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B AY L O R U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S
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A Groundbreaking Study of Mark’s Christology
Mark’s Jesus
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Characterization as Narrative Christology
Noted biblical scholar Elizabeth Struthers Malbon asks a literary, especially narrative critical, question in this landmark volume: what are the many ways that Mark’s Gospel characterizes Jesus?
Available November 2009 $39.95 / Cloth 978-1-60258-247-7
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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE
Elizabeth Struthers Malbon
VOLUME 128, NO. 4 The Text of Genesis 17:14 Matthew Thiessen
625–642
Deuteronomy 24:5 and King Asa’s Foot Disease in 1 Kings 15:23b Jeremy Schipper
643–648
Eglon’s Belly and Ehud’s Blade: A Reconsideration Lawson G. Stone
649–663
Rehabilitating Jephthah Alice Logan
665–685
Framework and Discourse in the Book of Judges Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher
687–702
In the Eyes of the Beholder: Unmarked Attributed Quotations in Job Edward Ho
703–715
Rhetorical Reversal and Usurpation: Isaiah 10:5–34 and the Use of Neo-Assyrian Royal Idiom in the Construction of an Anti-Assyrian Theology Michael Chan
717–733
“Taxo” and the Origin of the Assumption of Moses Edna Israeli
735–757
Descending Spirit and Descending Gods: A “Greek” Interpretation of the Spirit’s “Descent as a Dove” in Mark 1:10 Edward P. Dixon
759–780
The Johannine Prologue and Jewish Didactic Hymn Traditions: A New Case for Reading the Prologue as a Hymn Matthew Gordley
781–802
Two Neglected Textual Variants in Philippians 1 Brent Nongbri
803–808
A Note on 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9 Theodore A. Bergren
809–812
A Nomen Sacrum in the Sardis Synagogue James R. Edwards
813–821
US ISSN 0021-9231
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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE
SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (Constituent Member of the American Council of Learned Societies) EDITOR OF THE JOURNAL General Editor: JAMES C. VANDERKAM, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556
EDITORIAL BOARD Term Expiring 2009: DAVID L. BARR, Wright State University, Dayton, OH 45435 THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 ELIZABETH STRUTHERS MALBON, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland EUNG CHUN PARK, San Francisco Theological Seminary, San Anselmo, CA 94960 TURID KARLSEN SEIM, University of Oslo, N-0315 Oslo, Norway BENJAMIN D. SOMMER, Northwestern University, Evanston, IL 60645 LOUIS STULMAN, University of Findlay, Findlay, OH 45840 2010: BRIAN BRITT, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 MICHAEL FOX, University of Wisconsin, Madison, WI 53706 STEVEN FRAADE, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520-8287 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 CATHERINE MURPHY, Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, CA 95053 EMERSON POWERY, Messiah College, Grantham, PA 17027 ADELE REINHARTZ, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, ON K1N 6N5 Canada SIDNIE WHITE CRAWFORD, University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln, NE 68588-0337 2011: ELLEN B. AITKEN, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec H3A 2T5 Canada MICHAEL JOSEPH BROWN, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 JAIME CLARK-SOLES, Perkins School of Theology, So. Methodist University, Dallas, TX 75275 STEVEN FRIESEN, University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX 78712 JENNIFER GLANCY, University of Richmond, Richmond, VA 23173 ROBERT HOLMSTEDT, University of Toronto, Toronto, ON M5S 1C1 Canada ARCHIE C. C. LEE, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Shatin New Territories, Hong Kong SAR MARGARET Y. MACDONALD, St. Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, NS B2G 2W5 Canada SHELLY MATTHEWS, Furman University, Greenville, SC 29613 RICHARD D. NELSON, Perkins School of Theology, So. Methodist Univ., Dallas, TX 75275 DAVID L. PETERSEN, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 MARK REASONER, Bethel University, St. Paul, MN 55112 YVONNE SHERWOOD, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, Scotland, G12 8QQ, United Kingdom LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, University of Durham, Durham, England, DH1 3RS, United Kingdom PATRICIA K. TULL, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY 40205 Editorial Assistant: Monica Brady, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 President of the Society: David Clines, University of Sheffield, Sheffield S10 2TN England; Vice President: Vincent Wimbush, Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA 91711; Chair, Research and Publications Committee: Benjamin G. Wright III, Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA 18015; Executive Director: Kent H. Richards, Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329.
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JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 625–642
The Text of Genesis 17:14 matthew thiessen
[email protected] Duke University, Durham, NC 27708
Genesis 17 plays a pivotal role in providing an accurate understanding of the rite of circumcision in the Hebrew Bible, early Judaism, and early Christianity. This is for at least two reasons: this text is the first canonical occurrence of the command to circumcise, and it is the only text in the Hebrew Bible that provides an explicit rationale for Israel’s performance of circumcision on its male infants.1 Consequently, it behooves the scholar attempting to assess the significance of circumcision to pay careful attention to the text-critical problems of this passage. One misstep here and the whole enterprise is bound to go astray. Although there are a number of variant readings in the ancient textual witnesses to the chapter, this article will focus on what is arguably the most important textual matter—v. 14.2 Given the disconcerting fact that scholars have almost universally overlooked the textcritical issue of Gen 17:14, it is hoped that the careful attention to the external and internal evidence for the verse provided here will lay a sound foundation for further interpretation of Genesis 17 and the function of circumcision in ancient Israel, and subsequently in early Judaism and Christianity.
I am grateful for the helpful comments made on an earlier version of this paper by Joel Marcus and Melvin K. H. Peters, as well as for the stimulating interaction with this paper provided by the participants in the New Testament and Early Judaism Colloquium at Duke University, October 5, 2008. 1 See Michael V. Fox, “The Sign of the Covenant: Circumcision in the Light of the Priestly ’ôt Etiologies,” RB 81 (1974): 557–96, here 558. For a similar assessment of the importance of Genesis 17 for early Judaism and Christianity, see Maren R. Niehoff, “Circumcision as a Marker of Identity: Philo, Origen and the Rabbis on Gen 17:1–14,” JSQ 10 (2003): 89–123. 2 For the most part, the textual variants attested in the critical apparatus of BHS are neither substantive nor sufficiently attested to merit attention here. Those variants, apart from 17:14, have minimal bearing on the function of circumcision in the narrative.
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I. Reassessing the External Evidence of the Text of Genesis 17:14 According to Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia, the MT of Gen 17:14 reads as follows:
hym(m )whh #pnh htrknw wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w rph ytyrb t) This reading is supported by a number of the minor versions, including the Vulgate, the Syriac, and the Targumim.3 Modern Bibles render the passage accordingly, as the selection of translations below demonstrates: RSV: Any uncircumcised male who is not circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin shall be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant. NEB: Every uncircumcised male, everyone who has not had the flesh of his foreskin circumcised, shall be cut off from the kin of his father. He has broken my covenant. NIV: Any uncircumcised male, who has not been circumcised in the flesh, will be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant. NJB: The uncircumcised male, whose foreskin has not been circumcised—that person must be cut off from his people: he has broken my covenant.
Yet, as the textual apparatus of BHS alerts the reader, other early manuscript witnesses to Gen 17:14 provide a somewhat different reading. So, for instance, the majority of Septuagintal witnesses (LXX) read as follows: καὶ ἀπερίτμητος ἄρσην ὃς οὐ περιτμηθήσεται τὴν σάρκα τῆς ἀκροβυστίας αὐτοῦ τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τῇ ὀγδόῃ ἐξολεθρευθήσεται ἡ ψυχὴ ἐκείνη ἐκ τοῦ γένους αὐτῆς ὅτι τὴν διαθήκην μου διεσκέδασεν.4 And the uncircumcised male, who shall not be circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin on the eighth day, that soul shall be cut off from his people for he has broken my covenant. 3 Tg. Onq. and Tg. Neof. Gen 17:14 are quite similar to MT Gen 17:14, but Tg. Ps.-J. Gen 17:14, states: )whh )#n rb yct#yw rzgyd Nm hyl tyl Ny) hytlrw(d )r#yb ty rzgy )ld )rwkd h)lr(w yn#) ymyq ty
ym(m (“And the uncircumcised male, who does not circumcise the flesh of his foreskin when there is none to circumcise him, that person will be destroyed from his people, he has changed my covenant”). Although these additional glosses are in a work that postdates the Arab conquest of the Middle East, much of the Targum reflects earlier traditions, as argued by Michael Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis: Translated, with Introduction and Notes (ArBib 1B; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 11–12. 4 Based on John William Wevers, ed., Genesis (Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum 1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1974), 179.
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In Wevers’s critical edition of the LXX translation of Genesis, the reader can see that the Greek manuscripts are in unanimous agreement on the fact that the phrase “on the eighth day” occurs in 17:14. Nonetheless, there are minor differences in a small number of LXX manuscripts: (1) the b family has the preposition ἐν preceding the phrase τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τῇ ὀγδόῃ, and (2) MS 370, an eleventh- century manuscript from the t family, has a slightly different phrase: τῇ ὀγδόῃ ἡμέρᾳ.5 Despite these variations, all the LXX witnesses to Gen 17:14 refer to the eighth day.6 The evidence of a number of early writers confirms that, at an early date, the LXX contained this reference to the eighth day. For instance, Philo (QG 3.52) cites LXX Gen 17:14 and discusses whether a child is really cut off from his people if he is not circumcised on the eighth day.7 Further, Justin Martyr’s Dialogue with Trypho twice alludes to a version of Gen 17:14 in which the eighth day is mentioned (chs. 10, 23). Also following the LXX, Old Latin witnesses to Gen 17:14 contain a reference to the eighth day.8 Presumably, such strong early evidence for the LXX reading could lead some scholars to the conclusion that the MT reading is secondary and that the text should therefore read: “And the uncircumcised male, who shall not be circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin on the eighth day, that soul shall be cut off from his family for he has broken my covenant.” Wevers, however, claims that the LXX reading of 17:14 is in fact secondary, having been influenced by its close proximity to the reference to the eighth day in Gen 17:12.9 Although he does not state so explicitly in his discussion of the verse, Wevers believes the LXX reading to be secondary because of the low value he places on the LXX for the reconstruction of the Hebrew text. As he says in the introduction to his Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis, “For far too long scholars have treated the LXX as a grabbag for emendations. Unfortunately only too many have treated the note lege cum Graece found again and again in the various editions of ‘the Kittel Bible,’ and by no means wholly absent from BHS, as sacred lore, almost as a divine injunction to emend the text.”10 Wevers’s assessment
5 For these manuscripts, see Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis (SBLSCS 35; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), xviii; and idem, Genesis, 57. 6 See Wevers, Genesis, 179. 7 Based on the translation of the Armenian by Ralph Marcus, Philo, Supplement I: Questions and Answers on Genesis (LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953). See also the Latin in Charles Mercier and Françoise Petit, Quaestiones et Solutiones in Genesim III-IV-V-VI e versione armeniaca (Les Oeuvres de Philon d’Alexandrie 34b; Paris: Cerf, 1984), 122. Since Philo is deeply troubled by the implication of Gen 17:14, it seems probable that, had he known of an alternative reading, he would have offered it. 8 See Petrus Sabatier, ed., Vetus Latina 1: Die Reste der Altlateinischen Bibel (Freiburg: Herder, 1949), 189. 9 Wevers, Notes, 236. 10 Ibid., xv.
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of the text-critical value of the LXX in general coincides with the views of a number of scholars who have argued that the translation technique of the LXX of Genesis is rather freer than that of other books of the Pentateuch; it would therefore be possible to suggest that the LXX translators have added something to their Hebrew Vorlage.11 And, in fact, Marguerite Harl argues that the LXX translators of our passage have inserted the phrase in order to stress that the observance of circumcision on the eighth day after birth takes priority even over the Sabbath.12 More recently, a number of scholars have argued that the evidence of Qumran demonstrates that the LXX of Genesis is a considerably more careful translation than has often been thought. For instance, after comparing the LXX to readings of Genesis 1 preserved at Qumran, James Davila concludes: “[W]e must take the LXX of Genesis very seriously as a source for a Hebrew textual tradition alternate to the MT. We have strong reason to believe that the translators of Genesis treated their Vorlage with respect and rendered the Hebrew text before them into Greek with great care and minimal interpretation.”13 As a result of these agreements between the LXX and readings found among Hebrew manuscripts from Qumran, the overly skeptical view of Wevers toward the value of the LXX translation of Genesis should not predetermine how one reads the textual evidence of Gen 17:14. As Robert J. V. Hiebert has recently argued: The overall assessment of Greek Genesis is that, lexically and syntactically, it is a strict, quantitative representation of its source text. Thus the concept proposed in NETS [that is, The New English Translation of the Septuagint] discussions of the Septuagint (LXX) as an interlinear translation is an apt metaphor for this book because of the significant degree of dependence on the Hebrew that it exhibits. However, this general characterization of LXX Genesis as being slavishly sub11 See Johann Cook, “The Translator of the Greek Genesis,” in La Septuaginta en la investigación contemporánea: V Congreso de la IOSCS (ed. Natalio Fernández Marcos; Textos y Estudios 34; Madrid: Instituto Arias Montano, 1985), 168–82; idem, “The Exegesis of the Greek Genesis,” in VI Congress of the International Organization for Septuagint and Cognate Studies, Jerusalem 1986 (ed. Claude E. Cox; SBLSCS 23; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 91–125; idem, “The Septuagint of Genesis: Text and/or Interpretation?” in Studies in the Book of Genesis: Literature, Redaction and History (ed. A. Wénin; BETL 155; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2001), 315–29; Martin Rösel, Übersetzung als Vollendung der Auslegung: Studien zur Genesis-Septuaginta (BZAW 223; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994); and idem, “The Text-Critical Value of Septuagint-Genesis,” BIOSCS 31 (1998): 62–70. 12 Marguerite Harl, ed., La Bible d’Alexandrie, vol. 1, La Genèse (Paris: Cerf, 1986), 171. 13 James R. Davila, “New Qumran Readings for Genesis One,” in 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 (ed. Harold W. Attridge et al.; Resources in Religion 5; Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1990), 3–11, here 11. See also Emanuel Tov, The TextCritical Use of the Septuagint in Biblical Research (Jerusalem Biblical Studies 8; Jerusalem: Simor, 1981), 33–35; and Ronald S. Hendel, The Text of Genesis 1–11: Textual Studies and Critical Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 16–20.
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servient to the Hebrew needs to be nuanced somewhat in the light of the Greek translator’s periodic departures from his typical patterns to produce renderings that reflect Greek usage rather than Hebrew idiom, or that, in one way or another, contextualize a given passage for the benefit of the Greek reader.14
Additionally, the LXX is not alone in attesting a reading in which v. 14 states that all those who have not been circumcised on the eighth day shall be cut off, for the text of Gen 17:14 according to the Samaritan Pentateuch (SP) also contains this reference:15
)yhh #pnh htrknw ynym#h Mwyb wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w rph ytyrb t) hym(m And every uncircumcised male—who is not circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin on the eighth day—that soul shall be cut off from his people, he has broken my covenant.16
This reading is supported by the two recensions of the Targum on the SP, which have been edited by Abraham Tal.17 Admittedly, these witnesses to the SP and Samaritan Targum are late, the oldest known codex of the SP dating to about 1150 c.e., while manuscripts of the Samaritan Targum are later still, but Hebrew manuscripts in the Masoretic recension also date to the tenth and eleventh centuries c.e.18 Slightly earlier evidence for the SP reading is found in the Kitāb al-Kāfī (ca. 1042 c.e.), which states that circumcision must not be postponed even one day beyond the eighth day, citing Gen 17:14 as it is found in the SP as evidence.19 14 Hiebert, “Genesis,” in A New English Translation of the Septuagint (ed. Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 1. Elsewhere Hiebert specifically examines the Greek translation of Genesis 17, but does not focus on v. 14 (“The Hermeneutics of Translation in the Septuagint of Genesis,” in Septuagint Research: Issues and Challenges in the Study of the Greek Jewish Scriptures [ed. Wolfgang Kraus and R. Glenn Wooden; SBLSCS 53; Leiden: Brill, 2006], 85–103). 15 See the critical edition of August Freiherrn von Gall, ed., Der hebräische Pentateuch der Samaritaner (Giessen: Töpelmann, 1914–18), 26; and, more recently, Luis-Fernando Giron-Blanc, Pentateuco Hebreo-Samaritano: Genesis: Edición crítica sobre la base de Manuscritos inéditos (Madrid: Fundación Universitaria Española, 1976), 207. 16 Reinhard Pummer claims that “on the eighth day” is an addition in the SP, without reckoning with either the textual evidence of the LXX, or the additional evidence discussed below (“Samaritan Rituals and Customs,” in The Samaritans [ed. Alan D. Crown; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1989], 650–90, here 655). 17 Tal, ed., The Samaritan Targum of the Pentateuch, vol. 1, Genesis–Exodus (Texts and Studies in the Hebrew Language and Related Subjects 4; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University Press, 1980); and idem, “The Samaritan Targum to the Pentateuch: Its Distinctive Characteristics and Its Metamorphosis,” JSS 21 (1976): 26–38. 18 See Ernst Würthwein, The Text of the Old Testament: An Introduction to the Biblia Hebraica (2nd ed.; trans. Erroll F. Rhodes; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 47. 19 Translation of Sergio Noja, Il Kitāb al-Kāfī dei Samaritani (Naples: Istituto Orientale di
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Further, although Wilhelm Gesenius dismissed the value of the SP, believing it to be a late revision of the MT, Paul Kahle rightly challenged this conclusion:20 in light of the fact that the LXX and SP agree against the MT almost two thousand times, it appears that there existed, at the time of the translation of the Pentateuch into Greek, a Hebrew text that differed considerably from the MT.21 Both the LXX and the SP agree on the existence of the phrase “on the eighth day” in Gen 17:14; it is therefore plausible that this reading is older than the reading preserved by the MT. But while this external evidence supporting a nonMasoretic reading of Gen 17:14 is certainly impressive, most commentators skate over the textual issue with no comment.22 Moreover, of the few commentators who do mention the presence of the textual variant in the LXX and the SP, virtually all opt for the MT reading without providing a rationale for preferring this reading to
Napoli, 1970), 75: “Non è permesso ritardare la circoncisione oltre la notte dell’ottavo giorno, poiché il precetto della purificazione con acqua non è richiesto ad un tempo determinato, ma il tempo serve solo a far acquistare la purità a ciò che è immondo; è richiesto invece un tempo per la purità che si acquista colla circoncisione in merito alla quale disse—Egli è l’Altissimo—nella Sua Legge.” For a fascinating treatment of later Samaritan views, see Pummer, “Samaritan Rituals,” 656–57. 20 See the discussion in Würthwein, Text of the Old Testament, 45–47, as well as the general treatment of the SP in Emanuel Tov, Textual Criticism of the Hebrew Bible (2nd rev. ed.; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2001), 80–100. 21 For this statistic, see Würthwein, Text of the Old Testament, 46. 22 See Gerhard von Rad, Genesis: A Commentary (trans. John H. Marks; rev. ed.; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972), 197–201; E. A. Speiser, Genesis: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 1; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1964), 122–27; Robert Davidson, Genesis 12–50 (CBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 54–55; Josef Scharbert, Genesis 12–50 (NEchtB; Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1986), 145–46; Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990), 473–74; John J. Scullion, Genesis: A Commentary for Students, Teachers, and Preachers (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 149–50; Laurence A. Turner, Genesis (Readings; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 81–83; W. Sibley Towner, Genesis (Westminster Bible Companion; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 162–68; David W. Cotter, Genesis (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003), 106–12; Martin Kessler and Karel Deurloo, A Commentary on Genesis: The Book of Beginnings (New York: Paulist, 2004), 112–13; and Kenneth A. Mathews, Genesis 11:27–50:26 (NAC 1B; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2005), 204–5. Even those looking specifically at the role of circumcision in Genesis 17, such as Fox (“Sign of the Covenant”), Andreas Blaschke (Beschneidung: Zeugnisse der Bibel und verwandter Texte [Texte und Arbeiten zum neutestamentlichen Zeitalter 28; Tübingen: Francke, 1998], 79–92), Paul R. Williamson (Abraham, Israel and the Nations: The Patriarchal Promise and Its Covenantal Development in Genesis [JSOTSup 315; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000]), and R. Christopher Heard (Dynamics of Diselection: Ambiguity in Genesis 12-36 and Ethnic Boundaries in Post-Exilic Judah [SemeiaSt 39; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2001], 74–76), make no mention of the textual issue in 17:14. And, while Norbert Lohfink examines a number of textcritical issues in Genesis 17, the important textual issue in verse 14 is not one of them (“Textkritisches zu Gn 17,5.13.16.17,” Bib 48 [1967]: 439–42).
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that which is preserved in the LXX/SP.23 In fact, the only commentators that I could find who believe that the reading preserved by the LXX and the SP is earlier than the MT reading are Gerhard Kittel and the late-nineteenth-century scholar Charles J. Ball.24 Although Ronald Hendel claims that “it has become increasingly difficult for a biblical scholar to be a Masoretic fundamentalist,” discussions of Gen 17:14 indicate just how pervasive such “fundamentalism” continues to be!25 Further, contrary to the critical apparatus of BHS, the case for the LXX/SP reading is not yet complete, for Jubilees, a second-century b.c.e. Palestinian Jewish work, also provides evidence for a Hebrew Vorlage in which the phrase ynym#h Mwyb was present.26 Jubilees’ rewriting of Gen 17:14 reads: “The male who has not been 23 See John Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1910), 294; Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 16–50 (WBC 2; Dallas: Word Books, 1994), 15; Claus Westermann, Genesis 12–36 (trans. John J. Scullion; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1985), 254; Horst Seebass, Genesis II (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996), 96–97; W. H. Gispen, Genesis (3 vols.; COut; Kampen: Kok, 1974–83), 2:142; Otto Procksch, Die Genesis übersetzt und erklärt (KAT 1; Leipzig: Deichert, 1913), 520; Klaus Grünwaldt, Exil und Identität: Beschneidung, Passa und Sabbat in der Priesterschrift (Athenäums Monografien, Theologie 85; Frankfurt am Main: A. Hain, 1992), 42 n. 5; and J. de Fraine, Genesis (Roermond: J. J. Romen & Zonen, 1963), 149. De Fraine wrongly says that the LXX states that circumcision must take place “op de zevende dage.” 24 Charles J. Ball, The Sacred Books of the Old Testament: A Critical Edition of the Hebrew Text, part 1, The Book of Genesis: A Critical Edition (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1896), 13, although he places brackets around the words. The textual apparatus of Gerhard Kittel’s Biblia Hebraica also suggests that the LXX/SP reading ought to be followed. Neither Ball nor Kittel provides argumentation for why they prefer this reading. Additionally, William H. Propp notes these variants, but claims that “there is no way to judge” which of the two is original (“The Origins of Infant Circumcision in Israel,” HAR 11 [1987]: 355–70, here 356). 25 Hendel, Text of Genesis, vii. Similarly, Emanuel Tov claims: “Although critical scholars, as opposed to the public at large, know that MT does not constitute the Bible, they nevertheless often approach it in this way. They base many critical commentaries and introductions mainly on MT; occasional remarks on other textual witnesses merely pay lip service to the notion that other texts exist. Many critical scholars mainly practise exegesis on MT” (“Hebrew Scripture Editions: Philosophy and Praxis,” in idem, Hebrew Bible, Greek Bible, and Qumran: Collected Essays [TSAJ 121; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008], 247–70, here 267 [emphasis original]). See also Tov, “The Status of the Masoretic Text in Modern Text Editions of the Hebrew Bible: The Relevance of Canon,” in The Canon Debate (ed. Lee Martin McDonald and James A. Sanders; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 234–51. 26 While the exact dating of Jubilees is contested, there is general agreement that it belongs to the second century b.c.e. Most scholars, following James C. VanderKam (Textual and Historical Studies in the Book of Jubilees [HSM 14; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977], 283), date the work to shortly after the Antiochan crisis in 164 b.c.e. Cf. Klaus Berger, Das Buch der Jubiläen (JSHRZ; Gütersloh: Mohn, 1981), 299–300; and Eberhard Schwarz, Identität durch Abgrenzung: Abgrengungsprozesse in Israel im 2. vorchristlichen Jahrhundert und ihre traditionsgeschichtlichen Voraussetzungen Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Erforschung des Jubiläenbuches (Europäische Hochschulschriften 162; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1982), 99–129. Nonetheless, a few scholars such as
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circumcised—the flesh of whose foreskin has not been circumcised on the eighth day—that person will be uprooted from his people because he has violated my covenant” (Jub. 15:14).27 To be sure, our text of Jubilees is an Ethiopic translation of a Greek translation of a Hebrew work; there are, therefore, a number of possible explanations that might account for the presence of the phrase “on the eighth day” in Jub. 15:14. First, since Jubilees has a specific agenda when it comes to the topic of circumcision, it is possible that it added the phrase “on the eighth day” to Gen 17:14.28 For instance, Michael Segal argues that Jubilees stresses the necessity of eighth-day circumcision in order to combat Pharisaic laxity toward the timing of circumcision. As evidence for such leniency, Segal points to early rabbinic halakah, which permits the postponement of circumcision when the life of the infant is endangered (see m. Šabb. 19:5). If Segal is correct, it is possible that Jubilees has inserted the phrase in order explicitly to require eighth-day circumcision. But, since the reading of Jub. 15:14 corresponds to both the LXX and the SP of Gen 17:14, it seems highly unlikely that Jubilees has independently rewritten Gen 17:14 to include a reference to the eighth day.29 Second, it is possible that the influence of the LXX caused the Greek translator of the Hebrew edition of Jubilees, or the Ethiopic translator of the Greek translation of Jubilees, to insert this phrase into the text.30 But, while Jubilees agrees with the LXX against the MT at numerous points, there are still numerous other points where it agrees with the MT against the LXX.31 Perhaps most damning of all for the
Doron Mendels (The Land of Israel as a Political Concept in Hasmonean Literature: Recourse to History in Second Century B.C. Claims to the Holy Land [TSAJ 15; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987], 148–49) and Michael Segal (The Book of Jubilees: Rewritten Bible, Redaction, Ideology and Theology [JSJSup 117; Leiden: Brill, 2007]) date it, or at least its final redaction, to the late second century b.c.e. On the difficulties of determining a precise dating for Jubilees, see Robert Doran, “The Non-Dating of Jubilees: Jub 34–38; 23:14–32 in Narrative Context,” JSJ 20 (1989): 1–11. The manuscript evidence extant from Qumran provides a terminus ante quem, for, according to VanderKam, the earliest extant manuscript of Jubilees, 4QJuba (4Q216), dates to 125–100 b.c.e. (Textual and Historical Studies, 215). 27 Quotations from Jubilees are taken from the translation of the Ethiopic by James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (CSCO 511; Louvain: Peeters, 1989), 89. VanderKam (ibid.) further notes that some Ethiopic manuscripts of Genesis also contain the phrase “on the eighth day.” Neither the reading of Jubilees nor the evidence of the Ethiopic manuscripts mentioned by VanderKam is cited in the critical apparatus of BHS. 28 See Segal, Book of Jubilees, 229–45. 29 While this is not the place for a full critique of Segal’s argument, suffice it to say that I am skeptical of the appropriateness of using a Mishnaic passage as evidence of what Pharisees believed in the second century b.c.e. 30 This is the proposal of August Dillmann, “Das Buch der Jubiläen oder die kleine Genesis,” Jahrbücher der Biblischen Wissenschaft 3 (1851): 88–90. 31 James C. VanderKam, “Jubilees and the Hebrew Texts of Genesis-Exodus,” in idem, From
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belief that Jubilees has been altered throughout its translation and transmission history is James C. VanderKam’s conclusion that “in the relatively small amount of text where the Ethiopic can be compared with the published Hebrew fragments from caves 1, 2, 3, 4, and 11 at Qumran, the two texts agree very closely.”32 Thus, even though Jub. 15:14 is extant only in the Ethiopic, we can be relatively confident that it faithfully preserves the original Hebrew version of the verse. Clear evidence is beginning to mount that there existed in the Second Temple period a reading of Gen 17:14 with a wide enough circulation to be known both to the LXX translators in Alexandria and to the Palestinian circles responsible for the book of Jubilees.33 Nonetheless, one final piece of textual evidence, the latefirst-century b.c.e. scroll 8QGenesis fragment 4, needs to be considered.34 If Maurice Baillet, the DJD editor of this scroll, is correct in identifying these extremely fragmentary remains as Gen 17:12–17, then the fragment might suggest that 17:14 contained the phrase ynym#h Mwyb. Although 8QGen frag. 4 preserves only four letters on the right-hand side of the column—and really only one of these, an vayin, clearly—the slightly less fragmentary contents of frag. 1 seem to confirm this identification. Baillet reconstructs the text based on the four fragmentary letters preserved in a column width that permits roughly sixty-five letters, exclusive of spaces between words. Thus, the first line begins with zayin, the first letter of the word rkz of Gen 17:12, and contains sixty-seven letters. The second line begins with a kaph, the first letter of Kpsk of v. 13. No letter is preserved from the third line. The fourth line begins with a taw, corresponding to the taw of )rqt in Gen 17:15. Line 5 begins with a very clear vayin, the first letter of Mym( in Gen 17:16. Additionally, Baillet believes that frag. 1 of 8QGen preserves lines 6 and 7 of this column; line 6 would then be fifty-nine letters long, with Mhrb) of 17:18 preserved, and line 7, which now preserves only rqw (cf. v. 19, t)rqw), would be sixty-four letters long, exclusive of spaces. Revelation to Canon: Studies in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Literature (JSJSup 62; Leiden: Brill, 2002), 448–61, here 453. 32 Ibid., 456. For a detailed comparison of the Ethiopic manuscripts and Qumran fragments, see VanderKam, Textual and Historical Studies, 18–95. 33 Although VanderKam (Textual and Historical Studies, 136–38) has argued that the LXX, the SP, and Jubilees all belonged to a Palestinian family of texts, he has more recently backed away from this position, believing Jubilees to be “rather more independent of the Palestinian family of which Sam and the LXX are, at different stages, supposed to be witnesses” (“Jubilees and the Hebrew Texts,” 460). This move seems to have been precipitated, in part, by Emanuel Tov’s criticisms (“A Modern Textual Outlook Based on the Qumran Scrolls,” HUCA 53 [1982]: 11–27) of Frank M. Cross’s theory of local recensions of the text of the OT. 34 On the dating of the scroll based on paleographic evidence, see Maurice Baillet, “Genèse,” in Les “Petites Grottes” de Qumrân (ed. M. Baillet, J. T. Milik, and R. de Vaux; DJD 3; Oxford: Clarendon, 1962), 147–48; and Esther Eshel and Hanan Eshel, “New Fragments from Qumran: 4QGenF, 4QIsaB, 4Q226, 8QGen, and XQPapEnoch,” DSD 12 (2005): 134–57, here 144–46.
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Baillet’s reconstruction on the basis of such minimal evidence finds further support in the fact that lines 1, 2, 4, 5, and 7 would each have sixty-four to sixtyseven letters, not including spaces. Only two of the seven lines fall outside of this range: line 3, which has forty-five letters, and line 6, which has fifty-nine letters. The first of these, falling about twenty letters short of the average line length, is particularly problematic, so Baillet attempts to solve this problem by positing the onetime existence of a large blank space on line 3, separating the last word of v. 14 (rph) from the first word of v. 15 (rm)yw). He believes that this blank space corresponds to the setumah ()mwts), symbolized by the Hebrew letter samek that denotes the close of a section, as found in the MT.35 His suggestion is quite plausible since the setumah does indeed appear in numerous Qumran scrolls;36 nonetheless, the setumah would have to account for twenty characters in a column that averages roughly three times that number of characters per line. I believe that the large gap in line 3 of 8QGen frag. 4 might signal the presence not only of a setumah but also of a slightly longer text than that posited by Baillet. On my reconstruction, lines 1, 4, 5, 6, and 7 remain the same, but lines 2 and 3 are modified. Baillet has reconstructed line 2 in the following way: [#pnh htrknw wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w Mlw( tyrbl Mkr#bb ytyrb htyhw Kps]k
In contrast, I suggest that line 2 should be reconstructed as follows: [ynym#h Mwyb wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w Mlw( tyrbl Mkr#bb ytyrb htyhw Kps]k
The length of line 2 remains the same (Baillet’s reconstruction and my own both have sixty-five letters + fifteen spaces for a total of eighty characters), since I have placed ynym#h Mwyb before #pnh htrknw and have moved the latter phrase to line 3. 35
The setumah was a Masoretic marking denoting the end of paragraphs (or, in Hebrew,
tw#rp). See Page H. Kelley et al., The Masorah of Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia: Introduction and Annotated Glossary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 155–56; and Tov, Textual Criticism, 50–52. For just such a setumah at the end of Gen 17:14, see David Noel Freedman et al., eds., The Leningrad Codex: A Facsimile Edition (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 29. In this belief, Baillet is followed by Josef M. Oesch, Petucha und Setuma: Untersuchungen zu einer überlieferten Gliederung im hebräischen Text des Alten Testaments (OBO 27; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1979), 262. 36 See the discussions of Hans Bardkte, “Die Parascheneinteilung der Jesajaroll I von Qumram,” in Festschrift Franz Dornseiff zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Horst Kusch; Leipzig: Bibliographisches Institut, 1953), 33–75; and Konrad D. Jenner, “Petucha and Setuma: Tools for Interpretation or Simply a Matter of Lay-Out? A Study of the Relations between Layout, Arrangement, Reading and Interpretation of the Text in the Apocalypse of Isaiah (Isa. 24-27),” in Studies in Isaiah 24–27: The Isaiah Workshop – De Jesaja Werkplaats (ed. Hendrik Jan Bosman et al.; OtSt 43; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 81–117. For a fuller discussion, see Oesch, Petucha und Setuma, 181–282. Tov states that “in Qumran texts of all types, this system of sense division was the rule rather than the exception” (“The Background of the Sense Divisions in the Biblical Texts,” in Delimitation Criticism: A New Tool in Biblical Scholarship [ed. Marjo C. A. Korpel and Josef M. Oesch; Pericope 1; Assen: Van Gorcum, 2000], 312–50, here 313).
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This change modifies the length of line 3, as seen by comparing Baillet’s reconstruction to my own. Baillet’s reconstruction: [)l Kt#) yr# Mhrb) l) Myhl) rm)yw
rph ytyrb t) hym(m )whh]
In contrast, I propose that line 3 should be reconstructed as follows: [)l Kt#) yr# Mhrb) l) Myhl) rm)yw
rph ytyrb t) hym(m )whh #pnh htrknw]
The difference between the two reconstructed lines is clearly depicted above. On Baillet’s reconstruction, line 3 has forty-five characters, about twenty letters shorter than the other lines he reconstructs. In contrast to the gap proposed by Baillet, which is about one-third the length of the lines in this column of 8QGen, my reconstruction provides line 3 with ten more characters, leaving us only ten characters short of the width of the other lines, or with a sense division of about one-fifth of the length of the line. Tov provides evidence that such sense divisions can range from two letter-spaces to twenty letter-spaces, but it appears that interspaces of a length equivalent to seven to ten letters are more common.37 Because of the fragmentary state of 8QGen, it is impossible to adjudicate between Baillet’s reconstruction and my own—if we only had the first letter of line 3, we could answer this question definitively. Nonetheless, the evidence of the fragment does not prohibit the possibility that the phrase ynym#h Mwyb once existed in 8QGen; in fact, it could be argued that the large gap between v. 14 and v. 15, which Baillet is forced to propose, should be taken as evidence that, like Jubilees, the LXX, and the SP, 8QGen once contained a reference to the eighth day in Gen 17:14 and read: rph ytyrb t) hym(m )whh #pnh htrknw ynym#h Mwyb wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w
Tov has characterized the MT, SP, LXX, and Qumran readings as “the major textual witnesses” to the OT.38 Similarly, in spite of his cautious view regarding the value of the LXX, Wevers states: This is not to suggest that the parent text which [the LXX translators of Genesis] had was in every respect the consonantal text of BHS, but rather that Hebrew text criticism should be more responsible, and more solidly based on real evidence. We do have Qumran fragments of Genesis, as well as other ancient witnesses such as the Samaritan Hebrew text and the Targums, as well as the Genesis Apocryphon; these must be carefully compared throughout.39
As stated above, however, few commentators even note that other important witnesses attest to a text of Gen 17:14 that differs from the MT. Again, of those who do note this difference, only two scholars, Ball and Kittel, have sided against the 37
Tov, “Sense Divisions,” 316. Tov, Text-Critical Use of the Septuagint, 272. 39 Wevers, Notes, xiii. 38
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MT. The argument I have been making, thus far on external grounds alone, has put to the test this unquestioned preference for the MT’s reading of Gen 17:14 and found it to be wanting. Jubilees, the LXX, and the SP (and possibly 8QGen frag. 4) suggest the widespread existence of a Hebrew Vorlage of Gen 17:14 in which the phrase ynym#h Mwyb existed. Critical texts, translations, and scholarly commentary on the book of Genesis must begin to take the external evidence for the nonMasoretic reading seriously.
II. Internal Evidence Supporting the LXX/SP Reading The external evidence for the reading of Gen 17:14 that contains a reference to the eighth day is indeed weighty, but internal criteria also need to be evaluated. Most importantly, any argument for the priority of one reading over the other must provide an account for the existence of the other variant. Can we provide a compelling reason for the existence of the reference to the eighth day in the LXX/SP/ Jubilees if the MT preserves the better reading? Or, if we believe the LXX/SP/Jubilees preserve the better reading, can we explain the existence of the MT reading? Argumentation provided by those who prefer the MT reading of Gen 17:14 has been virtually negligible: I have found only two explanations for the existence of the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading. First, Wevers claims that the phrase “on the eighth day” was added to the LXX of Gen 17:14 because of the close proximity of the phrase Mymy tnm# Nb (LXX: παιδίον ὀκτὼ ἡμερῶν) in 17:12.40 Yet this solution is far from compelling, since it does not explain the existence of similar readings in the SP and Jubilees. Further, this cannot be a straightforward case of dittography, since 17:12 reads Mymy tnm# Nb (LXX: παιδίον ὀκτὼ ἡμερῶν), while the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading of 17:14 contains the phrase ynym#h Mwyb (LXX: τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τῇ ὀγδόῃ). Second, Harl suggests that the LXX translators inserted the phrase “on the eighth day” in order to clarify the fact that circumcision takes precedence over Sabbath observance.41 Again, this solution is unsatisfactory, since it, too, does not take into account the textual evidence of the SP and Jubilees. Additionally, why would the LXX translators feel required to insert this phrase, when Gen 17:12 already stipulates that circumcision occur on the eighth day? If they felt that it was necessary to make clear that circumcision superseded Sabbath rest, would they not have made this point more explicitly? In fact, our sources evidence no dispute regarding whether circumcision should take place on the Sabbath.42 The explanations of Wevers and Harl fail to convince and unwittingly thereby further prob40
See ibid., 236. Harl, La Bible d’Alexandrie, 171. 42 Cf. John 7:22–23; Justin Marytr, Dial. 27; m. Ned. 3:11; and b. Šabb. 132a, the latter of which contains a dispute about whether the preliminaries of circumcision can take place on the Sabbath but acknowledges that “as for circumcision itself, all hold that it supersedes the Sabbath.” 41
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lematize the suggestion that the MT preserves an older reading. In contrast, there are two possible solutions that cogently explain the existence of the MT reading based on the assumption of the priority of the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading. First, although the principle of lectio brevior would suggest that the MT reading is to be preferred, it is possible that haplography occurred due to homoeoteleuton, thus unintentionally shortening the text of Gen 17:14.43 The Hebrew reading preserved by the LXX, the SP, and Jubilees is as follows: rph ytyrb t) hym(m )whh #pnh htrknw ynym#h Mwyb wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w
It is possible that a scribe made an unintentional error by mistakenly skipping from the waw at the end of wtlr( to the waw at the beginning of htrknw.44 If the eye of the scribe mistook these two waws, the resulting text would lack the phrase Mwyb ynym#h.45 A different haplographic error, albeit one with the same result, could have occurred if the scribe confused the yod at the end of ynym#h with the waw at the end of wtlr(, thereby accidentally omitting the phrase ynym#h Mwyb. That such a mistake could occur is indicated by evidence from Qumran, since Tov points out that in a number of manuscripts “it is very difficult to distinguish between waw and yod, especially when they are joined to other letters.”46 If a scribe who had just copied the word wtlr( mistook the yod of ynym#h for the waw of wtlr(, the phrase Mwyb ynym#h would be omitted. In fact, the particular combination of a waw or yod with a nun or taw often caused confusion because of the ligature that is formed.47 Since taw precedes the waw of wtlr( and nun precedes the yod of ynym#h there is an even greater likelihood that homoeoteleuton may have caused haplography here. Although these solutions are conjectural, they provide two plausible explanations for how the MT variant may have arisen as a result of human error. 43
For a criticism of the principle of lectio brevior, see Tov, Textual Criticism, 305–7. I am grateful to Melvin K. H. Peters for bringing this possibility to my attention. 45 For such a textual omission in the MT, see Gen 4:8, and the discussion of Tov, Textual Criticism, 236–37. 46 Examples of texts in which waw and yod look remarkably similar include 11QPsa (discussed by Mark S. Smith, “How to Write a Poem: The Case of Psalm 151A [11QPsa 28.3-12],” in The Hebrew of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Ben Sira: Proceedings of a Symposium held at Leiden University 11–14 December 1995 [ed. T. Muraoka and J. F. Elwolde; STDJ 26; Leiden: Brill, 1997], 182–208), and 1QS 2:12, 20, and 23. Additionally, Ada Yardeni (“A Draft of a Deed on an Ostracon from Khirbet Qumrân,” IEJ 47 [1997]: 233–37, here 234) discusses an ostracon in which yod and waw “are identical in structure.” See the general discussion of Elisha Qimron, “The Distinction between Waw and Yod in the Qumran Scrolls” (in Hebrew), Beth Mikra 18 (1973): 112–22. I am grateful to Bennie H. Reynolds III for the references in this and the following note. 47 4Q388a may evidence such an error, since it contains the anomalous verbal form wttnw (see 4Q388a 7 II, 5). It is possible that this form is erroneous and that the correct form was originally the first common singular, yttnw, although Devorah Dimant suggests that this is a defective spelling for the phrase wyttnw (Qumran Cave 4, XXI: Parabiblical Texts, part 4, Pseudo-Prophetic Texts [DJD 30; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001], 211). 44
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A second explanation for the existence of the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading is that the variant of the MT may have arisen not as the result of human error but as the result of a conscious attempt on the part of a scribe to modify the text for a variety of theological reasons. First, if a male who is not circumcised on the eighth day is to be cut off from his people, what then is to be done about the sick infant who cannot undergo the stress of eighth-day circumcision? In contrast to the harsh implications of the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading, the Mishnah preserves humane regulations to protect sickly infants from the stress of circumcision. M. Šabbat 19:5 permits the circumcision of an infant to take place, depending on the circumstances, anytime from the eighth day to the twelfth day, while deferring circumcision indefinitely if it might threaten the life of an ill newborn.48 If it was common to defer circumcision under such conditions, the text of Gen 17:14 might have been altered to accommodate this practice. Second, the variant preserved in the MT could be explained by the fact that many Jews in the Second Temple and early rabbinic periods were open to the possibility of Gentile conversion to Judaism (see Jdt 14:10; LXX Esth 8:17; Josephus, Ant. 20.38–45, 139; Vita 113).49 Integral to the conversion process, at least for males, was the rite of circumcision.50 If males needed to be circumcised on the eighth day, then proselyte circumcision would be invalid and of no covenantal significance. That eighth-day circumcision could function to exclude the possibility of conversion can be seen in Jubilees, which states: This law is (valid) for all history forever. There is no circumcision of days, nor omitting any day of the eight days because it is an eternal ordinance ordained and written on the heavenly tablets. Anyone who is born, the flesh of whose pri48 See also, e.g., b. Šabb. 134a and b. Yebam. 64b. I take it that this rabbinic innovation is based on the belief that God’s commandments regarding infant circumcision were motivated by compassion and concern for life, a belief preserved in Deut. Rab. 6:1: “And why is an infant circumcised on the eighth day? Because God had compassion upon him in delaying the circumcision until he should have gained strength” (all translations of the Midrash Rabbah are taken from H. Freedman and Maurice Simon, eds., Midrash Rabbah [10 vols.; London: Soncino, 1939]). A similar concern for compassion can be found in Philo’s preference of infant circumcision over adolescent circumcision (QG 3.48). 49 See, e.g., Bernhard J. Bamberger, Proselytism in the Talmudic Period (Hebrew Union College Alumni Publications 1; Cincinnati: Hebrew Union College Press, 1939); William G. Braude, Jewish Proselyting in the First Five Centuries of the Common Era (Brown University Studies 6; Providence: Brown University Press, 1940); Shaye J. D. Cohen, The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties (Hellenistic Culture and Society; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999); and Terence L. Donaldson, Judaism and the Gentiles: Jewish Patterns of Universalism (to 135 CE) (Waco: Baylor University Press, 2007), 483–92. 50 As John Nolland (“Uncircumcised Proselytes?” JSJ 12 [1981]: 173–94) has argued in opposition to the claims of Neil J. McEleney (“Conversion, Circumcision and the Law,” NTS 20 [1974]: 319–41).
