house.” But T does not recommend incest. The phrase “his father’s house” has a broader meaning and argues against the king marrying anyone of non-Jewish descent, be it a proselyte or a non-Jew.84 If Maier is right that T ’s intermarriage prohibition for the king is influenced by the deuteronomistic rejection of Solomon’s intermarriages (1 Kgs 11:1–8),85 it documents again an effort to minimize foreign cultural influence and to preserve Jewish religious-cultural identity. The law about the beautiful captive woman seems to contradict T ’s negative attitude towards intermarriage. In 11QTa LXIII:10–15, T adapts Deut 21:10–14 and allows a warrior to marry a beautiful woman taken captive during a war, i.e. an enemy and thus a non-Israelite. But T adds rigid legislation how to live with such a non-Jewish wife. But she shall not touch your pure stuff for  seven years, and she shall not eat a sacrifice or a peace offering until seven years pass; only then she may eat.86

T applies extraordinary restrictions to the religious and cultic dimensions of this exceptional case of allowed intermarriage. The non-Jewish wife is not allowed to touch pure items or to eat of a sacrifice for seven years. Afterwards she seems to be regarded as Jewish87 and the prohibitions are removed. It is the purity of Israel and thus its religious identity about which the author of T is worried when it comes to the

82 Cf. Yadin, Temple Scroll, Vol. I, pp. 354–55; Swanson, The Temple Scroll and the Bible, p. 137. 83 Yadin, Temple Scroll, Vol. I, p. 355. 84 Contra Yadin, Temple Scroll, Vol. I, p. 355. For this use of the phrase ‫מבית אביהו‬, see L.H. Schiffman, “Laws Pertaining to Women in the Temple Scroll,” in: D. Dimant and U. Rappaport (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls: Forty Years of Research (STDJ 10; Leiden, 1992), pp. 210–228 (215–216). 85 Maier, Die Tempelrolle vom Toten Meer, p. 248; cf. Swanson, The Temple Scroll and the Bible, pp. 136–137. 86 Translation according to Yadin, Temple Scroll, Vol. II, p. 421. 87 Cf. L.H. Schiffman, “Laws Pertaining to Women,” p. 219.

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beautiful captive woman. Therefore he puts maximum constraints88 in place to avoid what he regards as religious pollution. The Book of Tobit To date the book of Tobit is difficult as almost no indications for its historical context are given. Tob 2:12 dates an event into the Macedonian month of Dystros. This is only possible after Alexander the Great conquered Coele-Syria. As the new Macedonian calendar might not have been accepted immediately in the conquered territories, the mention of the month Dystros in Tob 2:12 recommends a date no earlier than the 3rd cent. bce. Such a date is confirmed by the allusion to Ps 119:138 in Tob 3:2.89 The lack of any allusion to the Hellenistic religious reforms recommends a date not later than 175 bce.90 Endogamy is a recurring theme in the book of Tobit (see Tob 1:9; 3:15; 4:12–13; 6:12–13, 16; 7:10–11) both in its earlier and later versions (GI and GII).91 In its idea of endogamy the book of Tobit is guided by the role model of the endogamous marriages of the patriarchs (Tob 4:12; see below, 199). Recently, Thomas Hieke published an extensive study on endogamy in the book of Tobit.92 Hieke shows that the principle of endogamy functions on various levels in the book of Tobit. It requests not only a marriage inside ones ethnicity but inside ones family (see Tob 1:9; 3:15; 6:16; 7:10–11). Such a marriage inside ones own tribe, clan, or family assures that property and financial resources 88

Cf. Yadin, Temple Scroll, Vol. I, pp. 365–366; L.H. Schiffman, Reclaiming the Dead Sea Scrolls: The History of Judaism, the Background of Christianity, the Lost Library of Qumran (Philadelphia, 1994), p. 138; idem, “Laws Pertaining to Women,” pp. 219–220. 89 For the date of Psalm 119 in the 4th or early 3rd cent. bce, see below, 213–217. 90 For a terminus ante quem in the year 175 bce, cf. e.g. C.A. Moore, Tobit: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 40A; New York, 1996), pp. 40–42; B. Ego, Buch Tobit (JSHRZ II.6; Gütersloh, 1999), p. 899; J.A. Fitzmyer, Tobit (Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature; Berlin, 2003), p. 51. Without mentioning the Macedonian month Dystros Moore argues for a terminus post quem around 300 bce. 91 For the textual history of Tobit, see Ego, Tobit, pp. 874–884; Fitzmyer, Tobit, pp. 3–17. 92 T. Hieke, “Endogamy in the Book of Tobit, Genesis, and Ezra-Nehemiah,” in The Book of Tobit: Text, Tradition, Theology: Papers of the First International Conference on the Deuterocanonical Books, Pápa, Hungary, 20–21 May, 2004 (JSJSup 98; Leiden, 2005), pp. 103–29. For a comparison of the different endogamy references in the GI and GII versions of the Book of Tobit and their minor differences, see T. Nicklas “Marriage in the Book of Tobit: A Synoptic Approach,” in The Book of Tobit: Text, Tradition, Theology, pp. 139–154.

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199

remain in the family (see Tob 6:12–13). Beyond material concerns, endogamy helps to preserve Jewish identity in a diaspora situation.93 This is especially evident in Tobit’s instruction of Tobias.  Beware, my son, of all immorality. First of all take a wife from among the descendants of your fathers and do not marry a foreign woman, who is not of your father’s tribe; for we are the sons of the prophets. Remember, my son, that Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, our fathers of old, all took wives from among their brethren. They were blessed in their children, and their posterity will inherit the land.  So now, my son, love your brethren, and in your heart do not disdain your brethren and the sons and daughters of your people by refusing to take a wife for yourself from among them. For in pride there is ruin and great confusion; and in shiftlessness there is loss and great want, because shiftlessness is the mother of famine. (Tob 4:12–13)94

It was and is the endogamy of the Noah,95 Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob96 – here perceived as prophets97 – which resulted in numerous offspring and the inheritance of the promised land. Hence, endogamy guarantees Jewish existence. “In order to distinguish the Israelite from the Gentile, the Book of Tobit advances a program centered on endogamy. Women properly domiciled in an endogamous relationship become the means by which the threat of diaspora is eliminated.”98

93

See Hieke, “Endogamy in the Book of Tobit,” p. 112. Translation according to RSV. 95 Noah’s endogamy is not mentioned in Genesis 6–9 but plays a prominent role in the BWN as preserved in 1QapGen ar (see above, 185). It seems likely that the book of Tobit knew about Noah’s endogamy from the Book of the Words of Noah. Cf. Fitzmyer, Tobit, p. 173. Even before 1QapGen VI was published, J.C. VanderKam, “The Righteousness of Noah,” in: G.W.E. Nickelsburg and J.J. Collins (eds.), Ideal Figures in Ancient Judaism: Profiles and Paradigms (SBLSCE 12; Chico, 1980), pp. 13–32, 16–17, speculated that both Jub 4:33 and Tob 4:12 might draw on earlier tradition about Noah’s endogamy. 96 For the endogamy of the patriarchs, see Gen 11:29; 20:12 (Abraham), Gen 24 (Isaac); and Gen 28:1–29:30 (Jacob). 97 For the idea of the patriarchs as prophets, cf. Gen 20:7; Ps 105:15; and 4QNonCanonical Psalms B (4Q381) 69 4–5. For this interpretation of the prophets mentioned in 4QNon-Canonical Psalms B (4Q381) 69 4, see E. Schuller, Non-Canonical Psalms from Qumran: A Pseudepigraphic Collection (HSS 28; Atlanta, 1986), p. 206; eadem, “Non-Canonical Psalms,” DJD 11 (1998), pp. 75–172 (151). 98 A.-J. Levine, “Diaspora as Metaphor: Bodies and Boundaries in the Book of Tobit,” in: J.A. Overman and R.S. MacLennan (eds.), Diaspora Jews and Judaism: Essays in Honor of, and in Dialogue with, A. Thomas Kraabel (Atlanta, 1992), pp. 105–143 (105); cf. G.W.E. Nickelsburg, “Tobit,” in: J.L. Mays (ed.), Harper’s Bible Commentary (New York, 1988), pp. 791–803 (796); Moore, Tobit, p. 167. 94

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To summarize: Pre-Maccabean texts from the Qumran library and other sources show that in the time when the book of Ezra/Nehemiah was written the rejection of intermarriage was widespread. It had an anti-Hellenistic aim and thus effected the preservation of the Jewish religious-cultural identity. Exogamy was rejected and endogamy argued for by way of reading earlier authoritative literature. This orientation towards authoritative tradition affirms that the enforcement of endogamy served purposes of religious-cultural self-preservation. Not the growing influence of Hellenistic culture but Jewish tradition is what matters. How does this relate to the rejection of intermarriage in the book of Ezra/Nehemiah? Intermarriages in Ezra/Nehemiah in Light of Ancient Jewish Literature As stated before, in this paper, I am not interested in the redactional history of the book of Ezra/Nehemiah or in the question of the historicity of Ezra’s and Nehemiah’s rejection of intermarriages but in the question why the book of Ezra/Nehemiah reiterates it. It might suffice to remark that for a long time, 1–2 Chronicles and Ezra-Nehemiah have been regarded as one literary work, which underwent (several) redactions, and was called the Chronistic history.99 More recently, attempts have been made to understand 1–2 Chronicles and EzraNehemiah as two separate literary works.100 In the following, EzraNehemiah and 1–2 Chronicles are understood as two separate books written subsequently in the same priestly scribal milieu. The name of the last high priest mentioned in the lists of Neh 12:11, 22, Jaddua, recommends a setting for the book of Ezra/Nehemiah in early Hellenistic

99 See e.g. L. Zunz, Die gottesdienstlichen Vorträge der Juden, historisch entwickelt: Ein Beitrag zur Alterthumskunde und biblischen Kritik, zur Literatur- und Religionsgeschichte (Berlin, 1832), esp. p. 22; F.C. Movers, Kritische Untersuchungen über die biblische Chronik: Ein Beitrag zur Einleitung in das Alte Testament (Bonn, 1834); M. Noth, Überlieferungsgeschichtliche Studien (Halle, 1943), pp. 110–180, esp. 110. 100 See e.g. S. Japhet, “The Supposed Common Authorship of Chronicles and EzraNehemiah Investigated Anew,” in VT 18 (1968), pp. 332–372; eadem, Commentary, esp. pp. 3–7; Williamson, Israel in the Book of Chronicles, pp. 5–82, esp. 70; idem, 1 and 2 Chronicles, pp. 5–11; Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, pp. 96–100; cf. G. Steins, Die Chronik als kanonisches Abschlußphänomen (BBB 93; Weinheim, 1995), pp. 49–82.

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

201

times.101 The evidence of Josephus shows that this Jaddua was still in office during the reign of Alexander the Great (AJ XI:302).102 When comparing Ezra 9–10 and Neh 13:23–29 with the Book of the Words of Noah, the Book of Watchers, the Aramaic Levi Document, the Temple Scroll, and the book of Tobit, parallels both in the argumentative strategies and in the arguments themselves become apparent. The polemics against exogamy and the advocacy of endogamy in the BW, BWN, ALD, T, and Tobit show that the critical attitude of Ezra/ Nehemiah towards intermarriage is not exceptional but widespread in its time. Although the individual texts give different reasons for their support of endogamy, a common theme is the preservation of cultural and religious identity which was threatened by the increasing influence of Greek culture in early Hellenistic times. A guiding theme is the turn towards authoritative literature in the respective argumentations for endogamy and against exogamy. BWN BW ALD T Tobit

Gen 6:1–4, 6–10 Gen 6:1–4; 6:5–10:32 Gen 34; Lev 21:14; 1QapGen VI:8 (?; BWN) Gen 24:37–38; Exod 34:11–16; Lev 21:13–14; Num 36:6–8; Deut 7:25–26; 21:10–14; 1 Kgs 3:1; 11:1–8; 14:21 Gen 11:29; 20:12; 24; 28:1–29:30; 1QapGen VI:6–9(?; BWN)

This reliance on earlier authoritative texts can also be observed in Neh 13:23–29 and Ezra 9–10. Neh 13:26 refers to king Solomon as

101 For a good summary of the arguments for this date of both Ezra-Nehemiah and 1–2 Chronicles, see O. Kaiser, Grundriß der Einleitung in die kanonischen und deuterokanonischen Schriften des Alten Testaments, Vol. I, pp. 147–148; cf. also Williamson, Israel in the Book of Chronicles, pp. 83–86; idem, 1 and 2 Chronicles, pp. 15–17; idem, Ezra, Nehemiah, pp. XXXV–XXXVI; Oeming, Das wahre Israel, pp. 44–45; Japhet, Commentary, pp. 23–28; Knoppers, I Chronicles 1–9, pp. 101–117; Becker, 1 Chronik, pp. 7–8. 102 F.M. Cross doubted the historicity of the lists in Neh 12:11, 22 and wanted to add at least two more names which in his opinion would have been lost due to haplography (see e.g. “A Reconstruction of the Judean Restoration,” JBL 94 [1975], pp. 4–18). But based on a reevaluation of the evidence from the Wadi ed-Daliyeh papyri and Samarian coins, J. Dušek was able to proof the historicity of the lists in Neh 12:11, 22 (Les manuscrits araméens du Wadi Daliyeh et la Samarie vers 450–332 av. J.-C. [Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 25; Leiden, 2007], pp. 549–598; for a survey of the history of research see op. cit.). I am obliged to Dr. Dušek for making a preprint copy of his important and brilliant study available to me.

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a negative role model in terms of intermarriage (1 Kgs 3:1; 11:1–8; 14:21; see above, 178–179). According to Ezra 9:1–4, Ezra is approached by officials who report in an “exegetical blend” of Deut 7:1–5; 23:4–8, and Lev 18:3103 how a large group of Jews practice intermarriage. In Ezra 9:1–4, “laws dealing with the indigenous population of Canaan . . . are now interpreted by reference to the contemporary ‘peoples of the lands.’”104 Ezra responds with despair and a confession of sin (Ezra 9:5–15) to the intermarriages of his fellow Jews with non-Jewish wives. This confession draws on deuteronomistic ideas in describing the religious history of Judaism as a “history of infidelity.”105 The intermarriages are a continuation of Israel’s earlier history of infidelity which caused the Babylonian exile. That Judaism was not destroyed totally but that a remnant was spared is due to god’s unmerited grace. The occurrence of intermarriages demonstrates that god’s commandments have been broken anew. Ezra 9:10–12 states that intermarriage was explicitly forbidden by the prophets.  And now, our God, what shall we say after this? For we have forsaken your commandments,  which you commanded by your servants the prophets, saying, “The land that you are entering to possess is a land unclean with the pollutions of the peoples of the lands, with their abominations. They have filled it from end to end with their uncleanness.  Therefore do not give your daughters to their sons, neither take their daughters for your sons, and never seek their peace or prosperity, so that you may be strong and eat the good of the land and leave it for an inheritance to your children for ever.”106

In this text, Ezra/Nehemiah does not refer to one referent text but employs a rhetoric that can be found in various parts of Deuteronomy (1:38–39; 6:11; 7:1, 3; 18:9; 23:7) and other authoritative texts (Lev 18:24–30; 20:21; 2 Kgs 10:21; 16:3; 21:2, 10, 16; Ezek 7:19–20).107 This blend is then put under the collective authority of the prophets – a line of prophetic succession which begins with Moses. Intermarriage with the people of the lands and other non-Jews bears the danger of 103 J. Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia, 1988), p. 175. Cf. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 131 104 Cf. e.g. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 130; Hayes, “Intermarriage and Impurities,” p. 6. 105 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 183. 106 Translation according to NRSV. 107 Cf. Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 185; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 137.

the significance of the pre-maccabean literature

203

contaminating their uncleanness. Such defilement would in turn lead to a loss of religious integrity. Intermarriage means to be lured into the veneration of foreign deities which is indicated by the use of the word ‫“( תﬠבה‬abomination”) in Ezra 9:11.108 Intermarriage is not a racial but a religious problem.109 After the Babylonian exile, Israel lives on “borrowed time.” It cannot afford to either violate god’s commands or to abandon him in favor of other gods. Otherwise the destruction of even the remaining remnant of Israel becomes a distinct possibility. Hence, Ezra 10 reports how the community decides to end all mixed marriage, to divorce the foreign spouses and send them and their children away. The special significance of the intermarriage topic is emphasized by way of describing Nehemiah’s activities against mixed marriages at the end of the book of Ezra/Nehemiah (Neh 13:23–29; see above, 178– 179). In the final stage of the book of Ezra/Nehemiah, the Nehemiah memoir’s report of Nehemiah’s rejection of mixed marriages stands in the light of Ezra’s initial reform. He continues with individual cases what Ezra did on a grand scale. To summarize: In Ezra/Nehemiah, mixed marriages are viewed as a threat to the religious integrity and cultural identity of Judaism. The problem which this marriage program was designed to confront was, “how to maintain the characteristic way of life, the religious traditions, even the language (cf. Neh 13:23) of a community, against the threat of assimilation.”110 The only solution to the problem is mass divorce of mixed marriages and expatriation of the divorced spouses and their children. The story of Ezra’s and Nehemiah’s so-called marriage reforms is told in a time of increased Hellenization of Jewish culture. That other early Hellenistic texts respond with their polemics against intermarriages to this increased Hellenization, puts the renarration of Ezra’s and Nehemiah’s marriage reforms into the same context of the preservation of religious-cultural Jewish identity against Hellenization. In its general rejection of intermarriage, the book of Ezra/Nehemiah is not exceptional but seems to represent a Jewish majority position in early Hellenistic times. Although Ezra/Nehemiah’s idea of enforced 108

Cf. e.g. A.P. Brown, “The Problem of Mixed Marriages in Ezra 9–10,” BSac 162 (2005), pp. 437–458, esp. 453. 109 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 131. 110 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, p. 201.

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divorce and expatriation is more radical than the support for endogamy found in the book of Tobit and the Temple Scroll, other texts match Ezra/Nehemiah’s extremism. In the Book of Watchers and the Book of the Words of Noah, god responds to the mixed marriages of the fallen watchers by way of the deluge. And in the Aramaic Levi Document, Levi’s appointment as high priest is a reward for his mass murder of the population of a whole city which responds to the mixed marriage of his sister Dinah. In another respect, Ezra 9–10 and Neh 13:23–29 are also comparable with the rejection of intermarriage in early Hellenistic Jewish literature, i.e. with the BW, the ALD, and T. Ezra 9–10 develops its general rejection of intermarriage out of priestly law. As the priests (Ezek 44:22) or the high priest (Lev 21:14) are forbidden to intermarry, so are all of Israel. All of Israel and not just the priests are understood as holy seed111 and could thus be defiled by intermarrying with nonJews. Similarly Neh 13:29 speaks of a defilement of the priesthood and the covenant of the priests and the Levites. The use of the term ‫תﬠבה‬ (“abomination”) in Ezra 9:11 shows that this defilement is not limited to the physical contact of sexual intercourse112 or the mingling of seeds in the line of the kil’ayim laws.113 While such ideas are involved, Ezra 9–10 clearly sees the danger of cultural estrangement, i.e. conversion to the veneration of other gods, too. The Jewish majority opinion of early Hellenistic times marked by Ezra/Nehemiah, the Book of Watchers, the Book of the Words of Noah, the Aramaic Levi Document, the Temple Scroll, and the book of Tobit became highly influential during and after the crisis of the so-called Hellenistic religious reforms and coined Jewish attitudes towards intermarriage ever since. “Satan” or “a Satan” in 1 Chr 21:1? In 1 Chr 21:1, the designation “satan” is debated among commentators. 1 Chr 21:1 claims that ‫“ שטן‬stood up against Israel, and incited

111

Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, p. 132; Hayes, 14. Thus Hayes, “Intermarriage and Impurities,” pp. 6, 14; M.L. Satlow, Jewish Marriage in Antiquity (Princeton, 2001), pp. 136–139. 113 Thus J.L. Kugel, “The Holiness of Israel and the Land in Second Temple Times,” in: M.V. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, 1996), pp. 21–32 (24). 112

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David to count the people of Israel.”114 1 Chronicles 21 is a paratext to 2 Samuel 24. In its base text, it is not ‫ שטן‬but the anger of YHWH, which instigates David to count the people of Israel: “Again the anger of the Lord was kindled against Israel, and he incited David against them, saying, ‘Go, count the people of Israel and Judah’ ” (2 Sam 24:1). Commentators and exegetes of 1 Chr 21:1 explain the change from the “anger of YHWH” to ‫ שטן‬in three different ways. 1. ‫ שטן‬is used without article. Hence, the majority of interpreters take it to be a proper name, i.e. Satan, designating the adversary of god.115 2. A smaller group of exegetes understands ‫ שטן‬to mean “adversary” and to refer either to a human116 or celestial117 adversary or accuser. 3. Some scholars think of a divine being or intermediary which does not have the function of an accuser.118

114

Translation according to NRSV. See e.g. G. von Rad, “B. Die atl.liche Satansvorstellung,” TWNT 2 (1935), pp. 71–74 (73–74); idem, Das Geschichtsbild des chronistischen Werkes (BWANT 54; Stuttgart, 1930), pp. 8–9; D.S. Russel, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic: 200 bc–ad 100 (OTL; Philadelphia, 1964), p. 258; F. Horst, Hiob 1–19 (6th ed.; BKAT 16.1; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2003), p. 13; R. Schärf Kluger, Satan in the Old Testament (Studies in Jungian Thought; Evanston, 1967), pp. 151–162; 112; G. Wanke, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬śāṭān Widersacher,” THAT 2 (1976), cols. 821–823 (823); H.G.M. Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 143; R. Braun, 1 Chronicles (WBC 14; Waco, 1986), pp. 216– 217; C. Meyers and E. Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 25B; New York, 1987), pp. 183–184; E. Pagels, “The Social History of Satan, ‘the Intimate Enemy’: A Preliminary Sketch,” HTR 84 (1991), pp. 105–128, 112–113; K. Nielsen, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬śāṭān,” ThWAT 7 (1993), cols. 745–751, 750; K. Koch, “Monotheismus und Angelologie,” in Ein Gott allein? JHWH-Verehrung und biblischer Monotheismus im Kontext der israelitischen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte (OBO 139; Fribourg, 1994), pp. 565–581 (575). 116 Japhet, Commentary, pp. 373–375; J.W. Wright, “The Innocence of David in 1 Chronicles 21,” JSOT 18 (1993), pp. 87–105, esp. 93 (for a critique of Wright’s article, see N. Bailey, “David’s Innocence: A Response to J. Wright,” JSOT 19 [1994], pp. 83–90). 117 D.L. Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8 (OTL; Philadelphia, 1984), pp. 189– 190; P.L. Day, An Adversary in Heaven: śāṭān in the Hebrew Bible (HSM 43; Atlanta, 1988), pp. 127–145; E. Pagels, The Origin of Satan (New York, N.Y., 1995), p. 43. 118 C. Breytenbach and P.L. Day, “Satan,” in: K. van der Toorn et al. (eds.), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (2nd ed.; Leiden, 1999), pp. 726–732 (729–730); A. Pinker, “Satanic Verses,” JBQ 25 (1997), pp. 90–100 (98–99); P. Evans, “Divine Intermediaries in 1Chronicles 21: An Overlooked Aspect of the Chronicler’s Theology,” Bib 85 (2004), pp. 545–558. 115

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I will show that two texts from the Qumran library advise for a fourth interpretation of ‫ שטן‬in 1 Chr 21:1. Until the Dead Sea Scrolls were found, one of the problems in analyzing 1–2 Chronicles was that almost no Hebrew non-biblical texts from the Second Temple period survived. Hebrew literature from late Persian or early Hellenistic times was especially sparse.119 For this reason, the linguistic corpus with which to compare 1–2 Chronicles was slim. In case of the lexeme ‫שטן‬, the situation was even worse as it is not attested in other northwest Semitic languages. With the discovery and publication of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the situation has improved somewhat. For a better understanding of ‫ שטן‬in 1 Chr 21:1, the text is regularly compared with Job 1:6–12; 2:1–10 (vv. 1:6–9, 12; 2:1–4, 6–7) and Zech 3:1–2. Both texts can be dated 100 or 200 years earlier than 1 Chr 21:1.120 In both texts, ‫ שטן‬is used with a determinative, i.e. ‫“( השטן‬the satan”), and describes the prosecutor of a heavenly assembly.121 That ‫“( השטן‬the satan”) designates the institution of a prosecutor is corroborated by Ps 109:6, where indeterminate ‫ שטן‬is used in this sense,122

119 For a date of 1–2 Chronicles in late Persian or early Hellenistic times, see above, n. 101. 120 For an early postexilic date of the Job frame narrative, see e.g. L. SchwienhorstSchönberger, “Das Buch Ijob,” in Zenger et al., Einleitung in das Alte Testament, pp. 335–347 (344). Zechariah 3 is a later insertion into the night visions of Zechariah (cf. e.g. H. Gese, “Anfang und Ende der Apokalyptik: Dargestellt am Sacharjabuch,” in idem, Vom Sinai zum Zion: Alttestamentliche Beiträge zur biblischen Theologie [BEvT; München, 1974], pp. 202–230, esp. 207; C. Jeremias, Die Nachtgesichte des Sacharja: Untersuchungen zu ihrer Stellung im Zusammenhang der Visionsberichte im Alten Testament und zu ihrem Bildmaterial [FRLANT 117; Göttingen, 1977], pp. 201–223; H. Reventlow, Die Propheten Haggai, Sacharja und Maleachi [ATD 25.2; Göttingen, 1993], pp. 53–54). The similarities between the satan-figures in Zech 3:1–2 and Job 1–2 argue for a date of Zechariah 3 in Persian times. 121 Cf. e.g. B. Duhm, Die bösen Geister im Alten Testament (Tübingen, 1904), pp. 58–61 (only with regard to Zech 3:1–2); von Rad, “Die atl.liche Satansvorstellung,” p. 72; T.H. Gaster, “Satan,” IDB 4 (1962), pp. 224–228 (224–225); Wanke, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬,” pp. 822–823; Williamson, 1 and 2 Chronicles, p. 143; Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, pp. 189–190; Meyers and Meyers, Haggai, Zechariah 1–8, pp. 183–186; Day, Adversary in Heaven, pp. 96–126; Japhet, Commentary, p. 374; Nielsen, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬,” p. 750 (only with regard to Zech 3:1–2); Reventlow, Die Propheten Haggai, Sacharja und Maleachi, p. 52; Pagels, The Origin of Satan, pp. 41–44. Cf. also Horst, Hiob 1–19, pp. 13–14, who argues against an accuser or prosecutor and speak of a professional “oppositor,” and Breytenbach and Day, “Satan,” pp. 728–729 who think of a temporary accuser. 122 Cf. e.g. W.O.E. Oesterley, The Psalms: Translated with Text-critical and Exegetical Notes (London, 1955), pp. 458–459; H.-J. Kraus, Psalmen 60–150 (6th ed.; BKAT 15.2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1989), pp. 918, 922; L.C. Allen, Psalms 101–150 (WBC 21;

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and by Ezra 4:6 where the noun ‫ שטנה‬signifies an accusation.123 That 1 Chr 21:1 speaks of a ‫ שטן‬without the determinative and relates it with the anger of YHWH from 2 Sam 24:1 seems to argue for a development from the institution of the heavenly prosecutor to a single negative celestial being which bears the proper name Satan. This seems all the more plausible as later references to Satan in LAE 17:1; T Levi 2:10; T Dan 3:6; 5:6; 6:1; T Gad 4:7; T Ash. 6:4; T Job 3:6; 4:4; 6:4; 7:1, 6, 12; 16:2; 20:1; 23:1, 3, 11; 27:1, 6; 41:5;124 Mart Isa 1:9, 11; 2:2 (Greek 3:2); 2:7 attest to such a negative entity. Does 1 Chr 21:1 thus mark the turning point in the development of satan from a prosecutor to the prince of evil? Two pre-Maccabean Dead Sea Scrolls125 which are roughly contemporary to 1 Chr 21:1 attest to a different use of the noun ‫שטן‬. They mention ‫ שטן‬without a determinative or speak even of ‫כל שטן‬, i.e. “every satan.” καὶ μὴ κατισχυσάτω με πᾶς σατανᾶς πλανῆσαί με ἀπὸ τῆς ὁδοῦ σου.

[‫ו[אֺל תשלט בי כל שטן ]לאטﬠני מן ארחך‬ And let not any satan have power over me, to make me stray from your path. (ALD 3:9 [ALD supp. 10; 4QLevib 1 17])126

Waco, 1983), p. 75; K. Seybold, Die Psalmen (HAT I/15; Tübingen, 1996), pp. 432, 435; Nielsen, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬,” p. 750. 123 For earlier non legal uses of the noun ‫ שטן‬as a designation of a human adversary cf. e.g. 1 Sam 29:4; 2 Sam 19:23; 1 Kgs 5:18; 11:14, 23, 25. This non legal use finds a late attestation in the description of an angel of YHWH who is an opponent of Bileam as ‫( שטן‬Num 22:22, 35; for Num 22:22–35 as a late Persian or early Hellenistic insertion into the Bileam story, see Day, Adversary in Heaven, pp. 45–69; A. Lange, Vom prophetischen Wort zur prophetischen Tradition: Studien zur Traditions- und Redaktionsgeschichte innerprophetischer Konflikte in der Hebräischen Bibel [FAT 34; Tübingen, 2002], pp. 40–42). ‫ שטן‬as a human opponent might also have been in the Hebrew Vorlage of 1 Macc 1:36 which reads διάβολος. 124 For a comparison between the satan in the narrative framework of the Book of Job and Satan in the Testament of Job, see C.T. Begg, “Comparing Characters: The Book of Job and the Testament of Job,” in: W.A.M. Beuken (ed.), The Book of Job (BETL 114; Leuven, 1994), pp. 435–445 (438–440). 125 The Essene references 1QSb I:8; 1QHa 4 6; 45 3 are too damaged for interpretation. But in all these references ‫ שטן‬is used without a determinative and is sometimes even preceded by ‫כול‬. The ruler of the antidivine world is named Belial in Essene literature. Hence, in 1QSb I:8; 1QHa 4 6; 45 3, ‫ שטן‬could designate either an adversary or of a category of demons. 126 Counting, transcription, and translation according to Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, pp. 60–61.

208

armin lange ‫אל תשלט בי שטן ורוח טמאה‬ Let neither a satan nor a spirit of impurity have power over me (11QPsa XIX:15)

Both the ALD127 and the Plea for Deliverance can be dated to late Persian or early Hellenistic times and are thus contemporary to 1–2 Chronicles.128 The ALD speaks of ‫כל שטן‬. The all inclusive particle ‫ כל‬shows that the ALD conceives not only one Satan who would be the leader of the antidivine world but a whole group of satans. In the ALD, the noun ‫ שטן‬is thus not a proper noun but a designation of a class or type of bad demons. As the Vorlage of the ALD,129 11QPsa XIX:15 makes this interpretation even more evident. It uses the term ‫ שטן‬without a determinative and mentions it in parallel with another type of demon, the spirit of impurity (‫)רוח טמאה‬.130 In the Plea for Deliverance and the ALD the word satan refers thus to a type or class of demons and not the leader of the antidivine world.131 With this meaning, the noun ‫ שטן‬is still used in later Jewish literature. Examples include two passages out of the book of Similitudes (1 Enoch 37–71).132

127 Kugler, From Patriarch to Priest, p. 120, and Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, p. 169 want to read ‫ שֺטֺן‬in 4QLevia ar (4Q213) 4 6. The few remaining traces of ink do not justify such a reconstruction. Cf. the transcriptions of M.E. Stone and J.C. Greenfield, “Aramaic Levi Document,” in G.J. Brooke et al., Qumran Cave 4.XVII: Parabiblical Texts, Part 3 (DJD 22; Oxford, 1996), pp. 1–72 (21–22) (“a large hole in the parchment has left only the tops of letters, also unidentifiable;” p. 22), and Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, p. 217. 128 For the dates of the ALD and 1–2 Chronicles, see above, 192, 201 n. 101. That the Plea for Deliverance is quoted in the ALD (see below, 214) requires it to be dated even earlier than the ALD. For a pre-Maccabean date of the Plea for Deliverance, see recently Schuller, “Prayers and Psalms from the Pre-Maccabean Period,” p. 314. 129 For the quotation of 11QPsa XIX:15 in ALD 3:9, see below, 214–215. 130 For the concept of a demonic spirit of impurity in ancient Judaism, see Lange, “Considerations Concerning the ‘Spirit of Impurity’ in Zech 13:2,” passim. 131 Cf. D. Flusser, “Qumran and Jewish ‘Apotropaic’ Prayers,” IEJ 16 (1966), pp. 194–205, 97; M. Stone and J. Greenfield, “The Prayer of Levi,” JBL 112 (1993), pp. 247– 266 (262–264); Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, pp. 129–130; Drawnel, Aramaic Wisdom Text, p. 216. Contra Nielsen, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬,” p. 751, who wants to understand ‫ שטן‬in 11QPsa XIX:15 as a proper name (interestingly enough Nielsen does not mention ALD 3:9). I. Kottsieper, “11Q5 (11QPSa) XIX: A Plea of Deliverance?” in: F. García Martínez et al. (eds.), From 4QMMT to Resurrection: Mélanges qumraniens en hommage à Émile Puech (STDJ 61; Leiden, 2006), pp. 125–150 (143), wants to understand ‫ שטן‬in the Plea for Deliverance as a “strafende Macht” (punishing power). But this interpretation neglects the parallel with the spirit of impurity. 132 Cf. already Flusser, “Qumran and Jewish ‘Apotropaic’ Prayers,” p. 197 n. 16.

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And the fourth voice I heard driving away the satans, and he did not let them come before the Lord of Spirits, to accuse those who dwell on the earth. (1 En 40:7) A command has gone forth from the presence of the Lord against the inhabitants of the earth earth, that their end is accomplished, for they have learned all the secrets of the angels, and all the violence of the satans . . . (1 En 65:6)133

and even magic bowls from late antiquity. Devils, afflictions, satans, bans, tormentors, spirits of barrenness, spirits of abortion, sorcerers, vows (Bowl 15:5) God (?) from every satan and every trouble (Bowl 22:4)134

As compared to the ALD and the Plea for Deliverance, the book of Jubilees seems to mark a further development of the demonic category satan. It is well known, that in Jubilees the leader of the antidivine world is called Mastemah and not satan.135 Nevertheless, Jub 10:7–14 seems to use the designation Satan for Mastemah. Jub 10:7–14 describes how Mastema asks god not to destroy all giants who survived the flood as demonic spirits but to leave some of them with him to be his subjects. The angels of god thus bind nine tenths of all demons but leave one tenth free. Jub 10:11 reports: “All of the evil ones, who were cruel, we bound in the place of judgment, but a tenth of them we let remain so that they might be subject to Satan upon the earth.”136 Clearly, ‫שטן‬ and Mastemah are identical in this text. To me, the most plausible explanation is that Jubilees did use ‫ שטן‬as a descriptive term, which was misunderstood by the Greek and the Ethiopic translations. Mastemah is described as a ‫שטן‬, i.e. as the principle adversary or enemy. A better translation of Jub 10:11 would thus be “but a tenth of them we let remain so that they might be subject to the adversary upon the earth.” This is confirmed by other more general uses of the noun ‫שטן‬ in the book of Jubilees which describe the eschaton (Jub 23:29; 50:5) or proleptical anticipations of it (Jub 40:9; 46:2). In these references

133 Translations according to G.W.E. Nickelsburg and J.C. VanderKam, 1 Enoch: A New Translation Based on the Hermeneia Commentary (Minneapolis, 2004), pp. 54, 84. 134 Translations according to J. Naveh and S. Shaked, Magic Spells and Formulae: Aramaic Incantations for Late Antiquity (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 115, 131. Cf. also P. Schäfer and S. Shaked, Magische Texte aus der Kairoer Geniza 1 (TSAJ 42; Tübingen, 1994), p. 222 line 34. 135 None of the references to ‫ שטן‬in the book of Jubilees is preserved in Hebrew. 136 Translation according to O.S. Wintermute, “Jubilees (Second Century bc),” in OTP 2 (1985), pp. 35–142, 76 (italics A.L.).

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the Greek and Ethiopic translation misunderstood ‫ שטן‬again to be a proper name. In light of Jub 10:11, ‫ שטן‬should be understood as a generic description of Mastemah in Jub 23:29; 40:9; 46:2; 50:5. He is the principal adversary: . . . and there will be no adversary and no evil (one) who will destroy (Jub 23:29) And the kingdom of the Pharaoh was upright. And there was no adversary and no evil. (Jub 40:9) And there was no adversary or anything evil in the days of the life of Joseph which he lived after his father, Jacob, because all the Egyptians were honoring the children of Israel all the days of the life of Joseph. (Jub 46:2) And then it will not have any adversary or any evil (one). (Jub 50:5)137

That in Jub 23:29; 40:9; 46:2; 50:5 Mastemah is not mentioned by name but described as the principal adversary, i.e. ‫שטן‬, is thus due to Jubilees rephrasing 1 Kgs 5:18. Jub 23:29; 40:9; 46:2; 50:5 read 1 Kgs 5:18 eschatological. According to 1 Kgs 5:18, Solomon had “no adversary nor misfortune” (‫ )אין שטן אין פגﬠ רﬠ‬and was thus able to build the temple. Jub 23:29; 40:9; 46:2; 50:5 alter the text of 1 Kgs 5:18. Instead of ‫( אין פגﬠ רﬠ‬no misfortune) the Jubilees references read ‫( אין רﬠ‬no evil one). What was described as a time without enemy and mishap in 1 Kgs 5:18 becomes in Jubilees a time without the principal adversary and evil one, i.e. without Mastemah. Like this eschatological prolepsis during the construction of the Solomonic temple, there was no adversary or evil one in the time of Joseph and there will be no adversary or evil one in the eschaton itself. A similar eschatological reading of 1 Kgs 5:18 is preserved in 4QDibHama XVII:13–14 (1–2 iv 12–13).138 For Dibre Hame’orot the time with neither adversary nor misfortune is the time when the nations will make pilgrimage to Mt. Zion. And all the nations have seen Your glory –  inasmuch as You have displayed Your majesty in the midst of Your people Israel, for the sake

137 Translation according to Wintermute, “Jubilees,” pp. 102, 130, 137, 142. Wintermute translates “Satan,” which I have replaced with “adversary.” 138 For the quotation of 1 Kgs 5:18, cf. M. Baillet, Qumrân Grotte 4.III (4Q482– 4Q520) (DJD 7; Oxford, 1982), p. 145; and the forthcoming edition of E. Chazon (STDJ) according to D.W. Parry and E. Tov (eds.), The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader, Vol. V: Poetic and Liturgical Texts (Leiden, 2005), p. 253. The counting is according to Chazon; the numbers in parenthesis reflect the counting of the editio princeps (DJD 7).

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of your great  name – and they shall bring their offerings: silver, gold and gems,  even every precious thing of their lands, whereby to glorify Your people and  Zion, Your holy city, as well as Your glorious temple, “there is neither adversary  nor misfortune” (‫שטן אין פגﬠֺ רﬠ‬ ‫)אין‬139

Different from the book of Jubilees, Dibre Hame’orot does not alter the text of 1 Kgs 5:18. Hence, for Dibre Hame’orot the eschaton is characterized by the absence of enemies and misfortune, not by the absence of Mastemah as the principal adversary.140 In its understanding of the noun ‫שטן‬, Dibre Hame’orot is thus closer to 1 Kgs 5:18 than Jub 23:29; 40:9; 46:2; and 50:5 are. In this context the reception of Job 1–2 in the book of Jubilees and a text from the Qumran library, called Pseudo-Jubilees might be of interest. Jub 17:15–18 and 4QpsJuba (4Q225) 2 i 9–ii 11 merge the story about the sacrifice of Isaac (Genesis 22) with the narrative about the testing of Job (Job 1–2).141 In Jub 17:15–18 and in 4QpsJuba 2 i 9–ii 11 it is not the heavenly persecutor satan (as attested in Job 1–2 and Zech 3:1–2) but Mastemah as the leader of an antidivine host of angels who convinces god to test Abraham by way of commanding the sacrifice of Isaac. Both Jub 17:15–18 and 4QpsJuba 2 i 9–ii 11 identify “the satan” of Job 1–2 thus as Mastemah. To summarize: 11QPsa XIX:15 and ALD 3:9 (ALD supp. 10; 4QLevib 1 17; cf. also 4QDibHama 1–2 2 iv 12) show that in later Persian and early Hellenistic times ‫ שטן‬without a determinative is not a proper name but a generic term designating a category of demonic beings. Starting only with the Hellenistic religious reforms Mastemah as the ruler of the antidivine world is described as the principal adversary

139 Translation and transcription according to Chazon in The Dead Sea Scrolls Reader, Vol. V, pp. 252–253. 140 Cf. Nielsen, “‫ ָשׂ ָטן‬,” p. 751. 141 For Jub 17:15–18:16 and 4Q225 2 i 9–ii see J.C. VanderKam, “The Aqedah, Jubilees, and Pseudojubilees,” in: C.A. Evans and S. Talmon (eds.), The Quest for Context and Meaning: Studies in Biblical Intertextuality in Honor of James A. Sanders (Biblical Interpretation Series 28; Leiden, 1997), pp. 241–261; J.A. Fitzmyer, “The Sacrifice of Isaac in Qumran Literature,” Bib 83 (2002), pp. 211–229 (213–221); F. García Martínez, “The Sacrifice of Isaac in 4Q225,” in: E. Noort and E.J.C. Tigchelaar (eds.), The Sacrifice of Isaac: The Aqedah (Genesis 22) and its Interpretations (Themes in Biblical Narrative 4; Leiden, 2002), pp. 44–57. J.T.A.G.M. van Ruiten, “Abraham, Job and the Book of Jubilees: The Intertextual Relationship of Genesis 22:1–19, Job 1–2:13 and Jubilees 17:15–18:19,” in The Sacrifice of Isaac, pp. 58–85; H.-J. Fabry, “Isaak in den Handschriften von Qumran,” in From 4QMMT to Resurrection, pp. 87–103 (95–101).

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by way the characterization ‫שטן‬. In this way, Satan developed into another name of the figure of Mastemah. The demonic category satan might also have developed out of a descriptive use of the noun ‫שטן‬ which characterized a demon as a satan, i.e. an adversary. The Dead Sea Scrolls thus illuminate how the heavenly persecutor satan developed into the proper name of the prince of evil. This development in the middle of the 2nd cent. bce explains also how the grandson of Ben Sira translated his grandfather’s observation that “when the godless curses the adversary, he really curses himself” (Sir 21:27).142 He did not render the noun ‫ השטן‬as τὸν διάβολον (“the adversary”) but as a proper name “Satan” (τὸν σατανᾶν). In which place of this development is 1 Chr 21:1 to be located? In the time of Chronicles, ‫ שטן‬as a designation of a negative being is only attested as a designation of a demonic category and not as the name of the prince of evil. It seems therefore plausible that 1 Chr 21:1 refers to such a satanic demon. This assumption is confirmed by textual observations. Different from Job 1–2 and Zech 3:1–2 no hints of a legal procedure are preserved in 1 Chr 21:1.143 It seems thus unlikely that “the satan” of 1 Chr 21:1 is a heavenly persecutor. This is corroborated by the fact that different from Job 1–2 and Zech 3:1–2, 1 Chr 21:1 does not speak of ‫ השטן‬but just ‫ שטן‬without a determinative. Furthermore, in the base text of 1 Chr 21:1, in 2 Sam 24:1, it is the “anger of god” which incites David to count his people. For the author of Chronicles it was impossible to accept that a part of god would convince David to act against the will of god himself. Therefore, he substitutes the “anger of god” with ‫שטן‬. How this satan exerts his negative influence on David in 1 Chr 21, is comparable with the ideas of the Plea for Deliverance and the ALD. In both texts, the demonic satan(s) do not act directly by e.g. possessing a human being. Rather, they act through his evil inclination (11QPsa XIX:16) in form of his sins, iniquities, and transgressions (11QPsa XIX:13–15) or through an unrighteous spirit, evil thought and fornication (ALD 3:5 [ALD supp. 7; 4QLevib 1 13]).

142 For this translation and interpretation cf. P.W. Skehan and A.A. DiLella, The Wisdom of Ben Sira: A New Translation with Notes, Introduction and Commentary (AB 39; New York, 1987), pp. 305, 311–312. 143 Contra Petersen, Haggai and Zechariah 1–8, p. 190, who understands ‫ ﬠמד ﬠל‬as an indication of such a legal procedure.

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As in 11QPsa XIX:15 and ALD 3:9 (ALD supp. 10; 4QLevib 1 17), ‫שטן‬ designates an unspecified member of a category of demonic beings in 1 Chr 21:1. It is not a proper name for the prince of evil. Not “Satan” but “a satan” incites David to count Israel. Reading 1 Chr 21:1 in light of 11QPsa XIX:15 and ALD 3:9 (ALD supp. 10; 4QLevib 1 17) confirms thus remarks which B. Duhm and T.H. Gaster published in 1907 and 1962 respectively. Both understand ‫ שטן‬in 1 Chr 21:1 as a demonic being and not the leader of the antidivine world. Wir haben hier (scil. in 1 Chr 21:1) also wiederum einen von den Fällen eines Absonderungsprozesses, der die Gottheit von anstössigen Eigenschaften und Handlungen dadurch befreit, dass er sie auf kakodämonische Wesen (scil. negativ demonic beings) überträgt. Trotz dieser verschärften Gegenüberstellung des Reiches der guten und der bösen Wesen ist doch auch der Chroniker noch weit genug entfernt von der Anschauung, die in dem Satan den mächtigen “Gott dieser Welt” erblickt.144 Although the term is here (scil. ‫ שטן‬in 1 Chr 21:1) used without the definite article, it is nonetheless no proper name, but simply a common noun (i.e. “a satan”), denoting a spirit . . . who happened on that particular occasion to act with untoward effect. The book of Enoch speaks similarly (40:7) of “satans” – in the plural; and the word is likewise employed as a common noun in the Dead Sea Scrolls (1QH fragments 4.6; 45.3; Formulary of Blessings), in the Talmud (Ber. 60b; Shab. 39b), in early portions of the traditional Jewish prayerbook, and in later Mandean literature (e.g., Right Ginza 279.4: ‫)םאטאניא‬.145

The Date of Ps 119 Not only does 11QPsa XIX:15 shed new light on the meaning of ‫שטן‬ in 1 Chr 21:1, but it allows also for a more precise dating of Psalm 119. Commentators of the Psalter complain regularly about difficulties in dating Psalm 119.146 Proposed dates include the reign of Josiah,147

144

Duhm, Die bösen Geister im Alten Testament, p. 61. Gaster, “Satan,” p. 225. Cf. also Stone and Greenfield, “The Prayer of Levi,” pp. 263–264; and Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, p. 130. 146 See e.g. K. Seybold, Die Psalmen (HAT 1.15; Tübingen, 1996), p. 472: “Eine Datierung will nicht gelingen.” 147 M. Dahood, Psalms: Introduction, Translation, and Notes, Vol. III: 101–150 (AB 17A; Garden City, 1970), p. 123. 145

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early exilic times (written for or by the exiled king Jehoiachin),148 exilic times (authored by deuteronomistic circles),149 and the first half of the 3rd cent. bce.150 Other scholars prefer more cautious approximations, like post-deuteronomistic,151 postexilic (after the publication of Deuteronomy),152 or late postexilic.153 Relative chronology and the intertextuality between Ps 119:133 on the one hand and ALD 3:9 (ALD supp. 10; 4QLevib 1 17) and the Plea for Deliverance (11QPsa XIX:15) on the other hand shed new light on the exegetical aporia of dating Psalm 119. When discussing the meaning of ‫ שטן‬in 1 Chr 21:1 it became apparent that ALD 3:9 includes an adaptation of the Plea for Deliverance (11QPsa XIX:15). That ALD 3:9 quotes a part of the Plea for Deliverance and not vice versa is indicated by the Hebraism ‫[אֺל תשלט בי‬. καὶ μὴ κατισχυσάτω με πᾶς σατανᾶς πλανῆσαί με ἀπὸ τῆς ὁδοῦ σου.

[‫ו[אֺל תשלט בי כל שטן ]לאטﬠני מן ארחך‬ And let not any satan have power over me, to make me stray from your path. (ALD 3:9 [ALD supp. 10; 4QLevib 1 17])154

‫אל תשלט בי שטן ורוח טמאה‬ Let neither a satan nor a spirit of impurity have power over me (11QPsa XIX:15)

A common dependence of the ALD 3:9 and 11QPsa XIX:15 on Ps. 119:133b seems highly unlikely, too.155 It is highly improbable that both texts would have added the rare word ‫ שטן‬independent from each other as in the preserved text of the ALD it occurs only in ALD 3:9. 148 W. Soll, Psalm 119: Matrix, Form, and Setting (CBQMS 23; Washington, 1991), pp. 126–154. 149 K. Koch, Review of Deißler, Psalm 119 (118) und seine Theologie, TLZ 83 (1958), pp. 186–187 (186); E. Lipinski, “Macarisme et psaumes de congratulation,” RB 75 (1968), pp. 321–367, esp. 348–49. 150 A. Deißler, Psalm 119 (118) und seine Theologie: Ein Beitrag zur Erforschung der anthologischen Stilgattung im Alten Testament (Münchener theologische Studien 1.11; München, 1955), pp. 288–291. 151 Seybold, Psalmen, p. 472. 152 H.-J. Krauss, Psalmen, Vol. II: Psalmen 60–150 (6th ed.; BKAT 15.2; Neukirchen Vluyn, 1989), pp. 997–1000. 153 L.C. Allen, Psalms 101–150 (WBC 21; Waco, 1983), p. 141. 154 Counting, transcription and translation according to Greenfield, Stone, and Eshel, Aramaic Levi Document, pp. 60–61. 155 Contra Flusser, “Qumran and Jewish ‘Apotropaic’ Prayers,” pp. 196–197; Kugler, From Patriarch to Priest, p. 73.

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The ALD is normally dated in the late 4th or 3rd cent. bce.156 This means that the Plea for Deliverance goes back to late Persian times at least.157 In turn, the Plea for Deliverance did not invent the phrase ‫אל‬ ‫ תשלט בי‬but it depends in its use on Ps 119:133b. ‫אל תשלט בי כל און‬ and let not have any iniquity power over me

Hence, the rephrasing of Ps 119:133b in 11QPsa XIX:15 provides a terminus ad quem for Psalm 119 in the 4th cent. bce. This excludes any setting of Psalm 119 in Hellenistic times. A terminus post quem for dating Psalm 119 can be derived from the mention of thousands of gold and silver coins in v. 72: ‫טוב לי תורת פיך מאלפי זהב וכסף‬ Better is the Torah of your mouth for me than thousands of gold- and silver coins.

The meaning of the phrase ‫“( אלפי זהב וכסף‬thousands of gold and silver”) becomes apparent when it is compared to a similar expression in Ps 119:127. ‫ﬠל כן אהבתי מצנתיך מזהב נמפז‬ Therefore,158 I love your commandments more than gold and more than pure gold.

In terms of content matter the expressions “better is the Torah of your mouth” (v. 72) and “I love your commandments” (v. 127) are similar. And like v. 72, v. 127 compares the commandments of god with precious metals. But different from v. 127, v. 72 specifies the amount of metal by a numeral, i.e. thousands. This signifies that different from v. 127, v. 72 refers to a certain amount of something made out of gold and silver, i.e. gold- and silver coins. This suspicion is confirmed by Gen 37:28. It reports that Joseph was sold for ‫“( ﬠשרים כסף‬twenty silver”). The expression “twenty silver” can only be understood in comparison with Lev 27:5. In Lev 27:5 a male human being which is between 5 and 20 years old is worth

156

For a date of the ALD in the late 4th or early 3rd cent. bce, see above, 192. For a date of the Plea for Deliverance in the 4th cent. bce, see above, 208 n. 128. 158 B. Duhm, Die Psalmen: Erklärt (KHC 14; Tübingen, 1922), p. 268, reads ‫ﬠל כל‬ instead of ‫ﬠל כן‬, but the conjecture is unnecessary as the reading ‫ ﬠל כן‬results in a well intelligible line (cf. Allen, Psalms 101–150, p. 138). 157

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‫“( ﬠשרים שקלים‬twenty shekel”). This means a human being of that age has a value which is equivalent to a quantity of silver weighing twenty shekel. Hence, in Lev 27:5 monetary value is measured in uncoined silver. This observation compares with 5th cent. bce Jewish legal documents from the island of Elephantine. In these documents, payments are described by way of the weight of uncoined pieces of precious metal. A good example is a contract about a loan of silver from 456 bce. It reads You gave me a loan of silver, 4, that is four, shekels by the stone(-weight)s of the king, at its interest. (TAD B3.1)159

A similar practice is still attested in a deed of slave sale from Wadi ed Daliyeh dating to 335 bce.160 [Ḥ ananiah son of Beyad’el sold] a certain Yehoḥanan son of Še’ilah, this slave of his, without defect, [to Yehonur son of Laneri for 35 silver shekels,] 3 the stipulated price, the full price. [Th]is sum of 35 shekels Ḥ ananiah [has received from Yehonur.161 (WDSP 1 2–3)

When Gen 37:28 substitutes the weight measure shekel out of Lev 27:5 with the word ‫( כסף‬silver) in the singular, it responds to the practice of quantifying economic values by way of the weight in silver. The Hebrew words for gold or silver in the singular (‫ )זהב וכסף‬preceded by a numeral signify therefore gold or silver coins, i.e. money. In Gen 37:28 Joseph is bought for twenty silver coins and in Ps 119:72 the Torah of YHWH’s mouth is better than thousands of gold- and silver coins. If Ps 119:72 speaks of coins, the numismatic history of Yehud provides a terminus post quem for the dating of Psalm 119. In Jerusalem, coins were first used in the 5th cent. bce. Jewish (bronze and silver) coins were only minted since the 4th cent. bce.162 Before the 4th cent.

159 Translation according to B. Porten et al., The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millenia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change (Documenta et Monomenta Orientis Antiqui 23; Leiden, 1996), p. 203. 160 Cf. E. Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II: The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732–332 bce) (Anchor Bible Reference Library; New York, 2001), p. 555. 161 Translation according to D.M. Gropp, The Samaria Papyri from Wadi Daliyeh (DJD 28, Oxford, 2001), p. 35. 162 For the history of money in the Persian province of Yehud, see E. Stern, Material Culture of the Land of the Bible in the Persian Period 538–332 bc (Warminster,

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bce only small quantities of coins were in use, as is illustrated by the fact that to date no Jewish hoards of coins dating to the 6th and 5th cent. bce have been excavated. Auffällig bleibt das weitgehende Fehlen von Hortfunden griechischer Münzen des 6. und 5. Jahrhunderts v.d.Z. auf dem Boden Palästinas: Es ist wohl mehr ein Indiz für den vergleichsweise geringen Umlauf griechischer Münzen im Palästina dieser Zeit und seine schwache Wirtschaftskraft als bloßer Fundzufall.163

When Ps 119:72 claims that gold and silver coins are of less value than the Torah of YHWH it presupposes a wide acceptance and established use of coins in Jewish culture. This means that Psalm 119 was written after coins became more prominent in Yehud in the 4th cent. bce, given the slow acceptance of coinage in Yehud probably in the middle of that century. Furthermore, a 4th cent. bce date agrees well with the form of Hebrew employed by Ps 119, such as “pronounced Aramaisms and terms characteristic for late or post-biblical Hebrew (‫כﬠל‬, v 14, ‫גרס‬, v 20, (‫תﬠב)ה‬, vv 20, 40, 174, ‫קים‬, vv 28, 106, ‫שוה‬, v 30, ‫טפש‬, v 70, ‫שבר‬, vv 116, 166, ‫יאב‬, v 131, ‫שלט‬, 133).”164 To conclude: Relative chronology shows that Psalm 119 was written before the 3rd cent. bce. Numismatic evidence makes a date earlier than the middle of the 4th cent. bce rather improbable. Conclusion The three examples show that the pre-Maccabean literature from the Qumran library helps to better understand those books of the Hebrew Bible which were written in the Second Temple period. The question 1982), pp. 217–28; idem, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, Vol. II, pp. 555–70; H. Weippert, Palästina in vorhellenistischer Zeit (Handbuch der Archäologie Vorderasien II.1; München, 1988), p. 696, and the appendix by Leo Mildenberg, “Yәhūd-Münzen” (ibid., pp. 719–728); U. Hübner, “Die Münzprägungen Palästinas in alttestamentlicher Zeit,” Trumah 4 (1994), pp. 119–145; P. Machinist, “The First Coins of Judah and Samaria: Numismatics and History in the Achaemenid and Early Hellenistic Periods,” in: H. Sancisi-Weerdenburg et al. (eds.), Achaemenid History VII: Continuity and Change: Proceedings of the Last Achaemenid History Workshop April 6–8, 1990 – Ann Arbor, Michigan (Leiden, 1994), pp. 365–380, esp. 366–371; L. Mildenberg, “Palästina in der persischen Zeit,” in idem, Vestigia Leonis: Studien zur antiken Numismatik Israels, Palästinas und der östlichen Mittelmeerwelt (eds. U. Hübner and E.A. Knauf; NTOA 36; Fribourg, 1998), pp. 54–58, esp. 54–55. 163 Hübner, “Die Münzprägungen Palästinas in alttestamentlicher Zeit,” p. 122. 164 Allen, Psalms 101–150, p. 141.

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of mixed marriages is a recurring issue in the religious history of Israel and Judah. This issue is especially prominent in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 13:23–30. Several Qumran texts (1QapGen ar VI:6–9; ALD 1 and 6; 1 Enoch 6–7; 11QTa II:11–15) but also other ancient Jewish literature not attested among the preserved parts of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Tob 4:12–13) place the polemics against mixed marriages in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 13:23–29 in a specific socio-cultural context, i.e. the protection of Jewish cultural identity in late Persian and early Hellenistic times. In 1 Chr 21:1, the designation “satan” is debated among commentators. 11QPsa XIX:15 and ALD 3:9 show that in the Hebrew language of the time of Chronicles “satan” is not a proper noun but a generic term which designates a category of demonic beings. The intertextual relation of Ps 119:133, the Plea for Deliverance (11QPsa XIX:15), and the Aramaic Levi Document (ALD 3:9) shows that Psalm 119 was written before the 3rd cent. bce. Numismatic evidence makes a date earlier than the middle of the 4th cent. bce rather improbable.

GEBETE ALS HERMENEUTISCHER SCHLÜSSEL ZU BIBLISCHEN BÜCHERN  AM BEISPIEL VON JEREMIA Georg Fischer Eine wenig beachtete Eigenart biblischer Bücher liegt darin, daß fast alle in großem Maße Gebete1 enthalten. Dies gilt trotz der Aufmerksamkeit, die das Beten in der Bibel allgemein in den letzten Jahren gefunden hat und die in einer stattlichen Zahl von Monographien zum Ausdruck kommt2. Ich möchte im Folgenden zunächst (I) kurz diesen Aspekt stärker bewußt machen und dann (II) aufzeigen, wie intensiv das Jeremiabuch davon geprägt ist. Eine Auswertung (III) soll schließlich die Resultate zusammenfassen. I. Gebete in Biblischen Büchern Bereits im ersten Buch der Bibel, ziemlich am Anfang, in Gen 4:26, findet sich eine Bemerkung zum Beten: „Damals wurde begonnen, den Namen Jhwhs anzurufen.“ Diese Notiz bezieht sich mit Enosch auf die dritte Generation von Menschen auf der Erde. Auch im letzten Buch des hebräischen Kanons, in der Chronik, stehen wiederholt Gebete; dort sind nahe dem Schluß, in 2 Chr 33:12f,18f, jene von Manasse3

1 Eine präzise Definition von „Gebet“ ist nicht einfach; als ein Vorschlag möge jene von C.H. Ratschow, „Gebet I“, in: TRE 12 (1984), s. 32, zu Verständigung und weiterem Arbeiten dienen. Er begreift Gebet als „. . . . ‚personhafte‘, dialogische Zuwendung eines Menschen zu seinem Gott“. – Bei der Behandlung der Gebete in Jer werden eine Reihe von Ausdrucksformen in den Blick kommen, welche die Breite des Phänomens aufweisen, darunter auch solche, die als Grenzfälle betrachtet werden können (s.u. II 5). 2 Um nur einige der wichtigeren Werke zu erwähnen: M. Greenberg, Biblical Prose Prayer As a Window to the Popular Religion of Ancient Israel (Berkeley, 1983); H. Graf Reventlow, Gebet im Alten Testament (Stuttgart, 1986); S.E. Balentine, Prayer in the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis, 1993); H.-P. Mathys, Dichter und Beter. Theologen aus spätalttestamentlicher Zeit (OBO 132; Fribourg, 1994); P.D. Miller, They Cried to the Lord. The Form and Theology of Biblical Prayer (Minneapolis, 1994); G. Ravasi, Il Dio vicino. La preghiera biblica tra storia e fede (Milano, 1997). 3 Die Abweichung von der Darstellung in 2 Kön 21:1–18, wo sich kein Hinweis auf ein Beten Manasses findet, erklärt S. Japhet, 2 Chronik (HThKAT; Freiburg, 2003), S. 450f, mit der „Geschichtsauffassung des Chronisten“. Der doppelte Rückverweis

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erwähnt. Gebete begegnen also vom Beginn der Hebräischen Bibel an bis zu deren Ende4. Ihre breite Streuung in der Schrift ist ein erster Hinweis auf ihre Bedeutung. Ein weiteres Anzeichen für die Wichtigkeit der Gebete in der Bibel ist ihre Häufigkeit. Einen Extremfall bilden die Psalmen, die überwiegend aus verschiedenen Formen dieser Gattung bestehen. Doch auch andere biblische Bücher weisen eine hohe Anzahl von Gebeten oder ähnlichen Texttypen auf; so betet etwa Abrahams Diener bei der Brautschau für Isaak mehrmals (Gen 24:12–14,26f,52), und er bekennt sich in seinem Erzählen ausdrücklich dazu (Gen 24:42–44,48). Bei Jakob rahmt Beten das Verlassen der Heimat und die Rückkehr dorthin5. Im Buch Exodus, bei den Verhandlungen um das Ausziehen, bittet Pharao wiederholt um das Gebet, und Mose führt es aus6. In den späteren Büchern der Bibel nimmt die Häufigkeit des Betens noch wesentlich zu7. Doch nicht nur Ausdehnung und Häufigkeit, auch die Positionen der Gebete8 weisen auf deren Wichtigkeit hin. Längere solche Texte stehen fast immer an Schlüsselstellen. Beispiele dafür sind die scheinbar ‚eingeschobenen‘ Hymnen9: Das Schilfmeerlied in Ex 15 bildet mit

in 2 Chr 33:18f auf das Gebet von v12f betont noch seine Wichtigkeit. Ausführlich geht P. Abadie, „From the Impious Manasseh (2 Kings 21) to the Convert Manasseh (2 Chronicles 33): Theological Rewriting by the Chronicler“, in: M.P. Graham u.a. (Hg.), The Chronicler as Theologian. FS R.W. Klein (JSOTS 371; London, 2003), s. 89–104, auf diese Verschiebung ein. – Evtl. ließe sich noch später, bei den in 2 Chr 35:25 erwähnten Klageliedern über Joschija, eine Form von Beten annehmen. 4 Diese Beobachtung gilt sogar noch weiter, bis zum Schluß der christlichen Bibel. In ihrem vorletzten Vers (Offb 22:20) steht die Bitte: „Amen, komm, Herr Jesus!“. 5 Die nächtliche Begegnung mit Gott in Bethel findet ihren Abschluß in Jakobs Gelübde (Gen 28:20–22). Und vor dem Treffen auf Esau bei der Heimkehr betet er in seiner Not (Gen 32:10–13). Damit erhalten zwei entscheidende Momente in Jakobs Leben eine Vertiefung durch das Beten. 6 Pharaos Aufforderungen dazu stehen in Ex 8:4,24; 9:28; 10:17, jeweils gerichtet an Mose und Aaron. Die Erfüllungen dieser Bitten, immer nur mit Mose als Subjekt, berichten Ex 8:8,25f; 9:29,33 (im Gestus des Ausbreitens der Hände); 10:18. 7 Dies gilt u.a. für Neh, Chr (einschlägig dafür: S. Royar, „Denn der Herr, euer Gott, ist gnädig und barmherzig . . .“. Die Gebete in den Chronikbüchern und ihre Bedeutung für die chronistische Theologie [Münster, 2005]) und deuterokanonische Schriften wie Tobit, Judit, 2 Makk; bei Letzteren gibt es jeweils nur wenige Kapitel, die nicht Beten erwähnen. Hier zeigt sich eine Tendenz in der Spätzeit, vermehrt Gebete in die entsprechenden Bücher einzubauen. Dies verstärkt den Impuls an die Adressaten, auch ihrerseits zu beten. 8 Dies war bereits bei Jakob sichtbar geworden, wo Beten zusammen mit Gottesbegegnungen (in Gen 28 und 32) seine Zeit in der Fremde umschließt. 9 S. dazu J.W. Watts, Psalm and Story. Inset Hymns in Hebrew Narrative (JSOTS 139; Sheffield, 1992), sowie für die Bedeutung der Poesie dabei J.-P. Sonnet, „« C’est moi qui, pour yhwh, c’est moi qui veux chanter » (Jg 5,3). La poésie lyrique au sein du

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221

dem Lob für die Befreiung den Übergang von der Zeit der Abhängigkeit in Ägypten zur Wanderung durch die Wüste hin zum Gottesberg. Das Siegeslied von Debora und Barak in Ri 5 markiert den Beginn einer Phase von 40 Jahren Ruhe (Ri 5:31) und noch mehr die erstmals gewonnene Überlegenheit gegenüber der einheimischen Bevölkerung, den Kanaanäern. Das Gebet des Propheten in Jona 2 schließlich vermag die innere Wandlung zu erklären, die ihn – im Unterschied zu vorher – im nächsten Kapitel Gottes Auftrag ausführen läßt; es zeigt somit eine Wende im Buch an10. Die gerade erwähnten Texte lassen erkennen, daß Gebete häufig eine wesentliche Funktion in ihrem Zusammenhang ausüben. Sie scheinen gezielt plaziert zu sein und wirken bestimmend auf ihre Umgebung ein. Als ein letztes Beispiel möge Hosea dienen. In seiner Mitte, in Hos 6:1–6, findet sich ein Gebet (v1–3), das aber von Gott abgelehnt wird (v4–6). Am Ende von Hosea, in 14:2–4, begegnet erneut Beten, in Aufforderung und Ausführung, und anschließend daran, ab 14:5, Gottes wohlwollende Antwort. Beide Passagen sind durch Stichworte (‚umkehren‘ Hos 6:1; 14:2f; ‚Tau‘ 6:4; 14:6) intensiv miteinander verbunden, sodaß eine Entwicklung erkennbar wird: Das anscheinend unaufrichtige, anmaßende Gebet von Hos 6 findet eine positive Auflösung am Buchende, mit einem ehrlichen Bekenntnis (14:3b–4) sowie damit, daß Gott es annimmt und auf es eingeht (14:5–9). Der kleine einführende Überblick über Gebete in der Bibel11 vermag aufzuweisen, daß diesen Hinwendungen zu Gott unter verschiedenen

récit biblique“, in: C. Focant / A. Wénin (Hg.), Analyse Narrative et Bible (BEThL 191; Leuven, 2005), s. 373–387. 10 Für die besondere Stellung von Gebeten an entscheidenden Momenten innerhalb von biblischen Büchern ließen sich viele weitere Belege anführen; genannt seien nur noch die zwei Gebete in Dtn 26:5–10,13–15, die vom Ende der Gesetze zum Schlußteil von Dtn überleiten; die Rahmung der Samuelbücher mit den Gebeten Hannas und Davids in 1 Sam 1–2 und 2 Sam 22; das Loblied Jes 12, als Abschluß des ersten Blocks Jes 1–12, das W.A.M. Beuken, Jesaja 1–12 (HThKAT; Freiburg, 2003), s. 329, als ‚Aussichtsplattform‘ für ganz Jes bezeichnet; das Volksklagelied Jes 63:7–64:11, das Gottes Antwort und das Ende des Buches in Jes 65f einleitet; das Anrufen von Gottes Vergebung in Mi 7:14–20, als Schluß des gesamten Werkes, sowie Daniels Bußgebet in Dan 9, das an einer Wende im Buch steht. 11 Es gäbe noch viele weitere interessante Aspekte. Im Buch Ijob z.B. wendet sich nur die Hauptfigur mit Du-Anrede an Gott (wiederholt ab Ijob 7:7 oder 7:12). Sie ist auch die einzige Person, der Gott ausführlich antwortet (Ijob 38–41), was ein weiteres Anzeichen für die Schlüsselrolle von Gebeten sein kann. Mehr dazu findet sich bei G. Fischer/ K. Backhaus, Beten (NEB Themen; Würzburg, 2009).

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Rücksichten entscheidende Rollen und Funktionen in den einzelnen Büchern der Heiligen Schrift und insgesamt zukommen. Sie sind sehr verbreitet, belegen oft wichtige Positionen in den jeweiligen Werken, beeinflussen darin wesentlich den Zusammenhang, können dabei Entwicklungen aufzeigen (wie bei Hos), dienen mehrfach zur Charakterisierung bedeutender Personen, usw. Sie stellen somit hermeneutisch einen Schlüssel dar, der den Zugang eröffnet zu einem tieferen und angemesseneren Verständnis der Bibel. Es gibt vermutlich keinen anderen Texttyp, der ihre Eigenart stärker prägt und bestimmt. Mit diesem Hintergrund können wir uns den Gebeten in Jeremia zuwenden. II. Gebete im Jeremiabuch Soweit mir bekannt ist, liegt ein einziger das Thema berührender Artikel dazu vor, von S.E. Balentine12. Er geht dabei auf die Rolle Jeremias als Fürbitter und vor allem als Bittsteller in der Klage ein und gelangt zum Schluß (S. 341), daß Jeremia als „prophet of prayer“ einmalig unter den Propheten des AT sei und sich vor allem durch „grundlegende Ehrlichkeit“ in der Anrede an Gott auszeichne. Balentine richtet sich also stärker auf das Beten des Propheten als auf die Gebete in Jeremia aus. Wesentlich mehr Aufmerksamkeit hat dagegen eine bestimmte Gattung von Gebeten gefunden, die sogenannten ‚Konfessionen‘13. Diese Klagetexte greifen einen typischen Zug von Jer auf, insofern Leid und Not mehrfach bereits ab dem Beginn angesprochen werden14. Die fünf üblicherweise als ‚Bekenntnisse‘ bezeichneten Texte (11:18–12:6; 15:10–21; 17:14–18; 18:18–23; 20:7–18)15 belegen zwei oben bei I. gesehene Aspekte, nämlich zum Einen die intensive Prägung – in diesem

12

S.E. Balentine, „Jeremiah, Prophet of Prayer“, RExp 78 (1981), s. 331–344. Aus der Fülle an Literatur dazu seien die grundlegenden Studien von F.D. Hubmann, Untersuchungen zu den Konfessionen Jer 11,18–12,6 und Jer 15,10–21 (FzB 30; Würzburg, 1978); A.R.P. Diamond, The Confessions of Jeremiah in Context. Scenes of Prophetic Drama (JSOTS 45; Sheffield, 1987); K.M. O’Connor, The Confessions of Jeremiah: Their Interpretation and Role in Chapters 1–25 (SBLDS 94; Atlanta, 1988), hervorgehoben. Einen knappen Überblick vermittelt G. Fischer, Jeremia. Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt, 2007), s. 128–130. 14 Schon Jeremias erste Äußerung „Achach, Herr Jhwh!“ (Jer 1:6) geht in diese Richtung. Klagen von Gott, dem Propheten oder anderen Personen finden sich wiederholt ab Jer 2 und bereiten so den Boden für die „Konfessionen“. 15 Über die Abgrenzung ließe sich diskutieren; je nach Verständnis variiert die Zuordnung. Dies wird besonders deutlich an Jer 20:14–18; für die verschiedenen Auffassungen dazu s. G. Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (HThKAT; Freiburg, 2005), s. 621. 13

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Fall eines Teiles, nämlich des Blockes Jer 11–20 – eines Buches durch Gebete, und zum Anderen die gezielte Positionierung: Die Konfessionen sind strukturbildend innerhalb von ch. 1–20, insofern sie jeweils auf das Vorangehende reagieren und – mit Ausnahme der ersten Konfession (11:18–12:6) – Abschlüsse darstellen. Eine letzte Vorbemerkung betrifft die bei Jer unumgängliche Textfrage. Hebräische und griechische Versionen weisen teils enorme Unterschiede auf, die auch das Verständnis unseres Themas berühren. Ein Beispiel dafür ist Jer 31:7. In MT wird Gott am Ende des Verses aufgefordert: „Rette, Jhwh, dein Volk, den Rest Israels!“, was im engeren Sinn ein Gebet bildet. Die entsprechende Stelle in LXX (38,7) liest dagegen eine Aussage: „Gerettet hat der Herr sein Volk, den Rest Israels.“; man kann darin ein Bekenntnis sehen, doch fehlt in jedem Fall die Du-Anrede an Gott. Auf der anderen Seite gibt es Stellen, an denen LXX stärkere fromme bzw. ‚liturgische‘ Züge aufweist16. Im Folgenden halte ich mich an Jer in der Fassung von MT17. 1) Ein Beginn mit Fehlformen Die ersten Gebete im eigentlichen Sinn begegnen in Jer 2:27. Es sind gleich drei. In ihnen allen zitiert Gott, wie Menschen in Israel beten: „Sie sind sagend zum Holz: ‚Mein Vater bist du!‘, und zum Stein: ‚Du hast mich18 geboren.‘, . . . Doch in der Zeit ihres Unheils sagen sie: ‚Erheb dich, und hilf uns!‘ “ Die ersten zwei Zitate zeigen eine verkehrte Zuwendung zu Kultobjekten, die Eltern gleich angeredet werden19. Diese Grundhaltung wird verlassen, wenn die Menschen in Not geraten; dann neigen sie sich Jhwh zu und erwarten von ihm Rettung, wie das dritte Zitat belegt.

16 Beobachtet u.a. von J. Ferry, Illusions et salut dans la prédication prophétique de Jérémie (BZAW 269; Berlin, 1999), s. 283 u.ö.; H.-J. Stipp, Das masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches. Textgeschichtlicher Rang, Eigenarten, Triebkräfte (OBO 136; Fribourg, 1994), bes. s. 164. Letzterer schreibt: „Manche Retuschen sind aus Pietät erwachsen . . .“. 17 Eine eingehende Auseinandersetzung, Begründung und Rechtfertigung für diese Entscheidung liegt vor in Fischer, Jeremia (s. Anm. 13), 17–53. 18 Qere schlägt statt 1.Sg. den Plural „uns“ vor. 19 Mehrfach wurde dabei auch die Vertauschung der Geschlechter-Symbolik bei Kult-Pfahl und Massebe beobachtet, s. die Verweise bei W.L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia, 1986), s. 103f, und Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), s. 170.

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Alle drei angeführten Aussprüche sind Anreden an göttlich aufgefaßte Objekte / Personen und als solche Gebete. Die ersten beiden bedeuten eine Übertretung des Dekalogs als zentralen Bundesdokuments20 und verkennen, wer Gott ist. Dazu kommt durch das zuletzt erwähnte Beten in einer Situation von Unglück eine Inkonsequenz, welche eine Zumutung an Jhwh darstellt. Gleich mehrfach präsentiert Jer so anfangs Perversionen von Gebeten. Diese Linie zieht wenig später weiter, wenn die untreue Frau in Jer 3:4f Gott so anspricht: „Mein Vater! Der Vertraute meiner Jugend bist du!“, und dabei trotz ihrer Vergehen denkt: „Wird er grollen auf ewig, wird er bewahren auf Dauer?“ Zwar sind die Gläubigen – im Bild der Frau – zur richtigen Erkenntnis Gottes als ‚Vater‘ (vgl. demgegenüber 2:27 zuvor) gekommen, doch steht ihre vertrauensvolle Anrede im Kontrast zu ihrem Verhalten, und ihre Erwartung auf ein baldiges Ende von Gottes Distanz ist angesichts ihrer anhaltenden Untreue mehr als überzogen21. Erneut steht das Beten in der Spannung zwischen dem Pochen auf eine enge Beziehung mit Jhwh22 und der davon verschiedenen Orientierung im sonstigen Leben. Die sich daran anschließende Reaktion Gottes (s. das Ende von Jer 3:5 und den neuen Spruch über die beiden Schwestern Israel und Juda ab 3:6) macht deutlich, daß er das Gebet nicht positiv bewertet und weiterhin Abstand hält. In den vorderen Kapiteln von Jer, doch etwas später, stehen weitere Gebete, die sich bei genauerem Hinsehen als problematisch erweisen. Zu ihnen gehören der Abschluß von Jer 10 und zwei Texte in Jer 14. Auf den ersten Blick scheint Jer 10:23–25 ein Beten zu sein, das Jhwhs Überlegenheit anerkennt (v23), um Milde bei der berechtigten 20 S. dafür D. Markl, Der Dekalog als Verfassung des Gottesvolkes. Die Brennpunkte einer Rechtshermeneutik des Pentateuch in Ex 19–24 und Dtn 5 (HBS 49; Freiburg, 2007), s. 103–106. 21 W. Brueggemann, A Commentary to Jeremiah. Exile and Homecoming (Grand Rapids 1998), 44, beschreibt die Haltung der Frau als „ . . . so eroded in sensitivity that she is not even embarrassed over her action.“ 22 In der Verwendung der Metapher ‚Vater‘, die in Jer eine wesentliche Rolle spielt: Sie kehrt wieder, als erwünschte Gebetsanrufung, in Gottes Reden in 3:19, dort gepaart mit einer aufrechten Haltung, die sich nicht von ihm abwendet. Sie begegnet dann erneut in Jer 31:9, wo Gott sich selber als Vater für Israel bezeichnet. S. dazu A. Böckler, Gott als Vater im Alten Testament (Gütersloh 2000), bes. 271–276 und 299–319.

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Züchtigung bittet (v24) und schließlich Gott zur Bestrafung der heidnischen Nationen auffordert dafür, daß jene Jakob vernichtet haben (v25). Doch hat dieses selbe Gebet im Kontext von Jer auch negative Übertöne: Es fehlen jegliches explizite Eingeständnis der eigenen Schuld, das Eingehen auf die Anklagen zuvor sowie das Anerkennen der persönlichen Verantwortung für die früheren Vergehen. Zudem zeugt 10:25 von einer nationalistischen Einstellung, die den anderen Völkern vorwirft, was auch eigene Verfehlungen sind23. Die Fortsetzung in Jer 11 mit der Anklage des Bundesbruchs stellt von Gottes Seite klar, daß ein solches Beten nicht seinen Erwartungen entspricht und keine Erhörung findet. Nicht viel anders verhält es sich mit den beiden Gebeten in Jer 14. Das erste (14:7–9) bringt zwar als neues Moment ausdrückliche Sündenbekenntnisse ein (v7), versteigt sich dann aber zu ungeheuerlichen Vorwürfen an Gott, mit den Vergleichen, er sei ein ‚Fremder‘,24 ein nur zum Übernachten zukehrender Wanderer, ein hilfloser Mann und versagender Held (v8f ). Das zweite Gebet (14:19–22) geht über das erste hinaus, mit inständigen Bitten an Gott (v21) und einem Lobpreis Gottes am Ende (v22), bleibt aber dennoch der Zwiespältigkeit verhaftet, trotz eigener Schuld (v20) Gott massiv für sein Sich-Fernhalten vom Volk anzuklagen (v19)25. Die Reaktion Gottes in Jer 15:1f weist erneut, wie bei Jer 10, das Beten des Volkes ab, diesmal noch stärker. In den Anfangsteilen des Jer-Buches zeigen sich verschiedene Fehlformen von Gebeten, beginnend mit den Hinwendungen zu anderen Gottheiten26 und dem Anrufen Jhwhs, doch nur bei Not, in Jer 2:27; 3:4,

23 Die beiden Relativsätze „die dich nicht kennen“ sowie „die deinen Namen nicht anrufen“ treffen ebenso auf das betende, mit Israel zu identifizierende „Sprecher-Ich“ zu: Gott selber hatte ihnen vorgehalten, ihn nicht zu kennen (Jer 4:22; 9:2.5), ja nicht einmal nach ihm zu fragen (Jer 2:6.8). Eine eingehendere Besprechung der angesprochenen Ambivalenz des Gebetes findet sich bei Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), 393–397. 24 J.P. Floß, „Warum bist du wie ein Fremder im Land, wie ein Reisiger, der nur zum Übernachten einkehrt?“, in: H. Irsigler (Hg.), „Wer darf hinaufsteigen zum Berg JHWHs?“ FS S.Ö. Steingrimsson (ATSAT 72; St. Ottilien, 2002), s. 291–304, bes. 301, streicht die Einmaligkeit dieser Bezeichnung für Gott heraus. 25 R.P. Carroll, Jeremiah (OTL; London, 1986), s. 318, nennt das Miteinander von Schuldeingeständnis und folgendem Lob „. . . a mixture of self-denigration and flattery of the deity“ – für weitere Aspekte der beiden Gebete s. Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), s. 477–479 und 486–489. 26 Dies findet sich nochmals wieder gegen Ende der Prosatexte, in Jer 44. Dort erklären die nach Ägypten Ausgewanderten: „Wir werden jedes Wort, das aus unserem Mund herausgegangen ist, sicherlich tun“ (44:17). Damit sind die der Himmelskönigin verspro-

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bis hin zu den ambivalenten Mischungen von Bekenntnissen, Vorwürfen und Bitten in Jer 10 und 14. Die ablehnenden Antworten Gottes machen dabei jeweils im Kontext deutlich, daß Entscheidendes fehlt und deswegen auch noch keine Heilung für die Gemeinschaft erfolgen kann. Diese – um einen starken Ausdruck zu gebrauchen – ‚verkehrten‘ Gebete unterstreichen somit den Abstand, der zwischen der Einschätzung der Betenden und dem Empfinden und den Ansprüchen Gottes besteht. Das Medium des Betens, als Zeichen enger Nähe, wird dabei zum „Anzeige-Medium“ der Entfernung in der Beziehung zu ihm. 2) Erhoffte und erwünschte Gebete Jer stellt nicht nur fehlgeleitetes Beten bloß, sondern zeigt auch mehrfach auf, wie es idealerweise sein sollte. Bereits im Zusammenhang mit der ‚Vater‘-Anrede in Jer 3 kam kurz (Anm. 22) Gottes Sehnsucht zur Sprache, aufrichtig und bleibend so angesprochen zu werden (Jer 3:19). Wenig später erfolgt auf den Umkehraufruf an die abtrünnigen Kinder (3:22a) deren ausführliches, bekennendes Gebet (3:22c–25). Wie ein Gegen-Modell zu den Fehlformen steht es ebenfalls am Beginn von Jer und beschreibt das erneute Sich-Hinwenden zum gemeinsamen Gott Jhwh,27 die wachsende Einsicht in bisherige Täuschungen, deren Ursachen und Folgen. Damit ist eine solide Basis für eine Wiederaufnahme der Beziehung mit Gott gegeben, wie auch die Fortführung in Jer 4:1–4 mit verschiedenen göttlichen Zusagen beweist. Ausdrücklich verlangt Gott Beten im ‚Brief ‘ an die nach Babel Exilierten in Jer 29:7: „Sucht das Heil der Stadt . . . und betet für sie . . .!“ Das Besondere an dieser Aufforderung liegt darin, daß der Einsatz der Verschleppten für ihre Gegner erfolgen soll, für jene, die schuld sind an ihrem Leid. Das Beten für die eigenen Feinde schließt die Anweisungen an die Exilierten ab und bildet gleichsam deren Höhepunkt; ein solcher Befehl zielt darauf, Polarisierungen und eigene Verletzunchenen Gelübde gemeint (44:25). So kehren die Vergehen des Anfangs am Schluß des Buches wieder und zeigen, daß Teile des Volkes auch durch die Katastrophe nicht weiser geworden sind; in der Folge ist der endgültige Untergang unvermeidlich (44:26–30). 27 „Jhwh unser Gott“ findet sich viermal in Jer 3:22–25, wie sonst nur in Ps 99:5–9 in ähnlicher Dichte. Das Bekenntnis zum einen Gott und die Ausrichtung auf ihn hat die Kraft, die Gemeinschaft zu einen.

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gen zu überwinden28 und so einen Weg zu finden, positiv Anderen zu begegnen und ein schweres Schicksal zu meistern. Ein weiterer Befehl zum Beten steht wenig später und wurde schon bei der Vorbemerkung zum Text von Jer erwähnt. Jer 31:7 legt einer ungenannten Gruppe intensiv29 nahe, Gott anzusprechen mit „Rette, Jhwh, dein Volk!“. Die Einleitung des Verses gibt durch die Botenformel Gott als Redner aus; er selbst fordert also auf, ihn anzugehen um Hilfe für seine Gemeinschaft. Dies als göttliches Sich-Zieren, etwa im Sinn eines überheblichen „Der Herr will gebeten werden“, auszulegen, verbietet sich vom Kontext der Trostrolle, die durchwegs ein aktives, frei schenkendes und sich nicht zurückhaltendes Zugehen Gottes zeigt30. Vielmehr kommt darin die Kraft eines Gebetes durch, das im Gleichklang mit göttlichem Wünschen steht31 und so eine Harmonie von Gott und Mensch beim gemeinsamen Ziel der Rettung ausdrückt und bewirkt. Im selben Kapitel zitiert Gott Efraims Bekenntnis und Umkehrbitte (31:18f ). Schon die Einführung dazu, mit doppeltem ‚hören‘, betont dabei Gottes aufmerksames Wahrnehmen; seine Reaktion darauf in v20 läßt tiefste innere Regung und Erbarmen erkennen. Beides zusammen belegt, daß Gott ein solches Beten ersehnt; außerdem ist es aufgrund von Stichworten und Motiv-Ähnlichkeiten eng mit dem „Modell-Gebet“ des Anfangs in Jer 3:22–25 verbunden32. Was dort vorgestellt wurde, wird hier durch ‚Efraim‘ aufgenommen und mit der Geste, sich auf den Schenkel zu schlagen (v19), verstärkt. Als Zeichen der neu angebrochenen, heilvollen Zeit mag auch die Aufforderung in 33:11 gelten: „Lobt Jhwh der Scharen, denn gut ist Jhwh, denn ewig währt seine Verbundenheit!“

28

Daß Gottes Forderungen natürlich eine große Zumutung bedeuten, belegt auch die Reaktion Schemajas in Jer 29:24–28. H. Weippert, „Fern von Jerusalem. Die Exilsethik von Jer 29,5–7,“ in: F. Hahn u.a. (Hg.), Zion, Ort der Begegnung FS L. Klein (BBB 90; Bodenheim, 1993), s. 127–139, bes. 132f, sieht in der Fürbitte für das Wohl der fremden Stadt einen bewußten Widerspruch zu Dtn 23:7. 29 Fünf Imperative im Plural folgen aufeinander, jeweils mit verba dicendi. 30 G. Fischer, Das Trostbüchlein. Text, Komposition und Theologie von Jer 30–31 (SBB 26; Stuttgart, 1993), s. 271–278. 31 Damit entspricht Jer 31:7 vom Inhalt her, trotz anderer Formulierung, der Vaterunser-Bitte „dein Wille geschehe“ (Mt 6:10). – Die Übereinstimmung wird möglich, weil Gott seinen Wunsch mitteilt. 32 Gemeinsam sind u.a. „denn du bist Jhwh . . .“, Schande, Jugend.

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Lobpreis und Dank33 an Gott drücken nun angemessen die veränderten Umstände aus. Sie sind als Reaktion auf die Wandlung zum Guten gefordert und markieren so eine Wende im Buch. Dasselbe trifft zu auf jene Aufforderung, die an Jeremia wenige Verse zuvor ergeht, in 33:3: „Rufe mich an, und ich antworte dir!“ Damit hebt Gott im Zusammenhang der neues Heil ansagenden Kapitel Jer 29–33, wie schon in 29:7, nun ein zweites Mal die früheren Verbote der Fürbitte auf 34 und bestätigt die im Kontext ergehenden Veränderungen von anderer Seite her. Gab es zuvor nicht einmal für das Gebet des Propheten eine Chance, Gott noch zu erreichen, so steht dieser Zugang nun wieder explizit offen; ja, Gott ermutigt sogar dazu. Nach dem Mord an Gedalja wird Jeremia in Jer 42:2 erneut um sein Beten ersucht35. Der Prophet sagt die Erfüllung dieser Bitte zu (v4) und erhält seinerseits das Versprechen des Volkes, alles auszuführen, was Gott ihnen mitteilen wird (v5f ). Schon die Zusage Jeremias setzt die Aufhebung des Verbots der Fürbitte (s. vorigen Absatz) voraus, und die ab 42:7 ergehende Antwort Gottes bekräftigt weiter die bereits bei den Stellen aus Jer 33 beobachtete Wende. Wiederum kann man am Beten ablesen, wie es um die Beziehung mit Gott und allgemein um die Lage des Volkes steht. Zusätzlich bedeutet das von der Gemeinschaft

33 Die Weiterführung im selben Vers spricht davon, daß Menschen wieder zum Tempel kommen und ‫ תודה‬dorthin bringen. Für W. Herrmann, „Zu Jer 33,11“, BN 123 (2004), s. 41–44, bes. 41, bleibt dabei offen, ob Gebete oder Opfer gemeint sind; der Zusammenhang deutet aber eher auf Ersteres (s. dazu unten bei 5. die Besprechung von Jer 17:26). 34 Diese standen in Jer 7:16; 11:14; 14:11 und sind mit „flehen für“ (‫פלל בעד‬, ebenso in 29:7, beim geforderten Eintreten der Exilierten für Babel) formuliert; doch bringt 11:14, wie hier in 33,3, in Parallele dazu „mich anrufen“, sodaß auch für Jer 33 ein bittendes Flehen zumindest mitgemeint sein kann, für das Erhörung zugesagt wird. Gleichfalls mit ‫ פלל בעד‬wird Jeremia von Zidkijas Gesandtschaft in Jer 37:3 aufgefordert, bei Gott zu intervenieren; Letzterer spricht davon in 37:7 als „mich befragen“. Dies läßt auch für die ähnliche Stelle in Jer 21:2 vermuten, dort sei beim Befragen ebenfalls Fürbitte im eigentlichen Sinn angestrebt. 35 Wiederum findet ‫פלל בעד‬, der klassische Ausdruck für Fürbitte, Verwendung. Jer 42 schildert insgesamt beispielhaft, wie eine Gemeinschaft in wichtigen Entscheidungen Gott durch seine Sprecher betend anfragen soll: G. Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (HThKAT; Freiburg, 2005), s. 400f; vgl. auch A. Weiser, Das Buch Jeremia (ATD 20/21; Göttingen, 6 1969), s. 360.

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erwünschte Gebet, daß sie ihm Wert beimessen und ihre Hoffnung in es hineinlegen. Ein letztes Mal wird ein Gebet nahezu am Ende des Buches befohlen. Jeremia verlangt von Seraja, vor dem Versenken der Rolle mit den Sprüchen über Babel Gott anzureden und an seine Unheilsworte gegen es zu erinnern (Jer 51:62). Dies ist der einzige Fall in Jer, wo der Prophet selbst jemanden zum Beten auffordert und darin Gott ähnlich wird. Das Gebet verstärkt dabei die symbolische Handlung. Aus den oben gesehenen Stellen läßt sich Mehreres schließen. Die vielen Belege deuten an, daß Beten ein wichtiges Anliegen für Jer ist. Die Bewegungen über weite Teile des Buches hinweg, die vom Schuldbekenntnis hin zu Lob und Dank sowie von untersagter Fürbitte zu gefordertem Beten für Andere gehen, lassen Wandlungen bei der Gemeinschaft und in der Beziehung zu Gott erkennen. Inhalt der Gebete und deren Position im Buch stehen dabei in engem Zusammenhang, in einem wechselseitigen Verhältnis. 3) Das Lob Gottes in Jer 10 Unter mehreren Rücksichten nimmt Jer 10:1–16 eine Sonderstellung ein: Nach den beiden vorausgehenden Kapiteln Jer 8f, die überwiegend Klage und Trauer über den Tod der Gemeinschaft enthalten, schlägt Jer 10 mit dem Vergleich zwischen Jhwh und anderen Göttern samt deren Bildnern ein neues Thema an. Innerhalb von Jer ist dies zugleich die ausführlichste Behandlung jenes Themas, und es bringt die intensivste Polemik dazu. Zudem ist die Textfrage aufgrund der kontroversen Deutung des Befundes bei 4Q71 so umstritten wie nirgends sonst36. Der Aufbau zeigt nach der Eröffnung 10:1 vier kleine Abschnitte, die jeweils zwischen Blicken auf die Götter mit deren Anhängern und Jhwh mit seinen Verehrern hin und her (v2–5 ↔

36 In der LXX fehlen u.a. Jer 10:6–8,10, und 4Q71 scheint sie auch nicht zu bieten; diese Verse spielen aber eine Schlüsselrolle für ein angemessenes Verständnis des Textes, wie gleich im Weiteren sichtbar wird. P.-M. Bogaert, „Les mécanismes rédactionnels en Jér 10,1–16 (LXX et TM) et la signification des suppléments“, in: ders. (Hg.), Le Livre de Jérémie (BEThL 54; Leuven, 21997), s. 222–238 und 433f, möchte die Unterschiede zwischen beiden Textformen in Jer 10 als redaktionelle Erweiterungen im Hebräischen deuten, wogegen jedoch die sehr gleichmäßige Struktur in MT (beobachtet von M. Margaliot, vgl. die folgende Anmerkung; E.R. Clendenen, P.J. King, u.a.) und weitere Argumente sprechen; für eine knappe Orientierung zu dieser Diskussion s. Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), s. 377.

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6f; v8f ↔ 10; v11 ↔ 12f; v14f ↔ 16) wechseln37. Diese strukturelle Gestaltung ist einmalig und hebt den biblischen Gott im direkten Vergleich mit anderen Gottheiten heraus. Nach der Einleitung Jer 10:1 und der Botenformel in v2 ist zunächst Gott als Sprecher anzunehmen. Doch die Anrede an ihn in v6f verlangt, dabei einen anderen Redner am Werk zu sehen, der lobend bekennt: „Gar niemand ist wie du, Jhwh! Groß bist du, und groß ist dein Name in Stärke. Wer würde dich nicht fürchten, König der Nationen, denn dir gebührt es, denn unter allen Weisen der Nationen und in ihrem ganzen Königreich ist gar niemand wie du!“ Dieses Gebet ist gerahmt von der Unvergleichlichkeit Jhwhs. Es ist Antwort auf Gottes Reden zuvor, was u.a. am Motiv der ‚Furcht‘ deutlich wird. Statt sich vor den Götterstatuen zu fürchten (10:5), sollen die Menschen Ehrfurcht vor Jhwh haben, der in einmaliger Weise mit dem Titel „König der Nationen“ als universaler Herrscher vorgestellt wird (v7). Beten erscheint hier wie eine unmittelbare, spontane Reaktion38 auf von Gott Gesagtes. In den drei folgenden Teilen wiederholt sich dieser Wechsel; vermutlich ist dabei für die anderen Jhwh betreffenden Passagen (v10.12f.16) derselbe Sprecher wie in v6f anzusetzen, auch wenn jene über Gott in 3. Person sprechen. Jer 10:10 greift dabei das Stichwort ‚König‘ aus v7 auf; der Hymnus Jer 10:12f bekennt die Einmaligkeit des Waltens Jhwhs in der Natur, und der Schlußvers 10:16 beschreibt seine enge Beziehung zu seinem Volk. Nach dem anfänglichen Lob in 10:6f reagiert der Beter noch dreimal auf Gottes Mitteilungen, doch nicht mehr in Anreden an ihn, sondern in preisendem Bekenntnis. Die Präsentation des Vergleichs Jhwhs mit den Göttern in Jer 10 als Dialog zwischen Jhwh und einer „Verehrer-Stimme“ ist singulär. Der Autor zeigt damit, daß Beten in seinen verschiedenen Formen (Anrede, Hymnus, Bekenntnis) und unterschiedlichen Motiven die

37 M. Margaliot, „Jeremiah X 1–16: A Reexamination“, VT 30 (1980), s. 295–308, bes. 298f. Die Jhwh betreffenden Teile sind die Verse 6–7, 10, 12f und 16. 38 Der Sprecherwechsel ist nicht gekennzeichnet. Der direkte Anschluß von v6 an Gottes Reden zuvor in v5 ist ein Stilmittel, welches das Überwältigt- und Ergriffensein des Betenden spiegelt.

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angemessene Antwort auf göttliches Reden und auf das Erkennen der Einmaligkeit Jhwhs ist. Zugleich vermag er an einem Schlüsselthema von Jer, nämlich dem Verhältnis zwischen Jhwh und den anderen Göttern,39 deren Unterschied zusätzlich formal zu veranschaulichen: Während die übrigen Gottheiten stumm bleiben, findet Jhwh durch den betend sich meldenden Verehrer Anerkennung. So unterstreicht auch die strukturelle Darbietung und die Verwendung der Gebete darin die Unvergleichlichkeit des biblischen Gottes40. 4) Jeremias Gebet nach dem Ackerkauf (Jer 32:16–25) Mit 155 einzelnen Wörtern im Hebräischen stellt Jeremias Beten in Kap. 32 das längste Gebet im Buch dar41. Gibt das alleine schon dem Text erhöhte Bedeutung, so vergrößert sich diese noch mehr durch die ca. doppelt so lange Antwort Gottes (ab der Einleitung 32:26, bis v44), die auf den Propheten sehr genau eingeht und einer Erhörung gleichkommt. Die Ausführlichkeit dieses ‚Dialogs‘ zwischen Jeremia und Jhwh überbietet bei weitem die Darstellung des Geschehens42, was ein weiteres Anzeichen für das auf dem Beten liegende Gewicht ist. Die ungewöhnliche Länge entspricht aber der entscheidenden Wende, die hier im Blick ist und die innerhalb von Jer den Übergang zum Heil bringt43.

39 Die Thematik ist ab Jer 1:16 („anderen Göttern räuchern . . .“) vielfach präsent und erreicht mit der bewußten Entscheidung für die Verehrung der Königin des Himmels in Jer 44:15–19 sowie Beschämung und Zerbrechen für den „Götter-Herrn“ Marduk in 50:2 besondere Zuspitzungen. 40 Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), s. 389 mit Anm. 6. – Die fast identische Wiederholung von Jer 10:12–16 in den Worten über Babel in Jer 51:15–19, als längste präzise Doppelung innerhalb von Jer, ist ein weiteres Anzeichen für die Wichtigkeit dieses Lobes Gottes im Buch. Es gilt auch für den neuen Kontext in Jer 51, mit stärker internationaler und geschichtlicher Ausrichtung. 41 Als ‚Wort‘ wurden die durch Spatium oder Maqqef abgetrennten Zeichenketten von Jer 32:17–25 gezählt (also ohne die Einleitung v16). Zum Vergleich: Das nächstlängste Gebet im Buch, die fünfte Konfession in Jer 20:7–13, kommt mit derselben Zählweise auf 111 Wörter. 42 Das Geschehen um den Ackerkauf nimmt nur Jer 32:6–15 ein; die fünf Verse davor sind mit J.J. Pardo Izal, Pasión por un Futuro Imposible. Estudio literario-teológico de Jeremías 32 (Tesi Gregoriana, Serie Teologia 76; Rom, 2001), s. 243, als situierende Einleitung zu betrachten. Damit verschiebt sich das Verhältnis von Bericht über das Ereignis zu dessen nachträglicher Verarbeitung auf 10 zu 29 Verse, also ungefähr eins zu drei. 43 Am markantesten hat J. Applegate, „Peace, Peace, when there is no peace“, in: A.H.W. Curtis / T. Römer (Hg.), The Book of Jeremiah and its Reception (BEThL 128; Leuven, 1997), s. 51–90, bes. 79–83, Jer 32 in dieser Richtung interpretiert. Das Moment der Wende ist aber in allen Kapiteln von Jer 29 bis Jer 33 zentral präsent.

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Jeremias langes Beten enthält eine Reihe bisher nicht angesprochener Momente. Es erfolgt, nachdem er zuvor gehorsam die ihm aufgetragene, scheinbar sinnlose Handlung ausgeführt hat. Die treue Befolgung von Gottes Auftrag liegt voraus (Jer 32:6–9), doch erst daraufhin erbittet Jeremia im Gebet die Klärung dieses im Widerspruch zum unmittelbar bevorstehenden Untergang stehenden Tuns (bes. v24f ). Wie auch bei den Konfessionen sind dabei innere Nöte und offene Fragen naheliegende Themen für das Beten. Der Haupttenor in Jeremias Gebet klingt jedoch völlig anders. Er beginnt in 32:17 zwar zunächst mit einer für ihn typischen Klage („Achach, Herr Jhwh!“, vgl. 1:6; 4:10; 14:13). Dann aber setzt er fort mit einem Lob auf den großen Schöpfer von Allem und auf dessen unumschränkte Macht, das er in den folgenden Versen hymnisch weiterführt mit Gottes Handeln in der Geschichte Israels. Den ausgedehnten Lobpreis für Gott (32:17–22) kontrastiert Jeremia schließlich in v23 mit der ungehorsamen und undankbaren Reaktion des Volkes. Während von seiten der Gemeinschaft Gott und sein Wirken also mißachtet werden, stellt das Beten des Propheten ein aufmerksames Wahrnehmen und Anerkennen göttlicher Größe und Zuwendung zum Menschen dar. Jeremias Gebet gleicht so ein wenig die ausbleibende Antwort der Anderen aus. Eine genauere Analyse der Formulierungen des Gebets zeigt enge Bezüge zu anderen Schriftstellen. Offensichtlich nimmt Jeremia bekannte Wendungen auf. Es berühren einander aus Jer 32:17 „du, du hast gemacht Himmel und Erde“ in exklusiver Beziehung mit Hiskijas Gebet 2 Kön 19:15 (mit Parallele in Jes 37:16), sowie „eine Sache zu wunderbar sein“ mit Gottes Erscheinung an Abraham bei Mamre (Gen 18:14), aus Jer 32:18 „tuend Verbundenheit Tausenden“, erneut als exklusive Verbindung, mit dem Dekalog (Ex 20:6 // Dtn 5:10), „der große, starke Gott“ mit Moses Paränese in Dtn 10:17, aus Jer 32:19 Gottes „geöffnete Augen“ mit Salomos Tempelweihegebet (1 Kön 8:29,52), aus Jer 32:20 „Zeichen und Wunder“ in Bezug auf Ägypten mit dem Exodus (mehrfach ab Ex 7:3), aus Jer 32:21 die Herausführung aus Ägypten mit dem dtn Credo (Dtn 26:8), usw. Diese intertextuellen Verbindungen von Jeremias Beten44 geben ihm eine vertiefte Dimension. Es ist nur zu verstehen im Bezug auf jene

44 Das Obige war nur eine kleine Auswahl; für weitere Berührungen s. J.R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36 (AB 21B; New York, 2004), s. 511–514; Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (Anm. 35),

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entscheidenden Momente der Geschichte und Texte der biblischen Tradition, die er in seinem Gebet anklingen läßt. Beten erfolgt dabei als Aufnahme und Verarbeitung jener grundlegenden Erfahrungen, in denen Jhwh bisher seinem Volk begegnet ist. Dazu zählen auch Rückgriffe auf frühere Gebete großer Persönlichkeiten (Salomo, Hiskija)45. Daß Gott seinem Propheten ausführlich antwortet und darin ihn aufgreift (s. v27, wie v17 eine Anspielung auf Gen 18:14), zeigt, wie sehr er und Jeremia in ihrer Haltung im Einklang stehen. 5) Weitere Gebete im Jeremiabuch Es ist nicht möglich, im Rahmen dieses Beitrags alle Gebete in Jer zu besprechen. Die ‚Konfessionen‘ wurden oben schon kurz angesprochen (vor 1); sie alleine wären ein buchfüllendes Thema und werden deswegen hier ausgeklammert. Doch soll noch in einer Übersicht streifend in den Blick kommen, wie oft in Jer Beten oder ähnliche Formen der Anrede an Gott46 begegnen. Jer 6:26 erwähnt bittere Klage, und dieses Motiv findet sich noch öfter im Buch, vor allem in den Fremdvölkersprüchen (z.B. Jer 48:30f,36f,39; 49:3). Am Beispiel der Klage Baruchs in Jer 45:3 „Weh mir, denn Jhwh hat hinzugefügt Kummer zu meinem Schmerz! . . .“ wird durch die folgende Antwort Gottes in v4f deutlich, daß Gott das Reden des Vertrauten Jeremias als an sich gerichtet aufgenommen hat, obwohl dieser nur in der 3. Person über Gott gesprochen hatte. Dies läßt die Möglichkeit

s. 201–206 mit 218, sowie G. Wanke, „Jeremias Gebet nach dem Ackerkauf (Jer 32:16– 25) und der Pentateuch. Eine Problemanzeige“, in: M. Beck / U. Schorn (Hg.), Auf dem Weg zur Endgestalt von Genesis bis II Regum. FS H.-C. Schmitt (BZAW 370; Berlin, 2006), s. 273–277. 45 Dieser Zug der Aufnahme vorausliegender Gebete läßt sich gleichfalls sonst in Jer beobachten: Mit Davids Dankgebet auf die Dynastiezusage in 2 Sam 7 (s. dort die Verse 24, 26 und 27) „du aber, Jhwh“ in Jer 12:3 (in der ersten Konfession), „bestehen vor“ in Jer 30:20 und die lange Benennung „Jhwh der Scharen, Gott Israels“ (32x in Jer, ab Jer 7:3). – Auch spätere Gebete wie Neh 9, Dan 9, Jdt 16:1–17 u.a. greifen wiederholt auf Vorbilder in der Gebetstradition zurück. 46 Daß Gott mit ‚du‘ angesprochen wird, findet sich in Jer sehr häufig; die Grenze zwischen Dialog, Klage und Gebet ist dabei nicht immer eindeutig, s. dazu z.B. den Vorwurf in 4:10 „Fürwahr, gründlich getäuscht hast du dieses Volk, Jerusalem . . .“ oder die Anfrage in 5:3 „Jhwh, sind deine Augen nicht auf Treue (ausgerichtet)? . . .“. – Ich verzichte darauf, all diese Stellen vollzählig aufzulisten.

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offen, daß auch sonstige Klagen und Trauer (etwa Jer 9:18,20; 16:5f; 22:10; 25:34; 41:5) in einem weiten Sinn als Beten aufzufassen sind. Dies gilt wohl auch für das Sich-Niederwerfen vor Gott, das u.a. in Jer 7:2; 26:2 erwähnt wird und mit Gebeten verbunden gewesen sein kann. Das Motiv der Fürbitte wurde bereits gestreift (s.o. bei 2 mit Anm. 34); Gott untersagt sie Jeremia dreimal (Jer 7:16; 11:14; 14:11), was ähnlich wie bei den Konfessionen prägend und sogar strukturbildend wirkt47. Die Bemerkung in Jer 27:18 weist Fürsprache als prophetische Aufgabe aus – sogar zugunsten kultischer Geräte. Jer 11:3,5 übernehmen das aus Dtn 27:15–26 bekannte Schema der Bestätigung von Fluchworten. Auf die von Gott ausgesprochene Verfluchung (ab v3) antwortet Jeremia mit „Amen, Jhwh!“ (am Ende von v5). Die in Dtn 27 vorgestellte Liturgie erscheint adaptiert auf andere Sprecher, wobei nun der Prophet anstelle des Volkes Gott die Zusage gibt. Ob die zwei Worte im eigentlichen Sinn Beten darstellen, kann diskutiert werden; in jedem Fall erscheint es extrem verkürzt. Im selben Kapitel ist zweimal vom Schreien zu Gott bzw. zu Gottheiten die Rede (Jer 11:11f ). Der Kontext läßt darin ein Anrufen um Hilfe erkennen, vergleichbar mit 30:15 und wohl ebenso mit dem verschiedentlich benannten Flehen. Letzteres steht in Jer 14:12 in Verbindung mit ‚fasten‘ (s. auch Jer 36:7,9, dort aber mit der anderen Wurzel ‫תחנה‬, wie in 42:9). Die Notiz über Hiskija in Jer 26:19, er habe Jhwhs „Angesicht besänftigt“, darf gleichfalls als Ausdruck für inständiges, anflehendes Beten in schwieriger Lage angesehen werden. Sonderformen für das Ansprechen Gottes sind Schwüre und Gelübde. Bei Ersteren wird gelegentlich sogar der Inhalt angeführt, so in Jer 16:14f // 23:7f, doch reden sie von Gott in 3. Person. In Jer 44:25 wird auf Gelübde für die Himmelskönigin Bezug genommen; sie werden aber nicht direkt zitiert.

47 Jer 7 und 11 sind jeweils die ersten Kapitel der größeren Blöcke Jer 7–10 und Jer 11–20. Das Verbot der Fürbitte in Jer 14 wird noch gesteigert durch die Bemerkung in 15:1 über die großen Fürsprecher Mose und Samuel; es steht ebenfalls nahe dem Anfang eines Teiles, nämlich von Jer 14–17. Zudem ist interessant, daß bei Jer 11 und 14f, in beiden Fällen, bald darauf Konfessionen folgen: 11:18–12:6 und 15:10–21. Wo der Weg der Fürsprache verbaut ist, bleibt oft nur noch die Klage. – Für die Bedeutung des Klagens in der Bibel s. insbesondere die Beiträge im Sammelband von G. Steins (Hg.), Schweigen wäre gotteslästerlich. Die heilende Kraft der Klage (Würzburg, 2000).

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Völlig überraschend48 setzt in Jer 16:19f ein Bekenntnis ein, das Gott als Kraft und zuverlässige Zuflucht preist, der auch von den Völkern in seiner Einzigartigkeit erkannt wird. Vermutlich dürfte der rätselhafte Text Jer 17:12 gleichfalls auf Gott zu beziehen sein; so legt es jedenfalls die Fortsetzung in v13 mit „Hoffnung Israels, Jhwh, alle dich Verlassenden werden zuschanden“ nahe49. Von der Ausrichtung ganz in der Nähe der beiden zuletzt genannten Stellen steht das Lob. Unter der Voraussetzung der Einhaltung des Sabbats sagt Gott in Jer 17:26 zu, es werde wieder Menschen geben, die ‫ תודה‬zum Jerusalemer Tempel bringen werden. Von der parallelen Stelle in Jer 33:11 (s.o. bei 2, mit dem Imperativ „Lobt . . .!“ zuvor) dürfte eine Übersetzung mit „Lobpreis“ mehr für sich haben, obgleich „Dankopfer“ nicht auszuschließen ist. Solches Rühmen Gottes geschah schon in besonderer Weise in Jer 10; es kann auch Tanzen zu Musik (Jer 31:4) und Jubel (Jer 31:12) umfangen. Gebet scheint weiterhin angesprochen zu sein bei den Wendungen „Gott befragen“ (Jer 21:2; 37:7 – s. dazu oben Anm. 34) bzw. „Gott suchen“ (Jer 29:13; 50:4) sowie beim Wallfahren, das in Jer 31:6 und 41:5 ausdrücklich genannt wird. Der Durchgang durch einige andere Formen des Betens in Jer sei abgeschlossen mit Jer 31:23, einem Segensgebet. Es lautet: „Jhwh segne dich, Au der Gerechtigkeit, Berg des Heiligtums!“50 Gott selber, ausgewiesen durch die Botenformel am Versbeginn, teilt diesen Spruch mit, der die positiven Wandlungen im Land begleiten und fördern soll, und er bindet sich damit indirekt selbst, diesen Prozeß auch zu unterstützen51. Rückblickend auf die weiteren Gebete in Jer zeigt sich deren breites Spektrum. Viele Formen des Betens scheinen auf, und sie sind über das

48 Im Kontext zuvor (Jer 16:16–18) stehen Gerichtsworte, endend mit „doppelter Vergeltung“ für die Vergehen des Volkes. 49 Für eine Diskussion der schwierigen Verse s. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Anm. 19), s. 500–503, J.R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB 21A; New York, 1999), s. 792–798, sowie Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), s. 557–559. – Verwiesen sei außerdem auf den Bekenntnisnamen „Jhwh, unsere Gerechtigkeit“ (Jer 23:6 // 33:16), der ebenfalls öffentliches Stehen zu ihm zum Ausdruck bringt, wenn auch nicht als Anrede. 50 Der letzte Ausdruck kann auch übersetzt werden mit „heiliger Berg“, so z.B. J.R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36 (Anm. 44), s. 453. 51 Die Präsentation in Jer 31:23 als Aufforderung Gottes zum Beten kommt jener in Jer 31:7 (s.o. im letzten Absatz vor 1, sowie bei 2) nahe.

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ganze Buch hin verteilt52. Schwerpunkte zeigen sich vor allem in der ersten Buchhälfte sowie dann im Trostbüchlein. Aus den mannigfachen Arten von Beten läßt sich schließen, daß ganz verschiedene Stimmungen, Anliegen und Bedürfnisse dazu beigetragen und die reiche Entfaltung an Formen bewirkt haben. Dieser Befund trifft grundsätzlich ebenso auf die zuvor (II. 1–4) besprochenen Gebete in Jer zu. Sie stehen sowohl in Poesie als auch in Prosa. Klage überwiegt, doch findet sich mehrfach gleichfalls Lob. Ähnliches gilt für das Verhältnis von Einzelnem und Gemeinschaft: Gebete eines ‚Ich‘ sind merklich stärker vertreten als jene eines ‚Wir‘53. Auffällig ist die markante Spannung zwischen ‚verkehrten‘ (s.o. 1) und ‚erwünschten‘ (vgl. o. 2) Gebeten und die Zahl der Belege für diese beiden Gruppen. Es ist anzunehmen, daß der Autor von Jer damit das Gespür für deren Unterscheidung wecken sowie einen Impuls in Richtung der erhofften Gebete setzen wollte. III. Auswertung 1) Das Beispiel des Jeremiabuches (oben II.) rückt besonders deutlich ins Bewußtsein, daß Gebeten eine entscheidende Rolle in biblischen Büchern zukommt. Der Fall von Jer ist zwar eigen und ausgesprochen markant, insofern in ihm Beten überdurchschnittlich häufig erwähnt wird, doch in seinen grundlegenden Erkenntnissen übertragbar auf andere Werke. Dies gilt vor allem für spätere, von Jer beeinflußte Bücher, wie z.B. Chr, Esra, Neh, Dan. 2) Gebete scheinen oft strategisch plaziert zu sein. Sie begegnen bevorzugt an Wenden (vgl. Jer 32, oben bei II. 4) und an Endpunkten einer Entwicklung (z.B. in Jer 10, als Abschluß des Blocks Jer 7–10, oder Ex 15, als Krönung des Auszugs). Dabei kommen sie Schaltstellen und Knotenpunkten gleich, an denen sich Wichtiges verdichtet.

52 Bezeichnenderweise fehlt in Jer 52 jede Anspielung auf Beten. Das unterstreicht noch den Eigencharakter dieses Kapitels als Abschluß eines prophetischen Buches; im Unterschied zu Jes, Ez, Hos, Am, Mi . . . steht bei Jer Heil nicht am Ende, sondern kurz nach der Mitte: Fischer, Jeremia 1–25 (Anm. 15), s. 89f. 53 Die genannten Unterschiede bezüglich Sprachformen, Gattungen und Numerusgebrauch lassen sich aus meiner Sicht nicht redaktionell oder zeitlich verteilen. Sie sind eher kontextuell bedingt und so zu erklären.

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3) Die biblischen Gebete bezeugen, daß bei wesentlichen Ereignissen Menschen den Dialog mit Gott suchen. Leben ist nicht nur als äußeres Geschehen zu sehen, sondern birgt auch die tiefere Dimension einer anhaltenden Beziehung mit Gott; Gebete geben dieser von Seiten des Menschen Ausdruck. 4) Für die jeweiligen Bücher erfüllen Gebete entscheidende Rollen und Funktionen. Sie können auf einer inneren Ebene spiegeln, was einzelne Personen oder die Gemeinschaft erleben, und vertiefen dabei das Geschehen. Oft fokussieren sie besondere Momente und geben diesen dadurch vermehrte Aufmerksamkeit und verstärkte Bedeutung. Die Erwähnung von Beten und noch mehr das Zitieren von dessen Inhalt kommt immer einer Betonung gleich. 5) Die häufigen Gebete in der Bibel stellen eine dringliche Einladung an Hörer/Leser dar, sich auch selber betend Gott zuzuwenden. Gleichzeitig bieten sie dafür Modelle an und stellen eine Art „Gebetsschule“54 dar. Diese Wirkkraft läßt sich für Jer schon innerhalb der Bibel aufweisen, etwa in seiner Ausstrahlungskraft auf die Psalmen55. Die hier aufgezählten Faktoren belegen insgesamt deutlich, daß Gebete einen Schlüssel für das Verständnis biblischer Bücher darstellen. Sie spielen unter hermeneutischer Rücksicht eine zentrale Rolle.

54 K. Schaefer, Psalms (Berit Olam; Collegeville, 2001), s. XXV, gebraucht diesen Ausdruck für die Psalmen. Er gilt auch für Jer, s. Balentine, Jeremiah (Anm. 12), s. 342, der Jeremias Gebete in ihrer Direktheit, ihrer Ausrichtung auf Gott und im Umgang mit schwierigen Situationen als Modelle ebenso für heutiges Beten ansieht, sowie Fischer, Jeremia 26–52 (Anm. 35), s. 665. – Beten und beten lehren prägen ebenso die nachfolgende christliche Tradition. Die Jünger Jesu bitten ihn: „Herr, lehre uns beten . . .!“ (Lk 11:1). Justin der Märtyrer schreibt in seiner Verteidigungsschrift an Kaiser Antoninus Pius (Kap. 61) bezüglich der Einführung der neu zum Glauben Gekommenen: „. . . wir lehren sie beten . . . und wir beten mit ihnen“. 55 Nur zwei kleine Beispiele aus den oben angeführten Texten: Jer 10:13 kehrt wieder in Ps 135:7, und Jer 10:25 ist in Ps 79:6f verwendet. Zur Diskussion um die Abhängigkeitsverhältnisse s. Fischer, Jeremia (Anm. 13), s. 144f, sowie 132f bezüglich der Kriterien dafür.

DAS JUDÄISCHE UND DAS BABYLONISCHE JEREMIABUCH1 Hermann-Josef Stipp Zu den stabilen Säulen der Jeremiaforschung zählt die Annahme, dass beträchtliche Teile des Buches auf dtr Redaktionstätigkeit zurückgehen. Wo hat sie stattgefunden? Darüber sind die Ansichten geteilt: Während eine Gruppe von Exegeten für das babylonische Exil plädiert2, sucht eine andere den Ursprung in Juda3 (wobei beim Vergleich der Argumente die wechselnden Textbasen zu beachten sind). Die folgende Studie soll zeigen, dass der Dissens mit einer salomonischen Antwort zu bescheiden ist: Recht haben beide Parteien. Der Nachweis wird in drei Schritten vorgehen. Nach der Klärung der Prämissen (1.) ist (2.) mit weiteren Argumenten eine These zu erhärten, die in verschiedenen Varianten bereits mehrfach vertreten worden ist, wonach die dtr Bestandteile der Kap. 1–25 und 26–45 in separaten Arbeitsgängen entstanden sind. Ich nenne sie die jeremianischen Deuteronomisten (JerDtr) I und II. Diese Schichten stilisieren Jeremia als Unheilspropheten. Kap. 32 ist ebenfalls als dtr zu klassifizieren,

1 Der vorliegende Aufsatz wurde erarbeitet während eines Studienaufenthalts an der Universität Stellenbosch (Südafrika) im März/April 2007. Ich danke den Kolleginnen und Kollegen des Departement Antieke Studie und der Fakulteit Teologie für ihre Gastfreundschaft und Unterstützung. 2 Z.B.E. Nicholson, Preaching to the Exiles. A Study of the Prose Tradition in the Book of Jeremiah (Oxford, 1970), S. 130–133; E.K. Holt, „Jeremiah’s Temple Sermon and the Deuteronomists: An Investigation of the Redactional Relationship between Jeremiah 7 and 26“, JSOT 36 (1986), S. 73–87, 79; Th. Römer, Israels Väter. Untersuchungen zur Väterthematik im Deuteronomium und in der deuteronomistischen Tradition (Freiburg Schweiz – Göttingen, 1990), S. 474; N. Lohfink, „Gab es eine deuteronomistische Bewegung?“, in: W. Groß (Hg.), Jeremia und die „deuteronomistische Bewegung“ (Weinheim, 1995), S. 313–382 (359) = ders., Studien zum Deuteronomium und zur deuteronomistischen Literatur III (Stuttgart, 1995), S. 65–142 (118); Th. Seidl, „Jeremias Tempelrede: Polemik gegen die joschijanische Reform? Die Paralleltraditionen Jer 7 und 26 auf ihre Effizienz für das Deuteronomismusproblem in Jeremia befragt“, in: W. Groß (Hg.), „Deuteronomistische Bewegung“ (s.o.), S. 141–179 (175). 3 W. Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1973); das Fazit zur Heimat der dtr Redaktion ist gezogen in ders., Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 26–45. Mit einer Gesamtbeurteilung der deuteronomistischen Redaktion des Buches Jeremia (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1981), S. 113; R.P. Carroll, Jeremiah (London, 1986), S. 69; R. Albertz, Die Exilszeit. 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Stuttgart, 2001), S. 242f.

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verkündet aber Heilszusagen und setzt eine fortgeschrittene historische Rahmensituation voraus. Diesen Redaktionsschub bezeichne ich als JerDtr III. Abschließend sind (3.) die Indizien zu erheben, die Auskunft geben über den Ort der Redaktionstätigkeit4. Nun steht die Jeremiaforschung nicht am Anfang und hat sich enorm ausdifferenziert5. Deshalb ist zu Beginn der Theoriestand offenzulegen, auf dem ich aufbaue, was mit Rücksicht auf den gegebenen Rahmen nur knapp und thesenhaft geschehen kann6. 1. Voraussetzungen Die erste Prämisse betrifft die Textgrundlage. Das Jeremiabuch ist bekanntlich in zwei Fassungen überliefert; neben der masoretischen Edition liegt eine Ausgabe vor, die sich durch geringeren Umfang 4 Damit wird die nähere Begründung nachgereicht für eine Hypothese, die ich schon früher knapp umrissen habe: H.-J. Stipp, „Jeremia 24: Geschichtsbild und historischer Ort“, JNWSL 25/1 (1999), S. 151–183 (168–170). Eine ähnliche Separation der Schichten, allerdings nicht der Entstehungsorte vertreten R.E. Clements, „Jeremiah 1–25 and the Deuteronomistic History“, in: A.G. Auld (ed.), Understanding Poets and Prophets (Sheffield, 1993), S. 93–113; Albertz, Exilszeit (Anm. 3), S. 231–260. – Eine zweistufige dtr Redaktion (Jer 7–35*; Jer 1–45*) postuliert Th. Römer, „La conversion du prophète Jérémie à la théologie deutéronomiste. Quelques enquêtes sur le problème d’une rédaction deutéronomiste du livre de Jérémie“, in: A.H.W. Curtis – T. Römer (ed.), The Book of Jeremiah and its Reception (Leuven, 1997), S. 27–50 (40); abgeschwächt („perhaps“) ders., „How Did Jeremiah Become a Convert to Deuteronomistic Ideology?“, in: L.S. Schearing – S.L. McKenzie (ed.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists. The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (Sheffield, 1999), S. 189–199 (193); ähnlich B. Gosse, „Trois étapes de la rédaction du livre de Jérémie“, ZAW 111 (1999), S. 508–529, der allerdings das Etikett „dtr“ nicht benutzt. 5 Vgl. den neuen Literaturbericht von G. Fischer, Jeremia. Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt, 2007). 6 Hingewiesen sei ferner auf neuere redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien, die ohne das Theorem der dtr Redaktion operieren: C. Levin, „Das Wort Jahwes an Jeremia. Zur ältesten Redaktion der jeremianischen Sammlung“, ZThK 101 (2004), S. 257–280; E. Otto, „Der Pentateuch im Jeremiabuch. Überlegungen zur Pentateuchrezeption im Jeremiabuch anhand neuerer Jeremia-Literatur“, ZAR 12 (2006), S. 245–306; vgl. auch Gosse, „Trois étapes“ (Anm. 4). Das Gespräch damit muss hier aus Raumgründen ausgeklammert bleiben. K. Schmid hat seine frühere Ablehnung einer dtr Redaktion mittlerweile relativiert; vgl. Buchgestalten des Jeremiabuches. Untersuchungen zur Redaktions- und Rezeptionsgeschichte von Jer 30–33 im Kontext des Buches (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1996), S. 346–349 mit ders., „Hintere Propheten (Nebiim)“, in: J.G. Gertz (Hg.), Grundinformation Altes Testament. Eine Einführung in Literatur, Religion und Geschichte des Alten Testaments (Göttingen, 32009), S. 343–412 (354f.) – Kein Produkt redaktioneller Arbeit, sondern eine pseudepigraphische Schrift des 4. Jhs. ist das Jeremiabuch für G. Fischer, zuletzt Jeremia (2 Bde., Freiburg – Basel – Wien, 2005); Stand (Anm. 5), S. 103–114, 161–163.

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und makro- wie mikrostrukturelle Besonderheiten auszeichnet. Sie wird vertreten durch die ursprüngliche Übersetzung ins Griechische (JerG*) sowie die Qumran-Fragmente 4Q71 und 4Q72a. Ich nenne sie die alexandrinische Textform, wobei das an einem Hauptverbreitungsgebiet orientierte Etikett lediglich der raschen Verständigung dient und keine Aussage über den Ursprungsort trifft. Weil die textgenetischen Indizienlagen in diesen Zeugen beachtlich divergieren, gelangt die Vorstufenrekonstruktion zu andersartigen Resultaten, je nach dem, welche Textform als Basis dient. An dieser Stelle ist daher eine begründete Entscheidung vonnöten. Ich gehe davon aus, dass dem kürzeren alexandrinischen Texttyp eine globale Priorität zukommt, insofern er nach der Aufspaltung der Texttradition sehr viel schwächer weiterentwickelt wurde als der masoretische Zweig. Er ist also kein direkter Vorfahr der masoretischen Ausgabe, steht aber dem Gabelungspunkt weitaus näher. Hauptgrund dafür ist der sog. prämasoretische Idiolekt, ein Repertoire von Sprachmerkmalen, die in den masoretischen Sonderlesarten des Jeremiabuchs mindestens zweimal auftreten, aber in der alexandrinischen Ausgabe oder sogar dem gesamten Rest der hebräischen Bibel fehlen. Ich zähle derzeit (August 2009) 68 einschlägige Phänomene mit zusammen über 210 Belegen, wovon rund ein Drittel nirgends sonst vorkommt. Diese massive sprachliche Eigenprägung des masoretischen Sonderguts ist nur auf Expansionsprozesse im masoretischen Überlieferungsstrang rückführbar, nicht aber auf Schwund im alexandrinischen Arm, ein Schluss, der von zahlreichen weiteren Indizien gestützt wird7. Der Befund erhebt die alexandrinische Priorität (im soeben präzisierten Sinne) zu einer der bestgesicherten diachronen Hypothesen zum AT8.

7 Näheres bei H.-J. Stipp, Das masoretische und alexandrinische Sondergut des Jeremiabuches. Textgeschichtlicher Rang, Eigenarten, Triebkräfte (Freiburg Schweiz – Göttingen, 1994); „Linguistic Peculiarities of the Masoretic Edition of the Book of Jeremiah: An Updated Index“, JNWSL 23/2 (1997), S. 181–202; „Zur aktuellen Diskussion um das Verhältnis der Textformen des Jeremiabuches“, in: M. Karrer – W. Kraus (Hg.), Die Septuaginta – Texte, Kontexte, Lebenswelten (Tübingen, 2008), S. 630–653. Dort auch die Auseinandersetzung mit anders lautenden Positionen. 8 Vgl. zum prämasoretischen Idiolekt nun auch einerseits H. Engel, „Erfahrungen mit der Septuaginta-Fassung des Jeremiabuches im Rahmen des Projektes ‚Septuaginta Deutsch‘“, in: H.-J. Fabry – D. Böhler (Hg.), Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta, Bd. 3: Studien zur Theologie, Anthropologie, Ekklesiologie, Eschatologie und Liturgie der Griechischen Bibel (Stuttgart u.a., 2007), S. 80–96 (83f.), und andererseits G. Fischer, „Die Diskussion um den Jeremiatext“, in: M. Karrer – W. Kraus (Hg.), Die Septuaginta (Anm. 7), S. 612–629 (627–629).

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Dies macht den kritischen Ausgang von der alexandrinischen Ausgabe verbindlich für weiter zurückreichende Rekonstruktionen, und es werden alsbald Beispiele begegnen, die die Konsequenzen auf redaktionsgeschichtlicher Ebene illustrieren. Die zweite Prämisse betrifft die Aussagekraft geprägter Sprache9. Im Jeremiabuch ist die Phraseologie ein zentrales Kriterium der Diagnose redaktioneller Arbeit. Man hat allerdings die Reichweite der redaktionellen Beiträge häufig weitgehend mit der Verbreitung des typischen Vokabulars gleichgesetzt. Dabei wurde dessen paränetische Natur nicht hinreichend berücksichtigt, die seine Verwendbarkeit weitgehend auf Gottes- bzw. Prophetenreden einschränkt. Infolgedessen lief die redaktionsgeschichtliche Theoriebildung im Wesentlichen darauf hinaus, aus geeigneten Texteinheiten die theologischen Schlüsselpassagen herauszutrennen. Die methodische Problematik des Verfahrens wird von den formkritisch implausiblen Rekonstruktionen bestätigt, die es regelmäßig hervorbringt. Diese Praxis hat sich nicht bewährt und wird daher hier nicht fortgesetzt. Um den konkreten Umfang der redaktionellen Arbeit zu bestimmen, sind weitere literar- und formkritische Indizien heranzuziehen. Noch weitere Voraussetzungen gelten dem Zeugniswert geprägter Sprache10. Neuere Studien haben den Eindruck gefestigt, dass im Jeremiabuch formelhafte Terminologie nicht notwendig einen dtr Horizont verbürgt, sondern wie die Beachtung der konzeptionellen Eigenart erweist, kann die buchtypische Phraseologie ein differenziertes Spektrum theologischer Profile einkleiden. Sie markiert daher eine breitere Sprachtradition, die ich „deuterojeremianisch“ nenne11, woraus die dtr Ebene lediglich einen größeren Ausschnitt darstellt. Zunehmend anerkannte Beispiele für deuterojeremianische, aber nicht-dtr Texteinheiten sind etwa die Sabbatpredigt Jer 17:19–2712, die Vision von den Feigenkörben in Kap. 2413, die Verheißung des Neuen Bundes 9 Die folgenden Gesichtspunkte sind näher entfaltet bei H.-J. Stipp, „Probleme des redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modells der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches“, in: W. Groß (Hg.), „Deuteronomistische Bewegung“ (Anm. 2), S. 225–262. 10 Vgl. ebd.; ferner z.B. auch Schmid (Anm. 6, bei anfechtbaren Urteilen im Einzelnen). 11 Einen Versuch ihrer Katalogisierung bietet H.-J. Stipp, Deuterojeremianische Konkordanz (St. Ottilien, 1998). 12 So z.B. G. Wanke, Jeremia. Teilband 1: Jeremia 1,1–25,14 (Zürich, 1995), S. 170; Albertz, Exilszeit (Anm. 3), S. 237. 13 So z.B. Stipp, „Jeremia 24“ (Anm. 4), und die dort zitierte Literatur; Albertz (Anm. 3), S. 237; anders W.H. Schmidt, „Einspruch und Zuspruch. Jeremias Vision

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in Jer 31:31–3414 oder die Heilsworte in Kap. 3315, aus denen die Vv. 14–26 den größten masoretischen Überschuss gegenüber der alexandrinischen Ausgabe darstellen. Verschiedene neuere Voten stimmen zumindest darin überein, dass diese Stücke trotz enger terminologischer Verwandtschaft nicht der dtr Schule entstammen, sondern deren Nachwirken widerspiegeln. Gleiches gilt ohnehin vom masoretischen Sondergut, das durch seinen beträchtlichen Anteil an geprägter Sprache als jüngster Arm des deuterojeremianischen Stroms erwiesen wird16. Dasselbe habe ich begründet für eine Textgruppe, die im Wesentlichen aus Zusätzen zur Erzählung von Jeremias Tempelprozess (26:7,10– 16,24) sowie den abgerundeten Einheiten 35, 36 (+ 37:1–2) und 40:1–6 besteht17. Die „patrizische Redaktion“ ist bemüht, das Bild der judäischen Beamtenschaft aufzuhellen, um das schlechte Image der ‫ָשׂ ִרים‬ bei den Deuteronomisten und ihren Vorlagen zu korrigieren. Außer dem konträren Urteil über die zeitgenössischen Führungskreise stützen die Hypothese auch die spannungsvolle Kontexteinbettung von Jer 26:10–16 sowie der Schluss der dtr Einheit 34:8–22, der als direkter Brückenschlag zu der Erzählsequenz ab 37:3 gestaltet ist18. Der ehemals intakte, unter Zidkija spielende Zusammenhang ist nachträglich durch und Brief: Jer 24 und 29“, in: K. Kiesow – Th. Meurer (Hg.), Textarbeit. Studien zu Texten und ihrer Rezeption aus dem Alten Testament und der Umwelt Israels FS P. Weimar (Münster, 2003), S. 387–405, bes. 395 mit Anm. 34. 14 Vgl. W. Groß, Zukunft für Israel. Alttestamentliche Bundeskonzepte und die aktuelle Debatte um den Neuen Bund (Stuttgart, 1998), S. 134–152, und die dort zitierte Literatur; Albertz (Anm. 3), S. 237; Wanke, Jeremia 2 (Anm. 41), S. 294; E. Otto, „Welcher Bund ist ewig? Die Bundestheologie priesterlicher Schriftgelehrter im Pentateuch und in der Tradentenprophetie im Jeremiabuch“, in: C. Dohmen – C. Frevel (Hg.), Für immer verbündet. Studien zur Bundestheologie der Bibel (Stuttgart, 2007), S. 161–169 (166f.). Daneben verstummen allerdings die Versuche nicht, den Passus als authentisch zu erweisen; so jüngst etwa B.P. Robinson, „Jeremiah’s New Covenant: Jer 31,31–34“, JSOT 15 (2001), S. 181–204; W.L. Holladay, „Elusive Deuteronomists, Jeremiah, and Proto-Deuteronomy“, CBQ 66 (2004), S. 55–77 (70–73); A. Schenker, Das Neue am neuen Bund und das Alte am alten. Jer 31 in der hebräischen und griechischen Bibel, von der Textgeschichte zu Theologie, Synagoge und Kirche (Göttingen, 2006), S. 43–45. 15 Dies ist in der kritischen Exegese praktisch unumstritten; vgl. etwa schon W. Rudolph, Jeremia (Tübingen, 31968), S. 217. 16 Zum nicht-dtr Charakter dieser Textebene vgl. L. Stulman, The Prose Sermons of the Book of Jeremiah. A Redescription of the Correspondences with Deuteronomistic Literature in the Light of Recent Text-Critical Research (Atlanta, 1986), bes. S. 145f.; Stipp, Sondergut (Anm. 7), S. 104f. 17 H.-J. Stipp, Jeremia, der Tempel und die Aristokratie. Die patrizische (schafanidische) Redaktion des Jeremiabuches (Waltrop, 2000). 18 So auch C. Maier, Jeremia als Lehrer der Tora. Soziale Gebote des Deuteronomiums in Fortschreibungen des Jeremiabuches (Göttingen, 2002), S. 255f.