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vate parts has not been circumcised by51 the eighth day, does not belong to the people of the pact which the Lord made with Abraham but to the people (meant for) destruction. Moreover, there is no sign on him that he belongs to the Lord, but (he is meant) for destruction, for being destroyed from the earth, and for being uprooted from the earth because he has violated the covenant of the Lord our God. (15:25–26)
Given the general openness to Gentile circumcision during the Second Temple and rabbinic periods, it seems more probable that “on the eighth day” was purposefully omitted from manuscripts of Genesis than that it was purposefully added. Finally, the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading of Gen 17:14 is problematic even apart from the social and historical realities facing Jews in the Second Temple and early rabbinic periods. If every male who is not circumcised on the eighth day is to be cut off from his people, what is the implication for Abraham, who, according to Gen 17:24, is circumcised at the age of ninety-nine?52 This difficulty does not appear in the MT. Therefore, on the basis of the principle of lectio difficilior, the reading of the LXX, SP, and Jubilees is to be preferred, since it radically undermines Abraham’s circumcision. For three different reasons, then, the existence of the MT reading of Gen 17:14 could be explained as the effort of a scribe to tidy up a theologically difficult reading. In fact, we can see these latter two concerns (that is, what to do with proselyte circumcision and Abraham’s tardy circumcision) nicely addressed in the Mekilta deRabbi Ishmael, Neziqin 18: 51 Although R. H. Charles argues that the original Hebrew preposition b or l( was corrupted to l or d( and that the original meant “on,” not “by,” there is no textual evidence for this corruption (The Book of Jubilees or The Little Genesis: Translated from the Editor’s Ethiopic Text and Edited, with Introduction, Notes and Indices [Jerusalem: Makor, 1972], 110). Additional contextual evidence is provided by v. 25, for it is likely that the author, having previously stressed that circumcision is not to take place prior to the eighth day (“There is no circumcision of days, nor omitting any day of the eight days”), here stresses that it cannot take place after the eighth day. 52 Philo shows an awareness of the fact that Abraham’s circumcision differs significantly from Isaac’s: “Now the first of our nation who was circumcised by law and was named after the virtue of joy, was called Isaac in Chaldaean” (QG 3.38; trans. Marcus, LCL). According to Mercier and Petit (Quaestiones, 84), the Latin text of QG 3.38 states: “Primus autem existens nationis nostrae juxta legem circumcisae [vel circumcisus, octava die], virtute praestans ille nomen gerit gaudii, Isaacus dictus Chaldaice”). Later rabbinic works also evidence a knowledge that Isaac’s circumcision differed from all previous circumcisions, including the circumcision of Abraham, in that it occurred on the eighth day. For instance, Gen. Rab. 60:5: “R. Johanan said: No woman [hitherto] had been intimate for the first time with a man who had been circumcised at eight days save Rebekah”; Pesq. Rab Kah., Piska 12:1: “Circumcision was inaugurated with Isaac, for when he was eight days old, he was the first to be circumcised, as is said ‘Abraham circumcised his son Isaac when he was eight days old’” (trans. William G. Braude and Israel J. Kapstein, Pesikta deRab Kahana: R. Kahana’s Compilation of Discourses for Sabbaths and Festal Days [Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1975], 227); and Song of Songs Rab. I:2:5: “Abraham received the command of circumcision. Isaac inaugurated its performance on the eighth day.”
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009) Beloved are the proselytes (Myrgh). It was for their sake that our father Abraham was not circumcised until he was ninety-nine years old. Had he been circumcised at twenty or at thirty years of age, only those under the age of thirty could have become proselytes (ryygthl). Therefore God bore with Abraham until he reached ninety-nine years of age, so as not to close the door to future proselytes (My)bh Myrgh).53
According to the Mekilta, it is Abraham’s circumcision, not Isaac’s, that is paradigmatic for proselytes, thereby solving the problem engendered by the fact that circumcision is explicitly commanded to take place on the eighth day (cf. Gen 17:12; Lev 12:3).
III. The Earliest Inferable Textual State of Genesis 17:1454 Eugene Ulrich has argued that the line between the composition of a literary work and the copying of that work is heavily blurred. Just as composition was a process whereby a work underwent considerable revision over time, so too those who copied works often added and subtracted material.55 As a result, Ulrich has questioned the validity of the pursuit of the original text: “[B]ecause the text of each book was produced organically, in multiple layers, determining ‘the original text’ is a difficult, complex task; and arguably, it may not even be the correct goal. Historically was there ever such a thing?”56 In relation to Genesis 17, it must be acknowledged that the text is indeed thoroughly composite. Even within the circumcision legislation of 17:9–14, Claus 53
Translation slightly adapted from Jacob Z. Lauterbach, Mekilta de-Rabbi Ishmael (3 vols.; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1933), 3:140. 54 The phrase “earliest inferable text” comes from E. J. Kenney, “Textual Criticism,” Encyclopedia Britannica (15th ed.; Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1984), 18:191, cited by Ronald Hendel, “The Oxford Hebrew Bible: Prologue to a New Critical Edition,” VT 58 (2008): 324–51, here 329. 55 See Eugene Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible (Studies in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999). 56 Ibid., 16. This same point is made by Bertil Albrektson, “Translation and Emendation,” in Language, Theology, and the Bible: Essays in Honour of James Barr (ed. Samuel E. Balentine and John Barton; Oxford: Clarendon, 1994), 27–39, here 31. But see the defense of the pursuit of the original text in Tov, Textual Criticism, 180–97; and Hendel, Text of Genesis 1–11, 109–15. Tov rightly states: “We shall not be able to reconstruct the Urtext of any given biblical book, but it is possible, and certainly legitimate, to reconstruct elements of that text, that is, individual readings, selected from the transmitted evidence, or sometimes reconstructed by conjectural emendation” (“Criteria for Evaluating Textual Readings: The Limitations of Textual Rules,” HTR 75 [1982]: 429–48, here 432).
Thiessen: The Text of Genesis 17:14
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Westermann is able to distinguish two major threads in the chapter: “vv. 9–14 consist of the command of circumcision (vv. 10b–11a) and the detailed instructions (vv. 12ab, 13a, 14a). Everything else in vv. 9–14 brings together the command to circumcise and the tyrb (vv. 9, 10a, 11b, 13b, 14b).”57 Nonetheless, as far as I have seen, no one has suggested that the difference between MT Gen 17:14 and LXX/SP Gen 17:14 (and Jub. 15:14) ought to be attributed to the fact that Genesis 17 is a composite text, and that one form of v. 14 arises from an earlier redaction of the chapter and another form from a later redaction of the chapter. Finally, and most importantly, we have no textual evidence that the reading of Gen 17:14 as it is preserved in the MT existed prior to or during the Second Temple period.58 In other words, the LXX, SP, and Jubilees give witness to the “earliest inferable textual state” of Gen 17:14. The external evidence supporting the reading of Gen 17:14 that contains a reference to the eighth day is overwhelming and ought to be preferred to the MT 57 Westermann, Genesis 12–36, 263. Similarly, Grünwaldt believes that the Priestly Grundschrift is represented by vv. 9aα, 10aα, b, 11, 12a, 13b, 14aα, b, which has been supplemented by vv. 9aβ, b, 10aβ, 12b, 13a, 14aβ (Exil und Identität, 42–44). More recently, Saul M. Olyan has argued that vv. 8b, 10, 11–12, 13b, and 14 are from the Holiness School, while v. 9, and parts of 10b, 12b, and 13a are from P (Rites and Rank: Hierarchy in Biblical Representations of Cult [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000], 154–55 n. 23). See also Peter Weimar, “Gen 17 und die priesterschriftliche Abrahamgeschichte,” ZAW 100 (1988): 22–60. Although sorting out the source-critical issues of Gen 17:9–14 is immensely difficult, none of these scholars argues that the phrase ynym#h Mwyb alone was added to a Priestly Grundschrift that resembled the MT reading of Gen 17:14. 58 Additionally, I can find no evidence of the reading preserved in the MT in either the Mishnah or the Tosefta. Contrary to Jacob Neusner’s translation of t. Šabb. 15:9, the citation of Gen 17:14 ends at the words “his foreskin” (wtlr() and thus does not make clear whether it knows the MT reading or the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading (The Tosefta: Translated from Hebrew with a New Introduction [2 vols.; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002], 1:415). Cf. Saul Lieberman, ed., Tosefta Ki-Feshutah (10 vols.; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1955–88), 2:71. In fact, t. Šabb. 15:9 seems to evidence a knowledge of a text of Gen 17:14 similar to the LXX/SP/Jubilees reading: “R. Eliezer says, ‘As to circumcision, on account of which they override the prohibitions of the Sabbath, why is this so?’ ‘It is because they are liable to extirpation [trk] if it is not done on time [Nmz rx)l].’” The connection between being cut off (trk) and circumcising on the eighth day even if it is the Sabbath could suggest that R. Eliezer (if the saying does indeed go back to him) knows a non-MT variant. The earliest rabbinic text that clearly cites the MT version of Gen 17:14 is b. Qidd. 29a, which contains the following quotation from Gen 17:14: lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w htrknw wtlr( r#b t). In this, the manuscript evidence (Oxford Opp. 248 [367], Munich 95, Vatican 111) is unanimous. Interestingly, b. Yebam. 72b asks the following question: “Is there any authority who maintains that the duty to circumcise a child whose proper time of circumcision had passed is only Rabbinical! But the fact is that (all the world agrees) the circumcision of a mashuk [that is, a circumcised male whose prepuce has been drawn forward to cover up the corona] is a Rabbinical ordinance, and that the duty to circumcise a child whose proper time of circumcision has passed, is Pentateuchal.”
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reading. Additionally, no satisfactory explanation can be provided for the way in which the reading preserved in the LXX, the SP, and Jubilees came into existence if the MT reading is original. On the other hand, I have provided a number of different possibilities (whether through human error or intentional modification of a theologically troublesome text) as to how the reading of the MT arose. Since both our external and internal evidence point to the superiority of the LXX and SP reading of Gen 17:14, a critical text of the verse should read as follows: t) hym(m )whh #pnh htrknw ynym#h Mwyb wtlr( r#b t) lwmy )l r#) rkz lr(w rph ytyrb And the uncircumcised male, who has not been circumcised in the flesh of his foreskin on the eighth day, that soul shall be cut off from his people, he has broken my covenant.
JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 643–648
Deuteronomy 24:5 and King Asa’s Foot Disease in 1 Kings 15:23b jeremy schipper [email protected] Temple University, Philadelphia, PA 19122
1 Kings 15:22–24 provides one of the few notations of royalty with a disease in the books of Kings. (22) Then King Asa made a proclamation to all Judah, none was exempt: they carried away the stones of Ramah and its timber, with which Baasha had been building; with them King Asa built Geba of Benjamin and Mizpah. (23) Now the rest of all the acts of Asa, all his power, all that he did, and the cities that he built, are they not written in the Book of the Annals of the Kings of Judah? But in his old age he was diseased in his feet. (24) Then Asa slept with his ancestors, and was buried with his ancestors in the city of his father David; his son Jehoshaphat succeeded him.1
This summary of Asa’s reign shows several classic indicators of Deuteromonistic (Dtr) redaction. These include references to a source, to the king’s death and burial, and to the name of his successor.2 Likewise, the introduction to Asa’s reign earlier in the chapter (vv. 9-15) presents Asa as a praiseworthy king, in part, because he follows laws presently recorded in Deuteronomy. According to vv. 12–13, he removed temple prostitutes (cf. Deut 23:17; 1 Kgs 14:24) and an Asherah image (cf. Deut 12:3; 1 Kgs 14:23). The use of Deuteronomic standards to evaluate Asa in his introduction as well as notations of his age at his accession to the throne, his length of reign, and his mother’s name suggest Dtr editorial work. As the material surI would like to thank Nyasha Junior and Mark Leuchter for their helpful comments on earlier drafts of this article. 1 With occasional modifications, all biblical translations follow the NRSV and its versification. 2 On these signs of Dtr redaction, see Mordechai Cogan, 1 Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 10; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 96.
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rounding the notation about Asa’s disease reflects common Dtr concerns, scholars have often puzzled over the comment in v. 23b, since Dtr rarely records royal diseases. While commenting on Asa’s illness, Mordechai Cogan observes, “As a rule, Dtr did not note royal illnesses; the only other instance recorded in Kings concerns the leprosy of Azariah (2 Kgs 15:5), which led to his quarantine and removal from office, and Hezekiah’s disease (2 Kgs 20).”3 For some scholars, the scarcity of such notations in Dtr suggests that these notations do not help to articulate Dtr’s theological or ideological positions.4 Moreover, the fact that Dtr praises all three of the kings who have a recorded illness (Asa [1 Kgs 15:11–13]; Azariah [2 Kgs 15:3]; and Hezekiah [2 Kgs 18:3–7a]) may argue against interpreting Dtr’s notations of their illnesses as divine punishments. Thus, although the early history of interpretation speculates on possible theological meanings of Asa’s foot disease, contemporary scholars often prefer diagnostic to theological speculation. Recent diagnoses include gout, dropsy, gangrene, peripheral obstructive vascular disease, and prostate cancer, among others.5 Diagnostic speculation alone, however, does not explain why the notation regarding Asa’s foot disease in v. 23b appears in the middle of a text that otherwise contains several indicators of Dtr redaction. After all, Dtr does not show a concern for medical diagnosis in its rare notations of royal illnesses elsewhere in Kings. Instead, it explicitly attributes Azariah’s skin disease to divine causation (2 Kgs 15:5a) and presents Hezekiah’s illness as under divine control (2 Kgs 20:1–11).6 Since Dtr places these other royal illnesses within a theological rather than diagnostic framework,7 one should take into account the (largely Deuteronomic) the3
Ibid., 402. Instead of focusing on v. 23b’s contribution to Dtr’s ideological or theological program, a number of scholars either ignore v. 23b or suggest that it reveals something about Dtr’s sources. See, among others, Volkmar Fritz, 1 and 2 Kings (trans. Anselm Hagedorn; CC; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 168; Martin Noth, Könige (BKAT; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1968), 342–43; Ernst Würthwein, Das Erste Buch der Könige: Kapital 1–16 (ATD; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), 190–91. 5 See, among others, the discussions and citations in Cogan, 1 Kings, 402; Carl D. Evans, “Asa,” ABD 1:468–70; Fred Rosner, Medicine in the Bible and the Talmud: Selections from Classical Jewish Sources (augmented ed.; New York: Ktav, 1995), 58–59; Marvin Sweeney, I and II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 195. 6 Hector Avalos has shown how ancient Near Eastern texts often frame illnesses and disabilities as under the direct control of a divine “sender/controller” (Illness and Health Care in the Ancient Near East: The Role of the Temple in Greece, Mesopotamia, and Israel [HSM 54; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995], 32). Saul Olyan comes to a similar conclusion although he notes that sometimes the Hebrew Bible attributes disabilities to accidents (2 Sam 4:4) or old age (1 Kgs 14:4). See Saul M. Olyan, Disability in the Hebrew Bible: Interpreting Mental and Physical Differences (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 125–26. 7 This does not necessarily suggest that theological and diagnostic frameworks represented mutually exclusive options in the ancient Near East. As JoAnn Scurlock has shown, ancients could attribute the source of an illness to a deity while still studying the illness through empirical obser4
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ological standards by which Dtr evaluates Asa (e.g., 15:12–13) when interpreting his foot disease. This article argues that v. 23b develops a connection between Asa’s building projects in vv. 22–23a and a law presently recorded in Deut 24:5. As with his removal of temple prostitutes and Asherah images earlier in the chapter, Dtr evaluates Asa’s building projects by Deuteronomic standards. Interpreters have noticed links between Deut 24:5 and 1 Kgs 15:22-23 since at least the time of the Talmud, which understood Asa’s disease as a form of punishment for violating Deut 24:5 and identified the disease as a type of gout ()rgdwp), which felt like needles in Asa’s flesh (b. Sanh. 48b; b. Sotai h 10a). Yet recent scholarship has not developed this rabbinic interpretation because the Hebrew Bible never presents foot diseases as a punishment for violating Deut 24:5. If one follows recent commentators in identifying Asa’s “foot” disease as some type of genital dysfunction rather than gout, however, then the connection between 1 Kgs 15:22–23 and Deut 24:5 becomes clearer. By putting early theological speculation as to the cause of Asa’s foot disease into conversation with more recent diagnostic attempts, one can better understand the presence of v. 23b in the middle of Dtr’s summary of Asa’s reign.
I. Explanations for Asa’s Disease in Early Biblical Interpretation Generally, early interpreters who connect Asa’s illness with a theological cause do not account for the Deuteronomic aspects surrounding v. 23b, whereas more recent interpreters who recognize the Deuteronomic influence focus on his illness as a diagnostic problem even though Dtr never shows interest in diagnosing illnesses, unlike a number of ancient Mesopotamian “diagnostic texts” that offer a variety of diagnoses for various diseases, illnesses, and impairments.8 Nevertheless, some early rabbinic interpreters provide a middle ground. They place their medical diagnosis of Asa (gout) within a larger theological framework that connects it to Deuteronomic law. The Lucianic tradition of the LXX connects Asa’s disease to a punishment for
vations and inductive experiments (Magico-Medical Means of Treating Ghost-Induced Illnesses in Ancient Mesopotamia [Ancient Magic and Divination 3; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2006], 77–81). 8 See Nils Heessel, Babylonisch-assyriche Diagnostik (AOAT 43; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2000). For contemporary attempts at medical diagnoses of Mesopotamian illnesses, diseases, and disabilities, see JoAnn Scurlock and Burton R. Anderson, Diagnoses in Assyrian and Babylonian Medicine: Ancient Sources, Translations, and Modern Medical Analyses (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2005). Regarding skin diseases and diagnoses elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, Jacob Milgrom argues that priestly inspection of skin diseases in Leviticus 13–14 does not aim to provide a medical diagnosis, but to determine one’s status as ritually pure or impure in regard to cultic participation (Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991], 816–17).
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evildoing when it reads v. 23b as, “In his old age Asa did what was evil and was diseased in his feet” (my translation). Nonetheless, as John Gray observes, this reading does not specify what Asa did wrong.9 More specifically, it does not connect his wrongdoing to any violation of Deuteronomic law, unlike 1 Kgs 15:14a (cf. Deut 12:2). The Lucianic tradition may assume a theological cause for Asa’s disease, but it does not necessarily share Dtr’s theological framework. The preference for a theological rather than medical approach to Asa’s foot disease appears in the Chronicler’s account as well. The Chronicler uses the king’s disease as a negative example of his reliance on physicians rather than on the Lord. “In the thirty-ninth year of his reign Asa was diseased in his feet, and his disease became severe; yet even in his disease he did not seek the Lord, but sought help from physicians” (2 Chr 16:12). Yet this association of Asa with physicians plays off of the similarities between the proper name “Asa” ()s)) and the Aramaic term for “physician” ()ys)).10 It does not come from a concern for Deuteronomic law.11 By contrast, contemporary scholars often acknowledge the role that Deuteronomic law plays in Dtr’s presentation of Asa in 1 Kings 15. In this sense, contemporary scholars attend to the particular theological framework of Dtr more explicitly than some of their ancient counterparts do. Such attention provides an opportunity to understand better why Dtr would include the notation of Asa’s foot disease. Nevertheless, a number of these scholars miss this opportunity because, unlike their ancient counterparts, they shift the exegetical focus toward a medical diagnosis when commenting on Asa’s foot disease. Yet this exegetical move approaches his disease through a diagnostic discourse that Dtr does not utilize.12 In b. Sotah i 10a, on the other hand, the sages offer “gout” as a medical diagno9
John Gray, I and II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1963), 323. Cogan, 1 Kings, 402. 11 In 2 Chr 14:1–8, the Chronicler praises Asa’s reforms, which seem to follow Deuteronomic law. Yet the Chronicler associates these reforms with Asa’s younger days. Sara Japhet observes that the Chronicler places all of Asa’s evil deeds in his later years, which represents a period that 1 Kings does not include. See Sara Japhet, I and II Chronicles: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1993), 703–5. 12 For a more detailed discussion of various discourses used to conceptualize disability in relation to Asa’s foot disease, see Jeremy Schipper, “Embodying Deuteronomistic Theology in 1 Kings 15:22–24,” in Bodies, Embodiment and Theology of the Hebrew Bible (ed. Tamar Kamionkowski and Wonil Kim; Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies; New York: T&T Clark, forthcoming). Informed by disability studies, a number of recent works in biblical studies have examined the various discourses beyond the diagnostic or medical (e.g., legal, social scientific, literary, military, cultic, etc.) that the Hebrew Bible employs in its representations of disability. See Olyan, Disability in the Hebrew Bible; Rebecca Raphael, Biblical Corpora: Representations of Disability in Hebrew Biblical Literature (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 445; New York: T&T Clark, 2008); Jeremy Schipper, Disability Studies and the Hebrew Bible: Figuring Mephibosheth in the David Story (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 441; New York: T&T Clark, 2006); This Abled Body: Rethinking Disability and Biblical Studies (ed. Hector Avalos, Sarah Melcher, and Jeremy Schipper; SemeiaSt 55; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2007). 10
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sis of Asa’s illness, but the diagnosis does not serve as an explanation of the disease. Rather, they seek its cause within a theological framework informed by Deuteronomic law. They understand his method of city building (v. 22) as violating Deuteronomic law. The details of Asa’s building method in v. 22 contain a rare term that caught the rabbis’ attention (“exempt” [yqn]). According to v. 22, Asa’s proclamation required all Judeans to serve as laborers to help dismantle the northern king Baasha’s building projects in Ramah and to build Geba of Benjamin and Mizpah. The verse specifies that “none was exempt” (yqn Ny)) from this labor project. Rashi understood this conscription as a violation of a law recorded in Deut 24:5, which reads, “When a man is newly married, he shall not go out with the army [)bc] or be charged with any related duty. He shall be free [yqn] at home one year, to make the wife whom he has married happy.” Although the NRSV seems to connect this exemption to military service (cf. Deut 20:7), Richard D. Nelson observes that “[the newly married man’s] exemption is apparently not just from the military, but also from all compulsory public service (cf. Isa 40:2 for [)bc] as ‘forced labor’).”13 Thus, one may read Asa’s proclamation in 15:22 as a violation of the law recorded in Deut 24:5. If Asa exempts no one from compulsory public service, then the newly married man has to participate as well. Prior to Rashi, the sages observed that Asa’s proclamation would have required scholars to abandon their study of Torah (b. Sotah i 10a). The sages conclude that for this wrongdoing God punished Asa with a foot disease. These rabbinic examples anticipate contemporary scholars somewhat by linking the evaluation of Asa in 1 Kgs 15:22–24 with Deuteronomic law. Nonetheless, even if one finds the notion that Asa violates Deut 24:5 compelling, nothing in biblical law suggests that God punishes such a violation with a foot disease. In other words, how does this connection between 1 Kgs 15:22 and Deut 24:5 relate to the notation regarding Asa’s foot disease in v. 23b?
II. A Correlation between Asa’s Actions and Disease This section builds on the connection made in rabbinic literature between 1 Kgs 15:23 and Deut 24:5 in order to show how Asa’s disease relates to his building practices in 15:22, although my admittedly inexact diagnosis of his disease differs from the one offered by the sages. As mentioned above, instead of gout, several recent commentators suggest that Asa had some type of genital dysfunction. As Marvin A. Sweeney states, “The notice that he became ill ‘in his feet’ is a euphemism for some sort of genital ailment.”14 This suggestion comes from the euphemistic use of “feet” (various forms of lgr) for genitals elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible (see 13
Richard D. Nelson, Deuteronomy: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 284–85. 14 Sweeney, I and II Kings, 195.
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Ruth 3:7; 1 Sam 24:4; Ezek 16:25; Prov 7:11). The use of euphemism assumes that the audience understands the implied subject. Thus, “diseased in his feet” does not diagnose Asa’s disease but simply describes his disease politely. Considering Asa’s advanced age, Dtr’s description of an otherwise unspecified genital dysfunction in v. 23b seems plausible even though the description does not allow for a precise, non-euphemistic, diagnosis.15 More importantly, recognizing it as a genital dysfunction that would have a negative impact on his sexual life helps to explain how the addition of v. 23b to Dtr’s summary of Asa’s reign supplies a punishment for the violation of Deut 24:5.16 As Rashi observes, Asa’s building program prevents a newly married man from enjoying his year-long labor exemption. According to Deut 24:5b, the exemption allows him to “make the wife whom he has married happy [wt#)-t) xm#].” The domestic “happiness” described in this verse implies sexual relations. Proverbs 5:18–19 uses a similar construction in a more sexually explicit context: “Let your fountain be blessed, and rejoice in the wife of your youth [Krw(n t#)m xm#w], a lovely deer, a graceful doe. May her breasts satisfy you at all times; may you be intoxicated always by her love.” If this reading of “happiness” represents the sense of Deut 24:5b, then to violate the law requiring a work exemption for a newly married man would result in the disruption of expected sexual activity. Likewise, a disease affecting one’s genitals could also disrupt expected sexual activity. With the notation of Asa’s “foot” disease, the addition of v. 23b provides a punishment for the king that relates to his disregard of the law in Deut 24:5 through his proclamation of compulsory public service in v. 22.
III. Conclusions This article has examined the function of 1 Kgs 15:23b by building on both ancient and modern interpretations on Asa’s disease. Although vv. 22–24 show many standard features of Dtr redaction, Dtr does not typically record royal disease. Thus, I argued that the notation of Asa’s foot disease supplies a punishment for his apparent violation of the law recorded in Deut 24:5 in a way that would seem to fit the crime and remain in keeping with Dtr’s general theological outlook. 15 Similarly, a number of scholars suggest that 1 Kgs 1:1–4 implies a genital dysfunction when it states that an elderly (Nqz) David could not “get warm” and did not have sexual relations with the beautiful Abishag. See, among others, Sweeney, I and II Kings, 53. 16 Scholars have documented well the principles of correspondence or retribution (lex talionis) underlining biblical and other ancient Near Eastern theological and legal literature, including Dtr literature. See, among others, the discussions and citations in Patrick D. Miller, Sin and Judgment in the Prophets: A Stylistic and Theological Analysis (SBLMS 27; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1982), 81–95; Philip J. Nel, “The Talion Principle in Old Testament Narratives,” JNSL 20 (1994): 21–29; Scott B. Noegel, Nocturnal Ciphers: The Allusive Language of Dreams in the Ancient Near East (AOS 89; New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2007), 123–28.
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Eglon’s Belly and Ehud’s Blade: A Reconsideration lawson g. stone [email protected] Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, KY 40390
The rather minor character of Ehud in the book of Judges has become a major preoccupation for many biblical scholars in the last three decades. For premodern readers, this story prompted serious reflection on the morality of regicide, possibly deflecting their attention from Eglon’s belly or its contents.1 Matthew Henry in the late seventeenth century was among the first to sensationalize the grotesque aspects of the story, referring to Eglon as “a fat unwieldly man” who “fell like a fatted calf, by the knife, as acceptable sacrifice to divine justice.”2 By contrast, critical interpretation took up the historical settings and compositional development of the text. Thus, while reading the exegesis of George Foot Moore or Charles Fox Burney, one seldom chuckles, but nor does one blush.3 Then Robert Alter popularized a reading of the story as the parade example not of the ethical implications of regicide but of the aesthetic implications of literary artistry, triggering an
This article was first presented to the Hebrew Bible, History and Archaeology Section of the 2008 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in Boston, Massachusetts. I owe a debt of gratitude to my colleague and friend Dr. Sandra L. Richter for countless conversations about Iron I culture and for responding substantively to early drafts of this essay. I also gratefully acknowledge the philological expertise of my colleague Dr. John Cook. 1 See the useful summary of the history of interpretation in David M. Gunn, Judges (Blackwell Bible Commentaries; Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005), 34–52. 2 Matthew Henry, Commentary on the Whole Bible (1708; repr., New York: Revell, n.d.), 2:136. 3 George Foot Moore, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1895), 89–104; C. F. Burney, The Book of Judges with Introduction and Notes (2nd ed.; London: Rivingtons, 1920), 67–75. Moore saw Eglon’s size as relevant only to accentuate that “a long dirk, hilt and all, was buried in it” (p. 93).
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avalanche of vivid, even lurid literary analyses.4 A generation of interpreters explored the story’s every possibility for the humorous or the macabre, stressing Eglon’s enormity, Ehud’s treachery, and the shortness of his dirk. J. Alberto Soggin expresses contemporary sensibility that finds in the narrative a “great many observations of a humourous kind, though this is a humour which now, at least in the West, seems to be somewhat coarse: there is a large number of jokes based on proper names and on physical defects; there is even a scatological theme which contributes to the ridiculous tension.”5 Subsequent study vividly detailed the material circumstances of the encounter so that today’s readers know more about Iron I palace floor-plans, locks, keys, and toilets than they ever imagined the Bible would teach them, though not very much about the morality of capping kings.6 The vision of Eglon as a flabby, hulking ruler who was an easy mark for the treacherous trickster Ehud, who did his deed with a short dagger concealed under his clothing and slipped into the king’s audience chamber and then into poor fat Eglon, has assumed canonical status for contemporary interpreters.7 This essay will argue, however, that the current reading, despite its universal popularity and presumed authority, cannot survive critical examination in the light of philology, history, archaeology, and even trauma surgery.
I. Eglon’s Belly Eglon’s presumed rotundity has inspired innumerable alliterative clichés like “corpulent king,” “portly potentate,” or even “crapulous king.” These claims, how4 Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 37–41; Meir Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987). Alter was not the first, being preceded by Luis Alonso Schökel, “Erzählkunst im Buche der Richter,” Bib 42 (1961): 149–57. 5 J. Alberto Soggin, Judges: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1981) 53; see also idem, “Ehud und Eglon: Bemerkungen zu Richter III:11b–31,” VT 29 (1989): 95–100. The increasing reliance by scholars on humor or irony to support substantive points of exegesis marks a troubling stage. See Lowell Handy, “Uneasy Laughter: Ehud and Eglon as Ethnic Humor,” SJOT 6 (1992): 233–46. The dynamics of humor have received little analysis, particularly in a crosscultural and historical framework. Marc Zvi Brettler (The Book of Judges [Old Testament Readings; New York: Routledge, 2002], 29–33) broaches the topic, but appeals to humor based simply on thematic observations such as irony, scatology, or deviancy hardly provide a stable basis for a construal of a story as “comedy” or “satire.” 6 For the most detailed reconstruction of the physical setting of the story, see Baruch Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988) 105–43. 7 For two convenient examples from different historical and ideological perspectives of incorporating these themes, see Victor Matthews, Judges and Ruth (New Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 58–62; Daniel I. Block, Judges, Ruth (NAC; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2002), 156–59.
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ever, fail. First, is Eglon really “a young fleshy animal ripe for slaughtering?”8 Was Ehud’s sword really buried in a “sea of paunch?”9 A simple review of the mere fourteen occurrences of )yrb discloses not a single example of obesity. In Genesis 41 the term appears seven times denoting the seven “fat” cows and “fat” ears of corn of Pharaoh’s dreams. Neither the cows nor the corn are obese to the point of being unresponsive and immobile. They are simply well nourished and healthy, not objects of ridicule.10 The term finds only two applications to humans in the Hebrew Bible outside the Ehud story. First, in Ps 73:4, the prosperous wicked have “no pains in their death, their body is )yrb.” The LXX (72:4) renders στερέωμα (“firm solid”), exactly the opposite of “flabby, obese.” Indeed, English translations pivot around “sound and sleek” and “healthy.” The second application of the term to humans refers to Daniel and his friends. Declining the dainties of the Babylonian royal kitchen, the Judean exiles go beyond even Levitical dietary law and eat only vegetables and water. The author signals their vindication by noting that, after ten days of this regimen, they are r#b y)yrbw bw+, “healthier and better nourished,” literally, “good and fat ones of flesh” (Dan 1:15). The description of young men in full flower of fitness to serve in the court hardly implies ineffectual corpulence. So then, what of Eglon? Unless this single usage is unique, the narrator in using d)m )yrb characterizes Eglon as prosperous, healthy, even attractive: a splendid, strapping specimen, “the realization of full physical, or sometimes moral, potential.”11 Both LXX traditions for Judges translate 3:17b: καὶ Εγλωμ ἀνὴρ ἀστεῖος σφόδρα, “and Eglon was a very handsome man,” or even charming and honorable!12 By the same token, the description in Judg 3:29 of the fighters of Moab as Nm#-lk (“all robust”) cannot imply sluggish, obese enemies, since the phrase is followed by lyx #y)-lkw (“all able-bodied”). That these two phrases contain nothing pejorative also appears in every ancient version’s rendering, such as LXX: 8 Gregory Mobley, The Empty Men: The Heroic Tradition of Ancient Israel (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 2005), 77. 9 Halpern, First Historians, 59. 10 For other prime candidates for human consumption, see 1 Kgs 4:23; Hab 1:16. The desirability of animals that are )yrb appears in Zechariah’s threat that God in judgment would raise up harmful, injurious shepherds who will not care for the weak and wounded, but will devour the most desirable sheep, who are )yrb. The positive nuance of )yrb appears also in Ezek 34:23, where God declares that in judgment he will separate the fat ()yrb) sheep from the lean. While the fat sheep are recipients of judgment, the context (vv. 16–24) stresses God’s care for the weak. The strong are portrayed both as )yrb and earlier (v. 16) as hnm#, another term encountered in the Ehud story. Again, even with regard to objects of divine judgment, the sense is one of strength and health, not censurable sluggishness. 11 Robert J. Way, “)yrb,” NIDOTTE 1:735–36. 12 Johan Lust, Erik Eynikel, and Katrin Hauspie, A Greek–English Lexicon of the Septuagint (2nd ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2003; Digital edition, Oaktree Software). Perhaps the Vulgate’s crassus begins the tradition of interpreting Eglon as merely fat and crude.
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πάντας τοὺς μαχητὰς τοὺς ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ πάντα ἄνδρα δυνάμεως (A). B is more literal with πὰν λιπαρὸν καὶ πάντα ἄνδρα δυνάμεως. But even B is not pejorative. Nor would a narrator such as ours, writing in the heroic tradition, glorify his heroes by asserting the defeat of a flaccid, utterly ridiculous foe. The Bullock of Moab might have been imposing, but he was no preview of the elderly Herod the Great, who would occupy the City of Palms over a millennium later, still less an ancient “Jabba the Hutt.”13 But what of the statement that Eglon’s fat closed over the blade so that Ehud could not draw the sword out? None of the occurrences of blx in the Hebrew Bible refers to obese bellies, incapacitating or otherwise. A simple survey of occurrences shows that over half the occurrences refer to the internal fat covering the abdominal organs of slaughtered animals.14 These passages stress not the quantity or repulsiveness of the fat but its association with the interior of the animal; it designates in fact the very best parts of the animal reserved for Yahweh alone. It refers as well to the good life, as Israel is said to “eat the fat of the land” (Gen 45:18; Deut 32:14; Pss 63:6 [Heb.]; 147:14 [Heb.]). blx refers to human fat in only two contexts. Four references illustrate accusations of arrogance.15 More relevant to the Ehud story, four other passages depict battle slaughter. 2 Samuel 1:22 recounts, “From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the heroes [Myrwbg blxm], the bow of Jonathan did not turn back, and the sword of Saul did not return empty.” “Fat” here simply parallels “blood” accentuating the carnage of battle. Saul and Jonathan do not appear to have confined their combat to tubby adversaries unable to rise from their chairs. Fat here evokes the slaughter of battle, in keeping with the heroic tradition’s relish of grisly death. The association of the fat with entrails calls to mind references in texts such as Iliad 20.455–89 (LCL) in which Achilles slashes the belly of Tros, whereupon the liver slides out into the lap of the hapless warrior, followed by a scene in which a sword penetrates 13 The point is not pedestrian. The narrator’s characterization of Eglon as “very fat” has been construed as marginalizing “the Other” by his portrayal as “comical or incompetent.” See Uriah Y. Kim, “Postcolonial Criticism: Who Is the Other in the Book of Judges,” in Judges and Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies (ed. Gale A. Yee; 2nd ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 174. 14 G. Münderlin, “blx,” TDOT 4:391–97; Jean-Pierre J. Olivier, “blx,” NIDOTTE 2:137–40. Moore notes this identification (Judges, 97). That the fat is specifically the internal fat covering the organs and not subcutaneous fat or the fat intertwined within muscle, visible as obesity, defines its sacredness in Israel’s cultic tradition, since it is the middle covering between the skin and the vital organs. See Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 205–7; Mary Douglas, Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 69–81. 15 Münderlin, “blx,” 396. Fat is associated with the face and eyes (though not the belly) in Job 15:27 and Ps 73:7. In keeping with blx’s connection with internal organs, a “fat heart” in Pss 17:10 and 119:70 suggests metaphorically a heart that is covered or protected, that is, insensitive.
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literally “in one ear and out the other,” and yet another depicting decapitation followed by fluid spurting from the severed spine! And all these are heroic, not shameful, deaths.16 Again, note the use of the term blx in Isa 34:6–7, which speaks of Yahweh’s destruction of the armies of Edom: Md h)lm hwhyl brx Mydwt(w Myrk Mdm blxm hn#dh Myly) twylk blxm hrcbb hwhyl xbz yk .Mwd) Cr)b lwdg xb+w Mm( Mym)r wdryw Myryb)-M( Myrpw Mdm Mcr) htwrw .N#dy blxm Mrp(w The sword of Yahweh is filled with blood Glutted with fat, with the blood of lambs and goats With the kidney fat of rams For Yahweh has a sacrifice in Bozra A great slaughter in Edom-land Wild oxen will go down with them And bulls with the mighty ones And their land will be soaked in blood And their dust will be greased with fat.
Though the text exploits sacrificial language, the stress falls on the savage slash of the blade, not the merciful precision of the kosher knife. No immobilizing obesity here, nor likely with Eglon. Moreover, the text does not in fact state that Eglon’s fat prevented the withdrawal of the sword. The clause sequence is telling: wn+bm brxh Pl# )l yk bhlh d(b blxh rgsyw bhlh rx) bcnh-Mg )byw The statement in 3:22 that Ehud did not pull the sword from Eglon’s belly is a yk clause coming after the statements that (a) the grip entered Eglon’s abdomen after the blade and (b) Eglon’s inner abdominal fat closed over the blade. For the sense that the fat retained the blade, yk would have to carry the resultative import rather than its default evidential sense. The resultative tends to be confined to specific contexts such as oath formulas and direct speech.17 The most straightforward reading of the text in this narrative sequence is not that the fat closing on the blade pre16 For a graphic summary of the gruesome ways of death in Homer, see Jaspar Griffin, Homer on Life and Death (Oxford: Clarendon, 1980), 91–92. 17 Walther Theophilus Claassen, “Speaker Oriented Functions of kî in Biblical Hebrew,” JNSL 11 (1983): 29–46.
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vented Ehud’s drawing the sword out, but was the result of Ehud not drawing the sword out. So the text speaks not of the extraordinary blade-retaining powers of Eglon’s fat, nor to its prodigious quantity. The text simply stresses the devastating power of Ehud’s thrust. To summarize: the text does not present Eglon, king of Moab, as grossly fat or in any way impeded. The terms used typically denote health, strength, and attractiveness and constitute a portrayal of him as a formidable, healthy, robust man.
II. Eglon the Bovine Commentators at least since Matthew Henry have sported with Eglon’s name, compounded from the word for “calf ” and what is taken to be a diminutive ending, with a pejorative or satiric intention, that is, “the fat man with the ridiculous name.”18 Others then suggest that the name shrewdly casts the royal victim as a “fatted calf ” sacrificially butchered by Ehud. Meir Sternberg goes even farther, suggesting that the king is “feminized” by Ehud’s blade, seen as a phallic symbol in its penetration into the king’s belly, though how this squares with Sternberg’s equally pointed emphasis on the snubbiness of Ehud’s dirk is puzzling.19 First, the notion of a sacrificial “fatted calf ” derives more from English translation than the Hebrew text. Precisely speaking, there is no fatted calf in the Hebrew Bible. lg( appears only four times in phrases bearing this English translation, in conjunction with qbrm denoting a “stall-fed calf.” Semantically, the reference is not to fat and bears no verbal connection to Judges 3—and verbal connections are required for wordplays.20 But is this calf sacrificial? While lists of sacrificial animals periodically include lg(, it is nevertheless not a prominent animal for sacrifice.21 Even then the calf figures mainly in covenant ceremonies both in the Hebrew Bible (Gen 15:9–11; Jer 34:18–19) and in the Sefire treaty (I.A.40), in which the calf is cut (trk or gzr) in two.22 Half of the calves noted in the Hebrew Bible are cul-
18
E.g., Soggin, Judges, 49. Claims of a pervasive sexual undercurrent in this story rest on weak philological grounds. Brettler summarizes the principal evidence (Book of Judges, 29–33). Comparisons with the Song of Solomon (allusions to doors, locks) fail because the Song sexualizes every metaphor it touches. Is every open door or unlocked lock in the Bible a sign of sex? Likewise, the use of )wb hardly demands a sexual nuance since this verb occurs over twenty-five hundred times in the Hebrew Bible. Is every “entry” phallic? 20 Amos 6:4 and Mal 3:20 make the stall reference clear and determine the sense of lg( qbrm in 1 Sam 28:24 and Jer 46:2. 21 Jeffrey S. Lu, “lgE(,' ” NIDOTTE, 3:320–21; Helmer Ringgren, “lgE(' vegel hlFg( : E veglâ,” TDOT 10:445–51. 22 See Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Aramaic Inscriptions of Sefire (AnBib 19; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1967), 14–15, 56–57. 19
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tic images, principally the golden calf of Exodus 32 or the bovine images of Jeroboam.23 Rather than mockery, the name might well be an epithet of Eglon’s deity or, alternatively, might express devotion to his God.24 The proper name wylg(, “Yahweh is a Bullock” or “Bullock of Yahweh,” appears on Samaria ostracon 41:1, though without a context.25 If the personal name of one of David’s wives hlg( (“heifer,” 2 Sam 3:5) is any indication, undesirable obesity probably does not apply in the term’s meaning, unless David preferred portly paramours. Barnabas Lindars notes names compounded from lg( both for persons and places and also observes rightly that animal-based names appear in the Hebrew Bible without obviously pejorative connotations. Ironically, he still falls back on the “fatted calf ready for slaughter” view despite the contradicting evidence.26 Second, the form of the name, with the suffix NwO_, connotes nothing pejorative. The NwO_ suffix is widely taken as a diminutive, following the suggestion of Johan Jakob Stamm.27 Jakob Barth, however, identified the semantics of nouns formed with this suffix as either abstract or descriptive, or, when designating a group, collectivizing.28 This analysis is confirmed by comparison with the particularizing suffix –ân in Akkadian, which identifies “a specific or particular member of the class or object denoted by the word to which it is attached.”29 No diminutive nuance here, still less a pejorative one. In a proper name, the suffix simply characterizes the person so named by the noun. Eglon, as a personal name, would mean “Bullock 23 Periodic claims that this story operates with an underlying ironic or comic sacrificial semantics evaporate on close inspection. For a brief summary of arguments in support of this claim, see Brettler, Book of Judges, 29–33. Ehud’s tribute to Eglon, hxnm, is the most generic term for tribute or offering and in at least thirty-seven occurrences denotes nonsacral “tribute” (HALOT, 601–2). The term seems to mean “gift” in the widest sense. It is used in Ugaritic for normal payment of obligations (Heinz-Joseph Fabry, Moshe Weinfeld, “hxnm,” TDOT 8:407–21; Richard E. Averbeck, “hxnm,” NIDOTTE 2:978–90). In cultic contexts it in no way demands animal sacrifice. For Eglon as a “sacrifice,” apart from blx, terms associated with animal sacrifice, such as xbz, are absent from this story. 24 Martin Noth, Die israelitischen Personennamen im Rahmen der gemeinsemitischen Namengebung (BWANT 3/10; Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1928), 150–52. 25 John C. L. Gibson, Textbook of Syrian Semitic Inscriptions (3 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1971), 1:10, 12. 26 Barnabas Lindars, Judges: A New Translation and Commentary (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1995), 137–38. 27 Johan Jakob Stamm, “Zum Ursprung des Namens der Ammoniter,” ArOr 17 (1949): 379– 82. 28 Jakob Barth, Die Nominalbildung in den semitischen Sprachen (1894; repr., Hildesheim: Olms, 1967), 316–37. 29 John Huehnergard, A Grammar of Akkadian (HSS 45; 2nd ed.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 198. In Akkadian the form often denotes “actors in a single incident” (Artur Ungnad and Lubor Matoush, Akkadian Grammar [trans. Harry Hoffner, Jr.; SBLRBS 30; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992, Germ. orig., 1964], 43). See also Wolfram von Soden, Grundriss der akkadischen Grammatik (AnOr 33, 47; Rome: Ponitifical Biblical Institute, 1969), 70–71.
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Man” just like “Samson” means “Sun-Man.” However much it may entertain interpreters, the diminutive, especially as a pejorative, plays no role in the semantics of the king’s name. What is perhaps most important, the figure of Eglon as an ineffectual “fatted calf ” does not square with the literary rendering of the period of Israel’s emergence, whether historical or contrived, represented in the book of Judges or other literature of the era. Readers aware of the social and political context of Iron I and the literary traditions it spawned readily grasp that no such person as the contemporary cartoon of Eglon could ever have become a Moabite warlord king or even have figured believably in a fictional tale about that era. Nor would such a story inculcate admiration for Ehud, who would appear trivial compared to Deborah, Gideon, Othniel, Samson, or David, much less their Iron I literary counterparts, Achilles, Hector, Patroclus, or Diomedes. The Late Bronze/Iron I transition has been termed “arguably the worst disaster in ancient history, even more calamitous than the collapse of the western Roman Empire.”30 The Bronze Age did not go quietly but in trauma, as urban centers from Mycene to Emar and as far south as Gaza fell in flames before fighters from the Aegean and elsewhere.31 This era saw the collapse of the cosmopolitan city-states of the Late Bronze Age and the twilight of Egyptian hegemony over Canaan.32 While terming it a “dark age” might be passé, all agree that it was a liminal era in
30 Robert Drews, The End of the Bronze Age: Changes in Warfare and the Catastrophe of ca 1200 BC (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 3. 31 Jonathan N. Tubb, ed., Palestine in the Bronze and Iron Ages: Papers in Honour of Olga Tufnell (Occasional Publication 11; London: University of London, Institute of Archaeology, 1985); William A. Ward and Martha Sharp Joukowsky, The Crisis Years: The 12th Century B.C. From beyond the Danube to the Tigris (Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt, 1989); Norman Yoffee and George L. Cowgill, The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1991); Drews, End of the Bronze Age; Seymour Gitin, Amihai Mazar, and Ephraim Stern, eds., Mediterranean Peoples in Transition: Thirteenth to Early Tenth Centuries BCE. In Honor of Professor Trude Dothan (Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1998); Ann E. Killebrew, Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity: An Archaeological Study of Egyptians, Canaanites, Philistines, and Early Israel, 13001100 B.C.E. (SBLABS 9; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005); Ahimai Mazar, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible (Cambridge: Lutterworth, 1990), 295–367; Oliver Dickinson, The Aegean from Bronze Age to Iron Age: Continuity and Change between the Twelfth and Eighth Centuries BC (London/New York: Routledge, 2007). Such a traumatic transition in history naturally also attracts a range of popular theorists and possibly even cranks. See Manuel Robbins, Collapse of the Bronze Age: The Story of Greece, Troy, Israel, Egypt and Peoples of the Sea (Bloomington, IN: iUniverse, 2001). The collapse of LB has even been blamed on viruses: see Tom Slattery, The Tragic End of the Bronze Age: A Virus Makes History (New York: Writers Club Press, 2000). 32 Ithamar Singer, “Egyptians, Canaanites, and Philistines in the Period of the Emergence of Israel,” in From Nomadism to Monarchy: Archaeological and Historical Aspects of Early Israel (ed. Israel Finkelstein and Nadav Na’aman; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1994), 282–338.
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which one world system had collapsed and its successor had not yet appeared, and competing forces and models emerged. The power vacuum thus created drew in a mélange of tribalesque communities groping toward self-definition resulting in the emergence of tribal confederations and chiefdoms. This development required leaders, “chiefs,” who were part politician but mostly warlord, able to command the loyalty and respect of other chiefs and the Myqr My#n), “empty, disenfranchised men,” following them.33 These desperate men took the lead directly in battle. Fierce, capable, and possessed of raw physical courage, not to mention sheer luck, such men inspired the characters in Homer’s poems and Sinuhe’s tale, not to mention the the portrayals of Goliath and Saul, Samson and David, “mighty men of valor.”34 The possibility of exaggeration and embellishment notwithstanding, these accounts capture the urgent necessities incumbent upon a tribal leader in the liminal era known as Iron I. Failure to meet the standard of charisma, courage, and ruthlessness made for a short career either in life or in legend. The Bullock of Moab would have been cut from this cloth. Ehud took his life in his hands to walk into this beefy strongman’s private space alone with murderous intent. But then, Ehud was warlord material, too.
III. The Blade We turn now to Ehud’s dagger. Heroic literature relishes descriptions of the protagonists’ weaponry. In Iliad books 13–16, which record the most intense combat scenes of the book, Homer recounts seventy-six battle wounds. In only four cases does he omit the name of the weapon employed.35 On the one hand, commentators emphasize how short the dagger must have been for Ehud to conceal his
33 Robert D. Miller II, Chieftains of the Highland Clans: A History of Israel in the 12th and 11th Centuries BC (Bible in Its World; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005). See the literature reviewed in Raz Kletterer, “Chronology and United Monarchy: A Methodological Review,” ZDPV 120 (2004): 1354; Mobley, Empty Men. 34 For an able analysis of the portrayal of such heroes in ancient lore, see Griffin, Homer on Life and Death, esp. 50–102. Not to be overlooked are older works such as Henry Munro Chadwick, The Heroic Age (2nd ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1926); Cedric H. Whitman, Homer and the Heroic Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1958); and the incisive George Steiner, “Homer and the Scholars” in Homer: A Collection of Critical Essays (ed. George Steiner and Robert Fagles; Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1962), 1–14; Carl Armerding, “The Heroic Age of Greece and Israel: A Literary-Historical Comparison” (Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 1968); Stanley Jerome Isser, The Sword of Goliath: David in Heroic Literature (SBL Studies in Biblical Literature 6; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003); Mobley, Empty Men. 35 Kenneth B. Saunders, “The Wounds in Iliad 13–16,” CQ 49 (1999): 350.
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weapon completely.36 On the other hand, they follow traditional translations that refer to the dagger being a “short cubit” in length, or around twelve inches. But what can we learn about this blade?
The Task First, the story tells us the job that this weapon must accomplish. A substantial man must be incapacitated or killed so quickly that there is no disturbance or fuss, no opportunity to cry out, and presumably little blood spatter to betray the morbid character of Ehud’s visit upon his departure. The text also seems to note the evacuation of the king’s bowels, but this event (assuming that the text speaks of it) commonly accompanies death from all causes and says nothing about the blade thrust itself.37 The sense of 3:21 wn+bb h(qtyw is a single, devastating thrust of the sword. The verb (qt emphasizes the violence of the thrust. Nothing excludes an angled thrust or even a ripping motion—indeed, the former might be a physiological necessity (see below). When describing penetration by pointy objects, this verb suggests piercing through, such as pounding a tent-peg (dty) into the ground (Isa 22:23, 25) or through Samson’s braids (Judg 16:13–14) or even through Sisera’s head (Judg 4:21).38 Clearly the writer intends a devastating, deep thrust, with the blade likely exiting Eglon’s back; Ehud “ran him right through.” But how could a single belly thrust accomplish instantaneous incapacitation? Belly thrusts appear only four other times in the Hebrew Bible (2 Sam 2:23; 3:27; 4:6; 20:10), but these instances employ a different term and might not always denote immediate incapacitation or death.39 Only in the Ehud story do we read of a wound to the lower abdomen, the N+b.40 Belly wounds are notorious in the annals of com-
36
Moore constitutes an exception, noting that Ehud wielded a “long dirk” (Judges, 93). Noted by Moore, Judges, 97. The rendering of the final clause of the verse has a long controversial history, but need not detain us here. 38 Jael’s peg strikes the ground under Sisera’s head (note Judg 4:21, Cr)b xnctw), and Delilah’s peg fastens Samson’s locks to the wall. The verb also denotes Joab’s ramming of three staves into the heart of Absalom (2 Sam 18:14) and the impaling of the body of Saul to the wall of the temple in Beth Shean (1 Sam 31:10 MT). 39 The four other times in the Hebrew Bible that a stab wound to the lower abdomen causes rapid death do not involve N+b, but rather #mx, which may well be a more specialized term for the lower abdomen. None of these examples exactly fits the story in Judges 3, and at least two explicitly depict gruesome deaths with blood spatter or disembowelment, things not conspicuous in the Ehud story. The Akkadian counterpart, emsu, refers to the lower abdomen in medical texts (CAD 4:153–54). 40 This term typically denotes the womb, either literally or metaphorically. That the actual reference is simply the innermost lower abdomen is clear, however, from references not only to the stomach, but also to male “wombs” (Mic 6:7; Ps 132:11; Job 19:17). See Cleon L. Rogers, “N+b,” NIDOTTE, 1:650–52. 37
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bat for a gradual, excruciating death agony. Consider the scene in Homer’s Iliad when Meriones kills Adamas: . . . hounding him as he went, Meriones speared him between the genitals and the navel—a hideous wound, the worst the god of battles deals to wretched men. There the spear stuck. Hugging the shaft he writhed, gasping, shuddering like some wild bull in the hills that herdsmen shackle, trapping the beast with twisted ropes and he fights them all the way as the men drag him off—so he gasped with his wound. (13:656–66)41
Note, with this “hideous wound” incapacitation is not immediate. Adamas writhes and struggles like a captured bull.42 Such a fuss is precisely what Ehud wants to avoid. But Eglon drops like a sack of hammers. How could this be? Not confident of my own capabilities for medical research, I referred this question to a trauma physician with extensive experience with wounds of all kinds, who offered this medical description: There are two possible causes for immediate (or almost immediate) loss of consciousness with a belly wound. The first would result in a very rapid death. The aorta is large in the upper-abdomen. If it were transected . . . a human’s entire blood volume would/could be spilled in less than 45 seconds. No blood flow to the brain and a person loses consciousness in about 5 seconds. This injury could produce almost immediate incapacitation. It would probably require a sword being thrust completely through the abdomen and exiting to the left of the spine, as the aorta is somewhat protected by the boney spine at that level. I strongly suspect that this poor king experienced . . . a rapid loss of consciousness from which he never awakened as his blood volume was probably either spilled on the floor or lost within his abdominal cavity.43
The blade must traverse the entire abdomen to pierce the aorta. In addition, since the blade enters the lower abdomen, it must travel at a rather sharp upward angle, further elongating the wound’s trajectory. The claim that once Ehud was alone with Eglon “it was a simple matter to kill Eglon”44 is laughably wrong. The stroke required a skilled, deep thrust. Though not a trauma surgeon, Ehud like other expert killers would know the wound’s demands on the assassin and the blade. This precise stroke fails if the blade is an inch too short or off target. A minimum length of fourteen to sixteen inches—twenty inches, better—on a big man, to ensure the 41 In Homer, The Iliad (trans. Robert Fagles, with introduction and notes by Bernard Knox; New York: Viking, 1990), 359–60. For the Greek, see 13:567–75 in Augustus Tabor Murray and William F. Wyatt, Homer: Iliad II (LCL 171; 2nd ed.; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 2:44–45. 42 On the description of wounds in the Iliad, see Saunders, “Wounds,” 350. 43 Personal communication, Jan. 31, 2008. Dr. Joseph W. Richardson, M.D., Emergency Medicine Physician, St. Joseph’s Hospital, Lexington, Kentucky. 44 Matthews, Judges and Ruth, 61.
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blow’s effectiveness. Anything less and our warlord king can fight back, call out for help, or simply thrash about, and the story ends very differently.
The Tool We turn now to the blade, which Ehud crafts himself.45 As a precaution, we note that the terminology for edged weapons in the Hebrew Bible remains ambiguous, with Allan C. Emery providing perhaps the best analysis.46 The assumption that Ehud’s blade is short derives from the universal translation of dmg hkr) as “a [short] cubit (was) its length.” Of course, by Late Bronze/Iron I standards, a “short cubit” would still be a substantial blade, longer than most excavated edged implements. dmg appears only here in the Hebrew Bible. Interpreters conclude that the word denotes a unit of measure since it governs hkr), “its length.” Both principal LXX traditions for Judges guess σπιθαμῆς (“span”), while the early Jewish interpreters suggest “[short] cubit,” all with no known philological basis. The postbiblical Hebrew meaning “shrink, contract” is patently derivative from this guesswork.47 But must the word denote a unit of length?48 What if the author stresses not the sword’s length but a feature of its construction characteristic of its entire length, a concomitant to the note that it is double-edged? Cognates for dmg are hard to find, with only Syriac and Arabic offering candidates. The Syriac counterpart based on gmd refers to pressing heavily, with derived senses denoting shamelessness, boldness, or obstinate persistence.49 The idea of hardness or harshness comes close to the Arabic root jamada, which expresses ideas such as freezing, congealing, rigidity, stiffness, and implacability. One use of the word documents a type of sword “such that he who is struck with it becomes motionless,” that is, “a sharp, cutting sword.”50 None of these possible cognates is definitive, but they do gesture away from a unit of measure and suggest 45 For Ehud to craft his own sword, likely from bronze, highlights the OT observation of a lack of metallurgy and weapons among the Israelites (see 1 Sam 13:19–22; Judg 5:8b) and comports well with claims of his membership in an elite warrior class with special abilities and resources. Bronze remained the dominant material in arms and armor throughout Iron I (cf. 1 Sam 17:1–7). 46 Allan C. Emery, “Weapons of the Israelite Monarchy: A Catalogue with Its Linguistic and Cross-Cultural Implications” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1999), 137–52. 47 Noted by Burney, Judges and Ruth, 70. 48 Moore (Judges, 94) tersely notes the rabbinic sources. His leap from the word’s obscurity to the assumption that it equals the Greek πυγμή (p. 93) set the pace for later commentators, of whom very few seriously question the point. Soggin (Judges, 50) admits the uncertainty but offers no alternative. 49 Robert Payne Smith, ed., Compendious Syriac Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1903; repr., Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1998), 71. 50 Edward William Lane, An Arabic-English Lexicon (Beirut: Librairie du Liban, 1968), part 2, pp. 451–52, entries related to jamada.
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instead a characteristic of firmness or rigidity. Might the author be calling attention to the sword as rigid or stiff over its entire length? But how would this characterization distinguish this edged weapon sufficiently to merit mention using this awkward and unconventional terminology? Archaeology provides a possible answer. The Late Bronze/Iron I transition—the period of Israel’s emergence— witnessed the arrival of a new edged weapon in the eastern Mediterranean world: the straight, double-edged long sword known as the Naue Type II.51 Originating in central Europe in the Late Bronze period, it arrived in the Levant with the Sea Peoples as depicted in the Medinet Habu inscriptions of Ramesses III and the “Trojan Horse” Vase, which offers a gut-wrenching portrayal of this weapon in action.52 We have scant to no data from Iron I Israel. Elizabeth Bloch-Smith’s survey of Iron I Israelite sites reports five daggers, five knives, and no swords.53 Avraham Faust’s study of material markers of Israelite ethnicity does not treat weapons at all, despite the presence of weapons, edged and otherwise, in Iron I Israelite sites, though disdain of arms and armor apparently formed a part of Israel’s own selfdefinition, at least over against the Philistines.54 Late Bronze era swords in Canaan were, to put it kindly, pathetic. While the curved khophesh looks fearsome, it is a single-edged weapon likely to hang up in close-order battle, impossible to carry discreetly, good mainly for post-combat dismemberment of the slain. Nearly all edged weapons from the Late Bronze and Iron I featured the blade attaching to the 51
Julius Naue, Die vorrömischen Schwerter aus Kupfer, Bronze, und Eisen (Munich: Piloty & Loehle, 1903). 52 Hector W. Catling, “Bronze Cut-and-Thrust Swords in the East Mediterranean,” Antiquity 22 (1956): 102–26; Nancy K. Sandars, “The First Aegean Swords and Their Ancestry,” AJA 65 (1961): 17–29; eadem, “Later Aegean Bronze Swords,“ AJA 67 (1963): 117–53. Stephen Foltiny, “Flange-Hilted Cutting Swords of Bronze in Central Europe, Northeast Italy and Greece,” AJA 68 (1964): 247–57; John D. Cowen, “The Origins of the Flange-hilted Sword of Bronze in Continental Europe,” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 32 (1966): 262–312; Anthony F. Harding, “Mycenaean Greece and Europe: The Evidence of Bronze Tools and Implements,” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 41 (1975): 183–202; Robert Drews, The Coming of the Greeks: Indo-European Conquests in the Aegean and the Near East (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 203–25; Sariel Shalev, “Redating the ‘Philistine Sword’ at the British Museum: A Case Study in Typology and Technology,” Oxford Journal of Archaeology 7 (1988): 313–42. The most convenient survey remains Drews, End of the Bronze Age, 192–208. 53 Elizabeth Bloch-Smith, “Israelite Ethnicity in Iron I: Archaeology Preserves What Is Remembered and What Is Forgotten in Israel’s History,” JBL 122 (2003): 401–25, esp. 416–20. For comparison with Iron II, see Emery, “Weapons”; Sariel Shalev, Swords and Daggers in Late Bronze Age Canaan (Prähistorische Bronzefunde; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 2003); Ellen Rehm, Waffengräber im Alten Orient: Zum Problem der Wertung von Waffen in Gräbern des 3. und frühen 2. Jahrtausends v. Chr. in Mesopotamien und Syrien (BAR International Series; Oxford: Archeopress, 2003). 54 Avraham Faust, Israel’s Ethnogenesis: Settlement, Interaction, Expansion, and Resistance (Approaches to Anthropological Archaeology; Oakville, CT: Equinox, 2006).
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grip by a flimsy tang or a short riveted tab. This made for poor slashing and questionable thrusting. Examples of edged weapons from Late Bronze Canaan with a better grip tend to be too short or too dull-tipped to produce the wound needed, and might not even be weapons.55 The Late Bronze/Iron I Aegean arrival featured one-piece, integrated construction. The hilt and straight double-edged blade were cast in a single bronze (later, iron) ingot, with grip panels riveted directly to the grip tongue, which was as thick and strong as the blade itself, hence Julius Naue’s term Griffzungenschwert. This sword’s blade, though short by Roman or medieval standards, was longer than anything previously used in the ancient Near East apart from ceremonial swords. The Naue II’s length, fail-safe grip and double edge made the new sword the perfect melee weapon. It soon became the preferred blade of discriminating marauders right up to the Hellenistic era. It was ideal for Ehud’s purpose.56 This weapon is a rarity in Iron I Canaan—none has been excavated, though Late Bronze and Iron II present a few examples. Thus, the text would understandably pause over the sword’s unusual details and custom creation by Ehud himself.57 Returning to that distinctive grip, the narrator emphasizes how the grip followed the blade into Eglon’s body. Soggin notes how the narrator stresses “the remarkable character of the fact that even the hilt, which would normally remain in the hand of the assailant and outside the wound, penetrates along with the blade.”58 The writer’s use of a hapax legomenon, bcnh, to describe the grip accentuates the distinctiveness of the sword’s construction, again centering on the grip. Examples of the Naue Type II sword typically lack a cross guard, allowing entry of the hilt after the blade. Most also featured a rounded pommel to facilitate a final thrust driving the sword’s full length into the opponent. So how long was this sword? The text says nothing on this topic. Owing to the difficulty of casting a long, hard metal blade, ancient blades tended to be extremely short by later standards. Sariel Shalev’s inventory of Late Bronze edged weapons excavated in Canaan shows very few with a functional length over twelve inches, much of which is consumed with the grip. The rare ones that are longer are clearly influenced by the Aegean models and appear in lowland and coastal urban palaces and temples. The whole inventory of eastern Mediterranean Naue Type II swords ranges from 19.5 inches to just over 33 inches, with 24 inches being typical. Ehud’s sword could represent a slightly shorter version of this weapon. While other short bladed weapons existed, nothing about their construction would be 55
See the plates in Shalev, Swords and Daggers; also Yigael Yadin, The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands in the Light of Archaeological Study (trans. M. Pearlman; 2 vols.; New York: McGrawHill, 1963), 1:172–73, 206–7. 56 Yadin, Art of Warfare, 1:10–11; Drews, End of the Bronze Age, 192–208. 57 For Late Bronze examples, see Shalev, Swords and Daggers, 60–65, pls. 22–23; for Iron II, see Emery, “Weapons,” pl. 77. 58 Soggin, Judges, 51.
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remarkable or require comment, especially comment employing the awkward, improvised terminology used in Judges 3. To summarize: Ehud had to inflict a very specific type of wound for this story, let alone his deed, to be effective. The description improvised by the narrator comports extremely well with the newly introduced, but soon to be commonplace, Naue Type II, at the short end of its documented spectrum of length.
IV. Conclusion Far from casting Eglon as an ineffectual “fatted calf,” the story depicts a chief or warlord of the “dark age” of Iron I as these appear both in history and the lore of the era. Likewise, Ehud appears not as a duplicitous trickster but as a courageous, risk-taking man armed with a custom weapon undertaking a dangerous mission. The portrayal of Eglon is far from dark, ethnic satire, genuine elements of humor notwithstanding. Likewise, descriptions of Ehud’s sword suggest a narrator to whom this weapon is new, which he describes awkwardly. The investigation has two implications. First, scrupulous attention to the actual usage and meaning of words in the context of the Hebrew Bible can never be ignored in the quest to discern multiple layers of irony, humor, or ideology in texts. Just as premodern exegesis had to subject claims about a “higher” meaning of Scripture to the text’s plain sense, so perhaps postmodern exegetes need to ground their own abstract claims on a more sound analysis of the text’s linguistic usage. Second, sometimes stories that seem so safely assigned by contemporary scholars to the realm of undiluted ideology or propaganda unexpectedly undermine purely narratival paradigms of interpretation by surfacing incorrigible linkages to concrete, distinctive realities in Israel’s past. The story of Ehud and Eglon still seems to breathe the desperate air of a dangerous time when the world was on fire and a new era was aborning, dark in its birth blood, when desperate men stole into palaces to assassinate dangerous despots. Might this story be as much an artifact of that dark and bloody era as the dagger lodged in its bosom?
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JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 665–685
Rehabilitating Jephthah alice logan [email protected] P.O. Box 283, Orcas, WA 98280
The story of Jephthah’s sacrifice of his daughter is perhaps the most disturbing piece of literature in the Hebrew Bible. Josephus was the earliest to comment on it, explaining to his Roman audience in the late first century c.e. that Jephthah had made a sacrifice that “was neither conformable to the law nor acceptable to God” (Ant. 5.7.10 §§263–66). Christian fathers, rabbinic tradition, and modern biblical exegetes likewise condemn the act, evaluating Jephthah on a broad continuum of opinion ranging from (in the worst case) coldhearted scoundrel to (at best) faithless fool. Although each commentator has a unique take, most assessments boil down to some variation on the chutzpah and/or stupidity of a man who believed he could win God over by offering him a quid pro quo and was punished to disastrous effect for having made the attempt. There are two problems with this view, however: (1) in the other two references to Jephthah in the Bible (1 Sam 12:11 and Heb 11:32) he receives high praise as an exemplary Israelite leader; and (2) it is difficult to reconcile these negative evaluations of his character with the rest of the Jephthah narrative, in which he is depicted as an able negotiator, accomplished statesman, and articulate defender of ethnic pride, as well as a bona fide deliverer and respected judge.1 As a result, there have also been some uneven evaluations in which Jephthah is simultaneously praised and maligned.2 All of this attests to the conundrum over which our predecessors truly and rightly agonized, and which contemporary scholars still face. I wish to give special thanks to Jerome Walsh for his encouragement and for his careful, critical reads as the text matured. Any errors of substance or logic, of course, are entirely my own. 1 J. Alberto Soggin, Judges: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1981), 215; Richard E. DeMaris and Carolyn S. Leeb, “Judges—(Dis)Honor and Ritual Enactment: The Jephthah Story—Judges 10:16–12:1,” in Ancient Israel: The Old Testament in Its Social Context (ed. Philip F. Esler; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 184. 2 E.g., Robert G. Boling, Judges: Introduction, Translation, and Commentary (AB 6A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), 210, 214.
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One problem is with the act itself. The notion of human sacrifice to Yhwh has been so difficult to accept that certain scholars have proposed that the daughter, instead of being sacrificed, was consigned to a state of perpetual virginity, living out her life either in her father’s house or in some sort of Hebrew convent.3 This solution has the advantage of absolving Jephthah of the act of killing his daughter, but founders on lack of evidence for such an institution or evidence that the Hebrew word vōlâ in Judg 11:31 referred to anything other than a wholly consumed burnt offering. Therefore, others—and this is the mainstream view—accept the sacrifice as authorial “fact.” However, this causes yet another problem: as many scholars, modern and ancient, were painfully aware, blame for the sacrifice must fall somewhere, and if it does not fall on Jephthah, then obviously and necessarily it must fall on God. Human sacrifice to Yhwh—a concept hard enough to digest in itself— pales in comparison to the logical corollary that Yhwh might actually want it and could conceivably want to select the victim himself. How does one deal with this? The solution is straightforward: denigrate Jephthah to exculpate God. Hence, Jephthah has been variously characterized as egocentric, impulsive, insecure, and faithless; and his vow stigmatized as foolish, hastily formulated, rash, and self-serving.4 All this mud, I would suggest, has been thrown at Jephthah in order to take God off the hook. Yet archaeological evidence and reevaluations of pertinent biblical texts are causing the scholarly community to reassess its notion of traditional Israelite religious practice. As a result, what was once thought normative is now viewed as late monarchic reformist theology, and what was really the norm was virtually everything this reformist theology condemned.5 Among the “abominations” was the 3 E.g., Moshe Weinfeld, “The Worship of Molech and of the Queen of Heaven and Its Background,” UF 4 (1972): 133–54; David Marcus, Jephthah and His Vow (Lubbock: Texas Tech Press, 1986); Pamela T. Reis, Reading the Lines: A Fresh Look at the Hebrew Bible (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 105–30. 4 Egocentric: Ellie Assis, Self-Interest or Communal Interest: An Ideology of Leadership in the Gideon, Abimelech, and Jephthah Narratives (Judg. 6–12) (VTSup 106; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2005), 234–37. Impulsive: Renita J. Weems, Just a Sister Away: A Womanist Vision of Women’s Relationships in the Bible (San Diego: LuraMedia, 1988), 55. Insecure and faithless: Phyllis Trible, Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 96, 102. Foolish: Weems, Sister, 56. Hastily formulated: Boling, Judges, 210. Rash: Marcus, Jephthah, 54. Self-serving: Alice Ogden Bellis, Helpmates, Harlots and Heroes: Women’s Stories in the Hebrew Bible (2nd ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007), 116. 5 Susan Ackerman, Under Every Green Tree: Popular Religion in Sixth-Century Judah (HSM 46; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992); Mark S. Smith, The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel (2nd ed.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002); idem, The Memoirs of God: History, Memory, and the Experience of the Divine in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004); William Dever, “Folk Religion in Early Israel: Did Yahweh Have a Consort?” in Aspects of Monotheism—How God Is One. Symposium at the Smithsonian Institution, October 19, 1996 (ed. Hershel Shanks et al.; Washington, DC: Biblical Archaeology Society, 1996), 27–56; Ephraim Stern, “Pagan Yahwism: The Folk Religion of Ancient Israel,” BAR 27 (2001): 21–29; Ziony Zevit,
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practice of child sacrifice, viewed by at least some traditional Israelites as a most efficacious means of disposing Yhwh to grant an extremely important wish.6 Such an attitude dovetails perfectly with an observation Jon Levenson made in 1993 regarding the Jephthah narrative: “What’s missing in this story,” he says, “is any indication that child sacrifice, painful to father and offspring alike, was inappropriate from God’s standpoint. Quite the opposite: Jephthah’s actions are intelligible only on the assumption that his daughter—he had no son—could legitimately be sacrificed as a burnt offering to Yhwh.”7 In the light of these observations, what is most baffling about the Jephthah narrative is the author’s seeming neutrality on the subject of human sacrifice. As has frequently been observed, he appears neither to condemn nor to applaud the practice, preferring it seems to wrap himself in ambiguity.8 Would that the author had followed the lead of the author of the Abimelech narrative and made it clear just what he thought of Jephthah and his act. Had this author just formulated Jephthah’s vow a little more precisely, had he given us just a slightly better fix on the meaning of Jephthah’s lament, had he explained Jephthah’s final act in just a bit more detail, the story would have been vastly easier to interpret. Or so the argument goes: a clear interpretation of this text is hamstrung by its author’s inability to—or lack of desire to—give us clearer insight. It is my contention, however, that the problem is not so much with the author as with ourselves—and due largely to the fact that we are over twenty-five hundred years removed from the time of writing and no longer speak the language in which he wrote. What I hope to show is that the author made his opinion clear, but he did it in a way that is not obvious to our modern ears. We are handicapped in our interpretative endeavors not by the author’s ambiguity but by the fact that we are not native speakers of Classical Hebrew, and thus not nearly so well attuned as his ancient audience to the story’s nuances of speech and allusion. What I hope to show is that the Jephthah narrative is riddled with wordplays and references to other biblical materials that make the author’s position obvious, and were we as adept as his
The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches (new ed.; London: Continuum, 2003). 6 E.g., Paul G. Mosca, “Child Sacrifice in Canaanite and Israelite Religion: A Study in Mulk and mlk” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1975); George C. Heider, The Cult of Molek: A Reassessment (JSOTSup 43; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1985); John Day, Molech: A God of Human Sacrifice in the Old Testament (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 41; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989); Jon D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son: The Transformation of Child Sacrifice in Judaism and Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993); Susan Niditch, War in the Hebrew Bible: A Study in the Ethics of Violence (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); Francis I. Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Micah: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 24E; New York: Doubleday, 2000). 7 Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 14. 8 E.g., Andersen and Freedman, Micah, 536; Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 13–17; Niditch, War, 33.
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ancient audience in hearing them, his message would be ringingly clear: not only did he condone Jephthah’s actions, he applauded them. Before addressing the story itself, I would like to set the stage by surveying some of the evidence for the practice of human sacrifice in the ancient Near East, especially with regard to its role in ancient West Semitic warfare and to vow making in that context. Then I will review the textual basis supporting the plausibility of human sacrifice to Yhwh in preexilic Israel. Establishing this context is important because, to understand the Jephthah narrative, we twenty-first-century readers must be willing to put aside our modern sensibilities and try to enter, as best we can, a worldview very different from ours and thus difficult to conceive. It is important to do this because to understand this author is to appreciate better a significant but not well understood group that participated in that remarkable seventh-century b.c.e. debate that laid the foundation for what has become our Judeo-Christian tradition. If I am correct, preserved in the Jephthah narrative is something rare in the Hebrew Bible: the voice of an actual spokesman for the traditional Yahwist view— a highly educated, well-read, and gifted writer who wrote this story for a theologically heterogeneous mid-seventh-century b.c.e. Jerusalem audience that might have included Ezekiel’s and Jeremiah’s parents, Manasseh and his children, and perhaps even the Deuteronomist himself.9
I. Part of the Job Description There is a good deal of evidence that human sacrifice was accepted practice in Canaanite and Canaanite-derivative cultures. I refer not only to the welldocumented evidence of votive infant sacrifice at Carthage in the eighth to second centuries b.c.e.,10 but also to the pervasive West Semitic practice of sacrificing children to the high god of the nation’s pantheon for deliverance in an extreme crisis. Among the earliest evidence is a cuneiform tablet unearthed at the Canaanite city of Ugarit recording a prayer to the god Baal in which he is promised the sacrifice of a firstborn child if he will deliver the city from a siege.11 The text dates from the second half of the thirteenth century b.c.e., virtually contemporaneous with a bas relief carved on the wall of a Karnak temple which depicts citizens of the Canaan9 For the purposes of this article, I equate the Deuteronomist with Frank Moore Cross’s Dtr1, the Josianic redactor of the first edition of the Deuteronomistic History (Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of the Religion of Israel [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1973], 274–89). 10 Lawrence E. Stager and Samuel R. Wolff, “Child Sacrifice at Carthage—Religious Rite or Population Control?” BAR 10 (1984): 31–51; Lawrence E. Stager and Joseph A. Greene, “An Odyssey Debate: Were Living Children Sacrificed to the Gods?” Archaeology Odyssey 3/8 (2000): 28–31. For a survey of the opposing view, see Zevit, Religions of Ancient Israel, 551. 11 Baruch Margalit, “Why King Mesha of Moab Sacrificed His Oldest Son,” BAR 12 (1986): 62–63, 76.
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ite city of Ashkelon dropping children over the ramparts onto the heads of Egyptian soldiers who have almost stormed the walls.12 War reliefs at Medinet Hebu, Abu Simbel, and Beit el-Wali depict other thirteenth-century investments in which Canaanite children are either being lowered over the city wall or seemingly being prepared for this.13 About a millennium later, Diodorus of Sicily writes that the Carthaginians broke a siege in a breathtaking way (20.13.4; 20.14.4–5). Apparently they had been sacrificing purchased children to little effect. Determining that their deity required something of higher quality, they immolated two hundred of their noblest born. Other texts also attest to the practice: Eusebius (Praep. ev. 1.10), citing Philo of Byblos, says that the Phoenicians “offered up their dearest children” (italics mine) when disaster threatened, and, according to Porphyry (Abst. 2.56), Sanchuniathon’s eight-volume History of Phoenicia was full of such tales. Evidence for the practice of human sacrifice in and near ancient Israel is also documented in the Hebrew Bible. Aside from the Jephthah narrative, the most famous example is Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son Isaac (Gen 22:1–19). The most obscure is Hiel of Bethel’s, who ca. 860 b.c.e. rebuilt Jericho apparently using his oldest and youngest sons as foundation offerings (1 Kgs 16:34). Probably the best example from a military perspective is 2 Kgs 3:4–27, according to which Mesha, the king of Moab, ca. 850 b.c.e., immolated his oldest son atop the walls of his fortress in full view of besieging troops. According to the narrative, a combined Israelite, Judahite, and Edomite force had cornered the Moabite army at Kir-Hareseth. The Moabite situation was desperate, and Mesha, appealing to his high god, Chemosh, performed the vōlâ in hopes of securing relief. It worked. The Bible recounts that there was a “big anger” (certainly Chemosh’s), and the coalition force withdrew. In line with this, Roland de Vaux speculates that the Syro-Ephraimite war and a comparable Assyrian action were the backgrounds for Ahaz of Judah’s sacrifice of his son in the second half of the eighth century (2 Kgs 16:3), and Manasseh of Judah’s in the mid-seventh century (2 Kgs 21:6).14 In Ahaz’s case, the most likely setting is the unsuccessful siege of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 16:5). As for Manasseh, his rapprochement with Assyria may have been preceded by a comparable action (2 Chr 33:11). If de Vaux is correct, we then have two explicit and two inferred biblical examples that coincide with extrabiblical descriptions of the sacrifice of royal children in times of national crisis. Baruch Margalit, in assessing Mesha’s sacrifice, concludes that such conduct on the part of a king might have been viewed as an “act of altruism sanctioned—indeed commended—by venerable religious tradition,” an act, no matter what the context, Francis Andersen and David Noel Freedman would add, “that gained poignancy and efficacy precisely from the fact that the child was 12
Frank J. Yurco, “3,200-Year-Old Picture of Israelites Found in Egypt,” BAR 16 (1990): 20–38. Smith, Early History of God, 177 n. 62, citing A. Spalinger, “A Canaanite Ritual Found in Egyptian Reliefs,” JSSEA 8 (1978): 47–60. 14 Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1961), 446. See also Andersen and Freedman, Micah, 382–83. 13
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treasured . . . the most valuable possession.”15 I agree, but would add that to a terrified citizenry, such an act might even have been expected. Sacrificing one’s child, arguably one’s most precious possession, in order to save one’s country might well have been part of a king’s job description. Alternatively, vowing such a sacrifice, provided the deity indeed averted the crisis, might have been an equally viable option, as the next section will attempt to demonstrate.
II. Dealing with the Deity The classical definition of a vow is that it is a conditional prayer.16 Basically, it is a deal in which the vow maker promises the deity something the deity (presumably) would like to have in exchange for something the vow maker wants. The prayer, therefore, becomes a negotiation, with each side expected to perform according to the terms. As the biblical record confirms, vow making was commonly practiced in Israel, and Israelites were expected never to welsh on the deal. Examples abound: In Gen 28:20–22 Jacob pledges a shrine and a tithe in exchange for a safe return from his journey (he comes back and founds Bethel: Gen 35:6–7). In 1 Sam 1:11, Hannah promises to consecrate her son to religious service if Yhwh will let her become pregnant (she gives birth to Samuel and installs him at Shiloh: 1 Sam 1:24). In 2 Sam 15:7–9, Absalom obtains David’s permission to leave Jerusalem to fulfill a vow for a safe return from exile (he gets permission and goes). The intricate rules governing the performance of vows in Priestly texts also attest to the ubiquity of the practice. Leviticus 22:17–25 stipulates the conditions of sacrifice according to the type of sacrifice vowed; Num 30:2–17 details the degree to which a person is bound by a vow; and Lev 27:1–8 specifies the monetary equivalents that can be paid in substitute for persons named as payment in a vow. The Deuteronomists are more succinct: all are enjoined to keep their vows and to pay them immediately (Deut 23:21) at the place Yhwh has chosen (Deut 12:11, 17–18). As a pervasive range of additional texts makes clear, throughout its history and at every social level, the Hebrew people were encouraged to make vows to Yhwh and, once Yhwh had done his part, quickly to pay up (e.g., Job 22:27; Pss 50:14; 56:13; 66:13; 76:12; Prov 7:14; Eccl 5:3–4). Most pertinent here, however, is Israel’s attitude toward vow making during warfare. There are four extremely relevant examples. While only one of them expressly identifies the agreement as a vow, and one does not name Yhwh specifically, all underscore the seriousness of wartime pledges and the encumbrances that deals with the deity placed on those who made them. 15
Margalit, “Why Mesha Sacrificed His Son,” 63; Andersen and Freedman, Micah, 524. Baruch A. Levine, Numbers 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 4A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 428. 16
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The first example is Judg 8:4–21, which involves two promises the Manassite deliverer Gideon makes while chasing Midianite raiders through the Transjordan. In each case, he asks townspeople for help, and when rebuffed he swears vengeance. Succoth, he promises, will be torn “with desert thorn and briar,” and Penuel will lose its watchtower. Gideon “utterly destroys” the Midianites, and when he returns he strictly executes his pledge: Succoth is torn “with desert thorn and briar,” then Penuel’s watchtower is razed—and to make the implication of its destruction clear, v. 17 adds that Gideon slaughters the people. The underlying message is this: Gideon’s war was serious business and the oaths he took to further his cause were expected to be honored to the letter. The second example is 1 Sam 14:1–46, which recounts a major engagement between Saul’s army and the Philistines at Michmash. Prior to the battle Saul had put his army under an oath to Yhwh that, to ensure a favorable outcome, every soldier (on curse of death) would fast until sundown. Saul’s son Jonathan, unaware of the oath, eats some honeycomb. Albeit unwittingly, the oath has been breached and Yhwh denies Saul an oracle. When Jonathan is determined to be the guilty party, Saul is faced with the prospect of killing his son. Had the army not intervened, Jonathan would have been executed. Apparently it took recourse to a tradition not unlike Lev 27:1–8 and bought back Jonathan’s life. The final examples are Joshua 6–7 and Num 21:1–3, both of which deal with hēi rem. Also called the ban, hēi rem was a feature of Israelite warfare that involved the annihilation of a defeated enemy population and in some instances all or most of its possessions. Although many ban texts describe Yhwh as commanding hiērem, these two texts relate its application to agreements made with him just before the battle. In Joshua 6–7, Yhwh and Joshua establish a “treaty” (7:11) according to which Israel, in exchange for victory at Jericho, will place the “city and everything in it” under the ban. Similarly, in Num 21:1–3, Israel, facing an attack by the king of Arad, makes a vow that Arad’s cities and its entire population will be subjected to hiērem if Yhwh “delivers this people into my hand.” In both cases, Israel is victorious, and in each case the population is slaughtered. Of all the narratives involving the ban, only Num 21:1–3 explicitly relates its application to a vow. However, as Susan Niditch has persuasively argued, it is within a vow making context that many of the ban texts ought to be understood. Leveraging from the basic meaning of hiērem as “set apart” or “devoted” to Yhwh, certain texts make most sense if envisioned as invoked in a quid pro quo setting, one in which the most precious of commodities, human life itself, is offered in sacrifice to God in exchange for victory.17 This notion fits well with the ubiquitously attested 17
For her discussion and a listing of the ban texts she considers in this category, see Niditch, War, 34–35; also eadem, Judges: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008), 133. For a different view, see Richard D. Nelson, Joshua: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 19–20.
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Israelite theology of war that viewed Yhwh as in charge of the battle, at times taking on all of the fighting himself.18 From this perspective, a “war vow,” especially one that offered “devoted” human life, is a trump card, so to speak, to be played when victory really mattered. Under such circumstances, vow making, especially by the king, was extremely serious business, and if the deity fulfilled his end of the bargain, no king would have wanted to incur God’s wrath by not living up to his. Thus, when Joshua discovers that the reason Israel failed at Ai was that Achan had sneaked Jericho spoil, he kills Achan and his entire family, knowing that Yhwh needed to be appeased (Josh 7:20–25). This is why Saul, denied his means of foretelling the future, would have executed Jonathan had the army not intervened, and why Israel, upon achieving its victory, turned Arad into the desolate ruins of Hormah.
III. Human Sacrifice to Yhwh Except for the Jephthah narrative, no biblical text unequivocally states that a human being was sacrificed to Yhwh. However, modern scholars are beginning to conclude that preexilic Yahwism included groups who not only viewed such sacrifice as authentically Yahwist but also considered it a form of worship highly pleasing to Yhwh. Some cite the capstone position of the offering of a firstborn son in the sacrifice list in Mic 6:6–7 as positive evidence in support of this contention.19 Others cite the metaphor in Isa 30:30–33 in which Yhwh’s prophesied destruction of the Assyrian army is likened to child sacrifice—by Yhwh to Yhwh—at the Jerusalem Tophet.20 Most interpret the vehement assaults on the practice by the reformist Priestly, Deuteronomistic, and late prophetic writers (Lev 18:21; 20:2–5; Deut 12:31; 18:10; Jer 7:31; 19:4b–6; 32:34–35) as equally vehement admissions that to a significant number of their contemporaries child sacrifice was exactly what Yhwh wanted.21 The best evidence, I would suggest, is twofold: The first is hēi rem, which, when coupled with the concept of the war vow, can be viewed as a sacrificial payment in the currency of human life for Yhwh’s assistance on the battlefield. The second is Ezekiel’s assertion (Ezek 20:26) that, despite what reformists like Jeremiah said, Yhwh had actually commanded human sacrifice to himself, although since the exile had decided to condemn it.22 18
E.g., Exodus 15; Deut 7:17–24; Josh 10:8–15; Judges 5; 1 Sam 5:6–9; 14:15–16. Mosca, “Child Sacrifice,” 225; Andersen and Freedman, Micah, 523–25; Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 11; Heider, Cult of Molek, 317–18. For an opposing view, see Ehud Ben Zvi, Micah (FOTL 21B; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 148. 20 Mosca, “Child Sacrifice,” 199–212; Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 9–10; Smith, Early History of God, 172. 21 Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 4–5; Jack R. Lundbom, Jeremiah 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 21B; New York: Doubleday, 2004), 517; Smith, Memoirs of God, 56. 22 Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary 19
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The extent to which human sacrifice was practiced by the ancient Israelites is unclear. In the context sketched above, however, it is not at all implausible that such sacrifice was part of the traditionalist Yahwist cult and was practiced from at least the time of Micah and Isaiah until the fall of the southern kingdom. Based on the biblical and extrabiblical evidence, the most likely setting would have been one in which the need was deemed most urgent, and to which the logical response would have been to offer what one valued most. In this context, the sacrifice of a royal scion to Yhwh at a time of national crisis is entirely plausible, and the story of Jephthah’s daughter—dealing with a head of state who sacrificed his daughter to save his people—falls comfortably within this tradition. But on to Jephthah’s story itself.
IV. The Jephthah Narrative (Judges 10:6–12:7) A. Setting the Stage (Judges 10:6–11:11) When the story begins, the kingdom of Ammon, which had “crushed and oppressed” the neighboring Israelite territory of Gilead for eighteen years, has recently restaked its claim to the land. Desperate, Gilead’s elders look about for someone to lead the defense. Enter Jephthah, who is introduced as a sort of premonarchic David with Gideon/anti-Abimelech overtones: he is the lowest-ranking member of his family (David, Gideon, Abimelech), who, having been disinherited and forced to flee his country (David), becomes a “valiant warrior” (David, Gideon) and leader of an outlaw band (David) in the nearby land of Tob (David).23 The elders, who have trekked all the way to Tob to find him, beg Jephthah to return to his homeland and head up the opposition. In the ensuing negotiations, Jephthah bargains for and obtains the “headship” of Gilead, in a manner not unlike the way David obtained the crown of Israel.24 And, like David, Jephthah seals the deal with (AB 22; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 368–70; Levenson, Death and Resurrection, 6–8; Zevit, Religions of Ancient Israel, 565. 23 Low family status: Judg 6:15; 8:31; 11:1; 1 Sam 16:11 (S); 17:12–14 (S). Dispossession and flight: Judg 11:2–3; 1 Samuel 19–20 (S); also Soggin, Judges, 205–6; Susan Niditch, “Judges,” in The Oxford Bible Commentary (ed. John Barton and John Muddiman; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 184. Valiant warrior: Judg 1:1; 1 Sam 16:18 (S); Judg 6:12. Outlaw leader: Judg 11:3; 1 Sam: 22:2 (S); also Soggin, Judges, 205; Boling, Judges, 207; Niditch, “Judges,” 184. Tob: Judg 11:3; 2 Sam 10:6–8 (S). Note that Tob is identified as a geographic area only in the Jephthah and 2 Samuel 10 texts. “(S)” designates that the reference is to what appears to be Deuteronomistic source material. Following P. Kyle McCarter, Jr., I Samuel: A New Translation (AB 8; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980); and idem, II Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes, and Commentary (AB 9; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1984). 24 2 Samuel 5:3 (S); but esp. 2 Sam 3:12–21 (S), which involves David’s negotiations with Abner in his pursuit of Israel’s crown. The parallels to the Abner narrative are striking: Abner (like the elders of Gilead) initiates the negotiations. David responds positively (as does Jephthah) and makes “kingship” the condition (Jephthah explicitly asks to be made “head”; David implic-
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his people “before Yhwh,” that is, by oath in Yhwh’s name, at a proper Yhwh shrine.25 Jephthah has done everything right—exactly like David when he assumed Israel’s throne—and he is now ready to assume his duties as “head” (a.k.a. king) of Gilead.26 Yhwh providing, Gilead will now regain its turf.
B. Negotiations with Ammon (Judges 11:12–28): Scene 1 Jephthah’s career now unfolds in three scenes, all involving further negotiations that test Jephthah’s commitment to his spoken word.27 His first order of business (scene 1) is to open negotiations with the king of Ammon on the matter of the contested claim. After a preliminary “feeling out” round, Jephthah launches into a stirring speech stoutly defending Gilead’s claims based on the J account of the Israelite Transjordanian conquest in Num 20:14–21; 21:21–35.28 The Ammonite king abruptly breaks off negotiations. In consequence, Jephthah has no choice but to take the field and rely on Yhwh to “judge” (i.e., determine) the outcome.
C. Negotiations with Ephraim (Judges 12:1–7): Scene 3 The final scene (scene 3) is not much different from scene 1.29 After Jephthah has defeated Ammon and made his sacrifice (scene 2; see section D below), he is accosted by representatives of the preeminent and powerful tribe of Ephraim, who accuse him of deliberately excluding their army from participating in the battle. The scenario comes directly from Judg 8:1–3, where Gideon, the Manassite deliverer, is confronted with the identical charge. The Jephthah version, however, has a far sharper edge: as punishment, Ephraim threatens to burn down Jephthah’s “house.” Jephthah bristles, correctly perceiving that his “throne,” and by extension itly asks by insisting that Abner bring him Michal, Saul’s daughter and David’s former wife, thus to reinstate David’s claim to Saul’s kingship). In both cases, an agreement is reached. Therefore Jephthah, like David, obtains his “crown” not only because he is a capable military leader but also because he is a skilled negotiator and accomplished politician (Soggin, Judges, 206). 25 David and Jephthah are unique in biblical literature as the only two Israelite “kings” who are explicitly said to have assumed power via treaty with their people (Judg 11:11; 2 Sam 3:21[S]; 5:3[S]). Note the contrast between David’s and Jephthah’s covenant making “before Yhwh” and Abimelech’s in Judg 9:6, which insinuates that Abimelech’s kingship was ratified at a cultic site dedicated to a different god. 26 For a complete discussion of Jephthah’s titles as “general” and “head,” see Timothy M. Willis, “The Nature of Jephthah’s Authority,” CBQ 59 (1997): 33–44. 27 From a literary-critical perspective, Jerome Walsh considers the story structured as four negotiations, arranged ABA´B´: The elders accept Jephthah’s terms (A); Ammon rejects Jephthah and there is war (B); Jephthah (and daughter) accept Yhwh’s terms (A´); Ephraim rejects Jephthah and there is war (B´). From private discussions, 2008. 28 Following Richard Elliott Friedman’s J, E, and P assignments in The Bible with Sources Revealed: A New View into the Five Books of Moses (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2003). 29 With Boling, Judges, 212 n. 3.
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his “kingdom,” is the “house” Ephraim is threatening to destroy;30 and when Ephraim will not back down, Jephthah has no choice but to fend off yet another powerful aggressor with force. In a wonderful example of underdog tricksterism— no doubt taken from remembrances of ancient tribal taunts—forty-five Ephraimite contingents are put to the sword, and Gilead’s autonomy is sustained.31 His “house” thus preserved for a second time, Jephthah governs for six more years, and when he dies, he is accorded the burial rights of a respected Israelite judge.