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die Jojakim-Kapitel 35 + 36 nebst der Rückwende in die Zeit Zidkijas 37:1–2 aufgesprengt worden. Von solchen deuterojeremianischen, aber nicht-dtr Passagen ist bei der Beschreibung des jeremianischen Deuteronomismus abzusehen. Die Polyvalenz der geprägten Diktion verschärft allerdings die Zuordnungsprobleme, weil die Terminologie als Unterscheidungsmerkmal nicht ausreicht, da gleiche oder ähnliche sprachliche Merkmale auf verschiedenen literarischen Ebenen zu beobachten sind. Welche Kriterien gestatten dann, Passagen des Jeremiabuches als dtr einzustufen? Nach K. Schmid „sollte (man) die Klassifikation ‚deuteronomistisch‘ strikt auf solche Texte beschränken, die sich sachlich an den Leitlinien des Deuteronomiums (Kultuseinheit und Kultusreinheit) orientieren und dazu die schulsprachlichen Eigenheiten des Deuteronomismus zeigen“19. Wäre dies so gemeint, wie es dasteht, dürfte es im Jeremiabuch keine dtr Bestandteile geben, weil dort das Thema der Kulteinheit fehlt. Gleichwohl hält Schmid zu Recht an dtr Einflüssen in Jer fest20, was den Bedarf an einer präziseren Formulierung unterstreicht. Die Definition der Kriteriologie ist freilich heikel und verlangt den Einbezug verschiedenartiger Gesichtspunkte. So selbstverständlich es klingen mag, sei doch zur Vermeidung von Missverständnissen zunächst daran erinnert, dass das Etikett „deuteronomistisch“ kein biblischer Terminus ist, sondern eine moderne Ordnungskategorie. Die Abzweckung auf wissenschaftliche Klassifikation ist der Grund, warum bei der begrifflichen Füllung das Postulat der Gegenstandsangemessenheit auch praktische Erfordernisse einschließt. Die Definition des Deuteronomistischen ist demgemäß nicht essenziell (also am „Wesen“ des Gegenstands orientiert), sondern zweckgebunden deskriptiv; sie beantwortet also streng genommen nicht die Frage, was deuteronomistisch ist, sondern was im Dienste analytisch fruchtbarer Kategorisierung so genannt werden sollte. Sie ist folglich Gegenstand der Übereinkunft, was andeutet, welche Freiheiten der Wissenschaft bei der Umschreibung des Deuteronomistischen zu Gebote stehen. Genutzt wird dieser Spielraum zunächst durch die Art und Weise, wie ein aktuelles Bild des Deuteronomismus die Formulierung der Kriteriologie präjudiziert. Im Folgenden wird ausgegangen von der

19 20

Schmid, „Hintere Propheten“ (Anm. 6), S. 355. Ebd. 355.

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neueren Einsicht, dass das dtr Phänomen im AT in sich aufgefächert ist. Die dtr Bewegung hatte eine Geschichte, in der sie Wandlungen durchlief, von denen die daraus erwachsenen Quellen durch Verschiebungen ihrer Gesamtcharakteristik Zeugnis ablegen21. Schon die dtn/ dtr Passagen in Dtn bis Kön repräsentieren ein gewisses Spektrum dtn/dtr Theologien. Was nun die einschlägigen Stücke in Jer angeht, in der traditionellen Nomenklatur S. Mowinckels mit der Sigle C belegt22, so fiel schon immer auf, dass sie sich von jenem Standardkanon durch phraseologische und konzeptionelle Besonderheiten abheben. Dem C-Korpus eignet ein Komplex typischer Sprachmerkmale und Theologumena, der mit den Kennzeichen des Kontrollkorpus bedeutende Schnittmengen aufweist, ohne sich damit zu decken, wie der Ausfall des ansonsten ganz zentralen Themas Opferzentralisation schlaglichtartig illustriert. Zugleich verraten die C-Stücke eine besondere Verwandtschaft mit dem wahrscheinlich authentischen Bestand des Buches, was ihnen eine Mittelstellung zwischen dem StandardDeuteronomismus in Dtn-Kön und dem Propheten Jeremia verleiht. Solche Einheiten dtr zu nennen, ist daher nur möglich auf der Basis einer erweiterten Deuteronomismusdefinition, die mit unterschiedlich akzentuierenden Autoren(-kreisen) innerhalb einer verzweigten dtr Bewegung rechnet. Wer dazu nicht bereit ist, muss dtr Elemente in Jer leugnen23, und wenn man überdies die Nähe zur authentischen Poesie höher veranschlagt als jene zum dtr Vergleichsmaterial, ist es nur noch ein kleiner Schritt, die fraglichen Passagen dem Propheten selbst zuzuschreiben24. So zeigen sich die Konsequenzen der Entscheidung, die Grenzen des Deuteronomistischen weiter oder enger zu ziehen. Die vorliegende Studie fußt auf der Überzeugung, dass ein flexiblerer

21 Schon deshalb meine ich, dass der Ausdruck „dtr Bewegung“ einen tauglichen Beschreibungsterminus für das gemeinte historische Phänomen darstellt. Vgl. Stipp, Tempel (Anm. 17), S. 14 Anm. 13, gegen Lohfink, „Deuteronomistische Bewegung“ (Anm. 2). 22 S. Mowinckel, Zur Komposition des Buches Jeremia (Kristiania, 1914). 23 So etwa Fischer, Stand (Anm. 5), S. 104f. 24 Dieser Standpunkt wurde bekanntlich entschieden verteidigt durch H. Weippert, Die Prosareden des Jeremiabuches (Berlin – New York, 1973); gefolgt in neuerer Zeit etwa von W.L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1. A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah Chapters 1–25 (Philadelphia, 1986), Jeremiah 2. A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah Chapters 26–52 (Minneapolis, 1989), „Elusive Deuteronomists“ (Anm. 14); P.C. Craigie in: P.C. Craigie – P.H. Kelley – J.F. Drinkard, Jeremiah 1–25 (Dallas, 1991), S. xxxv sowie 116–119 am Beispiel von Jer 7:1–8:3.

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Deuteronomismusbegriff, der auch Texte im Jeremiabuch einschließt, der Sachlage besser gerecht wird. Andererseits widerspräche es dem Sinn wissenschaftlicher Terminologie, würde das Verständnis des Deuteronomismus bis zur Inhaltsleere überdehnt. Der Gefahr eines „Pandeuteronomismus“25 leistet der Umstand Vorschub, dass uns hier eine der einflussreichsten jahwistischen Denkschulen überhaupt entgegentritt, die im AT und bis zur heutigen jüdischen Theologie eine tiefe Spur hinterlassen hat; so sind etwa die Opferzentralisation und die Torafrömmigkeit zu dauerhaft prägenden Markenzeichen des Judentums aufgestiegen26. Aber natürlich hat die dtr Theologie niemals in Isolation von anderen Formen der Jhwh-Religion existiert; sie ist nicht vom Himmel gefallen, sondern aus konzeptionellen Vorläufern erwachsen (unabhängig davon, inwieweit wir ihre Ahnengalerie noch aufhellen können); sie stand im Austausch mit zeitgenössischen Entwürfen und ging schließlich im breiteren Strom der jahwistischen Theologie wieder auf, um ihn nachhaltig einzufärben27. Deshalb ist vor, gleichzeitig zu und insbesondere nach der Lebensspanne der dtr Bewegung – wie immer sich diese näherhin bemaß – mit vielerlei ähnlichen Phänomenen in allen denkbaren Verwandtschaftsgraden zu rechnen. Endliche Dauer der dtr Schule bei bleibendem Einfluss bedeutet konkret, dass sie mannigfaltige Weiterentwicklungen anstieß, die ausgewählte typische Züge wie die Phraseologie oder die Toraobservanz fortführten, während sie in anderen Hinsichten und namentlich konzeptionell neue Wege beschritten, wie etwa das Beispiel der Chronik demonstriert28. All diese Erscheinungen „dtr“ zu nennen, raubt dem Begriff die Möglichkeit, seinen Daseinszweck zu erfüllen, nämlich Ordnung durch Unterscheidung zu schaffen. Weil die Übergänge indes naturgemäß fließend geartet sind, obliegt das Abstecken der Grenzen der kollegialen Kon-

25 Vgl. hierzu die Beiträge in dem Sammelband von L.S. Schaering – St. L. McKenzie (ed.), Those Elusive Deuteronomists. The Phenomenon of Pan-Deuteronomism (Sheffield, 1999). 26 Weitere Sphären bleibenden dtr Einflusses erörtert St. L. McKenzie, „Postscript: The Laws of Physics and Pan-Deuteronomism“, in: Schaering – McKenzie (ed.), Deuteronomists (Anm. 25), S. 262–271 (265–267). 27 R. Coggins, „What Does ‚Deuteronomistic‘ Mean?“, in: Schaering – McKenzie (ed.), Deuteronomists (Anm. 25), S. 22–35, diagnostiziert daher ein „spiritual and intellectual climate of the period of early Judaism, when the search for identity and for the causes of the transformation which had affected the community could broadly be described as ‚Deuteronomistic‘“ (31f.). 28 McKenzie, „Pan-Deuteronomism“ (Anm. 26), S. 269.

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vention. Dies führt uns zurück zu der oben akzeptierten Einsicht in die konzeptionelle Pluralität jener Stücke des Jeremiabuches, die die charakteristische Terminologie gebrauchen. Im Folgenden wird davon ausgegangen, dass die Trennscheide zwischen dtr Schöpfungen und nicht-dtr Erzeugnissen ähnlicher Eigenart auch innerhalb des Jeremiabuches verläuft. Das hier angewandte terminologische Raster operiert demnach mit einem Deuteronomismusbegriff, der so weit ist, dass Teile des Jeremiabuches darunter fallen, und so eng, dass diverse redaktionelle Texte davon ausgenommen sind. Beide Korpora sind nochmals in sich gestuft. Dabei wird zugestanden, dass die Zäsuren auch anders gezogen werden können, doch wird an dieser Stelle das oben reklamierte Recht praktischer Gesichtspunkte virulent: Dem Bedarf an Unterscheidung ist nicht zu entgehen; fasst man die Deuteronomismusdefinition zu eng oder zu weit, muss man jeweils außerhalb oder innerhalb dieser Klammer weiter nach Schichten differenzieren und geeignete wissenschaftliche Namen finden. Der hochgradig konventionsabhängige Charakter der Deuteronomismusdefinition und die praktische Umsetzbarkeit des Unterscheidungsbedarfs sind immer zu bedenken, wenn die Frage verhandelt wird, ob eine bestimmte Einheit als dtr einzuordnen sei oder nicht. Die vorliegende Studie folgt deshalb einer mittleren Linie, die das Gesamt der vom einschlägigen Sprachgebrauch geprägten Texte unter der Rubrik des Deuterojeremianischen zusammenfasst und in diesem Rahmen jeweils mehrere dtr und nicht-dtr Bearbeitungsschübe wahrnimmt. Im Einzelnen werden folgende Merkmale als Anzeichen eines dtr Horizonts gewertet: buchtypische geprägte Wendungen29, das Eintreten für die Kultreinheit30 und die Gesetzesobservanz31, die Idee der dauernden Prophetensendung32, Kritik an sozialen Vergehen33, die Rede von der Ausrufung des Jhwh-Namens über dem Tempel34 und von den Vätern Israels35; schließlich die kritische Distanz zu den 29

Zusammengestellt bei Stipp, Konkordanz (Anm. 11). 1:16; 2:28; 5:19; 7:6,9,17–18,31; 8:2; 9:13; 11:10,12–13; 13:10; 16:11; 19:4–5,13; 25:6; 32:34–35; 44:3,5,8,15–25; ferner 23:27. 31 9:12; 11:3,6–7; 16:11; 26:4; 32:23,29; 44:10,23; ferner 31:33. 32 7:25; 25:4; 26:5; 44:4; sowie prämasoretisch 29:19; 35:15. 33 7:5–6,9; 22:3; 34:8–16; sowie passim in poetischen Passagen. 34 7:10,11,14,30; 32:34; 34:15. 35 7:7,14,22,23,25,26; 9:13,15; 11:4,5,10; 16:11–13,15; 19:4; 25:5; 32:18,22; 34:13,14; 44:9,10,17,21; ferner 2:5; 3:18,24,25; 14:20; 17:22; 23:27,39; 30:3; 31:32; 35:15; prämasoretisch 11:7; 24:10; 32:22; 44:3,9,10; JerAlT 17:23. 30

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judäischen Patriziern (‫שׂרים‬ ִ ָ )36. Weil diese Indikatoren auch in nichtdtr Texten auftreten können, wie insbesondere Fälle im masoretischen Sondergut veranschaulichen, ist außerdem die Abwesenheit von Merkmalen erfordert, die die Zuweisung an eine dtr Hand behindern. Den Ausschlag gibt im Zweifelsfall die konzeptionelle Prägung, nicht die Terminologie. Die Diagnose eines dtr Horizonts ist immer Ergebnis einer Konvergenzargumentation, die je unterschiedliche Sicherheitsgrade erzielt. Über die erreichbare Gewissheit entscheidet neben der Indizienlage auch der Umfang der Texteinheit, denn je kürzer ein Passus, desto weniger ist eine eindeutige Charakteristik zu erwarten. Gegebenenfalls kann bloß die Einzelabwägung entscheiden, ob Theorieverzicht geboten ist oder ob allein die Terminologie bzw. die konzeptionelle Vereinbarkeit mit sichereren Fällen das Maß an Plausibilität erbringt, das eine Schichtenzuweisung rechtfertigt37. Bei realistischer Sicht der Leistungsfähigkeit der Kriteriologie bleibt nur das Eingeständnis, dass alle redaktionsgeschichtlichen Modelle Randunschärfen hinnehmen müssen. Unter diesen Umständen erscheinen mir folgende Passagen als gesichertes Minimum aus dtr Händen herleitbar: JerDtr I

1:11–19; 2:28; 5:19; 7:2d-8:3; 9:12–15; 11:1–14,17; 13:1–14; 14:11–16; 15:1–3; 16:2–13,16–18; 19:1–13; 22:1–6a,8–9; 25:1–10* AlT JerDtr II 26:1–6,8*-9,17–23; 34:8–22; 42:17–18; 44:1–28* JerDtr III 32 Wenn jetzt die Gründe für den separaten Ursprung der JerDtr I und II darzustellen sind, sollte sich indes zeigen, dass die Streuung der Indizien glücklicherweise einen gewissen Spielraum bei der Definition der beiden Korpora einräumt, sodass meine Hypothese ebenfalls eine entsprechende Modifikation der Textbasen toleriert.

36

1:18; 8:1–2; 26:21; 32:32; 34:10–11,19–21; 44:9,17,21. Beispiele von Passagen, denen eindeutige konzeptionelle Merkmale fehlen, sind 14:11–16; 15:1–3; 42:17–18. 37

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2. Die Unterscheidung der JerDtr I und II Ein Indiz für das Wachstum des Jeremiabuches ist wohlbekannt: Noch die Buchüberschrift ignoriert größere Teile des Werkes. Für Jer 1:3 dauerte die prophetische Wirksamkeit Jeremias „bis zum [] elften Jahr Zidkijas . . ., bis Jerusalem verschleppt wurde im fünften Monat“, während er laut der Kap. 41–44 auch darüber hinaus Gottesworte verkündete (vgl. „im siebten Monat“ 41,1). Da der zugehörige Erzählzusammenhang schon in Kap. 37 einsetzt, muss die Generalüberschrift auf eine erheblich kürzere Vorstufe des Buches gemünzt gewesen sein. Wie hat sie ausgesehen? Einen Hinweis liefert die Makrostruktur. Während die Kap. 1–25 vor allem poetische und prosaische Prophetenreden mit allenfalls minimaler narrativer Einbettung enthalten, wechselt der Schwerpunkt in 26–45 zu Erzählstoffen, wobei die Einheiten zu Beginn nunmehr regelmäßig verumständet oder gar datiert sind. Dabei nimmt Kap. 26 auch chronologisch die Erstposition ein. Im alexandrinischen Text ist die Diskrepanz noch etwas ausgeprägter als im masoretischen. Die folgende Liste umfasst die Textanfänge jener Stücke, von denen hier angenommen wird, dass sie in den von JerDtr I und II komponierten Büchern standen. ([Eckige Klammern] bezeichnen masoretische Überhänge, <spitze Klammern> solche in der alexandrinischen Texttradition.) Jer 1–25 1:11 Das Wort Jhwhs erging an mich folgendermaßen: Was siehst du []? . . . 7:2–3 [] Hört das Wort Jhwhs, ganz Juda []! So spricht Jhwh [], der Gott Israels: Bessert eure Wege und eure Taten . . . 11:1–2 Das Wort, das an Jeremia von Jhwh erging folgendermaßen: Hört die Worte dieses Bundes! Du sollst [] zu den Männern Judas und zu den Einwohnern Jerusalems reden . . . 13:1 So sprach Jhwh []: Geh und kaufe dir einen Gürtel aus Leinen . . . 15:1 Jhwh sprach zu mir: Wenn Mose und Samuel vor mir stünden . . . 16:2 [] Nimm [] keine Frau, und Söhne und Töchter sollst du nicht haben an diesem Ort . . . 19:1 So sprach Jhwh: Geh, kaufe dir eine aus Ton ,getöpferte‘ Flasche und (Männer) von den Ältesten des Volkes und von den [] Priestern . . . 22:1–2 So sprach Jhwh: Geh hinab zum Haus des Königs von Juda, rede dort dieses Wort und sage: Höre das Wort Jhwhs, König von Juda, der auf dem Thron Davids sitzt, du, deine Diener und dein Volk, die durch diese Tore kommen! . . .

250 25:1–3

hermann-josef stipp Das Wort, das an Jeremia erging ,an‘ das ganze Volk Juda im vierten Jahr des Jojakim ben Joschija, des Königs von Juda, [] das [] er redete ,zum‘ ganzen Volk Juda und zu [] den Einwohnern Jerusalems folgendermaßen: Vom dreizehnten Jahr des Joschija ben Amon, des Königs von Juda, bis zu diesem Tag . . .

Jer 26–45 26:1–2 Am Anfang der Königsherrschaft der Jojakim ben Joschija [] erging dieses Wort von Jhwh []: So sprach Jhwh: Stell dich in den Hof des Hauses Jhwhs . . . 27:2 [] So sagte Jhwh []: Mach [] Stricke und Jochstangen . . . 28:1 Es war [] im vierten Jahr im fünften Monat. Zu mir sagte der Prophet Hananja ben Asur, der aus Gibeon (ist), im Haus Jhwhs von den Augen der Priester und des ganzen Volkes, folgendermaßen: . . . 29:1–3 Dies (sind) die Worte des Briefes, den Jeremia [] von Jerusalem an [] die Ältesten der Verschleppten, an die Priester, an die Propheten und an das ganze Volk sandte, [] nachdem der König Jechonja, die Herrin, die Hofbeamten, [] die Schmiede und die Schlosser aus Jerusalem hinausgegangen waren, durch die Hand des Elasa ben Schafan und Gemarja ben Hilkija, die Zidkija, der König von Juda, zum [] König von Babel nach Babel gesandt hatte, folgendermaßen: . . . 34:1 Das Wort, das an Jeremia von Jhwh erging, – und Nebukadrezzar, der König von Babel, seine ganze Streitmacht und das ganze [] Land seiner [] Herrschaft [] kämpften gegen Jerusalem und gegen alle seine Städte – folgendermaßen: . . . 34:8 Das Wort, das an Jeremia von Jhwh erging, nachdem der König Zidkija eine Abmachung mit dem [] Volk [] getroffen hatte, [] eine Freilassung auszurufen . . . 44:1–2 Das Wort, das an Jeremia erging an alle Judäer, die in [] Ägypten wohnten, die in Migdol, Tachpanhes [] und im Land Patros wohnten, folgendermaßen: So spricht Jhwh [], der Gott Israels: . . .

In Jer 1–25* fällt nur der Beginn von Kap. 25 aus dem Rahmen, doch ist schon lange erkannt, dass die Jahresangaben in V. 1.3 sekundär eingeschoben wurden, um den Redeauftrag mit dem Datum des Befehls zur Niederschrift der „Urrolle“ in Jer 36:1 zu synchronisieren, wie namentlich die doppelte Präzisierung zum eingangs genannten ‫ַה ָדּ ָבכ‬ durch die beiden Relativsätze 1b und V. 2 sowie Unklarheiten über den Sprecher (Jhwh oder Jeremia?) in den Vv. 3–5 belegen38. In diesem Buchteil war ursprünglich kein Auftritt Jeremias datiert. Die exakten Vorschriften zu Ort und Adressatenkreis der Tempelrede in Jer 7:1–2 wurden erst prämasoretisch ergänzt (dazu sogleich). Die Einheiten

38 Mit Thiel, Dtr Redaktion von Jer 1–25 (Anm. 3), S. 268–271, zu modifizieren nach Stipp, Sondergut (Anm. 7), S. 111–115.

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251

begannen normalerweise mit einer bloßen Redeeinleitung (15:1), vorwiegend gestaltet als defunktionalisierte prophetische Botenformel39 (13:1; 19:1; 22:1), oder mit der Wortereignisformel (1:11; 11:1); sie konnten aber auch allein mit einem Höraufruf (7:2 AlT) oder gar der Gottesrede selber (16:2 AlT) einsetzen. In Jer 26–44 sind Datierungen (26:1; 28:1) bzw. nähere Situationsangaben (28:1; 29:1–3; 34:1,8; 44:1) dagegen die Regel. Der Wechsel der literarischen Konventionen bestätigt den schon vielfach gezogenen Schluss, dass die Überschrift ehemals ein Jeremiabuch eröffnete, das in der dtr Prosarede Kap. 25* kulminierte40, die anerkanntermaßen einen zusammenfassenden Charakter besitzt und mit der Ankündigung Jhwhs, „alle Sippen des Nordens . . . über dieses Land und über seine Bewohner zu bringen“ (V. 9*), eine Inklusionsbeziehung zur ersten dtr Einheit herstellt, wo Jhwh „alle [] Königreiche des Nordens“ (1:15) „über alle Bewohner des Landes“ (1:14) herbeiruft. So ergeben sich zwei dtr strukturierte Buchteile unterschiedlicher Natur. Dies wird durch weitere Beobachtungen untermauert. Die beiden Buchteile überliefern zwei dtr Versionen der sog. Tempelrede, die jeweils den kontexttypischen Gattungen entsprechen. 7:1–8:3 bietet eine Langfassung als Prosarede ohne erzählerischen Rahmen, worauf in Kap. 26* eine Kurzausgabe mit narrativer Einbettung folgt41. Schon die Dublette als solche ist auffällig. Warum hat die Redaktion Rede- und Erzählfassung nicht vereinigt? Was sollte daran gehindert haben, die Rede aus Jer 7 in das erzählerische Beiwerk einzupassen, das Kap. 26 überliefert? Das Nebeneinander deutet auf getrennte Arbeitsgänge42. Diesen Schluss bestätigt die alexandrinische Ausgabe von Jer 7. Nachstehend folgt eine (vereinfachte) textkritische Synopse von 7:1–1143, die durch [eckige Klammern] die Überschüsse des masoretischen Textes gegenüber dem alexandrinischen kennzeichnet, während <spitze Klammern> die alexandrinischen Überhänge markieren. Bei 39

Dazu Stipp, „Jeremia 24“ (Anm. 4), S. 157. Vgl. schon B. Duhm, Das Buch Jeremia (Tübingen – Leipzig, 1901), S. 2, u.v.a. 41 Zur Rekonstruktion und Auslegung der dtr Erzählung Jer 26:1–6,8*–9,17–23 vgl. H.-J. Stipp, Jeremia im Parteienstreit. Studien zur Textentwicklung von Jer 26, 36–43 und 45 als Beitrag zur Geschichte Jeremias, seines Buches und judäischer Parteien im 6. Jahrhundert (Frankfurt a. M., 1992), S. 17–65; G. Wanke, Jeremia. Teilband 2: Jeremia 25,15–52,34 (Zürich, 2003), S. 235–242; vgl. Maier, Lehrer der Tora (Anm. 18), S. 136–165. 42 So schon Seidl, „Tempelrede“ (Anm. 2), bes. S. 174. 43 Es handelt sich um einen vereinfachten Auszug aus einer textkritischen Synopse zum Jeremiabuch, die sich in Vorbereitung befindet. 40

252

hermann-josef stipp

qualitativen Varianten separieren Schrägstriche \ den masoretischen Wortlaut (rechts) von der rückübersetzten alexandrinischen Lesart (links). Fettdruck hebt Elemente des prämasoretischen Idiolekts hervor. Die masoretische Fassung präzisiert mehrfach den Sprecherstandort: Jeremia trägt seine Rede am Tempel vor, wie auch Kap. 26 voraussetzt. Im alexandrinischen Gegenstück jedoch fehlen diese Informationen; der Sprecherstandort bleibt unbestimmt. Infolgedessen trennt die beiden Textformen eine konsistente Kluft: Die masoretische Ausgabe übermittelt eine Rede über den Tempel, die am Tempel stattfindet; dagegen bietet die alexandrinische Fassung lediglich eine Rede über den Tempel, deren Schauplatz offen bleibt. [‫] ַה ָדּ ָבר‬ [:‫] ֲא ֶשׁר ָהיָ ה ֶאל־יִ ְר ְמיָ הוּ ֵמ ֵאת יְ הוָ ה ֵלאמׂר‬ [‫] ֲﬠמׂד ְבּ ַשׁ ַﬠר ֵבּית יְ הוָ ה‬ ַ ‫את ָשּׁם ֶא‬ ָ ‫]וְ ָק ָר‬ [‫ת־ה ָדּ ָבר ַהזֶּ ה‬ [‫]וְ ָא ַמ ְר ָתּ‬

a 1 b a 2 b c ‫]ה ָבּ ִאים ַבּ ְשּׁ ָﬠ ִרים ָה ֵא ֶלּה ְל ִה ְשׁ ַתּ ֲחוׂת‬ ַ ‫הוּרה‬ ָ ְ‫ ִשׁ ְמﬠוּ ְד ַבר־יְ הוָ ה ָכּל־י‬d

‫ַליהוָ ה[׃‬

ֺ ‫ׂה־א ַמר יְ הוָ ה ] ְצ ָב‬ ָ ‫ כּ‬a ‫ֱלהי יִ ְשׂ ָראֵ ל‬ ֵ ‫אות[ א‬ ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫וּמ ַﬠ ְל ֵל‬ ַ ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫יטיבוּ ַד ְר ֵכ‬ ִ ‫ ֵה‬b ‫ וַ ֲא ַשׁ ְכּנָ ה ֶא ְת ֶכם ַבּ ָמּקוׂם ַהזֶּ ה׃‬c ‫יוֹﬠילוּ ָל ֶכם< ֵלאמׂר‬ ִ ׁ‫>כּי לא‬ ִ ‫ל־דּ ְב ֵרי ַה ֶשּׁ ֶקר‬ ִ ‫ל־תּ ְב ְטחוּ ָל ֶכם ֶא‬ ִ ‫ ַא‬a ‫]היכַ ל יֵהוָה[ ֵה ָמּה׃‬ ֵ ‫ ֵהיכַ ל יְ הוָה ֵהיכַ ל יְ הוָה‬b ‫יכם‬ ֶ ‫ת־מ ַﬠ ְל ֵל‬ ַ ‫יכם וְ ֶא‬ ֶ ‫ת־דּ ְר ֵכ‬ ַ ‫יטיבוּ ֶא‬ ִ ‫יטיב ֵתּ‬ ֵ ‫ם־ה‬ ֵ ‫ ִכּי ִא‬a ‫וּבין ֵר ֵﬠהוּ׃‬ ֵ ‫־ﬠשׂוֹ ַת ֲﬠשׂוּ ִמ ְשׁ ָפּט ֵבּין ִאישׁ‬ ָ ְ‫ ִאם\ו‬b ‫ גֵּ ר יָ תוֹם וְ ַא ְל ָמנָ ה ל ׂא ַת ֲﬠשׁׂקוּ‬a ‫ל־תּ ְשׁ ְפּכוּ ַבּ ָמּקוֹם ַהזֶּ ה‬ ִ ‫ וְ ָדם נָ ִקי ַא‬b ‫ וְ ַא ֲח ֵרי ֱאל ִׂהים ֲא ֵח ִרים ל ׂא ֵת ְלכוּ ְל ַרﬠ ָל ֶכם׃‬c ‫ וְ ִשׁ ַכּנְ ְתּי ֶא ְת ֶכם ַבּ ָמּקוֹם ַהזֶּ ה ָבּ ָא ֶרץ‬a ‫ד־ﬠוֹלם׃‬ ָ ‫ן־ﬠוֹלם וְ ַﬠ‬ ָ ‫יכם ְל ִמ‬ ֶ ‫בוֹת‬ ֵ ‫ ֲא ֶשׁר נָ ַת ִתּי ַל ֲא‬b

‫הוֹﬠיל׃‬ ִ ‫ל־דּ ְב ֵרי ַה ָשּׁ ֶקר ְל ִב ְל ִתּי‬ ִ ‫]ל ֶכם[ ַﬠ‬ ָ ‫ִהנֵּ ה \ וְ ִאם ַא ֶתּם בּ ְׂט ִחים‬ ‫ֲהגָ נֺב ָרצ ַׂח וְ נָ אׂף וְ ִה ָשּׁ ֵב ַﬠ ַל ֶשּׁ ֶקר וְ ַק ֵטּר ַל ָבּ ַﬠל וְ ָהל ְׂך ַא ֲח ֵרי ֱאל ִׂהים‬ ‫ֲא ֵח ִרים‬ :<‫>ל ַרﬠ ָל ֶכם‬ ְ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר ל ׂא־יְ ַד ְﬠ ֶתּם‬ ‫אתם‬ ֶ ‫וּב‬ ָ [‫]הזֶּ ה‬ ַ ‫וַ ֲﬠ ַמ ְד ֶתּם ְל ָפנַ י ַבּ ַבּיִ ת‬ ‫א־שׁ ִמי ָﬠ ָליו‬ ְ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר נִ ְק ָר‬ ‫וַ ֲא ַמ ְר ֶתּם‬

a

3

4 5 6

7 8 9

b a 10 b c d1

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253

(ἀπεσχήμεθα) ‫נִ ַצּ ְלנוּ‬ ‫ל־התּו ֵֺﬠבו ֺת ָה ֵא ֶלּה׃‬ ַ ‫ְל ַמ ַﬠן ֲﬠשׂו ֺת ֵאת ָכּ‬ ‫יתי‬ ִ ‫]היָ ה[ ַה ַבּיִ ת ַהזֶּ ה \ ֵבּ‬ ָ ‫ַה ְמ ָﬠ ַרת ָפּ ִר ִצים‬ <‫>שׁם‬ ָ ‫א־שׁ ִמי ָﬠ ָליו‬ ְ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר־נִ ְק ָר‬ ‫יכם‬ ֶ ֵ‫ְבּ ֵﬠינ‬ ‫יתי נְ ֻאם־יְ הוָ ה׃‬ ִ ‫גַּ ם ָאנ ִֺכי ִהנֵּ ה ָר ִא‬

e d2 a1 11 b a2 c

Die systematische Differenz zwischen den beiden Texttypen tritt schon am Anfang der Einheit zutage. Nur der masoretische Text bezeugt einen Redeauftrag, darunter den Befehl, die Rede am Tempeltor zu verkünden (2ab), samt der Vorschrift, dass Jeremia „ganz Juda“ anlässlich der Tempelwallfahrt erreichen soll, wenn nämlich die Pilger „durch diese Tore eintreten, um sich vor Jhwh niederzuwerfen“ (2d). Ursprünglich begann die Predigt einfach mit einem Höraufruf an „ganz Juda“ ohne nähere Spezifikation (2d*). In 10b verweist die masoretische Fassung auf „dieses Haus, über dem mein Name ausgerufen ist“, wobei das situationsdeiktische Demonstrativpronomen unterstellt, dass für Jeremia der Tempel in Sichtweite liegt. Die alexandrinische Ausgabe spricht hingegen bloß von „dem Haus“, sodass kein Grund besteht, die Bühne des Auftritts am Heiligtum zu suchen. Eine analoge Divergenz kehrt wieder in 11a, wo der masoretische Text mit „diesem Haus“ die Kulisse des Tempels evoziert, während die alexandrinische Lesart „mein Haus“ ohne spezielle Szenerie auskommt. Dieses kohärente Variantenbündel ist ein besonders klares Exempel für die alexandrinische Priorität. Denn es ist zwar vorstellbar, dass die Rede mit Rücksicht auf Kap. 26 sekundär am Tempel verankert wurde. Was aber sollte umgekehrt bewogen haben, diese Verortung trotz Kap. 26 aufzuheben und dabei die Wortereignisformel V. 1 gleich mit zu streichen? Wenn jedoch der Schauplatz des Auftritts ursprünglich kein Thema war, steigt die Wahrscheinlichkeit, dass der dtr Autor der Predigt noch nicht plante, die Erzählfassung in Kap. 26 folgen zu lassen. Auch dies spricht dafür, die Zäsur zwischen den beiden Wachstumsschüben vor Jer 26 zu suchen. In dieselbe Richtung weist das Babelschweigen in den vorderen Partien des Jeremiabuchs. Obwohl die Babylonier durch die vielfältigen Unheilsansagen dort nahezu omnipräsent sind, treten in den Kap. 1–19 ausschließlich Andeutungen und Umschreibungen für sie ein. Erst ab Kap. 20 begegnen Begriffe wie „Babel“, „Nebukadnezzar“, „Chaldäer“, akkadische Titel und Atbasch-Kryptogramme für die

254

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Babylonier.44 Wo dies in den Kap. 20–25 geschieht, kann man, wie ich meine, das erst nach-dtr Eindringen wahrscheinlich machen. Dies gilt ohnehin von den masoretischen Überschüssen45; darüber hinaus sind mehrere Einheiten betroffen, die das Babelschweigen schon vormasoretisch durchbrechen. Bei Jer 2446 wird der post-dtr Charakter kaum mehr bestritten47, und für 19:14–20:648; 21:1–1049 sowie 22:24–2750 ist dies an anderer Stelle zu zeigen51. Dass jedenfalls auf dtr Ebene das Babelschweigen bis Kap. 25 andauern sollte, belegen das Drohwort im Königspalast 22:1–9, das in V. 6–7 eine poetische Vorlage zitiert, die auf die Babylonier wieder nur anonym Bezug nimmt (‫ַמ ְשׁ ִח ִתים‬ ‫ ִאישׁ וְ ֵכ ָליו‬V. 7), sowie insbesondere Kap. 25. Dort nennt allein der masoretische Text die Babylonier beim Namen52, während die alexandrinische Ausgabe dies weiterhin vermeidet. In V. 9 bestätigt sie bloß die verhüllende Rede von den „Sippen des Nordens“53; laut 11b müssen die Judäer „siebzig Jahre unter den Völkern als Sklaven dienen“ (‫)*וְ ָﬠ ְבדוּ ַבגּו ֺיִ ם ִשׁ ְב ִﬠים ָשׁנָ ה‬, und anschließend wird das Opfer von Jhwhs schicksalswendendem Einschreiten lediglich als „jene Nation“ (12b) und „jenes Land“ (13a) identifiziert. Ferner übergeht JerAlT die Notiz, dass der König von Babel – verborgen unter dem AtbaschKryptogramm ‫ – ֵשׁ ַשְׁך‬ebenfalls aus dem Becher Jhwhs trinken müsse (26c). Man fragt sich, was in einem solchen Kontext veranlasst haben sollte, die expliziten Verweise auf die Babylonier konsequent zu tilgen, wo dieser Sprachgebrauch doch längst eingesetzt hatte und ohnehin feststand, von wem die Rede war54.

44 45

‫ ֵשׁ ַשְׁך‬für ‫ ָבּ ֵבל‬25:26; 51:41; ‫ ֵלב ָק ָמי‬für ‫ ַכּ ְשׂ ִדּים‬51:1.

Vgl. die Erwähnungen der Babylonier in 20:4f; 21:2b,4d,7a; 22:25; 25:1c,9b, 11b,12b,26c. 46 Vgl. V. 1,5 47 S. oben Anm. 13. 48 Vgl. 20:4e,5e,6b. 49 Vgl. 21:2b,4d,9c,10b. 50 Vgl. 22:25. 51 Vgl. vorläufig Stipp, Tempel (Anm. 17), S. 45 Anm. 88. 52 25:1c,9b,11b,12b,26c. 53 Der indeterminierte Singular in πατριὰν ἀπὸβορρα für ‫ * ִמ ְשׁ ָפּ ָחה ִמ ָצּפו ֺן‬9b kann späterer Rationalisierung entspringen. 54 Eine „Entbabylonisierung von Jer 25“ in JerG* postuliert Schmid, Buchgestalten (Anm. 6), S. 222f. Anm. 93; dagegen H.-J. Stipp, „Eschatologisches Schema im alexandrinischen Jeremiabuch? Strukturprobleme eines komplexen Prophetenbuchs“, JNWSL 23/1 (1997), S. 153–179, 163–168; P. Schwagmeier, Untersuchungen zu Textgeschichte und Entstehung des Ezechielbuches in masoretischer und griechischer Überlieferung (Diss. Zürich, 2004), S. 143–148.

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255

So bleibt nur der umgekehrte Schluss: Die dtr Prosarede Jer 25:1– 10*55 unterließ ehemals die ausdrückliche Erwähnung der Babylonier, ebenso wie der Rest des Kapitels und wahrscheinlich das gesamte Buch, für das die Rede ehemals bestimmt war56. Die Scheu vor dem Namen des Feindes widerspricht diametral der Praxis in Jer 26–45, wo Babylon, die Chaldäer, König Nebukadnezzar und seine Offiziere ausgiebig und unbefangen beim Namen genannt werden. Die Diskrepanz ist so ausgeprägt, dass sie selbst dann noch gälte, wenn einzelne vormasoretische Belege in Jer 20–24 bereits vor-dtr wären. Folglich spricht auch der Wandel im Umgang mit den Babyloniern für sukzessiven Ursprung und eine Schichtengrenze vor Kap. 26. Weiterhin stechen die beiden Wachstumsschübe durch Divergenzen im Sprachgebrauch voneinander ab. Auswertbar sind natürlich nur Phänomene, die zumindest doppelt belegt sind; erfasst sind jeweils sämtliche Belege in Jer. Zunächst die Besonderheiten von JerDtr I. Begonnen sei mit einer Eigenart, die eingehender zu schildern ist: JerDtr I hegt eine enorme Vorliebe für das Substantiv ‫ ָמקו ֺם‬. Ich zähle 21 Belege57 gegenüber einem einzigen Fall in JerDtr II58. In den übrigen Bereichen, seien sie vor- oder nach-dtr, ist das Verhältnis dagegen grob ausgeglichen59. Die Signifikanz der Streuung wird unterstrichen durch die Tatsache, dass beide Textschichten mehrfach ähnliche Sachverhalte zum Ausdruck bringen, wobei JerDtr I eine Formulierung mit ‫ָמקו ֺם‬ wählt, während JerDtr II das Wort vermeidet. So bezeichnet JerDtr I ְ wogegen bei den Tempel von Schilo (auch) als „meinen Ort“ (‫)מק ִו ֺמי‬, JerDtr II der Ausdruck fehlt: JerDtr I JerDtr II

7,12 ֺ ‫ִכּי ְלכוּ־][ ֶאל־מקו ִֺמי ֲא ֶשׁר ְבּ ִשׁילו‬ 26,6 ‫ת־ה ַבּיִ ת ַהזֶּ ה ְכּ ִשׁל ׂה‬ ַ ‫ונָ ַת ִתּי ֶא‬

55 Die Rede wurde nachträglich stark erweitert durch den Einschub der Jahresangaben in V. 1,3 (vgl. oben Anm. 38), die Befristung der Unheilsansage auf siebzig Jahre samt Überleitung zu den Fremdvölkersprüchen 9c*,11–13b und zahlreiche prämasoretische Zusätze. Zur Begründung vgl. vorläufig Stipp, Sondergut (Anm. 7), s. 111–119; vgl. etwas anders Wanke, Jeremia 1 (Anm. 12), s. 224f.; B. Huwyler, Jeremia und die Völker. Untersuchungen zu den Völkersprüchen in Jeremia 46–49 (Tübingen, 1997), s. 331–346; A. Aejmelaeus, „Jeremiah at the Turning Point of History: The Function of Jer. xxv 1–4 in the Book of Jeremiah“, VT 52 (2002), s. 459–482. 56 So auch Aejmelaeus, ebd. 464. 57 7:3,6,7,12,14,20,32; 8:3; 13:7; 14:13; 16:2,3,9; 19:3,4,4,6,7,12,13; 22:3. 58 42:18. 59 JerDtr III 32:37; sonst 4:7; 17:12; 22:11,12; 24:5,9; 28:3,6; 29:10; 33:10,12; 40:2; 42:22; 44:29; 45:5; 51:62; prämasoretisch 19:11; 27:22; 28:3,4; 29:14,14; 40:12.

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Die anschließende Drohung gegen Jerusalem spricht bei JerDtr I von dem „Ort, den ich euch und euren Vätern gegeben habe“, bei JerDtr II stattdessen von der „Stadt“: JerDtr I JerDtr II

‫ וְ ַל ָמּקו ֺם‬. . . ‫א־שׁ ִמי ָﬠ ָליו‬ ְ ‫יתי ַל ַבּיִ ת ֲא ֶשׁר נִ ְק ָר‬ ִ ‫וְ ָﬠ ִשׂ‬ ֺ ‫יתי ְל ִשׁלו‬ ִ ‫יכם ַכּ ֲא ֶשׁר ָﬠ ִשׂ‬ ֶ ‫ֲא ֶשׁר־נָ ַת ִתּי ָל ֶכם וְ ַל ֲאבו ֵֺת‬ 26:6 ‫ת־ה ִﬠיר ][ ֶא ֵתּן‬ ָ ‫ת־ה ַבּיִ ת ַהזֶּ ה ְכּ ִשׁל ׂה וְ ֶא‬ ַ ‫וְ נָ ַת ִתּי ֶא‬ ‫ִל ְק ָל ָלה‬ 26:9 ‫ְכּ ִשׁלו ֺ יִ ְהיֶ ִה ַה ַבּיִ ת ַהזֶּ ה וְ ָה ִﬠיר ַהזֺּאת ֶתּ ֱח ַרב ֵמ ֵאין‬ ‫יו ֵֺשׁב‬ 7:14

Bei JerDtr I entbrennt der Grimm Jhwhs „über diesen Ort“, bei JerDtr II hingegen „über die Einwohner Jerusalems“ oder „in den Städten Judas und in den Gassen Jerusalems“: JerDtr I JerDtr II

ָ ‫ל־ה ָמּקו ֺם ַהזֶּ ה ַﬠ‬ ַ ‫ִהנֵּ ה ַא ִפּי וַ ֲח ָמ ִתי נִ ֶתּ ֶכת ֶא‬ 7:20 ‫ל־ה ָא ָדם‬ . . . ‫ל־ה ְבּ ֵה ָמה‬ ַ ‫וְ ַﬠ‬ 42:18 ‫רוּשׁ ַל ִם‬ ָ ְ‫ַכּ ֲא ֶשׁר נִ ַתְּך ַא ִפּי ][ ַﬠל־י ְֺשׁ ֵבי י‬ ‫יכם ְבּב ֲׂא ֶכם ִמ ְצ ָריִ ם‬ ֶ ‫ֵכּן ִתּ ַתְּך ֲח ָמ ִתי ֲﬠ ֵל‬ 44:6 ‫וּב ֻחצו ֺת‬ ְ ‫הוּדה‬ ָ ְ‫וַ ִתּ ַתְּך ֲח ָמ ִתי וְ ַא ִפּי וַ ִתּ ְב ַﬠר ְבּ ָﬠ ֵרי י‬

‫רוּשׁ ָל ִם‬ ָ ְ‫י‬ In 44:6 ist die explizite Ortsangabe statt ‫ ַה ָמּקו ֺם ַהזֶּ ה‬zu erwarten, da sich die innertextlichen Adressaten nicht mehr in Juda, sondern in Ägypten befinden. Diese Einschränkung der Wortwahl bestand bei 42:18 mit seinem innerjudäischen Schauplatz nicht. Allerdings wird sich zeigen, dass der andersartige Sprachgebrauch bei JerDtr II aus dem Standort des Autors und seines Publikums ableitbar ist. Dass ‫ ָמקו ֺם‬ein Lieblingswort von JerDtr I darstellt, bestätigt sein häufiger Einsatz zu emphatischen Zwecken, ablesbar an seiner Redundanz. 7:6 und 22:3 erklären gleichlautend: „Unschuldiges Blut sollt ihr nicht vergießen an diesem Ort“, wobei die Angabe ‫ַבּ ָמּקו ֺם ַהזֶּ ה‬ streng genommen entbehrlich ist. 7:7 versichert für den Fall der Gesetzestreue: „Ich werde euch an diesem Ort wohnen lassen, in dem Land, das ich euren Vätern gegeben habe.“ Neben ‫ ָבּ ָא ֶרץ‬erzeugt ‫ַבּ ָמּקו ֺם ַהזֶּ ה‬ eine sichtlich gewollte Häufung. In 16:2 wird Jeremia angewiesen: „Du sollst keine Söhne und Töchter haben an diesem Ort.“ Dem Wortsinn nach stünde es Jeremia frei, andernorts Kinder zu zeugen. Doch das ist kaum gemeint; viel eher ist die Wendung rein rhetorisch moti-

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257

viert, weil V. 3 ein Drohwort eröffnet über die Söhne und Töchter, die „an diesem Ort geboren werden“. 19:7 kündigt an: „Ich zerbreche den Plan Judas und Jerusalems an diesem Ort.“ Genau genommen müsste demnach das im vorhergehenden Satz „dieser Ort“ genannte Hinnomtal im Gericht eine besondere Rolle spielen. Davon weiß das Jeremiabuch sonst jedoch nichts; folglich haben sich hier erneut die Stilvorlieben von JerDtr I ausgewirkt. 19:13 schließlich prophezeit: „Die Häuser Jerusalems und die Häuser der Könige von Juda werden unrein sein wie der Ort des Tofet.“ Wiederum dürfte es an stilistischen Präferenzen liegen, wenn das übliche einfache „Tofet“60 zu ‫ְמקו ֺם ַהתּ ֶׂפת‬ erweitert wird. Die Streuung des Substantivs ‫ ָמקו ֺם‬bekräftigt also den Schnitt zwischen JerDtr I und II. Mehrere Formen der Kultpolemik kehren bei JerDtr II nicht wieder; so die Vorwürfe, die Judäer hätten sich vor Fremdgöttern niedergeworfen (‫חוה‬-Št)61 und ihnen Trankopfer dargebracht62; sie hätten Baal63 und das Himmelsheer64 verehrt; ferner das Stichwort Tofet65. Weitere Anklagen, die auf dtr Ebene JerDtr I als Sondergröße ausweisen, betreffen das Verlassen Jhwhs, des Bundes oder der Tora66; die Weigerung, auf Jhwhs Worte zu hören67; schließlich ‫ ְשׁ ִררוּת‬68. Der Topos der Strafgrunderfragung wird nur hier gebraucht69. Für diese Stufe charakteristische Drohungen umfassen die ausbleibende oder unehrenhafte Bestattung70, den Ausdruck „Kot auf dem Angesicht der Erde“71 und die Vernichtung (‫ ) ִכּ ָלּה‬durch Jhwh72. Bei der Rede von den „Vätern Israels“ benutzt nur JerDtr I die

60

So 7:32,32; 19:11,12,14. 1:16; 8:2; 13:10; 16:11; 22:9; 25:6. 62 7:18; 19:13; sonst JerDtr III 32:29. 63 7:9; 9:13; 11:13,17; 19:5; sonst JerDtr III 32:29,35; Poesie 2:8,23; 23:13; Prosa: 12:16; 23:27; prämasoretisch: 19:5; AlT: 2:28. 64 8:2; 19:13; sonst prämasoretisch 33:22, 65 7:31,32,32; 19:6,12,13; sonst Prosa 19:14; prämasoretisch 19:11, 66 1:16; 9:12; 16:11,11; 19:4; 22:9; sonst (immer mit Objekt Jhwh) Poesie 2:13,17,19; 5:7; 17:13,13; prämasoretisch 5:19. 67 11:10; 13:10. 68 Immer in der Verbindung ‫ ְשׁ ִררוּת ֵלב‬: 7:24; 9:13; 16:12; sonst Poesie 23:17; Prosa 3:17; 18:12; prämasoretisch 11:8; 13:10. 69 5:19; 16:10–11; 22:8–9; ähnlich 9:11–12; 15:2. 70 7:32; 8:2; 14:16; 16:4; sonst Poesie 22:19; Prosa 20:6; 25:33; prämasoretisch: 16:6; 19:11. 71 8:2; 16:4; sonst Prosa 25:33; vgl, Poesie 9:21. 72 9:15; 14:12; sonst Poesie 5:3; 49:37. 61

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Wendungen „Jhwh gebietet den Vätern“73, „schlimmer als die Väter“74 und den Relativsatz „was sie und ihre Väter nicht kannten“ samt seiner Varianten75. Typisch sind zudem die Phrase vom „Freudenruf und Jubelruf “76, das Wortpaar „Haus Juda und Haus Israel“77 sowie der Ausdruck „unschuldiges Blut“78. Das Fürbittverbot79 einschließlich der Kombination ‫נשׂא ִרנָּ ה‬80 und die Wendung ‫ – ְל ִמן־ﬠו ָֺלם וְ ַﬠד־ﬠו ָֺלם‬in dieser Form81 – stehen im gesamten AT einzigartig da. Auch JerDtr II hebt sich durch sprachliche Besonderheiten ab. ָ ‫ ָכּ‬82, offenbar angeErst dieser Schub bezeichnet die Judäer als ‫ל־ה ָﬠם‬ regt durch die Vorlagen, wo die Verbindung reichlich anzutreffen war83. Eigenartig ist eine Differenz bei der Schilderung der durch die Babylonier verursachten Kriegsfolgen. Im Jeremiabuch ist ein Idiom verbreitet, das verwüstete Gebiete als menschenleer schildert: Eine ִ ְ oder ‫ – ׂלא‬wird gefolgt von den Verben ‫ישׁב‬, ‫ﬠבר‬ Negation – ‫אין‬,ֵ ‫בּלי‬ oder ‫גור‬, meist als Partizip geformt, bzw. von Wendungen mit den Substantiven ‫ ָא ָדם‬oder ‫ ִאישׁ‬. Poetische Belege finden sich im ersten Buchteil84 und in den Fremdvölkersprüchen85, doch dtr adaptiert wurde die Wendung nur im zweiten Buchteil86. Das heißt: JerDtr I traf zwar das Idiom in seinem Material an, mied aber den drastischen Ausdruck, wo er selber formulierte. Diese Barriere überwand erst JerDtr II. Nur dort begegnen auch die Wendungen ‫הלך ַבּתּו ָֺרה‬87 und ‫הלך‬

73

7:22,23,23; 11:4; sonst Prosa 17:22. 7:26; 16:12; sonst AlT 17:23. 75 9:15; 16:13; 19:4; sonst prämasoretisch 44:3. 76 7:34; 16:9; 25:10; sonst Prosa 33:11. 77 11:10,17; 13:11; sonst Poesie 5:11; Prosa 3:18; 31:31; prämasoretisch 31:27; 33:14. 78 7:6; 19:4; 22:3; sonst Poesie 22:17; vgl, 2:34; Prosa 26:15. 79 7:16; 11:14; 14:11–12. 80 7:16; 11:14. 81 7:7; 25:5, Zu Varianten der Wendung (sämtlich außerhalb von Jer) s. Stipp, Konkordanz (Anm, 11), S. 101. 82 26:8,8,9; 34:10; 44:15,20,20, 83 Prosa 27:16; 28:1,5,7; 29:1; 38:4; 41:10,13; 42:1,8; 43:4; ferner post-dtr 19:14; 26:7,11,12,16; 36:9; prämasoretisch 28:11; 29:16,25; 34:8; 36:9,10; 38:1; 41:14; 43:1; 44:24; AlT 28:10. 84 2:15; 4:7,25,29; 6:8; 9:9,10,11; 22:6; vgl. 17:6. 85 46:19; 48:9; 51:29,37, 86 26:9; 34:22; 44:2; ferner JerDtr III 32:43; sonst Prosa 33:10,10; prämasoretisch 33:12; 44:22. 87 26:4; 44:23; sonst JerDtr III 32:23; prämasoretisch 9:12; 44:10. 74

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‫ ֻבּחקּו ֺת‬88ַ ; außerdem „großes Unheil über sich selbst bringen“89 und die Verbindung ‫ גּו ֺיֵ י ָה ָא ֶרץ‬90. Bei der Bewertung der Differenzen ist zu beachten, dass JerDtr I ungefähr den doppelten Umfang von JerDtr II einnimmt.91 Entsprechend ungleich fallen die Listen der sprachlichen Charakteristika aus, und es ist einzukalkulieren, dass ein Teil der Differenzen zufällig bedingt sein kann. Doch immerhin wird eine aus anderen Gründen naheliegende redaktionskritische Zäsur durch über zwei Dutzend Sprachmerkmale bestätigt. Die hohe Anzahl der Indizien und ihre Konvergenz mit andersartigen Kriterien widerstreiten dem Versuch, das Gesamtbild dem Zufall anzulasten. Folglich ist von zwei Redaktionsschüben auszugehen. Hat JerDtr II auch den ersten Buchteil erweitert? In Betracht dafür kommen die Einheiten 1:4–10 und 18:1–1292: die durch die Verbenreihe vom „Ausreißen und Niederreißen“ verkoppelt sind93 und Jeremias prophetische Zuständigkeit weltweit entgrenzen, wie das ähnlich auch bestimmte Materialien tun, die JerDtr II in den zweiten Buchteil eingefügt hat (27:2–11; 28:8,12–14). Allerdings beginnen die beiden Passagen mit bloßen Wortereignisformeln; d.h. sie lassen die typische Handschrift von JerDtr II mit ihrer Vorliebe für einleitende Verumständungen vermissen. Ferner knüpft Jhwh in 18:10 sein Wohlwollen für die Völker an den Vorbehalt, dass sie „auf meine Stimme hören“; doch wenn er in 27:6 Nebukadnezzar die Weltherrschaft überträgt, verlautet von einer Bedingung nichts. Sodann fasst 18:6a das judäische Publikum (V. 11!) unter dem Epitheton „Haus Israel“ zusammen94, während die dtr Textebene des Jeremiabuches diesen Ausdruck95 ebenso wie „Söhne Israels“96 sonst für die Nordisraeliten im Kontrast zu den Judäern reserviert. Und bei aller deuterojeremianischer Sprache bleibt die einzige greifbare konzeptionelle Brücke zur dtn/dtr Theologie der

88

44:10,23. 26:19; 44:7. 90 26:6; 44:8; sonst Prosa 33:9. 91 Ca. 130/60 Verse. 92 R. Albertz, Exilszeit (Anm. 3), S. 238f., schreibt diese Passagen seinem JerD2 zu. 93 1:10; 18:7,9; ferner 12:14–17; 24:6; 31:28,40; 42:10; 45:4 sowie weitere Belege in anderen Büchern; vgl. Stipp, Konkordanz (Anm. 11), S. 96f. 94 Ferner 18:6b MT. 95 11:10,17; 13:11. 96 32:30a,32 (anders 30b MT!). 89

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Einklang von 1:9 mit dem dtn Prophetengesetz (Dtn 18:18)97. Die Herkunft der beiden Stücke 1:4–10 und 18:1–12 aus der Feder von JerDtr II ist daher nicht auszuschließen und würde die hier vertretene These nicht beeinträchtigen, doch wegen der bleibenden Unsicherheiten erscheint es angeraten, auf eine Festlegung zu verzichten. Dass die beiden Buchteile tatsächlich aus zwei sukzessiven Arbeitsgängen erwachsen sind, untermauern nun auch bestimmte konzeptionelle Unterschiede, die Fingerzeige enthalten zur geographischen Herkunft der dtr Bestandteile. 3. Die Heimat von JerDtr I und II JerDtr I hat mit Sicherheit in Juda gearbeitet. Das zeigt die Drohgewalt, mit der dieser Redaktionsschub das Exil ausmalt, am deutlichsten in 16:13: „Ich werde euch aus diesem Land fortschleudern in das Land, das ihr nicht kanntet, ihr und eure Väter. Ihr werdet dort anderen Göttern dienen [], ‚die‘98 euch keine Gnade gewähren werden.“ In Babylonien geschrieben, wäre der Vers lesbar als Hinnahme kultischer Assimilation, da ja Götzendienst mit dem Vollzug des Strafwillens Jhwhs gleichgesetzt wird. So konnte man lediglich aus der Ferne über die Verbannten reden, nicht aus der Nähe zu ihnen. Noch mehrfach zeichnet JerDtr I das Exil als ein Ort von Gottesferne, Hoffnungslosigkeit und Untergang. Laut 8:3 „wird Tod begehrenswerter sein als Leben für den ganzen Rest, der übrig bleibt von dieser [] Sippe an allen [] Orten, wohin ich sie versprengt haben werde.“ Für 9:15 wartet auf die Deportierten bloß der Tod: „Ich werde sie unter die Nationen zerstreuen, die sie nicht kannten, sie und ihre Väter. Ich werde hinter ihnen das Schwert herschicken, bis ich sie vernichtet habe.“ Um dieselbe Botschaft einzuschärfen, lässt Jer 13:1–11 den Propheten zweimal bis zum Eufrat wandern, damit der Schurz als Chiffre Israels an einem Ort, dessen Symbolwert durch nicht weniger als vier-

97 Auf die umstrittene Abhängigkeitsrichtung zwischen den beiden Texten kann hier nicht eingegangen werden; vgl. zuletzt die gegenteiligen Voten von M. Köckert, „Zum literargeschichtlichen Ort des Prophetengesetzes Dtn 18 zwischen dem Jeremiabuch und Dtn 13“, in: ders., Leben in Gottes Gegenwart. Studien zum Verständnis des Gesetzes im Alten Testament (Tübingen, 2004), S. 195–215; Otto, „Pentateuch im Jeremiabuch“ (Anm. 6), S. 265f. 98 MT 1. Person: „weil ich . . .“ Die masoretische Revision wollte die Vorstellung vermeiden, dass Fremdgötter auf das Schicksal der Exilierten Einfluss nehmen konnten.

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fache Nennung (Vv. 4–7) herausgestrichen wird99, zur irreversiblen Unbrauchbarkeit verrotten kann100. Folgerichtig ruft das Deutewort den Verschleppten das Todesurteil hinterher: „Dieses böse Volk . . . es werde wie dieser Schurz, der zu gar nichts taugt!“ (V. 10) Die nur hier ausgesprochene bedingte Bleibeverheißung (7:3,5–7; 25:5) unterstreicht im Umkehrschluss die theologische Bewertung des Exils als Strafhandeln Jhwhs101. Mit 13:1–11 hat JerDtr I eine regelrechte Exilseinheit (bis 13:27) eröffnet. Ist bei JerDtr I dieses Schreckensbild der Verbannung fest verwurzelt, weiß JerDtr II nichts mehr davon. Namentlich dank der eingeflochtenen Quellen sind die Babylonier nun ständig präsent. Jeremia wird als ihr Parteigänger stilisiert, der beharrlich zur Fügsamkeit gegenüber dem Aggressor aufruft und dafür ein erträgliches Joch in Aussicht stellt (Kap. 27–29; 34; 37–43). 27:6 spricht Nebukadnezzar die Weltherrschaft zu; wer sich nicht beugen will, ist laut V. 8 dem Untergang geweiht, und 10a droht auch mit der Deportation, aber das Entsetzen, das 10bc damit verbindet („Ich werde euch versprengen, und ihr werdet zugrunde gehen“), ist erst die Nachinterpretation einer prämasoretischen Hand. Für 29:7 kommt der ‫ ָשׁלו ֺם‬der Verbannungsorte dem ‫ ָשׁלו ֺם‬der Verschleppten gleich, und die Vv. 11–14* werten die Gola zum Ort der Gottesnähe um, wo Jhwh Gebete erhört und sich jenen erschließt, die ihn aufrichtig suchen. Die Gefahr des Götzendienstes in der Fremde erkennt zwar auch JerDtr II, jetzt aber bezeichnenderweise in Ägypten (44:7–8,15–19,24–28). In Jer 37:3–43:7b* hat JerDtr II die „Erzählung vom Untergang des palästinischen Judäertums“ (UPJ-Erzählung)102 eingeschmolzen, die ein erstaunlich mildes Porträt der Babylonier entwirft und sie geradezu zum Heilswerkzeug Jhwhs hochstilisiert103. Wie mehrere Indizien belegen, ist das Dokument in der Exilsepoche auf mesopotamischem Boden entstanden. In 42:12c redet Jeremia zu den angehenden Ägyp99 Allein gestützt auf die Aquila-Lesung zu V. 4 εις φαραν, beziehen manche Exegeten die Ortsangaben auf das Dorf Para ca. 6 km nordöstlich von Anatot (‫ ָפּ ָרה‬Jos 18:23 = Ḫ irbet ʿEn Fāra, Koord. 179.137); so z.B. Holladay, Jeremiah 1 (Anm. 24), S. 393; vgl. Wanke, Jeremia 1 (Anm. 12), S. 133. Das ist eine textfremde Rationalisierung, die überdies unzutreffend vom vorredaktionellen Status der Passage ausgeht; dagegen Stipp, „Probleme“ (Anm. 9), S. 238f. Doch wäre jene Ortslage tatsächlich gemeint, dann ohnehin wegen ihres Anklangs an ‫„ ְפּ ָרת‬Eufrat“ (so auch Holladay). 100 Mit Levin, „Wort Jahwes“ (Anm. 6), S. 266f. 101 Vgl. Albertz, Exilszeit (Anm. 3), S. 243. 102 Stipp, Parteienstreit (Anm. 41), S. 152–284. 103 Vgl. 38:20; 40:7–12; 42:11–12 und dazu ebd. 269–271.

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tenflüchtlingen, als habe er die babylonischen Verbannten vor sich, wenn er versichert: „Er (der König von Babel) wird euch zu eurem Ackerboden zurückführen (‫)וְ ֵה ִשׁיב‬.“ Der Fiktionsbruch ist nur begreiflich, sofern hier ein Exilant die Feder führte, der seine Leidensgenossen zur Zuversicht auf die Heimkehr ermuntern wollte. Seine Hoffnung, die Babylonier selbst würden die Kerkertüren öffnen, deutet auf ein relativ frühes Datum, ebenso wie der Umstand, dass das Schriftstück schon in 2 Kön 25:22–26 zitiert wird104. Für die Herkunft aus der Gola spricht ferner das spektakuläre, von langer Hand vorbereitete105 Finale in der Totalemigration (43:5–7b), das die Idee propagiert, die Ägyptenauswanderer hätten ihr Land völlig von Judäern entblößt. Dieses unhistorische Konzept sollte zwar später zum amtlichen Bild der Exilszeit aufsteigen (2 Chr 36:20f.), hätte aber für Zeitgenossen auf heimatlichem Terrain absurd geklungen106. 104 Diese Abhängigkeitsrichtung wird nahezu allseits akzeptiert; vgl. ebd. 276 und die dort zitierte Literatur. Anders lediglich Fischer, zuletzt Stand (Anm. 5), S. 133 Anm. 2. 105 Vgl. Stipp, Parteienstreit (Anm. 41), S. 267f.273–276. 106 Zur UPJ-Erzählung fallen bei Albertz, Exilszeit (Anm. 3), S. 243f., einige Behauptungen, die auf selektiver Kenntnisnahme der Tatsachen beruhen. Albertz folgt Thiel, Dtr Redaktion von Jer 26–45 (Anm. 3), S. 62–67, mit der These, die zentrale Prophetenrede 42:9–22 sei nicht nur redaktionell bearbeitet (was für die Vv. 10 und 17–18 akzeptabel ist), sondern nahezu komplett der dtr Redaktion zuzuschreiben, mitsamt dem Schlüsselvers 42:12. Dies ist einer der bedenklichsten Fehlgriffe der auf Sprachstatistik verengten Literarkritik, da er das einbettende Erzählwerk seines theologischen Kerns beraubt, der der anschließenden Klimax in der Totalemigration die maßgebliche Bewertung vorausschickt. Bei Albertz erfährt man nichts von den massiven strukturellen und terminologischen Signalen, die die Rede fest in ihrem vor-dtr Kontext verankern (dazu Stipp, Parteienstreit [Anm. 41], S. 187–195, 254–256; „Probleme“ [Anm. 9], S. 248–251). Wenn Albertz den dtr Horizont der Rede an ihrer Gestaltung als Alternativpredigt ablesen will (dazu Thiel, Dtr Redaktion von Jer 1–25 [Anm. 3], S. 290–295), so ist festzuhalten: Zwei dtr Beispiele (Jer 7 und 22:1–5) beweisen natürlich nicht, dass nur dtr Autoren diese Gattung verwenden konnten, wie schon die Sabbatpredigt 17:19–27 belegt, die Albertz zu Recht als nicht-dtr einordnet (vgl. oben Anm. 12), hier aber mit Schweigen übergeht. Ohnehin wäre es unrealistisch vorauszusetzen, es könne zwischen den Kreisen hinter der UPJ-Erzählung und JerDtr keine Quereinflüsse gegeben haben. Dass die dtr Redaktion Gründe sah, in Kap. 44 nochmals eine ausladende Verdammung der Ägyptenemigranten anzuschließen, untermauert, dass sie die Rede in Kap. 42 nicht als ihr Werk ansah. Weiterhin meint Albertz, 42:12c ‫ וְ ֵה ִשׁיב‬sei nach Anleitung von a‘SV als ‫*וְ ה ִׁשׁיב‬ „er wird euch (auf eurem Ackerboden) wohnen lassen“ zu vokalisieren, was den palästinischen Ursprung des Kontextes verrate. Unerwähnt bleibt, dass die Derivation der Verbalform von ‫ שׁוב‬durch JerAlT gestützt wird (in 1. Person: ϰαὶ ἐπιστρέψω ὑμᾶς für ‫)*וַ ֲה ִשׁ ׂב ִתי‬. Die Genealogie dieser Lesarten ist nur plausibel bei Ausgang vom tiberischen Text, während die anderen Zeugen glätten: JerAlT berücksichtigt durch die Umwidmung des Aktes auf Jhwh, dass es nicht die Babylonier waren, die den Exilanten die Heimkehr erlaubten, und a‘SV beseitigen durch den Austausch von ‫שׁוב‬

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Das dtr Schlusskapitel 44 übernimmt nun unvermindert diese Rhetorik der Totalemigration, indem es die Flüchtlinge nach dem Vorbild der UPJ-Erzählung als (‫הוּדה‬ ָ ‫„ ְשׁ ֵא ִרית ְ)י‬Rest (Judas)“ apostrophiert107, um ihnen das definitive Ende anzusagen. Nach V. 2 haben die Auswanderer ihr Land als „Einöde ohne Bewohner“ hinterlassen, und laut V. 7 läuft die Flucht darauf hinaus, „Mann und Frau, Kleinkind und Säugling aus der Mitte Judas auszurotten, ohne euch einen Rest übrig zu lassen“. Denn nach V. 11–12 AlT werde Jhwh selbst „den ganzen Rest, der in Ägypten ist, ausrotten“, mit der Folge, dass „es keinen Überlebenden und keinen Entronnenen geben wird für den Rest Judas“ (V. 14). Dies passt zu der Tatsache, dass JerDtr II das Thema der Entvölkerung aus den Vorlagen in seinen eigenen Diskurs übernommen hat. Demnach muss diese dtr Redaktion den Standort ihrer Quelle geteilt haben, d.h. sie wirkte im Exil. Eben deshalb hat sie Erzählstücke gesammelt, die den Babyloniern derart günstig gesonnen waren und die Deportation in ein neues Licht tauchten. Und wenn jetzt Stadt, Land und Tempel kaum mehr unter dem substantivischen Proelement ‫ ָמקו ֺם‬, sondern durchgängig unter expliziten Benennungen firmieren, dürfte

gegen ‫ ישׁב‬den Fiktionsbruch. Die tiberische Vokalisation ist auch kein durch defektive Orthographie eines H-Stamms von ‫ ישׁב‬bedingter Fehler, denn die Tiberer hätten, wenn gewünscht, das Schriftbild auf ‫ ישׁב‬beziehen können, wie sie es bei den Defektivschreibungen in 1 Kön 21:12; Jer 32:37; Esr 10:14,17,18; Neh 13:23 taten. Die tiberische Fassung von 42:12c ist daher unanfechtbar, mit allen Konsequenzen für den Ursprung des Kontextes. Um die babylonische Herleitung zu untergraben, wendet Albertz ferner gegen die „Totalemigration“ irreführend ein, es werde nirgends „konstatiert, daß damit Juda menschenleer war“ (244). In Wahrheit bezeichnet der Terminus genau jenen Sachverhalt, den Albertz wenige Zeilen zuvor selber zugesteht, dass nämlich „in Jer 43:5 die Abwanderung des ganzen Restes Judas berichtet wird“ (ebd., Kursive im Original) bzw. dass „Jer 43:1–7 . . . die Abwanderung aller zuvor genannten Bevölkerungsgruppen aus Juda darstellt“ (234). Wie sollte dieser Erzählzug zeitnah in Juda entstanden sein? (Gegen die Herleitung aus Ägypten vgl. Stipp, Parteienstreit, S. 277f.) Und wenn Albertz die Intention des Verfassers wie folgt resümiert: „Er wollte nicht den Untergang des palästinischen Judäertums darstellen . . ., sondern das totale Scheitern der Gedaljareform, auf die er so viele Hoffnungen gesetzt hatte“ (ebd., Kursive im Original), so ist richtigzustellen: Von einer „Gedaljareform“ weiß die UPJ-Erzählung nichts, so wenig wie das gesamte prämasoretische Jeremiabuch; hinter dem Ausdruck verbirgt sich eine Überinterpretation der Notiz 2 Kön 25:12, die über die Kopie Jer 52:16 ins Jeremiabuch wanderte, wo sie in der prämasoretischen Phase reformuliert, erweitert (52:15) und dupliziert wurde (39:10 im masoretischen Überschuss V. 4–13); vgl. H.-J. Stipp, „Gedalja und die Kolonie von Mizpa“, ZAR 6 (2000), S. 155–171, 165–167. F. Bianchi, „Godolia contro Ismaele. La lotta per il potere politico in Giudea all’inizio della dominazione neobabilonese (Ger 40–41 e 2Re 25:22–26)“, RivBib 53 (2005), S. 257–275 (268), ignoriert diese Bezeugungslage. 107 UPJ-Erzählung: 40:11,15; 42:2,19; 43:5 (vgl. ‫ ְשׁ ֵא ִרית ָה ָﬠם‬41:16); JerDtr II: 44:7,12,14,28.

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dies instinktiv dem Verlust der Nähe und des Augenscheins Rechnung tragen. Die schon vielfach beobachteten, sublimen Bezüge auf die Gola, die sich im zweiten Buchteil häufen108, sind also wie folgt zu erklären: Der zweite Buchteil wurde im Exil geschaffen, und zwar durch eine dtr Redaktion, die von der ersten judäischen dtr Redaktionsstufe als JerDtr II abzuheben ist. Sie verarbeitete Materialien, die teilweise ebenfalls im Exil entstanden waren. So kam es, dass das judäische Jeremiabuch für eine Weile in ein babylonisches verwandelt wurde. Behandelt wurden hier nur jene Eigenarten, die JerDtr I und II voneinander trennen. Doch wie bekannt, eignen diesen Korpora auch mehrere Besonderheiten, die sie verbinden und zugleich von der übrigen dtr Literatur abheben109. Weil ferner JerDtr II im Unterschied zu seinem Vorgänger keine eigene Überschrift besitzt, dürfte er als dessen Fortsetzung entstanden sein110. Der Befund vereint beide Redaktionsphasen zu einer zwar in sich gestuften, gleichwohl jedoch zusammengehörigen, eigenständigen Größe im Rahmen der dtr Textproduktion. Die Gemeinsamkeiten bei Divergenz zu anderen dtr Erzeugnissen deuten auf enge Kontakte unter den betroffenen Autoren(zirkeln). Woraus diese sprachliche und konzeptionelle Nähe trotz der enormen Distanz zwischen den Wirkungsstätten erwuchs, darüber lässt sich nur spekulieren. Womöglich steht hinter beiden Redaktionsschüben derselbe Autor(enkreis), der zunächst in der Heimat arbeitete, dann die Deportation erlitt und sein Werk in angemessenem Zeitabstand auf mesopotamischem Boden weiterführte. Diese reizvolle Erwägung wird indes unbeweisbar bleiben, und für die Gültigkeit der Unterscheidung zwischen JerDtr I und II hängt daran nichts.

108

Vgl. neben Nicholson, Preaching (Anm. 2), v.a. K.-F. Pohlmann, Studien zum Jeremiabuch. Ein Beitrag zur Frage nach der Entstehung des Jeremiabuches (Göttingen, 1978), mit der Hypothese der „golaorientierten Redaktion“; C.R. Seitz, Theology in Conflict. Reactions to the Exile in the Book of Jeremiah (Berlin – New York, 1989), mit der Theorie der „exilic redaction“. Zu den Problemen ihrer Lösungsversuche vgl. Stipp, Parteienstreit (Anm. 41), S. 134–141. Seitz’ Ansatz wird fortgeschrieben bei C.J. Sharp, Prophecy and Ideology in Jeremiah. Struggles for Authority in the DeuteroJeremianic Prose (London – New York, 2003). 109 Vgl. Thiel, Dtr Redaktion von Jer 26–45 (Anm. 3), S. 96–99. Seine Listen sind im Detail an die hier vorausgesetzte Umschreibung der dtr Bestandteile in Jer anzupassen. 110 Albertz, Exilszeit (Anm. 3), S. 238.

KONSTANTINOS OIKONOMOS EX OIKONOMON ALS SEPTUAGINTA-INTERPRET Evangelia G. Dafni Konstantinos Oikonomos ex Oikonomon1, der größte universal gebildete Theologe im neuzeitlichen Griechenland, wurde am 27. August 1780 in Tsaritsani (Thessalien) geboren und ist am 9. März 1857 in Athen gestorben. Von seinem Vater, dem Geistlichen und Gelehrten Kyriakos Oikonomos, wurde er schon sehr früh in die griechische, lateinische und hebräische Literatur, sowie in das biblisch-patristische Denken eingeführt. An der damals blühenden Schule von Ambelakia hat er seinen Wissenshorizont erweitert. Seine Lebens- und Forschungswege führten ihn zuletzt über Smyrna hinaus nach Russland, wo er von 1821–1832 Zuflucht fand. Dort, im Bewusstsein über die eigenen kulturellen und theologischen Wurzeln, wurde er auch mit den Idealen der Europäischen Aufklärung engstens vertraut2. Nach seiner Rückkehr 18343 nach Griechenland spielte er eine zentrale Rolle in der Erlangung der kirchlichen Autokephalie mit Erhaltung der geistigen Vorrechte des Ökumenischen Patriarchats, aufgrund der Apostolischen Tradition (ἀποστολικὴ παράδοσις) und der Heiligen Kanones (ἱεροὶ κανόνες) des ungeteilten Christentums, so wie sie von den sieben Ökumenischen Konzilien schriftlich festgelegt worden sind. In der Frage nach der Übersetzung der Heiligen Schrift u.zw. des Alten Testaments aus dem Hebräischen in das Vulgärgriechische zum kirchlichen Gebrauch hat er sich entschiedenst dagegen gestellt. Er empfand es nämlich für einen besonderen Segen, dass die in der ganzen Orthodoxie als göttlich inspiriert und kanonisch geltende Schrift, d.i. das Neue Testament und die Septuaginta als gleichwertige

1 Siehe Ἐκκλησία Λ∆/24 (1957), S. 479–535. Der eigenartige Beiname ὁ ἐξ Οἰκονόμων, der an den westeuropäischen Adelstitel „von“ oder „de“ erinnert, taucht

erst in den Schriften auf, die Oikonomos nach dem Tod von Adamantios Korais in Russland publizierte (K.Th. Demaras, aaO., 504). 2 Vgl. etwa A. Papaderos, Metakenosis. Das kulturelle Zentralproblem des neuen Griechenland bei Korais und Oikonomos (Mainz, 1962). 3 Siehe P. Synodinos, „῾Η ∆ρᾶσις τοῦ Κωνσταντίνου Οἰκονόμου ἐξ Οἰκονόμων μετὰ τὴν εἰς ῾Ελλάδα ἐγκατάστασίν του“, ᾽Εκκλησία Λ∆/24 (1957), S. 508–514.

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schriftliche Quellen des christlichen Glaubens, in Griechisch überliefert worden sind4. Oikonomos, der allgemein als einer der bedeutendsten griechischen Schriftsteller der Neuzeit gilt, hinterließ ein reiches Erbe auf den Gebieten der Exegese, Hermeneutik, Kirchengeschichte, Pastoraltheologie sowie der griechischen Sprache und Rhetorik. Für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft und insbesondere für die SeptuagintaForschung am wichtigsten ist sein vierbändiges Werk „Über die Septuaginta-Interpreten der Alten Heiligen Schrift“ (1844–1847)5, welches bis heute zumindest in der griechisch-sprachigen alttestamentlichen Wissenschaft analogielos blieb. Im Mittelpunkt dieses groß angelegten Werkes steht die Frage nach der göttlichen Inspiration (θεοπνευστία) der LXX, die mit dem Verständnis der göttlichen Inspiration der ganzen Bibel unauflöslich zusammenhängt. Dieser seit der Reformation kontrovers diskutierte Problemkreis wurde in der LXX-Forschung der Neuzeit allein aufgrund des äußerst dürftigen Quellenverständnisses missdeutet. Oikonomos, der in allen einschlägigen Arbeiten auf diesem Gebiet sehr gut bewandert war, ging es primär nicht um die theoretische Reflexion, sondern um die praktische Umsetzung in die Realität der griechisch-sprechenden Kirche im 19. Jh., die von äußeren Missionierungsversuchen und inneren, lang anhaltenden, machtpolitischen Intrigen gepaart mit unbegründeten Ansprüchen auf kirchliche Durchsetzung vulgärer Bibelübersetzungen geplagt wurde. Oikonomos setzte sich hauptsächlich mit dem vierbändigen Werk „De Bibliorum textibus originalibus, versionibus Graecis et Latina Vulgata Libri IV, 1705“ des englischen Mönchs und Theologen Humphrey Hody (1659–1707) auseinander. Hody, der seit 1698 eine Professur für griechische Philologie in Oxford innehatte, stellte neben der Echtheit des Aristeabriefes, der die älteste von der Entstehung der LXX berichtende Quelle ist, auch noch den göttlichen Charakter und die Geltung der LXX infrage und lenkte die Aufmerksamkeit auf den hebräischen Urtext, das so genannte Original. Hodys Theorien erfuhren damals breite Akzeptanz und haben, wie bekannt, den Blickwinkel der moder4 Gregorius von Nyssa (Ad Eunomius, MPG 45:976) schrieb, dass Gottes Stimme weder Hebräisch noch Griechisch ist. Hebräisch und Griechisch sind die Sprachen, in denen Gottesworte ursprünglich schriftlich fixiert wurden. Das Geschriebene ist also nicht identisch mit dem Wort Gottes, sondern ein Hinweis darauf, wie es zu verstehen ist. Vgl. P.N. Trembelas, ῾Η Θεοπνευστία τῆς ῾Αγίας Γραφῆς (Athen, 1938), S. 57. 5 K. Oikonomos ex Oikonomon, Περὶ τῶν Ο΄ ῾Ερμηνευτῶν τῆς Παλαιᾶς Θείας Γραφῆς Βιβλία ∆ (Athen, Bd. 1, 1844; Bd. 2, 1845; Bd. 3, 1846; Bd. 4, 1847).

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nen LXX-Forschung entscheidend beeinflusst. Oikonomos, der nicht bereit war, sich vorgegebenen Meinungen unkritisch anzuschließen, stieß aber immer wieder auf dunkle Argumente, die dem logischen und theologischen Denken zuwider liefen. So nahm er sich, in einem ebenfalls vierbändigen Werk, deren Widerlegung vor. I Das ganze Werk ist durch auffallend wiederkehrende Zentralthematik und kunstvolle sprachliche Ausdrucksformen in einer festen Verbindung gehalten. Im ersten Band (1844) wendet sich Oikonomos mit der Frage nach den geschichtlichen Gegebenheiten, die die Entstehung der LXX-Hermeneia bestimmen, an die Aristeasschrift. Mit Bedacht trennt er zunächst zwischen Verfasser und Inhalt der Schrift mit dem Ziel zu überprüfen, ob der Inhalt (6–9) authentisch oder mythisch bzw. legendär oder ganz und gar falsch sei und wer eigentlich dieser Aristeas ist, dem die betreffende Schrift zugeschrieben wird (10–38). Die angesprochene Problematik führt er fort, indem er sich auch mit der Schilderung der Geschehnisse bei Epiphanius befasst und zu erklären versucht, ob Epiphanius, der bekanntlich eine von Aristeas abweichende Version der Ursprünge der LXX bietet, eventuell andere mündlichen oder schriftlichen Quellen vor Augen hat oder frei Erfundenes spricht (39–59). Entgegen der herrschenden Tendenz, versucht Oikonomos aufgrund eines synoptischen Vergleichs der Zeugnisse von Aristeas und Hermippus (88–124) klar zu stellen, dass das Argument, das manche Forscher aufgrund des Hermippus-Zeugnisses gegen die Echtheit der Aristeasschrift vorbrachten, nicht mehr aufrecht erhalten werden kann (60–87). So kommt er auf den kritischen Punkt seiner Abhandlung: die genaue Datierung der LXX-Hermeneia der Heiligen Schriften des Antiken Israel ins Griechische und der Beantwortung der Frage, ob Aristeas’ Aussagen in sich widersprüchlich sind oder nicht (125–195). Der Leitfaden der historischen Ereignisse in der Zeit von Arsinoe weist daraufhin, dass die LXX-Hermeneia am Anfang der Herrschaftszeit von Ptolemäus II. Philadelphus vorgenommen wurde (196–224). Ausführlich erläutert Oikonomos auch die kritischen Gegenargumente (225–240) und erklärt, wann die alexandrinische Bibliothek gegründet wurde, um damit gegensätzliche Meinungen über die Datierung der LXX-Hermeneia prüfen und widerlegen zu können (241–294). In aller Deutlichkeit führt er aus, was genau Zweifel bei den Kritikern erregt hat und welche Lösungen zur Bewältigung des Problems er vorschlägt (295–384). Als erstes weist er den Einwand gegen die Zuverlässigkeit der Erwähnung des Hohenpriesters Eleazar in Jerusalem und des sich in Alexandrien aufhaltenden Philosophs Menedemus zurück, was mit der Datierung der LXX-Ursprünge

268

evangelia g. dafni in die Zeit des Ptolemäus II. Philadelphus und der Glaubwürdigkeit des Aristeasbriefes zusammenhängt (295–318). Als zweites wird die Behauptung widerlegt, dass Demetrius Phalereus niemals Bibliothekar des Ptolemäus im Museum war und geprüft, ob Bibliothek und Museum in der Fachdiskussion tatsächlich verwechselt werden (319–384). Zur Klärung dieses Problems zieht Oikonomos Fragmente aus dem Werk des Aristobulos zu Rate (385–448) und fragt nach Hinweisen im Aristeasbrief auf den Seekrieg gegen Antigonos, bei dem Ptolemäus II. Philadelphus der Sieger war. Oikonomos prüft die Stichhaltigkeit der These, dass Ptolemäus I. Lagides Feldherr bei jenem Feldzug war, bei dem zehntausend Judäer nach Ägypten deportiert wurden (465–483), damit er dann die kritischen Vorbehalte gegen die Aussage des Aristeasbriefes, dass Aristeas selber die Befreiung der Deportieren veranlassen hat, zurückweisen kann (484–496). Dabei strebt er an, die Frage überzeugend zu beantworten, ob und wann Demetrius Phalereus an den Hof des Philadelphus kam und die griechische Hermeneia des hebräischen Gesetzes dem König vorgeschlagen hat und vom ihm erhört wurde (497–515). Oikonomos prüft die Beweislage der Thesen, dass Handschriften des hebräischen Gesetzes bereits vor der Endsendung der Delegation nach Jerusalem in Ägypten vorhanden waren und dass Aristeas doch kein Grieche, sondern ein jüdischer Autor war (516–522). Fernerhin versucht er den Erlass des Demetrius bezüglich der Fluchsprüche, die die Juden in Alexandrien laut ausgesprochen haben, damit die ausgelegten und übersetzten Schriften unveränderlich weiter tradiert werden können, in seiner ganzen Tragweite zu erklären (523–540). Ebenso wird die Großzügigkeit des Ptolemäus II. Philadelphus bei der Bescherung der jüdischen Übersetzer wegen der Übersetzung und der Bedeutung, die ihr von den Exegeten beigemessen wird, erörtert (541–571). Unmittelbar darauf wird die Frage der Abstammung des Aristeas wieder aufgegriffen und die von den Kritikern des 19. Jh. vorbrachten Argumente noch einmal unter die Lupe genommen (572–610). Der erste Band wird mit der Erklärung der inschriftlichen Evidenz hinsichtlich des Eptastadion und des Pharos (640–650), sowie mit der Prüfung des Arguments von christlichen Hinzufügungen in der Aristeaserzählung (651–654) abgeschlossen. Im zweiten Band, nach einer einleitenden Zusammenfassung aller zeitgenössischen Meinungen über die Hermeneia der Siebzig (1–26), fragt Oikonomos nach den Beweggründen und der eigentlichen Ursache der Hellenisierung der hebräischen Schriften, vorausgesetzt, dass sie weder vom Ehrgeiz des Königs noch von der politischen Vision des Phalereus angetrieben wurde (27–75). Bemerkenswerterweise widmet Oikonomos einen gesonderten Paragraph dem Gedanken, dass die LXX-Hermeneia den alten heidnischen Philosophen bekannt war, was als eine Reflexionsperspektive des gesamtem theologischen Horizonts der hellenistischrömischen Zeit gewürdigt und gewertet werden kann (76–166). Er fährt mit den Fragen nach Identität, Herkunft und Anzahl der Interpreten fort, über deren Hermeneia ein jährliches Fest auf der Insel Pharos

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stattfand (167–267), und prüft die Aussage (268–336), dass die Übersetzer in separaten Zimmern unter der Leitung des Heiligen Geistes ihre Übersetzung fertig stellten. Dabei macht er auf die Einwände, die dagegen erhoben wurden, aufmerksam und von diesen Äußerungen aus geht er die Aufgabe an, analytisch nachzuvollziehen, ob die 72 tatsächlich die ganze Heilige Schrift übersetzt haben, oder nur ein Teil davon, nämlich den Pentateuch (337–402). Die durch Oikonomos angestrebte Datierung und Erklärung der Besonderheiten der Übersetzung des Buches Josua ist zunächst als ein methodischer Versuch der zeitlichen und örtlichen Abgrenzung des gesamten LXX-Corpusses zu verstehen (403–494). Unmittelbar darauf folgt die Untersuchung von Zeit und Ort der Übertragung der restlichen Schriften (495–533). In einer kritischen Übersicht weiterer Einzelmeinungen geht er auch auf Gründe für deren Ablehnung ein (534–597). Oikonomos begründet seine Aufmerksamkeit auf jene Phrase im Aristeasbrief, die den Kritikern den Anlass gab zu behaupten, dass weder die ganze LXX noch ein Teil davon von den Siebzig übertragen wurde und dass die Einzelbücher von mehreren Personen wiedergegeben wurden (598–717). Im letzteren Teil des zweiten Bandes werden Textbeispiele besprochen, die als Argumente gegen die Durchführung der Übersetzung von den Siebzig gelten (718–793). Der Band wird mit dem Entwurf einer Gesamttheorie über die Beweggründe der Übertragung und ihre Unterschiede vom MT (794–894), sowie mit einer philologischen Notiz zur hermeutischen Methode der LXX (895–937) abgerundet. Die Aufmerksamkeit des dritten Bandes gilt der genetischen Begründung der Abweichungen und Unterschiede zwischen Hebräischem Text und LXX-Hermeneia. Nach einer ertragreichen Übersicht über die Geschichte des Hebräischen Textes kommt Oikonomos zu den überlieferten, unterschiedlichen Lesarten und Varianten, die bereits im hebräischen Kanon (κώδηξ) enthalten sind (193–199), im Vergleich und Gegenüberstellung zu der LXX-Hermeneia. Er behandelt die diversen Lesarten von Eigennamen und Numeruswechsel, sowie die Unterschiede, die sich aus dem variierenden Wortgebrauch oder den Hinzufügungen oder Weglassungen oder Umstellungen von ganzen Halbversen und Textabschnitten ergeben (200–222). Außerdem befasst er sich mit den verschiedenen Vokalisierungsmöglichkeiten des Hebräischen Textes (223–247), den Erfindern von Ketib und Qere, sowie mit der Frage nach der ursprünglichen und authentischen Lesart (248–272). Dann kommt er zu den hebräischen Vokalen und zum Thema der hebräischen Prosodie (273–315) und macht auf zwei historisch gravierende Unterschiede in der hebräischen Textgeschichte aufmerksam: a) zwischen östlichen und westlichen Juden und b) zwischen Ben Ascher und Ben Nafthali (316–322). Die Unterschiede zwischen MT und Samaritanischem Pentateuch (323–381), sowie zwischen MT und LXX (382–446) bilden bei Oikonomos ein Kapitel für sich. Weglassungen von Wörtern, Versen, Perioden und Perikopen, die kein hebräisches Gegenstück haben (447– 636), sowie ganze Kapitel, große Perikopen von kanonischen Büchern,

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evangelia g. dafni deren hebräische Vorlage bereits in alten Zeiten beschnitten wurde (637–702), werden hier ebenfalls erörtert. Aus der Chronologie von der Weltschöpfung bis zu Jesus Geburt (703–834), sowie aus den unübersehbaren Abweichungen zwischen MT und alttestamentlichen Zitaten im NT (835–848) schließt Oikonomos, dass der Hebräische Text zur Zeit Jesu verdorben war. Dazu zieht er das Zeugnis von Josephus und Philo zu Rate (849–871). Außerdem beruft er sich auf die Abweichungen vom heutigen Hebräischen Text, die bereits in den alten Übersetzungen des Aquila, Symmachos, Theodotion, sowie in der fünften und sechsten Kolumne von Origenes’ Hexapla festzustellen sind (872–876). Gesondert untersucht er die Unterschiede zwischen MT und den chaldäisch-aramäischen Paraphrasen (Targumim), den anderen rabbinischen Büchern (877–890), der syrischen Peschitta (891–908), sowie der von Hieronymus fertig gestellten Vulgata, die uns zeigt, dass der Hebräische Text mehrfache Verderbnisse mit der Zeit erfahren hat (909–913). In diesem Sinne wendet er sich dann den neueren Übersetzungen zu und den kritischen Kommentaren, die sich mit Textverderbnissen und Korrekturen befassen (914–941). Zum Schluss geht er ein auf die älteren und neueren Zeugnisse über die absichtlichen und unbeabsichtigten Textänderungen und Korruptionen, die der Hebräische Text nach Christus erlitten hat, sowie auf die Frage, ob die Kirche jemals diesen Text approbiert habe (942–1019). Im vierten Band arbeitet Oikonomos stärker grundlegende Informationen darüber heraus, ob der LXX andere griechische Übersetzungen der hebräischen Schriften vorausgegangen sind (4–45), damit er dann zu seinem eigentlichen Anliegen kommen kann, nämlich ob die Siebzig unter göttlicher Anleitung die Schriften ausgelegt und übersetzt haben (46–104). Eine weitere Perspektive bezieht sich auf die Frage nach der Geltung jener Schriften, die außerhalb des hebräischen Kanons stehen, aber von der Kirche als kanonisch angesehen werden (105–224). Darauf folgt der Entwurf einer chronologischen Darlegung des Problems der göttlichen Inspiration der LXX (225–831). Die Frage nach anderen Sprachen, in die die LXX in der Antike wiederübersetzt wurde (832–867), sowie die alten handschriftlichen und später gedruckten offiziellen Bibeleditionen (868–919) werden abschließend behandelt. Dem Werke werden die alten historischen Quellen über die Interpretation der Siebzig angehängt, u.zw. Aristeas, Aristobulos, Philo, Flavius Josephus, Talmud, Josephus ben Gorion, Azarias, Justin, Irenäus von Lyon, Clemens von Alexandrien, Tertullianus, Anatolius von Konstantinopel, Theonas von Alexandrien, Eusebius, Epiphanius, Philastrius, Hieronymus, Augustin, Johannes Chrysostomus, Theodorus Mopsuestias, Hesychius, Cyrill von Alexandrien, Theodoret, Basilius von Seleukeia, Olympiodorus, Prokopius von Gaza, Justinian, Kosmas Indikopleustes, Kosmas Hagiopolites, Johannes Malalas, Alexandrinische Chronik, Georgios Synkellos, Nikitas von Serres, Georgios Kedrenos, Euthemios Zigavinos, Johannes Zonaras, Eudokia Makrembolitissa, Nikiphoros Kallistos, ein Anonymus und ein anderer Anonymus.

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II Wie aus dem Umriss seines monumentalen Werkes hervorgeht, münden alle seine Fragestellungen in eine einzige Aporie ein: Ist der Text des Alten Testaments, den die Kirche für kanonisch achtet, göttlichinspiriert oder nicht? Und wenn es nicht der Fall wäre, sollen wir dann annehmen, dass der im Großen und Ganzen aufgrund der LXX formulierte Glaube der Kirche vergebens ist? Neben der Tatsache, dass die LXX, die die Heilige Schrift des Urchristentums war und wiederum in viele weitere Sprachen übersetzt wurde, der offizielle liturgische Text des Alten Testaments in der östlichen Kirche ist, bemerkt Oikonomos folgendes (830f.): Die westliche Kirche, die die Übersetzung aus den Hebräischen Schriften initiiert hat, hat den Psalter, das Buch Baruch, die Zusätze des Danielbuches und Esthers, sowie alle Anagignoskomena, die so genannten Deuterokanonischen Schriften, aus der LXX übernommen. Die Geltung der LXX haben lateinsprachige Theologen sowohl vor als auch nach der Kirchenspaltung nie in Zweifel gestellt. Schon viele römisch-katholische und protestantische Theologen des 17. und 18. Jh. erklärten sie als „eine heilige Schatzkammer göttlicher Worte“ und erkannten ihr aufgrund patristischer Äußerungen göttliche Inspiration und prophetischen Geist (θεία ἐπίπνοια und πνεῦμα προφητικόν) zu. Weder Luther noch Kalvin oder Zwingli haben sich gegen die LXX geäußert. Selbst Melanchthon hat zugegeben, dass der Nutzen der LXX nicht gering zu schätzen ist. Wie kamen also Hody und seine Nachläufer dazu, die LXX als göttlich-inspirierte Schrift anzuzweifeln? Oikonomos setzt sich detailliert mit den Ausführungen Hodys auseinander, da er sich die Meinung gebildet hat, dass die allgemeinen Konturen der zu widerlegenden Theorien Hodys gerade aus methodisch verdächtigen Spitzfindigkeiten bei der Auslegung hergeleitet sind. Im vierten Band seines Werkes zu den LXX-Interpreten (225–831) übernimmt er zwar die dreigliedrige chronologische Darstellungsweise Hodys (III 218–569), weicht aber entscheidend von ihm in Einzelinterpretationen ab, so dass er zu einem völlig anderen Endergebnis kommt. Er stellt folgende Fragen (225f.), die er von einer nüchternen und ausschöpfenden Befragung der Originalquellen beantwortet bekommt. a) Welches ist die Geltung der LXX-Hermeneia bei den palästinischen und den Diasporajuden gewesen? b) Wie wurde sie von den Aposteln und den Evangelisten angesehen? Und c) welche Meinung äußerte die Kirche im Gefolge der Apostel?

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Aus seinen Ausführungen ergibt sich, dass der Grundstein über das rechte Verständnis der LXX und ihr Verhältnis zum Hebräischen Original und zum Neuen Testament im 5. Jh. n. Chr. von jüdischen Schriftgelehrten und christlichen Kirchenvätern, die das Griechische und Hebräische beherrschten und deren Beitrag zur Formung der dogmatischen Tradition6 richtungweisend ist, bereits gelegt war. Die Zeit des Kaisers Justinian erkennt Oikonomos als einen ausschlaggebenden historischen Einschnitt im intensiv gepflegten christlich-jüdischen Gespräch über das Schriftverständnis, da es den Juden gesetzlich erlaubt wurde, in ihrem Gottesdienst anstelle von griechischen Übersetzungen den nachchristlichen hebräischen Text zu gebrauchen. Somit aber schwand allmählich die gemeinsame Gesprächsbasis in der Dämmerung der Spätantike und das theologische Interesse der rabbinischen und kirchlichen Literatur wurde auf andere Gebiete verlegt. Angesichts der Tatsache, dass die ungeteilte Kirche sich niemals offiziell mit einem dogmatischen Beschluss eines Ökumenischen Konzils zur Frage des Begriffs, des Umfangs und der zeitlichen Grenze der göttlichen Inspiration und des biblischen Kanons im Allgemeinen und insbesondere der LXX geäußert hat, folgt Oikonomos der chronologischen Darlegung konkreter Äußerungen, die im Kontext der gesamten theologischen Tradition7 bis zu seiner Zeit gemacht wurden und bei einem künftigen Ökumenischen Konzil berücksichtigt werden sollen. Er überprüft Äußerungen aller griechischen und lateinischen Kirchenväter in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Umfeld und führt unzählige aussagekräftige Beispiele an, die herrschende Miss- bzw. Fehldeutungen in der gängigen Bibliographie beseitigen sollen. Obwohl es ihm nicht in erster Linie um eine systematische Darlegung geht, sondern um eine chronologische, erlaubt uns seine Darstellungsweise trotzdem bestimmte logische Prämissen und hermeneutische Prinzipien zu erkennen. Diese werde ich hier zusammen zu fassen versuchen, u.zw. illustriert mit Beispielen, die einen Hauch von der Argumentationsweise des Oikonomos zu vermitteln vermögen.

6 Dazu B.M. Vellas, ῾Η Αὐθεντία τῆς Βίβλου κατὰ τὴν ∆ιδασκαλίαν τῆ ᾽Ορθοδόξου ᾽Ανατολικῆς ᾽Εκκλησίας (’Ανάτυπον ἐκ τῆς Θεολογίας Τόμος ΚΒ΄; Athen, 1951), S. 13. 7 Dazu Vellas, ῾Η Αὐθεντία τῆς Βίβλου, S. 12.

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III Hinsichtlich seiner Gesamtwürdigung des antiken jüdischen Zeugnisses sei folgendes festgehalten: Der Aristeasbrief, dessen Echtheit Oikonomos trotz den von Hody vorbrachten Argumenten nicht anzweifelt, bezeugt, dass das hellenistische Judentum die LXX für eine gelehrte, getreue und genaue Interpretation ihres hebräischen Originals achtete und als θεόπνευστος und ἰσοστάσιος (göttlich-inspiriert und gleichwertig) mit dem Original behandelte. Dem vorchristlichen Hebräischen Text wurde aber der Vorrang gegeben, da man der Überzeugung war, dass es einer Übersetzung nicht immer gelingt, die Höhe und den Wert des Originals zu erreichen, zumal sie von ihm hinsichtlich der Wortgewandtheit besiegt werden kann (vgl. Prolog der Weisheit Sirach). Hody hat die Behauptung eines Streits zwischen hellenistischen und palästinischen Juden wegen der LXX aufgestellt. Er meinte, dass im 2. Jh. n. Chr. die alexandrinischen Juden neben der Aristeaslegende, die den von Jerusalem vorgeladenen Übersetzern prophetischen Geist zuerkannte (227), noch weitere Legenden schufen wie z.B., dass die Übersetzer getrennt in 72 Zimmern das Gesetz übersetzten, oder von der dreitägigen Dunkelheit, die wegen der Übersetzung im ganzen Land herrschte. Diese Legenden waren nicht nur in Alexandrien im Umlauf, sondern auch in Palästina und riefen bei den palästinischen und alexandrinischen Juden große Meinungsverschiedenheiten und Zwietracht wegen des Zweifels an der Geltung der vorher von denselben als souverän und heilig angesehenen Schrift hervor. Zu derselben Zeit meinten die Christen, sie könnten uneingeschränkt wirksame christologische Zeugnisse aus der LXX schöpfen. Die Juden im Gegenzug wehrten dies ab, indem sie den Hebräischen Text anders auslegten und übersetzten. Allein aus Not verglichen sie die Übersetzung mit dem Original und fanden Textstellen, die zwar in der LXX vorhanden im Hebräischen aber nicht vorhanden oder völlig anders oder sogar dem Sinn des Hebräischen Textes entgegengesetzt waren. Aus diesem Grund fingen die Juden an, die LXX zu verachten und zu schmähen. Die antichristliche Stellung der Synagoge und der Christenhass der radikalen Juden haben nach Hody letztendlich die LXX aus der Synagoge vertrieben. Oikonomos argumentiert aber wie folgt: Bis zu der Zeit von Josephus und Philo hat niemand von Unstimmigkeiten zwischen Hebräischem Text und LXX gesprochen. Weder Philo noch Josephus noch

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andere palästinische Juden, die den Übersetzern prophetische Inspiration zuerkennen, wissen etwas von einem Streit der Übersetzung zuliebe, sonst hätten sie bestimmt davon berichtet. Sollen wir nun deshalb annehmen, dass die Streitigkeiten ihrer Aufmerksamkeit entgangen sind, weil man wirklich in den alexandrinischen Synagogen zuerst den Hebräischen Text vorgelesen hat und dann als Epexegese den griechischen, u.zw. nach dem babylonischen Ethos, wonach man erst den Hebräischen Text und dann die chaldäischen Paraphrasen für die Gemeinde laut gelesen hat? Oikonomos meint, dass Ende des 1. Anfang des 2. Jhs. n. Chr. mit der Vermehrung der Jünger Christi, die darauf bestanden haben, dass das Gesetz und die Propheten mit seinem Evangelium zur Vollendung kamen, hartnäckige Juden begannen nicht nur den Hebräischen Text zu verändern, sondern auch den Inhalt der LXX-Manuskripte zu verdrehen und die Achtung, die dieser Text im Schoss der Synagoge immer genossen hat, schlecht zu machen, was u.a. auch die Verkürzung des Kanons zur Folge hatte. Die Apostel und die Christen bis Anfang des 2. Jh. n. Chr. haben keine Textbearbeitungen vorgenommen. Die Texte und die damit unauflöslich verbundenen Glaubenssätze, die sie von den Juden übernommen haben, blieben, wie sie ursprünglich waren, nicht korrigiert und in Übereinstimmung mit dem was immer bis zu jener Zeit in den Synagogen vorgelesen und geglaubt wurde (237). Bis zum 6. Jh. n. Chr. wurden in den Synagogen die LXX und Aquila vorgelesen8. Im Jahre 551 baten die Rabbinern Justinian um Erlaubnis, den Hebräischen Text im synagogalen Gottesdienst vorlesen zu dürfen. IV Eine unmissverständliche Art der Anerkennung des göttlichen Charakters der LXX, die Oikonomos mit Nachdruck Hermeneia bezeichnet und nicht Übersetzung, wie die anderen altgriechischen Versionen, liegt im neutestamentlichen Zeugnis. Obwohl die göttlich-inspirierten Autoren des NT die prophetischen Bücher, die sie wörtlich zitieren oder denen sie sinngemäß folgen oder auf die sie ideell anspielen, namentlich kaum erwähnen, stützen sie sich hauptsächlich auf den 8 Vgl. G. Veltri, Libraries, Translations, and „Canonic“ Texts. The Septuagint, Aquila and Ben Sira in the Jewish and Christian Traditions, ( JSJS 109; Leiden/Boston, 2006).

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Sprachgebrauch und die Sinnzusammenhänge der LXX. Unzählige Phrasen und prophetische Sprüche des NT sind offensichtlich der LXX entnommen. Oikonomos aber möchte sich bewusst auf direkte Parallelen (parallela sacra) in der LXX und im NT konzentrieren und ihre alt- und neutestamentlichen Abhängigkeiten ansprechen, aus denen hervorgeht, wo eventuelle Unterschiede liegen und wie sie zu erklären sind (z.B. formale und inhaltliche Zusammenziehung von verschiedenen Textstellen). Er ist sich darüber im Klaren, dass grammatische Idiomatismen, sowie sprachliche und gedankliche Schemata im Rahmen seiner Untersuchung nur auszuklammern sind. Von einem synoptischen Vergleich aller alttestamentlichen Stellen (nach dem MT in griechischer Übersetzung und der LXX) im NT (305–412), angefangen mit Jes 7:14//Matth 1:23, leitet Oikonomos folgende Schlüsse ab: a) Die göttlich-inspirierten Apostel zitieren durchgehend im NT alle hebräischen Eigennamen (etwa 400) nach der Transkriptionsweise der LXX und fast nichts nach der heutigen Schreibweise und Aussprache des Hebräischen (356). b) Alle Wörter aus dem semantischen Feld der Religion und des Gesetzes, bzw. konkrete und abstrakte Bezeichnungen des Gesetzeskultes, der Gesetzgebung, der Verrichtung kultischer Handlungen, des Gerichtswesens, der Politik, des Krieges, des Haushaltes und Hausrates, der Kleidung, der Geographie, der Technik und vor allem alle Bezeichnungen von Tugend und Bosheit haben die Apostel bzw. die göttlich-inspirierten Autoren des NT genau nach der LXX-Hermeneia geschrieben (356f.). c) Am wichtigsten ist aber, dass alle Termini, die göttliche Wahrheiten und Geheimnisse bezeichnen, durch die die Apostel das größte Geheimnis, die Menschwerdung des Logos, zum Ausdruck brachten, ebenso der Form und dem Sinn der LXX gemäß im NT zitiert werden (357f.). Hierin sieht Oikonomos die paulinische Aussage begründet (Gal 3:24): ὁ Νόμος παιδαγωγὸς ἡμῶν γέγονεν εἰς Χριστόν. Er unterstreicht, dass alles was die Propheten verkündigt haben, den uns künftig offenbarenden Glauben schattenartig skizziert (Gal 3:23 und Röm 8:18). So wie die LXX-Interpreten die hebräischen Schriften verstanden und übersetzt haben, haben auch die Apostel mit denselben Worten Christus verkündigt und schriftlich der Kirche weitergegeben. In diesem Sinne drückt Oikonomos seine Bewunderung mit dem Ausruf aus (358): ῾Οποῖον τοῦτον στέφανον δόξης αἰωνίου περίκειται ἡ ἑρμηνεία τῶν Ο΄!

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d) Die Genealogien aus den Büchern Genesis, Ruth und Paraleipomena (Gen 25:20, Ruth 4:18, 1 Paral 1:34; 2:9–16), wurden von Matthäus (1:2–16) unverändert aus der LXX genommen, um die Genealogie des Mensch gewordenen Gottes und Heilands zur Sprache zu bringen. Um das Argument zu entlarven, dass die neutestamentlichen Autoren den Hebräischen Text ausklammerten und nur konventionell (κατὰ συγκατάβασιν) einige prophetische Sprüche nach der LXX zitierten und selbst die Fehler der Übersetzung zum Aufbau der Kirche aufnahmen, sagt Oikonomos (413): ἡ Καινὴ ∆ιαθήκη φαίνεταί τις πορφύρα θεοΰφαντος, ἐπὶ τῆς ἑρμηνείας τῶν Ο, οἷον ἐπὶ στήμονος ἀῤῥαγοῦς ἐξυφασμένη. Mit dem Bilde der göttlich gewebten Purpurdecke, die mit einem aufrecht stehenden, nicht zerrissenen Webstuhl gewoben ist, stellt er sich gegen die angeblichen Fehler bzw. Irrtümer, die das NT von der LXX mit aufgenommen hat, und fragt: Wieso ist man nicht entsetzt über die Fehler im MT, den man zum Maßstab der Wahrheit des Gotteswortes erklärt hat? Es handelt sich hierbei um das Problem der grammatischen, syntaktischen oder stilistischen Unvollkommenheiten bzw. Fehler, die die äußere Form der Heiligen Schriften betreffen. Diese verwechselte man in der Zeit des Oikonomos bewusst oder unbewusst mit inhaltlichen Irrtümern, die das Wesen des biblischen Glaubens beeinträchtigen könnten. Oikonomos stellt aber klar, dass diese Tendenz dem neutestamentlichen Kerygma widerspricht, welches Paulus, der Jude war und das Hebräische beherrschte, in 2 Kor 4:2 folgendermaßen zusammenfasst: οἱ μὴ δολοῦντες τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ, ἀλλὰ τῇ φανερώσει τῆς ἀληθείας συνιστῶντες ἑαυτοὺς πρὸς ἅπασαν συνείδησιν ἀνθρώπων ἐνώπιον τοῦ Θεοῦ. Oikonomos betont nachdrücklich, dass es undenkbar wäre, von den heiligen Aposteln zu behaupten, dass sie, die der Parakletos, der Geist der Wahrheit, in die ganze Wahrheit geführt hat, und ihr „ja ein ja war“ und „ihr nein ein nein“, und nicht aus sich heraus sondern im Namen Gottes redeten ( Joh 16:13. Matth 5:37), wie die wahren Propheten des Alten Testaments, die gepredigt und geschrieben haben, weil Gott sie geprüft und ihnen das Evangelium anvertraut hat, also nicht um den Menschen, sondern um Gott zu gefallen (1 Thess 2:4), selbst die Irrtümer der LXX unkritisch aufgenommen hätten? Somit stellt sich die Wahrheitsund die Autoritätsfrage eines formal falschen Textes, sowie die Verstehensfrage der göttlichen Inspiration der LXX-Hermeneia, die von den göttlich inspirierten Aposteln gebraucht wurde, um die geoffenbarte

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Wahrheit vollständig zum Ausdruck zu bringen. Oikonomos stellt daher die Frage: Wie ist es möglich anzunehmen, dass die Apostel, in die Christus gesprochen hat (1 Kor 13:3), die prophetische Wahrheit an manchen Stellen nach der Partei der LXX verfälschten und zu falschen Zeugen Gottes geworden sind (1 Kor 15:15), allein um den Menschen zu gefallen? Dieses Argument charakterisiert Oikonomos als in der Schrift nicht zu begründendes frevelhaftes Geschwätz (ἀνόσιος λῆρος) (414). Dabei fragt er: An welcher Bibelstelle findet diese Konvention ihre Begründung oder aus welcher Not hätten die Apostel dies tun müssen, die gesprochen haben: Ihre Botschaft und Verkündigung nicht mit Überredung durch gewandte und kluge Worte, sondern mit dem Erweis von Geist und Kraft verbunden war (1 Kor 2,4)? Für wen hätten sie diese Konvention zugelassen, damit sie keinen Anlass zum Ärgernis geben? Für die palästinischen Juden? Aber sie hatten den Hebräischen Text vor Augen und konnten jederzeit die Wahrheit der prophetischen Worte nachprüfen. Oder für die hellenistischen Juden? Aber die hätten von den Christuspredigern (χριστοκήρυκες) die Wahrheit erfahren können, die die Verirrung der LXX wieder mal aufgrund der hebräischen Schrift nachweisen würden, weil sie auch ihre Interpretation geachtet haben. Insbesondere die hellenistischen Juden wären den Aposteln sehr dankbar, falls sie Auslegungsfehler im Vergleich zum hebräischen Original ihrer Väter entdeckt und korrigiert hätten. Waren denn alle ins Christentum umgekehrten Heiden, insbesondere die Griechen, der Grund der Konvention? Aber die meisten von denen kannten weder das hebräische Original noch die griechische Übersetzung, und sie waren nicht in der Lage zu vergleichen. So hatten sie normalerweise die prophetischen Zeugnisse aufgrund einer der beiden Schriftversionen, der hebräischen oder der griechischen, von den Aposteln aufgenommen. Warum denn hätten die Apostel sie in die Wahrheit aufgrund einer falschen Interpretation führen wollen? Oder warum haben sie nicht korrigierend direkt den Hebräischen Text gebraucht? Kannten die palästinischen Juden die hebräische Schrift und ihre Kraft nicht? Oder waren sie nicht sprachbegabt genug? Haben die Aposteln vielleicht aus Nachlässigkeit und Unachtsamkeit sorglos die fertige Übersetzung für sich gebraucht, um die göttliche Wahrheit nachzuweisen, obwohl sie den anderen empfohlen haben, beim Vorlesen der Schrift aufzupassen (1 Tim 4:13), alles zu prüfen, und das Gute zu behalten (1 Thess 5:21)? Oder müssen wir annehmen, dass sie der Kirche die prophetische Bibel verdorben

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in alle Ewigkeit weitergeben wollten und dass das NT die Schmach ihrer Verderbtheit weiter trägt? Die Beantwortung dieser Fragen, sagt Oikonomos, ist leichter als die Augen vor der Sonne zu schließen. Ein anderes Argument der negativen Kritik ist, dass die Apostel eigenmächtig und aus eigenem Antrieb und Vermögen die prophetischen Worte ins Griechische übertrugen, und wenn sich ihre Wiedergaben vom Hebräischen Text unterschieden, dann stimmten sie zufälligerweise mit der LXX überein. Daraus hat man den Schluss gezogen, dass die Apostel keinesfalls die LXX dem Original gegenüber bevorzugten; sie der Übersetzung keine göttliche Geltung zubilligten. Oikonomos hält dies für ein ungeschicktes, grobes Argument und antwortet mit einer weiteren rhetorischen Frage: Angenommen, dass die Apostel in dem Moment, wo sie prophetische Worte nach der LXX-Hermeneia zitierten, göttlich inspiriert waren, ist es dann nicht offensichtlich, dass der Geist bereits vorher die Übersetzer erleuchtet hat, damit sie auf diese bestimmte Weise die Worte ins Griechische übertragen? Was ist, wenn die Apostel die LXX zitierten? Taten sie dies in der Überzeugung, dass es sich nun um eine ungültige, sogar ungeweihte Schrift handelt? Oder weil sie die LXX genauso wie ihre hebräische Vorlage als authentisch und göttlich gleich dem Original achteten? Oder sollen wir annehmen, dass wenige Zitate aus dem Hebräischen Text die Geltung der Fülle von anderen aus der LXX aufheben, und die apostolischen Schriften ohne Authentizität und Souveränität nackt dastehen? Diese Art der Argumentation hält Oikonomos für absurd (415: σοφῶν φρενῶν ῥεμβασμοί) und beteuert noch einmal seine bereits formulierte These, dass die Apostel, sowie vorher die ganze Synagoge der palästinischen und hellenistischen Juden, die LXX für göttlich and gültig geachtet hat. Denn die Apostel haben nicht einfach griechische Wörter oder Phrasen aus der LXX genommen, sondern sie haben das Wesen des Glaubens betreffende Sinnzusammenhänge in ihre göttlich inspirierten Schriften eingegliedert. Man stellt sich nun aber die berechtigte Frage, wie ist es mit modernen Autoren, die neutestamentliche Stellen zitieren und ihren Sinn adaptieren? Heißt es, dass ihre Schriften dadurch als göttlich inspiriert angesehen werden dürften? Oikonomos drückt sein Schriftverständnis folgendermaßen aus: Diejenigen, die behauptet haben, dass die Apostel die LXX-Hermeneia bloß zitieren, bilden philologische Urteile über theologische bzw. göttliche Schriften. Daher sprechen sie von Septuagintismen im NT, genauso wie sie auch von Platonismen im Werk Philos oder Homerismen bei Hesiodos reden würden. Aber

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dies ist im NT nicht der Fall. Denn sein Hauptinteresse gilt nicht der Verpflanzung lexikalischer Bedeutungen und rhetorischer Schemata. Die Verfasser des NT waren nicht wie die Weisen dieser Welt, die die LXX-Wörter in weltliche Schriften verpflanzten. Durch sie hat der Heilige Geist mit Worten und Sinn der LXX im NT das Wort der Wahrheit und der Erlösung der ganzen Welt geprägt (416), u.zw. bis zum kleinsten Buchstaben (Matth 5:18). Die Kritiker zögerten anzuerkennen, dass die LXX auch durch die apostolischen Schriften als göttlich erwiesen wurde, geprägt durch das Siegel des Heiligen Geistes, aus Furcht, dass der MT, den sie bevorzugten, an Geltung verlieren wurde. Viele Kritiker, obwohl sie ihre sinngemäße Übereinstimmung mit dem NT philologisch nicht übersehen konnten, sondern sie sogar zugaben, haben sich trotzdem gegen die LXX ausgesprochen, weil sie erwarteten, dass die LXX mit dem später zustande gekommenen MT völlig übereinstimmt. Und sie haben sich nicht in Acht genommen, dass sie, indem sie in barschem Ton die LXX anfahren, auch die von ihr unzertrennlichen, unbefleckten Schreibtäfelchen des NT antasten (416). Aber die parallela sacra beweisen, dass in allen göttlichen Gesetzgebungen das feste Fundament der LXX, das Gott gelegt hat, nicht erschüttert werden kann (2 Tim 2:19). V In der festen Überzeugung, dass ein klareres historisches Bild9 von dem im NT über die LXX nur andeutungsweise Gesagten nötig ist, zeigt Oikonomos, dass es erforderlich ist, ins Bewusstsein zu rücken, was von der mündlichen Überlieferung in den Schriften der Apostolischen Kirchenväter aufgenommen wurde. Er meint, dass der Barnabasbrief nicht den Hebräischen Text benutzt, sondern die LXX, die man u.U. präzisierend umformulierte. Ebenso Klemens von Rom, der insbesondere in seinem ersten Korintherbrief das NT und die LXX als λόγια Θεοῦ (Gottesworte) und ῥήσεις τοῦ παναγίου Πνεύματος (Sprüche des Allerheiligsten Geistes) bezeichnet. Daraus schließt Oikonomos, dass die Kirche im Westen und Osten eine einzige Schrift für echt und göttlich inspiriert (γνησία καὶ θεόπνευστος), dem Wortlaut und dem Sinn nach (420: κατά τε λέξιν καὶ κατὰ νόημα) achtete, nämlich 9 Zum Begriff der historischen Tradition in Gegenüberstellung zu den Begriffen der theologischen und dogmatischen Tradition siehe Vellas, aaO., S. 11ff.

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die LXX, die sie von ihrem Baumeister, Paulus, empfangen hat. In den Apostolischen Konstitutionen, deren Echtheit Oikonomos verteidigt hat, wird ebenso die LXX zitiert und ihr Wortlaut als φθόγγοι oder φθέγματα Θεοῦ bezeichnet. Dionysius von Areopag, ein Jünger von Paulus, spricht in seinen mystagogischen Schriften von θεῖα καὶ θεοπαράδοτα λόγια und ῥήσεις τοῦ Πνεύματος. Genauso Ignatius von Antiochien, der jüdischer Abstammung war. Charakteristisch für die Hochachtung, die die LXX im 1. und 2. Jh. n. Chr. genoss, ist, dass die Vetus Latina (Itala) aus der LXX als der einzig als göttlich in der Kirche anerkannten Schrift übersetzt wurde. Justinus hat Jes 7:14 nach der LXX interpretiert, hat aber auch die Argumente seiner Gegner angeführt, was Hody missverstanden hat und zur Behauptung führte, Justinus hätte den hebräischen Wortlaut an manchen Stellen bevorzugt. Den Vorwurf er benutze manchmal die Übersetzung des Aquila, wehrt Oikonomos ab, indem er sagt, die Väter hätten dies auch direkt von den Rabbinern gehabt. Aquila hat also nichts Neuartiges geschaffen, sondern übernommen, was bereits im Umlauf war. Justinus (Dialog mit Tryphon) zählt auch Textstellen auf, die zwar in der LXX vorhanden waren, aber in den LXX-Manuskripten der hellenistischen Synagogen im 1. und 2. Jh. n. Chr. wegen des offensichtlichen messianischen bzw. christologischen Charakters weggelassen wurden, wie z.B. Jer 11:19; Ps 95:10 und aus dem Buch Esra (Dialog 72.1.1) einen ganzen Paragraph (426): Καὶ εἶπεν ῎Εσδρας τῷ λαῷ· Τοῦτο τὸ πάσχα ὁ σωτὴρ ἡμῶν καὶ ἡ καταφυγὴ ἡμῶν. καὶ ἐὰν διανοηθῆτε καὶ ἀναβῇ ὑμῶν ἐπὶ τὴν καρδίαν, ὅτι μέλλομεν αὐτὸν ταπεινοῦν ἐν σημείῳ, καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα ἐλπίσωμεν ἐπ᾽ αὐτόν, οὐ μὴ ἐρημωθῇ ὁ τόπος οὗτος εἰς τὸν ἅπαντα χρόνον, λέγει ὁ θεὸς τῶν δυνάμεων̇ ἐὰν δὲ μὴ πιστεύσητε αὐτῷ μηδὲ εἰσακούσητε τοῦ κηρύγματος αὐτοῦ, ἔσεσθε ἐπίχαρμα τοῖς ἔθνεσι.

Im Hinblick auf Weglassungen in der Synagoge aus dogmatischen Gründen gibt Oikonomos folgende Erklärung ab: In der Zeit des Justinus enthielten viele Manuskripte tatsächlich diese Texte, die weder im Hebräischen Text noch in der LXX zu finden waren, sondern sie waren wahrscheinlich den Apokryphen entnommen und als Randbemerkungen vorhanden zur Erklärung des Textes oder um die Gläubigen zum ehrfürchtigem Lesen der Schriften zu animieren. Die betreffenden Randbemerkungen wurden unkritisch den Kodizes, die von Christen jüdischer Abstammung gebraucht wurden, hinzugefügt. Dass jüdische Schriftgelehrte derartige Passagen absichtlich weggelassen haben, zei-

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gen die Hexapla des Origenes, sowie das Buch Susanna und die Chronologie (428). Daher ist es dringend nötig zu unterscheiden zwischen a) dem Hebräischen Text, der der LXX-Hermeneia zugrunde gelegt wurde, und b) dem nachchristlichen von den Juden zensierten, der in den heutigen MT einmündet. VI Bei den Kirchenvätern herrschte die Meinung, dass die Juden im 1. Jh. n. Chr. die LXX sowie den Hebräischen Text zensiert haben, mit dem Ziel Elemente zu beseitigen, die den Christen den Anlass gaben zu behaupten, dass das Evangelium bereits schon in den Schriften des Antiken Israel formal und sachlich begründet war. In dieser Meinung wurzelt die christliche Apologetik. Oikonomos meint, dass die großen Kirchenväter bis zur Zeit des Kaisers Justinian über Hebräischkenntnisse verfügten. Zwecks der Exegese haben sie auch jüdische Schriftgelehrte zu Rate gezogen, entweder direkt, weil sie persönliche Kontakte mit ihnen pflegten, oder indirekt durch ihre Schüler oder Schriften. Hody nahm an, dass Justinus, Irinäus von Lyon, sowie Hegesippus, der die erste Kirchengeschichte geschrieben habe, an manchen Stellen auch den Hebräischen Text zu Rate gezogen haben, da sie die LXX bloß als Übersetzung betrachteten, die nur im Vergleich zum hebräischen Original verständlich sein konnte. Für Oikonomos entscheidend ist aber die Frage nach den Beweggründen. Wollten sie damit wirklich die Geltung der LXX als Schrift der Kirche in Frage stellen, oder wollten sie im Dialog mit den Juden ihnen ihre hermeneutischen Irrtümer veranschaulichen? Oikonomos überprüft alle Textstellen, auf die sich Hody u.a. bezogen hat, um diese Hypothese zu untermauern und weist nach, dass sie meistens den Textwillen missdeutet haben, weil sie den Sinnzusammenhang, in dem diesbezügliche Indizien eingebettet sind, völlig ausklammerten. Zur Illustration seiner Argumentation seien hier nur einige Beispielsfälle erwähnt: Eusebius von Caesaria (503f.), der die LXX für θεόθεν οἰκονομηθεῖσαν ἑρμηνείαν erklärte, die auf wunderbare Weise zustande gekommen ist, betonte, dass sie von der Urkirche als die einzig gültige, kanonische Schrift geachtet wurde. Er zog aber auch hebräische Lesarten und jüdische Schriftgelehrten zu Rate und zwar immer wenn er Schreibfehler oder absichtliche Weglassungen oder Zufügungen jüdischer Provenienz

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vermutete, insbesondere bezüglich der Chronologie, die in der LXX 290 Jahre kürzer als im MT ist (437. Comment. in Isaian 39:2.8. Prooim. 2 Chron, 223). Dies tat er, meint Oikonomos, nicht um dem Sinn der LXX zu widersprechen, sondern um ihn besser verstehen zu können und seine eigenen Textinterpretationen zur Erleichterung des Dialogs mit den Juden zu verstärken. Oikonomos erwähnt Eusebius als den ersten christlichen Autor, der eine Theologie der Sprache der LXX entworfen hat (511), wie es sich z.B. in der Analyse der Wörter Χριστός und ᾽Ιησοῦς zeigt. Clemens von Alexandrien, den Oikonomos für eine lebendige Bibliothek des Wissens (ζῶσα βιβλιοθήκη πολυμαθείας) hält (436), achtete die LXX für θεῖον βούλημα, ἐκ θείας ἐπιπνοίας und als ἑλληνικὴν προφητείαν. Er zitierte die LXX als φωνὲς θεοῦ καὶ λόγια Πνεύματος. Damit will Oikonomos das Argument Hodys entlarven, dass Clemens seine Interpretationen von Juden bestätigen lassen habe, wenn er sagte ᾽Ανέφερέ μοι ὁ ῾Εβραῖος, ῎Ηκουσα παρ’ ῾Εβραίου und ῾Εβραίων αὕτη ἡ γνώμη. Oikonomos erklärt dies folgendermaßen: Clemens sowie alle Kirchenväter haben zuweilen Zeugnisse aus dem Hebräischen Text vorgebracht, um entweder ihre eigene Meinung zu verstärken, oder um den fragenden Juden und Christen eine Antwort zu geben, oder um zu zeigen, dass einzelne Wörter in der LXX richtig gebraucht wurden und zwischen LXX und Hebräischem Text semantische Übereinstimmungen feststellbar sind. Athanasius nahm auch Bezug auf die hebräischen Schriften, indem er sagte οὕτω εὕρητε ἐν τῇ τῶν ῾Εβραίων γραφῇ. Er selber hat Hebräisch gelernt, wie es aus seinen Interpretation von LXX-Ps 63:11 (χιλιάδα und χιλιάδες) und anderen Beispiele hervorgeht, worin sich zeigt, dass er die Sprachstruktur beherrschte (514f.). Wollte man auflisten, an wie vielen Stellen Athanasius die Worte der LXX als göttlich inspiriert erklärt, würde man einen ganzen Band füllen. Athanasius und alle andere Kirchenväter haben beide Schriften als ein geschlossenes Ganzes betrachtet, ohne daran zu zweifeln, dass die LXX das erste Glied dieses göttlich inspirierten Ganzen ist. Bezug nehmend auf 2 Tim 3:16 schrieb Athanasius, dass jedes Buch, welches bei uns (Christen) als Schrift, Alte und Neue, geachtet wird, göttlich inspiriert ist und nützlich zum Lehren [Ad Marcellinum, Interpr. Ps.: πᾶσα ἡ καθ’ ἡμᾶς (τοὺς χριστιανούς) Γραφή, Παλαιά τε καὶ Καινὴ, θεόπνευστός ἐστι καὶ ὠφέλιμος πρὸς διδασκαλίαν, ὡς γέγραπται]. Er betonte nachdrücklich: Die heiligen und göttlich inspirierten Schriften sind hinsichtlich der Wahrheitsverkündigung autark: Αὐτάρκεις γάρ εἰσιν αἱ

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ἅγιαι καὶ θεόπνευστοι Γραφαὶ πρὸς τὴν τῆς ἀληθείας ἀπαγγελίαν (ad Graeci, Prooim.). Damit wies er darauf hin, dass man zwischen Wesentlichem und Formalem in der Schrift zu unterscheiden hat10. Epiphanius von Salamis, jüdischer Abstammung, der fünf Sprachen mächtig war, Hebräisch, Griechisch, Latein, Ägyptisch und Syrisch, hielt die LXX im Anschluss an Origenes für einen κανὼν τῆς ἀληθείας. Aus seinen Schriften hatte man u.a. auch erschlossen, dass man den heutigen Hebräischen Text aufgrund der LXX korrigieren soll. Basilius der Grosse hat auch die Übersetzung des Aquila als eine Art Lexikon gebraucht, das Auskunft über Begrifflichkeit der Physiologie, Medizin und Geographie geben könnte (546). Aber in all seinen Schriften erkennt er programmatisch die LXX als ἰσοδύναμον und ἰσότιμον zum NT (545). Ebenso erklärte Gregorius von Nazianz die Worte beider Testamente als ὁμοτίμως θεῖα λόγια und θεόσδοτα (556). Apollinarius der Jüngere hatte nach Philostorgius (Eccl.Hist. 8 vgl. Socrates 3,16 und Sozomenos 6,25) Hebräisch gekannt (557). Aber er wurde von den Konzilien verurteilt, weil er die LXX, den Hebräischen Text und andere griechische Übersetzungen eigenmächtig und gemischt gebraucht hat, so dass er zu Schlüssen gekommen ist, die weder den Juden noch den Christen gefielen. Oikonomos sagt, Apollinarius hat offensichtlich die LXX als Basis benutzt, aber hier und dort andere griechische Übersetzungen angehängt, um seine eigenen Irrtümer zu begründen. Denn er konnte – und es hätte auch nichts genützt – keine andere Schrift als die LXX gebrauchen bei seinem Versuch, die Gläubigen von seinen Irrtümern zu überzeugen. Johannes Chrysostomus, der alle Bücher des Alten und Neuen Testaments kommentiert hat, erkannte als alleinigen κανὼν τῆς ἀληθείας die LXX-Hermeneia an (612). Er erwähnte zwar die anderen Übersetzungen insbesondere der Psalmen und des Jesajabuches, die sie aus den Hexapla heranzog, wenn sie etwas von der LXX abweichendes boten, aber am Ende richtete er sich nach dem LXX-Verständnis. In Bezug auf das chrysostomsche Inspirationsverständnis macht Oikonomos auf folgende Äußerung aufmerksam (MPG 55:520,45–56): κἀκεῖνο τὸ ῥῆμα ∆αυϊδικὸν, καὶ τοῦτο· μᾶλλον δὲ οὐδὲ ἐκεῖνο ∆αυϊδικὸν, οὐδὲ τοῦτο· ἀλλ’ ἀμφότερα τῆς τοῦ Πνεύματος χάριτος. ᾽Εφθέγξατο μὲν γὰρ ὁ προφήτης, ἐκίνησε δὲ τὴν τοῦ προφήτου γλῶσσαν ὁ Παράκλητος. ∆ιὰ τοῦτό φησιν· ῾Η γλῶσσά μου κάλαμος γραμματέως ὀξυγράφου.

10

Vgl. P.N. Trembelas, ῾Η Θεοπνευστία τῆς ῾Αγίας Γραφῆς (Athen, 1938), S. 56f.

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evangelia g. dafni Καθάπερ ὁ κάλαμος οὐκ ἀφ᾽ ἑαυτοῦ γράφει, ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ τῆς ἐξουσίας τῆς κινούσης αὐτὸν χειρός: οὕτω δὴ καὶ ἡ γλῶττα τῶν προφητῶν οὐκ ἀφ’ ἑαυτῆς ἐφθέγγγετο, ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ Θεοῦ χάριτος.

Er erklärt, dass damit nicht nur sinngemäße Inspiration dem Sinn nach gemeint ist, sondern ausdrücklich von Inspiration dem Wort nach (κατὰ λέξιν) die Rede ist (614), genauso wie es vorher bei Diodorus von Tarsos der Fall war. Obwohl Diodorus von Tarsos den historischen Sinn anstatt des allegorischen bevorzugte, hat er die LXX als „φράσει καὶ διανοίᾳ“ göttliche Schrift erklärt (567). Aus den Beispielen, die Chrysostomus heranzog, geht hervor, dass er gerade nicht im Sinne einer Verbalinspiration redete, bei der die Persönlichkeit des Autors völlig aufgehoben wird, selbst wenn es sich um bloße historische Informationen handelt, sondern um die göttliche Aufsicht und Anleitung bei der schriftlichen Fixierung der geoffenbarten Wahrheiten11. Selbst Theodorus Mopsouestias, der buchstäbliche Exegese der Heiligen Schriften betrieben hat und dafür ἰουδαιόφρων „jüdisch-gesinnt“ genannt wurde, hatte als Basis für seine Exegese die LXX, die er für göttliche Schrift hielt, während er die anderen Übersetzungen bloß als Ausgaben bezeichnete (632). Er hat sogar Symmachos vorgeworfen, er habe den Sinn der Schrift verändert und sogar verschlechtert (635). Theodoritus von Cyros war der hebräischen sowie der syrischen Sprache mächtig. Er hat den Wortlaut der LXX mehrmals mit dem Wortlaut der anderen Übersetzungen verglichen, diesen am klarsten gefunden und betont, dass die Anhänger des Aquila mithilfe seiner Übersetzung boshaft gehandelt haben (κακουργήσαντες) (658). Von Gregentios, dem Erzbischof von Taphat in Jemen, arabischer Herkunft, ist eine Schrift mit dem Titel ∆ιάλογος μετὰ ᾽Ιουδαίου ῾Ερβᾶν τοὔνομα überliefert, die sich durch ihre dogmatische Akribie, die biblische Begründung und hervorragende Diktion auszeichnet (677). Gregentios’ Argumente sind aus der LXX entnommen und der Jude Erban antwortete ebenso mit LXX-Zitaten. Daraus schließt Oikonomos, dass in der Zeit des Gregentios die in Arabien wohnenden Juden Manuskripte in Besitz hatten, die besser als der pharisäisch-hebräische Text, sowie näher an der hebräischen Vorlage der LXX gewesen wären. Am

11 Dazu auch P.N. Trembelas, ᾽Επιστασία ἢ καὶ Θεοπνευστία; (’Ανάτυπον ἐκ τῆς ᾽Εκκλησίας; Athen, 1938).

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Ende der Schrift gesteht der Jude Erban in großer Aufregung zu: es war eine Schande, dass seine Väter freiwillig die Schriften Israels in griechischer Sprache zerstört haben (677f. Vgl. MPG 86:567–784.). VII Wie Oikonomos das Verhältnis von Glauben und Wissenschaft versteht, lässt sich am deutlichsten in seiner Darstellung der textkritischen und übersetzungstechnischen Arbeitsweise von Origenes und Hieronymus zeigen. Die hermeneutischen Grundsätze des Origenes fasst er folgendermaßen zusammen (486f .): 1) Origenes war immer der festen Überzeugung, dass die LXXHermeneia göttlich inspiriert ist und in diesem Sinne legte er sie aus. Indem er mit Fleiß und Aufmerksamkeit den prophetischen Worten begegnete, wurde er durch das Lesen sehr begeistert und davon überzeugt, dass diese Worte nicht menschlich sind, sondern schriftliche Fixierung der als geoffenbart geglaubten Worte Gottes. Charakteristischerweise sagt er: die LXX ist αὐτόπιστος τοῦ Θεοῦ λόγος, der den kirchlichen Glaubensbekenntnissen und -Satzungen zugrunde liegt. 2) Zugleich meinte er, dass die originale hebräische Bibel, so wie sie von den Propheten geschrieben wurde, ebenfalls göttlich inspiriert ist. Aber sie ist weder vollständig, noch rein, noch echt in allem vom nachchristlichen Judentum bewahrt. 3) Die nachchristlichen Interpretationen/Übersetzungen, die Origenes zusammen mit dem oder ohne den Hebräischen Text in der Hexapla, Oktapla und Tetrapla (LXX, Aquila, Symmachus, Theodotion) herausgegeben hat, hielt er weder für göttlich inspiriert, noch für gleichwertig (ἰσοτίμους) und souverän (κυρίας). 4) Wenn er die anderen Übersetzungen zu Rate zog, um Exegese in den Tomoi zu betreiben, tat er dies mit der Überzeugung, dass damit die göttliche Geltung (θεῖον κῦρος) der LXX nicht angetastet wird. Sein Interesse galt klar und deutlich der Beantwortung von Fragen der Juden, oder der kritischen Erforschung der handschriftlichen Überlieferung, oder der Klärung dunklerer Stellen der LXX, oder der Formulierung ethischer Satzungen und allegorischer Interpretationen, und u.U. auch der Unterstützung eigener Meinungen. Er zitierte andere Übersetzungen immer wenn sein Gesprächspartner dasselbe tat oder zum Vergleich und Gegenüberstellung von Varianten oder zur

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Prüfung aller Häretiker oder aber auch zur Verstärkung des Frömmigkeitsnachweises. Origenes folgte dem Vorbild des Paulus, der auch Meinungen aus den Pseudepigraphen und nicht kanonischen Schriften zitierte um die heilbringende Wahrheit nachzuweisen. Dem Vorbild und der Absicht des Origenes folgten dann die Großen Kirchenväter Eusebius, Epiphanius, Basilius der Grosse, Gregorius von Nyssa, Johannes Chrysostomus, Diodorus von Tarsos, Cyrill von Alexandrien, Theodoritus von Cyros und Prokopius von Gaza, die die LXX kommentiert haben und vergleichend manchmal auch den Hebräischen Text – noch nicht den Masoretischen – und die anderen Übersetzungen berücksichtigten. Hieronymus, der als ein glänzender und sehr ehrwürdiger Kirchenlehrer im Westen sowie im Osten angesehen wird, wirft Oikonomos vor, er sei der erste Kirchenvater, der die apostolische und göttliche Geltung der LXX übersehen hat und dem Hebräischen Text den Vorzug gegeben hat (575). Neben der Übersetzung des NT bzw. der Evangelien aus dem Griechischen hat er die meisten Bücher der Itala im Vergleich zu der LXX korrigiert und, dem Vorbild des Origenes folgend, auch Obelisken und Asteriken hinzugefügt. Mit größerer Kühnheit als Origenes fasste er den Entschluss, die kanonischen Schriften aus dem Hebräischen ins Lateinische zu übersetzen. Dieses Ziel hat er aber nicht konsequent verfolgt. So schrieb er selber, dass er in den Fällen wo die LXX und der Hebräische Text keine Abweichungen nachweisen, dem Übersetzungsverfahren der LXX folgte, während er im Fall von Abweichungen sich der drei anderen griechischen Übersetzungen, des Aquila, Symmachos und Theodotion, bediente. Im Fall des Hiobbuches übersetzte er sogar aus dem Hebräischen, dem Arabischen und zuweilen auch aus dem Syrischen (vgl. Hieronymus, Praef. In Job.- Comm. In Esa. c. 13 und De optim. Gener. Interpr. usw.). Oikonomos legt Hieronymus auch zur Last, dass er hinsichtlich der Methode sich selber widersprochen hat. Allerdings war er weder in der hebräischen noch der griechischen Sprache geübt, weshalb er von einem zum anderen Übersetzer hin und hergesprungen ist (576). Das, was er übermäßig als hebräische Wahrheit (Hebraica Veritas) rühmte, war nichts anderes als der mehrfach verstümmelte nachchristliche Hebräische Text. Er ließ sich sogar von den Rabbinern Sedekias von Lydda und Barrabas von Tiberias zu diesem Unternehmen überzeugen, die nicht tüchtiger in der hebräischen Sprache waren als er. Dies sagt Oikonomos in der Gewissheit, dass das Nachlassen der Hebräisch-

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kenntnisse nicht nur die Christen sondern auch die Juden betraf. In seinem Bemühen, das Gewicht der Glaubwürdigkeit auf seine eigene Übersetzung zu legen, hat Hieronymus die LXX bitter getadelt und die Übersetzer als schlecht und ungebildet dargestellt (577). Diese Vorwürfe gegen die LXX wurden mehrfach in den Kommentaren des in allem andern sehr ehrwürdigen und viel gelehrten Vaters Hieronymus abgebildet. Zusammenfassend betrachtet hat er eine neue tollkühne Übersetzung aus dem nachchristlichen Hebräischen Text, mit vielen Veränderungen, Zufügungen und Weglassungen von ganzen Büchern und Textabschnitte, wie z.B. das Buch der Susanna, zustande gebracht. Damit hat er aber, wie er selber früher über Apollinarius sagte, „weder den Hebräern noch den Christen einen Gefallen getan“ (578 vgl. 557). Seine Neuerungen haben unmittelbar darauf Zwietracht unter den westlichen und afrikanischen Christen hervorgerufen. Rufinus schrieb gegen sein Verfahren. Und Augustinus hatte vorausgesehen, dass diese gemischte Übersetzung aus dem nachchristlichen Hebräischen Text bald zu Missverständnissen und Streitigkeiten zwischen den Latein sprechenden Christen des Westens und den griechisch-sprechenden des Ostens hätte führen können, weil sie der historischen und Apostolischen Tradition12 und Lehre der ganzen Kirche Christi nicht folgte. Und obwohl man die Eloquenz in den Schriften des heiligen Hieronymus bewunderte, hat die östliche Kirche nie seine Übersetzung zugelassen; sie wurde nie von den Ökumenischen Konzilien erwähnt. Papst Gregorius Magnus (griech. Gregorios Dialogos) hat in seinen Schriften, die von Papst Zacharias zum Nutzen der ganzen Oekumene ins Griechische übersetzt wurden, die Itala gebraucht (711f.). Er tat dies in der Überzeugung, dass die römische Kirche die LXX für göttlich inspiriert achtete, bis Hieronymus sie durch seine eigene Übersetzung ersetzte (713). Auch nach ihrer Ersetzung hat sie aber ihren göttlichen Charakter nicht verloren. Neben der LXX gebrauchte Gregorius auch die „neue“ Übersetzung des Hieronymus, aber mit dem Vorbehalt, dass das dort Gesagte noch zu überprüfen wäre. Dieselbe Tendenz herrscht bei den Latein sprachigen Autoren im 5. und 6. Jh. n. Chr. Somit hatte nach Oikonomos der jesuitische Kardinal Roberto Francesco Romolo Bellarmino Recht, wenn er sagte, dass erst zu der

12 Zum Begriff der Apostolischen Tradition siehe P.J. Bratsiotis, ῾Η Αὐθεντία τῆς Βίβλου ἐξ ἐπόψεως ᾽Ορθοδόξου (’Ανάτυπον ἐν τῆς Θεολογίας, Τόμος ΚΓ΄ Τεῦχος ∆΄; Athen, 1952), S. 7.