D. Negotiations with Yhwh (Judges 11:29–40): Scene 2 1. Jephthah Befriended Scene 2 is our primary concern. The story, in synopsis, is straightforward: Jephthah, “head” of Gilead, makes a vow to Yhwh that if he achieves victory, he will sacrifice who/whatever32 comes first out of his house when he comes back. Jephthah achieves victory, and his daughter, his only child, is first to come out. Therefore, Jephthah sacrifices her to Yhwh, and in an annual fourday custom Israelite women recount her story.33 Let us now, however, add to the synopsis the cultural context reconstructed in section I. If this reconstruction indeed reflects how the ancient Western Semites thought, here is what the author’s audience would likely have heard.34 Jephthah, head of the Gilead state, makes a war vow to his high god Yhwh that in exchange for victory, he will sacrifice who/whatever comes first out of his house when he comes back. YHWH gives Jephthah victory, and his daughter, his precious only child, is first to come out. Therefore, Jephthah sacrifices her to Yhwh because as head of the Gilead state he must keep his vow, and in an annual four-day custom Israelite women recount her story. 30
The use of the term “house” to designate territories, tribes, dynasties, and nations is well attested in the Hebrew Bible. It should not be a surprise that the author would have his premonarchic David bristle at Ephraim’s challenge, despite the anachronistic dynastic overtones (see the final section regarding the date of authorship). 31 The Gideon story in Judges 8 paints an unfavorable portrait of the Transjordanian Israelites. It is not inconceivable that the author had this Cisjordanian slight in mind when crafting Transjordanian Jephthah’s response. 32 The Hebrew is ambiguous and can be translated either way. 33 The word hnt occurs only here and in Judg 5:11, where it denotes the recounting of past deeds. I have chosen to describe the women’s act in this manner only to emphasize that—whatever else the custom involved—it included retelling this story. This, as shall be seen, was the element the author cared about most. 34 I assume an audience comprising all levels of Israelite society, including both illiterate members, who would have heard the story read, and literate members, who would have read it themselves. I use the verb “hear” to refer collectively to both groups.
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The ancient audience, then, hears Jephthah’s story quite differently than we do today, our ears no longer tuned to a culture that makes wartime deals with its deity in order to guarantee success. But to this ancient Western Semitic audience, it was perfectly reasonable that Jephthah, in his capacity as head of state, would make a war vow to his high god, and that the war vow (as tradition had it) would produce the intended effect. Further, to this audience it was equally obvious that Jephthah should fulfill his end of the deal by offering his deity that most precious of offerings that tradition said he deserved. To these people, then, Jephthah was acting entirely appropriately, exactly as a Western Semitic head of state was expected to act, once having made a war vow to his god. Now let us amplify the text with more detail from the story and with themes developed earlier in the narrative. This is what the ancient Western Semitic Israelite audience would likely have heard: David-like Jephthah, “king” of the Gilead state, at a time of great national crisis, makes a traditional Israelite war vow to his high god Yhwh that in exchange for victory, he will sacrifice who/whatever Yhwh wants in payment, and Jephthah will know who/what that is because it will be the first out of his house when he comes back. Yhwh saves his people by giving Jephthah a spectacular victory, and when he comes back the first to come out is his daughter, his precious child, most precious of all because she (like Abraham’s son Isaac) is his only child. And when Jephthah sees her (wtw)rk) he rips his clothes in grief, crying “Ahhhhaaa! My daughter! You’ve absolutely torn me apart (ynt(rkh (rkh)! You are my Achor (yrk(b)! But I have “opened my mouth” to Yhwh and I can’t go back on my vow!” Therefore, Jephthah sacrifices her to Yhwh, because as head of the Gilead state he must keep his vow, and in an annual four-day custom Israelite women recount her story. How have the ancient Israelites processed the story? Let us start with the most obvious. First, they understand that Gilead’s need was urgent. The Ammonites, they have been told, had been brutally oppressive for eighteen years and were now threatening complete annexation. Second, they find out that Jephthah’s victory was overwhelming (lit., “a very big blow”), so overwhelming, the author explains, that it had reclaimed for Gilead all its territory (the point to naming the localities in 11:33). In short, Jephthah had obviously vowed the right vow because God had responded so spectacularly.35 35
Trible argues that the bestowal of Yhwh’s spirit (Judg 11:29) makes the vow unnecessary (Texts of Terror, 96). However, she does not take into account the full literary structure and the narrative’s emphasis on Jephthah’s skills at negotiation (see section IVB and n. 27). Thomas Römer also would sever the relationship between the victory and the vow, remanding the sacrifice narrative to the postexilic period; he accordingly considers 11:29, 32–33 primary and the rest of scene 2 secondary (“Why Would the Deuteronomist Tell about the Sacrifice of Jephthah’s Daughter?” JSOT 77 [1998]: 27-38). This interpretation likewise overlooks the literary structure and, as
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Less obvious is the fact that this audience would have recognized Jephthah’s vow as a traditional Israelite war custom, not some strange foreign practice. The treaty between Joshua and Yhwh at Jericho would have instantly come to mind, as would Gideon’s oaths at Succoth and Penuel, Saul’s at Michmash, and Israel’s war vow at Arad. To a people brought up with these traditions and with a war theology in which God determines every military outcome, Jephthah’s vow making would have struck a resonant chord. Also less obvious is that, to this audience, Yhwh would have deserved payment. Imbued with a cultural heritage that encouraged the making of personal vows and enjoined by religious authority always to pay them up, it is inconceivable that these people would have thought any other way. Furthermore, they would have expected Yhwh’s payment to be commensurate with what he had provided. Gilead’s extreme national distress would have brought Mesha of Moab to mind, perhaps Ahaz and Manasseh, or other Israelite leaders whose stories have not been preserved.36 Those memories would have evoked recollections of the offerings that the kings had made to repay Yhwh when he gave them success. Simply put, the obvious offering was Jephthah’s royal child. But if the author’s audience believed that Jephthah’s daughter was the appropriate offering, why did Jephthah not vow her life up front? Surely Jephthah himself would have known that his scion was the expected compensation. Why does the author have Jephthah resort to ambiguity and vow who/what instead? The traditional answer is that Jephthah made a mistake. The reasons vary (see introduction) but the bottom line is that he made a selfish, poorly thought out, and/or inappropriate vow. As has also been pointed out, however (see introduction), there are serious problems with this interpretation. It does not explain why a character who is depicted as so verbally gifted in every other part of the narrative should founder so badly here—a character, moreover, whom the author models on David’s positive kingly attributes, most particularly his legendary skill with words.37 Finally, this interpretation does not square with a character whom the author ends up burying with high minor judge honors and whom 1 Samuel and Hebrews rate among Israel’s greats. What if we look at Jephthah’s vow making from a different perspective? What if we turn the traditional interpretation upside down and consider the vow’s ambiguity not as a sign of stupidity but as an astute piece of negotiation?38 In this way a important, the fundamental relationship between vv. 30–31 and vv. 32–33. The point the author is making is this: Yhwh has more than upheld his end of the bargain. It is now incumbent on Jephthah to uphold his. 36 See 2 Kgs 17:17, which, although polemical, may reflect actual archival data. 37 E.g., 1 Sam 16:18 (S); 2 Sam 2:4b–7 (S); 21:1–9 (S); also McCarter, I Samuel, 281 n. 18. The tradition that Israelite leaders were skilled at negotiation is not limited to David. See, e.g., Genesis 23, where Abraham successfully negotiates the Machpelah land purchase, and Gen 18:16–33, where he successfully negotiates concessions from God. 38 With Soggin, who concludes that Jephthah’s vow was a calculated risk (Judges, 216).
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far better fit develops between the Jephthah of this story and the Jephthah of the rest of the narrative. Now Jephthah becomes the same shrewd bargainer who bested the elders of Gilead and so stoutly defended his country’s interests against Ammon and Ephraim. Now we see the David-like Jephthah whom the author took such pains to construct. What if the vow’s ambiguity was intended to be interpreted as a well-conceived, calculated offer to leave the choice to God, in the (desperate) hope that against expectation Yhwh would surprise Jephthah and not demand his due? To Israelites who believed that their God appreciated the massacre of an enemy population in his name, who recognized the sacrifice of firstborn children as legitimate offerings, and who were receptive to a metaphor portraying Yhwh as someone who would light an enemy’s funeral pyre as a sacrifice to himself, would it not have seemed reasonable that the deity would be appreciative of an offer to choose his own victim? Particularly helpful in this regard is Genesis 22 (E). Scholars are virtually unanimous that the author’s use of the Hebrew word hdyxy to describe Jephthah’s daughter is a direct allusion to Isaac, the “only child,” in the story of Abraham’s sacrifice (Gen 22:2, 12, 16). The text bristles with redundancies, as though the author has surrounded the word in neon lights to make sure the audience makes the connection: Judg 11:34b:
tb w) Nb wnmm wl Ny) hdyxy )yh qrw
Lit., . . . only her, the only child, he had no other, neither son or daughter. . .
The traditional interpretation of Genesis 22 is that the story condemns human sacrifice. If this is the case, however, the point is not explicitly made. What is said is that God’s command was a test of Abraham’s obedience (Gen 22:1, 18), to which Abraham responded unquestioningly even though—the text makes this very clear—he dearly loved his son (Gen 22:2). It is only when the knife is set to plunge that we are told that God, convinced of Abraham’s devotion, averts his hand. This, I suggest, was the understanding evoked when the ancient audience heard the word hdyxy. The parallels to Jephthah’s story are striking: both men are Israelite leaders and fathers facing an vōlâ sacrifice of a beloved only child. The essential difference between them, however, is that, unlike Abraham, Jephthah is not offered the option of a ram. Jephthah was not taken off guard, trapped, so to speak, by a hastily made, poorly worded, ill-conceived vow. Like everyone else, he knew what offering was expected. Imagine his anguish when he found out that God would not let him off the hook, the emotional evisceration he experienced as he ripped open his clothes in the traditional sign of grief and came face to face with the reality of what would be his ultimate test. In contrast to his outward display, Jephthah’s speech comes across as positively wooden, so flat that it has been interpreted as prima facie evidence of callous disregard for his daughter.39 However, Jephthah’s seeming lack of emotion is actually 39 E.g., Assis, Self-Interest or Communal Interest, 215–18; Trible, Texts of Terror, 101–2; J. Cheryl Exum, “Murder They Wrote: Ideology and the Manipulation of Female Presence in Biblical Narrative,” USQR 43 (1989): 21.
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an artifact of translation—of our inability to capture in English a wordplay that I believe is key to the speech’s interpretation. Were our ears capable of hearing what the ancient audience heard, they would detect the consonantal sounds /k/-/r/ rumbling through 11:35 (wtw)rk, (rkh, ynt(rkh, yrk(b; see above) until crescendoing in a word based on the Hebrew root rk(. This relatively rare root is variously translated into our language with words like “calamity,” “disaster,” and “trouble.”40 The English, however, does not capture the full force of its meaning. But the Israelite audience would have instantly connected its use here with other stories in which the word describes the terrible anger of Yhwh and the disaster it brings when an agreement with him has been breached.41 This is the “disaster” Saul experienced when, because of Jonathan’s breach, Yhwh withheld his oracle (1 Sam 14:29). This is also the epithet Elijah hurls at Ahab when he blames a famine on Ahab’s apostasy (1 Kgs 18:17–18). But above all, in its proper noun form it is the name of the Valley of Achor, famous from Josh 7:24–26 and familiar to the audience as the place where Joshua executed the man who broke the Jericho treaty with Yhwh, an act so enraging Yhwh that he stopped the Conquest dead in its tracks until Joshua straightened things out. This is the primary connection I believe the author wished the audience to make.42 The assonance would have reverberated throughout Jephthah’s lament—a constant reminder of the serious consequences of not keeping a war vow, and a serious portent of what would happen if Jephthah did not keep his. Jephthah does not blame his daughter; he names her as the source of his own personal disaster. He had “opened his mouth” to Yhwh; he cries out in anguish, knowing “he cannot go back.”43 What Jephthah recognized, the author says, was that the payment 40
The Hebrew root rk( occurs only eleven times in narrative biblical text, eight times in verbal form (Gen 34:30; Josh 6:18; 7:25 [2x]; Judg 11:35; 1 Sam 14:29 [S]; 1 Kgs 18:17, 18) and three times as proper noun (Josh 7:24, 26; 15:7). It occurs in prophetic literature only twice, both times as a proper noun (Isa 65:10; Hos 2:17 [Eng. 2:15]). 41 Of all the narrative occurrences of rk(, Gen 34:30 is the only case in which it does not refer to Yhwh’s anger. However, the circumstances are similar: Jacob fears “disaster” from the Canaanites because of Simeon and Levi’s breach of a treaty with the Shechemites. 42 The Valley of Achor was well known in Hebrew tradition for what purportedly happened there. See esp. Hos 2:17 (Eng. 2:15), where its name is used in contrast as a symbol of hope. Also well known was the cairn that tradition identified as the spot where Achan was executed, and which in the Deuteronomistic History was still known “to this day.” Note also that six of the thirteen occurrences of the root are in the Joshua account, a clustering I find by no means coincidental to the Jephthah story. Hence, my loose rendering of yrk(b in 11:35 as “my Achor.” 43 There is a wordplay involving the verb bw# (“go back”) in vv. 31 and 35. In v. 35 it means “retract” (lit., “go back” on the vow), but in v. 31 it means “victorious return” (lit., “go back in peace”), thus connecting the vow to the victory both verbally and thematically. The author employs the same literary technique with the verb )cy (“come out”) in vv. 30, 34, and 36 (connecting the daughter’s emergence from the house to the vow); the noun hp (“mouth”) in vv. 35–36 (connecting the vow to the ordinance the daughter cites; see also n. 46); and the verb h#( (“do”) in vv. 36, 37, and 39 (connecting the vow to the sacrifice). These wordplays not only establish thematic links, but also function as literary glue, binding these different elements of the story together. See
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God required for delivering his nation was the terrible private tragedy of his own daughter’s death. 2. Jephthah Defended The analysis thus far gives a fairly good indication of where the author’s sentiments lay. Incorporated into the text, however, are two allusions that reveal his disposition even further. These citations probably meant little to the author’s listening audience, but to educated Israelites, they would have been recognized as legal arguments advanced to convince them that Jephthah’s act was not only sanctioned but also mandated by God. This is what would have caught the eye of an educated Israelite reading the Jephthah text: David-like Jephthah, head of the Gilead state, vowed a vow to YHWH, saying, “If you will indeed give the Sons of Ammon into my hand” [Num 21:2a], I will devote in sacrifice as belonging to YHWH who/whatever he wants in payment. Yhwh saves his people by giving Jephthah a spectacular victory, and when he comes back the first to come out the door is his daughter, his precious only child. Jephthah reels in shock and cries out in despair. But his daughter says to him: “My father, you’ve opened your mouth to YHWH. Do to me that which came out of your mouth because of that which YHWH did for you— deliverance from your enemies, the Sons of Ammon” [Num 30:3; Eng. 30:2]. So he did to her the vow he had vowed [Num 30:3; Eng. 30:2], and in an annual four-day custom Israelite women recount her story. The first thing likely to catch the educated Israelite’s eye is the concentric structuring of the daughter’s response to her father in 11:36.44 What the Israelite certainly recognized is something easy for us to miss: that it is a reformulation of a Priestly statute commanding all Israelites scrupulously to honor their vows.45 Num 30:3 (Eng. 30:2):
h#(y wypm )cyh lkk . . . hwhyl rdn rdy yk #y)
If a man vows a vow to Yhwh . . . all that comes out of his mouth he must do. Judg 11:36:
. . . hwhy Kl h#( r#) yrx) Kypm )cy r#)k yl h#( hwhy . . .
Robert Alter’s discussion of Leitwörter in The Art of the Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 92–95. 44 See Jerome T. Walsh, Style and Structure in Biblical Hebrew Narrative (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2001), 15–25. 45 Levenson (Death and Resurrection, 16) and Trible (Texts of Terror, 103) also see the relation to the Num 30:3 (Eng. 30:2) ordinance. I would go one step further and suggest that it is a direct allusion. My reasoning is that the author, as has already been demonstrated, uses allusion to written materials as one of his basic literary stocks in trade. Given this proclivity, I believe that the links of theme and vocabulary in the present instance are too on point for there not to be a direct relation.
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Between the hwhy brackets: do to me that which (a, b) came out of your mouth (c) because of that which he did for you . . . (b´, a´)
The concentric structuring has three functions: First, it directs the reader’s attention to Num 30:3. Second, it applies Num 30:3 to Jephthah’s situation. Finally, it focuses the reader on the quid pro quo basis of Jephthah’s obligation. Thus, the author has the daughter concur in her father’s obligation and give her consent to be sacrificed by formally citing law.46 Ultimately and fundamentally, she says (or, better put, the author says through her), the requirement they must follow derives from the Priestly legal code. And as the educated reader would also have been aware, Priestly law must be rigorously followed because it derives directly from Yhwh himself. The daughter, in other words, was not submitting to her father; she was affirming their mutual legal obligation to submit themselves to God. It is no coincidence that the sacrifice itself is described with other words from the statute. The traditional interpretation of 11:39 is that the author either resorted to euphemism or was deliberately ambiguous. I believe the opposite is the case. Unlike the ancient reader who had already spotted the legal reference in 11:36, the modern reader does not easily see the author’s use in 11:39 of additional vocabulary from Num 30:3. To the ancient reader, the message was obvious: Jephthah performed the sacrifice in strict conformance with the law. Num 30:3 (Eng. 30:2):
h#(y wypm )cyh lkk . . . hwhyl rdn rdy yk #y)
When a man vows a vow to Yhwh, he must do everything that comes out of his mouth. Judg 11:39:
rdn r#) wrdn t) hl #(yw
And he did to her his vow that he had vowed.
The second allusion occurs in Judg 11:30. It is an almost verbatim citation of Num 21:2 (J) including even the emphatic.47 Num 21:2a:
ydyb hzh M(h t) Ntt Ntn M) rm)yw hwhyl rdn l)r#y rdyw
And Israel vowed a vow to Yhwh saying, if you indeed give this people into my hand . . . 46 The citation also explains the author’s choice of the expression “opened my/your mouth” in 11:35 and 11:36 to describe the making of the vow. Since the statute reads, “he must do all that comes out of his mouth,” “opening one’s mouth” is a second signal to the reader that Num 30:3 applies. See Num 32:24 and Jer 44:17 (and a similar expression in Deut 23:23), where the phrase also refers to vow making. 47 See also Trible, Texts of Terror, 112 n. 26; and Niditch, War, 33.
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009) Judg 11:30:
ydyb Nwm( ynb t) Ntt Nwtn M) rm)yw hwhyl rdn xtpy rdyw
And Jephthah vowed a vow to Yhwh saying, if you indeed give the Sons of Ammon into my hand . . .
The quotation is the protasis of the war vow made by Israel before the battle at Arad (see section II above). Some scholars are puzzled by the reference because the payments promised by Israel and Jephthah seem two unrelated things.48 There is a connection, however—and one of great significance—because it answers the question (no doubt posed by legally astute members of the audience) “Why, if Lev 27:1–8 permits redemption, did not Jephthah just pay God off?” Saul’s army bought off Jonathan. Why could Jephthah not have done the same? The answer, the author responds, lies in the fundamental meaning of hēi rem. Jephthah’s and Israel’s vows are the same, he argues, because they both involve the devotion of human lives in sacrifice to Yhwh. Thus, like the Arad war vow, Jephthah’s war vow comes under the Priestly laws governing hēi rem. Jephthah’s daughter could not be ransomed because she now, as the apodosis makes clear, “belongs to Yhwh” (compare 11:31b to, e.g., Lev 27:28). Thus, Lev 27:29 applies: “Any human being who has been put under hiērem cannot be redeemed, but must be put to death.” 3. The Custom There is one remaining issue significant to the interpretation of the story. It has to do with the author’s reference to a “custom” at the story’s conclusion. Very little detail is given, no more than that it lasted four days and involved “the daughters of Israel” recounting the story of Jephthah’s daughter. Various scholars—principally from feminist circles—have attempted to flesh out its significance.49 The important exegetical question, however, is not what the “custom” was, but why the author chose to bring it up. Clearly, he is referring to something that was actually practiced in his day and was expecting the audience to be acquainted with it as well. Herein, I suggest, lies its significance. The author reminds the audience of the “custom”— and is relying on familiarity with it—in order to authenticate his story: “You all know about Jephthah and his daughter,” he says, “you all know my story is true, because every year our women retell it in a ‘custom’ held in her honor.”50 The author, in other words, like Shakespeare when he staged Henry V, is telling the audience a story it already knows. Two items of significance devolve from this observation. First, because the audience knew the story, it already knew the gender of the victim. The victim, therefore, could not have been anyone/thing other than who/what the women’s story 48
See, e.g., Trible, Texts of Terror, 112 n. 36. E.g., Peggy Day, “From the Child Is Born a Woman,” in Gender and Difference in Ancient Israel (ed. Peggy Day; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000), 58–74; Niditch, War, 33–34. 50 On the basis primarily of the temporal dissonance between the daughter’s two-month wandering and festival’s four-day duration, Soggin has attributed vv. 39b–40 to redaction (Judges, 49
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said. Of significance, then, is not the gender of the sacrifice but the requirement to perform it. To put the matter even more succinctly: if the “custom’s” story had said the victim was a boy, then the Judges narrative would have been about the sacrifice of Jephthah’s son. Second, because the audience already knew the story, the daughter had to die. Even if the author had preferred a different outcome—perpetual virginity, for example, or ransom—he could not have ended his story any differently than what the “custom’s” story said. This, I believe, is why the author developed his legal argument to defend Jephthah’s act. He wanted to explain irrefutably to his heterogeneous audience—in particular to those educated members who would have disagreed—why the sacrifice had to be.
V. Summary We return now to the question asked at the beginning of this article about the author’s seeming neutrality. Certainly he was a restrained writer, preferring subtlety, nuance, and allusion to a more straightforward style. However, what I hope I have shown is that his “neutrality” lies mainly in our loss of contact with an ancient theological worldview and in our handicapped ability to hear the associations that would have been obvious to the original audience. These people, raised on stories taught to them in their native Hebrew, would have instantly made the connections for which we, over two and a half millennia removed, must laboriously dig. This audience would not have missed Jephthah’s David-like portrayal, the empathetic comparison to Abraham, or the reference to rk(/Achor. Nor would its educated members have missed the author’s legal argument that responsibility for the sacrifice rested squarely on God. Whether we moderns agree or disagree with what Jephthah did, the author told the ancient audience that Jephthah was trapped—by Western Semitic custom, by Israelite war vow tradition, by Priestly votive law, and by the strict law of hiērem. Jephthah and his daughter should be remembered, he contends, because they performed as custom demanded of its royals despite the enormous personal cost.
VI. Afterword: Passing Muster with the Deuteronomist Before concluding, I would like to make a few remarks about the author, the likely place and time of composition, and the author’s relation to the Deuteronomist. 216). The problem vanishes, however, if one views the “custom” as simply the four-day setting in which the two-month wandering story is told. Moreover, the discussion in vv. 37–39a is meaningless unless it is preparatory to the discussion of the custom. For these reasons, I judge vv. 39b– 40 to be primary to the text.
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The author, as evidenced by his literary skill and broad knowledge of biblical texts, must have been a well-educated individual, likely a member of the upper class intelligentsia. He also had access to a library that included, at minimum, J, E, and P materials, the Gideon/Abimelech narratives, and Davidic source material now incorporated into the Deuteronomistic History. Based on the favorable comparison to David, I infer that he was a southerner. He may have been a priest, but if he was, he was not a member of any of the priestly groups responsible for the P legal corpus: one gets the impression in this story that the author is using the priests’ own code against them. How else does one explain the use of Lev 27:29 to condone a form of sacrifice that elsewhere is so virulently condemned? Thus, I think it more probable that he was a member of the Jerusalem court. While he might have been a royal historiographer, he could not have been the Deuteronomist, not unless he edited his own work.51 Therefore a Josianic terminus ad quem is most likely. Because the author references both northern and southern texts, the reign of Hezekiah appears to be a terminus a quo since this would seem the earliest time a joint collection would have been available.52 Therefore, the likely time of writing falls within a one-hundred-year window, roughly 715 to 622 b.c.e., that is, the reigns of Hezekiah, Manasseh, Amon, and perhaps the early, non-Deuteronomistic portion of Josiah’s reign. Which period is the most plausible setting for the creation of this story depends, in large degree, on one’s view of the extent of Hezekiah’s reforms. If those reforms were comparable to Josiah’s, it is difficult to conceive of an account defensive of human sacrifice passing Hezekian muster. But if his reforms were less extensive than advertised—even if they involved, say, only the destruction of the rural bāmôt, a rural cultic site is precisely the setting in which one would expect Jephthah’s daughter’s “custom” to have been enacted.53 Therefore, even if Hezekiah’s
51
Judges 10:10–16 and parts of 10:6–7 are commonly assigned to Deuteronomistic redaction. The evidence includes (1) the introduction of material that has nothing to do with the narrative (Philistines in vv. 6, 7), (2) word inversion (Philistines and Ammon in vv. 6b and 7b), (3) resumptive repetition (vv. 10 and 15), and (4) the introduction of Deuteronomistic language and themes found elsewhere in Judges and apparently culminating in vv. 10–16. A late preexilic date also coheres with Frank H. Polak’s linguistic analysis, which categorizes Judges 11–12 as an example of the “intricate classical” subgroup of preexilic classical Hebrew narrative (“The Oral and the Written: Syntax, Stylistics and the Development of Biblical Prose Narrative,” JANES 26 [1998]: 69–71). 52 See, e.g., Richard Elliott Friedman, Who Wrote the Bible? (2nd ed.; San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1997), 213–14; and William M. Schniedewind, How the Bible Became a Book: The Textualization of Ancient Israel (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 68–77. 53 For a discussion of Hezekiah’s reforms, see Baruch Halpern, “Jerusalem and the Lineages in the Seventh Century BCE: Kinship and the Rise of Individual Moral Liability,” in Law and Ideology in Monarchic Israel (ed. Baruch Halpern and Deborah W. Hobson; JSOTSup 124; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 66–70. For a differing view, see Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation (AB 11; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1988), 220.
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endeavors were limited only to the countryside, authorship by a member of the Hezekian royal party seems unlikely. Thus, the spotlight falls on Manasseh, whose reign is remembered for its reversion to traditional Israelite forms of worship. If Deuteronomistic polemic does not overstate, Manasseh was responsible for rebuilding the rural bāmôt and reintroducing Baal worship and worship of the host of heaven in the Jerusalem temple, as well as reinstituting divination and ancestor worship, also considered traditional Yahwist practice.54 Clearly a member of the intelligentsia, the author’s better fit is with Manasseh’s more tolerant court. Here a defense of human sacrifice makes more sense, especially if de Vaux is correct and Manasseh actually sacrificed his son (see section I). There remains only one issue—and that is the Deuteronomist’s surprising reaction to this story. Unquestionably, he inherited it, but given his aversion to human sacrifice, why is it that he did nothing to soften its obvious import? Why, moreover, does he include Jephthah by name in the august ranks of deliverers whom he has Samuel praise in 1 Sam 12:7–15? Thomas Römer’s solution is to remand the story of the sacrifice to a postexilic redactor, but literary analysis does not support this avenue of escape.55 So if the Deuteronomist inherited the story, why did he let it stand unchanged? We will never know the answer with certainly, but I suggest additional possibilities to those ordinarily offered in a case such as this. Yes, it is possible that the Deuteronomist had too much “respect” for tradition. It is also possible that he felt the story too well known to tamper with—that he would catch popular “hell” if he did. But perhaps his aversion to human sacrifice was more nuanced than we have traditionally thought—that certain conditions (the imposition of hiērem?) could trigger an override. Or perhaps his criteria for judgeship did not include what we moderns require of our heroes: moral virtue. Or perhaps, given the short period of time we are discussing—subtracting the reign of Hezekiah, a span of roughly sixty years—the Deuteronomist and the author of this story knew each other. It could be that as the Deuteronomist read the author’s argument, thought it over, and perhaps even discussed it with him, the Deuteronomist became persuaded to leave the story unaltered. 54
See Smith, Memoirs of God, 59. See n. 35 above and also Polak’s argument from linguistic analysis for a late preexilic date (see n. 51 above). 55
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JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 687–702
Framework and Discourse in the Book of Judges susanne gillmayr-bucher [email protected] Institute of Catholic Theology, RWTH-Aachen-University, 52062 Aachen, Germany
The period of the judges is depicted as a desperate time calling for exceptional leaders. It is a time dominated by conflicts. A lasting peace, almost reached at the end of Joshua, is again far away. The stories of the central figures, the judges, offer a diverse portrayal. There is no image of an ideal judge but several individual characters sharing only one activity: they fight for their people. The judges are presented as heroes, although not without flaws, but they do not achieve sustained success. Hence the book ends with an even stronger desire for exceptional leaders. Most of the stories in Judges 3–16 are linked by a framework presenting them as episodes of Israel’s failure to observe Yhwh’s covenant, of punishment and rescue. A varying number of recurring elements uphold the schema. In this respect, the framework is more than a loose bond between the stories.1 What makes the framework of Judges special (compared to other biblical frameworks, for example, in the books of Kings) is the preface in Judg 2:11–19. These verses present a distinct perspective on the period of the judges.2 As a preface, it could be read as an introduction to the framework as well as the stories, providing an insight into the correlation between the activities of the people, their failure to observe God’s covenant, and an evaluation and reaction by God. When one looks at the stories in Judges through the lens of the theory of Mikhail Bakhtin, the dialogue between different voices becomes obvious. The voice of the introduction with its strong valuation is the first voice to be clearly noticed.
1 The existence of such a framework and its elements—most often classified as a Deuteronomic schema—has been described numerous times. Nevertheless, its narrative and rhetoric function has been widely neglected. 2 See Louis Jonker, Exclusivity and Variety: Perspectives on Multidimensional Exegesis (CBET 19; Kampen: Kok Pharos, 1996), 85.
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Before the stories start, this voice offers an authoritative evaluation of the period of the judges. After the judgmental anticipation, this voice is continued in the framework. In the course of the narrations, the framework forms a prominent voice within the stories of individual judges that starts a dialogue with all the other voices and joins them in a double-voiced discourse. In doing so neither the framework nor the individual stories remain unaffected; rather they have an impact on each other.3 In this process, however, the once authoritative voice loses its explanatory status. The unfolding of the book of Judges can be described as a dialogue4 between the voice of the introduction and the voice of the individual stories. The development of the quarreling voices reaches its climax in the story of Samson, where the interpretation of the introduction, as well as the schema upheld by the framework, dissolves into a carnivalesque presentation of events.
I. Preface and Framework Continuing the stories about conquering the promised land in the book of Joshua, Judges 1 summarizes the military problems encountered by the Israelites, and, subsequently, Judges 2 offers a religious perspective on this situation.5 Before the stories of the judges unfold, 2:8–10 refers back to the death of Joshua and the people of his generation, contrasting them to the Israelites of the present, who do not know Yhwh anymore. What has been achieved is lost; the community, whose first task it is to bear God, his deeds, laws, and promises in remembrance—as Deuteronomy formulates it—has failed to do so. The retrospect challenges the continuity of the people and their relationship to Yhwh. The question whether Israel will remain loyal to Yhwh, or whether anybody will be able to guide Israel, is raised quite urgently. Judges 2:11–19 presents a short description of the era of the judges evaluated in a strongly negative tenor. The sequence of events corresponds, approximately, to the structure of the individual stories. Some elements of this preface are repeated 3
The stories become polyphonic as more than one voice might be heard in the same voice. See Werner Wolf, “Multiperspektivität und Rahmung,” in Multiperspektivisches Erzählen: Zur Theorie und Geschichte der Perspektivenstruktur im englischen Roman des 18. bis 20. Jahrhunderts (ed. Vera Nünning and Ansgar Nünning; Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier, 2000), 79–109, esp. 85–87. 4 According to Bakhtin “an idea only lives insofar as it enters into dialogical relations with other ideas and with the idea of others and therefore the central theme, the idea of a novel unfolds in a variety of independent, different voices” (Mikhail Bakhtin, Probleme der Poetik Dostoevskijs [trans. A. Schramm; Frankfurt: Ullstein, 1985], 301). 5 The two parts of the exposition complement each other. See Yair Amit, The Book of Judges: The Art of Editing (Biblical Interpretation Series 38; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 158–60. The interrelation between the promise of the land, the covenant, and the loyalty to Yhwh in the context of the foreign nations and their deities is emphasized in the speech of Yhwh’s messenger (Judg 2:1–3) and that of Yhwh (Judg 2:20–21).
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to frame these stories, connecting the preface and its perspective to the stories of the judges.
The Preface (Judges 2:11–19) The focus of the preface is the evaluation of the whole period,6 and God’s point of view is used as an authoritative perspective to sum up the era. The preface thus emphasizes that no doubt remains: this is the rating of the ultimate authority. Starting with a summarizing evaluation (“And the people of Israel did what was evil in the eyes of Yhwh”), the narrating voice subsequently unfolds the evil and emphasizes two aspects: following other gods (vv. 11, 12, 13) and abandoning their own God (vv. 12, 13). This reveals an increasing distance from God, even a provocation (s(k). God’s reaction, his anger as well as the distress he causes, is shown in vv. 14– 15. These verses refer back to Josh 21:44–45, further emphasizing the relationship between Yhwh and the people.7 The peaceful situation at the end of Joshua’s reign is reversed. What has already been stated in Judg 2:8–10, namely, that the continuity has been interrupted and that Israel’s existence in the land is no longer secure, is once more hinted at by this inverted image of the situation. Judges 2:14–15 So the anger of Yhwh was kindled against Israel and he handed them over to raiders (hs#) who plundered them He sold them to their enemies (by)) . . .
whom they were no longer able to resist. Whenever Israel went out to fight, the hand of Yhwh was against them for the worse as Yhwh had sad and as Yhwh had sworn ((b#) to them.
Joshua 21:44–45 Yhwh gave them rest on every side,
just as he had sworn ((b#) to their forefathers. not one of their enemies (by)) resisted them,
Not one of all Yhwh’s good promises to the house of Israel failed, every one was fulfilled.
They were in great distress.
6 Verses 11–19 are arranged in a simple concentric structure: evaluation (vv. 11–13); God’s point of view/God’s reaction (vv. 14–15); God grants no peace or stability/God’s reaction (vv. 16– 18); judges are raised as God’s tools/evaluation (v. 19); perspective of the narrating voice. 7 See Uwe Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum: Redaktionsgeschichtliche Studien zum Richterbuch (BZAW 192; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990), 77.
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Although Joshua 21 is interlinked as a contrasting text, Judg 2:14–15 still contains traces of the original concept of peace and security. The strict rejection is formulated as a double-voiced discourse, referring simultaneously to two different intentions. In this way the contrast between the present and the past, as well as a feeling of loss, is emphasized. At first glance, vv. 16 and 18 quite abruptly show a totally different (re)action by God. Just as God raised enemies, he now raises judges. The specific role of a judge is only hinted at;8 the only mission explicitly mentioned is delivering Israel from its enemies. The personality of the judges does not come into focus, nor does their faith or their loyalty to Yhwh, or their individual contributions. The focus lies yet again on God. God raises the judge and is with him; thus, it is God who saves. Furthermore, the cause for this change in God’s behavior lies only within God himself; he acts because he is moved by pity.9 The people, on the other hand, do not alter their way of life, as v. 17 points out. Even the judges do not make a difference. As this summary of the situation is mentioned before God’s motivation is presented, it further emphasizes that the people did nothing to provoke, let alone deserve, this reaction. The logic unfolded is based on punishment and grace.10 While the people struggle to get away (hnz) from their deity, God reacts to the distress of the people. In conclusion, v. 19 summarizes the subsequent behavior of the people. After the death of a judge, the situation becomes even worse: “But whenever the judge died, they turned back11 and were more corrupt than their fathers12 . . . .” As an introduction, vv. 11–19 put forward a quite pessimistic opinion. There is no way out, and no last chance. The people fail to uphold their side of the covenant, and even the repeated and undeservedly merciful intervention of God has no effect. The final sentence on the period of the judges is passed before the stories of the individual judges are presented. According to this preface, the significance of the heroes is reduced to showing them to be God’s tool for bringing temporary relief; however, they have no permanent impact. 8
There is a hint at an educational task in v. 17a, but this is not explained. For the meaning of the verb Mxn, see Ina Willi-Plein, “Hiobs Widerruf? Eine Untersuchung der Wurzel Mxn und ihrer erzählerischen Funktion im Hiobbuch,” in Sprache als Schlüssel: Gesammelte Aufsätze zum Alten Testament (ed. Michael Pietsch and Tilmann Präckel; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2002), 130–45. 10 See Frederick Greenspahn, “The Theology of the Framework of Judges,” VT 36 (1986): 385–96, here 386; Robert Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist: A Literary Study of the Deuteronomic History (New York: Seabury, 1980), 155. 11 bw# does not indicate a turning around or turning off the right way; rather it points to an iteration and intensification. See J. Alberto Soggin, “bw# zurückkehren,” THAT 2 (ed. Ernst Jenni, Claus Westermann; 4th ed.; Munich: Kaiser, 1984), 884–91, here 886. This is further emphasized by a comparative Mtwb)m, “more than their fathers.” 12 twb) could refer to all the generations before (Judg 2:10, 17, 22), especially the fathers God brought out of Egypt (Judg 2:1, 12), but also to the last generation (Judg 6:13). 9
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Although the introduction is presented in terms of a concluding evaluation, it does not necessarily summarize the intention of the individual stories. Rather, it presents one voice that starts a discourse with the narratives, changing the stories and being changed itself.
The Frame Closely connected to the introduction is a set of motifs and phrases forming a frame for most of the individual stories. The most obvious of the repeated elements are the following:13 • Evil in the eyes of Yhwh Seven times a narrative is introduced with the evaluation “and the sons of Israel did evil in the eyes of Yhwh.”14 The repeated mention of the evildoing of the people ensures that this evaluation forms the background for all the stories of the major judges. Whatever trouble the people are in, it is their own fault.15 • Delivered into the hands of the enemies In most of the stories God’s reaction immediately follows the evildoing.16 While the introduction focuses on God’s action (2:14–15), the individual stories emphasize the threat and the superiority of the enemies. The distress caused by the enemies is one of the most common elements in all the stories.17 • A cry for help Five times the people cry (q(z) to God for help in acute distress (3:9, 15; 4:3; 6:6, 7; 10:10). Compared to the introduction in ch. 2, this element is highlighted in the individual narratives. Judges 2:18 mentions only a groan13
The number of elements considered constitutive for the schema varies. The most elaborate list, with twenty elements, is set up by Robert O’Connell, The Rhetoric of the Book of Judges (VTSup 63; Leiden: Brill, 1996), 72–80; Becker, in contrast, counts only eleven constitutive elements (Richterzeit und Königtum, 83). 14 There are two alternate formulations: “And the sons of Israel did evil in the eyes of Yhwh” (Judg 2:11; 3:7; 6:1) and “And the sons of Israel continued (Psy) to do evil in the eyes of Yhwh” (Judg 3:12; 4:1; 10:6; 13:1). 15 Only Judg 3:7 and 10:6 further specify the evil as apostasy. 16 E.g., God gives (Ntn; Judg 6:1; 13:1) or sells (rkm; Judg 3:8; 4:2; 10:7) Israel to its enemies; God strengthened (qzx) the enemies (Judg 3:12). 17 Judges 4:3 mentions that the enemies oppress (Cxl) Israel, and Judg 10:9 (cf. 2:15) summarizes the situation as great distress (d)m . . . rrc). Judges 3:8 and 10:7 (cf. Judg 2:14) further explicate that the anger of God is inflamed. This emotional reaction is used as the reason for God’s action and points out that the punishment is not caused by an automatic deed–consequence nexus. See Becker, Richterzeit und Königtum, 75.
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009) ing (hq)n) but no cry for help. Contrary to the introductory schema, the people remember their God and hope for help. An immediate reaction by God, however, is reported only in 3:9, 15, the stories of Othniel and Ehud, whereas in all the other narratives there is growing suspense as to whether God will act or not.18 • A judge The introductory schema provides only a few scanty hints of the role and function of a judge.19 Nevertheless, this aspect is central to the individual stories. How the judges save Israel unfolds individually within each story. • God’s support Judges 2:18 notes that God is with each respective judge. Although this formulation is repeated verbatim only once (6:16), another phrase also refers to it: the hwhy-xwr.20 Many times this phrase appears just before we are told of one of the hero’s great actions.21 The information that the hwhy-xwr comes over a judge is formulated as a commentary for the readers. Whether the narrated figures realize that this is happening is never expressed. Thus, the phrase ensures that the readers are aware that God is acting. • Delivered into the hands of Israel While the introduction mentions only that a judge “saved them out of the hand of those who plundered them” (2:16), the stories go one step further. Several times it is mentioned that God delivered the enemies into the hands of Israel (3:10; 11:21, 32), or that the enemies are subdued (3:30; 4:23 [by God]; 8:28; 11:33). In addition, this phrase occurs also in the central sections of the narratives. In direct speech, it is used as encouragement and confirmation of God’s help.22 The hope and certainty that God will deliver the enemies into the hands of the Israelites highlight the power and the strength that the people could gain with God’s help.
18 In the stories of Deborah (Judg 4:3), the cry for help is not answered; in the stories of Gideon (6:6) and Jephthah (10:10–14) the answer is a refusal. The communication between God and the people is severely disturbed, and the concept “of a continuously sinful Israel and a consistently benevolent God” (Greenspahn, “Theology of the Framework,” 396) is not proclaimed but only hoped for. 19 Not even the term “judge” (+p#) is explained. 20 The hwhy-xwr is introduced with different verbs: hyh (Judg 3:10; 11:29), llx (Judg 13:25), #bl (Judg 6:34), xlc (Judg 14:6, 19; 15:14; cf. also 1 Sam 10:6, 10; 11:6; 16:13; 18:10). 21 Only 3:10 connects the hwhy-xwr directly to Othniel’s task as a judge in general. 22 E.g., this element is part of an oracle (the land is given [1:2]), a vow (11:30), a speech by God (7:7), the speech of a prophetess (4:7, 14), a premonition in a dream (7:14–15), and a plea (15:18). In a discussion with other people, this phrase is used to show confidence (8:7) but also to formulate a retrospective interpretation of events (8:3).
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• Rest for the land and death of a judge The motif of “rest” is part of the stories’ concluding elements. Four times it is said that the land enjoyed a period of rest during the reign of a judge (2:11, 30; 5:31; 8:28). This comes to an end when the judge dies.23 Both elements refer to the time of Joshua and connect it with the time of the judges. The blessed time of rest and peace characterizing Joshua’s reign (Josh 4:23) but also the instability that followed his death (Judg 2:8–10) are alluded to at the end of a judge’s reign. This raises again the question of consistency in the guidance of the people.24 The repeated information, which mostly concerns the beginning and the end of each story, connects the individual stories and forms the impression of a continuous era.25 Furthermore, these repetitions remind the readers repeatedly of the judgment presented in Judg 2:11–19.
II. An Ongoing Double-voiced Dialogue The narratives of the so-called major judges expand the stories and present the events unfolding around one central figure. Subsequently, the judge’s decisions, actions, and words become a dominant element of the story. Whereas the judge of the introduction has not been evaluated because he was presented as God’s (neutral) tool, the individual stories portray the judges as individual people with virtues and flaws. These individual portrayals are set into the recurring framework, and in this way they are also linked to the introduction in 2:11–19. This juxtaposition implies, on the one hand, “that each hero account is to some extent a manifestation of the same religious-historical phenomenon.”26 On the other hand, it also emphasizes the differences, which are sometimes subtle, sometimes very obvious and contradictory; and it thus starts a dialogue between the different voices. Although the recurring schema is quite simple, the individual stories do not repeat all of the elements. The only exception is the story of Othniel (3:7–11). It is the first and only narrative that explicitly uses every part of the schema. Even though every stage of the schema is filled with individual actors, the events are not portrayed in detail and no suspense is generated in the story. 23 Regularly the note of the death and burial of a judge closes the story of a minor judge; it occurs also in 8:32 and 16:31. 24 See Mareike Rake, Juda wird aufsteigen! Untersuchungen zum ersten Kapitel des Richterbuches (BZAW 367; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2006), 134. 25 In contrast to the individual stories, the framework offers a pan-Israelite perspective. Furthermore, it builds up a “repeated cycle so as to incorporate all the incidents it embraces as part of a larger whole” (Greenspahn, “Theology of the Framework,” 387). 26 O’Connell, Rhetoric of the Book of Judges, 27.
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Once the readers are familiar with the recurring elements, other parts of the story come to be perceived in reference to the framework as well. Instead of rather distant comments on the overall situation, individual elements of the story might point to the framework. In this way the framework is interwoven with the story and becomes individualized. The lack of a complete repetition of all the elements as well as the absorption of single elements into the stories promotes a doublevoiced dialogue. Instead of two competing voices side by side, these voices are polyphonic; they overlap and are presented simultaneously.27
Ehud (Judges 3:12–30) The first elaborate story of a judge is the narration of Ehud. His story begins in accordance with the elements of the framework. Once it is made clear that he is the judge and savior God has chosen, the story slows down and provides a detailed description of Ehud’s slyness.28 While Ehud is portrayed as an artful assassin, his enemies, the Moabites, are ridiculed. Their king29 and his servants are shown to be unsuspecting and simpleminded. Although they were able to dominate Israel for eighteen years, the enemies are, almost effortlessly, outmaneuvered by Ehud. In this way the dangerous threat is eased and what seemed impossible, namely, subduing the invincible enemies (2:14–15), is reduced to a challenging task. This narration thus adds a self-confident and humorous voice to the gravity of the situation shown in the introduction.
Deborah (Judges 4–5) Like the story of Ehud, the story of Deborah challenges the description of the initial situation. It casts some doubt on the general estimation of Israel’s bad attitude and subsequently the framework’s point of view. Deborah is not appointed (Mwq) by God to the position of a judge; rather she is already introduced as a prophet and as an acting judge (4:4). She is administering the law, and people are seeking her judgment accordingly (4:5). Deborah is depicted favorably as a capable leader and thus functions as a symbol for Israel’s righteousness. This description does not support the general notion of evil in 4:1. The narrating voice hence offers two dif27
“It serves two speakers at the same time and expresses simultaneously two different intentions” (Mikhail Bakhtin, “Discourse and the Novel,” in The Dialogic Imagination [ed. Michael Holquist; trans. Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist; Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981], 259–422, here 324). 28 See Amit, Book of Judges, 172. 29 The mockery begins already with the name of the king: Eglon (Nwlg(). This name derives from lg(, a young bull or calf, and the description )yrb, usually translated “fat” (v. 17), further intensifies the image of a fatted cow or calf ready for slaughter. See J. Alberto Soggin, “Ehud und Eglon: Bemerkungen zu Richter III 11b–31,” VT 39 (1989): 95–100, here 96.
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ferent portrayals of one situation. The refrain of the framework (4:1) stimulates a relecture and raises critical questions: Is Deborah able to bring justice? Does she grant the people what they seek when they go to her? Or even further, is she a good judge? Is she a judge who judges according to God’s standards? Can she make a difference? Because of that, the refrain of the framework (4:1) urges the readers to reconsider the information in 4:4–5 or, vice versa, the evaluation of 4:1. In the course of the story, the positive image of Deborah and her leadership skills is confirmed. However, her role exceeds the typical role of a judge with prophetic-charismatic aspects.30 She is portrayed not as God’s tool but as a prophet who knows about God’s intentions (4:7) and consequently takes the necessary actions to liberate her people. Thus, the human part in the interaction between a judge and God is shown to be more self-dependent. Yhwh is present only through the medium of Deborah. With her prophetic understanding, her interpretation of the past and evaluation of the circumstances she is able to open a scope for action. In the victory song, Deborah’s point of view even parallels the narrating voice. Now Deborah sets the measure of value as she rebukes those who do not follow her (5:14–18).
Gideon (Judges 6–8) The story of Gideon resumes the discussion of the role of a judge, alternating between God’s tool and charismatic leader. The narration describing Gideon’s appointment (6:12–24) focuses on the most important task he will have to fulfill— that is, to save ((#y). Gideon, however, expresses serious doubts about this assignment. The questions Who is able to save Israel? Is God still willing to save Israel? Or will Gideon be able to act as a savior? are the focus of the elaborate dialogues between God (or his messenger) and Gideon (6:12–16, 36–40; 7:2–11). The preface showed the judges as God’s tools, and most of the heroes/judges save Israel with the help of God. But it is only in the Gideon narrative that the relationship between the judge saving the people and God saving them is discussed. The question, however, is not answered once and for all. God shows his superior ability to save, but, nevertheless, the people are also convinced that Gideon saved them from the hand of Midian. As a consequence, they offer him the kingship (8:22).31 The interpretation of Gideon as a character strongly relies on the interpretation of 2:16. Either Gideon is a hero who needs to be encouraged at the beginning but emerges as a selfassured hero, or Gideon is a tool of God who becomes overbearing and overconfi-
30 See Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher, “Rollenspiele – Debora und die Richter,” in Ein Herz so weit wie der Sand am Ufer des Meeres: Festschrift für Georg Hentschel (ed. Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher et al.; ETS 90; Würzburg: Echter 2007), 179–92. 31 See J. Cheryl Exum, “The Centre Cannot Hold: Thematic and Textual Instabilities in Judges,” CBQ 52 (1990): 410–31, here 419.
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dent. For the first time the Gideon story raises a competing alternative: God saves Israel or Israel saves itself (7:2).32
Jephthah (Judges 10:6–12:7) The outline of the Israelites’ wrongdoing is emphasized in the introduction to the story of Jephthah, which bears a close resemblance to 2:11–13.33 Before the story unfolds, the Israelites’ evildoing is emphasized and the severe charge is repeated once more. Following the story of Abimelech and the short mention of the judges Tola and Jair, the elaborate introduction ensures that the next story will again be perceived from the point of view of the schema—Israel’s failure. The great emphasis on the evildoing in the Jephthah story is not restricted to an introductory verse; rather, it leads to an elaborate introduction that expands the short statements of the framework into a narrative scene (10:6–16). Following the description of the enemy’s spread, the cry for help (v. 10) slows down the speed of the narrative and (re)focuses it on the people. The cry itself is presented by the narrating voice, but the confession of guilt is given in direct speech (vv 10, 15). It is the only confession and—compared to the introduction—casts a different light on the people. God’s answer, however, is a rejection that could not be formulated more harshly. Nevertheless, the people make one more effort. They react to God’s denial with a combination of confession, submission to God’s will, and a repeated cry for help. Verse 16 shows the corresponding actions of the Israelites. God’s reaction continues his rejection: “and his #pn became short [rcq]34 because of Israel’s effort [lm(].”35 Yhwh’s annoyance with Israel’s repentance casts a new light on the relationship between Israel and its deity. Although only the readers are aware of this attitude, the possibility that God will not continue his care looms. God’s reaction to the distress of his people forms the inciting moment of the plot. Following this introduction, the narrative in 11:1–11 appears to be told from a different angle. The question of whether the men of Gilead would succeed in recruiting Jephthah is now juxtaposed with the uncertainty of whether Jephthah is 32
Most occurrences of the verb r)p point to Yhwh, who shows his glory acting in Israel. See especially Isa 10:15, also Isa 44:23; 49:3; 60:21; 61:3. 33 Judges 10:6 even offers the most extensive list of foreign deities the Israelites worshiped. At the beginning of the Jephthah story this element of the introduction not only emphasizes the evil deeds but it also forms an allusion to the theme of the other nations in the land who are an ongoing test for Israel (2:3; 2:20–3:6). With the exception of Baalim and Ashtarot the other deities are not named but are referred to as “the gods of other nations” (Aram, Sidon, Moab, Ammon, Philistines). Thus, their otherness is established through other people worshiping them. When Israel also turns to these deities, it becomes obvious that Israel is unable to cope with the challenge of the foreign nations in the land. 34 This phrase is used also in Num 21:4; Judg 16:16; Zech11:8. 35 See Polzin, Moses and the Deuteronomist, 177–78.
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God’s chosen judge. This question pervades the story. The mention of the hwhy-xwr in 11:29 is the first evidence that God is with Jephthah, although God did not raise him. This comment, by the narrating voice, thus brings the Jephthah story back into the schema. Only one verse along, however, this notice adds another allusion, as Jephthah takes his famous vow trying to ensure the help of God (vv. 30–31). Bearing in mind that the hwhy-xwr is already with him, the vow is clearly marked as another annoying effort to ensure God’s help. Whether Jephthah has been God’s chosen leader is not revealed. He remains a highly successful, although tragic hero. With this undecided role another element of the framework is challenged. God’s intervention and military success are no longer irrefragably connected.
Samson (Judges 13–16) The increasing involvement of the judges and the individualization of the narrated events hit their peak in the Samson story.36 The national dimension of this leader and savior is only alluded to, whereas his personal skirmishes fill most of the narrative. The story of Samson not only individualizes the elements of the framework but also exaggerates and ridicules them. The curious portrayal of a “wild man” as an Israelite judge shows traces of Bakhtin’s concept of the carnivalesque. The various stories of Samson show a multifaceted hero. He is introduced as a promised child who grows up to become a man of superhuman strength. In several conflicts, he is superior to the Philistines and can be overwhelmed only by treachery. Such heroes are common in folk stories. Samson’s place in the book of Judges, however, alters these stories. Now the hero fights with the help of God, and his struggles are related to the fate of his people. Yet this combination unveils serious inconsistencies, distorting the story into a carnivalesque series of events. It starts in ch. 13, with the only birth narrative in the book of Judges. Samson is not only appointed by Yhwh as a judge; he is elected before his birth. With this narrative pattern Samson is aligned with other exceptional people and situations (cf. Gen 18:1–15; 1 Samuel 1). These links also point to the differences among the stories and hold some elements of irony. The first suspicion is raised by the circumstances of Samson’s parents. Although Samson’s mother is declared barren, this has not yet posed a problem for her or her husband. God’s messenger is the first to announce the problem. Thus, the promised child does not relieve distress but is a real surprise. The full significance of the child is further announced only to the unnamed mother (13:5), while Manoah, the father, is largely excluded.37 The way 36
It has been widely noted that the framework is incomplete in the Samson story, pointing toward the end of the repeated stories. See, e.g., Greenspahn, “Theology of the Framework,” 389; Exum, “Centre Cannot Hold,” 412. 37 This trait is unfolded in some detail: the answer to Manoah’s prayer brings the messen-
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the child is announced already exhibits a humorous side, but it is also full of suspense.38 More than any other judge, Samson is singled out,39 and his birth story rouses great expectations. These expectations, however, are disappointed in chs. 14–15 as the sacred element (the Nazirite) is mixed with the profane image of a wild man. Samson does not become an exemplary savior or judge; instead the image of a judge is turned upside down. According to God’s messenger, the mission of Samson is to begin to rescue Israel from the Philistines. Samson’s first confrontation with the Philistines starts with a personal bond (14:1–19). When Samson informs his parents that he wants to marry a Philistine woman (vv. 1–4), different perspectives appear in the narrative. The parents take on the perspective of the people: in their view the Philistines are foreigners and opponents, disdainfully called “uncircumcised,” whom Israelites should avoid (v. 3). From Samson’s point of view this woman is the right one, she is “pleasing” (r#y) in his eyes (v. 3).40 Yet another perspective is introduced by the narrating voice. From God’s point of view, this encounter serves as a purposeful occasion for a confrontation. This interpretation turns the usual distance between Israel and the Philistines upside down. The conflict is transported from a nationalpolitical level to a family one,41 which becomes even more obvious as all three perspectives exist side by side. Following the marriage, most of Samson’s fights develop from personal troubles.42 Several crude skirmishes between Samson and the Philistines are described in rapid succession. These episodes focus on Samson’s enormous strength as well as his wits, unfolding a sometimes cruel but nonetheless humorous and turbulent story. Samson is blessed with an exorbitant self-assessment. He acts as if he were invulnerable (16:20) and as if everything were at his disposal. Samson’s selfperception becomes apparent also when he is harried or injured. His vengeance (14:9; 15:15), like his vindication (15:7; 16:28), is beyond any measure. Samson repays any personal harm on a national level. Only in 15:9–13 does all Israel come
ger back to the woman but not to Manoah (13:8–11); the messenger does not answer Manoah’s questions concerning the mission of the promised son but focuses only on Manoah’s wife (13:12– 14); Manoah does not recognize God’s messenger (13:17, 21) and once he recognizes him he is scared (13:22). 38 E.g., the child’s Nazirite status, which is revealed only to his mother (13:5). The connection between election, birth, and death, mentioned by the mother (13:7) is a first hint of the promised child’s fate. 39 See Exum, “Centre Cannot Hold,” 423. 40 This utterance already refers to the last part of the book of Judges, where it is repeatedly stated that “everyone did what was right in his own eyes” (17:6; 21:25). 41 See Bakhtin, Probleme der Poetik Dostoevskijs, 138. 42 The basic opposition between Israelites and Philistines is brought down to earth, thus revealing a carnivalesque element. See Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World (trans. T. F. Rable; Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press, 1968), 19–20.
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into focus. Verse 9 starts out with a typical situation of harassment. Instead of urging Samson to fight for his own people, however, the Judahites seek an individual solution and try to hand Samson over to the enemies. Obviously the Judahites regard him not as a freedom fighter but rather as a hero whom they distrust and want to get rid of. The great victory Samson gains is again shown as his personal triumph (15:14–16). Samson does not become a savior of his people. Conversely, the Philistines regard Samson as their enemy, representative of his people. All their efforts are concentrated on defeating Samson. This also seems like a reversal of the usual narrative events where the judges lead their people to victory. In the Samson story, the judge is vanquished in an exemplary way. Like Samson, neither the people of Israel nor the enemies fit the usual picture. Although the superiority of the Philistines is shown, it is not emphasized as an acute problem for the people. Nevertheless, the narrating voice repeats several times that God is with Samson.43 Like many other elements of the framework, Yhwh’s involvement is picked up by the story. The narrative voice includes commentaries pointing out that the hwhy-xwr is involved in Samson’s skirmishes and supports him (13:25; 14:6, 19; 15:14),44 thus informing the readers that Yhwh is acting behind the scenes.45 While Yhwh’s acting is not apparent to the narrated figures (13:16; 14:4; 16:20), for the readers it becomes obvious “that no threat is too great for Samson when the spirit takes possession of him.”46 God also answers Samson’s prayers (15:18–19; 16:28– 30). These individual prayers are the only references to the element of a “cry for help.” The motif of the hero longing for women but being unable to recognize an obvious conspiracy against him (16:6–21) further adds to the (humorous) counterimage of a judge. Not even the heroic end of the story changes this image. Before a heroic element is unveiled, Samson becomes a laughingstock (qx#) in the eyes of the Philistines. As they gather for a feast, they enjoy laughing at their worst enemy. Although the narrating voice regards this event as a great success—Samson killed more Philistines than ever before (v. 30)—the hero himself dies in the collapse of the temple. Furthermore, the perspective offered by the narrating voice is not unique; Samson’s point of view is shown as well. In his perspective, the destruction 43 In the story of Samson, the hwhy-xwr helps to convert the wild man into a biblical hero. He is no longer an aggressive, lone fighter; rather, he fights God’s war. See Gregory Mobley, “The Wild Man in the Bible and the Ancient Near East,” JBL 116 (1997): 217–33. 44 A hint that the influence of the hwhy-xwr is not unproblematic is given in 13:25, “And the hwhy-xwr began to stir [M(p] him in Mahaneh-dan, between Zorah and Eshtaol.” Most occurrences of M(p refer to unease, especially uneasiness caused by dreams (Gen 41:8; Dan 2:1, 3; Ps 77:5). As Samson’s uneasiness is not emphasized, it seems to be aimless, though limited to a small region. 45 See J. Cheryl Exum, “The Theological Dimension of the Samson Saga,” VT 33 (1983): 30–45, here 37–38. 46 Ibid., 38.
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of Dagon’s temple and the killing of all the people are just revenge for one of his eyes (v. 28). Once more an element of irony overlays the picture. Samson’s portrayal clearly shows traits of Bakhtin’s concept of a carnival king with the typical process of exaltation and degradation. He was born as a promised child and endowed with enormous strength, but his fall is foreseeable from the beginning. His invincibility and success culminate in his relation with Delilah and lead to his total humiliation in Gaza. Yet his death is simultaneously a moment of triumph and celebration and the beginning of Israel’s liberation.47 Life and death are closely intertwined in the story of Samson. Furthermore, all of Samson’s conflicts, his victories48 as well as his defeat (16:28–30), are brought down to the level of the body, thus revealing another element of the carnival spirit.49 Neither the enemies, the threat they pose, nor the hero and his fights are portrayed with the earnestness of the other stories. The exaggeration includes an antiauthoritarian force that undermines the image of the introduction. The chosen leader develops an individuality that has not been mentioned or foreseen in the introduction. In Samson’s encounter with Delilah, the actions of this hero display yet another aspect. The image shifts from the hero fighting his enemies with God’s help to a conflict between the hero and his God. The question of individual loyalty is raised when Samson unveils his secret (16:17). With the last of the judges, the role of “God’s tool for his people,” the schema designed for a judge collapses. Simultaneously, the whole concept becomes dubious.50 When seen as carnivalesque, the portrayal of the collapse of the schema becomes less threatening. Even though the problems demonstrated here are severe and challenge the basic schema of interpretation without leading to a new valid interpretation, the humorous element of the collapse offers room for new interpretations.51
Stories and Framework Just as the framework shapes the individual stories of the judges, the stories also challenge the framework. The evaluation at the beginning of the stories is not a rigid and everlasting schema; rather, it crumbles under the accumulating doubts and conflicting stories. Not only is the overall estimation of the desperate situation put into question but also the role of the judges. The saviors Yhwh appoints chal47
See Bakhtin, Probleme der Poetik Dostoevskijs, 138–40. He tears a lion with his bare hands (14:6–9); he uses the carcass of an ass as a weapon (15:15–16); and he carries the city gates up a hill (16:3). 49 See Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, 19–20. 50 Exum interprets the dissolving of the well-established narrative elements as a sign that the “cyclical pattern of punishment and deliverance has exhausted itself ” (“Centre Cannot Hold,” 413). 51 One of those attempts is the longing for a king in Judges 17–21. 48
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lenge the principle of God’s tool (Gideon), or the leaders Yhwh imposes on his people are unwanted (Samson), or God does not appoint a judge at all (Jephthah). The focus of the stories rapidly shifts from the people and their liberation to the leaders and the individual problems and episodes in their reigns. While the authoritative voice of the framework is challenged and disappears in a lively dialogue with the voices of other stories, no alternative dominant voice arises.52 The firm voice introduced in 2:11–19 fades away.
III. Summary The narratives of the individual judges portray heroes who rescue their people from the oppression of fierce enemies. These heroes are far from being flawless, but, nevertheless, they are shown in a positive light. Chosen by God, or supported by him, they are able to save their people, and sometimes, we are told, they even provide rest and peace for the land. A framework connects these stories, and, together with the stories of the minor judges, it helps to construct the image of an era. The repeated description of oppression and rescue characterizes this era as a troubled one but, nonetheless, also as an age of great leaders who are supported by God. Reading the stories with a Bakhtinian model of polyphonic and carnivalesque texts opens a new view on these narratives. The introduction in 2:11–19 introduces a clear, authoritative voice that serves as a guideline for a relecture of the hero stories. It disempowers the judges and reduces the great heroes to God’s tools. This voice continues throughout the narrations of the judges. But the narrating voice is not restricted to this voice; rather, it is constantly engaged in a dialogue between different concepts and portraits of the judges and their era. At first glance this discourse seems to confine itself to the clearly separated verses of introduction and framework, on the one hand, and the individual stories, on the other. But it soon becomes apparent that the dialogue continues in the individual narrative. More and more the narrating voice not only presents two perspectives but is engaged in a double-voiced dialogue. The perspective of the introduction adds a grain of doubt to the reading of every hero story and, with the repeated elements, makes sure this doubt lingers. In terms of the influence of the single stories on the introduction and the schema of the framework, the changes are at least as radical. In story after story, one or more of the seemingly established elements is challenged and set aside. In the end, the discourse between the various voices dissolves into a carnivalesque portrayal of one of the greatest and surely strongest heroes. This indicates an 52 In a similar way, Polzin describes the period of judges as a time “when the ideological categories previously helpful in understanding the Israel of Moses’ and Joshua’s times begin to dissolve into one another and produce no real insight” (Moses and the Deuteronomist, 181).
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ambivalent disposition toward the role of the judges and their importance. In a somewhat disquieting way a familiar schema is unraveled and challenged. No alternative (or monologic) interpretation is offered in its place, but the quarreling dialogue between the voices remains.53 The dialogic discourse in the book of Judges remains unfinalizable.54 Even more, the strict and pessimistic portrayal of the era of judges presented in Judg 2:11–19 is turned upside down. In the carnivalesque portrayal of Samson it becomes possible to make fun of otherwise troubling views of Israel’s history and its relation to its deity. Once the authoritative attempt has crumbled the carnival spirit “offers the chance to have a new outlook on the world . . . and to enter a completely new order of things.”55 53 All voices offer a specific point of view on the world; they represent a form of conceptualizing the world “in words, specific world view, each characterized by its own objects, meanings and values” (Bakhtin, “Discourse and the Novel,” 291–92). 54 According to Bakhtin, dialogic truth is to be found only at the point of intersection of several unmerged voices. See Bakhtin, Probleme der Poetik Dostoevskijs, 301. 55 Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, 34.
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In the Eyes of the Beholder: Unmarked Attributed Quotations in Job edward ho [email protected] 25 Amulet Crescent, Richmond Hill, ON L4S 2S2, Canada
Quotations, in the broadest sense, pervade every utterance, for all texts are compelled to draw on previous vocabulary, expressions, images, and ideas. As Julia Kristeva puts it, “any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations; any text is the absorption and transformation of another.”1 In a more conventional sense, a quotation may refer to words that are intended to be recognized as originating from another source but are “reused” as the words of the speaker. The words uttered, however, are meant to be heard as the voice of the primary speaker, even though the voice of the precedent text is also simultaneously invoked. This phenomenon is what Mikhail Bakhtin calls “double voicing.”2 The current voice may have different types of relationship to the precedent voice, ranging from absolute alignment to total opposition. In her intriguing monograph on Job, Carol A. Newsom argues that both Job and his friends at times quote traditional sayings in order to enhance their own arguments. According to her, both the present speaker’s voice and that of the tradition are intended to be simultaneously recognized by the audience. Whereas the friends often cite authoritative tradition in agreement and support, Job at times alludes to the hymnic tradition in order to parody them.3 In biblical
This article is a revised version of a paper read at the Biblical Hebrew Poetry Section, SBL annual meeting in Boston, Massachusetts, November 23, 2008. 1 Julia Kristeva, Desire in Language: A Semiotic Approach to Literature and Art (ed. Leon S. Roudiez; trans. Thomas Gora, Alice Jardine and Leon S. Roudiez; European Perspectives; New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), 66. 2 Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics (ed. and trans. Caryl Emerson; Theory and History of Literature 8; Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984), 187–89. 3 Carol A. Newsom, The Book of Job: A Contest of Moral Imaginations (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 130–31.
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studies, this type of quotation is sometimes discussed under the rubric of “innerbiblical exegesis,” “intertextuality,” “allusion,” or “echo.”4 For the sake of clarity, in what follows, I will use the term “allusion” when referring to this type of quotation. Another distinct type, called attributed quotation, consists of words that are intended to be taken as belonging to a subject other than the primary speaker, regardless of their actual source, and only repeated by the latter. This is what Bakhtin calls “objectified discourse” or “represented discourse.”5 Whether the quotation expresses the sentiment of the precedent voice truthfully is not a matter in question. Most important is the distance that the primary speaker sets in relation to that voice. In Bakhtin’s words, the primary speaker’s “intention does not penetrate inside the objectified discourse.”6 In this type of quotation, the voice may change significantly, even in total opposition to that of the primary speaker, especially in disputation. The correct identification of an attributed quotation is thus crucial to its interpretation. An attributed quotation can be marked by a verbum dicendi, an explicit verb of speaking or thinking, such as rm). This type of explicitly marked attributed quotation appears frequently in many portions of the book of Job, such as the dialogue between Job and his three friends (11:4; 19:28; 20:7b; 21:14–15, 28; 22:13–14, 17; 24:15b), the so-called wisdom poem (28:14, 22, 28), Job’s later testimony (31:31), and the speeches of Elihu (32:13; 33:9–11, 24, 27–28; 34:5–6, 9, 18, 31–32, 35–37; 35:2–3, 10-11; 36:23b; 37:6a). In addition to a verbum dicendi, an attributed quotation can sometimes be signaled by virtual markings. The main indices for marking a quoted discourse are suggested by Michael V. Fox as follows: (a) There is another subject besides the primary speaker present in the immediate vicinity of the quotation, . . . (b) There is a virtual verbum dicendi—a verb or noun that implies speech. (c) The switch to the perspective of the quoted voice is signalled by a change in grammatical number and person. The presence of this last sign is largely dependent on the content of the quotation and may unavoidably be lacking, but when present it is often the clearest of the three signals.7 4
For “inner-biblical exegesis,” see, e.g., Michael Fishbane, Biblical Interpretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Clarendon, 1985), 1–43; for “intertextuality,” see, e.g., Patricia Tull Willey, Remember the Former Things: The Recollection of Previous Texts in Second Isaiah (SBLDS 161; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997); Yohan Pyeon, You Have Not Spoken What Is Right about Me: Intertextuality and the Book of Job (Studies in Biblical Literature 45; New York: Peter Lang, 2003); for “allusion,” see, e.g., Benjamin D. Sommer, A Prophet Reads Scripture: Allusion in Isaiah 40–66 (Contraversions; Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998); for “echo,” see, e.g., Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989). 5 Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, 187–89. 6 Ibid., 189. 7 Michael V. Fox, “The Identification of Quotations in Biblical Literature,” ZAW 92 (1980): 423.
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Recently, Edward L. Greenstein has also suggested that the presence of (d) “a deictic (pointing) pronoun that draws attention to the quoted discourse” is another indicator of quotation.8 Of course, not all attributed quotations necessarily contain all four of the virtual markers noted above. The number of signs, however, is directly proportional to the probability of a quoted speech being present. This type of virtually marked quotation appears occasionally also in the book of Job (4:17; 16:3; 22:20; 33:13).9 I adopt the criteria suggested by Fox and Greenstein and define an attributed quotation as unmarked when it contains none of the signs discussed above. It is almost universally held that the book of Job contains unmarked attributed quotations. This article calls into question this assumption. My intention, of course, is not to deny the existence of unmarked quotations in biblical literature in general.10 My reservation about this phenomenon in Job stems from the abundance of marked ones in the same literary work. In Joban studies, the problem of discerning attributed quotations is closely related to, but not the same as, that of discerning possible displacement in manuscripts in the so-called problematic third cycle of debate. In order to smooth out difficulties in Job 24–27, some indeed make use of the hypothesis of unmarked attributed quotations of considerable length as a solution, among other viable alternatives. As discussion on the problematic third cycle deserves another study, I will not here address the possible displacements and/or quotations in Job 24–27.
I. Scholars’ Recognition of Unmarked Attributed Quotations in Job As Fox and others have noted, the hypothesis of unmarked attributed quotations in a work can easily be abused to serve as a means to eliminate interpretive difficulties.11 Nevertheless, even Fox himself, being unable to explain Job 42:3a and 8 Edward L. Greenstein, “Truth or Theodicy? Speaking Truth to Power in the Book of Job,” PSB 27 (2006): 247. 9 Regarding Job 16:3, the quotation is signaled by the three elements in the immediate context: (a) another party (“you” [pl.]/“comforters” in v. 2); (c) change in grammatical number (second person singular in v. 3 but second person plural in vv. 2 and 4); (d) a deictic pronoun (“many like these” in v. 2). 10 For a survey on the study of quotations in biblical literature, see Richard L. Schultz, The Search for Quotation: Verbal Parallels in the Prophets (JSOTSup 180; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999). 11 Fox, “Identification,” 419; see also Eep Talstra, “Dialogue in Job 21: ‘Virtual Quotations’ or Text Grammatical Markers?” in The Book of Job (ed. W. A. M. Beuken; BETL 114; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1994), 329–48. In the appendix of Fox’s article, he provides alternative readings of some of the passages in Qohelet and Job, which Gordis has identified as unmarked
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42:4, has to accept them as exceptions to the general rule and consider them as Job’s unmarked attributed quotations of Yhwh’s former words.12 Robert Gordis is often noted as one of the earliest scholars who proposed the presence of unmarked attributed quotations in Job.13 This assumption has been widely followed in Joban scholarship. I have charted the recognition of unmarked attributed quotations by major commentators in the table on the following page.14 While I do not claim to provide an exhaustive list of commentaries, I am sure this collection represents a recent trend in Joban scholarship.15 None of the scholars named in the chart eliminates difficulties by merely regarding the text in question as glosses. Moreover, the selection is based on book-length commentaries on the entire book of Job with discussion on the translation of the text. Although the attributed quotations. In my opinion, not all of Fox’s interpretations, especially those of Job 12:12 and 21:22, are equally convincing. Talstra also offers alternative translations of Job 21:16, 17, 19, 22, 27, 30. Again, my own interpretations of Job 21:19 and 22 differ significantly from his. 12 Fox, “Identification,” 426. 13 Robert Gordis, “Quotations in Wisdom Literature,” JQR 30 (1939–40): 123–47; idem, “Quotations as a Literary Usage in Biblical, Oriental and Rabbinic Literature,” HUCA 22 (1949): 157–219; idem, The Book of God and Man: A Study of Job (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965); idem, “Virtual Quotations in Job, Sumer and Qumran,” VT 31 (1981): 410–18; idem, The Book of Job: Commentary, New Translation and Special Studies (Moreshet Series 2; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1978). 14 Francis I. Andersen, Job: An Introduction and Commentary (TOTC 13; London: InterVarsity, 1976); Gordis, Book of Job; Norman C. Habel, The Book of Job: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1985); J. Gerald Janzen, Job (IBC; Atlanta: John Knox, 1985); John E. Hartley, The Book of Job (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988); David J. A. Clines, Job 1–20 (WBC 17; Dallas: Word, 1989); idem, Job 21–37 (WBC 18A; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2006); Edwin M. Good, In Turns of Tempest: A Reading of Job with a Translation (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990); David Wolfers, Deep Things out of Darkness: The Book of Job. Essays and a New English Translation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995); Carol A. Newsom, “The Book of Job: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” NIB 4:317–637; Felix Gradl, Das Buch Ijob (Neuer Stuttgarter Kommentar, Altes Testament 12; Stuttgart: Katholisches Bibelwerk, 2000); Samuel E. Balentine, Job (Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary 10; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2006); Gerald H. Wilson, Job (NIBCOT; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2007). 15 Edward L. Greenstein is another prominent scholar who has scrutinized quotations in Job. Based on his hypothesis that the vision in 4:12–21 originally belongs to Job, Greenstein claims that Job 15:14–16; 25:4–6; and 33:15 are citations of Job’s words by Eliphaz, Bildad, and Elihu respectively (“Jeremiah as an Inspiration to the Poet of Job,” in Inspired Speech: Prophecy in the Ancient Near East. Essays in Honor of Herbert B. Huffmon [ed. John Kaltner and Louis Stulman; JSOTSup 378; London: T&T Clark, 2004], 106). He exaggerates the apparentness of the so-called clinching evidence by arguing that “15:4–6 can only be understood as a quotation from Job because the verses are introduced by not one but two formulas found elsewhere in Job as an introduction or reference to direct discourse.” I do not find Greenstein’s evidence convincing. Each of the formulas he cites is a variant of another formula that appears only once in Job introducing direct discourse. In fact, both Bildad (8:2) and Eliphaz (15:3) have uttered similar phrases that never introduce any quoted speech in their immediate contexts.
Ho: Unmarked Attributed Quotations in Job Author Andersen (1976) Gordis (1978) Habel (1985) Janzen (1985) Hartley (1988) Clines (1989, 2006, 200818) Good (1990) Wolfers (1995) Newsom (1996)20 Gradl (2000) Balentine (2006) Wilson (2007)
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Verses identified as unmarked attributed quotations in Job 42:3a, 4 12:7–8, 12; 21:19a, 22, 30; 42:3a, 416 12:12; 21:19a; 42:3a, 4 21:19a, 22; 42:3a, 4 21:19a, 42:3a17 12:7–12; 21:19a = rhetorical question; 42:3a, 4 12:12; 21:19a = rhetorical question; 42:3a, 4 12:12; [12:13–15];19 42:3a, 4 21:19a; [21:22];21 42:3a, 4 21:19a; 42:3a, 4 12:7–12; 21:19a; 42:3a, 4 42:3a, 4
table does not represent every possible voice on the subject, a few intriguing points emerge upon close examination. First, almost all scholars acknowledge the hypothesis that the book of Job contains unmarked attributed quotations. Second, with the possible exceptions of 42:3a and 42:4, every verse can be explained by some scholars as words spoken by the primary speaker, that is, Job in all cases. Third, almost all scholars identify 42:3a (and 42:4 with the exception of John E. Hartley) as Job’s quotations of Yhwh’s earlier utterance. 16 I have excluded Job 13:14, which Gordis believes is an indirect quotation of the friends’ words by Job (Book of Job, 143–44). 17 Although Hartley does not indicate this sentence as an unmarked attributed quotation in his translation, he claims in his comments that Job is here “recasting YHWH’s opening accusation (38:2) into a self-judgment” (p. 536; italics mine). 18 David J. A. Clines, “Job’s Crafty Conclusion” (paper presented at the Wisdom in Israelite and Cognate Traditions Section, SBL annual meeting, Boston, Massachusetts, November 24, 2008). 19 Wolfers understands Job 12:12–13 as two contrasting proverbs—the first deduced from the speech of Bildad in Job 8:8–10 and the second a variant of Prov 8:14. He further claims that vv. 14–15 consists of four sentences paraphrased from the friends’ statements in which they acknowledge the irreversibility of God’s actions (Deep Things, 101). Therefore, Wolfers essentially believes that only Job 12:12 does not correspond to the point of view of Job. Although 12:13–15 are also translated with quotation marks, Job uses these words to support his conclusion in 12:16. Thus, they do not belong to the same category of unmarked attributed quotations as far as this article is concerned. 20 As far as I know, Newsom has not changed her position on the interpretation of these verses in her more recent monograph, The Book of Job: A Contest of Moral Imaginations (see n. 3 above). 21 Newsom believes that in this verse “Job introduces his argument with a citation of a common cliché” (“Job,” 493; italics mine).
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Gordis claims that in ancient literature readers were assumed to engage themselves more actively in the process of decoding the text.22 Ancient readers might therefore be expected to be agile enough to recognize virtual quotations. However, if scholars have such diverse opinions on which verse is to be identified as an attributed quotation and which is not, I wonder if any ancient reader was or any modern reader is able to identify such a quotation without difficulty. In what follows, I provide a reading of each of the disputed passages while keeping them as words from the mouth of the primary speaker.23
II. The Disputed Passages Job 12:7–12 The words in Job 12:7–12 belong to the third speech of Job in the first round of debate between himself and his three friends.24 After weighing all evidence, David J. A. Clines opts for attributing this passage to the mouths of the friends. What leads him to this conclusion is, among other minor reasons, the use of the singular for the addressee in vv. 7–8, which, he claims, is abnormal if the speech is to come from Job. Although Job frequently addresses the friends in the plural, he does address them in the singular in 21:3b and 26:2–4.25 Moreover, Clines argues that the introductory particle Mlw)w is a strong adversative, which “indicates clearly that what follows is contradictory to Job’s own view that he has been expressing in vv. 4–6.”26 His argument is inconclusive, for the particle “serves only to restrict a clause in relation to a preceding clause.”27 Ironically, Clines does not hold to the same argument when commenting on 13:4, which begins with the same particle. In 12:7–9 Job is inviting his friends to summon the living creatures and the earth to testify to the simple fact that God is in control of everything. This fits well with the elaboration of the same idea in v. 10. 22
Gordis, “Virtual Quotations,” 411. I have excluded Job 21:30, for the statement is clearly an indirect quotation of the testimony of the travelers in the preceding verse. As Fox puts it, “The indirect quotation of the travellers’ opinion is marked by the presence of a speaker (‘the wayfarers’) and by the virtual mark of quotation ‘their signs’ or ‘tokens,’ which implies that a statement is to follow” (“Identification,” 430). 24 In my view, the debate begins with the first speech of Eliphaz in ch. 4, rather than the lament of Job in ch. 3. 25 Clines claims that the singular verb in 21:3b was a scribal error, and that the speech in 26:2–4, which probably belonged to Bildad, has been displaced from its original position (Job 21– 37, 630). 26 Clines, Job 1–20, 293. 27 IBHS, 672. 23
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Without the negative interrogative )lh, both v. 11 and v. 12 are clearly proverbial sayings expressing self-evident truth.28 In the present context they represent the same chain of thought and thus should be taken together. The negative interrogative force of )lh in v. 11 therefore carries over to v. 12. A similar case can be argued for 10:10–11, where the negative interrogative force of )lh in v. 10 carries over to v. 11.29 In Job 12:11–12, Job continues by asking his friends a series of rhetorical questions: “Does not the ear test words as the palate tastes its food? Is not wisdom with the aged? Is not understanding with the length of days?” The implied answer of each of the above questions is obviously in the affirmative. Although the function of the ear is to test words, the friends fail to test the words they hear regarding how God operates. The friends should have gained experience and knowledge with age, but they are mocked by Job as people without wisdom. This interpretation is consistent with the theme of Job’s argument in this section of the speech—the superiority of his wisdom and knowledge over that of his friends—which is framed by an inclusio: “I am not inferior to you. Who does not know such things as these?” in 12:3bc and “What you know, I also know; I am not inferior to you” in 13:2.
Job 21:19a Next we turn to Job 21, which contains the last speech of Job in the second round of debate with his friends. There is not much dispute about the literal meaning of v.19a, which can be rendered, “God stores up his iniquity for his children.” The immediate context demands the third person pronoun to refer to the wicked person in v. 19b.30 Some take this as a rhetorical question by Job to express a possible objection to his line of reasoning by his friends.31 Taken this way, the verse produces essentially the same effect as understanding the statement as an unmarked attributed quotation. Instead of gaining anything, this strategy gets the interpreter into another problem, namely, the correct recognition of unmarked rhetorical questions. On the opposite pole, Fox argues that the idea contained in Job 21:19a does not originate from the speeches of the three comforters: “The friends have nowhere argued that children suffer instead of their fathers; they see the suffering of the children rather as an additional element in the punishment of the fathers (5:4; 20:10). . . . Nor have the friends said something sufficiently similar in idea or wording that
28
The same proverb in v. 11 is uttered by Elihu (34:3). A similar one occurs also in Sir 36:19 (Eng. 24). 29 J. F. J. van Rensburg, “Wise Men Saying Things by Asking Questions: The Interrogative in Job 3 to 14,” OTE 4 (1991): 242. 30 Contra Wolfers, Deep Things, 276. 31 Clines, Job 21–37, 512; Good, In Turns of Tempest, 102–3.
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the verse could be taken as a distortion of their words.”32 I do not find Fox’s deliberate distancing of Job’s sentiment in this verse from the friends’ previous arguments convincing or necessary. Perhaps one of the best strategies in disputation is to express an apparent agreement with the opponent’s premise (sometimes in a distorted sense), but then to arrive at a contrasting conclusion. In fact, Job uses a similar technique in 9:10 by depicting God as the one “who does great things beyond understanding, and wondrous things without number.” This is clearly an allusion to Eliphaz’s almost identical words in 5:9. Job essentially agrees with Eliphaz and “makes it clear that he is operating from the same tradition base as Eliphaz.”33 Whereas Eliphaz understands these wonders as signs of God’s creative activities, Job sees them as evidence of divine hostility. Similarly, in 21:19a, Job is twisting an argument presented earlier by his friends and using it as a springboard to make his own point in what follows (21:19b–21): God violates justice by deferring the retribution, which the evildoers themselves deserve, until the following generation. Thus, it appears to be more appropriate to understand Job 21:19a as an allusion rather than an attributed quotation. After all, Job is in agreement with the sentiment of this sentence, from which he constructs his argument. This interpretation again fits well the context in which Job argues against the naïve doctrine of retributive justice upheld by his friends.
Job 21:22 I follow Gordis and many others and take the preposition לof the first term l)lh in Job 21:22 as the lamed of the accusative and so translate the verse as “But can anyone teach knowledge to God, one who even governs those on high?”34 Neither Job nor any of his friends has mentioned anything similar to this earlier; therefore this rhetorical question can be reasonably attributed to either party. The content of the following speech by Eliphaz, however, tips the balance toward putting these words in Job’s mouth. The explicitly marked quotation by Eliphaz in Job 22:13, “Yet you say, ‘What does God know? Can he see through thick cloud to govern?’” may be seen as a distorted citation of what Job has said in 21:22. This line of reasoning is confirmed by the close proximity of the vocabulary used in these two chapters (21:14/22:17; 21:16/22:18; 21:22/22:13). If Job 21:22 is to be taken as Job’s own words, what then is the meaning of this rhetorical question? One option is to equate the declaration of strict retribution 32
Fox, “Identification,” 429; italics his. Habel, Book of Job, 191. 34 Gordis, Book of Job, 232 n. 17; so Clines and Habel. Either Fox, who understands the lamed to mean “on behalf of ” (“Identification,” 429), or Talstra, who takes the lamed to mean “about” (“Dialogue in Job 21,” 338) fails to take into account the content of the second half of the verse. Job 21:22b clearly puts the emphasis on the wisdom of God. 33
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theology by the friends as teaching God knowledge. As Norman C. Habel puts it, “As the sovereign ruler [God] is not inclined to conform to doctrines which mortals may construct about him. The friends, it seems, had presumed to take God’s side in the dispute and to impose their limited knowledge on how he should operate (cf. 13:7–10).”35 A more likely alternative is to understand the question as Job’s exclamation. Job is in fact lamenting the unfortunate reality that no one in the universe can teach God how to operate the world. Job has earlier stated that wisdom and understanding belong to God (12:13). In the immediate context that follows (vv. 14–25), however, these attributes of God are associated with his mismanagement of the universe.
Job 42:3a, 4 Finally we turn to Job’s final response to Yhwh. Almost all scholars take Job 42:3a and 42:4 as Job’s citations of Yhwh’s former words. Their understanding is that 42:3a is a semi-quotation from 38:2, and 42:4b from 38:3b (or 40:7b). In my observation, two assumptions are generally shared among these interpreters: first, that the book of Job undoubtedly contains unmarked attributed quotations; and, second, that Job has understood something transformative in the divine speeches and that Job 42:2–6 represents a reversal of Job of some sort.36 For the first assumption, it is interesting to see how scholars take advantage of the hypothesis of unmarked attributed quotations, using them to their benefit. For those quotations that appear in the rest of the book, the words are claimed to originate from the opponent of the disputation and so are cited in order to be refuted by the primary speaker. In the case of Job’s final response to Yhwh, however, it is argued that the words are quoted by Job from Yhwh, words that Job accepted humbly. It is certainly true that this rhetorical technique can be used in either direction. One must, however, take note of the fact that in the book elsewhere, all quotations, either marked or unmarked (as argued by some), are distorted paraphrases of what the speaker’s disputant has spoken. If Job 42:3a and 42:4 are indeed citations, the poet would then be employing a radically different style there. Regarding the second 35
Habel, Book of Job, 329; see also Clines, Job 21–37, 530. This is the conventional understanding of Job’s final response. There are, however, dissenting voices who argue that the attitude of Job in 42:2–6 is far from meek: e.g., John Briggs Curtis, “On Job’s Responses to Yahweh,” JBL 98 (1979): 479–511; David A. Robertson, The Old Testament and the Literary Critic (GBS; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 33–54, Jack Miles, God: A Biography (New York: Alfred A. Knopf), 308–28; Edward L. Greenstein, “In Job’s Face/Facing Job,” in The Labour of Reading: Desire, Alienation, and Biblical Interpretation (ed. Fiona C. Black, Roland Boer, and Eric Runions; SemeiaSt 36; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 1999), 301–17; Edward Ho, “Job’s Anticipation of Death in Job 42:6,” Proceedings, Eastern Great Lakes and Midwest Biblical Societies 27 (2007): 31–45; Clines, “Job’s Crafty Conclusion.” 36
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assumption, I have argued elsewhere that the words of Job in 42:6 may be interpreted as Job’s anticipation of the accompanying comfort of his imminent death as a consequence of seeing Yhwh.37 As Job reveals his expectation for God to end his life in his earlier speeches, it is unwarranted to assume that he has to undergo a significant change of mind after the theophanic encounter. The question before us is: Could it be possible that the words in 42:3a and 42:4 reflect truthfully the sentiments of Job in context? Job may be alluding to the words of Yhwh while making them his own. This double voicing may be intentional. As we have seen earlier, this is one of the common techniques that Job employs in arguing with his friends. Such an understanding fits the context better and removes certain unnecessary difficulties that result when the words are interpreted as quotations. Taking the verses in question this way thus adds weight to the plausibility of the other line of interpretation, which claims that Job in 42:1–6 is resistant rather than submissive.38 A close comparison of 38:2 and 42:3a shows that there are at least two major points of deviation. First, the term Ky#xm (“to darken”) is used in 38:2, whereas the term Myl(m (“to conceal, to hide”) is used in 42:3a. Second, the term Nylmb (“with words”) appears in 38:2 but not in 42:3a. Although the root K#x may sometimes mean “to hide or conceal,”39 elsewhere in Job it always appears with the connotation of “darkness.” Therefore it is more likely that the use of Ky#xm in 38:2 is declarative,40 and that Yhwh is asking, “Who is this that declares my scheme [hc(] as dark with words without knowledge?” In Job 12:13, Job states that wisdom, might, scheme (hc(), and understanding belong to God. He then elaborates his idea further by charging God with disorienting the world with darkness (vv. 14–25). Yhwh’s question in 38:2 may thus be interpreted as a response to the accusation of Job, whose words, according to Yhwh, are without knowledge. In his final response, Job shrewdly chooses the verb Myl(m, which falls within the same semantic domain as Ky#xm, and hurls the question at Yhwh, “Who is this that hides scheme(s) without knowledge?” Apart from 38:2 and 42:3, the noun hc( appears seven times in Job and always carries a negative connotation, with the exception of 29:21, in which Job refers to his own wise counsel. The schemes that Job refers to in 42:3a may belong to the wicked. In his earlier speeches, Job complains to God that God is oppressing and despising him while favoring the scheme (hc() of the wicked (10:3). Job also declares that he knows the thoughts of his friends and their schemes (twmzm) to harm him (21:27). On the other hand, the
37 Ho, “Job’s Anticipation,” 37–39. Although I have substantially revised my interpretation of Job 42:3–4 in this present article, I still adhere to the primary thesis of my previous essay. 38 See n. 36 above. 39 BDB cites Ps 139:12 as support for the nuance “to hide, conceal” (p. 365), but the meaning of “darkness” fits the context well. 40 Gordis, Book of Job, 442.
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schemes may belong to YHWH himself, as suggested in 42:2, in which Job says, “I/You know that you can do everything. No scheme [hmzm] of yours can be thwarted.”41 As indicated earlier in his speech, Job realizes that there are schemes God hides (Npc) in his heart (10:13). These include nurturing Job in order to find fault in him. Even though Job is innocent, God will still harass him with this might (vv. 6–17). Taking the question in 42:3a as Job’s own, Job is thus challenging God in his very last speech. The implied answer is obviously God himself. The word Nylmb is deliberately not taken up by Job here. After all, it was God’s silence, not his eloquence, that was the means through which he concealed the schemes. If Job 42:3a is taken as an unmarked attributed quotation, the half verse that follows inevitably has to be understood as Job’s humble submission of having spoken ignorantly earlier. If so, the beginning conjunction Nkl will have to take on an unusual sense such as “indeed” or “truly.” Apart from 42:3, this conjunction occurs five times in the rest of the book (20:2; 32:10; 34:10, 25; 37:24), and it functions in every instance to introduce either the real consequence or a logical inference of what precedes.42 The context of each occurrence thus allows the usual sense of the conjunction “therefore” to be conveyed. Taking Job 42:3a as Job’s own question, the usual sense of Nkl can be preserved without difficulty, and v. 3b can be translated, “Therefore, I spoke up, as I did not understand, wondrous things far from me, as I did not know.” Most commentators interpret Job 42:3b as Job’s confession of speaking out of ignorance.43 They commonly translate Nyb) )lw and (d) )lw as circumstantial clauses describing Job’s state of mind when he previously spoke, or relative clauses referring to the “things” of which Job has spoken, or a combination of both. In any case, the use of waw in these parallel verbal clauses of negation appears to be unusual and nonintuitive. It seems fair to say that how one construes the syntactical relationship between the term ytdgh and these two clauses depends almost exclusively on how one understands the purpose of the statement as a whole. Thomas F. Dailey rightly notes that “explicit reference to the «things» which Job has said is actually an interpolation on the part of the translator.”44 Without both a 41
Either the ketib or the qere fits the context, and therefore I do not intend to argue for or against any one reading. 42 The use of the conjunction is straightforward in each occurrence except in Job 20:2 and 34:25. For Job 20:2, the verse opens Bildad’s second speech, and so nothing immediately precedes the conjunction. This idiomatic use of Nkl is nevertheless appropriate “in conversation, in reply to an objection, to state the ground upon which the answer is made” (BDB, 487). In the case of Job 34:25, the verse belongs to part of the arguments presented by Elihu in his second speech. Nothing precedes the conjunction to which it can be reasonably attached. The conjunction Nkl here functions to introduce a logical inference from the immediately preceding context. 43 See, e.g., Gordis (Book of Job), Habel, Hartley, Janzen, and Wolfers, ad loc. 44 Thomas F. Dailey, “‘Wondrously Far from Me’: The Wisdom of Job 42:2–3,” BZ 36 (1992): 263.