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Zeit von Papst Gregorius I. die westliche Interpretation der hieronymischen Übersetzung angefangen hat. Damit wurden aber die Tore für theologische Streitigkeiten zwischen Westen und Osten, wie Augustinus und Cyprian bereits vorausgesehen hatten, geöffnet. VIII Alle kanonischen und dogmatischen Lehrsätze der sieben Ökumenischen Konzilien sind mit Bibelzeugnissen aus dem NT und der LXX belegt. Das Glaubensbekenntnis, welches die Kirchenväter kurz und prägnant mit viel Einsicht und unter der Aufsicht und Leitung des Heiligen Geistes formuliert haben (ὃ βραχεῖ ῥήματι καὶ πολλῇ συνέσει θεοπνεύστως ἀπεφθέγξαντο), ist für Oikonomos ein Indiz dafür, dass selbst die vom NT ausgewählten LXX-Formulierungen, die in das Glaubensbekenntnis einmünden, als göttlich inspiriert anzusehen sind (512 vgl. 356). Insbesondere der 8. Artikel des Nizeokonstantinopolitanum Εἰς τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον, . . . τὸ λαλῆσαν διὰ τῶν προφητῶν bringt unmissverständlich zur Sprache, dass die erste christliche Kirche die Worte des Heiligen Geistes durch die Propheten von der LXX gelernt hat. Das Konzil von Laodizea (368 oder 365 oder 357 n. Chr.) hat eine Liste mit den kanonischen Schriften der Kirche aufgestellt, in dem als göttlich inspirierte Schriften das NT samt AT nach der LXX mitgezählt und als gleichwertig (ὁμότιμα) angesehen werden (555). Das Konzil von Karthago (397 n. Chr.), das eine kirchliche Liste der Heiligen Schriften verabschiedete und die Anaginoskomena (Deuterokanonische Schriften) ausdrücklich für heilig und göttlich inspiriert erklärte (610), hat stillschweigend die Verstümmelung der Heiligen Schriften und der Chronologie in der Übersetzung des Hieronymus verurteilt. Die Kirche, durch den in ihr einwohnenden Heiligen Geist, hat beschlossen welches der echte Ausdruck der göttlichen Offenbarung ist und welche Bücher sie authentisch zur Sprache bringen. So hat sie die um 175 n. Chr. verfertigte Übersetzung des Danielbuches von Theodotion in ihren kanonischen Corpus aufgenommen. Das Übersetzen der Schrift in andere Sprachen zum kirchlichen, liturgischen und privaten Gebrauch ist nicht fremd in der Alten Kirche. Das Problem ist, welche Schrift übersetzt wurde. So wie die LXX von einem von der jüdischen Gemeinde als gültig und souverän anerkannten Hebräischen Text übersetzt wurde, wurden auch die

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ersten christlichen Übersetzungen aus der LXX als der gültigen Heiligen Schrift der Kirche wieder übersetzt. Das wichtigste Beispiel stellt zunächst die Itala dar. Neben der Itala erwähnenswert ist das Anliegen von Ulfila (Wulfila) von Kappadokien, der die erste gotische Bibelübersetzung zustande gebracht (365 n. Chr.) und das AT aus der LXX ins Gotische übertragen hat (532f.), sowie den Brüdern Cyrill und Methodius, den Aposteln der Slawen, die das Evangelium aus dem Griechischen, sowie das Alte Testament aus der LXX und die Heilige Liturgie ins Slawische übersetzt haben (863–894 n. Chr.). Durch sie wurden die Heiligen Schriften den Russen, Bulgaren, Böhmen, Kroaten und Moraven weitergegeben (760). Die byzantinische Hymnographie in der Person von Andreas von Kreta (639/650–740/720 n. Chr.), Romanos Melodos (485–zwischen 555 und 562 n. Chr.) und Johannes Damaskinos (676–749 n. Chr.), deren Hymnen bis heute im griechisch-sprachigen Gottesdienst im Original gesungen werden, im Bewusstsein, dass sie propaedeutischen Charakter hat, weil sie die Laien bzw. die Ungebildeten in die Heilsgeschichte einführen will und mit Troparien und Melodien göttliche Sinngebilde in der Erinnerung prägt, bediente sich ausschließlich der Sprache und der Theologie des NT und AT nach der LXX. IX Oikonomos hat eine holistische Betrachtung der LXX-Problematik entworfen. Ihm geht es in erster Linie nicht um die göttliche Inspiration im engeren Sinne, sondern um die kanonische Geltung der LXX, die die göttliche Inspiration voraussetzt. So fasst er seine Meinung über die göttliche Inspiration der LXX folgendermaßen zusammen (825f.): Οὕτως ἀπ᾽ ἀρχῆς, ἀφ᾽ οὗ θείᾳ νεύσει καὶ βουλῇ διέλαμψε τὸ τῆς ἑρμηνείας τῶν Ο κάλλιστον φέγγος, ταύτην ἥ, τε πρὸ Χριστοῦ τῶν ῾Ελληνιστῶν ᾽Ιουδαίων Συναγωγὴ, ὡς ὁμότιμον καὶ ἰσοδύναμον τῷ θεοπνεύστῳ πρωτοτύπῳ τῆς ἑβραΐδος, ἐξεθείαζε . . . καὶ οἱ χριστοκήρυκες ᾽Απόστολοι ὡς θεόπνευστον ἐν ταῖς ἀκηράτοις αὐτῶν συνεξύφαναν συγγραφαῖς . . . Καὶ τῇ ᾽Εκκλησίᾳ μετὰ τῶν θείων Εὐαγγελίων ὡς θείαν καὶ ταύτην παρέδωκαν . . . ∆ιὸ καὶ οἱ ἀποστολικοὶ Πατέρες . . . καὶ οἱ ἐφεξῆς τῶν ᾽Αποστόλων διάδοχοι, καὶ οἱ πνευματοφόροι Σύνοδοι . . ., καὶ πᾶσα ἡ σειρὰ τῶν θεοφόρων Πατέρων καὶ ∆ιδασκάλων, ταύτην καὶ μόνην ἁγίαν καὶ ἀποστολικὴν διεπρέσβευον· καὶ ἰδίᾳ, καὶ δημοσίως ἐπ’ ᾽Εκκλησίας, καὶ ἐν ταῖς Σχολαῖς ἀνεγίνωσκον, καὶ ἐδίδασκον, καὶ ἐσπούδαζον, καὶ ἡρμήνευον ἐν ταῖς ἐξηγήσεσι . . . ᾽Εκ ταύτης καὶ τῶν θείων τῆς Πίστεως

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evangelia g. dafni δογμάτων τὴν ἀλήθειαν ἀπεδείκνυον καὶ ἐκράτυνον, καταβάλλοντες τὰς ἀναφυομένας παντοίας αἱρέσεις· (ὅτι δὲ καὶ τούτων ἅπαντες οἱ δύστηνοι πλαστουργοὶ, ταύτῃ καὶ μόνῃ ἐχρῶντο, θείαν αὐτὴν εἰδότες, καί τοι πρὸς τὰς ἑαυτῶν παρανοίας παρεξηγοῦντες τὰς ἀκηράτους ἐννοίας καὶ ῥήσεις τοῦ θείου Πνεύματος, εἴπομεν περὶ αὐτῶν, ἕνα μόλις καὶ δύω κατονομάσαντες πρὸς παράδειγμα, τοὺς δὲ λοιποὺς ἐάσαντες χαίρειν· . . .) ᾽Αλλὰ καὶ τὰς φιλολογικὰς αὐτῶν συγγραφὰς οἱ πάλαι πατέρες ἡμῶν ταῖς ἐκ τῶν Ο ῥήσεσι κατηγλάϊζον . . . Οὕτως ἐξ ἀρχῆς οἱ Χριστῷ τῷ Θεῷ πεπιστευκότες, παῖς παρὰ πατρὸς παραλαβόντες, ἐτήρουν τῶν ᾽Αποστόλων τὰ δόγματα καὶ τῶν Προφητῶν τὰ θεσπίσματα, κατὰ τὰς Γραφὰς, τήν τε Παλαιὰν καὶ τὴν Καινήν· καὶ πᾶσα ἡ ἁγία καὶ ἄμωμος ᾽Εκκλησία τοῦ Θεοῦ, οἵας παρέλαβεν ἐν τοῖς ἀχράντοις αὐτῆς κόλποις τὰς δύω ταύτας θεοτυπώτους τοῦ Θεοῦ ∆ιαθήκας, τοιαύτας δι’ αἰῶνος καὶ εἰς αἰῶνας ἐκράτησε καὶ διακρατήσει, ὡς θέμεθλα τῆς Πίστεως, ὡς ζωηῤῥύτους τῆς αἰωνίου σωτηρίας πηγὰς, ὡς ἀμφοτέρας ἀποτελούσας τὴν ὁμόῤῥυθμον „’Εκκλησιαστικὴν συμφωνίαν Νόμου καὶ Προφητῶν ὁμοῦ, καὶ ᾽Αποστόλων σὺν καὶ τῷ Εὐαγγελίῳ“ . . .

Die göttliche Inspiration der LXX-Hermeneia ergibt sich zunächst daraus, dass sie als gleichwertige Schrift mit ihrem hebräischen Original vom griechisch-sprechenden Judentum angesehen und als solche von den göttlich inspirierten Verfassern des NT aufgenommen wurde, die keine Unterschiede zum prophetischen Geist des Alten Testaments festgestellt haben. Die Kirche hat sie ebenso als gleichwertige Schriftquelle zum Nachweis des göttlichen Dogmas angesehen: ὁμότιμον καὶ ἰσοδύναμον πρὸς ἀπόδειξιν τοῦ θειοτάτου δόγματος (526). Aus der Wirkungsgeschichte der LXX ergibt sich, dass sie dem Wortlaut und dem Sinn nach göttlich inspiriert ist. Oikonomos’ Urteil „dem Wort und dem Sinn nach göttlich inspiriert“ soll man verstehen als Gegenargument zu Hody und zu einer Literatur die von der Frage geprägt ist, wie man die göttliche Inspiration genau definieren soll. Die Beurteilung seines Verständnisses der göttlichen Inspiration der LXX hängt aber letztendlich von der Sicht des Betrachters ab. X Zur Wirkungsgeschichte der These des Oikonomos über die göttliche Inspiration der LXX im griechisch-sprachigen Raum seien hier folgende Bemerkungen aufgeführt: Das Theopneustie-Problem wurde erst nach der Veröffentlichung des Werkes von Oikonomos aufgegriffen und hat zu Streitgesprächen

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zwischen Exegeten und Dogmatikern geführt13, die mit einer Veröffentlichung seines Schülers, Alexandros Lykourgos, in Hieromnemon 1859 (301–356) begannen und mit der heftigen theologischen Auseinandersetzung zwischen Evangelos Antoniades14 und Panagiotis N. Trembelas15 ihren Höhepunkt erfuhren16. Sie sind erst mit den Beiträgen von Panagiotis J. Bratsiotis17 und Basileios M. Vellas18 im Anschluss an Trembelas in den 50er Jahren des vergangenen Jahrhunderts zum Stillstand gekommen, ohne endgültig abgeschlossen zu werden, da dafür, nach dem Selbstverständnis der Orthodoxen Kirche, der Beschluss eines Ökumenischen Konzils erforderlich ist. Diese theologischen Auseinandersetzungen kreisen vornehmlich um das Verhältnis von Offenbarung, göttlicher Inspiration und Schrift, wobei die konkrete Frage nach der göttlichen Inspiration der LXX nur am Rande kommentiert wurde. Bedenken aber ruft die Äußerung des großen Systematikers Christos Androutsos hervor, der in einer Fußnote seiner berühmten Dogmatik schrieb: Die Orthodoxe Kirche verleiht große Achtung der Übersetzung der LXX und liest sie in den Kirchen , weil sie durch die heilige Pronoia zustande kam, wenig hält sie aber für authentisch und göttlich inspiriert, wie Oikonomos meinte, weil die göttliche Inspiration nichts mit einer Übersetzung zu tun hat; außerdem gebraucht das Neue Testament auch das Hebräische Original19. Im

13 Siehe z.B. D. Balanos, ῾Η Νεωτέρα ᾽Ορθόδοξος Θεολογία ἐν σχέσει πρὸς τὴν Πατερικὴν Θεολογίαν καὶ πρὸς τὰς Νεωτέρας ᾽Αντιλήψεις καὶ Μεθόδους (Athen, 1937). B.M. Vellas, Κριτικὴ τῆς Βίβλου καὶ ᾽Εκκλησιαστικὴ Αὐθεντία (Athen, 1937). Ders., Old Testament Studies in the Modern῾ Greek Orthodox Theology (Athens, 1948). P.J. Bratsiotis, ῾Η Παλαιὰ ∆ιαθήκη ἐν τῇ Ελληνικῇ ᾽Ορθοδόξῳ ᾽Εκκλησία (Athen, 1961). N.P. Bratsiotis, „Das Alte Testament in der Griechisch-Orthodoxen Kirche“, Kyrios NF 2 (1960/61), S. 59–82. E. Oikonomos, Bibel und Bibelwissenschaft in der Orthodoxen Kirche (SBS 81; Stuttgart, 1976). 14 E. Antoniades, ᾽Επὶ τοῦ Προβλήματος τῆς Θεοπνευστίας τῆς ῾Αγίας Γραφῆς (Athen, 1937). 15 P.N. Trembelas, ᾽Επιστασία ἢ καὶ Θεοπνευστία. Ders., ῾Η Θεοπνευστία τῆς ῾Αγίας Γραφῆς. 16 Ferner siehe E. Kourilas, Τὸ Ζήτημα τῆς Θεοπνευστίας τῶν ῾Αγίων Γραφῶν ἐν τῇ ᾽Ορθοδόξῳ ᾽Ανατολικῇ ᾽Εκκλησίᾳ (Thessaloniki, 1933). 17 P.J. Bratsiotis, ῾Η Αὐθεντία τῆς Βίβλου. 18 B.M. Vellas, ῾Η Αὐθεντία τῆς Βίβλου. 19 Chr. Androutsos, ∆ογματικὴ τῆς ᾽Ορθοδόξου ᾽Ανατολικῇς ᾽Εκκλησίας (Athen, 1907. 1956), S. 6, Anm. 7: „ ῾Η ᾽Ορθόδοξος ᾽Εκκλησία ἀπονέμει μέγα κῦρος τῇ τῶν Ο΄ μεταφράσει, καὶ ταύτην ἐπ’ ᾽Εκκλησίας ἀναγινώσκει ὡς τῷ δακτύλῳ τῆς θείας Προνοίας γενομένην, ἥκιστα ὅμως ἐκδέχεται αὐτὴν ὡς αὐθεντικὴν καὶ θεόπνευστον, ὡς ἡμαρτημένως ἐδόξασεν ὁ Οἰκονόμος, διότι θεοπνευστία μὲν ἐν μεταφράσει οὐδένα λόγον ἔχει, ἡ δὲ Καινὴ ∆ιαθήκη ποιεῖται χρῆσιν καὶ τοῦ ῾Εβραϊκοῦ πρωτοτύπου“.

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Gegenzug betonte Panagiotis J. Bratsiotis: Göttlichkeit oder göttliche Inspiration ist etwas anderes als die Kanonizität, weil die letztere die erstere voraussetzt und das Kriterion bildet, aufgrund dessen allein ein Buch in den alttestamentlichen Kanon aufgenommen wurde, im Unterschied zu anderen profanen (Schriften). Diese Idee begegnet uns auch bei vielen anderen Völkern, bei den Hebräern aber im Wesentlichen seit der Mosezeit. D.h. in den jüdischen Kanon wurden Bücher geschrieben von göttlich inspirierten Männern aufgenommen, die göttliche Offenbarungen an das auserwählte Volk des Alten Testaments enthielten und über die übernatürliche Führung dieses Volkes sprachen20. Damit stellte Bratsiotis klar, dass die Begriffe der Offenbarung, der göttlichen Inspiration und der Schrift nicht gleichzusetzen sind. Die Schrift setzt die göttliche Inspiration voraus und die göttliche Inspiration wiederum die Offenbarung göttlicher Wahrheiten. Dadurch bahnte er uns den Weg zu einem gerechten Verständnis des Inspirationsbegriffs, mit dem Oikonomos operierte.

20 P.J. Bratsiotis, Εἰσαγωγὴ εἰς τὴν Παλαιὰν ∆ιαθήκην. Μετὰ δύο παραρτημάτων περὶ ᾽Αποκρύφων καὶ Νεωτέρων Μεταφράσεων τῆς Π.∆. (Athen, 1936. 1975), S. 486–488: „θειότης ἢ θεοπνευστία εἶναι τι διάφορον τῆς κανονικότητος, ταύτης προϋποθετούσης ἐκείνην, ἀποτελεῖ δὲ κριτήριον, ἐπὶ τῇ βάσει τοῦ ὁποίου καὶ μόνον συμπεριελαμβάνετο

βιβλίον τι εἰς τὸν κανόνα τῆς Παλαιᾶς ∆ιαθήκης καὶ διεκρίνετο ἀπὸ τῶν θύραθεν καὶ ἡ ἰδέα ἀπαντῶσα καὶ παρ’ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς λαοῖς χρονολογεῖται παρ’ ῾Εβραίοις κατ᾽ οὐσίαν ἀπὸ τῆς ἐποχῆς τοῦ Μωυσέως. ᾽Εν τῷ ἰουδαϊκῷ δηλ. κανόνι περιελήφθησαν βιβλία συγγραφέντα ὑπὸ θεοπνεύστων ἀνδρῶν, περιέχοντα θείας ἀποκαλύψεις πρὸς τὸ περιούσιον λαὸν τῆς Παλαιᾶς ∆ιαθήκης καὶ μαρτυροῦντα καθόλου περὶ τῆς ὑπερφυσικῆς τοῦ λαοῦ τούτου καθοδηγίας“.

PRINCIPLES OF ORTHODOX HERMENEUTICS Vasile Mihoc The exegete’s primary task is to interpret the Scripture. But one cannot interpret the Scripture without hearing it, without understanding it. To “hear” the Scripture is the first task not only of the interpreters, but of any Christian. How have the Christians to “hear” the Scripture? What are the means of its understanding? And what are the criteria of discerning the right way and principles of such an understanding? Some hints of how these problems are answered in the Orthodox Church will be given in the present paper. In this presentation much space will be given to the early Church witnesses and understanding. Because for the Orthodox this reference to the apostolic and immediately post-apostolic Tradition is and remains essential. This doesn’t mean that the Orthodox hermeneutics does not rightly valuate the modern research and methods. The reasons for its reluctance in accepting part of the western exegetical methods are various. But it is not only because the Orthodox are afraid that many times philosophical or theological presuppositions of the western exegetes makes the results of applying these methods to the biblical text discordant to the traditional Christian faith. It must be said that a good part in that plays the historical situation in which most of the Orthodox have lived during the last centuries and most of all during a good part of the 20th century. If the Orthodox generally share some clear hermeneutical principles grounded in Church Father’s writings and perspectives they are no less interested in the scholarly research in the West. Maybe the most striking challenge for us Orthodox nowadays is finding the right criteria for assimilating what is of real value in the western exegetical methods and results. In my presentation something will be said on the authority of Scripture and its nature, on the Scripture in Tradition, on the goal of exegesis, on the contemplative approach (theoria), on the Christological interpretation and on the interpretation through the Church.

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The Orthodox generally think that this question is in a way already settled in the New Testament itself, by the way how the authority of the Scripture (Old Testament) is recognized by Jesus himself and by the apostolic Church. The teaching of Jesus as recorded in the Gospel tradition, while very similar both in form and sometimes in content with those of contemporary rabbis, was many times very different in its perspective, at least with regard to the authority of Scripture. The contemporary Judaism, grounded on the conviction of the (verbal) inspiration and unquestionable authenticity of the Bible, stressed the supreme authority of every single word in the Bible writings.1 And although Jesus, clearly states the integral validity of “Law and prophets” (Matt 5:17ff ), though he did not hesitate to “criticize” the Bible and to interpret it in a very different way, as one can see, for ex., in the six antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5:20ff ). And if his messianic interpretation of Scripture was not something totally new to the Jews, what is really new is his revolutionary proclamation – and early Church’s assured conviction – that he inaugurates the Kingdom of God and that the Scripture as a whole has to be seen in the perspective of this absolute novelty. St Paul’s exegesis is surely much indebted to the rabbinic form and methods of interpretation.2 It is very little influenced by the allegorical interpretation, as practiced by Philo of Alexandria. In contradiction to Philo, St Paul – as generally the New Testament authors – never denied the reality of the Old Testament history. But in the letters of St Paul and in all the New Testament writings there is something totally new in comparison with the rabbinic Old Testament interpretation: this novelty is their christocentric direction and character.3 Sure enough, the early Church inherited from Judaism not only the canonical (Old Testament) Scripture but also a very high consideration of its value

1 Cf. Sanhedrin 99a: “He who says ‘The Torah is not from God’ or even if he says ‘The whole Torah is from God with the exception of this or that verse which not God but Moses spoke from his own mouth’ – shall be rooted up”. 2 See J. Bonsirven, Exégèse rabbinique et exégèse paulinienne (Paris, 1939); W.D. Davies, Paul and Rabbinic Judaism (SPCK 5; London, 1970). 3 Cf. Petros Vassiliadis, “Scriptural Authority in Early Christian Hermeneutics”, in: Αριστοτέλειο Πανεπιστημὶο Επιστημονικὴ Θεολογικὴς Σχολής – Μνὴμη Ιωάννου Ευαγγ. Αναστασίου (Thessalonica, 1992), pp. 105–108 (106f ).

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and authority. The inspiration of the sacred Scripture is variously and clearly affirmed in the New Testament, not only in such direct texts as those in 2Tim 3:16 or 2Pet 1:21, but in many other ways. But, on the other hand, it clearly appears that the Holy Scripture is not the only and not the supreme authority for the early Church. Because, indeed, there is another supreme authority for the early Christians: this authority is Jesus Christ himself. The Scripture has its value and authority only in connection to Christ as supreme authority. To the canon of the Old Testament are added, more and more, the New Testament writings. It appears that the Church had no difficulty in accepting these new writings on the same level of authority as the Old Testament. But even this expanded Holy Scripture appears to have its authority only as connected to the living person of Jesus Christ. St Ignatius of Antioch, at the beginning of the 2nd century, offers us a good example in this respect. Though it is clear enough that he knew some of the New Testament books – certainly 1Cor and other Pauline letters, probably John and possibly the synoptic Gospels – he never appealed to them; nor did he have extensive use of the Old Testament. His only authority was Jesus Christ and his saving work and the faith that comes through him: έμοὶ δὲ ἀρχεὶα ἐστὶν Ιησοῦς Χριστός: “to me the ‘charters’ are Jesus Christ”.4 This reference to Jesus Christ as the living authority of the Church was supported by the early Christian pneumatology. In the New Testament – and mostly in St Luke’s writings – Christianity appears as being opened to a new understanding of the divine revelation. Living under the assistance of the Holy Spirit, the Church ceases to look backwards to past authorities and turn its attention to the future. “The past no longer suppresses the present, but it is dynamically reinterpreted in order to give new meaning and new perspective to the future”.5 This dynamism has its source in the Holy Spirit. By the Holy Spirit Christ himself is and remains always present in his Church, he is the “head of the Body” (Eph 1:22; Col 1:18), i.e. its supreme authority. This understanding of Christ’s role in the Church was possible only in the light of a proper doctrine on the Holy Spirit. By confessing the Holy Spirit as truly God, equal in status with the Father and with the Son – one of

4

Ibidem, p. 107. Ibidem; cf. P. Vassiliadis, “Η αγιοπνευματικὴ διάστασις τοῦ Χριστιανισμοῦ Σχόλιο στό Λουκ. 3,16”, Γρηγόριος ό Παλαμᾶς, 68 (1985), pp. 61–65. 5

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the most radical considerations of God’s mystery –, the early Church broke the chains of fear and dependence of the past. The Word of God incarnated in the person of Jesus Christ is therefore the supreme authority. The written word is only a partial expression of the God’s revelation. Jesus Christ is the supreme and complete revelation of God for our salvation. This fundamental statement has two consequences for the biblical hermeneutics: 1) The sola Scriptura principle cannot be sustained. Not all the divine revelation is contained in the Scripture; and not everything that Jesus did and said is written in the New Testament. The whole of the apostolic Tradition, their oral teaching and the ensemble of the apostolic Church teaching and practice have to be accepted as authority in the Church, and not only the written canonical Scriptures. 2) Jesus speaks to us not only in the Gospels. He is in living communion with the Church and, by his Holy Spirit, he always guide his Church to all truth. As a consequence, the Orthodox exegetes are not principally interested in what exactly Jesus did or did not say during his earthly work. The inspiration includes the activity of the risen Lord in the Church through the Spirit, to guide both the composition and the interpretation of biblical writings, to make them a revelation of truth and life. “Because of the ongoing hermeneutic function of the Spirit within the Church, the words attributed to Jesus in the Gospels are to be received as authoritative, whether they derive from Jesus’ own teaching during the course of his public ministry, or represent the words of the risen and glorified Lord, conveyed to the ecclesial community by the Holy Spirit after Pentecost”.6 Given this understanding of the presence and activity of the Holy Spirit in the Church and of the inspiration as only one aspect of this activity, the authority of the Bible cannot be understood outside of its “environment” which is the Church and outside of the Church’s holy Tradition.

6 John Breck, Scripture in Tradition. The Bible and its Interpretation in the Orthodox Church (St Vladimir’s Seminary Press; Crestwood, New York, 2001), p. 19.

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Has the Scripture an authority in the Orthodox Church? To this question the answer is strongly affirmative. Yes, the Scripture has authority. As an authority was it constantly used and considered during the Church history of the first millennium and always afterwards in the Eastern Church. During the first Ecumenical Council in Nicea (325) the Holy Scripture has been put on a throne, in front of all the participants, as a visible sign of its authority for the decisions to be agreed on. Every theological argumentation in Church Father’s writings all along the first millennium brings the Scripture’s texts as the supreme proof to the truth. But yet the Council, i.e. the assembly of the bishops, representing the institution of the Church and its holy Tradition, is needed. In order to distinguish the main hermeneutical principles in the Orthodox Bible interpretation we have first to say something about our understanding of the nature of the Bible. II. The Nature of the Sacred Scripture 1) In Relation to the Revelation In the Orthodox understanding the Holy Scripture is part of the salvation economy (oikonomia). It belongs to the process of God’s self-revelation, directed to the incarnation and culminating in it. The revelation of God had its beginning in the creation of the world through the divine Word and its core in the incarnation of the Word the Logos (cf. John 1:1,3,14). For the Church Fathers the Scripture must be understood in relation with what some of them call the “economic Trinity”, which means God’s outside manifestation, in his works for the salvation of mankind.7 The Scripture is the concrete proof of God’s saving economy and a way of the presence of the divine Logos in the world even before his incarnation (the Old Testament). The man heard the voice of God before seeing his coming, in accordance with the word in Psalm 48:9: “As we have heard, so we have seen”. There is continuity between the different forms of revelation in different stages of the history, mentioned or not in the Scripture, and

7 The Greek Fathers make a fundamental distinction between theology and economy: the first defines the inaccessible divine being, while the second shows the relation between God and man, culminating in the person of Jesus Christ.

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the incarnation of the Logos, which is the revelation’s perfection and fulfilment. The Scripture is therefore situated between revelation and incarnation, essentially related to both, but not identical with any of them.8 But if the Scripture is the written report of some of the divine revelation and one stage towards the incarnation of Logos, it is only natural that we have to relate it constantly to the person of the God’s Logos. The centrality of the Logos, who is the same all along the divine economy, represents one of the theological constants in the Father’s writings.9 2) The Divine Logos and the Scripture Words The divine Logos is uncreated, while the Scripture words are created, as all the human words. It follows that the nature of the Scripture, even if it is related to the incarnation of Christ, is not coincident with the nature of the Logos. The Scripture words are indispensable for the communication of the divine truth to us, and because of their impropriation by the Logos himself they are superior to all other human words, and the whole of the sacred Scripture is truly the word of God. But there is not identity between the words of the Scripture and the Word of God, i.e. the divine Logos. All the Scripture words point to the personal Logos. They are not divine by nature and cannot capture and express the divinity in its nature, but being impropriated by grace by God-the Logos they give us some knowledge of him superior to their historical and/or grammatical meaning. 3) How is the Logos Present in the Scripture? For the relation between the Scripture words and the divine Logos St Gregory of Nyssa uses the same word anakrasis that is used in the Cappadocian Fathers’ Christology for the relation of the two natures in the person of Christ. Even if some time later anakrasis – together with the related terms krasis, sunkrasis and mixis – will be considered

8 Agapie Corbu, Sfânta Scriptură şi tâlcuirea ei în opera Sfântului Grigorie de Nyssa (= The Holy Scripture and its Interpretation in the Writings of St Gregory of Nyssa), (Teofania, Sibiu, 2002), pp. 33f. 9 See George Galitis, “Revelation and the Word of God. Apophaticism and Demythologising”, in: Diakonia. Αφιερωμα στη μνημη Βασιλειου Στογιαννου, (Thessalonica, 1988); Ioan Coman, “Şi Cuvântul trup S-a făcut”. Hristologie şi mariologie patristică (= “And the Word became Flesh”. Patristic Christology and Mariology), (Ed. Mitropoliei Banatului: Timişoara, 1993), pp. 57f.

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as implicating Monophysitism, in the context of St Gregory’s thinking these terms are perfectly orthodox in meaning and they don’t imply at all a biblical Monophysitism. What St Gregory intends to say is only that, in assuming by his grace the Scripture words, the Logos in some way is “mixing” himself in those words. But this mixture is not perfect because of the incapacity of the created human word to comprehend in “the meaning of a name” the unlimited nature and to touch the Word himself. The divine is always interior and unseen, but it can dress itself in the created form, to which belongs also the articulated word of the Scripture. On this line St Gregory of Nyssa assimilates the Scripture with the veil and the covers that were shadowing Moses’ tabernacle, whose true value and signification were hidden inside.10 We have here a fundamental Christological understanding of the nature of Scripture. For the Greek Fathers and for the Orthodox people in general the divine Logos truly speaks in the words of sacred Scriptures and is active by them on the lecturer, using the words to work on the human spirit. There is a personal presence of God, by his grace, in all the words of Scripture, a presence that, by the fact of inspiration, is of a different kind than his presence in the rest of the cosmos. And yet there is not an ontological identity between the words of Scripture and the Word of God. 4) The Sacred Scripture as Divine Condescendence Because of the incapacity of our human nature as of the incapacity of human words, the Scripture is seen by the Fathers as an expression of God’s condescendence towards us. The living God who speaks in Scriptures adapts himself to the measure of our comprehension. In his commentary on The Beatitudes, St Gregory of Nyssa writes as follows: “We’ve heard the God-inspired Scripture saying great things about the nature which is higher than everything. But what are they in comparison with that nature itself? Because the word has said as much as I am able to comprehend, not as much as is the one whom it shows [. . .]”.11 If the Scripture says that God “speaks”, “hears”, “sees”, etc., these anthropomorphisms mean only that the One who is the absolute Spirit

10

References in A. Corbu (cf. above footnote 8), p. 36. St Gregory of Nyssa, On the Beatitudes VII, Romanian edition (PSB 29; Bucharest, 1982), p. 387. Cf. Corbu, op. cit. (cf. above note 8), p. 38. 11

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accommodates himself to our capacity of understanding. On the same line, in the Father’s thinking the Scripture is seen sometimes as circumstantial, the written word being given to us only because of our incapacity – due to the sin and to the loss of divine grace – of knowing God and his revelation directly, by his Spirit. St John Chrysostom writes at the beginning of his commentary on the Gospel of Matthew: “It were indeed meet for us not at all to require the aid of the written word, but to exhibit a life so pure, that the grace of the Spirit should be instead of books to our souls, and that as these are inscribed with ink, even so should our hearts be with the Spirit”.12 To Noah, to Abraham, or to Moses God discoursed not by writings, but “himself by himself, finding their mind pure”.13 But later, because of the Israelites’ sins, God gave them a written word. Again, “neither to the apostles did God give anything in writing, but instead of written words he promised that he would give them the grace of the Spirit [. . .]. And that thou may learn that this was far better, hear what he said by the prophet: ‘I will make a new covenant with you, putting my laws into their mind, and in their heart I will write them’ and that ‘they shall be all taught by God’ ”.14 Only because in process of time the Christians “made shipwreck, some with regard to doctrines, others as to life and manners, there was again need that they should be put in remembrance by the written word”. Unfortunately, says the great Antiochian, the Christians fail even in duly employing the written words.15 This perception of the nature of sacred Scripture open the way to an exegesis that postulates the multiplicity of meanings of the biblical texts. The nature of the Scripture is such that there is a different sense for every reading, the variation expressing the differences in the readers’ mystical relation to God.16 In a certain way, the nature of Scripture is such that it becomes the mirror of the spiritual measure to which is ascended its reader or interpreter. There is, therefore, an ontological 12 St John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of St Matthew, I, (Nicene and PostNicene Fathers [NPNF], first series, vol. 10; Hendrickson Publ. Peabody, Mass., 1888, second printing 1995), p. 1. 13 Ibidem. 14 Ibidem. 15 Ibidem. 16 The same perspective appears in the texts of the Pope Gregory the Great quoted in Enchiridion Biblicum: the meaning of the Scriptures grows with the reader, but it is not relished by the heretics, who nibble the bone without assimilating the marrow (Enchiridion Biblicum [Documenti della Chiesa sulla Sacra Scrittura; Bologna, 1993], pp. 31–33).

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relation between the Scripture and its reader, and this relation cannot be understood than in the terms of God’s descent to the man’s measures, on the one side, and of man’s efforts to know God, on the other. We must say that this aspect of the nature of Scripture founds a specific genre of objectivity, totally different of what generally – from the Enlightment onwards – is considered as scientific objectivity: I mean the objectivity of the concrete relation between man and God in Christ, a relation which is personal and conscious from the man’s part. We’ll have to come back on that later. For the moment, let us say that we have here, in the nature itself of the sacred Scripture, one of the roots of understanding the exegesis as being open and indefinite in its character. 5) The Sacramental Nature of the Scripture In the Orthodox tradition, the Scripture and the divine knowledge it mediates are situated in the sacramental context of the Church. Our relation to God mediated by the Holy Scripture exceeds the capacity of its human words to express the divine truth. And that means that the Scripture is also sacramental. The supra-verbal knowledge of God that we acquire by the Scripture is in a direct continuity to the knowledge that we receive in the Spirit by the Church’s sacraments.17 This sacramental perception of the divine truth in the Scripture is synergetic: it is a gift of the Spirit, but at the same time it depends on our worthiness (holiness). But the Scripture is related to the Church’s sacraments not only at the level of knowledge. There is an internal unity between the nature of Scripture and everything that belongs to the Church – Tradition, worship, community life, etc. In the Church, we experience this unity doxologically. St Basil the Great says that “we believe according to how we are baptized, and we make doxology according to what we believe”.18 On the same line St Gregory of Nyssa, writing a confession of faith for some people who were questioning his orthodoxy, says that there is a perfect harmony between faith, Scripture, baptism and doxology: “. . . we received the baptism according to what it was

17 Cf. St Symeon the New Theologian: “If the knowledge of the true wisdom and God’s science would be given to us by writings and teachings, why would it be needed the faith or the divine baptism and the holy sacraments?” (Traités théologiques et éthiques I [Sources chrétiennes nr. 122], p. 123). 18 Letters 159, 2, Romanian edition (PSB 12: Bucharest, 1988), p. 346.

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commanded to us, we believe according to how we were baptized, we make doxology according to what we believe, so that baptism, faith and doxology be in harmony (accord) . . .”19 “Within Orthodoxy – writes John Breck – the relationship between word and sacrament is one of essential unity grounded in silence”.20 Divine speech may be termed “sacramental” because it has a dynamic, creative quality. God speaks “out of silence”.21 The final creative act of God’s speaking to the world out of his silence is the work of the incarnate Son of God. St Paul calls this act a “mysterion”, a “sacrament” hidden in God before all time, but now revealed and accomplished in the person of the divine Logos, the crucified and risen Son of God (1Cor 2:2,7; Eph 1:9f; 3:1–12; Col 1:25–27; 2:2f, etc.). The Scripture, proclamation of this “mysterion”, is also sacramental. According to St Isaac the Syrian and Eastern mystical tradition, once the mission of salvation will be completed, in the age to come, human words of proclamation, of supplication and of praise will be forever transformed into the silence of contemplation.22 This unity between word and sacrament – both rooted in the divine silence – will probably seem strange and unwarranted to non-Orthodox Christians. The Protestant distinction, even dichotomy, between word and sacrament,23 preaching and liturgy, proclamation and celebration is foreign to Orthodox theology.24 A purely “verbal” understanding of the word has reduced the concept of the “word of God” to the canonical Scriptures or even to the sermon. But the scriptural word is not necessarily self-revealing (cf. Luke 18:34). Even Christ’s own words are not automatically self-revealing, and that explains why he invariably links proclamation of “good-news” of the Kingdom with

19 Letters 5 (Sources chrétiennes, nr. 363), pp. 158–162. See also R.L. Wilkem, “Liturgy, Bible and Theology in Easter Homilies of Gregory of Nyssa”, in: Ecriture et culture philosophique dans la pensée de Grégoire de Nysse (Leiden, 1971), pp. 127–143. 20 John Breck, The Power of the Word in the Worshiping Church (St Vladimir’s Seminary Press: Crestwood, New York, 1986), p. 11. 21 “There is one God who manifested himself through Jesus Christ his Son, who is his Word, proceeding from silence . . .” (St Ignatius, Mag VIII, 2). 22 St Isaac: “Silence is the sacrament of the world to come; words are the instrument of this present age” (Letter nr. 3, cited in J. Breck, The Power of the Word [cf. above footnote 20], p. 11). 23 Such a distinction is presupposed, for example, in Calvin’s definition of the Church as God’s instrument of salvation through “preaching of the Gospel” and the “institution of the sacraments” (Institutes IV,1,1). 24 J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), p. 12f.

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concrete, material signs that reveal the deeper meaning and confirm the truth of his words. It is “in the life and experience of the Church that the word is confirmed and actualized by the ritualized sign-act of the sacrament”.25 If we pass beyond a strictly verbal notion of the word, and rediscover its saving power, we perceive its sacramental character. 6) The Analogical and Symbolic Nature of the Biblical Language We’ve already said that because of the incapacity and inadequacy of the human words to be applied to the divine realities, the Scripture is seen by the Fathers as a proof of God’s condescendence towards our week nature. God has loaned not only our words, but also images and acts of our human life in order to express, by the way of analogy, the heavenly goods. There are in Scripture rapports of analogical order between the different images and records and the transcendent realities. This analogical nature of the Scripture means, on one hand, that the distinction between the divine nature and the created nature is preserved, and on the other hand that in the human words of the Scripture the man can truly experience the presence of God the Logos. In the human language, which is imperfect, the names of the different things do not describe the nature itself of these things. The same is true for the names of the personal beings. The Scripture attributes a multitude of names to God himself, but these names do not describe his transcendent being, his nature, his essence, but only his energies, his works in relation to the creature.26 The Scripture doesn’t describe 25

Ibidem 15. St Basil the Great speaks about our incapacity to express in concepts not only the divine being, but also the created beings and realities. In contemplating the objects we analyze their characters and that permits us to form the concepts. But this analysis would never express the full content of the objects of our perception, because there always remains something which one cannot express. As for the names we give to God, they unveil God’s energies that descend to us, but they don’t touch his inaccessible being (St Basil of Cesarea, Adv. Eunomium 1,1 [PG 29], cols. 521–524; Ad Amphilochium, Epist. 234, (PG 32), col. 869, a. o.; cf. St Gregory of Nyssa, Contra Eunomium X [PG 45], col. 828). Already Clement of Alexandria (Stromates V, II [PG 9], col. 109A) declares that we cannot touch God in what he is, but only in what he is not. For St Gregory of Nyssa (De vita Moysis [PG 44], col. 377B; Contra Eunomium [PG 54], col p. 604B–D; In Cantica Canticorum, Hom. XII [PG 44], col. 1028D), any human concept on God is a simulacrum, a carved image, an idol. There is only one name for expressing the divine nature: the bewilderment of our soul when we contemplate God (In Cantica Canticorum XII [PG 44], col. 1028D). The distinction between God’s being and his uncreated energies is fundamental in the Orthodox 26

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God’s being, but what we call his economy. It describes the descendent process of God’s coming to the world and to a certain point it realizes this coming; and at the same time it describes the ascendant process of man’s elevation to God.27 This character of the Scripture is at the basis of the way of our exegesis. St John Chrysostom, expounding the text “No man has seen God any time” (John 1:18), insists on the fact that many times we must pass beyond the Scripture’s statements: “None is so silly to assume concerning the incorporeal that he has a body. Therefore because he is incorporeal John says: ‘No man has seen God at any time’ ”. “But what are we to say of Isaiah”, asks Chrysostom, “who says ‘I saw the Lord sitting on a high and exalted throne’? And what of John who indicates at this point that Isaiah says this as if he had seen God’s Lordship and what of Ezekiel, because he also saw Him sitting on the Seraphim, and what of Daniel, because he also says the Ancient of days sat, and what of Moses himself, who said ‘Show me your Lordship so that I may see you openly’? And Jacob has for that reason received the title Israel, because Israel is he who sees God. And others also have seen God. How then does John say that ‘No man has seen God at any time’?” Chrysostom explains that “all these were witnesses of the accommodation (sunkatábasis), not the naked essence (ousía), for if they had seen the nature [of God] itself they would not have seen it diversely for it is simple and formless and not confined and limited; [God] does not sit nor stand nor move because all this has the attribute of bodies”.28 In another homily, he paraphrases the passage in Hosea 12:11 (LXX) as follows: “I do not show you my ousía itself, but I accommodate myself to the weakness of those who see”.29 According to the terminology of Bultmann, words of God such as “sits” “on a throne” and the “seraphim are round about him” or words theology (on this subject, see, for example, Vladimir Lossky, Essai sur la théologie mystique de l’Eglise d’Orient (Paris: Cerf, 1990), chap. IV; Romanian ed.: Anastasia, pp. 95ff ). This distinction was strongly affirmed most of all in the XIVth century controversy of St Gregory Palamas with the Catholicism (see Dumitru Stăniloae, Viaţa şi învăţătura Sfântului Grigorie Palama (= The Life and the Teaching of St Gregory Palamas) [Scripta; Bucharest, 1993]). 27 The same is true for the Church’s formulations of its doctrine. They have to be taken apophatically, which means that we have to see in them, first of all, a negative sense, a barrier in front of the tendency of our thinking to form concepts and to use them as substitutes of spiritual realities, because the Christianity is not a philosophical school which speculates on abstract concepts, but it is mostly communion with God, participation in the life of the Living One. See V. Lossky, Essai sur la théologie mystique, Romanian edition (cf. above note 26), p. 70. According to St. Gregory Palamas, Theophanes [PG 150], col. 937A, “neither in this age nor in the age to come is there a name to define the divine being”. 28 St. John Chrysostom, In Ioh. Hom. 15, [PG 59], cols. 97ff. Cf. G. Galitis, op. cit. (cf. above footnote 9), pp. 66–67. 29 PG 48, col. 474E.

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that say that Isaiah or Moses saw God are mythical. If we understand these words literally we are surely thinking mythically about God. But if Bultmann demythologizes, the Church Fathers “apophatacize”, that is, they deal with these words by using the perspective of apophaticism, which emphasizes the inaccessibility of God. Using the apophatic theology, the Fathers know how to stop their thought short before the door of the mystery and not to envisage God in a mirror image. They explain that because man cannot speak adequately about God, the Scripture uses “expressions which are anthropopathic and anthropomorphic, that is corresponding to human circumstances and human ways of thinking and the human capacities of understanding. Man can speak like this but he must know that he does this only through need and lack and that this situation of need will only be removed after death”.30 For Clement of Alexandria, “the form and the movement or the standpoint or the throne or the place or the right or left hand has in no way to be conceived of the Father of the universe even though these expressions are written [in the Bible]”.31 The expression “on the right hand of the Father” is an unacceptable idea for men with a modern world outlook, says Bultmann; it is a myth. But we see that it was also unacceptable for the men of the second and third centuries, and that on purely theological grounds. Clement and generally the old Christian writers recognize the anthropomorphic expressions of Scripture and interpret them accordingly. This is why Clement adds: “Of course, the first Ground is not in a place but beyond every place and every time and every name and every conception”.32 St John Chrysostom makes a similar remark in his comment on Heb 1:3, “He sat down on the right of the Majesty on High”. He says: “What does ‘on High’ mean? Does he enclose God in a place? Certainly not.” Again, “When he says ‘on the right hand’ he has not given him any form, but indicated that the same honour attaches to him as to the Father.” He similarly interprets the phrase “He sat down”.33

There are a multitude of Church Fathers’ texts that speak like that. Those texts clearly show us that the Church Fathers are very “modern” on the question of how the Bible speaks about God. But the question arises: why Scripture speaks like that? The next paragraph, dealing with the Orthodox understanding of inspiration will answer to this question, too.

30 31 32 33

G. Galitis, Revelation and Word of God (cf. above footnote 9), p. 68. Stromates, (PG 9), col. 109A. Ibidem, col. 121AB. (PG 63), col. 24.

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The Orthodox view the Scripture as uniformly inspired and, indeed, “written” by the Spirit, who expresses himself in the language of the human author. The two key passages from the New Testament on the inspiration of the Old Testament – 2Tim 3:16 and 2Pet 1:21 – are true also for the New Testament canon. According to the perspective of the post-apostolic Church, the Holy Spirit inspired not only the books of the Old Testament, but also the apostolic writings that constitute the New Testament. But what is the biblical inspiration? Generally speaking, “inspiration” denotes the influence which the Holy Spirit exercises upon human instruments, leading them to communicate divine revelation in a language conditioned by their particular and historical milieu. The biblical inspiration refers itself to the Spirit’s guidance of biblical authors, whose writings have been proclaimed canonical or normative for Christian faith. To the Church, the sacred Scripture is the unique “canon of truth” or “rule of faith”; this means that all Tradition (the unfolding of biblical revelation within the life of the Church) must be measured against Scripture and judged in terms of it. This does not mean, however, that the inspirational activity of the Spirit is limited to the Holy Scripture. The genuine Tradition (paradosis) is also, in a certain sense, “inspired”. The Tradition was called “the living memory of the Church”.34 Patristic interpretation of the New Testament, for example, constitutes an essential part of this “living memory”. But we can speak of two different orders or degrees of inspiration: that of Scripture and that of Tradition. Or, we can speak of revelatory inspiration, that of the Holy Scripture, and anamnetic inspiration (cf. John 16:12ff ), that of the Holy Tradition.35 The Orthodox Church understands the Scripture’s inspiration as synergetic or theanthropic, i.e. the fruit of the cooperation between God, by his divine grace, and the human authors. Both God (the Holy Spirit) and man (the inspired human writers) are authors of the Scripture (according to the principle: omnia ex Deo, omnia ex hominibus – “all things are from God; all things are from men”). As an expression of the divine revelation and as written under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, the Scripture is fully divine; it is the word of God. But because the human authors use all their skill, understanding, learn34 35

Sergiu Bulgakov, The Orthodox Church (New York, 1935), p. 19. J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), p. 106.

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ing and experience, the Scripture are also truly and fully human. This conception of the biblical inspiration has important implications for the hermeneutics: 1) As divine, the Scripture has to be treated consequently, i.e. with reverence and obedience. Scripture is a letter from God. Christ himself is speaking through it. The Scripture is God’s authoritative witness to himself. What it expresses in human language is truly the word of God. Since God himself is speaking to us in the Bible, our response cannot be that one of obedience, of receptivity and listening. 2) But the Bible is also human. It is a whole library of different books written at varying times by distinct persons. Each book of the Bible reflects the outlook of the age in which it was written and the particular viewpoint of the author. God does not abolish the personhood of the human authors, but enhances it. This is true also for the inspiration of the Scripture. Each of the four Gospels, for example, has its own particular approach of the person, work and message of Jesus Christ. Because Scripture is in this way the word of God expressed in human language, there is room for honest and exact critical enquiry when studying the Bible. Exploring the human aspect of the Bible, we are to use to the full our God-given human reason. The Orthodox Church does not exclude scholarly research into the origin, dates, authorship, literary composition and structure, etc., of the books of the Bible. III. Scripture in Tradition The Orthodox exegesis stresses that the Bible is not sui generis but that it was born and shaped within a community of faith. The Scripture, in other words, took shape within the matrix of ancient Church Tradition. The two – Scripture and Tradition – are not to be seen as complementary or mutually exclusive. They have to be considered from the perspective of their historical development. Tradition has been aptly described as the life of the Holy Spirit within the Church, the presence of divine, sanctifying Life within the Body of Christ.36 It may be 36 Tradition is the prolongation of the act of God in Christ which has been described in its essence in Scripture. George Florovsky, “The Ethos of the Orthodox Church”, in

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likened to a great river, whose main current is Scripture. “Scripture is the normative or ‘canonical’ witness that serves as the touchstone by which all traditions are measured and all authentic Tradition is discerned. Orthodoxy sees the relationship between the two in a way that can be described not as Scripture or Tradition, or Scripture and Tradition, but Scripture in Tradition. This is because Scripture is Tradition, in the sense that the New Testament writings are part of Tradition and constitute its normative element”.37 It is a firm Orthodox hermeneutical principle that the biblical writings can be properly interpreted in the frame of the Holy Tradition. Tradition provides the original content of Scripture. It comprises the oral and written paradosis, meaning “what is handed down” from the beginning in the form of eyewitness testimony and early Christian reflection on the mystery of Christ. Tradition may even be identified with the “apostolic gospel”, understood in the broadest sense of that expression. Consequently, Tradition provides the hermeneutic perspective by which any biblical writing is to be rightly interpreted. There exists a “kind of circularity” in the dynamic between Scripture and Tradition. “Scripture is the canon or norm by which all traditions are judged and authentic, inspired Tradition is determined. Yet the canonical Scriptures are created within the Church and by the Church as the normative expression of her ‘living Tradition’. Scripture determines what constitutes genuine Tradition, yet Tradition gives birth to and determines the limits of Scripture”.38 The Reform attempted to break this circular relationship between Scripture and Tradition, by advancing the sola Scriptura principle. Looking back to the Church Fathers teaching, we discover that they passionately preserved this relationship, determining authentic Tradition by its conformity to the canon, and reading and interpreting the Scripture through the lens of Holy Tradition. Through the word of Scripture, Christ continues to speak to us and to be actively at work within us, too. The risen Christ promised us that he will be with us “always, to the close of the age” (Matt 28:20).

Orthodoxy. A Faith and Order Dialogue (Geneva, 1960), p. 40, says that the Church received through the Apostles and through their successors, the bishops, not only a teaching, but also the grace of the Holy Spirit, so that “ultimately, ‘Tradition’ is the continuity of the divine assistance, the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit”. 37 J. Breck, Scripture in Tradition (cf. above footnote 6), p. 4. 38 Ibidem, p. 11.

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In the sacred Scripture, the Son and Word of God translated himself into words. As the One who is always the same (Heb 13:8), Christ interprets himself to every generation through the same words. But this continuous presence and revelation of Christ through his word is a work of the Holy Spirit. Scripture is, thus, contemporary to every generation through the Holy Spirit, who makes the words of Scripture real in the community of the Church. Tradition is nothing else than “the Church herself as the form of Christ’s undiminished effectiveness through the Holy Spirit, or as the form of revelation which is fulfilled in him over the centuries”.39 Tradition gives a permanent reality to the relationship of the Church with Christ. “Scripture has an intrinsic dynamism . . . Tradition keeps this dynamism of the Scripture contemporary without changing it, for Tradition represents an application and a continuous deepening of the content of Scripture. At the same time as it preserves the authentic dynamism of Scripture, Tradition, in its quality as true interpreter of Scripture, brings that dynamism to bear upon real life”.40 The Holy Tradition, which may also be described as the identity of the knowledge of Christ, makes us to understand and to integrate into our destiny the revelation contained in Scripture. Surely, the Holy Spirit is at work in this process. He is the One who makes revelation contemporary. “If Scripture had only a limited, literal, static meaning, it would no need of Tradition . . . If Scripture had no intention of making Christ pass into lives of human beings and to regulate their lives after the pattern of him, it would no need of completion through tradition . . . In essence, the content of the apostolic Tradition is nothing more than the content of Scripture applied to human life, or made to pass over into the reality of human life through the Church. Hence the Church preserves Scripture, applied through Tradition as something which is always new and yet always the same”.41 The transmission of the true content of Scripture through Tradition provides the possibility of a continuous deepening and unfolding of Scripture. Out of the apostolic Tradition and always remaining within its framework, the Holy Tradition knows a continuous development,

39 Dumitru Stăniloae, Orthodox Dogmatic Theology, trans. from Romanian by Robert Barringer and Ioan Ioniţă (Brooklyn, Mass.: Holy Cross Orth. Press, 1989, reprint 1998), p. 45. 40 Ibidem. 41 Ibidem, p. 47.

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briefly expressed in the Creeds, but which must be followed in the whole work of sanctification performed in the Church and in the explanation of Scripture provided all along the history of the Church. As a contemporary Orthodox theologian says, “Tradition is a ‘pneumatic’ anamnesis which, beyond the often too human objectification of the texts, reveals the unity and meaning of the Scriptures and shows forth Christ who recapitulates and fulfils them”.42 IV. The Goal of the Biblical Exegesis A good part of modern biblical exegesis is tributary to a hermeneutic principle that limits a priori its possibilities. It is the principle according to which the goal of the exegesis it is no other than discerning the “literal” meaning understood and transmitted by the respective biblical author. The Orthodox exegetical tradition invites us to surpass such a limitation. It is true that, when interpreting a biblical text, the Patristic writers themselves try to determine and explain the sense that was intended by the human author of the respective text, in its own historical context.43 But they never forget that they have to interpret God’s word, not a simple human word. Inspired writings constitute the way of transmitting the divine revelation itself. “The human word of apostolic preaching is set in the Scripture for the Church of all times and, by the fact of inspiration, it stays closely bound to the Word of the divine revelation. Then, we must say about Scripture and of it alone, that it contains not only God’s word but it is this Word himself. In a unique meaning, Scripture is therefore, for the Church, the means of rendering the revelation present”.44 Limiting the sense of the biblical

42

Olivier Clement, “Le renouveau de l’Eglise. Un point de vue orthodoxe”, Contacts 16, nr. 48 (1964), p. 266. 43 See, for example, the important study of Eduard Schweizer, “Diodor von Tarsus als Exeget”, Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft, 40 (1941), pp. 33–75. For Diodore himself, the principal goal of the exegesis is to clarify the intention of the biblical author. He seeks himself to achieve this goal by adapting a scientific method that had already been used in the studying of profane literature for a long time. But E. Schweizer does not mention anything about the most valuable hermeneutic contribution of Diodore: his principle of theoria (see forward). Cf. J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), p. 72. 44 J. Feiner, “L’actualisation de la révélation du Christ”, Mysterium Salutis, 3: L’Église et la transmission de la révélation (Paris: Cerf, 1969), p. 63.

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text to the understanding that its human author could have about it, it would mean to diminish the revelation itself to its author’s possibilities of comprehension and of written communication only. “Although the literary meaning is at the foundation of any rightful interpretation, its quasi-exclusive role in the Protestant exegesis tends to reduce the very concept of ‘Word of God’ to this sense only. Such a tendency can only lead the exegete to a kind of ‘hermeneutic impasse’, as long as the literary meaning cannot communicate anything to the modern man in an actual and penetrating manner. Passing over the centuries that separate the world of today from the world of the apostles, we feel obliged to discover the hermeneutic bridge, the key of interpretation which opens and renders accessible the divine Word to every moment and in every historic situation”.45 V. The Hermeneutic Principle of Theoria In the conception of the Orthodox Church, this “hermeneutic bridge” that re-actualizes the biblical event in the Church across centuries is no other than the Person of the Holy Spirit.46 For “the Holy Spirit’s work is not limited to the inspiration of the sacred author. His influence includes also the development of historic events as well as the actualisation and the interpretation of these events in the Church”.47 It is therefore only by collaborating with the Holy Spirit that the exegete could discern what the Spirit Himself has written in the Scripture text. Traditionally in the Orthodox Church the interpretative vision that tries to discern the spiritual significance of God’s word is seen as theoria, i.e. contemplation. By approaching the biblical text in this way, by contemplating it in the power of the Holy Spirit, the exegete has to discover a spiritual sense beyond the literal meaning understood and intended by the sacred author. It is this spiritual sense that assures the permanent actuality of the biblical texts. The Church Fathers and generally the Orthodox exegetical tradition teach us that Scripture actualisation, by discovering its spiritual

45

J. Breck, “Exégèse et interprétation: reflexions orthodoxes sur le ‘problème herméneutique’ ”, Contacts 34/nr. 118, (1982), p. 134. 46 Ibidem, 135ff; The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), pp. 33ff. 47 J. Breck, Exégèse et interprétation (cf. above footnote 45), p. 136.

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sense, is totally included in the goal of the exegesis. But it is necessary to specify that “each of Scripture’s meanings is actually a ‘spiritual sense’ since it is finally related to the work of Holy Spirit”.48 Certainly, it is necessary to distinguish the literal sense from the spiritual one. “However, the two meanings are ‘spiritual’, for both the testimony of the sacred author and the redeeming events that he testifies of are influenced directly by the Holy Spirit”.49 As a hermeneutical principle, theoria was based upon two fundamental presuppositions: that Scripture is uniformly inspired by God, and that typology offers the key to its right interpretation.50 The theme of the types or the prefigurations existing in the Old Testament which have corresponding antitypes in the New Testament occupies a considerable position in the patristic sources, beginning with the Epistle of Barnabas and the works of St Justin the Martyr. The typological exegesis has not to be confused with the allegorical one. Allegory discovers two distinct significances in the sacred text: the historic or the literal sense and the spiritual sense; but for allegorists, only the second is important for the life in faith. Allegory looks for the symbols and discovers profound mysteries even in the simplest expressions without taking into account the literal meaning. Based on typology, theoria affirms on the contrary that the spiritual sense cannot be separated from the literal one, that the antitype is ontologically present in the type. Typology does not apply itself to the words of the Scripture (of Old Testament) but to the realities described by these words that is to events, to institutions and to biblical characters. Theodore of Mopsuestia establishes three criteria in order to discern the authentic type in the Old Testament: 1) a resemblance (mimesis) must exist between type and antitype; 2) the relation between the two images (persons or events) must be in order of promise and fulfilment, so that the type finds its realization or actualization in the antitype; and 3) the transcendent reality of the antitype must participate really to the type, so that the historical event becomes bearer of the revelation. Applying these criteria rigorously, Theodore keeps only few authentic types in the Old Testament. He even refuses the messianic character of the great majority

48

Ibidem. Ibidem, pp. 136–137. When St. Paul opposes “the spirit” to “the letter” (Rom 2:29; 7:6; 2Cor 3), he does not speak of two distinct senses that would exist together in the Scripture; it is, in fact, a matter of opposition between the two Testaments (Covenants), between the two religious worlds: that of the Law and that of the Gospel. 50 J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), p. 95. 49

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of Psalms and prophesies recognized before as messianic.51 The heretical conclusions of this exegesis attracted its condemnation on behalf of the Church. St. John Chrysostom surpasses Theodore’s rigid historicism. He distinguishes three sorts of biblical assertions: those which are prefigurations or symbolic images revealing a “theoretic” or a spiritual sense; those which possess only a literal meaning; and those which are authentically typological, a historical event being the bearer of a divine significance (the proper sense of theoria). For St. John Chrysostom, as well as for Diodore and Theodore, theoria is not simply a method of exegesis, but “an inspired perception or contemplation of revealed heavenly realities.”52 This way of thinking will be also followed by Theodoret of Cyr. In the preface to his commentary on the Psalms, he specifies his exegetical program: “I have regarded it as my duty to avoid the one extreme as well as the other [allegory and literalism]. Whatever refers to history, I shall explain historically, but the prophecies about Christ the Lord, about the Church from the gentiles, about the Gospel and the preaching of the Apostles shall not be explained as referring to certain other things, as it is customary with the Jews.”53

The patristic use (mostly Antiochian) of the word theoria let us understand that it is not really a “method”, but a spiritual perception inspired by the Holy Spirit. We could say that it includes three stadiums: 1) the vision of the Old Testament prophet; 2) the New Testament inspired author perception of a spiritual sense written down in the prophetic message by means of typology; and 3) the interpretation of the postapostolic exegete on the basis of his own theoria by which, on one hand, he sees the typological relation between the Old and the New Testament, and on the other hand he discerns the existential sense of this typological relation. He reveals its significance “for us”, as members of the Body of Christ. Diodore of Tarsus and his disciples speak, indeed, of a theoria indispensable for the post-apostolic interpretation.54 Theoria or the contemplative vision is therefore as essential for the exegete as for the biblical authors themselves.

51 See R. Devréesse, “La méthode exégétique de Théodore de Mopsueste”, RB, 53 (1946), pp. 207–241. 52 J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), p. 88. 53 Ibidem, 90. It could be believed that the last assertion in this quotation refers to Theodore of Mopsuestia (cf. G. Bardy, “Exégèse patristique”, DBS IV [Paris, 1949], p. 582). 54 Cf. J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), p. 105.

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All these aspects of the concept of theoria suppose an inspiring activity of the Holy Spirit. For instance, St. Gregory the Taumaturgist writes: “To be gifted is necessary both for him who tells the prophecy and for him who hears it. And no one could hear the prophecies unless the prophetic Spirit did not give him the ability to listen to his words. It is written indeed in the Scripture that only the One who closes, discloses; it is the divine Logos who opens the enclosed things, rendering the mysteries intelligible.”55 And Origen says: “Let us pay attention, for we are by the springs of living waters that is by the divine Scriptures, misleading on them . . . It is why tears and unceasing prayers are needed so that the Lord opens our eyes”.56 It is a truth affirmed by Christ Himself that the Holy Spirit will also guide the interpretative activity of the Church: “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. However, when he, the Spirit of truth, has come, he will guide you into all truth; for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak; and he will tell you things to come. He will glorify me, for he will take of what is mine and declare it to you” (John 16:12–14). This text of St John tells us that the truth in and towards which we are guided by the Holy Spirit is the one of Christ. The object of theoria is therefore no other than Christ Himself. Because Christ is the very object of the Scripture and, at the same time, the only One who gives access to the truth of the Scripture through his Spirit. The spiritual sense of the Scripture is therefore nothing else than its Christological sense. And, indeed, it is the sense that the exegesis of the Fathers, principally and radically, always has in view. VI. Christological Exegesis The Old Testament – the Scripture of the first Christians – is read by the Holy Fathers, following the method of the apostles, in the light of Christian revelation. For them Christ was the key of the Old Testament. He is secretly present everywhere in the Old Testament. St Irenaeus writes: “If someone reads the Scriptures attentively (and

55 PG 10, col. 1093A, cited in A. Benoît, L’actualité des Pères de l’Église (Cahiers théologiques 47; Neuchâtel: Delachaux et Niestlé, 1961), pp. 67–68. 56 Hom. Gen., VII, 6, cited by A. Benoît, L’actualité (cf. above footnote 55), p. 68.

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St Irenaeus refers precisely to the Old Testament),57 he will find there the word concerning Christ (de Christo sermonem) and the prefiguration of the new calling. He is in fact the treasure hidden in the field – the field indeed is the world –, and Christ is really hidden in the Scripture, for he is there designated by some types and some words which cannot be humanly understood before the final fulfilment of all things, that is the coming of Christ”.58 Reacting against heretical positions like that of Marcion, the Church Fathers were able to valorise the whole Old Testament as Christian Sacred Scripture, by the means of its Christological interpretation. But it is necessary to add that the Church Fathers’ Christological interpretation embraces also the New Testament, so that the Christological significance is unfolded “in so many aspects as are revealed in Christ himself. He could be considered either in his historic person and in the Gospel events, or in his life hidden in the sacraments of the Church, which is his Body, or in his eschatological coming and his glorious reign”.59 St Athanasius of Alexandria well summarizes this character of the Scripture when he says: “Now the scope and character of Holy Scripture, as we have often said, is this: it contains a double account of the Saviour; that he was ever God, and is the Son, being the Father’s Word and radiance and wisdom; and that afterwards for us he took flesh of a Virgin, Mary Bearer of God, and was made man. And this scope is to be found throughout inspired Scripture, as the Lord himself has said, ‘Search the Scriptures, for they are they which testify of me’ ”.60 The western exegesis of our era is deeply marked by the fundamental change which occurred in Christology. Starting from philosophical presuppositions that leave no room for the very idea of supernatural and of biblical inspiration, the so-called “independent” exegesis aims at finding a “Jesus of the history”, professing something that might be called an anthropological Christology or a “Christology from below”

57 In his work The Proof of the Apostolic Preaching, St Irenaeus, though he is very well acquainted with the New Testament, quotes only the Old Testament, which he invokes to justify the kerygma of the apostles. Cf. A. Benoît, L’actualité (cf. above footnote 55), p. 66. 58 Adversus Haereses, IV, 26,1; II, 234f. 59 Jean Daniélou, Origène (Paris, 1948), pp. 163f. 60 St Athanasius of Alexandria, Four Discourses Against the Arians, III, 29 (NPNF, second series, vol. 4), p. 409.

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which is in fact only a Jesusology.61 It is all other thing than the traditional Christology of the incarnation. Jesus is not the God-Man anymore; He is only a man of God. And redemption is no more considered as the divinization of man; it is seen only in the interior identity of the human being (divided and estranged from himself ), an interior identity that will give him the possibility of arriving to a moral humanity. In this perspective, the incarnation and the resurrection of Christ seem incomprehensible and impossible.62 There it is, a Christology that has nothing to do with the teaching of the Church and that few people will dare to preach from the pulpit. The biblical fundamental perspective is that of the divine humanity of Christ. The apostolic Church and the New Testament authors (privileged witnesses of the faith of this Church) confess that Jesus is true God and true Man. Therefore, one could not understand these writings unless he places himself in the same perspective. The Christ theanthropos is the foundation and the norm of the Fathers’ exegesis. The patristic exegetes of the Sacred Scripture had sometimes experienced difficulties when trying to keep a right balance in the expression they gave to the relation between the two natures – divine and human – of Jesus Christ. The Alexandrian and Antiochian hermeneutic methods corresponded with their Christological positions: if the allegorical interpretation had a tendency for docetism, by exalting the divine nature and shadowing a little the human nature, the literalism was attracted to a hypostatic dualism63 for a while, by stressing more the concrete reality of Jesus. But the balance was established promptly in the Church Father’s writings and in the authoritative decisions of the Ecumenical Councils. Thinking in the theanthropic perspective, Fathers sought to valorise the Christological texts of the Scripture by reference to one or the other

61

See Jürgen Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ. Christology in Messianic Dimensions (London: SCM Press, 1990), pp. 55ff. 62 Ibidem, pp. 57–58. Thomas C. Oden, The Word of Life, Systematic Theology (San Francisco: Harper, 1992), p. 205, sums up the situation of the liberal Christology: “The attempt to devise an adequate Christology ‘from below’ runs up against three persistent limitations: (1) Such a procedure has great difficulty from the outset even locating Jesus in history utilizing recent critical methods. (2) Heated speculative-critical questions abound as to how attributions of deity ever came to be applied to Jesus during the period of the oral tradition preceding our written documents. Hence (3) it typically ends with feeble und uncertain affirmations of the divinity of Christ, the keystone of traditional Christology.” 63 See J. Breck, The Power of the Word (cf. above footnote 20), pp. 65ff, 93.

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of the two natures or to their union in the unique person of Christ. Thus, for instance, St Athanasius of Alexandria says that the skilled exegete, like a honest moneychanger, should consider attentively any biblical text referring to Christ, in order to realize if it referred to his humanity, to his divinity or to the relation between the two natures. “Expressions used about his Godhead and his becoming man are to be interpreted with discrimination and suitably to the particular context . . . He who expounds concerning his Godhead is not ignorant of what belongs to his coming in the flesh; but discerning each as a skilled and ‘approved money-changer’, he will walk in the straight way of piety; when therefore he speaks of His weeping, he knows that the Lord, having become man, while He exhibits His human character in weeping, as God raises Lazarus”.64 St. Gregory the Theologian becomes such a skilled “money-changer” when he explains the apparent contradictions of the biblical affirmations about Christ by the interpretation of the two natures: He hungered – but he fed thousands . . . he was wearied, but he is the Rest of them that are weary . . . he was heavy with sleep, but he walked lightly over the sea . . . he prays, but he hears prayer; he weeps, but he causes tears to cease; he asks where Lazarus was laid, for he was Man; but he raises Lazarus, for he was God; he is sold, and very cheap, for it is only thirty pieces of silver; but he redeems the world . . . As a sheep he is lead to the slaughter, but he is the Shepherd of Israel, and now of the whole world also. As a Lamb he is silent, yet he is the Word . . . he is . . . wounded, but he heals every disease . . . he dies, but he gives life. . . .65

In his treaty On the Orthodox Faith (or Dogmatics),66 St John of Damascus, the most systematic of the Oriental Fathers, offers a summary of the manner in which the patristic writers tried to distinguish the biblical ways of speaking about Christ. In the Scripture – he

64 Athanasius, On the Opinion of Dionysius, chap. 9, in NPNF, second series, vol. IV, p. 179. Cf. Thomas C. Oden, The Word of Life (cf. above footnote 62), p. 178. 65 Gregory Nazianzen, Orat. XXIX, 20, NPNF, second series, vol. VII, p. 309; cf. T. Oden, The Word of Life (cf. above footnote 62), p. 185. 66 St John of Damascus, On the Orthodox Faith, IV, 18, NPNF, second series, vol. 9, pp. 90–92.

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says – there are four types of references regarding Christ depending on how he is considered: 1) before the incarnate theanthropic union; 2) during the time of incarnate union; 3) after the union; and 4) after the resurrection. VII. Interpretation Through the Church We’ve already seen that the Church is the place where Scripture becomes always vital, contemporary, effective, and dynamic. Outside of the Church’s life we’ll never be able to say what Scripture really is. That means that it is equally the Church that tells us how Scripture is to be understood, interpreted. We all are in the position of the Ethiopian from Acts 8. The words of Scripture are not always self-explanatory; we need guidance for understanding them. And this guidance is assured to us by the Church. To the truth that there is no true reading and interpretation of Scripture than within Tradition, we must add another essential truth: Tradition cannot exist without the Church. “Tradition as content represents the way in which the fullness of Christ’s revelation is maintained, or, rather, the way in which Christ is maintained as the fullness of revelation in its concreteness, while, as a form of transmission, tradition assures the continued existence of this content through faith. But both these sides of Tradition are assured through the Church”.67 Scripture continues to be vital and effective through Tradition, while Tradition exists as the life and practice of the Church. “The Church is the milieu in which the content of Scripture or of revelation is imparted through Tradition . . . Scripture finds its end and takes on its form as concrete experience in the Church through Tradition”.68 But not only Tradition exists in and through the Church. Scripture itself would not exist apart from the Church. The canon of Scripture results from the Church. Scripture was written in the Church; and the Church gave witness to its apostolic authenticity. “Scripture arose within the bosom of the Church and for her benefit, as a way of fixing one part of the apostolic Tradition or of revelation in written form in

67 68

Dumitru Stăniloae, Orthodox Dogmatic Theology (cf. above footnote 39), p. 54. Ibidem.

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order to nourish the Church from it and maintain her in Christ who is authentically transmitted through the Tradition as a whole”.69 We can read the Bible individually – and the Church strongly invites us to do that –, but not as isolated individuals. We read it as the members of the Orthodox Church; we read it in communion with all the other members of the Body of Christ, in all parts of the world and in all generations of time. What is true for every member of the Church is also true for its theologians. The Orthodox biblical scholars are not bound by a formal written document in this respect. But they are no autonomous from the Church and from its Tradition, and they understand exegesis as a function of the worshiping and witnessing community of faith.70 The decisive test and criterion for our interpretation of the Scripture is the mind of the Church, because the Bible is the book of the Church and exists in and for the Church. When we say that we read Scripture within the Church, we understand that the Orthodox exegesis is both liturgical and patristic. We’ve already said something about the authority of patristic exegesis. There is something to be said on the liturgical understanding of Scripture. As an example of what it means to interpret Scripture in a liturgical way, guided by the use made of it at the Church feasts, let us look at the Old Testament lessons appointed for Vespers on the Feast of Annunciation, on March 25th. They are three in number: (1) Genesis 28,10–17: Jacob’s dream of a ladder set up from earth to heaven; (2) Ezekiel 43,27 – 44,4: the prophet’s vision of the Jerusalem sanctuary, with the closed gate through which none but the Prince may pass; (3) Proverbs 9,1–11: one of the great sophianic passages in the Old Testament, beginning “Wisdom has built her house”. These Old Testament texts, then, as their selection for the 25th March and other feasts of Theotokos indicates, are all to be understood as prophecies concerning the incarnation of the Son of God from the Most Holy Virgin. Mary is Jacob’s ladder, supplying the flesh that the Son of God takes upon by entering our human world. Mary is the closed gate who alone among women bore a child while still remaining a virgin. Mary provides the house which Christ the Wisdom of God (1Cor 1,24) takes

69

Ibidem, p. 55. Simon Crisp, “Orthodox Biblical Scholarship Between Patristics and Postmodernity: A View from the West”, in: James D.G. Dunn, Hans Klein, Ulrich Luz and Vasile Mihoc (eds), Auslegung der Bibel (WUNT 130, Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), p. 125. 70

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as his dwelling (in another interpretation, the title Wisdom or Sophia refers to the Mother of the Lord herself ). Such examples can be given in relation with all the other feasts of the Orthodox Church. In these liturgical readings we always discover the profound and mysterious unity which exists between the Old and the New Testament, and at the same time between the biblical texts and events and our life in Christ and in his Church. This paper is in no way a complete and systematic presentation of what can be considered Orthodox hermeneutics. It says almost nothing, for example, about the reception and practice by Orthodox exegetes of modern “western” biblical scholarship. Our main preoccupation here was to show what appears today as distinctive in the Orthodox perspective on Scripture and its interpretation and, at the same time, to help the perception that this distinctness, if deeply rooted in the first millennium Christian history and thinking, is in no way outdated and just simply conservationism, but – as full of creative life and able to speak powerfully to people of every place and time – it has and will always have its privileged place in a proper and complete biblical hermeneutics.

THE FORGOTTEN DIVINITY OF CREATION: SUGGESTIONS FOR A REVISION OF OLD TESTAMENT CREATION THEOLOGY IN THE 21ST CENTURY Silvia Schroer There is a consensus in Old Testament research that Ancient Israel drew a radical line between creation and creator. The created world is said to lack divinity. The presentation questions the named model. In spite of the sovereignty of the creator, creation is not entirely deprived of its numinosity, it is not entirely disenchanted. The Old Testament creation belief doesn’t consider the creator of the earth as a maker but rather as an artist who leaves fingerprints on his work of art, namely the world. Numerous biblical texts reveal that for people of ancient Israel the numinous could also be experienced in the here and now and its appearances. These results implicate a need to rethink for theology; this provides options and new challenges for interreligious dialogues.1 I. Israelite Monotheism did not Deprive Creation of its Numinosity The Latin word nuere describes the (divine) will, denoted through nodding, or the majesty, especially of the Roman emperor, which hinders people to move freely. Numinosity is understood as the mysterious charisma, innate to a factor gifted with divine might and fraught with supernatural power.2 Did the progression of Israelite monotheism cause that the created world was deprived of numinous aspects and traits, as per Friedrich Schiller complained of already around 1790 in his poem “Die Götter Griechenlands” and lately

1 The thesis of this contribution was first developed in Keel / Schroer and has recently been further elaborated in Schroer / Keel. The German version presents in full all examples of numinous aspects of the created world whereas this English version focuses on two examples only. 2 The term has not been clearly distinguished from “the holy” or “the divine” since its introduction through R. Otto (cf. Flasche, passim).

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especially feminist theology?3 Was the consequence of the monotheistic world view effectively that the divine creator was thought opposite a non-divine world, the product of his creative actions or words? These questions were affirmed without hesitation by many generations of exegetes and theologians. In our book “Schöpfung. Biblische Theologien im Kontext altorientalischer Religionen” Othmar Keel and I disagree for historical reasons and not without systematic-theological interests. We tried to display, that this monotheism was not nearly as rigorous in eliminating the numinous from creation as supposed.4 When God in the creation story of Gn 1:14–19 creates the sun and moon as lamps in the firmament, their position of independent divinity is taken, but they are not disenchanted in the same manner like in Anaxagora’s (mid 5th century bc) definition of them; he called them “fiery stones”.5 The conception of the world as God’s work of art left room for the numinous in creation. For the people in ancient Israel the world remained a place in which the divine was hidden and at the same time revealed, in which the sacred became experienceable, appalling (tremendum) or fascinating ( fascinosum), and in which accordingly the contact with this divine had to be arranged and modulated, even after the exclusive belief in the one God YHWH, the Creator of the world and companion of the people of Israel through history was consolidated. Old Testament scholarship did not see and probably did not want to see the many signs indicating that Israel’s nascent monotheism originally did not eliminate the divine from the world. That is probably due to the fact that scholars paid more attention to the strong idea of a religious symbol system which is catered to one exclusive God, such as it was enacted and continuously developed over centuries from dominantly documented groups of biblical authors than to the low voices, the traces of concepts which can at least not be blended in the modern concept of monotheism. The exegetes clearly tended to proceed deductively instead of inductively, or to see only “metaphors” at work where traces of a wider conception of monotheism can be discovered.

3 4 5

Cf. on the feminist theological approaches more details Keel / Schroer, pp. 27–29. Keel / Schroer, pp. 37–91. Fragment 59 A 42 (= Hippolyt I 8,6).

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II. Traces of the Preserved Numinosity of the Created World in the Old Testament As regards humans the numinous charisma corresponds to the feeling of pietas, the dependence, the grateful love and respect, which bars from rapid grabbing, from chopping trees, from harvesting fields to the last corn or the edge, from exploiting and abusing of animals. Pietas is the answer to the touch of the sacred, wherever it arises in the experienceable world. The feeling of being touched holistically is already in biblical time gladly rationalised, i.e. made understandable with explanations. For instance in Ps 104:16 the feature of YHWHtrees on the Lebanon is founded by the fact that God planted the massive conifers personally. The complex contact with the numinous is alleviated through strict rules or taboos, e.g. through periods of grace in cultivation or when harvesting young fruit trees. In the light of a history of religions, the numinous understanding of the world, as it can be found in biblical texts, harkens back to the belief in the acting of certain often still identifiable deities of the Ancient Oriental pantheons.6 Thunder and rain become manifest in Baal; gregarious animals stand under the blessing of Astarte; mighty trees constitute the presence of Asherah, the luminaries denominate the presence of the Queen of Heaven. Such names of deities and divine “shared responsibilities” are, albeit before the exile not with great results, eclipsed for the benefit of a monotheistic symbol system, the corresponding “departments” are incorporated by YHWH. But apparently this did not shake the belief in numinosity of creation to the core. In various biblical texts the idea that YHWH is present in the cosmos and in his creatures is enunciated. Heaven and earth are rife with God (Jer 23:24), his glory (kabod; Is 6:3), his benevolence (ḥ æsæd; Ps 33:5) and his spirit (WisSal 1:7). Yet numinosity is only rarely attributed to the remaining one divine power YHWH in the texts. More often it is presumed without explicit nomination of YHWH as a form of condition of religious experience. The metaphoric language of operating, judging, speaking and spoken to parts of the cosmos, the earth, the mountains etc. is rooted in the numinosity which

6 On this base the identifiable sources of divine powers and names were searched for in the standard work of Van der Toorn et al. (ed.), Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible.

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they are originally inherent in. Biblical texts are often exceedingly conservative at hinting at these backgrounds. The Septuagint eventually put a stop to the bequeathing of such traces of numinosity, by making disappear or impair with various instruments mythological factors like tehom, but also terms used for God like “rock” (ṣur) or “Shadday” or divine figures like Wisdom in its translation respectively exegesis of Hebrew texts, hence propagating a monotheism, in which creation and creator are separated.7 In the following it can only be pointed out with two examples, namely the divine aspects of earth and flora, that a different report results when the indications of numinosity of creation existing in the biblical texts are perceived as such and not classified in a system, which does not want to accept them as such. II.1. Numinous Aspects of the Farmland and the Earth The deep earth as well as the earth in terms of fertile farmland (Greek gē / Gaia; Hebrew ʾadamah) and the underworld (Greek chton / chtonios; Hebrew ʾæræṣ, šeʾol et al.) were respectfully regarded as quasi divine entities in the ancient world. Traces of an as divine experienced earth, which generates itself and is not seen as product of divine creation, are to be found in Gn 1:11a,12a,24a, where the subject of procreation, inspite of God’s speaking, is still the earth itself “Let the earth bring/ the earth brought forth grass/ living creature” (cf. Ps 90:3,5; Is 34:1). In the Sumerian “Prologue of the disputation between Wood and Tube”8 the parturition of the plants is still clearly a consequence of the copulence of the earth by the god An: An, the sublime sky, copulated the wide earth, [. . .] the earth stepped in to the joyous parturition of the plants of life.

Since the third millennium bc “plantsprouting” earth goddesses (fig. 1) are occasionally depicted in the Levant. On a cylinder seal from Mari the highest god (El) appears enthroned on a mountain between the streams of primeval ocean, flanked by the vegetation gods (fig. 2). A god with a lance indicates that the balance of the powers did not come about without a fight. Since the Middle Bronze Age (1750–1550 bc), the type of an earth goddess, who appears as

7 8

Cf. Fritsch; Gard; Orlinsky; Bertram; Küchler, pp. 131 et seq. Translation of Römer, pp. 357–360.

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Fig. 1. Cylinder seal from Schadad near Kerman in Iran (about 2500 bc). In the centre of the cylinder seal impression an earth goddess, whose upper part of the body rises from the earth and at the same time produces twiglike plants which nourish (cf. Gn 1:11f,24) the animals (left side of the picture), is shown. On the right the same goddess could be pictured in her full human guise. [Keel / Schroer, p. 52 Fig. 18].

Fig. 2. Cylinder seal from the Accadian time in Mari (2360–2180 bc). A bearded God with ruler sceptre (Anu, Ea, El) is enthroned on a ridge between the two wellsprings of the primeval ocean. Half tree- half anthropomorphic vegetation deities, who arise from the floods, give the father of the gods their reference. A pugnacious god (left) contains the chaos waters with his lance in aid of the prosperity of the plants. [Keel / Schroer, p. 53 Fig. 19].

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mistress of the plants, can be found more frequently in Palestine/ Israel (figs. 3–4) than in Syria. This erotic attractive goddess9 appears between trees, holds twigs in her hands or carries elements of vegetation as headdress. She accrues quasi from the soil in the shape of a woman, whereas the later Egyptian tree goddesses form a mixed shape with the treetop. Her lap is associated with the powers of vegetation. During the Israelite religious history, the department of the earth- and vegetation goddess soon gave way to YHWH, who now appears as sole disposer of the production energies of the earth (Hos 2:8). However, memories of a union of the God of Heaven and the Earth Goddess are even found in verses, in which YHWH is specifically mentioned as fertility exerting dimension, for example in Hos 2:23 and in the imagery of Is 45:8. The rule of letting fields rest at regular intervals is originally motivated through the respect of the numinosity of the earth. It then becomes increasingly socially constituted. Thus it is demanded in the sacred law (Lv 25:1–7), that field and vineyard are only farmed and harvested for six years in a row. What grows in the seventh year is nazir, devoted to the ghosts of fertility.10 Only animals may eat from it.11 In the formula “Sabbath for YHWH”, these powers are replaced by YHWH. According to Ex 23:10–12 the fallow year is a rule for the benefit of the poor of the country and the cattle, for the complete income of the fields, oil trees and vineyards is due to them during the fallow. Similar instructions – with or without social motivations – also exist for harvest. Perennial standstill agreements apply for the gathering of first fruits in the harvest, also fields and vineyards may not be harvested to the last stem or the last berry.12 The earth is occa9

Cf. Schroer, 1989. Elliger, pp. 257, 350. 11 The wildly grown plants of such a field or vineyard may be eaten, though not the offspring of the preceding year. 12 Lev 19:9–10, 23–25; 23:22; Dt 24:19–22 (with an especially strong social component). Fohrer (Job, 440–442) sees a reminiscence of the respect for the divine patrons of the earth in the great purification oath of Job, Job 31:38–40: If my land cry against me, or that the furrows likewise thereof complain; If I have eaten the fruits thereof without remuneration, or have caused the næfæš of their lords to gasp: Let thistles grow instead of wheat, and cockle instead of barley. Whether the acre is presented as animate creature, whose condition weakens or strengthens the vitality of its (divine) masters, the field ghosts, remains questionable, 10

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Figs. 3–4. Scarab from Geser (1650–1550 bc) and scarab from Afek (1650–1550 bc). Both stamp seals show a naked goddess, whose head is shown side-face. The one on the left scarab holds on to a high twig or tree with either hand. The twigs seem to grow directly from the feet of the goddess. Striking in this depiction are the navel, the necklace, the garter belt and the two twigs, which pullulate from the vulva. The other piece from Afek shows a goddess standing between twigs with clinging arms, whose pubic area is arranged like a leaf. The combination of pubic area and twig is documented on image evidence from the Middle East as early as during the third millennium bc [Schroer, 1989, nos. 6 and 9].

sionally introduced as womb, from which man is born, and to which he reverts to (fig. 5).13 Job responds to his strokes of faith with the following words: Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return to there. (Job 1:21)

as many signs semantically point out to a social delinquency (not paying of the tenancy or similar) in these verses. The fact that in the Old Testament tradition the screaming about great mischief always comes from the affected subject, that here the earth itself must have experienced violence speaks in favour of Fohrer’s assumption. A (later) social interpretation would also fit in the above described tendency towards social corroboration of taboo regulations. 13 Cf. Ps 139:15; Zec 40:1 and Job 17:14.

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Fig. 5. Figurine from Revadim (1250 bc). In three different places in Palestine/Israel parts of small goddess figurines which stem from the same moulding were found. The most complete one is pictured above. The naked goddess is depicted frontally, with long loose-hanging hair, a crescent moonor Ω-pendant around the neck and bracelets. Her hands open the pubic area. Two babies drink from the breasts of the goddess. On both thighs a palmette tree with a climbing caprid is pictured besides the vulva. Also in this image the tree approaches the shame. At the same time the motif of the goats, which nourish on the tree, is associated with the nourishing aspects of the divine mother. [Keel / Uehlinger, Fig. 82].

The “there” only makes sense, when it does not refer to the concrete womb, but the mythical womb of the earth.14 The psalm praying people know, that their life emerged in the dark profundities of the earth:

14

Gn 3:19b und Ps 90:3 speak less mythically of the return to the dust. In Job 17:14 the connection of earth, realm of the dead and womb are encountered when the sorely afflicted describes his longing for death with the words “(if I say . . .) to the worm, you are my mother”.

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My substance was not hidden from you, when I was made in secret, and intricately woven in the depths of the earth. (Ps 139:15c)

Ben Sira (40:1) describes the time between the emanating from the womb and the return to the “mother of all” as the exhausting span of life of man. And Is 26:19 formulates the hope, that the dead are reborn from the earth, analogue to the birth of the unborn from the womb.15 The occasionally attested burial of the dead under holy trees during the dawn of Israel may belong to the same ideative circles.16 The divine characteristics of the earth and the soil remain in memory, but apparently were connected to denial and taboos. Actual counterparts to the Egyptian underworld god Osiris or to the Greek chtonic deities (Hades, Demeter) respectively chtonic manifestations of gods (Hermes, Zeus) never existed in Palestine/Israel. YHWH is no chtonic but a uranian god, whose regions are rather the mountains, altitude and sky than the underworld, which was associated with darkness and death. Sheol is specifically described as a place where no praising of the Lord sounds anymore (Ps 6:6; 88:11–13; Is 38:18). The underworld does not belong to the territory of the god of the living. But the old, article free common name Sheol indeed sounds very mythical. The common north-western Semitic word for the realm of the dead is ʾæræṣ “country” or “earth”.17 When in Nu 16:30–33 the soil respectively the earth ravens the culprits so that they enter sheol alive (cf. Gn 4:11; Ps 106:17), the mythical connects with the numinosity of the earth. But also other topics display resentments against the contact with the profundities of the earth. Job 28 contains vehement animadversion on mining, to which the people are indeed capable of and which is carried out with a lot of ambition and pride. But the digging into the earth respectively the mountains, in order to mine ore, is critically referred to as sacrilege and violation of the sovereignty of the Creator by the wise ones of Israel:18 As for the earth, out of it comes bread, and underneath it is turned up as it were fire. (Job 28:5)

15

Cf. Job 3:3–19. According to Gn 35:8 Debora is buried under a mighty tree in Bet-El (cf. Jg 4:5), according to 1 S 31:13 Saul’s and his son’s bones are under a tree near Jabesh. 17 Cf. Tromp. 18 Zimmermann, pp. 88 et seq. 16

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Apparently expanding into the profundities of the earth, which was also the provider of men, was considered exceedingly offensive. Although the darkness of the caves actually offers the most effective asylum (Jg 6:2; 1 S 13:6; 24:4; 1 K 18:4,13; 1 Mac 2:31,36), god is never mentioned as rescuing cave in the imagery of the Psalms. II.2. Numinous Aspects of the Plants During the entire Bronze Age (approx. 3000–1200 bc), especially in Palestine a close connection between vegetation (tree, twig) and a goddess who is pictured naked is detectable.19 Shortly twigs sprout from the shame or the navel of the anthropomorphic goddess, shortly she is flanked by twigs, shortly the reprocessed cult tree or the green tree are exchangeable with the anthropomorphic goddess in certain contexts (figs. 6–8).20

Figs. 6–8. Scarab from Tell el-Farac South (945–713 bc), scaraboid from Samaria (930–730 bc) and scaraboid from Lachisch (8th/7th bc). On all three seal amulets a to a greater or lesser extent schematised worshipper is apparitional, who with salutatingly or adjuratorily upraised arms approaches a holy tree. The exemplar on the left shows a cult tree bereft from its branches, the one in the middle a small green tree. On the third piece, which could be of Phoenician origin, the goddess (Aschera) appears in her anthropomorphic form in the centre of the image and additionally in the symbol of the tree, on which a monkey is sitting. The holy tree is, like the polemics of the biblical texts against Aschera/Ascheren suggest, not separable from the within experienced presence of the earth- and vegetation goddess. [Keel, 1998, p. 146 Figs. 84, 85, 86]. 19 20

Schroer, 1987 and 1989; Keel, 1998, pp. 20–57; Winter, pp. 434–441. Cf. Keel / Uehlinger, p. 31 fig. 10–12c; p. 33 fig. 14a–16; p. 63 fig. 49.52–53 et al.

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The Hebrew word ʾelah signifies “mighty tree”, but also “goddess”. From the middle of the second millennium bc the tree or the icon of the animals at the sacred tree becomes a substitution of the goddess in the iconography of Palestine/Israel (fig. 9). In older traditions even YHWH himself can become manifest in a tree or a bush (Ex 3:1–5; Dt 33:16). YHWH and his messengers often appear under especially grand trees, for example before Abraham and Sara (Gn 18:1,8; vgl. Gn 13:18) or Gideon (Jg 6:11). Bread and water, which is accorded to Elijah under a gorse bush (1 K 19:5) remind of the donations of Egyptian tree goddesses.21 Holy trees serve as oracle trees (Gn 12:6; cp. Jg 9:37). They characterise sanctuaries (Jos 24:26) and are considered as planted by hoar figures such as Abraham in Gn 21:33. Charismatic leaders pronounce judgement under mighty trees (Jg 4:5; 1 S 14:2; 1 S 22:6). Famous dead are, as aforementioned, buried under them.22 In the Book Hosea a tree metaphor is still used for YHWH, this outshines the widely held tree cults in the country:23

Fig. 9. Painting on a jug from Megiddo (14th/13th century bc). Wild goats and birds arrange around a stylised tree. The way of depiction accentuates the agility of the animals. The composition of the image as a whole stands for the life-donating and producing divine force, which becomes manifest in the holy tree. [Keel / Schroer, p. 162 No 166].

21

Keel, 1992, pp. 61–138. Keel, 1989, pp. 70–75; cf. on the whole matter also Elan, pp. 89–101; Jaroš, pp. 119–150. 23 On the text and the famous conjecture of Julius Wellhausen “I am his Anat and his Aschera”, cf. Wacker, pp. 274 et seq., 297 et seqq. 22

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Such parlance was not possible anymore in later times. In comparison with the new moon cult the tree cult was hit much harder by the deuteronomistic reform.24 The cult under the holy trees of the goddess is systematically defamed in the Books of the Prophets, starting with Hosea (4:12 et seq.; Is 1:29; Ezek 20:28). The Deuteronomy forbids the planting of “ʾašerīm” (Dt 16:21 et seq.). The polemic in the biblical messages about the goddess and the holy trees shows, how this cult was systematically suppressed and ostracised. While according to Ps 52:10 and Ps 92:13 et seq. trees still stood in the forecourt of the temple, Josephus Flavius proudly cites a scripture from the 1st century bc which is attributed to the Jew friendly historian Hektaios of Abdera (4th century bc), according to which all these temple trees were cut down, in order to avoid the impression that they were being worshipped. In the seven branched candelabrum and in the Lulav25 the holy tree and the tree rites may have survived secretly. Constrictions in the utilisation of the fields, which are partially secondarily socially interpreted,26 are another indication of the numinous perception of the flora. The fruit of a tree may not be enjoyed during the first three years (Lv 19:23–25). In line with the martial laws it is furthermore explicitly forbidden in the Deuteronomy to chop down trees during a siege in order to build bulwarks: If you besiege a town for a long time, making war against it in order to take it, you must not destroy its trees by wielding an ay against them. Although you may take food from them, you must not cut them down. Are trees in the field human beings that they should come under siege from you? You may destroy only the trees that you know do not produce food; you may cut them down for use in building siegeworks against the town that makes war with you, until it falls (Dt 20:19 et seq.)

The explanation reads that one shall not be at war with trees, but pietas might also be behind this rationality (sparing of the alimentary

24

On the following Schroer, 1989; Keel, 1998, pp. 54–57. Cf. Lv 23:40 and Ps 118:27. On the Lulav on the Bar Kochba-coins cf. Keel / Schroer, pp. 90 et seq. with fig. 74. 26 Lv 25:1–7; Ex 23:10–12; Lv 19:9f; 23:22; Dt 24:19–22. 25

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sources). Numerous Assyrian reliefs document that the felling of the trees, especially date palms, was a fixed element of Assyrian warfare. The Israelite law sets astounding contra courses at this point.27 III. Conclusions The list of examples is to be completed: through sea and rivers, mountains, cliffs and stones, the whole fauna, forces of nature and weather, heaven and luminaries and even man himself the divine can be experienced in the created world.28 This is especially evident when the biblical context is not at all metaphorical, or cultic or concerned about religious ideas, but simply with everyday life, as it is the case when pietas towards animals is required. One shall not separate a mother and her new born kid or slaugther both on the same day (Lv 22:27f; cf. Ex 22:28b–29), nor is it allowed to cook the kid in its mother’s milk (Ex 23:19b; 34:26; Dt 14:21) or to take a mother bird and her eggs all together (Dt 22:6f). There are plenty of texts indicating a great respect towards animals as living beings with certain rights. The new, more inductive access to the biblical texts quickly leads to discussions about concepts like numinosity or monotheism on the one hand, and on the other hand about the relation between the theological concepts of Old Testament authors and the practised religion of the population in Palestine/Israel. Some premises of the chosen approach to biblical texts and some greater religion historical connections shall therefore be clarified respectively called to mind. 1. Theology is a systemising science ever since the ancient world. It arranges – not uninterestedly, but often in terms of certain groups of a society (priests at a temple, appointed scribes at the court etc.) – what it comes across in the manifold manifestations of vital religion. Only some systematisations have success and initiate a process of interaction between theology and religion. 2. It can be assumed that the Old Testament writings document various stages and concepts of the Israelite monotheism. The Christian-theological monotheism research, which since the 1980s, was triggered by the inscription findings of Kuntillet Aǧǧrud and Khirbet

27

Cf. Bleibtreu. For a more complete presentation of the numerous traces of numinosity in the created world see Keel / Schroer, pp. 37–91; Schroer / Keel. 28

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el-Qôm and by enquiries of feminist theology, has been and still is very turbulent, contributed considerably to a differentiated view of monotheism. The dominant author respectively editor groups took a great interest in distinguishing the monotheistic symbol system through elimination of other deities (prophetic-deuteronomistic groups) and the confrontation of divine Creator and non-divine world (priestly document P). The biblical texts, however, attest that the attempt to achieve theological order missed out on many memories, religious conceptions and methods and that a rigorous classification of all testimonies of the Israelite belief in the monotheistic symbol system was not intended and not even the most radical representatives of the one god belief permitted certain blurring in the system formation, which possibly is only understood as blurring by modern monotheists. How else could it be explained that as soon as the culmination of the commitment to the sole god has taken place, the only god receives company once again, be it by celestial “creatures” (ḥ ajjot; Ez 1), the personified Wisdom, the Son of Man, Satan or angelic creatures? Hastily classing the traces of numinosity of creation in biblical texts as relicts of a pre-monotheistic phase would therefore be problematic. The openness for such conceptions could just as well be deliberate; it could be intended that frictions were not abolished. At least various ideas and conceptions remained distinguishable in the result, whether wanted or not. 3. The history of religion in the land of Palestine/Israel is not congruent with the Old Testament theologies. What people believed, how they carried out religion, can only be indirectly found out about in biblical texts. A reconstruction of the history of religion relies on further sources, texts, architecture of holy sites and pictures. It can for instance demonstrate which ideas were traditionally endemic to the region, so that a foil is formed, which helps the biblical texts in becoming clearer or integrated in greater development directions. 4. Othmar Keel and I speak of a numinous valuation of the environment, of the perception of divine powers in nature. Occasionally these powers have names (Astarte, Resheph, Deber) which emanate from the naturally polytheistic system formations of the neighbouring cultures or Canaanite traditions. The need to give names to the fascinating and frightening powers, to personalise them and thus make them approachable and maybe even available was high. But the numinous, e.g. as divine sensed earth, often remains nameless in

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the Old Testament, or only the human response to encounters with the holy, the pietas, is tangible. The abdication of names and a precise attribution of all experiences of the divine could well be a characteristic of the Israelite monotheism. Especially profound experiences of this nature are readily traced back to God or namely YHWH, terms like “fire of God” for lightning (2 K 1:12; Job 1:16), “sound of God” for thunder (Ps 29; Is 30:31), “trees of God” for the greatest trees (Ps 104:16; cp. Ps 80:11) or “word of God” for an especially powerful word, can be understood as superlative formations in which “God” or “YHWH” connotes the numinous power per se. Subsequently the super powers are often defined causally: God planted the cedars or spoke the Word.29 Many experiences with the holy, which is not tangible by name, are bundled in the Old Israelite theology of blessing. The blessing is ascribed to God in its origin (Gn 1), but the experience of the good, of the blessing in creation is often brought forward without explicit reference to the God of Israel and is ultimately the experience of the numinous in creation.30 In conjunction with the abdication of denomination of numinous powers it is of note, that the biblical and non biblical sources of Israelite religion only pay relatively little attention to demons. Demonology is faintly developed in Israel,31 whereas in Egypt at least the underworld is rife with demons and in Mesopotamia a part of daily life must have consisted of defence and protection measures against a host of often dangerous creatures.32 This circumstance can on the one hand be explained with the fact that also in other areas, such as the deathly world, the small scale farming population of Palestine/Israel largely showed a lack of imaginative-speculative requirements and the corresponding capability of developing such conceptions. On the other hand it can be explained with the fact that the Israelite world view was not dualistic.33 When in the Book of Job the chaotic powers are granted a form of habitat by God and the evil powers are not eliminated but only effectively fought and contained, the model which created the margin for the assumption that the numinous is present and experienceable

29 30 31 32 33

Keel, 1997, p. 97. Cf. Keel / Schroer, pp. 92–99; Schroer / Staubli, passim. Cf. Frey-Anthes, passim. Cf. Maul / Jansen-Winkeln. Keel, 2003.

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in the created world, could become apparent – on the one hand because it always was, before the actual act of creation, “there”, on the other hand because the creation plan itself is of divine origin and their divine creator can become manifest in creation. According to Ps 8:3 “When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers” God the artist virtually leaves his fingerprints on creation, respectively his artwork. Today, a biblical creation theology is, on the one hand, committed to the Jewish credo, that nothing within the created world is like God, nothing is allowed to be worshipped and adored like God. But, on the other hand, this doesn’t mean that the creation lacks holiness. We are also committed to the credo, that this world is a gift of the creator. Time has come to give back dignity to creation, to free her from the humilation of being the god-less product and opposite of the creator, a mere object of science and exploitation. Time has come to find back our way to a more biblical respect towards God’s work of art, to more pietas. Bibliography Bertram, G. “Septuagintafrömmigkeit”, RGG3 5 (1961), pp. 1707–1709. Bleibtreu, E. “Zerstörung der Umwelt durch Bäumefällen und Dezimierung des Löwenbestandes in Mesopotamien”, in: B. Scholz (Hg.), Der orientalische Mensch und seine Beziehungen zur Umwelt. Beiträge zum 2. Grazer Morgenländischen Symposion (2.–5. März 1989) (Graz, 1989), pp. 219–233. Elan, S. “Der Heilige Baum – ein Hinweis auf das Bild ursprünglicher Landschaft in Palästina”, MDOG 111 (1979), pp. 89–101. Elliger, K. Leviticus (HAT 4; Tübingen, 1966). Flasche, R. Art. “Numinos”, in: H. Cancik et al. (Hg.), Handbuch religionswissenschaftlicher Grundbegriffe IV (Stuttgart, 1998), pp. 252–255. Fohrer, G. Das Buch Hiob (KAT 16; Gütersloh, 21989). Frey-Anthes, H. Unheilsmächte und Schutzgenien, Antiwesen und Grenzgänger. Vorstellungen von “Dämonen” im alten Israel (OBO 227; Freiburg CH/Göttingen, 2007). Fritsch, C.T. The Anti-anthropomorphisms of the Greek Pentateuch (Princeton, 1943). Gard, D.H. The Exegetical Method of the Greek Translator of the Book of Job (JBLMS 8; Ann Arbor, 1952). Jaroš, K. Die Stellung des Elohisten zur kanaanäischen Religion (OBO 4; Freiburg CH / Göttingen, 21982). Keel, O. “Die Ω-Gruppe. Ein mittelbronzezeitlicher Stempelsiegel-Typ mit erhabenem Relief aus Anatolien-Nordsyrien und Palästina”, in: O. Keel u.a. (Hg.), Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel Bd.II (OBO 88; Freiburg CH / Göttingen, 1989), pp. 39–98. ——. Das Recht der Bilder gesehen zu werden. Drei Fallstudien zur Methode der Interpretation altorientalischer Bilder (OBO 122; Freiburg CH / Göttingen, 1992). ——. “Leben aus dem Wort Gottes? Vom Anspruch und vom Umgang mit den Schriften des Alten und Neuen Testaments”, in: A. Schifferle (Hg.), Pfarrei in der

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Postmoderne? Gemeindebildung in nachchristlicher Zeit (FS L. Karrer) (Freiburg i.Br. et al., 1997), pp. 95–109. ——. Goddesses and Trees. New Moon and Yahweh. Two Natural Phenomena in Ancient Near Eastern Art and in the Hebrew Bible (JSOTS 261; Sheffield, 1998). ——. “Schwache alttestamentliche Ansätze zur Konstruktion einer stark dualistisch getönten Welt”, in: A. Lange et al. (Hg), Die Dämonen. Die Dämonologie der israelitisch-jüdischen und frühchristlichen Literatur im Kontext ihrer Umwelt (Tübingen, 2003), pp. 211–236. Keel O. / S. Schroer, Schöpfung. Biblische Theologien im Kontext altorientalischer Religionen (Göttingen / Freiburg, CH, 2002). Keel O. / C. Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses, and Images of God in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis, 1998). Küchler, M. “Gott und seine Weisheit in der Septuaginta (Ijob 28; Spr 8)”, in: H.-J. Klauck (Hg.), Monotheismus und Christologie. Zur Gottesfrage im hellenistischen Judentum und im Urchristentum (QD 138; Freiburg et al., 1992), pp. 118–143. Maul, S. / K. Jansen-Winkeln, Art. “Dämonen” I–II, in: H. Cancik / H. Schneider (Hg.), Der Neue Pauly 3 (Darmstadt et al., 1997), pp. 258–259. Orlinsky, H.M. Studies in the LXX of Job III. On the Matter of Anthropomorphisms, Anthropopathisms, and Euphemisms, HUCA 30 (1959), pp. 153–167; 32 (1961), pp. 239–268. Römer, W.H.Ph. Der Prolog des Streitgespräches zwischen Holz und Rohr, in: O. Kaiser et al. (Hg.), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments III (Gütersloh, 1993), pp. 357–360. Schroer, S. “Die Zweiggöttin in Palästina/Israel. Von der Mittelbronze IIB-Zeit bis zu Jesus Sirach”, in: M. Küchler / C. Uehlinger (Hg.), Jerusalem. Texte – Bilder – Steine. FS H. und O. Keel-Leu (NTOA 6; Freiburg CH / Göttingen, 1987), pp. 201–225. ——. “Die Göttin auf den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel”, in: O. Keel et al. (Hg.), Studien zu den Stempelsiegeln aus Palästina/Israel Bd.II, (OBO 88; Freiburg CH / Göttingen, 1989), pp. 89–207. Schroer, S. / O. Keel, “Die vergessene GÖttlichkeit der Schöpfung. Ansätze zu einer Revision alttestamentlicher Schöpfungstheologie im 21. Jahrhundert,” in: B. Janowski und K. Liess (Hg.), Der Mensch im Alten Israel. Neue Forschungen zur alttestamentlichen Anthropologie (HBS 59; Freiburg, 2009), pp. 537–590. Schroer, S. / Th. Staubli, “Wie man sagt, wenn Saft in der Traube sich findet: Verdirb sie nicht, es ist ein Segen darin.” “Bedenkenswertes zum Segen aus biblischer Sicht”, in: L. Hangartner, / B. Vielhaus (Hg.), Segnen und gesegnet werden. Reflexionen, Impulse, Materialien (Düsseldorf, 2006), pp. 30–42. van der Toorn, K. / B. Becking / P.W. Van der Horst, Dictionary of Deities and Demons in the Bible (Leiden et al., 21999). Tromp, N.J. Primitive Conceptions of Death and the Nether World in the Old Testament (BibOr; Rom, 1969). Wacker, M.-Th. Figurationen des Weiblichen im Hosea-Buch (HBS 8; Freiburg i.Br., 1996). Winter, U. Frau und Göttin. Exegetische und ikonographische Studien zum weiblichen Gottesbild im Alten Israel und in dessen Umwelt (OBO 53; Freiburg CH / Göttingen, 21987). Zimmermann, R. Homo Sapiens Ignorans. Hiob 28 als Bestandteil der ursprünglichen Hiobdichtung, BN 74 (1994), pp. 80–100.

PHILOSOPHICAL INTERPRETATIONS OF THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC Seizō Sekine I. An Evaluation of Kierkegaard’s Interpretation The account in Genesis 22 of Abraham’s offering up his beloved son Isaac as a sacrifice is a frightening story. My late father, Masao, who devoted his life to Old Testament Studies and Christian mission, decorated his study with a print of Rembrandt’s “Sacrifice of Isaac.” Though it was an eerie portrait to me as a child, as I grew and came to appreciate its meaning, I often sighed as a son who might have been sacrificed for the sake of scholarship and faith. I eventually left my father’s home for study in Munich. Whenever I viewed the original of this painting at the Alte Pinakothek, which was across from my dormitory, contemplation of Abraham’s actions left me unmoved. I found myself wishing, instead, that Abraham’s apologists would put themselves in Isaac’s shoes. It appears, however, that interpretations with nothing but praise for Abraham, who almost murdered his son, abound, without seriously considering the plight of the son. The prime example is Søren Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling. I would like to begin by first considering whether this interpretation hits upon the central point of the text. I.1. Kierkegaard’s Interpretation Let us briefly review the interpretation presented in Fear and Trembling.1 Kierkegaard praises Abraham as a “knight of faith” in that “even after he sacrificed his own will he held on to it firmly,” “he was a man who hoped for the impossible,” and “he was a man who believed God.” The one who only relinquishes the finite for the infinite is a “knight of infinite resignation,” but the one who, after

1 Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling (trans. Alastair Hannay; London: Penguin Books, 1985 [first published in 1843]).

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relinquishing it, is able to make the “double movement” of regaining what he has lost through the “strength of the absurd” is a “knight of faith.”2 Kierkegaard indirectly accepts Kant’s categorical imperative. (1) He states that while the ethical is universal, it may lead to a “teleological suspension.”3 That is, from the standpoint of a higher religious objective, there are situations in which the ethical temporarily ceases to apply, such as when the ethically reprehensible act of killing a child, under exceptional circumstances, becomes religiously acceptable in the sacrificing of that child to God – that is Abraham’s “paradox of faith.” (2) He expresses this as an “absolute duty to God,” and says that “in this tie of obligation the individual relates himself absolutely, as the single individual, to the absolute” and “relinquishes the universal.”4 This is a “lonely path,” and as such, (3) Abraham could not bear ethical responsibility, and so he remained silent before Isaac and others regarding his intents.5 Rather, silence and secrecy make a man truly great, and therefore Abraham must be praised as a man who lived his faith as the ultimate passion in man. The above is but a brief summary of Fear and Trembling. I.2. Westermann’s Critique From within Old Testament scholarship, Claus Westermann cast doubt on this interpretation of Kierkegaard’s in his Genesis commentary.6 Kierkegaard was unaware of source layers, and therefore he did not imagine literary-critical problems arising from secondary additions and the like. For stylistic and other reasons,7 however, it is clear that verses 15–18, which praise Abraham, are later additions to the original narrative (vv. 1–14, 19), as has been recognized by the major-

2

Ibid., pp. 65ff. Ibid., pp. 83ff. 4 Ibid., pp. 96ff. 5 Ibid., pp. 109ff. 6 Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36 (trans. John J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995); translation of Genesis 12–36 (Neukirchen: Neukirchener Verlag, 1981). 7 For example, the reference to God’s swearing by himself in v. 16 (the only other instance is in Ex 32:13) is thought to have been inserted by the Deuteronomist; God’s self-declaration here – “declares Yahweh” – contrasts sharply with this author’s controlled style up to this point; verse 17’s “shall possess the gate of their enemies” is heterogeneous to the Abraham narrative up to this point; etc. 3

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ity of scholars, from Westermann and G. von Rad down to Ruppert.8 In light of that, Westermann says the following: If one reads this narrative as the praise of an individual person, he has misunderstood the narrative’s significance. . . . One misunderstands the narrative if he reads it as praise to Abraham (Kierkegaard). This narrative points not to the praise of a single individual, but its purpose is to stand as praise to God who saw the suffering.9

Limited to the original text, problems such as this arise for Kierkegaard’s reading. Is Westermann’s conclusion satisfactory, then? Is praise of God truly the aim of this text? I.3. Questions for Westermann Let us reconsider the view of God presented in this text. God, here, is a god who commands the bloody killing of a child (v. 2). Even if we suppose, with Kierkegaard, that God transcends the ethical and may require whatsoever he wishes, he is a god who contradicts himself by commanding not to kill (e.g., Ex 20:13), on the one hand, and commanding to kill a child, on the other. What is more, God’s motivation behind this command was to test Abraham’s obedience (v. 1), and perhaps it also arose from God’s jealousy of Isaac (Ex 34:14; Deut 4:24; 6:15; etc.). Furthermore, if it was “God’s plan from the

8

Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 351ff. (1981:445); Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary (trans. John H. Marks; Old Testament Library; rev. ed.; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1972), pp. 237ff. (Genesis [Das Alte Testament Deutsch; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981 (11. aufl.)] p. 192); Lothar Ruppert, Genesis. Ein kritischer und theologischer Kommentar, 2 (Forschung zur Bibel; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1992), pp. 514, 531–534; id., “Gen 22:15–18: Eine Relecture von Gen 22 aus joschijanischer zeit,” in: F. Sedlmeier (ed.). Gottes Wege suchend (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 2003), pp. 111–128. Some, however, reject this view on the grounds that if vv. 15–18 is a later insertion, Abraham’s test up to v. 14 is meaningless. See, e.g., G.W. Coats, “Abraham’s Sacrifice of Faith: A Form-Critical Study of Gen 22,” Int 27 (1973), pp. 389–400; G. Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (Word Biblical Commentary; Dallas: Word Books, 1994), p. 102. It ought to become clear in this paper, however, that the prosperity of Abraham’s descendants, the subjugation of his enemies, etc., are not the purpose of Abraham’s test. For an examination of this problem, including a survey of the scholarship, see Georg Steins, Die “Bindung Isaaks” im Kanon (Gen 22). Grundlagen und Programm einer kanonisch-intertextuellen Lektüre (Herder: Freiburg, 1999), pp. 109ff., 216ff., and esp. 219–222. 9 My translation of Claus Westermann, Am Anfang, 1. Mose (Genesis) (NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1986), p. 237.

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beginning” that nothing happen to the child, as Westermann says,10 and if Abraham believed all along that he would not lose Isaac, as Kierkegaard says,11 it is the same as if Abraham saw through this test of God’s from the start. And though Westermann calls God the “God who saw the suffering,” it is only natural that God should “see suffering” since the suffering originated from him in the first place. Also, it is not clear why he should merit praise for taking away the suffering at the appropriate moment. From this perspective, it appears unnecessary to agree with Westermann’s conclusion. We need, rather, to confront the text candidly with our questions regarding the view of God presented in this text, and then to listen to the text’s response. If, then, we wish to understand the history of interpretation on this issue, above and beyond theological works that presuppose Christian faith, including those of historical-critical Old Testament scholars, we can find sustained interest in these kinds of questions in statements by philosophers who do not presuppose faith. Herein lies the reason for my focus in this paper on “philosophical interpretations of the Sacrifice of Isaac.” In fact, besides Kierkegaard, the portrayal of God in Genesis 22 has stimulated the thinking of Kant and many other modern philosophers down to the present day. Let us now consider critically several of these philosophical interpretations.12

10

Westermann, Genesis 12–36, p. 361 (1981 p. 442). Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 65. 12 The following two essays that deal with the question of how modern philosophers have approached this text differently from historical-critical biblical scholars also merit special attention: M. Bieber, “Religiöser Wahn oder Urerfahrung des Glaubens? Die Deutung des Abraham-Opfers im neuzeitlichen Denken,” Una Sancta 51/4 (1996) pp. 316–28; and V. Tilliette, “Bible et Philosophie: le sacrifice d’Abraham,” Gregorianum 77/1 (1996) pp. 133–46. Both essays refer to Kant and Kierkegaard. Bieber’s essay also introduces the works of L. Kolakowski and F.W.J. Schelling, and Tilliette’s essay introduces those of L. Schestow, R. Maritain, and G. Lequier. Also see, e.g., J. Ebach, “Philosophische Orientierung angesichts der Übel,” in: F. Hermanni and V. Steenblock (eds.), Philosophische Orientierung. Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Will Oelmüller (München: W. Fink Verlag, 1995), pp. 215–39; H. Rosenau, “Die Erzählung von Abrahams Opfer (Gen 22) und ihre Deutung bei Kant, Kierkegaard und Schelling,” Neue Zeitschrift für Systematische Theologie und Religionsphilosophie 27 (1985) pp. 251–261. The present paper differs from these essays, however, with respect both to the philosophers and concerns that I consider below. 11

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II. A Critique of Kant’s, Buber’s, Levinas’s, and Derrida’s Interpretations II.1. Kant’s Interpretation In his 1798 Der Streit der Fakultäten (“The Contest of the Faculties”), Immanuel Kant refers to Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac and declares it impossible that a god who makes a demand such as this, which violates moral law, could be the true God. Kant makes the interesting statement that Abraham should have replied as follows: “The fact that I should not kill my good son is absolutely certain. But that you who appear to me are God, I am not certain and can never become certain.”13 Though perhaps obvious when viewed in light of Kant’s categorical imperative, surely the first half of the reply which Kant desires of Abraham was not “absolutely certain” within the ancient religio-cultural context in which the author14 formed and composed the narrative. That is, it is likely that through influence from the Moloch cult, the sacrifice of the firstborn child was practiced in Israel as well (Ex 22:28 is the JE source, the traditional core of which is thought to date back to the thirteenth to twelfth centuries bce), and that the understanding that God requires ethical practice and religious faith rather than this sort of cultic sacrifice was not expressed until the latter half of the eighth century bce, through the prophet Micah. The move, then, toward replacing sacrifice of the firstborn with animal sacrifice – which is the position of the biblical law as it has been handed down to us – would have begun in the seventh to sixth

13 Immanuel Kant, Der Streit der Fakultäten (Philosophische Bibliothek 252; Hamburg: Meiner, 1959 [first published 1798]), p. 62. 14 The author has generally been identified as the Elohist in modern biblical scholarship. See, e.g., Hermann Gunkel, Genesis (9. Aufl.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), pp. 236–42; von Rad, Genesis, p. 238 (1981: p. 189); and more recently, L. Schmidt, “Weisheit und Geschichte beim Elohisten,” in: A. Diesel et al.; (eds.), “Jedes Ding hat seine Zeit . . .”: Studien zur israelitischen und altorientalischen Weisheit. Diethelm Michel zum 65. Geburtstag (BZAW 241; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1996), pp. 209–25. In recent years, however, the consensus has been shaken. Steins (Die “Bindung Isaaks”) for example, counts it as one of the latest texts in the Pentateuch, and not as a product of Israel’s earliest period. Heinz-Dieter Neef (Die Prüfung Abrahams: Eine exegetisch-theologische Studie zu Gen 22,1–19 [Arbeiten zur Theologie, Bd. 90; Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag, 1998], pp. viii, 1–102, esp. 10–15) also concludes that it is not Elohistic, but was composed after the Jahwist and before the Deuteronomist. At the earliest, therefore, Neef dates it to the late 7th century bce.

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centuries bce (Ex 13:12–13 is JE; also, Ex 34:19–20 is JE; Num 3:44ff. is P). If the author of Genesis 22 was the Elohist of the early eighth century bce, he may well have viewed Abraham’s obedience to God’s demand that he sacrifice his firstborn as his natural response to the law. And even if we follow many recent scholars and date it to the seventh to sixth centuries bce,15 it is reasonable to assume that the custom of firstborn sacrifice still remained a common practice. Given that any author would have been bound by his own historicaltraditional context, it takes us nowhere to criticize his work from within “foreign” conceptual categories of moderns such as Kant’s. But what about the latter part of Kant’s statement?16 It does not necessarily follow that one can dismiss this as nothing more than a foreign, philosophical understanding of the Infinite One that ignores the Bible’s tradition history. If we transfer this problem over into the biblical context, it accords with the following position of M. Buber. II.2. Buber’s Interpretation In his essay “On the Suspension of the Ethical,” Martin Buber does not cite Kant, but he criticizes Kierkegaard as follows: He does not take into consideration the fact that the problematics of the decision of faith is preceded by the problematics of the hearing itself. Who is it whose voice one hears? For Kierkegaard it is self-evident because of the Christian tradition in which he grew up that he who demands the sacrifice is none other than God. But for the Bible, at least for the Old Testament, it is not without further question selfevident. Indeed a certain “instigation” to a forbidden action is even ascribed in one place to God (2 Samuel 24:1) and in another to Satan (1 Chronicles 21:1).17

And “Moloch imitates the voice of God.” Of course, Abraham, as God’s chosen one, “could not confuse with another the voice which once bade him leave his homeland and which he at that time recog-

15

See, e.g., Neef, Die Prüfung Abrahams (also see others in above note). Kant further explains his view as follows: “Even if God truly speaks to man, he can never know that it is God who speaks to him. It is utterly impossible that man should understand the Infinite through his senses, distinguish him from sensory beings, and thereby know him” (Kant, Der Streit der Fakultäten, p. 62; italics in original). 17 Martin Buber, Eclipse of God: Studies in the Relation between Religion and Philosophy (New York: Harper & Row, 1952), pp. 117–18; translation of Gottesfinsternis. Betrachtungen zur Beziehung zwischen Religion und Philosophie (Zürich: Manesse Verlag, 1953), pp. 141–42. 16

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nized as the voice of God.”18 It is possible, however, that “you and I,” who are not exceptional figures like Abraham, may confuse the voice of the true God with the voice of Moloch commanding unethical murder of a child. We must know that of ordinary people such as ourselves, God demands not unethical sacrifices but the ethical requirement “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God” (Mic 6:8). “Where, therefore, the ‘suspension’ of the ethical is concerned, the question of questions which takes precedence over every other is: Are you really addressed by the Absolute or by one of his apes?”19 That today is an age in which “[false absolutes] pierce unhindered through the level of the ethical and demand of you ‘the sacrifice’”20 was Buber’s contention in his Eclipse of God. II.3. Levinas’s Interpretation About ten years after Buber, in the 1960s, Emmanuel Levinas presented his critique of Kierkegaard on the same theme in two essays.21 Here is the crux of his critique from the second of the two: Ethics as consciousness of a responsibility [responsabilité] toward others . . . far from losing you in generality, singularizes you, poses you as a unique individual, as I. Kierkegaard seems not to have experienced that, since he wants to transcend the ethical stage, which to him is the stage of generality. In his evocation of Abraham, he describes the encounter with God at the point where subjectivity rises to the level of the religious, that is to say, above ethics. But one could think the opposite: Abraham’s attentiveness to the voice that led him back to the ethical order, in forbidding him to perform a human sacrifice, is the highest point in the drama. That he obeyed the first voice is astonishing: that he had sufficient distance with respect to that obedience to hear the second voice – that is the essential. Moreover, why does Kierkegaard never speak of the dialogue in which Abraham intercedes for Sodom and Gomorrah on behalf of the just who may be present there? Here, in Abraham, the precondition of any possible triumph of life over death is formulated.22

18

Ibid., p. 118 (1953: p. 142). Ibid., pp. 118–19 (1953: pp. 142–43). 20 Ibid., p. 120 (1953: p. 144). 21 “Kierkegaard: Existence and Ethics” and “A Propos of ‘Kierkegaard vivant,’” in Emmanuel Levinas, Proper Names (trans. Michael B. Smith; Stanford, Calif.: Stanford Univ. Press, 1996); translation of Noms propres ([Montpellier]: Fata Morgana, 1976). 22 Ibid., pp. 76–77. 19

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seiz sekine II.4. Derrida’s Interpretation

After Kierkegaard, Jaques Derrida is the only philosopher to publish his reflections on Genesis 22 in a monograph. The somewhat strange title of this 1992 publication – Donner la mort 23 – carries a double entendre. First, Abraham “gives death” to Isaac, in the sense that he sets out to kill his son. In the second sense, Abraham gives Isaac’s death to God as a sacrifice. Derrida discusses the meanings of donner (“give”) and don (“gift,” “donation”) in chapter 1 of Donner la mort, but he explains it in even more detail in Donner le temps: 1, Fausse monnaie.24 According to him there, don, or gift, is nothing other than an experience of impossibility. For example, suppose that A gives a gift to B. If it is truly a gift, A must not expect anything in return, and B must not feel indebted to reciprocate. Otherwise, it ceases to be a “gift” and becomes a circle of exchange or reciprocity (Derrida calls this économie). In fact, there is an aporia in the concept of “gift” – if either A or B perceives it as a “gift,” it ceases to be just that. If so, Derrida points out, a gift, strictly speaking, is an impossibility because it cannot appear as a gift. Following Levinas, Derrida understands responsabilité as ability to respond,25 and so he pays close attention to Abraham’s “Here I am,” which begins his response to God’s call of “Abraham!”26 He attempts, then, to represent Kierkegaard’s interpretation of Genesis 22 as the paradox of responsibility. The paradox of responsibility refers to the dilemma between the responsibility of responding to God, who alone is absolute and “wholly other,” and the responsibility of responding to other “others.” Furthermore, together with Kierkegaard, Derrida gives attention to Abraham’s “secret.”27 Decision must be made solitarily. Upon the utterance of language, one loses solitariness. If so, decision must be reached without words, that is, in the silence of one’s secret closet. 23 Jacques Derrida, The Gift of Death (trans. David Wills; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995); translation of Donner la mort in L’éthique du don (Paris: Transition, 1992). 24 Jacques Derrida, Donner le temps. 1, Fausse monnaie ([Paris]: Galilée, 1991). In English, see Jacques Derrida, Given Time. I, Counterfeit Money (trans. Peggy Kamuf; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992). 25 Derrida, The Gift of Death, p. 3 (1992: p. 17). 26 Ibid., p. 71 (1992: p. 102). 27 Ibid., pp. 58ff. (1992: pp. 85ff.).

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Derrida agrees with Kierkegaard that the bearing of absolute responsibility of such an act, then, must imply that one bears no responsibility to act or respond to others. The contradiction between absolute responsibility and general ethical responsibility reaches its pinnacle in the act of “giving death to Isaac.”28 Giving to the “wholly other” is fulfilled as “sacrifice” in an unethical act of hating one’s beloved. Derrida, however, further generalizes Kierkegaard’s “teleological suspension of the ethical” within what Kierkegaard calls the religious order. “Every other (one) is every (bit) other” (tout autre est tout autre).29 The God Yahweh is not the only one who is absolutely “wholly other.” Isaac, Sarah, and Eliezer are also singularly and absolutely wholly other. Whoever the “other,” therefore, upon entering into relationship with that other, a person is required to sacrifice all other others and respond to the calling of that singular, absolute other. “As soon as I enter into a relation with the other . . . I know that I can respond only by sacrificing ethics, that is, by sacrificing whatever obliges me to also respond . . . to all the others. I offer a gift of death, I betray . . . . Day and night, at every instant, on all the Mount Moriahs of this world, I am doing that, raising my knife over what I love and must love, over those to whom I owe absolute fidelity, incommensurably.”30 II.5. Critical Summary Above we have traced the philosophical line of interpretation of the sacrifice of Isaac narrative, beginning with Kant and then continuing through Kierkegaard, Buber, Levinas, and Derrida. They openly argue God’s unreasonableness, Abraham’s unethical compliance, and related issues, which theological interpretations tend to leave unquestioned. What insights, problems, and conclusions can we gather from the above discussion? I shall attempt to offer a brief summary of their mutual criticisms while contributing some of my own. First, we noticed that Kierkegaard is a starting point for all of the interpreters following him. Of these, Levinas’s criticism is clearly based on a misreading of Kierkegaard. Levinas argued that whereas

28 29 30

Ibid., pp. 65ff. (1992: pp. 95ff.). Ibid., pp. 68, 82ff. (1992: pp. 97–98, 114ff.). Ibid., p. 68 (1992: p. 98).

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Kierkegaard holds to a “teleological suspension of the ethical” for the sake of religious sacrifice, the point of the narrative, rather, is to lead “him back to the ethical order, in forbidding him to perform a human sacrifice.” “Teleological Suspension of the Ethical” is a section heading in Kierkegaard’s work, and this theme is widely known, but for Kierkegaard it does not all end with a “teleological suspension” that resigns by sacrificing the things of the world. Kierkegaard praises Abraham not as a “knight of resignation” but, rather, as a “knight of faith” who believed through “strength of the absurd” that he would regain the sacrifice which he relinquished. In fact, then, Levinas’s and Kierkegaard’s conclusions lead in the same direction. We must ask, however, whether these conclusions are appropriate interpretations of the text. Kierkegaard points to verse 8 as decisive.31 He argues that Abraham’s response to Isaac – “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son” – is evidence that Abraham continued hoping out of faith. If so, however, the entire story is little more than a transparent ape act, with Abraham seeing through God’s charade to his true intent to prevent Abraham from slaying Isaac and to provide a lamb in his place. From within Old Testament scholarship, one recalls von Rad’s justifiable critique of Delitzsch, who presented a similar interpretation based on his detection of an “intuitive hope” in verse 8: “It is given with ‘tender love,’ to be sure, but not with ‘intuitive hope’ (Del.), which would deprive the narrative of some of its most important substance.”32 In other words, if Abraham holds even a superficial hope that Isaac will be restored to him, then the problem remains that it is not a true “test” (v. 1), while the aim of a test must at least strengthen Abraham through hopeless suffering. Of course Kierkegaard does not state that verse 8 is an unreserved expression of hope, but skillfully argues that it is the necessary and exquisite response – unimaginable in any other form33 – of one who knows “distress,” “anguish,” and “silence.”34 In this case, however, if Abraham somehow believed that Isaac would not be killed, to put it in Derrida’s terms, in the instant of giving, an exchange would recur

31 Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, pp. 139–140. Levinas does not cite the text in his two short essays. 32 Von Rad, Genesis, p. 241 (1981: p. 191). 33 Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, p. 140. 34 Ibid., p. 142.

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in which the true gift that had cut off the calculated economy is recouped back into a cycle of calculated economy. One cannot help but recall Derrida’s witty expression, though not directed at Kierkegaard: “It is given back to [Abraham] because he renounced calculation. Demystifiers of this superior or sovereign calculation that consists in no more calculating might say that he played his cards well.”35 I cannot agree with the direction of Kierkegaard’s, Levinas’s, or Delitzsch’s interpretations wherein they see hope in recovery of the gift, receiving back the sacrifice, and reinstatement of the ethical. How about Derrida? Since Kierkegaard, Derrida has discussed Genesis 22 from more perspectives than any other philosopher, and he correctly points out the problem with Levinas’s reading of Kierkegaard. If other people are also infinite others, Derrida maintains, it ought to be difficult to distinguish completely between one’s relationship to God and one’s relationship with another person. But Levinas draws such a complete distinction between the two because, for him, the ethical is so deeply steeped in religion. At this point, Derrida presents his proposition introduced above that “every other (one) is every (bit) other,” and he reconceives God in Genesis 22 as merely one of “every other (one).” Generally speaking, then, this one other requires that I respond to none of the other others besides him, and that I forsake them all. Therefore, Derrida proceeds, we ourselves, who follow the demands of the other, are in fact Abraham, who follows God’s command and raises his knife to slay Isaac on a mountain in Moriah. This is an adaptation typical of Derrida, who professes “radical atheism” (though with the qualification that he “carries the memory of God”).36 Whatever the case, we must conclude that as an interpretation of Genesis 22, whose subject is the particular religious problem between God and Abraham, it is an overly expansive interpretation that misses the vital point by subtly transforming the problem into that of ethical interpersonal relations. It was Buber, rather, who correctly approached the problem of religion and ethics. Buber criticized Kierkegaard for failing to address the question of whether the voice of the true God can be heard in a religion that commands the unethical. The more religious a deeply sinful person, the more willing are they to make religious sacrifices

35 36

Derrida, The Gift of Death, p. 97 (1992: p. 132f.). Tetsuya Takahashi, Derida (“Derrida”) (Tokyo: Kōdansha, 1998), p. 223.

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that run contrary to interpersonal ethics in order to atone for their sins.37 But how valid is this? The modern range of this question is wide. Buber’s answer was as follows. Abraham was an exceptional figure and in a different category from Kierkegaard or any modern “you and I.” After Abraham, God gives no command such as that in Genesis 22, and from the time of the prophet Micah, God commands nothing but ethical acts (Micah 6:8). Buber’s argument, however, is not without its own problems. First, on what basis does he distinguish between Abraham and us? If God’s command to Abraham has nothing to do with us, must we not conclude that the author intended simply to write a biography of a great hero? At the very least, it would seem that even Buber does not have the right to prohibit the interpretation of readers who take God’s calling as directed at them. Kierkegaard, perhaps, sensed God’s command to offer up Regina prior to his interpretation of this text; when a religious person faces a conflict between religious and ethical obligations, others cannot simply determine it to be a temptation from Moloch. Furthermore, Buber argues as if sacrifices are offered solely to atone one’s sins. There are other motives for sacrificial offerings, however, which cannot be excluded from consideration, such as when one wishes to offer God his or her most prized possession, or when one wishes to return a gift to the divine giver, out of recognition that all of one’s possessions are gifts from God. It appears that Buber’s view of the significance of sacrifice is too narrow, and that he is not free of the assumption that Christian excessive guilt is the chief motive of sacrifice. In view of these problems, then, we might conclude that Buber’s critique of Kierkegaard does not necessarily hit the mark. Must we conclude, then, that this narrative’s unethical unreasonableness, which has drawn the attention of modern philosophers beginning with Kant, still remains unsolved? For Derrida wanders in the wrong direction while reading this religious narrative as a problem of ethics of otherness. And if Buber’s and Levinas’s criticisms in response to Kierkegaard, who tends to absolutize religious faith, are inadequate, then must we return to Kierkegaard after all? We were forced to conclude, however – whatever the merits of Westermann’s argument against reading the account as a praise of Abraham – that Kierkegaard’s emphasis on the hope of the knight of faith misses the

37

Buber, Eclipse of God, p. 118 (1953: p. 142).

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vital point of this narrative which, from the start, is presented as a test. Having traced the line of philosophical interpretations, which have in some way problematized the unreasonableness of God and the unethicalness of Abraham and attempted to solve it from various approaches, our arguments have suffered a setback. At this point, must we agree with Kant that God’s command and Abraham’s response were both wrong, and therefore exert our own violence upon the text in order to rework the narrative into something more palatable to Kant’s tastes? In my view, there yet remain two other possibilities for a philosophical hermeneutic. One is the approach taken by Josephus, and the other is that suggested by Kitarō Nishida, the preeminent philosopher of modern Japan. Josephus, who approaches the text from the perspective of Hellenistic philosophical rationality, adapts the narrative and wonderfully presents a possibility for removing the stumbling block it poses. Because Josephus does not develop an argument for his textual interpretation, I will limit my discussion of his reading to a few references. I shall then explore the possibility of a new philosophical interpretation by moving forward with Nishida’s suggestions that he based on his reexamination of the conception of God. III. The Interpretations of Josephus and Kitar Nishida III.1. Josephus’ Adaptation In his Antiquities of the Jews (93/94 ce), Flavius Josephus composed a stirring re-telling of Genesis 22 (AJ 1.222–236) that surpasses the problems of God’s unreasonableness and Abraham’s unethicalness. Without changing the basic storyline of Genesis 22, Josephus removes the stumbling block of the narrative by expressing the emotions of its three main characters. Space permits me only to raise the essential points of God’s, Abraham’s, and Isaac’s utterances according to Josephus. First, God did not command Abraham to offer up Isaac “out of a desire of human blood” (1.233), but because “this would best manifest his religious disposition towards him, if he preferred what was pleasing to God, before the preservation of his own son” (1.224), all the while reminding Abraham of all the blessings God had given him.38 38 Quotes are taken from William Whiston, The Works of Josephus (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1987), which incorporates the Loeb references.

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In response, Abraham determines to offer up Isaac because he “thought that it was not right to disobey God in any thing,” and “since all creatures that live enjoy their life by his providence, and the kindness he bestows on them” (1.225). Abraham solemnly explains to Isaac before offering him up: . . . since it was by God’s will that I became thy father, and it is now his will that I relinquish thee, bear this consecration to God with a generous mind; for I resign thee up to God who has thought fit now to require this testimony of honor to himself, on account of the favors he hath conferred on me, in being to me a supporter and defender. . . . I suppose he thinks thee worthy to get clear of this world neither by disease, neither by war, nor by any other severe way . . . but so that he will receive thy soul with prayers and holy offices of religion, and will place thee near to himself . . . (1.230–31)

With courage, Isaac was pleased to accept his father’s discourse and responded: “That [I was] not worthy to be born at first, if [I] should reject the determination of God and of [my] father, and should not resign [my]self up readily to both their pleasures; . . . it would have been unjust if [I] had not obeyed, even if [my] father alone had so resolved” (1.232). Josephus concludes Isaac’s response with “So he went immediately to the altar to be sacrificed” (ibid.). It is unnecessary to engage in any detailed examination of Josephus’ account. I think that his adaptation, in which we see rational discourse and mutual consent between the main characters, proposes an exceptional possibility for a philosophical interpretation in the broad sense. We must recognize the fact, however, that the biblical text of Genesis 22 makes no mention of any such discourse. Of course, it may be that the author employed this concise and reserved manner of storytelling with the intent of leaving character discourse to the readers’ imagination. But if, after all, a heavy silence literally pervades the sequence of events in this story, how can we explain this narrative’s unreasonableness, that is, the unreasonableness of God that provokes Abraham’s unethicalness of following the command to murder, to kill his son, even if one allows that God transcends human ethics and acts outside the realm of good and evil? Like Josephus, allowing our imaginations to soar without overtly contradicting the text is certainly one possibility of a philosophical interpretation. Is it impossible, then, to overcome the unreasonableness of the narrative while accepting

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the silence as it is depicted by the author? The problem converges finally on this point. III.2. The Interpretation of Kitarō Nishida I would like to turn our attention now to the original suggestion of one more philosopher – Kitarō Nishida, modern Japan’s preeminent philosopher. Nishida was well-studied in philosophy from East to West, and ancient to modern. And though he himself practiced Zen Buddhism until the end of his life, he held a deep understanding of Christianity and the Bible. Nishida first wrote on general religious themes in 1945, in a work that was published posthumously the following year.39 He makes numerous references to the Old Testament in this essay, but we are particularly interested in his reference to Genesis 22 at two points. Nishida was a philosopher who constructed an original philosophical system, and he attempted to explain everything, including religious phenomena, from the perspective of the self-identity of absolute contradiction in his logic of topos. In my view, one can best solve the enigma of the conception of God in Genesis 22 by approaching the account from this perspective. First, I shall begin with a general discussion of how Nishida’s logic of topos understands God. Surely some will treat this as philosophical speculation in the negative sense and, objecting to deductive interpretation of the text, insist that one reach an understanding of God through inductive interpretation. But understanding of God according to the logic of topos is a thorough and universal understanding that logically probes into questions of God, and it seems that it would include Old Testament understandings of God. One might also contend that this is an overly philosophical explanation about matters of which Old Testament people spoke in intuitively

39 Bashoteki ronri to shūkyōteki sekaikan (Nishida Kitarō zenshū, 11; Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1949 [1946]). Quotations are from Michiko Yusa’s translation in “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview (I),” The Eastern Buddhist 19:2 (1986) pp. 1–29; and “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview (II),” The Eastern Buddhist 20:1 (1987), pp. 81–119. For an alternative translation and extended introduction, see Kitarō Nishida, Last Writings: Nothingness and the Religious Worldview (trans. with an introduction by David A. Dilworth; Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1987).

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mythological language. I only ask the reader to follow my argument to the end. Nishida sharply criticizes superficial understandings of God, saying that if “one saw God externally [as ‘an object’], that would be mere magic.”40 Nishida, in fact, discusses “the truly dialectical God” while criticizing Christian conceptions of God in terms of dialectical theology, which was widely promoted at the time, and states: “This might be taken by some [as standing opposed to] Barth’s conception of God’s absolutely transcendence, or to some Christians it might appear pantheistic. Such understandings are based on approaches to God according to objective logic and do not represent my view.”41 For now, we can summarize the essential points of Nishida’s criticism of this traditional conception of God as follows. If one understands God to be external to the self, and as standing in opposition to the self, then God is reduced to yet another relative facing human relatives, and God’s attribute of absoluteness stands contradicted. Therefore, the Judeo-Christian understanding of a retributive God – which represents God as the ruler of history who repays humanity’s moral good and evil, and responds to it with joy and anger – breaks down logically and becomes impossible to sustain philosophically. In my view, Qoheleth arrived at this understanding late in the Old Testament period.42 But Nishida does not stop there – he takes the next logical step, and therein lies his profound understanding. In developing his argument concerning the God of creation and history, Nishida states: “Certainly, the absolute transcends the relative, but that which merely transcends the relative is not anything but merely nothing. A God who does not create anything is a powerless God; he is not God.”43 “Certainly if the absolute [God] stands in opposition to something in an objective way, it is relative and not absolute. But what simply

40

Nishida, “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview (I),” p. 26 (1949: p. 408). Ibid., p. 20 (1949: p. 398). I have corrected Yusa’s misreading of “to resemble [ni modoru]” to “as standing opposed to [ni motoru].” 42 See my Transcendency and Symbols in the Old Testament: A Genealogy of the Hermeneutical Experiences (trans. Judy Wakabayashi; BZAW 275; Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1999), pp. 91ff. 43 Nishida, “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview (I),” p. 19 (1949: p. 396). Incidentally, though Nishida does not refer to Qoheleth, this statement nicely hits upon the source of the Qoheleth’s descent into the nihilism in which all is meaningless (see Sekine, Transcendency and Symbols in the Old Testament, p. 91ff.). 41

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transcends the relative is not absolute, either. This is the self-contradiction of the absolute.”44 Which “absolute is truly absolute”? Though Nishida does not cite Exodus 3 in this essay, the view that God is absolute being, as “I AM WHO I AM” (Ex 3:14), is the premise of most understandings of God. If the existing absolute faces another existing being, however, it ceases to be nothing more than relative. But if it does not face anything, it itself is nothing. If so, then regarding the true God we must conclude: “The absolute is truly absolute in facing nothing. By facing absolute nothing it is absolute being.”45 If we proceed with Nishida, however, and ask what it means for the absolute to “face absolute nothing,” if it faces something external – even if that something is “nothing” – then because it is only relative, we must conclude that the absolute contains nothing within itself and that it faces nothing internal. But nothing is the negation of being. It is logically necessary, therefore, for Nishida to offer the following formulation: “The absolute must contain absolute self-negation within itself. Moreover, this means the self becomes absolutely nothing.”46 Nishida treats this as a typical example of “the self-identity of absolute contradiction.” After discussing God as having a self-identity of absolute contradiction, Nishida makes reference to the creator-God such as that of the Old Testament: God faces himself inverse-correlatively as the absolute self-negation, and contains absolute self-negation within himself; he exists in and of himself, and precisely because he is absolutely nothing, he is absolute being. Being absolutely nothing and being, God is omnipotent and omniscient. Thus I say “Because there is Buddha, there are sentient beings, and because there are sentient beings, there is Buddha. The created world exists because God the Creator exists; God exists because the created world exists.”47

At this point, Nishida gives his criticism of Barth (see above), and states that “[t]his view is not pantheistic but may be called panentheistic.”48 “Panentheismus” can be explained as following, using Nishida’s own

44 Nishida, “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview (I),” p. 19 (1949: p. 397). 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid. 47 Ibid., p. 20 (1949: p. 398). 48 Ibid., pp. 20–21 (1949: p. 399).

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words: Because “[t]he absolute always has its existence in its selfnegation,” and “the real absolute freely turns itself to the relative,” therefore “[t]he authentic one has its existence in the many, the numerous real individuals.”49 In other words, the true God, who is absolutely nothing and also absolute being, negates himself and manifests himself in individual beings, gives life to each of us, and lives within the creation. Though the absolute God is a being that transcends the relative, because he “exists in this world thoroughly in his self-negation,” “God is thoroughly immanent.” Declaring that it is this God – who is transcendent and yet immanent, immanent and yet transcendent – who is “the truly dialectical God,” Nishida strikes back at Barth and, reaching back even further, at the Hegelian understanding of God.50 At this point, the God who initially appeared unreasonable in Genesis 22 becomes understandable for the first time. It may sound extremely paradoxical, but the truly absolute God must be diabolical in a certain respect. Only as such is God both omniscient and omnipotent. Yahweh is a God who demanded Abraham to sacrifice his only son, Isaac (cf. Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling). He demanded of Abraham the denial of his personhood itself. If God merely stands against evil and fights it, though he may conquer evil, he is a relative God. A God who is simply transcendent, supreme good is but an abstract notion. The absolute God must contain absolute negation in himself, and be able to descend to the most wicked; the God who saves the heinous is the truly absolute God.51

Above, I stated Nishida’s thesis that “[t]he absolute must contain absolute self-negation within itself.” This would mean that a good God must include within himself evil as his self-negation. The God who requests the murder of a child, the God who instigates murder, is a “diabolical” God who “descend[s] to the most wicked.” For this reason, therefore, “the truly absolute God” is not the God who “merely judges” from his goodness on high, but the God who, from the depths of evil, “saves the heinous.”52

49

Ibid., p. 20 (1949: p. 398). Ibid., pp. 20–21 (1949: p. 399). 51 Ibid., p. 24 (1949: p. 404). I have corrected Yusa’s rendering of “akumateki” from “demonic” to “diabolical.” 52 Ibid. 50

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Nishida himself was well aware that statements such as these would arouse criticism. Let us hear his response to likely criticisms: This, however, is not to do away with the distinction between good and evil. The idea of God as the most perfect one is not based on our spiritual experience; therein God is mentally conceived according to objective logic or syllogisms. Some may dismiss the spiritual fact as a merely subjective phenomenon. But as I mentioned above, truly absolute being must be contradictorily self-identical, even logically speaking. . . . What I mean by God is not anything like Gottheit; it is rather the absolutely contradictory self-identity that contains within itself its utter self-negation. The dialectic of sokuhi of the Prajňāpāramitā tradition53 demonstrates this point most clearly. From the standpoint of objective logic this [idea of God] may appear indiscriminate, but it is self-evident for those who have had the experience of it. Abstract, logical thinking stands in the way. The absolute God is the absolutely contradictory self-identity in the sense described above, and each of us as its projection point is the contradictory self-identity of good and evil.54

I realize that the preceding discussion of Nishida’s philosophy may be difficult to grasp by those unfamiliar with Japanese philosophy. It presents a considerable challenge, even, to proficient readers of the original Japanese. I have dared to take it up, however, because I think that it opens up this Old Testament conception of God to the modern conception of the absolute, and consequently, this may offer some important suggestions for interreligious dialogue between East and West. Whatever one may determine about the suitability or relevance of Nishida’s overall philosophy, however, let us proceed by asking how this view of God “descending to the most wicked” may help us to interpret the text. In his essay, Nishida does not develop an interpretation of Genesis 22. Rather, he merely cites Genesis 22 as one of several important texts that illustrate his exposition of God’s true nature, that is, as marked by a self-identity of absolute contradiction. I would like to conclude with my own considerations of how best to interpret Genesis 22 when understood in light of the above discussion, and while contrasting the arguments of various philosophers surveyed above with the results of an historico-theological interpretive approach from within Old Testament studies. 53 Elsewhere, Yusa glosses sokuhi as “simultaneous equation of affirmation and negation” (ibid., p. 20). The Prajňāpāramitā is one of Buddhism’s sacred texts. 54 Ibid., pp. 24–25 (1949: p. 405).

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seiz sekine IV. Conclusion IV.1. The Meaning of ‫נִ ָסּה‬

The term ‫ נִ ָסּה‬in Gen 22:1 is translated as “test” in most recent versions (cf. “tempt” in the King James Version). Humans might also “test” (‫ )נִ ָסּה‬God, an act that is denounced or forbidden in numerous passages (Ex 17:2; Deut 6:16; Ps 78:41, 56; 95:9). In contrast, God frequently “tests” the hearts of humans (Ex 16:4; Deut 8:2; Judg 2:22). In answering whether this itself is unreasonable, most interpreters have quickly brushed the problem aside as a result of the irreversible status of God and humans, and have justified God’s act of testing along the lines of Buber’s response: “And God did indeed ‘tempt’ him. Through the extremest demand. He drew forth the innermost readiness to sacrifice out of the depths of Abraham’s being . . .”55 Nevertheless, is not this demand to kill a child too extreme? Can God, having commanded the death of Abraham’s beloved son, be defended as righteous? Though Kant was perhaps the only philosopher who openly raised this criticism and expressed his repudiation, in the end, an exploration of this stumbling block in the sacrifice of Isaac narrative leads to the unreasonableness of a God who commands a child’s death. IV.2. Von Rad’s Theologico-Historical Interpretation The fact remains, however, that Kant lacked an historical perspective and, it would appear, too hastily expressed his repudiation. It is not improbable that the author – writing from within an ancient Israelite context that recognized sacrifice of firstborn children – would have God give such a command (in other words, we need simply recognize that it is the author of this text who has God issue such a command to Abraham, and not that God actually called out such a command to him). An historico-theological interpretation that is grounded in this historical knowledge, then, will look something like the following attainment of a well-balanced conclusion. I shall quote von Rad’s brilliant commentary on this point: There is . . . considerable religious experience behind these nineteen verses: that Yahweh often seems to contradict himself, that he appears 55

Buber, Eclipse of God, p. 118 (1953: p. 142).

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to want to remove the salvation begun by himself from history. But in this way Yahweh tests faith and obedience! One further thing may be mentioned: in this test God confronts Abraham with the question whether he could give up God’s gift of promise. He had to be able (and he was able), for it is not a good that may be retained by virtue of any legal title or with the help of a human demand. God therefore poses before Abraham the question whether he really understands the gift of promise as a pure gift.56

I have deep sympathies with von Rad’s interpretation, and I have published a similar view, through from within a different context, in a previous Japanese publication.57 It will not do, however, to ignore the slight doubt that still remains. It is for this reason, in fact, that I have chosen to take up this text once again. At least two problems remain. IV.3. Questions Remaining for Von Rad The first problem has to do with whether or not this results in Yahweh ruining his gift. With regard to the matter of gifts, we cannot help but to recall Derrida’s important insight that when one begins speaking of a gift as a gift, it ceases to be a pure gift and degenerates into a form of business transaction. According to this view, it is unbearable that, whereas Isaac’s life remained a pure gift as long as it was not openly spoken of as a gift, God would diminish it to the level of a business transaction. We can sum up the second problem as follows. Though von Rad does not state this explicitly, if we follow his logic a step further, it leads us to conclude that God the giver is free to take back that which he has given. Furthermore, it would mean that God transcends human ethics, according to which the killing of Isaac, who was God’s gift, would be declared evil. As a transcendent being outside the realm of good and evil, God has no concern for the tears of a human being who must, with his own hands, commit the evil act of killing his beloved son. For humans to cross over into the same transcendent realm and change their way of thinking in order to reach the religious level of Kierkegaard’s so-called “teleological suspension of the

56

Von Rad, Genesis, p. 244 (1981: p. 194) (italics added). Cf. “Aiji no kenkyō” (“Sacrifice of the Beloved Son”) in Kyūyaku seisho no shisō: 24 no danshō (“Old Testament thought: 24 texts”) (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1998), pp. 53–76. 57

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ethical,” where there is no blood or tears – is this, in fact, the true value of faith? Herein lies the second problem I see with the direction in which an interpretation such as von Rad’s leads. We cannot move in this direction as long as we disdain taking up the position that God in the Old Testament is this sort of God, and that strong faith is but a hair’s breadth away from brazenness. What is God’s purpose for making this pitiful father, Abraham, recognize anew the difference in God’s status or position as the giver? If, according to von Rad, God is “testing” (‫ ) ִנָסּה‬Abraham’s heart to see if he “fears [‫ ]יְ ֵרא‬God” to the extent that he would obediently follow even a cruel command, then not only is God unreasonable, one might dare say he is exceedingly small-minded (to avoid the potential charge of impiety, I might add that I am criticizing one interpretation of the author’s depiction of God, and not speaking directly of God). IV.4. Nishida’s Philosophical Interpretation I would like to call to mind once more Nishida’s interpretation. Perhaps the God who “descend[s] to the most wicked,” as he puts it, refers to God’s falling into such small-mindedness. This must be the case if Abraham is faultless. Indeed, it does not appear that Nishida considered any faults of Abraham because, in his other reference to Genesis 22, he only says of Abraham that “he faced God . . . at the outer limit of being human.”58 IV.5. A New Philosophical Interpretation In my own reading, Abraham is not completely blameless. Even Abraham appropriates for his own purposes the gift of Isaac, who is the fulfillment of God’s promise. He forgets that it was a miraculous gift, and later, he humanly reckons to live apart from God, thereby showing that he is not free of the inclination towards general human sin. There are at least two texts which support this reading. Firstly, whereas Abraham candidly raises his questions regarding God’s words that are too difficult to understand in other passages of the Abraham narrative (even without following Levinas in referring to 18:23ff., which is generally considered to be a late insertion, see

58 Nishida, “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview (II),” p. 95 (1949: p. 431).

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15:2, 8; 17:18; etc.), in Genesis 22 he acts in silence. Abraham loved Isaac deeply, and he was vaguely aware of his sin of turning away from God in his heart. God’s assailment of him at this very point was painful, and Abraham could not but recognize the righteousness of God’s command. Without offering any prompt defense, Abraham made his three-day journey in silence as he pondered and examined his heart. If we do not understand Abraham’s response along these lines, we cannot make sense of the contrast between the portrayal of Abraham in Genesis 22 and that of him in other passages where he questions and discourses with God. Secondly, consider Abraham’s instructions to his servants in verse 5 – “the boy and I will go over there; we will worship, and then we will come back to you” – and his response to Isaac in verse 8 – “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.” Even if these words come from “tender love” aimed to set the minds of the servants and Isaac at ease, they are “at first simply evasive.”59 Perhaps his answer is evasive here because, though Abraham is painfully conscious of the justice of God’s command, he is still in a final struggle to avoid fully acknowledging it. These statements unobtrusively disclose the sinful disposition of Abraham, who still cannot concede that the promised son, Isaac, will actually be taken from him. If, together with Kierkegaard, we take this as an admirable statement by the “knight of faith” demonstrating his belief that God would return Isaac to him, we undermine the text’s own testimony that this is a “test,” as discussed above. These, however, are not words stemming from faith, but rather from sin. At this stage, Abraham still hopes it impossible that the promised son, whom he finally held in his arms, be taken from him. He is still unwilling fully to face the severity of God’s command and let go of the residue of his selfish optimism. The father is confused, and so the son, who “sensed that his father can say no more,”60 asked nothing else. The “test” increasingly reaches its crescendo over the course of the three-day trip and, finally, as father and son alone “walked on together” and “came to the place that God had shown him” (vv. 8–9), drew upon him as the inescapable. At that moment, something

59 60

Von Rad, Genesis, p. 241 (1981: p. 191). Westermann, Genesis 12–36, p. 360 (1981: p. 440).

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happened in Abraham, and he accepted God’s command without qualification. With brave determination there at the altar, Abraham raised his knife to slay Isaac. And though he raised his knife to slay Isaac, this was an act of kenosis in which he slew his former sinful self. At that moment, Abraham once again – or perhaps for the first time – became one who truly “fears God” (v. 12).61 Only by interpreting the passage thusly can we move beyond a reading in which God appears smallish and may be criticized as narrow-minded and the like. This is because God, in giving this test, is not a God who is “self-contradicting,” as von Rad says, but none other than a God who is – to use Nishida’s terms – a God with a “self-identity of absolute contradiction.” God is able to draw near the sin that resides in Abraham’s heart, save him from within, and truly become a God who can wipe his tears because, through denying his own goodness, God descended into evil, even to the point of inciting the sin of killing a child. Only through this interpretation does God, as depicted by this author, avoid accusations of small-mindedness and, on the contrary, appear as a being who is rich in the highest love.62

61 Von Rad’s suggestion that the phrase “fear of God” “must not be considered as a special emotional reaction to the reality of God which is experienced as mysterium tremendum” but, rather, as “a term for obedience to the divine commands” deserves a hearing (Genesis, pp. 241–242 [1981: p. 191]). This understanding, however, is apt to limit its meaning to the surface of one’s response to God. A survey of the occurrences of ‫יְ ֵרא‬, in both adjectival and verbal (Qal) forms (e.g., Gen 3:10; 28:17; Ex 34:30; Ps 25:12, 14; 33:8; Eccl 3:4; Mal 3:16, 20; etc.), shows that it connotes not only outer acts of obedience but also inner awe. It would be imprudent to disallow such a connotation in Gen 22:12 as well. Of course, the problem of Abraham’s unethicalness in almost killing his son remains. On this, see note 37, above, and related discussion. 62 In this interpretation one can readily see the Christian connection to the transcendent God who exists in this world in self-negation and is manifested in this world not only in the work of creation, but also in the atoning and salvific work of the cross by which he himself put his son to death. Nishida states the following in another context regarding the agreement between his own understanding of God and the Christian understanding of God as an atoning God: “Christianity, which holds personalistic values, ascribes the foundation of religion to the fall of human beings. It is held that the offspring of Adam who rebelled against God are all tainted by original sin; that we are all sinners by birth; that there is no way out of this predicament for us, except by the atonement of the only Son of God, who was sent to the human world by God’s love; and that we are saved by our faith in the revelation through the person of Christ. . . . [T]his view of human existence which is based on the fall is a very profound religious view of life, poignantly expressing the rudimentary conditions of our existence. Human beings come into being through God’s absolute self-negation; and at the foundation of our existence we are destined

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IV.6. The Translation and Meaning of ‫יְ הוָ ה יֵ ָר ֶאה‬ In this understanding, we can see that Abraham truly meets God only after having reached the decision at the end of this great conflict to return Isaac to God the giver. I would like, therefore, to translate literally the original conclusion to the narrative: Abraham named this place “Yahweh sees.” Today [‫ ] ַחיוֹם‬it is called, “Yahweh is seen on that mountain.” (Gen 22:14)

Because the active form (Qal) of the verb ‫ראה‬, which means “to see,” is contrasted with its passive form (Niphal), I have literally rendered them as “Yahweh sees [‫ ”]יִ ְר ֶאה‬and “Yahweh is seen [‫]יֵ ָר ֶאה‬,” respectively. Apparently because of the difficulty in interpreting ‫ ראה‬here as “to see,” following the Peshitta and the Vulgate, most versions have paraphrased the active and passive forms both as meaning “to provide” (for example, NAB, NRS, NEG, LSG, DRB, SCH, etc.). As far as I know, von Rad is the only one to translate in literal terms the basic Hebrew meaning and form of ‫ ראה‬in verse 14.63 But while he offers a magnificent interpretation of ‫[“( יִ ְר ֶאה‬he] sees”), he says nothing about ‫[“( יֵ ָר ֶאה‬he] is seen”). That is, von Rad comments on Yahweh’s seeing Abraham’s obedience, his provision of the ram that took Isaac’s place (v. 13), and in the end, Yahweh’s seeing that which truly benefits the man.64 He remains silent, however, over the question of what it means for God who “sees” thusly to be “seen.” Perhaps von Rad, while accurately reflecting the Hebrew wordplay, was at a loss for how to explain the term in light of the fact that Yahweh only speaks to Abraham throughout the narrative without showing his appearance, and also that in the Old Testament it is traditionally understood that whoever sees God’s appearance will die (Ex 19:21; 33:20; Judg 6:22; 13:22; Isa 6:5; etc.). We can also explain this point, however, from the perspective of my philosophical interpretation. That is, in the words “Yahweh is seen,” the testimony is expressed that God truly appears immanently,

to the flaming inferno” (Nishida, “The Logic of Topos and the Religious Worldview [I],” p. 28 [1949: pp. 370–371]). 63 The Einheitsübersetzung comes close with “Abraham nannte jenen Ort JahweJire (Der Herr sieht), wie man noch heute sagt: Auf dem Berg läßt sich der Herr sehen.” 64 Von Rad, Genesis, p. 242 (1981: p. 192). Westermann (Genesis 12–36, p. 362 [1981: p. 444]) also suggests the possibility that Yahweh sees Abraham in “the depths of anguish.”

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especially when Abraham, after intense struggle, was prepared to return to the giver the other-worldly gift that he loved more than anything. In other words, when God condescends to the sin of a person who tends to forget the fundamental fact that one to which he is attached – so strongly that he wishes to privatize it – is a gift from the transcendental foundation, this work of God brings discernment that allows him internally to experience the greatest intimacy with God. This is what is meant by the enigmatic “Yahweh is seen.” Furthermore, this God does not diminish his gift from the height of his own transcendence into Derrida’s “economy” to conduct a business transaction. Rather, he descends into the evil of inciting the murder of a child, which is a temporary denial of his own goodness, internally approaches the person’s sin in that place, and saves him. Is it reading too much into the narrative, then, to conclude that the pronouncement that a truly immanent God who descends into extreme evil has been newly discovered here – and not as the transcendent one who is only good, as traditionally conceived – is the meaning of this restatement that “the God that one expects not to see has become seeable” “today”?65 Epilogue To use Buber’s terms, today is an age when apes of the Absolute seek the unethical acts of murder in war and terrorism. If research into matters of religion is to maintain some validity and hold others accountable in such an age, it is insufficient merely to determine historical meaning and end there. It is also necessary to engage in philosophical inquiry and proceed to examine a subject’s validity and universal significance. In response to the exegesis of the historical

65 For now, I wish to defer judgment over how confidently one can determine this to be the conscious pronouncement of the final author. I have developed my argument throughout this paper as the search for the intent of a single author. This narrative, however, was transmitted through a generative process spanning many generations. Therefore, the extent to which the author is able consciously to express what happened between God and Abraham is not clear. And though I think that the narrative as a whole is not satisfactorily understood until interpreted along the above lines, I recognize that one may question the degree to which the final author provides enough hints in the text for arriving at this interpretation. I wish to conclude my interpretation of this narrative while considering this point, but leaving it an open question.

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exegete, we ought to allow the philosophical exegete to draw out modern meanings and interpretive possibilities from the text through interpretation that may approach eisegesis as long as it does not contradict exegesis. Though I have interpreted the text mainly from a philosophical perspective, I certainly do not deny the validity of readings by historians who find no particular stumbling block in this text because they presume that the text reflects an historical context in which Israel had bitterly experienced over many generations the prospect that God might break his promise, as well as an ancient tradition-historical context in which sacrifice of the firstborn was an accepted practice. The text itself, however, ultimately moves in the direction of criticizing child-sacrifice (Gen 22:12ff.), indicating that this custom was a stumbling block in Israel and that the tradition of firstborn sacrifice among surrounding peoples could not necessarily be dismissed as a barbarian, gentile custom. Also, if one considers how this text is a product of the religiously universal sentiment of the need to return the most precious gift to the giver, one must conclude that this text presents many questions that are deeply poignant. Furthermore, inasmuch as this narrative portrays not the fate of a collective people but primarily the personal struggle of a father and son, it appears that historical arguments have overlooked more than a few of its essential aspects. That is, historical explanations typically fail to approach the text head-on, thus missing its unambiguous and powerfully rich message, and instead deteriorate into mere explanation. This accounts for the chief motivation behind my attempt to present a philosophical perspective. Of course, historical-critical interpretation – such as I have incorporated at various points in this paper – is essential for preventing philosophical interpretation from falling into speculation that ignores the text. It has been my intent, while affirming the complementarity and necessity of both, to emphasize the importance of philosophical interpretation, which Old Testament scholarship has largely ignored or avoided up to now. We have had space only to concentrate our attention on the interpretation of Genesis 22 as one sample of this approach. On the possibility of philosophical interpretation of other important Old Testament texts, you might refer to my Transcendency and Symbols in the Old Testament (BZAW 275). Whether or not it suits one’s preferences, it is relatively easy for Asian scholars familiar with Buddhist as well as Judeo-Christian traditions to recognize the importance of examining philosophically the

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universals held in common by the world’s religions. This will continue to be a pressing issue. I would like to close this paper by expressing my hopes that Eastern and Western scholars alike will recognize the pressing need to consider and discuss this issue in this age of increasing globalization.

READING TEXTS HOLISTICALLY: THE FOUNDATION OF BIBLICAL CRITICISM John Barton My title will probably seem counter-intuitive. Biblical criticism, it is widely felt today, has been the very opposite of a holistic approach to the biblical text. It has been concerned with fragmenting the text: with the search for sources, small textual units, and redactional strata, rather than with the whole text as it now lies before us. If, as is customary, we locate the origins of biblical criticism in the Enlightenment, then it is inevitably associated with the desire to analyse rather than to synthesize, with a quest for origins rather than for the endproduct, with a rationalistic account of how the Bible came to be assembled rather than with what is now usually called its ‘final form’. ‘Holistic’ is the last word one could apply to biblical criticism. Holistic reading is seen by most people familiar with the present scene in biblical studies as part of one of the newer movements of the last thirty years or so. This has two branches, one more literary and the other more theological. The literary branch encourages the reading of the Bible, or its individual books, as a work, that is a coherent and integrated text with a structure, style, and form. This has had an enormous effect on the practical study of the Hebrew Bible. It has now become customary once again to read the book of Isaiah, rather than to regard it as in effect three distinct books; there is widespread interest in the shape of the Psalter, rather than in the individual Psalms; and ‘the Book of the Twelve’ is now widely regarded as a unity rather than as a loose anthology of twelve disparate books. On the more theological side, ‘final form’ reading is widely practised, not only under the banner of the ‘canonical approach’ but also by many scholars who have no deep commitment to that as a programme but who sense that the Bible is much more productive for faith if it is read in the form we have received it, rather than atomized and dissected. And in both branches of holistic reading it tends to be taken for granted that this marks a return to a situation that prevailed before the critics began to take the biblical text apart: we see this in the tendency on the theological side to be interested once again in

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patristic and Reformation exegesis, and on the literary side in the rediscovery by literary critics of traditional Jewish reading. There is therefore a sense that something which biblical criticism lost is being rediscovered. We are now in a post-critical phase, and texts that criticism has pulled apart can now be put together again, thus returning us, perhaps with something like Paul Ricoeur’s ‘second naiveté’, to a renewed appreciation of biblical books – perhaps even of the whole Bible – in their integrity. Of course traditional biblical criticism of the more atomizing sort continues, perhaps more typically in the German- than in the English-speaking world, but there is a certain sense that it is now swimming against the tide if it refuses to pay attention to the end-product of the combination of underlying sources in the finished biblical books. And indeed, even in the German tradition it is redaction criticism that now tends to dominate, with its concern to see how disparate source-materials have nevertheless been shaped into a finished whole – not so far in essence from more typically Anglo-American interests, though in a somewhat different mode. Thus it is indeed counter-intuitive to suggest that biblical criticism was founded upon holistic reading of texts. On the contrary, holistic reading seems to be a departure from, even a reversal of, the foundations of biblical criticism. As James Barr, whose death last year we recall with sadness, put it, ‘It is often thought that in older times the Bible was a complete whole, and that modern scholarship split it into many strata and sources.’1 Indeed, that is often thought. He goes on, however, ‘This is not at all true’; and the purpose of this paper is to argue that he was right in this, and that biblical scholarship or biblical criticism as we know it is, surprisingly to many, actually founded upon the desire to read the text holistically. Defining what is meant by a critical approach to the Bible is no easy task. Rather than attempting an abstract definition, it may be best to illustrate the nature of criticism by contrasting it with other – mostly earlier – styles of biblical study. It has been usual to argue that the contrast between ancient and modern biblical exegesis turns on the issue of literalism versus allegorism: pre-critical interpretation was mostly allegorical, while criticism was characterized by a turn to the literal. As Barr showed in the paper from which I quoted, and

1 James Barr, “Literality”, Faith and Philosophy 6, 1989, pp. 412–28; quotation from p. 421.

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also in other places, however, this is at best a very partial truth. By no means all so-called precritical exegesis was allegorical, and, on the other hand, many biblical critics have been deeply interested in, for example, the theological intent of biblical texts in a way that goes well beyond the literal meaning and has resemblances to an allegorical meaning: for example, Theologies of the Old Testament require the abstraction of general theological principles from many texts and their recombination into an overall system which is not all that unlike the kind of systematizing practised by allegorists. A better answer to the question of how a critical differs from a non-critical reading might concentrate rather on two other features in non-critical works. The first is a tendency to take passages out of their literary context and to interpret them atomistically. As Barr again puts it, ‘much theological and religious discourse worked with extremely brief passages, often of only a few words: it is significant that such a passage was traditionally known as “a text.”2 This is very clear in much rabbinic exegesis. Though a midrash is formally a serial discussion of a whole book, the emphasis lies on the exegesis of individual verses, even individual words, usually through an enormous tissue of intertextual connections with other passages in the Hebrew Bible. There is no sense of the biblical book as having an overarching meaning. Each verse has its own meaning in independence of the verses that surround it. Even in a narrative book, the principle that ‘there is no before and after in Scripture’ means that narrative sequence is not the issue, but every verse can apply to past, present, and future. Scripture is treated, we might say, as aphoristic, rather as if it were all like the book of Proverbs, made up a whole string of individual ‘texts’ on each of which a sermon may be hung. Benjamin Sommer identifies this tendency clearly in his article ‘The Scroll of Isaiah as Jewish Scripture, or, Why Jews Don’t Read Books’.3 The same is true of Jewish and Christian allegorical reading, in authors such as Philo or Origen. Here individual features of particular stories or laws in Scripture will be allegorized, but there is little attention to the story as a whole. Thus in Philo Abraham serves as a type of the philosopher, and incidents in his story can be seen as symbolic of various sorts of mystical 2

“Literality”, p. 421. Benjamin Sommer, “The Scroll of Isaiah as Jewish Scripture, or, Why Jews Don’t Read Books”, in: SBL Seminar Papers: 132nd Annual Meeting (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1996), pp. 225–4. 3

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state, but there is no concern for the whole story of Abraham within its context in Genesis. Each ‘text’, meaning here each verse or even each part of a verse, can be interpreted as a separate semantic unit with its own teaching and implications, never mind how it coheres with the rest of the passage or book it forms part of. Secondly, in non-critical reading there is little awareness of the genre of texts. Origen allegorizes individual food laws when they seem nonsensical, nonsensicality being the indication that allegorization is required, but there is no consistent allegory of the food laws as a distinct type of text with its own norms and conventions. Similarly, narrative material is treated as providing information about wholly spiritual matters, regardless of its type. Thus the three different kinds of animal that went into the ark tell us about the three different kinds of Christian, and the dimensions of the ark reveal mysteries of various kinds, just as they do for Philo. At the same time the ark is said to be the soul of the believer, which needs to be made perfect both in knowledge and in works – that is the significance of its being covered with pitch both inside and outside.4 Critical scholarship might object to all this simply because it is allegorical, but that is not the point I am making here. Rather, it seems to me that Origen’s exegesis is uncritical in that there is no sense of the texts as forming distinctive kinds of writing, each with its own logic. For him, narrative can have the function of law, psalmody can be prophetic; accounts of the past can be important because they really tell us about the future or about the spiritual realm, future predictions can tell us how to live now. In Judaism there is a tendency to assimilate all Scripture to the model of Torah, so that even prophetic texts are really halakhic in character; in Christianity everything in the Bible tends to be read as prophetic, so that even the Pentateuch is really a source of coded messages about the future. There is little awareness of generic distinctions at all, since the whole Bible is a tissue of divine utterances rather than being seen as a collection of works of radically different types. As R.P.C. Hanson puts it, ‘Origen assumed that the Bible is an oracular book; that is to say, it consisted of a vast series of oracles which might or might not have some connection with each 4

See Homily on Genesis 2; cf. R.P.C. Hanson, Allegory and Event: A Study of the Sources and Significance of Origen’s Interpretation of Scripture (London: SCM and Louisville: John Knox, 1959 [second edn, London and Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002]), pp. 252–253.

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other, but which each in its own right had some divine or mysterious truth to convey.’5 Now against all this, what are the distinctive marks of critical interpretation? Surely the main things are that critical reading grasps the biblical texts as each belonging to a distinctive genre, and as each having its own gestalt as a coherent piece of discourse with beginning, middle, and end, rather than as a mere anthology of separate atoms. To take genre first: in critical study of the Bible it is recognized that a psalm cannot answer the same kind of questions as a piece of narrative or a law. A narrative text such as the bulk of the Pentateuch is not a collection of sayings, each with its own exegesis, as arguably is much of the book of Proverbs, but a structured account of events. Hence it makes sense to be puzzled when, for example, the narrative breaks down in some way because the dramatis personae suddenly change or an incident is unexpectedly repeated, where it does not make sense to feel a similar bewilderment if two successive verses in Proverbs make unrelated points: for that is what we expect is a collection of aphorisms, but not what we expect in a narrative. We recognize the difference between a story and a wisdom book, and have different expectations of the two genres. This is one essential feature of what we mean by critical reading. Similarly critical readers can recognize when a text is a finished whole, when it has what I’ve called a gestalt – a shape, a form. Rather than seeing each verse as an independent atom, they understand what it is for the individual elements of the text to add up to a larger whole. Thus they can recognize when a new incident begins within a story, for example, and when the story is rounded off and completed. They can grasp that a whole psalm has a coherent meaning which is more than the sum of the meaning of its separate verses. Critical reading is not so much anti-allegorical as anti-atomistic, refusing to take verses out of context. Even with the wisdom literature, where a given aphorism may not relate to the one preceding or following it, biblical criticism sees that the individual sayings add up to produce whole chapters and books that have a larger meaning than their component parts – for example, they convey a sense of order in the world, or offer coherent advice on how to live one’s life. As modern critical readers we are continually making judgements about the total

5

Ibid., p. 367.

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effect of books and passages in the Bible, and asking how this or that verse contributes to this total effect. The essence of the critical turn is that it no longer treats the Bible as continuous sheets of divine utterances that can be broken down into pieces at will, but instead sees it as a compendium of books each having its own genre and gestalt. Now this way of reading the Bible is not exclusively the product of modern, Enlightenment thinking. It is certainly absent in many of the Fathers and the rabbis, but there are anticipations of it even in the ancient world. Frances Young argues that the school of Antioch is important here. Traditionally it has been said that Antiochene exegetes promoted literal over allegorical readings, but Young has little difficulty in showing that this is mistaken: much Antiochene interpretation is allegorical, and meanings defined in Antioch as ‘historical’ (the term preferred there to ‘literal’) are very far from what we would think of as literal. But, she suggests, the Antiochenes do anticipate modern critical reading in their attention to genre and to what in German scholarship is called the Duktus, the sequence and logical progression, of texts: Origen was happy to decode symbols without worrying about textual or narrative coherence, and the symbols were tokens. . . .this meant the wording of the text found its significance in jots and tittles over-exegeted, rather than in context and flow. The Antiochenes sought a different kind of relationship between wording and content, style and meaning. The narrative sequence and flow of argument mattered. The text was not a pretext for something else.6 So neither literalism as such, nor an interest in historicity as such, stimulated the Antiochene reaction against Origenist allegory, but rather a different approach to finding meaning in literature which had its background in the educational system of the Graeco-Roman world. Perhaps we could say that it was not ‘allegory’ as such that they objected to; for allegory was a standard figure of speech, and, if the text carried some

6 Frances Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 184. The contrast between this and allegorizing reading is a contrast between interpretations that do and do not attend to the context of the passage being interpreted; cf. James Barr, “The Literal, the Allegorical, and Modern Biblical Scholarship”, JSOT 44 (1989), pp. 3–17, on p. 14: “ . . . ancient and medieval allegory is, in very large measure, de-contextualizing, and in two ways: firstly, in that it works from very small pieces of text . . . and interprets them in ways that are irreconcilable with the context within the books; secondly, that it uproots them from the culture in which they have meaning.”

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indication of its presence, even allegory could be allowed. What they resisted was the type of allegory that destroyed textual coherence.7 Summary and paraphrase are persistent techniques used by the Antiochenes to bring out the gist of the argument and the hypothesis usually includes this, together with circumstantial introductory material. This technique ensures the context and thrust were not lost under the mass of detailed commentary. Like school exegetes, they sought to discern the underlying idea dressed up in the words and style of the text. They often show concern with the akolouthia, or sequence, of argument or story. They also discussed genre and the particular literary characteristics of, for example, prophecy.8

But – and here we reach our main point – if this is the kind of thing that distinguishes critical from non-critical reading of the Bible, then biblical criticism is at root an exercise in reading texts holistically. Where non-critical reading atomizes, and also ignores genre, criticism attends to genre and gestalt, believing that without these no meaning can be found in texts. It is precisely in its holistic character that criticism differs from non-criticism. In urging critics to be more holistic, proponents of literary or canonical readings are pushing at an open door. Why is this not apparent? Undoubtedly biblical criticism has not acquired its reputation for non-holistic reading for nothing. Biblical critics have indeed often suggested that the biblical books are made up from underlying sources or strata, sometimes of great complexity, and they continue to do so. But, crucially, this is not because they have a predisposition to think that texts are composed of fragments. On the contrary, it is exactly because they have a clear idea of what an unfragmented text would be like. In trying to discover what a work means we are asking about how the assertions that compose the work cohere with each other to make a comprehensible whole. Umberto Eco asks this about what he calls the intentio operas, the

7

Young, p. 176. Ibid., p. 172. On Antiochene exegesis see also Dimitri Z. Zaharopoulos, Theodore of Mopsuestia on the Bible: A Study of his Old Testament Exegesis (New York: Paulist Press, 1989), who stresses the Antiochenes’ insistence on internal evidence for their critical conclusions: thus Theodore rejected the Psalm titles as incompatible with the contents of the Psalms themselves, and argued that it was clear that Job was a post-exilic work, not by Moses as was the prevailing opinion. Cf. also Robert C. Hill, Reading the Old Testament in Antioch (The Bible in Ancient Christianity 3; Leiden: Brill, 2005). 8

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intention of the work: ‘How to prove a conjecture about the intentio operis? The only way is to check it upon the text as a coherent whole’.9 This is just what biblical critics do and have always done. But when they do so, they sometimes find that the text resists being read as a coherent whole. To use the Antiochenes’ expression, it does not have the akolouthia we look for in texts; or it defeats our search for a genre to which to assign it, appearing to be a mixture of forms or types. If we were unable to identify a coherent work when we saw one, the explanation in terms of sources or strata would never have arisen. It arises because we look for literary coherence and fail to find it; it did not arise for Origen, because he was not looking for literary coherence anyway. If I am right, then biblical criticism was from its inception a literary movement, and always had a drive to holism. If you are looking for a holistic sense, the Pentateuch is bound to disappoint you. Take one of the classic cases of source analysis, the story of Moses on Mount Sinai in Exodus 24:1–17. On the face of it this appears to be a single story. But if one approaches it with an eye to its overall gestalt as a coherent text, looking for akolouthia and holistic flow, one is going to notice the features that led early pioneers of biblical criticism to hypothesize that its origin was composite. If Moses goes up the mountain in verse 9, how can God tell him to come up in verse 12? Or again, if he goes up in verse 15, how can he go up again in verse 18? Who was with him: was it Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and seventy elders; or was it Joshua, with Aaron (and Hur, not previously mentioned) staying with the people; or did he go up alone? It is not a non-literary, non-holistic mind that asks such well-known questions: it is precisely the desire to find literary, holistic coherence that makes them so pressing. Why then do so many people think that biblical criticism is so anti-holistic? What happened was that so many cases of incoherence were discovered by early critics, that subsequent scholars developed a tendency to see incoherence as the norm, and felt that their whole work needed to be focused on identifying the causes of the incoherence – which, they concluded, were to be located in the existence of

9 S. Collini (ed.), Interpretation and Overinterpretation, Umberto Eco with Richard Rorty, Jonathan Culler, Christine Brooke-Rose (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 65.

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underlying sources. Something similar may be said about questions of genre, which I believe are at least as important as questions of coherent textual gestalt. Once one asks the question about genre, it becomes clear that many Old Testament books manifest a mixture of genres. The Psalter does not, so long as one defines the genre ‘psalm’ broadly enough; but the Pentateuchal books notoriously do, with law mixed with narrative, poems inserted here and there, and genealogies interrupting narrative flow. Once form criticism had at least partly addressed this problem, it, like source analysis, took on a life of its own, and led people to expect biblical texts to be of mixed genre. Then, just as source critics came to be accused of deliberately fragmenting the text and disregarding its unity, so form critics began to look as though they were determined to detect shifts in genre. But arguably it is the character of the texts themselves that systematically defeated attempts at holistic reading, not the ill nature of critics setting their faces against holistic reading. The innocent, ordinary Bible reader notices at once how incoherent much of the biblical text is, and has always done so. Biblical criticism sets out on a mission to find coherence, but is obliged to report back that this is often lacking. In case you may be thinking that to argue for a holistic aim in biblical criticism is something of a tour de force, let me now argue even more counter-intuitively that what is wrong with biblical criticism may be that it is actually too holistic. One of the persistent complaints made about biblical critics in the past was that they applied modern European ideas of what constitutes a coherent narrative to texts in which these ideas might not be appropriate. Umberto Cassuto was particularly vocal on this topic, arguing, ‘Let us not approach the Scriptural passages with the literary and aesthetic criteria of our time, but let us apply to them the standards obtaining in the ancient East generally and among the people of Israel particularly.’10 How we are to know what those standards were, given that the biblical text is itself our only evidence for it, I do not know. But certainly we should be alert to the possibility that what we think of as necessary for a narrative to count as coherent may not be the same as it was for the first readers or, indeed, for the author or authors.

10 U. Cassuto, The Documentary Hypthesis and the Composition of the Pentateuch (Jerusalem, 1961 [from Hebrew original 1949]), p. 13.

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This is a problem that arises particularly in the field of redaction criticism. The hypothesis behind redaction criticism is that we have first succeeded in separating out the material that underlies the final redaction, whether it is a variety of sources that have been woven together or one Urtext which the redactor has augmented. The criterion for separating out the sources is their internal coherence: thus in the Pentateuch the single, incoherent final form can be analysed as the produce of the redaction of four (or more) sources, each of which is internally coherent. Thus there must have been four (or however many) authors who saw coherence as much the same thing as we do, since each produced a text we can recognize as hanging together. However, the final redactor has then constructed an incoherent amalgam of these sources, so that in his case we have an author who is apparently satisfied with a text we can only regard as incoherent. But why should the redactor, who lived in the same literary culture as his sources, have had such a radically different idea of what constituted a coherent work? May this not imply that Israelite culture accepted far more of what we regard as incoherence than we have tended to believe? But if that is so, what becomes of coherence as a criterion for separating out the sources in the first place? Is not biblical criticism showing itself to set a higher premium on coherence as we conceive that than is justified: or, to put it in the terms I have been using, does it not mean that criticism has been too holistic in its approach to the biblical text – too focused on what strikes us as a well-constructed narrative, or lawcode, or poem, or whatever it may be? Along these lines one can argue that biblical criticism is radically anachronistic. It should be noted that this does not give any comfort to those who wish to do a post-critical holistic reading, whether for literary or for theological reasons. For such readings typically try to show extreme coherence, if I may put it that way, in which every smallest detail is shown to be part of the work’s ground-plan: in this they are usually very like pre- or non-critical readings, and I have already mentioned the frequent parallels with traditional Jewish and Christian approaches, which are often made explicit. The line of argument I am pursuing at the moment is rather that an appropriate reading might be one that did not look for coherence or unity at all, but simply registered that texts might have many of what we would regard as inconsistencies and yet come from a single author, who simply did not care about such things. On this hypothesis the author of Exodus 19 kept sending Moses up the mountain and just did not

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notice that he had not come down in between, or did not mind whether or not he was accompanied by Aaron. The text would be a unity in the sense that it came from a single hand, not a multiplicity of hands, but it would not exhibit what we might call internal unity or consistency. A case of this kind can certainly be made, and it would badly damage both traditional biblical criticism and newer holistic approaches. But in my view it would misfire. As I pointed out, it is not only biblical critics who have noticed the discrepancies and oddities in the text that have in modern times been explained through source- and redaction-critical theories. They have always been noticed in both Judaism and Christianity. Biblical criticism is distinctive not in noticing them but in finding explanations for them which do not harmonize them out of existence, but treat them as clues to the composite nature of the text. But given that they have always been noticed, it would be very strange if they were not apparent, or were of no concern, to those who allowed them into the text in the first place, and even stranger if someone had produced them in an original piece of writing. At this point one may, I think, argue against an excessive relativism. The literary conventions of different cultures are not the same: but the differences are not unlimited. People in all cultures know that one cannot go up a mountain twice without coming down in between. It must have been acceptable in Hebrew culture to combine texts in such a way that such oddities were introduced, but it is hard to imagine a culture in which anyone would have produced them when writing freely. It is noticeable how little such phenomena appear in much of the historical narrative in 2 Samuel, for example, where we mostly find a straightforward narration that conforms perfectly well to modern standards of internal consistency. On the whole what this line of thought suggests is that the divide between authors and redactors is a rather clear one, and it tends to endorse the idea of the redactor as a copyist who collected existing materials and wove them together loosely rather than turning them into a fresh composition with its own subtle message. In other words, it tends to question how far redaction criticism can really get inside the mind of the redactor, whose intentions were probably not as sophisticated as we sometimes make them seem. There are interesting thoughts somewhat along these lines in a rather neglected article by Herbert Donner called “Der Redaktor: Überlegungen zum vorkritischen Umgang mit der Heiligen Schrift”,

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which he published in Henoch in 1980.11 As he notes himself, Donner’s article is one of the few ever to have asked not how redactors worked, but why. He argues that the redactors of the Pentateuch, such as the one responsible for weaving together J and P in the Flood Story, regarded both sources as possessing a kind of authority which ruled out abandoning either of them, and which required him to include all the details of both stories so far as that was humanly possible. This redactor was not trying to present a Mehrstimmigkeit in which the text preserved dissonant voices so that all should be individually heard, but on the contrary to make all the discrepant details fit into a single scheme so far as he was able. He was guided, as Gunkel proposed long ago, by ‘piety’ towards his sources, from which he could not let anything be lost unless there was absolutely no choice. The resulting story is as coherent as these principles allow it to be, but it does not have the coherence of a story freely composed by an author. Manifestly the good of not losing any details from (semi-) canonical sources was felt to outweigh the lack of narrative consistency. This was, as Donner calls it, a kind of pre-critical interpretation of the source texts: the redactors, and those who read their works, must have felt that a loosely coherent narrative with some significant discrepancies was better than the abandonment of hallowed traditions. It was thought that somehow or other all the sources must be correct, even though that introduced clashes and oddities in the texts which readers have noticed even from very ancient times. But in ancient times a solution in terms of underlying sources was not available, since the finished text had come to take on the same sacrosanctity that the sources had possessed for the redactors, and so it had to be defended against the charge of inconsistency rather than explained in what we would now call critical terms as the amalgamation of separate, internally consistent sources. Donner draws parallels with harmonies of the Gospels, in which there is often the same desire to preserve the details of each individual Gospel, and yet to produce a more or less coherent narrative in which they are all somehow fitted into a single structure. Authors of Gospel harmonies are not producing narratives on which one can reasonably practise redaction criticism, in that they are not trying to

11 Herbert Donner, “Der Redaktor: Überlegungen zum vorkritischen Umgang mit der Heiligen Schrift”, Henoch 2 (1980), pp. 1–30.

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add their own layers of meaning to the source materials they are rearranging and editing. On the contrary, they are simply trying to get everything in, and do not worry too much if there are loose ends or strange repetitions – as when in Osiander’s great Harmony Jesus heals four blind men in Jericho and cleanses the Temple three times. We are at once aware in reading such a harmony that the story is really incoherent, and are alerted (though of course in this case we knew this all along) to the fact that disparate materials have been artificially blended together. We are alerted to this because we try to read the story as straightforward and coherent, and are thwarted in the attempt. Thus a critical reading of a Gospel harmony rests on a supposition of holistic meaning, which the text in question systematically defeats. Exactly the same is true of redacted texts in the Old Testament, such as the Pentateuch. The motivation of these redactional constructions was not to tell a good and well-structured story, but to gather up all the fragments so that nothing should be lost. It is because we know what a well-constructed story looks like, and go to the texts expecting or hoping to find it, that we notice the tell-tale signs that a redactor has been at work. If we did not have holistic designs on texts, we would never notice the problems. My own sense, then, is that the holistic approach I have tried to show is characteristic of biblical criticism is an appropriate reaction to the biblical text. It makes perfect sense to look for consistency and coherence in texts. Consequently it also makes sense to register the fact when such coherence is not to be found, and to seek explanations for the lack of it by suggesting the presence of underlying sources. There could be other explanations – subsequent textual confusion, for example – in given cases. It is not the particular hypothetical explanation that constitutes the reading as ‘critical’, but the drive to read the text, as I have put it, as having a genre and a gestalt, and a willingness to seek rational explanations when this proves to be impossible. Thus biblical criticism, as I have presented it, is a holistic operation from the beginning. It attends to shape, akolouthia, gestalt; and to genre, type, form. It notices, and seeks rational explanations for, problems in any of these areas. It differs from modern or post-modern holistic readings in that these tend to assume that any text can always be read holistically, however counter-intuitive that is. Of course this is true: one can always invent narrative conventions that will enable

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even the most apparently disordered text to be read as coherent, even if in the extreme case we have to read it as the deliberate representation of a confused mind. But there are enough coherent texts in the Old Testament and in other ancient literature for us to be fairly sure that narrative conventions in ancient Israel were not so very different from ours, and thus to be justified in noticing narratives that are aberrant. The same applies, mutatis mutandis, to other types of text, such as laws and wisdom collections. Holistic reading, often frustrated, is the foundation of biblical criticism. It is part of the human quest for coherence and meaning that underlies so much work in both the humanities and the sciences, and it is very far from having had its day.

LA PERSUASION COOPÉRATIVE DANS LE DISCOURS SUR LA LOI: POUR UNE ANALYSE DE LA RHÉTORIQUE DU CODE DE SAINTETÉ Jan Joosten Dans le débat entre les méthodes dites « diachroniques » et les approches « synchroniques », les dernières présentent l’avantage indéniable d’aborder les textes bibliques dans leur état existant. Le danger qui les guette, cependant, est celui d’enlever au texte la profondeur qui lui vient de son enracinement dans l’histoire. En face de ce danger, il convient de se rendre attentif à tout ce qui, dans la Bible, reflète la sensibilité culturelle et idéologique de son époque. La Bible est un livre étrange – déconcertant non seulement dans sa thématique mais encore dans son fonctionnement formel. Analyser et comprendre ce fonctionnement est un projet ardu et de longue haleine. La présente étude s’inscrit dans les lignes de ce projet. La rhétorique Le terme de « rhétorique » s’emploie souvent dans notre discipline, mais pas toujours avec le même sens1. Pour les uns, rhétorique est synonyme de style ; il s’agit là d’une définition déjà ancienne, qui sous-tend, par exemple, le livre bien connu d’Eduard König, Stilistik, Rhetorik, Poetik in bezug auf die biblische Literatur komparativisch

1 Pour les différentes acceptions du terme de rhétorique, voir G.A. Kennedy, « Historical Survey of Rhetoric », in: S.E. Porter, Handbook of Classical Rhetoric in the Hellenistic Period 330 b.c.–a.d. 400 (Leiden, 1997), pp. 3–41, en particulier pp. 3–7. Un excellent survol des approches « rhétoriques » de l’Ancien Testament est donné par T. Renz, The Rhetorical Function of the Book of Ezekiel (VTS 76; Leiden, 1999), pp. 1–11. Pour la bibliographie, voir D.F. Watson, A.J. Hauser, Rhetorical Criticism of the Bible. A Comprehensive Bibliography with Notes on History and Method (Biblical Interpretation Series 4; Leiden, 1994).

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dargestellt2. Pour les autres, l’analyse rhétorique se réduit pratiquement à la mise en lumière de la structure d’un texte3. Pour les uns et pour les autres, tout texte, quel que soit son genre ou sa finalité, a sa rhétorique. À l’origine, cependant, la rhétorique – la ῥητορικὴ τέχνη – était l’art du discours persuasif : il s’agissait d’argumenter, de convaincre un juge ou une assemblée4. Dans le monde biblique, il n’y a pas d’enseignement systématique de cet art, pas de manuels de rhétorique5. Mais la parole persuasive se rencontre à chaque page de la Bible : chez les prophètes, par exemple, dans les livres de sagesse, ou dans les multiples discours imbriqués dans la narration. La qualité distinctive du discours persuasif est sa façon de « mordre sur le réel »6. La parole argumentative a pour vocation première d’agir sur la situation extralinguistique. Le proverbe qui dit : « La mort et la vie sont au pouvoir de la langue » (Pr 18:21), parle avant tout de la parole persuasive – devant le tribunal et dans les conseils. L’enjeu essentiel du discours persuasif se trouve en dehors de lui. Lorsque Caton l’Ancien disait : « Ceterum censeo Carthaginem delendam esse », il n’entendait pas faire une belle phrase, mais agir sur les sénateurs romains en vue de la destruction de cette ville ennemie. Pour le dire en termes de linguistique, la parole persuasive fait une grande place à la dimension pragmatique7. L’acte locutionnaire, qui consiste à produire une expression linguistique bien formée, est 2 E. König, Stilistik, Rhetorik, Poetik in bezug auf die biblische Literatur komparativisch dargestellt (Leipzig, 1900). 3 Voir, p. ex., le programme dessiné par J. Muilenburg, “Form Criticism and Beyond”, JBL 88 (1963), pp. 1–18; voir aussi J.R. Lundbom, Jeremiah. A Study in Ancient Hebrew Rhetoric, Second edition (Winona Lake, 1997); et surtout les publications de Roland Meynet (dernière synthèse en date : Traité de rhétorique biblique [Paris, 2007]). 4 Voir, p. ex., L. Pernot, La Rhétorique dans l’Antiquité (Paris, 2000). 5 En ca. 1475, Judah Messer Leon a fait paraître à Mantoue un traité de rhétorique biblique sous le titre de Nophet Zuphim. Il ne s’agit pas, cependant, d’un enseignement traditionnel de la rhétorique juive. Le livre se fonde sur la Rhetorica ad Herennium et sur la rhétorique d’Aristote, la contribution originale de l’auteur se limitant à fournir des exemples bibliques des phénomènes discutés. Voir les éditions de R. Bonfil, Judah Messer Leon : Nofet Zufim. On Hebrew Rhetoric (Jérusalem, 1981) ; I. Rabinowitz, The Book Of The Honeycomb’s Flow, Sepher Nopeth Suphim, By Judah Messer Leon, First Published At Mantua, 1475/76. A Critical Edition (Ithaca, 1983). 6 Voir R. Barthes, « L’ancienne rhétorique. Aide-mémoire », in: idem, L’aventure sémiologique (Paris, 1985), pp. 85–165. J’avoue une grande dette envers la pénétrante analyse de Barthes. 7 Pour l’étude de la dimension pragmatique en linguistique générale, voir, p. ex., E.C. Traugott, M.L. Pratt, Linguistics for Students of Literature (New York, 1980), pp. 226–271. La distinction entre actes locutionnaires et actes illocutionnaires a été

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entièrement subordonné à l’acte illocutionnaire, c’est-à-dire, à ce que l’on effectue en parlant. Considérons un exemple biblique. En 2 Rois 1:13–14, on met en scène un officier israélite qui plaide avec Élie : Homme de Dieu, que ma vie, je te prie, et que la vie de ces cinquante hommes tes serviteurs soit précieuse à tes yeux ! Voici, le feu est descendu du ciel et a consumé les deux premiers chefs de cinquante et leurs cinquante hommes : mais maintenant, que ma vie soit précieuse à tes yeux ! (2R 1:13–14)

L’orateur de fortune s’exprime ici avec un certain style et selon une structure bien organisée. Cependant, l’essentiel de ce qu’il veut dire n’est pas énoncé dans son discours : qu’Élie l’accompagne chez le roi. Or, malgré cette omission, Élie comprend très bien. Dans la suite de l’histoire, il accèdera à la demande. Le lecteur aussi comprend : nul besoin d’être linguiste pour savoir décoder les actes illocutionnaires indirects. Lorsque mon voisin à table me dit : « Pouvez-vous passer le sel », je sais qu’on me demande de passer le sel, non de répondre : « Oui, je le peux ». Une grande partie de ce que nous communiquons est déterminé par la situation dans laquelle nous parlons. De même, la communication entre l’officier et Élie s’appuie autant ou plus sur le contexte extralinguistique que sur les mots formulés explicitement. Le discours persuasif agit sur le contexte pragmatique et s’en nourrit à un degré qu’on ne trouve ni dans la narration pure, ni dans la poésie. La narration est un long fleuve tranquille, apte, toutefois, à permettre à l’homme de digérer les événements, de s’approprier certaines valeurs8. La poésie est fermée sur elle-même, elle construit un monde imaginaire sans lien avec la réalité9. Mais la rhétorique mord sur le réel. C’est le grand intérêt de la rhétorique gréco-romaine – développée d’abord dans un enseignement oral, codifiée et systématisée par Aristote et élaborée par beaucoup d’autres après lui – que de donner sa juste place à cette dimension extralinguistique. La rhétorique classique saisit d’emblée le discours persuasif comme une transaction dans le monde réel. Ainsi, elle met en avant les notions d’ethos

introduite par J.L. Austin, How To Do Things With Words (Oxford, 1962), traduction française : Quand dire c’est faire (Paris, 1970). 8 Le rendement distinctif de la narration a été bien cerné par Weinrich, voir H. Weinrich, Tempus. Besprochene und erzählte Welt (Stuttgart, 1964). 9 Pour la poésie, voir R. Jakobson, “Closing Statements: Linguistics and Poetics”, in: Thomas A. Sebeok, Style In Language (Cambridge MA, 1960), pp. 350–377.

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– l’image que donne de lui-même l’orateur – et de pathos – les sentiments qu’on essaie d’éveiller chez l’auditoire. Elle accorde beaucoup d’importance aux « preuves non artistiques » (pisteis atechnoi), fragments du réel mis au service de l’argumentation. Avant tout, la rhétorique classique développe la notion de stasis : le fait de déterminer le point précis sur lequel porte l’argumentation. La dimension proprement langagière n’est pas oubliée dans la théorie classique, qui traite également de l’organisation du discours (dispositio), du style (elocutio) et de l’enchaînement des idées (logos). Les éléments langagiers restent cependant au service de motivations extralinguistiques. L’essentiel n’est pas dans le discours mais en dehors de lui. Bien sûr, la rhétorique classique ne peut être appliquée aux textes bibliques telle quelle10. Elle peut cependant servir de moyen heuristique et ouvrir les yeux sur des mécanismes rhétoriques propres à la culture dont émane la Bible. Dans ce qui suit, j’aborderai dans cette optique le corpus législatif contenu en Lv 17–26, le célèbre Code de Sainteté. Il s’agira d’essayer de saisir le texte dans son fonctionnement propre. Le Code de Sainteté, un texte rhétorique Avant de mettre en œuvre l’approche, il convient de consacrer quelques réflexions à la nature du Code de Sainteté. Personne ne doutera de la qualité persuasive du discours qu’il contient. Comme dans les autres corpus législatifs dans la Bible, la loi, loin d’être simplement promulguée, est motivée, répétée et ramenée à ses principes fondamentaux. Il ne s’agit pas tant d’édicter la loi que de l’enseigner, de

10 Employer la grille gréco-romaine dans l’approche de textes vétérotestamentaires représente un double dévoiement. Premièrement, la rhétorique classique est en principe prescriptive, il s’agit d’enseigner comment on peut composer un discours qui emportera l’adhésion. Utiliser cette théorie à des fins descriptives n’est pas évident. Cependant, la rhétorique gréco-romaine se fonde sur l’observation et sur l’analyse de ce qui se pratiquait dans le monde classique. Il paraît donc légitime de l’utiliser comme outil analytique, même si ce n’était pas là sa fonction première. Deuxièmement, le schéma classique reflète la pratique du discours persuasif dans le monde grec et romain. Les éléments constitutifs de la rhétorique classique ne jouent pas forcément le même rôle dans la rhétorique biblique. Cette deuxième objection est bien plus importante que la première. Il y a un risque évident de forcer les données bibliques afin de les conformer à la grille d’analyse utilisée. Il serait cependant dommage d’écarter entièrement la rhétorique classique de l’instrumentaire exégétique vétérotestamentaire.

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convaincre l’auditoire à la mettre en pratique11. Il se pose toutefois la question à qui s’adresse ce discours persuasif. Superficiellement, on serait tenté de caractériser le Code comme une narration incorporant des unités discursives12. Chaque chapitre commence en effet par une phrase du type : « L’Éternel parla à Moïse, et dit : Parle aux enfants d’Israël, et tu leur diras . . . ». Ainsi, le discours sur la loi est imbriqué dans le grand récit de la sortie d’Égypte et de la traversée du désert commencé dans le livre de l’Exode. Au vu de ce cadre narratif, l’auditoire visé serait le peuple d’Israël du récit. Comme le chef de cinquante parlait à Élie, ainsi Dieu parle aux Israélites dans le désert – dans le cadre du récit. Cette première impression est cependant trompeuse. En réalité, l’aspect narratif du Code de Sainteté est subordonné à sa fonction persuasive. À travers l’image de Moïse parlant de la part de Dieu aux Israélites rassemblés dans le désert, le discours s’adresse à des Israélites d’une époque plus récente. La mise en scène narrative n’a d’autre but que de convaincre l’auditoire visé de la nécessité de pratiquer la loi. Il y a un effet de pseudomorphose : le discours persuasif s’est coulé dans la forme du récit, sans pour autant abandonner sa vraie nature. Plusieurs indices révèlent la nature du Code de Sainteté. Ainsi, des réalités de la mise en scène narrative sont parfois dotées d’une dimension paradigmatique13. Notamment, le camp israélite dans le désert, évoqué par exemple en Lv 17, figure l’établissement israélite sur le sol cultivé ; la Tente de Rencontre au milieu du camp figure le sanctuaire principal dans le pays. Les lois ordonnées en vue du camp entourant la Tente de Rencontre doivent être mises en application dans le pays à cause du sanctuaire qui y est situé. Une autre technique d’actualisation pourrait être nommée l’anachronisme voulu14. Dans le Code de Sainteté, les lois concernant le pays sont généralement formulées de façon prospective : « Lorsque

11 Voir J. Joosten, People and Land in the Holiness Code. An Exegetical Study of the Ideational Framework of the Law in Leviticus 17–26 (VTS 67; Leiden, Brill, 1996), pp. 194–196. 12 Voir J. Joosten, « L’imbrication des codes législatifs dans le récit du Pentateuque : Le cas du ‘Code de Sainteté’ (Lévitique 17–26) », in: Ed. Lévy, La codification des lois dans l’antiquité. Actes du Colloque de Strasbourg 27–29 novembre 1997 (Paris, 2000), pp. 125–140. 13 Voir Joosten, People and Land, pp. 145–148. 14 Voir Joosten, People and Land, pp. 45–47.

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vous entrerez dans le pays . . . vous offrirez à Dieu les prémices de vos récoltes . . . vous observerez une année sabbatique . . . » (Lv 19:23 ; 25:2). A des endroits stratégiques, cependant, ce point de vue prospectif est abandonné et le discours s’adresse directement aux Israélites installés dans le pays : Lv 18:24–28 Ne vous souillez par aucune de ces choses (l’inceste etc.), car c’est par toutes ces choses que se sont souillées les nations que je vais chasser devant vous. 25 Le pays en a été souillé ; j’ai puni son iniquité, et le pays a vomi ses habitants. 26 Vous observerez donc mes prescriptions et mes ordonnances, et vous ne commettrez aucune de ces horreurs, ni l’autochtone, ni l’immigrant qui séjourne au milieu de vous. 27 Car ce sont là toutes les horreurs qu’ont commises les hommes du pays, qui y étaient avant vous ; et le pays en a été souillé. 28 Ainsi le pays ne vous vomira pas à cause de vos souillures, comme il a vomi15 les nations qui y étaient avant vous.

Le verset 24 maintient la perspective temporelle de la narration : les Israélites se trouvent dans le désert en attendant d’occuper le pays de Canaan. En revanche, les versets suivants ne reflètent pas cette perspective. Ils s’adressent directement à des Israélites installés dans le pays : les habitants qui s’y trouvaient avant eux ont déjà été « vomis » et le peuple doit à tout prix éviter de subir le même sort. On a parfois attribué ce genre d’anachronisme à l’intrusion d’une autre main ou à la combinaison maladroite de sources différentes. Il n’en est rien. Il s’agit au contraire d’une technique hautement étudiée : le prédicateur de la loi soulève un coin du voile pour faire prendre conscience à son auditoire que les Israélites au désert mis en scène dans le texte ne sont qu’un modèle et que le discours s’adresse réellement à eux. Une troisième manière de souligner l’actualité des paroles dites par Moïse dans le désert est l’insistance sur la validité pérenne de la loi : « statut perpétuel en vos générations » (formule répétée six fois)16. La loi donnée à Israël dans le désert répond à un changement de maître : d’esclaves en Égypte, les Israélites sont devenus « esclaves » de leur Dieu. Toute la législation du Code représente le service qu’ils doivent à leur nouveau maître. Or, l’état d’esclave est héréditaire. Ainsi, ceux

15

Les massorètes ont ponctué la forme verbale comme un participe (« il va vomir ») ; la syntaxe montre cependant qu’il faut lire le parfait « il a vomi », voir BHS et les commentaires. 16 Voir Lv 17:7; 23:14,21,31,41; 24:3.

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qui se reconnaissent comme les descendants de la génération de l’Exode sont invités à comprendre que la loi s’impose à eux17. Sous ses apparences narratives, le Code de Sainteté est essentiellement un texte persuasif. Sa finalité n’est pas d’informer sur des événement anciens, mais d’amener son auditoire à la pratique de la loi. Le jeu de persuasion ne se déroule pas entre les personnages fictifs de la narration, mais se dirige vers l’auditoire réel du texte. Il est regrettable que nous ne savons pratiquement rien de cet auditoire original. Il est en effet difficile de reconnaître le groupe auquel s’adresse le discours sous le masque des Israélites dans le désert dessiné dans le texte. Quelques traits se laissent deviner. Il est assez certain, par exemple, que le groupe auquel le Code s’adresse est installé dans le pays. Dans les passages anachroniques, la loi s’adresse directement à un peuple habitant le pays. Mais beaucoup de choses, à commencer par la datation, restent obscures. Heureusement, la stratégie et les techniques persuasives mises en œuvre dans le Code de Sainteté peuvent être analysées au moins partiellement même dans l’ignorance de la situation historique exacte. Procédés Rhétoriques dans le Code de Sainteté L’approche rhétorique des textes bibliques en est encore à ses débuts. De plus, le Code de Sainteté est un texte exigeant qui ne se présente pas comme un corpus idéal pour développer une nouvelle méthode. Il existe pourtant quelques études fort utiles qui préparent le terrain. En 1989 est paru, à titre posthume, la thèse de doctorat de Meïr Paran, Darkhei hasignon hakohani batorah (Traits du style sacerdotal dans le Pentateuque), où quelques particularités stylistiques du Code de Sainteté sont traitées avec perspicacité18. La monographie de Baruch Schwartz, Torat haqedusha (Le Code de Sainteté), parue en 1999, contient une foule d’observations importantes sur tous les aspects littéraires de Lv 17–1919. Plus récemment, Didier Luciani, dans une thèse publiée en 2005, a analysé avec finesse la structure des

17

Voir Joosten, People and Land, pp. 120–121. M. Paran, Forms of the Priestly Style in the Pentateuch. Patterns, Linguistic Usages, Syntactic Structures (Jerusalem, 1989). 19 B.J. Schwartz, The Holiness Legislation (Jerusalem, 1999). 18

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discours contenus dans le Code de Sainteté20. Malgré ces travaux précieux, une méthode qui tente de saisir le Code de sainteté en tant que texte persuasif a beaucoup de peine à se mettre en place. Les remarques qui suivent ne visent nullement l’exhaustivité et n’ont d’autre prétention que d’illustrer le genre de questionnements auxquels la méthode peut donner lieu. La réticence éloquente et la rhétorique coopérative Comme nous venons de le voir, il est possible, dans un discours persuasif, que le point précis sur lequel porte l’effort de persuader, ne soit pas énoncé. Le chef de cinquante veut qu’Élie descende de la montagne et l’accompagne chez le roi. Mais il ne le dit pas. De telles ellipses sont rendues possibles par le caractère situationnel du discours : les interlocuteurs savent beaucoup plus que ce qu’ils apprennent par la parole. Dans l’exemple donné, la simple présence de ce troisième chef de cinquante suffit sans doute à Élie pour comprendre ce qui va lui être demandé. D’ailleurs, des omissions similaires se rencontrent en dehors de la Bible. La question : « Ne trouvez-vous pas qu’il fait chaud dans cette pièce » peut signifier, dans une conversation en français : « Ouvrons une fenêtre ». Il reste que ce genre d’omissions est particulièrement fréquent dans les discours bibliques. Parcourons quelques exemples : – Des deux prostituées qui plaident leur cause devant le jeune Salomon, l’une ne dit pratiquement rien, tandis que l’autre développe un beau petit plaidoyer couvrant cinq versets entiers (1R 3:17–21). Elle veut obtenir du roi qu’il lui donne l’enfant vivant, mais elle ne le dit pas ! – Le serviteur d’Abraham qui va chercher une femme pour Isaac raconte en long et en large le déroulement de sa mission (Gn 24:34–49) ; mais lorsqu’il formule sa demande, il ne dit rien d’autre que : « Maintenant, si vous voulez user de bienveillance et de fidélité envers mon seigneur, déclarez-le-moi ; sinon, déclarez-le-moi, et je me tournerai à droite ou à gauche » (Gn 24:49). Il veut obtenir qu’on donne Rebecca en mariage à Isaac, mais il ne le dit jamais.

20 D. Luciani, Sainteté et Pardon. Structure Littéraire du Lévitique, 2 vol. (BET ; L 185A–B Leuven, 2005).

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– Quand une coupe d’argent est retrouvée dans le sac de Benjamin, lors de leur voyage en Égypte, les frères comprennent que la situation est grave. Juda plaide devant l’intendant du Pharaon – il ne sait pas encore qu’il s’agit de son frère Joseph – en invoquant sa clémence (Gn 44:18–34). Le discours qu’il prononce est magnifiquement élaboré : mais la demande de clémence n’est jamais formulée explicitement. On pourrait donner d’autres exemples du phénomène, mais ceux-ci suffisent pour montrer que la réticence par rapport au moment central d’un discours est récurrente dans la rhétorique biblique. Il est intéressant de constater que pour les quatre exemples énumérés, Flavius Josèphe, dans sa paraphrase du texte biblique, ajoute systématiquement une énonciation explicite de ce point central. Ainsi, le discours du chef de cinquante se termine par une demande expresse : « . . . de descendre et de le suivre chez le roi » (AJ IX, 25)21. Le ressort de l’ellipse dans les discours bibliques n’est pas partout le même. Selon les cas, il s’agit de choses qu’on ne doit pas, qu’on ne veut pas ou qu’on n’ose pas dire. Néanmoins, un effet constant de ce procédé est d’associer l’auditoire à l’élaboration du sens. En taisant le point décisif de l’argument, on demande à son interlocuteur de participer activement à la réussite du discours. La rhétorique biblique est coopérative. On sollicite le bon sens de l’auditoire pour qu’il se convainque lui-même en suppléant ce que l’orateur a tu. Ces quelques prolégomènes permettent de mieux comprendre ce qui se passe à plusieurs reprises dans le Code de Sainteté. Les discours sur la loi semblent parfois incomplets, abordant dans le détail des questions connexes et passant sous silence le problème central. Le cas le plus flagrant se trouve dans le chapitre sur l’inceste en Lv 18 (et de même en Lv 20, sur lequel je ne m’attarderai pas)22. Comme beaucoup d’exégètes l’ont noté, la liste des interdictions de relations incestueuses en Lv 18:6ss est paradoxale : très détaillée, elle n’inclut pas pourtant le cas le plus fréquent et le plus épineux, celui de la fille. 21 Comparer aussi Gn 24:49 avec AJ. I, 255 ; Gn 44:18–34 avec AJ II, 140–167 ; 1R 3:17–21 avec AJ. VIII, 29. 22 Voir J. Joosten, « La non-mention de la fille en Lévitique 18. Exercice sur la rhétorique du Code de Sainteté », ETR 75 (2000), pp. 415–420. Luciani a soulignée que la fille est incluse, indirectement, au verset 17 ; elle n’est donc pas omise entièrement. Voir D. Luciani, « La fille “perdue” et “retrouvée” de Lévitique 18 », ETR 76 (2001), pp. 103–112.

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La clause : « Tu ne découvriras pas la nudité de ta fille » fait défaut. Il est difficile d’imaginer que cette omission soit due à un accident textuel (d’autant plus que le cas de la fille manque également dans le chapitre parallèle en Lv 20) ; difficile également de penser que les relations d’un homme avec sa fille étaient permises selon Lv 18. Plusieurs exégètes ont suggéré que la fille était incluse dans le verset initial : « Nul de vous ne s’approchera de sa parenté (ֺ ‫) ְשׁ ֵאר ְבּ ׇשׂרו‬, pour découvrir sa nudité » (Lv 18:6). Mais pourquoi inclure la fille sans la nommer alors que la mère et la sœur sont mentionnées explicitement ? À mon sens, ce qui est à l’oeuvre ici est le même principe coopératif que dans les autres cas de réticence éloquente énumérés précédemment. L’omission de la clause concernant la fille relève d’un art oratoire qui sait que, pour convaincre, il faut recruter l’auditoire à sa cause. Si l’on disait tout explicitement, l’auditoire resterait passif. En revanche, si on ne dit qu’une partie, en laissant à l’autre le soin de compléter ce qui manque de façon évidente, on obtient le concours actif de l’auditoire. Bien sûr, d’autres considérations ont pu jouer un rôle, notamment, dans le cas présent, les exigences de la bienséance. Interdire les relations avec la fille reviendrait à suggérer que les pères israélites étaient capables d’un tel comportement. En taisant ce cas sensible entre tous, le prédicateur de la loi ménage la sensibilité de son auditoire. Mais la bienséance aurait pu être observée d’autres manières. Celle qui a été employée dans le Code de Sainteté reflète le génie rhétorique particulier du peuple au sein duquel le texte a été élaboré. La réticence rhétorique rappelle d’une certaine manière la réticence qui caractérise la narration biblique : le sens profond du récit se trouve autant dans les lacunes (les gaps) que dans ce qui est relaté explicitement23. Probablement, les phénomènes sont liés. La narration biblique aussi présuppose un lecteur actif qui collabore avec le narrateur à l’élaboration du sens. Les deux phénomènes opèrent cependant de façon distincte : dans la narration, ce qui permet de remplir les lacunes est surtout le contexte littéraire, alors que dans la rhétorique, c’est le contexte pragmatique qui permet de comprendre ce qui n’est pas dit explicitement.

23 Voir le premier chapitre d’E. Auerbach, Mimesis. Dargestellte Wirklichkeit in der abendländischen Literatur (Bern, 1946) ; M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative. Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Bloomington, 1987), pp. 186–229.

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L’omission du point central sur lequel porte tout le discours se rencontre dans d’autres passages du Code de Sainteté. Un cas facile se trouve en Lv 21:1–3, où la liste des parents proches pour lesquels le prêtre peut prendre le deuil comporte sa mère, son père, son fils, sa fille, son frère, sa sœur, si elle est vierge – mais pas sa femme. Dans ce cas aussi, il faut penser que la femme du prêtre est incluse, sans être nommée24. Un cas beaucoup plus complexe et, pour le coup, moins certain se trouve en Lv 26, le grand discours final stipulant les bénédictions en cas d’obéissance à la loi et les malédictions en cas d’infidélité. Comme j’ai essayé de le montrer dans ma thèse sur People and Land in the Holiness Code, la menace centrale dans la seconde partie de ce chapitre implique que le Dieu d’Israël quitte son sanctuaire et laisse son peuple aux mains de ses ennemis25. Par cet abandon, tout le schéma sur lequel repose le Code de Sainteté serait défait. Le livre d’Ézékiel dessine dans les onze premiers chapitres un scénario semblable : Dieu quitte le sanctuaire, après quoi les habitants de Jérusalem son livrés à eux-mêmes. En Lv 26, cependant, la menace de ce que Dieu quitte son sanctuaire n’est jamais énoncée directement. Tout au plus le texte donne-t-il une indication indirecte : « je ravagerai vos sanctuaires », dit Dieu au verset 31. Si les sanctuaires sont ravagés, c’est que le Dieu les aura quittés. La suite du chapitre présuppose en effet cet abandon. Le linguiste Paul Grice a postulé l’existence d’un « principe de coopération » : lorsqu’on se parle, les interlocuteurs collaborent afin d’assurer la qualité de la communication26. On a beaucoup discuté de cette notion et de ses implications pratiques, mais l’intuition originelle est certainement exacte : un locuteur parle pour être compris et son auditeur tient compte de cela en décodant le langage. Lorsqu’un étranger vous dit quelque chose qui est fautif dans votre langue, vous essayez tout de même de le comprendre. Même quand quelqu’un vous menace, ce principe reste en vigueur. Sans lui, la communication langagière serait impossible27. Dans la rhétorique biblique, ce principe de coopération est exploité au maximum. Par ce trait, la

24

Voir Joosten, « La non-mention », pp. 418–419. Voir Joosten, People and Land, p. 127. 26 Voir H. Paul Grice, “Logic and Conversation” in: P. Cole and J.L. Morgan, Syntax and Semantics, Vol. 3, Speech Acts (New York, 1975), pp. 41–58; en particulier pp. 45–47. 27 Voir Traugott and Pratt, Linguistics for Students of Literature, pp. 236–238. 25

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rhétorique biblique se distingue des démarches oratoires habituelles dans l’occident contemporain ou dans le monde classique. La rhétorique relationnelle et le tiers significatif La rhétorique classique a un caractère institutionnel : il s’agit de l’art de parler en public, au tribunal, dans une assemblée délibérative ou lors d’un événement important28. En comparaison, la rhétorique biblique se présente comme une rhétorique relationnelle. Même dans les discours officiels, l’orateur emploie volontiers les modes d’expression du dialogue interpersonnel et familial. Dans la rhétorique classique on recommande à l’orateur de soigner son ethos : il doit se présenter comme quelqu’un de sage, d’honnête et de sympathique ; conjointement, on prévoit de travailler dans le registre du pathos, la manipulation des sentiments de l’auditoire. Dans les textes bibliques, on constate plus souvent une interpénétration de ces deux domaines : le personnage de l’orateur se définit en rapport avec son auditoire et vice versa. L’important n’est pas de savoir qui je suis et à qui je parle, mais quel est le lien potentiel qui nous unit. Un procédé très fréquent, pour ne pas dire constant, dans la rhétorique biblique est d’introduire un troisième personnage dans le discours à travers lequel le rapport entre orateur et auditoire est élaboré. La mention de ce « tiers significatif » peut être plus ou moins topique dans le contexte, mais la façon dont on se sert de lui pour établir ou pour modifier la relation entre interlocuteurs est presque toujours sensible. Ainsi, dans le plaidoyer de Juda devant l’intendant du Pharaon, après le vol apparent de la coupe d’argent, une place étonnamment grande est accordée à Jacob, père de Juda et de Benjamin. L’insistance sur la figure du père, désigné alternativement comme « mon père », « notre père » et « son père (de Benjamin) », a pour effet de suggérer à l’intendant égyptien que lui aussi fait partie de ce cercle familial dans lequel on ne traite pas l’autre selon la justice mais selon l’amour. Un cas plus simple et mieux connu se rencontre dans l’intercession de Moïse après l’incident du veau d’or. Alors que Dieu avait dit à Moïse : « Va, descends ; car ton peuple, que tu as fait sortir du pays d’Égypte, s’est corrompu » (Ex 32:7), Moïse lui répond : « Pourquoi, ô Éternel, ta colère s’enflammerait-elle contre ton peuple, 28 Voir Kennedy, “Historical Survey of Rhetoric”; Pernot, La Rhétorique dans l’Antiquité.

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que tu as fait sortir du pays d’Égypte ? » (Ex 32:11). Moïse ne nie pas qu’Israël soit son peuple, mais il souligne que ce peuple, qui est le sien, est aussi celui de Dieu. Ainsi, chacun des interlocuteurs emploie le personnage du peuple pour se positionner par rapport à l’autre. Dans le Code de Sainteté, le rôle du tiers significatif est tenu notamment par la terre (‫ )ארץ‬: la terre est à la fois le don suprême de Dieu et l’espace à l’intérieur duquel il entend être servi. Mais il y a plus : la terre se présente réellement comme un personnage à part entière. Dans plusieurs passages, elle est personnifiée : la terre donne son fruit et sa récolte (Lv 25:19 ; 26:4,20 ; 19:9) ; elle se repose (Lv 25:2 ; 26:34) ; elle se prostitue (Lv 19:29) ; la terre a été dégoûtée des habitants qui s’y trouvaient avant les Israélites et les a vomis, elle vomira les Israélites à leur tour s’ils n’observent pas la loi (Lv 18 et 20). La terre est habituellement désignée comme « votre pays » (12 fois, et une fois « ton pays ») ; cependant, dans un passage clé, il est dit : « le pays est à moi, car vous êtes chez moi comme étrangers et comme habitants » (Lv 25:23). Il ne s’agit pas ici d’une autre source, ni d’une autre strate littéraire : l’appartenance à Dieu et l’appartenance aux Israélites sont deux faces d’une même médaille. Parce que Dieu leur a donné la terre, les Israélites doivent l’honorer de leur prémices ; et parce qu’il habite au milieu d’eux, dans le pays, ils doivent observer toutes les règles de sainteté. Le pays est à la fois don et exigence. Comme dans le cas de l’intercession de Moïse, le discours du Code se sert du jeu des pronoms possessifs pour élaborer la relation entre Dieu et son peuple. Une manifestation subtile de ce procédé se rencontre en Lv 25:5. Durant l’année sabbatique, la vendange est interdite ; même les raisins qui poussent sur les vignes non taillées ne doivent pas être vendangés. Dans la suite, la loi s’exprime d’une façon étonnante : Lv 25:5 ‫ת־ﬠנְּ ֵבי נְ זִ ֶיר ׇך לא ׁ ִת ְבצׂר‬ ִ ‫ « ֶא‬les raisins de tes ‘naziréens’ tu ne récolteras pas »

En appelant les vignes non taillées du nom de ‘naziréens’, le législateur établit une comparaison implicite : comme le naziréen ne doit pas se raser durant la période où son vœu est valide, ainsi les vignes, durant l’année sabbatique, sont consacrées à Dieu29. La métaphore

29 Voir J.-F. Lefebvre, Le jubilé biblique. Lv 25 – exégèse et théologie (OBO 194; Göttingen/Fribourg, 2003), pp. 49–54.

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suggère ainsi qu’il existe un lien direct entre les vignes et Dieu : il ne faut pas que le paysan israélite dérange la vigne qui laisse proliférer ses pampres pour Dieu30. En règle générale, les métaphores ont un rôle poétique, elles servent à charmer l’auditoire. Au delà de cette fonction ornementale, le langage figuré projette ici l’image d’un rapport immédiat entre Dieu et la terre. En observant la loi, l’Israélite se range dans un ordre sacral englobant la nature entière. Il est intéressant de noter que ce sont des réalités concrètes et proches du vécu de l’auditoire – la terre et ce qu’elle produit – qui sont ainsi convoquées pour renforcer le rapport entre orateur et auditoire et, partant, d’agrandir l’impact persuasif du discours. Les preuves non artistiques Selon la rhétorique classique, la persuasion ne s’obtient pas seulement par les arguments qui sont dans le discours mais encore par les preuves qui préexistent au discours : les documents, les témoignages, les faits avérés31. À vrai dire, ces preuves non artistiques sont souvent peu éloquentes par elles-mêmes. Pour être utiles, elles doivent être imbriquées dans la démonstration « artistique ». Savamment exploitées, les preuves non artistiques peuvent être d’une efficacité redoutable : l’accusateur qui au dernier moment de son plaidoyer sort le poignard ensanglanté arrivera à faire prendre conscience du sérieux du crime dont il est question ! La Bible ne connaît pas le concept des preuves en dehors de l’art, mais elle n’en ignore pas le principe. La femme de Potiphar qui accuse Joseph de l’avoir agressée n’a pas besoin d’argumenter longuement : elle tient son vêtement (Gn 39:15) ! David, pour convaincre Saül qu’il n’en veut pas à sa vie, va lui-même se procurer une preuve non artistique en coupant le pan de son manteau (1S 24:5,12). Les preuves non artistiques ne sont pas toujours mises en avant de façon aussi voyante. Le serviteur d’Abraham qui essaie d’obtenir qu’on laisse partir Rebecca avec lui sait que les chameaux chargés de richesses mettent autant de poids dans la balance que ses plus belles paroles (Gn 24).

30 Une tournure analogue se trouve en Lv 19:23 où les premiers fruits d’un arbre fruitier sont traités de prépuce. 31 Voir Barthes, « L’ancienne rhétorique », pp. 126–127.

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Le Code de Sainteté fait une large place aux arguments non artistiques : la libération d’Égypte, le don du pays et la sainteté de Dieu dans son sanctuaire, sont autant de « faits avérés » admis par tous, sur lesquels l’enseignement de la loi dispensé dans le Code s’appuie continuellement. Une preuve additionnelle, plus indirecte mais pas moins efficace, est fournie par le caractère traditionnel des lois ordonnées dans le Code32. Beaucoup de prescriptions se retrouvent dans d’autres textes législatifs de l’Ancien Testament. Les injonctions qui sont particulières au Code de Sainteté, ou qui semblent contredire ce qui est édicté dans un autre corpus, ne se présentent pas comme des éléments polémiques. Le Code de Sainteté propose, comme la plupart des textes sacerdotaux, une compilation de règles et de coutumes existantes auparavant. Ce travail de compilation impliquait bien sûr un choix dans la diversité des traditions, une harmonisation, une correction théologique sur certains points. Mais en gros on sera en droit de dire que le Code de Sainteté donne – pour employer une formule d’Arnaldo Momigliano – « une version autorisée de ce que chacun était censé savoir »33. Ainsi, le Code de Sainteté propose une étiologie de la loi : il est rappelé aux Israélites que la pratique du sabbat et des fêtes, les règles visant la sainteté du sanctuaire, l’interdiction d’adorer d’autres dieux et toutes les autres règles qu’ils avaient l’habitude d’observer – voire, éventuellement, de transgresser – avaient été promulguées à leurs ancêtres, près du Mont Sinaï, peu après l’Exode. L’étiologie établit un lien entre le passé et le présent. Elle ancre les réalités du présent dans un événement du passé. Du même coup, l’étiologie confirme l’événement du passé par un indice présent. Dans le Code de Sainteté, la pratique de la loi est rattachée à l’événement fondateur qu’est l’Exode. Le Code propose un « mythe du don de la loi », pour reprendre une expression de Baruch Schwartz34. En même temps, la pratique actuelle de la loi atteste la véracité du récit. La qualité traditionnelle de la loi constitue ainsi une preuve de ce que tout le discours dit vrai.

32

Voir Joosten, « L’imbrication », pp. 137–139. Voir A. Momigliano, Essays in Ancient and Modern Historiography (Oxford, 1977), p. 195 ; Momigliano parle ici de l’historiographie biblique et non de la loi en particulier. 34 Voir B.J. Schwartz, “The Priestly Account of the Theophany and Lawgiving at Sinai », in: M.V. Fox et al., Texts, Temples and Traditions, Fs M. Haran (Winona Lake, 1996), pp. 103–134, en particulier p. 134. 33

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Le mécanisme par lequel l’encadrement narratif impose l’observance de la loi et l’observance de la loi atteste que le récit dit vrai n’est pas particulier au Code de Sainteté. Le Code s’inscrit ici dans la continuité du Code Sacerdotal. Le Deutéronome aussi exploite ce rapport dialectique entre loi et récit : Lorsque ton fils te demandera un jour : « Que signifient ces préceptes, ces lois et ces ordonnances, que l’Éternel, notre Dieu, vous a prescrits ? », tu diras à ton fils : Nous étions esclaves de Pharaon en Égypte, et l’Éternel nous a fait sortir de l’Égypte par sa main puissante . . . (Dt 6:21–22)

D’autres corpus de lois présentent implicitement le même schéma. Le Code de Sainteté a probablement reçu ce procédé d’une tradition déjà ancienne de la prédication de la loi. Toujours est-il que la démarche entre parfaitement dans le projet rhétorique du Code. Comme les formulations réticentes font participer l’auditoire à l’élaboration du sens, et comme la présentation de la terre contribue à façonner la relation entre les interlocuteurs, l’invocation de la pratique de la loi pour prouver la véracité du discours repose sur une collaboration entre l’orateur et ceux à qui il s’adresse. C’est l’auditoire lui-même, finalement, qui fournit la preuve non artistique la plus persuasive du bien-fondé du discours. Conclusion Les quelques éléments présentés, trop rapidement, dans cet exposé peuvent paraître anecdotiques. Ils illustrent cependant, au moins je l’espère, une approche cohérente du Code de Sainteté en adéquation avec la nature propre de ce texte. Le Code de Sainteté est un texte rhétorique, dont le but principal est de convaincre un auditoire sur un point précis. Il s’agit de l’analyser en tant que tel. Malheureusement, nous ignorons presque tout de l’auditoire visé : nous ne disposons d’informations sûres ni pour ce qui est de la date ni pour le lieu où il faut le situer35. De même, le personnage de l’orateur est entouré d’un certain flou. Sans doute s’agit-il d’un discours de type prophétique qui prétend transmettre des paroles divines ; mais qui incarne le rôle « prophétique » ?36 Malgré ces carences, il est 35

Pour un aperçu du débat, voir L. Grabbe, Leviticus, Old Testament Guides (Sheffield, 1993); Joosten, People and Land, pp. 9–16. 36 Quelques réflexions sur la voix « prophétique » dans le Code de Sainteté sont proposées dans J. Joosten, « Moïse, l’assemblée, et les “fils d’Israël”. La structuration

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possible d’avancer dans la compréhension du fonctionnement formel du discours. L’art persuasif du Code de Sainteté se présente essentiellement comme une rhétorique coopérative. Le point sur lequel on veut convaincre l’auditoire est de mettre en pratique les lois contenues dans le discours. Si le discours reste parfois incomplet par rapport à l’énonciation de la loi, cela relève d’une démarche intentionnelle qui consiste à faire suppléer ce qui manque par l’auditoire lui-même. En engageant l’auditoire de la sorte, l’orateur crée l’impression d’un projet commun. Dans la même perspective, la relation entre le Dieu qui énonce la loi et le peuple qui la reçoit est continuellement soulignée : on n’apprend sur ce Dieu rien d’autre que ce qu’il est et veut être le Dieu d’Israël ; et on apprend sur Israël uniquement qu’il a été séparé des autres nations pour être le peuple de Dieu. La relation entre Dieu et son peuple est encore nuancée et approfondie par l’introduction d’un troisième personnage, le « tiers significatif » qu’est la terre. Le peuple et Dieu entretiennent tous deux des rapports particuliers avec la terre, rapports qui contribuent à définir le lien entre l’orateur divin et son auditoire. Enfin, les connaissances et le vécu de l’auditoire sont également sollicités en vue de la persuasion. Les grands chapitres de l’histoire nationale tels l’exode et le don du pays, ainsi que la sainte terreur qu’inspire la présence de Dieu dans son sanctuaire sont mis à contribution dans l’argumentation explicite du Code. Un élément plus caché est la pratique de la loi : le fait d’ordonner à l’auditoire des règles dont le caractère obligatoire était admis atteste la fiabilité du discours en entier. Pour faire émerger ces lignes de force de l’art rhétorique du Code de Sainteté, deux démarches se sont révélé utiles. D’une part, il s’est avéré pertinent d’aiguiser notre regard à l’aide de la rhétorique classique. Les grecs et les romains ont investi de grands efforts dans la description systématique de l’art du discours persuasif. Ils ont développé des concepts opératoires et repéré les paramètres qui permettent une approche globale et appropriée de ce genre de texte. Dans la pratique, toutefois, les différences entre la rhétorique classique et la rhétorique biblique sont énormes. Le chercheur doit être continuellement

du pouvoir dans le code de Sainteté », à paraître dans un volume collectif sous la direction d’André Wénin.

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sur ses gardes de ne pas « plaquer » les concepts classiques sur la rhétorique biblique. L’autre démarche, qui équilibre l’accès par la rhétorique classique, est la comparaison de procédés caractérisant le Code de Sainteté avec des procédés similaires dans d’autres textes persuasifs de la Bible hébraïque. Les discours imbriqués dans la narration ont ici une valeur particulière. En effet, le récit nous informe sur les circonstances pratiques des discours qu’il contient d’une manière sans analogie avec ce qui se passe dans le Code de Sainteté. Le lecteur sait qui est l’homme de cinquante et pourquoi il s’adresse à Élie assis sur sa montagne. Ces connaissances facilitent hautement l’analyse. Bien sûr, il s’agit là de données littéraires : le discours de l’homme de cinquante est une création pure du narrateur. Mais ces discours littéraires imitent certainement des discours réels : sans être vrais, ils sont vraisemblables. On peut donc, avec quelque précaution, s’en inspirer pour définir les conventions rhétoriques particulières du peuple au sein duquel le texte biblique a été élaboré. L’analyse rhétorique se caractérise comme une approche synchronique, qui refuse de démembrer le texte biblique. Elle n’est pas pour autant anhistorique. L’enjeu de la démarche est de comprendre le texte biblique tel que son auteur l’a conçu, tel que son auditoire ancien a pu le recevoir. Moins avancée que l’analyse synchronique du récit ou de la poésie, l’analyse des discours persuasifs de la Bible est pleine de promesse. À l’aide de quelques exemples, j’ai essayé d’en montrer l’extraordinaire fertilité. Un large champ d’investigations s’offre à nous.

THE CREATION OF MAN IN 2 SLAVONIC ENOCH AND IN CHRISTIAN TRADITION Grant Macaskill There is a tradition, widespread in Jewish and Christian texts, that expands upon the reference to man being formed from the dust of the earth in Genesis 2:7 by describing Adam’s body as being formed from sods of earth from different parts of the world or from different elements of creation. This paper will argue that the latter idea – that Adam was made from different elements, or pondera, of creation – is particularly distinctive of (and possibly unique to) Christian readings of Genesis 2:7 and that this represents a recasting of the common notion of man as “microcosm” that is subtly different from that found in Judaism. I will argue this on the basis that while in Christian texts we have a multitude of exemplars of this idea, among Jewish works the idea is found only once – in the creation account of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch1 – and that, indeed, even this one occurrence may represent a Christian interpolation. The study will, I hope, achieve two things. First, it will open up some critical issues concerning the creation account in 2 Enoch, which is attested in two very different forms among the manuscripts. Second, it will begin to explore the contribution that apocryphal and pseudepigraphical texts can make to our understanding of Christian tradition as part of the enterprise of “theological readings of Scripture.” These two issues are, in my view, interwoven and inseparable and the way in which I deal with them will reflect this. To a large extent, at least in Western scholarship, the study of the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha has been heavily preoccupied with finding background to biblical texts, particularly those of the New Testament. As such, there has been a certain pressure to date texts within the Second Temple period and to ascribe them a Jewish authorship. The recent monograph of James R. Davila, The Provenance of

1 We do, however, find a related tradition in Philo’s De Opificio Mundi. I discuss this below.

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the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish Christian or Other?,2 has challenged such assumptions and has argued for a much more limited canon of Second Temple Jewish works. While Davila’s book is concerned with issues that relate to the study of early Judaism, it also highlights that the Pseudepigrapha were a vital part of Christian tradition throughout the centuries; such works were altered, edited, expanded and even composed by Christians. Moreover, so extensive is their presence within Christian tradition that it would seem unwise to assume that where we encounter them we are seeing the product of heterodox groups. In the present academic climate, when the enterprise of “theological reading of Scripture” has been recovered by a wider group of scholars – an enterprise that involves the use of tradition to inform its own readings of biblical texts – the Pseudepigrapha that were transmitted by Christians provide us with an important resource. They give us rich insights into traditions other than those found in the great theological treatises and commentaries; traditions that by their very narrative nature may well have been more influential at a popular level in influencing the way in which biblical texts were read and in informing the theological mindset of their readers or hearers.3 The other side of this truth is that any kind of critical engagement with texts that have passed through a long process of transmission must be sensitive to the theological contexts that may have influenced the redaction and alteration of the texts along the way. To work with this resource, then, requires careful critical scholarship, if we are to have any sense of how texts relate to one another and to the ever-developing tradition; but careful critical scholarship in turn requires theological awareness. This paper, then, will examine the pseudepigraphical expansions of the story of the creation of man with a view to appreciating something of its theological importance within Jewish and Christian tradition. Interwoven with this question is the critical issue of what the original reading of this tradition in the account in 2 Enoch may have looked like, or indeed, whether it was originally to be found in that work at all.

2 J.R. Davila, The Provenance of the Pseudepigrapha: Jewish, Christian or Other? (JSJSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005). 3 Although not focused exclusively on the apocrypha and pseudepigrapha, Brian Murdoch’s, Adam’s Grace: Fall and Redemption in Medieval Literature (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2000) examines this issue in a helpful way.

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An Overview of the Tradition In numerous texts from the ancient and medieval periods, we find variations on the idea that Adam was made from raw material that connects him to other parts of Creation, an idea obviously derived from Genesis 2:7, which has Adam made from the dust of the earth: ַ ִ‫אפּיו נ‬ ‫יּפּח ְכּ ׇ‬ ַ ַ‫דמה ו‬ ‫ן־ה ֲא ׇ‬ ‫ת־ה ׇא ׇדם ׇﬠ ׇפר ִמ ׇ‬ ‫ֹלהים ֶא ׇ‬ ִ ‫יצר יְ הוׇ ה ֱא‬ ֶ ִ‫וַ יּ‬ ‫שׁמת ַחיִּ ים וַ יְ ִהי‬ :‫ׇה ׇא ׇדם ְלנֶ ֶפשׁ ַחיׇּ ה‬ Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being.

In some of these traditional texts, Adam is created from sods of earth taken from different parts of the world; in others, he is made from different elements. Often these two ideas are connected to the further idea that Adam’s name is derived from the cardinal points of the compass.4 Within these two broad subdivisions of the tradition, we find a great deal of variation, particularly with regard to the numbers involved: where the tradition of sods of earth is found there are usually four mentioned, but sometimes five;5 where the tradition of elements is found there are any number from four to eight (most commonly seven or eight).6 Of this material, several texts are demonstrably Jewish, all of which link Adam either to the soil alone or to soil mixed with water, reflecting the connection between Adam and adamah that we see in the Hebrew of Genesis 2:7. There has been a tendency also to see the account of Adam’s creation from seven elements, as it is found in 2 Enoch 30, as being Jewish and bearing witness, therefore, to the origin of the seven elements/pondera tradition as being within Judaism.7 Behind this, however, lie two problematic issues: first, is 2 Enoch an early Jewish

4

As, indeed, is the case in 2 Enoch 30. On the tradition of the sods of earth, see D. Wasserstein, “The Creation of Adam and the Apocrypha in Early Ireland,” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy (PRIA) 88C, pp. 1–18. 6 See Max Förster, “Adams Erschaffung und Namengebung: Ein lateinisches Fragment des s.g. slawischen Henoch,” Archiv für Religionwissenschaft 2 (1908), pp. 477–529. See also Suchier, L’Enfant Sage (Das Gespräch der Kaisers Hadrian mit dem Klugen Kinde Epitus), Gesellschaft für romanische Literatur, Band 24 (Dresden: M. Niemeyer, 1910) and C. Böttrich, Adam als Microcosmos: Eine Untersuchung zum slavischen Henochbuch (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1995). 7 As does Wasserstein, “The Creation of Adam and the Apocrypha in Early Ireland,” p. 8. See also Förster, “Adam’s Erschaffung,” and Böttrich, Adam als Microcosmos. 5

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work? Second, does this material belong to the original core of 2 Enoch or is it a later, potentially Christian, addition? To these two issues and their importance, I will return later. First, however, it will be helpful to look more closely at this widespread tradition in the several Christian and Jewish texts. At this stage in the argument, I shall refrain from passing judgement on the provenance of the material in 2 Enoch 30. 1.1. Jewish Texts 1.1.1. Babylonian Talmud. Tractate Sanhedrin 38a–38b This text reads as follows: Rabbi Oshayah said in the name of Rab: the first man (Hebrew ’adam ha-rišon), his body (trunk) was from Babylon (Hebrew Babel ), and his head from the Land of Israel (Heb. ’ereṣ Yisra’el), and his limbs from the rest of the lands [of the earth] (Heb. š’ar ha-’araṣot); and his buttocks (‘igbotaw) according to Rabbi Aḥa, from ’Aqra de-’Agma’.8

Alongside the already-noted importance of the link between Adam and adamah, one of the striking features of this account is that Adam is associated not with cosmic elements, but with the totality of the land occupied by human cultures. Wasserstein, in his study of this text, notes that Babylon represents the heart, the “principal centre of post-exilic Jewish life”;9 it was home for many centuries to an important Jewish community. The land of Israel, as the head, is the source of authority. Soil from the “rest of the lands” form the peripheral parts of his body, that is, his limbs. Finally, and in some senses most importantly, his private parts are made from ’Aqra de-’Agma’, a town “celebrated” in Rabbinic literature for the sinfulness of its denizens. Adam is thus linked to the lands on which the peoples of the world live, but those lands are themselves associated with the cultures of the people who live in them. The link is between Adam and humanity as a whole, good and bad, Jew and non-Jew. Adam is thus representative

8 Translation by David Wasserstein, “The Creation of Adam and the Apocrypha in Early Ireland,” 8. The text is preceded by a reference to the dust from which Adam was made being collected from the whole earth, thus confirming the link to the Genesis 1. 9 Ibid., p. 9. We might at this point highlight that this continued to be the case long into the Common Era, a fact relevant to the dating of this text: we cannot assume it to be “pre-Christian.”

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of humanity as a single entity, through his link with the soil they live upon. Contextually, in Tractate Sanhedrin, the tradition is also linked to reflection on the huge extent of the pre-lapsarian Adam: R. Jehudah said again in the name of the same authority: Adam the first was from one end of the world to the other, as it reads [Deut 4:32]: “Since the day that God created Adam upon the earth, and from the one end of the heavens unto the other end.” After he had sinned, the Holy One, blessed be He, laid His hand upon him and reduced him [Ps 139:5]. “Behind and before hast Thou hedged me in, and Thou placest upon me Thy hand.” R. Eleazar said: Adam the first was tall from the earth to the sky, as the above cited verse: “The day Adam was created upon the earth and to one end of the heaven.” And when he sinned He laid His hand upon him, and diminished him, as the cited verse [Ps 139] reads.

This description of Adam ha-Rishon as being “from one end of the world to the other” may again point in the direction of his identification with the totality of humanity. 1.1.2. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and Pirke de Rabbi Eliezar The text of the targum on Genesis 2:7 reads: The Lord God created Adam with two inclinations. And he took dust from the site of the sanctuary and from the four winds of the world, and a mixture of all the waters of the world and created him red, black and white.10

The language found in the targum is also found in Pirke de Rabbi Eliezar XI, “The Work of Creation on the Sixth Day,” which, in addition, provides an interpretation. It reads: He began to collect the dust of the first man from the four corners of the world; red, black, white and pale green,11 (which) refers to the body. Why (did He gather man’s dust) from the four corners of the world? Thus spake the Holy One, blessed be He: if a man should come from the east to the west, or from the west to the east, and his time comes to depart from the world then the earth shall not say, The dust of thy body is not mine, return to the place whence thou was created. But (this circumstance) teaches thee that in every place where a man goes or comes, 10 Michael Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis. Translated, with Introduction and Notes. The Aramaic Bible, Volume 1b (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1992), p. 22. 11 Friedlander (see next note) notes that the first editions of the text have “yellow”.

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grant macaskill and his end approaches when he must depart from the world, thence is the dust of his body and there it returns to the dust as it is said, “For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”12

According to Friedlander, the colours are interpreted in some of the early editions of the book with an expansion that specifies that red is for blood, black is for entrails and white is for bone and sinew.13 Again, there seems to be limited cosmic significance to the motif: rather the emphasis is on the common link of humanity with the earth. In the three Jewish texts studied thus far, we see a shared exegetical reflection upon the link between Adam and adamah, the soil, the dust of the earth from which he was made. Water is also mentioned, possibly with a view to explaining the extent to which human composition is liquid, and in the wider context, the infusing of the divine spirit or breath is also found. Other elements, however, are lacking. Thus, the texts simply expand upon the elements mentioned in Genesis 2:7: the dust of the earth and the divine breath. What seems most striking is that rather than connecting Adam to the totality of the cosmos, the Jewish texts surveyed connect him to the totality of humanity. Such an identification may parallel that attested in Second Temple Judaism by Paul’s notion of Adam’s representative nature in Romans 5:14–19 and, indeed, may provide interesting background for Paul’s theology at this point. 1.1.3. Philo of Alexandria, De Opificio Mundi A fourth Jewish text – Philo’s, De Opificio Mundi – warrants inclusion in our study, although it seems to represent a rather idiosyncratic expansion of the “dust of the earth theme” within Judaism, which is why I have chosen to discuss it last, despite the fact that it is the earliest of the Jewish texts. Philo begins (65) with a statement that man has been given the most exquisitely endowed soul, which is followed by a section that reinforces this, discussing the nature of mind and soul in animals and man, and then a consideration of the nature of the likeness of God in man (66–71). He goes on to consider the plurality of beings involved in

12

Translation, Gerald Friedlander, Pirke de Rabbi Eliezar: The Chapters of Rabbi Eliezar the Great (New York: Sepher-Hermon Press, Fourth edition, 1981), p. 76. 13 Ibid., p. 77. His suggestion that perhaps they represent the colours of human skin is probably fanciful.

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man’s creation (72–75), and then to explain why man was created last (76–88). There is then a lengthy discussion of the significance of the number seven (89–128), which gives way to a section lauding Moses’ philosophical insight in describing creation (129–133). We then come to the section that is most relevant for this article. In 134, Philo refers to God taking “clay” from the earth and breathing life into it, so that: the formation of the individual man, perceptible by the external senses is a composition of earthy substance, and divine spirit. For that the body was created by the Creator taking a lump of clay, and fashioning the human form out of it; but that the soul proceeds from no created thing at all, but from the Father and Ruler of all things . . . and for this reason, one may properly say that man is on the boundaries of a better and an immortal nature, partaking of each as far as it is necessary for him; and that he was born at the same time, both mortal and the immortal. Mortal as to his body, but immortal as to his intellect.14

Philo proceeds to discuss the beauty of the first man, and the extent to which he must have possessed such beauty to an extent that surpassed his descendants. In line 146, he turns to consider in greater depth the relationship between man and the world: Every man in regard of his intellect is connected with divine reason, being an impression of, or a fragment or a ray of that blessed nature; but in regard of the structure of his body he is connected with the universal world. For he is composed of the same materials as the world, that is of earth, and water, and air and fire, each of the elements having contributed its appropriate part towards the completion of most sufficient materials, which the Creator was to take in order to fashion this visible image.15

Böttrich – rightly in my view – discounts the possibility that this saying of Philo may provide an adequate basis for the seven-elements

14

Translation taken from C.D. Yonge, The Works of Philo: Complete and Unabridged, (Repr. Peabody, Mass: Hendricksen, 1993), p. 19. Lurking in the background of this text is the problematic issue of Philo’s notion of the double creation of man. See T.H. Tobin, The Creation of Man: Philo and the History of Interpretation (CBQM 14. Washington DC: Catholic Biblical Association of America, 1983), pp. 102–134 and J.J. Collins, “In the Likeness of the Holy Ones: The Creation of Man in a Wisdom Text from Qumran.” in: F. García Martínez (ed.), The Provo International Conference on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Technological Innovations, New Texts and Reformulated Issues (STDJ 30. Leiden: Brill, 1999), pp. 609–618. I will say no more on this issue, but it may be fruitful to further examine its relevance for Christian texts such as the Book of the Cave of Treasures, discussed below. 15 Yonge, Works of Philo, p. 21.

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tradition found in 2 Enoch 30 and the Christian texts discussed below.16 Rather, it reflects the Greek notion of four basic elements from which all creation is made and simply locates Adam within corporeal nature. Philo follows this, however, with a statement (147) that at first glance would seem to suggest the notion of man as microcosm: One may say with the most perfect propriety that man is every kind of animal, terrestrial, aquatic, flying, and celestial. For inasmuch as he dwells and walks upon the earth he is a terrestrial animal; but inasmuch as he often dives and swims, and sails, he is an aquatic creature. And merchants and captains of ships and purple dyers, and all those who let down their nets for oysters an fish, are a very clear proof of what is here said. Again, inasmuch as his body is raised at times above the earth and uses high paths, he may with justice be pronounced a creature who traverses the air; and, moreover, he is a celestial animal, by reason of that most important of the senses, sight; being by it brought near the sun and moon, and each of the stars, whether planets or fixed stars.17

Read against the preceding sections of the work, however, it would seem that Philo’s concern here is not to suggest that man is a microcosm, but rather to stress the superiority of man over every other creature, rejecting the notion that there is any area within the created world where a creature other than man may be said to reign. Nothing in the subsequent discussion of man (lines 148–172) would contradict this conclusion. 1.2.1. Christian Texts Containing the “Sods of Earth” Motif The tradition that Adam was made from sods of earth is seen also in numerous Christian texts, notably Irish texts and Latin texts probably of Insular origin,18 though we also encounter it in a Spanish manuscript of the 14th or 15th century.19 While the place names do not correspond to those of the Bavli text, and indeed vary from text to text,

16

See Adam als Mikrokosmos, pp. 35–36, 38. Yonge, Philo, p. 21. 18 Add. MS 37785 is a Latin text held in the British Library. It is regarded as being in an Irish hand from the 12th century. See R. Flower, Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the British Museum (London, 1926), II, 522–3. Rawlinson B. 502, a manuscript in the Bodleian Library in Oxford, contains one of the versions of the tradition; it also remarks that Airbertach mac Coisse had translated it from Latin into Irish. 19 See J.M. Millás Vallicrosa, Las traducciones orientales en los manuscritos de la Bibliotecca Catedral de Toledo (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, Instituto Arias Montano, 1942), pp. 132–141. Text is given on pages 340–348. 17

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the tradition is probably derived from it, or from the Jewish tradition behind it, as Wasserstein convincingly argues.20 I will give here just one example of the Irish texts. In Leabhar Breac, we read: It he inso anmanma na cethri fhot dia n-dernad Adam; idon, Malon, Arton, Biblon, Agore. Do Malon dino a ceand; do Arton a ucht; do Biblon a bru; do Agore a chossa. These are the names of the four sods of which was made Adam: namely Malon, Arton, Biblon, Agore. Of Malon , to wit, his head; of Arton, his breast; of Biblon, his belly; of Agore, his feet.21

Other texts, together with an impressive study of their relationship to one another, may be found in the article by Wasserstein to which I have referred already. 1.2.2. Christian Texts Containing the “Elements/Pondera of Creation” Motif Alongside the tradition of four sods, however, we find also in Christian texts the tradition that Adam was formed from different elements of the created world. Probably the earliest example of this that can be dated with real certainty is found in the 6th century Book of the Cave of Treasures, the Monophysite22 text wrongly attributed in the past to Ephrem Syrus. Here we read of Adam being made from four elements of creation, with a definite reason provided for this: And they [the angels] saw the right hand of God opened out flat, and stretched out over the whole world; and all creatures were collected in the palm of His right hand. And they saw that He took from the whole mass of the earth one grain of dust, and from the whole nature of water one drop of water, and from all the air which is above one puff of wind, and from the whole nature of fire a little of its heat and warmth. And the angels saw that when these four feeble (or inert) materials were placed in the palm of His right hand, that is to say, cold, and heat, and dryness, and moisture, God formed Adam. Now, for what reason did God make

20

Op. cit. Text and translation taken from B. Mac Carthy, The Codex Palatino-Vaticanus, No 830 (Dublin, 1892), pp. 48–49. 22 I am disinclined to think that the Monophysite origins of this text have any great significance for my argument, despite the obvious connection with the composition of the human nature of Christ. The fact that the elements-tradition is so widely taken up outside of Monophysite Christianity indicates that it was at home also within the orthodox fold. 21

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grant macaskill Adam out of these four materials unless it were that everything which is in the world should be in subordination to him through them? He took a grain from the earth in order that everything in nature which is formed of earth should be subject unto him; and a drop of water in order that everything which is in the seas and rivers should be his; and a puff of air so that all kinds [of creatures] which fly in the air might be given unto him; and the heat of fire so that all the beings that are fiery in nature, and the celestial hosts, might be his helpers.23

The rationale provided here, then, for the use of these elements in the formation of man is that creation might be subordinated to Adam. There seem to be echoes of the ideas we encountered in Philo, both in terms of the elements employed in the creative process – the classical notions of earth, water, air and fire – and in terms of the superiority of Adam over the creation, but there are also differences. Where in Philo, man shares his being with the created reality and is himself the greatest within that reality, here all reality participates in Adam, in order that he might truly be its Lord and ruler: the idea of man as microcosm now emerges through the purpose statement that “all should be in subordination to him through them [that is, the elements].” Interestingly, this superiority becomes re-construed in distinctly Christological terms: And the angels and the hosts of heaven heard the Voice of God saying unto him, “Adam, behold; I have made thee king, and priest, and prophet, and lord, and head, and governor of everything which hath been made and created; and they shall be in subjection unto thee, and they shall be thine, and I have given unto thee power over everything which I have created.” And when the angels heard this speech they all bowed the knee and worshipped Him.24

This Christological dimension becomes even clearer when read against the intervening statement that Adam “planted his two feet on that spot whereon was set up the Cross of our Redeemer; for Adam was created in Jerusalem. There he was arrayed in the apparel of sovereignty, and there was the crown of glory set upon his head, there was he made king, and priest, and prophet, there did God make him to sit upon

23 E.A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Cave of Treasures: a History of the Patriarchs and the Kings their Successors from the Creation to the Crucifixion of Christ / translated from the Syriac text of the British Museum Ms. Add. 25875, by Sir E.A. Wallis Budge; with 16 plates and 8 illustrations in the text. (London: The Religious Tract Society, 1927), pp. 51–52. 24 Ibid., p. 53.

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his honourable throne, and there did God give him dominion over all creatures and things.”25 Adam is clearly understood here as a type of Christ, with the specific dimension of Christ’s cosmic Lordship particularly in view. In later texts, we find much more widely the idea that Adam was made from seven or eight elements of creation. Böttrich26 sees no direct link between the form of the tradition found in the Cave of Treasures text – of four elements – and that found in the texts that speak of seven elements or pondera. At this point he treats the Treasures text as conceptually closer to Philo’s De Opificio Mundi. As I have argued above, however, the concepts are used rather differently in Philo and in the Treasures text: they are clearly connected, but the latter text reflects a significant evolution. Böttrich’s key point, which he expands subsequently, is the significance of the different numbers (4 versus 7 or 8) when viewed against the background of the importance ascribed to the number seven in Ancient Judaism. It seems to me, however, that given the numeric diversity that exists within the two traditions of “sods of earth” and “elements” – a diversity that points to a great deal of fluidity – the key issue uniting or dividing texts is whether man is made from different elements or from sods of earth from different places, and not the numerical value of these. If this is granted, and if we suspend judgement on the antiquity of the material found in 2 Enoch 30, then the Treasures text may reflect an important stage in the evolution of the tradition towards the idea that man was made from seven or eight pondera. A crucial early study of the texts containing this idea is that of Max Förster,27 which provides the text of several of the key manuscripts containing the tradition, as well as listing others and attempting a stemma of relationship; despite the fact that in many ways it has been superseded by Böttrich’s study,28 this remains an important examination of the texts. Förster divides the texts into five categories, which he labels A, B, C, D and E. In category (A) he places a 10th century Latin fragment from Corpus Christi College in Cambridge (Nr. 326),

25

Ibid., p. 53. Adam als Mikrokosmos, p. 38. 27 M. Förster, “Adams Erschaffung und Namengebung: Ein lateinisches Fragment des s.g. slawischen Henoch,” Archiv für Religionwissenschaft 2 (1908), pp. 477–529. 28 Adam als Mikrokosmos. 26

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paralleled by several other West-European manuscripts29 in Latin and by the South Slavic text of Adam Octipartite published by Jagič.30 These fragments describe man as being made from eight elements as follows (in summary): His flesh from the earth, his blood from the sea, his eyes from the sun, his thoughts from the clouds, his breath from the wind, his bones from the stones, his human spirit from the Holy Spirit, and finally infused with the light of the world.31

In category (B), Förster places the creation account of the longer manuscripts of 2 Enoch, which describes man as being made from seven elements: His flesh from earth; his blood from dew and from the sun; his eyes from the bottomless sea; his bones from stone; his reason from the mobility of angels and from clouds; his veins and hair from grass of the earth; his spirit from my spirit and from wind. And I gave him 7 properties: hearing to the flesh; sight to the eyes; smell to the spirit; touch to the veins; taste to the blood; to the bones – endurance; to the reason – sweetness.32

In the remaining categories, Förster places the plethora of further texts that contain the tradition. What is important for our purposes is that he regards categories (A) and (B) as formative, with the remaining categories being derivative. Behind both (A) and (B), Förster sees a Greek Vorlage; while neither reproduces this perfectly, the text form of (B), that which is found in 2 Enoch, is closer to the original, lacking

29 Rome, Vat. Reg. 846, fol. 106b; Vienna, Hofbibliothek, Cod. lat 1118 fol. 81b– 82a; Zürich, Stadtbibliotek, C.101/467, fol. 51b; Bodleian Library: Ashmole 1285, fol. 4a–4b and Rawlinson C.499, fol. 153a. 30 V. Jagič, Slavische Beiträge zu den biblischen Apokryphen. I: Die altkirkenslavischen Texte des Adambuches (DAWW.PH 42; Vienna, 1893). 31 The Latin text of Cambridge Nr. 326, as Förster (“Adams Erschaffung,” pp. 479– 480) represents it, is: Dic mihi, frater, vnde fuit factus Adam ? – Ego dico tibi: de octo partibus fuit faetus. Prima pars de limo terrę. Secunda pars de marę. Tertia pars de sole. Quarta pars de nubibus caeli, Quinta pars de uento. – Sexta pars de lapidibus terrę. Septima pars de spiritu sancto. Octaua pars de luce mundi. Si uis exercere, subsequi sententiam : Prima pars de limo terrę, inde est caro eius ; II pars de mare, inde est sanguis eius ; III pars de sole, inde sunt oculi eius : IIII pars de nubibus celi inde sunt cogitationes eius ; V pars de uento, inde est anhela uel flatus eius ; VI pars de lapidibus terrę, inde sunt ossa eius ; VII pars de spiritu sancto quę est posita in homine ; VIII pars de luce mundi, quod interpretatur Christus 32 Andersen, “2 (Slavonic Apocalypse of ) Enoch,” in: J.H. Charlesworth (ed.), The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha Volume 1: Apocalyptic Literature and Testaments (New York: Doubleday, 1983), p. 150.

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as it does some obvious Christian developments such as the reference to the Lux Mundi. The idea that man is formed from different elements of creation is linked in many of these texts to the idea of “tempers.” If certain elements predominate, the character of an individual will vary accordingly.33 The form of the tradition found in the Book of the Cave of Treasures, however, suggests that an earlier intention of the shift towards seeing Adam as being formed from different elements of creation was to more thoroughly present him as a microcosm of the whole creation. Every key element of creation becomes part of the fabric of the protoplast and thus creation in its entirety participates in the human nature, allowing him to function as divine vicegerent. 1.3. The Seven Elements Motif and Christian Theology Arguably such an expanding of the link between Adam and adamah, the soil, could simply have occurred as a result of the introduction of Hellenistic/Oriental ideas into Judaism and Christianity: Christfried Böttrich provides a careful and insightful discussion of the conceptual background to the tradition in his book Adam als Mikrokosmos.34 We may also suggest that a diminished sensitivity to the nuances of the Hebrew text may have played a role: if no longer constrained by the subtlety of the aforementioned wordplay, working with translations, readers of Genesis 2:7 could expand the “dust of the earth” connection without limit. Yet we have seen already that this distinctive idea was amenable to Christological association: the explicit links made in The Book of the Cave of Treasures are echoed by other Christian texts that connect Adam to Christ as Redeemer,35 and are paralleled by the tendency to expand the list of elements to include the Christological element, the Lux Mundi. Acknowledging this, the fact that the tradition is so well represented in Christian texts and so slenderly in Jewish texts becomes 33 See, for example, Cambridge MS Nr. 326, in Förster, “Adams Erschaffung,” pp. 480–481. See also the translation of British Library MS Egerton, f.45 in Màíre Herbert and Martín McNamara, Irish Biblical Apocrypha (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1989), p. 1. 34 Op. cit. 35 The Irish Saltair na Rann, for example, has Adam’s corpse carried by the Flood to Jerusalem; the head remains at the gate to the city while the body lies in the soil in which the Cross is planted. See Herbert and McNamara, Irish Biblical Apocrypha, p. 16.

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of interest, as it clearly becomes a vehicle for a particular dimension of redemptive theology. To quote a rather more contemporary Eastern scholar, Leonid Ouspensky: Man is a microcosm, a little world. He is the centre of created life; and, therefore, being in the image of God, he is the means by which God acts in creation . . . Placed by God at the head of all visible creatures, man must realise in himself the union and harmony of everything and unite all the universe to God, in order to make of it a homogeneous organism where God can be all in all . . . But man did not accomplish his calling. He turned away from God . . . This led to a disintegration of man, the microcosm, which consequently led to a cosmic disintegration, a catastrophe in all creation. The whole visible world fell into disorder, strife, suffering, death and corruption.36

This rather lengthy quote stands in a tradition that can be traced back through centuries of Christian theology – notably through the writings of Maximus the Confessor37 – and arguably to Paul himself (we encounter here echoes of Romans 1 through 8 and 2 Corinthians 5). Within this stream of thought, it was not simply that Christ redeemed mankind, that “the whole of the divine was united to the whole of humanity through the single hypostasis [of the Logos],”38 but that through this union there was also effected a redemption of all creation: For it was the good pleasure of the Father that in him should all the fullness dwell and through him to reconcile all things unto himself, having made peace through the blood of his cross; through him, I say, whether things upon the earth, or things in the heavens. (Col 1:19–20)

Such a tradition could explain why in Christian texts there is such an interest in the link not simply between Adam and “global soil,” but between Adam and the elements of creation: as the Logos took to himself a human nature, he was taking a nature inherently linked to the rest of creation as a whole. Within Judaism, such a notion of

36 Leonid Ouspensky, The Theology of the Icon (Trans. Anthony Gythiel and Elizabeth Meyendorff; volume 1; New York: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1992), p. 156. 37 See Lars Thunberg, Microcosm and Mediator: the Theological Anthropology of Maximus the Confessor (Chicago: Open Court, 1995). 38 Doctrina partum de incarnation Verbi 11.1. Translation from Jaroslav Pelikan, The Spirit of Eastern Chrisendom (600–1700), (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974. Paperback edition, 1977), p. 80.

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microcosm was much more closely connected to the temple than to Adam:39 a point I will explore further in my conclusions. This brings us back to 2 Enoch and to the problem of whether or not the longer account of creation therein is original or is a later interpolation. If it is original, and if, as seems increasingly likely, 2 Enoch had at least a core that was Jewish, then the seven elements reading of Genesis 2:7 originated in a Jewish context. In this case, we encounter an issue of proportion between Judaism and Christianity: in the latter context, the seven elements reading is massively popular and widely attested, while in the former it is found only once, and that in a text likely to have been rather marginal.40 If, however, the longer account of creation in 2 Enoch is the result of later interpolation, then we must be wary of regarding the expansion as Jewish. In this case, the evidence points instead to the seven elements reading of Genesis 2:7 being a uniquely Christian one, possibly reflecting the influence of Christian theology. In this case, the issue of proportion gives way to a more substantial distinction. 2. Is the Account of Adam’s Creation from Seven Elements in 2 Enoch an Interpolation? 2.1. The Critical Problems of 2 Enoch 2 Enoch is attested by around 10 major manuscripts and by a number of fragmentary excerpts. A heavily abbreviated version is also found in the juridical work Merilo Pravednoe, which is, coincidentally, also the earliest piece of manuscript evidence, dating from the 14th century, and as such may be an important arbiter in discussions of original readings. The manuscripts are written in various dialects of Church Slavonic, but some sections – notably the creation account – betray traces of an earlier Greek text. It is customary to distinguish two recensions, a longer and a shorter version, and while Andersen suggests that it may be more precise to speak of four recensions (very long, long, short, very short), in general, 39

On this point, see William P. Brown, The Ethos of the Cosmos: The Genesis of Moral Imagination in the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 40 Note Andersen’s comment, “2 Enoch,” p. 96: “If the work is Jewish, it must have belonged to a fringe sect.”

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moving chapter by chapter through the work we find that the manuscripts do indeed fall into two broad recensions that vary in length. The manuscripts are not, of course, autonomous texts of 2 Enoch. Instead, the work is found in both sborniki (compendia) and chronographs. The three manuscripts of the longer recension (generally referred to as J, P and R) are all found in sborniki, as are three of the manuscripts of the shorter recension (V, N and B2); the remaining four manuscripts are part of chronographic texts (U, A, B, Nr. 11). In his critical edition of 1952, André Vaillant made the decision to relegate the additional material found in the longer recension to an appendix, regarding it as containing the additions of two revisers. His arguments were based largely on linguistic features, which at this point in my research I have not fully examined.41 Against Vaillant, probably the most important defender of the originality of the longer recension has been Christfried Böttrich. His arguments have centred on the fact that he perceives two abbreviating tendencies in the Slavonic texts. First, as works became part of chronographs they were abbreviated to prevent duplication: Die längeren Hss. (so R und J) finden sich in Sammelbänden, die dem Text durch ihre lockere Struktur keine Begrenzungen abverlangten und zudem ein gewisses Interesse an hagiographischen oder asketischen Theme zeigten . . . Die kürzeren Hss. sind hingegen in chronographischen Sammelbände eingebunden (bzw. lassen eine solche Einbindung noch erkennen), in denen sie sich starker der vorgegebenen Konzeption einfügen und zur Vermeidung von Doppelungen oder zu großer Abschweifungen auch Straffungen des Textes hinnehmen mußten.42

The issue is slightly more complicated, however. As noted above, only four of the shorter texts are found in chronographs; the rest are found in sborniki, like the manuscripts of the longer recension. Second, Böttrich notes that under the influence of “lists of false books,” elements deemed dubious were excised from longer texts: In these manuscripts (mostly Sborniki/Anthologies) because of the permanent threat by a more and more complete “Index of the Apocrypha,” the texts had to face often strong, partly also mechanical, interventions;

41

Vaillant, Le Livre des Secrets d’Henoch (Paris: Institut d’Études Slaves, 1952), pp. xv–xxvi. 42 C. Böttrich, Das slavische Henochbuch, (JSHRZ V 7; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlaghaus, 1996), 790.

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the fragment MPr is an impressive example of the total rearrangement of the text.43

This may well be true, but it probably does not constitute good grounds for favouring a priori the longer recension: rather it suggests that we should not discount too easily the evidence of the longer recension and should not assume the shorter to be the best reading in every case. The problem of the recensions is closely related to the problem of authorship. It seems increasingly likely to me that 2 Enoch contains at least a core of Jewish material: Andrei Orlov’s work on the conceptual developments attested in the text have all but demonstrated this conclusively and are supported by my own work on the calendar44 and by that of Basil Lourie.45 In the Byzantine and, particularly, the Slavonic environments, however, where texts were highly fluid, the possibility that around that core there was added a substantial amount of secondary material would be very real. With regard to the creation account of 2 Enoch, this point must be borne in mind. 2.2. The Creation Account in 2 Enoch The creation account in 2 Enoch is found in chapters 24:4–33:2, of which the section that describes the creation of man is found in 30:8–18, immediately followed by the story of Satanael’s rebellion and corruption of the original couple. Before discussing the creation of man as it is represented by our two recensions, it is necessary to consider the account as a whole, with a view to establishing evidence of tendencies toward expansion or abbreviation. The creation account of 2 Enoch – as God recounts to Enoch how he created the world – is one of the places where the recensions part

43 C. Böttrich, “The Melchizedek Story of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch: a Reaction to Andrei Orlov.” JSJ 32 (2001), p. 448, footnote 16. 44 I presented a paper at the 2006 British New Testament Conference, examining the calendrical material of 2 Enoch, which appears to have originally reflected a 364 day solar calendar that seems not to be directly dependent upon the material in 1 Enoch or that attested at Qumran. This would be hard to explain outside of the context of Second Temple Judaism. I hope to publish the paper in the near future, once I have fully processed the detailed arguments of Basil Lourie, listed in the next footnote. 45 See B. Lourie, “Metatron i Prometaya: Vtoroya Kniga Enocha na Perekreste Problem,” Scrimium 2 (2006), pp. 370–406. Lourie’s findings are rather different to my own, but if either of us is correct then we have provided strong evidence that 2 Enoch is originally Jewish.