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direct and an indirect object, the verb dgn in the hiphil may be understood to mean “to speak up” or even “to testify.” Moreover, the waw in each of the phrases Nyb) )lw and (d) )lw can reasonably be taken as a disjunctive waw indicating causality.45 Unlike most translators, I take the phrase ynmm tw)lpn as the complement not of ytdgh, but of Nyb) )lw and (d) )lw only. This understanding is consistent with the tonality of Job’s earlier utterance in the dialogue, for the term tw)lpn comes from the root )lp, which always has a negative connotation when coming from the mouth of Job (9:10; 10:16). Putting everything in context, Job spoke up, for he did not know or understand the schemes hidden by Yhwh, which were too wondrous for Job. Taking Job 42:4 as an unmarked attributed quotation is both unnecessary and problematic. The verbs used in these two sentences are so common in disputation that they can hardly function unmistakably as clues to quotations. Moreover, the existence of 42:4a (rbd) ykn)w )n-(m#), when taken as a citation, poses another problem, as this sentence never appears anywhere in Yhwh’s former speeches. Most critics do not even try to explain 42:4a, while accepting both 42:3a and 42:4 as quotations. Those who attempt to explain the presence of Job 42:4a have to argue from a semantic viewpoint, but their arguments are usually unconvincing. For example, Ellen van Wolde argues that the reader is invited to switch one’s focus from Job’s eyes in v. 3b to God’s eyes in v. 4. Therefore, “verse 4a is an introduction to this quotation and is essential in this situation since it exactly marks the syntactic reversal brought about by the switch in point of view.”46 Similarly, Newsom argues that 42:4a is “a poetic expansion of 42:4b.”47 The common weakness of such explanations is the lack of similar “introduction” or “expansion” elsewhere in Job or the Hebrew Bible when a quotation is being uttered. On the contrary, the statements, when taken as Job’s own utterance, make good sense and can thus be translated as “Hear, and I will speak. I ask you, and you teach me.”48
III. Conclusion Based on the fact that the number of marked attributed quotations is ample in the book of Job, it would be a dangerous assumption to claim the existence of 45
IBHS cites Gen 24:56 and Exod 23:9 as examples. See also GKC §158a; Joüon §170a. I deliberately translate both instances of the disjunctive waw as the word “as” in English in order to retain the parallelism of the Hebrew text. 46 Ellen van Wolde, “Job 42, 1–6: The Reversal of Job,” in Book of Job, ed. Beuken, 232–33. 47 Newsom, “Job,” 628. 48 Instead of translating Kl)#) as “I will ask you,” as most translations and commentaries do, I translate the imperfect as “I ask you.” This usage of l)# is common in conversations (e.g., Gen 32:30; 1 Sam 28:16).
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unmarked ones in the same work without solid evidence. It is clear that scholarly opinions differ as to which verses are to be identified as unmarked attributed quotations. Each of the verses in question can be satisfactorily explained by an alternative reading. Even for the most widely accepted quotations in the final response of Job to Yhwh, scholars in fact rely on assumptions that are not well founded. In this article, I have challenged the hypothesis of the presence of unmarked attributed quotations in Job and called into question the conventional understanding of the final response of Job to Yhwh as the indication of Job’s declaration of enlightenment.
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JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 717–733
Rhetorical Reversal and Usurpation: Isaiah 10:5–34 and the Use of Neo-Assyrian Royal Idiom in the Construction of an Anti-Assyrian Theology michael chan [email protected] Luther Seminary, Saint Paul, MN 55108
For Mark Throntveit, mentor and friend The self-aggrandizing speeches of an unnamed Neo-Assyrian monarch in Isa 10:5–34 (10:8–11, 13–14) have long piqued the curiosity of both biblical scholars and their colleagues working in Assyriology.1 Questions concerning the speeches’ 1 Gösta W. Ahlström, The History of Ancient Palestine (ed. Diana Edelman; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 665; Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 2/3; London: SCM, 1967), 39–44; Chaim Cohen, “Neo-Assyrian Elements in the First Speech of the Biblical RABŠĀQÊ,” IOS 9 (1979): 32–47; Ernst Haag, “Jesaja, Assur und der Antijahwe: Literar- und traditionsgeschichtliche Beobachtungen zu Jes 10,5–15,” TTZ 103 (1994): 18–37; Leo L. Honor, Sennacherib’s Invasion of Palestine: A Critical Source Study (Contributions to Oriental History and Philology 12; New York: AMS, 1966), 89–93; Stuart A. Irvine, Isaiah, Ahaz, and the SyroEphraimitic Crisis (SBLDS 123; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), 259–62; Kemper Fullerton, “The Problem of Isaiah, Chapter 10,” AJSL 34 (1917–18): 170–84; Siegfried Mittmann, “‘Wehe! Assur, Stab meines Zorns’ (Jes 10,5–9.13aß–15),” in Prophet und Prophetenbuch: Festschrift für Otto Kaiser zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Volkmar Fritz, Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, and Hans-Christoph Schmitt; BZAW 185; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989), 111–32; Moshe Weinfeld, “Protest against Imperialism in Ancient Israelite Prophecy,” in The Origins and Diversity of Axial Age Civilizations (ed. S. N. Eisenstadt; SUNY Series in Near Eastern Studies; Albany: State University of New York Press, 1986),
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historical referentiality, redaction, and reuse in other portions of Isaiah (e.g., the hq#br of chs. 36–37) have justifiably been accorded a great deal of attention. For example, Peter Machinist has offered a penetrating comparative study, exploring the question: “How did that empire [Neo-Assyrian] appear to its contemporaries from their sources?”2 He concludes that several texts in First Isaiah, including some verses from the chapter examined here (10:6, 13), do seem to make reference to Assyrian propagandistic idiom and probably provide the historian with “an important witness to the official Assyrian perspective.”3 More recently, William R. Gallagher, in his thoughtful study of Sennacherib’s campaign against Judah, has proposed that 10:13–14 is a summary of Assyrian “ideology and propaganda.”4 Additionally, scholars have drawn attention to the deeply polemical nature of these speeches, noting that they are intentionally designed to caricature negatively and misrepresent the Assyrian king, depicting him as a target worthy of divine judgment.5 What seems to have been missed, however, is the observation that the wealth of language and rhetoric often associated with Assyrian monarchical ideology appears to be taken up in ch. 10 in a polemical and subversive fashion and used in the prophet’s description of Yhwh’s eventual judgment against the Assyrian monarch.6 That is to say, Yhwh, the true conferrer of divine weapons of wrath (not 169–82; Hans Wildberger, Isaiah: A Commentary, vol. 1, Isaiah 1–12 (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Continental Commentaries; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 422. 2 Peter Machinist, “Assyria and Its Image in the First Isaiah,” JAOS 103 (1983): 719–37. 3 Ibid., 737. When Machinist says “official,” he does cautiously propose that Isaiah and his colleagues may have somehow (perhaps orally or literarily?) had access to Assyrian royal propaganda. He writes, “what we have found in the way of a general image and specific motifs is enough to raise the distinct possibility that Isaiah’s knowledge of Assyria was gained not merely from actual experience of the Assyrians in Palestine, but from official Assyrian literature, especially of the court” (ibid., 729). R. E. Clements has made a similar assertion concerning 10:5–9, 13–15 (Isaiah and the Deliverance of Jerusalem: A Study of the Interpretation of Prophecy in the Old Testament [JSOTSup 13; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1980], 38). For a helpful discussion of how cuneiform may have become accessible to the inhabitants of Canaan in the Neo-Assyrian period, see Bernard M. Levinson, “The Right Chorale”: Studies in Biblical Law and Interpretation (FAT 54; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2008), 295–306. 4 William R. Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah: New Studies (Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East 18; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 83. 5 Machinist has again provided a compelling analysis of the Assyrian speeches in 10:5–19, noting that instead of the Assyrian king attributing his military power to the gods (which he normally would), he instead attributes it to his own power and prowess. Note, for example, the number of first person singular verbs in vv. 8–11 and vv. 13–14. In Machinist’s words, “the Assyrian becomes in Isaiah what the ‘enemy’ was in his own inscriptions, who ‘trusted in his own strength’ and ‘did not fear the oath of the gods’ ” (“Assyria,” 734). 6 Stuart Irvine has taken note of this rhetorical reversal in 10:33–34, connecting it, as I will in greater detail, with the well-known “western journey/campaign” undertaken by the Assyrian kings (Isaiah, Ahaz, 281). Joseph Blenkinsopp, too, has noted the connection between the “Assyr-
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Aššur, 10:5–6), the fiercest vineyard-slashing siege warrior (not the king, 10:16– 19), and the most awe-inspiring royal figure to have taken the western journey to Lebanon (again, not the king,10:33–34), is rhetorically and subversively clothed in the language and metaphor traditionally associated with Assyrian monarchial ideology and literature, with the result that the imminent judgment of the Assyrian king will appear, to him, strangely and ironically familiar. In addition, these three references—vv. 5–6, 16–19, 33–34—deeply color the surrounding context, and further sharpen the rhetoric to such a degree that we may be able to speak of the whole unit (10:5–34) as a chapter fashioned and redacted around the notion of usurpation and upheaval. This article, then, suggests that in 10:5–34, various prophetic oracles and speeches (10:5–6, 16–19, 33–34), whose roots can probably be traced to a historical familiarity with Assyrian royal idiom, have been gathered around the theme of divine judgment against the Assyrian monarch and rhetorically crafted in such a way that these oracles of judgment have adopted and adapted that selfsame Assyrian royal idiom into a theologically militant presentation of Yhwh’s actions against the boundary-transgressing policies of the Assyrian king. This rhetorical reversal has been crafted in order to construct a counter-theology to the intimidating royal rhetoric showcased and caricatured in vv. 8–11, 13–14.7 The presentation of Yhwh in the rhetorical garb of royal idiom, then, is not only an ironic reversal—it is at least that!—but also a conscientious rhetorical assault on the bombastic claims of the
ian addiction to scorched earth tactics” and the forest-felling activities of Yhwh in 10:33–34 (Isaiah 1–39: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 19; New York: Doubleday, 2000], 261–62). See also R. E. Clements, who, although not drawing any parallels with Assyrian literature, does take note of the connection between Yhwh’s foresting actions in vv. 33–34 and the previous descriptions of the Assyrian monarch in 5:6; 9:13; 10:5 (Isaiah 1–39 [NCB Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982], 121). 7 Similar claims have been made for certain chapters in Deuteronomy (chs. 13; 20; 28) that seem to assume knowledge of idiomatic phraseology native to Neo-Assyrian vassal treaties. For a discussion of the connections between the Vassal Treaty of Esarhaddon and Deuteronomy, see Rintje Frankena, “The Vassal-Treaties of Esarhaddon and the Dating of Deuteronomy,” in OtSt (1965): 122–54. Or, for a helpful discussion of the subversive agenda behind the “canon formula” in Deut 13:1, see Bernard M. Levinson, “The Neo-Assyrian Origins of the Canon Formula in Deuteronomy 13:1,” in Scriptural Exegesis: The Shapes of Culture and the Religious Imagination— Essays in Honour of Michael Fishbane (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 25–45. Questions have also been raised concerning the “Laws of War” in Deuteronomy 20 and Neo-Assyrian war practices. For a negative evaluation of the connections between Deuteronomy 20 and NeoAssyrian war practices, see Michael G. Hasel, Military Practice and Polemic: Israel’s Laws of Warfare in Near Eastern Perspective (Berrien Springs, MI: Andrews University Press, 2005); Jacob L. Wright, “Warfare and Wanton Destruction: A Reexamination of Deuteronomy 20:19–20 in Relation to Ancient Siegecraft,” JBL 127 (2008): 423–58. I would like to thank Professor Levinson for bringing many of these resources to my attention, and for providing me with detailed feedback at the 2009 AAR-SBL Upper-Midwest Regional Meeting.
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unnamed king. It follows that the oracles in Isa 10:5–34 are effecting nothing less than the rhetorical usurpation of both Aššur and his historical agent, the Assyrian king. In place of Aššur and the Assyrian king, Yhwh is established as “king of the universe,” who alone is worthy of the aggrandizing and propagandistic praise normally ascribed to the Assyrian kings in their inscriptions and annals.8
I. Dethroning Aššur and Co-opting the King: Isaiah 10:5–6 The first act of subversion occurs in vv. 5–6, which recollect Yhwh’s commissioning of Assyria as an agent of divine wrath:9 (5) Woe, Assyria! Rod of my anger! The staff in their hands is my fury.10 8 The Assyrian kings often claimed the title of šar kiššati (“king of the universe”). See, e.g., Ashurnasirpal II Inscription, obv. line 126 (Albert Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC [1114–859 BC] [RIMA 2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991], 211); Shalmaneser III Inscription, obv. line 1 (Albert Kirk Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II [858–745 BC] [RIMA 3; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996], 132); Chicagoer Prismas, obv. line 2 (Riekele Borger, Babylonisch-Assyrische Lesestücke 2 [Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum, 1963], 62); cf. Sennacherib Inscription, obv. line 2 (Daniel David Luckenbill, The Annals of Sennacherib [OIP 2; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1924], 23). 9 Unless otherwise noted, all Hebrew translations are my own. 10 For a long time, commentators have been bothered by the somewhat awkward phrase in v. 5b, “it/he is in their hand” (Mdyb )wh). George Buchanan Gray, for example, writes, “the two parts of the phrase (cp. The parallel phrase) are interrupted . . . by the words it is in their hand; these are probably the note of a reader who remarked that in v. 24 Assyria wields the rod” (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Book of Isaiah: I–XXXIX [ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1928], 196). Alternatively, John D. W. Watts explains the problem in terms of a gloss that was undertaken “to ameliorate the theological problem of ascribing full identification of the Assyrian as God’s instrument” (Isaiah 1–33 [WBC 24; Waco: Word Books, 1985], 146). Others have suggested that the M may be enclitic, which would remove the need to translate it as a masculine plural suffix (see John Oswalt, The Book of Isaiah [NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986], 261; New English Translation [NET]). The suggestion that the final M is enclitic is unnecessary, since it seems that the masculine plural suffix refers back to the collective noun rw#). Other translators have been wont to change, rearrange, or emend v. 5b, since v. 5a, which presents no difficulty, clearly anticipates a parallel construction. For example, G. R. Driver suggests that the words be rearranged as follows: Mdyb )wh ym(z h+mw (“and the rod of my wrath—it [lit. “he”] is in their hand,” “Studies in the Vocabulary of the Old Testament VI,” JTS 34 [1933]: 383). Driver’s reconstruction of the text also requires that h+mw be pointed as a construct noun, rather than as a noun in the absolute state (MT). In my reading, the aforementioned emendations are largely unnecessary, especially when one considers that they may be purposefully depicting the king as both the weapon and the weapon bearer (see below). My translation adopts Blenkinsopp’s minor emendation by eliminating the redundant pronoun ()wh) (Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 252). See also Hermann Barth, Die
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(6) Against a godless nation, I send him, and against the people of my fury, I have dispatched him—11 to plunder booty and seize loot, and to make it into a trampling place, as clay of the streets.
The ywh pronouncement of v. 5 prepares the reader for the decidedly negative word of judgment and reversal.12 Marvin Sweeney has also highlighted the significance of the first person pronouns, which indicate that Yhwh is the speaker (cf. v. 12 where the prophet is the speaker).13 Verses 5–6 easily divide into two parts. Verse 5 deals with the conferment of divine weapons on the king of Assyria, who is addressed collectively as “Assyria,”14 and v. 6 delineates the details of the Assyrian commission. The point of interest in v. 5 is the assertion that Assyria is the “rod” (+b#) of Yhwh’s “wrath” (yp)) and that his (the Assyrian king’s) “staff ” (h+m) is Yhwh’s own “fury” (ym(z). In other words, the Assyrian king is imaged as both the weapon and the weapon-bearer of Yhwh. He is both “the rod” of Yhwh’s anger and
Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit: Israel und Assur als Thema einer produktiven Neuinterpretation der Jesajaüberlieferung (WMANT 48; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1977), 22; Bernhard Duhm, Das Buch Jesaja: Übersetzt und erklärt (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht), 74; Otto Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary (2nd ed.; trans. J. Bowden; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1983), 228. Willem A. M. Beuken provides a summary of the most common translations/emendations (Jesaja 1–12 [HTKOT; Freiburg: Herder, 2003], 274). 11 Verses 6a and 6b both begin with adversative prepositional phrases (“against [b] a godless nation . . . against [l(] a people of my fury” (Ronald J. Williams, Williams’ Hebrew Syntax [rev. and exp. ed.; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007], §575a), thus, placing special emphasis on the negative nature of Yhwh’s commissioning. 12 Form critics have often noted that v. 5 diverges sharply from the typical ywh oracle. See, e.g., Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12, 229–30; Brevard S. Childs, Isaiah (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 91. I will argue that the oracle’s divergence from the typical form can be explained by its reworking of Assyrian royal propaganda, the contents of which took precedence over the standard form of the ywh oracle. Additionally, the ywh pronouncement may be significant since, according to the current form of Isaiah, 10:5 seems to be the first woe oracle directed toward an entity outside of the prophet’s own people (cf. Isa 1:4, 24; 3:8–11; 5:8, 11, 18, 20–21; 6:5; 10:1). Therefore, the Assyria-directed woe oracle of ch. 10 looks forward to the “global” concerns found in the oracles concerning foreign nations (Isa 13:1–23:18). 13 Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39: With an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 199. 14 Blenkinsopp correctly notes that, although Assyria is initially addressed in collective terms (“Woe, Assyria! Rod of my anger! The staff in their hand is my fury” [10:5, emphasis mine]), what we actually have before us is “Assyria in the person of its king” who is “designated by Yahveh as an instrument for the punishment of his people Israel” (Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 252). That these speeches are particularly addressed to the Assyrian king is suggested by the immediate change to singular pronouns in vv. 6–7, “Against a godless nation, I send him . . . I have dispatched him . . . But he was not so inclined, and his heart had planned no such thing; but rather, to exterminate is in his heart” (emphasis mine), and is clearly stated when the prophet condemns the “arrogance of the heart of the king of Assyria” (v. 12, emphasis mine).
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the bearer of Yhwh’s wrathful weapons. The peculiarity of this verse, which lies in its novel combination of lexical items and creative use of imagery, is often overlooked by commentators and may be explained, as I will argue, by reading v. 5 as a creatively rendered echo of Assyrian propagandistic idiom.15 Generally speaking, Assyrian literature associated with royal record keeping and propaganda evidences a close relationship between the king’s military campaigns and his commissioning by Aššur and other deities.16 I begin with several inscriptions from Ashurnasirpal II’s building projects at Calah, giving particular
15 The specific phrase “rod [+b#] of my [Yhwh’s] wrath [yp)]” is used nowhere else in the OT. Jeremiah 50:25 provides the closest parallel, “Yhwh has opened his armory, and has brought out the weapons [ylk] of his wrath [wm(z].” Another parallel is found in Lamentations 3: “I am the man who has seen affliction by means of the rod [+b#] of his [Yhwh’s] anger [wtrb(]”. In Lam 3:1, however, the uniquely agential element of Isa 10:5 is missing; the rod is depicted as being in Yhwh’s hand alone (cf. vv. 37–39), whereas in Isa 10:5, the king himself is the rod. Job 21 loosely connects the rod (+b#) of God with wrath, although the context is decidedly different (cf. Job 21:9 with 21:17). Proverbs 22:8 describes the failure of the unjust man’s “rod of fury” (wtrb( +b#w), but, again, the context is so far removed from the Isaianic context as to be almost irrelevant. Additionally, the use in Isa 10:5 moves far beyond “discipline,” and, as indicated in v. 6, refers to a weapon of plunder and destruction (against H. Zobel, “+bE #$',” TDOT 14:308–9). Isaiah 13:5 (a woe oracle against Babylon), although using different lexemes, implements similar imagery (“They are coming from a distant land . . . Yhwh and all his implements of indignation [wm(z ylkw], to ruin the whole earth”). In fact, in 13:5 Yhwh seems to be leading the army of judgment against the Babylonians (Hans Wildberger, Isaiah: A Commentary, vol. 2, Isaiah 13–27 [trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Continental Commentaries; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997], 21). In terms of the parallel phrase in v. 5b (ym(z Mdyb )wh h+m, translated here as “The staff in their hand is my fury”), it too finds no direct parallels in the OT. h+m is frequently used in the book of Isaiah, taking on a variety of meanings (9:3; 10:5, 15, 24, 26; 14:5; 28:27; 30:32; 37:21); it is, however, never directly paired with divine wrath (but see 30:30–31, where h+m is loosely linked with P)—note also that the larger context involves an anti-Assyrian oracle, whose origin and date are disputed [Hans Wildberger, Isaiah: A Commentary, vol. 3, Isaiah 28–39 (trans. Thomas H. Trapp; Continental Commentaries; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 189–94]). Lastly, it should be noted that 30:30–31 also combines +b# and h+m in another anti-Assyrian oracle (30:31–32), which employs both lexemes in a shattering description of Yhwh’s intended judgment against Assyria. Again, the Assyrian context is self-evident. For a discussion of the Isaianic corpus’s collocation of these two lexical items (+b#/h+m), see also H.-J. Fabry, “h+%em,a ” TDOT 8:241–49. 16 Albert Kirk Grayson writes, “Of fundamental importance was the intimate link between the supernatural powers, the gods, and the Assyrian king, who was the earthly representative of the supreme God Ashur” (“Assyrian Civilization,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 3, part 2, Assyrian and Babylonian Empires and Other States of the Near East, from the Eighth to the Sixth Centuries B.C. [ed. John Boardman et al.; 2nd ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991]), 195. It should be noted, moreover, that the deification of the king does not seem to be part of the official monarchical ideology, as it was in Babylon and Sumer; the king was an agent of the pantheon and was perhaps closer to the divine than any other, but he was not himself regarded as a deity—at least not in the official literature (ibid.).
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attention to the inscriptions found at the Ninurta temple.17 Just as Isa 10:5a understands the Assyrian king to be the weapon in the hands of Yhwh (“Woe, Assyria! Rod of my anger”), Ashurnasirpal II understood himself to be a destructive weapon in the hands of the gods: “Ashurnasirpal, strong king, king of the universe . . . beloved of the gods Anu and Dagan, destructive weapon [kašūš] of the great gods. . . .”18 From the reign of Shalmaneser III, Ashurnasirpal II’s successor, we have the following recorded at Fort Shalmaneser: “strong king, king of the universe . . . the weapon [kašū[š]] which destroys. . . .”19 Shalmaneser III also is described as “the weapon [kašūš] which destroys all quarters. . . .”20 In terms of Isa 10:5b, the parallels are even more numerous. Verse 10:5b does not understand the Assyrian monarch to be the divine weapon itself, but rather understands him to be the bearer of divine weaponry: “The staff in their hand is my [Yhwh’s] fury” (Isa 10:5b). This image is very well represented in the inscriptional evidence of the Assyrian monarchs. Šamšī-Adad V records, “They [the Medes] took fright in the face of the angry weapons of Aššur. . . .”21
17 Ashurnasirpal II’s reign (883–859) is an appropriate starting place, since his reign, along with Shalmaneser III’s (859–824), is considered to be a high point of the Neo-Assyrian period (K. Lawson Younger, Jr., “Neo-Assyrian and Israelite History in the Ninth Century: The Role of Shalmaneser III,” in Understanding the History of Ancient Israel [ed. H. G. M. Williamson; Proceedings of the British Academy 143; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 243. Vigorous expansionism and profound building projects (especially at Calah) not only signal the apex of the Neo-Assyrian empire as a formidable imperialistic force but also set a precedent for later NeoAssyrian kings. Naturally, the intense and extravagant building projects are deeply interconnected with the amount of wealth acquired in Ashurnasirpal’s campaigning. What’s more, up to this point, his annals are the most expansive extant collection (Albert Kirk Grayson, “Assyria: AshurDan II to Ahur-Nirari I,” in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 3, part 1, The Prehistory of the Balkans: The Middle East and the Aegean World, Tenth to Eighth Centuries B.C. [ed. John Boardman et al; 2nd ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 253; Amélie Kuhrt, The Ancient Near East: c. 3000 B.C.–330 B.C. (2 vols.; Routledge History of the Ancient World; London: Routledge, 1995), 2:486. 18 Ninurta Temple Inscription, obv. line i11 (RIMA 2:194). In line i21 of the same text, the same phrase is used: “designate of the warrior god Ninurta, destructive weapon [kašūš] of the great gods. . . .” The prolific and unprecedented number of royal inscriptions associated with Ashurnasirpal II’s reign bears witness to the numerous military campaigns undertaken under his rule. His success in these campaigns is most clearly evident in the extravagance of the Calah building projects (Kuhrt, Ancient Near East, 2:486). 19 Broken Stele from Aššur, obv. line 2 (RIMA 3:49). The stele fragment is badly damaged, requiring a large amount of reconstruction based on parallel texts. The lexeme of importance (kašūšu), however, is discernible. 20 Statue Inscription, obv. line 3 (RIMA 3:98). For additional references, see “kašūšu,” CAD 8:296–97. 21 Calah Stele, obv. lines 28 (RIMA 3:185). See also Anu-Adad Temple Stele, obv. line 6´ (RIMA 3:189). The word used here for “weapons” is the widely-attested gišTUKUL.MEŠ
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Returning to Ashurnasirpal II, we read, “with the fierce weapons which Aššur, (my) lord, gave to me I mustered (my) weapons (and) troops (and) marched to the pass of the city of Babitu.”22 Or, in Sargon II’s records, we read, “By means of the power of Aššur, Nabû (and) Marduk, the great gods, my lords, who have raised my weapons, I slew my enemies.”23 Sennacherib too understood himself to be the wielder of Aššur’s weapon: “I restored Illubru again: people of the lands which my hands had conquered, I settled therein. The weapon of Aššur my lord, I established in its midst.”24 And although there are many lacunae, the annals of Tiglath-pileser III also contain several clear references to the divine weapon of Aššur.25 Additionally, in the same way that 10:5b understands the divine weapons to be in the “hand” (dy) of the king, some Assyrian texts utilize similar imagery, describing the divine weapon being placed in the grasp of the king. For example, from Ashurnasirpal II, “When Aššur, the lord who called my name (and) who makes my sovereignty supreme, placed his merciless weapon in my lordly arms [idāt]. . . .”26 Or, from Shalmaneser III’s annals at Fort Shalmaneser: “When Aššur, the great lord, chose me in his steadfast heart . . . named me for the shepherdship of Assyria, he put in my grasp a strong weapon which fells the insubordinate. . . .”27 In the Nebi Yunus inscription, Sennacherib records, “a righteous scepter [h}atitiu], which enlarges the border, an unsparing lance [“staff ” or “scepter” is probably better: šibirru] for the overthrow of my enemies, he [Aššur] put into my hand.”28 Aššur is also the one (kakku[m]). Because of the pervasive use of gišTUKUL and its plural derivative (gišTUKUL.MEŠ), I will only cite Akkadian words/Sumerian logograms if they are not gišTUKUL or its plural derivative. 22 Ninurta Temple Inscription, obv. lines 26–27 (RIMA 2:203). 23 Die “Kleine Prunkinschrift” des Saales XIV, obv. line 21 (Andreas Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad [Göttingen: Cuvillier, 1993], 77 [transliteration] and 309 [German translation]). See also ARAB II, §82. 24 Campaign Against Cilicia, obv. lines 87–89 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 62). The “Palace Without a Rival” account records, “Aššur, father of the gods, brought in submission to my i which enlarges my feet the whole race of blackheaded men . . . gave me a righteous scepter [h}atti u] land and put into my hands an unsparing sword for the overturn of my enemies.” Undated Bull Inscription, obv. lines 5–6 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 117). Concerning the king of Sidon, Sennacherib’s annals record, “In that year he vanished before the terrifying appearance of the Weapon of Aššur, my lord.” Other Bull Inscriptions, obv. lines 18–19 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 77; I have used Mayer’s translation: Walter Mayer, “Sennacherib’s Campaign of 701 BCE: The Assyrian View,” in ‘Like a Bird in a Cage’: The Invasion of Sennacherib in 701 BCE [ed. L. L. Grabbe; JSOTSup 363; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2003], 194). See also Bull Inscription, obv. lines 52–53 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 73). 25 The Calah Annals 16, obv. line 3 (ITP, 75); The Calah Annals 10, obv. line 3 (ITP, 45); Summary Inscription from Calah 7, obv. line 7 (ITP, 167). 26 Ninurta Temple Inscription, obv. lines i17b–18a (RIMA 2:195); see also Ninurta Temple Inscription, obv. lines i26, i41, ii26 (RIMA 2:195). 27 Fort Shalmaneser Stone Slab, obv. lines 11–13 (RIMA 3:8). 28 Nebi Yunus Inscription, obv. lines 5–6 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 85).
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who “makes powerful” the royal weapons: Sennacherib records, “Aššur, the great god . . . has made powerful my weapons above (all) those who dwell in palaces.”29 Sometimes, the glorious weaponry of the kings is mentioned without direct reference to the deity who had bestowed them. Sargon II, for example, understands himself to be “[t]he strong man . . . whose weapons are raised, in order to strike the enemies to the floor.”30 In vv. 5–6, several subtle layers of reversal are limned simultaneously. One act of reversal has already been highlighted by Machinist, who writes, “all the actions of the Assyrian monarch are understood to come not from the command of his god Aššur, but from the power of the Israelite god.”31 He goes on to state that the primary justification for war, namely, the command of Aššur or other gods, has undergone an “inversion,” whereby the divine commissioning comes not from the Assyrian gods but rather from the Israelite god, Yhwh.32 Therefore, from a theological perspective, vv. 5–6 do not yet speak of the dethroning of the king, but rather of the king’s god(s).33 That is to say, the prophetic assault on Assyrian royal practice and ideology begins from its theological foundations. By way of prophetic speech, Yhwh invades sacred mythical space and hijacks the cosmic throne normally occupied by the Assyrian royal deities. Other acts of “rhetorical usurpation” are also present. As I have already noted, several Assyrian kings understood themselves to be a weapon in the hands of the gods (see nn. 19-21), and an extension of their power and will. I have argued that the reference in Isa 10:5a to the king as the divine weapon (“Assyria! Rod of my anger!”) is a creative and subversive reworking of Assyrian annalistic images and themes, with the result that the king, contrary to the claims in his annals, is not an imperial implement in the hands of the Assyrian gods, but rather is an implement of judgment in the hands of Yhwh, the Israelite god. Some have read this reference 29
Bull Inscription: Nineveh, obv. line 2 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 66). Die Inschrift auf den Tonzylindern, obv. line 7 (Fuchs, Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad, 32, 289); ARAB II, §118. See also ARAB II, §§137, 155. For a reference from Tiglathpileser III, see Iran Stele I B, obv. line 8΄ (ITP, 99). 31 Machinist, “Assyria,” 734. 32 Ibid. 33 As a qualifying remark, although inversion or reversal seems to be at the heart of 10:5–6, it is also possible that the Assyrians themselves were willing to utilize the names of foreign gods in order to secure the surrender of a foe and to counter seditious sentiments in a population. For example in 2 Kgs 18:25 the hq#br also asserts that Yhwh has sent the Assyrians in order to destroy the land. The willingness of the Assyrians to utilize the names of foreign gods may be part of the “divine abandonment” motif, present in some Assyrian texts, whereby non-Assyrian deities are said to support the Assyrian imperial cause. See, e.g., Morton [Mordechai] Cogan, Imperialism and Religion: Assyria, Judah and Israel in the Eighth and Seventh Centuries B.C.E. (SBLMS 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1974), 9–21. For the possible editorial and redactional connections between Isaiah 10 and 2 Kings 18, see Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 173, 199–200. 30
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to the Assyrian king as a weapon diminutively, as if the king were the “mere” weapon of Yhwh, a petty puppet or tool.34 Later verses will undoubtedly engage in rhetorical diminution (cf. 10:15). At this point, however, if we read v. 5 in light of imperial idiom, what lies before us is a theological and rhetorical coup d’état, whereby the Assyrian king is stripped of his title as an agent of the Assyrian pantheon and is conscripted, rather, by Yhwh as an agent of judgment and wrath against Yhwh’s own people. Regarding v. 5b (“The staff in their hands is my fury”), it was often the case that the weapon in the hands of the Assyrian king was given for the purpose of ruling, subduing, and expanding the kingdom.35 For the Isaianic writers, however, imperial ambitions of expansion and destruction (see 10:8–11, 13–14) are pushed aside as petty expressions of presumption (10:12) and are rejected as legitimate expressions of the divine will. While conquest and plunder are an implied part of the divine commission (v. 6), Yhwh’s fury was not meant to bring Yhwh’s people to an ultimate end. Yhwh’s fury, although definitive, was only penultimate (cf. 11:1–9). Yhwh, unlike the imperial gods of Assyria, is not the unqualified legitimating force undergirding the king’s expansionistic and destructive policies, but rather is a subversive force, overturning the king’s propagandistic claims and transforming him into an agent of Yhwh’s purposes.36 Contrary to the claims found in his annals, the Assyrian king fights as Yhwh’s agent, with Yhwh’s weapons, and for Yhwh’s purposes.
II. Yhwh as Siege Warrior: Isaiah 10:16–19 (16) Therefore, the Lord—Yhwh of Armies— will send a wasting sickness against his “fat.”37 34
For example, Clements writes, “The prophecy affirming that Assyria is simply the rod in the hand of Yahweh for the punishment of his people . . . is amongst the most important in the entire collection” (Isaiah 1–39, 109). This view is taken also by Mittmann: “Was in V. 5 vor allem im betonten Suffix der 1. Person Jahwes nur anklingt: Assur ist nur Werkzeug in Jahwes Hand, ein totes und gänzlich fremdbestimmtes Instrument der göttlichen Geschichtsmacht” (“Wehe,” 132). 35 Sennacherib’s annals are representative: “Aššur, father of the gods, brought in submission to my feet the whole race of blackheaded men, raised aloft my head to be ruler of land and peoi which enlarges my land and put into my hands an unsparple, gave me a righteous scepter [h}atti u] ing sword for the overturn of my enemies.” Undated Bull Inscription, obv. lines 5–6 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 117). See also ARAB II, §133. 36 My attempt to connect vv. 5–6 with Assyrian parallels stands in some tension with Childs’s earlier proposal that the notion of Yhwh “sending” the Assyrian king as a weapon of judgment was “so peculiar to Isaiah (10.5ff), and so foreign to any Near Eastern pattern that the issue of dependence upon Isaianic tradition cannot be avoided” (Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis, 84). See Cohen, “Neo-Assyrian Elements,” who also argues against Childs’s assertion, but does it from the perspective of 2 Kings 18 and Isaiah 36. 37 The exact meaning of the word wynm#mb (“fatness”) is not clear. The root of wynm#mb (sing.
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Beneath his glory is a raging inferno, like the burning of fire.38 (17) The Light of Israel will become a fire, and his Holy One a flame. It will burn up and devour his weeds and his thorn bushes in a single day. (18) Then, the glory of his forest and his vineyard39 —in toto! [lit., “from breath to flesh”]—it [the flame; cf. v. 17] will finish off;40 it will be as when a weak person despairs.41 (19) The remnant of the trees in his forest will be of such a small number that even a child could count them.
Nm#m) can refer to both people (Ps 78:31) and fertile land (Gen 27:28, 39; Dan 11:24). Blenkinsopp correctly notes that the context permits either interpretation (Isaiah 1–39, 255). Therefore, I have followed Beuken in leaving the term as “fat,” and allowing the ambiguity to remain (Beuken, Jesaja 1–12, 275). Although I agree with Wildberger’s interpretation of these verses as referring to tracts of land (“fette Landstriche,” trans. “lush stretches of land” [Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 427]), the translational principles put forth by Blenkinsopp and Beuken more adequately account for the text’s innate ambiguity (see Barth, Die Jesaja-Worte in der Josiazeit, 28). Interestingly, the related word Nm# (“oil” or “fat”) is used to refer to land in an equally ambiguous Isaianic stich (“My beloved had a vineyard, on a horn, the son of fatness [Nm# Nb]” [Isa 5:1]). 38 The text is highly repetitive (#) dwqyk dqy dqy wdbk), mostly owing to the presence of the substantive dqy (“a burning”). It is possible that the substantive is part of a poetic scheme that uses paronomasia and repetition to add emphasis. Notice also that four of six words contain d at or near the end of the word. 39 The references to both troublesome plants (“his weeds” [wty#]; “his thornbushes” [wrym#]; cf. Isa 7:23–25) and plants useful for food and aesthetic purposes (“his forest” [wr(y]; “his vineyard” [wlmrk]) may function as an agricultural merismus, underlying the totality of Yhwh’s destruction. 40 Although most translators emend the piel verb hlky to a passive construction (e.g., Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 428; Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 255; Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12, 238), my translation follows Watts and Beuken, who maintain the pointing of the MT and assume the masculine singular subject to be hbhl (Beuken, Jesaja 1–12, 275; Watts, Isaiah 1–33, 147). 41 The primary difficulty with this stich lies in the proper translation of the phrase ssn ssmk. The various alternatives offered by the other ancient versions may indicate the irreparable state of the MT (so Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 255), thus making all translational attempts necessarily tentative. The qal participle ssn, which is a hapax legomenon, and the infinitive construct ssmk, which is also a hapax legomenon in the qal, may have something to do with weakening or pining away (e.g., Exod 16:21; Pss 68:3; 97:5), as suggested here and elsewhere (see Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 428). ssn, then, may be related to the Akkadian word nasāsu (“to sway to and fro, to tremble”) (G. R. Driver, “Isaiah 1–39: Textual and Linguistic Problems,” JSS 13 [1968]: 42; Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 428). As an aside, Watts incorrectly cites Wildberger as rejecting the Akkadian cognate and instead supporting a translation of ssn that derives its meaning from sn (“standard, signal”). Wildberger clearly supports Driver’s proposed Akkadian cognate: “This interpretation [the Akkadian cognate proposed by Driver] (see also AHw 806a) is preferable to deriving the word from sn", ‘standard’ (‘as when one carries a standard despairs’!)” (Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 428).
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Although the imagery is somewhat confused, presenting the reader with a collage of images, what comes to the fore is the image of Yhwh as a devouring and incendiary siege warrior, who engages in the ancient Near Eastern practice of burning the enemies’ gardens, forests, and horticultural growth. Gallagher, who interprets these verses similarly, tentatively dates vv. 16–19 to the reign of Sennacherib, whose famous canals and gardens at Nineveh may be alluded to in vv. 18–19.42 From Gallagher’s perspective, “If this is the forest and garden-land referred to in Is. 10:18-19, then it was appropriate for the prophet to predict that his forest and garden-land would be consumed by the fire of the Holy One of Israel.”43 Although Gallagher’s historical specificity is somewhat questionable, I affirm his assertion that these texts are ultimately rooted in the Assyrian royal practices of siege warfare and, in fact, that the imagery is purposefully reversed so as to depict Yhwh in the role traditionally assigned to the Assyrian king.44 References to the destruction of agricultural and horticultural growth in times of siege war are common occurrences in both royal inscriptions and wall reliefs and are especially abundant during the Neo-Assyrian period.45 According to Steven W. Cole, it is likely that “the Assyrians gradually cut down the fruit trees of the towns which they besieged in order to encourage their inhabitants to submit.”46 Alternatively, Jacob L. Wright has recently argued that the destruction of agriculture was not part of an attempt to coerce a besieged city into surrender, but rather, was part of “a more comprehensive denudation of a land and in reprisal for previous injuries.”47 Therefore, in Wright’s reading, “the destruction of trees goes hand in hand with other measures
42 Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 87. For a discussion of Sennacherib’s agricultural and hydrological achievements in light of 2 Kings 19 and Isaiah 37, see Hayim Tawil, i R” JNES 41 “The Historicity of 2 Kings 19:24 (= Isaiah 37:25): The Problem of YE’ŌRÊ MĀSÔ (1982): 195–98. 43 Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign to Judah, 87. 44 The depiction of Yhwh as an agriculture-consuming flame is in some tension with the rules of Israelite warfare delineated in Deuteronomy 20: “If you lay siege to a city for many days, to wage war against her, for the purpose of seizing her, you must not destroy her trees by wielding an axe against them. You may eat some of them, but you must not cut them down, for trees of the field are not humans that they should come under siege before you. Only trees which you know are not fit for eating may be destroyed; you may cut them for building siege works against the city making war with you, until her fall” (20:19–20). For a recent and helpful discussion of the relationship of Deuteronomy 20 to the Neo-Assyrian laws, see Wright, “Warfare and Wanton Destruction,” 423–58. 45 See Steven W. Cole, “The Destruction of Orchards in Assyrian Warfare,” in Assyria 1995: Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995 (ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1997), 29–40. Cole’s article, which focuses on the destruction of fruit trees, is helpful for both its depth and its many references to both literary and iconographic sources. 46 Ibid., 36. 47 Wright, “Warfare and Wanton Destruction,” 443.
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of terror the army employed to vanquish resistance to the empire’s expansion.”48 A representative text comes from the reign of Shalmaneser III: “To save his life he ran away (but) I pursued him. I imprisoned him in Damascus, his royal city, (and) cut down his gardens.”49 From Tiglath-pileser III’s summary inscription: “I enclosed Mukin-zeri of Bit-Amukkani in Sapiya . . . I cut down the orchards and the sissootrees around the city walls, and did not leave a single one. I destroyed [i.e., ‘cut down’] the date-palms throughout his land.”50 From Sennacherib’s annals: “I destroyed, I devastated, I burned with fire. Their orchards I cut down. . . .”51 Sargon’s “Letter to Aššur” found at Aššur is the most illustrative: I cut down its splendid orchards, I cut down great quantities of its vines, I made an end of its drinking. The great forests, which were as dense as great reed (marshes), —their trees I cut down, and laid waste its plain. All of its cut-down tree trunks I gathered like the debris of a hurricane and set them on fire. . . . Their orchards I cut down and their forests I felled. All of their tree trunks I gathered into heaps and set on fire.52
In light of the aforementioned references, it seems that vv. 16–19 are in fact borrowing language and imagery traditionally associated with the Assyrian monarchs and are, in effect, rhetorically painting Yhwh’s intended judgment in terms comparable to the practices of Assyrian siege warfare. Instead of Judah’s vineyards and forests being ravaged and scorched by the Assyrian army, Yhwh will scorch the forests and vineyards of the Assyrians. Additionally, my interpretation assumes, contrary to some commentators, that the landscape being described in these verses is Assyria’s landscape and not Judah’s.53 Admittedly, the lexical and metaphorical ambiguity makes any designation necessarily tentative; I am, however, in agreement with Stuart Irvine, who writes, “The details of the punishment are difficult to understand, but the verses seem to focus on the land of Assyria.”54 The theme of 48
Ibid., 442. Shalmaneser III – Monumental Bull Annalistic Inscription, obv. lines 14´´–17´´ (RIMA 3:48); “Annals: Calah Bulls,” translated by K. Lawson Younger, Jr. (COS 2:113 C:267). 50 Summary Inscription from Calah 7, obv. lines 23–24 (ITP, 163). See also Calah Annals 23, obv. line 12´ (ITP, 79). 51 The Bellino Cylinder B1, obv. line 29 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 55). 52 ARAB II, §165. This text is particularly helpful since it speaks of cutting down both the “orchards” and the “forests,” just as in 10:18. See also Šamšī-Adad V-Anu-Adad Temple Stele, obv. lines 35´–37´a (RIMA 3:190). 53 Karl Budde, for example, proposed that vv. 17–23 are an independent fragment dealing with the judgment of Judah, and were not, therefore, applicable to the Assyrian judgment described in vv. 5–16 (“Über die Schranken, die Jesajas prophetische Botschaft zu setzen sind,” ZAW 41 [1923]: 194). See also Wildberger’s discussion of this position (Isaiah 1–12, 429). 54 Irvine, Isaiah, Ahaz, 263. Irvine also connects these verses with Assyrian war practices and suggests that “the description of the disaster may echo the braggadocio of the Assyrian kings in their own inscriptions” (ibid., 264). 49
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reversal is further accentuated when one considers that in v. 5, the Assyrian king was “sent” (xl#) “against a godless nation,” and in v. 16, Yhwh “sends” (xl#) “a wasting sickness.”55 Ironically, the agent of judgment (the Assyrian king), has now become the object of judgment.