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to the greatest extent. Nevertheless, they hold a good deal of material in common: the founding of creation using the primal elements Adoil and Arukhas (24:4–27:2), the creation of the heavenly bodies in 28:2–29:3, and the creation of animate life in 30:7. They part, however, at four points rather substantially. The first three are as follows: 1. The first variation is structural: the account in the longer recension is modelled around a six-day pattern clearly derived from the account of Genesis 1, using a modified form of the evening/morning device. Andersen suggests that we might expect the account to follow the Genesis text.46 We might ask, however: why would Christian scribes excise from the text such an obviously biblical – and thus unobjectionable – feature? Secondly, we might note the surprising omission of the seventh day – the Sabbath – from the structure. If 2 Enoch is early and Jewish and if the day-pattern is original to it, surely we would expect such an important idea as Sabbath to be retained. It seems more likely to me that the hexaemeron pattern is a redactional feature, added by Christian scribes to bring the text into line with Genesis 1 but reflecting the diminished importance of Sabbath in Christian thought. 2. The second point of variation is found in 27:3–28:1 and 30:2–7, where there is an account of seven crystalline circles on which the heavenly bodies move. While Andersen notes the presence of vestiges in the shorter recension of a longer description than it currently contains, he also notes that the schema of seven circles found in the longer recension is completely at odds with the cosmology described in the narrative of Enoch’s ascent in chapters 3–22, again suggesting that it is a redactional addition.47

46

Andersen, “2 Enoch,” p. 145. Andersen shows admirable caution in pronouncing on the originality of this material, noting that the material in 27:3 seems incompatible with the seven heavens schema developed in chapters 3–22 but does agree with 30:2a–3; at the same time, however, he regards the absence of 27:4 from the shorter manuscripts as evidence of abbreviation, since this verse is a predictable allusion to Genesis 1 and must have been excised along with other material deemed to be questionable. He also sees a vestigial trace of a larger account in the short manuscripts V and N, with the word gøn ( put “orbit”) surviving in the phrase “road of water” (∑n gõnm djl¥ endêhlbü rfvêzbê: “from the road of water I hardened stones.” The spellings vary between the manuscripts, but V,N, Chr and B all contain some mention of road). Finally, he picks up on Vaillant’s linguistic argument for a 10th century Western translation based on 47

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3. The third point of variation is in the story of Satanael’s origin, rebellion and temptation of Adam and Eve, in 29:4–6 and 31. This material is, in my view, highly suspect. First, Satanael is not merely absent in this part of the shorter recension, but also from the account of Enoch’s ascent: in the longer recension, the Grigori, the rebel Watchers, were led astray by Satanael, but in the shorter there is no mention of this, a fact that locates the myth much more firmly in the traditions of early Enochic Judaism, prior to its hybridisation with the Satan mythology. Secondly, there is no mention of Satanael elsewhere in the text, other than in the ascent narrative in the longer recension; surely we would have expected mention of this deceiver-figure in the paraenetic section, given the way he is depicted in the longer account. Third, the account contains a number of Slavonic puns that point in the direction of redaction within Slavdom, possibly under Bogomil influence.48 These three points of variation suggest the secondary character of the longer recension at key locations in the creation account. This is not to

the use of the verb uhåcnb ( grjasti, “travel”) in 2:1, noting that the form uhåløn is also used here in 27:3, pointing to its authenticity as an original part of the tradition. The incompatibility of this material with the schema found in 3–22 seems to me the most important piece of evidence. While we might expect tradents to link one schema to another through the use of the number seven – and thus hybridise the two – it would be surprising to find the original author having such an internally inconsistent system in mind. If this is granted, it is possible to find explanations for the remaining pieces of evidence, though at certain points they are admittedly speculative. First, the absence of 27:4 (the allusion to Genesis 1) from the shorter recension may not be of any great significance: as I have already suggested, the six-day pattern may be a redactional addition to the text. The creation account of 2 Enoch as a whole sits rather loosely with the Genesis account and while we would not be surprised to find such an excerpt, neither should we be surprised by its absence. Second, the word gõnm in 27:3 need not be regarded as a vestigial trace of the longer account with its description of the crystalline circles; the word is found in later texts in connection with djlf (voda, “water”) to indicate some kind of water channel, an idea that would seem plausible here. Finally, the fact that the verb uhåløn occurs in 27:3 seems a slender basis on which to defend the originality of the verse: it is quite possible that this was independent material, also translated into a Western dialect and subsequently inserted into the text here. The 10th century was, let us bear in mind, a prolific period for the translation of Byzantine material into Church Slavonic. 48 Andersen lists these, ibid., pp. 154–155. It may be of interest to note that the manuscript J is of Bulgarian character. It seems to attest an earlier form of the longer recension, for the most part, than do the other texts. Is it possible that the longer recension passed through a stage of Bogomil transmission and that J bears closes witness to this? I am grateful to Profesor Svetlina Nikolova for raising this interesting question, which is worthy of further consideration.

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say that the shorter account is pristine, nor that we should automatically assume it to contain the original form of the story of the creation of man, but it does suggest that we need to be cautious of the longer reading. The fourth point at which variation is found is in the story of the creation of man; contextually, with so much secondary material around it and attested only by the longer recension, we must, I think, approach it with a measure of suspicion. In the shorter recension, there is a simple terse statement: “When I had finished all this, I commanded my wisdom to create man.” The longer recension goes on, however, to state that man is made from seven components: His flesh from earth; his blood from dew and from the sun; his eyes from the bottomless sea; his bones from stone; his reason from the mobility of angels and from clouds; his veins and hair from grass of the earth; his spirit from my spirit and from wind. And I gave him 7 properties: hearing to the flesh; sight to the eyes; smell to the spirit; touch to the veins; taste to the blood; to the bones – endurance; to the reason – sweetness.49

Thus we have two lists of seven: one of Adam’s constituent elements and the other of his senses. This is followed by a creation poem: From visible and invisible substances I created man. From both his natures come both death and life. And (as my) image he knows the word like (no) other creature. But even at his greatest he is small, and again at his smallest he is great (30:10).50

The phrase in which we find the word “image” (∑,hf™m) is worthy of comment. This is the only place in which we find a possible reference to the image of God in the creation account and, in fact, the phrase is rather unclear. It is simply ∑,hf™m däcnm ckjdj ærj zärfrj ndfhm:51 “image knows word as no other creature.” The poem is followed by a description of Adam’s primacy over creation (30:11–12) that in turn is followed by his naming according to the four compass points (30:13; the acronym works only in Greek). The account continues to discuss the nature of Adam, developing “two ways” imagery of his potential to do good and evil, before turning to the creation of Eve, which is described using language lifted from Genesis 2:19–22.

49

Andersen, “2 Enoch,” p. 150. Ibid., p. 152. 51 As always, there are some variant spellings. The version given here is from J, though without accents and abbreviations. The elements are consistent across the three longer manuscripts. 50

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Böttrich has argued that the longer account is here original; in fact, he regards the creation account as one of the pieces of evidence for the priority of the longer recension: The secondary character of the shorter recension can be seen most clearly in 28:1–33:2, which has a description of the hexaemeron. In the longer recension it is a well-rounded unit, carefully woven together with other parts of the book, constructed under a plausible theological concept. In the shorter recension this part is given as a torso (containing a fifth of the verses only) without a clear conception.52

I have already provided evidence, however, that the account is not so “carefully woven together with other parts of the book” as Böttrich suggests. More importantly, there is a significant disconnect between the description of Adam’s creation and the ethical material that is found in Enoch’s instruction to his sons. Certainly the primacy of God as sole creator is central to this material, but this theme, I would suggest, is adequately expressed by the “torso” account (to use Böttrich’s word) of the shorter recension. One of the key themes, however, within this instructional material is the significance of the imago dei. Thus we find, in 44:1, a reference to man being made in a “facsimile” (gjlj,bb, podobii) of God’s own face (kbwt cdjtdj, lice svoeveo). This becomes the basis for the subsequent ethical exhortations to respect and almsgiving, exhortations that recur at points throughout the subsequent instruction. Yet, in the longer account of creation, this emphasis on the imago dei is all but absent, preserved only – if at all – in the fleeting and awkward phrase in 30:10, a verse that may be secondary in character itself. Surely we would expect the original creation account to contain a more explicit reference to the imago dei than is found in the longer recension. It is interesting to note at this point that Merilo Pravednoe, in its summary of creation contains this very point: Even before all things did not exist, The Lord established the age of creation. And after that he created the whole creation, visible and invisible; and after all that he created man according to his own image, with his own two hands,53 small and great, and he appointed for him eyes to see and ears to hear and reason to argue.

52

C. Böttrich, “The Melchizedek Story of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch,” p. 448. On the idea that God used his own hands to make Adam – rather than simply a remote command – see Leigh N.B. Chipman, “Mythic Aspects of the Process of Adam’s Creation in Judaism and Islam,” Studia Islamica 93 (2001), pp. 5–25, esp. 16–17. 53

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Of course, the reference to creation in God’s image is also missing from the shorter recension, which ends with the simple, terse statement: “When I had finished all this, I commanded my wisdom to create man.” Unless the terseness of the creation account in this recension is intended to imply the assumption of the Genesis account, then we must suspect that something has been lost. What this points to is the probability that in the highly fluid textual environment of Slavonic transmission54 the original creation account of 2 Enoch, which would have contained some discussion of imago dei, was lost in both recensions. Conclusions and Reflections If we exclude the longer creation narrative of 2 Enoch 30 from our initial study, concentrating instead on texts that are demonstrably either Jewish or Christian, then we find that the Jewish texts employ the motif of the “sods of earth” to develop the idea that Adam represents global humanity. The one exception to this is Philo’s De Opificio Mundi, which is concerned to show man’s dual relationship with Creator and Creation and his superiority over all other creatures. This text draws on the Classical idea that nature comprises four elements and that these elements are present in man, but it does not present man as a microcosm, as such; rather it presents him as the pinnacle of creation. Christian texts also contain the motif of “sods of earth,” but we also encounter the motif that Adam was formed from elements of different parts of creation. One form of this, found in the Book of the Cave of Treasures, seems to echo the ideas found in De Opificio Mundi, but reshapes these into a more developed notion of man as microcosm.

54 It is quite clear that within the Slavonic environment, there was, by contrast with the biblical texts, a considerable degree of freedom in the use of pseudepigraphical texts, similar perhaps to that seen in the Irish environment. While such texts were often translated rather mechanically, there was less sanctity attached to their form. We see this, for example, demonstrated by the way in which texts were creatively used in the paleas with polemic purpose. We ought to expect, then, that texts would undergo the full range of creative transformation that such an environment would imply – being edited, hybridised, augmented, retold and so on – particularly where the narrative concerns creation, since we have such widespread and varied creation traditions attested through the Christian period. In such a fluid context it is quite feasible that the original creation narrative of 2 Enoch would be lost.

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Human superiority over creation is given as the rationale for this and is itself construed in Christological or typological terms. Later texts contain more widely the idea that Adam was created from seven or eight elements, further developing the idea that man is a microcosm of nature. Again, Christological significance may be implicit in these texts and is, indeed, made explicit in those texts that have enlarged the list of elements to include the Lux Mundi and by those, such as Saltair na Rann, that make explicit connections between Adam and the Cross. The notion of man as microcosm connects powerfully with the theology of cosmic redemption that is rooted in the New Testament and developed richly in later Christian thought. By taking to himself a nature that is connected to the whole of the cosmos, the Son has been able to effect a redemption of “all things,” as is spoken of in texts like Colossians 1:19–20. The popularity in Christian texts of the motif of Adam’s creation from different elements is striking, then, and seems characteristically to have been understood in relation to Christological themes. If we allow this discussion to function as background to our examination of the creation story in 2 Enoch, it suggests that the presence of the seven-elements motif in the longer account is likely to be a Christian interpolation. A study of the creation account as a whole reveals that a substantial amount of the additional material found in the longer recension appears to be redactional, calling into question the integrity of the account and suggesting that a great deal of material has been added. The significance attached to the doctrine of imago dei in the instructional section of the book and the presence of a reference to the imago dei in the juridical text Merilo Pravednoe suggest that this material has been substituted for an original reading that probably retained the idea that God made man in his own image, an idea that has now been all but lost in the creation account of both recensions. If I am correct, then several lines of further inquiry present themselves, relating both to the text of 2 Enoch and to Christian theology. Regarding, first, the text of 2 Enoch: if the material in 30:8–10 is deemed to be redactional, then much of the material in the surrounding lines may also be suspect, and will need to be re-examined in order to judge its authenticity.55 This is of particular interest with regard to

55 Some of this material does have a claim to originality given its conceptual associations with other material in the book. See, for example, Andrei Orlov’s study of

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the ADAM acronym in 30:13, since the acronym works only in Greek; if secondary, the possibility that 2 Enoch was composed in a Semitic language is reopened to us, in which case the pioneering work of Alexander Kulik on Apocalypse of Abraham56 may be applied to 2 Enoch. Regarding, secondly, the relevance of our study to Christian theology, several questions suggest themselves. How do these distinctively Christian interpretations compare to the Jewish theological use of Genesis 1–3? How do these traditions relate to the themes of Adamic glory and related notions of salvation that we find, for example in 1QS iii–iv? How do they relate to the theological connections made between the temple and Eden in books like Jubilees and, arguably, within the Tanak itself? Further, how do these narratival elaborations of Genesis 2:7 relate to the great works of theological treatise and commentary in the Christian tradition? Are there indications that the Fathers were influenced by such works or did the apocryphal texts constitute a “little tradition,” transmitting ideas among the laity? All of these questions – relating to the role of these narratives in Christian tradition – are, in turn, relevant to the project of theological reading of Scripture. If we neglect these traditions then our knowledge of Christian theology may be unduly truncated; but, equally, if we do not seek to locate them in relation to the great traditions represented in treatise and commentary, we run the risk of distorting their significance.

the “kingship” motif in 30:11–12 in: From Apocalypticism to Merkabah Mysticism, (JSJSupp 114. Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 235–243 [reprint of his article, “On the Polemical Nature of 2 (Slavonic) Enoch: A Reply to C. Böttrich,” JSJ 34 (2003), pp. 274–303]. 56 A. Kulik, Retroverting Slavonic Pseudepigrapha: Toward the Original of the Apocalypse of Abraham (SBLTCS 3. Atlanta: SBL, 2004).

THE IMPACT OF INTERPRETATION ON THE EVOLUTION OF THE CHURCH SLAVONIC PSALTER TEXT UP TO THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY Catherine Mary MacRobert The Church Slavonic tradition of Biblical translation is based on a principle of scrupulous faithfulness: the earliest translations, in the ninth century, appear to have aimed at one-to-one correspondence at least between phrases, usually between words; later versions, especially from the fourteenth century onwards, established regular equivalences not only between Greek and Church Slavonic lexical items, but even between word-formational elements and syntactic constructions (Mathauserová). Such a maximally faithful approach was bound to encounter certain difficulties. The translator faced with terms for concepts or objects unfamiliar to the Slavs had to make a hard choice: either to retain an unintelligible Hebrew or Greek word, or to substitute an approximate Slavonic equivalent, whose native connotations might be inappropriate to the translated text. Where a word in Greek had a range of possible meanings, the translator had to exercise some degree of judgement in choosing among them, with the help of context or exegetical tradition. Metaphors, which are often problematic in translation, were also liable to obscure the sense of the text. All these types of difficulty were particularly likely to confront those who translated poetic compositions, such as the Book of Psalms, into Church Slavonic (MacRobert, 1991; Thomson, pp. 797–825). This paper examines a range of examples from the Psalms and analyses the ways in which they were resolved, drawing on a number of East and South Slavonic psalter manuscripts, both commentated and plain; among the latter the East Slavonic manuscripts FпI2 T28 Amf Luc 8662 Sf64 FпI4 J B Vat and the South Slavonic manuscripts Ox Hval Nor provide the main focus of interest. The manuscripts are listed by century, provenance and text type in the appendix, where their present location or edition is supplied. In text they are indicated by short sigla: first those of any relevant commentated psalters, then those of the focus group, then other plain psalters in approximate chronological order. Where more than one manuscript is cited, normalized orthography is applied.

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A question mark after a siglum means that the reading of the manuscript in question is unclear and to some extent conjectural. Several aids to interpretation were in principle available to the translators and to their readers. In the first place we may assume the philological and theological grounding which the first translators, SS. Cyril and Methodius, undoubtedly possessed – S. Cyril probably knew Hebrew as well as being learned in Greek – and which some of their successors would also have had. Secondly the interpretative tradition which resulted from the use of the psalms in Christian liturgy was available to all. Thirdly the medieval Orthodox Slavs had at their immediate disposal some of the commentaries written to explicate the meaning of the Psalter. Two of these were translated into Old Church Slavonic at an early date. The catena traditionally associated with Athanasius of Alexandria, but latterly attributed to Hesychius of Jerusalem (Jagić, 1906), was probably translated by some time in the tenth century. It is found in association with the earliest Church Slavonic version of the Psalter and exhibits a number of ancient linguistic features (Jagić, 1907 and 1917). It is attested in manuscripts from the eleventh to the fifteenth centuries and circulated widely among the East and South Slavs, even reaching the Catholics of the Slavonic rite in Croatia. It was excerpted for biblical glossaries in medieval Russia from the thirteenth century onwards (Kovtun, especially pp. 17–34, 398–420). The popularity of this catena is hardly surprising: it encompasses the whole text, including the Biblical Canticles, which constituted the Psalter as the Orthodox Slavs knew it, and its laconic allegorical glosses and comments on each versicle could readily be organized in formats (alternating verse and comment or parallel columns) which facilitated use of the resulting manuscript either for study or for devotional purposes. Evidence of such multiple function can be indirectly seen in the plain psalter manuscripts, without commentary, which however retain traces of copying from commentated exemplars: five instances are known to me, mostly East Slavonic: Sluc and T34 (MacRobert, 1993), Amf (Stichel, pp. 160–3), Sf64 (MacRobert, 1996, pp. 160, 165), but also Serbian, Xlud, ps. 74:9, where scribes have reproduced passages of commentary in otherwise plain psalter manuscripts, presumably through inadvertence. The other commentary on the psalms which was translated for the benefit of the newly converted Slavs, that by Theodoret of Cyrrhus (Patrologia Graeca 80), circulated less widely. Although it is thought to have been translated in tenth-century Bulgaria, it is extant only in

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East Slavonic sources: a substantial fragment (Pogorelov, St Petersburg 1910) survives from the eleventh century and there is a small group of closely related manuscripts from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Pogorelov, Warsaw 1910, pp. 82–112, Lépissier, pp. 2–4). Its relatively full explication, historical and philological as well as spiritual, of groups of versicles may have made it a less accessible and convenient exegetical text than the Hesychian catena. Nevertheless it has a significant place in the history of the Psalter among the Orthodox Slavs, both because its Church Slavonic version reflects the tenth-century practice of replacing loanwords with native equivalents (as can be seen in the lexical analyses provided by Pogorelov, Warsaw 1910, pp. 122–226 and by Karačorova) and also because, as will become apparent, it contributed to a resurgence of interpretative revision among the East Slavs in the fourteenth century. The diverse sources of and approaches to interpretation can be illustrated by a few early examples of realia. For instance, the Greek ὁλοκαυτώματα, a recurrent term in the Psalter, presumably represented a new idea to the Slavs and is rendered in three different ways by the earliest witnesses. In manuscripts containing the Hesychian catena, here represented by Tol Pog Bon Vin, it is reproduced as a straight loan, olokavtomata, which also occurs in some early plain psalter manuscripts; however in Sin, the Glagolitic Psalter from Mount Sinai which is probably the oldest plain psalter manuscript in Church Slavonic, a loan translation, vĭsesŭžagaemaja ‘completely burnt things’, is consistently used; while in the Church Slavonic version of Theodoret’s commentary, represented by the manuscripts Čud 7/177, we find a cognate expression which is a verbal noun rather than a passive participle, vĭsesŭžĭženija ‘complete burnings’. The last of the three options, vĭsesŭžĭženija, was taken up anew in the literalistic South Slavonic revisions of the fourteenth century (Thomson, pp. 815–25), represented here by the manuscripts Ox (MacRobert, 1994), Hval (Jurić-Kappel), and Nor, which contain some conservative or other distinctive features. However, where vĭsesŭžĭženija occurs in East Slavonic manuscripts of this period, such as FпI2 T28 Luc 8662 Sf64 J B Vat, it may reflect direct influence from the Church Slavonic translation of Theodoret’s commentary, as will become apparent below. The textual complexities which result from the interplay of these traditions can be seen in the following tabulation:

426 19:4 39:7 49:8 50:18 50:21 65:13 65:15

catherine mary macrobert vĭsesŭžĭženija 7/177 Luc J B Vat vĭsesŭžagaemaja FпI2 Ox Hval olokavtomata 8662 FпI4 Nor vĭsesŭžĭženija 7/177 FпI2 8662 Sf64 J B Vat Ox visesužaganija Hval vĭsesŭžagaemaja Nor olokavtomata T28 Luc FпI4 vĭsesŭžĭženija 7/177 Vat Ox vĭsesŭžagaemaja FпI2 T28 8662 FпI4 J B Nor olokavtomata Luc Hval vĭsesŭžĭženija 7/177 FпI2 8662 Nor vĭsesŭžagaemaja J B Ox olokavtomata T28 Luc FпI4 Vat Hval vĭsesŭžĭženija 7/177 FпI2 8662 J B vĭsesŭžagaemaja Nor olokavtomata T28 Luc FпI4 Vat Ox Hval vĭsesŭžĭženija Čud 7/177 8662 Sf64 Nor vĭsesŭžagaemaja J B Ox olokavtomata FпI2 T28 Luc FпI4 Vat Hval vĭsesŭžĭženija Čud 7/177 FпI2 T28 Ox vĭsesŭžagaemaja 8662 Sf64 J B Vat Nor olokavtomata Luc FпI4 Hval

The motivation for the three expressions used to convey the notion of ‘burnt offerings’ is straightforward, even if their distribution is complex. Other cases are less transparent. For instance, the majority practice, in plain psalters and in those with the Hesychian catena, is to treat Ηθαμ in 73:15 and λίψ in 77:26 as untranslatable; but there is an early alternative approach which interprets these expressions respectively as navodĭnenyę ‘flooded, full of water’ Bon J B Sin Har Ban Deč S8 Plj Bel FпI3? and zapadĭnŭ Sf64 Luc FпI4 Sin Lob or zapadŭ ‘west (wind)’ J B Ban Deč Par FпI3?. Neither of these senses could have been derived from Hesychius: his glosses on Ηθαμ are in translation krĭvĭ ‘blood’ and kupinĭstvo, trĭnovaja veštĭ idolĭskaja ‘thicket, a thorny place of idolatry’, and he supplies a biblical reference to ‘the south’ for 77:26. Theodoret’s remarks on 73:15 could have prompted an interpretation such as navodĭnenyę, but cannot account for the ‘west wind’ in 77:26, since the Church Slavonic translation of Theodoret renders λίψ as větrŭ vŭstočĭnŭ ‘east wind’ Čud 7/177. It therefore seems that in these two instances we have traces of independent exegetical knowledge on the part of early, perhaps the earliest, translators. Elsewhere in the early Church Slavonic tradition, however, the influence of the translated commentaries can be detected. So in 119:5 in place of kidarĭskŭ, the adjective formed from Κηδαρ, tĭmĭnŭ ‘dark’ is found in a number of plain psalter manuscripts, Sin Ban Rad S6(corrected) S8 Plj Lob Par Ath(corrected) P3. This reading is evidently based on the translated explanation of Κηδαρ from the Hesy-

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chian catena, kidarŭ bo tĭma skazaetŭ sę ‘Kedar is glossed as darkness’. By typical contrast, Theodoret comments that Kedar was the second son of Ishmael. Similarly in 7:13 ocěstitŭ, the normal translation of στιλβώσει, is replaced in some manuscripts, commentated and plain, by expressions meaning ‘he will sharpen’, izostritŭ FпI2 Luc, naostritŭ Bon J B Hval, apparently under the influence of Hesychius’ comment in its Church Slavonic wording: orǫžie izoštreno židetŭ ot’ mětajǫštiixŭ sę ‘a sharpened weapon awaits those who refuse’. The treatment of ambiguity also betrays a variety of influences. For instance, in 19:8 ἅρμασιν is standardly translated as kolesĭnicaxŭ ‘chariots’, but there is an early variant orǫžiixŭ ‘weapons’ 7/177 FпI2 B Ox? Nor Sin T27 Ath Jar, which may well go back to a 10th-century misunderstanding of the Greek, especially as it appears in the translation of Theodoret’s comment on this verse; the same translation is also found in the Song of Miriam, Exod 15:4 and 19, as transmitted in Vin, a highly conservative Croatian witness to the Hesychian catena (Kappel), and further supported for Exod 15:4 by T34, a plain psalter heavily influenced by a commentated source (MacRobert, 1993), and by Nor. In another place, 108:23, knowledge of the New Testament seems to have contributed to interpretative translation: here a minority tradition renders ἀκρίδες not as ‘locusts’ but as prǫtĭnyi konĭci ‘tips of shoots’ T28 Amf ? Luc J B Ban Plj, prutnikŭ ‘shoots’ T35. The starting point for this may have been an assumption that the accounts of John the Baptist’s life in the desert (Matth 3:4, Mk 1:6) describe a vegetarian diet. Poetic metaphor in the Psalter was mostly left to speak for itself, but one recurrent image, the ‘horn’ of prevailing strength, apparently gave translators pause: although in the Psalms themselves a literal translation of κέρας as rogŭ is standard, there is considerable support from the thirteenth century onwards for a freer translation at the end of the Song of Hannah, I Sam 2:10, as slavǫ ‘glory’ T28 Amf Luc 8662 J B Vat Hval Gri Deč S6 S7 Plj Bel Ath Jar T35 FпI1 P3 FпI3 T33. In 74:5 & 6 the translation of Theodoret renders κέρας as glava ‘head’ Čud 7/177, and Sf64, a fourteenth-century East Slavonic manuscript which is allied to that translation, does the same in 91:11. A later development is found in J and B, East Slavonic compilations of the early fifteenth century which draw on both Hesychius and Theodoret (MacRobert, 2005): they take the frequent gloss on κέρας, Church Slavonic krěpostĭ ‘strength’, and generalize it to the psalter text itself: 88:18, 111:9 in

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both commentaries and J B; 74:11 in Hesychius and B; 131:17 in Theodoret and J; 17:3, 88:25, I Sam 2:1 in J B without the support of the commentaries. It is in the later psalter manuscripts, of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, that the influence of the translated commentaries, particularly that of Theodoret, comes to the fore, for instance in a shift from loanwords to translations of realia. The Greek word βαρίς is explained in both commentaries as ‘house’, and in 47:14 was normally translated using the Church Slavonic equivalent domŭ. In 44:9 and 47:4 the same word was left untranslated in the earliest Church Slavonic psalters, and at a slightly later date was either rationalized as vrata ‘gates’, or mistranslated as tęžestĭ ‘weight’, through confusion with βάρος. In a number of fourteenth-century manuscripts, however, the word used to convey βαρίς in these verses is either that used in the translation of Theodoret’s comment on 47:4, synŭ ‘tower’, in 47:4 syněxŭ T28 Sf64 FпI4 Vat T27? Sf60 and 47:14 syny Čud 7/177 FпI2 T28 8662 Sf64 FпI4 Vat, or alternatively stěna ‘wall’, in 44:9 stěnŭ FпI2 T28 FпI4 Deč T35 and 47:4 stěnaxĭ Ox. The latter variant is perhaps an attempt to avoid confusion with the homophonous word synŭ meaning ‘son’. The loanwords ikona for εἴκων, xrĭstŭ for χριστός were standard in the early Church Slavonic Psalter, whether plain or accompanied by the Hesychian catena, but in the linguistic tradition associated with the translation of Theodoret’s commentary they were liable to be replaced by native equivalents. So in 72:20 we find obrazŭ ‘image’ Čud 7/177 FпI2 8662 Sf64 J B Ox Nor P3(corrected), in 19:7 pomazanikŭ ‘anointed one’ 7/177 pomazanika 8662, 88:39 pomazanago ‘anointed’ 7/177 8662 Nor pomazanyi T28 Amf, 88:52 pomazanago 7/177 Amf and 104:15 pomazanikŭ 7/177 pomazanyxŭ 8662. When these equivalents are taken up in the fourteenth century, they may reflect a conscious decision on the part of revisers to avoid the specifically Christian connotations which had come to be associated with ‘icon’ and ‘Christ’; the same motivation presumably accounts for the preference given in 88:39 and 104:15 to pomazannyj ‘anointed’ in the literalistic modern Russian Church Slavonic Psalter, which otherwise tends to follow the variants characterized here as default options. By contrast, the substitution of smrěčie for the standard loanword kedrŭ (κέδρος) in 28:5, which occurs only in 7/177 and in FпI2, does not seem to be semantically motivated. It can therefore be taken as one of the indications that the Church Slavonic version of Theodoret’s commentary exercised an influence on the text in FпI2.

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Another set of loanwords which are ousted by native Slavonic ones in the linguistic and exegetical approach associated with Theodoret’s commentary are the terms for David’s consort of instruments, some of which are normally left untranslated. In a few South Slavonic manuscripts of the late thirteenth or early fourteenth century the tympanum and cymbals are redesignated zvona ‘bells’ in 149:3 zvoně Plj Bel and 150:5 zvoněxŭ (x2) Plj Bel Ath. It is conceivable that Western European medieval musical theory as applied to the illustration of Ps 150 in illuminated manuscripts may have played a part here (I owe this conjecture to the late Dr H.T.A.M. La Rue); but it must also be noted that this treatment of κυμβάλα is paralleled in the translation of Theodoret’s comment on 32:2 κιθάραις καὶ κυμβάλοις καὶ τυμπάνοις ~ gouslĭmi bo i zvony i boubny ‘with stringed instruments and bells and drums’ 7/177, and 150:5 zvoněxŭ reappears in the fifteenthcentury East Slavonic J B, which are demonstrably linked to Theodoret (MacRobert, 2005, pp. 218–9). Similarly in the Church Slavonic version of Theodoret τυμπάνον is rendered as bǫbŭnĭ ‘drum’, ὄργανον is pištalĭ ‘(wind) instrument’, ψαλμός is pěsnĭ ‘song’ and consequently ψαλτήριον becomes pěsnĭni(vi)ca ‘psaltery, instrument for accompanying song’, both in the psalms themselves and also in the comments on 67:26 τυμπανιστρίας ~ bubnicę ‘drummers’, 80:3 τυμπάνοις~ boubny ‘drums’ and διαφόροις ὀργάνοις ~ razlicnymi pištalmi ‘various instruments’, 107:3 ψαλτήριον pěsnivicju ‘psaltery’ (7/177). These translations are adopted, and sometimes generalized, in East Slavonic manuscripts of the fourteenth and early fifteenth century, above all in FпI2. Thus we find: 67:26 bǫbŭnĭnici Čud 7/177 8662 Sf64, 80:3 bǫbŭnĭ Čud 7/177 8662 J B, 150:4 boubŭně FпI2 and the gloss timŭpanŭ estĭ boubenŭ ‘the tympanum is a drum’ in J; 150:4 pištalĭ FпI2 and the gloss arganŭ estĭ pištalĭ ‘the organum is a (wind) instrument’ in J; 80:3 pěsnĭ Čud 7/177 S64, 94:2 pěsnexŭ 7/177 FпI4; 32:2 and 107:3 pěsnĭnica 7/17; 56:9 pěsnĭnica 7/177 FпI2; 143:9, 149:3 and150:3 pěsnĭnici FпI2. These might seem trivial instances of lexical replacement, but they assume greater importance if viewed in the cultural context of the fourteenth century, since the evidence of extant manuscripts (Jagić, 1907) suggests that at this period the Hesychian commentary was the primary source of exegesis for the Psalter among the Orthodox Slavs. When commenting on Ps 150 Hesychius offers spiritualizing interpretations of the names of instruments, and these allegorical explanations were reproduced in Russian biblical glossaries from the thirteenth century onwards, where τυμπάνον is glossed as glasŭ ‘voice’, ὄργανον as douma

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dobraja ‘good council’, ψαλτήριον as oumŭ ‘mind’, κυμβάλα as obrazŭ člověčĭ ‘human form’. The use of native Slavonic terms must therefore have involved a shift away from spiritualizing interpretation of alien Greek expressions and must instead have conjured up an image of music played on more or less familiar instruments. A similar shift can be detected in the treatment of ambiguity. In 108:6 and 8 almost all Church Slavonic psalters retain loans from Greek, διάβολος and ἐπισκοπή reproduced as dijavolŭ and episkopĭstvo (with Slavonic nominal suffixes). These were borrowed at a very early stage as technical terms meaning ‘devil’ and ‘bishopric’, and such must have been the sense which they would naturally have conveyed to a Slav reader of Ps 108, whose imprecations thus acquired in Church Slavonic (as in the standard Anglican translation) a peculiarly sombre tone: ‘let Satan stand at his right hand’. The Hesychian catena supports this interpretation of διάβολος, but Theodoret explains the verses in question as a reference to Judas and his forfeit of his place among the apostles to Matthias. Apparently certain revisers noted this comment, for they replaced the loanwords with the native expressions oblygataj ‘false accuser, slanderer’ T28 Amf J B and naměstie ‘(appointed) place’ 7/177 J B or nabŭděnie ‘watch’ T28 Amf. Ambiguity also gave rise to variation in the translation of the Greek verb ἀδολέσχειν. It was – and is to this day – given a standard Church Slavonic equivalent, (po)gloumiti sę, ‘to play’ or ‘to mock’. This works well in 68:13 but creates an incongruous effect in Ps 76 and 118, where the Psalmist portrays himself as thinking of God or meditating God’s law. No doubt the Greek verb itself was a source of difficulty to some readers, for both Hesychius and Theodoret provide explanations of the sense in these two psalms. In Church Slavonic translation Hesychius’ glosses are usually rendered with the verb pešti sę ‘to concern oneself ’, while Theodoret’s circumlocution, μελέτην ποιεῖν, is translated as pooučiti sę, ‘to ponder’ or ‘to study’. The choice between these options seems to be reflected in a fairly systematic way by two distinct groups of manuscripts, predominantly East Slavonic though with some South Slavonic parallels from the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. In the tabulation below, the relevant form of ἀδολέσχειν in the psalms is followed on the right by the glosses on it from the Church Slavonic translations of the two commentaries, presented in boldface, with the corresponding Church Slavonic expressions from various plain psalters underneath, followed by indications of the manuscripts in which they are to be found:

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Hesychius’ commentary

Theodoret’s commentary

76:7 ἠδολέσχουν gloumljaxŭ sę default

pomyšljaję pečax sę Luc Ox?, skorbjaxŭ FпI2 8662 Sf64 FпI4

pomyšljaja pooučaxŭ sę J B Ki

76:13 ἀδολεσχήσω pogloumlju sę default

popekǫ sę popekǫ sę Luc Ox

pooučenija tvorja pooučjǫ sę J B, Ki(corrected)

118:15 ἀδολεσχήσω pogloumlju sę default

pečalĭ načnetŭ iměti popekǫ sę Amf? Luc Ox FпI1?

pooučenije . . . vŭzglašju pooučjǫ sę J B Ki

118:23 ἠδολέσχει gloumljaše sę default

pečaxŭ sę pečaše sę FпI2? Luc Ox? Hval

pooučenija mi běša pooučaše sę Amf, ljubom~drstvouję J B Ki

118:27 ἀδολεσχήσω pogloumlju sę default

popekǫ sę popekǫ sę FпI2? Amf Luc Hval

– pooučjǫ sę J B Ox Ki

118:48 ἠδολέσχουν gloumljaxŭ sę default

pečaxŭ sę pečaxŭ sę FпI2 T28 Amf Ox?

oučax sę pooučaxŭ sę J B, ljubom~drustvovaxŭ Ki

118:78 ἀδολεσχήσω pogloumlju sę default

popekǫ sę popekǫ sę FпI2 Amf Luc Ox? Hval

– pooučjǫ sę B Ki, pooučix sę J

118:85 ἀδολεσχία gloumlenija default

pečalĭ

xulna oučenĭja pooučenija Amf Ox?, oučenija J B Ki

Prominent among the manuscripts which at this point seem to follow Hesychius is FпI2, which has already been singled out for its treatment of realia such as the terms for musical instruments. Although this manuscript does not include quotations from a commentary, there are good reasons for supposing that it derives from an early textual tradition, and one associated with commentary. In the headings to Ps 81 and 118:73 FпI2 employs the antiquated spelling alěluia which by the fourteenth century is normally supplanted by allilouia. In 16:14 it renders τὰ κατάλοιπα not with the earliest variant otŭlěkŭ nor with the more usual ostanŭky, but with the expression izbytŭky, which I have otherwise found only in two South Slavonic manuscripts of the thirteenth century, Gri Deč; in 59:14 it follows several early South Slavonic

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witnesses, Deč Gri S8 Lob Par, in replacing the standard translation of ἐξουδενώσει τοὺς θλίβοντας ἡμᾶς ~ ouničižitŭ sŭtǫžajǫšęję namŭ with a reminiscence from 107:14, ἐξουδενώσει τοὺς ἐχθροὺς ἡμῶν ~ ouničižitŭ vragy našę (also in T28 J B); and at the end of the fifth Biblical Canticle, Isa 26:20, it shares with the eleventh-century Sin an unusual translation of τὰ ταμίεια, xranilĭnicǫ ‘store-room’ (also in Vat FпI3) instead of the default version klětĭ ‘chamber’. It omits the ‘psalm without number’, David’s song of triumph over Goliath, which of course receives no comment from Hesychius or Theodoret; in 84:6 it shares with the commentated psalters Bon and Pog another unusual reading, prolěeši ‘you pour out’ instead of prostĭreši ‘you stretch out’, the default rendering of διατενεῖς; and in 31:7 it includes as a rendering of διάψαλμα the expression raznĭstvo pěsni, comparable to the translation of the Hesychian gloss on this term in 139:6 raznĭstvo slovesi. The loanword dijapsalma is found at the appropriate points in commentated psalters and in Sin but is otherwise omitted from plain Church Slavonic psalters. Furthermore, a number of translational alternatives and a few variants of Greek origin seem to ally FпI2 with the linguistic and textual traditions embodied in the Church Slavonic translation of Theodoret. These are places where FпI2, often together with T28, departs from the default majority wording current from the eleventh century onwards, either agreeing instead with Čud 7/177 or offering other unusual readings. Some of the variants in question have a wider currency in the fourteenth and early fifteenth century, appearing especially often in 8662 Sf64 J B; those which are introduced as corrections into FпI3 were adopted in one or more of the fourteenth-century South Slavonic revisions of the text, particularly Redaction V (MacRobert, 1997, pp. 40–45; MacRobert, 1998; Thomson, pp. 815–25). Others, however, appear to be specific to FпI2, with or without T28. The subdivisions of the following list, which contains only the most striking examples, reflect these distinctions: (a) FпI2 (+T28) + (Čud) 7/177 + others 17:48 ὑποτάξας ~ oumǫči / povinouję default, pokorivyi FпI2 pokori Nor Jar pokorjajaj J B, cf. pokorivy in Theodoret’s comment on this verse; 21:2 παραπτωμάτων ~ grěxopadanii default, sŭblaznŭ 7/177 FпI2 Hval FпI1; 39:5 μανίας ~ neistovlenija / gněvy default, ljutosti 7/177 FпI2 8662 S64; 39:13 κατέλαβον ~ jęšę default, postigošę 7/177 FпI2 8662 S64 FпI4 Vat FпI3 (corrected);

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40:9 ἀναστῆναι ~ vŭskrĭsnǫti default, vŭstati 7/177 FпI2 FпI4 B Nor; 44:10 πεποικιλμέναι ~ prěoukrašena default, izmĭčĭtana Čud 7/177 FпI2 Vat Sf60, cf. 143:12 περικεκοσμημέναι ~ prěoukrašeny default izmĭčĭtany 7/177 J B; 48:12 ἐπεκαλέσαντο ~ narěšę default, prozvašę 7/177 FпI2 T28 FпI4; 55:8 σώσεις ~ sŭpaseši default, ὤσεις ~ otrineši FпI2 T28 FпI4 T33 izrineši 7/177 8662 Vat Nor; 57:4 ἀπηλλοτριώθησαν ~ outouždeni byšę default, oučjužišę sę 7/177 FпI2 T28 Nor T33; 105:24 ἐξουδένωσαν ~ ouničižišę default, poxoulišę 7/177 Tol T34 FпI2 Sf64 FпI4 Luc J B; 131:8 ὁ κιβωτός ~ kivotŭ default, kovĭčegŭ 7/177 FпI2 Nor Jar(corrected); 134:17 ἐνωτισθήσονται ~ slyšętŭ default, vŭnoušętŭ 7/177 FпI2 T28 Nor; 140:6 ἠδύνθησαν ~ vŭzmogošę default, ἡδυνήθησαν ~ ousladišę sę 7/177 FпI2 J B Jar(corrected). (b) FпI2 (+T28) + others 11:6 τοῦ στεναγμοῦ ~ vŭzdyxanija default, stenanija FпI2 Nor; 16:12 οἰκῶν ~ obitaję default, živyi FпI2 J; 18:9 τηλαυγής ~ izdaleče default, světla FпI2 J B Jar Ki FпI3(corrected); 34:13 σάκκον ~ vrětište default, vlasjanicjǫ FпI2 J; 38:2 ἐναντίον μου ~ na mę default, prjamo mně FпI2 T28 FпI4; 42:4 τὸ θυσιαστήριον ~ oltarju default, žrĭtvĭnikou FпI2 8662 Sf64 Nor; 67:15 διαστέλλειν ~ raznĭstvitŭ default, rastrajaetĭ FпI2 FпI4; 70:11 καταλάβετε ~ iměte default, postigněte FпI2 T28 Nor; 73:17 θέρος ~ lěto default, žętvǫ FпI2 8662 Sf64; 74:9 κεράσματος ~ rastvorenija default, črĭpanija FпI2 8662 Sf64 FпI4 Nor; 75:10 ἐν τῷ ἀναστῆναι εἰς κρίσιν τὸν θεόν ~ vŭnegda vŭskrĭsnetŭ na sǫdŭ bogŭ default, vŭnegda stati na sǫdŭ bogou FпI2 8662 Sf64 FпI4 J B Nor FпI3(corrected); 76:7 ἔσκαλλεν ~ klŭcaše default, tǫžaše FпI2 8662 Sf64 FпI4 Vat Ox FпI3(corrected); 127:3 νεόφυτα ~ novorasli default, novosaždenija FпI2 J B; 130:1 ἐμετεωρίσθησαν ~ vŭzvedosta sę / vŭznesosta sę default, vŭzvysista sę FпI2 T28 FпI4 J B Nor Jar T33; 131:16 σωτηρίαν ~ vŭ sŭpasenie default, sŭpaseniemĭ FпI2 T28. (c) FпI2 + (Čud) 7/177 30:14 ψόγον ~ gaždenie default, kouždenie 7/177 gouždenie FпI2; 54:23 σάλον ~ mlŭvy / sŭmętenija default, męteža 7/177 FпI2; 67:7 πεπεδημένους ~ okovanyję default, sŭvęzanyję Čud 7/177 FпI2; 67:32 Αἰθιωπία ~ efiopija default, efiopĭska zemĭlę FпI2 cf. murĭska zemlę 7/177. (d) FпI2 (+T28) 9:29 ἐνέδρᾳ ~ lajatelexŭ / sědališti default, prisědě FпI2; 9:30 ἐνεδρεύει (x2) ~ laetŭ / lovitŭ default, prisěditŭ FпI2; 16:9 τῶν

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The agreements between FпI2 and 7/177 can hardly be due to chance. Of course some of the variants listed under (a), like those under (b) and (d), may simply reflect a particular type of linguistic preference in the fourteenth century; but the variants under (c), though few, speak eloquently for a close association between FпI2 and the Church Slavonic translation of Theodoret, especially in 30:14 and 67:32, where FпI2 seems to evince textual contamination. The common readings of FпI2 and 7/177 assume a peculiar significance when taken together with the distinctive lexical choices exhibited by FпI2, and to a lesser extent T28, in Ps 150 (discussed above) and in the Biblical Canticles. By the fifteenth century the textual tradition of Theodoret’s commentary in Church Slavonic was defective: the end of the Psalter, from 144:14 onward, had been lost and was supplied from the Hesychian catena, as were the canticles (Pogorelov, Warsaw 1910, p. 85, Lépissier, p. 3). However in 7/177 the Prayer of Habbakuk (Hab 3:2–19) is duplicated from the translation of Theodoret’s commentary on that prophet (Zlatanova, 1998, pp. 225–32), and FпI2 and T28 share some of the variant readings which distinguish this version of the text: Hab 3:2 ἐξέστην ~ divixŭ sę default, oužasoxŭ sę 7/177 FпI2 oužasnuxŭ sę Vin oužasŭ sę Lob Par; Hab 3:9 σκῆπτρα ~ skipĭtry default, xorǫgŭvy FпI2 T28 Nor; Hab 3:13 χριστούς ~ xrĭsty default, pomazanyję 7/177 T28. There is thus a possibility that FпI2 T28 may preserve elements of an early tradition consisting of a complete translation of Theodoret’s commentary on the Psalms, supplemented by the appropriate extract from his work on Habbakuk and by a distinctive Church Slavonic version of the other Biblical Canticles, containing such unusual translational variants as: Exod 15:4 τριστάτας ~ trĭstaty default, tristojęštęję

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FпI2 T28 Vat Nor; Deut 32:14 νεφρῶν πυροῦ ~ toukomĭ pĭšeničĭnomĭ default, istesŭ pĭšeničĭnŭ FпI2; Deut 32:17 πρόσφατοι ~ sekratŭ default, vŭ nově FпI2 T28 Vat(corrected) T35; Deut 32:21 εἰδώλοις ~ idolěxŭ default, kumirěxŭ FпI2 T28; Deut 32:25 καθεστηκότας ~ otrokomĭ default, sŭveršenomŭ FпI2, otrokomŭ sveršenymŭ T35; Deut 32:28 ἐπιστήμη ~ xǫdožĭstva default, xytrosti FпI2 T28; Dan 3:32 ἐχθίστων ~ mrĭzŭkŭ default, vražĭdenŭ FпI2; Dan 3:32 ἀποστατῶν ~ prěstǫpĭnikŭ default, otstǫpĭnikŭ FпI2 J B; Dan 3:38 ὁλοκαυτώματα ~ olokavtomata default, vĭsesŭžĭženija T34 FпI2 J B Ox Nor Ki; Dan 3:39 ὁλοκαυτώματα ~ olokavtomata default, vĭsesŭžĭženija T34 FпI2 Ox Nor Ki, vĭsesŭžagaemaja J B; Dan 3:41 ἐξακολουθοῦμεν ~ vŭ slědŭ . . . idemŭ default, vŭslědouemŭ FпI2; Dan 3:50 δρόσου ~ xladĭnŭ default, rosĭnŭ FпI2 B T35 cf. rosy Nor. The most striking examples of the impact of interpretation on the Church Slavonic Psalter text, however, are to be found in the fifteenthcentury compilations, J and B. These two manuscripts contain abbreviated comments from Hesychius and Theodoret, combined with supplementary explanatory material in separate but similar ways. In addition, they exhibit a tendency to merge comment with the text of the psalms themselves. Glosses are substituted for the wording of the Psalter, especially in instances of figurative expressions, such as the case of κέρας, discussed above. Likewise in 43:4 ἡ δεξιά σου καὶ ὁ βραχίων σου, rendered literally in the default translation as děsnica tvoja i myšĭca tvoja, is paraphrased as krěpostĭ tvoja i sila tvoja, ‘your strength and your power’ in B on the basis of an explanation taken from Hesychius and introduced as a gloss in J, myšca estĭ sila a děsnica estĭ krěpostĭ, ‘the arm is power and the right hand is strength’. In 77:58 and 105:19 the words τοῖς γλυπτοῖς or τῷ γλυπτῷ, normally translated by means of an adjectival form istoukanĭnymŭ or istoukanĭnomou ‘carved’, are replaced in J (x1) and B (x2) by the loan word idolŭ from Hesychius’ comments on these verses, while in 105:36 izvajanymĭ ‘sculpted’ in J B reproduces the wording associated with Theodoret’s commentary in 7/177. Obscure realia receive similar treatment, for instance in 105:28 velfegorě, the default equivalent of τῷ Βεελφεγωρ, is also replaced in J B with the word idolŭ supplied by Hesychius, and in 82:11 Αενδωρ, which is normally left untranslated, is replaced in J by bezlěpicě ‘absurdity’, apparently taken from the gloss vŭ bezlěpici in B, which in turn is presumably based on bezŭlěpie in the translation of Hesychius’ comment.

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In some places J and B go even further, incorporating within the text of the psalms words or phrases taken from the commentaries. These may sometimes clarify metaphorical usage: for example the expansion ‘eyes of my heart’, 12:4 oči srdca moego in J and 118:18 oči moi srĭdĭčĭnii in J B, which derives from Hesychius’ comments on these verses, is generalized to 68:24 oči ixŭ srĭdĭčĭnii J B, while in 18:9 a similar turn of phrase, ‘eyes of the reason’, oči razumněi in B, appears to be based on ‘mental vision’, oumnyi zrakŭ, in the translation of Theodoret’s comment. Elsewhere however borrowings from commentary do no more than amplify the sense, as in: 11:7 τὰ λόγια κυρίου . . . ἁγνά ~ slovesa g~ně prěč~ta with i neliceměrna ‘and without hypocrisy’ added in J; 17:12 σκοτεινὸν ὕδωρ ~ tĭmĭna voda with i nevidima ‘and invisible’ added in B, inserted before voda in J; 29:8 δύναμιν ~ silǫ with i věrǫ neouklonnǫ ‘and unswerving faith’ added in J B; 39:9 τόν νόμον σου ~ zakonŭ tvoi with the addition of ‘gracious’, bl~gdtĭnyi in J, bl~godatelnyi in B; 99:2 ἐν εὐφροσύνῃ ~ vŭ veselii with i krotosti ‘and meekness’ added in J; 106:42 εὐφρανθήσονται ~ vŭzveselętŭ sę with radostijǫ věčĭnojǫ ‘in eternal joy’ added in J B; slovo grŭdyxŭ ‘the word of the proud’ preposed to I Sam 3:4 τόξον δυνατῶν ~ lǫkŭ silĭnyxŭ in J B. In all these instances the source of the insertion is the translation of Hesychius’ catena. The manuscripts J and B mark the high point in the interpretative reworking of the Church Slavonic Psalter in the medieval period. Not only do they deploy exegetical material with uncommon freedom; they also draw on other sources (MacRobert, 2005, pp. 219–21) and on liturgical phraseology, for instance when a tag is added to the mistranslation of 28:6 ὡς υἱὸς μονοκερώτων ~ jako s~nŭ edinorodnyi životŭ daja miru ‘as the only-begotten son who gives life to the world’ B. They thus augment the few specifically Christian interventions into the Church Slavonic psalter text which are attested from the thirteenth century onwards: 118:94 sŭpase sŭpasi ‘O Saviour, save’ FпI4 T28 Luc 8662 Ban Deč S7 Plj Ath Jar T35 FпI1 Sf60 P3 T33 and 12:4 xrĭste bože ‘O Christ God’ Luc 8662 FпI4 T35 FпI1 Sf60 P3. In the course of the fifteenth century the Russians returned to a more literalistic version of the Psalter based on one of the fourteenthcentury South Slavonic redactions. This version was incorporated into the Gennadian Bible at the end of the century and, with some further revision in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, supplied the text of the modern Russian Church Slavonic Psalter (Thomson, pp. 823–8).

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Few of the variants mentioned above made their way into the modern version, and those few probably by chance coincidence. The material reviewed above, however, demonstrates that the history of the Church Slavonic Psalter cannot be summed up simply in terms of an inexorable trend towards literalism, and that there was, at least for a time, a lively engagement with the interpretation of this text. List of MSS cited a) 11th Century MS: South Slavonic Sin = the Sinai (Glagolitic) psalter (Sever’janov; Altbauer, 1971; Tarnanides; Mareš). b) 11th Century MSS: East Slavonic Čud = the Čudov commentated Psalter (Pogorelov, St Petersburg 1910). Sluc = the Sluck psalter fragment (Sreznevskij; Tóth, 1982). S6 = MS 6 in the monastery of St. Catherine on Mt Sinai (Altbauer and Lunt; Tóth, 1972; Tarnanides). c) 12th–13th Century MSS: East Slavonic Tol = the Tolstoj commentated Psalter, MS F.п.I.23 in the Russian National Public Library in St. Petersburg; variant readings in Jagić, 1907, and Szulc. Har = the Harvard Psalter, MS Typ.221, in the Houghton Library, Harvard University; used in part by Altbauer and Lunt. T27 = f.381, MS 27 in the Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (RGADA) in Moscow. d) 13th Century MSS: South Slavonic Pog = the Pogodin commentated Psalter (Jagić, 1907). Bon = the Bologna commentated Psalter (Jagić, 1907; Dujčev). Ban = MS 1 in the Library of the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences in Sofia. Gri = the Grigorovič Psalter, f.87, MS 4 (M. 1687) in the Russian State Library in Moscow. Deč = the Dečani Psalter (Mitrevski). Rad = the Radomir psalter (Makarijoska). S7 = MS 7 in the monastery of St. Catherine on Mt. Sinai. S8 = MS 8 in the monastery of St. Catherine on Mt. Sinai (Altbauer, 1979; Tarnanides). Bel = fragments in five Belgrade archives: MS 36 in the University Library, MS 331 in the Museum of the Serbian Orthodox Church,

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MS 589 in the National Library, MS 314 in the Library of the Belgrade Patriarchate, and two unnumbered bifolia in the Museum of Applied Arts. Plj = MS 80 in the monastery of the Holy Trinity at Pljevlja; seven folia held in the Library of the Russian Academy of Sciences in St. Petersburg, MS 45.8.263. 14th Century MSS: South Slavonic Lob = the Lobkowicz or Prague Psalter, written in 1359 (Vajs). Par = the Paris Psalter (Vajs). Ath = MS 1797 in the National Library of Greece. Xlud = MS 4 of the Xludov collection in the State Historical Museum in Moscow. Ox = MS e Mus 184 in the Bodleian Library in Oxford. Nor = the Norov Psalter (Češko et al.). 14th Century MSS: East Slavonic T34 = f.381, MS 34 in the Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (RGADA) in Moscow. FпI2 = MS F.п.I.2 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. T28 = f.381, MS 28 in the Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (RGADA) in Moscow. Amf = the Simonovskaja psalter (Archimandrite Amfiloxij). Luc = MS Acq. e doni 360 in the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana in Florence; written in 1384. 8662 = f.304, MS 8662 in the Russian State Library in Moscow. Sf64 = f.728, MS 64 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. FпI4 = MS F. п.I.4 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. Jar = MS 15482 in the Historical Museum in Jaroslavl’. T35 = f.381, MS 35 in the Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (RGADA) in Moscow. FпI1 = MS F.п.I.1 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. Sf60 = f.728, MS 60 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. P3 = f.588, MS 3 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. Ki = the Kiev Psalter, written in 1397 (Vzdornov and Jurova). FпI3 = MS F. п.I.3 in the Russian National Library in St. Petersburg. 15th Century MSS: South Slavonic Hval = the psalter included in the Hvalov Zbornik, written in 1404 (Kuna et al.). Vin = the Vienna commentated Psalter, written in 1463 (Hamm). 15th Century MSS: East Slavonic 7/177 = a commentated psalter, MS 7/177 in the State Historical Museum in Moscow.

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J = MS 15231 in the archive of the regional history museum (located in the Spasskij Monastery) in Jaroslavl’. B = MS 96 of the Barsov collection in the State Historical Museum in Moscow. T33 = f.381, MS 33 in the Russian State Archive of Ancient Documents (RGADA) in Moscow. Vat = MS Slavo. 8 in the Vatican Library. List of Works Cited Altbauer, M. Psalterium sinaiticum. An 11th century Glagolitic Manuscript from St. Catherine’s Monastery, Mt. Sinai (Skopje, 1971). ——. Der älteste serbische Psalter (Slavistische Forschungen 23; Cologne – Vienna, 1979). Altbauer, M. and H.G. Lunt, An Early Slavonic Psalter from Rus’. (Cambridge, Mass, 1978). Archimandrite Amfiloxij, Drevle-slavjanskaja Psaltir’ Simonovskaja do 1280 goda 1–4 (2nd ed.; Moscow, 1880–1). Češko, E.V. et al., Norovskaja psaltyr’: Srednebolgarskaja rukopis’ XIV veka 1–2. (Sofia, 1989). Dujčev, I. Bolonski psaltir (Sofia, 1968). Hamm, J. Psalterium vindobonense. Der kommentierte glagolitische Psalter der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse, Schriften der Balkankommission, Linguistische Abteilung 19; Vienna, 1967). Jagić, V. “Ein unedierter griechische Psalmenkommentar”, Denkschriften der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse, 52:1 (1906), pp. 1–95. ——. Slovenskaja psaltyr’. Psalterium bononiense (Vienna-Berlin-St.Petersburg, 1907). ——. Supplementum Psalterii Bononiensis. Incerti auctoris explanatio Psalmorum graeca (Vienna, 1917). Jurić-Kappel, J. “Die Stellung des bosnischen Psalters (1404) innerhalb der verwandten slawischen Texte”, Wiener slavistisches Jahrbuch, 38 (1992), pp. 37–52. Kappel, J. “Der Fraščić-Psalter (Wiener glagolitische Psalter) in der slavischen Psaltertradition”, in: H. Miklas (ed.), Glagolitica. Zum Ursprung der slavischen Schriftkultur (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse, Schriften der Balkankommission, Linguistische Abteilung 41; Vienna, 2000), pp. 175–91. Karačorova, I. “Leksikata na Čudovskija psaltir iz preslavskata redakcija na starobălgarskite bogoslužebni knigi”, Bălgarski ezik, 34 (1984), 53–61. Kovtun, L.S. Russkaja leksikografija èpoxi srednevekov’ja (Moscow – Leningrad, 1963). Kuna, H. et al., Zbornik Hvala Kristjanina 1–2 (Sarajevo, 1986). Lépissier, J. Les Commentaires des Psaumes de Théodoret (Paris, 1968). MacRobert, C.M. “What is a Faithful Translation? Changing Norms in the Church Slavonic Version of the Psalter”, The Slavonic and East European Review, 69 (1991), pp. 401–417. ——. “A Missing Link in the Early Tradition of the Church Slavonic Psalter (the Tolstoy, Sluck, Eugenius and Vienna Psalters and MS 34 of the Moscow Synodal Typography)”, Wiener slavistisches Jahrbuch, 39 (1993), pp. 57–81. ——. “The Textual Tradition of the Oxford Serbian Psalter MS e Mus 184”, Polata k”nigopis’naja, 25–26 (1994), pp. 146–154.

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——. “The classificatory importance of headings and liturgical directions in Church Slavonic psalters of the 11th–15th centuries”, Byzantinoslavica, 57 (1996), pp. 156– 181. ——. “The historical significance of the Frolov Psalter (Russian National Library, F.п.I.3)”, Die Welt der Slaven, 42 (1997), pp. 34–46. ——. “The Textual Tradition of the Church Slavonic Psalter up to the Fifteenth Century”, in: J. Krašovec (ed.), Interpretation of the Bible (Ljubljana – Sheffield, 1998), pp. 921–942. ——. “The compilatory Church Slavonic catena on the Psalms in three East Slavonic manuscripts of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries”, Slavia, 74:2–3 (2005) (CyrilloMethodiana 2005 ad honorem Zdeňka Ribarova et Ludmila Pacnerová), pp. 213–238. Makarijoska, L. Radomirov psaltir (Stari tekstovi, 5; Skopje, 1997). Mareš, F.V. (ed.), Psalterii Sinaitici pars nova (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, phil.-hist. Klasse, Schriften der Balkan-Komission, Philologische Abteilung, 38, Fontes Nr. 2; Vienna, 1997). Mathauserová, S. Drevnerusskie teorii iskusstva slova (Prague, 1976). Mitrevski, Lj. Dečanski psaltir (Makedonski srednovekovni rakopisi, v; Prilep, 2000). Pogorelov, V.A. Čudovskaja Psaltyr’ XI veka: otryvok. Tolkovanija Feodorita Kirrskogo na Psaltyr’ v drevne-bolgarskom perevode (Pamjatniki staroslavjanskogo jazyka 3:1, Otdelenije russkogo jazyka i slovesnosti Imperatorskoj Akademii nauk; St. Petersburg, 1910). ——. Tolkovanija Feodorita Kirrskogo na Psaltyr’ v drevne-bolgarskom perevode. Rassmotrenie spiskov i issledovanie osobennostej Psaltyrnogo teksta (Warsaw, 1910). Sever’janov, S. Sinajskaja psaltyr’. Glagoličeskij pamjatnik XI veka (Pamjatniki staroslavjanskogo jazyka 4, Otdelenie russkogo jazyka i slovesnosti Rossijskoj Akademii Nauk; Petrograd, 1922). Sreznevskij, I.I., Drevnie slavjanskie pamjatniki jusovogo pis’ma (Sbornik statej Otdelenija russkogo jazyka i slovesnosti Rossijskoj Akademii Nauk 3; St. Petersburg, 1868), pp. 155–165. Stichel, R. Beiträge zur frühen Geschichte des Psalters und zur Wirkungsgeschichte der Psalmen (Paderborn, 2007). Szulc, A. Leksykalne i słowotwórcze zrównicowanie cerkiewnoslowianskich psalterzy redakcji ruskiej z XI–XIX wieku, 2 vols. (Torun, 2000–1). Tarnanides, I.C. The Slavonic Manuscripts Discovered in 1975 at St. Catherine’s Monastery on Mount Sinai (Thessaloniki, 1988). Thomson, F.J. “The Slavonic Translation of the Old Testament”, in: J. Krašovec (ed.), Interpretation of the Bible (Ljubljana – Sheffield, 1998), pp. 605–920. Tóth (Tot), I.H. “Byčkovskaja psaltyr’ XI v.”, Acta Universitatis Szegedensis de Jozsef Attila nominatae. Dissertationes slavicae, 8 (1972), pp. 71–114. ——. “Sluckaja psaltyr’ ”, Acta Universitatis Szegedensis de Jozsef Attila nominatae. Dissertationes slavicae, 15 (1982), pp. 147–91. Vajs, J. Psalterium palaeoslovenicum croatico-glagoliticum 1 (Krk-Prague, 1916). Vzdornov, G. and T.A. Jurova, Kievskaja psaltir’ 1397. Issledovanie Kievskoj Psaltiri (Moscow, 1978). Zlatanova, R. Kniga na dvanadesette proroci s tălkovanija (S. Nikolova (ed.), Starobălgarskijat prevod na starija zavet, vol.1; Sofia, 1998).

BIBLICAL PROPHECY FROM A NEAR EASTERN PERSPECTIVE: THE CASES OF KINGSHIP AND DIVINE POSSESSION Martti Nissinen What do we mean when we talk about prophets and prophecy? The question is relevant because prophecy is not a self-evident phenomenon that could be observed independently by any interested individual, but rather a construct, the meaning of which must be decided by those who participate in its formation – in our case, the scholarly community. The concept of prophecy has biblical roots: it is an integral part of the long-developed language of biblical scholarship, which has resulted in the status of biblical prophets as the model of prophecy in general. Today, however, the increasing availability of extrabiblical Near Eastern texts related to what is called prophecy has begun to challenge the primacy of the Bible, inspiring a growing number of more or less comparative studies on prophecy in nonbiblical – whether Mesopotamian, West Semitic, or Greek – documents.1 In fact, the extrabiblical application of the concept of prophecy has been surprisingly easy, which may (and should) raise the question whether the biblical concept has all too carelessly been imported to contexts where its use is not hereditary, and how much confusion this may have caused that we are not yet even aware of. This actualizes the questions of definition and the choice of perspective. Serious attempts have been made to define prophecy in a way that facilitates mutual understanding in the scholarly discussion, and not without avail. Today, the basis of any definition is commonly seen in intermediation as the principal function of prophecy, and this is also my conviction.2 However, the widespread agreement on this 1 A comprehensive anthology of texts documenting prophecy in the ancient Near East, together with a bibliography up to 2003, is available in M. Nissinen, with contributions by C.-L. Seow and R.K. Ritner, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East (SBLWAW 12; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003). This work is henceforth referred to as SBLWAW 12 with text numbers. 2 For a classic formulation of this definition, see M. Weippert, “Prophetie im Alten Orient”, Neues Bibel-Lexikon 3 (1997), pp. 196–200; for qualifications and critique, see, e.g., D.L. Petersen, “Defining Prophecy and Prophetic Literature”, in Prophecy in Its Ancient Near Eastern Context: Mesopotamian, Biblical, and Arabian Perspectives

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fundamental issue leaves room for a number of further questions, for example: Is there a continuity or discontinuity between oral/aural prophecy and prophetic writings? What is the relationship between prophecy and (other kinds of ) divination? How does the concept of prophecy function when moved outside the conventional biblical or Jewish-Christian framework? Should the Israelite, or biblical, or Jewish prophecy be considered a class of its own after all? Is it justified to apply the same concept to related phenomena and sources which may turn out to be distinct in several respects? How are different kinds of source materials to be evaluated as evidence of prophecy, whether in a historical, ideological, or phenomenological sense? It is far beyond the scope of this paper to give an answer to all these highly relevant questions, but I try to keep them in mind when looking at biblical prophecy from a Near Eastern perspective, with the purpose of examining whether there are enough relevant points of comparison to justify the cross-cultural application of the concept of prophecy, despite its biblical origin, in the ancient Near Eastern context. The Near Eastern prophetic texts have often played an ancillary role as a comparative material to the study of biblical prophecy; yet the attention paid to the selection of pertinent texts is greatly unproportional with regard to its relatively small size in comparison with the ocean of other divinatory texts from the ancient Near East. On the other hand, the documentation of prophecy constitutes a corpus of almost 150 individual texts, well comparable in size and substance to the biblical prophetic books.3 Its haphazard nature notwithstanding, this documentation yields a fairly comprehensive picture of the prophetic phenomenon in Mesopotamia and in the Levant. The sources

(ed. M. Nissinen; SBLSymS 13, Atlanta, 2000), pp. 33–44; M. Nissinen, “What Is Prophecy? An Ancient Near Eastern Perspective,” in: J. Kaltner and L. Stulman (eds.), Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon (JSOTS 378; London and New York, 2004), pp. 17–37. 3 SBLWAW 12 collects 142 texts altogether, but the number can be expected to grow when new texts are found or recognized as documents of prophecy. The newest text (SAAB 17: 25) mentioning a prophet (maḫ ḫ û), found at Ziyaret Tepe in eastern Turkey, dates to the year following the fall of Nineveh in 612 bce; see S. Parpola, “Cuneiform Texts from Ziyaret Tepe (Tušḫan) 2002–2003”, SAAB 17 (2008), pp. 1–113, esp. 98–100. Moreover, Beate Pongratz-Leisten has recognized the Old Babylonian text W 19900, 1 (cf. ANET 3, p. 604) as a prophetic letter, see eadem, “When the Gods Are Speaking: Towards Defining the Interface between Polytheism and Monotheism”, in: M. Köckert and M. Nissinen (eds), Prophetie in Mari, Assyrien und Israel (FRLANT 201; Göttingen, 2003), pp. 132–168, esp. pp. 155–157.

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originate from different places and periods of time, enabling the appreciation of prophecy as an integral and permanent part of the socioreligious landscape of Western Asia. Therefore, it makes sense to take a look at biblical prophecy from the perspective of the Near Eastern prophetic phenomena as represented by the available documents, setting the agenda according to the aspects that appear to be recurrent in the available documentation and looking for cognate features in biblical literature. Comparative studies often suffer from a certain imbalance, especially if the so-called “parallels” are given a secondary role, using them first and foremost to support theories concerning the actual target of interest, that is, the biblical texts. Ancient Near Eastern texts may, for instance, be used as a means of controlling the authenticity and historical accuracy of biblical prophetic texts, or they can be presented as hard evidence against attempts at dehistoricizing the biblical prophets or dismantling the prophetic books.4 The uncritical use of parallels is the most notorious feature of comparative studies that, especially if they follow a prescribed agenda, often leads to unjustified generalizations and unreliable results. To avoid the shortcomings of “parallelomania,”5 we could, of course, argue for an Eigenbegrifflichkeit of biblical prophecy, examining biblical prophecy as a self-sustaining system and resorting to the comparative material only in cases where the biblical corpus cannot explain itself. Taking this approach, however, would not help us to examine the cross-cultural applicability of the concept of prophecy; rather, it would lead to an ethnocentric point of view that impedes rather than facilitates the contextualization of biblical prophecy. Therefore, I think, we are better advised to read the Hebrew Bible as another representative of ancient Near Eastern literature, approaching biblical prophecy as a variation of the general phenomenon of transmitting allegedly divine knowledge. Such an approach has been taken in recent studies dealing with prophecy in the Hebrew Bible from a religio-historical and sociological point of view.6 4 This, I am afraid, is what happens in works with an apologetic tendency, e.g., in K.A. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, 2003), pp. 373–420. 5 The justified warnings of S. Sandmel, “Parallelomania”, JBL 81 (1962), pp. 1–13, are still worth heeding. 6 E.g., J. Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet: Religious and Intellectual Leadership in Ancient Israel (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville, Ky., 1995), pp. 115–165;

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With “biblical prophecy” – as distinct from “ancient Hebrew prophecy” – I mean prophecy as the literary construct that we have in front of our eyes when reading the Hebrew Bible.7 Consequently, in this paper, I am reading the Hebrew Bible as a corpus of literature that represents its own characteristic images of prophets and prophecy – images that are multifarious and sometimes contradictory. This means that I am not comparing Near Eastern documents primarily with the so-called “classical prophets” and their supposed words and deeds, prioritizing their lifetime as a privileged period of Israelite prophecy; neither am I making a qualitative difference between the prophetic and historical books of the Hebrew Bible as documents of prophecy. Instead, I take the Hebrew Bible as a text, in which everything that is said about the prophets in one way or another serves the ends of the texts’ authors and editors and their communities, irrespective of the origin of individual stories or oracles. At this stage of the investigation, I will not pay primary attention to the dating of individual biblical texts. In general, however, I assume that the books of the Hebrew Bible as we have them are the product of a long editorial process that did not end before the late Persian or Hellenistic period. I would be the last person to undermine the search for prophecy as a historical phenomenon in the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, or the importance of diachronic historical analyses of prophecy and the prophetic books in the Hebrew Bible. However, when looking at the biblical text from a Near Eastern perspective, I consider it necessary to take the first look from a distance, paying but marginal attention to the literary history of the biblical writings. Instead of attempting a full-scale comparison of biblical and extrabiblical texts, I have chosen two rather different topics that can be seen as typical of the prophetic phenomenon in the Near Eastern documents, assessing their significance for the biblical construct of prophecy. The cases discussed are 1) the relation of prophets to kings, and 2) the network of prophecy, music, lament, and divine possession. It is my main objective to bring the documents into dialogue with each L.L. Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages: A Socio-Historical Study of Religious Specialists in Ancient Israel (Valley Forge, Pa., 1995), pp. 66–118; P.D. Miller, The Religion of Ancient Israel (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville, Ky., 2000), pp. 174–189; cf. already R.R. Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel (Philadelphia, Pa., 1980); Thomas W. Overholt, Channels of Prophecy: The Social Dynamics of Prophetic Activity (Minneapolis, Minn., 1989). 7 For this distinction, see Nissinen, “What Is Prophecy?”, pp. 28–31.

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other. Due to the limited space, but also because of the synchronic approach which needs to be completed by diachronical analyses at a later stage, my explanations and conclusions will remain brief, tentative, and thus liable to criticism. I. Prophets and Kings The elementary affiliation between the institutions of prophecy and kingship is amply documented all over the Near Eastern sources available to us. Royal concerns are dealt with in the majority of the extant prophetic oracles which almost without exception are addressed to a king, most often to Zimri-Lim of Mari8 and Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal of Assyria,9 but also to Ibalpiel of Eshnunna,10 Zakkur of Hamath,11 and the ruler of Byblos.12 Even Greek oracles, notably the Pythia of Delphi, were regularly consulted by kings, such as Croesus of Lydia.13 Without actually being part of the court personnel but rather belonging to temples and other cult places, prophets evidently belonged to the divinatory apparatus consulted by ancient Near Eastern rulers. But how important was their role compared with different types of diviners in general? The fragmentary set of sources available provides us only with a rather short list of kings receiving prophetic messages. This may give the impression that the prophets, for most of the time, did not play a significant role, at least when it comes to royal issues. There may be some truth in this impression, but it must be balanced against the 8 Most of the letters citing prophetic oracles are published in J.-M. Durand, Archives épistolaires de Mari I/1 (ARM 26/1; Paris, 1988); these and a number of additional documents can be found in SBLWAW 12, nos. 1–65. 9 The Assyrian oracles are to be found in S. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies (SAA 9; Helsinki, 1997); other Neo-Assyrian documents are discussed in M. Nissinen, References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources (SAAS 7; Helsinki, 1998); cf. SBLWAW 12, nos. 68–118. 10 The two oracles from Eshnunna are published in Maria deJong Ellis, “The Goddess Kititum Speaks to King Ibalpiel: Oracle Texts from Ishchali”, MARI 5 (1987), pp. 235–66; cf. SBLWAW 12, nos. 66–67. 11 KAI 202; cf. the translation of Choon-Leong Seow in SBLWAW 12, no. 137. 12 See A.H. Gardiner, Late Egyptian Stories (Brussels, 1932), pp. 61–76; cf. the translation of Robert K. Ritner in SBLWAW 12, no. 142. 13 See V. Rosenberger, Griechische Orakel: Eine Kulturgeshichte (Darmstadt, 2001), pp. 160–165. For the role of the Delphic oracle in Athenian democracy, see H. Bowden, Classical Athens and the Delphic Oracle: Divination and Democracy (Cambridge, UK, 2005).

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provenance of the extant oracles, the lion’s share of which comes from two major archives, Mari and Nineveh. Taken together, the bits and pieces of our documentation attest to a geographically and chronologically widespread institution that was readily available to kings, at least in Mesopotamia and in the West Semitic world. In the Old Babylonian period, for instance, Zimri-Lim of Mari was not the only king to be addressed by prophets. A couple of prophecies to an earlier king of Mari, Yasmah-Addu, have been preserved,14 his rival and ally Ibalpiel of Eshnunna received prophetic oracles,15 and the letters from Mari inform us of prophecies uttered in different places, from Aleppo to Babylon.16 Of the few West Semitic prophetic documents, only the Zakkur stele says explicitly that the king of Hamath had received prophetic oracles, but even other texts, such as the Mesha stele17 and the Amman citadel inscription,18 may be quoted as indirect evidence of the kings of Moab and Ammon receiving prophetic oracles.19 The fact that Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal were the only NeoAssyrian kings not only to record prophetic oracles in their archives but to even mention them in their inscriptions, is probably indicative of their special predilection for prophecy.20 That these kings seem to

14 I.e., A. 3760 and ARM 26 223 (cf. SBLWAW 12, nos. 3 and 34); for an edition and the dating of these texts, see D. Charpin, “Prophètes et rois dans le ProcheOrient amorrite: Nouvelles données, nouvelles perspectives”, in: D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand (eds.), Florilegium marianum 6: Recueil d’études à la mémoire d’André Parrot (Mémoires de NABU 7; Paris, 2002), pp. 7–38, esp. pp. 34–37. 15 Cf. above, note 10. 16 In addition to cities within Zimri-Lim’s reign, such as Terqa, Tuttul, Saggaratum, and Qaṭtụ nan, there are letters containing prophetic oracles from Aleppo (FM 7: 39 and FM 7: 38; cf. SBLWAW 12, nos. 1 and 2), Babylon (ARM 26 371; cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 47), and Andarig (ARM 26 414; cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 48). 17 KAI 181; cf. A. Lemaire, “Notes d’épigraphie nord-ouest sémitique”, Syria 64 (1987), pp. 205–216, esp. pp. 210–214. 18 See W.E. Aufrecht, A Corpus of Ammonite Inscriptions (Lewiston, N.Y., 1989), pp. 154–163 (no. 59); cf SBLWAW 12, no. 136; A. Lemaire, “Oracles, politique et littérature dans les royaumes araméens et transjordaniens (IXe–VIIIe s. av. n.è.)”, in: J.-G. Heintz (ed.), Oracles et prophéties dans l’antiquité (Travaux du Centre de recherche sur le Proche-Orient et la Grèce antiques 15; Paris, 1997), pp. 171–193, esp. pp. 180–181. 19 Thus A. Lemaire, “Prophètes et rois dans les inscriptions ouest-sémitiques (IXe– VIe siecle av. J.-C.)”, in: A. Lemaire (ed.), Prophètes et rois: Bible et Proche-Orient (Lectio divina, hors série; Paris, 2001), pp. 85–115, esp. pp. 101–111. 20 Cf. my earlier deliberations in M. Nissinen, “City as Lofty as Heaven: Arbela and Other Cities in Neo-Assyrian Prophecy”, in: L.L. Grabbe and R.D. Haak (eds.), “Every City Shall Be Forsaken”: Urbanism and Prophecy in Ancient Israel and the Near East (JSOTS 330; Sheffield, 2001), pp. 172–209, esp. pp. 180–183.

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have been more inclined than their predecessors to lend their ears to prophets does not, however, warrant the conclusion that prophecy was a West Semitic import that only sporadically reached Mesopotamian courts.21 Prophets were there all the time, even though their political relevance and their role among the diviners consulted by the royal court may have varied depending on the king, country, and period of time. The institutional affiliation between prophecy and kingship is quite natural when seen in the context of kingship and divination in general. Among other diviners, the prophets were representatives of the Herrschaftswissen, that is, they were one of the media through which the king was kept informed of the divine favors and obligations and the origin and legitimacy of his rule.22 This was the ideological foundation of their activity and the basis of their acknowlegdment by the royal court. The words of those prophets who were regarded as mouthpieces of deities (not all of them were) were appreciated accordingly. The prophets did not address the king as themselves but in the name of the deity, which gave them the opportunity of speaking to the king as the gods do, not using the courtly phraseology that other diviners were obliged to use in their letters, but beginning the message with formulas like the “Word of Ištar of Arbela.”23 From this position, they were entitled to address the king in different ways – not always favorably, as is most often the case, but also in a critical tone.24 To use traditional form critical categories, the ancient Near Eastern prophecies do not just include Heilsworte but also Mahnworte and Gerichtsworte; in other words, the prophecies communicate words of support and instruction as well as those of warning, indictment, and judgment.25

21 The Western provenance of prophecy has been assumed by A. Malamat, “The Cultural Impact of the West (Syria-Palestine) on Mesopotamia in the Old Babylonian Period”, AOF 24 (1997), pp. 312–319. 22 See B. Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschaftswissen in Mesopotamien: Formen der Kommunikation zwischen Gott und König im 2. und 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (SAAS 10; Helsinki, 1999). 23 SAA 9 2.4 ii 30; 3.4 ii 33; 3.5 iii 16; 5:1; 7:2. 24 For prophetical criticism in the Near Eastern documents, see M. Nissinen, “Das kritische Potential in der altorientalischen Prophetie”, in: M. Köckert and M. Nissinen (eds.), Propheten in Mari, Assyrien und Israel (FRLANT 201; Göttingen, 2003), pp. 1–32 25 Cf. the useful table in J.H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament: Introducing the Conceptual World of the Hebrew Bible (Grand Rapids, Mich., 2006), pp. 245–247.

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Even though only a relatively small number of sources represent the categories of indictment and judgment, they should not be overlooked. The distribution of these categories in the extant documents does not necessarily reflect the actual variety of prophetic proclamation. As important as the prophets were regarded by the ancient Near Eastern kings, or at least some of them, there are few records of direct contacts between kings and prophets. The demoralized comment of the astrologer Bel-ušezib on the prophets and prophetesses Esarhaddon had summoned instead of himself 26 may be taken as an expression of professional jealousy, but it also implies that this was an unusual thing for the king to do. The kings of Mari, according to the existing evidence, were informed about prophecies mostly by go-betweens,27 and the Assyrian kings received prophecies in the form of written reports.28 How often the kings were present in situations where prophecies were uttered is very difficult to conclude. We may assume that Esarhaddon was there when the prophecies concerning his kingship were spoken on the occasion of his own enthronement ritual,29 and the king of Mari was expected to take part in the ritual of Ištar where even the prophets were performing.30 That the kings heard prophets speaking, perhaps on a regular basis, does not, however, mean that they had personal contacts with prophets in the same way they communicated with their trusted astrologers, haruspices, and exorcists. The available documentation yields the impression that, while prophecies were appreciated as divine words, the kings did not maintain personal relationships with prophets. They do deliver messages from deities to kings, but the kings are seldom

26

SAA 10 109; cf. Nissinen, References to Prophecy, pp. 89–95. See J.M. Sasson, “The Posting of Letters with Divine Messages”, in: D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand (eds.), Florilegium marianum 2: Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Maurice Birot (Mémoires de NABU 3; Paris, 1994), pp. 299–316. 28 For the report format, see K. Radner, “The Relation Between Format and Content of Neo-Assyrian Texts”, in: R. Matilla (ed.), Niniveh 612 bc: The Glory and Fall of the Assyrian Empire (Catalogue of the 10th Anniversary Exhibition of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project; Helsinki, 1995), pp. 63–78, esp. pp. 72–74. 29 See the five prophecies included in SAA 9 3 (Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies, pp. lxiv, 22–27; cf. SBLWAW 12, nos. 84–88). 30 A. 3165 and A. 1249b+; see J.-M. Durand and M. Guichard, “Les rituels de Mari”, in: D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand (eds.), Florilegium marianum 3: Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Marie-Thérèse Barrelet (Mémoires de NABU 4; Paris, 1997), pp. 19–78, esp. pp. 52–63, 72–75. 27

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found in direct consultations with them,31 nor do the prophets feature as advisors to the king in the same way as the scholars, whose relationship with the king is often a personal one, and many of whom – unlike the prophets – are familiar to us as persons, thanks to their intensive correspondence with the kings. Among the Near Eastern prophets, there is no one who would stand out as a personality of whom we know anything but some basic data like the name, the domicile, and the title. Turning now to the Hebrew Bible, it is easy to notice that the communication between prophets and kings is taken as a matter of course. Kings of Israel and Judah, from the first to the last, regularly receive divine words spoken by people designated as prophets. Many times this happens on their own initiative; kings who actively seek the services of prophets include Saul who looked after Samuel (1 Sam 9), himself joined a prophetic band (1 Sam 10:9–12), and later turned to prophets, albeit without avail (1 Sam 28:6); Jeroboam on the occasions of the destruction of the altar at Bethel and the sickness of his son (1 Kgs 13:6–10; 14:1–18); Ahab who needs an oracle concerning his joint campaign with Jehoshaphath against Ramoth-Gilead (1 Kgs 22; 2 Chr 18); Ahasiah, having fallen through a window in his upper chamber (2 Kgs 1); Jehoram, Jehoshaphath, and the king of Edom facing difficulties during their campaign against Moab (2 Kgs 3:9–20); Ben-Hadad, the sick king of Damascus (2 Kgs 8:7–15); Joash at the deathbed of the prophet Elisha (2 Kgs 13:14–19); Hezekiah, intimidated by Sennacherib (2 Kgs 19:1–34; Isa 37:1–35; cf. 2 Chr 32:20); Josiah, scandalized by the newly found law book (2 Kgs 22:3–20; 2 Chr 34:19–28); Zedekiah, facing the threat of Nebuchadnezzar (Jer 21:1–10; 37:3–10; 38:14–26). When there was no longer a king, the elders of Israel approached Ezekiel (Ez 8:1; 14:1; 20:1). Equally as often, the biblical prophets deliver unsolicited oracles to kings, addressing them directly or indirectly: Nathan (2 Sam 7:4–17; 12:1–14; 1 Chr 17:3–15) and Gad (1 Sam 22:5; 2 Sam 24:11–19; 1 Chr 21:9–19) to David; Ahiah to Jeroboam (1 Kgs 11:29–39); Shemaiah to Rehoboam (1 Kgs 12:22–24; 2 Chr 12:5–8); Azariah son of Oded (2 Chr 15:1–7) and Hanani (2 Chr 16:7–10) to Asa; Jehu son of Hanani 31

Cf., however, D. Charpin, “Prophètes et rois dans le Proche-Orient amorrite”, in Lemaire (ed.), Prophètes et rois, pp. 21–53, esp. pp. 34–37, who interprets a part of the evidence in favor of more direct contacts between prophets and the king than, e.g., J.M. Sasson (see above, n. 27).

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to Baasha (1 Kgs 16:1–7) and to Jehoshaphath (2 Chr 19:1–3); Jahaziel son of Zechariah (2 Chr 20:14–17) and Eliezer son of Dodavah (2 Chr 20:37) to Jehoshaphath; Elijah to Ahab (1 Kgs 18; 21:17–29) and to Jehoram of Israel (in a letter; 2 Chr 21:12–15); anonymous prophets to Ahab (1 Kgs 20:13–14, 22, 39–43); the anonymous “son of a prophet” to Jehu (2 Kgs 9:1–13); two anonymous prophets to Amaziah (2 Chr 25:7–10, 15–16); Oded to Ahaz (2 Chr 28:9–11); Isaiah to Ahaz (Isa 7:10–25) and to Hezekiah (2 Kgs 20:1–11), not to mention Cyrus (Isa 45:1–7); Jeremiah to the kings of neighboring kingdoms (Jer 27:2– 11), to Josiah, Jehoiachim and Jehoiachin (Jer 22:10–19, 24–30), and to Zedekiah (Jer 32:3–5; 34:1–7); Hosea to the royal house (Hos 5:1); Amos to Jeroboam (Am 7:10–11) – and, by analogy, Haggai to Zerubbabel (Hag 2:20–23) and, possibly, Noadiah to Nehemiah (Neh 6:14). Viewed from the Near Eastern perspective, the patterns of communication between prophets and kings seem rather familiar. Irrespective of the historicity of each encounter, which in many – if not most – cases is doubtful, the array of kings receiving prophetic messages demonstrates that the biblical writers regarded the communication between prophets and kings as standard procedure. Like the kings of Mari and Assyria, the biblical kings turn to prophets in critical situations, and the prophets deliver oracles of support, instruction, warning, indictment, and judgment to the kings. The sayings of the prophets relate to political, cultic, and private matters, their activity is intensified in times of crises, and they proclaim judgment over foreign nations. Like in the ancient Near East, prophets are involved in the investiture of new kings (1 Sam 9–10; 16:1–13; 1 Kgs 1:32–40; 19:15–16; 2 Kgs 8:13; 9:1–13; cf. Hag 2:20–23),32 and they keep the kings informed of their duties, legitimacy and the ideological and theological basis of their power. By and large, the function of prophets as specialists in

32 The Assyrian cases of prophetic involvement in the investiture of kings include the enthronement of Esarhaddon (SAA 9 3) and the substitute king ritual reported in SAA 10 352; see Nissinen, References to Prophecy, pp. 25–30, 68–77. At Mari, letter FM 7: 38 (cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 2) may refer to an original enthronement oracle; see J.-G. Heintz, “Des textes sémitiques anciens à la Bible hébraïque: un comparatisme légitime?”, in: F. Boespflug and F. Dunand (eds.), Le comparatisme en histoire des religions: pour un état de la question (Paris, 1997), pp. 127–156, esp. pp. 146–150. Lemaire, “Prophètes et rois dans les inscriptions ouest-sémitiques”, pp. 86–93, points out the similarity between lines 4–5 of the Tel Dan stela where Hasael, the son of Ben Hadad says: “[and] Hadad made [m]e king,” and 2 Kgs 8:13, where Elisha the prophet proclaims that the God of Israel will make him king of Aram.

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the Herrschaftswissen in the Hebrew Bible corresponds to that in the ancient Near East in general. All these fundamental similarities between the images of prophets and kings in the Hebrew Bible and other Near Eastern sources should be appreciated at their full value, but some significant differences must also be noted. The relationship between kings and prophets seems rather more immediate in the Hebrew Bible. The list of encounters between prophets and kings, to which even Daniel’s communication with Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar and Darius (Dan 1–6) should be added, is much longer than can be assembled from the entire Near Eastern documentation. Sometimes biblical kings, like the king of Mari, are only indirectly informed of prophecies (Josiah in 2 Kgs 22; Jehojachim in Jer 36; the king of Nineveh in Jon 3), but much more often the communication between prophets and kings in the Hebrew Bible is direct and personal. Jeremiah, with his antagonistic messages, faces some problems at times in this respect, but there are prophets – Elijah, for instance (1 Kgs 21:17–24) – who seem to have no difficulties in approaching the king personally in spite of their aggressive proclamations against him. Indeed, prophets like Nathan (2 Sam 7:4–17; 12:1–14) and Isaiah (Isa 7) conform to the conventional picture of “court prophets” better than their Near Eastern colleagues of whom this term is (often derogatorily) used. Actually, the role of some prophets comes closer to that of the Mesopotamian scholars: not only do they perform divinatory acts that in Mesopotamia would belong to the realm of the exorcists (2 Kgs 20:1–11//Isa 38:1–8, 21–22), but they also appear as active agents in political decision-making, having a direct access to the king (1 Kgs 1:11–31; 2 Kgs 19:1–7//Isa 37:1–7; Isa 7; Jer 38:14–28). All this makes the role of biblical prophets vis-à-vis the kings more prominent and independent than can be deduced from any Near Eastern source. To this can be added that, while the portrait of some of the biblical prophets remains quite as faint as that of the Near Eastern prophets in general, many prophets in the Hebrew Bible stand out as the main characters in the stories written about them. The Hebrew Bible does not provide us with too many details of the life and deeds of Obadiah, Nahum, Habakkuk, or Zephaniah, but a great deal more is said about figures like Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Hosea, whose personalities, theologies, biographies, and psychopathologies have, therefore, been the subject of intensive research. However, the increasing awareness of the difficulties in reaching historical persons behind the texts has

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turned scholarly attention from the prophets as historical personalities to the prophetic books as scribal works and the development of the prophetic tradition in the Second Temple period when the scribal enterprise, for the most part, took place.33 This highlights the difference between the Hebrew Bible and the Near Eastern documents, which include several reports on prophetic performances; these, however, are to be found in letters written to the king, not in literary compositions like the stories about prophets included in biblical books. In general, the Near Eastern documentation consists of mostly contemporary reports on prophecies delivered to the king himself, while the Hebrew Bible tells stories about the encounters of kings and prophets in a secondary literary setting. Moreover, and partly because of this difference in documentation, the ideological junctures of prophecy and kingship are much more complex in the Hebrew Bible than in other Near Eastern documents. Ideological neutrality can hardly be said to belong to prophecy anywhere; in a way, prophets mostly appear as stern supporters of the dominant ideology of each textual corpus, whether biblical or nonbiblical. The difference is that, while the Near Eastern sources, as a rule, themselves represent the royal ideology of the kingdom they come from, whether Mari, Assyria, or Hamath, the biblical texts present a more tangled case. There are enough traces of the “classical” Near Eastern royal ideology in the Hebrew Bible to make it probable that the type of royal prophecy amply documented in Near Eastern sources also existed in Jerusalem. These include the oracle of Nathan in 2 Sam 734 and Haggai’s oracle to Zerubbabel (Hag 2:21–23),35 as well as royal psalms that 33 See, e.g., E. Ben Zvi, “The Prophetic Book: A Key Form of Prophetic Literature”, in: E. Ben Zvi and M.A. Sweeney (eds.), The Changing Face of Form Criticism for the Twenty-First Century (Grand Rapids, Mich., 2003), pp. 276–297; U. Becker, “Die Wiederentdeckung des Prophetenbuches: Tendenzen und Aufgaben der gegenwärtigen Prophetenforschung”, BTZ 21 (2004), pp. 30–60; M.H. Floyd, “The Production of Prophetic Books in the Early Second Temple Period”, in: M.H. Floyd and R.D. Haak (eds.), Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism (LHBOTS 427; New York and London, 2006), pp. 276–297; K. van der Toorn, Scribal Culture and the Making of the Hebrew Bible (Cambridge, Mass., 2007), pp. 173–204. 34 For a recent analysis, see P. Kasari, Nathan’s Promise in 2 Samuel 7 and Related Texts (unpublished ThD. dissertation, Åbo Akademi University, 2004), who finds the original royal oracle to David in 2 Sam 7:1a, 2–5a, 8aβbα*, 9a, 12aαβb, 14a, 15a, 17. 35 These verses, in my view, reflect the tradition of Near Eastern royal prophecy irrespective of whether Zerubbabel was actually designated here as a king or even a messiah. Being supportive of the ruling elite under the leadership of Zerubbabel, “[i]t advocates the perpetuation of Israelite institutions and traditions within the context

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may have their background in prophetic activity (Ps 2; 21; 45; 110).36 Especially in Second Isaiah, many passages resemble the Neo-Assyrian oracles and are likely to utililize language and ideas inherited from traditional royal prophecy.37 On the other hand, the harsh antagonism of many biblical prophets towards kings and kingship is virtually unparalleled in Near Eastern sources, where the king can certainly be criticized,38 but the criticism never goes as far as to declare the end of the ruling dynasty of the country (cf. 1 Kgs 14:10–11; 16:2–4; Jer 22:30; Am 7:9, 17) – except for one case, reported by Nabû-rehtu-uṣur to Esarhaddon as a pseudoprophecy proclaiming the destruction of the seed of Sennacherib (SAA 16 59).39 This important piece of evidence shows that even in Assyria, prophecy could be used by oppositional circles against the ruling king, which is not surprising as such. What is noteworthy is that such a document, thanks to the solicitous servant of the king, has been preserved in the Assyrian state archives, where the point of view of the adversaries of the kings is poorly represented. This raises the question about the origin and motivation of the prophetic opposition against biblical kings. It is evident that the lion’s share of biblical texts dealing with kings and prophets do not grow out of the official royal ideology but from a distinct ideological soil, fertilized by oppositional, sometimes theocratic-antimonarchical – and, to a great extent, postmonarchical ideas. The perspective of the biblical books is neither that of the kings nor that of the prophets, but that of a third party not directly involved in the encounters of kings and prophets but looking at them, and manufacturing them, from a distance, for purposes nourished by other than royal or prophetic concerns. This is not to say that no historical evidence of such encounters can be deduced from the Hebrew Bible; a

of accommodation to the realities of Persian rule” (J. Kessler, The Book of Haggai: Prophecy and Society in Early Persian Yehud [VTS 91; Leiden, 2002], p. 279), hence being functionally equivalent with ancient Near Eastern prophecy in general. 36 For traces of prophetic activity in the Psalms, see J. Hilber, Cultic Prophecy in the Psalms (BZAW 352; Berlin and New York, 2005), pp. 76–217. 37 See M. Weippert, “ ‘Ich bin Jahwe’ – ‘Ich bin Ištar of Arbela’: Deuterojesaja im Lichte der neuassyrischen Prophetie”, in: B. Huwyler et al. (eds.), Prophetie und Psalmen: Festschrift für Klaus Seybold zum 65. Geburtstag (AOAT 280; Münster, 2001), pp. 31–59. 38 See Nissinen, “Das kritische Potential in der altorientalischen Prophetie”. 39 See M. Luukko and G. van Buylaere, The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (SAA 16; Helsinki, 2002), pp. 52–53; cf. Nissinen, References to Prophecy, pp. 108–153.

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careful diachronic scrutiny may well be able to reveal some authentic cases that actually took place in the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, and the comparative evidence may be helpful in recognizing them. Nevertheless, it remains a problem whether the fragmentary evidence found in the biblical texts, edited by the Second Temple scribes according to their ideological preferences, is enough to enable a reliable historical reconstruction of the relationship between the prophets and the kings. From a historical point of view, the fierce opposition to kings and kingship in the Hebrew Bible may be quite as disproportional as the virtual lack thereof in other Near Eastern documents. For the editors of the biblical books, the end of the monarchy was as much a reality as was the monarchy’s endurance for the scribes of Assyria and Mari, and this certainly had an effect on the general tone of the documents we have at our disposal. On both sides, we are dependent on incomplete evidence representing biased views, and this makes the comparison a cumbersome task. All difficulties notwithstanding, there is enough evidence to warrant the conviction that, in the kingdoms of Judah and Israel, the institutions of prophecy and kingship were affiliated in more or less the same way as is documented by texts from other parts of the Near East. The historical and ideological role of prophets as specialists in Herrschaftswissen and, thus, an essential part of the royal divinatory apparatus is presupposed by the biblical texts regardless of their dating. This is true especially for texts that describe the kings and their activities, that is, the Deuteronomistic History40 and, in particular, the Chronicles,41 where the communication between prophets and kings is depicted as more intensive than anywhere else, not to mention the book of Daniel. Hence, even texts of late origin follow the ancient Near

40 For the significance of prophets and prophecy in the Deuteronomistic History, see, e.g., W. Dietrich, “Prophetie im deuteronomistischen Geschichtswerk”, in: T. Römer (ed.), The Future of the Deuteronomistic History (BETL 147; Leuven, 2000), pp. 47–65; cf. also E. Ben Zvi, “ ‘The Prophets’ – References to Generic Prophets and their Role in the Construction of the Image of ‘Prophets of the Old’ within the Postmonarchic Readership/s of the Book of Kings”, ZAW 116 (2004), pp. 555–567. 41 See W.M. Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition: From Prophet to Exegete in the Second Temple Period (JSOTS 197; Sheffield, 1995); Y. Amit, “The Role of Prophecy and Prophets in the Chronicler’s World”, in Floyd and Haak (ed.), Prophets, Prophecy and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism, pp. 80–101.

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Eastern pattern in reinforcing the fundamental affinity of the institutions of prophecy and kingship. However, there are also intriguing differences between the images of prophets and kings in biblical and extrabiblical texts – first and foremost the active and, at times, aggressive engagement of the biblical prophets on the one hand, and their divinatory (and even non-divinatory) functions atypical of other Near Eastern prophets on the other. The roles of biblical prophets are manifold and should not be forced into a harmonized image. There may be historical and sociological reasons for the variety of the roles of biblical prophets. In Mesopotamia, there was a clear division between scholars and prophets, but an overlap of roles is more likely in less differentiated societies like those of Judah and Israel; for example, the priestly lineage of Jeremiah (Jer 1:1) and Ezekiel (Ez 1:3), if historical, probably had implications for their social role and educational background. To a great extent, however, this diversity is without doubt the product of the creativity of the authors and editors of the biblical texts, and some part of it may be due to a secondary “prophetization” of characters like Samuel42 or, in a different vein, ʾanšê ʾĕlohîm like Elijah or Elisha. It must be borne in mind that most methods of divination other than prophecy are condemned by the biblical writers, especially the Deuteronomists to who we owe many of the biblical encounters between prophets and kings. While the existence of the diviners is acknowledged, kings turning to them appear in a dubious light, and the word of God never comes through their activities. In terms of this ideology, there is little room for diviners other than prophets who make the king conversant with the divine will. II. Prophecy, Music, Lament, and Divine Possession Prophecy and Music Why music? It may strike one as surprising to take up this issue in comparative studies on prophecy. However, I hope to be able to demonstrate that music indeed does appear as worthy of consideration 42

Cf. W. Dietrich, “Samuel – ein Prophet?”, Sacra Scripta 5 (2007), pp. 11–26, who finds no less than seven facets in the biblical image of Samuel: priest (which probably was the office of the historical Samuel), prophet, military liberator, tribal leader, kingmaker, advisor of kings and opponent to kings.

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with regard to biblical and ancient Near Eastern prophecy, especially when it is connected with two other issues relevant for prophecy, namely lament and divine possession. In the Hebrew Bible, music is several times associated with prophecy. Two of the five biblical prophetesses are said to strike up a song. Miriam, explicitly designated as a nĕbîʾâ, takes a drum and, followed by women who dance and beat the drums, she intunes the song: “Sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted; The horse and his rider he has hurled into the sea” (Ex 15:20–21). Deborah sings her famous song together with Barak son of Abinoam (Judg 5:2–31), although she is not called prophetess here but in another context (Judg 4:4). Two prophets are associated with love songs: Isaiah sings one himself (Isa 5:1–2), and Ezekiel’s caricature among his people is “no more than one who sings love songs with a beautiful voice and plays an instrument well” (Ez 33:32). Moreover, Saul falls into a frenzy when the band of prophets comes prophesying (mitnabbĕʾîm) down from the bamah of Gebah, accompanied by harps, drums, flutes and lyres (1 Sam 10:5). Elisha calls for a harp player, and when the musician is playing his instrument, the hand of God comes upon Elisha – that is, he goes into a trance (cf. Ez 1:33:22; 8:1, etc.) – and he gives a prophecy sought by the kings of Israel and Judah (2 Kgs 3:13–20). Finally, the descendants of Asaph, Heman and Jedutun are commissioned to prophesy (hannibbĕʾîm Q), that is, to sing (šîr), with lyres, harps and cymbals while performing the temple service; men who had learned this skill are said to be no fewer in number than two hundred and eighty-eight (1 Chr 25:1–7). These few instances do not turn the prophets into musicians, but they are not purely coincidental either, and they have not gone unnoticed by scholars.43 It has been suggested that the association between prophecy and music has a “Canaanite” background,44 and whether or not we want to approach the issue from the point of view of the Canaanites vs. Israelites divide, it makes sense to take a look at Near

43 Cf., e.g., Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet, p. 131; Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition, p. 173; Miller, The Religion of Ancient Israel, p. 185; cf. the comparative material presented in Alfred Haldar, Associations of Cult Prophets among the Ancient Semites (Uppsala, 1945), pp. 118–120. 44 Thus, e.g., W.F. Albright, Yahweh and the Gods of Canaan: A Historical Analysis of Two Contrasting Faiths (London, 1968), pp. 187–189.

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Eastern evidence that indeed corroborates the association between prophecy and music. At Mari, the ritual of Ištar was the annual highpoint of the ritual calendar. According to two texts describing this royal ceremony,45 even prophets and prophetesses feature prominently in it, together with musicians. According to one of these texts (A. 3165), when the king enters the temple and takes his position, the musicians first strike up “ma-é-ur-re-men,” a Sumerian canonical city lamentation. After this, the prophet is supposed to prophesy and another canonical lamentation, “ú-ru am-ma-da-ru-pı ́,”46 is sung if he is able to fulfill his task. If he, however, “maintains his equilibrium” (ištaqal ), that is, fails to achieve the altered state of mind necessary for prophesying, the music is not performed and the musicians can go. In the other text (A. 1249b+), the prophetesses and the musicians come before the goddess, and there is, again, an interplay between prophesying and lamentation, but the text is too poorly preserved to yield a clear idea of what actually happens. According to a possible reading, if the prophetesses are not able to prophesy, the musicians cover for them by singing a lamentation. In both cases, prophecy coincides with lamentation, which may be taken as an indication of the presumed contents of the prophecy. A further connection between prophets and musicians is suggested by a document from Mari, which itemizes garments given to two prophets (muḫ ḫ ûm), two chanters (nārum), one lillatum (literally “crazy woman”; the title probably indicates ecstatic behavior) and two further persons without titles.47 There is a marked correspondence between this document and the lexical lists, both Old Babylonian and Neo-Assyrian,48 that associate prophets (muḫ ḫ ûm/muḫ ḫ ûtum, maḫ ḫ û/ maḫ ḫ ûtu, raggimu/raggintu) with chanters (kalû, kalamāḫ u) and lamentation singers (munambû, lallaru) on one hand, and with frenzied 45 A. 3165 and A. 1249b+ (cf. SBLWAW 12 nos. 51–52); see Durand and Guichard, “Les rituels de Mari”. 46 Cf. Nathan Wasserman and Uri Gabbay, “Literatures In Contact: The Balag Úru àm-ma-ir-ra-bi and Its Akkadian Translation UET 6/2, 403,” JCS 57 (2006), pp. 69–84. 47 ARM 21 333 (cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 55); see J.-M. Durand, Textes administratifs des salles 134 et 160 du Palais de Mari (ARM 21; Paris, 1983), pp. 442–449. 48 The lists include MSL 12 5.22 (Old Babylonian); 4.212; 4.222 and 6.2 (NeoAssyrian) (cf. SBLWAW 12 nos. 120, 124, 125, and 126); see M. Civil et al., Materials for Sumerian Lexicon 12: The Series lú = ša and Related Texts (Rome, 1969), pp. 102–103, 132, 225–226, 158.

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people (zabbu/zabbatu) on the other. Even the gender-neutral people called assinnu and kurgarrû are included in the same lists and tend to appear together with prophets in other texts, too. This is quite natural: some of these people are known as prophets,49 and they also perform in rituals of Ištar, especially in frantic dance and battle scenes, carrying bladed weapons, possibly used for self-mutilation; hence the designations nāš pilaqqi “carrier of spindel” and ša kakka našû “sword-man” in lexical lists. Music was certainly not the one and only precondition of achieving the prophetic state of mind, but it seems to have been a source of inspiration and one of the elements coexisting with the prophetic activity, at least in a cultic setting. Altogether, the prophets, musicians, and other presenters make up a cultic ensemble with different but partly overlapping roles belonging to the same performative context. This substantiates the performative nature of ancient Near Eastern prophecy, of which even the biblical writers seem to have been well aware, despite the biblical (and scholarly) tendencies to dissociate “true” Israelite prophecy from this context. Prophecy and Lament The sources are regrettably unspecific about actual manifestations of the interplay of prophecy and music, and the same must be said of prophecy and lament. The relationship is evident, yet difficult to define in detail since there are not many texts in which prophets are explicitly said to perform a lament or to be involved in related acts. The oracles of prophets from Mari and Assyria never actually represent the genre of lamentation, so we have to content ourselves with the above-mentioned ritual texts in which prophets play a role related to lamenting. In addition to the ritual of Ištar at Mari, a prophet is mentioned in the Neo-Assyrian Marduk Ordeal text, where he goes weeping before the Lady of Babylon (that is, the goddess Zarpanitu), bringing her the bad news of the captivity of her husband Marduk.50

49 I.e., the assinnus Šelebum (ARM 26 197, 198, and 213; cf. SBLWAW 12, nos. 7, 8, and 23) and Ili-haznaya (ARM 26 212; cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 22); cf. the three Assyrian prophets whose gender is unclear, Issar-la-tašiyaṭ (SAA 9 1.1 i 28; cf. SBLWAW 12, no.68), Bayâ (SAA 9 1.4 ii 40; cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 71) and Ilussa-amur (SAA 9 1.5 iii 5–6; cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 72). 50 SAA 3 34:28–29 (cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 103); for this text, see T. Frymer-Kensky, “The Tribulations of Marduk: The So-called ‘Marduk Ordeal Text’ ”, JAOS 103 (1982), pp. 131–141.

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The behavior of Balaam the seer in the Deir ‘Alla inscription is also reminiscent of lamenting: “When Balaam arose on the morrow, (his) hand [was slack], (his) right hand [hung] low. [He fasted continually] in his chamber, he could not [sleep], and he wept continually” (Comb. I:3–4).51 What follows, however, is not a lamentation, but an oracle of doom. Prophets and prophetesses (maḫ ḫ û and maḫ ḫ ūtu) also feature in a ritual that takes place on the 29th day of the month of Tammuz, “when Ištar makes the people of the land wail over Dumuzi, her beloved,” to be performed for a person seized by the spirit of a dead person, a demon, or any other evil thing.52 The ritual involves substantial food offerings, and also some music, to judge from the wind instruments dedicated to Dumuzi. The only thing that is said about the role of the prophets in this ritual is that they are there together with “shepherd boys of Dumuzi” – that is, cult functionaries who intercede on behalf of the sick one – and frenzied men and women (zabbu and zabbatu). The prophets receive a few pieces of bread and are present when the sick person begins to recite his prayer to Ištar. The performative role of the prophets and ecstatics must be extrected by reading between the lines, but it is probably to mediate the healing power of the goddess and to intercede on behalf of the sick person. This scenery inevitably brings to mind the prophet Isaiah with his fig-cakes at the sickbed of King Hezekiah (2 Kgs 20:1–7), as well as the “songs of the stricken”53 belonging to the songs composed by King David “through prophecy” (nĕbûʾa) according to the great Psalms scroll from Qumran (11Q5 xxvii 9–10).

51 J. Hoftijzer and G. van der Kooij, Aramaic Texts from Deir ‘Alla (DMOA 19; Leiden, 1976). Translation according to Choon-Leong Seow in Nissinen, Prophets and Prophecy in the Ancient Near East, pp. 210–211 (SBLWAW 12, no. 138). 52 K 2001+; see W. Farber, Beschwörungsrituale an Ištar und Dumuzi: Attī Ištar ša harmaša Dumuzi (Veröffentlichungen der Orientalischen Kommission 30; Wiesbaden, 1977), pp. 128–162 (cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 118). 53 Provided that this is the correct translation of pĕgûʿîm; thus, e.g., J.A. Sanders, The Psalms Scroll of Qumran Cave 11 (11QPsa) (DJD 4; Oxford, 1965); cf. J.P.M. van der Ploeg, “Un petit rouleau de psaumes apocryphes (11QpsApa)”, in: G. Jeremias et al. (eds.), Das frühe Christentum in seiner Umwelt: Festgabe für Karl Georg Kuhn (Göttingen, 1971), pp. 128–139. For an alternative, calendrical interpretation “intercalary days”, see M. Chuytin, “The Redaction of the Qumranic and the Traditional Book of Psalms as Calendar”, RevQ 63 (1994), pp. 367–397. I am indebted to Mika Pajunen and Torleif Elgvin for having drawn my attention to the problem of the translation of the word.

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The bonding of prophets with lamentation singers in Near Eastern documents finds no exact parallel in the Hebrew Bible since there is no class of cultic functionaries in the temple of Jerusalem equal to the Mesopotamian so-called “lamentation priests.” Nevertheless, in the Hebrew Bible, prophecy and lament appear to belong together even more closely than in extrabiblical documents. Chronicles, again, give us the most outspoken evidence of this association by making the prophet Jeremiah the author of the lamentation on Josiah (2 Chr 35:25) and probably inspiring the later tradition of Jeremiah as the author of the book of Lamentations (B. Bat. 15a, etc.). Jeremiah, of course, is known as the foremost lamentation singer, unrivaled by anyone but King David the psalmist, by virtue of the book under his name that contains a whole series of laments, often labelled “confessions.” Other prophets, too, are presented as uttering lamentations (for instance, Ez 19; 21:11; Am 5:1–3; Jon 2:3–10; Mic 1:8; Hab 1:2–4, 12–17; 2:1; 3:1), and the people are urged to lament by the prophets (Isa 13:6; 14:31; 32:9–14; Jer 6:26; 9:19; Ez 30:2; Joel 1:5–14). On the whole, the frequency of laments and lament-like poems in the prophetic books of the Hebrew Bible creates a fundamental connection between these two institutions in the conceptual world of the biblical writers. This is not to say anything about the actual origin of the biblical lamentations which, for the most part, are likely to be scribal products with little or no relation to prophetic performances. Evidently, poems like the psalms of Jonah (Jon 2:3–10) or Habakkuk (Hab 3) derive from a reservoir of Hebrew poetry utilized by the authors or editors of the respective prophetic books,54 but it is also thinkable that books like Hosea55 and Amos56 include material that originates from actual lamentations after the fall of the Northern Kingdom, whether or not originally uttered by the prophets. What matters from the comparative point of view is that the association of prophecy and lament, well known from the ancient Near East, is acknowledged

54 On the psalm of Jonah, cf, e.g., J. Jeremias, Die Propheten Joel, Obadja, Jona, Micha (ATD 24,3; Göttingen, 2007), p. 91; on the psalm of Habakkuk, cf., e.g., L. Perlitt, Die Propheten Nahum, Habakuk, Zephanja (ATD 25,1; Göttingen, 2004), pp. 82–83. 55 Cf. M. Nissinen, Prophetie, Redaktion und Fortschreibung im Hoseabuch: Studien zum Werdegang eines Prophetenbuches im Lichte von Hos 4 und 11 (AOAT 231; Kevelaer and Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1991), pp. 308–312, 339–340. 56 Cf. R.G. Kratz, “Die Worte des Amos von Tekoa”, in Köckert and Nissinen (eds.), Propheten in Mari, Assyrien und Israel, pp. 54–89, esp. pp. 74–76, 80–82.

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by the biblical writers for whom it seems to have been a matter of course. In fact, much like in the case of kingship, they have intensified the case to the point that ultimately turns the socioreligious phenomenon of lamenting prophets into a literary construct. Prophecy and Divine Possession That ecstasy (ek-stasis) – or, if we prefer, possession57 – was understood as the state of mind required for prophetic inspiration in the ancient Near East, was already suggested in the classic study of Gustaf Hölscher, Die Profeten,58 albeit with minimal contemporary evidence consisting mainly of the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel (1 Kgs 18) and the Egyptian narrative of Wenamun, who gives an account of a “great seer” who becomes ecstatic and delivers an oracle of the god Amon on his behalf to the prince of Byblos.59 Today, this conviction, shared by a number of scholars since Hölscher,60 can be confirmed with substantial evidence from Mesopotamia, including the texts quoted above. The standard prophetic designations muḫ ḫ ûm/muḫ ḫ ūtum and maḫ ḫ û/maḫ ḫ ūtu are derived from the Akkadian verb maḫ û “to become

57 There is no space here for an appropriate discussion of terminology concerning different ways of being possessed or achieving an altered state of mind; R.R. Wilson, for example, makes a difference between trance as a “psycho-physiological state marked by dissociation”, whereas possession is a “cultural theory that explains how contact takes place between the supernatural and natural worlds” (Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel, pp. 33–34; italics original). For further discusson on the issue of prophecy and ecstasy in recent times, see, e.g., S.B. Parker, “Possession Trance and Prophecy in Pre-Exilic Israel”, VT 28 (1978), pp. 271–285; Wilson, Prophecy and Society in Ancient Israel, pp. 33–42; G. André, “Ecstatic Prophecy in the Old Testament”, in: N.G. Holm (ed.), Religious Ecstasy: Based on Papers Read at the Symposium on Religious Ecstasy Held at Åbo, Finland, on the 26th–28th of August 1981 (Stockholm, 1982), pp. 187–200; Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages, pp. 108–112; Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet, pp. 134–138; T.L. Fenton, “Deuteronomistic Advocacy of the nābîʾ: 1 Samuel ix 9 and Questions of Israelite Prophecy”, VT 47 (1997), pp. 23–42, esp. pp. 31–34; idem, Israelite Prophecy: Characteristics of the First Protest Movement,” in: J.C. de Moor (ed.), The Elusive Prophet: The Prophet as a Historical Person, Literary Character and Anonymous Artist (OTS 45; Leiden, 2001), pp. 129–141, esp. pp. 131–133. 58 G. Hölscher, Die Profeten: Untersuchungen zur Religionsgeschichte Israels (Leipzig, 1914). 59 For this text, cf. above, n. 12. 60 Cf., e.g., T.H. Robinson, Prophecy and the Prophets in Ancient Israel (London, 1923, 2nd ed. 1953); A. Jepsen, NABI: Soziologische Studien zur alttestamentlichen Literatur und Religionsgeschichte (Munich, 1934); J. Lindblom, Profetismen i Israel (Stockholm, 1934); idem, Prophecy in Ancient Israel (Oxford, 1963, 2nd ed. 1973).

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crazy, to go into a frenzy,”61 and this verb is used when referring to prophetic performances. Unfortunately, there are no descriptions of what actually happened on these occasions and how the prophetic ecstasy was achieved. Theoretically, one might suspect that immaḫ ḫ u62 is nothing more than a customary introduction to prophetic speech that has lost its original reference to frenzied behavior. That this is not the case, however, is confirmed by a Neo-Assyrian commentary on the birth omens in Šumma izbu, in which the maḫ ḫ û are equated with šēḫ ānu “possessed men.”63 Additionally, the above-quoted ritual text from Mari presupposes that the prophetic performance is not successful if the prophet “maintains his equilibrium.” On the whole, the god- or spirit-possessed element is likely to have been part of the performative context of ancient Near Eastern prophecy, and the same is probably true for ancient Greek (even though the alleged frenzy of the Pythia has come under suspicion)64 and Arabian prophecy.65 The possessive aspect of prophetic activity is strongly suggested by the Hebrew Bible, too, and there is no need to view this kind of prophecy as an early phenomenon influenced by the so-called “Canaanites.”66 Attempts to make a distinction between the “sober” ecstasy of the biblical prophets and the more frantic, or “orgiastic,” ecstasy elsewhere are arbitrary at best.67 Different types of ecstasy can certainly be rec-

61

See CAD M/1, pp. 115–116. Cf. ARM 26 213:5–7; 214:6–7; 222:12–14 (SBLWAW 12, nos. 22, 23, and 33, respectively). 63 K 1913: 365d–e (cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 128); see E. Leichty, The Omen Series Šumma izbu (TCS 4; Locust Valley, N.Y., 1970), pp. 230–231. 64 On ecstasy and oracles in Greece, see W. Burkert, Greek Religion (Trans. J. Raffan; Cambridge, Mass., 1985), pp. 109–118; for the Pythia, see, e.g., Rosenberger, Griechische Orakel, pp. 48–58. 65 For the Arabian kāhin prophets, see J. Hämeen-Anttila, “Arabian Prophecy,” in Nissinen (ed.), Prophecy in Its Ancient Near Eastern Context, pp. 115–146, esp. p. 124: “[w]e are told next to nothing of the kāhins’ possible ecstatic techniques . . . In any case, the kāhin must have been a shamanlike visionary who forced his familiar spirit to descend upon him.” 66 Thus Hölscher, Die Profeten, and A. Jepsen, NABI; cf. J. Lindblom, “Zur Frage des kanaanäischen Ursprungs des altisraelitischen Prophetismus”, in: J. Hempel and L. Rost (eds.), Von Ugarit nach Qumran: Beiträge zur alttestamentlichen und altorientalischen Forschung, Otto Eissfeldt 1. September 1957 dargebracht von Freunden und Schülern (Berlin, 1958), pp. 89–104. 67 I agree with Lester Grabbe, according to whom such distinctions “seem nothing but willful attempts to bolster a partisan view of the ‘classical’ Israelite prophets” (Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages, 110); Grabbe hereby criticizes the views of André, “Ecstatic Prophecy in the Old Testament”, and Parker, “Possession Trance and Prophecy in Pre-Exilic Israel”. 62

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ognized and differences between biblical and other accounts can be shown, but no general dividing line between biblical and extrabiblical prophets can be drawn in this respect. Not only the self-lacerating prophets of Baal (1 Kgs 18:28; cf. Ugaritica 5 162:11),68 but also many prophets of Yahweh engage in ecstatic behavior in the Hebrew Bible, making spirit journeys and seeing heavenly things (2 Kgs 5:26; 6:17; Ez 3:12–15; 8; 11; 37:1–14; 40–48; cf. Paul in 2 Cor 12:1–5). In fact, like in the Near East, presence in the divine council is required of a true prophet (1 Kgs 22:19–23; Isaiah 6; Jer 23:16–22; Am 3:7),69 and seeing visions, which is one of the basic methods of obtaining a prophetic message (cf. Ez 1; 10; Am 7:1–9; 8:1–3; 9:1–4; Zech 1–6), requires an altered state of mind. No qualitative difference can be made between biblical and extrabiblical, or Israelite and non-Israelite, prophets: “[i]f Ezekiel does not have ecstatic experiences, then we have no criteria to judge that anyone of antiquity had such experiences.”70 Another aspect of the divine possession of the prophets is also their God-given privilege to indulge in extravagant behavior like Isaiah’s going naked for three years (Isa 20:1–6), Ezekiel’s unusual carryings-on (Ez 4–6; 12; 24:15–27), Jeremiah’s celibacy (Jer 16:1–9), and Hosea’s marriage with the woman of bad reputation (Hos 1). “Symbolic acts” like these are not so well known from ancient Near Eastern documents – what comes to mind is the prophet eating raw lamb in front of the city gate in a letter from Mari71 – and they have usually not been classified as instances of ecstasy. Nevertheless, they certainly imply a mental condition that in modern times might cause the person in question to be sent to a lunatic asylum; for contemporaries, however, they were meant to signify divine possession.

68 Cf. J.J.M. Roberts, “A New Parallel to 1 Kings 18:28–29”, JBL 89 (1970), pp. 76–77 (repr. in idem, The Bible and the Ancient Near East: Collected Essays [Winona Lake, Ind., 2002], pp. 102–103). 69 Cf. M. Nissinen, “Prophets and the Divine Council”, in: U. Hübner and E.A. Knauf (eds.), Kein Land für sich allein: Studien zum Kulturkontakt in Kanaan, Israel/ Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred Weippert zum 65. Geburtstag (OBO 186; Freiburg Schweiz and Göttingen, 2002), pp. 1–19. 70 Grabbe, Priests, Prophets, Diviners, Sages, p. 110. 71 ARM 26 206:5–24 (cf. SBLWAW 12, no. 16); for this text, see, e.g., J.-G. Heintz, “La ‘fin’ des prophètes bibliques? Nouvelles théories et documents sémitiques anciens,” in idem (ed.), Oracles et prophéties dans l’antiquité, pp. 195–214, esp. pp. 202–212.

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Regardless of its etymology, which is probably not related to ecstatic behavior,72 the use of the derivatives of the Hebrew root nbʾ often implies an altered state of mind,73 corresponding to the Akkadian words maḫ û and its derivatives, the equation of which with “possession” renders exactly the same idea as the words of Samuel to Saul preparing him to meet the prophets of Gebah: “The Spirit of the Lord will come upon you, and you will prophesy with them; and you will be changed into a different person” (1 Sam 10:6). Saul’s frenzy is accompanied by music, perhaps the same way as the musicians of Mari responded to the performances of the prophets. On the other hand, the prophesying of the Levitical singers is equated with their songs of praise to God, accompanied by musical instruments (1 Chr 25:1, 3, 6, 7). While the case of Saul seems to be presented by the narrator as something no longer belonging to the implied reader’s world (cf. 1 Sam 9:12), the Chronicler’s association of music, prophecy and temple cult not only corresponds to the Near Eastern evidence but suggests that prophetic inspiration was part and parcel of the cultic performance even in the Second Temple of Jerusalem.74 Whether or not connected with musical or other performative elements, the state of being possessed by the spirit (in-spiratio) is presented as the precondition for prophesying even elsewhere in the Bible, from Moses and his elders (Num 11:24–30) to Third Isaiah (Isa 61:1), Ezekiel (Ez 2:2, etc.), Hosea (Hos 9:7), Joel (3:1–2), Micha (Mic 3:8), Jesus (Luke 4:14–20) – and beyond: in the great Psalms scroll from Qumran, King David the musician (cf. 11Q5 xxviii 4 [= Ps 151:2]) is said to have composed his works “through prophecy” (nĕbûʾâ) under the influence of “a discerning and enlightened spirit” from God (11Q5 xxvii 4, 11). Divine possession did not always result in extraordinary activity, though. It seems that the ecstatic element of prophecy became problematic along with the scribalization of prophecy and the prophetic

72 For recent studies on the etymology of Hebrew nābîʾ and Akkadian nabûm, see D.E. Fleming, “The Etymological Origins of the Hebrew nābîʾ: The One Who Invokes God”, CBQ 55 (1993), pp. 217–224; Fenton, “Deuteronomistic Advocacy of the nābîʾ ”, pp. 34–36 (“speaker”). 73 Cf. Num 11:24–30; 1 Sam 10:5–6, 10, 13; 18:10; 19:20, 21, 23–24; 1 Kgs 18:29; 22:10; cf. also the designation mĕšuggaʿ “mad” in 2 Kgs 9:11; Jer 29:26; Hos 9:7. 74 For prophecy, music, and inspiration in Chronicles, see Schniedewind, The Word of God in Transition, pp. 170–188.

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ideal during the Second Temple period at the latest.75 This is indicated by a few defamatory statements about prophets (Hos 9:7–9; Zech 13:2–6; cf. Jer 29:26), implying a dubious attitude towards the traditional image, social role and performative culture of the prophets, including ecstatic or otherwise extraordinary comportment.76 When the authoritative prophetic role was taken over by scribes and wisdom teachers, this happened greatly at the expense of the traditional performative culture, which was more or less driven into the margins of the society. The word of God was now written down, and the primary prophetic tasks were its study and interpretation. But even this was not done without the inspiration coming from God. Philo of Alexandria would hardly have spoken of prophets possessed by God (theophorētos, Spec. 1:65), or explained his own experience with a state of divine possession (hypo katokhēs entheou) and “corybantic frenzy” (korybantia; Migr. 34–35), without having been familiar with the tradition of prophetic spirit possession, whether through Plato, or his Jewish education, or both.77 Philo’s description of his experience shows, among other things, that there is no reason to make a sharp universal distinction between ecstatic experience and being filled with the spirit of wisdom. As prophecy became more and more equated with the study and interpretation of the Scriptures, this became a spirit-driven enterprise: “I will again pour out doctrine like prophecy, and bequeath it to future generations,” says Ben Sira (Sir 24:33),78 who understood the task of the wise man to be the study of the Law, the prophecies and the sayings of famous men (39:1–3). “If it is the will of the great Lord, he will be filled with a spirit of intelligence; then he will pour out wise sayings of his own and give thanks to the

75 Fenton, “Israelite Prophecy,” reckons with a “new prophecy” in Israel and Judah that distances itself from the “old” prophetic frenzy: “The new prophets transform the role of the ancient Near Eastern prophet, modifying or reacting against his traditional function and behaviour” (p. 139); cf. also Blenkinsopp, Sage, Priest, Prophet, pp. 138–154. The problem is whether this transformation of prophecy can really be traced back to pre-exilic prophetic figures or whether it is essentially a later development. 76 Cf. M. Nissinen, “The Dubious Image of Prophecy”, in Floyd and Haak (ed.), Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism, pp. 26–41. 77 See J.R. Levison, “Philo’s Personal Experience and the Persistence of Prophecy”, in Floyd and Haak (eds.), Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism, pp. 194–209, esp. pp. 197–202. 78 Ben Sira’s view of prophecy has been recently analyzed by P.C. Beentjes, “Prophets and Prophecy in the Book of Ben Sira”, in Floyd and Haak (eds.), Prophets, Prophecy, and Prophetic Texts in Second Temple Judaism, pp. 135–150.

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Lord in prayer” (39:6). This, too, is spirit possession, now happening in the bêt midrāš of the scribe rather than as a part of a cultic performance. Hence, we arrive at inspiration by learning, teaching, and research, which even for today’s audience may be more acceptable, or at least more familiar, than the traditional type of prophetic frenzy. A different trajectory of traditional prophetic tradition can be seen in the strong prophetic-charismatic element in the activity of John the Baptist and his ilk (Mk 1:6; cf. Zech 13:4), and also in early Christianity. Even music is not absent from the picture: Paul associates music with glossolaly and prophetic revelation (1 Cor 14:7, 15, 26), and according to the Letter to the Ephesians, Christians should not be intoxicated by wine but filled by the Spirit, singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (Eph 5:18–20; cf. Col 3:16). Without being explicitly about prophecy, this passage is reminiscent of the Levite singers prophesying by means of music and singing “thanks and praise to the Lord” in 1 Chr 25:1–7. Given the nature of the documentation, it is not easy to draw a coherent picture of prophecy, music, lament and divine possession in the ancient Near East. By and large, however, while details remain vague, the recurrent association of these four elements in various text types from different periods of time suggests that the whole network is not purely coincidental. Mesopotamian lexical lists show that their compilers associated prophets with ecstatics and lamentation singers; the outlay of garments from Mari has prophets appearing together with musicians as recipients of royal gifts; and in the ritual text from Mari, the whole band plays together. All this supports the understanding that prophecy in the ancient Near East indeed belonged to the same performative context with ecstatic actions, music, and lament. The Hebrew Bible, again, gives a clear impression that things were not different in the world of the authors and editors of the biblical texts, regardless of their dating. The God-possessed behavior of the prophets, a salient feature of ancient Near Eastern prophecy, may not always enjoy the undivided appreciation of biblical writers – or biblical scholars – but it is acknowledged and usually not condemned. Lament is brought into a closer contact with prophecy in the Bible than anywhere else in Near Eastern sources, and the prophetic performance is sometimes even accompanied by music.

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Conclusion The above survey of two chosen aspects supports the view that what we call prophecy, that is, the kind of divination that involves a nontechnical transmission of divine knowledge, is a genuinely cross-cultural phenomenon within the ancient Near Eastern context. Arriving at this conclusion should no longer come as a hair-raising surprise to anyone; rather, it confirms what has already been the conviction of many scholars for a century. However, it seems like the Near Eastern substratum of prophecy has not yet quite attracted the attention it deserves. There are still more than enough studies on biblical or Israelite prophecy uninterested in its wider cultural context, as well as presentations of Near Eastern religions that leave the issue of prophecy untouched. Today, having a substantial documentation at our disposal, the time is ripe for a fuller contextualization of biblical prophecy as well as for a general appreciation of prophecy as a permanent and significant factor in the history of Near Eastern religion. The second conclusion to be drawn is that the Hebrew Bible is not only an invaluable source for but also a characeristic representative of the prophetic phenomenon – just one among others, however, not the paragon by which the prophetic quality of other sources should be defined or evaluated. In view of the above survey, there is no need to view the common elements between biblical and Near Eastern prophecy as “Canaanite” or otherwise foreign influences, alien to the genuine “Israelite” prophecy. The evidence rather suggests a local variation of the prophetic phenomenon common to the ancient Near East, or better, to the Eastern Mediterranean world. This is not to programmatically exclude indigenous features in biblical prophecy, and this brings me to the third conclusion concerning the nature of the sources. As pointed out before, we cannot compare prophets with prophets but only texts with other texts. Whether biblical or nonbiblical, the extant documents are never neutral reports on prophetic activities but tendentious and often haphazard glimpses that come to us through several filters consisting of the authors, editors, archivists and interpreters of the texts. Therefore, historical conclusions concerning the factuality of the events reported by the sources are often difficult to draw. On the other hand, it is also interesting and rewarding to observe who writes what and why, as far as this can be discerned from the texts – for example, how certain features of prophecy, like the biblical prophets’ engagement in lamentations,

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are highlighted by the biblical writers, or how the communication between prophets and kings becomes more intensive, but also develops a distinctive character when we move from the Deuteronomistic History to the Chronicles. An important distinctive feature of the Hebrew Bible is its nature as a canonized corpus of literature, written over several centuries. Being what it is, the Hebrew Bible testifies to a formidable aspect in the history of prophecy that is not documented anywhere else in the ancient Eastern Mediterranean cultural sphere. The very emergence of the biblical corpus has produced the type of prophecy here labelled as “biblical prophecy,” and thereby contributed to an unprecedented understanding of prophecy as inspired interpretation of authoritative texts, which also led to new ways of experiencing what it means to be possessed by the spirit.

GOD’S REPENTANCE AND “FALSE STARTS” IN BIBLICAL HISTORY GENESIS 69; EXODUS 3234; 1 SAMUEL 15 AND 2 SAMUEL 71 Jean-Pierre Sonnet I. The “False Start” Scenario: A Preliminary Survey In Hebrew Bible narrative, the verb ‫נחם‬, nifal, “to repent”, with God as subject, plays a significant role within what could be termed a macro-structure: the “false start” scenario. Each of the covenants that govern biblical history – the creation covenant, the covenant with the people of Israel (grafted upon the covenant with Abraham), and the monarchic covenant – has had a “false start”, which included an act of repentance coming from God. God indeed repented – after the creation, at the opening of the Flood narrative (Gen 6:6); – after the Sinai covenant, in the Golden Calf narrative (Exod 32:14); – after the adoption of kingship, at the end of the Saul narrative (1 Sam 15:35, passim). To be true, the verb ‫נחם‬, nifal, with God as subject is not limited to the scenes just mentioned. As seen in Chart 1, several other instances are found in the Bible’s narrative corpus:2

1 I wish to thank Meir Sternberg and Bernard M. Levinson for offering comments on an earlier draft of this essay, which is part of a research project about God as dramatis persona in the Hebrew Bible. 2 The theme of God’s repentance, as T.E. Fretheim observes in a general survey, “appears at some of the key junctures in the canon: the flood story; the Sinai revelation; the institution of monarchy, the fall of the northern and southern kingdom; throughout the prophets; psalmody [. . .]. Canonically speaking, therefore, its role is very significant” (“The Repentance of God. A Key to Evaluating Old Testament GodTalk”, HBTh 10 [1988], p. 56).

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‫נחם‬, nifal, with God as subject in biblical narrative3 Gen 6:6 (Narrator); 6:7 (God); Exod 32:12 (Moses to God); 32:14 (Narrator); Num 23:19 [hitpael] (Balaam about God); Deut 32:36 [hitpael] (Moses about God); Judg. 2:18 (Narrator); 1 Sam 15:11 (God); 15:29 (Samuel about God); 15:35 (Narrator); 2 Sam 24:16 (Narrator); 1 Chr 21:15 (Narrator); Jonah 3:9 (the king of Nineveh about God); 3:10 (Narrator); 4:2 (Jonah to God).

Yet, it is in the three episodes of Genesis, Exodus, and 1 Samuel, as well as in the book of Jonah, that the repentance motif presents a dramatic elaboration (as shown in Chart 2), in “scenes” that include a typical shift between the narrator’s discourse (“Yhwh repented”) and the character’s direct speech: “I repent”, God says in Gen 6:7 and 1 Sam 15:11, “repent”, the prophet says to God in Exod 32:12, “Who knows? God may turn and repent”, the king says in his proclamation to the people of Nineveh in Jonah 3:9.4 The three dramatic divine changes in Genesis, Exodus, and 1 Samuel led to the installation of momentous covenantal structures (see Chart 4): the “covenant for ever” (Gen 9:16) after the Flood (see “covenant” in Gen 9:9, 11, 12, 13, 15, 17), the “covenant” in Exodus 34 (see vv. 34:10, 27, 28); the “for ever” divine pledge in favour of the house of David (2 Sam 7:13, 16; dubbed “covenant for ever” in 2 Sam 23:5). In

3

The speaker is indicated between brackets. Since it belongs to the prophetic corpus, outside of Israel’s grand historiography (Genesis–Kings), the book of Jonah will not be considered here, despite its parabolic and anthological function in the matter. An ironic parable about prophetic office, the book of Jonah gives a further turn of the screw in the repentance plot: in Jonah’s tale, God’s repentance, along with the repentance of the people of Nineveh, is nothing less than a lesson given to the reluctant prophet – irony included, “for Jonah was a very reluctant prophet who wanted to fail, and his message succeeded in winning a double repentance: first by the king and people and then by God” (F.I. Andersen and D.N. Freedman, Amos. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [Anchor Bible 24A; New York, 1989], p. 675). A self-contained plot, the book of Jonah multiplies allusions to other biblical texts, and notably to the historiographic repentance episodes. Like the Flood story, the book of Jonah opens on God’s perception of human wickedness (‫( )רעה‬Gen 6:5 and Jonah 1:1; cf. Exod 32:9), and goes on telling maritime adventures linked to “the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land” ( Jonah 1:9; cf. Gen 1:9–10 and 6–8); its plot can be read as a midrashic elaboration upon God’s attributes of justice and mercy (Jonah 4:2), and thus upon Exod 34:6–7; the relationship of Jonah and the king of Nineveh is in some sense an ironic spin-off from the Samuel-Saul duo (compare the role of cattle in 1 Samuel 15 and Jonah 3). 4

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Chart 2 Genesis 6

Exodus 32

1 Samuel 15

Jonah 3

v. 6 And Yhwh repented that he had made humankind on the earth.

v. 12 “Turn from your flaring wrath; repent of the evil against your people.”

v. 11 “I repent that I made Saul king.”

v. 9 “Who knows? God may turn and repent.”

v. 7 “For I repent that I have made them.”

v. 14 And Yhwh repented about the evil that he had said to do to his people.

v. 35 And Yhwh had repented that he had made Saul king over Israel.

v. 29 “Moreover Israel’s Eternal does not lie and does not repent; for he is not a son of Adam to repent.” v. 10 And God repented about the evil that he had said to do to them.

all three divine commitments, time is re-launched after a catastrophe and is endowed with a new quality. The new start of time and history includes a “never again” dimension, which is explicitly stated in Gen 8:21–22: “I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth; nor will I ever again destroy every living creature as I have done. As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease.” “The ‘never again’ spoken to creation”, W. Brueggemann writes, “has its parallel in the same ‘never again’ [God] has spoken to his people Israel: ‘I will not take my steadfast love from [David’s descendant], as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you. And your house and your kingdom shall be made sure for ever before me; your throne shall be established for ever’ ” (2 Sam 7:15–16).5 In both commitments, God makes clear that the radical intervention (the destruction by the Flood, the rejection of the king) that has overturned universal history and Israelite monarchic history at their outset will not be repeated. So much so that, as J. Jeremias puts it, God’s repentance leads, in both cases, to arrangements

5

W. Brueggemann, Genesis (Interpretation; Richmond, 1982), p. 84.

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beyond repentance,6 enjoying a “for ever” character (‫ברית עולם‬, “covenant forever”, in Gen 9:16; kingdom, house, and throne established ‫עד־עולם‬, “for ever”, in 2 Sam 7:13, 16). The covenant of Exodus 34 similarly includes a re-launching of time. To be sure, the covenant in question re-activates a covenant that already enjoyed a “for ever” dimension (“covenant for ever”, in the Shabbat regulation [Exod 31:15]), and that was grafted on the “for ever” commitment to the Fathers (see Gen 13:15: “for ever”; 17:7, 13, 19: “covenant for ever”), as Moses purposefully mentions in his intercession (Exod 32:13). Yet, the re-established covenant of Exodus 34 re-qualifies time in its own way, and this is not a surprise since the people’s sin at the foot of the mountain was a sin of impatience (Exod 32:1: “the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain”) as much as a sin of idolatry. In the renewed covenant, time is re-installed and qualified as cultic time. It is not sufficiently observed that in God’s Privilegrecht in Exod 34:17–26, all the commands except the first (v. 17: “You shall not make molten gods”) have a temporal import. The temporal dimension is obvious in the commands that delineate Israel’s cultic calendar, marked out by festivals introduced with parameters such as “days”7 (vv. 18, 21), “weeks” (v. 22), “month” (v. 18) and “year” (vv. 22, 23, 24). Significantly enough, the cultic calendar is also a seasonal calendar, grafted onto agricultural cycles – “plowing time”, “harvest time”, “first fruits of wheat harvest”, and “ingathering at the turn of the year” (vv. 21–22). Other commands focus even more explicitly on natural life cycles by making provisions about inceptive life: so is it in the command on the first born (whether animal or human) in vv. 19–20, and in the 6 See J. Jeremias, Die Reue Gottes. Aspekte alttestamentlicher Gottesvorstellung (BThS 31; Neukirchen, 20023), pp. 36–37 and 155. The most thorough monograph on the subject, recently reedited and supplemented, Jeremias’ study seeks to uncover generic differences and diachronic developments in the motif of God’s repentance (with some changes in his views in the second edition). This double criterion explains a separate treatment for Genesis 6 and 1 Samuel 15 (“geschichttheologische Reflexion”), where God repents of a positive decision that he has made, perverted by human sin, on the one hand, and Exodus 32 and the prophetic texts (“prophetische Konzeption”), where God repents of the punishment that he has planned to inflict upon his people, on the other. In a narrative approach, the present study will rather seek to uncover the dynamics that underlies the recurrence of the motif in the Bible’s historiographic corpus. 7 In each case within the rhythm of the seven days particular to Israel (see F. Crüsemann, The Torah. Theology and Social History of Old Testament Law [Minneapolis, 1996], pp. 133–134).

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command on the “first fruits” in v. 26 (supplemented with a reference to the kid and his mother’s milk). The covenantal words in Exodus 34 thus envision Israel as a people engaged in cultic8 and life giving cycles,9 in a temporality where cult and life grow together, in a common reference to the God of the Exodus (v. 18). In other words, in Exodus 34, God commits himself to Moses and the people of Israel within the open-ended cycle of cult and natural life, in a way similar to his commitment to mankind after the Flood, in the open-ended cycle of natural seasons.10 Such a temporal perspective is not a surprise, since the issue at stake in Exodus 32–34 is God’s covenant with the actual people of Israel, present and future. In Exod 32:10, God has threatened to start anew with Moses as a new Abraham (and as an avatar of the postdiluvian Noah): “and I will make of you a great nation.”11 Thanks to Moses’ intercession, God repents of such a project and “cuts” a covenant both with Moses and with the people (see 34:27: “with you and with Israel”),12 present and future.13 The people’s faithfulness to the covenant

8 All the more since the sanctuary is about to be built and consecrated (Exodus 35–40). 9 The emphasis on inceptive life stands out when the covenantal “words” of Exodus 34 are compared with the equivalent “words” of the first Sinai covenant. Whereas the Exodus 20 “words” hinged on respect for the parents, the Exodus 34 covenantal “words” envision genealogy the other way around, focusing upon “every wombbreach” (vv. 19–20) and “every first born of your sons” (v. 20); whereas the last of the Exodus 20 “words” dealt with the neighbor’s ox and donkey (v. 17), the covenantal “words” in Exodus 34 end on the theme of the mother-kid life giving relationship (v. 26). 10 In its wording, the Shabbat law in Exod 34:21 is somehow grafted on the agricultural seasons of Gen 8:22. 11 See God’s promise to Abraham in Gen 12:2: “and I will make of you a great nation.” 12 God’s initiative is an answer to Moses’ request in Exod 33:16: “For how shall it be known that I have found favour in your sight, I and your people, unless you go with us? In this way, we shall be distinct, I and your people, from every people on the face of the earth.” See E. Aurelius, Der Fürbitter Israels. Eine Studie zum Mosebild im Alten Testament (CB OT 27; Stockholm, 1988), pp. 103, 107–108, about the progressive inclusion of the people in Moses’ demands. 13 In Numbers 14, facing the people’s refusal to enter the land, God is however on the verge of striking again the entire people (with the exception of Moses): “I will strike them with pestilence and disinherit them, and I will make of you a nation greater and mightier than they” (Num 14:12). Yet Yhwh’s regressive will is significantly counteracted by Moses’ quote of God’s attributes (Num 14:18) as revealed in Exod 34:6–7.

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has to be lived out through time, from generation to generation,14 as it is clear in the concern for “your sons” in v. 16, in the preliminary injunctions concerning the idolatrous nations.15 In typical biblical fashion, the open perspective on time is cast as a trans-generational perspective. This is particularly clear in Genesis 9 and 2 Samuel 7, where the human partner in the covenant or the beneficiary of the pledge is a collective trans-generational “character”: “I am establishing my covenant with you and your offspring after you (‫ואת־זרעכם‬ ‫( ”)אחריכם‬Gen 9:9); “I will raise up your offspring after you (‫את־זרעך‬ ‫)אחריך‬, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom” (2 Sam 7:12). Yet, the most distinctive feature common to the three arrangements is that in all three God’s commitment is a pledge with a sinful partner, who has proven unable to respond to his expectations and holiness. As shown in Chart 3, a set of remarkable repetitions underlies the narrative in Genesis and Exodus. When God proceeds to “cut” an everlasting covenant with mankind in Genesis 8, he states: “I will never again curse the soil because of the Adam, for (‫ )כי‬the inclination of the Adam’s heart is evil from youth” (v. 21). This is a singular motivation, all the more since the same motivation has determined God to act ruthlessness in the first place: “Yhwh saw [. . .] that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil all the day [. . .]. So Yhwh said, I will blot out from the earth the Adam I have created” (Gen 6:5–7). The inclinations of the human heart are the same before and after the Flood – before as the ground for God’s destruction, and after as a motivation for restraining from such a curse. “Angesichts der bleibenden Wesensart des Menschen”, Jeremias write, “ist die Geduld mit der Jahwe diesen Menschen erträgt, die einzig denkbare Ermögli14 A circumstantial characterization of “further” covenants with the people of Israel in the Hebrew Bible would be appropriate at this point: do they imply a termination of the (renewed) Sinai covenant? For lack of space, suffice it to say that the Moab covenant in Deuteronomy 29 is presented as a supplement to the Sinai covenant (Deut 28:69: “besides [‫ ]מלבד‬the covenant which he had made with them at Horeb”) and that the theme of the “new covenant” in Jeremiah 31 appears within a promise and within what C. Levin calls a “Gattung der prophetischen Heilsankündigung” (Die Verheißung des neuen Bundes in ihrem theologiegeschichtlichen Zusammenhang ausgelegt [FRLANT 137; Göttingen, 1985], p. 28), and is best understood as a regeneration of the foundational covenant (“Der neue Bund in Jer 31:31 ist kein qualitative neuer, sondern ein erneuerter Bund” [see pp. 138–141; quotation p. 141]). 15 The concern for the sons is absent in the parallel text in Exod 23:27–33.

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chung seiner fortwährenden Existenz.”16 As some commentators have pointed out,17 the same scenario happens again in Exodus 32 – a narrative that, in Moberly’s view, spells out “the moral problem of how a holy God can abide with a sinful people.”18 The fact that Israel is “a stiff-necked people” is what prevents God from “going up among” it (see 33:3 and 5, and already in 32:9); in Moses’ entreaty in 34:9, the same reality becomes the motivating reason for God’s presence in its midst: “Yhwh, I pray, let Yhwh go among us for (‫ )כי‬this is a stiff-necked people”. And to Moses’ request, God immediately answers by the “cutting” of the covenant (34:10). “Nicht das Volk ist anders geworden,” Aurelius emphasizes, “sondern Gott.”19 Chart 3 Genesis 6–9

Exodus 33–34

Gen 6:5–7 Yhwh saw [. . .] that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil all the day [. . .] So Yhwh said, “I will blot out from the earth the Adam I have created.”

Exod 33:3, 5 “I will not go up among you for (‫)כי‬ you are a stiff-necked people, or I would consume you on the way.” “You are a stiff-necked people; if for a single moment I should go up among you, I would consume you.”

Gen 8:21 Yhwh said in his heart, “I will never again curse the soil because of the Adam, for (‫ )כי‬the inclination of the Adam’s heart is evil from youth.”

Exod 34:9 “Yhwh, I pray, let Yhwh go among us for (‫ )כי‬this is a stiff-necked people, pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for your inheritance.”

Jeremias, Reue, p. 27; see also H. Simian-Yofre, “‫ נחם‬nḥ m”, TDOT IX, p. 343. See H. Holzinger, Exodus (KHC 2; Tübingen, 1900), p. 116, followed by Aurelius, Fürbitter, pp. 124–125; R.W.L. Moberly, At the Mountain of God. Story and Theology in Exodus 32–34 (JSOTS 22; Sheffield, 1983), pp. 89–93, Andersen and Freedman, Amos, p. 646, and G. Barbiero, Dio di misericordia e di grazia. La rivelazione del volto di Dio in Esodo 32–34 (Casale Monferrato, 2002), pp. 42–43. 18 Moberly, Mountain, p. 67; see particularly Moberly’s insightful observations pp. 89–93. 19 Aurelius, Fürbitter, p. 125. 16 17

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Yet, the same is true in the monarchic covenant, for in 2 Samuel 7 God is ready to deal with a royal house prone to evil: “When [the royal offspring] commits iniquity (‫)בהעותו‬, I will punish him” (v. 14).20 “Wie die Menschen nach der Sintflut unverändert sind,” Jeremias writes, “so haben sich auch die Könige nach David nicht generell zum guten gewandelt – Hiskia und Josia bleiben für das DtrG einsame Ausnahmen –; gewandelt hat sich allein Gott, der sich an David und die Davididen gebunden hat, sie straft, aber nicht verwirft (2Sam 7,14f.). Sie bleiben für alle Zeiten vor Jawhes ‘Reue’ geschützt und bewahrt.”21 In all three cases – mankind after the Flood, Israel after the Golden Calf, and kings after Saul’s failure – God stands out as the one who in his mercy commits himself throughout time with proven, fallible, partners. Accordingly, each covenantal structure is provided with new, adapted and upgraded, regulations (see Chart 4). Punishment “from without” (i.e., punishment by cancelling the existing arrangement) gives way to punishment “from within”. The new arrangement comes along with a built-in system of trespass regulations: – The Noachic regulations in Gen 9:1–7; – The royal measure in 2 Sam 7:14–15, whereby God makes clear that he will punish any royal iniquity “with a rod such as men use, with blows inflicted by sons of Adam”; – The regulations of the re-established Sinai covenant, i.e., the covenantal “words” in Exodus 34, supplemented with the legal revelation linked to the “Tent of Meeting”. The reinstated Sinai covenant is surrounded (in Exod 33:7–11 and 34:34–35) by the unprecedented use of the “Tent of Meeting”, which becomes the material and literary symbol of an extended process of revelation (from Exod 33:7 to Deut 31:14, via Lev 1:1 and Num 1:1).22 The destiny of the “Tent of 20 The misbehaviour of the royal descendants will be anticipated in David’s own (see particularly David’s use of the verb ‫ עוה‬in his confession in 2 Sam 24:17). 21 Jeremias, Reue, p. 135. 22 In a perspective taking redactional hypotheses into account, A. Berlin similarly states: “For the Priestly writer, the Tabernacle is the site of the on-going revelation of God, the portable Sinai” (“Numinous Nomos. On the Relationship between Narrative and Law”, in: S.M. Olyan and R.C. Culley (eds), “A Wise and Discerning Mind”. Essays in Honor of Burke O. Long (BJS 325; Providence, 2000), p. 30; see also B.J. Schwartz, “The Priestly Account of the Theophany and Lawgiving at Sinai”, in: M. Fox et al. (eds), Texts, Temples, and Traditions. A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, 1996), pp. 122–123.

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Meeting” is best described by E. Blum: “In seiner Entstehung ist das Zelt verknüpft mit der Krise der Beziehungen zwischen Jhwh und Israel, in seiner weiteren Bedeutung erscheint es jedoch von dieser Herkunft unbelastet und dient als Ort der unmittelbaren Gottesbegegnung (für Mose) auch nach dem Aufbruch vom Gottesberg.”23 Significantly enough, the legal revelation hosted in the Tent gives pride of place to sacrificial procedures restoring the full communion between God and his people.24 The re-launched covenant is thereby equipped with remarkable regulating provisions “from within”. Significantly enough, the analogies between the “for ever” arrangements I have highlighted are familiar to the inner-biblical tradition (see Chart 5). Biblical writers, especially in the book of Jeremiah, have established correspondences between the three covenants, which mirror and confirm each other. So is it in Jeremiah 31 (left column), where the irreversibility of the covenant with Israel concurs with the (postdiluvian) stability of the natural world: “If [the] fixed order [of creation] were ever to cease from my presence, says Yhwh, then also the offspring

23 E. Blum, Studien zur Komposition des Pentateuchs (BZAW 189; Berlin, 1990), p. 62. The “Tent of Meeting” motif in Exod 33:7–11 has a long record in source and redactional criticism. In a synchronic reading, G. Barbiero has shown that, rather than a “digression” in the dialogue between Yhwh and Moses, the passage narrowly fits its narrative context: “Das Ablegen des Schmucks vonseiten der Israeliten (V. 4, 6) drückt Trauer über die Abwesenheit JHWHs aus; das Aufschlagen des Zeltes außerhalb des Lagers vonseiten Mose (V. 7) entspricht gleichfalls dem Willen Gottes, nicht mehr in der Mitte des Volkes aufziehen zu wollen (V. 3, 5)” (“Ex. xxxiii 7–11. Eine synchrone Lektüre”, VT 50 [2000], p. 154). Taking advantage of the temporal determination in v. 6, Barbiero states that the Tent of Meeting is “der Ort, wo JHWH mēhar hôrēb Mose die Tora mitteilte” (p. 158) – a destination substantiated in Lev 1:1 and Num 1:1. The relationship between the “Tent of Meeting” introduced in Exodus 33 as an oracle place and the cultic Tabernacle (regularly called “Tent of Meeting” as well) first introduced in Exodus 25–26 (and usually associated with the P source/redaction) requires an appropriate description (two distinct paraphernalia or a progressive fusion?) that goes beyond the scope of the present inquiry. Suffice it to say that the last divine oracular resort to the “Tent of Meeting” in the Pentateuch (Deut 31:14–15) echoes the first (Exod 33:7–11), creating therefore a significant envelopment encompassing the postExodus 34 revelation. In both cases the text emphasizes the presence of “the pillar of cloud standing at the entrance of the tent” (Exod 33:9, 10 and Deut 31:15) and the association of Moses and Joshua, first as assistant, then as successor, in the Tent (Exod 33:11 and Deut 31:14). For a genetic appraisal, see Blum, Studien, pp. 76–88. 24 In the overall structure, the motif of the “appeasing odour ” repeatedly associated with the sacrificial procedures revealed to Moses in the Tent of Meeting (see for instance Lev 1:9, 13, 17; 2:2, 9, 12; 3:5, 16; 4:31; 6:8) significantly echoes the “appeasing odour” of Noah’s sacrifice in Gen 8:21.

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jean-pierre sonnet Chart 4 God’s repentance

New “for ever”/ throughout time arrangement (covenant, pledge)

Upgraded regulations Punishment “from within”

Creation

Gen 6:6–7

Gen 9:16 “covenant for ever”

Gen 9:1–7 Noachic regulations

Sinai Covenant

Exod 32:12, 14

Exodus 34:10,27, 28 “covenant”

Exodus 34 covenantal “words” + revelation in the Tent of Meeting as regulation system up to Deut 31:14, via Lev 1:1 and Num 1:1

Kingship

1 Sam 15:11, 35 2 Samuel 7:13, 16 “for ever” divine pledge in favour of the house of David

2 Sam 7:14–15 royal measure

[‫ ]זרע‬of Israel would cease to be a nation before me forever” (v. 36). In similar fashion, in Jeremiah 33 (central column), the everlastingness of the creation covenant and of the covenant with David’s house support each other: “If any of you could break my covenant with the day and my covenant with the night, so that day and night would not come at their appointed time, only then could my covenant with my servant David be broken, so that he would not have a son to reign on his throne” (vv. 20–22). Finally, in the prayer that followed Nathan’s oracle in 2 Samuel 7 (right column), David emphasizes the analogy between the covenant with the people of Israel and the covenant with his royal house in their abiding character: “And you established your people Israel for yourself to be your people forever (‫ ;)עד־עולם‬and you, Yhwh, became their God. And now, Yhwh God, as for the word that you have spoken concerning your servant and concerning his house, confirm it forever (‫ ;)עד־עולם‬do as you have promised” (vv. 24–25). In the book of Jeremiah, the final oracle of chapter 33 goes even further, bringing to the fore the inner connection between the three commitments, with a remarkable reference to the Patriarchs: “Only if I had not established my covenant with day and night and the ordinances of heaven and earth, would I reject the offspring of Jacob and of my servant David and not choose any of his descendants as rulers over the offspring of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (vv. 25–26). The divine statement in Jeremiah 33 thus emphasizes the interconnected irreversibility

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of the three covenants – the covenants that, paradoxically, included a reversal at their outset, and a God “ready to reverse himself ”.25 Chart 5 Creation – People

Creation – House of David

Israel – House of David

Isa 54:9–10: “This is like the days of Noah to me: Just as I swore that the waters of Noah would never again go over the earth, so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you and will not rebuke you. For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says Yhwh, who has compassion on you.”

Jer 33:20–21: “If any of you could break my covenant with the day and my covenant with the night, so that day and night would not come at their appointed time, only then could my covenant with my servant David be broken, so that he would not have a son to reign on his throne” See also v. 22; cf. Ps. 72:5–7 and 89:29, 36–37.

2 Sam 7:24–25: “And you established your people Israel for yourself to be your people forever (‫עד־‬ ‫ ;)עולם‬and you, Yhwh, became their God. And now, Yhwh God, as for the word that you have spoken concerning your servant and concerning his house, confirm it forever (‫עד־‬ ‫ ;)עולם‬do as you have promised.”

Jer 31:35–36: “Thus says Yhwh, who gives the sun for light by day and the fixed order of the moon and the stars for light by night, who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar – Yhwh of hosts is his name: If this fixed order were ever to cease from my presence, says Yhwh, then also the offspring of Israel would cease to be a nation before me forever” Jer 33:25–26: “Only if I had not established my covenant with day and night and the ordinances of heaven and earth, would I reject the offspring of Jacob and of my servant David and not choose any of his descendants as rulers over the offspring of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”

25

Fretheim, “Repentance”, p. 6.

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jean-pierre sonnet II. Genetic Hypotheses

The analogies just surveyed are analogies in macro-plots. How is the genesis of such a large scale literary phenomenon to be accounted for? If prophetic influence, obvious in the case of Exodus 32, is to be surmised at several points,26 how is the overall recurrence of the “false start” scenario within biblical historiography to be genetically explained?27 Was it the power of a literary and theological theme (borrowed from the Prophets? Coined by the scribes in their rewriting of the Mesopotamian Flood narrative?) that helped to shape a particular understanding of history? Or, conversely, was it the bare facts of Israel’s history (namely the intriguing succession of two initial royal houses) that called for the theological scheme? The recurrence of the “false start” plot in foundational history (the Flood and Golden Calf narratives) as well as in monarchic history (the Saul–David narrative) calls to mind E.L. Greenstein’s hypothesis about the formation of the biblical narrative corpus: “The most outstanding feature of biblical narrative, from Genesis through Kings, is that between the Torah on one side and the so-called Deuteronomistic History (or Former Prophets) on the other there is a very high incidence of repetition – of stories, motifs, characters, names of persons and places, phrases, as well as ideology and themes [. . .]. Any theory of the formation of the biblical narrative corpus must account for this fact: The narrator is all too often telling different versions of the same story”.28 In Greenstein’s view, the matrix of these narrative variations is no longer retraceable; nevertheless he suspects that the saga of Israel’s first kings deeply struck the imagination of the biblical authors, and that the various stories about the early kings served as material for later writers who projected them onto Israel’s foundational history.29 In that sense, the paradigm

26

See particularly Jeremias, Reue, pp. 39–114, and Andersen and Freedman, Amos, pp. 639–679. 27 In Fretheim’s view, the theme seems to defy any historical or redactional assignment: “Divine repentance is in fact found within a variety of traditions, northern and southern, early and late: Jahwist/Elohist; David-Zion; Deuteronomic History; eighthand seventh-century prophets; exilic and post-exilic prophecy; psalmody. It is not the property or perspective of a small number of circles within Israel” (“Repentance”, p. 54). 28 E.L. Greenstein, “The Formation of the Biblical Narrative Corpus”, AJS Review 15 (1990), p. 165. 29 See Greenstein, “Formation”, pp. 175–176. The Golden Calf story in Exodus 32 is for instance to be referred to a monarchic precedent: “the Judean perspective on

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of God’s repentance and resilience is to be found in the “false start” of monarchic history. An alternative explanation is provided by Y. Zakovitch’s model of redactional “assimilation”. Assimilation arises, Zakovitch writes, “when a traditionist or editor increases the affinity of stories already similar in themselves by adding to one of them material borrowed from the parallel tradition or composed by him under the influence of the parallel tradition”.30 Explained in that way, the literal analogies in the “false start” scenario could represent the outcome of secondary redactional interventions, working out a primary given similarity between the episodes. Assimilation, Zakovitch goes on, is “indeed responsible for the present form of a number of biblical narratives which contain intrusive elements or which seem suspiciously similar to other biblical texts.”31 In our set of texts, for instance, the root ‫שחת‬, “corrupt”, in Exod 32:7 (“your people acted in a corrupt way”) may echo Gen 6:11–12 (“Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence. And God saw that the earth was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted its ways upon the earth”) as a result of an assimilation between the two texts.32 The same could be said of the verb ‫זכר‬, “remember”, in Exod 32:13 (“Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel”) and in Gen 8:1 (“But God remembered Noah”).33 Genesis 9 and 2 Samuel 7 present similar analogies, which may be the outcome of assimilation as well. For instance, the phrase “your offspring after you” occurs both in Gen 9:9, “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your offspring after you (‫”)ואת־זרעכם אחריכם‬, and in 2 Sam 7:13, “I will raise up your offspring after you (‫את־זרעך‬

Jeroboam’s golden calves was shifted to shape the story of Aaron and the golden calf in Exodus 32” (pp. 175–176). 30 Y. Zakovitch, “Assimilation in Biblical Narratives”, in: J.H. Tigay (ed.), Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism (Philadelphia, 1985), p. 176. 31 Zakovitch, “Assimilation”, p. 181. 32 See also also Gen 6:17; 9:11, 15. About this echoing effect, see particularly D.E. Gowan, “Exodus 32:7–14: Changing God’s Mind”, in: F.C. Holmgren and H.E. Schaalman (eds), Preaching Biblical Texts. Expositions by Jewish and Christian Scholars (Grand Rapids, 1995), pp. 93–94. 33 Assimilation may equally explain the echoing effect between ‫הניחח‬, “appeasing (odour)”, in Gen 8:21, and God’s request to Moses in Exod 32:10, ‫הניחה לי‬, that can be translated “let me alone” or “appease me”, with a possible pun on Noah’s name (‫ )נח‬and on the verb ‫נחם‬, “to repent” (see F. Mirguet La représentation du divin dans les récits du Pentateuque. Médiations syntaxiques et narratives (VTS 123; Leiden, 2009), pp. 361–365). Interestingly enough, the same root also appears in 2 Sam 7:11 (‫והניחתי‬, “I have appeased” [see also v. 1]).

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‫)אחריך‬.” A close temporal structure underlies the establishment of the covenant both in Genesis 9 and in 2 Samuel 7: something will happen no more (‫ עוד‬. . . ‫ ; לא‬see Gen 8:21 and 2 Sam 7:10)34 and will give way to a “for ever [‫ ”]עלם‬arrangement (Gen 9:16 and 2 Sam 7:13, 16). The assimilation between the texts may have proceeded by stages, through an initial pairing of narratives. In the end, the overall analogy has possibly been emphasized, notably through the literal recurrence of God’s ‫ נחם‬repentance.35 III. God’s Change of Mind: A Narrative Appraisal Whatever the genetic reconstructions, the “false start” scenario is primarily encountered as a narrative phenomenon, progressively delineated by the recurrence of analogical elements. In a narrative perspective, literary analogy no longer points to redactional or editorial interventions, but to a particular design in history and history telling. “In a God-ordered world”, M. Sternberg writes, “analogical linkage reveals the shape of history past and to come with the same authority as it governs the contours of the plot in fiction.”36 Focusing on the three scenes of divine repentance, I will now scrutinize the way they unfold a common plot pattern while bringing respective variations into play. For the scenes in question progressively and simultaneously bring out a remarkable design in history as well as a narrative “gram-

34 The “no . . . more” temporal structure is echoed in 2 Sam 7:15: “But I will not take my steadfast love from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you.” 35 Further forms of echoing can be detected in neighbouring texts as well. As observed by Aurelius, Fürbitter, pp. 109–116, Exod 33:12–17 echoes in many ways David’s prayer in 2 Sam 7:18–29 (both texts are labelled as late Deuteronomistic and postexilic reworking, and the author surmises a dependence of the former on the latter). The echoing includes a significant play on ‫ידע‬, qal and hifil: God knows Moses (Exod 33:12, 7) and David (2 Sam 7:20), and makes his plan known (Exod 33:12, 13 and 2 Sam 7:21); in both texts, Israel is presented as the “nation” (‫ גוי‬in Exod 33:13 and 2 Sam 7:23) that became, and still is, Yhwh’s “people” (‫ עם‬in Exod 33:13, 16 and 2 Sam 23:24). In a further pertinent observation, Aurelius points out that the expression “to find grace in [God’s] eyes”, which is recurrent in Moses’ plea (five uses in Exod 33:12–17), is specific to Moses (see also Exod 34:9 und Num 11:11, 15), with two exceptions: Noah in Gen 6:8 and David in 2 Sam 15:25. 36 M. Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative. Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading [Bloomington, 1985], p. 114.

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mar” of God’s change of mind, which is at the core of the “false start” scenario. a. Genesis 6: Unmediated Repentance The first scene of divine repentance, in Genesis 6, opens with a significant switch in the motif that has marked out Genesis 1, “And God saw that x was good”: “Yhwh saw that the wickedness of humankind was great on the earth” (Gen 6:5). God’s inside view of the “inclination of the thoughts of [human] hearts” (v. 5) is followed by a view of God’s own: “it grieved him to his heart” (v. 6). Combining the narrator’s omniscient report (“Yhwh repented”) and God’s interior monologue (“I repent”),37 the verse introduces the reader, with repeated authority, to God’s innermost feelings and evolving intentions in front of the world he has created. In other words: repentance takes place in the sanctuary of God’s self, as a sovereign, unmediated, process. God’s speech in chapter 6 has its reversal in chapter 8, equally cast in interior monologue: “And when Yhwh smelled the pleasing odour, Yhwh said in his heart, I will never again curse the ground . . .” (Gen 8:21). It is nothing less than the reversal of a reversal, and a sovereign initiative as well, although somehow prompted by the “appeasing odour” (‫ )הניחח‬of Noah’s sacrifice. Between these two points, the story has its pivotal point in the inner act of God’s remembrance in Gen 8:1: “But God remembered (‫ )ויזכר‬Noah.”38 God did remember, and he will remember, as he tells

37 The importance of the dramatic technique of divine soliloquy in primordial history (see Gen 3:22; 6:3; 6:7; 8:21–22; 11:6–7) has been highlighted by D. Patrick, The Rendering of God in the Old Testament (OBT 10; Philadelphia, 1981), pp. 18–20; taking into account the last divine soliloquy in Genesis (Gen 18:17–19), F. Mirguet makes an interesting point, which sheds an anticipatory light on Moses’ intercession in Exodus 32: “La série des monologues divins de la Genèse s’achève [. . .] avec la décision prise par Yhwh de mettre Abraham au courant de ses projets et de l’inviter au dialogue. En ce sens, le contenu de son dernier discours intérieur jette une lumière intéressante sur la succession des monologues dans la première partie du livre et sur leur absence dans la seconde moitié. En 18:17–19, Yhwh envisage en effet l’une des conséquences de l’élection et de l’alliance avec une famille humaine: ses projets pourront désormais être partagés avec ceux qu’il a élus, si ceux-ci le souhaitent. Ils pourront même être débattus, comme le montre la discussion entre Abraham et Yhwh au sujet de Sodome” (Représentation, p. 86). 38 About the centrality of Gen 8:1 in the Flood narrative, see G.J. Wenham, “The Coherence of the Flood Narrative”, VT 23 (1978), pp. 336–348; B.W. Anderson, “From Analysis to Synthesis. The Interpretation of Genesis 1–11”, JBL 97 (1978), pp. 23–29.

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Noah and his sons in chapter 9: “When [. . .] the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you” (Gen 9:14–15; see also v. 16). The very continuity of creation, Noah learns, is linked with God’s act of remembering. Yet, God’s most inner drama and act of repentance have not been divulged to Noah and his sons; the ‫ נחם‬sentences have been conveyed only to the reader, as an exclusive disclosure. b. Exodus 32: Mediated Repentance of Repentance The reader is therefore all the more surprised to hear Moses in Exodus 32 addressing God with the imperative “repent”. Actually both verbs, “repent” and “remember”, that in Genesis 6–9 characterized God’s evolving intentions now occur as imperatives directed to God in Moses’ intercession: “Turn from your flaring wrath; repent (‫)והנחם‬ of the evil against your people. Remember (‫ )‮זכר‬Abraham, Isaac, and Israel” (Exod 32:12–13). The novelty of the repentance scene in Exodus 32 indubitably lies in Moses’ dramatic mediation in God’s change of mind.39 What was inner monologue (“I repent”) or inner process (“God remembered”) is now cast as dramatic dialogue (“repent”, “remember”). This says a lot about the prophet’s intimacy with his God, especially as far as the ‫ נחם‬process is concerned.40 As we have seen in Genesis 6, God’s innermost drama of repentance belonged to the knowledge of the narrator, imparted to the reader. Summoning God to repent, Moses thus appears in an unheard-of, exclusive capacity, announcing the “face to face” relationship mentioned in Exod 33:11. Moses’ use of the verb is no less striking. In Genesis 6, God repented of a positive choice he had made (the creation of mankind); in Exodus 32, Moses calls God to repent of the evil (‫ )הרעה‬he is about to inflict upon his

39 Yet, insofar as it catalyzes God’s merciful behaviour, Moses’ intercession takes up the motif of Noah’s sacrifice and inceptive mediation (see Moberly, Mountain, p. 92). Narrative dramatization is pervasive throughout Exodus 32–34; consider for instance how the ‫ מצא חן‬motif, “to find grace”, plain in its formulation in Gen 6:8, turns dramatic in Exod 33:12, 13, 17; 34:9. 40 Moses is the only one among the prophets who uses ‫( נחם‬nifal ) as an imperative addressed to God (see Andersen and Freedman, Amos, p. 649). He is somehow emulated by Amos (Amos 7:3, 6), “who intervened effectively, just as Moses had, though Amos did not use the verb itself in the imperative” (p. 675).

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people. In a typical prophetic stance,41 Moses has moved the argument a step further, locating the repentance no longer in the aversion of the creature that has acted wickedly, as in Genesis 6, but in the aversion of aversion – in God’s overcoming of his ethical wrath toward his corrupted people.42 As Andersen and Freedman write, “in this case, it is the next reversal that is called repentance.”43 Far from being a oneway process, “divine repentance moves in either direction”:44 God is the one who can repent (in his justice), and who can repent of his just “repentance”, in his mercy.45 Repentance, in that sense, lies at the core of God’s sovereign self and is the dramatic pivot of God’s attributes of justice and mercy, which are about to be spelled out to Moses (Exod 34:6–7).46 Moses’ intimacy with Yhwh is evidenced in God’s imperative in v. 10, ‫הניחה לי‬, usually translated as “let me alone”. Saying so, God asks the prophet to refrain from interfering with him so that he can destroy the people (and, in its place, make a new people out of Moses). “Scholars, both Jewish and Christian”, L.-S. Tiemeyer writes, “have long suspected that the deeper message of the passage is not to ban

See Jer 18:8, 10; 26:3, 3, 19; 42:10; Joel 2:13; Jonah 3:10; 4:2; Amos 7:3, 6 [‫]על־זאת‬. God’s wrath in Exodus 32 is thus the ethical analogue of God’s repentance in Genesis 6. The people acted perversely at the foot of Sinai (Exod 32:7) just as initial mankind proved to be prone to ‫רע‬, “evil” (Gen 6:5; and so will Saul, cf. 1 Sam 15:19). See the echoing effect created by the root ‫שחת‬, “corrupt”, in Exod 32:7, calling to mind Gen 6:11, 12, 17 and 9:11, 15. 43 Andersen and Freedman, Amos, p. 648. 44 Andersen and Freedman, Amos, p. 659. “Divine repentance can move in either of two directions: from judgment to clemency or the other way around. It can also move in both directions sequentially, as in the instances in Amos [7:1–9] from judgement to forgiveness (first two visions) and then back to judgement in the interim between the two sets of visions” (p. 645), let alone the case where God did not or would not repent (Ez 24:14). The multiplicity of options and actualities within a given corpus (see especially, within a narrow context, Amos 7:1–9; Zech. 8:14–15; Jer 18:7–10) is therefore a sign of the inner versatility of the ‫ נחם‬motif. 45 As commentators have pointed out, there is however a long way from ‫נחם‬ repentance (Exod 32:14) to ‫ סלח‬forgiveness (Exod 34:9); see Aurelius, Fürbitter, pp. 94, 122–123; Fretheim, “Repentance”, p. 62, and Barbiero, Dio di misericordia, p. 46. God’s merciful repentance is a form of “Selbstbeherrschung” (cf. Jeremias’ use of the word, Reue, pp. 39 ff.) preventing from immediate and total destruction. 46 Referring to “the articulation of the character of Yahweh in Exod 34:6–7”, W. Brueggemann points to “a profound disjunction at the core of the Subject’s life” (Theology of the Old Testament. Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy [Minneapolis, 1997], pp. 268–269). To my view, the “disjunction” in question is better approached in the phenomenon (and the term) of God’s ‫ נחם‬reprentance. 41 42

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intercession but to encourage it. In requesting to be left alone, God is in fact wishing the very opposite. In other words, by declaring his desire to destroy Israel, God gives Moses a reason to intercede, and by the words ‘leave me alone’ informs Moses that he had the power to hinder God from executing his threats.”47 Informed by God about his destructive plan, Moses is in the know, in a forceful illustration of Amos’ principle, “Yhwh does nothing, without revealing his secret to his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7),48 and the prophet is therefore able to play “Gott gegen Gott”, as N. Lohfink writes.49 Moses’ plea for repentance is indeed a plea for divine coherence. Throughout his intercession in Exodus 32:11–13, Moses is representing to God what God has already, and irreversibly, done (the exodus from Egypt, the promise to the Patriarchs): the exodus cannot be ascribed to God’s evil, and there is no substitute scenario for the promise to the Fathers.50 God’s repentance is thus linked with God’s remembering of the irreversibility of the patriarchal “for ever” covenant (Exod 32:13). What God did himself in the days of the Flood (“God remembered Noah” [Gen 8:1; see 9:15, 16]) is now prompted by Moses (“remember”). The prophet thus appears as God’s second self, the one who uses ‫ נחם‬in the imperative, ‫והנחם‬, “repent,” and so it was: ‫וינחם יהוה‬, “and Yhwh repented” (Exod 32:14). c. 1 Samuel 15: No Repentance of Repentance In the repentance scene of 1 Samuel 15, dramatic intensity goes along with an increased interpretative task for the reader, who has to make sense, on the basis of the narrator’s terse report, of Samuel’s complex

47

L.-S. Tiemeyer, “God’s Hidden Compassion”, Tyndale Bulletin 57 (2006), p. 195. “God reveals his secret to the prophets precisely in order to draw them in the sphere of decision making with respect to the future of the people” (T.E. Fretheim, The Suffering of God. An Old Testament Perspective [Philadelphia, 1984], p. 52). 49 N. Lohfink, “Exodus 32:7–11, 13–14 (24 Sonntag des Jahres)”, in: J. Schreiner (ed.), Die alttestamentlichen Lesungen der Sonn-und Festtage. Auslegung und Verkündung 20 Sonntag des Jahres bis Christkönig (Würzburg, 1971), p. 58. 50 In so speaking, Moses is furthermore dealing to God the impact of his own words in Exod 6:2–5: “God also spoke to Moses and said to him: ‘I am Yhwh. I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as God Almighty, but by my name Yhwh I did not make myself known to them. I also established my covenant with them, to give them the land of Canaan, the land in which they resided as aliens. I have also heard the groaning of the Israelites whom the Egyptians are holding as slaves, and I have remembered my covenant.’ ” 48

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affective involvement in Saul’s case. The role of Samuel in the repentance scene of 1 Samuel 15 is in some sense the parody of Moses’ role in Exodus 32. What was achieved by Moses is out of range for Samuel, who is unable to reverse God’s decree (it is furthermore another prophet, Nathan, who will mediate the “for ever” monarchic covenant in 2 Samuel 7). When Samuel learns about God’s decision, “I repent that I made Saul king, for he has turned back from following me, and has not carried out my commands”, his reaction is pathetic: “Samuel was angry; and he cried out (‫ )ויזעק‬to Yhwh all night” (1 Sam 15:11). The same verb was used in 1 Sam 7:8–9 to describe Samuel’s successful intercession on behalf of Israel: “Samuel cried out (‫ )ויזעק‬to Yhwh for Israel, and Yhwh answered him.” We can thus infer that Samuel spent the night interceding so that God might reconsider Saul’s case and repent of his repentance.51 It is a failed intercession, if any, yet a conducive agonizing, leading to prophetic obedience: in what follows, Samuel acts as a prosecutor (despite himself ), in a cross-examination of Saul’s misdemeanour. In a close interrogation, Samuel exposes the king in his repeated lies.52 The reluctant prophet thus faithfully enacts (yet, in what state of mind?) God’s irrevocable ruling, and spells out the verdict to the king (v. 23). Saul’s desperate plea prompts Samuel to repeat twice God’s decision (vv. 26 and 28), capping it with the revelation of the nearness and the quality of his substitute and successor: “Yhwh has torn the kingdom of Israel from you this very day, and has given it to a neighbor of yours, who is better than you” (1 Sam 15:28). The paradox is that, having enacted God’s repentance, Samuel now adds: “Moreover Israel’s Eternal does not lie (‫ )שקר‬and does not repent (‫)נחם‬, for he is not a son of Adam to repent (‫( ”)נחם‬v. 29), an echo to Balaam’s oracle in Num 23:19. Although it may appear to be an utter contradiction in the context,53 Samuel’s statement is in fact his

51

See Andersen and Freedman, Amos, p. 65; Fretheim, Suffering, p. 51. See Sternberg’s close reading in Poetics, pp. 482–515. 53 The verse has a long history of interpretation, along two main ways, characterized by Y. Amit (“The Glory of Israel Does Not Deceive or Change His Mind”. On the Reliability of Narrator and Speakers in Biblical Narrative”, Prooftexts 12 [1992], p. 202) as follows: “One solution attempts to harmonize the statements [of vv. 11 and 35, and of v. 29] and presents them as being not actually contradictory” (see Amit’s reference to Rashi, Radak, and Abravanel; and to M.Z. Segal, F.H. Polak, D.M. Gunn); “the second solution explains textual contradictions as being the product of more than one author and of various stages of composition and of transmission of the text” (see Amit’s reference to A.B. Ehrlich, K. Foresti, B. Stade, A. Weiser, J.W. Flanagan; 52

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final rhetorical blow. The prophet alone (and the reader behind him) knows that God did “repent”, making use of the verb ‫נחם‬. This exclusive knowledge enables Samuel to make his own point, while speaking to Saul, by using the verb in question with a negation. Since he has not secured from God a repentance of his repentance, Samuel will speak as a prophet of God’s unrelenting determination54 – another prophetic trope (see Jer 4:28: “I have spoken, I will not repent, I have resolved, I will not turn back”).55 Samuel imparts to the king, who has repeatedly lied, that no change of mind can be expected from God in the “human, all too human” way, that is, in Saul’s way.56 Although agonizing as Saul’s sponsor, Samuel bears witness to God’s ethical constancy, beyond human fickleness. “Israel’s Eternal” has to stand by his verdict and, the reader understands, there won’t be a repentance of repentance – “there is no further divine reversal.”57 “In this verse, which is about the future”, Tsumura writes, “the main point is that God will not reverse his decision.”58 And so the narrator makes this clear in the closing verse of the episode: “Samuel grieved over Saul. But Yhwh had repented that he had made Saul king over Israel” (1 Sam 15:34). to those one should add P.K. McCarter, I Samuel [AB 8; Garden City, NY, 1980], p. 268). “But to accept the claim that verse 29 is a later addition”, Amit adds, “does not solve the problem, because one still wonders why the adapter-expander did not try to avoid repeating the root n-ḥ -m, which becomes a connective leading word (leitwort) pointing to the problem in the text” (p. 204). 54 “In Moses’ case”, Andersen and Freedman write, “the prophet induces the act; in Samuel’s case, the prophet confirms the act already taken” (Amos, p. 654). 55 In that sense, Samuel’s line in 1 Sam 15:29 is more than the expression of mere unreliability, as Y. Amit contends (“Glory of Israel”, pp. 201–212). Amit rightly emphasizes the difference in reliability between the narrator’s statement in vv. 11 and 35 and Samuel’s own utterance in v. 29, yet she somehow misses the point of Samuel’s simulated prophetic (and vindictive) assertion. Furthermore, it is possible that Samuel’s statement plays double duty, capping its reference to Saul’s irrevocable condemnation with a hint to God’s unrepenting commitment in favour of the house of David (cf. Ps 110:4; 89:34, 36). In the latter sense, yet unilaterally, see T.E. Fretheim, “Divine Foreknowledge, Divine Constancy, and the Rejection of Saul’s Kingship”, CBQ 47 (1985) 595–602; see also Simian-Yofre, “‫ נחם‬nḥ m”, pp. 343–344. 56 “The association of nḥ m with šqr in Samuel and with kzb in Numbers”, Andersen and Freedman write, “carried a pejorative and suspicious tone, as if to say that nḥ m may be a questionable activity on the part of humans” (Amos, p. 653). 57 Andersen and Freedman, Amos, p. 654 (cf. Jer 20:16, a possible reference to Gen 18:16–33). 58 D.T. Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel (NICOT; Grand Rapids, MI, 2007), p. 407; see also R. Alter’s effective comment: “What Samuel says here is that God will not change His mind about changing His mind” (The David Story. A Translation with Commentary of 1 and 2 Samuel [New York, 1999], p. 92).

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IV. Conclusion. The God who Learns and the God who Knows If the theme of God’s repentance runs across the prophetic corpus (from Amos to Jeremiah and to Zechariah) in subtle and complementary configurations, it has received an equally sophisticated narrative elaboration in the Pentateuch and the Former Prophets (see Chart 6). Genesis presents divine repentance, with appropriate literary techniques, as a move situated in the depths of God’s sovereign self, Exodus as a process unfolding within the relationship of God and Moses, his prophetic second self, and 1 Samuel as an ethically unalterable choice, endorsed by the prophet as a third party. Throughout these elaborations – unmediated repentance, repentance of repentance, and repentance without repentance – the narrative takes pains to emphasize God’s way in his changes, for “God changes as God”, Fretheim writes, “not as the creatures.”59 Yet, even so, the scenes of divine repentance represent a serious challenge in our construction of God’s character. “Divine repentance”, Fretheim writes, “is the reversal of a direction taken or a decision Chart 6 Genesis 6–9

Exodus 32

Divine repentance, Divine with reversal, repentance of without mediation evil thanks to Moses’ prophetic mediation

1 Samuel 15

Jonah 3–4

Divine repentance not reversed yet enacted and vindicated through Samuel’s prophetic mediation

Divine repentance of evil as a lesson to the prophet

59 Fretheim, “Repentance”, p. 63. To substantiate Fretheim’s claim, suffice it to quote him again: in the passages stating that “God does not repent” (Num 23:19 and 1 Sam 15:29), “it is explicitly stated that God does not repent because ‘God is not a human being.’ Yet, even when God does repent (e.g. Hos 11:8–9) it is said that God does so ‘because he is not a human being’ ” (“Repentance”, p. 52).

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made”60 – ‫ נחם‬is indeed associated with ‫שוב‬, “revert”, in Exod 32:12 – and the word “reversal” echoes Aristotle’s περιπέτεια, which, in the Poetics, represents the core of the narrative plot (§11). Yet, how can the God who masters the plot be caught within the plot? For the biblical God, as the narrator makes clear here and there, is the one who, in his foreknowledge, contrives the drama (so in Gen 20:18, “For Yhwh had closed fast all the wombs of the house of Abimelech because of Sarah, Abraham’s wife”, or in 2 Sam 17:14, “For Yhwh had ordained to defeat the good counsel of Ahithophel, so that Yhwh might bring ruin on Absalom”). God’s command of the plot, made clear in some instances, is therefore to be surmised elsewhere. Yet, the divine repentance scenes are unmistakably scenes of reversal within the plot, as post hoc as much as propter hoc reactions to human behaviour. The verb ‫נחם‬, as Fretheim writes, is “a word for which temporal sequence is integral.”61 How can the God who transcends time be caught within time? How is it that the Bible, which is familiar with a God who oversees time in his omniscience,62 chooses to dramatize a God entangled in the course of time, caught in human consequentiality, to the point of dissociating himself from a previous course of action? When biblical narrative dramatizes God in human consequentiality, particularly in the repentance scenes, does it create an inconsistency in the divine character? Is the God who transcends time and masters the plot consistent with the God caught within the temporality of the plot, to the point of reversing charted routes? Why is God staged at times as the one who knows (the “God of knowledge [‫”]אל דעות‬, in the words of Hannah [1 Sam 2:3]), who sees the heart (1 Sam 16:7), who plans things (Gen 20:18; 1 Sam 13:14; 16:1; 2 Sam 17:14), and announces the outcome of things ahead of time (Gen 15:13–16; 46:3–4), and yet at other times is staged as the one who learns, post factum, from what

60 T.E. Fretheim, Exodus (Interpretation; Louisville, 1981), p. 285. See also H.W. Wolff ’s definition: “a change of mind prompted by the emotions, a turning away from an earlier decision on the part of someone deeply moved” ( Joel and Amos [Philadelphia, 1977], p. 298). 61 Fretheim, “Repentance”, p. 51. 62 See for instance Deut 31:21: “For I know what they are inclined to do even now, before I have brought them into the land that I promised them on oath”; Isa 46:9–10: “I am God, and there is no one like me, declaring the end from the beginning and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, my purpose shall stand, and I will fulfill my intention”; Ps 139:14: “Even before a word is on my tongue, Yhwh, you know it completely.”

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he sees: “Yhwh saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth” (Gen 6:5); “Yhwh said to Moses, ‘I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are’ ” (Exod 32:9). He not only learns but he also wants to learn from proven acts, as he announces in Genesis 18 concerning Sodom and Gomorrah’s sin: “I must go down and see whether they have done altogether according to the outcry that has come to me; and if not, I will know (‫( ”)אדעה‬v. 21). God’s quest for proven facts or actions constitutes the plot of Genesis 22, which opens with “After these things God tested Abraham” (v. 1), a test that leads onto divine recognition: “for now I know (‫ )עתה ידעתי‬that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me” (v. 12).63 The God who knows is also (and sometimes in very close alternation) the God who learns, and wants to learn. Before considering this paradox in its theological import, it is appropriate to emphasize the law of dramatic intensity implied in this contrasted staging of God’s dramatis persona.64 In his essay Art and Artifice in Shakespeare, E.E. Stoll has observed that Shakespeare (and ancient drama before him – Stoll mentions en passant the stories of “Abraham and Isaac, Jephtah and his daughter”)65 did not hesitate to loosen some requirements of character and story consistency for the sake of dramatic intensity, “within the limits of medium and tradition, of the mores and the imagination – as to force us to think and feel”.66 For “the core of the drama”, Stoll writes, “is not character, but situation, an effect of compression and contrast”.67 When the narrator

63 See the illuminating survey of the history of interpretation of this verse by J.-L. Ska, “«And Now I Know» (Gen 22:12),” in: id., The Exegesis of the Pentateuch. Exegetical Studies and Basic Questions (FAT 66; Tübingen, 2009), pp. 111–138. 64 The relevance of the law of dramatic intensity in the case of God’s character in the Hebrew Bible has been interestingly emphasized by Patrick, Rendering, who insists on God’s “stage presence”: “By ‘stage presence,’ I mean the representation of a character in such a way that the persona is not only delineated, but actually evoked. The author must represent a thinking, feeling, acting persona who confronts the audience as a ‘presence’ ” (p. 119). When it comes to God’s dramatis persona, Patrick adds, consistency of characterization (“a necessary component of coherence, for identity consists not only of individuality but also continuity in time”) comes along with complexity, for the biblical God “is capable of paradoxical antitheses and shattering new departures while remaining consistent with himself ” (p. 120; see also pp. 44–45). 65 E.E. Stoll, Art and Artifice in Shakespeare (London, 1963 [1933]), p. 57 (I owe the reference to Stoll, as well as the related biblical insight, to Meir Sternberg). 66 Stoll, Art, p. 162. 67 Stoll, Art, p. v. Shakespeare, Stoll writes, was “concerned less with minor consistency of character or story than with the dramatic interest and illusion, the attraction

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stages God in human consequentiality, his point “is to make a situation” (an “intense one”) so “as to force us to think and feel.”68 In order to enhance dramatically the plot and to create the appropriate effect in the audience, the narrator, in a “well tempered” dramatic counterpoint, had to imply in some places the God who knows, in his foreknowledge or inner knowledge of the human heart, and in other places the God who learns – who dramatically learns from proven (f )acts. However paradoxical, the counterpoint in question stems from a narrator whose reliability is implied at every point of the tale. His contrasted presentation of God’s cognitive relationship to human acts calls therefore for a corresponding interpretative commitment on the reader’s side. What could be the effect intended in the representation of the divine character caught in human consequentiality? It takes such scenes to impart to the reader what biblical ethical monotheism is all about. Monotheism is certainly implied and brought to the fore in these scenes. Whereas the Mesopotamian Flood is preceded by quarrels between the gods,69 God’s move in Genesis takes place within Yhwh’s self, in a monologue appropriate to his exclusive sovereignty (see Genesis 6 and 9); in Exodus 32 and 1 Samuel 15, the theme of divine repentance appears in prophetic dialogues that equally enhance Yhwh’s exclusive transcendence. Yet what the repentance scenes achieve with Shakespearian efficiency is the representation of ethical monotheism, the dramatization of God as an ethical character, battling with mankind, with the people of Israel and with Saul, the king, as ethical characters. Nothing could have been more efficient than the three scenes pivoting on the verb ‫ נחם‬to install in the reader’s mind the measure of God’s ethical seriousness, and the measure of human responsibility. The revelation of God’s attributes (in Exod 20:5–6 and 34:6–7) is of little dramatic weight in comparison with the staging of God entangled in the ethical predicaments of history (primeval mankind did turn wicked; the people did apostasy; Saul did defy God’s word), to the point of repenting of his plans, in his justice, or of being called, by Moses, to of the hero and emotional effect” (p. vii). The purpose of the storyteller, P. Lubbock writes for his part, “is to give to his subject the highest relief [not the closest to verisimilitude] by which it is capable of profiting”, The Craft of Fiction (London, 1921), p. 173. 68 Stoll, Art, p. 162. 69 See in the Old Babylonian Version of Atrahasis, tablet II, Enlil’s speech and Enki’s answer (ANET3, p. 104).

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repent of his destructive plan, in his mercy. The intensity of the scenes is in a certain sense the dramatic translation of the divine attributes,70 and their narrative aetiology.71 To say it with Stoll’s words, nothing less than these very scenes or “situations” was required to “force us to feel and think”. At the same time, the scenes in question impart that God, when caught in human consequentiality, is not for that reason lost in consequentiality – and this point probably leads us to the theological import of the narrator’s dramatic art. Cornered by men, people and a king within the impasses of history, the God who repents is also the God who astutely contrives. Far from being short of resources, he turns out to be a cunning designer, forging his “for ever” design in the crucible of human actions that have proven to be fallible – as he did with the stratagem of Joseph’s brothers: “You intended (‫ )חשבתם‬evil on me, but God intended (‫ )חשבה‬it for good” (Gen 50:20). The survey of the “false start” scenario has shown that what God has forged “for ever” in the covenants with Noah, with the people of Israel, and with the house of David, has come second, as an outcome of, and a divine answer to, human failure.72 In these ventures, the God who learns has worked in (close or remote) alternation with the God who (fore)knows: when God repents of having created mankind, Noah, we realize, has already been chosen (Gen 6:8: “Noah had found grace in the eyes of Yhwh”);73 70 Concerning the link between God’s attributes and the narrative in Exod 32:7–14, see R. Scoralick’s valuable remarks in “ ‘JHWH, JHWH, ein gnädiger aund barmherziger Gott . . .’ (Ex 34,6). Die Gottesprädikationen aus Ex 34,6f. in ihrem Kontext in Kapitel 32–34”, in: M. Köckert and E. Blum (eds), Gottes Volk an Sinai. Untersuchungen zu Ex 32–34 und Dtn 9–10 (Gütersloh, 2001), pp. 147 and 155. 71 And particularly so in the book of Jonah, where the reluctant prophet eventually adds God’s repentance to the traditional formula of divine attributes: “for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and repenting of evil ” (Jonah 4:2). The same is read in Joel 2:13, and so (in v. 14) is the question by the king of Nineveh in his proclamation to his people, “Who knows? God may turn and repent” (Jonah 3:9). 72 As A. Wénin has pointed to me, this is similarly illustrated in the covenant with Abraham. God’s first promise to Abram does not feature the “for ever” note; it is added in Gen 13:15 after Abram has endangered God’s design by making Sarah out to be his sister and after Abraham has separated from Lot; and it is after Abraham’s further lack of faithfulness, when he follows Sarah’s advice to resort to Agar as mother, that God establishes with Abraham a “covenant for ever” (17:7, 13, 19). 73 See GKC § 142b listing Gen 6:8 among the ‫ו‬-subject-qatal sentences expressing “an act completed long before, to which reference is made only because it is necessary for understanding the sequel of the principal action.” See BJ, as well as the versions by John A. Skinner, Genesis. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary (ICC; Edinburgh, 19692 [1910]), p. 151, and by C. Westermann, Genesis 1–11. A Commentary

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when God repents of having made Saul king of Israel, David has already been singled out (as early as 1 Sam 13:14; see also 15:28; 16:1). And the God who, in Exodus 32, threatens to consume the people in his wrath is the God who has already installed Moses as a “second self ” in history, able to play “God against God”. In his craftiness, the narrator knows how to balance God’s multiple faces – the God who learns, the God who already knows – so as to emphasize God’s own craftiness in history: he is the one who saves history comme en sous-main, forging his “for ever” design out of proven, fallible, history.74

(Minneapolis, 1985 [1981]), p. 388; most recently, see the comments by Mirguet, Représentation, pp. 75–76. 74 This view is corroborated by the manner of God’s speech amendments in biblical narrative – a phenomenon scrutinized in another chapter of my research project about Yhwh as dramatis persona. A close reading of the speeches where God reformulates his previous words, or words uttered by human characters, in strategies of redirection, updating, specialization, etc., shows that God’s way is analogous to the scribes’ in their inner-biblical exegesis and Fortschreibung: the change always includes an imaginative re-elaboration of the wording of previous utterances, with a rationality of its own. In the covenant that follows the Flood, for instance, God redirects the human menu (Gen 9:3) by inscribing the change in the phrasing of the original injunction (Gen 1:29). Similarly, in 2 Samuel 7, God takes advantage of the word ‫ בית‬brought into play by David (v. 2), first to complete David’s unspoken sentence (v. 5), then to pun on the word and specialize its meaning as, respectively, “dynasty” (v. 11) and “temple” (v. 13). In many ways, God “saves” previous words “comme en sous-main”, reasserting his ever self in the contingency of change. The scribes thus seem to have projected their art of recycling previous canonical texts into God’s character, in his art of making the best of previous words, whether divine or human. Yet, what remains covert in the strategies of the scribes is impressively overt in God’s own hermeneutic of innovation.

HOPE IN TWO KEYS: MUSICAL IMPACT AND THE POETICS OF JOB 14 C.-L. Seow Impact of Job 14 on Music Job 14, the third and final movement of Job’s response to Zophar’s first address, contains some of the most familiar words of the book: “Mortal, born of woman, is short-lived and full of trouble” (v. 1), “For there is hope for a tree” (v. 7a), “If a person dies, will that one live again?” (v. 14a). These have been made popular by the impact of the poem, especially in Christian theology, liturgy, and music. Beginning with Clement of Rome at the end of the first century ce (1 Clem 17:4), early Christian interpreters cited the Old Greek of vv. 4–5 as proof-text for the doctrine of original sin,1 for that translation suggests that no one can be pure “even for one day,”2 while v. 14a, again according to the Old Greek, affirms that new life is possible when one has died – ean gar apothanē anthropos, zēsetai “for if a person dies, that one will live.” And that view is apparently corroborated in v. 14c, according to the Old Greek: hypomenō, heōs an palin genōmai “I will endure until again I would be.”3 Even those who followed not the Old Greek but the Vulgate, where v. 14a is retained as an interrogative, typically thought the rhetorical question to imply an affirmative

1 So, too, Cyprian, Jerome, Augustine, and others. See J. Ziegler, Iob 14,4–5a als wichtigster Schriftbeweis für die These „Nominem sine sorde et sine peccato esse“ (Cyprian, test 3,54) bei den lateinischen christlichen Schrifstellern (Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Klasse, Sitzungsberichte, Jahrgang 1985.3; München: Verlag Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften und C.H. Beck, 1985); A.A. Manni, “Iob 14,4–51 nella lettura dei Padri,” Aug 32 (1992) pp. 237–259. 2 OG’s mia hēmera reflects Hebrew ḥ d ym, with the graphic confusion of d with r and y with ṣ, both confusions being particularly likely in the Paleo-Hebrew script: *ḥ rṣm > *ḥ d ym. The underlying Hebrew text of the Greek, thus, reflects an archaistic orthography, here with the internal yod-mater absent. The archaistic orthography of Job is suggested by 4QPaleoJoba. 3 So Cyril of Jerusalem in his Catechetical Lectures, XVIII:15 (see PG 33, pp. 1035– 1036).

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answer: there is possibility of life even after death (v. 14a), so one must wait for the coming of the bodily resurrection (v. 14b–c).4 Then, in the medieval period, beginning in the eighth century, vv. 1–6 and 13–16 became familiar to Christians through the Office of the Dead, a liturgy originally associated with burial, but which soon became a staple in daily devotions in the monasteries and even by the laity at home. The French historian of music Michel Huglo has demonstrated that the liturgy was sung according to the Old Roman chants.5 Not surprisingly, therefore, the earliest documented instrumental compositions on Job were cycles of motets based on that liturgy by Renaissance composers, most famously Orlande de Lassus (“Lasso”) in his Sacrae lectiones novem ex propheta Iob, in officiis defunctorum (1565) and Lectiones sacrae novem, ex libris Hiob excerptae (1582), but also Homo natus de muliere, the second motet in Officium defunctorum by Portuguese composer Estêvão de Brito (1575–1641). These were followed by Stefano Rossetti’s (“Rossetto”) motet, Homo natus de muliere (around 1575) based on 14:1–2, 5b–6 and another piece by the same name composed by the English madrigalist John Wilbye (1574– 1638), based on 14:1–2, the text being used already in funeral liturgy in England. Even more well-known today is Henry Purcell’s Funeral Sentences (for the funeral of Queen Mary in 1695), a reworking of his earlier Man that is Born of a Woman, based on a funeral liturgy in the Church of England’s then-new Book of Common Prayer. Later compositions include a motet by Johann Christoph Bach (1642–1703) Der Mensch, vom Weibe geboren and Samuel Sebastian Wesley’s Man that is Born of Woman (1853). From the twentieth century come Swedish composer Ingvar Lidholm’s Homo natus de muliere, the first movement of his Laudi (1947), and American Daniel Pinkham’s Man that is Born of a Woman (1971), a composition for mezzo-soprano and guitar based on the Anglican Book of Common Prayer. All these compositions highlight the despair of vv. 1–2 or 13–16, though in many instances, following the medieval Office of the Dead, the two passages

4 Thus Rufinus of Aquileia in his Commentary on the Apostles Creed (PL 21, p. 384) and Gregory the Great in his Moralia in Iob, XII:16–17 (see CCSL 143A, pp. 638–639). 5 “Remarques sur mélodie des réspons de l’Office des Morts” in: Nordisk Kollokwium IV I Latinsk Liturgiforskning (Oslo, 1978), pp. 118–125. Cited in: K. Ottoson, The responsories and Versicles of the Latin Office of the Dead (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1993), p. 40.

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are brought together, with the apparent words of hope in vv. 7–12 noticeably absent. Lidholm and Pinkham are, however, exceptions in the twentieth century, where the emphasis is not on despair but hope. Thus, in Jean Berger’s 1973 choral work, If a Man Dies, the composer rearranges the text to have the question in v. 14a (“If a man dies will he live again?) answered by v. 7 (“there is hope for a tree”). Similarly optimistic is Mormon composer Robert Cundick’s 1996 oratorio, The Redeemer, with words attributed to a prophet based on Job 14:14 coupled with the “redeemer passage” (19:25–27), which has been considered a prophecy of bodily resurrection. Hope is thus lifted up, while the despair of the rest of the poem receives no play. That same approach is evident as well in John Ness Beck’s Song of Hope (1977), combining 14:7–9 with the words of confident faith in Ps 57:8–11. Arguably closer to the overall perspective of Job is Carlisle Floyd’s Pilgrimage (1971), which reads v. 14 together with vv. 7–12. Kirke Mechem’s The Protest of Job, released in 1970, is similarly to the point, for he properly contrasts the hope for the tree (v. 7) to the hope for humanity that God destroys (vv. 14, 19). Mechem perceptively sets these verses as a counterpoint to Eliphaz’s suggestion that Job’s hope is his integrity (4:6b). Whatever their perspectives, these musical compositions call attention to the poetic beauty – and complexity – of Job 14. As such, they prompt the interpreter to return to the poem and reread it. The piece encapsulates the tension between the desperate human yearning for hope and the reality of a world where hope is eroded to nothingness. And that is the existential dilemma played out by the musicians who have been inspired by the poem. Movement of the Movement From the first words of the poetic section of the book, Job has seen his plight as not merely his own but that of humanity. Already in the opening poem in Chapter 3, Job used the term geber, a word that in the book is a synonym of ʾādām (14:10; 16:21; 33:1) and ʾĕnôš (4:17; 10:5), and frequently designates the mortal as opposed to God (3:21; 14:14; 22:2; 33:29; 34:7, 9). He lamented his own existence, cursing the night that said, hōrâ gāber “A human is conceived!” (3:3). Elsewhere, too, he refers to himself as ʾādām (7:20) and ʾĕnôš (9:2), both general

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terms for humanity. So here he is ostensibly speaking of ʾādām (14:1), though he clearly has his own plight in view. The poet, however, speaks not only of mortality, which the idiom yělûd ʾiššâ implies,6 but also of the brevity of life, traditionally an indication of particular divine disfavor (Pss 89:46; 102:24; Prov 10:27). Now, however, Job seems to assert this brevity of life as normative for humanity in general. To him, a limited lifespan is the fate of everyone, not just the impious, as Bildad implied in 8:12–13. Job’s perspective reflects, rather, the view of the psalmist, who laments that human life is but a fleeting reality, as insubstantial as vapor and as ephemeral as a shadow (Ps 39:5–7). Worse, according to Job, that brief lifespan is full of rōgez “trouble,” the term echoing his initial outburst in 3:17, 26. Yet, precisely on such an ephemeral-yet-suffering being, God has opened God’s eyes (v. 3a). The reference to the opening of God’s eyes is curious, for elsewhere in the Bible God is asked to open God’s eyes to see the plight of people in need of divine attention. God’s opened eyes suggest God’s favor and mercy (Zech 12:4). At the same time, however, the image of God’s watchfulness recalls Job’s earlier complaints of unwanted divine surveillance, a watchfulness that intends to find fault rather than to see the needs of the one watched (7:8–21; 10:12–14, 20–22). Conveying a very careful and focused divine watchfulness, Job switches suddenly from the third person allusion to humanity to a first person reference to himself: wĕʾōtî tābîʾ bĕmišpāṭ ʿimmāk “and you bring me into judgment with you.” The rhetoric reaches a climax in the first stanza as the ʾādām that is the subject in vv. 1–3a becomes the personal “me” in v. 3b and the word order places the emphasis on that “me.” That is surely no coincidence. MT’s reading, unanimously supported by all Hebrew MSS, but also Aquila and the Rabbinic Targum, must be retained. It is – against the harmonistic readings of the Old Greek, Vulgate, and Peshitta that many interpreters follow – the lectio difficilior.

6 The Hebrew expression appears two other times in Job (15:14; 25:4), both times in parallelism with ʾĕnôš, as also in Sir 10:18. In Qumran as well, the expression refers generally to humans as ephemeral creatures (so 1QS 11.21 [// mʿpr “from dust”]; 1QHa 5.20; 21.1; 23.13 [//yṣr ḥ mr “clay creature”]; 4QApocLam, line 5). Cf. Greek gennētoi gynaikōn “those born of women,” meaning all human beings (Matt 11:11; Lk 7:28), genomenon ek gynaikos “born of woman,” a reference to incarnation, that is, one becoming human (Gal 4:4). The expression may have been derived ultimately from the story of the Fall, where the first mention of the child-birth is in the context of the curse of Eve (Gen 3:16).

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The poet implies that God’s opened eyes are now trained upon Job as ʾādām – not in the benevolent, salvific sense as the idiom “to open eyes” is used of God elsewhere (2 Kgs 19:16; Isa 37:17; Dan 9:18; Zech 12:4), but in the sense of a judgmental watching. Yet, Job has in fact been longing for just such a legal, encounter with God, which would be a chance for him to defend himself. Any talk of such direct encounter is immediately qualified in verse 4. That verse has often been deleted as dissonant, though virtually all witnesses, including 4QJobb from Qumran, confirm its place. In fact, dissonance may be the very point of the poet. On the one hand, Job feels as if God has opened eyes upon him and he imagines being brought into judgment with God. On the other hand, he knows that such a scenario is but wishful thinking, as the initial mî yittēn indicates. Interpreters, both Jewish and Christian, have long thought that the poet must have had in mind the inevitability of human sin, comparing this text with Psalm 51.7 Accordingly, Job is conceding a point that Eliphaz had made in 4:17, namely, that no one can be righteous or pure before God. That being the case, all that relentless watching is overkill, for there can be no doubt about human guilt. Job – indeed, ʾādām – stands no chance even if that one is ever brought into judgment with God. Job may not be thinking specifically of human guilt, however, but of the utter incompatibility of polar opposites, like clean and unclean, as Newsom argues.8 If Job but for a moment harbors the thought of being brought into judgment with God and given a chance to answer the charges, that possibility is quickly denied. Just as a clean thing cannot come from something unclean, so a lowly mortal cannot expect a direct encounter with a wholly transcendent deity. Hence, Job’s extremely curt rejoinder: lōʾ ʾeḥ ād “not one!” (v. 4b). By this he does not mean that there is no one who can do such a thing, for if that were intended, the Hebrew should have been ʾên ʾeḥ ād. The oddity of the expression is, to borrow a category from Russian formalist Viktor Schlovsky, ostranenya (“defamiliarization”). 9 Like the introduction of an unexpected element in a work of art, “defamiliarization” 7 So Gregory the Great among Christians and, among Jewish commentators, Ibn Ezra and Isaiah di Trani. 8 C.A. Newsom, “Job” in NIDB IV, pp. 440–441. 9 V. Shklovsky, “Art as Technique”, in: L.T. Lemon and M.J. Reis (eds.), Russian Formalist Criticism (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1965), pp. 3–24 (Russian orig., 1917]. See also R.H. Stacy, Defamiliarization in Language and Literature (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1977).

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forces the viewer to stop and think about the meaning of the unexpected. On the one hand, one may understand the poet’s point to be, simply, that not one clean thing ever comes from the unclean – a truism that some things are just impossible. On the other hand, lōʾ ʾeḥ ād may be a bitter allusion to God, who is One. The translators of the Rabbinic Targum already suggested that ʾeḥ ād here refers to the deity, as did Jerome in the Vulgate. Certainly, by the post-exilic period, the affirmation of the shema that YHWH is ʾeḥ ād came to mean that ʾeḥ ād itself could be a divine epithet. As Zechariah has it, “on that day, YHWH shall be ʾeḥ ād; his name shall be ʾeḥ ād’ ” (Zech 14:9). Malachi, too, speaks of God being called ʾeḥ ād (see Mal 2:10, 15). And Job himself would say later, “Surely, the one who made me in the womb made him, ʾeḥ ād created us in the womb” (31:15). For Job, the only One who could bring him justice simply will not do so. The wishful language – mî yittēn “would that” – suggests that such a legal encounter is what Job desires, but it is wishful thinking. The chances of God and human being brought together in judgment are nil. For “who will give” such a possibility? Not One! Instead, divine judgment is decidedly unilateral. The fate of mortals has already been sealed since the beginning of human history, for mortality is their fate and their limit firmly established (v. 5).10 So Job can only ask God to look away from him, ʾādām, that he may “cease” (wĕyeḥ dal),11 so that he, like a day laborer, may finish out his day (v. 6). The verb rṣh in the parallel line, however, is ambivalent. On the one hand, it may mean “to favor.” Accordingly, Job is being sarcastic, implying that a day laborer might actually “favor” his onerous workday, a metaphor for human life, according to Job in 7:1–2. One going

10 The idiom ʿbr ḥ q is multivalent. It may refer to the transgression of stipulation (Isa 24:5), the crossing of a boundary (Prov 8:29; Jer 5:22), the violation of a predetermined order (Ps 148:6), or perhaps the exceeding of a time limit. All of these meanings make sense in this context. Elsewhere in Job, ḥ ōq refers to a limit for the chaotic waters (28:10; 38:10), expectation of rain (28:26), or a term of life (23:14). At all events, the point here is that a limit, whether figuratively spatial or temporal, is predetermined by God for humanity. 11 Heb. wĕyeḥ dāl is supported by the Vrss, though MSKenn 245 has wḥ dl, the imperative form, which harmonizes with the imperative, šĕʿēh. Many commentators read wḥ dl, though that is the easier reading. The verb ḥ dl has been taken to mean “be quiet” (so OG, Vulg, Pesh), and that meaning is found in 7:16 and 10:26. Yet, the term may have another meaning, indeed, the usual meaning of the term, “to cease to be, come to an end” (KJV, NIV). That sense is corroborated by the parallel line. Job is asking God to let him expire.

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through life with its abundant troubles ought to be left alone to “enjoy” that life. If so, the verb ḥ dl “to cease” is ironic as well, for it echoes the same in 3:17, where it refers to the cessation of rōgez “trouble” when one has died (šām rĕšāʿîm ḥ ādĕlû rōgez). On the other hand, rṣh may mean “to fulfill one’s obligation” – an interpretation proffered already by Rashi and Ibn Ezra, duly cued by the Targum. Job implies that God has already given humanity a sentence (v. 5), and yet God does not leave them alone long enough to carry it out. Indeed, if the original text of Job were orthographically archaistic, as 4QPaleoJobc suggests, the poetry is even more poignant, for ymw – a reading in Kenn 283 – might be interpreted either as yōmô, the day of the hired laborer, a metaphor of a human struggling through life, or yāmāw (a spelling in Kenn 48), the days of the mortal that has already been decided. Whatever the case, the “day” in v. 6 recalls the decided “days” in v. 5 and, indeed, the mortal’s ephemeral “days” in v. 1. God is asked to leave the mortal alone (v. 6) because there is hope for a tree (v. 7), meaning in context hope only for a tree, but not for the “blossom” that quickly and permanently dies (v. 2). One might even argue, in fact, that the causal kî introduces the rest of the poem as an explication of the introductory stanza (vv. 1–6). Job says what he says in the first stanza because whereas a tree has hope, humans do not. The claim that there is hope for a tree (v. 7) is odd. It is another instance of “defamiliarization,” for a tree cannot properly be said to have hope. That oddity highlights the poet’s irony. Even if the tree is cut down, it can still regenerate (v. 7b). Its shoots will not “cease” (lōʾ teḥ dāl, v. 7c), unlike the mortal who will “cease” (wĕyeḥ dāl, v. 6a). The form yōnaqtô “its shoot,” too, recalls Bildad’s thriving plant that represents the pious individual (8:16). Bildad had distinguished between the impious, whose hope perishes, like the water-deprived plant (8:11–13), and the pious, who, by implication, has hope since it is able to be ever fresh – its shoot (yōnaqtô) will grow (8:16–17). To Job, however, plants and humans are different, for plants can regenerate, even when they are cut down, even when their roots grow old and die. Like Bildad’s good plant that is able to “look within the stones” (bêt ʾăbānîm yeḥ ĕzeh, 8:17), presumably to find water (so Saadiah),12 the generic plant in Job’s imagination is able to detect the “scent of water,” the

12

Saadiah, though, takes ḥ zh to be a byform of ḥ sḥ “to reach” (cf. Isa 30:28).

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notion of a tree being able to smell being another instance of defamiliarization – and that is all it takes for it to bud and come to life again (vv. 8–9). Indeed, the rejuvenation of the tree contrasts sharply with the dying flower that represents the ʾādām (v. 2a), and the foliation of the rejuvenated tree, ironically contrasts the ʾādām, whose days are cut off: qāṣîr in v. 9 contrasts with qĕṣar in v. 1. Unlike the tree that has been cut and whose stump dies in the ground (ûbeʿāpār yāmût gizʿô, v. 8b), but is able to come to life again, the mortal just dies and dissipates (wĕgeber yāmût wayyeḥ ĕlāš, v. 10a). Humans, when they expire, are simply lost (v. 10b). What the poet may have in mind, perhaps, are trees like the olive or willow that, even when cut down, naturally propagate at the stump (compare Isa 11:1). The background of this saying is commonly recognized to be the practice common in the Transjordan of deliberately cutting down fruit trees that are no longer yielding fruit, in order that new shoots may emerge from their stumps.13 If so, the poet means that new life becomes possible only when death is deliberately brought about, an interpretation corroborated by verse 14a. If the friends of Job think that this is what should happen to him, the bad plant in Bildad’s parable of two plants, Job intimates that human beings are not at all like plants in that regard. Moreover, unlike Bildad, Job does not distinguish between different types of plants – the bad kind that does not thrive and the good kind that does. Job maintains that plants have this potential for regeneration, as a rule, whereas humans universally do not. Human beings are more like dried up sea and river (v. 11). At first blush, this analogy seems to be a non sequitur, especially since many interpreters assume that the drying of lakes and rivers is meant. Dried-up lakes and rivers can, in fact, also be replenished with the next season of rainfall. So they, too, can symbolize the possibility of renewal. Yet, the seasonal drying of bodies of water is not what the poet is portraying, for Job is not speaking of a plurality of “seas” and “rivers” but of yām and nāhār. The language echoes Isaiah’s oracle against Egypt, which speaks similarly of the demise of yām and nāhār as a consequence of God’s annihilation (Isa 19:5). What is portrayed in Isaiah’s oracle and now in Job 14 is a divinely-initiated cosmological

13 The suggestion was made first by J.G. Wetzstein apud by F. Delitzsch, Das Buch Hiob (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1876), p. 245.

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reversal, as the pair yām and nāhār, a pairing reflected in mythology, implies. Such cosmological interventions render yām and nāhār dead. It is decisively final. In that case, there can be no regeneration like plants “at the scent of water.” Indeed, water itself disappears. So, too, human beings when they die will not naturally regenerate with only the slightest possibility of water present. Rather they, like dried-up “sea” and “river,” will remain extinct till the heavens are no more (v. 12). If ever there would be a reversal of the reality of death, it can only be in that impossibly remote end of the universe. Hope for mortals, unlike even trees, is that far-fetched. The third stanza (vv. 13–17) begins with Job’s desire that God should hide him. The introduction of the stanza is poignant, for mî yittēn in v. 13 echoes mî yittēn in v. 4a. The latter suggests a preposterous notion; a lawsuit between God and a human is as unthinkable as a clean thing coming from something unclean. Job’s wish in v. 13 is no less preposterous. Job asks that God hide him in Sheol, a place where, Job once imagined, one might be free from ʾădōnâw (so 3:19). From whom, then, does he now want to hide? It is not from human enemies, as typically in the laments in the Psalter, but from God, precisely the one from whom none can hide. Job ironically wishes God to hide him from God. He wants God the protector to hide him from God the enemy, until the wrath of the latter has subsided. So Job asks for God to set a ḥ ōq “a limitation” for him or, as the Hebrew allows, with regards to him. He has already spoken of God’s having fixed ḥ ōq for humanity, a limit that cannot be exceeded (v. 5). Now, just as there is a limit that mortals cannot transgress, so Job envisions God fixing a limit with regards to him, so that God may protect Job from God! Moreover, Job speaks of God being mindful of him (wĕtizkĕrēnî), the language echoing the psalmist’s wonder at the creation of humanity, māh-ʾĕnôš kî tizkĕrennû (Ps 8:5). As Job had previously asked that God might be mindful of the circumscribed nature of his life (7:7; 10:9), so he now imagines God being mindful of a limitation – a limitation placed on mortals, but also, surely, as regards mortals – what they can suffer. The ultimate evidence of human limitation is, of course, one’s lifespan. The point is made through a rhetorical question: “if a person dies, will that one live again?” (v. 14a). The expected response in light of the contrast between trees and mortals is negative; the human lifespan is a non-renewable term and one can only wait for the end to come. Job, who had in an earlier speech talked of life on earth as

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a term (7:1), now returns to speak of human endurance through the days of that term, as one waits for ḥ ălîpâ, meaning either relief from military service or from the burdens of a workday, an appropriate metaphor given the analogy of human lifespan with the laborer’s workday in v. 6. Indeed, given the hard service that is life on earth, it is not regeneration or renewal that is desirable but relief. The word ḥ ălîpâ, here signaling the end of hardship, ironically echoes the verb yaḥ ălîp “regenerate” in v. 7. For plants, there is the possibility of renewal, but for humans, there is ḥ ălîpâ only in the sense of a longed-for relief, an ending of one’s term. Then, Job re-imagines being finally summoned to court, brought into judgment with God at last and given a chance to defend himself (v. 15a). This direct encounter that Job has desired and has hitherto not been able to achieve, he now fantasizes will come to pass as God personally initiates that possibility. Indeed, God, who has despised the work of God’s own hand (10:3) will now long for the divine handiwork. Like one who has destroyed his own work, God will miss the creature and yearn for a new beginning. To be sure, God will still count Job’s steps, a figure for divine attentiveness to one’s conduct broached already in 13:27. Yet, it will now not be the kind of faultfinding surveillance that Job has decried. Rather, God will not watch over the mortal’s slipups this time around. It is a theologically profound dialectic: God will be thoroughly aware of human conduct and yet not keep watch over human offense. Job’s transgression, whatever it may be, will be sealed and put away (v. 17a).14 It seems that God, while fully aware of whatever transgression Job may have committed, will simply seal the evidence, rather than have it be used against the accused. The parallel line (v. 17b) corroborates the fantasy that God will go to great lengths to protect Job, even covering up any iniquity that he may have committed. In fact, the verb for the divine cover-up – ṭpl – is the same one used of Job’s friends as ṭōpĕlê šāqer “spreaders of deceit” (13:4). Applied to the friends, that designation suggests at once the viciousness of their 14 MT has the passive, ḥ ātūm, a reading supported by Targ. However, OG and Vulg translate with the second person active form, “you sealed,” presumably interpreting the form to be an inf. abs., ḥ ātōm, used in place of the finite verb. Pesh, too, assumes the active, but translates with an imperative, either taking ḥ ātōm to be used in place of the imperative, or assuming the imperative form, ḥ ătōm (cf. Isa 8:16). Both the inf. abs. and the pass. ptc. forms are possible and for the meaning of the text it does not matter much whichever is adopted.

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slander and their quackery, as if they are false healers, covering over wounds with their useless salve. The basic meaning of the verb is “to smear” or “to daub,” and it always has negative connotations in the Bible, which is interesting, since God is the subject here. To be sure, in Galilean and Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, there is a homograph that means “to attend, care for” and perhaps that is what is intended here, as the Vulgate has it: curasti iniquitem meam. Yet, the echo of Job’s earlier words cannot be ignored, since those words are in the second movement of his response to Zophar. In view of Job’s own earlier usage of the verb, his words are ironic. Like Job’s friends, God will do some daubing as well. Whatever the ethical implication of that divine cover-up, it seems that God is doing it not for Job’s harm, as the “spreaders of deceit” intended, but for Job’s benefit. God would go that far, in effect working around legal expectations, in order to spare the needy mortal. So Job fantasizes, as the third stanza comes to an end. The strong adversative wĕʾūlām “but” in v. 18, however, jolts the reader back to the “real world,” as it were. In stark contrast to the mî-yitten world of the previous stanza, what we have now is a naturalistic world, where even the mountains and boulders do not remain forever. A mountain “falls” by withering away over time (v. 18a).15 A rock – that is, a boulder – moves from its place, the word ʿtq suggesting also the passage of time, disintegration with age (v. 18b). As for stones, water erodes them while torrents16 wash away what’s left of

15

Theod has oros pipton diapesetai “a falling mountain will wither away,” fully corroborating MT, as do Vulg, Targ1 (Targ2 is completely free in its interpretation), and Saadiah. Pesh reads, ṭwrʾ ʿšynʾ ypl (“a mighty mountain will fall”), possibly indicating a confusion of ybl and ypl, though the adjective ʿšynʾ is difficult to explain. Perhaps Pesh is simply paraphrasing. In any case, neither Theod nor Pesh provides warrant for emending the next to nāpōl yippōl (“[a mountain] will utterly collapse”), as many commentators prefer. The suggestion to read nābōl yibbōl (“will thoroughly wither”), too, is unnecessary (B. Duhm, Das Buch Hiob [KHAT 16; Freiburg/Leipzig/Tübingen: Mohr, 1897], p. 78). Even if nāpōl yippōl or nābōl yibbōl were a genuine variant – though none of the witnesses really support them – it would be the lectio facilior. MT should, therefore, be retained. The point is that mountains, when they “fall,” will do so “naturally” – through gradual disintegration. The verb nbl is used of the disintegration of the earth in Isa 24:4. 16 Reading sĕpīḥ â, lit., “an outpouring” or “a swelling.” Most MSS have sĕpîḥ êhā, though there is no obvious antecedent for the fs suffix and none of the Vrss reflects it. MSKenn 99 has spḥ yh, while MSKenn 248 reads spyḥ h, both partially representing archaistic orthography. The original is probably spḥ h. Most modern commentators MT’s sĕpîḥ êhā to be an error for sĕḥ îpâ, a reading proffered already by some medieval Jewish commentators, a form thought to be related to sōḥ ēp, a participle for sḥ p “to wash away” (referring to rain). None of the witnesses supports a metathesis, however. One

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them, namely, the dust of the earth. The picture is one of gradual erosion – from the greatest to the finest, from a mountain to a boulder, to stones, and finally to the dust of the earth. The climax, though, is in the third line of the verse (v. 19c), the triplet here enhancing the crescendo. And it is an unexpected climax, for the poet moves suddenly from nature to a direct address of God: wĕtiqwat ʾĕnôš heʾĕbadtā “and the hope of humanity you caused to perish.” The verbs contribute to the build up, from the intransitive verbs – “falls,” “withers away,” and “passes away” – in v. 18, to the active transitive verbs of water eroding stones and torrents washing away dust in v. 19 a–b, and finally to the causative verb of God making hope perish in v. 19c. Job’s wish – his “hope” – that God will do whatever it takes to hide him, give him a chance to defend himself, and spare him, disintegrates in the “real world.” In this realistic world, human hope is eroded and it is God who causes the erosion. The contrast between hope for a tree and hope for human beings is stark. The former is virtually imperceptible, like the scent of water, and yet it brings life anew. Hope for the human, by contrast, begins as enormous as a mountain. In this case, however, water is not regenerative but erosive. Moreover, it does not just disappear like the water of “sea” and “river.” Rather, it overwhelms, transforms, and sweeps away. But what is the object of that overwhelming (titqĕpēhû) and transforming (mĕšanneh pānâw wattĕšallĕḥ ēhû)?17 In the first place, the object is “it” – a reference to the mountain that has become dust and is washed away: “you thoroughly overwhelmed it and it passes away, (you) who changes its appearance and casts it off.” At the same time, however,

should, rather, relate the noun Arabic sapaḥ a “to pour our (water)” and the noun sāpiḥ means “pouring out” (Lane, 1369). Post-biblical Hebrew attests a similar verb, sippēaḥ , which, according to Jastrow, means “add, esp. (of a river) to cast out alluvial soil” (cf. Vulg, adluvione; Symm, ta paraleleimmena). The verb spḥ basically means “to grow, add to, swell” (hence sĕpîaḥ “outgrowth”), as well as “to spill over.” Theod has hydata hyptia “upturned waters,” which is appropriate. 17 The participle in MT is supported by all Hebrew MSS, Symm, and Targ. Some scholars emend mĕšanneh to read tĕšanneh “you alter,” citing OG and Vulg, which may, however, simply be translating ad sensum. Even if tĕšanneh were a genuine variant, which is doubtful, it would be the easier reading, harmonizing as it does with the second person forms, titqĕpēhû and wattĕšallĕḥ ēhû. It is difficult to see why, if tĕšanneh were original, anyone would read mĕšanneh. The latter is textually superior. Grammatically, mĕšanneh may refer either to God or to the human being. The Hebrew syntax is admitted awkward, but it makes adequate sense; the participle refers to God, the subject of the verb “you overwhelmed,” thus, “you overwhelmed . . . who alters his appearance and casts him off.”

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the “it” is hope that is overwhelmed and washed away. Yet, the object is not just “it” – that is, dust and what it represents, hope. The object is also, poignantly, ʾĕnôš in the preceding line (v. 19c). Indeed, that interpretation becomes decisive in the next line. Cued by the form bānâw (v. 21a), which echoes pānâw (v. 20b), it becomes clear that the reference is not just to the appearance of the eroded mountain, the mountain that represents hope, but to a human being. Indeed, the alteration of pānâw of which the poet speaks in v. 20 – apparently referring to the appearance of the mountain – is being performed before our eyes: dust has turned to hope and hope has turned to a dying human. The pānâw in v. 20b, it turns out, is not just the appearance of the mountain, but the fading appearance of humanity. In retrospect, the metaphor of the “dust of the earth” is more apt than one first realizes, for it refers not just to the shattered dust that is hope but to humanity, the dust of the earth. A point scored previously, that the end of tiqwâ is the end of humanity, is thus reiterated: when hope is gone, human life is no more (7:6). Unlike a tree, the mortal has no hope. Now one sees why the choice of the verb “wither” is especially appropriate in v. 18a. Human beings wither like a blossom (v. 2), because the mountain that represents their hope withers (v. 18). The end of life, though, is not merely the passing away of an individual. No, it is the isolation from one’s progeny, the very embodiment of one’s hope beyond oneself. The hopeless ʾĕnôš will never even know what becomes of their children, whether they be honored or diminished (v. 21). Even if there be a future generation, the hopeless ʾĕnôš will lose all connections with it. The extreme isolation is conveyed poetically by the awkwardly redundant ʿalâw “over himself ” in v. 22. The lonely body will be in pain over itself. One’s nepeš will mourn over it. That is how pathetically alone the hopeless mortal is. The poetic closure thus dramatically encapsulates the sense of hopelessness for Job as ʾādām. Indeed, the verb teʾĕbāl, the last word of Job’s speech ending the first cycle, means not only “mourn.” It is the same verb used of the languishing of earth and its vegetation (Jer 12:4; 23:1; Amos 1:2), a usage that is appropriate, given the imagery at the beginning of the movement (vv. 1–2). The demise of which Job speaks is, thus, at once of human hope, the human being, indeed, human existence. The movement, which began with ʾādām, a word beginning with the first letters of the Hebrew alphabet, ends with the word teʾĕbāl “mourns,” a word beginning with the last letter of the alphabet. That framing is perhaps not a coincidence, since the movement has

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precisely twenty-two verses, corresponding to the numbers of letters in the alphabet. The poem tells a complete story. Music, Once Again Musicians who have interpreted this poem have, for the most part, rightly captured the somber mood of the Joban poem. They have appropriately associated this text with death, the demise of ʾādām. Yet, Christian theologians of old and a few artists of late have discerned within the passage a note of hope, indeed, hope in the possibility of life amid death. That is a veritable testimony to the enormity of human hope that is like a mountain . . . when it is not diminished by the persistence of pain and suffering. Even Job, for all his bitterness and despair would dare imagine, if only for a little, the possibility of a fresh start with a gracious God, who will go out of the way to respond to human need, even circumventing the strict requirements of the law in doing so. To Job, though, that hope is not reality, which is far different, as the fourth stanza makes plain. Still, interpreters through history have been unwilling to relinquish the compelling poetry of an apparently-dead tree coming to life again at the mere smell of water. Most the Christian interpreters in the first few centuries did not discern a contrast between hope for a tree and human hope, the one renewable, the other not. Rather, they understood the passage to point decisively to hope. To some, the tree was a metaphor for the cross,18 and they occasionally associated the “scent of the water” with baptism, as Hesychius of Jerusalem19 and Pseudo-Ephrem did.20 Modern critics might argue that those readings contradict the text, in a word, “authorial intent.” Nevertheless, the persistence of such readings through the centuries is a veritable testimony to the resilience of human hope, whatever the poet might have thought. The poet’s words, once articulated, have a life of their own, it seems. It is as if, like that tree of Job’s imagination, human interpreters have longed for that “scent of water.” And so people have detected the slightest possibilities of hope in the text. Thus, to Gregory the Great, the preposition “until” in v. 12 means

18

Thus, for example, Gregory the Great in Moralia XII.4. Homilies on Job, XVII.14.9 (PO 42/2, 430–33). 20 P. Benedictus (ed.), Sancti Patris Nostri Ephraem Syri Opera Omnia (Rome: Typographia Vaticana, 1737) II, p. 6. 19

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that there is hope in resurrection at the eschaton (Moralia XII.8). Hope of regeneration may be remote, but there will come a time nevertheless when there will be regeneration. It is just not yet. Possibility is detected, too, in the fact that Job had used interrogatives: “where is that one?” (v. 10b), and “will that one live? (v. 14a). Thus, to Cyril of Jerusalem and Rufinus of Aquileia, Job’s use of questions opens the window for a positive reading of the text.21 To Hesychius, the use of the word “sleep” implies the possibility of awakening, that is, resurrection.22 The “scent” is discerned as well in Job’s talk of an end to his term and the coming of a ḥ ălîpâ (14c), a term for change that echoes the regeneration of plants (7b) that for some interpreters suggest a new resurrected body. With each of these apparent cues, interpreters have discerned “a scent of water,” as it were, a possibility of hope amid the realities of human suffering and death. The reception history of Job 14 is, thus, a story of on-going conversations about the fragility and resilience of hope. The impact of the poem on music, as well, brings attention to the musicality of the text. Therefore, one might, in light of the numerous compositions, consider musical analogies to appreciate the cadences of the poem. It seems clear that the first stanza of the movement is clearly pessimistic – to be played in a minor key, so to speak, as all musical compositions on this portion have suggested. The second stanza (vv. 7–12), however, is played by the poet with what musicologists call “deceptive cadence.” It sounds a positive note at the outset, a chord of hope, although that hope is but for a tree rather than for humanity. That hopeful lead-in to the stanza creates the possibility of a positive hearing of the “composer,” though the overall key of the movement is still minor, the point being the demise of the human being, at least for a very long time, if not forever (vv. 10–12). By the third stanza (vv. 13–17), however, the “composer” clearly plays in a major key, a loud message of hope. Indeed, to Francis Andersen, the third stanza sounds the high note of the poem, indicating Job’s true convictions.23 Yet, that major key suddenly and sharply yields to the theme of the first stanza and the poet returns promptly to his pessimistic note, as hope came with the deceptive cadence of the second stanza and was strongly performed in

21 22 23

See footnotes 3–4. Homily XVII.14.12 (PO 42/2, pp. 434–437). Job (TOTC; Leicester/Downers Grove: Inter-varsity Press, 1976), p. 172.

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the third dissipates, and the poem ends with the demise of its subject (vv. 18–22). The complexity of the poetic movement allows no easly resolution. Hence the musical compositions have tended to emphasize one or another tonality. But the poetic variegation is precisely part of the movement’s haunting beauty. It impels the interpreter to reflect on the limitation of mortality on the one hand and to yearn for a “scent of water” on the other.

MESSIANIC PASSAGES OF THE BOOK OF SIRACH IN THE TRANSLATION OF ST. METHODIUS Svetlina Nikolova The question of the messianic ideas in the Book of Jesus the Son of Sirach has, for almost a century now, been occupying the attention of scholars. As far as I know, in the initial contemporary interpretations of several parts of the book one finds the opinions of the German biblical scholars Rudolf Smend in 1906 (e.g. Smend 1906: 452, 456, 457, 476) and Norbert Peters and of the British scholars George Box and William Osterley in 1913 (e.g. Box, Oesterley 1913: 489, 498, 499, 507). Then in the 30s the opinion of Moshe Segal appeared, who maintained this opinion until the 70s (Segal 1933). These problems were investigated very actively in the 50s and 60s, when the publications of Joseph Klausner appeared, which were the result of his work over half a century (Klausner 1956: 252–258), Dom Maertens (e.g. Maertens 1956: 95), Edmond Jakob (Jakob 1957), Robert Siebeneck (Siebeneck 1959), Manfred Lehmann (Lehmann 1961), Bruce Vawter (Vawter 1962: 89–90, 92), Michal Czajkowski (Czajkowski 1963), John Priest (Priest 1964) and others, and a very important article from André Caquot (Caquot 1966). In the 70s interest in messianism in the Book of Ben Sira visibly weakened. In that period it seems only Theophilos Middendorp (see e.g. Middendorp 1973: 117, 125–134) expressed a position in regard to the problem. However, it became a current theme again at the beginning of the 80s. Personal stands were formulated by Helge Stadelmann (see e.g. Stadelmann 1980: 146–176, 275, 275–284), Martin Hengel (already in the 70s – Hengel 1974: 189, 194; Hengel 1980: 47–48), Pancratius Beentjes (Beentjes 1981), Francesco Saracino (Saracino 1981; Saracino 1982), Barton Mack (e.g. Mack 1985: 9, 177, 200, 219, 238; Mack 1987), and James Martin, who was the author of the new summarizing study on the most important part of the material on messianism in the Book of Ben Sira (Martin 1986, 1986a). In the last decade of the 20th century the problem of messianism in the Book of Jesus the Son of Sirah became the object of even more intense research. It was exactly at that time that scholars saw the studies made by Louis Prockter (Prockter 1990, Emile Puech (Puech 1990; Puech

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1997: 288; Puech 1999: 421–424), Alexander di Lella, who had already voiced his opinion for the first time in the 60s (see e.g. Di Lella 1962: 263–265; Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 86–87), Renzo Petraglio (Petraglio 1993: 193–195, 296–299), James Aitken (Aitken 1999), John Collins (Collins 1997), Dan Cohn-Sherbok (Cohn-Sherbok 1997: 22–24; Cohn-Sherbok 2002: 300–302); Richard Coggins (Coggins 1998), Jesus Asurmendi (Asurmendi 1998), P.M. Venter (Venter 2002), Otto Mulder (Mulder 2003: 79–84, 90, 99–102, 107, 110, 116–117, 207, 216–220, 247–249, 292, 295, 323–327) and others. At that time Maurice Gilbert, albeit in brief, made a summary which is the last so far and which is also an all-embracing summary of the research conducted on the subject, the results of this research, and the problems that have not yet been solved (Gilbert 1996:1408–1412, 1414–1416, 1431–1434, 1436– 1437; Gilbert 2003: 222). It is well-known that messianism in the Bible is usually understood to be an idea as to the future of the Jewish people. More precisely, probably the most exact way to understand the idea of messianism is the expectation of a saviour from the royal dynasty of David at the end of time. On the other hand, the broadest way to understand the idea, and probably the least exact one as far as the original Old Testament texts are concerned, is to expect an individual transcendental saviour who will come in the last eschatological period and will establish on earth the Kingdom of God. Between these two viewpoints there exist different shades of understanding this problem and they usually depend on the character of the material studied and its place in the chronology of events, as well as the opinion of the particular scholar as to what messianism is (much literature exists on the way the concept of messianism and the development of this concept should be understood; on the different viewpoints and on the literature on the subject – see e.g. Oesterley 1908; Klausner 1956; Sacchi 1990; Horbury 1998; Sacchi 2000: 380–408; Hess, Caroll 2004). Those investigating the problem of messianism in the Book of Ben Sira carry out their research exactly within this framework and are no doubt also under the influence of the concrete material and when and where this material emerged. They are also under the influence of their own views on the problem of messianism in its entirety. They consider the problem linking it with the problems of eschatology and apocalypticism. Scholars seek the presence of a striving to restore the traditional prestige and the appearance in the beginning of eschatological time of one anointed God, a person in human form able to restore the

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independence of the people of Israel as a fulfillment of God’s promise about the eternal kingdom of the house of David (Caquot 1966: 43). In this sense they analyse the problem of “Davidic” or “regal” messianism and the messiah in the book. But they also analyse the presence in Ben Sira’s text of the so-called “highpriestly” messianism and the “Aaronic” messiah linked with God’s promise about the eternal existence of the priestly office of Aaron’s descendants. There is a discussion also of the so-called “Adamic” eschatology seeking its ideal in the very beginning of the world and in the new Adam-Messiah. The question is raised about the relation between the Book of Ben Sira and the Qumranic apocryphal texts concerning their view about the two messiahs, which later led to the emergence of the doctrine about the two messiahs, on the resurrection of the dead and on the question about the revealing of the mysteries of God. In support of their opinions on these problems scholars make a very careful analysis of the Hebrew texts found so far (in fragments from the nine manuscripts), which have preserved unfortunately only about 70 per cent of the book (on them see e.g., Li Lella 1962; Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 51–53, 57–59; Gilbert 1991; Gilbert 1996: 1390–1396; Beentjes 1997: VII–VIII, 1–19, 181–183; Martone 1997: Reiterer 1998: 16–38; Puech 1999: 410–418; Beentjes 2001: 274; Schiffman 2001: 141–146, 159–161; Gilbert 2003: 149–150). Their attention is centred on the texts from the so-called manuscript B from the finds in the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries in the geniza of the Cairo genizah – paper fragments of a MS in a rather poor state dated, as with the majority of the Cairo MSS, from the 11th or 12th century but containing the majority of the passages that have been studied in connection with the problem of messianism. Sometimes use is made of a small number of verses on the subject of messianism that are on poorly preserved parchment fragments found in Massada. They are dated from the beginning of the first century bc and very likely were written not later than 73 ad when Romans captured the fortress. In addition to that, because of the poor state of the Hebrew texts and the possibility to read them in different ways, scholars often make reconstructions and, as is to be expected, this makes the material less reliable and thus their conclusions less convincing. Besides that the conclusions concerning the problem of messianism in the book of Ben Sira rest on comparisons and finding parallel places in other books of the Bible (for instance, in the Book of the Prophet Daniel, the Book of Proverbs, the Book of Deuteronomy, the Book of the Prophet Malachi, etc.). These conclusions

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also rest on the book’s relations with the apocalyptic traditions of the epoch when it was created and especially on the active study of its relation with the First Book of Enoch and the Qumranic literature. In seeking a solution of the problem of messianism in the Book of Ben Sira scholars follow very carefully the development of the Hebrew text, which is sometimes reconstructed on the basis of the Greek and Syriac versions and also the development of the early Christian versions: the Greek version, which emerged in the second half of the 2nd century bc and which has been completely fixed in the oldest manuscripts from the 4th century – Vatican and the Sinai codices; the Latin version, which is based on the Greek text, which emerged in the 2nd century bc and is known as Vetus Latina, and the Syriac version, called Peshita, which emerged in the 3rd or in the beginning of the 4th century ad and which was translated from the Hebrew (see e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 55–59; Gilbert 1996: 1396–1402; Gilbert 2003: 150–154). Much space is devoted to an analysis of the attitude of Ben Sira toward to the prophets and toward the public and religious situation of the epoch. As a result of these numerous and very profound studies there emerged solutions to the problem. Unfortunately, both with regard to understanding the essence of messianism and with regard to the case with the text of the Book of Ben Sira, no generally accepted answer has so far been found. At the very beginning of the study of the problem solutions came in two lines of thought: some scholars deny that there is messianism in the book, while others give interpretations in a promessianic way. Scholars have been attempting to solve the problem to this day. All opinions are usually accompanied by many reservations and conditions. Thus the problem about messianism in the Book of Ben Sira has so far remained open. It seems to me that the attempts to bring nearer two extreme opinions is worthy of attention and that is why I shall quote the opinion voiced by James Martin. He writes: “Just as Ben Sira, in various parts of his book, may . . . have been influenced by the apocalyptic thinking of those who were his near contemporaries, simply because all these ideas were in the wind, so too ideas about Messianism, though never formulated by him into in any kind of “doctrine”, are nevertheless present in his work and especially in parts of the Hymn to the Fathers however much, for various reasons, we might prefer not to find them there” (Martin 1986a: 119). I shall not voice a stand on the question as to whether there are messianic ideas in the Book of Ben Sira. Instead, I shall note two gen-

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erally accepted points. First, we may consider that scholars have found those passages in the book that give grounds to discuss the problem of messianism. They are parts or separate verses from the following chapters: 3, 4, 10, 17, 24, 35, 36, 38, 39, the entire text from chapter 44 to chapter 50 and chapter 51. Secondly, the various opinions agree with the idea backed by many examples that the development of the text of the book witnessed a considerable number of additions to the original (135 verses), many of which are an eschatological character (Gilbert 1996: 1396; Gilbert 1999). These additions have been witnessed in both the Greek and in the Latin and Syriac traditions but a small number were found also in the Hebrew text. Scholars believe that they are by different authors and this is not in the least surprising if Christians read them in their own way in the light of their views but scholars think that the bigger part of the eschatological additions emerged within a Hebrew milieu though it is impossible to confirm that because of insufficient number of Hebrew texts (see e.g. Gilbert 1999: 88–89). Several cases of such additions made already in the original text of the Greek version made by the grandson of Ben Sira are known. How does the problem of messianism in the earliest Slavic version of the Book of Sirach appear, seen against this background? I shall analyse the problem on the basis of the material of the earliest complete Slavic copy of the book. This copy is in the Bulgarian manuscript of the last quarter of the 14th century kept in the Russian National Library in Saint Petersburg. Besides the Book of Sirach the manuscript also has the four books of Kings almost in full, the copies of the prophetic books and the Book of Proverbs, the Book of Job, The Song of Songs (about this manuscript see: Николова 1994; Николова 1998). Excerpts from the book are to be found in the Russian Miscellany of 1076, which derives from a Bulgarian compilation from 969–972, but they do not contain parts of the Book of Sirah that are discussed in connection with the problem of messianism (about these excerpts see: Пичхадзе 2003). One can find small excerpts in the Russian Miscellany of 1073 based on the Bulgarian collection of Tsar Simeon from 9th–10th century, where for the first time (as far as I know) in Slavic written culture the name of the author appeared – ñ¸ðàõú (f.181 g; see the text of the excerpt in: Симеонов сборник, 1: 556). However they too do not contain the places we need and what is more important, even in case they had them, scholars still would not have been able to discuss them as texts that are representative of the early Slavic version, because they are a part of the question-and-answer work by Anastacius

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the Sinaite, a Byzantine author of the 6th century, and no doubt have been translated together with the full text of his work. I shall not discuss here the text of the book known from the Croatian Glagolitic breviaries. This text, though it contains this translation, was subjected to redacting on the basis of the Latin text. Besides, the copies of the book contain no more than the first six chapters (see Bakmaz 2004), where scholars are least likely to seek messianic ideas. The first opportunities for analysis emerge in verses 17 to 26 in chapter three (the numbering of the verses follows the numbers of the Greek text in Ziegler’s edition: Ziegler 1965; the corresponding numbering of the Hebrew text can be found in the synoptic table of F. Reiterer (Reiterer 2003: 96). In most cases scholars explain the meaning of this text either as an expression of apocalyptical or mystical tendencies or, on the contrary, as a desire by the author to safeguard against such thoughts (Wright 1997: 208–212; Aitken 1999: 188–192; Prockter 1990). In this place the Old Bulgarian text keeps close to the short Greek redaction, considering it to be properly representative of the short original Hebrew text. It also lacks verses 19 and 25, which are typical of the extensive Greek redaction. However, in the second part of the first of these additions, it mentions exactly God’s mysteries (ἀλλὰ πραέσιν ἀποκαλύπται τὰ μυστήρια αὐτοῦ – but reveals His mysteries to him that is humble).1 To this one can add that in verse 22 the Slavic translator removed the word “hidden ones” and instead prefers “others” – οὐ γάρ ἐστίν σοι χρεία τ ῶ ν κ ρ υ π τ ῶ ν (hidden ones) (Ziegler 1965: 140) (what is hidden is not your need) – íýT¡ áw ò¸ ïîòðýáà ¸ í ¥aa (others) ãëťäàò¸ (f. 371v) (you have not a need to be interested in others), while this change does not exist in any one of the known Greek texts.2 These peculiarities of the text make it less possible to interpret it in any kind of mystical way for which there is no sufficient basis even in the Greek text. Of course, it is impossible here to analyse all passages in the Book of Sirach mentioned above. I shall only point to several examples. In chapter 10, in verses 1–17 (Reiterer 2003: 114–115) one can see another passage of the book that can be understood in a messianic

1 For English translation and commentary of this text see also Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 158, 159, 160) – but it is to the humble he reveals his plan. 2 For English translation of the Hebrew text and commentary see e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 158, 159, 160–161 – what is hidden is not your concern, Hebrew manuscript A.

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sense. Here the idea of the destruction of the people because of the king’s guilt, the transfer of power from one king to another, and the destruction of nations and even of the memory about them, comes out very clearly in the Old Bulgarian version, but in this case this is so thanks to precise rendering of the Greek text. This idea is linked also with verse 4 in which exegetes see even a reference to “the man on whom God gives the mission to bring on earth His law and rule on His behalf” (Hadot 1959: 1738, the quotation is as given in Caquot 1966: 53), who, “to put it in another way, as a human representative of the Lord, who came at the time chosen by God, can be only some kind of a Jewish messiah”. This is how A. Caquot interprets this idea (Caquot 1966: 53). In the Greek text this verse sounds as follows: ἐν χειρὶ κυρίου ἡ ἐξουσία τῆς γῆς καὶ τὸν χρήσιμον (‘useful, suitable, fit’) ἐγερεῖ εἰς καιρὸν ἐπ᾽ αὐτῆς (Ziegler 1965: 168) (Sovereignty over the earth is in the hand of Lord and he raises up on it the suitable person), and in the Bulgarian manuscript: Âú ð©öý ãЃí¸ âëàñòü çåìëť, ¸ ïîDáíàãî (necessary) âúçäâ¸ãíåòü âú âðýìť íà íå¸ (f. 376r) (Sovereignty over the earth is in the hand of Lord and he raises up on it the necessary person). It seems to me that in the Greek text and in the Bulgarian manuscript the messianic meaning of the text is clear enough. However, the problem is that in the Hebrew text (in it this is verse 5 according to the opinion of Caquot 1966: 52; Reiterer 2003: 114) the meaning, in the view of scholars, differs much and indeed has no messianic sense (Caquot 1966: 51–53). They convey it as follows: “In the hand of God is the power to rule the universe (the world) and man appears there at a chosen time” (Caquot 1966: 51).3 This fact however cannot change the meaning of the Greek and the Slavic versions, it can only show that the Greek translation has introduced additionally a messianic element which has been retained in the Old Bulgarian translation. There is an interesting case – the verses in the end of chapter 35 and the beginning of chapter 36 (32(35): 21–26 – 33(36): 1–(19), f. 394r– 394v, 396v; Reiterer 2003: 192–195), where one finds a prayer about the destruction of the enemies of the Jews, the mercy bestowed on the Jews, the uniting of all descendents of Jakob in implementation of

3 For English translation and commentary of the Hebrew text see also Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 221, 223–224 – Sovereignty over the earth is in the hand of God, who raises up on it the person for the time, Hebrew manuscript A.

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God’s promises and prophesies and the liberation of Israel. The end of this passage in the Old Bulgarian version sounds as follows: 36: 22 Ïîñë¹øà¸ ãЃ¸ ìîëá¥ ìîë¸òâí¸êú òâî¸õú• (19) ïî áëT¡âåí¸à à à ð w í ¸ w ëþäåõú òâî¸õú• H ðàç¹ìý©òú âüñ¸ ñ©ùå¸ ïî çåì¸• ÿêî ò¥ åñ¸ áЃú âýêwN¡ (f. 396v) (O Lord, hear the requests of people, who pray to you according to the blessing of Aaron for your nation and everybody on the earth will understand that you are the eternal God). Concerning this passage A. Caquot expresses his surprise that here Sirach does not mention Davidic messiah though it would have been only natural for the messiah to be at that moment in front of his eyes (Caquot 1966: 50). There is no such mention also in the oldest Greek text: 22 εἰσάκυσον, κύριε, δεήσεως τῶν οἰκετῶν σου, (19) κ α τ ὰ τ ὴ ν ε ὐ δο κ ί α ν π ε ρ ὶ τ ο ῦ λ α ο ῦ σ ο υ, καὶ γνώσονται πάντες οἱ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ὃτι σὺ εἶ κύριος ὁ θεὸς τῶν αἰώνων (Ziеgler 1965: 292) (O Lord, hear the prayers of your servants, for you are gracious to your nation and everybody on the earth knows that you are a Lord, the eternal God). And yet the name of Aaron exists in part of the Greek tradition together with the correction εὐλογίαν (according to the blessing) instead of εὐδοκίαν (according to the grace) (Ziegler 1965: 292). It is important, however, that here the text mentions Aaron. This brings one quickly to the thought of the presence of “highpriestly” messianism in the passage and this, of course, does not satisfy in completely the expectations of the scholar about a “Davidic” messianism in these verses but it definitely enhances the presence of messianic elements in the book. As a matter of fact one needs to mention that in these verses from chapter 35 and 36 in the Hebrew text J. Klausner sees a clear sign of messianic expectations (Klausner 1956: 252–254), though here there is no mention of an individual messiah just in the whole book and in all early Hebrew apocrypha in general there is no such idea, an idea which in his opinion is one that appeared later and in general is not characteristic of Judaism but is of first-rate importance to Christianity.4 And perhaps in connection with this variant we have to draw attention also to the opinion of John Collins, who writes: The expectation of a Davidic messiah had a clear basis in the Scriptures . . . The notion of a priestly messiah was not so obvious from the scriptures . . .” 4

For English translation of the Hebrew text and commentary see also Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 414, 416, 420–423 – Hear the prayers of your servants, for you are ever gracious to your people; Thus it will be known to all the ends of the earth that you are the eternal God, Hebrew manuscript B.

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(Collins 1995: 95); “The notion of a priestly messiah has its roots in the expression ‘the anointed priest” in Leviticus (4:3, 5, 16; 6:15)” (Collins 1995: 83, 98). Then he emphasises: “For most of the postexilic period, however, the High Priest alone was supreme in Judea. This situation is reflected in Ben Sira, who extols Aaron (Sir 45: 6–22) at greater length than David (47:2–11) and eulogizes the High Priest of his day, Simon the Just, as “the leader of his brothers and the pride of his people (50: 1)” (Collins 1995: 83). So, the appearance of the name of Aaron may be due to the content of Ben Sira’s text itself. This change could already be present in some Hebrew text, which has not survived until now. It is possible also that the change appeared in the Greek text and then from such manuscript was translated into Slavonic.5 I shall give several examples also from the most important part of the Book of Sirach linked with the problem of messianism – the so-called Hymn to the Fathers in chapters 44–50. I shall not touch upon one of the verses that are most important ones for the interpretation concerning messianism: 45:25 not only because it in the words of Pancratius Beentjes and Maurice Gilbert is a crux interpretum for exegetes (Beentjes 1981: 188; Beentjes 1984: 379; Gilbert 1996: 1436) but also because the first Slavic translator had the same problem and that resulted in an unclear translation. I shall point to the passages whose meaning is clear and which can give us material for conclusions regarding the attitude of the translator and the copyists towards the messianic ideas. In chapter 45:1–5 – in praise of Moses – verse 3 sounds in Greek as follows: ἐν λόγοις αὐτοῦ σημεῖα κατέσπευσεν, ἐνδόξασεν αὐτὸν κατὰ πρόσωπον β α σ ι λ έ ω ν (Ziegler 1965: 335; Reiterer 2003: 222–223) (in his words appeared omens, glorified him in front of the king’s face). In the Bulgarian manuscript one reads: ñëîâåñ¥ åãî çíàìåí·à âúñòàâ¸ë±• ïðîñëàâ¸ëú åãî ïðýD ë¸öåìú ö ðЃ ê â í ¥ ì ú (f. 404r) (by 5 I would like to express my gratitude to Mr. George Brooke, professor of Biblical Exegesis at the University of Manchester, who sent to me a copy from this book by J. Collins. He called my attention to two important data: “1. That Ben Sira was at a time when the Messiah of Aaron was being talked about in compositions like the Damascus Documents (c. 150 bc) and 2. that the Damascus Document was copied out in the 10th & 12th c (ad), to be found in the Cairo Genizah and so the Messiah of Aaron was known about in some circles at approximately the time the Bulgarian translation/ Slavonic translation is being produced” (in his letter from July 2007). Probably, with regard to the future research of the oldest Slavonic translation of the Book of Jesus the Son of Sirach it will be useful to follow more closely the literature about the Damascus Document.

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words his omens appeared, glorified him in front of the church’s face). There is no such variant reading in any of the Greek MSS studied so far. We could think that it appeared because someone among the former copyists or the person who did this particular copy read the abbreviation öðT¡ê¥ìú as öðЃêâí¥ìú, because of the graphic similarity of the two words. But there is very little likelihood of this happening as the two words can present no difficulty, while copyist F.I.461 was without doubt a very experienced and well-trained bookman. Even less likely is a mistake by a translator. No translator, even one that knows little Greek, can mistake the word öðT¡ê¥ìú (regal) for the word öðЃêâí¥ìú (churchly) and even less can such a mistake be made by Methodius, the First Teacher of the Slavs. He could not have translated in such a way, because here no doubt the text speaks about the meetings Moses had with pharaoh at God’s command (Ex 3–10, 12) and we cannot assume that the translator was not familiar with the Pentateuch. Rather it seems that the change appeared in a Greek text that is not known or in the process of copying the Old Bulgarian version and was done deliberately by some copyist who was not careful enough with the text because of his desire to attach to the priesthood greater importance than the importance of regal power.6 In the same chapter, in verse 24 the Greek text speaks about Phinehas, the son of Eleazar: διὰ τοῦτο ἐστάθι αὐτῷ διατήκη ε ἰ ρ ή ν η ς προστατεῖν ἁγίων καὶ λαοῦ αὐτοῦ, ἴνα αὐτῷ ᾗ καὶ τῷ σπέρματι αὐτοῦ, ἱερωσύνης μεγαλεῖον εἰς τοῦς αἰῶνας. (Ziegler 1965: 340; Reiterer 2003: 224–225) (Because of that conferred to him a covenant of peace to protect the sanctuary and his nation for giving him and his descendants a grandeur of priesthood forever). The Bulgarian manuscript has the following text: Ñåãî ðàD ïîñòàâåí± åìó á¥T¡ çàâýU â ý ] í ¥ ¸• ìЃëòâí¸êú ñòЃü ëþDìú ñâî¸N• äàT¡ ñåáý ¸„ ñýìåí¸ ñâîåì¹• ñЃùåíñòâà á©äåU âåë·¸ñòâî âú âýê¥ (f. 405r) (Because of that conferred to him an eternal covenant, a holy sanctuary to his nation, gave to himself and to his descendants a grandeur of priesthood to be forever). This change (peaceful – eternal) can be seen in several Greek minuscule MSS (αιωνος). And naturally it only strengthens the so-called “high-

6 For English translation of the Hebrew text and commentary see also e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 506, 509, 511 – Wrougt swift miracles at his words and sustained him in the king’s presence, Hebrew manuscript G.

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priestly” messianism in the Greek and Slavonic text of the Book of the Wisdom of Jesus the son of Sirach.7 Verse 12, chapter 46 of the Greek text τὰ ὀστᾶ αὐτῶν ἀναθάλοι ἐκ τοῦ τόπου αὐτῶν (Ziegler 1965: 343; Reiterer 2003: 228–229) (Their bones flourish from their place) has been translated perfectly as êîñò¸ ¸õú äà ïðîöúâò©òú § ìýñòà ñâîåãî (f. 405 v) (Let their bones flourish from their place). This phrase referring to the judges is missing in the Hebrew text but is present in the Syriac one8 and verse 12 contains only the word “and their name receive fresh luster in their children” (manuscript B, see Sklehan, Di Lella 1987: 517), translated into Greek as καὶ τὸ ὄνομα αὐτῶν ἀντικαταλλασσόμενον ἐφ᾽ υἱοῖς δεδοξσμένος ἀντρώπων (Ziegler 1965: 343) (and the names transferred to the sons of glorified men), and in Old Bulgarian – as ¸ ¸ìť ïðýá¥âà© íà ñíЃîõú ïðîñëàâåí¥a òàêîæäå (f. 405v) (and the name remained in the sons of glorified men as well). Usually this verse together with chapter 49: 10 (Reiterer 2003: 236–237) is interpreted as the desire of Ben Sira that his heroes – “true leaders of his people – to come to life in their descendants by the appearance of contemporary leaders who will repeat the role which the judges and the prophets had so well executed (Siebeneck 1959: 419) with the addition that “it is not impossible that the desire for the judges to return to life from their resting place reflects a belief in the resurrection of the body”, but that verse 12 “indicates rather the desire that the judges prolong their glory in their ancestors” (Siebeneck 1959: 419). There are, however, also categorical opinions that here like in other passages in the Book of Ben Sira the text refers exactly to the resurrection of the persons that have been mentioned (Saracino 1982; this opinion is rejected by M. Gilbert – see Gilbert 2001: 274). If we analyse the Greek, and especially the Slavic text, where the two paers of the verse are strictly differentiated by means of the addition of the adverb òàêîæäå (as well), we can draw the conclusion that this verse contains unambiguous messianic hope. But for us it is important how this phrase, which is repeated with regard to the Twelve prophets, is

7 For English translation of the Hebrew text and commentary see also e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 508, 513–514 – Therefore on him again God conferred the right, in a covenant of friendship, to provide for the sanctuary, So that he and his descendants should possess the high priesthood forever, Hebrew manuscript B. In the commentaries P. Skehan and A. Di Lella mentioned: “After “the sanctuary” in 45: 24b, G has a noteworthy addition: “and his people” (pp. 513–514). It is interesting to note that this addition is present in the Greek and in the Slavonic text also. 8 For commentary see also Skehan Do Lella 1987: 520.

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read in the Old Bulgarian text in chapter 49:10. There the text says as follows: îáîþ íà äåñťòå ïðЃðê¹ äà ïðîöúâò©òú ò ý ë å ñ à• ¸ êîñò¸ § ìýñòà ¸õú (f. 407 v) (Let flourish the bodies and bones of the Twelve Prophets from their place). In this case the text is both in the Greek and the Hebrew text.9 If we compare this place with the Greek text, we immediately notice the lack in the entire Greek tradition known so far of the word corresponding to òýëåñà (bodies). In it we find: καὶ τῶν δώδεκα προφητῶν τὰ ὀστᾶ ἀναθάλοι ἐκ τοῦ τόπου αὐτῶν (Ziegler 1965: 355) (and the bones of the Twelve Prophets flourish from their place). It is absolutely clear that the word òýëåñà is an addition by the Slavic translator or someone among the copyists. And what is even more obvious – that the adding of “bodies” to “bones” hints of hope in the resurrection. These not numerous but very important peculiarities of the Old Bulgarian text of “the messianic parts” of the Book of Sirach can bring us to the conclusion that the translator and the copyists did not only have in mind a messianic meaning in these places but usually enhanced it giving by priority to the “highpriestly” messianism. And naturally irrespective of the fact that the text of the Book of Sirach appeared before the emergence of Christianity, all Slavic bookman, the translator and the copyists who worked from the 9th to the 14th century, looked at the text from the viewpoint of Christianity, whose doctrine is entirely built on the concept of the Messiah and in which the content of the concept about messianism strongly differs from the content of that concept in Judaism in general and particularly in the epoch of Ben Sira (on the development of that concept there is much literature, see e.g. Oesterley 1908; Klausner 1956). Of course, this opinion refers not only to the places in the book that have been analysed so far but also to all passages that have been studied in any way in connection with the problem of messianism as well as to the entire text. It is enough if we look at verse 19 of chapter 46, which contains the final part of the praise of the prophet Samuel.10 We shall then understand that the translator and after him all copy-

9 For English translation of the Hebrew text and commentary see e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 540, 542, 544 – Then, too, the Twelve Prophets – may their bones flourish with new life where they lie!, Hebrew manuscript B. 10 For English translation of the Hebrew text and commentary see e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 516, 521 – he testified before the Lord and his anointed prince, Hebrew manuscript B.

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ists had in mind here exactly the Messiah of Christianity, a view which exists in the Greek text too: ¸ ïðýæäå âðýìåíå Óñïåí·à âýêà• ñâýDòåë±ñòâîâà ïðýD ãЃìú ¸ õT¡îìú (f. 405v) (and before the term of the end of the time testified before the Lord and the Messiah); καὶ πρὸ καιροῦ κοιμήσεως αἰῶνος ἐπεμαρτύρατο ἔναντι κυρίου καὶ χριστοῦ αὐτοῦ (Ziegler 1965: 344; Reterer 2003: 228–229) (and before the end of the time testified before our Lord and Messiah). And no Christians could understand this place in any other way. Besides that, probably the understanding of all similar places in the Book of Ben Sira exactly in a messianic meaning is one of the reasons why it is included in the first Slavic version of the Bible though as a deuterocanonical book, like in the Septuagint. One must not forget, however, that in the words of P. Beentjes it was exactly because it is possible to look at it from such a viewpoint that it was excluded from the Palestinian Canon (Beentjes 2001: 273), a fact which explains why in the Greek and then in the Slavic tradition it did not enter the body of canonical books but was considered deuterocanonical. In the end it is necessary to say a couple of words about the first Slavic translator of the Book of Jesus the Son of Sirach. Several scholars believe that it was translated by Methodius, the First Teacher of the Slavs, (in recent years Алексеев 1984: 99–100; Алексеев 1988: 128; Алексеев 1999: 154–155; Пичхадзе 2002: 142). Others stress that the authorschip of Methodius in this case “remains hypotetical and, if true, once again mean that his knowledge of Greek was not perfect”, though they also note that so far the version has not been studied (Thomson 1998: 840–841). It is necessary, however, to stress that in the text as a whole there are many linguistic archaisms, which modern scholars consider to be characteristic of the Cyrillo-Methodian translations. Here, of course, there is no time to analyse the proofs that Methodius did the first translation of this book into Slavic as part of his entire translation of the Bible made in the end of his life (more probably between 882 an 884). This question will be discussed in another paper. I shall give here only one lexical example that is important enough as proof and that is widely known from other written monuments. In the text of the oldest Slavic manuscript of the book – the Bulgarian copy kept in the Russian National Library in S. Petersburg (F.I.461) – the Greek ἔθνος (nation) is regularly translated as ªç¥êú (in the copy usually as ©ç¥êú) (language), which is characteristic of the CyrilloMethodian translations. We have 25 examples. There is not a single exception. It is enough to say that in the text of the books of the minor

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prophets with commentaries and brief information about the prophets, a text that is considered to be either a translation by Methodius that has been much redacted in Preslav or a translation made by the Preslav translators, in the copy that is in the same manuscript the word ťç¥êú, ©ç¥êú as a translation of the Greek ἔθνος appears only 5 times, in 31 cases ἔθνος has been translated as ñòðàíà (country), which is typical of the Preslav texts and once even as çåìëÿ (in the copy – çåìëť), “land” (Старобългарският превод, 1: 297). Of course, we cannot believe that over more than 500 years the translation has not gone through any changes. As I have already shown by referring to 45: 3, there are even deliberate changes made by the copyists. To establish exactly these changes is a task for future research. But even only this example (ἔθνος – ªç¥êú) shows that we can consider the oldest complete Slavic copy of the translation in the Bulgarian manuscript F.I.461 to be reliable witness to Methodius’s translation, though the copy has been the object of some changes later. We should also bear in mind that in the medieval written culture of the Orthodox Slavs the Book of Sirach was not among the Apocrypha but circulated together with the canonical books and within the Orthodox Bible and because of that one may think that it had a comparatively more stable text. I shall add that after long and detailed studies Hebrew scholars have shown that although the Book of Ben Sira was never part of the Palestinian Canon of the end of the 1st century (see e.g. Beentjes 2001: 273; Nodet 2003; Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 17–20) and after the 6th century became one of the Apokrypha, the oldest preserved Hebrew Manuscript, which has given us the fullest available text has kept the original text, though it emerged 13 centuries after the original (see e.g. Skehan, Di Lella 1987: 54). If this is so, we have ever more grounds, though not based on many proofs, to say that the oldest Slavic translation which has been preserved in full in a copy of the 14th century in the Bulgarian manuscript F.I.461 belongs to Methodius. That is why it is necessary to continue making careful studies and publishing not only all messianic parts of the book but the whole of it. So far scholars studying the Hebrew, the Greek and in general the medieval tradition of the Book of Ben Sira have not even once used in their studies the oldest Slavic version (for an analysis of the studies published in the last decades see e.g. in: Beentjes 1982; Harrington 1994; Di Lella 1996; Reiterer 1997; Calduch-Benages 2001). As far as I know, only few times in the enormous literature (Reiterer 1998 – in that bibliography there is about 3500 titles) have scholars mentioned

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the existence of a Slavic translation and this has been made with mistakes. Box and Osterley (Box, Osterley 1913: 291) pointed to the Slavic translation but all that was said then in several lines has nothing to do with the oldest Slavic version. S. Jellicoe discussing the results of the study of the Septuagint and pointing to academic knowledge about the Slavic translation, knows nothing about the studies after the end of the 19th century (Jellicoe 1993: 262–263). Noting that Psalter had been translated before Cyril’s death in 869, he wrote: “The Psalter is very old; Ecclesiastes and Ben Sira reflect a later but exact translation” (Jellicoe 1993: 263). F. Reiterer (Reiterer 1998: 10) mentioned in a footnote the presence of the texts of Sirah in the Miscellany of 1076 and in F.I.461 only in connection with their being added to the Orthodox canon but he does not even refer to his sources and is not interested what kind of a translation it is. No one among these scholars does not even suspect that the oldest Slavic version made in the 9th century belongs to one of the distinguished personalities of the Slavic Middle ages, to one of the creators of the Slavic alphabet. Of course, one of the reasons for that is the fact that in Slavic studies so far this translation has received no attention and almost nothing is known about it. Because of that undoubtedly the study of the oldest Slavic version of the Book of the Wisdom of Jesus the son of Sirach is an important task for future analyses. And naturally only when the entire translation is published and analysed we shall be able to make more categorical conclusions concerning the text of the messianic parts of this book of the Bible in Old Slavonic translation. Bibliography Алексеев, А.А. “Принципы историко-филологического изучения литературного наследия Кирилла и Мефодия”. In: Советское славяноведение, 1984, No. 2, pp. 94–106. ——. “Кирилло-Мефодиевское переводческое наследие и его исторические судьбы (Переводы св. Писания в славянской письменности)”. In: История, этнография и фольклор славянских народов. Доклады советской делегации. (Москва, 1988), pp. 124–145. ——. Текстология славянской Библии. С.-Петербург, 1999. Николова, Св. “За най-стария български средновековен ръкопис на Стария Завет”. In: Старобългарска литература 28–29 (1994), pp. 110–118. ——. “Проблемът за издаването на небогослужебните български средновековни текстове на Стария Завет”. In: Старобългарският превод на Стария Завет. Под общата редакция и с Въведение от Светлина Николова. Т. 1. Р. Златанова. Книга на дванадесетте пророци с тълкования (София, 1998), pp. IX–XXXVII. Пичхадзе, А.А. “Библия. Переводы на церковнославянский язык”. In: Православная энциклопeдия. Т. 5 (Москва, 2002), pp. 139–147.

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——. “Книга Иисуса Сирахова в Изборнике 1076 года”. In: Лингвистическое источниковедение и история русского языка. 2002–2003 (Москва, 2003), pp. 7–26. Симеонов сборник (По Светославовия препис от 1073 г.). Т. 1. Изследвания и текст (София, 1991). Старобългарският превод на Стария Завет. Под общата редакция и с Въведение от Светлина Николова. Т. 1. Р. Златанова. Книга на дванадесетте пророци с тълкования (София, 1998). Adinolfi, M. “Sul messianismo sacerdotale”. In: Bibbia e Oriente, 19 (1977), pp. 101–111. Aitken, J.K. “Apocalyptic, Revelation and Early Jewish Wisdom Literature”. In: P.J. Harland and C.T.R. Hayward (eds.), New Heaven and New Earth Prophecy and the Millenium. Essays in Honour of Anthony Gelston. (VTSup 77; Leiden–Boston–Köln, 1999, pp. 181–193. Asurmendi, J. “Ben Sira et les prophètes”. Transeuphratène 14 (1998), pp. 91–102. Bakmaz, Iv. “Biblijska čitanja u hrvatskoglagoljskim brevijarima”. In: Glagoljica i hrvatski glagolizam (Zagreb, 2004), pp. 139–148. Beentjes, P.C. Jesus Sirach en Tenach (Nieuwegein, 1981), pp. 175–205. ——. “Noticie. Recent publications on the Wisdom of Jesus Ben Sira (Ecclesiasticus)”. Bijdragen. Tijdschrift voor filosofie en theologie 43 (1982), pp. 188–198. ——. “The ‘Praise of the Famous’ and its Prologue”, Bijdragen. Tijdschrift voor filosofie en theologie 45 (1984), pp. 374–383. ——. The Book of Ben Sira in Hebrew: A Text Edition of all Extant Hebrew Manuscripts and а Synopsis of all Parallel Hebrew Ben Sira Texts (VTSup 68; Leiden-New YorkKöln, 1997). ——. “Five Years of Ben Sira Research (1994–1998). An Annotated Bibliography”, Bijdragen. International Journal in Philosophy and Theology 61 (2000), pp. 76–88. ——. “Scripture and Scribe. Ben Sira 38:34c–39:11”. In: Unless some one guide me . . . Festschrift for Karel Deurloo (Amsterdamse Cahiers voor Exegese van de Bijbel en zijn Tradities. Supplement Series 2; Maastricht, 2001), pp. 273–280. Box, G.H. and W.O.E. Oesterley. “The Book of Sirach”. In: R.H. Charles (ed.), The Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament in English. V. Apocrypha (Oxford, 1913). Brooke, G.J. “The Amos – Numbers Midrash (CD 713b–81a) and Messianic Expectation”, ZAW 92 (1980), pp. 397–404. Calduch-Benages, N. “La situació actual dels estudis sobre el llibre del Sirὰsida (1996– 2000)”, Revista Catalana de Teologia 26 (2001), pp. 391–398. Caquot, A. “Ben Sira et le Messianisme”, Semitica 16 (1966), pp. 43–68. Carmignac, J. “Les rapports entre L’Ecclésiastique et Qumrân”, Revue de Qumran 3 (1961), pp. 209–218. Coggins, R.J. Sirach (Sheffield, 1998), pp. 57–61, 73–84, 92–101. Collins, J.J. The scepter and the star: the Messiahs of the Dead See scrolls and other ancient literature (The Ancor Bible reference library; New York–London–Toronto–Sydney– Auckland, 1995), pp. 74–101. ——. Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (Louisville, Kentucky, 1997), pp. 57–61, 78– 79, 84–111, 126–127, 178–192, 225–229. Cohn-Sherbok, D. The Jewish Messiah (Edinburgh, 1997). ——. “Salvation in Jewish thougth”. In: J. Barton (ed.), The Biblical World. Vol. 2. (London and New York, 2002), pp. 287–316. Czajkowski, M. “Na tropach tradycji eschatologicznej i mesjańskiej u Ben-Syracha”, Ruch biblijny i liturgiczny 16 (1963), pp. 87–98. Di Lella, A.A. “Qumran and the Geniza fragments of Sirach”, CBQ 24 (1962), pp. 245– 267.

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——. “The Wisdom of Ben Sira: Resources and Recent Research”, Currents in Research: Biblical Studies 4 (1996), pp. 161–181. Gilbert, M. “The Book of Ben Sira: Implications for Jewish and Christian Traditions”. In: Jewish Civilization in the Hellenistic-Roman Period (Journal for the Study of the Pseudepifrapha. Supplement Series 10; Sheffield, 1991), pp. 81–91. ——. “Siracide”, Supplément au Dictionnaire de la Bible. Fascicule 71 (Paris, 1996), pp. 1390–1437. ——. “Les additions greques et latines à Siracide 24”. In: Lectures et relectures de la Bible. Festschrift P.-M. Bogaert (Leuven, 1999), pp. 195–207. ——. “Immortalité? Réssurection? Faut-il choisir? Témoignage du Judaisme ancien”. In: Le judaisme à l’aube de l’ère chrétienne. XVIIIe congrès de L’ACFEB (Lyon, septembre 1999) (Paris, 2001), pp. 271–297. ——. Les cinq livres des Sages. Proverbes – Job – Qohélet – Ben Sira – Sagesse. (Paris, 2003), pp. 149–226. Hadot, J. “L’Ecclesiastique”. In: La Bible. L’ Ancien Testament, II (Bibliothèque de la Pléiade; Paris, 1959). Harrington, D.J. “Sirach Research since 1965: Progress and Questions”. In: Pursuing the Text: Studies in Honour of Ben Sion Wacholder on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (JSOTSup 184; Sheffield, 1994), pp. 164–176. Harrington, D. “Two Early Jewish Approaches to Wisdom: Sirach and Qumran Sapiential Work A”, Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha 16 (1997), pp. 25–38 (2 ed. In: The Wisdom Texts from Qumran and the Development of Sapiential Thought (BETL 159; Leuven, 2002), pp. 263–276). Hengel, M. Judaism and Hellenism (London, 1974). ——. Jews, Greeks and Barbarians (London, 1980). R. Hess and M.D. Carroll (eds.), Israel’s Messiah in the Bible and the Dead Sea Scrolls (Grand Rapids, Michigan, 2004). Horbury, W. Jewish Messianism and the Cult of Christ (London, 1998). Jakob, E. “L’histoire d’Israël vue par Ben Sira’ ”. In: Mélanges Bibliques rédigés en l’honneur de M. André Robert (Paris, 1957), pp. 286–294. Jellicoe, S. The Septuagint and Modern Study. (Winona Lake, Indiana), 1993. Klausner, J. The Messianic Idea in Israel (London, 1956). Lehmann, M. “Ben Sira and the Qumran Literature”, Revue de Qumran 3 (1961), pp. 103–116. Mack, B.L. Wisdom and the Hebrew Epic: Ben Sira’s Hymn in Praise of the Fathers (Chicago, 1985). ——. “Wisdom Makes a Difference: Alternatives to ‘Messianic’ Configurations”. In: Judaism and Their Messiahs at the Turn of the Christian Era (Cambridge–New York– New Rochelle–Melbourne–Sydney, 1987), pp. 15–48. Maertens, Th. L’Eloge des Pères (Ecclésiastique XLIV–L) (Collection Lumière et Vie 5; Bruges, 1956). Martin, J.D. “Ben Sira – A Child of his Time”. In: J.D. Martin and P.R. Davis (eds.), A Word in Season. Essays in Honor of William McKane (JSOTSup 42; Sheffield, 1986), pp. 141–161. ——. “Ben Sira’s Hymn to the Fathers. A Messianic Perspective”. Oudtestamentlische Studien 24 (1986), pp. 107–123. Martone, C. “Ben Sira from Qumran and Masada”. In: P.C. Beentjes (ed.), The Book of Ben Sira in Modern Research. Proceedings of the First International Ben Sira Conference 28–31 July 1996 Soesterberg, Netherlands (BZAW 255; Berlin–New York, 1997), pp. 81–94. Middendorp, Th. Die Stellung Jesus Ben Sira zwischen Judentum und Hellenismus (Leiden, 1973).