III. Taking the Western Journey: Isaiah 10:33–34 The final act of usurpation draws from and modifies the well-known Assyrian royal practice of traveling to the western mountain ranges (e.g., Amanus range, Lebanon, etc.) for the sake of felling their prized trees (e.g., burāšu = juniper, duprānu = variety of juniper, erēnu = cedar) and bringing them back to Assyria for use in royal building projects.56 The text from Isaiah 10 is as follows: (33) The Lord Yhwh of Armies is about to lop off57 the branches violently,58 and the very tops of the heights are about to be cut down, and the exalted ones will become low. (34) Even the brushwood of the forest he will strike by means of an ax, and Lebanon will fall by means of a Mighty One.59 55
Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 430; Irvine, Isaiah, Ahaz, 263. Several studies have addressed this phenomenon. Yutaka Ikeda’s article, for example, demonstrates that there is a certain degree of “fluidity” with regard to the significance of the “western journey” in the Assyrian royal literature (“Hermon, Sirion and Senir,” AJBI 4 [1978]: 32–41). See also Abraham Malamat, “Campaigns to the Mediterranean by Iahdunlim and Other Early Mesopotamian Rulers,” in Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, April 21, 1965 (AS 16; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 365–73. As a qualifying point, however, Malamat’s study also demonstrates that the journey to cut precious wood near the coast of the Mediterranean was by no means limited to Assyrian kings; the practice is attested in ancient Near Eastern sources “from remotest antiquity” (ibid., 367). For a discussion concerning how the trees of Lebanon are present in the biblical material, see Fritz Stolz, “Die Bäume des Gottesgartens auf dem Lebanon,” ZAW 84 (1972): 141–56. See also, “burāšu,” CAD 2:326–28; “duprānu,” CAD 3:189–90; “erēnu,” CAD 4:274–79; “šurmēnu,” CAD 17:349–53. 57 The participle P(sm is a hapax legomenon. Most translators follow BDB by translating the verb as “lop/hew off ” (NRSV, NIV, NJPS). Many, however, seem to overlook the hnh + participle as an example of imminent action (Williams, Williams’ Hebrew Syntax, §214; see also Oswalt, Book of Isaiah, 273). 58 The lexeme hcr(mb has been problematic for translators. Several suggestions are normally offered: (1) The word may be derived from Cr( (“tremble, suffer a shock”). This suggestion seems to be followed by most major translations: NRSV, NIV, NET. (2) A second suggestion assumes everything proposed by the first suggestion, except that it translates the b as one of norm (“violently lops off ”; see NJB). This suggestion has been followed here. (3) Duhm suggested reading the word as dc(mb (“axe”) (Das Buch Jesaja, 80). Wildberger and NJPS follow Duhm’s suggestion (Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 447–48). 59 The suggestions relating to this verse are numerous (see Wildberger, Isaiah 1–12, 448–49). My own translation, however, understands the prepositional phrase ryd)b to be a titular reference 56
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The western journey to cut cedars is a pervasive Assyrian motif. The motif is prevalent as far back as Tiglath-pileser I, whose annals read, “I marched to Lebanon. I cut down (and) carried off cedar beams for the temple of the gods Anu and Adad, the great gods, my lords.”60 Or, from Shalmaneser III’s throne base at Calah, we are told, “I ascended the Amanus range (and) cut down beams of cedar (and) juniper.”61 In terms of its ideological value, such a journey was a heroic enterprise that broke into the realm (“space”) of the periphery, for the sake of bringing an as-yetunrealized cosmos, into cosmic (i.e., “imperial”) order.62 In the Nabu temple at Calah, a similar inscription reads, “On my return from the sea I ascended the Amanus range (and) cut down beams of cedar (and) juniper.”63 From Adad-nārārī III’s reign: “I ascended Mount Lebanon (and) cut down 100 strong beams of cedar for the requirements of my palace (and) temples.”64 Or, from the reign of Sennacherib: . . . at that time, Aššur and Ishtar, who love my priesthood, and have called me by name, showed me how to bring out the mighty cedar logs which had grown large in the days gone by, and had become enormously tall as they stood concealed in the mountains of Sirara.65
Clear references to the western journey in Isa 37:24 and 2 Kgs 19:23 further support the notion that the western journey undertaken by the Assyrian kings was a literary convention familiar to the Isaianic prophetic circle.66 to “The Lord Yhwh of Armies” (v. 33). My interpretation, which understands Yhwh as the cosmic “king” in the guise of an Assyrian monarch, helps to clarify this passage somewhat, since it was the Assyrian king who undertook the western journey to fell trees in Lebanon. 60 Clay Tablets from Aššur, obv. lines 16–17 (RIMA 2:37). See also lines 24–25, which attach the notion of the divine command to the king’s tree-felling activities: “By the command of the gods Anu and Adad, the great gods, my lords, I marched to Mount Lebanon. I cut down (and) carried off cedar beams for the temple of the gods Anu [and Adad], the great gods, my lords.” Clay Tablets from Aššur, obv. lines 16–17 (RIMA 2:42). 61 Throne Base Inscription, obv. line 21 (RIMA 3:103). This text was originally published by P. Hulin, “The Inscriptions on the Carved Throne-Base of Shalmaneser III,” Iraq 25 (1963): 48–69. 62 Mario Liverani, “The Ideology of the Assyrian Empire,” in Power and Propaganda: A Symposium on Ancient Empires (ed. M. T. Larsen; Mesopotamia: Copenhagen Studies in Assyriology 7; Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag, 1979), 306–7. Liverani also highlights the fact that, inasmuch as peripheral areas like the Lebanon or the Amanus mountain ranges provide raw materials (i.e., trees), the king is understood as one who can bring “the raw material of the peripheral chaos into order” and, in essence, “draw from it the organized and civilized life of the cosmos” (ibid., 313). 63 Stone Slab in Nabu Temple, obv. lines 89b–90 (RIMA 3:25). For additional references from the reign of Shalmaneser III, see the following: Stone Stele, obv. line ii9 (RIMA 3:17); Clay Tablets, obv. line i44 (RIMA 3:34); Clay Tablets, obv. line iii15 (RIMA 3:38); Stone Tablet, obv. lines i26–i28 (RIMA 3:51). 64 Stele, obv. lines 10–11 (RIMA 3:211). 65 The Palace without a Rival, obv. lines 47-52 (Luckenbill, Annals of Sennacherib, 2:107). 66 Machinist compares Isa 37:24 with inscriptions from both Shalmaneser III and
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The reversal in 10:33-34, then, is quite simple: instead of the Assyrian king taking the glorious and ideologically freighted westward journey, it will be Yhwh, the heroic earth-scorching siege warrior (10:16–19), who will cut down the ageold cedars of Lebanon.67 Indeed, if we also consider the theme of the western journey in the Gilgamesh Epic, then Isaiah has done nothing less than hijack the adventures of culture heroes in service of subversive theological rhetoric.68 Although vv. 33–34 have received treatment as an independent oracle, their use of arboreal and horticultural metaphor (cf. 10:12, 15–19) suggests that their presence at the end of the prophet’s words of judgment against the Assyrian king is not awkward or in any serious tension with the surrounding context.69 Additionally, the thematic connections between vv. 33–34 and Assyrian royal rhetoric, along with their inclusion in a judgment oracle dealing specifically with the Assyrian king, are reason enough to consider them part of the larger organizing motif of usurpation and reversal. Sennacherib. In Machinist’s translation, Isa 37:24 reads, “With my numerous chariotry, I am the one who ascended the heights of the mountains, the inner recesses of the Lebanon. I cut down its tallest cedars, its choicest junipers. I came to its uttermost height, its garden-like forest . . . .” He then compares this verse with the following from Shalmaneser III: “I went up to the mountains of the Amanus and cut down logs of cedar and juniper” (Machinist, “Assyria,” 723). See also Ikeda, who also references Isaiah 37 and 2 Kings 19 and proposes that these biblical texts may derive from Assyrian sources (Ikeda, “Hermon,” 35; cf. Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 477). 67 Irvine has proposed a similar act of reversal, asserting that the deforestation theme is somehow related to Assyrian sources (Isaiah, Ahaz, 281). Irvine’s interpretation, however, differs from mine in that he understands the foe to be the Syro-Ephraimitic forces. See the brief but helpful discussion in Kirsten Nielsen, “Der Baum in der Metaphorik des Alten Testaments,” in Das Kleid der Erde: Pflanzen in der Lebenswelt des Alten Israel (ed. U. Newmann-Gorsolke and P. Riede; Stuttgart: Calwer, 2002), 125–26. 68 Malamat also draws attention to the way in which the western journey is memorialized in the Gilgamesh Epic, in which Enkidu and Gilgamesh travel to the sacred “Cedar Mountain,” slay Huwawa and cut down the trees of the forest (Malamat, “Campaigns,” 372–73). 69 Clements, for example, understands 10:33–34 as “a further elaboration of the image of Assyria as a forest, which is to be cut down” (Isaiah and the Deliverance of Jerusalem, 43–44). It should be noted, however, that because of the metaphorical ties shared with ch. 11, some interpreters want to read 10:33–34 as an oracle of judgment against Judah/Jerusalem (e.g., Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis, 62; D. L. Christensen, “The March of Conquest in Isaiah X 27c–34,” VT 26 [1976]: 394–95; Kaiser, Isaiah 1–12, 251; Watts, Isaiah 1–33, 165–67; G. C. I. Wong, “Deliverance or Destruction? Isaiah X 33–34 in the Final Form of Isaiah X–XI,” VT 53 [2003]: 544–52). In this line of thought, the messianic figure of ch. 11 would arise out of the “stump” created in 10:33–34. My interpretation, however, follows those who understand vv. 33–34 as a continuation of the judgment against Assyria (e.g., Blenkinsopp, Isaiah 1–39, 261–62; Beuken, Jesaja 1–12, 296; Clements, Isaiah 1–39, 120–21; Franz Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Prophecies of Isaiah [trans. J. Martin; 2 vols; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1949], 1:281; Christopher R. Seitz, Isaiah 1–39 [Interpretation; Louisville: John Knox, 1993], 95; Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 200–201). When seen through the lens of Assyrian royal propaganda and in terms of the larger theme of reversal, the arguments in favor of reading vv. 33–34 as judgments against Judah diminish greatly.
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Moreover, by viewing vv. 33–34 in terms of an act of rhetorical usurpation, the questions often raised by scholars concerning the exact identity of the forest being felled can be nuanced differently. In G. C. I. Wong’s recent article, for example, he essentially offers two interpretive trajectories, both of which assume, as do I, that Yhwh is the divine warrior/forester. In the first trajectory, which he criticizes, Assyria is the forest that Yhwh is going to fell.70 In the second, he understands these verses “as a description of Yhwh’s judgment on Jerusalem through Assyria.”71 Deciding the identity of the forest is legitimate and important for determining the relation between ch. 10 and ch. 11. I would like to suggest, however, that if I am correct in connecting vv. 33–34 with Assyrian royal propaganda, then the felling of the trees is not the only act of violence undertaken by Yhwh against the Assyrians. The very act of garbing Yhwh in the role traditionally assigned to the Assyrian monarch (i.e., the great foresting sojourner to the western mountains) is equally violent, and perhaps more shameful to the Assyrian king than the act of felling the forest itself.
IV. Conclusions Based on parallels with royal literature from the Neo-Assyrian period, I have argued that Isa 10:5–6, 16–19, and 33–34 not only are creative modifications of royal idiom but are, in fact, purposefully fashioned in such a way that the common motifs present in such royal literature are overturned, resulting in the debunking of the Assyrian king’s claim to be ruler of the world. If the present argument is accepted, it would suggest that the entire section 10:5–34 has been redacted and shaped around the theme of reversal or usurpation—that is to say, redacted as a way of engaging in vigorous linguistic combat with an oppressive ideological war machine, equipped with ruthless implements of “psychological warfare.”72 It follows that since Yhwh has usurped the throne, the establishment of the messianic kingdom in ch. 11 must be seen not only as the rise of a new kingdom but also as the rise of a kingdom whose express purpose it is to replace the current reign of violence with a reign of peace and harmony. 70
For Wong’s thorough and evenhanded summary of this position, see his “Deliverance or Destruction?” 545–46. 71 Ibid., 544–45. 72 H. W. F. Saggs’s earlier work on warfare in the Sargonid period referred to a “definite conscious use by the Assyrians . . . of psychological warfare” (“Assyrian Warfare in the Sargonid Period,” Iraq 25 [1938]: 149). For a more recent discussion of “psychological warfare” in the NeoAssyrian period, see Peter Dubovský, Hezekiah and the Assyrian Spies: Reconstruction of the NeoAssyrian Intelligence Services and Its Significance for 2 Kings 18–19 (BibOr 49; Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2006), 10–27, 161–87.
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JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 735–757
“Taxo” and the Origin of the Assumption of Moses edna israeli [email protected] 20 Pilichowski, Tel Aviv, 69341 Israel
For my mentors, Professor Joshua Efron and Professor Aryeh Kasher The identity of Taxo has intrigued the scholarly imagination ever since the appearance of a single fragmentary Latin manuscript of the Assumption (or Testament) of Moses.1 The odd name comes up only once (in ch. 9), yet its identification is key to understanding the real significance of the book, including its time frame, religious affiliation, and overall meaning and tendency.2 Numerous solutions based on diverse methods of reading, calculation, and decoding have been put forth since Antonio Ceriani first published the palimpsest in 1861.3 However, all the attempts so far display the workings of richly inventive minds rather than of soundly grounded historical research.
1 Antonio M. Ceriani identified the fragmentary text as part of a wider work entitled ἀνάληψις Μωυσέως, extracts of which were mentioned by the church fathers (Monumenta sacra et profana ex codicibus praesertim Bibliothecae Ambrosianae (Milan: Bibliothecae Ambrosianae, 1861), vol. 1, fasc. 1:55–64. See further Johannes Tromp, The Assumption of Moses: A Critical Edition with Commentary (SVTP 10; Leiden/New York: Brill, 1993), 87–92; Gustav Volkmar, Mose Prophetie und Himmelfahrt (Handbuch der Apokryphen 3; Leipzig: Fues, 1867), 4–12. 2 E.g., Solomon Zeitlin, “The Assumption of Moses and the Revolt of Bar Kokba,” JQR 38 (1947–48): 1–45, here 4; John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination: An Introduction to the Jewish Matrix of Christianity (New York: Crossroad, 1984), 104; William J. Deane, Pseudepigrapha: An Account of Certain Apocryphal Sacred Writings of the Jews and Early Christians (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1891), 118. 3 Tromp counts approximately thirty different attempts to resolve the conundrum (Assumption, 124).
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I. Narrative Outline The obscure figure is set in a narrative framework that evolves as follows: When Moses is about to die, he nominates Joshua as his successor and hands over to him certain books of prophecies which Joshua is to hide until the appointed time. On the same occasion Moses reveals to Joshua a prophetic prediction that briefly reviews the history of his people, from their future entry into their land to the advent of the end. Chapters 1–8 provide a cyclical description of the people’s offenses, ensuing calamities, supplications for forgiveness, and partial temporary rescues, which are repeated successively. Three anticipated calamities are expounded. 1. (3:1–3) A king coming from the east will burn the temple and exile the people to his country. He is widely identified with Nebuchadnezzar. 2. (6:2–9) An insolent king (rex petulans), not of priestly stock, a heinous man, will ruthlessly slay the old and the young, execute judgments on the people (as the Egyptians did), and torture them for thirty-four years. He will be succeeded by his sons, who will rule for shorter periods than he, until the appearance of an enemy coming from the west. He will conquer the people, lead them to captivity, and burn “a part” of their sanctuary. Scholars are generally in agreement4 that this king is to be identified with Herod. The depicted events lead to the onset of the eschatological age and end-time (7:1). The chapter goes on to describe the first phase of eschatological events5 that occur under the sway of men who are hypocritical, corrupt and evil (homines pestilentiosi), deceitful (homines dolosi), and gluttonous; who promote lawlessness and licentiousness; and who consequently bring about the last calamity. 3. Chapter 8 describes the final atrocity. It is a narrative of unprecedented vengeance and wrath, unknown “from the beginning of the world” (cf. Matt 24:21; Mark 13:19), that will raise against them the king of the kings of the earth (regem regum terrae), possessing great might, who will crucify the circumcised, force youths to bring forward their foreskin, subject others to brutal tortures, and coerce them to violation of their law.6
4 Contra Joseph Langen, who thought he was Archelaus (Das Judenthum in Palästina zur Zeit Christi: Ein Beitrag zur Offenbarungs- und Religions-Geschichte als Einleitung in die Theologie des N.T. (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1866), 109. 5 The text at this point is partially illegible. 6 Scholars are divided on identification of this atrocity. I shall return to this below.
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As a result of these events, Taxo makes his appearance (ch. 9). His person and actions are introduced as follows:7 1. Tunc illo die erit homo tribu Levvi cujus nomen erit Taxo, qui habens VII filios dicet ad eos rogans:
1. Then, on that day, there shall be a man of the tribe of Levi, whose name shall be Taxo, who having seven sons shall speak to them, saying:
2. Videte, filii, ecce ultio facta est in plebe altera crudelis, inmunda, et traductio sine misericordia et eminens principatum.
2. See, my sons, behold a second cruel and unclean retribution is made against the people, and a punishment without mercy, and it surpasses the first one.
3. Quae enim gens, aut quae region, aut quis populus impiorum in Dominum qui multa scelesta fecerunt, tanta mala passi sunt quanta nobis contegerunt?
3. For what nation or what land or what people rebellious against the Lord, having committed many crimes, has suffered woes as great as have come over us?
4. Nunc ergo, filii, audite me! Videte enim, et scite quia nunquam temptans Deum nec parentes nec proavi eorum, ut praetereant mandata illius.
4. Now then, my sons, hear me! See then and know that neither our parents nor their ancestors have tempted God by transgressing his commandments.
5. Scitis enim, quia haec sunt vires nobis. Et hoc faciemus:
5. Surely you know that here lies our strength. And this we shall do:
6. jejunemus triduo, et quarto die intremus et in spelunca quae in agro est, et moriamur potius quam praetereamus mandata Domini dominorum, Dei parentum nostrorum.
6. Let us fast for three days, and on the fourth day let us enter into the cave which is in the field, and let us die rather than transgress the commandments of the Lord of lords, the God of our fathers.
7. Hoc enim si faciemus et moriemur, sanguis noster vindicavitur coram Domino.
7. For as we shall do this and die, our blood will be avenged before the Lord.
The appearance of Taxo marks the last phase before advent of the end and final redemption. Chapter 10 describes the appearance of God’s kingdom, the overthrow of Satan, the rising of the Heavenly One from his throne to execute vengeance on the nations, and the outbreak of cosmic disruptions (cf. Matt 24:29; Mark 13:24–25; 7 The Latin text and English translation are from the critical edition by Tromp, largely based on the editio princeps of Ceriani’s manuscript (Monumenta, 1.1:6–25).
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Luke 21:25–26). At this time, Israel will ride upon the neck of the eagle, soar toward God, and look down from above on the destruction of its enemies. Moses then commands Joshua to withhold the prophecy, discloses the time span from his death until advent of the end, and fortifies Joshua’s spirit (10:11–15). This is followed (v. 11) by a description of Joshua’s distress at hearing Moses’ prophecy, as he addresses a long list of questions that betray fear of the heavy burden laid upon him. In the remaining passage of the last chapter (v. 12) Moses further reassures Joshua and promises that God will firmly stand by his covenant.8 Taxo’s appearance and willingness to die for his faith are therefore a link in the chain of suffering conducive to final redemption.9
II. Interpretations of Taxo Who is the obscure Taxo? What is his role in the predicted events? Who are the seven sons of Taxo? When was the text written and in what language? For whom and why was the text written? Commentators disagree over all these issues. Their opinions span all the known groups and streams within Judaism, from the outbreak of the Hasmonean revolt to the Bar Kokhba war. The name Taxo acquired diverse attributions, ranging from Mattathias, the father of the Hasmoneans, to Rabbi Akiva. Yet, despite the numerous attempts to decipher the name, there is not one solution that adequately addresses the sequence, unity, and logic of the text. Joseph Klausner supposed that the name was the Hebrew )ytm, which was corrupted to Taxa in Greek and rendered Taxo in Latin. He ascribed it to Mattathias the Hasmonean.10 Applying the system of numerology (gematria), C. C. Torrey also identified Taxo with Mattathias, calculating that the original Aramaic w#q+11 8
The text ends here; scholars believe there was more to the work, including Moses’ testament, and that both belong to one work. Most scholars also believe that Jude 9 derives from the same work, against Ferdinand Philippi, who argues that the author of the Assumption of Moses relied on Jude rather than the other way around (Das Buch Henoch: Sein Zeitalter und sein Verhältniss zum Judasbriefe [Stuttgart: Liesching, 1868], 166, Anhang über Judä Vers 9 und die Mosesprophetie). 9 Jacob Licht, “Taxo, or the Apocalyptic Doctrine of Vengeance,” JJS 12 (1961): 95–103, esp. 99. 10 Joseph Klausner, The Messianic Idea in Israel: From Its Beginning to the Completion of the Mishnah (in Hebrew; Jerusalem: Hapoalim, 1927; Eng. trans. W. F. Stinespring; New York: Macmillan, 1955), 203–4; idem, History of the Second Temple Period (in Hebrew; 5 vols.; Jerusalem: Achiassaf, 1950), 4:186–87. Likewise Robert H. Pfeiffer suggests “Taxo (i.e. Mattathias)” (History of New Testament Times with an Introduction to the Apocrypha [London: A. & C. Black, 1949], 80). 11 Charles C. Torrey, “Taxo in the Assumption of Moses,” JBL 62 (1943): 1–7.
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(with a value of 415) corresponds to the Aramaic )ynwm#x (Hasmoneans).12 Irrespective of the historical discrepancy,13 Torrey related the seven sons to the seven rulers of the house of Hasmoneans, from Judah to Antigonus.14 Wallace N. Stearns also found a Mattathias–Taxo nexus, claiming that the stem Ntn (“to give”), from which the Hebrew name whyttm derives, is in Greek rendered Ματταθίας.15 It occurs in the Septuagint as one of the variants for the Greek verb τάσσω (1 Chr 16:4, 7). F. C. Burkitt thought that the Hebrew name qwskt was transliterated as ταξωκ,16 and, applying the dg-b) (ab-gad) system (reordering the letters by taking in each case the next letter of the Semitic alphabet), he assumed that the name referred to Eleazar the Hasmonean, according to 2 Macc 6:18–31,17 while the seven sons corresponded to the seven sons of the widow (2 Maccabees 7), and the cave of refuge corresponded to one in the story about the Hasidim during the Hasmonean revolt (1 Macc 1:53; 2:31).18 R. H. Charles, drawing on an early Samaritan text (which he had in the form of a German translation from Arabic) entitled Legends of Moses, about a man from the tribe of Levi named Eiferer, meaning “zealot,” conjectured that the Hebrew original )nqh (“the zealot”) was miscopied as )sqt (Taxa), which, in the Latin transliteration, became Taxo.19 He identified the text’s author as a zealot, in the sense of 12 Gottfried Kuhn suggested that the Hebrew original was +#wq (or +y#q), meaning “honesty” or “loyalty,” which either by a scribal slip or by authorial intent became #+wq, and which then by substitution of letters became Taxo (“Zur Assumptio Mosis,” ZAW 43 [1925]: 124–29). 13 See Sigmund Mowinckel, “The Hebrew Equivalent of Taxo in Ass. Mos. IV,” in Congress Volume: Copenhagen, 1953 (VTSup 1; Leiden: Brill, 1953), 78–87. Likewise Harold H. Rowley, “The Figure of ‘Taxo’ in the Assumption of Moses,” JBL 64 (1945): 141–43; Zeitlin, “Assumption,” 6. 14 Torrey, “Taxo,” 6. 15 Wallace N. Stearns, “Notes on Acts xiii. 9 and on Assumptio Mosis ix,” JBL 19 (1900): 53–54. 16 F. Crawford Burkitt, “Assumption of Moses,” Dictionary of the Bible (ed. James Hastings; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1900), 448–50. 17 Torrey (“Taxo,” 4) rejected not only the probability but even the possibility of the “ingenious theory” of Burkitt. He claimed that if the initial letter had been Hebrew t it should have been rendered in Greek as θαξω. Moreover, he indicated the relative insignificance of Eleazar in Jewish history. See also H. H. Rowley, The Relevance of Apocalyptic: A Study of Jewish and Christian Apocalypses from Daniel to the Revelation (London: Lutterworth, 1944), 128. 18 John J. Collins estimates that the author combined elements from all three stories into the episode of Taxo and the seven sons (“The Date and Provenance of the Testament of Moses,” in Studies on the Testament of Moses: Seminar Papers [ed. George W. E. Nickelsburg; SBLSCS 4; Cambridge, MA: Society of Biblical Literature, 1973], 15–32, esp. 24–25). On comparison with reports in the Hasmonean books (Maccabees), see Norbert J. Hofmann, Die Assumptio Mosis: Studien zur Rezeption massgültiger Überlieferung (JSJSup 67; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2000), 248–57. 19 Robert Henry Charles, The Assumption of Moses, translated from the Latin Sixth Century MS . . . (London: A. & C. Black, 1897), 36.
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zealous for the law, and defined him as “a Pharisaic Quietist,” a member of a group that supposedly existed in Judaism of the Second Temple period.20 Adolf Hausrath presumed that the original name, wmkt, was miscopied as wskt. He, too, applied the substitutive method of ab-gad and arrived at the name hly# (Shiloh), in the sense of messiah.21 Accordingly, Ferdinand Rosenthal calculated the numerical value of hly# (Shiloh) (345) as equal to Moses. He therefore read the name Taxo as a mystical expression alluding to the future return of a second Moses predicted in Deut 18:18.22 Cuthbert Lattey also advocated substitution of letters to convey the name Shiloh as messiah. This was, moreover, the suffering messiah whose death incurs glorious salvation.23 Adolf Hilgenfeld suggested that the name Taxo is a corruption of the Greek original Τξγ, which carries the numerical value of 363 and equates to the Hebrew word xy#mh (“the messiah”).24 T. Colani thought such notions preposterous and wryly commented that to relate the verse about Taxo to the messiah was as tenable as relating it to the emperor Barbarossa. James Drummond responded to the challenge by demonstrating that a slight shift from Ταξο to Ταρο yields the equation Ταρο = 471 = )swrbrb (Barbarossa).25 Volkmar drew on Rev 13:18, and, since he dated the text to the time of the Bar Kokhba, assumed that Taxo referred to Rabbi Akiva.26 He calculated that ΤΑΞΟ (431) is equal to )bq( Nwbr.27 He identified the seven sons with the disciples of Rabbi Akiva who allegedly died as martyrs.28 Solomon Zeitlin suggested that the name Taxo reflects a Latinized version of
20 Ibid., li–liv. In a subsequent reassessment of the same text, Charles (APOT 2:421) recanted and agreed with Burkitt’s view. 21 Adolf Hausrath, Neutestamentliche Zeitgeschichte, vol. 4 (Heidelberg: F. Bassermann, 1877), 77. 22 Ferdinand Rosenthal argues that the reference here is not to the end in the eschatological sense, but rather to the end of Judea (Vier apokryphische Bücher aus der Zeit und Schule R. Akiba’s (Leipzig: Otto Schulze, 1885), 13–38 (Assumptio Moses). The seven sons, in his opinion, represent the ideal Israel, as the seven best men (b. Meg. 26a). 23 Cuthbert Lattey, “The Messianic Expectation in ‘The Assumption of Moses,’ ” CBQ 4 (1942): 9–21, esp. 16–17. I shall return to this below. 24 Adolf Hilgenfeld, Messias Judaeorum (Leipzig: R. Reisland, 1869), 466–67. Volkmar counters in astonishment: “Ein rein jüdischer Messias, unabhängig von christlichen Davidienthum, ein ‘levitischer’ Messias! Worin liegt das Messiasthum?” (Mose Prophetie, 109), a question I shall address in my concluding remarks (section VII). 25 Colani’s view is mentioned by Hilgenfeld, Messias, 467; for Drummond, see his The Jewish Messiah (London: Longmans, Green, 1877), 80–81. 26 Volkmar, Mose Prophetie, 59–61. 27 The omission of the letter y in Akiva’s name Volkmar explains by analogy with the title rsq (“Caesar”) (Mose Prophetie, 59-60), in line with the theory relating the text to Revelation, but this manipulation has no textual foundation. 28 Ibid., 78–80.
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the Greek τόξον (“bow”; Hebrew t#q).29 Leaning on confused rabbinical sources, he associated Zech 6:12 with Joshua the high priest and suggested that it is probable that when the author spoke of Taxo, he had in mind Rabbi Joshua, who was of the tribe of Levi and opposed the revolt.30 Zeitlin argued that it was common for rabbis to call their disciples sons and that, since the number of Rabbi Joshua’s disciples is unknown, there is perhaps an allusion to the seven rabbis who, after the revolt, convened in Usha (Midr. Song of Songs 2).31 Heinrich Ewald suggested identifying Taxo with Judah the Galilean, whose name in the form Judah son of . . . would have the numerical value of Taxo, but he was unable to demonstrate the point because Judah’s father’s name is unknown.32 Application of gematria led Colani to Rabbi Judah ben Babba,33 who, according to tradition (b. Sanh. 14b; b. vAbod. Zar. 8b) ordained five elders in violation of Hadrian’s injunction against ordination and was condemned to death by the Romans. Hermann Rönsch read Taxo as a transliteration of w#xt, which carries the numerical value of 714; multiplied by seven, it equals 4,998, a number that could be rounded off to 5000, the time estimated for the coming of the messiah.34 K. Wieseler favored an etymology deriving from the Hebrew #xt (“badger”), which perhaps alludes to a man who, similar to the badger, was forced to hide in a den. The man could have been Judah the Galilean, one of the Zealot leaders, or perhaps the author himself.35 The solution that, with some modifications, gained ascendancy over all others was proposed by Joseph Langen in 1866. He thought that the name Ταξω derived from the future tense of the verb τάσσω, which could be construed as a translation of the Hebrew verb Kr(), meaning “arrange,” “prepare,” or “organize” (enrichten, vorbereiten, gerade machen), which fits Taxo’s role as forerunner of the messiah.36 This proposal, slightly modified, was picked up by Moriz Schmidt and Adalbert Merx, who privileged a symbolic description deriving from the Greek
29 Zeitlin, “Assumption,” 6. The rainbow signaled God’s covenant with Noah, described in Ezek 1:28. The Zohar links the rainbow with the coming of the messiah. 30 Zeitlin, “Assumption,” 4–12, 29–30. 31 Ibid., 30. 32 Heinrich Ewald, Geschichte des Volkes Israel (7 vols.; Göttingen: Dieterich, 1867), 5:73–82, cited in Tromp, Assumption, 124. Ewald’s hypothesis concerning numerical value is unfounded; according to Josephus (J.W. 2.8), Judah the Galilean was motivated not by religious persecution but by national aims and his resistance to bondage and payment of taxes to the Roman ruler. 33 Mentioned in Hilgenfeld, Messias, 466. 34 Carl Clemen, “Die Himmelfahrt Moses,” APAT 2:326. 35 Mentioned in Deane, Pseudepigrapha, 119; see also Francis Loftus, “The Martyrdom of the Galilean Troglodytes (B.J. i 312-3; A. xiv 429-30): A Suggested Traditionsgeschichte,” JQR n.s. 66 (1976): 212–23, esp. 219–23. 36 Langen, Das Judenthum in Palästina, 110–11.
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form ταξων, in the sense of ἐπιμελητής, namely, an orderer or a kind of superior (according to Josephus, of the Essenes).37 Accordingly, the translator, when transliterating from Greek to Latin, rendered the word by exchanging the verb for a noun. This sort of explanation was accepted by such commentators as Carl Clemen, Joachim Jeremias, Paul Volz, Emil Schürer38 (the latter accepting it as the least inventive idiosyncrasy), and others.39 Sigmund Mowinckel insisted that the name was inexplicable on the basis of a cognate Semitic language and therefore, inevitably, a Greek translation of the Hebrew original. The translator understood the word Taxo as denoting the name of a person and adjusted it to Latin.40 In his opinion, the author had in mind not necessarily the individual’s name but rather his title, presumably an honorific in virtue of his actions, as exemplified in Jer 23:6. He suggested that in Jewish-Greek religious philosophy there is a close connection between the Hebrew qx (hiōq) or hqx (hiuqqâ) and the Greek τάξις and that the word τάξις occurs as translation for Torah (law), so that there is a close relationship between the concept of law and that of order, τάξις—as world order.41 Mowinckel also pointed out that another word for order is Krs (serek), which corresponds to the Greek τάξις; he concluded that one could explain the Taxon of the Greek as a translation of the Hebrew term qqxm (mĕhōi qēq, “lawgiver”—in the sense of interpreter of the law).42 He therefore identified Taxo with the orderer whose task was to establish the right order within the Qumran congregation as the fore37 Moriz Schmidt and Adalbert Merx, “Die Assumptio Mosis mit Einleitung und erklärenden Anmerkungen,” Archiv für wissenschaftliche Erforschung des Alten Testaments (Halle: Waisenhaus, 1869–71), 1:111–52, esp. 147–48. See J.W 2.134 (LCL): Τῶν μὲν ἄλλων οὐκ ἔστιν ὁ τι μὴ τῶν ἐπιμεκητῶν ἐνεργοῦσι. 38Clemen, “Die Himmelfahrt Moses,” 326. Joachim Jeremias thought that the anticipation in the Assumption of Moses for the man from the tribe of Levi named Taxo = Τάξων = Ordner (künftiger) relates to the prevailing belief in the return at the end of Elijah as high priest (“Ηλ[ε]ίας,” TWNT 2:935). See my concluding remarks below. See also Paul Volz, Die Eschatologie der jüdischen Gemeinde im neutestamentlichen Zeitalter (Tübingen: Mohr, 1934; repr., Hildesheim: Olms, 1966), 201; Emil Schürer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ (175 B.C.–A.D. 135) (rev. and ed. Geza Vermes and Fergus Millar; 3 vols. in 4; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1973–87), 3.1:280. 39 E.g., Ethelbert Stauffer, Jerusalem und Rom im Zeitalter Jesu Christi (Bern: Francke, 1957), 136–50, here 141. Kuhn (“Zur Assumptio Mosis,” 129) counters that it is unlikely to identify Taxo with the Greek ταξων because “wäre es seltsam, dass das Participium futuri gewählt ware, statt des einfachen Τασσον” and if the intention was to his role as “Ordener, als eine Art grosser Organisator,” it should have been reflected in his actions, yet his choosing prayer and fasting points to anything but an Organisator. 40 Mowinckel, “Hebrew Equivalent,” 89; see also Charles (APOT 2:409–10), who enumerates fifteen different examples of transliteration; and Zeitlin, “Assumption,” 9. 41 See, e.g., Prov 31:26: hnw#l-l( dsx-trwtw hmkxb hxtp hyp; LXX (31:25): στόμα αὐτῆς διήνοιξεν προσεχόντως καὶ ἐννόμως καὶ τάξιν ἐστείλατο τῇ γλώσσῃ αὐτῆς. “She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of kindness.” 42 Mowinckel (“Hebrew Equivalent,” 93) agrees at this point with Charles, APOT 2:792.
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runner of the Teacher.43 John J. Collins accepted this interpretation as did Jacob Licht, who added that the Greek root ταγ parallels closely the Hebrew or Aramaic root serek, which carries multiple meanings and figures prominently in Qumran literature.44 Some commentators (e.g., Eugène de Faye )45 suggested that the name should be assigned not to a specific person but to a group that served as a type for God’s elect who chose death over transgression of the law’s commandments. E.-M. Laperrousaz also read Taxo as an ideal figure, who, together with his sons, is a type of the faithful remnant at the end of days, exemplifying a combination of “piétisme and quiétisme.”46 Martin Rist, in a similar vein, suggested that Taxo and his sons could be understood as symbolic figures for the faithful Jews who endure the distress of persecutions that allegedly promote the advent of the end.47 An exceptional solution was contributed by Jan Willem van Henten.48 He assumed that Taxo should be read symbolically, rather than as a particular individual, and suggested combining the first and last letters of the Hebrew and Greek alphabets successively, yielding Ω ) Α t. This combination defines the historical role of Taxo and his sons: they are the aleph and taw (in the Hebrew alphabet), and the alpha and omega (in the Greek). They exemplify those whose martyrdom signified the end of the Jewish people in the historical age and, at the same time, the beginning of the “new Israel” in the kingdom of heaven.49 The picture that emerges from this survey of opinions is of scholarly bewilderment at what to make of the odd name Taxo. There seems to be no sound and reasonable solution. This view is, in fact, shared by some interpreters, among them H. H. Rowley, who, dismissive of all the options as unfounded, justly pointed out the risk of constructing a theory on unfounded textual manipulations and concluded that “the figure of Taxo remains completely obscure.”50 John Priest similarly 43
Mowinckel, “Hebrew Equivalent,” 78–87; idem, He That Cometh (trans. G. W. Anderson; Oxford: Blackwell, 1959), 300–301. See also Mathias Delcor, “Le Mehoqeq du Document de Damas et Taxo de l’Assomption de Moïse ix,” RB 62 (1955): 60–66. 44 Collins (“Date and Provenance,” 22–23) accepted Mowinckel’s explanation but thought the author has an ideal, not a historical, figure in mind. See also Licht, “Taxo,” 95. 45 De Faye, Les apocalypses juives: Essai de critique littéraire et théologique (Lausanne: G. Bridel, 1892), 72. See also David C. Carlson, “Vengeance and Angelic Mediation in Testament of Moses 9 and 10,” JBL 101 (1982): 85–95, here 85. 46 Ernest-Marie Laperrousaz, “Le Testament de Moïse,” Sem 19 (1970): 85–87. 47 Martin Rist, “Moses, Assumption of,” IDB 3:450–55, here 451. 48 Jan Willem van Henten, “Traditie en Interpretatie in Test.Mos. 9:1–10:10,” Suma Blad van de Theologische Faculteit van de Universiteit van Amsterdam 19 (1987): 18–29. I would like to thank Prof. van Henten for providing me with his article, which appeared in a Dutch periodical unavailable in Israel and reached me despite the technical difficulties involved, and for his comments on this article. 49 Ibid., 28–29. I shall return to this option below. 50 Rowley, taking his cue from the seven sons, inferred a real rather than an ideal figure, yet
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admitted that the scholars who tackle the issue of identification impress by their power of invention but are ineffective, and Johannes Tromp sums up the debate by saying that none of the numerous suggestions made to solve the enigmatic name Taxo is convincing, and he has none to add.51 Concerning all the attempts to identify Taxo, the most pertinent statement, it seems to me, is that of O. F. Fritzsche toward the end of the nineteenth century: “. . . ut nemo adhuc inventus est, qui nomen satis probabiliter enuclearet, ita de ejus explicatione videtur desperandum,” “Until now [no solution] has been found to provide a satisfactory probability in explanation of the name, thus to find it seems to be hopeless.”52 The relevance of his words still resonates today.
III. The Sectarian Affiliation of the Author of the Assumption of Moses The presence of unresolved issues applies equally to the author’s religious identity and to the intended recipients of his blatant remarks in ch. 7.53 In the absence of traits distinctive to a particular group, commentators diverged and related the text to all the known groups between the Hasmonean and Bar Kokhba revolts.54 As has already been noted, Charles defined the author as “a Pharisaic Quietist.”55 Burkitt similarly, by a process of elimination, concluded that the author was representative of this presumed Pharisaism, which was reminiscent of the Hasmonean Hasidim and eventually disappeared. He characterized it as a tendency of Jewish thought closest to early Christianity.56 Rudolf Leszynsky and Abraham Geiger he assumed that if this figure was indeed the author’s contemporary he must have been marginal and unrecorded in historical documents (Relevance, 130–32). See also Egon Brandenburger, “Himmelfahrt Moses,” JSHRZ 5:57–84, here 75; Martin McNamara, Intertestamental Literature (Old Testament Message 23; Wilmington, DE: M. Glazier, 1983), 97. 51 John Priest, “Testament of Moses,” OTP 1:919–26, here 923; Tromp, Assumption, 124, 224. On the latter, see André LaCocque’s remark, “I for one would have welcomed some attempt on his [Tromp’s] part at breaking the mystery of ‘Taxo’” (review of Tromp, JBL 114 [1995]: 142– 43, here 143). 52 Cited by Deane, who admits that he “is forced to agree” (Pseudepigrapha, 118). 53 To quote Tromp (Assumption, 118): “It cannot be ascertained to which Jewish denomination, if any, the author of As. Mos. belonged.” 54 E.g., Schürer, History, 3.1:283. 55 Lattey (“Messianic Expectation,” 15–16) also supported Charles’s position and argued that the author of the Assumption abuses the priests and Sadducees and is antagonistic toward the Hasmoneans and militant tendencies in Judaism, contra Licht (“Taxo,” 96–97), who regarded Taxo as an active figure whose deeds had political significance manifested in supernatural potency. 56 Burkitt, “Assumption,” 449; also Licht, “Taxo,” 102. Jonathan A. Goldstein talks about an author who may have been “a proto-Pharisee” (“The Testament of Moses: Its Content, Its Origin, and Its Attestation in Josephus,” in Studies on the Testament of Moses, ed. Nickelsburg, 44–52, esp. 48–50).
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attributed the text to the Sadducees.57 Others (e.g., Schmidt and Merx, and André Dupont-Sommer) situated the author among the Essenes, whom prevailing opinion identifies with the Qumran sect.58 Affinity between the Assumption of Moses and Qumran literature was detected also by van Henten59 but rejected by such critics as Collins and Tromp.60 Laperrousaz discovered another hypothetical brand of quietism among the Essenes and situated the author as “un Essénien Quiétiste.”61 Before that Klausner dismissed the Essene connection because the Assumption of Moses, in his opinion, does not evidence any predominant “Essene” attributes.62 Likewise Rosenthal rejected an origin among the “Essenes” (Qumran) because they, even more than the Pharisees, stringently observed purification regulations 63 Schürer thought it most likely that the author came from among the (tohărôt). i 64 Zealots, a view that had been held by several commentators, particularly in the nineteenth century.65 This idea was vehemently rejected by Zeitlin, who proposed
57
Rudolf Leszynsky, Die Sadduzäer (Berlin: Mayer & Müller, 1912), 267–73; Abraham Geiger, “Apokryphische Apokalypsen und Essäer,” Jüdische Zeitschrift für Wissenschaft und Leben 6 (1868): 41–47. 58 Schmidt and Merx, “Die Assumptio Mosis,” 120–23; André Dupont-Sommer, The Jewish Sect of Qumran and the Essenes: New Studies on the Dead Sea Scrolls (trans. R. D. Barnett; London: Vallentine, Mitchell, 1954), 36–37; idem, The Essene Writings from Qumran (trans. G. Vermes; Cleveland: World, 1962), 296. For more on this matter, see Hofmann, Die Assumptio Mosis, 35–40. 59 Jan Willem van Henten, “Moses as Heavenly Messenger in Assumptio Mosis 10:2 and Qumran Passages,” JJS 54 (2003): 216–27. Yigael Yadin suggested a Qumran source for the Assumption of Moses (The Message of the Scrolls [New York: Simon & Schuster, 1957], 73). 60 Collins, “Date and Provenance,” 32; Tromp, Assumption, 118–19; see also Goldstein, who dismissed any affinity with the tradition of the “Qumran Essenes” on the basis of the disparity between the latter’s solar calendar and what is implied in the Assumption of Moses (“Testament,” 50). 61 Laperrousaz, “Le Testament de Moïse,” 93–95. However, such “Essénien Quiétisme,” similar to “Pharisaic Quietism,” is unsupported by historical evidence, and it seems that Laperrousaz suggested this presumed group in the absence of any other. 62 Klausner, History, 4:182–83. He presumes that the author was one of the remnants of tk Mydysxh (the sect of the Hasidim—Ασιδαῖοι). In contrast, see the extensive and elucidating survey of the Hasidic movement recently published by Menachem Ben Shalom, Hassidut and Hassidim in the Second Temple Period and in the Mishnah Period (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz ha-Meuchad, 2008), esp. 91–95. 63 Rosenthal, Vier apokryphische Bücher, 23. Charles (APOT 2:411) also dismissed the Essene option. 64 Schürer, Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi (2 vols.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1886), 2:635; idem, The Literature of the Jewish People in the Time of Jesus (ed. with an introd. by Nahum N. Glatzer; New York: Schocken, 1972), 80. 65 Rosenthal, Vier apokryphische Bücher, 23; Deane, Pseudepigrapha, 109. See also Charles, Assumption, xxi–xxviii; and de Faye, who notes that even if the author did not belong to the Zealots he was definitely not a moderate (Les apocalypses juives, 73–74). J. P. M. Sweet regards any relationship of the author to the known Jewish groups, most of all the Zealots, as unsound (“The Assumption of Moses,” AOT, 610–16, here 603).
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yet another group that supposedly existed in Judaism, namely, the apocalyptists.66 Hilgenfeld attributed the work to a Jew living in Rome,67 and Klaus Haacker to an author who came from Samaria.68 Rudolf Otto clearly discerned Iranian influence,69 and the Pakistani Abdus Sattar Ghauri argued that Moses in the Assumption prophesied the prophet Muhammad.70 Attempts to define the author’s religious identity and sectarian affiliation were as indecisive as the quest for the meaning of the name Taxo. The diverse solutions by process of elimination resulted in the rejection of all the known and presumed factions in Judaism of the Second Temple period. Thus, in the absence of a definitive identification of the provenance of the text, the one remaining choice is to designate it as, to quote Collins, “a sectarian document.”71 Tromp also failed to locate a suitable group to which the author belonged—and elsewhere added that the particular group around the Assumption of Moses perceived itself as “the true Israel” and presumably rejected the temple cult for its impurity.72 Kenneth Atkinson, more recently, addressed the uncertainty about what constitutes a sect, taking as his only lead the fact that this particular sect disclaimed the Second Temple and its priesthood.73 He branded Taxo “a militant 66
Zeitlin, “Assumption,” 18–20. He defines the “apocalyptists” as a purely religious group who were still a part of the Jewish people at the time of the Bar-Kokhba revolt, but many of them joined the Christians after the destruction. It is noteworthy that there is no evidence of such a group in any Jewish document. 67 Hilgenfeld, Messias, introduction, lxx–lxxvi. 68 Klaus Haacker, “Assumptio Mosis: Eine samaritanische Schrift?” TZ 25 (1969): 385–405. Hofmann assumes that the author argues with the Samaritans yet is, at the same time, a sympathizer (Die Assumptio Moses, 73). Against affiliation with Samaritans, see J. D. Purvis, “Samaritan Traditions on the Death of Moses,” in Studies on the Testament of Moses, ed. Nickelsburg, 93–117, here 117; Rist, “Moses, Assumption of,” 450–55. 69 Rudolf Otto, The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man: A Study in the History of Religion (Lutterworth Library 9; London: Lutterworth, 1938), 98. 70 See Abdus Sattar Ghauri, “Clear cut Prophecy regarding the Prophet of Islam in ‘Assumption of Moses’” (http://www.renaissance.com.pk/Decscrip2y3.html). He argues that the text went through several redactions, so that mention of seven sons depends on the story about the “Seven Sleepers” in the cave who escaped Roman persecution under Decius. 71 Collins, “Date and Provenance,” 32; and, on As. Mos. 1:17, see Abraham Schalit, Untersuchungen zur Assumptio Mosis (ALGHJ 17; Leiden: Brill, 1989), who completed an extensive textual analysis of ch. 1. He situates the author within one of the esoteric groups of the Second Temple period but does not indicate a specific, documented group. 72 Tromp, “Taxo, the Messenger of the Lord,” JSJ 21 (1990): 200–209, here 201. 73 Kenneth Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom and the Role of Nuntius in the Testament of Moses: Implications for Understanding the Role of Other Intermediary Figures,” JBL 125 (2006): 453–76, esp. 456–57. See also Goldstein, “Testament,” 49. In contrast, Daniel R. Schwartz (“The Tribes of As. Mos. 4:7–9,” JBL 99 [1980]: 217–23) argues that 4:7–9, contrasting the few tribes that came into the land and built the temple with the two tribes who could not offer sacrifices, refers to the dif-
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individual”74 whose willingness for self-sacrifice was a means to achieve destruction of evil. James H. Charlesworth also concludes that it has been impossible to reach a scholarly consensus regarding the text’s provenance or its relationship to a Jewish sect, if any.75 Volkmar reasoned the author was an orthodox “Pharisaic rabbi” and antiChristian ascetic.76 David M. Rhoads commented that the Assumption of Moses is a witness to the spirit that swept through religious circles of Judaism in the period 4 b.c.e. to 48 c.e.; it dampened the contemporary revolutionary impulse and eventually formed the cradle of the Christian faith.77 This view is shared by Atkinson.78 In 1868, the German scholar Ferdinand Philippi asserted that the Assumption of Moses was a product of nascent Christianity, a Christian text with Taxo as messiah. This figure was not, however, a Jewish messiah, but Jesus Christ, and his seven sons were the twelve apostles. He attributed the number seven (VII) to a miscopying of the original twelve (XII).79 Philippi claimed that the fierce attack depicted in ch. 7 was against the Jews and could not, therefore, have come from a Jew.80 This attitude is most definitely aligned with verses dispersed throughout the NT.81 Yet scholars engaged with the Assumption of Moses who had knowledge of Philippi’s proposal did not view it as probable. Similarly, Philippi’s few proponents in Israel, such as Joshua Efron, Arieh Kasher, and Ben Zion Katz,82 failed to garner approval, despite the fact that no Jewish sect was accepted as the context for the author’s religious outlook.
ferentiation between those who entered the land and those who remained in exile and were therefore unable to offer sacrifices. The issue merits further debate but lies outside the scope of this study. 74 Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 475. 75 James H. Charlesworth, The Pseudepigrapha and Modern Research, with a Supplement (SBLSCS 75; Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1981), 163–64. 76 Volkmar, Mose Prophetie, 85. 77 David M. Rhoads, “The Assumption of Moses and Jewish History: 4 BC–AD 48,” in Studies on the Testament of Moses, ed. Nickelsburg, 53–58, here 58. 78 Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 475–76. I shall return to his position below. 79 Philippi, Das Buch Henoch, 177. 80 See also Rosenthal, who claims the work’s description of the Pharisees and the accusations against them, which are consistent with the Gospels, could not have been voiced by even their most fierce adversary (Vier apokryphische Bücher, 21–22). 81 E.g., Matthew 23; Mark 12:38–40; Rom 1:28–29; 2 Pet 2:13, 18, a comparison noticed also by Charles, APOT 2:419; and de Faye, Les apocalypses juives, 71. 82 Joshua Efron, The Origins of Christianity and Apocalypticism (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: HaKibbutz ha-Meuchad, 2004), 37; idem, Formation of the Primary Christian Church (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz ha-Meuchad, 2006), 22; Arieh Kasher, “Historical Background and Messianism in ‘The Assumption of Moses’ ” (in Hebrew; M.A. thesis, Tel Aviv University, 1966), e.g., 2, 40– 55; Ben-Zion Katz, Prushim, Zadukim, Kanaaim, Notzrim (Tel Aviv: Tversky, 1947), 87–88.