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Mulder, O. Simon the High Priest in Sirah 50. An Exegetical Study of the Significance of Simon the High Priest as Climax to the Praise of the Fathers in Ben Sira’s Concept of the History of Israel (JSJSup 78; Leiden–Boston, 2003). Nodet, E. “Ben-Sira, God-Fearers and the First Christian Mission”. In: M. Mor et al. (eds.), Jews and Gentiles in the Holy Land in the Days of the Second Temple, Mishnah and the Talmud. A collection the of articles (Jerusalem, 2003), pp. 137–151. Oesterley, W.O.E. The Evolution of the Messianic Idea. A Study in Comparative Religion. (London, 1908). Peters, N. Das Buch Jesus Sirach (Exegetisches Handbuch zum Alten Testament 25, Münster, 1913). Petraglio, R. Il libro che contamina le mani. Ben Sirac rilegge il Libro e la storia d’Israele (Palermo, 1993). Priest, J. “Ben Sira 45, 25 in the Light of the Qumran Literature”, Revue de Qumran 5 (1964), pp. 111–118. Prockter, L.J. “Toras as a Fence against Apocalyptic Speculation: Ben Sira 3:17–24”. In: Proceedings of the Tenth World Congress of Jewish Studies. Jerusalem, August 16–24, 1989, v. 10 (Jerusalem, 1990), pp. 245–252. Puech, E. “Ben Sira 48:11 et la Résurrection”. In: H.W. Attridge et al. (eds.), Of Scribes and Scrolls. Studies on the Hebrew Bibles, Intertestamental Judaism, and Christian Origins, presented to John Strugnel on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday (Lanham– New York–London, 1990), pp. 81–90. ——. “Messianisme, eschatologie et résurrection dans les manuscrits de la Mer Morte”, Revue de Qumran 18 (1997), pp. 255–298. ——. “Le livre de Ben Sira et les manuscrits de la Mer Morte”. In: N. Calduch-Benages and J. Vermeylen (eds.), Treasures of Wisdom. Studies in Ben Sira and the Book of Wisdom. Festschrift M. Gilbert (Leuven, 1999), pp. 411–426. Reiterer, F.V. “Review of Recent Research on the Book of Ben Sira (1980–1996)”. In: P. C. Beentjes (ed.), The Book of Ben Sira in Modern Research. Proceedings of the First International Ben Sira Conference 28–31 July 1996 Soesterberg, Netherlands (BZAW 255; Berlin–New York, 1997), pp. 23–60. Bibliographie zu Ben Sira. Gemeinsam mit Núria Calduch-Benages, Renate EggerWenzel, Anton Fersterer, Ingrid Krammer herausgegeben von Friedrich Vinzenz Reiterer. (BZAW 266; Berlin–New York, 1998). Zählsynopse zum Buch Ben Sira. Erstelt von Fridrich V. Reiterer unter Mitarbeit von Renate Egger-Wenzel, Ingrid Krammer, Petra Ritter-Müller und Lutz Schrader (Berlin–New York, 2003). Sacchi, P. Jewish Apocalyptic and its History (JSPSup 20; Sheffield, 1990), pp. 150–167. ——. The History of the Second Temple Period (JSOTSup 285; Sheffield, 2000). Saracino, Fr. “La sapienza e la Vita: Sir 4,11–19”, Rivista biblica 29 (1981), pp. 257–272. ——. “Resurezione in Ben Sira?”, Henoch 4 (1982), pp. 185–203. Schiffman, L.H. “Second Temple Literature and the Cairo Genizah”, American Academy for Jewish Research. Proceedings 63 (1997–2001. Jerusalem and New York, 2001), pp. 137–161. Segal, M.H. Sepher ben-Sira’ haššalem (Jerusalem, 1933; 2 ed. 1958; 3 ed. 1972). Siebeneck, R.T. “May Their Bones Return to Life! – Sirach’s Praise of the Fathers”, CBQ 21 (1959), pp. 411–428. The Wisdom of Ben Sira. A New Translation with Notes. By Patrick W. Skehan. Introduction and Commentary. By Alexander A. Di Lella (The Ancor Bible 39; New York–London–Toronto–Sydney–Aukland, 1987). Smend, R. Die Weisheit des Jesus Sirach (Berlin, 1906). Stadelmann, H. Ben Sira als Schriftgelehrter. (Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament. 2. Reihe, 6; Tübingen, 1980). Thomson, F.J. “The Slavonic Translation of the Old Testament”. In: Interpretation of the Bible (Ljubljana–Sheffield, 1998), pp. 605–920.

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Vawter, B. “Levitical Messianism and the New Testament”. In: J.L. McKenzie (ed.), The Bible in Current Catholic Though (St. Louis University Theology Studies, 1; New York, 1962), pp. 83–99. Venter, P.M. “The connection between wisdom literature, apocalypes and canon”, Old Testament Essays 15, 2002), pp. 470–488. Wtight, B. “ ‘Fear the Lord and Honor the Priest’. Ben Sira as defender of the Jerusalem Priesthood”. In: The Book of Ben Sira in Modern Research. Proceedings of the First International Ben Sira Conference, 28–31 July 1996. Soesterberg, Netherlands (BZAW 255; Berlin–New York, 1997), pp. 189–222. Ziegler, J. Sapientia Iesu Filii Sirach (Septuaginta. Vetus Testamentum Graecum. Auctoritate Societatis Litterarum Gottingensis Editum, 12, 2; Göttingen, 1965. 2 ed. 1980).

THE PERCEPTION OF GOD’S HOUSE IN THE PSALTER  A STUDY OF HOW THE PSALMISTS UNDERSTAND THE TEMPLE Mary Jerome Obiorah Introduction Many and varied terms for God’s House in the Book of Psalms manifest the high regard the Psalms accord to this sacred precinct. As a book of prayer, songs and reflections for the public worship in the Temple, the Psalms intrinsically convey their composers’ and perhaps later editors’ opinions about a place where they believed that God’s presence was preeminently experienced. This paper, whose aim is to delineate, as much as chronological gap between the psalmists and us could permit, their views about their central place of worship, proceeds from the supposition that the multifarious designations of God’s House in the Psalter provide an apposite matrix. Interpretation and perception of an object are inherent in appellations of the object. “God’s House” in this presentation refers to the Jerusalem Temple, specifically to the First Temple which many of the Psalms mention. The rebuilt Temple, however, was a rebuilding of the First; there is then continuity especially in the understanding of the sacred place. This paper is far from being a compendium of word-study of the terms employed for God’s House in the Psalms, for there exist already considerable and notable works of such endeavour in biblical scholarship.1 Everything said about the Temple would be an enormous work beyond our scope. Therefore, we shall be concentrating on a very small aspect of it, which will study a few rare words for God’s house in the Psalms. There are common and infrequent words for the Temple in the Psalms. The paper focuses on the latter with special attention to their use in the Psalms as well as attempting to decipher the reason behind the psalmist’s choice of these unusual terms.

1

Cf. many theological dictionaries and lexicons of the Old Testament.

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The bipartite division of the paper briefly presents in its first section the common terms for God’s House, according to the psalmists. The second part concentrates on two infrequent designations of the Temple by studying the contexts in which these words occur in the Psalms. Unless there is need for recourse to a diachronic approach, the texts of the Psalms are considered as they are presented to us today, with some reflection on the literary devices employed. 1. Common Terms for God’s House Hebrew shares with its cognate languages the term ‫ ַבּיִת‬, commonly and rightly rendered “house”, besides other possible connotations, for human dwelling places.2 In these languages, abode of a deity, temple or sanctuary also go by the same name. The psalmists copiously employ ‫ ַבּיִת‬in the Psalter when they refer to God’s House. In view of this, assertions such as “Neither byt nor hykl in themselves denote anything specifically cultic (as for instance our ‘temple’ or ‘church’)”,3 keeps one wondering what their true meaning could be. In the Psalms, God’s House appears often as ‫“ ֵבּית יהוה‬the house of the Lord” (cf. ִ ‫ֵבּית ֱא‬ Ps 23:6; 27:4; 92:14; 116:19; 118:26; 122:1,9; 134:1; 135:2), ‫להׁים‬ “the house of God” (Ps 42:5; 52:10; 55:15). This latter phrase occurs about two times with a more endearing tone bearing the suffix of the first person singular, “house of my God” (Ps 84:11), and the plural, “house of our God” (Ps 135:2). In the contexts where the psalmists address God directly, ‫ ַבּיִת‬appears with a pronominal suffix of the second person singular, “your house”, referring to the Lord (Ps 5:8; 26:8; 36:9; 65:5; 66:13; 69:10; 84:5; 93:5). A close study of all these texts elicits a feature common to all of them. They explicitly or implicitly point to the cultic character of God’s House. It is a place where the psalmists long to enter and to worship the Lord (Ps 5:8; 122:1), the psalmist leads a procession to it (Ps 42:5; 55:15), enters it with burnt offering (Ps 66:13), a place where the psalmist pays his vows to the Lord (Ps 116:19), a place where people minister to the Lord (Ps 118:26; 134:1.2; 135:2), a place of feasting (Ps 36:9; 65:5). Significantly, it is a

H.A. Hoffner, “‫ ַבּיִת‬bayith”, TDOT II, pp. 107–116. O. Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World: Ancient Near Eastern Iconography and the Book of Psalms (translated by Timothy J. Hallett; Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1997), p. 151. 2 3

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533

place where the psalmists long to dwell all the days of their life (Ps 23:6; 27:4; 52:10; 84:5,11; 92:14).4 Another common designation of the Temple in the Psalms is ‫יכל‬ ָ ‫ ֵה‬, which is generally traced to the Akkadian word ekallu. The latter is believed to be a development of the Sumerian term e-gal meaning “large house”. The primary meaning of this term is palace (1 Kings 21:1; 2 Kings 20:18), the connotation that languages cognate to Hebrew also bear.5 Kings live in palaces or large houses; God also lives in a palace for earthly kings only participate in the divine sovereignty. Therefore, ָ ‫ֵה‬ in the Psalms God’s earthly house and place of worship is also ‫יכל‬ (cf. Ps 5:8; 11:4; 18:7; 27:4; 29:9; 48:10; 65:5; 68:30; 79:1; 138:2). It is a designation for the sanctuary at Shiloh (1 Sam 1:9) and the Temple at ָ ‫ ֵה‬is Jerusalem (2 Kings 18:16); thus a term for the sacred precinct. ‫יכל‬ also a name for the nave in front of the inner sanctuary of the Jerusalem Temple (1 Kings 6:17); it is the interior of the main part of the ָ ‫ ֵה‬employed for the entire Temple complex Temple. In this light, ‫יכל‬ can be called a metonym, a pars pro toto.6 Similar uses of a part for the whole, especially with regard to names of the Temple, is a common feature in the Psalms. “Court” ‫ ָח ֵצד‬, or in plural form “courts” ‫ ֲח ֵצרוֹת‬, is sometimes used metonymically in the Psalms to denote the Temple (Ps 65:5; 84:3,11; 92:14; 96:8; 100:4). “Altar” is also used in similar way (cf. Ps 84:4).7 In the Psalms, the petitioners sometimes ָ ‫ ֵה‬and ‫ ַבּיִת‬interchangeably and in synonymous parallelemploy ‫יכל‬ isms to underscore their common meaning as a holy place (cf. Ps 5:8; 27:4; 65:5). Other Psalms further predicate, often appositively, ‫ ק ֶֹדשׁ‬of ‫יכל‬ ָ ‫ ֵה‬to accentuate the sacred feature of the Temple (cf. Ps 5:8; 11:4; ָ ‫ ֵה‬denotes, therefore, God’s earthly 29:9; 65:5; 68:30; 79:1; 138:2). ‫יכל‬ residence and a place of worship. ָ ‫ ֵה‬, some other descriptive names for the JeruBesides ‫ ַבּיִת‬and ‫יכל‬ salem Temple in the Psalms include ‫“ ק ֶֹדשׁ‬apartness, sacredness” (cf. Ps 20:3; 60:8; 63:3; 74:3 and 150:1); ‫“ ִמ ְק ָדּשׁ‬holy place, sanctuary”

4 For the meaning of the psalmists’ desire for God’s House cf. M.J. Obiorah, How lovely is your Dwelling Place: The Desire for God’s House in Psalm 84 (St. Ottilien, 2004). Psalm 84 and other relevant Psalms are analyzed in this work. 5 Cf. Ugaritic and Aramaic hēkal; Syriac hayklā [cf. R. Payne Smith, A Compendious Syriac Dictionary (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1998), p. 103]. 6 Gianfranco Ravasi, Il Libro dei Salmi I: Commento e Attualizzazione (Bologna: Edizioni Dehoniane, 1997), p. 140. 7 For the significance of “altars” in the Psalms, especially as a pars pro toto of the Temple complex, cf. M.J. Obiorah, Psalm 84, pp. 35–36, 123–124.

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(Ps 68:36; 78:69 and 96:6); ‫“ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬dwelling” (Ps 43:3; 84:2 and 132:5:7) ָ “habitation”, as in Ps 132:13, from from ‫“ שׁכן‬to dwell, abide”; ‫מוֹשׁב‬ ‫“ ישׁב‬to sit”; ‫נוּחה‬ ָ ‫( ְמ‬Ps 132:8,14) “resting place”, from ‫“ נוח‬to rest, settle down, remain”; ‫“ א ֶׁהל‬tent” (cf. Ps 15:1; 27:5–6 and 61:5); ‫ִציוֹן‬ (Ps 9:12; 20:3b; 74:2; 84:8); ‫“ סׁך‬thicket, cover, lair” (Ps 27:5), from ‫סכך‬ “to cover, overshadow, screen”.8 A close look at these designations reveals that the psalmists choose terms for the Temple according to their understanding of the Sacred Precinct. Thus, the sacredness of the Temple, bestowed on it because of the divine presence therein, explains the use of terms like ‫ ק ֶֺדשׁ‬and ‫ ִמ ְק ָדּשׁ‬. The Temple as a place where God lives is best described by ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬, ‫מוֹשׁב‬ ָ and ‫נוּחה‬ ָ ‫ ְמ‬. The petitioners most likely had the geographical location of the Temple in mind when they preferred the name ‫ ִציוֹן‬for the sacred place. The choice for each of these terms in the Psalms is often elicited from the context of the texts, particularly the logical sequence of the Psalms. In the next section of this paper, I wish to study closely the use of two infrequent appellations of God’s house in the Psalms. The aim is to explain how the names given to the Temple in a particular Psalm are chosen according to the major theme of the Psalm. 2. Rare Terms for God’s House When in their prayers the psalmists opt for designations of God’s house other than the usual and common terms, their choice depends so much on the orientations of their prayers. Two of these uncommon names for the Temple are illustrative. ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬and ‫ סֹך‬are employed in the Psalms for the Temple. As one of the plural forms9 of the singular noun ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּן‬, ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬, a designation for God’s House, occurs only in Psalms 43:3; 84:2 and 132:5:7. In these texts the petitioners could have used any of the two common terms but they prefer a rare term. Similarly ‫“ סֹך‬thicket, covert, lair” stands for God’s House in Ps 27:5.

8 Cf. Hans-Joachim Kraus, Theology of the Psalms (Translated by Keith Crim; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992), pp. 73–78 and Carol Meyer, “Jerusalem Temple”, The Anchor Bible Dictionary vol. 6 (New York: Doubleday, 1992), pp. 351–352. 9 Besides the feminine plural ending, the noun also occurs in the masculine plural: cf. the masculine plural construct in Ps 46:5 (though the BHS critical note, basing on the Greek version, in this verse gives the textual evidence of a reading that has a singular noun) and the masculine plural with suffix in Ezek 25:4.

the perception of god’s house in the psalter

535

Both words in their contexts convey the central themes of the Psalms in which they are used. 2.1. ‫ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬ This is often and rightly translated as “dwelling place”10 for its basic root, ‫ שׁכן‬connotes in Hebrew and its cognate languages “to settle down, abide, dwell”. Its singular form ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּן‬equally means “dwelling place, tabernacle”, particularly for central sanctuary in the Priestly document; it occurs in this document over one hundred times.11 It is attested in Ugaritic too as a dwelling place of a deity.12 In Psalms 43:3; 84:2 and 132:5:7, this word is used in the feminine plural ending for the Temple in Jerusalem.13 Ugaritic also uses the plural form when this word stands for the dwelling place of God;14 in Ugaritic habitations often appear in the plural. The plural form for the one House of God does not mean the plurality of the Temple, or the various edifices on the sides of the temple.15 It is better understood as intensive plural, pluralis majestatis, poetically employed because of the special quality of the Temple.16 “In this usage the referent is a singular individual, which is, however, so thorough characterized by the qualities of the noun that the plural is used”.17 ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬embodies the qualities of God’s House in such a way that the psalmists adopt its plural form when they refer to the Jerusalem Temple. A brief investigation of these Psalms in which it occurs elucidates its function.

10

Cf. some of these English versions: NAB; NET; NIV; NJB; NRSV etc. A.R. Hulst, “‫ שׁכן‬škn to dwell”, Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament III (Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson, 1997), pp. 1327–1330. 12 W. Schmidt, “Miškan als Ausdruck Jerusalemer Kultsprache”, ZAW 75 (1963), pp. 91–92. 13 M. Tsevat, A Study of the Language of the Biblical Psalms (JBLMS 9; Philadelphia: Society of Biblical Literature, 1955), pp. 20, 100, has observed that this plural form as a designation for the one Temple in Jerusalem is peculiar to the Psalms because it does not occur with this meaning outside the Psalter. 14 G.A. Rendsburg, Linguistic Evidence for the Northern Origin of Selected Psalms (SBLMS 43; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 54–55. 15 Cf. D. Schneider, Das Buch der Psalmen II. Psalmen 51–100 (WStB; Wuppertal: R. Brockhaus, 1996), p. 189; S. Terrien, The Psalms: Strophic Structure and Theological Commentary (ECC; Grand Rapids, Michigan – Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2003), p. 599. 16 Cf. Keel, The Symbolism of the Biblical World, p. 129. 17 Bruce K. Waltke – M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 1990), p. 122. 11

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2.1.1. Psalm 43 Many studies on Ps 43 have acknowledged its affinity with the Ps 42 that precedes it.18 The reason often proffered is the refrain that runs through both Psalms (cf. Ps 42:6,12; 43:5). Again, absence of a superscription on Ps 43 could suggest that it is a continuation of Ps 42. More important than these literary devices is the pivotal content of both texts which recognizably centres on the petitioner’s ardent longing for God’s house. This key point is expressed by a simile in Ps 42:2 and made an overt prayer in Ps 43:3. Longing for God’s house, according to the psalmist, is a desire for God (Ps 42:2). This divine human ִ ‫( ֵבּית ֱא‬Ps 42:5). encounter takes place in ‫ֹלהים‬ In the second part of this text, that is, in Ps 43, specifically in v. 3b, God’s house is identified first as “Your Holy Mountain” in the first stich and as ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬in the corresponding stich. Both stichs of this distich parallel each other in their synonymous word for the Temple. ‫ר־ק ְד ְשָׁך‬ ָ ‫ ַה‬highlights two aspects of God’s House: first, God’s presence that gives the Sacred Precinct its characteristic feature as a holy place, hence the use of the attributively adjectivised noun, ‫ ;ק ֶֹדשׁ‬second, the topographical nature of God’s house is underscored, it is on a mountain, ‫ ַהר‬. The adjacent stich employs a term, ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬, that elucidates the central theme of the Psalm. In the text, desire for God’s house is a desire for God. The Temple symbolized this presence for it was a place where God had his abode, even though he was not confined to it. This concept of dwelling is best concretized in the use of a word whose verbal root connotes the tangible noun, dwelling place, ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬. 2.1.2. Psalm 84 Similarly, in Ps 84 the psalmist’s sole desire is to be in God’s house. Central to this text is God’s dwelling place that the psalmist evokes in the different stages in the development of his song. It is the object of ֶ ‫( ַמה־יְּ ִדידוֹת ִמ ְשׁ ְכּ‬vv. 2–3). Those who his admiration and desire: ‫נוֹתיָך‬

18 For some studies on the structure of these two texts, cf. L. Alonso Schökel, “Estructura Poética del Salmo 42–43”, in: J. Schreiner (ed.), Wort, Lied und Gottesspruch: Beiträge zu Psalmen und Propheten. Festschrift für Joseph Ziegler II (FzB 2; Würburg: Echter Verlag, 1972), pp. 11–16. P. Auffret, “L’Étude structurelle des Psaumes: réponses et complements III (méthodologie et Ps 12: 26 et 27), pp. 149–174. T. Dockner, “Sicut cervat . . .”: Text, Struktur und Bedeutung von Psalm 42 und 43 (ATSAT 67; St. Ottilien: EOS, 2001), pp. 59–221. H.H. Rowley, “The Structure of Ps XLII–XLIII”, Bib 21 (1940), pp. 45–50. G. Strola, G., Il Desiderio di Dio: Studio dei Sal 42–43 (Assisi: Cittadella Editrice, 2003).

the perception of god’s house in the psalter

537

make this sacred place their abode are blessed and should be emulated (v. 5).19 The fatigue experienced in the pilgrimage to God’s House is transformed into joy when the pilgrims are satisfied both spiritually and otherwise in the Temple (vv. 7–8). One day in God’s House is more than countless days elsewhere (v. 11). In its praise of God’s House, the psalmist employs the common term ‫( ַבּית‬vv. 5, 11), some metonyms (courts: vv. 3,11 and altars: v. 4) that play the part of pars pro toto, and the infrequent term ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬. Being in an emphatic position in the text, ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬, sets the tone of the Psalm, which sings the beauty of God’s House from a perspective peculiar to the Book of Psalms: the Temple as God’s dwelling place. Instances of overt allusion to the sacred precinct as a place where God abides are not lacking in the text. In v. 3, ardent desire for God’s House is a desire for God himself, the living God, according to the psalmist. The sole aim of the journey to the Temple is to experience God’s presence (cf. vv. 7–8). ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬as the initial appellation for God’s House in the text, therefore, plays an important role in the understanding of the Psalm. 2.1.3. Psalm 132 With its two major component parts (vv. 1–10 and vv. 11–18), Ps 132 echoes and celebrates God’s covenant with David in 2 Sam 7:1–17 (cf. 1 Chr 17:1–15). The first part corresponds to David’s desire to erect a house for God (cf. 2 Sam 7:1–3), and the second recalls the divine oracle to this monarch through the prophet Nathan (2 Sam 7:4–17). Psalm 132 is generally considered as a Royal Psalm because of its concern for the king and his dynasty. David intended to build a physical house for God while God promised him perpetuity of his (David’s) dynasty. ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬occurs in vv. 5 and 7 amidst other designations (cf. vv. 5a, 8a) for the Temple. It is impressive to note that this word occurs in the text only in the first part of the Psalm where the human partner had to reflect on his understanding of God’s House. In v. 5, while ‫ָמקו ֺם‬ can stand for the deity’s sacred place (Micah 1:3), especially when in combination with the adjective ‫( ק ֶֹדשׁ‬Ps 24:3), ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬in the adjacent

19 M.L. Brown, “‫” ַא ְשׁ ֵרי‬, NIDOTTE I, p. 570; R.F. Collins, “Beatitudes”, ABD I, p. 629; J. Dupont, “ ‘Béatitudes’ égyptiennes”, Bib 47 (1966), p. 18; W. Janzen, “ ’ašrê in the Old Testament”, HTR 58 (1965), p. 225; E. Lipiński, “Macarismes et psaumes de congratulation”, RB 75 (1968), p. 330.

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stich sheds light on its meaning. This holy place is ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬. The desired place for God is God’s dwelling place. Again in v. 7 God’s abiding presence in the Temple, which ‫ ִמ ְשׁ ָכּנוֹת‬vivifies, is underscored by the corresponding stich in v. 7b. Worshiping at God’s footstool presupposes a belief in his presence therein. 2.2. ‫סֹך‬

‫ סכך‬with the meaning “to cover, overshadow, screen”,20 is the verbal root of ‫סֺך‬. Three times in the Psalter the verb is employed for the divine protection. In Ps 5:12 the petitioner prays that God may spread (‫ )וְ ָת ֵסְך‬his protection over those who take refuge in him (in God). A similar entreaty is found in Ps 91:4, the Lord covers with his pinions those who are in his house. In Ps 140:8, he covers the head of the petitioner in the day of battle. God’s house, where the divine protection is pre-eminently felt is a place of hiding. This explains the use of the derived noun ‫“ סֺך‬thicket, cover, lair”21 for the temple. An illuminating passage is Ps 27:5, in the context of the desire for God’s house. In this Psalm the petitioner prays that God may hide him ‫ ְבּ ֻסכֺּה‬, referring to God’s house. A close study of this text manifests that ‫ סֺך‬is a well-calculated designation for God’s house in the Psalm, because it concurs with the tenor of the text. 2.2.1. Psalm 27 Arguments pro and con the unity of Ps 27 are often based on the tone of its bipartite segments (vv. 1–6 and vv. 7–14). Some commentators consider the Psalm as two different texts merged together in the course of their transmission.22 The tone in each part, however, is clearly different: vv. 1–6 is chiefly marked by its many declarations of confidence in God in the midst of difficulties, while 7–14 which begin like a new inception of a Psalm (cf. Ps 17:1) is differentiated from the first part

20 BDB, pp. 696–697. HALAT III, p. 712; W.R. Domeris, “‫( סכך‬skk I)”, NIDOTTE III, pp. 251–253. 21 Cf. esp. Ps 10:9 where ‫ סֺך‬is figuratively used for the wicked who lurk in secret like a lion in its covert. In Jer 25:38, it is again employed in a simile not for the wicked but for Yahweh who, like a lion that is concealed, has left his covert. 22 Cf. L. Delekat, Asylie und Schutzorakel am Zionheiligtum: Eine Untersuchung zu den privaten Feindpsalmen (Leiden: Brill, 1967), pp. 103–104, 197–199; H. Gunkel, Die Psalmen (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 51968), pp. 112–118; A. Weiser, Die Psalmen (ATD 14; Göttingen – Zürich: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1987), pp. 165–171.

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by various supplications found therein (cf. vv. 7,9,11,12). What the psalmist desires in vv. 1–6 becomes a petition in vv. 7–14. A perusal of the two parts also manifests some similarity in the words and expressions found therein. Some of the key words include the roots ‫( חיה‬vv. 1,4,13), ‫( בקשׁ‬vv. 4,8), ‫( ישׁﬠ‬vv. 1,9), ‫( סתד‬vv. 5,9), ‫( לב‬vv. 3,8,14).23 As a Psalm of protestation of confidence in God which bears some affinities with Ps 23, the petitioner employs a rare term, ‫סֺך‬, for the Temple and this word expresses the central theme of the Psalm. ‫סֺך‬ refers to the Temple and this is evident from the context of this phrase. The verse preceding it contains the psalmist’s ardent desire to be in the temple, ‫ ְבּ ֵבית־יְ הוָ ה‬. In the same v. 5 where ‫ סֺך‬occurs, this word parallels another term, ‫“ א ֶׁהל‬tent”, which has also been identified as a designation of the Temple.24 The Book of Lamentations 2, 6 where ‫סֺך‬ occurs outside the Psalter lends support to this, because the immediate context of this dirge is the destruction of the temple. ‫ סֺך‬with the meaning “cover, shelter,25 a hiding place” must have been chosen as an appropriate metaphor for God’s House in a Psalm that embodies varied expressions of protestation of confidence in God. The double rhetorical questions at the inception of the Psalm (cf. v. 1) relate the theme of the text which is developed in the rest of the Psalm. God, in whose House the petitioner would love to remain forever, is a protector par excellence, and his house is ‫סֺך‬, shelter. Conclusion Besides the common terms for God’s House in the Psalms, the petitioners aptly employ other rare designations for the Temple. They choose these terms according to the principal theme of their texts and their understanding of the place where they believe that God is experienced in a special way. Their understanding of the Temple is embedded in these appellations as well as the contexts in which they occur. Sometimes both the common and the rare terms occur in a complete poetic line arranged in a synonymous parallelism in order to show that the two names refer to the same sacred edifice.

23 Cf. esp. Ravasi, Salmi I, p. 497, for the discussion on the correspondence between the two parts. 24 Cf. W.R. Domeris, “‫( סכך‬skk I)”, NIDOTTE III, p. 253. 25 This is the preferred rendition in the New Revised Standard Version.

THE SECOND COMMANDMENT AND “TRUE WORSHIP” IN THE ICONOCLASTIC CONTROVERSY Vladimir Baranov Perhaps the most important period in Church history, when an Old Testament text became the focal point of a theological debate was the Iconoclastic Controversy in 8th–9th century Byzantium. This text is the Second Commandment, the “negative” counterpart of the First Commandment. For more than a hundred years people argued over how to worship the One God of the First Commandment in a “correct way,” and in order to have correct worship it is necessary to know precisely whom and how to worship. Both parties answered the question of “whom” to worship in traditional terms of the Ecumenical Council of Chalcedon (451), yet the question of “how” to worship was answered differently. The ritual difference between the Iconodules and the Iconoclasts, that is, whether one accepted the veneration of images or not, corresponded to the difference of epistemological approaches which answered the question “how.” The analysis of the theological arguments of both parties allows us to expose the similarities and differences on the deeper level of epistemologies. This article will present a certain aspect of the Iconoclastic debate, namely, the interpretation of the “correct” approach to the divinity in the context of the Second Commandment, as a case study, revealing a fascinating interplay of arguments and texts from the New Testament, Patristic writers and classical philosophy that revolved around the Old Testament verse as around the hub of a wheel. For setting the case in a wider context, one important question relating to the methodological setting of the following argument needs to be raised. What exactly was Byzantine Iconoclasm? Many modern researchers consider it primarily a social and political movement initiated by the Emperors to solve their “practical” needs of comprehensive reform of the Byzantine State and society with theological argumentation developed at later stages (by the 750s), as the only “ideological” language the Byzantines could understand.1 In this case the occasion 1 “Iconoclasm was always an anomalous doctrine, without strong theological roots or clear theological implications” (W. Treadgold, A Concise History of Byzantium

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for initiating Iconoclasm in the late 720s was precisely the crude and literal understanding of the Second Commandment by the uneducated former general Leo III (717–41). This “social” trend of studies in Iconoclasm is partly preconditioned by a sheer lack of authentic sources on the Iconoclast side, and the fragmented state of those we have. Given the lack of proper “theological” sources on the Iconoclastic side and discarding the trustworthiness of the Iconodulic sources as ideologically biased as far as their representation of the Iconoclasts is concerned, a scholar is forced to focus on “non-theological” aspects of such sources as the numerous Lives of the saints or Chronographies, inevitably deriving from them “non-theological” data and conclusions. Moreover, even with those sources that we have, we can see a seemingly “evolutionary” development of the arguments in the Controversy from simple scriptural ones based upon a literal understanding of the Second Commandment, through more complicated Christological arguments reaching a very complex philosophical argumentation at the latest stages of the Controversy. If this is the case, any attempt at “theological” investigation becomes an ad hoc examination of a secondary and necessarily a patchwork theology created by a few court theologians and serving non-theological purposes. Not a very inspiring task. Fortunately this is not the case. We have an invaluable source safely dated to the initial period of the Iconoclastic Controversy – Apologetic Treatises against Those Who Calumniate Divine Images by John of Damascus2 – that allows us to reconsider the present view. If we examine closely the first two treatises written in the first years of the Controversy, against the foreground of the later Iconoclastic sources, we may see that John of Damascus refutes both some forms of Christological and philosophical arguments of the Iconoclasts, attested to in the later period.3 What does this mean? If the sophisticated theological stratum in Iconoclastic argument existed from the outset of

[New York: Palgrave, 2001], p. 118); see also: P. Karlin-Hayter, “Iconoclasm,” in The Oxford History of Byzantium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 154; M. Angold, Byzantium: The Bridge from Antiquity to the Middle Ages (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2001), p. 79. 2 Ed. B. Kotter, Contra imaginum calumniatores orationes tres, in Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, vol. 3 (Patristische Texte und Studien 17; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1975) [hereafter: Kotter]. 3 V.A. Baranov, “Theology of Early Iconoclasm as Seen in the Apologies in Defense of Images by St. John of Damascus,” Khristianskij Vostok 4 (10) (2002), pp. 23–55.

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the Controversy, forcing the Iconodules to defend and respond, we may speak of a certain aniconic trend in the Byzantine Church which was articulated and turned into official religious policy by the Isaurian Emperors, thus transforming an old tradition of aniconism4 into “antiiconism” or Iconoclasm. And here everything becomes much more interesting, since we can try to examine this aniconic tradition and in particular its approach towards the correct worship of God more closely. Since the Second Commandment was the absolute imperative for both parties, the differences lay in interpretation of the Commandment, and it is the approach towards the interpretation of the Second Commandment that will be the subject of this article. Let us first turn to the Iconoclastic side. As a preliminary step, we should juxtapose several Scriptural citations from the Iconoclastic florilegium. Since the text of the Second Commandment is the “negative” one, what was the positive approach the Iconoclasts offer? We can see that in another citation from the Gospels of St. John from the same Iconoclastic florilegium: “God is spirit and those who venerate Him, must venerate Him in spirit and truth” (John 4:24).5 Several other sources help us to understand what kind of “spiritual worship” the Iconoclasts meant. I would like to start re-creating the precise theological context for both citations with the Apologies of John Damascene mentioned above. In several places St. John rebukes those who deny the value of matter for salvation.6 If you say that one should unite with God in a purely intellectual manner (Εἰ δὲ χρῆναι λέγοις νοερῶς μόνον θεῷ συνάπτεσθαι), remove all corporeal things: lights, fragrant incense, the very prayer which [comes] from voice, all the divine mysteries which are celebrated from matter, the bread, the wine, the anointing with oil, the imprint of the Cross. All these are matter . . . Perhaps, you, being high and immaterial, raised above the body, and, so to say, incorporeal, spit on all visible things

4 L. Brubaker, “Aniconic Decoration in the Christian World (6th–11th Century): East and West,” in Cristianità d’Occidente e Cristianità d’Oriente, secoli 6.–11, Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo 51.1 (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo; 2004), pp. 573–590. 5 Mansi 13, 280E. 6 Writing on the Old Testament Tabernacle, a common Iconodulic pre-figuration for artificial images, St. John argues thus with his Iconoclastic interlocutor: “They are not made, as you say, from ignominious matter (Οὐκ ἐξ ἀτίμου, ὡς σὺ φής, ὕλης κατασκευασμένα) Apology I, 15, 15–16 [Kotter, p. 88]); “. . . do not say that matter is evil, for it is not ignominious (μὴ κάκιζε τὴν ὕλην: οὐ γὰρ ἄτιμος).” (Apology I, 16, 32–33 [Kotter, p. 90]).

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vladimir baranov Σὺ τυχὸν ὑψηλός τε καὶ ἄυλος καὶ ὑπὲρ τὸ σῶμα γενόμενος καὶ οἷον ἄσαρκος καταπτύεις πᾶν τὸ ὁρώμενον), but since I am a man and wear

a body, I desire to have intercourse with, and to see the holy things in a corporeal manner. Condescend to the humbleness of my thought, oh high one, so that you [may] maintain your height! (Συγκατάβηθι τῷ ταπεινῷ μου φρονήματι, ὁ ὑψηλός, ἵνα σου τηρήσῃς τὸ ὑψηλόν).7

Is it possible to reconstruct the theology of St. John’s adversary towards matter? Was it really the Manichaean view on matter as an evil principle, the view which was always associated with Iconoclastic rejection of material representations by all the Iconodulic writers, including St. John himself?8 I think we should rather give a negative answer to this question. In fact, John of Damascus himself seems to testify to the doctrine presupposed by the rejection of images by his adversary. This doctrine is a kind of Christian Platonist teaching of a purely mental approach to the intellectually contemplated divinity. What do the Iconoclasts say themselves concerning matter and material images? Their attitude is thus expressed in the main theological source, the Definition of the Council of Hiereia (754): [. . .] they called together the entire sacerdotal congregation of the Godloving bishops in order that, after they gathered together into a council, and after they searched the Scriptures together about the fraudulent painting of likenesses which draws down the mind of men from the lofty worship befitting God to down-to-earth and material worship of creatures (περὶ τῆς ἀπατηλῆς τῶν ὁμοιωμάτων χρωματουργίας τῆς κατασπώσης ἐκ τῆς ὑψηλῆς καὶ θεῷ πρεπούσης λατρείας εἰς τὴν χαμαίζηλον καὶ ὑλικὴν κτισματολατρείαν)9

The whole dossier of texts pertaining to the Iconoclastic way of “correct” worship of the divinity cannot be analysed in detail here.10 Now it is enough to note that the key positions, mocked at by John of Damas-

7

Apology I, 36; II, 32 (Kotter, pp. 147–48). Apology II, 13, 1–3 (Kotter, p. 104), Apology II, 16, 62–66 (Kotter, p. 113). 9 Mansi 13, 229E, trans. D. Sahas, Icon and Logos: Sources in Eighth-Century Iconoclasm, Toronto Medieval Texts and Translations 4 (Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press, 1986), p. 68 (hereafter: Sahas). This passage bears certain similarities with a passage in Origen’s, Contra Celsum IV, 31 (ed. M. Borret, Origène. Contre Celse, vol. 2, Sources Chrétiennes 136 [Paris: Édition du Cerf, 1968], pp. 260, 15–20). 10 See V.A. Baranov, “Origen and the Iconoclastic Controversy,” in: L. Perrone et al. (eds.), Origeniana Octava. Origen and the Alexandrian Tradition, vol. 2 (Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium 164; Leuven: Peeters, 2003), pp. 1043–1052. 8

the second commandment and “true worship”

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cus, are all expressed in the passage from the Council of Hiereia. If we extract the indications of the “wrong” theology from John of Damascus’s passage, we receive the following picture: 1) the adversary exhorts one to connect with God in an intelligible manner, 2) he somehow has a negative attitude toward matter, and 3) he is called “high” and “immaterial.” If we compare these points with the statement from the Council of Hiereia, we will find even closer correspondence. The Council: 1) calls for the worship of God in intellect, 2) denigrates the representations of the divinity made by means of matter, and 3) it considers only such “immaterial and intellectual” worship as high and befitting God. We possess other texts from the Iconoclasts, and these texts testify to the same doctrine, thus expressed in the Horos of the Iconoclastic Council of Hiereia: If anyone attempts to perceive the divine character of God the Word according to his Incarnation by means of material pigments and not to worship wholeheartedly with the eyes of the intellect Him who, above the brightness of the sun, has sat on the right hand of God on the throne of glory, let him be anathema! (Εἴ τις τὸν θεῖον τοῦ θεοῦ λόγου χαρακτῆρα κατὰ τὴν σάρκωσιν δι᾽ ὑλικῶν χρωμάτων ἐπιτηδεύει κατανοῆσαι καὶ μὴ ἐξ ὅλης καρδίας προσκυνῇ αὐτὸν ὄμμασι νοεροῖς ὑπὲρ τὴν λαμπρότητα τοῦ ἡλίου ἐκ δεξιῶν τοῦ θεοῦ ἐν ὑψίστοις ἐπὶ θρόνου δόξης κνθήμενον, ἀνάθεμα)11

The same doctrine expressed in a single statement can be found in another place of the Horos of Hiereia, among the acclamations with which Councils were usually closed. The Iconoclasts propose a “correct” way of worship in an imageless, or “intellectual” manner, as if

11 Mansi 13, 336E. In other places of the Horos of Hiereia, a similar attitude towards matter is expressed. Cf. “It is not lawful for Christians, who have their hope in the resurrection, to use the customs of nations that worship demons, and to treat so spitefully, by means of worthless and dead matter, the saints who will be resplendent with such glory” (Mansi 13, 277CD, trans. Sahas, 105).

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fulfilling the program of true intelligible worship (νοητῶς λατρεύειν), in the following way: We all believe rightly! We venerate in an intellectual manner bringing worship to the intellectual divinity (Πάντως νοερῶς τῇ νοερᾷ θεότητι λατρεύοντες προσκυνοῦμεν)! This is the faith of the Apostles, this is the faith of the Fathers, this is the faith of the Orthodox people. This is the way all of them have venerated and worshipped God!12

Most likely exactly this character of “intellectual” worship was expressed by the Iconoclasts in the quote from John 4:24.13 Veneration “in an intellectual manner (νοερῶς)” from the Horos is explicitly connected with “intellect (νοῦς)” and it is to this imageless worship in the intellect that the Iconoclasts appeal in perfect accordance with the old Christian Platonist tradition of Origen and Evagrius, sharply delineating God and matter and discarding (or at best considering inefficient for salvation) sensual perception, belonging to the realm of things mingled with matter, in favour of immaterial contemplation as a first and last perfect state of unfallen or recuperated minds.14 It is indeed in the writings of Evagrius of Pontos that we may find a clue to the Iconoclastic preference for intellectual contemplation over visual perception. Evagrius distinguishes between representations, which come into the mind by means of different faculties. According to Evagrius, vision is useless in rendering the contemplative (and, consequently, in the theological system of Evagrius ultimately more genuine) reality, since vision only provides the human mind with the

12 Mansi 13, 353A. Daniel Sahas in his translation of the Sixth Session of the Council adopts the parallelism with John 4:24 and thus renders the acclamation: “When we worship God who is spirit, we all offer our veneration in spirit.” (Sahas, p. 166). The allusion to the Scriptural citation appears already in Patriarch Germanus’ Epistle to John of Synnada (PG 98, 160C) on the eve of the Controversy, which points to its possible circulation in the Iconodulic-Iconoclastic polemics at the earliest stages of the Controversy. The translation of Stephen Gero is similar: “We all worship in a spiritual manner, serving a spiritual Godhead.” (S. Gero, Byzantine Iconoclasm during the Reign of Constantine V with Particular Attention to the Oriental Sources, CSCO. Sub. 52 [Louvain, 1977], p. 92). 13 The iconoclasts included the verse into the Scriptural florilegium of the Council of Hiereia (Mansi 13, 280E) and in the beginning of the Horos of St. Sophia (815) (Ed. J.M. Featherstone, Nicephori Patriarchae Constantinoploitani Refutatio et eversio definitionis synodalis anni 815 [Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 33 Turnhout, and Leuven: Brepols and Peeters, 1997], pp. 7, 4–5 [p. 13]). 14 This attitude of the Iconoclasts towards material images and “immaterial contemplation” is also attested to in the polemical writings of Theodore the Studite (PG 99, 336B).

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representations (νοήματα) of forms, only suitable for sensible reality. Hearing, however, may be preferred over vision: it may render contemplative reality along with the sensible one, since by hearing the intellect can receive formless representations: There are four ways through which the intellect receives representations: the first way is through the eyes, the second – through hearing, the third – through memory, the fourth – through the temperament. By the eyes, [the intellect] receives only those representations which provide a form; by hearing – both those which provide a form and those which do not, for both sensible reality and contemplatable reality are signified by the word. The memory and the temperament follow hearing, for both can provide and not provide the intellect with forms, thus imitating the hearing (Τέσσαρες τρόποι εἰσὶ δι᾽ ὧν ὁ νοῦς λαμβάνει νοήματα‧ καὶ πρῶτος μὲν τρόπος, ὁ διὰ τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν‧ δεύτερος, ὁ διὰ τῆς ἀκοῆς. τρίτος, ὁ διὰ τῆς μνήμης. τέταρτος, ὁ διὰ τῆς κράσεως‧ καὶ διὰ μὲν τῶν ὀφθαλμῶν, μορφοῦντα μόνον λαμβάνει νοήματα‧ διὰ δὲ τῆς ἀκοῆς, καὶ μορφοῦντα καὶ μὴ μορφοῦντα, τῷ τὸν λόγον σημαίνειν πράγματα αἰσθητὰ καὶ θεωρητά‧ ἡ δὲ μνήμη καὶ ἡ κράσις ἀκολουθοῦσι τῇ ἀκοῇ‧ ἑκάτερα γὰρ μορφοῦσι τὸν νοῦν καὶ οὐ μορφοῦσι μιμούμενα τὴν ἀκοήν)15

This notion seems to be based, in turn, on Origen’s epistemology, in which vision relates to the corporeal and necessarily provisional state and cannot convey true knowledge, which pertains to the timeless and incorporeal divinity.16 To reinforce the cluster of the Second Commandment and John 4:24, the Iconoclasts added the quote from Romans 10:17 (“Faith is from hearing, and hearing is through the word of God”)17 to their Scriptural florilegium.18 To counter accusations of idolatry, the Iconodules developed several other arguments. The first of these is the delineation of worship (λατρείας προσκύνησις), as referring to God alone,19 and relative 15 J. Muyldermans, “Evagriana,” Le Muséon 44 (1931), p. 52, number 9 (Cent. Suppl. 18 (Fragment 435). Cf. eds. P. Géhin, C. Guillaumont, and A. Guillaumont, Évagre le Pontique. Sur les pensées (Sources Chrétiennes 438; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1998), 41, pp. 290–296. 16 See, for example, De Principiis I, 1, 8 (eds. H Görgemanns, and H. Karpp, Origenes vier Bücher von den Prinzipien (Texte zur Forschung 24; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1976), 118, 16–120, 11); Origen’s fragment number 13 on John 1, 18 (ed. E. Preuschen, Origenes Werke, vol. 4, GCS [Leipzig, 1903], pp. 494–495). 17 Patriarch Germanus alludes to the same quote in his Epistle to Thomas of Claudiopolis (PG 98, 173C = H.-G. Thümmel, Die Frühgeschichte der ostkirchlichen Bilderlehre. Texte und Untersuchungen zur Zeit vor dem Bilderstreit [Texte und Untersuchungen 139; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1992]: 382, 154f). 18 Mansi 13, 285C. 19 Apology I, 4, 37ff. [Kotter, p. 76].

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veneration (σχετικὴ προσκύνησις),20 as referring to the Theotokos, saints and holy objects, including icons and relics. Another argument is more interesting to us, since it shows that the Iconodules accepted the serious challenge of the Iconoclasts, who rebuked them for their worship of icons, which “draws down the mind of men from the lofty worship befitting God to base and material worship of creatures.”21 In reply to the Iconoclastic doctrine of intelligible worship, the Iconodules worked out such a system, in which both the human mind and material images have place, that is, the system of “intelligible worship” which included the icon as its integral part. Although the Scriptural quote from Romans 10:17, which is present in the florilegium of Hiereia as applied to the refutation of icons, is not found in the Apologies of John of Damascus in its original form, there is a clear allusion to it in the first Apology. As if refuting the Iconoclastic use of the Scriptural quote which undermines the value of sight (as a principle of sense perception upon which the icon is built) from the florilegium of Hiereia, John of Damascus defends the value of sight in the following manner: And everywhere we set in a sensible manner the image of Him, I mean, of the Incarnate God the Word, and we sanctify the first of the senses (for the first of the senses is sight) in the same way as hearing is sanctified by words: for the icon is a reminder. And what the book is for those who are initiated into letters, that is the icon for the illiterate, and what is the word for hearing, that is the icon for sight: we become unified with it in an intelligible manner (Καὶ αἰσθητῶς τὸν αὐτοῦ χαρακτῆρα τοῦ σαρκωθέντος φημὶ θεοῦ λόγου προτίθεμεν ἁπανταχῆ καὶ τὴν πρώτην ἁγιαζόμεθα τῶν αἰσθήσεων (πρώτη γὰρ αἰσθήσεων ὅρασις) ὥσπερ καὶ τοῖς λόγοις τὴν ἀκοήν‧ ὑπόμνημα γάρ ἐστιν ἡ εἰκών. Καὶ ὅπερ τοῖς γράμματα μεμυημένοις ἡ βίβλος, τοῦτο τοῖς ἀγραμμάτοις ἡ εἰκών‧ καὶ ὅπερ τῇ ἀκοῇ ὁ λόγος, τοῦτο τῇ ὁράσει ἡ εἰκών‧ νοητῶς δὲ αὐτῷ ἑνούμεθα)22

John of Damascus states in this text that the veneration of icons is not idolatry but the same kind of “intelligible worship.” But how is it possible to “unify with the icon in an intelligible manner”? John of

20 Theodore the Studite, Epistula 57, 81–85; Epistula 428, 2–22; Epistula 476, 20 (ed. G. Fatouros, Theodori Studitae Epistulae, vol. [Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae 31; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1992]). 21 Mansi 13, 229E. 22 Apology I, 17, 1–8 (Kotter, p. 93). Cf. Apology III, 12 (Kotter, p. 123); Mansi 13, 249DE.

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Damascus did not leave this seemingly contradictory statement without explanation. In another passage of the first Apology, he confirms the role of the mind in penetration beyond material images. Enumerating different types of images, John speaks about visible images, which recall such invisible substances as God or angels: “Also images are corporeal expressions of invisible things which have no form in order to have [at least] a dim comprehension.”23 And then John of Damascus explains this using the thought of Dionysius about “corporeal veils,” with which the language of Scripture envelops things invisible and supra-sensible. For the justification of images, the Iconodules borrowed only one, rather limited, aspect of Dionysius’ teaching. Dionysius’ ambivalence towards the visual representations pre-conditioned the fact that John of Damascus is forced to somewhat distort the original thought of Dionysius, who speaks about dissimilar images granted to the imageless substances. After referring to Dionysius,24 John of Damascus thus builds his a fortiori argument in defence of images: “. . . if the divine word . . . envelops with some images both simple things, and things which do not have any image, why cannot we depict that which possessed image by its nature (καὶ τοῖς ἁπλοῖς καὶ ἀτυπώτοις τύπους τινὰς περιτίθησι, πῶς μὴ εἰκονίσει τὰ σχήμασι μεμορφωμένα κατὰ τὴν οἰκείαν φύσιν)?”25 Perhaps, sensing the ambiguity of the reference to Dionysius, John of Damascus continues the explanation of the “technology” of how the process of visual perception of an image puts on the faculties of human intellect: Through the sense, a certain representation is composed in the front ventricle of the brain and thus, it is sent to the discerning [faculty] and is treasured in the memory (∆ιὰ γὰρ τῆς ἀισθήσεως φαντασία τις συνίσταται ἐν τῇ ἐμπροσθίῳ κοιλίᾳ τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου καὶ οὕτω τῷ κριτικῷ παραπέμπεται καὶ τῇ μνήμῃ ἐνθησαυρίζεται)26

23

Apology I, 11, 1–3 (Kotter, p. 84). Apology I, 11, 5–10 (Kotter, pp. 84–85) corresponds to De coelesti hierarchia, II, 2, 11–15 (eds. G. Heil, and A. Ritter, Corpus Dionysiacum II. De coelesti hierarchia, De ecclesiastica hiererchia, De mystica theologia, Epistulae [Patristische Texte und Studien 36; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1991], p. 11]. 25 Apology I, 11, 12–14 (Kotter, p. 85). 26 Apology 1, 11, 16–19 (Kotter, p. 85); cf. Expositio fidei, II 17, 1–9 [ed. Kotter, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, vol 2 (Patristische Texte und Studien 12 Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 1973), p. 83]. The parallel between John of Damascus and Nemesius was first noted by F.S. Vladimirskij. See the second part of the monograph by Vladimirskij (Anthropology and cosmology of Nemesius, the bishop of Emessa in 24

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The way of perception is through vision which translates the image to the power of the irrational soul called phantastikon and then, this image of the object is transported to the Aristotelian sensus communis, which, in turn, translates it to the memory where it is stored and from where it can be retrieved in the process of remembering or thinking. In this, John of Damascus follows the anthropology of Nemesius of Emessa: So, then, the faculty of imagination hands on to the faculty of intellect things that the senses have perceived, while the faculty of intellect receives them, passes judgement on them, and hands them on to the faculty of memory. The organ of this faculty is the hinder part of the brain (τὸ μὲν οὖν φανταστικὸν παραδίδωσι τῷ διανοητικῷ τὸ φαινόμενα, τὸ δὲ διανοητικὸν ἢ διαλογικὸν παραλαβὸν καὶ κρῖναν παραπέμπει τῷ μνημονευτικῷ‧ ὄργανον δὲ καὶ τούτου ἡ ὄπισθεν κοιλία τοῦ ἐγκεφάλου)27

Such representation can be called up from the “treasury” of the mind upon the first request, since the faculty of imagination functions in a double manner – it transfers the representation from the senses to the memory and calls the representation from the memory on the order of the mind.28 It seems that the Iconodulic argumentation on the indispensability of senses and mental images was developed essentially on the basis of Aristotle’s doctrine of memory and cognition. We may ask why Aristotle’s philosophical heritage was more handy to the Iconodules than

their relation to ancient philosophy and Patristic literature (Zhitomir, 1912) in Nemesij Emesskij. O prirode cheloveka [Nemesius of Emessa. On the nature of man] (Moscow: Kanon+, 1998), pp. 369–70. 27 Nemesius of Emessa, XIII (ed. M. Morani, Nemesii Emeseni De natura hominis [Leipzig: Teubner Verlagsgesellschaft, 1987], pp. 69, 16–20, the translation was taken from ed. W. Tefler, Cyril of Jerusalem and Nemesius of Emessa [The Library of Christian Classics, vol. 4; London: SCM Press, 1955], p. 341). This parallel is not indicated in the critical edition of the Apologies by B. Kotter; J. Dayton in the article, dedicated to the analysis of the cognition in St. John of Damascus on the basis of the same passage of the Apology, does not mention the Nemesian background of the passage (cf. J. Dayton, “John of Damascus on Human Cognition: An Element in His Apologetic for Icons,” Church History 65 [1996], p. 181, and n. 56, p. 183). 28 Сf. Nemesius of Emessa: “. . . as organs, the faculty of imagination has, first, the front lobes of the brain and the psychic spirit contained in them, then the nerves impregnated with psychic spirit that proceeds from them and the whole construction of sense-organs” (ed. M. Morani, Nemesii Emeseni De Natura hominis [Leipzig: Teubner Verlagsgesellschaft, 1987], p. 55, 14–56, 4, the translation is taken from ed. W. Tefler, Cyril of Jerusalem and Nemesius of Emessa, The Library of Christian Classics, vol. 4; London: SCM Press, 1955], p. 321).

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Plato’s quasi-theological system. This happened because Aristotle’s teaching on human perception was largely constructed as a response to Plato’s epistemology, in which dialectical thinking as dealing with ideal forms, rises above images, as ultimately connected with sensible material reality.29 In Aristotle, as Richard Sorabji clearly expounded in the introductory essay to his translation of Aristotle’s treatise on memory, all processes of human reasoning require images,30 for in Aristotle’s system only very few things exist in an ideal form separately from the sensible world, and therefore, the objects of thought need to have a sensible vehicle which is their sensible form (for example, the colours of an object); this form is being transferred into the bodily organs in the process of perception of the object. Similarly, already the primary state of the act of remembering in Aristotle (affection) involves an image or imprint of the perceived object, projected into a bodily organ.31 The initial affection produces a mental image which is stored in the memory; moreover, Aristotle requires such an image to be a representation or likeness of the model perceived (εἰκών, 450b27; 451a2, a11–12). According to Aristotle, a mental image must be a likeness, since it must be the image of something. Aristotle also states that such an image, like an ordinary picture or copy of something is both like and dislike the original model,32 and the kind of derivation of a mental image from its model is the causal one. It is precisely that double nature of a mental image that allows us to recognise persons on their portraits which essentially involves the comparison between the mental image of a person stored in our memory with a mental image received through the sense organs from contemplating the person’s portrait. 29

Republic 511c; 532a. R. Sorabji, Aristotle on Memory (London: Duckworth, 1972), pp. 6f. Cf. De memoria et reminiscentia 449b31; De Anima 431a16; 431b2; 432a8;a13. 31 R. Sorabji, Aristotle on Memory (London: Duckworth, 1972), p. 2. Cf. “. . . one must think of the affection, which is produced by means of perception in the soul and in that part of the body which contains the soul, as being like a sort of picture (ζωγράφημα), the having of which we say is memory” (Aristotle, De memoria et reminiscentia, 450a28, trans. Sorabji, 50). 32 The relevant passage in Aristotle is: “For the figure drawn on a panel is both a figure and a copy (ζῶόν ἐστι καὶ εἰκών), and while being one and the same, it is both, even though the being of the two is not the same. And one can contemplate it both as a figure and as a copy. In the same way one must also conceive the image (φάντασμα) in us to be something in its own right and to be of another thing. In so far, then, as it is something in its own right, it is an object of a contemplation or an image (θεώρημα ἢ φατασμά ἐστιν). But in so far as it is of another thing, it is a sort of copy and a reminder (εἰκῶν καὶ μνημόνευμα)” (450b20f, trans. Sorabji, 51). 30

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We meet the direct use of this Aristotelian concept in the third Apology of John of Damascus, where he discusses what the image is, what is depictable and what is not, and, finally, how the depiction works. In answering the second question, John of Damascus employs the concept of mental image as a background of every mental activity. Such activity happens on the basis of mental representations (if we speak about the sense of sight) or any other sensations (for other senses) which form the human experience: we can think of only something we had seen, touched or tasted before: To put it simply, we can make images of all those configurations which we see and we perceive them in thought in a way they were seen. For if we think of the configurations that are coming from words, they are [also] from what we have seen, and the process of thinking happens on the basis of those. So it happens with every sense through words we come to the thinking on the basis of what we had smelt, what we had tasted or had touched (δυνάμεθα ποιεῖν εἰκόνας πάντων τῶν σχημάτων, ὧν εἴδομεν‧ νοοῦμεν δὲ ταῦτα, καθὼς ὡράθη. Εἰ γὰρ καὶ ἀπὸ τῶν λόγων ἔσθ᾽ ὅτε κατανοοῦμεν σχήματα, ἀλλ᾽ ἐζ ὧν εἴδομεν, καὶ ἐπὶ τὴν τούτων ἐρχόμεθα κατανόησιν. Οὕτω καὶ ἐφ᾽ ἑκάστης αἰσθήσεως, ἐξ ὧν ὠσφράνθημεν ἢ ἐγευσάμεθα ἢ ἡψάμεθα, διὰ λόγων ἐπὶ τὴν τούτων ἐρχόμεθα κατανόηιν)33

If the Iconoclasts’ Platonic epistemological approach is consistent with both Platonic epistemology and its Christian version in Origen and his followers, the Iconodules seem to have a certain inconsistency, applying an Aristotelian image-based approach, designed for this world, and its material and sensually perceived objects, for the purpose of knowing and seeing Christ and his saints. However, this inconsistency is only apparent since in his theory of thinking Aristotle endows images with commemorative function, and so does John of Damascus, placing icons, along with all visual religious imagery, in the category of “things reminding of the past,”34 thus precisely fulfilling the purpose for which Aristotle intends his visual imagery which represents things remembered.35

33 34 35

Apology III, 24, 21–28 (Kotter, p. 131). Apology I, 13 (Kotter, p. 86); Apology III, 23 (Kotter, pp. 129–130). R. Sorabji, Aristotle on Memory (London: Duckworth, 1972), pp. 7–8.

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It is also necessary to mention that in their positive interpretation of “imaginative representation” (φαντασία),36 both John of Damascus and Theodore the Studite, who continued the line of “rehabilitation” of the faculty of imagination and its contents – mental images – during the second Iconoclasm,37 shift the accent in the preceding tradition of theological anthropology, where phantasia or phantasma have a certain negative connotation often denoting a mental image which is brought in by the demons to distract the praying ascetic from imageless contemplation. Such a connotation apparently starts with the Bible. One can see that if we read a verse from Prophet Habakkuk, where the prophet rebukes a Pagan in his reliance upon an idol – “false representation (φαντασίαν ψευδῆ).”38 Dionysius the Areopagite as well states that the divinity is not perceived “by any sense, or imagination (φαντασία), or judgement, or name, or touching, or comprehension.”39 Describing the removal of the imperfect members from the Liturgy, Dionysius uses the word φαντασία in a negative sense: after the removal of the first group of the imperfect, “those who, though they stepped back from the opposing life, still have not cleansed from its imaginations (φαντασιῶν) with habit, and divine and pure love (εἶτα πρὸς αὐτος οἱ

36 I translate φαντασία as “imagination” if it means a faculty of the human mind, “representation” if it means a mental image, or “imaginative representation” (like here) to emphasise the immaterial mental character of such an image. 37 Similarly by “rehabilitating” the imagination, Theodore the Studite argues against the Iconoclasts, accepting at the same time, their minor premise – the concept of the validity of naturally inherent images. In one of his letters he writes that both image (εἰκών) and imagination (φαντασία) are kinds of images (ἰνδάλματα γὰρ ἀμφότερα), out of which the lesser one is imagination. St. Theodore asks the rhetorical question: if we are forced to deny the image, it would certainly be the lesser one – the natural faculty of imagination. What would then happen to four other Aristotelian faculties of the soul: perception (αἴσθησις), opinion (δόξα), thought (διάνοια) and, finally, the Iconoclasts’ celebrated intellect (νοῦς)? (see Epistle 380, ed. Fatouros, vol. 2, pp. 517, 169–175, cf. P. Alexander, Patriarch Nicephorus of Constantinople: Ecclesiastical Policy and Image Worship in the Byzantine Empire [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958], p. 194); see also A. Louth, St. John Damascene: Tradition and Originality in Byzantine Theology [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002], pp. 217f ). 38 “Τί ὠφελεῖ γλυπτόν, ὅτι ἔγλυψαν αὐτό; ἔπλασεν αὐτὸ χώνευμα, φαντασίαν ψευδῆ, ὅτι πέποιθεν ὁ πλάσας ἐπὶ τὸ πλάσμα αὐτοῦ τοῦ ποιῆσαι εἴδωλα κωφά” (Hab. 2:18). 39 De divinis nominibus I, 5 (ed. B. Suchla, Corpus Dionysiacum, I. De divinis nominibus [Patristische Texte und Studien 33; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1990], p. 116, 3–4); cf. De divinis nominibus I, 5 (Ibid., p. 117, 9).

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τῆς ἐναντίας μὲν ἀποστάντες ζωῆς, οὔπω δὲ καὶ τῶν φαντασιῶν αὐτῆς ἕξει καὶ ἔρωτι θείῳ καὶ ἀμιγεῖ καθαρθέντες).”40 Summing up the results of our investigation, the Iconoclasts required imageless intellectual contemplation as the only way for correct worship of God, following a Platonic epistemological trend “baptized” by Origen and systematically developed by Evagrius of Pontos. In response the Iconodules stated that the necessity of sensible material images corresponds to the necessity, first, of the Incarnation,41 and, second, to our life in a material world and in a material body, and proposed that the icon or generally speaking, the image can serve as an indispensable mediator between the believer and God. In general agreement that the divinity should be approached in an intellectual manner, the Iconodulic theologian John of Damascus was forced to develop a doctrine which would integrate the icon into the system of “intellectual worship.” He builds up such a theory on the basis of the Christian anthropology of Nemesius of Emessa and the epistemology of Aristotle, adapting its premise of the mediating image as a precondition of every mental activity to the commemorative function of an icon. Thus in a curious way John of Damascus justifies icon veneration implying that the Iconodulic approach to the divinity by means of icons is also an “intellectual approach” since it is the mind of man that is the final point of destination where a mental image arrives from a sensually perceived material iconic representation. The Iconoclasts had a basis for claiming traditionalism of their theology; yet the Iconodules’ theology proved to be much more realistic, anthropologically oriented, and, in modern terms, creative. This is why it won not only the political struggle in ninth century Byzantium, but became the living tradition of the Eastern Church in the following centuries.

40 De ecclesiastica heirarchia III, Θ, 7 (eds. G. Heil, and A. Ritter, Corpus Dionysiacum II. De coelesti hierarchia, De ecclesiastica hierechia, De mystica theologia, Epistulae (Patristische Texte und Studien 36; Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1991), p. 87, 17–19). 41 Cf. Apology I, 4, 80–85 (Kotter, p. 78).

EZEKIEL’S DEBATE WITH ISAIAH Marvin A. Sweeney I Throughout the history of modern critical scholarship, the book of Ezekiel has suffered from relatively less critical attention and relatively greater misunderstanding when compared to its better-known counterparts.1 Such hesitancy to engage Ezekiel and misunderstanding of its contents arise from its priestly world view and depiction of the holy; its often bizarre imagery, language, and concepts; its frequent disagreements with the Pentateuch and other biblical literature; and its exilic-period setting and concern with Temple purity and restoration in the aftermath of the destruction of Jerusalem and the Babylonian exile. Ezekiel was nearly excluded from the Jewish Bible until R. Hananiah ben Hezekiah burned three hundred barrels of oil working nights to reconcile the differences between Ezekiel and the Torah (b Shabbat 13b; b Haggigah 13ab; b Menaḥot 45a). Modern scholars have generally followed Gustav Hölscher in stripping away major elements of the book as the product of priestly redaction, thereby denying Ezekiel’s identity as a Zadokite priest of the Jerusalem Temple.2 Some scholars charge that Ezekiel is mentally impaired or dependent on hallucinogenic drugs.3 Even Abraham Joshua Heschel did not treat Ezekiel in his celebrated volume, The Prophets.4 Fortunately, scholarly assessment of Ezekiel has begun to change in the latter half of the twentieth century and the early years of the twenty-first as scholars have come to understand Ezekiel’s intellectual

1 For discussion of modern critical research on Ezekiel, see Bernhard Lang, Ezechiel (Erträge der Forschung 153; Darmstadt, 1981); Lawrence Boadt, “Ezekiel, Book of,” ABD 2, pp. 711–722; Henry McKeating, Ezekiel (OT Guides; Sheffield, 1993); Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, “Ezekiel Among the Critics,” CR:BS 2 (1994), pp. 9–24; Risa Levitt Kohn, “Ezekiel at the Turn of the Century,” CBR 2 (2003), pp. 9–31. 2 Gustav Hölscher, Hesekiel, der Dichter und das Buch (BZAW 39; Giessen, 1924). 3 See, e.g., David J. Halperin, Seeking Ezekiel: Text and Psychology (University Park, Pennsylvania, 1993), esp. pp. 7–38. 4 Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets (New York, 1962).

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breadth and his priestly perspective.5 Gerhard von Rad considers Ezekiel to be one of ancient Israel’s most deeply reflective prophets and theologians.6 Walther Zimmerli traces the impact of Ezekiel on developing Israelite tradition and its understanding of revelation.7 Moshe Greenberg adds considerable insight into the literary and conceptual coherence of the book.8 Jon Levenson points to Ezekiel’s dependence on the imagery and theology of the Jerusalem Temple.9 Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann emphasizes the role that concerns with exile played in shaping the book between the initial exile of 597 bce and the destruction of Jerusalem in 587/6 bce.10 Katheryn Pfisterer Darr recognizes the importance of Ezekiel for modern theology, particularly its relevance for engaging the question of evil posed by the Shoah or Holocaust.11 My own work emphasizes Ezekiel’s identity as a Zadokite priest of the Jerusalem Temple in the presentation of Ezekiel’s visions and concep-

5 For examples of some of the most recent scholarship on Ezekiel, see the two volumes of essays published by the Society of Biblical Literature program units on Ezekiel, viz., Margaret S. Odell and John T. Strong, editors, The Book of Ezekiel: Theological and Anthropological Perspectives (SBLSym 9; Atlanta, 2000); Stephen L. Cook and Corrine L. Patton, editors, Ezekiel’s Hierarchical World: Wrestling with a Tiered Reality (SBLSym 31; Atlanta, 2004). My own recent contributions to this discussion appear in “Ezekiel: Zadokite Priest and Visionary Prophet of the Exile,” Form and Intertextuality in Prophetic and Apocalyptic Literature (FAT 45; Tübingen, 2005), pp. 125–143; “The Destruction of Jerusalem as Purification in Ezekiel 8–11,” Form and Intertextuality, pp. 144–155; “The Assertion of Divine Power in Ezekiel 33:21–39:29,” Form and Intertextuality, pp. 156–172; “The Royal Oracle in Ezekiel 37:15–28: Ezekiel’s Reflection on Josiah’s Reform,” in Brad E. Kelle and Megan Bishop Moore, editors, Israel’s Prophets and Israel’s Past: Essays on the Relationship of Prophetic Texts and Israelite History in Honor of John H., Hayes (LHBOTS 446; New York and London, 2006), pp. 239–253. For an overview discussion, see my The Prophetic Literature (IBT; Nashville, 2005), pp. 127–164. 6 Gerhard von Rad, Old Testament Theology (2 vols.; trans. D.M.G. Stalker; New York, 1962–65), vol. 2, pp. 220–237, esp. pp. 221–223. 7 Walther Zimmerli, Ezekiel (2 vols.; Hermeneia; trans. Ronald E. Clements and James D. Martin; Philadelphia, 1979–83); idem, “Knowledge of G-d According to the Book of Ezekiel,” in: W. Brueggeman (ed.), I am YHWH (trans. Douglas W. Stott; Atlanta, 1982), pp. 29–98. 8 Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20 (AB 22; Garden City, New York, 1983); idem, Ezekiel 21–37 (AB 22A; Garden City, New York, 1997). 9 Jon D. Levenson, Theology and Program of Restoration of Ezekiel 40–48 (HSM 10; Missoula, Montana 1976). 10 Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Der Prophet Hesekiel/Ezechiel (ATD 22,1–2; Göttingen, 1996–2001). 11 Katheryn Pfisterer Darr, “The Book of Ezekiel,” in: L. Keck et al. (eds.), The New Interpreter’s Bible. Volume 6 (Nashville, 2001), pp. 1073–1607.

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tualization of G-d, Israel, and the world of creation throughout the book.12 Although Ezekiel continues to stand alone among the prophets in the minds of many interpreters, it is essential to recognize his interrelationship with the other prophetic books in interpreting the realities of destruction and exile in his world and in positing future restoration of Israel and the Temple together with continuity in the relationship with YHWH. Von Rad argues that the message and world view of each of the prophetic books is rooted in its respective theological tradition.13 Isaiah is rooted in the Zion/Davidic covenant tradition that posited YHWH’s eternal relationship with Jerusalem and the house of David. Jeremiah, identified as a priest from Anathoth, is rooted in the Exodus – Sinai tradition of Mosaic Torah. Amos employs self-reflection, although the book is influenced by the Judean election tradition. Hosea is rooted in northern Israelite Levitical tradition. Von Rad subsumes Micah under Isaiah – although this is surely wrong, as Wolff ’s work demonstrates Micah’s identity as a village elder.14 Ezekiel is dependent on the sacral traditions of the Israelite priesthood, although von Rad maintains that his intellectual breadth points to the degree to which Ezekiel was free from priestly tradition.15 To von Rad, Ezekiel may have been born as a priest, but the circumstances of life in Babylonian exile prompted him to function as a prophet instead of as a priest. And yet the tradition of the Jerusalemite priesthood is foundational for interpreting the book of Ezekiel. Although Ezekiel can no longer function as a Jerusalem Temple priest at the edges of creation in Babylonia, the book nevertheless portrays a priest who adapts his priestly identity, functions, and world view to the demands of his situation and that of his exiled people.16 Indeed, Ezekiel’s career as a visionary prophet of the exile begins in his thirtieth year, i.e., the fifth year of Jehoiachin’s exile in 592 bce at an age when a young Zadokite priest would be ordained for service at the Jerusalem altar. It continues through the twenty-fifth year of Jehoiachin’s exile, i.e., Ezekiel’s fiftieth year when he would be expected to retire from his service as a priest 12 Sweeney, “Ezekiel: Zadokite Priest and Visionary Prophet of the Exile,” cited with other contributions in note 5 above. 13 Von Rad, Old Testament Theology. Volume II: The Theology of Israel’s Prophetic Traditions, passim. 14 Hans Walter Wolff, Micah (ContCom; trans. Gary Stansell; Minneapolis, 1990). 15 Von Rad, Old Testament Theology, vol. 2, pp. 221, 225. 16 For the following, see esp. Sweeney, “Ezekiel: Zadokite Priest.”

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at the Temple altar. The presentation of Ezekiel’s career begins in Ezekiel 1 with a vision of YHWH’s presence in Babylonian exile that is informed by the imagery of the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple, and it concludes in Ezekiel 40–48 with a vision of the restoration of YHWH’s presence in the restored Temple of Jerusalem, the restored Davidic monarch who worships YHWH in the Temple, the restored twelve tribes of Israel, and the renewed creation around the restored Temple. The intervening material throughout the book of Ezekiel portrays a chronologically-ordered process in which YHWH purifies the Temple and city of Jerusalem, the land of Israel, and the nations that inhabit creation in preparation for the restoration of the Temple and all of its retinue. We may recognize in such a presentation of the judgment and restoration of Jerusalem and the Temple that Ezekiel is informed by a Zion/Davidic tradition quite like that of the tradition that informs the book of Isaiah.17 Indeed, Ezekiel’s age of thirty in 592 bce means that he was born in 622 bce, the year that King Josiah began his program of religious reform and national restoration following the discovery of a book of Torah in the Temple. As a young, prospective Zadokite priest, Ezekiel would have been raised and educated in the context of the Jerusalem Temple and Josiah’s ideology of reform and restoration.18 Insofar as Josiah’s program was based in part on early forms of the book of Isaiah – among other biblical works, such as Deuteronomy, the so-called Deuteronomistic History, Amos, Hosea, and Zephaniah – it is essential to examine the role that the Zion/Davidic tradition plays in the book of Ezekiel. Comparative examination of the Zion/Davidic tradition in Ezekiel and Isaiah demonstrates that both books share the same basic tradition, but each gives it a distinctive emphasis, viz., whereas Isaiah emphasizes the Davidic or royal elements of the tradition in portraying judgment and restoration for Jerusalem and Israel at large, Ezekiel emphasizes the Zion or Temple elements of the tra-

17 For the role of the Davidic/Zion tradition in Isaiah, see von Rad, Old Testament Theology 2, pp. 147–175. For discussion of the Davidic/Zion tradition in general, see esp. Moshe Weinfeld, “Covenant, Davidic,” IDB[S], pp. 188–192; idem, “Zion and Jerusalem as Religious and Political Capital: Ideology and Utopia,” in: Richard Elliott Friedman, (ed.), The Poet and the Historian: Essays in Literary and Historical Biblical Criticism (HSS 26; Chico, California, 1983), pp. 75–115. 18 For discussion of King Josiah’s reform, see Marvin A. Sweeney, King Josiah of Judah: The Lost Messiah of Israel (Oxford and New York, 2001).

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dition to inform his understanding of Jerusalem’s suffering and its anticipated restoration.19 Altogether, Ezekiel’s vision engages in dialog with the perspectives of the developing Isaiah tradition and builds upon it to account for the realities of the Babylonian exile and destruction of Jerusalem in the late-sixth century bce Ezekiel nevertheless maintains the goals of the earlier Josianic reform, viz., a purified Jerusalem Temple in the midst of the restored twelve tribes of Israel at the center of a renewed creation. The balance of this paper will examine the various dimensions of this dialog in relation to the inaugural visions of the two prophets, oracles concerning divine judgment against Jerusalem and Israel, oracles concerning divine judgment against the nations, and oracles concerning the restoration of Jerusalem and Israel.20 II Walther Zimmerli is one of the key scholars to point to the traditiohistorical interrelationship between the inaugural visions of Ezekiel in Ezek 1:1–3:15 and Isaiah in Isa 6:1–13.21 Together with Micaiah ben Imlah’s vision in 1 Kings 22, the inaugural visions of Ezekiel and Isaiah constitute a type of prophetic call narrative that is characterized by a throne vision of YHWH surrounded by angelic beings that constitute the divine, royal court.22 The throne vision is distinguished from the other major type of prophetic commissioning narrative that emphasizes the message or word of YHWH. Examples of this second type include the commissioning accounts of Moses in Exodus 3–4 and 6–7; Gideon in Judges 6; Saul in 1 Samuel 9–10; and Jeremiah in Jeremiah 1. Although the throne vision also includes some dialog between the prophet and YHWH, the setting of the heavenly royal court and

19 For discussion of Isaiah, see esp. my Isaiah 1–39, with an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids, Michigan, and Cambridge, UK, 1996). 20 For discussion of the debates between other prophets and the Isaiah tradition, see the essays published in my Form and Intertextuality, including ‘The Truth in True and False Prophecy” (pp. 78–93) on Jeremiah; “The Place and Function of Joel in the Book of the Twelve” (pp. 189–209); “Micah’s Debate with Isaiah” (pp. 210–221); and “Zechariah’s Debate with Isaiah” (pp. 222–235). 21 For Zimmerli’s discussion of Ezekiel’s inaugural vision, see his Ezekiel 1, pp. 81–141. 22 Zimmerli, Ezekiel 1, pp. 95–100.

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the placing of the divine message in the mouth of the prophet distinguishes the throne vision from the commissioning accounts focused on the word of YHWH. The throne visions anticipate the later visionary accounts of YHWH’s court in apocalyptic works such as Daniel 7 and 1 Enoch 14 and the works of Merkavah mysticism such as Heikhalot Rabbati 29.23 The throne visions of both Ezekiel and Isaiah presuppose the visual imagery of the interior of the Jerusalem Temple during the course of liturgical worship. This should come as no surprise since it is wellestablished that sanctuaries generally serve as the locus of visionary or oracular experience throughout the ancient Near Eastern and GrecoRoman worlds regardless of whether the visionary is a priest or not.24 In the case of Ezekiel, the imagery focuses on the interior of the Temple, particularly the Ark of the Covenant, housed in the děbîr, the inner sanctum or Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple which is patterned after the throne room of the typical Syro-Israelite royal palace. Indeed, the Ark of the Covenant is conceived as the throne of YHWH as indicated by the Cherubim, which typically stand beside royal thrones in the ancient Near World, and the formulaic statements, “YHWH Sebaoth who is enthroned above the Cherubim,” in 1 Sam 4:4; 2 Sam 6:2; 1 Chr 13:6). The four ḥ āyyôt, “living beings,” later identified as Cherubim in Ezek 10:20, represent the two Cherubim built atop the Ark of the Covenant (Exod 25:18–22; 37:7–9) and the other two Cherubim built into the děbîr or inner sanctum of Solomon’s Temple (1 Kings 6:23–28; 2 Chr 3:10–14). The huge cloud and flashing fire described in Ezekiel 1:4 represent the billowing smoke emitted from the ten incense burners and the burning lights of the ten měnōrôt, “lampstands,” placed within the hêkal, “great palace,” or middle room of the Temple. The wheels that play such a prominent role in Ezekiel’s vision represent the bronze wheels of the incense altars (1 Kings 7:27–39). The flickering light of the měnōrôt (1 Kings 7:49; cf. Exod 25:31–40; 37:17–24), represented as the “eyes” of the wheels, is the reflection of the lights from the bronze wheels of the incense altars. 23 For a critical edition of Heikhalot Rabbati 29, see Sholmo A. Wertheimer, Batei Midrashot (2 vols.; Jerusalem, 1950), vol. 1, pp. 113–114. 24 See Sweeney, The Prophetic Literature, pp. 23–32; Frederick H. Cryer, Divination in Ancient Israel and Its Near Eastern Environment: A Socio-Historical Investigation (JSOTSup 142; Sheffield, 1994); Frances Flannery-Dailey, Dreamers, Scribes, and Priests: Jewish Dreams in the Hellenistic and Roman Eras (JSJSup 90; Leiden and Boston, 2004), esp. pp. 256–264.

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Perhaps the gold or bronze surfaces of the Ark of the Covenant and its four rings inform this image as well. The rāqîʿa, “expanse,” which appears like “crystal” or “ice,” represents the expanse of the heavens (Gen 1:6–8), where YHWH’s throne is conceived to be set above the Cherubim and the kappōret, “cover” or “mercy seat” of the Ark of the Covenant (Exod 24:10). The imagery of Isaiah’s vision is likewise based on the imagery of the interior of the Temple during liturgical worship.25 Following the initial notice of the death of King Uzziah, Isaiah 6 begins with a first-person account by Isaiah of YHWH seated on a high and lofty throne based on the imagery and conceptualization of the Ark of the Covenant in the Temple děbîr, the inner sanctum or the Holy of Holies. The so-called “skirts of his (YHWH’s) robe,” or more properly “his edges” (šûlāyw) once again represent the billowing smoke of the incense burners that fill the hêkal, “great palace,” or the middle room of the Temple with an amorphous but observable presence. The Seraphim that stand in attendance on YHWH are likely understood to represent the Cherubim of the Ark of the Covenant and the děbîr, but their flaming form, as indicated by the Hebrew term śěrāpîm, “flaming/burning ones,” indicates that they are conceived at least in part in relation to the Temple měnōrôt or lamp stands, each with their seven flaming lights that would suggest the movement of heavenly beings when viewed through the billowing smoke of the incense burners. The shaking doorposts would naturally represent the movement of the great doors of the Temple when they are opened at the outset of the worship service as the Temple continued to fill with smoke. The purification of Isaiah’s lips by one of the Seraphim represents the mouth purification ritual employed by Mesopotamian bāru priests or oracle diviners prior to the delivery of a divine oracle. Although the imagery of each vision appears to be based on the same imagery of the Jerusalem Temple in operation during the performance of liturgical worship, the individual conceptualization of each prophet’s self-understanding as represented in their respective commissioning accounts reflects their respective institutional identities.

25 For discussion of the formal characteristics and liturgical setting of Isaiah 6 in the fast of Yom Kippur, see my Isaiah 1–39, pp. 132–142.

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Ezekiel is presented throughout his book as a Zadokite priest in exile, and his role and message as a prophet reflects his Zadokite identity.26 His visionary experience recalls the ritual of Yom Kippur as described in Leviticus 16 when the High Priest enters the Holy of Holies of the Jerusalem Temple where YHWH appears above the kappōret of the Ark of the Covenant so that the High Priest may ask forgiveness for the sins of the people (Lev 16:2–5). Although it is unlikely that Ezekiel ever served as High Priest, his vision suggests that he was educated to do so, and that he would understand himself to be the intermediary between YHWH and the people in accordance with the typical priestly role. Insofar as the basic task of the priests is to educate the people in YHWH’s Torah, viz., the differences between what is holy and profane and what is pure and impure (Lev 10:10–11), it is striking that YHWH’s commission of Ezekiel as a prophet is represented by YHWH giving Ezekiel a book of Torah to eat, internalize, and then to convey to the people. In essence, Ezekiel’s task is to serve as a priest in exile who continues to teach divine Torah even in the midst of an impure land far from the Jerusalem Temple. Isaiah on the other hand is presented throughout the book of Isaiah as a royal advisor to Kings Ahaz and Hezekiah. Because he is a royal counselor and not a priest, Isaiah’s viewpoint would be defined from a position outside the interior of the Temple structure, most likely by one of the pillars placed at the entrance of the ’ûlām, “portico” or “porch” of the Temple, where the King would normally stand during Temple worship (2 Kings 11:14; 23:3; 2 Chr 23:13). Overall, the portrayal of YHWH’s heavenly court and Isaiah’s role as a messenger or oracle diviner on YHWH’s behalf presupposes the conceptualization of YHWH as king and Isaiah as YHWH’s royal messenger or emissary. YHWH’s decree that Isaiah’s task is to ensure the deafness, blindness, and general lack of understanding on the part of the people represents a royal command or task that Isaiah is commissioned to carry out as YHWH’s designated emissary. Although interpreters habitually note that Isaiah must have failed to carry out his task by attempting to change the people’s behavior or that Isaiah 6 must be a later addition to the text,27 the narratives concerning Sennacherib’s siege of

26

See esp. my “Ezekiel: Zadokite Priest and Visionary Prophet of the Exile.” E.g., Otto Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary (OTL; trans. John Bowden; Philadelphia, 1983), pp. 118–121. 27

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Jerusalem, Hezekiah’s illness, and the embassy of Merodach Baladan in Isaiah 36–39 portray Isaiah in just such a role as divine or royal emissary who conveys YHWH’s decrees and announcements to their intended recipients. Despite the differences in their respective self-conceptualizations, both Ezekiel and Isaiah are preoccupied with the same fundamental issue, viz., how to interpret the impending or realized threats against Jerusalem and Israel/Judah as an act of YHWH, and how to conceive deliverance or restoration as divine action in the aftermath of such threat. III Ezekiel’s understanding of the basis for divine judgment against Jerusalem and Israel is clear throughout the book. He constantly charges Jerusalem and Israel with infidelity to YHWH, expressed as idolatry or the pursuit foreign gods and as the failure or refusal to observe YHWH’s expectations as defined by the statutes and laws of divine Torah. Ezekiel’s discussion in Ezekiel 18 of the guilt or innocence of representatives from each generation makes his priestly perspective on this matter clear, insofar as the chapter defines moral standing in relation to practices including idolatry and the consumption of sacrifices made to foreign gods without the proper disposition of blood, marital impurity either with another man’s wife or with a menstruating woman, economic injustice such as illegally taking a debtor’s pledge or robbery, social injustice such as refusing to feed the hungry and to clothe the naked, financial wrongdoing such as taking interest on a loan, etc. All of these issues appear in the priestly legislation of the Holiness Code in Leviticus 17–26 and some also appear in the other law codes found throughout the Pentateuch. Similar priestly views of Jerusalem’s or Israel’s conduct appear throughout the book of Ezekiel. Insofar as the proper observance of YHWH’s expectations sanctifies YHWH, the people, the land of Israel, and all creation in priestly thought, the failure to observe YHWH’s expectations entails the failure to sanctify YHWH, which thereby profanes or pollutes the people, the land of Israel, and creation at large. The remedy for such transgression in priestly thought is the purging of the impurity and those responsible for it from the midst of the people. Priestly thought holds that repentance may be undertaken by the guilty party or parties

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to return to YHWH, to restore what has been lost, and to purify what has been profaned. Rituals of repentance, purification, and sacrifice symbolize the appeal to YHWH for forgiveness and restoration of the relationship. The priesthood is responsible for carrying out the ritual on behalf of those who would repent. Ezekiel’s perspective on the basis for Jerusalem’s punishment is especially clear in the account of the destruction of Jerusalem in Ezekiel 8–11.28 These chapters portray Ezekiel’s supernatural journey from Babylonia to Jerusalem and his guidance by an angelic guide who shows him the impurity of Jerusalem. The angelic guide points out the image that provokes jealousy in the north side of the Temple court, and other abominations, such as the fetishes of the house of Israel within the Temple itself, the statements of the worshippers inside that YHWH had abandoned the land, the women weeping for the Babylonian god Tammuz, and the twenty-five men bowing down to the sun. Although many presuppose that sin was rampant in Jerusalem during the latter-seventh and early-sixth centuries bce, we must bear in mind that Ezekiel’s vision represents an assessment of the Temple’s sanctity following the removal of the key Zadokite priests by the Babylonians in 597 bce. An important key to Ezekiel’s perspective is the presence of Jaazniah ben Shaphan among the elders of Israel in the Temple. Far from engaging in sin, the ben Shaphan family was known for its role in supplying government officials for the royal house of David, including Shaphan himself who oversaw the renovation of the Temple under King Josiah, and for its support of the prophet and priest Jeremiah.29 Although Jaazniah ben Shaphan comes from a family known in Kings and Jeremiah for its righteousness, he and the elders are not Zadokite priests qualified to oversee the sanctity of the Temple, and their presence in the Temple highlights the lack of proper Zadokite supervision. Such a scenario would then entail the pollution of the Temple in Ezekiel’s perspective. The image that provokes jealousy is likely a Babylonian victory stele with images or names of Babylonian gods inscribed on it. The fetishes are likely the usual interior decora-

28 For detailed treatment of Ezekiel 8–11, see my essay, “The Destruction of Jerusalem as Purification in Ezekiel 8–11” Form and Intertextuality, pp. 144–155. 29 For discussion of the ben Shaphan family in ancient Judean politics and religion, see Jay Wilcoxen, “The Political Background of Jeremiah’s Temple Sermon,” in: A. Merrill and T. Overholt, (ed.), Scripture in History and Theology: Essays in Honor of J. Coert Rylaarsdam (Pittsburgh, 1977), pp. 151–166.

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tions of the Temple, such as the cherubs, palm trees, animals, etc., but the absence of proper Zadokite supervision renders them as fetishes in Ezekiel’s understanding. The statements that YHWH had abandoned the land are indeed realized by the end of the vision. The women weeping for Tammuz were likely engaged in a Judean mourning ritual characteristic of the late summer. The men worshipping the sun were likely performing the typical morning worship service of the Temple. Ezekiel’s depiction of the destruction of the Temple likewise presupposes a priestly perspective concerning the remedy for such pollution, viz., the purging of the city from its impurity and those responsible for it. YHWH appears in the divine throne chariot seen earlier in the inaugural vision ready to depart the city and turn it over to destruction. YHWH calls upon an angelic figure dressed in white linen with a writing case at his side, the typical garb of a Temple priest, who then supervises six armed men who carry out the destruction or purging of the city. The men who moan and groan over the abominations of Jerusalem are marked to be spared and the rest of the city’s people, including the old men, the women, the adolescent boys and girls, and the little children are then killed by the six armed men. The surviving men are then exiled to Babylonia to provide the basis for future restoration. Interpreters have struggled with the interpretation of this act, but it appears to be based on an analogy with the scapegoat ritual performed by the High Priest at Yom Kippur, the annual Day of Atonement, to ask forgiveness for the sins of the people. One goat is sacrificed as a ḥ aṭṭa’t or sin offering to symbolize atonement for the sins of the people and the other goat is expelled to the wilderness to symbolically carry away the sins of the people. Those killed in the city represent the ḥ aṭṭa’t offering of Yom Kippur and those exiled represent the goat expelled to the wilderness. Whereas the goats employed in the scapegoat ritual are themselves free from any impurity, their respective sacrifice and release into the wilderness vicariously symbolize the atonement and purging of the people as a whole – who are themselves considered as guilty and impure in Ezekiel’s vision.30 In this manner, Ezekiel envisions the destruction of Jerusalem and the

30 For discussion of the function and significance of the ḥaṭtạ ’at offering, see Jacob Milgrom, “Sacrifices and Offerings, OT,” IDB[S], pp. 763–771, esp. pp. 766–768; idem, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; Garden City, New York, 1991), pp. 226–318, 1009–1084.

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exile of its surviving inhabitants as an act of YHWH to purge the city of its sins and impurity. Ezekiel’s understanding of divine punishment is hardly limited to Jerusalem, and throughout the rest of the book his understanding of punishment includes both Israel and Judah. His symbolic actions in Ezekiel 4:1–8 include lying on his left side before a model of besieged Jerusalem for three hundred and ninety days to symbolize the years of the guilt of Israel and then lying on his right side for forty days to symbolize the years of the guilt of Judah. In Ezekiel 6–7, Ezekiel is commanded by YHWH to speak YHWH’s word of judgment against the hills of Israel due to the abominations and idolatry committed in the land. In Ezekiel 23, Ezekiel metaphorically portrays Jerusalem as Oholibah, whose harlotries and abominations are worse than those of her sister Oholah, who metaphorically represents Samaria. In their attempts to explain Ezekiel’s concern with both Israel and Judah – or Samaria and Jerusalem – interpreters generally speculate that Ezekiel presupposes an ideal view of the entire people of Israel that would include all of the twelve tribes that constituted the ideal construction of Israel in Pentateuchal tradition and in the time of the Judges and the United Monarchy. Such speculation is undoubtedly true – so far as it goes – but there are some other dimensions of this issue that point especially to the influences of an early Isaiah tradition and the ideals of King Josiah’s reform on the conceptualization of Israel and Judah in the book of Ezekiel. First is the nature of the crimes with which Ezekiel charges Oholibah/Jerusalem and Oholah/Samaria in Ezekiel 23. Although Ezekiel employs the typical metaphors of harlotry and idolatry to portray the sisters’ abandonment of YHWH, the issue very quickly turns to the sisters’ dalliances or alliances with other nations (cf. Hosea 1–3; Jeremiah 2). Oholah/Samaria lusts after the Assyrians and the Egyptians, which presupposes northern Israel’s alliances with Assyria and Egypt during the reign of the Jehu dynasty in the ninth and eighth centuries bce. Indeed, it was the breaking of the alliance with Assyria between 746 and 721 bce to ally instead with Aram that played such an important role in the Assyrian invasions and destruction of Israel during this period. Likewise, Ezekiel charges Oholibah/Jerusalem with lusting after Assyria, Chaldea/Babylonia, and Egypt, which reflects Judah’s submission to Assyria by King Ahaz during the Syro-Ephraimitic Wars of 735–732 bce and again by King Manasseh during the first half of the seventh century, the alliances of Kings Hezekiah and Josiah

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with Babylon to challenge the Assyrians, King Jehoiakim’s alliance with Egypt following Josiah’s death at Megiddo, and Judah’s attempt to revolt against the Babylonians following Babylon’s defeat of Egypt and subjugation of Judah in 605 bce. As was the case with northern Israel, such entanglements would ultimately lead to Judah’s destruction in Ezekiel’s perspective. Most fundamentally, however, such entanglements demonstrate the failure of Israel and Judah to rely on YHWH for protection from enemies. Reliance on YHWH for security is one of the fundamental tenants of Zion/Davidic theology as understood by both Ezekiel and Isaiah. Indeed, Isaiah’s dissatisfaction with King Ahaz in Isaiah 7:1–9:6 resulted from Ahaz’s turn to Assyria rather than to YHWH for protection during the Syro-Ephraimitic War, and Isaiah’s dissatisfaction with Hezekiah in Isaiah 28–31 and 39 resulted from Hezekiah’s attempts to court Egypt and Babylon – and not YHWH – for support against the Assyrians. It was only after Hezekiah gave up his fight against the Assyrians and turned to YHWH once again that YHWH delivered Hezekiah according to Isaiah 36–37. Isaiah’s perspective also informed Josiah’s attempts to free Jerusalem and Judah from foreign control in the seventh century bce. Just as the Zion/Davidic tradition which posited an eternal relationship between YHWH and David/Zion underlies Isaiah’s viewpoint, so Ezekiel shared the same perspective, but with the emphasis on Zion and the Temple rather than on David the king. Ezekiel’s viewpoint appears to update the perspectives of Isaiah to account for the political history of Judah’s alliances with foreign nations during the seventh and early-sixth century bce. Such alliances constitute a betrayal of YHWH and lead directly to the destruction of Jerusalem and Judah in the eyes of Ezekiel just as they led to the destruction of northern Israel. But there is more. Ezekiel’s perspectives on the sins of both Israel and Judah also appear to be rooted in the ideology of King Josiah’s reform. Josiah’s reform envisioned the purification of the Temple and the reunification of all the tribes of Israel under Davidic rule in the context of the decline and collapse of the Assyrian empire. As Isaiah and other literature read and written in support of Josiah’s reform indicate (e.g., early editions of the Deuteronomistic History and prophetic works such as Hosea, Amos, and Zephaniaḥ, northern Israel was judged to have sinned against YHWH and suffered as a result. In the aftermath of Israel’s punishment and Assyria’s defeat, the way was open for northern Israel to be restored and reunited once again

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with Judah around the Jerusalem Temple under the rule of the Davidic monarchy. But Josiah’s reform failed miserably with Josiah’s death at Megiddo in 609 bce, and subsequent years saw the decline of Judah into destruction by the Babylonians much as northern Israel had suffered destruction by the Assyrians. Ezekiel’s portrayal of judgment for Jerusalem and Judah presupposes the model for judgment against northern Israel in the Josianic period and extends the model to account for Judah’s impending punishment in the aftermath of the failure of Josiah’s reform. Indeed, Ezekiel’s symbolic actions in Ezekiel 4 concerning the respective periods of Israel’s and Judah’s guilt posit a chronology of Israel’s history that reflects such a perspective. The year 622 bce, the eighteenth year of Josiah’s reign when his Temple renovation commenced (and when Ezekiel was apparently born), was supposed to mark the onset of Israel’s and Judah’s reunification. Israel’s three hundred and ninety year period of guilt would then point to 1012 bce, the time posited for the origins of the united monarchy first under Saul and then under David. Apparently, the book of Ezekiel portrays this entire period as a time of Israel’s guilt that must be corrected with measures instituted by Josiah. But with the death of Josiah and the failure of his reform, 622 bce also marks the beginning of the end for Judah. From the standpoint of Ezekiel’s inaugural vision in 592 bce, his thirtieth year, the judgment of Jerusalem and Judah was still ten years away. In this respect, Ezekiel emerges as an heir to Isaiah in announcing judgment against Jerusalem/Judah and Israel and in positing restoration once the judgment was completed. IV Ezekiel’s oracles concerning the nations in Ezekiel 25–32 likewise reflect the perspectives of Isaiah and extend them to account for Judah’s and Israel’s experience in the aftermath of Josiah’s reform. Indeed, the judgment leveled against northern Israel and Jerusalem/Judah in both Ezekiel and Isaiah do not take place in a vacuum. Zion/Davidic theology posits that YHWH is the creator of the world of nature and sovereign of the world of nations as well as the guarantor of Jerusalem’s and Israel’s position as the holy center of creation and David’s position as the divinely-chosen monarch among the nations of the world. YHWH had sworn to a běrît ʿôlām, an “eternal covenant,” to see to the security

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of creation (Gen 9:8–17; Exod 31:12–17), the ancestors of the people of Israel and their descendants (Gen 17:3–14; Psalm 105), the royal house of David (2 Sam 23:1–7; Psalms 89; cf. 2 Sam 7:8–16; 1 Chr 17:7–14; Psalms 2; 110) and Zion (Psalm 132; cf. 1 Kings 8; 2 Chronicles 6), and the priesthood through the line of Phineas ben Eleazar ben Aharon that would serve in the Jerusalem Temple (Numbers 25). Both Ezekiel and Isaiah posit that YHWH’s punishment of Israel and Jerusalem/Judah takes place within the context of the natural world of creation and that it coincides with YHWH’s punishment of the nations as well. Natural imagery permeates both books. Animals run wild, plants and trees become uncontrollable, and the land itself becomes polluted in the book of Ezekiel during the course of Jerusalem’s and Israel’s punishment.31 Likewise in Isaiah, wild animals run through YHWH’s vineyard, the land produces thorns and briars, the metaphors of cut, beaten, and growing trees portray the status of Israel, Judah, and even Assyria in Isaiah’s depictions of punishment. Indeed, the purported wrongdoing of Israel and Judah in both books affects the whole of creation in Ezekiel and Isaiah in keeping with the postulates of Zion/Davidic theology that YHWH is the sovereign creator of nature and the nations as well as the guarantor of Zion and the house David. The portrayal of the nations is also a key point in both Ezekiel and Isaiah insofar as both include large blocks of oracles concerning the nations in Ezekiel 25–32 and Isaiah 13–23 respectively as well as numerous other references to the roles, experiences, and fates of the nations in relation to Jerusalem/Judah and Israel. Ezekiel 25–32 includes a sequence of oracles concerning Ammon (Ezek 25:1–7); Moab (Ezek 25:8–11); Moab (Ezek 25:12–14); Philistia (Ezek 25:15–17); Tyre (and Sidon, Ezekiel 26–28); and Egypt (Ezekiel 29–32). The absence of Babylon and the exilic setting of the book suggest that Babylon will be employed as YHWH’s agent of punishment throughout the book of Ezekiel, although we must recognize that Ezekiel’s scenario constitutes an ideal vision of punishment insofar as Egypt never fell to the Babylonians and Tyre succumbed to Babylon but was never destroyed in quite the manner portrayed in Ezekiel 26–28. Although an oracle concerning Babylon is lacking in the 31 See Julie Galambush, “G-d’s Land and Mine: Creation as Property in the Book of Ezekiel,” in: Cook and Patton, (ed.), Ezekiel’s Hierarchical World, pp. 91–108.

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oracles concerning the nations, the portrayal of the defeat of the army of Gog from Magog in Ezekiel 38–39 immediately following the oracles concerning the restoration the dry bones and the reunification of Joseph and Judah under the Davidic monarch in Ezekiel 37 and immediately prior to the vision of the restored Temple, Israel, and creation in Ezekiel 40–48 likely indicates that Gog from Magog represents the impending downfall of Babylon. Such divine judgment of Babylon like that meted out to the nations in Ezekiel is in accordance with Ezekiel’s view of the Zion/Davidic tradition and its portrayal of YHWH as sovereign of creation and the nations. Isaiah 13–23 likewise includes a sequence of oracles concerning the nations including Babylon (Isaiah 13:1–14:23); Assyria (Isa 14:24–27); Philistia (Isa 14:28–32); Moab (Isaiah 15–16); Aram and Israel (the Syro-Ephraimitic coalition; Isaiah 17); Egypt (Isaiah 18–20); the Desert of the Sea (Babylon, Isa 21:1–10); Edom (Isa 21:11–12); Arabia (Isa 21:13–17); the Valley of Vision (Jerusalem, Isaiah 22); and Tyre (Isaiah 23).32 Because the present form of the book stems from the early Persian period, interpreters have noted that the initial oracle concerning Babylon in Isaiah 13 is likely the result of exilic-period redaction and that the oracle concerning the Babylonian king in Isa 14:1–23 originally referred to the death of the Assyrian monarch Sargon II. Otherwise, Isaiah’s oracles concerning the nations appear to be the product of the prophet himself or the so-called Josianic or Assyrian redaction of Isaiah that posited the downfall of Assyria and the restoration of Israel and Judah under a new Davidic monarch in the aftermath of Assyria’s downfall. Whether from Isaiah himself or read in the Josianic period, Isaiah’s oracles concerning the nations posit that that the punishment of Israel and Judah will take place in the context of divine judgment of the nations, in which Assyria will function as YHWH’s instrument of punishment before itself falling to YHWH’s power and justice in both the Isaian and Josian editions of the book. In both instances, Isaiah’s oracles concerning the nations likewise reflect the Davidic/Zion tradition of YHWH’s sovereignty over the nations of the world as well as YHWH’s promise of a běrît ʿôlām to Jerusalem/Israel and the house of David.

32 For treatment of the oracles concerning the nations in Isaiah 1–39, see Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, pp. 212–311, esp. pp. 212–217.

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Although Ezekiel’s oracles concerning the nations share much the same presupposition as Isaiah’s oracles, the sequence of Ezekiel’s oracles is adapted to the perspectives of his time. Assyria, Aram, and Arabia are all irrelevant in Ezekiel’s time as these nations had been absorbed into the Babylonian empire. Otherwise, the nations of Isaiah’s sequence, Philistia, Moab, Israel, Egypt, Edom, Jerusalem, and Tyre, are all included in Ezekiel in one form or another. In this respect, Ezekiel updates the earlier Josian and Isaian oracle blocks according to the needs and perspectives of the sixth century bce. V Ezekiel’s portrayal of the restoration of the Temple, the Davidic monarch, and the twelve tribes of Israel at the center of a renewed creation builds upon the ideals of the Josianic program of religious reform and national restoration, particularly as they are expressed in the Isaian tradition, in order to epitomize the ideology of the Zion/David tradition in the early exilic period. Ezekiel’s concern with the restoration of Jerusalem/Judah and Israel is already apparent in the first segments of the book. His portrayal of the destruction of Jerusalem in Ezekiel 8–11 culminates in his view in Ezek 11:14–21 that those exiled will ultimately be gathered by YHWH to form he basis of the post-exilic restoration. Likewise, the various oracles concerning adulterous Jerusalem in Ezekiel 16, the allegory of the cedar in Ezekiel 17, his disputation concerning moral, holy conduct in Ezekiel 18, his assessment of Israel’s behavior in the wilderness in Ezekiel 20, and his oracles concerning Tyre and Sidon in Ezekiel 26–28 all culminate in promises of restoration for Israel. Although many of Ezekiel’s oracles concerning judgment appear with the prophetic proof saying or recognition formula, “and they shall know that I am YHWH,” YHWH’s promises of restoration once the punishment is over also constitute revelatory acts of YHWH in the book of Ezekiel.33

33 See Zimmerli, “Knowledge of G-d according to the Book of Ezekiel,” I am YHWH, pp. 29–98. On the divine proof saying, see Zimmerli, “The Word of Divine Self-Manifestation (Proof Saying): A Prophetic Genre,” I am YHWH, pp. 99–110; idem, Ezekiel 1, pp. 36–40; Ronald M. Hals, Ezekiel (FOTL 19; Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1989), pp. 353–354.

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Key elements of Ezekiel’s visions of restoration appear in the latter portions of the book, particularly the prophet’s disputations concerning YHWH’s role in bringing about punishment and restoration in Ezekiel 33:21–39:29 and his vision of the restored Temple, Israel, and creation in Ezekiel 40–48. Insofar as these blocks of material envision a reunification of northern Israel and southern Judah centered at the Jerusalem Temple and the Davidic monarch, they appear to preserve the legacy of the ideals of King Josiah’s failed restoration in the aftermath of the exilic period. Ezekiel 33:21–39:29 plays an especially important role in Ezekiel’s portrayal of restoration in portraying the prophet’s view of future restoration.34 The block is constituted as a disputation concerning YHWH’s role as author of creation in bringing about the re-sanctification of the land through punishment and restoration. The block begins in Ezek 33:21–22 with a notice of the fall of Jerusalem in the twelfth year of exile, i.e., 585 bce, and the end of Ezekiel’s dumbness. His various oracles then follow. Ezekiel 33:23–33 reiterates YHWH’s role in bringing punishment to the land for its impurity as argued earlier in the book. Ezekiel 34 envisions the punishment of Israel’s leaders and the restoration of the house of David. Ezekiel 35:1–36:15 envisions the punishment of Edom and the restoration of Israel. Ezekiel 36:16–37:14 envisions re-sanctification of the land for the sake of the divine name by portraying the restoration of the dry bones to life. Such a vision is especially important because it purges the land from the impurity of death and makes the restoration of the holy Temple possible.35 Ezekiel 37:15–28 envisions the restoration and reunification of Joseph and Judah, i.e., the former northern kingdom of Israel, together with Judah. The emphasis on a single nation ruled once again by a Davidic monarch and gathered around the restored Jerusalem Temple recalls the ideals of the Josian reform from Ezekiel’s early years. The famous Gog from Magog oracles in Ezekiel 38–39, often separated from their context in the book as late proto-apocalyptic additions, emphasize the purging of the land by burning the bodies of the dead soldiers of Gog or allowing them to be consumed by scavenger birds once again purifies the land for the restoration of the holy Temple. 34 For discussion of Ezekiel 33:21–39:29, see my essay, “The Assertion of Divine Power in Ezekiel 33:21–39:29,” Form and Intertextuality, pp. 156–172. 35 The resurrection of the dead bones in Ezek 37:1–14 likewise symbolizes national restoration (see Jon D. Levenson, Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel: The Ultimate Victory of the G-d of Life [New Haven and London, 2006], esp. pp. 156–165).

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The culmination of the book of Ezekiel then appears in Ezekiel 40–48 with the vision of the restored Jerusalem Temple, the restored twelve tribes of Israel together with their Davidic monarch around the Temple, and the restored creation in which even the Dead Sea emerges as a fertile region filled with fish and overgrown with plant life. Although many scholars argue that Ezekiel 40–48 is a late addition to the book, Levenson rightly observes that it forms the quintessential goal of the book and “the crown and consummation” of Ezekiel’s life work.36 Again, such a vision gives expression to the ideals of Josiah’s reform, but it also expresses the ideals articulated in the book of Isaiah, albeit from a somewhat different perspective. The Isaian tradition emphasizes both the restoration of righteous Davidic kingship and the reunified tribes of Israel. Isaiah 8:23–9:6, for example, emphasizes that the regions of Zebulun and Naphtali, the Way of the Sea or Jezreel Valley, the region east of the Jordan, and the Galilee, all regions of northern Israel lost to the Assyrians in the eighth century bce, will be restored to the righteous house of David when the rod of their taskmaster is broken as on the day of Midian. Isaiah 11:1–16 envisions the growth of a shoot from the stump of Jesse who will metaphorically grow into the new righteous Davidic monarch to oversee the reunification of northern Israel and southern Judah and the redemption of YHWH’s people from Assyria, Pathros, Nubia, Elam, Shinar, Hamath, and the coastlands, all areas to which Israelites had been exiled by the Assyrians. The return and reunification of the exiles would signal the resumption of Israel’s mastery of Philistia, Edom, Moab, and Ammon as well as the punishment of Assyria and Egypt. Finally, Isaiah 32 looks forward to the reign of the righteous king who overseas the transformation of the wilderness to farm land, the emergence of justice and righteousness, and the dwelling of the people in peace. But whereas Isaiah envisions such peace and tranquility as the product of the restored and reunified nation under the rule of the righteous Davidic monarch, Ezekiel envisions such a scenario as the product of the restored Temple around which the people are reunited and creation is restored. In Ezekiel’s scenario, the Davidic monarch also worships YHWH at the restored Temple. Indeed, the central role of the Temple in such an ideal scenario is reiterated in the final statement of the book in Ezek 40:35, “YHWH is there,” viz., 36

Levenson, Theology of the Program of Restoration of Ezekiel 40–48, p. 10.

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the final act of YHWH’s revelation in Ezekiel is the restoration of YHWH’s holy presence to the Temple with all of its entourage. Ezekiel builds upon Isaiah’s royalist perspective by emphasizing the priestly dimension of divine holiness as the basis for Israel’s future. In doing so, the book of Ezekiel recalls the basis for Josiah’s reform, i.e., the restoration of the Jerusalem Temple and the center of a reunified Israel rule by an ideal Davidic king. VI In conclusion, we may observe that von Rad was quite correct in observing the intellectual breadth and theological perspective of the book of Ezekiel, but that he also fell far short in viewing Ezekiel’s priestly identity as a constraint to that intellectual breadth rather than as its foundation. The book of Ezekiel portrays him as a Zadokite priest who found himself in Babylonia at the edges of creation in an unclean land. Despite this very unfamiliar and unexpected turn in his life, Ezekiel drew upon his priestly identity to emerge as a visionary prophet of the Babylonian exile. As such, he pursued his task as a priest to teach the people the difference between the holy and the profane and between the clean and the unclean so they might prepare themselves for the restoration of Temple, the reunification of the people, the reestablishment of the house of David, and even the rejuvenation of creation itself in keeping with the priestly view of Israel as a holy people dedicated to YHWH. Given his birth in 622 bce at the outset of Josiah’s reforms, Ezekiel articulates his vision of Jerusalem’s and Israel’s purging and their restoration in accordance with the ideals of King Josiah’s reforms and the Isaian tradition which played such an important role in justifying and defining Josiah’s program. In the end, the book of Ezekiel stays true to the principles of Josiah’s reform while accounting for the very real challenges posed by the king’s early death and the subsequent fall of Jerusalem to Babylonia and the exile of its people. The Isaian tradition forms an important basis for Ezekiel’s viewpoint, but the book of Ezekiel makes sure to posit that the restored Temple – rather than simply the restored Davidic monarchy – forms the foundation for the ultimate realization of Josiah’s reform when Jews would return to Jerusalem following the end of the Babylonian exile to restore the covenant between YHWH and Israel.

FAREWELL TO DEUTEROISAIAH OR PROPHECY WITHOUT A PROPHET Ulrich Berges Introduction The present article is divided into five parts. First, the main stages of the development of the Deutero-Isaiah-hypothesis in Is 40–55 will be presented. In the second part the most important critical voices against the theory will be heard. In the third part the results of redaction-critical research will be summarized and evaluated. The fourth part will offer an alternative explanation, and this new reading will be put to the test in the fifth part by an analysis of some crucial passages in Is 40–48.1 I. The Main Stages of the Deutero-Isaiah-Hypothesis2 The biblical testimony seems to be unequivocal because the superscript in Is 1:1 presents all sixty-six chapters of this book as the “vision of Isaiah son of Amoz, which he saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem in the days of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah, kings of Judah“. There is no other prophet who bears this name either in the biblical tradition or in rabbinic literature. According to the Martyrium Jesaiae from the last third of the 1st century ce Isaiah died as a martyr, sawn in two, under the Judean king Manasseh (cf. Hebr 11:17; jSanh 10,2; bSanh 103b). The testimony of the Great Scroll of Isaiah strengthens the authorship of Isaiah for the whole text because Is 40:1 is written immediately after 39:8, admittedly as a new paragraph, but in the last line of column XXXII (see the difference with Is 34:1 where a three-line space is

1 This restriction has only a practical reason, in that the first volume of my forthcoming commentary in the Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament (HThKAT) is limited to Is 40–48. 2 U. Berges, Profetie zonder profeet. Het afscheid van Deuterojesaja (Nijmegen, 2007).

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left at the bottom of column XXVII, i.e. after Is 33:24).3 The theological reason lies in the conviction that the word of YHWH is valid through all generations. That was also the belief in Ben Sira’s statement about Isaiah at whose command the sun turned backwards in the days of Hezekiah and who saw the future events and comforted the mourners of Zion (Sir 48:22–25). The idea that Isaiah was the author of the whole book remained unchallenged until the end of the 18th century, with the exception of Abraham Ibn Ezra. In his Commentary on Isaiah, written in 1145 in Lucca, he compares the last part of the book about the future consolation with the book of Samuel which, according to the orthodox opinion, was written by Samuel himself. For Ibn Ezra that could only be true as far as the words in 1 Sam 25:1: “now Samuel died . . .”. The conclusion lies at hand: only those parts of the book of Isaiah can be retraced to the prophet himself where he figures among the living, i.e. until ch. 39. Ibn Ezra did not openly present his conclusion about the non-authorship of Isaiah for Is 40ff because he feared the orthodox reaction.4 With the breakthrough of critical biblical research, the gap in the narrated time (“Erzählzeit”) of more than 150 years between Is 39:8 and 40:1 could not be bridged over any more by a reference to the visionary force of Isaiah ben Amoz. The most serious argument against his authorship was the fact that the name of Cyrus II (559–530 bce) is explicitly mentioned twice (Is 44:28; 45:1). It was especially at this point that orthodox-ecclesial and rationalistic-liberal opinions confronted each other. The discussion still exists nowadays as the following quotation shows: “Isaiah of Jerusalem did indeed predict the Babylonian exile, and in so doing showed how the towering theology that he applied to events in his own lifetime would become even more towering in relation to those new situations that he could see in outline, but not in detail”.5 But such a position cannot be maintained any more without reservations: “These facts cannot mean anything else but 3 Cf. D.W. Parry and E. Qimron, The Great Isaiah Scroll (1Q Isaa). A New Edition (STDJ 32; Leiden, 1999). 4 H. Graf Reventlow, Epochen der Bibelauslegung Bd. II. Von der Spätantike bis zum ausgehenden Mittelalter (München, 1994), pp. 256f; U. Simon, “Ibn Ezra between Medievalism and Modernism. The Case of Isaiah XL–LXVI” in: J.A. Emerton (ed.), Congress Volume, Salamanca 1983 (VTSup 36; Leiden, 1985), pp. 257–271. 5 J.N. Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah. Chapters 40–66 (NICOT; Grand Rapids, 1998), p. 6.

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that the person or persons responsible for the final form of the book wish us to believe that the specific predictions of Cyrus were given far enough in advance that they could not have been part of any normal process of forecasting future events”.6 That Isaiah ben Amoz could not have been the author of the Cyrus-predictions was the opinion of Johann Christoph Döderlein (1746–1792), professor at the University of Altdorf: “The dogmatic of Christians cannot be the dogmatic of the contemporaries of Isaiah, and where Cyrus is depicted, there I do not think of the Messiah”.7 In the third edition of his commentary on Isaiah (1789) he presented for the first time explicitly the opinion that the “oratio” from ch. 40 onwards did not originate with Isaiah ben Amoz but was written at the end of the exile by an anonymous or homonymous ancient prophet.8 Some thirty years ago (1977), Jean M. Vincent showed that Döderlein did not reach his conclusion by detailed exegetical investigations but that he was pushed by his desire to maintain the prophetical legitimacy of chs. 40–66. By postulating an ancient anonymous or perhaps even homonymous prophet he steered a middle course between the orthodox belief that the whole book was written by Isaiah and the rationalistic opinion that Is 40–66 could not have been written by the prophet and was thus void of authority. Without mentioning Döderlein, Johann Gottfried Eichhorn (1752–1827) presented in his famous introduction (1783) the idea of an exilic author for at least chs. 40–52 but he saw the whole question in a more complicated fashion when he spoke of an anthology of oracles or of a florilegium of prophetic poetry.9 The real and long-lasting success of the idea of an anonymous exilic prophet came with Bernhard Duhm (1847–1928) and his epochal commentary on Isaiah (1892). He separated the four servant songs (42:1–4; 49:1–6; 50:4–9; 52:13–53:12) from the main body of texts, as well as the polemics against idolatry and gave the anonymous author of chs. 40–55 the artificial name “Deutero-Isaiah”,

6 Oswalt, 1998, p. 196 (italics U.B.). It must be underlined that these critical remarks do not intend to devalue the quality of this commentary in general. 7 J.C. Döderlein, Auserlesene Bibliothek I, 11 (Leipzig, 1781), p. 832; quoted from J.M. Vincent, Zur literarischen Eigenart und zur geistigen Heimat von Jesaja, Kap. 40–55 (Frankfurt a. M., 1977), p. 17: “Die Dogmatik der Christen kann nicht die Dogmatik der Zeitgenossen des Esaias seyn, und wo Cyrus beschrieben ist, da denke ich nicht an den Meßias.” 8 Cf. M. Mulzer, “Döderlein und Deuterojesaja”, BN 66 (1993) pp. 15–22. 9 Vincent, 1977, p. 21.

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inventing a third Isaiah (“Trito-Isaiah”) for chs. 56–66.10 As it happens often, the hypothesis turned into an indisputable fact and the anonymous exilic prophet developed into a real personality. He even became the summary and climax of Israelite prophecy.11 Duhm and his followers should have been more cautious because in his book Israels Propheten (1916) he entitled one chapter “Deutero-Isaiah and the anonymous contemporary prophets”, referring to the authors of Is 13–14 and Is 21, each of whom depicted the fall of Babylon.12 Thus for each and every part of the Book of Isaiah that historically follows Isaiah ben Amoz an anonymous author has to be invented. Consequently Duhm should have named them “Quarto-” and “Quinto-Isaiah”. If he had done so, the success of his Deutero-Isaiah hypothesis would most probably have been less overwhelming. II. Some Critical Voices All Too Long Forgotten For Wilhelm Caspari in his book “Lieder und Gottessprüche der Rückwanderer” [i.e. songs and divine oracles of the returnees] the anonymity of the author “Deutero-Isaiah” is the greatest obstacle to accepting the opinion of the mainstream. According to him the personal name is not just a formality but is the basis for a personal tradition. Without a name the historical person cannot be distinguished from the pre-historical human being. Full of irony he underlines: “No painter of the portrait of Deutero-Isaiah lacks brush, palette, colours and divination . . . all that is missing is the nail to hang up the painting.”13 His main point of criticism remains valid until today. The lack of a personal name, the complete absence of a personality cannot be counterbalanced by an invented nametag and some educated guesses about an 10 B. Duhm, Das Buch Jesaja (Göttingen, 5. ed. 1968), pp. 14–15; see the treatise by Duhm written when he was just 23 years old in January 1871, “De inspiratione prophetarum” (edited by R. Smend), in: V. Fritz et alii (ed.), Prophet und Prophetenbuch. FS O. Kaiser (BZAW 185; Berlin, 1989) pp. 217–230. 11 Duhm, 1968, pp. 286–287 and especially B. Duhm, Israels Propheten (Tübingen, 1916), pp. 291–292. 12 Duhm, 1916, p. 285: “Von drei jüdischen Autoren, deren Namen wir nicht kennen, besitzen wir prophetische Dichtungen aus dieser Zeit, von dem sogenannten Deuterojesaia und zwei anderen, von denen der eine mehr Poet als Prophet, der andere ein echter Seher ist.” 13 W. Caspari, Lieder und Gottessprüche der Rückwanderer (Jesaja 40–55) (BZAW 65; Giessen, 1934) p. 228: “Keinem Porträtisten Dtjes’s fehlten Pinsel Palette Farben Divination, nur – der Nagel zum Aufhängen des Gemäldes.”

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anonymous exilic prophet. For the sake of clarity, it must be noted that Caspari did not challenge the literary peculiarity of Is 40–55 but rather the invention of a biographical prophet for these chapters.14 The great success of the hypothesis of a biographical Deutero-Isaiah in exegesis and theology is mainly due to the concept of prophets as inspired individuals. Furthermore in Christian perspective Isaiah was considered as the messenger and precursor of the prophet from Nazareth. Hence it did not seem fitting that the important texts from the Book of Isaiah for Christian theology and liturgy (cf. Is 7; 9; 11; 53) should be attributed to the redactional activity of unknown writers of the Second Temple Period. This point was already made by Joachim Becker in 1968: “Precisely the fact that we do not have the author’s name speaks in favour of the view that there were redactors behind these texts. Real prophets do not remain anonymous, unlike the great “editors” (Bearbeiter) of the biblical books, and that with good reasons”.15 The same position was defended by Diethelm Michel in 1967, but published only ten years later (1977).16 Another critical voice was that of Klaus Kiesow in his dissertation from 1977, published two years later: According to him, in contrast to the priestly stratum or to the deuteronomistic school “Deutero-Isaiah” received so many personal traits because of the desire to link these important texts to a real prophet.17 In summary: the fact of anonymity presents the greatest obstacle for the hypothesis of Deutero-Isaiah as an exilic

14

Caspari, 1934, p. 244: “. . . der persönliche Dtjes war eine Zimmerpflanze auf dem Gelehrten-Schreibtische.” 15 J. Becker, Isaias – der Prophet und sein Buch (SBS 30; Stuttgart, 1968), p. 38: “Gerade die Tatsache, daß wir den Verfasser nicht mit Namen kennen, spricht dafür, daß ein Bearbeiter oder Redaktor am Werk ist. Wirkliche Prophetengestalten sind nicht anonym geblieben, wohl hingegen die großen Bearbeiter der biblischen Bücher, und das aus guten Gründen.” J. Becker, “Zur Beurteilung von Jes 48,22 und 57,21”, BN 119/120 (2003), pp. 5–7 (here 7 “Irrlicht der Forschung”). 16 D. Michel, “Deuterojesaja” (TRE 8; Berlin, 1981), p. 250; id., “Das Rätsel Deuterojesaja”, ThViat 13 (1977), pp. 115–132; repr. id. Studien zur Überlieferungsgeschichte alttestamentlicher Texte (ThBü 93; Gütersloh, 1997), pp. 199–218; R.J. Coggins, “Do We Still Need Deutero-Isaiah?”, JSOT 80 (1998), pp. 77–92 (esp. p. 91). 17 K. Kiesow, Exodustexte im Jesajabuch. Literarkritische und motivgeschichtliche Analysen (OBO 24; Fribourg, 1979), pp. 16–17; H.M. Barstad, “The Future of the ‘Servant Songs’. Some Reflections on the Relationship of Biblical Scholarship to Its Own Tradition”, in: S.E. Balentine; J. Barton (ed.), Language, Theology and the Bible. FS. J. Barr (Oxford, 1994), pp. 261–270 (esp. 269–270); T.C. Römer, “Tendances dualistes dans quelques écrits bibliques de l’époque perse”, Transeuphratène 23 (2002), p. 49: “Mais le fait qu’il s’agisse d’une collection anonyme ne parle guère en faveur de la thèse d’un auteur unique.”

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prophetic writer. All attempts to find the missing link of the personal name, for example in the name ‫“ ְמ ֻשׁ ָלּם‬Meshullam” (Is 42,19), are doomed to failure.18 There is another phenomenon that has to be taken seriously, namely, not only is there no personal name but also any personal trait is missing in the text. In contrast to Ezekiel in Babylon (cf. Ezek 1:1; 24:1; 26:1; 29:1), for the supposed anonymous author of Is 40ff no such personal situations are presented. In contrast to the repeated formula in Ezekiel “the word of YHWH came to me” (6:1; 7:1; 12:1,8 etc.) no such example is found in Is 40ff. There is no individual prophetic first person singular references in these chapters (for 40:6 and 48:16 see the analysis below). The I-speech in the second and third Servantsongs (Is 49:1ff; 50:4ff) cannot be used to fill this biographical vacuum because these texts are completely written in a style (“formgebundene Sprache”) that permits no insight into a personal biography.19 The suffering and death of the servant-figure in Is 53 too cannot be interpreted as an individual destiny. The disapproval of Julius Wellhausen is still compelling: “It is a hazardous supposition to think of an incomparably great prophet who was martyred in exile, perhaps by his own people – a prophet who then disappeared. The statements do not fit a real prophet. Such a one does not have the task of converting all the pagans, still less did a real prophet succeed in that task.”20

18 See R. Levitt Kohn and W.H.C. Propp, “The Name of ‘Second Isaiah’. The Forgotten Theory of Nehemiah Rabban”, in: A.B. Beck et alii (ed.), Fortunate the Eyes That See, FS D.N. Freedman (Grand Rapids, 1995), pp. 223–235; cf. the negative conclusion of K. Seybold, “Der Name Deuterojesajas”, in: id., Die Sprache der Propheten. Studien zur Literaturgeschichte der Prophetie (Zürich 1999), pp. 211–215. 19 This is even admitted by H.J. Hermisson who reckons with an individual Deutero-Isaiah, “Deuterojesaja” (RGG 4. ed. Vol. 2; Tübingen, 1999), pp. 684–685: “Mit einer verbreiteten Auslegung der Gottesknechtslieder . . . kann man versuchen, hier etwas über die Person des Propheten zu erfahren, bes. sein Leiden und sein Tod, doch verbietet die formgebundene und bilderreiche Sprache jede nähere biogr. Deutung.” 20 J. Wellhausen, Israelitische und Jüdische Geschichte (Berlin, 9. ed. 1958; repr. 1981), p. 152 n. 1: “Die Annahme ist abenteuerlich, daß im Exil ein unvergleichlicher Prophet, womöglich von seinen eigenen Landsleuten, zum Märtyrer gemacht, dann aber verschollen wäre. Die Aussagen passen auch nicht auf einen wirklichen Propheten. Der hat nicht die Aufgabe und noch weniger den Erfolg, alle Heiden zu bekehren.”

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III. Redaction-Criticism in Is 40–55 and the Opening of an Alternative It was not by chance that redaction-critical research in these chapters started quite late (around 1980), much later than critical investigation in the areas of the Pentateuch and of the historical books (DtrH).21 The theological importance of Is 40–55, sustained by the hypothesis of real prophetic authorship, prevented its dissection into different layers of redaction. There is neither space nor need to retrace in detail the different redaction-critical approaches but some results need to be summarized in view of the Deutero-Isaiah-Hypothesis, especially with regard to the possibility of identifying a basic document (“Grundschrift”) that goes back to the anonymous prophet himself.22 The fact that no two proposals coincide in the delimitation of the basic layer cannot admittedly be used as a final proof against this diachronic approach but it certainly does not strengthen its position. Additionally there is a growing conviction that the basic layer was limited to chs. 41–45, i.e. excluding even the so-called prologue in 40:1–11. Some critics even reduce the literary traces of the anonymous prophet strictly to those passages that speak of the imminent appearance of Cyrus.23 Without doubt the habitat of the exilic prophet, i.e. the chapters in which he is supposed to be found, is getting smaller and smaller.24 But this is not the only or even the main problem in the field of redaction criticism on these chapters. In his pioneering work which

21 See the overview in P. Höffken, Jesaja. Der Stand der theologischen Diskussion (Darmstadt, 2004), pp. 109–110. 22 See the summaries in H.J. Hermisson, “Einheit und Komplexität Deuterojesajas. Probleme der Redaktionsgeschichte von Jes 40–55”, in: J. Vermeylen (ed.), The Book of Isaiah (BETL 81; Leuven 1989), p. 311; R.G. Kratz, Kyros im Deuterojesaja-Buch. Redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Entstehung und Theologie von Jes 40–55 (FAT 1; Tübingen, 1991), p. 217; J. van Oorschot, Von Babel zum Zion. Eine literarkritische und redaktionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (BZAW 206; Berlin 1993), p. 345; still U. Berges, Das Buch Jesaja. Komposition und Endgestalt (HBS 16; Freiburg i.Br. 1998), p. 549. 23 J. Vermeylen, “L’unité du livre d’Isaïe”, in: id. (ed.) The Book of Isaiah (BETL 81; Leuven 1989), p. 41: Is 40:9,11; 40:12–41:5*; 41:21–29*; 42:5–7*; 44:24–28*; 45:1–7*; 45:11–13*; 46:9–11*; 48:12–15*. 24 Regarding the Servant Songs, C. Conroy, “The ‘Four Servant Poems’ in Second Isaiah in the Light of Recent Redaction-Historical Studies”, in: C. McCarthy and J.F. Healey (eds.), Biblical and Near Eastern Essays. Studies in Honour of Kevin J. Cathcart (JSOTS 375; London, 2004), pp. 80–94.

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according to my knowledge has not received due attention especially in the English-speaking exegetical world, Jürgen Werlitz showed that the basic document, whose oldest part is to be found in 42:14–44:23*, included right from the beginning material of different origins (words about Cyrus, judgement oracles, disputation words, some passages of the so-called polemics against foreign gods).25 The assignment of these texts to the basic document was made possible and indeed necessary, because the notion of an individual prophet was abandoned in favour of an exilic-postexilic group close to the singers of the Jerusalem temple. This group is held responsible for the first book edition (“Buchedition”) (40:1–52:10*) with the so-called hymns as structuring elements (Is 42:10ff; 44:23; 45:8; 48:20f; 52:9f). This first edition was probably completed once the group came back to Jerusalem around the year 520 bce but it originated in the Babylonian Exile as an attempt to find renewed strength and hope in YHWH. The primary goal of the first edition did not consist in convincing others but rather in encouraging the prophetic authors themselves to remain faithful to their vocation of being the offspring of Jacob/Israel.26 Hermeneutically speaking this is of the highest importance: In the period of the production and literary development of the prophetic scrolls the writers are still identical with the first readers.27 The notion that the main corpus of Is 40–55 was composed by a group of temple-singers first in Babylon and then after their return to Jerusalem is gaining more and more credit in recent research. Some scholars still consider the possibility that “Deutero-Isaiah” was the “spiritus rector” of those singers, a kind of “chef du groupe”,28 oth-

25 J. Werlitz, “Jesaja, Jesajabuch” (LThK Vol 5; Freiburg i. Br., 1996), p. 789 “Autorenkreis”; J. Werlitz, Redaktion und Komposition. Zur Rückfrage hinter die Endgestalt von Jesaja 40–55 (BBB 122; Berlin, 1999), p. 289: “Autorenkollektiv”; cf. the skepticism of H. Leene, “Auf der Suche nach einem redaktionskritischen Modell für Jesaja 40–55”, ThLZ 121 (1996), p. 818: “Meines Erachtens hat es eine solche Grundschrift nie gegeben.” 26 Werlitz, 1999, p. 362f; for the hymns see esp. F. Matheus, Singt dem Herrn ein neues Lied. Die Hymnen Deuterojesajas (SBS 141; Stuttgart, 1990). 27 O.H. Steck, Die Prophetenbücher und ihr theologisches Zeugnis. Wege der Nachfrage und Fährten zur Antwort (Tübingen, 1996), p. 15. 28 Michel, 1981, p. 521; R. Albertz, Die Exilszeit. 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Biblische Enzyklopädie 7; Stuttgart, 2001), pp. 285f; cf. earlier H.C. Schmitt, “Prophetie und Schultheologie im Deuterojesajabuch. Beobachtungen zur Redaktionsgeschichte von Jes 40–55”, ZAW 91 (1979), p. 59.

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ers clearly do not accept this,29 and still others remain undecided on this question.30 But if one favours the notion of Deutero-Isaiah as the leader of a group of prophetic writers, the central problem, i.e. his anonymity, still remains unresolved.31 If Deutero-Isaiah had been the leading figure of the group his namelessness would be even more puzzling: why should his disciples not have preserved his name and identity? If the analogy to the poets of the Psalms holds, then one would expect that at least some personal name (on the model of “Asaph” or “Korah”) would have been transmitted by the group of prophetic writers.32 To sum up: in recent publications the idea of Deutero-Isaiah as an individual prophet, responsible for the basic document of Is 40ff, has been considerably weakened33 if not openly abandoned.34 Even those who still maintain the hypothesis of an individual exilic author implicitly recognize the alternative of an authorial group.35 It should be stressed that not only those scholars who favour an alternative solution are obliged to present their reasons but also those who maintain the Deutero-Isaiah-hypothesis. Only seldom is it admitted that such

29 Chr. Levin, Das Alte Testament (München 2. ed. 2003), p. 85: “Doch ist die Frage nach der Person des Propheten bei diesem Buch noch weniger angemessen als sonst. Die eigene Prägung, die Deuterojesaja besitzt, beruht vor allem auf den verwendeten Gattungen. Sie ist keine individuelle Signatur.” 30 O.H. Steck, “Israel und Zion. Zum Problem konzeptioneller Einheit und literarischer Schichtung in Deuterojesaja”, in: id., Studien zu Tritojesaja (BZAW 203; Berlin 1991), pp. 174f leaves the question open but remarks [in the direction of Hermisson and Kratz] that the assumption of an individual prophet cannot be taken for granted any more. 31 See Hermisson, 1999, p. 684: “Die intensive Verwendung der Sprach- und Formenwelt der Psalmen legt nahe, daß Dtjes aus den Kreisen der Kultsänger stammte; seine Anonymität entspräche der Namenlosigkeit der Psalmendichter.” 32 Cf. J.C. Kim, Verhältnis Jahwes zu anderen Göttern in Deuterojesaja (Diss. Heidelberg, 1962), p. 264: “levitical background”. 33 R.G. Kratz, Die Propheten Israels (München, 2003), p. 98: “Insofern ist die Gleichsetzung von Gottesknecht und Deuterojesaja durchaus richtig, nur, daß Deuterojesaja keine reale Person, sondern ein Buch ist und der Gottesknecht das fleischgewordene Gotteswort des Buches Deuterojesaja.” 34 E.S. Gerstenberger, Israel in der Perserzeit. 5. und 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Biblische Enzyklopädie 8; Stuttgart, 2005), p. 248: “In den starken Heilworten zeichnet sich ein Profil der Gemeinde ab. Es kommen Rufer, Prediger zu Wort, von ‘Propheten’ ist nicht die Rede. Nur die literarischen Fußspuren der göttlich autorisierten Sprecher sind zu entdecken.” 35 K. Schmid, “Das Jesajabuch”, in: J.C. Gertz (ed.), Grundinformation Altes Testament (UTB 2745; Göttingen 2006), p. 328: “Man darf deshalb nach wie vor mit einem Propheten ‘Deuterojesaja’ hinter Kap. 40ff rechnen, auch wenn wir seinen Namen nicht kennen” (italic U.B.).

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reasons cannot be put forward.36 Even those who support an anonymous author acknowledge that his oracles cannot be clearly separated from the tradition out of which they came.37 The inference that proceeds from the basic document to the individual prophet cannot be maintained any more. IV. The Alternative Solution The foregoing overview of the development and present situation of research in Is 40ff shows that the alternative explanation, i.e. a group of writers instead of an individual prophet, has to be taken into serious consideration. There is no doubt that Is 40–55 conserves Israelite traditions that are close to those of Jerusalem temple-singers. If this is the case, then the distinction between the supposed prophet and the traditions becomes even more blurred. Thus Is 51:9f with the motif of the divine fight against the forces of chaos to re-establish not only the security of Jerusalem but also the cosmic order has much in common with the Psalms of Korah (Ps 42–49; 84; 85; 87; 88).38 The closeness of the hymnic passages in Is 40–55 to Ps 96 and 98 with their praise of the universal kingship of YHWH has often been observed and described. In favour of the thesis that those texts in Is 40–55 depend on the psalms in question, one can point to the fact that the contacts are restricted precisely to these passages in Second Isaiah. The writers and composers of Is 40–55 used the hymnic tradition of the Jerusalem temple-cult to organize and structure their literary drama of renewed hope and faith in YHWH, God of Jerusalem and of the whole world. If the dependence had been the other way around, then it would be hard to explain why these psalms did not make additional usage of other 36 H.C. Schmitt, Arbeitsbuch zum Alten Testament (UTB 2146; Göttingen, 2005), p. 323: “Sichere Anhaltspunkte für ein Auftreten des hinter der Grundschicht von Jes 40–55* stehenden Propheten im babylonischen Exil gibt es nicht . . .”; O.H. Steck, “Israel und Zion. Zum Problem konzeptioneller Einheit und literarischer Schichtung in Deuterojesaja”, in: id., Gottesknecht und Zion. Gesammelte Aufsätze zu Deuterojesaja (FAT 4; Tübingen 1992), pp. 173–207: “Da auch im Falle Deuterojesaja . . . hinter die Schrift-Ebene zu einem Propheten selbst zurückgegangen werden muß, aber nur schwer zurückgegangen werden kann . . .” (p. 199). 37 Kratz, 2003, p. 92: “Doch am Text lassen sich ursprüngliche Orakel und Überlieferung nicht mehr unterscheiden.” 38 Werlitz, 1999, p. 317, note 298: ‫ עור‬with YHWH Ps 44:24; ‫ עז‬Ps 46:2; 84:6; ‫זרוע‬ with YHWH Ps 44:4; ‫ ימי קדם‬Ps 44:2; ‫ רהב‬Ps 87:4; ‫ תהום‬Ps 42:8 (twice); ‫ מים‬as an element of chaos Ps 46:4.

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motifs in Is 40–55. In the words of Henk Leene: “It is difficult to imagine that a psalmist who was inspired by Deutero-Isaiah proceeded so selectively. The opposite is more likely: the composers of Isaiah 40–55 borrowed from an existent hymnic tradition for certain pivotal points of their dramatic composition, or even from these very songs passed on to us in Ps 98 and 96.”39 As it is well known, the affinities of Is 40–55 are not restricted to the Psalms but extend over a whole range of important traditions of the Hebrew Bible, such as the narratives of the patriarchs and the exodus, the prophetic judgement tradition, some elements of the Jerusalem Isaiah composition (“the Holy One of Israel”), influences from Jeremiah (especially the so-called confessions; see also Jer 31:35 in Is 51:15) and from Ezekiel (profanation of the name in Is 48:11 cf. Ezek 20:9,14,22),40 Deuteronomistic elements,41 Jerusalem cult traditions with the central motifs of Zion, the nations and the refashioned David-tradition (Is 55:3–5), the intimate connection of creation and history, in analogy to the priestly stratum of the Pentateuch. The combination and amalgamation of these traditions cannot be explained simply as a late phenomenon in the development of the prophetic writings (“Spätling in Israels Prophetie”),42 but has to be taken as another piece of evidence that these chapters were composed by a group, not by an individual. It is not the prophetic genius, the prophet as theologian43 who created this drama of hope but a group of skilled literary craftsmen who

39

H. Leene, “History and Eschatology in Deutero-Isaiah”, in: J. van Ruiten and M. Vervenne (eds.), Studies in the Book of Isaiah. FS W.A.M. Beuken (BETL 132; Leuven, 1997), pp. 221–249 (here 246); already C. Westermann, Das Buch Jesaja. Kapitel 40–66 (ATD 19; Göttingen, 5. ed. 1986), p. 11; O. Kaiser, Der königliche Knecht. Eine traditionsgeschichtlich-exegetische Studie über die Ebed-Jahwe-Lieder bei Deuterojesaja (FRLANT 70; Göttingen, 1959) p. 135; O. Kaiser, Grundriß der Einleitung in die kanonischen und deuterokanonischen Schriften des Alten Testaments. Vol. 2 (Gütersloh, 1994), p. 49: “Sprachlich und formgeschichtlich erweisen sich die Texte der dtjes Sammlung weithin den Traditionen der Jerusalemer Tempelsänger verpflichtet”. 40 D. Baltzer, Ezechiel und Deuterojesaja. Berührungen in der Heilserwartung der beiden großen Exilspropheten (BZAW 121; Berlin 1971). 41 A. Labahn, Wort Gottes und Schuld Israels. Untersuchungen zu Motiven deuteronomistischer Theologie im Deuterojesajabuch mit einem Ausblick auf das Verhältnis von Jes 40–55 zum Deuteronomismus (BWANT 143; Stuttgart 1999). 42 Cf. Hermisson, 1999, p. 687; R.E. Watts, “Echoes from the Past. Israel’s Ancient Traditions and the Destiny of the Nations in Isaiah 40–55”, JSOT 28 (2004), pp. 481– 508. 43 O.H. Steck, “Deuterojesaja als theologischer Denker”, in: id., Wahrnehmungen Gottes im Alten Testament. Gesammelte Studien (ThBü 70; München, 1969/1982), pp. 204–220.

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began their work in the land of Babylon seeing in Cyrus the sign of YHWH’s sovereignty above all forces in heaven and on earth. They are the vanguard of those exiled Judeans who decided after the violent suppression of the Gaumata rebellion in 521 bce by Darius to head back to Judah and Jerusalem.44 They are the ‫“ ְמ ַב ֵשּׂר‬mebasser”, the herald of good tidings (41:27; 52:7) for Zion and her population so that Jerusalem herself will become the ‫“ ְמ ַב ֶשּׂ ֶרת‬mebasseret” for the cities of Judah (40:9). Ceremonies of ritual fasting and lament were undoubtedly celebrated in Jerusalem in the aftermath of the destructions and deportations by the Babylonians (597 / 587 / 582). Some of the collective laments in the Psalter originated in this historical setting,45 as well as the book of Lamentation.46 Another area of literary production was located among the exiles in the land of Babylon. Jer 29 and Ez 33 show that there was a lively correspondence between both Jewish centres. Thus while singers in Jerusalem created poems and songs of lament, not without elements of hope, others in Babylon started with a literary composition in order to rekindle trust in the saving power of YHWH. At the moment of their return to Jerusalem the contact increased.47 A confirmation can be seen in the apparent influence of the refrain in Lam 1 “there is no one to comfort her” (1:2,9,16,17,21) on the programmatic beginning in Is 40:1 “Comfort, comfort my people”. The lament about the severe punishment because of Jerusalem’s misbehaviour in Lam 1:5,8,14,22 (cf. 2:14; 4:22) is answered by the divine assurance that the time of punishment is over (Is 40:1). Important too is the fact that not only the first verse of the composition of Is 40–52 links up to the book of Lamentation but also the second last: in fact the imperative of Is 52:11 “Depart, depart, go out from there! Touch no unclean thing; go out from the midst of it, purify yourselves, you who carry the vessels of YHWH” repeats literally the command in Lam 4:15 “Away! Away!

44 Albertz, 2001, pp. 100–101, 296–301; id., “Darius in Place of Cyrus. The First Edition of Deutero-Isaiah (Isaiah 40:1–52:12) in 521 B.C.E.”, JSOT 27 (2003), pp. 371–383. 45 Steck, 1992, p. 195: Ps 78; 79; 106; with more nationalistic self-confidence Ps 74; 80; 83; 44:18f. 46 J. Renkema, Lamentations (HCOT, Leuven 1998); U. Berges, Klagelieder (HThKAT, Freiburg i. Br., 2002). 47 Steck, 1992, pp. 195f.

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Do not touch!”48 The combination of ‫ סור‬and ‫ נגע‬exists only once more in the Hebrew Bible, i.e. in Num 16:26 when the congregation of Israel are told by Moses to separate themselves from the rebellious Levites under the leadership of Korah. This coincidence strengthens the notion that cultic personnel stand behind these texts, especially because of the address “you who carry the vessels of YHWH” in Is 52:11. In the reading context of the book that means: once the vanguard has arrived in Jerusalem (52:7f), the time has come to invite all dispersed Judeans, especially the cultic personnel, to return from Babylon and to bring with them the cultic vessels for the restoration of the temple service (cf. Ezra 1:7–11).49 In 1 Chr 25:1ff the singing and the liturgical music of the sons of Asaph (and others) are regarded as prophetical activity (‫ נבא‬nif.). The song of the Asaphites in 1 Chr 16:8–36, which is composed from Ps 105 and Ps 96, is very close to some main elements in Is 40ff, especially the praise of YHWH among all the nations and the devaluation of the foreign gods as nothingness. As was the case in Ancient Greece, “the postexilic victory of writing had an impact on the prophet similar to that of writing on the Greek ‘singer of tales’ . . . The writing prophet created a poem, the product of his own craft, which is simultaneously the ‘Word of Yahweh’. The scribal prophet, unlike his oral predecessor, became too aware of his own role in his literary craft just as the poietes had in relation of the earlier aoidos”.50 If one replaces the singular “prophet” by the plural “prophets”, the above statement can very well be applied to the authorial group responsible for the composition of Is 40–55. Precisely because of their awareness of being artistic producers of divine words, akin to the works of the sculptors of divine images, they created cutting parodies of the production of cult images (cf. 40:18–10; 41:6–7; 44:9–20; 46:5–7).51 But is it really possible that a collective group could compose such a beautiful piece of literature as Is 40–55? The question might be turned around: Why should there be an individual prophet behind

48 P.T. Willey, Remember the Former Things. The Recollection of Previous Texts in Second Isaiah (SBL.DS 161; Atlanta, 1997), pp. 125–127, 159–160. 49 Cf. R. Albertz, Religionsgeschichte Israels in alttestamentlicher Zeit, Vol. 2 (ATD Erg. Vol 8/2; Göttingen, 1992), p. 432; id. 2001, p. 96. 50 M.B. Dick, “Prophetic Poiesis and the Verbal Icon”, CBQ 46 (1984), pp. 226–246 (here 242–243). 51 Dick, 1984, pp. 237–240.

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those chapters if it is already accepted that Is 56–66 is the work of literarily skilled writers,52 not to mention an even later composition in the first part of the book, namely, Is 24–27?53 Why should one seek an individual author for Is 40–55 if such an investigation is judged to be unacceptable for the traditions of the Pentateuch or the historical books? V. Some Examples of an Alternative Reading in Is 40–48 In this last section those passages will be briefly presented54 which are normally used to support the notion of an anonymous exilic author. a. Is 40:6 The first text is taken from the so-called prologue, which is to be divided into five strophes (1–2; 3–5; 6–8; 9; 10–11).55 Except for the last strophe all the others are marked by imperatives that form a chain of commands. There can be no doubt that a group is addressed by the voice in 40:1: “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God”. A characteristic feature of these verses consists in the constant change of speakers.56 Four actors are present: (1) YHWH, (2) a prophetic speaker who communicates the divine will, (3) a group who is called to comfort, (4) Jerusalem who needs to be comforted in order then to comfort the cities of Judah. The sequence of commands can only be successful if all the elements of the communication channel fulfil their respective duties. Since in the book of Isaiah only one prophet is present as protagonist, i.e. Isaiah ben Amoz, who announced in Is 39:8 the deportation of the Davidic family, it is his voice that proclaims in 40:1 the end

52 W. Lau, Schriftgelehrte Prophetie in Jes 56–66. Eine Untersuchung zu den literarischen Bezügen in den letzten elf Kapiteln des Jesajabuches (BZAW 225, Berlin, 1994); B. Schramm, The Opponents of Third Isaiah. Reconstructing the Cultic History of the Restoration (JSOTS 193; Sheffield 1995). 53 J.T. Hibbard, Intertextuality in Isaiah 24–27. The Reuse and Evocation of Earlier Texts and Traditions (FAT 2. Reihe, Vol. 16; Tübingen 2006). 54 For a detailed analysis see my forthcoming commentary on Is 40–48. 55 M.C.A. Korpel and J.C. de Moor, The Structure of Classical Hebrew Poetry. Isaiah 40–55 (OTS 41; Leiden, 1998), pp. 17–19. 56 Cf. A. van der Woude, Geschiedenis van de terugkeer. De rol van Jesaja 40,1–11 in het drama van Jesaja 40–55 (Maastricht, 2005), pp. 64–97 (engl. Summary 261–267); A. van Wieringen, “Jesaja 40,1–11: eine drama-linguistische Lesung von Jesaja 6 her”, BN 49 (1989), pp. 82–93.

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of the exilic hardship. No anonymous prophet is being called here, and to speak of the genre “prophetic vocation” is misleading. It is the group of addressees that in the following chapters will grow out of the blind and deaf servant Jacob / Israel that links up the literary drama of renewed hope to the famous Jerusalem prophet Isaiah ben Amoz!57 Redaction-critical research strengthens this interpretation because of the increasing awareness that Is 40:1–11 does not belong to the oldest parts of the composition of Is 40–55.58 These verses do not present the vocation of an anonymous prophet but constitute the literary link between the exilic authorial group and the famous prophet of Jerusalem. This linkage is made evident by the growing closeness to the vocation of Isaiah ben Amoz in Is 6.59 The success of the communication chain is put into danger by the scepticism among the addressees in the third strophe (v. 6–8). The analogy with the heavenly scene in Is 6 functions only partially, because no indication is given that heavenly beings are involved in Is 40:1–11 which is otherwise always made unmistakably clear (cf. 1 Kings 22:20–22; Job 1–2). No heavenly beings play a role in the following chapters, where on the contrary we find references to a group of humans with a special task (Is 52:8; 59:21; 62:6f).60 These verses do not present a second heavenly scene61 but rather an adaptation of some elements from there. Whereas Isaiah had been part of the heavenly scene and came in contact with the seraphs 57 Pace A.L.H.M. van Wieringen, The Reader-Oriented Unity of the Book Isaiah (ACEBTS 6; Vught 2006), p. 121: “After all, this group of prophets would be totally absent after 40:1.” 58 According to Hermisson, 1989, p. 311, 40:1–11 still belong to the basic layer (“Grundbestand, vor 539”); for Kratz, 1991, p. 217 only 40:1–5 is part of it; for the other redaction-critical studies (note 22) this is not any more the case. 59 Cf. R. Albertz, “Das Deuterojesaja-Buch als Fortschreibung der Jesaja-Prophetie”, in: E. Blum et alii (ed.), Die Hebräische Bibel und ihre zweifache Nachgeschichte. FS R. Rendtorff (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1990), pp. 241–256. The literary observations remain valid, though not the notion that Is 40–55 would be a “Fortschreibung” of Is 1–39*. More probable is the “Vereinigungsthese”, namely, the thesis that the basic material in Second Isaiah originally had an independent existence and was later unified with material now in First Isaiah, cf. R. Feuerstein, “Weshalb gibt es ‘Deuterojesaja?’”, in: F. Diedrich; B. Willmes (eds.), Ich bewirke das Heil und erschaffe das Unheil (Jesaja 45,7). Studien zur Botschaft der Propheten. FS. L. Ruppert (Würzburg, 1998), pp. 93–134. 60 J. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 40–55 (Anchor Bible 19; New York, 2002), pp. 179–180. 61 Cf. F.M. Cross, “The Council of Yahweh in Second Isaiah”, JNES 12 (1953), pp. 274–277; C.R. Seitz, “The Divine Council. Temporal Transition and New Prophecy in the Book of Isaiah”, JBL 109 (1990), pp. 229–247; D. Carr, “Isaiah 40:1–11 in the Context of the Macrostructure of Second Isaiah”, in: W.R. Bodine (ed.), Discourse Analysis of Biblical Literature. What It Is and What It Offers (Atlanta, 1995), pp. 51–74.

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and even with YHWH himself, the addressees in 40:1ss are dependent on the hearing of a calling (v. 3) and speaking (v. 6) voice (‫)קוֹל‬. By means of the allusion to Isaiah’s commissioning, the prophetic authors introduce themselves as standing in continuity with the great Jerusalem prophet. But while he was ordered to announce the unavoidable judgement – a verdict that would be in force until the complete destruction of Jerusalem and Judah – the authors and addressees (!) see themselves called by YHWH via the prophetic voice of Isaiah ben Amoz to proclaim the end of that punishment. While the prophet had first to be cleansed from his guilt that he shared with his people before receiving the commission from God (6:8), such a purge is now not necessary because the addressees have already endured the exilic judgement and have therefore been purified in the furnace of affliction (48:10). While the prophet presented himself as ready to serve God according to his plan, such a declaration is now missing. Whereas Isaiah was confronted with the “voice” of the Lord (6:8), the you-group is confronted with a non-identified speaking voice (40:6), i.e. the voice of Isaiah that resounds in the second half of the book. Instead of his declaration to be ready for the service, now a discussion takes place whether such an engagement would not be fruitless because of the fading trust of the people. Thus one of the addressees confronted with the call to announce a new future for Jerusalem answers sceptically: “How62 could I call [i.e. announce] – all flesh is grass and all its commitment is like a flower of the field”. The scepticism of the addressees with regard to accepting their mission of comforting is first acknowledged (40:8a), but then superseded by trust in the word of “our God that stands for ever” (40:8b). The MT reading ‫“ וְ ָא ַמר‬someone/ he says” has to be maintained, against 1QJesa ‫ואומרה‬, LXX (καὶ εἶπα) and Vulgate (et dixi). It is someone among the addressees who voices his scepticism with regard to the task of comforting Jerusalem.63 The emendation ‫“ וָ א ַֹמר‬and I said” would be the only occurrence of an impf. cons. in Is 40:1–11 pointing as a narrative element into the past. But as a discourse these

62 Hebr. ‫ ָמה‬functions here not as a pronoun (“what?”) but as an adverb (“how?”); cf. Gen 28:17; Ex 10:26 Num 24:5; Ps 119:97; Ez 19:2; Ijob 9:2; 26:2; W.A.M. Beuken, Jesaja deel IIA (POT; Nijkerk, 2. ed. 1986), p. 23. 63 Cf. J. Goldingay; D. Payne, Isaiah 40–55. Vol. I (ICC; London, 2006), pp. 80f: “Even if ‘someone says’ is the right text, it is still a prophet-like person who voices the question here . . .”

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verses are completely focussed upon the present and the future. Additionally such a prominent “I-figure” at the beginning of the composition would be very strange, since except Is 48:16; 49:1–6; 50:4–9 no other human “I-figure” will be found. The one who speaks constantly in the first person singular in these chapters is YHWH. The reading “and I said” is the result of a growing analogy between Is 40 and Is 6, where Isaiah reacts to the frightening vision of the holiness of God with ‫( וָ א ַֹמר‬v. 5); see also v. 8 introducing his answer to the divine question whom to send. According to this interpretation the addressees are not heavenly beings,64 nor “the nations of the world”,65 nor the anonymous exilic prophet,66 but individuals who are called by Isaiah, the prophet of the Book, to accept the prophetic mission to comfort Jerusalem and Zion.67 They understood themselves as followers of the great Jerusalem prophet who sealed and concealed his torah in his disciples (Is 8:16).68 Especially the Targum confirms this interpretation when it presents “prophets” as the addressees of the call to comfort (in contrast to LXX “priests”; Vulg. “popule meus”). This collective understanding lays the ground for the view that “Deutero-Isaiah” is not be seen as an individual but as a group of prophetic poets who connected their composition to the Jerusalem Isaiah Tradition. b. Is 41:27 In more than one respect this verse is a difficult one.69 While the Bcolon “and for Jerusalem I give a herald of good tidings” presents no problem, that is not the case for the A-colon: ‫ִראשׁוֹן ְל ִציּוֹן ִהנֵּ ה ִהנָּ ם‬

64 According to T.W. Eddinger, “An Analysis of Isaiah 40:1–11 (17)”, Bulletin for Biblical Research 9 (1999), pp. 119–135, if there is an allusion to the heavenly scene at all, then the words must have been heard and spoken before the commission in 40,1ss (p. 124). 65 D.N. Freedman, “The Structure of Isaiah 40:1–11”, in: E.W. Conrad and E.G. Newing (eds.) Perspectives on Language and Text, FS F.I. Andersen (Winona Lake, 1987), pp. 167–193 (here p. 188). 66 As an example for this common opinion see K. Elliger, Deuterojesaja 1. Teilband Jesaja 40,1–45,7 (BKAT XI/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1978), pp. 10–12. 67 See Blenkinsopp, 2000, p. 180, but still with the anonymous author in the background: “a prophetic plurality in association with the prophetic individual – namely the anonymous author”. 68 J. Goldingay, 2006, p. 63. 69 Cf. U. Berges, “’Ich gebe Jerusalem einen Freudenboten’. Synchrone und diachrone Beobachtungen zu Jes 41,27”, Bib 87 (2006), pp. 319–337.

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“[as] first to Zion: behold, they are here”. The LXX paraphrases “I will give Zion a leadership and I will comfort Jerusalem on the way” (ἀρχὴν Σιων δώσω καὶ Ιερουσαλημ παρακαλέσω εἰς ὁδόν). The Targum goes another step further in the free rendering of the verse: “The words of comfort that the prophets prophesied aforetime concerning Zion, behold, they have come to pass; and I will give to Jerusalem one that bringeth good tidings”.70 The Vulgate follows the MT: “primus ad Sion dicet ecce adsunt et Hierusalem evangelistam dabo”. The rendering in 1QJesa ‫ הנה הנומה‬could point to the verb ‫ נום‬I. in rabbinic Hebrew (“to speak/ to talk”)71 in the sense of “Behold the speaker”72 but this remains disputed.73 Perhaps only one thing is indisputably clear, namely, that ‫“ ִראשׁוֹן‬first” refers to YHWH (cf. 41:4; 44:6; 48:12). YHWH is the one who proclaimed long before the things which will take place and which did take place. Thus the verse underlines that it is YHWH who announced as the first that “they”, i.e. the group of prophet-like people will reach Jerusalem to start with their task of comforting her. At the same time this verse is a significant proof that behind the ‫“ ְמ ַב ֵשּׂר‬herald” stands a group of people and not a particular person. If this is the case, then the ‫“ ַרגְ ֵלי ְמ ַב ֵשּׂר‬feet of the herald” who brings the good news of salvation to Jerusalem (52:7) refers also to the vanguard of those who left Babel with the task of convincing the Judean capital of her renewed future. Once Jerusalem / Zion will have accepted that message of comfort via the collective herald, she shall become a herald (‫ ) ְמ ַב ֶשּׂ ֶרת‬for the cities of Judah. That the mention of the herald in 41:27 stands immediately before 42:1ff is not the result of chance but points to the first Servant-song (cf. 48:16 before 49:1ff). The ones who are called to accept the task of comforting Jerusalem are the heralds of good tidings and they are also the Servant.74 The switch at the end of Is 42:9 to the plural (‫“ ַא ְשׁ ִמיע ֶא ְת ֶכם‬I inform you”) thus finds a plausible solution too.

70

J.F. Stenning, The Targum of Isaiah (Oxford, 1953), p. 138. M. Jastrow, Dictionary of the Targumim, Talmud Babli, Yerushalmi and Midrashic Literature (New York 1971; repr. 1996), p. 887. 72 A. Gelston, “ ‘Behold the Speaker’. A Note on Isaiah XLI 27”, VT 43 (1993), pp. 405–408. 73 J.G. Janzen, “Isaiah 41:27. Reading ‫ הנה הנומה‬in 1QIsaa and ‫ הנה הנם‬in the Masoretic Text”, JBL 113 (1994), pp. 597–607. 74 Werlitz, 1999, 288: “Die zur Trostbotschaft an Zion Beauftragten sind der Freudenbote und ebenfalls der Knecht.” 71

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c. Is 44:26 The same change from singular to plural takes place in 44:26 where YHWH is presented as the one who confirms the word of his servant (‫ ) ֵמ ִקים ְדּ ַבר ַﬠ ְבדּוֹ‬and fulfils the plan of his messengers (‫וַ ֲﬠ ַצת ַמ ְל ָא ָכיו‬ ‫)יַ ְשׁ ִלים‬. The singular “his servant” is supported by 1QJesa, 4QJesb, LXX (παιδὸς αὐτοῦ) und Vulg. (servi sui). The plural reading (LXXA; Targ. “his servants, the righteous”) presents the lectio facilior adjusting the word to the plural “messengers”. This change of number occurs often enough here and confirms the collective interpretation of the addressees who are growing out of the deaf and blind Servant Jacob/Israel (42:18f; 43:8). Thus it is not accidental that the only other place in the Hebrew Bible where “servant” and “messenger” are used in a poetic parallelism is 42:19: “Who is blind but my servant, or deaf like my messenger whom I send” (cf. Job 4:18 messengers=angels). The group of messengers, the authors of Is 40–55, are the true servant, the witness of the saving power of YHWH.75 So one reads in 43:10 “You are my witnesses . . . and my servant whom I have chosen” and in 44:8 “Do not fear or be afraid (pl.) . . . did I not in past time inform you (sg.) and announce [it]? And you are my witnesses!” Once again that switch occurs in 48:6 “You have heard. Look (sg.) at it all! And you, will you (pl.) not announce it? I informed you (sg.) of new events right now, hidden things which you have not known (sg.).” This messengergroup should not be afraid of the task to proclaim that Cyrus is the chosen political instrument for the liberation because YHWH himself will confirm this word. The verb ‫ קום‬refers back to Is 40:8, to the encouragement “the word of our God stands for ever” in face of the scepticism of one of the addressees “how can I call?” The same verb is part of the conclusion in Is 55, once again underlining the steadfastness of God’s word (V 10f). In the Hebrew Bible it is the word of the prophets that YHWH confirms (1 Sam 3:12; 1 Kings 2:4; 8:20; 12:15; Jer 28:6; 29:10; not the word of the false prophets, Ezek 13:6). This constitutes also the distinction between genuine and false prophecy from the time and person of Moses onwards (Deut 18:22). So YHWH 75 J. Blenkinsopp, “The Servant and the Servants in Isaiah and the Formation of the Book”, in: C.C. Broyles and C.A. Evans (eds.), Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah. Studies of an Interpretive Tradition (VTSup 70/1; Leiden, 1997), p. 163: “This servant-community is called on to witness and make sense of what is happening on the international scene . . . it is these servant-messengers who predict the restoration of Jerusalem and the cities of Judah following on the victories of Cyrus.”

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promises to raise (‫ )קום‬again and again a prophet like Moses (Deut 18:15,18), the servant of God par excellence (cf. Num 12:7f; Dtn 34:5; Jos 1:1f etc.). Therefore the prophets are called “servants” (2 Kings 9:7; 17:13,23; 21:10; 24:2 etc.). When the exilic-postexilic group present themselves as the true servant, the messenger of the plan of God who confirms this word, then they see themselves in the prophetic line of Moses. This tradition is handed down to their offspring, the “servants” in the third part of the book (Is 54:17; 65:8,15; 66:14). d. Is 48:16b The last part of this verse ‫“ וְ ַﬠ ָתּה ֲאד ֹנָ י יְ הוַ ה ְשׁ ָל ַחנִ י וְ רוּחוֹ‬And now Adonai YHWH has sent me and his spirit” seems to be an addition because of the sudden change of the subject from God to a human I-figure. In Is 40–55 such an I-figure is only present in 49:1–6 and 50:4–9, also in the context of the prophetic sending. Thus the colon in question is a pointer to these two Servant-Songs, a view which is especially confirmed by the epithet “Adonai YHWH” in 50:4,5,7,9. But the theme of the divine spirit links the passage also back to the first Song (42:1, cf. 59:21; 61:1). Most probably the authors and composers of Is 40–55 produced this link to the following Servant-song (cf. 41:27).76 Why did they introduce this verse at this position, i.e. in the affirmation of YHWH that long in advance he ordered Cyrus to come and that he makes his path successful (48:14–16)? The analogy lies at hand: as YHWH did not command the political change in a secret place but openly, in the same way the internal change, i.e. the establishment of the servant-community, does not take place in secret but is made public this very moment (‫וְ ַﬠ ָתּה‬, cf. 49:6). It is not an anonymous exilic prophet, nor the prophet of the book77 but the servant-community who presents itself after the purification and election (48:10) as the messenger for Israel and the nations. A confirmation of this interpreָ ) tation is provided by Is 59:21 where the covenant “with them” (‫אוֹתם‬ consists in this that the spirit “on you” (‫ ) ָﬠ ֶליָך‬and the divine words in your mouth (‫ ) ְבּ ִפיָך‬are made secure through all generations of their 76 Kratz, 1991, pp. 118, 137; H. Leene, De vroegere en de nieuwe dingen bij Deuterojesaja (Amsterdam, 1987), p. 215; Werlitz, 1999, pp. 331f.: Isaiah, the prophet of the Book, speaks in 48:16b; H.J. Hermisson, Deuterojesaja 2. Teilband. Jesaja 45,8– 49,13 (BKAT XI/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 2003), p. 283: Deutero-Isaiah is meant, but this line is the work of a writer from a later date. 77 Werlitz, 1999, pp. 331f.

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offspring. The promise of YHWH to put in the mouth of the prophet like Moses his divine words (Deut 18:18) is applied by the prophetic community to itself and to the descendants in the future. That Is 59:21 presents a direct link to 61:1ss is evident (cf. 41:27 for 42:1ff and 48:16d for 49:1ff ). But if there is no individual prophet “Deutero-Isaiah” in chs. 40–55, then there is no “Trito-Isaiah” in chs. 56–66 either. So Is 61 does not present the prophetic commission of another anonymous prophet but rather the continuation of the task of the servant-community in post-exilic times in Jerusalem. The opinion of Steck that Zion stands behind the prophetic and kingly figure in Is 6178 points in the right direction but the city can only fulfil her task of liberation if there are people in her midst joining her in that mission.

78 O.H. Steck, “Zu jüngsten Untersuchungen von Jes 60-62”, in: id., Studien zu Tritojesaja (BZAW 203; Berlin 1991), pp. 119–139 (esp. 131–135).

FONDEMENTS DU MESSAGE SOCIAL DES PROPHÈTES Francolino J. Gonçalves La dénonciation des injustices et l’annonce des malheurs qu’elles attireront sont des traits caractéristiques des porte-parole de Yahvé des VIIIe et VIIe siècles av. J.-C. qui ont donné leur nom à des livres prophétiques. Ces personnages n’étaient pas prophètes (‫ )נביאים‬ni à leurs propres yeux ni aux yeux de leurs contemporains. Ils en étaient, au contraire, les adversaires et les concurrents. La tradition en a pourtant fait les prophètes par excellence1. Le message social des prophètes a été souvent étudié dans le cadre de recherches portant sur l’Ancien Testament, l’ensemble des prophètes, un groupe parmi eux, surtout ceux des VIIIe et VIIe siècles, ou un prophète en particulier. Amos, le premier des « prophètes écrivains » et l’un des plus grands champions de la justice, est le plus étudié de ce point de vue. Parmi les études sur le message social des prophètes, plusieurs traitent de la question de ses fondements2. Mon attention portera sur les « prophètes écrivains » des VIIIe et VIIe siècles. La seule question que je poserai à leur sujet est la suivante : au nom de quels critères ont-ils tenu pour mauvais certains comportements, et en ont-ils annoncé des conséquences funestes ? L’exégèse a apporté à cette question des réponses nombreuses, variées et souvent nuancées ; il serait bien difficile d’en établir la liste complète. Au risque de simplifier à outrance, je les range en deux groupes, qui supposent deux conceptions différentes du rôle joué par les prophètes dans l’histoire de la religion biblique et représentent deux périodes dans l’étude de ces personnages. D’après le premier groupe, les prophètes dénoncent l’injustice au nom de l’inspiration divine dont ils ont été les bénéficiaires. Ils seraient les véritables créateurs de la religion biblique. Liée au renversement 1 F.J. Gonçalves, “Les prophètes bibliques étaient-ils des ‫? נביאים‬,” in: P.M.M. Daviau, J.W. Wevers and M. Weigl (eds.), The World of the Aramaeans. I. Biblical Studies in Honour of Paul-Eugène Dion (JSOTS 324; Sheffield, 2001), pp. 144–185. 2 W.J. Houston, Contending for Justice. Ideologies and Theologies of Social Justice in the Old Testament (LHBOTS 428; London-New York, 2006) est l’un des travaux les plus récents et les plus complets sur la question.

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de l’ordre chronologique traditionnel entre la Tora et les Prophètes – l’un des acquis de l’exégèse historico-critique – cette conception a été dominante dans les dernières décennies du XIXe siècle et dans les premières du XXe. Renan (1823–1892) l’a exprimé de façon très claire : « Le caractère propre d’Israël, écrit-il, commence avec les prophètes (. . .). C’est par le prophétisme qu’Israël occupe une place à part dans l’histoire du monde. La création de la religion pure a été l’œuvre, non pas des prêtres, mais de libres inspirés. Les cohanim de Jérusalem, de Béthel, n’ont été en rien supérieurs à ceux du reste du monde ; souvent même l’œuvre essentielle d’Israël a été retardée, contrariée par eux3. » La « religion pure » dont les prophètes seraient les créateurs se résume dans ce que l’on a appelé le « monothéisme éthique ». Kuenen écrit : « Quel fut l’œuvre des prophètes israélites ? Quel fut le résultat de leur travail, et quelle valeur allons-nous lui assigner ? Le monothéisme éthique est leur création. Ils se sont élevés à la croyance en un Dieu unique, saint et juste, qui accomplit sa volonté, c’est-à-dire le bien moral, dans le monde ; par leur prédication et leurs écrits, ils ont fait de cette croyance la propriété inaliénable de notre race »4. D’après l’autre groupe d’opinions, au contraire, les prophètes dénoncent les injustices au nom des traditions d’Israël et de Juda, dans lesquelles ils s’enracinent et s’inscrivent. Parmi leurs sources d’inspiration, on pense surtout au droit, mais aussi à la sagesse et aux normes de conduite qu’elle a formulées. En général, les études consacrées à la question prennent les prophètes, notamment les titulaires des livres prophétiques, comme s’ils formaient une corporation homogène, sans tenir compte, ou pas suffisamment, des différences qui existent entre eux ni de la spécificité de chacun d’eux. Je me propose de montrer que tous les « prophètes écrivains » ne font pas appel aux mêmes critères dans leur critique sociale. Il y en a – c’est le cas d’Amos et d’Isaïe – qui se réfèrent à des normes de conduite que tout homme peut déduire de la création, œuvre de Yahvé. Les autres – c’est le cas d’Osée et de Jérémie – invoquent des lois que Yahvé a dictées directement à Israël ou à Juda. Je traiterai d’abord d’Amos et d’Isaïe, et ensuite d’Osée et de Jérémie.

3

E. Renan, Histoire du Peuple d’Israël, II (Paris, 1891), pp. 273–274. A. Kuenen, The Prophets and Prophecy in Israel. An Historical and Critical Enquiry With an Introduction by John Muir (London, 1877 ; traduit par A. Milroy ; Réimprimé; Amsterdam, 1969), p. 585. 4

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Amos et Isaïe Il existe des ressemblances frappantes entre les messages sociaux d’Amos et d’Isaïe. L’un et l’autre dénoncent à la fois les injustices d’Israël ou/et de Juda et celles des autres peuples, et ils annoncent les malheurs qu’elles leur vaudront. Leurs dénonciations sont très proches du point de vue de la forme et du contenu5. Je passerai en revue d’abord les dénonciations des nations étrangères et, ensuite, celles d’Israël ou de Juda, en essayant de savoir au nom de quels critères Amos et Isaïe les formulent. I. Amos 1. Les injustices des nations étrangères Comme plusieurs autres livres prophétiques, Amos contient des oracles contre des nations étrangères. À la différence des autres, qui placent ces oracles au centre, le livre d’Amos les place au début (Am 1:3–2:3*). Une autre particularité du livre est le fait qu’il met ensemble les oracles contre les nations et des oracles contre Juda et Israël. Am 1:3–2:16* débute, en effet, par six peuples étrangers et se termine par Juda et Israël. Les oracles ont tous la même structure et emploient les mêmes expressions : la formule du messager ; la déclaration : « à cause des trois péchés de (nom du pays) et à cause des quatre, je ne me raviserai pas6 » ; la description des péchés ; l’annonce du malheur et la clôture. Pour des raisons de forme et de contenu, on s’accorde pour dire que les oracles contre Tyr et la Phénicie, Édom et Juda n’appartenaient pas au recueil primitif ; celui-ci aurait compris seulement cinq oracles visant respectivement Damas (1:3–5), Gaza et la Philistie (1:6–8), Ammon (1:13–15), Moab (2:1–3) et Israël (2:6–16*)7.

5

R. Fey, Amos und Jesaja. Abhängigkeit und Eigenständigkeit des Jesaja (WMANT 12; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1963). 6 Le sens de la proposition ‫ לא אשיבנו‬est discuté ; P.R. Noble, ““I Will Not Bring ‘It’ Back” (Amos 1:3): A Deliberately Ambiguous Oracle?,” ET 106 (1994–95), pp. 105–109; J. R. Linville, “What Does ‘It’ Mean? Interpretation at the Point of No Return in Amos 1–2,” BI 8 (2000), pp. 400–424. 7 Il existe une abondante bibliographie sur les oracles d’Amos contre les nations. Les études de J. Barton sont les plus pertinentes pour notre propos : Amos’s Oracles against the Nations. A study of Amos 1.3–2.5 (The Society for Old Testament Study. Monograph Series 6; Cambridge, 1980); Ethics in the Old Testament. The 1997 Diocese of British Columbia John Albert Hall Lectures at the Centre for Studies in Religion and Society in the University of Victoria (Harrisburg, Pensylvannia, 1998), pp. 61–63.

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Les péchés qu’Amos impute aux peuples étrangers se situent dans le domaine des relations internationales et ont pour cadre des hostilités militaires8. Il s’agit d’atrocités que l’on appellerait aujourd’hui des crimes de guerre ou des crimes contre l’humanité : Damas a foulé le Galaad avec des traîneaux de fer (Am 1:3)9, Gaza a déporté des populations entières pour les livrer à Édom (Am 1:6), Ammon a éventré les femmes enceintes10 du Galaad afin d’élargir son territoire (Am 1:13) et, finalement, Moab a brûlé les os du roi d’Édom (Am 2:1). Les crimes ont pour auteurs chacun des peuples visés, pris collectivement. Leurs victimes sont des étrangers : des populations entières, un groupe particulier, le roi lui-même. Faute d’une bonne connaissance de l’histoire des nations mentionnées, des criminelles et de leurs victimes, il est difficile de savoir à quels événements les textes se réfèrent. Le caractère stéréotypé de l’évocation aussi bien des crimes que des malheurs correspondants accroît la difficulté. On pourrait penser qu’Amos condamne les atrocités de Damas et d’Ammon parce qu’elles ont eu des Israélites pour victimes. Les oracles contre ces deux pays pourraient, en effet, se rapporter à un moment où le Galaad, qui a été disputé entre le royaume d’Israël et le royaume de Damas, se trouvait sous l’autorité israélite. Am 1:6 ne précisant pas qui étaient les populations déportées par Gaza et livrées à Édom, on ne peut pas exclure qu’elles étaient israélites. En revanche, la profanation des os du roi d’Édom par Moab (Am 2:1) n’a certai-

8 Il en va de même des crimes que les oracles secondaires imputent respectivement à Tyr et à la Phénicie (Am 1:9–10) et à Édom (Am 1:11–12). La seule exception est l’oracle contre Juda qui dénonce des péchés d’ordre religieux (Am 2:4–5). 9 En Mi 4:12–13, Yahvé ordonne à Sion d’écraser des peuples nombreux en des termes proches de ceux d’Am 1:3. 10 2 R 15:16 rapporte que Menahem, sans doute lors du coup d’État qui le mit sur le trône d’Israël, a « éventré toutes les femmes enceintes » de Tifsah. En 2 R 8:12, Élisée prédit que Hazaël, roi de Damas, parmi d’autres atrocités, éventrera les femmes enceintes d’Israël. Os 14:1 annonce le même sort aux femmes enceintes de Samarie. Contestant la compréhension traditionnelle d’Am 1:13, qui est celle des LXX, C. Cohen voit en ‫ הרות‬non le pluriel de l’adjectif féminin ‫( הרה‬enceinte), mais une forme irrégulière du pluriel du substantif ‫( הר‬montagne), et traduit : « . . . parce qu’ils ont coupé/séparé/retranché (‫ )על בקעם‬les montagnes de Galaad afin d’élargir leur territoire . . . ». Le seul crime d’Ammon serait le fait d’avoir élargi son territoire en annexant des territoires qui appartenaient à un autre peuple ; “Two Misunderstood Verses in the Latter Prophets: Jer 9:24, Amos 1:13,” in: Y. Sefati et al. (eds.), “An Experienced Scribe Who Neglects Nothing”: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Jacob Klein (Bethesda, MD, 2005), pp. 695–706 (685–706).

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nement pas des Israélites pour victimes. Il est donc exclu qu’Amos condamne ce crime parce qu’il concernait Israël. Les oracles d’Amos contre les nations reposent sur les présupposés suivants : a) une conception morale de Yahvé et de ses rapports avec tous les peuples ; b) l’existence de normes de conduite dans les relations internationales auxquelles tous les peuples sont tenus de se conformer ; c) tous les peuples sont censés connaître ces normes, autrement, on ne pourrait pas exiger qu’ils s’y conforment et, à plus forte raison, les condamner pour ne pas l’avoir fait ; d) Yahvé mesure tous les peuples à l’aune de ces normes. Parmi les questions que soulèvent ces présupposés, deux sont particulièrement pertinentes pour notre propos. L’une est la suivante : comment les peuples connaissaient-ils les normes morales ? Il n’y a pas de réponse explicite à cette question dans les oracles d’Amos. Rien ne suggère que Yahvé a révélé directement ces normes aux peuples étrangers ni que ceux-ci étaient censés les connaître grâce à Israël. En fait, aucun des crimes visés en Am 1:3–2:3* ne figure dans les lois de l’Ancien Testament. Par ailleurs, Am 1:3–2:16* ne présente pas les normes morales comme étant le fruit d’une révélation directe de Yahvé. Aussi bien dans les oracles contre les nations que dans l’oracle contre Israël, Amos met dans la bouche de Yahvé non l’énoncé des normes, mais l’annonce des conséquences que leur non-observance aura pour chacun des peuples visés. C’est donc cette annonce qui apparaît comme une révélation directe de Yahvé. Étroitement liée à la connaissance des normes valables pour tous les peuples, il y a la question de la source de leur autorité. Les oracles d’Amos ne laissent pas douter que Yahvé veille à l’observance des normes en question. C’est lui qui mesure les peuples à leur aune et, constatant qu’ils ne s’y conforment pas, annonce qu’il va les détruire. Les textes ne disent cependant pas explicitement que Yahvé est aussi l’auteur des normes et la source de leur autorité. Mais, dans le contexte biblique, qui d’autre pourrait-il l’être ? Aussi le plus simple est-il de penser que Yahvé veille à l’observance des normes morales, parce qu’il en est l’auteur. Or l’action de Yahvé qui concerne tous les peuples est la création. Il est donc légitime de penser que les normes morales ont celle-ci pour fondement.

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2. Les injustices d’Israël a. Am 2:6–16* Am 1:3–2:16* met Israël et les nations sur le même pied : il les range dans la même série ; il emploie le même formulaire avec l’un et les autres ; il annonce la ruine de l’un et des autres ; il donne comme raison de la ruine leurs injustices respectives. À la différence des injustices des nations, les injustices d’Israël ont pour cadre sa politique intérieure. Am 2:6–8 dénonce, en effet, une série d’injustices dont les pauvres sont les victimes et les puissants les fauteurs. La nature exacte des injustices n’est pas toujours facile à déterminer. On y voit les abus de l’esclavage pour dette (v. 6b), l’oppression des pauvres en général (v. 7a), l’abus sexuel de la jeune fille (‫ )הנערה‬que la pauvreté a réduite à la servitude ou à l’esclavage (v. 7b). Le v. 8 mentionne deux pratiques, mises en parallèle, qui ont le culte pour cadre. La condamnation ne porte cependant pas sur les rites eux-mêmes, mais sur le mode d’acquisition des éléments qu’ils comportent. Les fidèles se servent des vêtements pris en gage qu’ils retiennent injustement (v. 8a). On ne sait pas à quelle pratique se réfère l’expression ‫יין ענושים‬, traduite par « le vin de ceux qui sont frappés d’amende » (BJ) et « vin confisqué » (TOB)11. Quoi qu’il en soit, le contexte suppose que, aux yeux d’Amos, il s’agit d’une pratique injuste. b. Le reste du livre Am 2:6–16* n’est pas le seul oracle où Amos annonce la ruine d’Israël à cause de ses injustices. Ces thèmes dominent également le reste du livre. Sans prétendre être exhaustif, je signale quelques passages représentatifs au fil du texte. Exprimées dans des termes très proches, les dénonciations de l’oppression des pauvres ainsi que des abus de l’esclavage pour dette reviennent en Am 8:4 et 6. La condamnation du culte sans justice revient à plusieurs reprises (Am 4:4–5 ; 5:4–5:21–24). Am 3:9–10 dépeint les palais de Samarie sous des traits d’entrepôts où l’aristocratie entasse ce qu’elle a pillé. Adressé aux dames riches de Samarie, Am 4:1–3 associe dans la même condamnation l’exploita11 Le groupe lexical ‫ ענשׁ‬se lit dix fois dans l’Ancien Testament. Le verbe se réfère à une compensation pécuniaire imposée au calomniateur d’une vierge (Dt 22:19), et sans doute aussi à celui qui provoque un avortement par accident (Ex 21:22). En 2 R 23:33 // 2 Ch 36:3, le nom correspondant désigne un tribut imposé par le Pharaon Neko au royaume de Juda. Les emplois restants du radical se trouvent dans les Proverbes, où il a le sens de châtier (Pr 17:26 ; 19:19), corriger (Pr 21:11) et de souffrir des conséquences de ses actions imprudentes (Pr 22:3; 27:12).

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tion des pauvres, l’opulence et l’arrogance. Am 5:7,10–12 traite de la corruption de la justice, notamment du refus de faire justice à l’innocent pauvre, que les puissants exploitent à volonté et sans merci. Am 6:1–7 associe dans la même dénonciation l’arrogance des dirigeants de Samarie, leur luxe, leurs banquets et leur indifférence devant la ruine de Joseph. Parmi les pratiques qu’Amos dénonce, plusieurs font l’objet de lois : la rétention des vêtements pris en gage12, l’esclavage pour dette13, les faux poids et mesures14, la corruption de la justice15 et peut-être aussi l’abus sexuel de la jeune fille réduite à la servitude ou à l’esclavage16. Il n’est cependant pas aisé de comparer les oracles d’Amos aux lois, dont on ne connaît avec certitude ni l’âge ni le statut. Le « Code de l’Alliance » (Ex 20:22–23:33), que l’on tient pour le recueil de lois le plus ancien, a été constitué en Juda, au plus tôt, plusieurs décennies après Amos. Étant un homme cultivé, Amos connaissait sans nul doute les lois qui régissaient Israël, mais il n’en cite aucune et rien ne suggère qu’il s’abritait sous l’autorité d’une quelconque loi. Quand ses condamnations coïncident avec l’objet de l’une des lois mentionnées dans l’Ancien Testament, Amos témoigne d’une exigence plus grande. Une bonne partie des pratiques qu’il dénonce ne sont pas prévues par la loi17. Ainsi, aucune loi n’interdisait à l’aristocratie de Samarie le luxe, les banquets, les beuveries, l’arrogance et l’indifférence devant le sort du peuple (Am 4:1–3 ; 6:1–7). Aucune loi ne posait la pratique de la justice comme condition pour pouvoir célébrer le culte (Am 2:8 ; 4:4–5 ; 5:4–5,21–24). Amos intervient ainsi dans des domaines qui ne sont pas du ressort de la loi. Ses dénonciations ont leurs parallèles les plus proches en Isaïe 1–39 et dans les Proverbes. C’est le cas du luxe, des banquets, des beuveries et de l’arrogance (Am 4:1–3 ; 6:1–7). On y reviendra lorsque l’on traitera d’Isaïe. Il en va de même des condamnations du culte qui ne s’accompagne pas de la justice ou, pire, qui met l’injustice à son service. Elles ont

12

Am 2:8a; cf. Ex 22:25–26 et Dt 24:12–13,17. Am 2:6b; 8:6a; cf. Ex 21:2–11; Dt 15:12–18 et Lv 25:39–42. 14 Am 8:5; cf. Dt 25:13–15 et Lv 19:35–36. 15 Am 5:7,10–12; cf. Ex 23:1–3,6–8 et Dt 16:19. 16 Am 2:7b; cf. Ex 21:7–11. 17 P.-E. Dion, “Le message moral du prophète Amos s’inspirait-il du « droit de l’alliance »?,” ScEs 27 (1975), pp. 5–34. 13

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leurs parallèles les plus étroits en Is 1:10–17 et en Proverbes. On lit en Pr 15:8 : Le sacrifice des méchants est une abomination pour Yahvé, mais la prière des hommes droits fait ses délices. (cf. aussi 21:27)

De même, en Pr 21:3 : Pratiquer la justice et le droit vaut, pour Yahvé, mieux que le sacrifice.

On peut dire autant des dénonciations de l’oppression des pauvres, qui occupent une très grande place dans le livre d’Amos. Certes Dt 24:14 interdit l’exploitation (‫ )עשק‬du salarié (‫)שכיר‬, mais on ne connaît aucune loi réglant globalement le comportement à l’égard des pauvres18. Amos exprime l’oppression au moyen de plusieurs verbes, employés au sens propre ou figuré, et désigne les victimes surtout au moyen de trois termes du champ sémantique de la pauvreté (‫אביונים‬/‫אביון‬, [pauvre/s, mendiant/s], ‫דלים‬/‫[ דל‬indigent/s, démuni/s] et ‫[ ענוים‬humiliés]), mais aussi de ‫( צדיק‬innocent) : vendre (‫ )מכר‬le ‫ צדיק‬et le ‫אביון‬ (Am 2:6b) ; piétiner (‫ )שאף‬les ‫ דלים‬et le ‫( אביון‬Am 2:7a et 8:4) ; faire dévier (hifil de ‫ )נטה‬la route des ‫( ענוים‬Am 2:7a) ; opprimer/exploiter (‫)עשק‬19 les ‫( דלים‬Am 4:1a) ; écraser (‫ )רצץ‬les ‫( אביונים‬Am 4:1a) ; piétiner (poel de ‫ )בשס‬le ‫( דל‬Am 5:11) ; détruire (hifil de ‫ )שבת‬les ‫( ענוי־ארץ‬Am 8:4b) ; acheter (‫ )קנה‬les ‫ דלים‬et le ‫( אביון‬Am 8:6). Ces dénonciations ont leurs parallèles les plus proches, du point de vue du vocabulaire et du contenu, dans les oracles d’Isaïe 1–39 et dans les nombreuses déclarations des Proverbes relatives à la conduite à suivre avec les pauvres. Ainsi, lit-on en Pr 14:31 : Qui opprime l’indigent (‫ )עשק־דל‬outrage celui qui l’a fait ; mais qui compatit avec le pauvre (‫ )חנן אביון‬l’honore.

Dieu s’identifie avec le pauvre parce qu’il est sa créature ; Dieu s’identifie avec son œuvre. La bonté dont on doit faire preuve à l’égard des pauvres se fonde donc sur l’œuvre créatrice de Dieu. Pr 17:5, qui exprime la même idée, précise que celui qui se moque du pauvre ou se réjouit de l’infortune ne le fera pas impunément. Pr 19:17 suppose

18 En Dt 24,14, le salarié est qualifié de pauvre/humilié (‫ )עני‬et indigent (‫)אביון‬, mais on s’accorde pour y voir un ajout suggéré par le v. 15; A.D.H. Mayes, Deuteronomy (NCBC; Grand Rapids-London, 1979), p. 325; R.D. Nelson, Deuteronomy. A Commentary (OTL; Louisville-London, 2002), pp. 291–292. 19 Le radical revient en Am 3:10.

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également que Yahvé s’identifie en pratique avec le pauvre ; Yahvé s’acquitte du devoir de rendre ce que l’on a donné au pauvre : Qui a pitié de l’indigent (‫ )חנן דל‬prête à Yahvé, Qui lui rendra son bienfait.

D’autres proverbes présentent Yahvé dans le rôle de défenseur du pauvre en contexte judiciaire. C’est le cas de Pr 22:22–23 : Ne dépouille pas l’indigent, car il est indigent (‫)אל־תגזל־דל כי דל־הוא‬, et n’écrase pas l’humilié à la porte (‫)ואל־תדכא עני בשער‬, car Yahvé plaidera leur cause et ravira à leurs ravisseurs la vie20.

Je signale encore la dénonciation des balances et des mesures fausses en Am 8:5b. Les mesures et les poids faux font certes l’objet d’une interdiction en Dt 25:13–15 et Lv 19:35–36. Ces textes sont cependant bien postérieurs à Am 8:5b. En outre, ils fondent l’interdiction sur des considérations qui sont étrangères à Amos. Am 8:5b s’explique au mieux encore une fois à la lumière du livre des Proverbes21. Pr 16:11 déclare : La balance et les plateaux justes sont à Yahvé, tous les poids du sac sont son œuvre.

La droiture dans les transactions commerciales, représentée par les balances et les poids justes, est l’œuvre de Yahvé ; elle fait partie de la création ou de l’ordre du monde tel que Yahvé l’a établi. Aussi Yahvé a-t-il en abomination les balances et les mesures fausses (Pr 11:1 ; 20:10,23). En bref, Amos ne juge pas les Israélites au nom de leurs lois positives. Il les mesure à d’autres normes, qui sont plus exigeantes et s’étendent à un éventail d’activités et de comportements bien plus large. Vu ses affinités étroites avec les Proverbes, on peut penser qu’Amos critique la société israélite au nom de normes morales fondées sur la création. Aux yeux d’Amos, ne pas se conformer à ces normes équivaut à rejeter l’œuvre de Yahvé, et à prétendre la remplacer par une autre. C’est ce qui ressort d’Am 6:12 :

20 Pr 23:10–11 déclare que Yahvé est le go’el des orphelins. Il y a un grand nombre d’autres proverbes qui indiquent la conduite à suivre avec les pauvres : Pr 14:21; 16:19; 21:13; 22:16; 28:3; 30:14; 31:9,20. 21 On peut en dire autant de Mi 6:10–11.

606

francolino j. gonçalves Est-ce que les chevaux courent sur le roc, laboure-t-on la mer avec des bœufs ? Pour que vous changiez22 le droit en poison et le fruit de la justice en absinthe ?

Le sens de la première partie du verset n’est pas limpide. Le verbe « labourer » (‫ )חרש‬n’a pas de complément d’objet direct explicite23. Les uns pensent au roc, le substantif qui précède, et traduisent : « le laboure-t-on avec des bœufs ? » Les autres obtiennent un complément d’objet direct explicite en divisant le texte en ‫ בבקר ים‬au lieu de ‫בבקרים‬. On traduit alors : « Laboure-t-on la mer avec des bœufs ? » Que l’on adopte l’une ou l’autre traduction, Am 6:12a contient deux questions rhétoriques portant sur des actions absurdes. On s’accorde pour y reconnaître des traits du style sapientiel24. Formulées positivement, les questions exigent des réponses négatives. Il n’est évidemment pas dans la nature des choses que les chevaux courent sur le roc et que l’on laboure la mer (ou le rocher) avec des bœufs. De même, il est contre nature que les Israélites changent le droit et la justice en poison et en absinthe (Am 6:12b)25. Ce faisant, les Israélites renversent l’ordre du monde établi par Yahvé. Am 5:7 exprime la même idée pratiquement dans les mêmes termes. On la trouve également en Is 5:20 et 29:16. L’examen des oracles contre Israël confirme, étaie et éclaire la conclusion de l’étude des oracles contre les nations. Amos juge Israël et les autres peuples au nom de normes morales qui font partie de la création, d’où leur caractère universel. C’est grâce à l’observation de la création – l’humanité et le cosmos – que tous, Israël et les nations, ont accès à la connaissance des normes morales. Si Yahvé convoque, en Am 3:9–10, les ashdodites26 et les égyptiens sur les monts de Samarie pour faire le constat des désordres et de l’oppression dont la ville regorge, c’est parce qu’ils connaissent les normes morales qui régissent Israël.

Le verbe ‫הפך‬, « tourner, retourner, renverser ». Ayant compris ‫ חרש‬au sens de « être en silence, muet », le traducteur grec a rendu la seconde question par εἰ παρασιωπήσονται ἐν θηλείαις « pourrait-on être en silence au milieu des femelles/femmes ? » 24 H. Simian-Yofre, Amos : nuova versione, introduzione e commento (Milano, 2002), p. 135. 25 S.M. Paul, A Commentary on the Book of Amos (Hermeneia; Minneapolis, 1991), pp. 218–219. 26 D’après la Septante (. . . χώραις ἐν Ἀσσυρίοις), les convoqués sont assyriens, non ashdodites. 22 23

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II. Isaïe (Is 1–39)27 1. Les injustices de l’Assyrie Le livre d’Isaïe n’a certes pas l’équivalent exact du recueil d’Am 1:3– 2:16*. Il a pourtant quelque chose de comparable, à savoir l’emploi de la même forme littéraire – l’oracle introduit par ‫ – הוי‬en rapport surtout avec Juda28 et Israël (Is 28:1–4), mais aussi avec l’Assyrie et l’Égypte (Is 18:1–4). L’oracle contre l’Assyrie, en Is 10:5–15*, est le plus intéressant pour notre propos. Ce passage a la particularité de mentionner à la fois le malheur d’Israël et celui de l’Assyrie. L’évocation des raisons du malheur de l’Assyrie inclut, en effet, un rappel de la mission qu’elle avait reçue de Yahvé de punir Israël (Is 10:5–6). Au lieu d’accomplir cette mission, l’Assyrie a refusé de façon catégorique le rôle d’agent de Yahvé. Rejetant la souveraineté de Yahvé, l’Assyrie prétend agir de sa propre initiative, avoir son propre plan et le réaliser par son propre pouvoir et par sa propre sagesse. Le plan de l’Assyrie consiste à supprimer des nations en grand nombre (Is 10:7). Elle se vante d’avoir enlevé, effectivement, les frontières des peuples (Is 10:13b). L’Assyrie a réalisé en grande partie son plan ; sa vantardise n’est pas loin de la réalité. Elle a, en effet, mis fin à de nombreux royaumes, notamment à celui d’Israël, ou en a changé les frontières ; elle a déporté des populations, pris de riches butins, imposé de lourds tributs. Les crimes de l’Assyrie, comme ceux des nations visées en Am 1:3–2,3*, ont pour cadre les relations internationales. Le plan de l’Assyrie et les exploits dont elle se vante renvoient au mythe de la répartition de l’humanité en peuples, chacun avec son territoire. L’Assyrie prétend défaire l’œuvre de Yahvé, qui a réparti l’humanité en nations et a établi leurs frontières29. Aussi Is 10:5–15* souligne-t-il

27 Parmi l’abondante bibliographie, les études de J. Barton sont encore les plus pertinentes pour notre propos : “Ethics in Isaiah of Jerusalem,” JTS 32 (1981), pp. 1–18; Isaiah 1–39 (Sheffield, 1995), pp. 55–62 ; “Ethics in the Book of Isaiah,” in: C.C. Broyles and C.A. Evans (eds.), Writing and Reading the Scroll of Isaiah. Studies of an Interpretive Tradition (VTS 70/1–Formation and Interpretation of Old Testament Literature 1/1; Leiden-New York-Köln, 1997), pp. 67–77; Ethics in the Old Testament (supra n. 7), pp. 63–65. Cf. aussi H.G.M. Williamson, “Isaiah and the Wise,” in: J. Day et al. (eds.), Wisdom in Ancient Israel. Essays in honour of J.A. Emerton (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 137–141 (133–141). 28 Is 5:8, 11, 18, 20, 21, 22; 10:1; 29:1, 15; 30:1; 31:1; 33:1. 29 Surtout Dt 32:8–9; mais aussi Dt 29:25; Is 63:17; Jr 3:19; 10:16; 12:7–10; Za 2:16; Ps 74:2,17; 78:71; cf. H. Wildberger, Jesaja. I. Teilband. Jesaja 1–12, BK X/1 (Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1972), pp. 399–400; S. Mittmann, “„Wehe! Assur, Stab meines Zorns“

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fortement l’orgueil de l’Assyrie, présentée comme la rivale de Yahvé, voire une sorte d’anti-Yahvé. Voilà son péché et la raison de sa ruine, mimée d’avance au moyen de l’interjection funéraire ‫הוי‬, qui ouvre l’oracle. L’élargissement des frontières dont Am 1:13 accuse Ammon a sans doute pour toile de fond le même mythe de la répartition primordiale de l’humanité en nations, chacune avec son territoire, son dieu et ses institutions30. 2. Les injustices de Juda et d’Israël Comme Amos, Isaïe dénonce plusieurs actions qui sont interdites par les lois bibliques. C’est le cas du meurtre31, du vol32, de l’oppression des veuves et des orphelins33, de la corruption des juges34. Pas plus que dans le cas d’Amos, rien n’indique cependant qu’Isaïe se réfère à l’une ou l’autre de ces lois. Isaïe connaissait certainement les lois qui régissaient le royaume de Juda de son temps, mais il n’invoque pas leur autorité. De même qu’Amos, il dénonce des pratiques qui étaient légales : par exemple la confiscation des biens des petits propriétaires insolvables (Is 5:8–10), les impôts destinés à financer les dépenses liées à la défense nationale (Is 30:6). Il dénonce les législateurs eux-mêmes qui font des lois iniques dans leur propre intérêt (Is 10:1–3). Comme chez Amos, une bonne partie des dénonciations d’Isaïe ont pour objet des pratiques ou des comportements qui ne sont pas du ressort de la loi : le culte qui coexiste avec l’injustice, voire la met à son service (Is 1:10–17) ; les beuveries (Is 5:11–14,22–23 ; 28:1–4,7–13) ; la coquetterie des dames de condition (Is 3:16–4,1*) ; la construction d’un tombeau somptueux à Jérusalem de la part de Shebna (Is 22:15–19). Je me restreins aux beuveries, un thème qui se trouve chez Amos, mais que Isaïe développe de façon particulière35. La plupart des oracles

(Jes 10,5–9.13aβ – 15,” in: V. Fritz et al. (eds.), Prophet und Prophetenbuch. Festschrift für Otto Kaiser (BZAW 185; Berlin-New York, 1989), p. 120 (111–132). 30 D’après la traduction proposée par C. Cohen, le changement des frontières serait le seul crime dont Am 1:13 accuse Ammon ; cf. supra n. 10. 31 Is 1:21; cf. Ex 20:13. 32 Is 1:23; cf. Ex 20:15. 33 Is 1:17,23; cf. Ex 22:20–23; Dt 24:17–18; 27:19. 34 Is 1:23; 5:23; cf. Ex 23:8; Dt 10:17; 16:19; 27:25. 35 F.J. Gonçalves, “Comer y beber en los oráculos de Isaías. Aporte al tema ‘Isaías y la sabiduría,’ ” in: R. López Rosas (ed.), Comer, beber y alegrarse. Estudios bíblicos en honor a Raúl Duarte Castillo (Estudios Bíblicos Mexicanos 1; México, D.F., 2004), pp. 61–88 (53–88).

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isaïens relatifs à l’abus de la boisson s’ouvrent, comme Am 6:1–7, par l’interjection ‫הוי‬. Is 5:11–13, le premier passage au fil du texte, établit une opposition entre l’abus de la boisson et la perception de l’œuvre de Yahvé. Ce texte dit du rapport entre l’homme et l’œuvre de Yahvé ce que Pr 20:1 dit du rapport entre l’être humain et la sagesse : Arrogant (‫ )לץ‬est le vin, tumultueuse la boisson enivrante ! Qui en eux s’égare (‫ )שגה ב‬ne deviendra pas sage.

La boisson rend l’être humain arrogant et, du coup, incapable de devenir sage (Pr 20:1) et de prêter attention à l’œuvre de Yahvé (‫מעשה‬/‫פעל‬ ‫ )יהוה‬et de la discerner (Is 5:12). D’après 5:22–23, l’abus de la boisson corrompt l’administration de la justice. Le texte suggère que le pot de vin (‫ )שחד‬est ce qui donne aux juges l’accès au vin en abondance. On trouve l’association des boissons enivrantes et de l’injustice des gouvernants en Pr 31:4–5, passage qui se réfère plutôt à l’effet abrutissant de la boisson. Visant les dirigeants de Samarie, qualifiés d’ivrognes d’Éphraïm (‫)שכרי אפרים‬, Is 28:1 associe l’abus de la boisson à l’arrogance et à l’orgueil. Finalement, Is 28:7–13 évoque de façon très réaliste l’effet que les boissons enivrantes ont sur les prêtres et les prophètes. Is 28:7 emploie trois fois l’expression ‫( שגה ב‬s’égarer dans), en rapport à la fois avec le vin, la boisson enivrante et la vision. La seule autre attestation biblique de cette expression en rapport avec la boisson – et de la métaphore correspondante – se trouve en Pr 20:1. Dans les deux cas, l’égarement dans la boisson rend arrogant36 et, du coup, il empêche de devenir sage, en Pr 20:1 ; de reconnaître la parole que Yahvé adresse à Juda par la bouche d’Isaïe, et d’en saisir le sens, en Is 28:7–13. Forts de leurs prérogatives de professionnels de l’enseignement, les prêtres et les prophètes tiennent la parole de Yahvé transmise par Isaïe pour enfantine, s’en moquent et la récusent. D’autre part, l’égarement dans la boisson rend les prêtres et les prophètes incapables de remplir leurs fonctions d’enseignement, ce qui rapproche Is 28:7–13 de Pr 31:4–5. Dans les Proverbes comme chez Amos et Isaïe, l’abus de la boisson est associé à l’arrogance, à la suffisance, à la vanité. On peut en dire autant de la coquetterie des dames de Jérusalem et peut-être aussi de

36 L’arrogance (‫ )לץ‬du vin (Pr 20:1) a son correspondant dans celle des dirigeants de Jérusalem (‫)אנשי לצון‬, en Is 28:14.

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l’initiative de Shebna de se faire construire un riche tombeau à Jérusalem, deux objets des dénonciations d’Isaïe (Is 3:16–4,1* ; 22:15–9)37. Les sages polémiquent contre l’abus de la boisson au nom de l’expérience. Privant les êtres humains de lucidité et du sens de la mesure, l’abus de la boisson les rend incapables de se comporter de façon raisonnable, de se conformer aux normes. À plus forte raison, il rend les gouvernants incapables de gouverner. Pour les sages, il n’y avait aucun doute que les conclusions de l’expérience humaine correspondaient à l’ordre du monde instauré par Yahvé, le Créateur. La sobriété n’est donc pas une simple recette pour réussir dans la vie ; elle fait partie de la création. Tout indique que telle est aussi la conception d’Amos et d’Isaïe38. Ce que l’on dit de la sobriété vaut pour toutes les normes de conduite. Ne pas s’y conformer équivaut à essayer de renverser l’ordre du monde créé par Yahvé, et de le remplacer par un autre ordre créé par l’homme, simple créature. Deux textes d’Isaïe, très proches d’Am 5:7 et 6:12 à plus d’un égard, disent cela de façon particulièrement succincte. Les deux textes isaïens sont introduits par l’interjection ‫הוי‬, ce qui était peut-être aussi le cas d’Am 5:7 à l’origine39. Le premier texte est Is 5:20 : Malheur ! Ceux qui appellent le mal bien et le bien mal, qui font des ténèbres la lumière et de la lumière les ténèbres, qui font de l’amer le doux et du doux l’amer.

Le second est Is 29:15–16 : Malheur ! Ceux qui cachent profondément à Yahvé (leurs) desseins. Tandis qu’ils font leurs œuvres dans les ténèbres, ils disent : “Qui nous voit ? Qui nous connaît ?” Quel renversement (des rôles) est le vôtre (‫! )הפככם‬ tiendra-t-on le potier pour de l’argile, lorsque l’œuvre dit de celui qui l’a faite : “Il ne m’a pas faite”, et le pot dit de son potier : “Il n’est pas intelligent” ?

37 Apparemment Isaïe dénie à Shebna le droit de se construire un somptueux tombeau à Jérusalem à cause de son origine modeste ou non hiérosolymitaine. 38 Certes, le vin est défendu aux prêtres dans l’exercice de leurs fonctions en Ez 44:21 et Lv 10:9–11. Cette prohibition ne concerne cependant qu’une classe particulière, les prêtres, et dans des circonstances précises, l’exercice de leurs fonctions. Le gros de la population n’était en aucune façon concernée par cette loi, dont la formulation n’est attestée que bien après Amos, Isaïe et les proverbes les plus anciens. 39 Bon nombre de critiques supposent que, à l’origine, Am 5:7 et 6:13 s’ouvraient par ‫הוי‬, comme Am 5:18 et 6:1. Un copiste aurait omis par erreur l’interjection en Am 5:7 et 6:13, à la faveur de sa ressemblance avec l’article des participes qui suivent.

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Ce texte exprime l’idée du renversement de l’ordre du monde avec le radical ‫ הפך‬comme Am 5:7 et 6:12 ; il contient des questions rhétoriques de type sapientiel comme Am 6:12. III. Conclusions Pour Amos et Isaïe, de même que pour les auteurs des livres sapientiaux, la morale a pour source la création. L’ordre moral n’est que l’expression de l’ordre du monde – social et cosmique – tel que Yahvé l’a créé ou établi. H.H. Schmid a montré que, en termes bibliques, ces réalités s’expriment avant tout par ‫ צדק‬et ‫צדקה‬, désignant respectivement l’ordre du monde et le comportement qui s’y conforme40. Pour sa part, J. Barton a montré que toutes les prises de position d’Isaïe dans le domaine de l’éthique présupposent ce que l’on appellerait en termes modernes une sorte de loi naturelle41. Je suis parvenu à la même conclusion dans mon étude sur les interventions d’Isaïe lors de la révolte de Juda contre l’Assyrie qui a précédé l’expédition de Sennachérib42. J. Barton est moins affirmatif au sujet d’Amos, sans doute parce qu’il se limite aux oracles contre les nations (Am 1:3–2:3*)43. Si l’on tient compte également des oracles contre Israël, il devient clair que les fondements de la morale chez Amos sont les mêmes que chez Isaïe, et l’on peut parler également à son sujet d’une sorte de loi naturelle. Il ressort des discours d’Amos et d’Isaïe que la société – concrètement la société d’Israël et la société de Juda – telle que Yahvé l’a créée est hiérarchisée, stable et harmonieuse. Chaque personne y tient sa place et joue son rôle. Le peuple ne participe pas au gouvernement, mais il a droit à être gouverné avec justice. La paix et le bien-être d’Israël et de Juda dépendent de Yahvé. Il revient donc aux gouvernants de faire justice au peuple et de s’en remettre à Yahvé pour le bien-être.

40 H.H. Schmid, Gerechtigkeit als Weltordnung. Hintergrund und Geschichte des alttestamentlichen Gerechtigkeitsbegriffes (Beiträge zur Historischen Theologie 40; Tübingen, 1968) ; idem, “Schöpfung, Gerechtigkeit und Heil. „Schöpfungstheologie“ als Gesamthorizont biblischer Theologie” ZThK 70 (1973), pp. 1–19; sous forme abrégée, “Creation, Righteousness, and Salvation: ‘Creation Theology’ as the Broad Horizon of Biblical Theology”, in: B.W. Anderson (ed.), Creation in the Old Testament (Issues in Religion and Theology 6; Philadelphia-London, 1984), pp. 102–117. 41 Cf. supra aux nn. 7 et 27, surtout Ethics in the Old Testament, pp. 63–65. 42 F.J. Gonçalves, L’expédition de Sennachérib en Palestine dans la littérature hébraïque ancienne (EB n.s. 7; Paris, 1986), surtout pp. 265–269. 43 Ethics in the Old Testament, pp. 63–65.

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Ne pas faire l’une et l’autre chose équivaut à rejeter la seigneurie de Yahvé. En effet, en commettant l’injustice, les dirigeants remplacent l’ordre social créé par Yahvé par un autre de leur choix. En recourant aux moyens militaires, ils les mettent à la place qui ne peut revenir qu’à Yahvé. Par l’injustice et le recours à la stratégie militaire, les gouvernants prétendent usurper la seigneurie de Yahvé. Cette prétention de dépouiller le Créateur de ses prérogatives et de s’en emparer à son propre profit ou au profit d’une autre créature est l’orgueil, le moteur de tous les péchés. Cette idée est centrale chez Amos et Isaïe. Les discours d’Isaïe y insistent davantage, peut-être pour la simple raison qu’ils sont plus nombreux que ceux d’Amos. Par exemple, l’orgueil qui consiste à mettre la confiance dans les moyens militaires fait l’objet d’un grand nombre d’oracles d’Isaïe44, et d’un seul d’Amos, en Am 6:13 : Ceux qui se réjouissent au sujet de Lodbar (rien), ceux qui disent : “N’est-ce point avec notre force que nous avons pris Qarnayim (les deux cornes) ?”

Ce verset est la première partie d’une annonce de malheur fondée45 ; elle motive le malheur annoncé au verset suivant. En des termes qui ne sont pas sans rappeler ceux du discours de l’Assyrie en Is 10:5–15*, les Israélites se vantent de leurs conquêtes, comme s’ils en étaient les auteurs. En réponse à cette manifestation d’orgueil, Yahvé annonce qu’il va susciter une nation qui opprimera Israël du nord au sud. La prétention de renverser l’ordre du monde ne pourra qu’échouer : quoi qu’il arrive, Yahvé restera le Créateur, sans que ses créatures puissent le détrôner et, à plus forte raison, prendre sa place. Quiconque essaiera de le faire – Israël, Juda ou n’importe quelle autre nation – s’attirera immanquablement la ruine. En bref, Amos et Isaïe sont les témoins du yahvisme fondé sur la création46. Cette forme du yahvisme est la seule attestée dans les écrits sapientiaux les plus anciens (Proverbes, Job et Qohelet), dans un bon nombre de Psaumes, notamment ceux qui célèbrent la royauté. Il s’agit

44 F.J. Gonçalves, “Isaïe, Jérémie et la politique internationale de Juda”, Bib 76 (1995), pp. 282–291 (282–298). 45 Bon nombre d’exégètes pensent que l’oracle était introduit par l’interjection ‫; הוי‬ cf. supra n. 39. 46 F.J. Gonçalves, “Yahvé, su pueblo y los demás pueblos en el Antiguo Testamento”, in: G. Tejerina Arias (ed.), Radicalidad evangélica y fundamentalismos religiosos (Bibliotheca Salmanticensis. Estudios 256; Salamanca, 2003), pp. 135–165; idem, “Mundos bíblicos”, Cadernos ISTA (Lisboa) 18 (2005), pp. 7–34.

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sans doute de la forme de la religion de Yahvé la plus ancienne ; elle est toujours restée la lame de fond de la religion de l’Ancien Testament. Elle avait pour cheville ouvrière la royauté, qui a été le cœur des institutions d’Israël et de Juda, et n’a jamais disparu de l’horizon de l’Ancien Testament et de ses héritiers immédiats. La comparaison entre Amos et Osée montre que, de leur temps, le yahvisme fondé sur la création était majoritaire – en fait, il était la religion officielle – en Israël. Il était le seul connu en Juda du temps d’Isaïe. Osée et Jérémie La critique reconnaît unanimement l’existence d’affinités étroites entre le livre de Jérémie et celui d’Osée et l’on pense que l’un dépend de l’autre47. Leur message social a, effectivement, le même fondement. I. Osée À la différence des livres d’Amos et d’Isaïe 1–39, le livre d’Osée n’a pas d’oracles contre les nations. Il nomme certes l’Égypte treize fois et l’Assyrie neuf, mais ces pays ne font jamais l’objet d’une annonce de malheur. L’Égypte est avant tout le lieu où Yahvé est devenu le Dieu d’Israël et celui-ci le peuple de Yahvé ; le lieu d’où Yahvé a appelé Israël (‫)קרא‬48 et l’a fait monter (‫)העלה‬49. L’Égypte est aussi la puissance dont Israël cherche l’appui50, et le lieu où Israël retournera à cause de son infidélité à Yahvé51. L’Égypte est sujet grammatical une seule fois : « L’Égypte les (les Israélites rescapés de la dévastation) rassemblera, Memphis les ensevelira » (Os 9:6). L’Assyrie est la grande puissance qu’Israël courtise52 ; en fait, elle dominera Israël (Os 11:5), qui ira en

47 J. Jeremias, “Hoseas Einfluss auf das Jeremiabuch – ein traditionsgeschichtliches Problem,” in: K.A. Tångberg (ed.), Text and Theology: Studies in Honour of Professor Dr Theol. Magne Saebø (Oslo, 1994), pp. 112–134 ; M. Schulz-Rauch, Hosea und Jeremia: Zur Wirkungsgeschichte des Hoseabuches (Calwer theologische Monographien A, Bibelwissenschaft 16; Stuttgart, 1996); H. Lalleman-de Winkel, Jeremiah in Prophetic Tradition. An Examination of the Book of Jeremiah in the Light of Israel’s Prophetic Traditions (Contributions to Biblical Exegesis & Theology 26; Leuven, 2000). 48 Os 11:1. 49 Os 2:17; 12:10,14; 13:4; cf. 11:11. 50 Os 7:11;12:2. 51 Os 8:13; 9:3,6; cf. 7:16; 11:5. 52 Os 5:13; 7:11; 10:6; 12:2; cf. 14:4. L’Assyrie est l’un des amants d’Israël, rival de Yahvé (Os 8:9).

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Assyrie53. Celle-ci est sujet grammatical à deux reprises : « mais Assur sera son roi (d’Israël) » (Os 11:5) ; « Assur ne nous (les Israélites) sauvera pas » (Os 14:4). À la différence d’Amos et d’Isaïe, Osée ne s’intéresse pas aux nations étrangères pour elles-mêmes ; il ne porte aucun regard moral sur elles ; il ne leur demande pas des comptes ; il ne les traite pas comme des sujets moraux. Osée s’intéresse exclusivement à Israël, le seul dont il condamne la politique. L’Égypte et l’Assyrie sont uniquement au service des rapports entre Israël et Yahvé. Le livre d’Osée est certes dominé par les expressions religieuses des rapports entre Israël et Yahvé. Cela dit, il traite aussi des aspects moraux de ces rapports54. Os 4:1–2 est le passage le plus pertinent pour la question du fondement du message social d’Osée. Écoutez la parole de Yahvé, ô enfants d’Israël, car Yahvé a un procès avec les habitants du pays, car il n’y a ni fidélité ni amour, ni connaissance de Dieu dans le pays. Parjure, mensonge, assassinat, vol55, et adultère se répandent56 ; et ils ont ajouté sang versé à sang versé.

Os 4:1–3 est une annonce de malheur fondée. Le v. 3 annonce le malheur, que les vv. 1–2 fondent. Osée s’adresse aux enfants d’Israël et leur enjoint d’écouter la parole de Yahvé. Il les informe que Yahvé a un procès avec les habitants du pays (v. 1a), et en expose l’objet. Celui-ci a deux volets : l’inexistence de trois qualités et, du coup, l’existence à profusion de cinq actions. Il n’existe pas de ‫( אמת‬fidélité, vérité), de ‫( חסד‬amour, piété, bonté) ni de ‫( דעת אלהים‬connaissance de Dieu). Les actions dont le pays déborde s’expriment au moyen de cinq infinitifs absolus : ‫( אלה‬parjurer), ‫( כחש‬mentir), ‫( רצח‬assassiner),

53

Os 9:3; cf. 11:11. Os 4:1–3; 6:7–10; 7:1–2; 10:4. 55 ‫ גנב‬peut exprimer l’enlèvement d’une personne. 56 D’après la ponctuation massorétique, qui place l’atnah sous ‫ ונאף‬et zaqef gadol sur ‫פרצו‬, on doit rattacher les cinq infinitifs du v. 2a à ce qui précède et traduire : « il n’y a ni fidélité ni amour, ni connaissance de Dieu, mais parjure, mensonge, assassinat, vol et adultère ». Sans tenir compte de la ponctuation massorétique, je vois plutôt dans les cinq infinitifs du v. 2 le sujet de ‫פרצו‬, au sens de « jaillir, déborder, se répandre, accroître », le sens du verbe au v. 10 de ce même chapitre, son seul autre emploi dans le livre ; A.A. Macintosh, Hosea (ICC; Edinburgh, 1997), pp. 129–130. 54

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‫( גנב‬voler) et ‫( נאף‬commettre l’adultère). Le verset se termine par une sorte de résumé des effets des actions qui précèdent. Sauf le verbe ‫נגע‬, tous les termes employés en Os 4:1b-2, ou d’autres termes du même groupe lexical, se retrouvent ailleurs dans le livre ; d’aucuns y sont fréquents. Ainsi, l’expression ‫ דעת אלהים‬revient en Os 6:6. Il est aussi question de la connaissance, à deux reprises, en Os 4:6. Le radical ‫ ידע‬est encore attesté seize fois sous forme verbale. Il a toujours pour sujet Israël/Éphraïm et pour complément d’objet direct Yahvé ou une réalité en rapport avec Yahvé57 ou vice-versa58. Le mot ‫ חסד‬se lit en Os 2:21 ; 6:4,6 ; 10:12 ; 12:7. ‫ אמת‬ne se retrouve pas ailleurs dans le livre, mais on y lit ‫( אמונה‬2:22)59. Le verbe ‫ אלה‬revient en 10:4 ; ‫ רצח‬en 6:9 ; ‫ גנב‬en 7:1 ; ‫ נאף‬au sens propre en 7:460 ; ‫ פרץ‬en 4:10. Finalement, les substantifs ‫דמים‬/‫( דם‬1:4 ; 6:8 et 12:15) et ‫כחש‬ (7:3 ; 10:13 et 12:1) se lisent chacun trois autres fois dans le livre. Os 4:1b–2 se présente ainsi comme une sorte de catalogue des accusations de caractère moral qui parsèment le livre, surtout sa seconde partie61. Parmi les actions dénoncées en Os 4:2, tuer, voler, commettre l’adultère correspondent à trois interdits du Décalogue (Ex 20:13–15 // Dt 5:17–19). Exprimées avec les mêmes verbes, ces actions s’y trouvent juxtaposées comme en Os 4:2. La seule différence est l’ordre des éléments : dans le Décalogue, l’adultère se trouve entre l’assassinat et le vol. Pour le sens, parjurer et mentir correspondent à l’invocation du nom de Yahvé à faux (Ex 20:7 // Dt 5:11) et au faux témoignage (Ex 20:16 // Dt 5:20)62. Os 4:2 suppose l’existence d’une liste d’interdits comprenant au moins les trois qui portent sur l’assassinat, le vol et l’adultère. Os 4:2 est sans doute le premier témoin de l’existence de ce genre de catalogues63, qui sont les prédécesseurs du Décalogue (Ex 20:1–17 // Dt 5:6–21).

57

Os 2:10,22; 6:3,3; 7:9,9; 8:2; 9:7; 13:4; 14:10; à la négative (Os 5:4; 11:3). Os 5:3,9; 8:4; 13:5. 59 ‫( נאמנה‬Os 5:9) et ‫( נאמן‬Os 12:1). 60 Le verbe y est employé le plus souvent au sens métaphorique, pour exprimer l’infidélité d’Israël, l’épouse, à l’égard de Yahvé, son époux (Os 2:4; 3:1; 4:13,14). 61 On y voit généralement une introduction à la deuxième partie du livre ; cf. J. Jeremias, Der Prophet Hosea (ATD 24/1; Göttingen, 1983), pp. 59–60. 62 On a « vous ne mentirez pas » (‫)לא־תכחשו‬, associé à « vous ne volerez pas » et à « vous ne tromperez pas » en Lv 19:11. 63 D’aucuns tiennent le passage pour rédactionnel, mais pré-deutéronomiste ; cf. S. Grätz, “Die vergebliche Suche nach Gott. Traditions- und kompositionsgeschichtliche Überlegungen zu Herkunft und Funktion der Strafvorstellungen in Hosea iv 1–vi 6,” VT 50 (2000), pp. 201–202 (200–217). 58

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Yahvé accuse les habitants du pays de violer cinq ou trois commandements ; il était donc le garant de leur observance. Certes, Os 4:1–2 ne dit pas qu’il en était aussi l’auteur, mais le contexte biblique ne laisse pas douter que tel était le cas. En effet, les deux versions du Décalogue sont mises dans la bouche de Yahvé (Ex 20:1–2 // Dt 5:1,5–6). Dt 4:13 et 10:4 précisent que Yahvé a écrit lui-même les dix paroles sur deux tables de pierre. Alors qu’Amos et Isaïe fondent la morale sur des normes universelles que tout être humain peut déduire de la création, Osée la fonde sur des lois positives que Yahvé a données directement à Israël et à lui seul. Soit dit en passant, on comprend alors que, dans le livre d’Osée, Yahvé ne demande pas des comptes aux peuples étrangers ni ne les condamne. En Os 4:1, Yahvé s’adresse aux ‫בני ישראל‬, et leur déclare qu’il est en procès avec les ‫יושבי הארץ‬. Les fils d’Israël sont les spectateurs du procès que Yahvé fait aux habitants du pays. Les critiques pensent sans hésitation que les expressions fils d’Israël et habitants du pays sont synonymes et que les deux désignent Israël. On fait remarquer que l’apposition de « habitants du pays » à « enfants d’Israël » souligne l’idée de l’appartenance du pays à Yahvé, non pas à Israël. Il n’y a pas de doute que le pays dont parle Os 4:1a est le pays de Yahvé (Os 9:3), appelé aussi Maison de Yahvé dans le livre (Os 8:1 ; 9:8,15)64. À ma connaissance, Simian-Yofre a été le seul qui a contesté l’identité des enfants d’Israël et des habitants du pays. L’auteur se fonde avant tout sur les sens de l’expression ‫ יושבי הארץ‬dans l’Ancien Testament65. Mis à part quelques passages récents, où cette expression a le sens universel de « habitants de la terre »66, elle désigne les peuples qui ont précédé Israël en Canaan67. C’est le sens retenu par Simian-Yofre. Yahvé serait en procès avec les Cananéens, et en dénoncerait les péchés. Cela dit,

64 Os 9:4 est secondaire ; cf. A.A. Macintosh, Hosea, p. 343–346. Tenant pour baaliste le culte d’Israël, il est peu vraisemblable qu’ Osée appelle « Maison de Yahvé » l’un de ses temples. 65 H. Simian-Yofre, El desierto de los dioses. Teología e Historia en el libro de Oseas (Córdoba, 1993), p. 65. 66 Jr 25:29,30; So 1:18 (?); Za 11:6; Ps 33:14. 67 Gn 36:20; Ex 23:31; Nb 32:17; 33:52,55; Jos 2:9,24; 7:9; 9:11,24; 13:21; Jg 1:33; 2:2; 1 Ch 11:4; 22:18. En Jr 1:14; 6:12; 10:18 et 13:13, l’expression désigne les Judéens, mais elle suggère leur assimilation aux Cananéens. Cette connotation est moins claire en Jl 1:2,14 et 2:1.

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Yahvé s’adresse aux Israélites parce que “también ellos se han hecho solidarios con los cananeos.”68 L’expression ‫ יושבי הארץ‬a été forgée dans le contexte de la légende des origines égyptiennes d’Israël, et c’est surtout dans ce contexte qu’elle a été employée. Le fait que cette légende occupe une place centrale dans le livre d’Osée conseille d’attribuer à « habitants du pays », en Os 4:1, son sens habituel de Cananéens69. Or rien n’indique qu’il existait en Israël, dans la seconde moitié du VIIIe siècle av. J.-C., une quelconque entité ethnique cananéenne, distincte du reste de la population. Pourquoi l’auteur d’Os 4:1 aurait-il eu alors recours à la fiction d’un procès de Yahvé avec un groupe humain qui n’existait plus ? N’est-il pas plus vraisemblable qu’il parle d’un groupe qui existait réellement ? Qui aurait pu être ce groupe ? Le meilleur candidat est, à mon avis, le groupe de ceux qui ne partageaient pas la conception qu’Osée avait du yahvisme. Contrairement à son contemporain Amos, qui n’émet pas le moindre doute au sujet du caractère yahviste des institutions nationales d’Israël70, Osée les considère comme baalistes71, et il les rejette en bloc. Si les institutions nationales sont baalistes, ceux qui y adhèrent – Amos et, vraisemblablement, l’écrasante majorité de la population – sont logiquement « cananéens ». Aussi Os 4:1a les appelle « habitants du pays ». Ce faisant, Osée les exclut d’Israël, et leur dénie toute légitimité. Les auteurs deutéronomico-deutéronomistes en feront autant. Sous leur plume, les noms des anciens peuples de Canaan sont les sobriquets dont ils se servent pour désigner leurs concurrents, c’est-à-dire les Judéens et les Juifs qui ne partagent pas leurs conceptions du yahvisme et d’Israël72.

68

H. Simian-Yofre, El desierto de los dioses (supra, n. 65), p. 65. Terme générique pour désigner les prédécesseurs d’Israël et de Juda. 70 Amos condamne certes le culte israélite, mais nullement parce qu’il ne s’adresse pas à Yahvé. Celui-ci rejette le culte qu’Israël lui voue parce qu’il s’accompagne de l’injustice, voire s’en sert. 71 Sur le sens de cette accusation, on peut voir J. Jeremias, “Der Begriff ‘Baal’ im Hoseabuch und seine Wirkungsgeschichte,” in: W. Dietrich / M. Klopfenstein (eds.), Ein Gott allein? JHWH-Verehrung und biblischer Monotheismus im Kontext der israelitischen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte (OBO 139; Freiburg Schweiz-Göttingen, 1994), pp. 441–462; J.A. Dearman, “Interpreting the Religious Polemics Against Baal and the Baalim in the Book of Hosea,” OTE 14 (2001), pp. 9–25; L.M. Bechtel, “The Metaphors of ‘Canaanite’ and ‘Baal’ in Hosea,” in: J. Kaltner and L. Stulman (eds.), Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East. Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon (JSOTS 378; London-New York, 2004), pp. 203–215. 72 R.L. Cohn, “The Second Coming of Moses: Deuteronomy and the Construction of Israelite Identity,” in: R. Margolin (ed.), Proceedings of the Twelfth World Congress 69

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Os 4:1a oppose aux habitants du pays les fils d’Israël, le groupe avec lequel Osée s’identifie. Les péchés dont le pays déborde ne sont pas le fait de véritables Israélites, mais de Cananéens qui prétendent être Israélites. Os 12:8–9 témoigne de la même opposition. Ces deux versets établissent un parallèle entre Canaan et Éphraïm : « Canaan a en main des balances trompeuses, il aime exploiter » (v. 8), et Éphraïm se vante de s’être enrichi en toute honnêteté (v. 9). La mise en parallèle de la fraude de Canaan et de l’enrichissement d’Éphraïm implique un jugement sur le dernier. Ses protestations d’honnêteté ne font qu’attirer l’attention sur la fraude par laquelle il s’est enrichi. De même que les « habitants du pays » d’Os 4:1, Canaan n’est plus une entité ethnique, mais un sobriquet d’Éphraïm ; il souligne sa fraude dans les échanges commerciaux. D’après Os 12:8–9, une telle pratique n’est pas israélite, mais cananéenne. Voilà la raison pour laquelle l’auteur d’Os 12:8–9 la condamne. Il est intéressant de comparer les raisons pour lesquelles Os 12:8–9 d’une part, et les Proverbes, Amos (8:5) et Michée (6:10–11) d’autre part condamnent les balances fausses. Os 12:8–9 les exclut, parce qu’elles sont cananéennes. En revanche, Proverbes affirme qu’elles sont une abomination pour Yahvé (Pr 11:1 ; 20:10,23) parce qu’il a créé lui-même les balances justes (Pr 16:11) ; celles-ci font ainsi partie de l’ordre du monde. Os 4:1 et 12:8–9 témoignent de la même opposition entre les deux conceptions d’Israël qui s’exprime dans les deux légendes des origines, l’une indigène et l’autre allogène, ayant pour héros respectivement Jacob et un prophète (Moïse) (Os 12)73.

of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem, July 29–August 5, 1997. Division A. The Bible and Its World (Jerusalem, 1999), pp. 69*–71* (59*–71*). Cf. aussi N.P. Lemche, The Canaanites and Their Land. The Tradition of the Canaanites (JSOTS 110; Sheffield, 1991), pp. 162–169; L.L. Rowlett, Joshua and the Rhetoric of Violence. A New Historicist Analysis (JSOTS 226; Sheffield, 1996); A.D.H. Mayes, “Deuteronomistic Ideology and the Theology of the Old Testament,” JSOT 82 (1999), pp. 78–79 (57–82); L.M. Bechtel, “The Metaphors of ‘Canaanite’ and ‘Baal’ in Hosea” (supra, n. 71), pp. 203–215. 73 A. de Pury, “Osée 12 et les implications pour le débat actuel sur le Pentateuque,” in: P. Haudebert (ed.), Le Pentateuque. Débats et recherches. XIV Congrès de l’ACFEB, Angers (1991), LD 151 (Paris, 1992), pp. 175–207; idem, “Erwägungen zu einem vorexilischen Stämmejahwismus. Hosea 12 und die Auseinandersetzung um die Identität Israels und seines Gottes,” in: W. Dietrich / M.A. Klopfenstein (eds.), Ein Gott allein? (supra n. 71), pp. 413–439 ; idem, “Las dos leyendas sobre el origen de Israel (Jacob y Moisés) y la elaboración del Pentateuco,” EstBíb 52 (1994), pp. 95–131; T. Römer, “Les histoires des Patriarches et la légende de Moïse : une double origine ?,” in: D. Doré (ed.), Comment la Bible saisit-elle l’histoire ? (LD 215; Paris, 2007), pp. 155–196.

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II. Jérémie Le livre de Jérémie contient un recueil d’oracles contre les nations74, mais, à la différence d’Amos et d’Isaïe, il ne fonde pas le malheur des nations sur leur injustice sociale. Il réserve cela à Juda. Je m’arrêterai seulement à Jr 7:9a, le texte le plus pertinent pour la question du fondement de la morale dans le livre : . . . voler, assassiner, commettre l’adultère, prêter de faux serments . . .

Ce verset fait partie de Jr 7:1–15*, que l’on appelle la première version du « Sermon du Temple ». On y distingue deux strates littéraires, une première que l’on attribue souvent à Jérémie lui-même et une rédaction deutéronomiste ou apparentée75. La plupart des exégètes pensent que le texte primitif était centré sur le temple, dénonçait la fausse sécurité puisée dans la croyance en son inviolabilité (vv. 4,10–13a,14*), et reprochait uniquement les méfaits d’ordre social relevés au v. 9a76. À l’instar d’Os 4:2, Jr 7:9a contient une liste d’accusations formulées avec des verbes à l’infinitif correspondant à autant de préceptes du Décalogue. Alors que la liste d’Os 4:2 comporte cinq actions, celle de Jr 7:9a n’en contient que quatre. Les trois premières sont communes aux deux textes. Elles coïncident avec les trois interdits du Décalogue qui se trouvent également juxtaposés en Ex 20:13–15 et Dt 5:17–19, mais dans un ordre différent de celui d’Os 4:2 et de Jr 7:9a. La quatrième accusation de Jr 7:9a, ‫( השבע לשקר‬prêter de faux serments),

74

JrLXX 25:14–31:44 / JrTM 46–51. On n’a pas tenu compte des différences quantitatives qui existent entre les LXX et le TM. Plus long, ce dernier contient une troisième strate ; voir ma recension de P.C. Craigie et al., Jeremiah 1–25 (WBC 26; Dallas, Texas, 1991), RB 107 (2000), pp. 107–109 (105–110) ; au sujet de la strate tenue pour deutéronomiste, on peut voir, F.J. Gonçalves, “ ‘La maison qui est appelée du nom du Seigneur’, au livre de Jérémie,” in: J.-C. Petit (ed.), « Où demeures-tu? ». La maison depuis le monde biblique. En hommage au professeur Guy Couturier (Montréal, 1994), pp. 165–185. 76 W. Thiel, Die deuteronomistische Redaktion von Jeremia 1–25 (WMANT 41; Neukirchen-Vluyn, 1973), pp. 105–119; W. McKane, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah. I. Introduction and Commentary on Jeremiah I–XXV (ICC; Edinburgh, 1986), pp. 158–169; E. Haag, “Zion und Schilo. Traditionsgeschichtliche Parallelen in Jeremia 7 und in der Psalm 78,” in: J. Zmijewski (ed.), Die alttestamentliche Botschaft als Wegweisung, Festschrift H. Reinelt (Stuttgart, 1990), pp. 85–115. Sa-Moon Kang, “The Authentic Sermon in Jeremiah 7:1–20,” in: M.V. Fox et al. (eds.), Texts, Temples and Traditions. A Tribute to Menahem Haran (Winona Lake, Indiana, 1996), pp. 160–161 (147–162), attribue également au texte primitif l’accusation d’encenser Baal, mais l’expression « caverne de brigands (‫ » )פרצים‬ne conseille guère l’hypothèse. 75

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correspond à l’interdit du faux témoignage, qui suit immédiatement les trois autres dans le Décalogue (Ex 20:16 // Dt 5:20). Comme Osée, et à la différence d’Amos et d’Isaïe, Jérémie fonde la morale sur les lois positives que Yahvé a données directement à son peuple, et qui ne s’appliquent qu’à lui. Avec le Deutéronome, Jérémie est aussi le premier témoin datable de la présence en Juda du yahvisme fondé sur l’histoire d’Israël avec son Dieu77.

77 Certes Ex 23:15 associe la sortie d’Égypte à la fête des Azymes, mais il est difficile à savoir à quel moment on a établi ce rapport.

TOWARDS THE FORMULATION OF A THEOLOGY OF THE SEPTUAGINT Johann Cook 1. Introduction The formulation of a theology is not the exclusive right of students of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. A recent publication edited by Oeming, Schmid and Schüle (2004) is suggestively entitled “Theologie in Israel und in den Nachbarkulture.” Hence, according to Anders Hultgård, one can speak of a theology in ancient Iran. The Septuagint has also become the object of similar reflection and, as to be expected, scholars hold divergent views on this issue. There are, broadly speaking, two approaches to this issue: some scholars (Rösel, Schaper, etc.) have a maximalist approach, whereas others (Pietersma, Sollamo, a.o.) are more sceptical and can be deemed to be minimalists. However, these scholars do not differ so much on the question of whether a theology (depending on definitions) of the LXX is possible, but rather on how this could in fact be achieved. As a matter of fact, the differences between these approaches seem to be rooted in questions of methodology. This paper will therefore concentrate on methodological issues and will address the following issues: 1. Definitions as to what is understood by the term “theology”; 2. A suitable methodological paradigm for interpreting the LXX; 3. The role of the translation technique followed by individual translators in the interpretation of the LXX; 4. Sample texts from the book of Proverbs will be analysed in order to demonstrate relevant theological perspectives. 2. Towards a Theology/Theologies? About the question as to what should be understood under the rubric “Theology” scholars differ rather dramatically. Recently Schüle (2004: 4) suggested a fairly systematic approach towards this issue in which he

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formulated three aspects referring to them as “Deutungs- Reflexionsund Überlieferungsebene von Theologie.” In this regard Gerhard von Rad has previously contributed decisively towards the reflection on the Theology of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament. His contribution has a special bearing upon this paper in that he was of the opinion that theology is to be formulated against the background of the Überlieferungsgeschichte of these texts. This led him to accept the reality that there is no single theology of the Old Testament: “Problematisch wird uns unter diesem Aspekt die Vorstellung von der Einheit des Alten Testaments insofern, weil das Alte Testament nicht nur eine, sondern ein Anzahl von Theologien enthält, die sowohl in ihrer Struktur wie in der Art ihrer Argumentation weit voneinander divergieren” (Von Rad 1973: 291). Since this paper concerns the Septuagint it is necessary to concentrate on this corpus. As is the case with the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament definitions vary as to how the term “theology” should be understood. Hence definitions vary. Scholars such as Bertram (1936) identified elements of what is called “Theological exegesis” in practically every book of the Septuagint. Others were more careful; Emanuel Tov, for example, distinguishes between linguistic and contextual exegesis (1981: 82) and accepts the possibility of theological exegesis, but expects to find such evidence only in the more freely rendered books, such as Isaiah, Daniel, Job and Proverbs (Tov 1999: 258). In the Festschrift for Johan Lust Cook (2005: 65) added the term “ideology” as a possibility to consider in conjunction with the term “theology”. The most comprehensive position on the possibility of writing a theology of the Septuagint has been put forward by Martin Rösel (2006: 239–252). What is clear to me is that “theology,” or “ideology” for that matter, is to be located in the way any given translator in fact renders his parent text. It is exactly in the differences between the source text and the target text that interpretation takes place. This interpretation could be understood as exegesis or theology. According to Aejmeleaus, this theology can only be located in the words of any given translator.1 She also provided her definition of theology in the Septuagint: “ ‘Theologie’ verstehe ich in diesem Zusammenhang im weitesten Sinn als

1 A. Aejmeleus (2006: 22): “Wenn es sich aber um Theologie der Septuaginta-Übersetzer handelt, sind ihre sprachlichen Äusserungen alles, was wir haben.”

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einen Sammelbegriff für religiöse oder theologische Überzeugungen” (Aejmelaeus 2006: 23). It would therefore seem to me that scholars largely agree that it is possible and also appropriate to speak of a theology, or then theological exegesis of the LXX. However, the positions diverge as to HOW this theology should be determined. The difference of opinion is clearly grounded in methodological issues. Therefore I commence with methodological reflection aimed at finding a suitable paradigm for the interpretation of (Septuagintal) texts. 3. Towards a Paradigm for Interpretation Taking a lead from Von Rad’s Überlieferungsgeschichtliche approach, I think the so-called Aristeas book2 can be of assistance in the formulation of a suitable model for interpretation. 3.1. The Aristeas Book and the Septuagint It is not possible to deal exhaustively with this important writing in the present context.3 However, it is clear that there is no consensus about several aspects of this book. Nevertheless, there is a general agreement amongst scholars that this work opens enlightening perspectives on the origins and later application of the Septuagint. With the term Septuagint I naturally focus on the so-called Old Greek texts and I deliberately omit the non-translational, de novo writings such as Ben Sira.4 One example of the broad consensus is the conclusion by Brock (1979) that Aristeas does not in the first place have to do with the origins of the LXX but rather with its reception history. Hence it remains a question whether anything can be gleaned about the origin of the LXX from this document. As will become clear soon it has an indirect reference only. Scholars differ about the possible original setting of the LXX and there are various theories: the liturgicalsetting; the schoolsettings, and some even think that it was translated for legal purposes. The schoolsetting is promising as suggested by Brock (1979). It was Pietersma (2002: 346–350) who argued that the LXX originally

2 3 4

S. Honigman (2003: 1) suggested this title. See N. Fernández Marcos (2000: 35–52) and Cook (2005b: 442–452). See C. Boyd-Taylor (2006: 15) and Pietersma (2006: 34).

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probably had an educational intent in that it acted as a school-text crib to educate students, as was the case with Homer. Accordingly, Aristeas does not refer directly to the origins of the LXX but indirectly. Again Brock’s view of the Septuagint is enlightening, since he thinks that the translation tries to bring the reader to the original, not the original to the reader (Wright 2006: 52). Thus from the textual-linguistic make-up of the LXX it is clear that there was originally a relationship of dependence or subservience between the Greek and the Hebrew. However, in time the situation changed and it becomes clear that the book of Aristeas in fact assumes that the Septuagint was intended to be a free-standing and independent replacement for the Hebrew Pentateuch (Wright 2006: 50). Aristeas in fact acts as propaganda for this development. Clearly a shift in the intention of the Septuagint is observed in this regard. Here the work by Toury (1995: 30) proves to be helpful since, according to him, “translations which retain their status as facts of the target culture may nevertheless change their position over time.” And this is what happened to the Septuagint: its function changed from the original dependence on the Semitic to being an independent, free-standing replacement of this Semitic parent text “without experiencing any modification of its textual-linguistic make-up” (Wright 2006: 53). These perspectives clearly have to be accounted for by the hermeneutist. Wright is also correct in asserting that “The Letter of Aristeas offers a justification, a myth of origins, for what the Septuagint has become by the author’s time, and it had become two things that it probably was not in the beginning: independent and scriptural” (Wright 2006: 57 my italics). This clear differentiation between the inception and reception history of the LXX is observed also in the modes of interpretation of the Septuagint. 3.2. The Interpretation of Texts The fact that the Septuagint is a translation of a Semitic text impacts greatly upon the methodology that could be applied to understand it.5 Two entities should be accounted for: the source- and the target text. Moreover, these two texts derive from different languages: one,

5

Cf. Cook (2006) and Aejmelaeus (2004: 133–150).

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Semitic languages (Hebrew and Aramaic) and, the other hand, an Indo-European language (Greek). Another given is the fact that the OG text is translational-, and not compositional literature (Boyd-Taylor 2005: 15). This is of crucial importance since translational literature requires a different methodological approach.6 In close conjunction is the distinction between produced and recepted texts. Various theories have been proposed in order to cross these seemingly insurmountable barriers. There are basically three paradigms, that can be related to the history of the LXX: the first is the so-called interlinear model, the second, the free-standing, replacement translation of the French school. The third is the German based project which approaches the text “in its present outlook.” 3.2.1. The Interlinear Model Albert Pietersma (2002) recently suggested a new paradigm for Septuagintal origins as a basis for the interpretation of the LXX. As stated already he concurs with S.P. Brock’s (1972: 16–17) implicit suggestion of an educational origin of the Septuagint. He, moreover, accepts that the Hebraic dimension of the LXX needs to be accounted for; that linguistically the LXX is Hebraic; and that the Septuagint was, from its very beginning, linguistically a free-standing text (Pietersma 2002: 394–350). This theory applies only to the birth of the Septuagint, i.e. the original Sitz im Leben, and does not account for its complicated transmission history. This model also takes seriously the fact that the LXX is a Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible. Hence there is a natural link between the Greek and the Hebrew. To be sure, this paradigm does not focus exclusively on the Greek, even though in the final analysis the Greek is what is aimed at. Instead, the interlinear paradigm is meant to indicate a linguistic relationship between two texts, one in Hebrew/Aramaic and the other in Greek, and “the term ‘interlinear’ is meant to indicate a relationship of subservience and dependence of the Greek translation vis-à-vis the Hebrew parent text. What is meant by subservience and dependence is not that every linguistic item in

6 For one thing “Translations deviate from the conventions governing well-formed texts and this fact has both linguistic and social cultural implications” (Boyd-Taylor 2005: 17).

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the Greek can only be understood by reference to the parent text, nor that the translation has an isomorphic relationship to its source, but that the Greek text qua text has a dimension of unintelligibility. Hence for some essential linguistic information, the parent text needs to be consulted, since the text as we have it cannot stand on its own feet” (Pietersma 2002: 350). According to this paradigm, the researcher should focus on the OG when trying to understand the Septuagint and this text should be studied in close conjunction with its Semitic Vorlage. The paradigm suggested by Pietersma is generally followed in the IOSCS-based NETS (New English Translation of the Septuagint) project (Pietersma 1996: 9). Basic to this paradigm is the realisation that the Septuagint includes a corpus of translational literature (Boyd-Taylor 2005: 8), even though the original Greek compositions make up a substantial part of the Septuagintal corpus and should be treated differently. It stands to reason that this type of literature is fundamentally different from compositional literature and that it has to be analysed by means of a different methodology. For one thing, in some instances the source text tends to superimpose its linguistic structure on the target text. Johan Lust (1992: VIII) reminded us that the Greek used by the translators should be deemed translation Greek, and that the grammar of the LXX in some books can be described as Semitic rather than Greek. The same axiom applies to the distinction between produced texts and received texts (Pietersma 2006: 51). The difference between these corpora is demarcated in Toury’s interpretation of the discipline Descriptive Translation Studies (DTS). He argues that all translations are facts of their recipient cultures, produced in order to satisfy pertinent requirements. They inherently possess the following interdependent aspects: function; product and process. Schematically he sees these aspects as follows: “ ‘position/function’ determining textual-linguistic make-up (‘product’), which in turn governs the relationship that holds translation and original together” (Pietersma 2006: 51). In the final analysis, according to DTS, these aspects shape the production of a translated text. This process differs fundamentally from the process that takes place in the reception of a given text. However, as stated already, this has no bearing upon the textual-linguistic make-up of the received text (Toury 1995: 14). This distinction is decisive, since it delineates two approaches to the Septuagint. The interlinear model, which focuses on the produced text, stands in stark contrast to the other comprehensive Septuagint

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project, the French one, La Bible d’Alexandrie under the directorship of Madame Harl7 from the Sorbonne. 3.2.2. Reception-Orientated Interpretation The main difference between these projects is that, whereas NETS concentrates on the Old Greek, the French project includes as well the reception8 of the Septuagint especially in Patristic literature. Thus this paradigm in Septuagint studies is that of the LXX as “a free-standing, replacement translation” (Pietersma 2002: 340). Harl and her colleagues study the Septuagint “pour elle-même,” “an sich,” without from the outset taking the original parent text into account. In short, in the realm of the translation the Greek text has to be translated with the following question in mind “How did the reader at that time – who did not know Hebrew – understand the text?” (Kraus 2006: 68). In the course of my research on the book of Proverbs it became clear to me that it is practically impossible to deal with both the OG and its later reception at the same time (Cook 2002: 106). In many instances D’Hamonville (2000) seeks to expound the OG via the later reception, which seems, to me at least, to be anachronistic. Aejmeleaus (2004: 135) also warns against a too broad perspective in this regard: “Es ist nicht sinnvoll auf verschiedene Stufen der Rezeptionsgeschichte gleichseitig zu fokussieren.” Thus, the comprehensive approach of focusing on the reception of the Septuagint remains a serious problem, at least as far as the formulation of a theology of the Septuagint is concerned. This is naturally an acceptable exercise in its own right. 3.2.3. The text in its Present Outlook According to Utzschneider (2001: 20) this German project (Kreuzer 2001: 40–45) adopts a methodological position between that of NETS, on the one hand, and that of La Bible d’Alexandrie, on the other. He depicts NETS as, what he calls, amont orientated – “eine Aufwärtsperspektive (sie ist diachron und autorenorientiert)” (2001: 15). The Sorbonne project he sees as aval orientated “(Sie ist synchron und leserorientiert) dass ihr Interesse der griechischen Bibel als einem

7

Cf. M. Harl (2001a: 10–12) and Cook (2002: 103–115). Cf. Harl (2001: 181); “We are interested in the problems of translation and in the interpretation history.” 8

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‘oevre autonome, détachée de son modèle’ gilt” (2001: 15). His own position Utschneider defines as “In Augenhöhe mit dem Text,” (2001: 20) the text in its present outlook (Kraus 2006: 70). This view is based upon the axiom that translation and interpretation are mingled in the LXX and that the LXX is more than a translation (Kraus 2006: 78). To Kraus the crucial issue is that “(t)he original translators of the LXX wanted to mediate between the tradition and the contemporary situation. This includes a relation to the Vorlage as well as the possibility of conscious modifications and attempts to bring things up-to-date” (Kraus 2006: 70). To me it is clear that the German position is generally more oriented towards the Old Greek text, which could be a reason why this project is executed in close conjunction with the NETS project. At the least the reception of the LXX plays a far less decisive role than is the case in the French project. 3.2.4. Evaluation From this cursory discussion some conclusions may now be drawn. Firstly, it should be clear that in order to formulate a theology of the Septuagint the point of departure should be the Old Greek text. Secondly, the reception of this text by later generations should not come into play initially. It is naturally an acceptable exercise in its own right and it could in some instances throw light upon how any given passage was understood by later readers. Thirdly, I think that the mediating perspective of the German project could be helpful, especially the view that the Septuagint is more than a translation9 and that the translators intended mediating between tradition and their own context. 4. Translation Technique and Interpretation The question of the translation technique followed by individual translators is an issue that is basic to all research into the versions. This term is a problematic one and scholars also disagree as to what should be understood under the rubric of ‘translation technique’ in relation to the ancient translations. In the literature this term is used either as

9

See also Jobes & Silva (2000: 89).

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an indication of a method or as the object of research.10 There is, however, a consensus that one of the fundamental premises of Septuagintal studies is to determine in detail the translation technique followed by the translator (Aejmeleaus 1993: 1). In this contribution I will concentrate on one translated unit, LXX Proverbs. The translator(s)11 of LXX Proverbs seems to have had a unique approach towards the parent text. This is observed on a micro-level and also on a macro-level. As far as the first goes, some individual lexical items are rendered consistently, but many are varied. This translation technical approach can be described as one of diversity and unity (Cook 2001: 208). This attitude does not, however, prevent the translator from interpreting in individual instances, even where a generally consistent way of translation is followed in respect of a specific Hebrew word. As far as the macro-level goes, I think the different order of chapters from chapters 24–31 should be ascribed to the translator and not to a deviating parent text (Cook 2003: 610). In the past scholars have tended to generalize when referring to the way the Greek translator of Proverbs rendered the parent text. Hence scholars agree that this unit was translated “freely” (Wright & Tov 1985: 186). This term, together with the word “literal”12 is a problematic one in itself; however, I use these terms in order to define the free, paraphrastic, less faithful way in which this translator approached his parent text in some instances. In conjunction with this definition, I have argued in the Festschrift for Michael Fox that the text-critical value of LXX Proverbs is extremely low (Cook 2005a: 407–419). Hence in a multitude of instances it is simply not possible to relate the Greek text to its hypothetical Semitic Vorlage. I am specifically thinking about the many pluses and free interpretations. This has the methodological implication that it remains difficult, if not impossible, to reconstruct the Vorlage in any given instance.

10

Cf. my discussion in Cook (1997: 29). In this contribution I will refer to the translator in the singular even though it is possible that more than one person was involved (Cook 1997: 322). 12 Aejmeleaus (1993: 122) prefers the term “faithful” instead of literal. Fox (2002: 207–220), chose to use the term “mimetic” in this regard. Raija Sollamo has suggested more criteria in her lecture at IOSCS entitled “Translation Technique and Translation Studies”. 11

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In my own work on LXX Proverbs I take the formulated definition of its text-critical value as a general guideline. It provides a working hypothesis as to how to approach differences between the Greek and the Hebrew. The implication of this definition is that these differences may as a point of departure be ascribed to the translator. A second rule of thumb is that all differences must be dealt with contextually. 5.1. LXX Proverbs as a Jewish-Oriented Writing 5.1.1. Application of Rabbinical Exegetical Traditions A major point of contention in scholarly circles that has a bearing on the theme of this contribution has been the question of the extent to which LXX Proverbs was influenced by Greek, philosophical, i.e. Platonic and/or Stoic thought,13 or by Jewish legalism14 for that matter. In the course of my research into this unit I have come to the conclusion that what seems to be Greek thought, is, in fact, evidence of Jewish, exegetical traditions. Two examples must suffice: A. Proverbs 2 verses 11 and 17 Verse 11

‫ְמזִ ָמּה ִתּ ְשׁמׁר ָﬠ ֶליָך ְתּבוּנָ ה ִתנְ ְצ ֶר ָכּה׃‬ prudence will watch over you; understanding will guard you, βουλὴ καλὴ φυλάξει σε ἔννοια δὲ ὁσία τηρήσει σε

good counsel will guard you, and holy intent will protect you, Verse 16

‫יה ֶה ֱח ִ ֽל ָיקה׃‬ ָ ‫ְל ַה ִצּ ְילָך ֵמ ִא ָשּׁה זָ ָ ֑רה ִמנָּ ְכ ִריָּ ה ֲא ָמ ֶר‬ You will be saved from the loose woman, from the adulteress with her smooth words,

13 14

Cf. G. Gerleman (1950: 18) and Martin Hengel (1973: 292). Cf. M.B. Dick (1990: 20) and Cook (1997: 320).

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τοῦ μακράν σε ποιῆσαι ἀπὸ ὁδοῦ εὐθείας καὶ ἀλλότριον τῆς δικαίας γνώμης

in order to remove you far from the straight way and to make you a stranger to a righteous opinion. Verse 16 has a totally different content from that of the Hebrew of MT. Verse 17

‫יה ָשׁ ֵכ ָחה׃‬ ָ ‫ֹלה‬ ֶ ‫ת־בּ ִרית ֱא‬ ְ ‫יה וְ ֶא‬ ָ ‫ﬠוּר‬ ֑ ֶ ְ‫ַהﬠֹזֶ ֶבת ַאלּוּף נ‬ who forsakes the partner of her youth and forgets her sacred covenant; υἱέ μή σε καταλάβῃ κάκὴ βουλὴ ἡ ἀπολείπουσα διδασκαλίαν νεότητος καὶ διαθήκην θείαν ἐπιλελησμένη

My son, do not let bad counsel overtake you, that which forsakes the teaching of youth and has forgotten the divine covenant;

Gerleman (1950: 19) has argued that the addition of the adjectives κάλὴ and κάκὴ in conjunction with the noun βουλὴ is evidence of Stoic influence. Gerleman (1950: 19) expresses this as follows: “The Greek translator thinks it necessary to emphasise their religious contents by making small alterations in wording.” These alterations are, according to him, based upon Stoic religious perspectives. However, I demonstrated that they are actually based on Jewish, rabbinic perspectives, since the Greek concepts represent the well-known Jewish tradition of the good and evil inclinations (‫ היצר הטב‬and ‫)היצר הרﬠ‬ inherent in man (Cook 1997: 125). B. Proverbs 28 verse 4 ְ ‫תֺֹרה‬ ָ ‫תֺֹרה יְ ַה ְללוּ ָר ָשׁﬠ וְ שׁ ְֺמ ֵרי‬ ָ ‫ﬠֹזְ ֵבי‬ ‫יִתגָּ רוּ ָבם׃‬ Those who forsake the law praise the wicked, but those who keep the law struggle against them. οὕτως οἱ ἐγκαταλείποντες τὸν νόμον ἐγκωμιάζουσιν ἀσέβειαν οἱ δὲ ἀγαπῶντες τὸν νόμον περιβάλλουσιν ἑαυτοῖς τεῖχος

Likewise those who forsake the law and praise impious deeds; However, those who love the law build a wall around themselves.

There seems to be no logical relationship between the LXX and the Hebrew (Cook 1999: 461). The Hebrew verb ‫ גור‬with a direct object

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has the nuances “to apprehend, to attack” as part of its semantic field in certain contexts. It is, nevertheless, possible that the Hebrew reading ‫ גור‬was deliberately understood as ‫( גדר‬wall), or that it was deliberately interpreted in that way. Importantly, here the law has a protective function for the righteous. This is markedly different from the view found in some later rabbinical writings – for example, the Mishna – and in even later rabbinical writings such as Aboth I,1, according to which the torah must be protected! (The latter (Aboth) used to say three things: Be patient in justice, rear many disciples and make a fence around the torah) (Cook 1999: 458). These two examples are clearly rabbinically motivated interpretations, as are some of the following. 5.1.2. The Role of the Law of Moses The example just discussed is evidence of the prominent role of the torat Moshe in this book. I have argued at length that the person(s) responsible for this translated unit had a fairly systematic approach towards specific religious matters. The abundant application of the root κακ is striking. The most representative example is the interpretation of Chapter 30: 11–14 of the noun ‫ דֺֹּר‬by means of ἔκγονον κακὸν (Cook 2004: 12). Another example is the question of contrasts/dualisms. The Greek version contains more dualisms than are found in the Hebrew. Chapter 2, for instance, is neatly divided into two realms, that of the good (verses 1–12) and that of evil (verses 13f.). I detected the same systematic approach to the law of Moses (Cook 1999: 457). Firstly, various lexemes are used to describe the law of Moses. The Hebrew lexeme ‫ תורה‬occurs in 12 passages and is rendered differently. Secondly, in addition to these lexemes, this Greek noun νόμος appears as pluses in comparison to the Hebrew in two passages Proverbs 9: 10 and 13: 15 which are highly significant. Proverbs 9 verse 10 MT

‫הו֑ה וְ ַד ַﬠת ְקד ִֹשׁים ִבּ ָינֽה׃‬ ָ ְ‫ְתּ ִח ַלּת ָח ְכ ָמה ְיִר ַאת י‬ The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the holy one is insight.

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LXX ἀρχὴ σοφίας φόβος κυρίου καὶ βουλὴ ἁγίων σύνεσις 10a τὸ γὰρ γνῶναι νόμον διανοίας ἐστὶν ἀγαθῆς

The beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord And the counsels of saints is understanding, For to know the law is the sign of a sound mind,

Proverbs 13 verse 15 MT

‫יתן׃‬ ָ ‫ן־חן וְ ֶד ֶרְך בֹּגְ ִדים ֵא‬ ֵ ‫יִתּ‬ ֶ ‫ֵשׂ ֶכל־טֺֹב‬ Good sense wins favour, but the way of the faithless is their ruin. LXX σύνεσις ἀγαθὴ δίδωσιν χάριν τὸ δὲ γνῶναι νόμον διανοίας ἐστὶν ἀγαθῆς ὁδοὶ δὲ καταφρονούτων ἐν ἀπωλείᾳ

Sound discretion gives favour, And to know the law is the sign of a sound mind, But the ways of scorners end in destruction.

These passages have an identical addition (to know the law is the sign of a sound mind) which is part of the systematic application of exegetical perspectives by the translator.15 I am of the opinion that it became necessary in the wake of a specific historical situation to stress the importance of the law of Moses. The translator, in other words, warns the readers of the inherent “dangers” of foreign wisdom (the Hellenism of the day). One of these prominent dangers was the devaluation of the law of Moses (Cook 1999: 457). This has a bearing upon the next section. 5.2. An Anti-Hellenistic Writing The characteristics that I have discussed above stem from a group of religiously conservative Jews, most probably at the time of translation. The person(s) responsible for this unit was anti-Hellenistically

15 Seeligmann (1953: 179) thinks this reference to the torat Moshe is the result of rabbinic interpretation.

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inclined and deliberately warned his readers of the dangers inherent in the surrounding Hellenism. As far as the concept of anti-Hellenisticism is concerned, I agree with Nickelsburg (2003: 152) that an author can at the same time be Jewish, anti-Hellenistic and Hellenistic. I have demonstrated that the person(s) responsible for this unit was a highly qualified translator. He made use of well-known literary devices and creatively made up novel proverbs apparently without any basis in the Semitic parent text. He followed an extremely free translation technique; for instance, he had the freedom to rearrange the order of some chapters towards the end of Proverbs on the basis of thematic considerations and also introduced contrasts in this regard. I find evidence of his anti-Hellenistic inclinations in the way he has dealt with the subject matter in the chapters that I have studied, which reveal his ideology/theology. This translator understood the strange woman who is described in chapters 1–9 as a metaphor for strange, foreign wisdom (Cook 1994: 469–474). This is “bad wisdom” – namely, the Hellenism of the day, which stressed different values than those followed by Judaism. One example is the emphasis on the individual over against the group (chapter 9: 12: “My son, if you become wise for yourself, you will be wise for your neighbours as well,” is the translation of “If you are wise, you are wise for yourself”). Another is the devaluing of the law of Moshe, which I outlined above. Thirdly, this translator stresses the issue of contrasts more explicitly than is done in the original parent text. These contrasts are an ideological category, in many cases underlining the question of good versus evil (cf. my discussion of Proverbs chapter 2 above). The religionising terminology I discussed in the Festschrift for Siegfried Mittmann is moreover decisive evidence of the ideological intention of this translator (Cook 2004: 12). In the final analysis this anti-Hellenistic stance could be relayed back to a specific historical context. There are basically two possibilities in this respect, Alexandria in Egypt and Jerusalem. According to the book of Aristeas, Alexandria is definitely the place of origin of the original Septuagint, the Pentateuch. It is also true that Judaism was fundamentally influenced by Hellenism in Egypt, probably more so than in Palestine. As is well-known, Palestine was not spared the Hellenising process, especially after the advent of Antiochus Epiphanes, even though the extent to which it was Hellenised is still under serious discussion.16 In

16

Cf. the apologetic position of Feldman (2002: 290–313).

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the light of the whole of my analysis, it would be possible to argue that LXX Proverbs came into being in the wake of the Hellenisation of Palestine, after the Antiochian crisis.17 Various arguments can be put forward to support this inference. Firstly, there is historical evidence of the systematic Hellenisation of Palestine during and after the Antiochian crisis. The first chapter of the first book of Maccabees referring to the Jewish Hellenisers provides appropriate evidence (Goldstein 1976: 199f). Secondly, even though there are correspondences in terminology and phrasing between the different Greek versions, there is a marked difference between LXX Proverbs and, for example, Ben Sira, which was originally written before the advent of this Seleucid ruler. Hence Ben Sira reveals a more relaxed attitude towards the law of Moses as well as towards Greek philosophy. I attribute this to contextual factors and more specifically to the fact that Ben Sira was composed before the advent of Antiochus Epiphanes. That the Greek translation of the wisdom of Sirach is not part of the OG is also significant. Thirdly, I also argued that Aristobulus, who wrote in Alexandria, and is seen as the author of LXX Proverbs by D’Hamonville (2000: 134), had a different attitude towards Greek philosophy than the person(s) responsible for the Greek Proverbs (Cook 2007 in press). Whereas it was Aristobulus’s objective to utilise Greek philosophical insights in order to understand the Pentateuch, I could find no evidence of a positive application of such philosophical perspectives in LXX Proverbs.18 I would therefore argue that these differences are the result of contextual differences. It seems to me that both authors could not have originated from the same location. 5.3. Conclusion To me it is evident that the translator(s) of this unit had a systematic approach towards his parent text. Hence I deem it possible to formulate a theology of this book. This theology needs to be understood against the background of a specific historical context – one where the Hellenism of the day was increasingly endangering the Jews who

17 Cf. the interesting interpretation of the reasons why Antiochus in fact repressed Jerusalem in Gruen (1993: 238–274). 18 In my monograph The Septuagint of Proverbs, pp. 201–246 I discussed Proverbs chapter 8. I found no evidence of Greek philosophical ideas, such as Platonic and/or Stoic views, in this classical creational passage. Cf., for example, my interpretation of verse 30 (pp. 230–231), compared to that of Gerleman (1950: 26), who argues for the nuance of “harmonizing” as an alleged sign of Stoic perspectives.

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tried to make a living there. This theology is totally different from that of its parent text; for one thing, the law of Moses plays a more fundamental role than in the Hebrew version. This ideology/theology must be deemed more conservative, or orthodox, than its Semitic Vorlage; it also addresses other issues, hence synthesising of themes in different books will be problematic (Rösel 2006: 241). It stands to reason that this applies only to the Septuagint of Proverbs; the more faithfully rendered versions, such as Ecclesiastes, will hardly qualify as candidates for a fully fledged-theology. 6. Towards a Theology of the Septuagint? I have purposefully concentrated on a single translated unit. Therefore, in the final analysis I argue that it is possible to formulate a theology of the Septuagint. However, specific methodological issues should be accounted for. Firstly, such a theology can only be formulated in conjunction with the Old Greek text. The reception of the LXX should be dealt with as a separate aspect. Secondly, the apt view expressed by Von Rad concerning the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament applies to the Septuagint as well. There are many theologies and it is possible that each book will present a different perspective, depending on its context. In the light of the above I think the individual book should act as a guideline as to how “LXX theologies” should be formulated. As a sine qua non I suggest that the diversity of each LXX book should be honoured. This is underscored by the first conclusion of Rösel (2006: 240) that: “a ‘Theology of the Septuagint cannot be based on the leveling of differences among the individual books or the specific profiles of the translators for the sake of a common edifice of ideas.” Another issue that will clearly have to be taken seriously is that a theology (theologies?) of the LXX should be more than, and hence different from, what is formulated in a theology of the Hebrew Bible, as I demonstrated above. Since it is translational literature, and inherently represents an interpretation of these Semitic texts, it should be, as suggested by Joosten (2000: 33), comparative in nature. I am, however, not certain that it is possible or even desirable to systematise the various theological perspectives to be located in each individual book at this stage. For one thing, all the books of the LXX have not yet been dealt with. In this regard it should be remembered that the task of determining the OG of all the books of the Septuagint

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has not yet been completed. For another, scholars differ dramatically as to the interpretation of aspects of the Septuagint.19 Therefore at this stage I think that Martin Rösel’s (2006) helpful, but hypothetical, suggestions as to how a theology of the Septuagint could be formulated is somewhat premature. It is clear to me that much research still needs to be done before a project of this nature can be undertaken successfully. My greatest problem remains that, even though he takes note of the diversity of textual material, he does not really incorporate this phenomenon into his scheme. I do agree with Rösel about the sheer scope of such a project. I think we are at this point in time still at the stage of concentrating on the individual books, hence I concentrated on one translated unit. 7. Conclusion In the final analysis I would therefore agree that it is possible and even necessary to formulate a theology, or more correctly, theologies of the individual Septuagintal books. In this regard an appropriate methodology must be adhered to, as I tried to demonstrate above. Hence the OG texts should be the object of this formulation. There should also be no uncertainty about the fact that “theological/exegetical” perspectives occur throughout the Septuagint (OG). Rösel20 and Schaper (2006) have provided a multitude of examples. The problem, however, remains how to interpret these perspectives. I would therefore suggest that formulating theologies of the Septuagint should be the next step, that is after the current phase of the writing of exegetical commentaries has been completed. However, be that as it may, it is a positive sign that LXX research has developed beyond the constraints of textual criticism and that the time has finally come for interpretation, or theology, for that matter. The fact that many of the papers at this congress dealt directly or indirectly with the Septuagint is evidence of this positive and innovative development!

19

I refer to the different views by Pietersma (2006) and Schaper (2006) on the Psalms. His suggestions concerning the difference in terminology used in the LXX to describe the true cult of Israel contrasted to the pagan cults of the Umwelt (Rösel 2006: 248) are convincing. 20

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Aejmeleaus, A. On the Trail of the Septuagint Translators (Collected Essays) (Kampen: Kok-Pharos, 1993). ——. “Die Übersetzung einer Übersetzung: Vom Hebräischen über das Griechische in eine moderne Sprache,” in: S. Kreuzer and J.P. Lesch (eds.), Im Brennpunkt: Die Septuaginta. Studien zur Entstehung und Bedeutung der Griechischen Bibel (Band 2) (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2004), pp. 133–150. ——. “Von Sprache zur Theologie. Methodologische Überlegungen zur Theologie der Septuaginta,” in: M.A. Knibb (ed.), The Septuagint and Messianism (BETL 195; Leuven-Paris-Dudley, MA: Leuven University Press-Uitgeverij Peeters, 2006), pp. 21–48. Bertram, G. “Die religiöse Umdeutung altorientalischer Lebenweisheit in der griechischen Übersetzung des AT,” ZAWNF 13 (1936), pp. 153–167. Boyd-Taylor, C. Reading between the Lines – Towards an Assessment of the Interlinear Paradigm for Septuagint Studies (unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Toronto, 2005). ——. “In a Mirror, Dimly-Reading the Septuagint as a Document of its Times,” in: W. Kraus and R.G. Wooden (eds.), Septuagint Research. Issues and Challenges in the Study of the Greek Jewish Scriptures (SCS 53; Atlanta: SBL, 2006), pp. 15–31. Brock, S.P. “The Phenomenon of the Septuagint,” OTS 17 (1972), pp. 11–36. ——. “Aspects of Translation Technique in Antiquity,” GRBS 20 (1979), pp. 69–87, reprinted in Syriac Perspectives on Late Antiquity (London: Variorum Reprints, 1984). Cook, J. “‫( ִא ָשּׁה זָ ָרה‬Proverbs 1–9 Septuagint): A Metaphor for Foreign Wisdom?” ZAW 106 (1994), pp. 458–476. ——. The Septuagint of Proverbs – Jewish and/or Hellenistic Proverbs? Concerning the Hellenistic Colouring of LXX Proverbs. (VTS 69; Leiden: Brill, 1997). ——. “The Law of Moses in Septuagint Proverbs,” VT 49/3 (1999), pp. 448–461. ——. “Ideology and Translation Technique: Two sides of the Same Coin?” in: R. Sollamo & S. Sipilä (eds.), Helsinki Perspectives on the Translation Technique of the Septuagint (Helsinki/Göttingen: The Finnish Exegetical Society/Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001), pp. 195–210. ——. “Les Proverbes – La Bible d’Alexandrie,” JNSL 28/1 (2002), pp. 103–115. ——. “The Greek of Proverbs – Evidence of a Recensionally Deviating Hebrew Text?” in: S.M. Paul, R.A. Kraft, L.H. Schiffman and W.W. Fields (eds.), Emanuel – Studies in the Hebrew Bible, Septuagint, and Dead Sea Scrolls in Honor of Emanuel Tov (VTSup 94; Leiden-Boston: Brill, 2003), pp. 605–618. ——. “Exegesis in the Septuagint,” JNSL 30/1 (2004), pp. 1–19. ——. “ ‘Theological/Ideological’ Tendenz in the Septuagint – LXX Proverbs a Case Study,” in: F. García Martínez and M. Vervenne (eds.), Interpreting Translation. Studies on the LXX and Ezekiel in Honour of Johan Lust (BETL 192; Leuven-ParisDudley, MA: University Press-Peeters 2005), pp. 65–79. ——. “The Text-Critical Value of the Septuagint of Proverbs,” in: R.L. Troxel, K.G. Friebel and D.R. Magary (eds.), Seeking Out the Wisdom of the Ancients. Essays offered to honor Michael V. Fox on the occasion of his sixty-fifth birthday (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2005a), pp. 407–419. ——. “Reconsidering Septuagintal Origins,” JSem 14/2 (2005b), pp. 441–461. ——. “The Translation of a Translation: Some Methodological Considerations on the Translation of the Septuagint,” in: M.K.H. Peters (ed.), XII Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies Leiden, 2004 (SCS 54; Atlanta: SBL, 2006), pp. 29–40. D’Hamonville, D.-M. La Bible D’Alexandrie, Les Proverbes. Traduction du texte grec de la Septante, Introduction et notes (Paris: Cerf, 2000).

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Dick, M.B. “The Ethics of the Old Greek Book of Proverbs,” in: D.T. Runia (ed.), The Studia Philonica Annual. Studies in Hellenistic Judaism (Vol. II; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), pp. 20–50. Feldman, L.H. “How much Hellenism in the Land of Israel?” JSJ 32 (2002), pp. 290– 313. Fernández Marcos, N. The Septuagint in Context. Introduction to the Greek Versions of the Bible (Leiden-Boston-Köln: Brill, 2000). Fox, M.V. “Translation and Mimesis,” in: F.W. Knobloch (ed.), Biblical Translation in Context (Bethesda, Md: University Press of Maryland, 2002), pp. 207–220. Gerleman, G. “The Septuagint Proverbs as a Hellenistic Document,” OTS 8 (1950), pp. 15–27. Goldstein, J.A. I Maccabees. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 41; New York-London-Toronto-Sydney-Auckland: Doubleday, 1976). Gruen, E.S. “Hellenism and Persecution: Antiochus IV and the Jews,” in: P. Green (ed.), Hellenistic History and Culture (Berkeley-Los Angeles-London: University of California Press, 1993), pp. 238–274. Harl, M. “La Bible d’Alexandrie I. The Translation Principles,” in: B.A. Taylor (ed.), LXX X Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Oslo, 1998 (SCS 51; Atlanta: SBL, 2001), pp. 181–197. ——. “La Bible d’Alexandrie dans les débats actuels sur la Septante,” in: Y. Goldman and C. Uehlinger (eds.), La double transmission du texte biblique. Etudes d’histoire du texte offertes en hommage à Adrian Schenker (Fribourg, Suisse-Göttingen: Ed. Univ.,-Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2001a), pp. 7–24. Hengel, M. Judentum und Hellenismus. Studien zu ihrer Begegnung unter besonderer Berücksichtigung Palästinas bis zur Mitte des 2. Jhs. V.Chr. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1973). Honigman, S. The Septuagint and Homeric Scholarship in Alexandria. A Study in the Narrative of the Letter of Aristeas (London-New York: Routledge, 2003). Jobes, K.H. & M. Silva, Invitation to the Septuagint (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2000). Joosten, J. “Une théologie de la Septante?: Réflexions méthodologiques sur l’interprétation de la version grecque,” RTP 132 (2000), pp. 31–46. Kreuzer, S. “A German Translation of the Septuagint,” BIOSCS 34 (2001), pp. 40–45. Lust J. et al., A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint, Part I, A-I (Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1992). Nickelsburg, G.W.E. Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins. Diversity, Continuity and Transformation (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2003). Oeming, M., K. Schmid and A. Schüle (eds.), Theologie in Israel und in den Nachbarkulturen. Beiträge des Symposiums “Das Alte Testament und die Kultur der Moderne” anlässlich des 100. Geburtstags Gerhard von Rads (1901–1971) Heidelberg, 18–21. Oktober 2001 (ATM 9; Münster: Lit Verlag, 2004). Pietersma, A. Translation Manual for “A New English Translation of the Septuagint” (NETS) (Ada, Michigan: Uncial Books, 1996). ——. “A New Paradigm for Addressing Old Questions: The Relevance of the Interlinear Model for the Study of the Septuagint,” in: J. Cook (ed.), Computer and Bible. The Stellenbosch AIBI-6 Conference. Proceedings of the Association Internationale Bible et Informatique “From Alpha to Byte.” University of Stellenbosch 17–21 July, 2000 (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 337–364. ——. “Exegesis in the Septuagint: Possibilities and Limits (The Psalter as a Case in Point),” in: Kraus & Wooden (eds.), Septuagint Research, pp. 33–45. ——. “Messianism and the Greek Psalter. In Search of the Messiah,” in: Knibb (ed.), The Septuagint and Messianism, pp. 49–75. Rösel, M. “Towards a ‘Theology’ of the Septuagint,” in: Kraus & Wooden (eds.), Septuagint Research, pp. 239–252.

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