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IV. Original Language Scholars agree that the Latin copy of the Assumption of Moses is a translation of the Greek, but most opt for a Semitic original (either Hebrew or Aramaic).83 While early Christian writings often betray evidence of the Greek source of the Assumption of Moses—transliterations, grammatical forms, and distinctive idioms derived from Greek,84 nothing survives of a Semitic version of the Assumption of Moses, nor is there evidence one ever existed.85 Charles, against Hilgenfeld, was an impassioned advocate of a Hebrew original. Relying on the presence of idioms, syntactical constructions, and wordplays, he championed a Hebrew reconstruction of the text as the only basis for interpretation and establishing meaning.86 He became the preeminent proponent of this view, and many scholars followed his lead,87 some subscribing to a specifically Aramaic source88 and others to a general Semitic original.89This view became deeply entrenched in the research environment, acquiring the status of an unquestioned assumption. David Wallace stated emphatically that no serious scholar since Hilgenfeld would persist in the notion that the Assumption of Moses was written in Greek.90 Tromp, whose 1993 study was primarily dedicated to a comprehensive linguistic analysis of the text, reversed this trend. He argued that certain examples provided by Charles have no sound textual foundations and that even the most likely Hebrew forms were intended for scriptural effect. Thus, the presumed Hebraisms in the text cannot be cited as evidence for a Hebrew original. He charged that Charles’s arguments for a Hebrew source are too flimsy and warrant rejection.91 Moreover, Hebraisms of the sort mentioned are abundant in the Greek and 83
Charles, Assumption, xxviii–xxix; idem, APOT 2:410–13. Origen, Præfatio Rufini, book 3 (PG 11:303); idem, Sel. Jes. Nav. (PG 12: 834); Clement of Alexandria, Strom., book 5 (PG 9:356); Gelasius of Cyzicus, Actorum Concilii Nicæni,Commentarius (PG 85:1269); Oecumenius, Catholica Epistola Judæ Apostoli (PG 119:713). See also Charles, Assumption, lxii–lxv; Lattey, “Messianic Expectation,” 11; Tromp, Assumption, 79–81. See also n. 41 above. 85 Deane, Pseudepigrapha, 104. 86 Charles, Assumption, xxviii–xxix; idem, APOT 2:410–13. 87 E.g., Mowinckel, He That Cometh, 300–301; idem, “Hebrew Equivalent,” 89–90; Rosenthal, Vier apokryphische Bücher, 34; Brandenburger, “Himmelfahrt Moses,” 59; Langen, Das Judenthum in Palästina, 104–5; Collins, “Date and Provenance,” 22–23; Kahana, As.Mos., 397. 88 E.g., Schmidt and Merx, “Die Assumptio Mosis,” 111–14; Torrey, “Taxo,” 2; or David S. Russell, The Method and Message of Jewish Apocalyptic, 200 BC–AD 100 (OTL; London: SCM, 1964), 58. 89 Schürer, assuming that the work was written in the land of Israel, opted for either Hebrew or Aramaic but noted his uncertainty (Literature, 78–80). 90 David Wallace, “The Semitic Origin of the Assumption of Moses,” TZ 5 (1955): 321–28. 91 Tromp, Assumption, 79–85. 84
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Latin versions of the NT,92 deriving from the LXX translation of the Hebrew Scriptures. One therefore cannot infer that the NT documents, in whole or in part, were originally written in a Semitic language. The same conclusion applies to the Pseudepigrapha, in which authors assumed the identity of ancient and biblical figures and appropriated a language suitable to the purported context of their composition. Hence, there is nothing odd about the presence of Hebrew idioms in the text.93 Tromp’s conclusion in favor of Greek as the original language, on the basis of the most exhaustive textual analysis to date, lends itself neatly to the solution proposed here for identifying the name Taxo as it appears in the text, without any unfounded modification.
V. Date The issue of dating the work is another area of disagreement. The range of opinions spans different periods, from shortly before the outbreak of the Hasmonean revolt, coinciding with composition of the book of Daniel (which preceded its apocalyptic chapters), through the first and second centuries up to the reign of Hadrian and the Bar Kokhba revolt. Scholars rely on clues in the text about persons, events, or time calculations derived from the numbers dispersed throughout the chapters, in an attempt to glean real historical data. Accordingly, Schmidt and Merx arrived at a date between 54 and 64 c.e.; Hilgenfeld, between the years 44 and 45 c.e.; and Langen, soon after destruction of the temple by Titus.94 Fritzsche opted for the sixth decade of the first century c.e.95 Hausrath suggested the reign of Domitian, and Rosenthal, who read the description of the end as the end of Judea rather than the end of days, likewise dated the work to the destruction of the temple by Titus.96 However, the process of dating an apocalyptic text based on vague clues and speculative time calculations in a fragmentary and imperfect manuscript was rightly rejected as improper historical research.97 Nevertheless,
92 See, e.g., George H. Schodde, “The Septuagint,” Old Testament Student 8 (1888): 134–40, esp. 137–38; Henry S. Gehman, “The Hebraic Character of Septuagint Greek,” VT 1 (1951): 81– 90; Edgar V. McKnight, “The New Testament and ‘Biblical Greek,’ ” JBR 34 (1966): 36–42; and Nigel Turner, “Jewish and Christian Influence on New Testament Vocabulary,” NovT 16 (1974): 149–60. 93 Elaborated in Edna Israeli, “Eschatology and Soteriology in the Fourth Book of Ezra” (Ph.D. diss., Tel Aviv University, 2002), 8–12; see further, Efron, Origins of Christianity, 303. 94 Schmidt and Merx, “Die Assumptio Mosis,” 114–20; Hilgenfeld, Messias, lxxiii–lxxvi; Langen, Das Judenthum in Palästina, 106–11. 95 Cited in Schürer, Literature, 78. 96 Hausrath, Neutestamentliche Zeitgeschichte, 4:79; Rosenthal, Vier apokryphische Bücher, 18–19. 97 See, e.g., Schürer, Literature, 78–79; Tromp, Assumption, 94.
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since the end of the nineteenth century there has been almost unanimous commitment to a date in the opening three decades of the first century c.e., the date of composition established by Charles. This determination is based mainly on what is stated in 6:7, namely, that the sons of the evil king are to reign “for shorter periods” (breviora tempora) than their father. Since it is known that at least two of Herod’s sons reigned longer than their father (Philip from 4 b.c.e. to 34 c.e. and Antipas from 4 b.c.e. to 39 c.e.),98 the conclusion is that the work was written when their reigns still fell short of thirty-four years.99 To overcome the textual problem of introducing persecutions reminiscent of those under Antiochus after the reign of Herod and his sons, Charles proposed restoring the “historical order” by rearranging the chapters so that 8–9 stood before 5–6.100 This proposal was unacceptable to most scholars, since it divested Taxo of his eschatological dimension and disrupted the apocalyptic sequence without allowing it to attain its climax. In fact, this arrangement deprived the whole work of its meaning and message.101 Dating the work to the years extending over the first third of the first century c.e. was widely accepted by subsequent commentators. They excused the narrative’s distorted time line by arguing that it was structured not as historical chronology but as eschatological description of the final calamity, modeled on the Antiochan persecutions (similar to Revelation 13), which was expected to occur prior to the advent of the end-time.102 Two radical positions were advanced against the prevailing view. Licht, rejecting all the proposed dates as unsatisfactory, cautiously suggested that the text, in its extant form, is a composite, incorporating an early section from the time of Antiochus IV (shortly before the Hasmonean revolt) and interpolations, namely, chs. 6
98
Klausner, History, 4:188–95. Charles, Assumption, lv–lvii. 100 Ibid., 28–30. 101 E.g., Licht, “Taxo,” 101–2; also Kasher, “Historical Background,” 5. Lattey was aware of this claim and, to surmount the difficulty, proposed transposing ch. 8 to between chs. 6 and 7 and leaving ch. 9 as is—otherwise “the plan of the work is to be reduced from order to chaos” (“Messianic Expectation,” 11–12). This suggestion, too, was dismissed as an inadequate solution for the dilemma (see Licht, “Taxo,” 101–2). 102 Burkitt, “Assumption,” 448–49; de Fay, Les apocalypses juives, 70; Deane, Pseudepigrapha, 107; Brandenburger, “Himmelfahrt Moses,” 59–60; Laperrousaz, “Le Testament de Moïse,” 96– 99; Klausner, History, 4:182; Marie-Joseph Lagrange, “Notes sur le Messianisme au temps de Jésus,” RB n.s. 14 (1905): 481–86, here 485; Hofmann, Die Assumptio Mosis, 27–30; Tromp, Assumption, 16, 120–22; Collins, “Date and Provenance,” 20–21; Charlesworth, Pseudepigrapha, 163; Atkinson (“Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 467) maintains against Charles (Assumption, 29) that the apocalypse could not ignore the Antiochan persecution and defilement of the temple. I shall return to the problems attending this and how they bear on the work’s provenance below. 99
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and 7 as post-Herodian additions.103 George W. E. Nickelsburg also argued for the work’s early date and for ch. 6 as an interpolation.104 Volkmar, at the other extreme, claimed that the edicts articulated in ch. 8 are those of Hadrian that are already intimated in 7:1.105 In his opinion, ch. 8 does not concern Antiochus;106 he pressed the point that history records the punishment of circumcision by crucifixion only under Hadrian, who brought about the Bar Kokhba revolt. Therefore he dates the work sometime between the years 135 and 138.107 Zeitlin provided another reason for a later dating and confidently insisted that the work could not have been written before the destruction because the denotation of time in 1:1-2, “from the creation of the world (Anno Mundi), is unknown in Judaism prior to the destruction.108 Rejecting both notions, other scholars have argued that there is neither textual foundation nor supporting evidence for interpolation, and the work should be viewed as an integrated whole unless proven otherwise.109 Tromp was equally unconvinced by Nickelsburg’s claims and saw no reason to deny the book’s unity.110 The late date was dismissed because of the improbability that any author engaged 103
Licht, “Taxo,” 100–103. David Flusser regards ch. 8 as one of the most informative testimonies to a Jewish perception of Antiochus as antichrist (Judaism and the Origins of Christianity [Jerusalem: Magnes, 1988], 34). 104 George W. E. Nickelsburg, Resurrection, Immortality, and Eternal Life in Intertestamental Judaism (HTS 26; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1972), 43–45; idem, “An Antiochan Date for the Testament of Moses,” in Studies on the Testament of Moses, ed. Nickelsburg, 33–37. Goldstein favored the early date (“Testament,” 45–47) and likewise McNamara (Intertestamental Literature, 96), who suggested approximately 165 b.c.e. 105 Volkmar, Mose Prophetie, 59. 106 Ibid., 69. 107 Ibid., 58–59. 108 Zeitlin, “Assumption,” 10–11. See also Schalit (Untersuchungen, 7–11), who enumerates different methods of chronology to support the assertion that prior to the destruction there is no designation of Anno Mundi. With regard to Jubilees, also mentioned by Collins (“Date and Provenance, 16) and against Zeitlin, the problem is similar: all issues of date, denomination, language, and tendency are disputed, and consequently the work cannot serve as source material or a reliable testimony to the period. For more, see Israeli, “Eschatology and Soteriology,” 23–37; also my article “Ego Salathiel Qui et Ezras,” in Studies in Judaica (in Hebrew; ed. Yair Hoffman; Te’uda: The Chaim Rosenberg School of Jewish Studies Research Series 16–17; Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 2001), 391–420, esp. 411–12 n. 81. See further H. Dixon Slingerland, The Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs: A Critical History of Research (SBLMS 21; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press for the Society of Biblical Literature, 1977), esp. 112–14; and Joshua Efron, Formation of the Primary Christian Church (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz ha-Meuchad, 2006), 231–81. 109 E.g., John J. Collins, “Some Remaining Traditio-Historical Problems in the Testament of Moses,” in Studies on the Testament of Moses, ed. Nickelsburg, 39. 110 Tromp, Assumption, 120–21; idem, “Taxo, the Messenger,” 200–201; Priest, “Testament,” 920.
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with Israel’s history (even if in the prophetic mode) would entirely overlook Jerusalem’s destruction by Titus and leap from the reign of Herod’s sons to events under Hadrian.111 Such a leap, however, was not viewed as a difficulty by Volkmar, who commented that the Revelation of John, written many years after the destruction, also made no specific mention of the event.112 But one could object that the latter is a Christian, not a Jewish, text. The prevailing view fixes the date of the text in the first third of the first century. This thesis is decidedly problematic, however, when viewed from the perspective of Jewish authorship, because neither in this particular period nor in any other period between Antiochus and Bar Kokhba is there any record of persecution of Jews on religious grounds or of any injunction against circumcision and of Jews being crucified on account of it. The reverse holds true. Jews were not denied the status of religio licita, nor did they urge death rather than disobeying God’s commandments, like Taxo and his sons.113
VI. The Proposed Thesis The issues examined thus far testify to scholarly bewilderment about the Assumption of Moses. There is no agreement on any matter of substance relating to the text nor any shift away from the deadlock reached on all controversial points since Ceriani’s publication in 1863. In my opinion, the deadlock derives from the premise underlying the whole of scholarly research, namely, the purported Jewish authorship of the work, which, in turn, has generated the often ludicrous solutions exemplified in interpretations of the name Taxo. I propose going back to Philippi’s claim of Christian authorship and from this perspective to reexamine all the issues. The connection of Taxo with the messiah is conspicuous. According to Lattey, Taxo is not only the messiah but also, most clearly, the suffering messiah, whose atoning death entails the arrival of the end of time and the consequent kingdom of heaven.114 Tromp also notes that, in one way or another, Taxo is presented as a suffering righteous one who, upon death, ascends to heaven and is ordained to the 111 E.g., Laperrousaz, “Le Testament de Moïse,” 96; see also Deane, Pseudepigrapha, 116: “to omit all mention of the destruction of Jerusalem under Titus . . . is a proceeding so improbable that we cannot admit it for a moment.” 112 Volkmar, Mose Prophetie, 95. 113 Shmuel Safrai, Be-Shalhei ha-Bayit ha-Sheni ve-Betqufat ha-Mishnah (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 1983), 11–32; E. Mary Smallwood, “Domitian’s Attitude Towards the Jews and Judaism,” CP 51 (1956): 1–13. Whatever relates to Domitian’s time is relevant until the persecutions under Hadrian. 114 Lattey, “Messianic Expectation,” 17–21. Rowley (Relevance of Apocalyptic, 130) claimed that Lattey’s view is in sharp disagreement with the concept of the Suffering Servant.
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high priesthood; his function is to avenge Israel as priest and eschatological judge.115 M.-J. Lagrange understands Taxo to be the preexistent messiah.116 Licht does not see the figure as the messiah, yet he describes Taxo in a way that implies the reverse—that he is not only the messiah but specifically the Christian messiah. Licht attributes cosmic significance to the appearance, actions, and innocent bloodshed of the impeccable Taxo and perceives them to be a necessary link in the predetermined scheme of suffering and eschatological salvation consistent with the predetermined plan of God. He adds further that Taxo’s actions, as well as those of his sons, are somehow instrumental in the appearance of the kingdom of God.117 With the appearance of Taxo and his actions, the kingdom of God embraces the whole universe. Satan and consequently all agonies and afflictions disappear; the messiah avenges the enemies of the elect; and cosmic disruptions occur.118 Since this picture is consistent with the NT portrayal of Jesus, Philippi argued that Taxo could be none other than Jesus Christ, whose appearance entails the end of the world and reveals the kingdom of heaven.119 If one assumes the Christian setting, the following questions arise: What is the meaning of the name Taxo? Who are his seven sons? What is the historical setting for their appearance and actions? And for what purpose was the Assumption of Moses written? The answer to the first question lies, in my opinion, in the letter construction of the name Taxo in the Greek source and its transliteration into Latin. In contrast to scholars who perceive Taxo as a transliteration of the Greek original ΤΑΞΟ or ΤΑΞΩ, I suggest that the Latin translator transmitted an accurate copy of the Greek original ΤΑΧΩ and that this letter combination creates a tetragram behind which lies Jesus Christ. My assumption rests on the fact that the four letters represented the cross and the one crucified from the earliest days of the Christian church. The author of the Epistle of Barnabas (9:7–8) strings together verses from Genesis (17:23, 27; 14:14) about Abraham, who circumcised the males of his household, numbering three hundred and eighteen. The Christian author interprets the number 18 in the Greek alphabet as Ι (iota) = 10 and Η (ēta) = 8, the first two letters of the name ΙΗΣΟΥΣ; 115 Tromp comments that early Christianity often attributed this idea to Jesus (“Taxo, the Messenger,” 208). 116 Lagrange, “Notes sur le Messianisme,” 484. 117 Licht, “Taxo,” 96–102. Licht’s refusal to view Taxo as the messiah may be attributed to the fact that the text does not cohere with the Jewish messianic concept, yet the description accurately fits the figure and substance of the Christian messiah. 118 De Fay assumes that this scenario is typical of Jewish apocalyptic literature, but the description is aligned with Christian faith in the appearance of Christ (Les apocalypses juives, 72– 73). 119 Philippi, Das Buch Henoch, 181.
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the number 300 is the numerical value of the Greek letter Τ (tau), the symbol for the cross. Tracing the letter Τ on the forehead of believers during Christian baptism is documented in patristic writings as one of the earliest customs practiced in the church.120 Two additional letters, alpha and omega (Α and Ω), were attributed to Jesus, who said of himself, ἐγῶ τὸ ἄλφα καὶ Ὦ, ἡ πρῶτος καὶ ὁ ἔσχατος (Rev 22:13; cf. 1:8; 21:6, where the letters/titles are applied to the God of Israel). Iota and chi, the first letters of ΙΗΣΟΥΣ and ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ, became Christianity’s earliest symbols for Jesus; they appear in the art of the catacombs121 and were incorporated into the tetragram, one of the earliest graphic representations of Christ.122 The tetragram assumed a form that combined the iota and chi (Ι and X), the first letters of the messiah’s name Ἰησοῦς Χριστός with the alpha and omega (Α and Ω):
Another version of the tetragram combined the letters chi and rho (Χ and Ρ), signifying the name ΧΡ[ιστός], with the alpha and omega (Α and Ω). This combination symbolically defined Christ’s divine title as first and last and represented the messiah’s eternal nature.
The two forms may be construed as the basis for the name ΤΑΧΩ, because this combination, similar to ΡΑΧΩ and ΙΑΧΩ—and perhaps with greater clarity— conveys the same meaning. The meaning of the seven sons is also to be sought in Christian symbolism and, as with other descriptions throughout the work, is not to be retrieved from historical records. The number 7 was from very early times appropriated by the church as a perfect number; it stood for all the churches that constituted the universal 120 Jean Daniélou, Primitive Christian Symbols (Compass Books 3; London: Burns & Oates, 1964), 136–45. 121 Paul S. Minear, “Alpha and Omega,” IDB 1:88–89; see also Eitan Burstein, Dictionary of Christianity (in Hebrew; Tel Aviv: Eitav, 2005), 69. 122 Yves Christie et al., Art of the Christian World A.D. 200–1500: A Handbook of Styles and Forms (New York: Rizolli, 1982), 48, 62.
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church. Thus, the early church fathers, when interpreting the Apocalypse, linked its seven churches with the episodes about the barren Hannah (1 Sam 2:1–10) and the mother and seven brothers under the Antiochan persecutions (2 Maccabees 7). The seven sons (“the Maccabees”), says Cyprian, became united in their death as martyrs, and thus the number of seven brothers embraces the seven churches (in Revelation) on the basis of 1 Sam 2:5: “the barren hath borne seven.” In Revelation, says Cyprian, the Lord delegates his divine rule and commandments to the seven churches, a number embodied in the brothers, in order to endorse fulfillment of the law in its entirety. He further adds that those martyrs suffer in testimony to their being sons of God, and they have no father but him.123 Augustine also links the seven sons of the barren woman (on the basis of 1 Sam 2:5) to Revelation. The number 7, he argues, signifies the perfect church and explains why John writes to the seven churches (Civ. 17.4; PL 41:529). There is thus a ready explanation for the meaning behind Taxo’s seven sons. They are not real individuals, nor sons of the messiah, but rather the seven churches of Revelation, which embody the community of believers who were ready to become martyrs for their faith.124 The chronological ordering of chapters, like the name Taxo and his seven sons, is also dependent on distinct Christian symbolism and lies outside the domain of real history. Commentators have observed that references to the Antiochan calamity introduced into writings after the events of Herod’s reign are intended to portray the final pangs as analogous to the experience of the martyrs at the time of Antiochus.125 This description also lends itself neatly to the reading proposed here. Christian theology regards both Herod and Antiochus as types of the Antichrist. Herod, modeled on Pharaoh, the fierce enemy of the Jews who gave the order for infanticide (Exod 1:16–22), pursued the infant Christ and desired his death (Matt 1:1–23).126 Antiochus, depicted in Daniel and the Hasmonean books as one who persecuted the “Old Testament” faithful, became the type for those who persecuted devotees of the “New Testament.”127 Antiochus is representative of the Antichrist,
123 Cited from Roy J. Deferrari, trans. and ed., Saint Cyprian: Treatises (FC 36; Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 1958), 334–35. 124 Rosenthal suggested that the seven sons represent the ideal Israel, those who prefer death to transgression of the law (Vier apokryphische Bücher, 32). Yet, as has already been noted, Jews were not faced with this choice because they could worship openly during the relevant period. 125 See n. 105 above. 126 See Efron, Origins of Christianity, 185–87; Ethelbert Stauffer points to As. Mos. 6:2–6 as infanticide undeniably modeled on Pharaoh (Jesus and His Story [trans. Richard Winston and Clara Winston; New York: Knopf, 1960]), and the author, indeed, implies a correspondence between Herod and Pharaoh. 127 See the Synoptic Apocalypse in Mark 13; the beast in Revelation is modeled on Antiochus in Dan 7:30. See further Wilhelm Bousset, The Antichrist Legend (London: Hutchinson, 1896), 158–70; Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 462–64.
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the ultimate foe of the messiah, who put on the image of Satan (cf. As. Mos. 10:6 with Rev 21:4) and whose overthrow initiates the end of the world, followed by the final salvation of the elect righteous ones.128 Hence, Antiochan measures are integrated into the author’s immediate reality, in which believers were being persecuted and crucified for their faith,129 as part of the eschatological events signaling the impending end.
VII. Conclusion Shifting the point of departure and exploration to the perspective of Christian authorship of the Assumption of Moses lifts the veil of obscurity from the disturbing questions, recaptures the work’s clarity, and brings to the surface the intentionality hidden at its depths. A hint in this direction can be discerned as the work begins, when Moses calls Joshua to be his successor. The transmission of authority from Moses to Joshua, the son of Nun, who is “a man worthy of the Lord” (Jesum filium Nave—hominem probatum Domino [1:6]), allegedly follows the biblical model (Deuteronomy 34). Yet its true meaning lies in the narrative’s progression to the end of days, the appearance of Taxo and his death (which is an expiatory death), cosmic disruptions, and eschatological salvation. The meaning of the entire scheme, with its concepts and symbols, becomes clear in light of the NT. Joshua, the son of Nun, who succeeded Moses and led the people of Israel to the promised land, was transformed by Christian typology into the ancient and preeminent type of Ἰησοῦς Χριστός, the messiah and savior.130 It is Jesus Christ, not the biblical Joshua, who, according to the thesis proposed here, is the man deemed worthy to be assigned the hidden Law of Moses (As. Mos. 1:16–18; cf. Rom 16:26). On this matter the words spoken by the author of the Letter to the Hebrews are particularly instructive: Therefore, brothers, holy partners in a heavenly calling, consider that Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our profession, was faithful to the one who appointed him, just as Moses also “was faithful in all God’s house.” Yet Jesus is worthy of more glory than Moses. (3:1–3a NRSV) 128
E.g., Joshua Efron, Studies on the Hasmonean Period (SJLA 39; Leiden: Brill, 1987), 213– 16; idem, Formation, 51–52; Martin Rist, “Antichrist,” IDB 1:140–43. 129 Allusions to the persecution and killing of Christians on account of their faith can be found throughout the NT (e.g., Matt 5:10–12, 44; 10:16, 21–22, 34; Mark 4:17; 8:34; 10:29–30; Luke 11:49; 21:12; John 15:20; Acts 8:1; 11:19; 22:19–20; Rom 8:35; 1 Cor 4:12; Gal 5:11; 6:12; 1 Thess 2:15; 2 Thess 1:4), whereas Jews could worship openly. 130 On the basis of the name Joshua the son of Nun (Nwn Nb (#why), which in Hebrew means “Joshua the son of a fish,” the fish was adopted as a symbol of Jesus, and the Greek word for fish Ἰχθύς was interpreted as an acronym for Ἰησοῦς Χριστός Θεοῦ Υἱός Σωτήρ (“Jesus Christ Son of God Savior). See Augustine, Civ. 18.23 (PL 41:579).
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The preeminence of Joshua over Moses is preached also by Origen in his sermon on Joshua son of Nun: “tunc dicito quia Jesus post Moysen suscepit et obtinuit principatum, non ille Jesus filius Nave, sed Jesus Filius Dei” (Sel. Jes. Nav. [PG 12:834]). The connection of Taxo with Joshua/Jesus is exemplified in that both inherit from Moses the role of mediator or intercessor. According to Atkinson, both are blameless and their deaths become instrumental in bringing about the end and salvation.131 Taxo, like Joshua (and Moses), is of priestly descent (As. Mos. 9:1), yet, like Jesus Christ, he is ordained to the high priesthood (10:2) in heaven.132 Taxo is the messenger and mediator, which coheres with what Hebrews says about Christ: But he [Jesus] has now obtained a more excellent ministry, and to that degree he is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been enacted through better promises. (8:6 NRSV)
As with Jesus, so it is with Taxo. Atkinson views the Assumption of Moses as evidence for the existence in the first century b.c.e. of Jewish groups that subscribed to the belief in an impeccable righteous mediator whose “innocent blood” must be shed in order to consummate God’s eschatological plan and redeem humanity. A sacrifice of this nature finds later expression in early Christianity as the explanation for the necessity of Jesus’ sacrifice.133 According to the theory presented here, however, that the Assumption of Moses was composed by a Christian author, the connection between Taxo and Joshua points not to Joshua but to Jesus Christ, whose shedding of “innocent blood” is central to the Christian gospel. The Assumption of Moses was not written by a Pharisaic quietist, as presumed by many, nor by a Sadducee, a Zealot, an Essene or any other sectarian Jew; it is a Christian work whose purpose is to shore up the faith of the suffering and persecuted and promise salvation at the impending end of days. The Assumption of Moses was intended to promise ultimate cosmic salvation, the appearance of the kingdom of God in creation (10:1) attended by cosmic phenomena (chs. 3–6), and perdition to the ungodly and the enemies (chs. 2; 8), through the agency of Taxo, the Christ Messiah whose innocent blood inaugurates God’s eschatological plan by overthrowing Satan (ch. 1) and exalting Israel (the new Israel, i.e., the community of faithful Christian believers) to eternal life (chs. 8–10).134 131
Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 475–76; also Tromp, “Taxo, the Messenger,” 208. Tromp, “Taxo, the Messenger,” 205, 209; Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 472. 133 Atkinson, “Taxo’s Martyrdom,” 475–76. 134 See Efron, Origins of Christianity, 42. 132
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Descending Spirit and Descending Gods: A “Greek” Interpretation of the Spirit’s “Descent as a Dove” in Mark 1:10 edward p. dixon [email protected] 1022 Amsterdam Ave., N.E., Atlanta, GA 30306
καὶ εὐθὺς ἀναβαίνων ἐκ τοῦ ὕδατος εἶδεν σχιζομένους τοὺς οὐρανοὺς καὶ τὸ πνεῦμα ὡς περιστερὰν καταβαῖνον εἰς αὐτόν. (Mark 1:10) And when he came up from the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending into him as a dove
It is well known that the Markan account of Jesus’ baptism includes several echoes of Israel’s Scriptures. The rending of the heavens, the heavenly voice, and the voice’s words to Jesus certainly turn the reader’s mind to the OT. For decades, scholars have commonly proposed that the Spirit’s “descent as a dove” in Mark 1:10 is also an image drawn from Jewish literature. However, thorough searches of canonical and noncanonical Jewish texts have yet to yield an indisputable antecedent.1 Perhaps one of the reasons the motif ’s origin remains puzzling is that scholars have been searching in the wrong locale. Simply because many of the allusions in Mark 1:9–11 originate from the OT does not necessarily mean that all do. Given that Jesus traditions arose in a thoroughly hellenized world, exegetes ought to consider 1
W. D. Davies and Dale C. Allison Jr.’s commentary on Matthew lists sixteen different interpretations of the phrase (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Gospel according to Saint Matthew [3 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1997], 1:331–34). For a more detailed review of scholarship, see Leander Keck, “The Spirit and the Dove,” NTS 17 (1970): 41–67; and Stephen Gero, “The Spirit as a Dove at the Baptism of Jesus,” NovT 18 (1976): 17–35. Individual positions will be cited below in the section on the history of research.
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a diversity of cultural and literary influences when analyzing Gospel stories. Several pericopes in Mark’s Gospel, such as Jesus’ walking on water and the transfiguration, have been identified as scenes that exhibit a confluence of Jewish and Greek literary traditions.2 A look into the world of Greek mythology may suggest that the same is true of Mark’s baptism account. In the course of this article, I hope to show that the Spirit’s “descent as a dove” is a motif that resonates closely with Greek mythological traditions. In order to bring to light the Greek resonances of the Spirit’s descent, however, it is necessary to shift focus away from the dove, which has received a preponderance of scholarly attention, to the verse’s use of a bird simile in its depiction of the Spirit’s descent. By placing emphasis on the bird simile, rather than on the dove, one discerns that the Spirit’s “descent as a dove” has no clear antecedent in Jewish literature precisely because the bird simile is a literary device that finds a natural home in Greek mythology—where such similes are used to describe arrivals and departures of gods. After making the case that Greek mythology provides a logical literary home for the simile, I will explore ways in which the original author(s), tradents, and hearers of the Markan pericope might have construed the motif in terms of Jesus’ identity. If, as is likely, those who handed on and received stories about Jesus had differing degrees of familiarity with Jewish and Greek cultural traditions, the images and symbols in those stories would have been variously understood.3 Accordingly, those who were familiar with Greek traditions would have been inclined to relate images and symbols in the Gospel stories to well-known themes and topoi from those traditions. I suggest that certain elements in the baptism, along with other scenes in Mark’s Gospel, would have invited such individuals to associate the dove simile in Mark 1:10 with the common mythological topos of gods in human form.
2
E.g., Adela Yarbro Collins, “Rulers, Divine Men, and Walking on the Water (Mark 6:45– 52),” in Religious Propaganda and Missionary Competition in the New Testament World: Essays Honoring Dieter Georgi (ed. Lukas Bormann, Kelly Del Tredici, and Angela Standhartinger; NovTSup 74; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 207–27; and Candida Moss, “The Transfiguration: An Exercise in Markan Accommodation,” BibInt 12 (2004): 69–89. Throughout the article, I use variations of the terms “Jewish traditions” and “Greek traditions.” This delineation does not intend to suggest that Jewish and Greek cultures were untouched by one another in the first century c.e. Hellenism had strongly impacted Jewish thought by the time of Jesus. The terms will be used as a way to delineate between literature that is traditionally thought of as Jewish (e.g., the OT, OT Apocyrpha, Qumran, rabbinic literature, etc.) and that which is traditionally Greek (e.g., Greek mythology). 3 It is reasonable to suppose that early followers of Jesus would have had varying degrees of familiarity with Jewish and Greek literature and culture. Some would have had greater exposure to OT stories, while others may have been more familiar with Greek mythological traditions. Early Christians and potential converts should be thought of as representing a spectrum of familiarity with the various traditions.
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I. “Spirit Descending as a Dove”: Traditional Interpretations The earliest Gospel reports that, as Jesus came up out of the water, he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit descending like a dove (ὡς περιστεράν) into him (Mark 1:10).4 Scholars have long sought the literary antecedent of the Spirit’s birdlike descent. Hugo Gressmann, Hermann Gunkel, and Rudolf Bultmann argued that the dove motif derives from non-Jewish traditions. Gressmann and Gunkel pointed to ancient Near Eastern “Call to Kingship Sagas,” and Bultmann to Persian mythology.5 Most exegetes, however, consider these traditions to be too far afield and suggest that a precedent can be found in Jewish literature.6 Some prefer to identify Mark’s dove with Noah’s, citing as support 1 Pet 3:20–21, which compares Noah’s deliverance to baptism.7 A few scholars cite passages in the OT where Israel is compared to a dove. They infer from this that Jesus is to be identified with a renewed Israel as he emerges from the baptismal waters.8 However, a majority of commentators see an allusion to Gen 1:2, where the Spirit of God hovers over the face of the waters.9 While the scope of this article does not permit a detailed exam4
All NT and LXX translations are mine, unless otherwise noted. Hugo Gressmann, “Die Sage von der Taufe Jesu und die vorderorientalische Taubengöttin,” AR 20 (1920–21): 1–40, 323–59; Hermann Gunkel, Das Märchen im Alten Testament (Religionsgeschichtliche Volksbücher für die deutsche christliche Gegenwart 2/23; Tübingen: Mohr, 1921), 147–51. For a summary of Gressmann and Gunkel’s position, as well as Bultmann’s own, see Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (trans. John Marsh; rev. ed.; New York: Harper & Row, 1968), 248–50. Gero (“Spirit as a Dove,” 17–35) adapts the work of Gressmann, proposing that the dove-election motif becomes connected to the baptism through Odes of Solomon 24. While Odes of Solomon has the dove, it makes no mention of the Spirit. In contrast, the Gospel of the Hebrews tells of the Spirit at the baptism, but not of the dove. Gero proposes that Mark, then, conflated the two accounts. His assessment is highly speculative, especially since Mark appears to precede both the Odes of Solomon and the Gospel of the Hebrews. 6 For a critique of Gressmann, Gunkel, and Bultmann, see Keck, “Spirit and the Dove,” 54–63. 7 E.g., Geoffrey W. H. Lampe, “Baptisma in the New Testament” SJT 5 (1952): 167; James D. G. Dunn, Baptism in the Holy Spirit: A Re-examination of the New Testament Teaching on the Gift of the Spirit in Relation to Pentecostalism Today (London: SCM, 1970), 27; and Paul Garnet, “The Baptism of Jesus and the Son of Man Idea,” JSNT 9 (1980): 49–65. 8 E.g., T. Alec Burkill, Mysterious Revelation: An Examination of the Philosophy of St Mark’s Gospel (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1963), 18–19. 9 E.g., C. K. Barrett, The Holy Spirit and the Gospel Tradition (London: SPCK, 1947), 38–39; C. E. B. Cranfield, The Gospel according to Saint Mark: An Introduction and Commentary (CGTC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959), 54; Vincent Taylor, The Gospel according to St Mark: The Greek Text with Introduction, Notes, and Indexes (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1966), 161; Israel Abrahams, Studies in Pharisaism and the Gospels (2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1917–24; repr., 2 vols. in 1; Library of Biblical Studies; New York: Ktav, 1967), 1:49– 50; Keck, “Spirit and the Dove,” 41–67; Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:334; and Joel Marcus, 5
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ination of each of these interpretations, this last-mentioned position merits attention as it is presently a dominant opinion. Advocates of the Genesis position typically cite Gen 1:2 as the echoed text in Mark 1:10 (and parallels) because it shares three elements with the baptism: the Spirit, water, and the image of a bird (implied in Gen 1:2 by the “hovering” of the Spirit over the waters). These scholars suggest that a passage in the Babylonian Talmud (b. Hi ag. 15a) supports such a reading because it states that the Spirit at creation “hovered over the face of the waters—like a dove which hovers over her young without touching [them].”10 Supporters of Gen 1:2 also note that a Genesis interpretation of the baptism is at home with the early church’s conception of the eschatological age as a new creation. By the time Christianity began to develop, it was common to associate the coming of the Messiah, and the accompanying eschatological age, with images of creation. Accordingly, the arrival of Jesus, as the Messiah, was often connected with the beginning of Genesis.11 Dale C. Allison, Jr., has suggested that a Dead Sea text, 4Q521 (4QMessAp), strengthens the “new creation” interpretation of the baptism.12 He argues that the fragment bears on the baptism and the dove simile because it alludes to Gen 1:2 in an eschatological context. Several features of the text interest him. First, the document specifically refers to a single messiah whom the heavens and earth will obey in a messianic future.13 Second, and more significant, line 6 of the first readable column states, “And over the Poor will His Spirit hover and the Faithful will He support with his strength.”14 Allison points out that the author of 4Q521 is using the language of Gen 1:2 as he contemplates eschatological redemption. Allison underscores the importance of this fragment because it is the only known pre-Christian text that applies Gen 1:2 to the eschatological future and the only known text in which the Spirit hovers over humans instead of lifeless material.15 Furthermore, he notes that before the publication of 4Q521 those who interpreted the dove in terms of Gen 1:2 could not cite any specific Jewish precedent. For Allison, this text provides the missing link that a “new creation” interpretation of the Spirit’s dovelike descent needs. He concludes, therefore, that this text “all but confirms” that the Spirit’s “descent as a dove” is an allusion to Gen 1:2.16 Mark: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (2 vols.; AB 27; New York: Doubleday, 2000, 2009), 1:159. 10 Trans. Dale C. Allison Jr., “The Baptism of Jesus and a New Dead Sea Scroll,” BAR 18, no. 2 (March–April 1992): 58. 11 Ibid., 59; and Marcus, Mark, 1:164–66. For a general discussion of the early church’s connection of creation and Christ’s coming, see Nils Dahl, Jesus in the Memory of the Early Church (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1976), 120–40. 12 Allison, “Baptism” 58–60. The fragment was published in 1991. 13 Ibid., 59. 14 Trans. Allison, “Baptism,” 59. 15 Ibid., 60. 16 Ibid.
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Despite Allison’s confident assertions, there is reason to question his claims and the Gen 1:2 position in general. While advocates of this position argue that the bird imagery common to Gen 1:2 (hovering), b. Hiag. 15a (hovering dove), and 4Q521 (hovering) provides strong textual support for their interpretation of Mark 1:10, the problem is that the point of connection between these texts is the Spirit’s “hovering” rather than its comparison to a dove. The association of the “hovering” Spirit with a dove is not attested until b. Hiag. 15a, which was completed several centuries after Mark.17 Furthermore, b. Hiag. 15a seems to be the only canonical, deuterocanonical, or ancient rabbinic text that likens God’s Spirit at creation to a dove.18 In fact, three other rabbinic texts (Gen. Rab. 2:4; y. Hiag. 77b; and t. Hiag. 2.6), which cite the same tradition as b. Hi ag. 15a, indicate that the Spirit of God “hovered” at creation, but they fail to compare the Spirit’s hovering to a dove.19 The fact that b. Hiag. 15a, 4Q521, and three additional rabbinic texts share the motif of hovering, but not the dove, suggests that hovering was the normative allusion to Gen 1:2 rather than the dove. This observation presents a problem for the Gen 1:2 position. If Mark intended to convey an unquestionable allusion to Gen 1:2, it seems that he would have had the Spirit “hover” over Jesus rather than employ the somewhat vague description of the Spirit’s avian descent into him.20 An additional difficulty for Allison’s case is that in 4Q521 the Spirit hovers over “the Poor” (i.e., the saints), rather than over the messiah, as a sign of eschato17
The saying is attributed to Ben Zoma. Thus, even if the attribution is correct, the earliest possible date for this reference is the late first to early second century. 18 Abrahams (Studies, 47–50) argues that b. Hi ag. 15a becomes more significant when it is read in conjunction with rabbinic passages that associate the Bath-Qol with the chirping of a bird, for example, b. Ber. 3a, “I heard a Bath-Qol moaning as a dove and saying: Woe to the children through whose iniquities I laid waste My Temple” (trans. Abrahams, Studies, 47). However, aside from the late dating of this text, Mark’s Gospel does not say that the dove spoke or that the heavenly voice sounded like a dove’s (Keck, “Spirit and the Dove,” 52). The dove and the voice simply are not the same motif in the Gospel accounts. Further, as Morna Hooker notes, it is unlikely that the Bath-Qol was significant for Mark’s understanding of the baptism. The Bath-Qol is an inferior voice, a substitute for the direct gift of God’s Spirit, while the voice in Mark is the direct word of God (Morna Hooker, The Gospel according to St Mark [BNTC 2; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1991; repr., London: A. & C. Black, 1995], 46-47). Similarly, the targum on Song 2:12 likens the voice of a turtledove to the voice of the Holy Spirit. The canonical text contains the line, “And the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land,” and is interpreted as “the voice of the Holy Spirit of Salvation” (trans. Abrahams, Studies, 49; also cited by Hooker, Mark, 46). Keck rightly cites the passage unfavorably because of the targum’s late date (seventh or eighth century c.e.) (“Spirit and the Dove,” 52–53). Further, Keck’s critique of b. Ber. 3a applies also to the targum. In Mark, the dovelike Holy Spirit does not speak, and the heavenly voice is not compared to that of a dove. 19 Both y. Hi ag. 77b and t. Hi ag. 2.6 compare the Spirit to an eagle that “hovers over its young.” Genesis Rabbah 2:4 simply indicates that the Spirit “hovered like a bird that flies and flaps with its wings” (trans. Deborah F. Middleton, “Whence the Feet?” JJS 36 [1985]: 70–71). 20 Against Keck, who argues that the simile’s depiction of the movement of the Spirit is what connects it to the rabbinic texts (“Spirit and the Dove,” 63–67).
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logical redemption, even though the messiah is present in the text. The fragment’s failure to relate its bird imagery specifically to the messiah raises further doubt that it prefigures the Markan baptism scene. The shortcomings of the Gen 1:2 position by no means exhaust all the difficulties surrounding the interpretation of Mark 1:10. Mark’s choice to portray the Spirit as descending into or upon a figure also raises difficulties. Many times in the OT the Spirit of God “comes upon” individuals in various ways, and the idea that the future messiah would be endowed with the Spirit is attested as well.21 Nowhere in the OT, or in any pre-Christian Jewish literature (including the Dead Sea Scrolls), however, does the Spirit autonomously “descend” into or upon anyone. Significantly, this observation holds true in the passages that are commonly thought to anticipate Jesus’ reception of the Spirit at the baptism. Isaiah 11:2 LXX states that “the Spirit of the Lord shall rest on [ἀναπαύσεται ἐπί]” the future Davidic king. In Isa 42:1, God says of a servant figure, “I put [ἔδωκα] my Spirit upon [ἐπ᾿] him.” Isaiah 61:1 indicates that the Spirit of the Lord “is upon [ἐπ᾿]” an anointed figure who, like Jesus, is to proclaim the good news. Additionally, two passages in the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs refer to God’s bestowal of a spirit upon a messianic priest. Testament of Levi 18:7 states that “the spirit of understanding and sanctification shall rest upon him,” while T. Jud. 24:2 indicates that “the heavens will be opened upon him to pour out the Spirit.”22 In each of these texts, the Spirit either “rests upon,” “is placed upon,” or “is poured upon” the figure. None of the passages describes the autonomous descent of the Spirit, as Mark’s Gospel does at the baptism.23 Moreover, the preposition of choice in the Isaian passages is ἐπί, while Mark’s Gospel uses εἰς.24 The differences between these texts and Mark’s baptism account suggest that Mark 1:10 is not wholly consistent with typical, Jewish messianic language. Furthermore, to my knowledge, no ancient Jewish text depicts a “descent” of any heavenly being in the form of a bird. The OT tells of many descents—of angels, of the Lord, of the Spirit from the Lord (once, in Isa 63:14 LXX), and so on—but the idea that these figures should descend as birds is completely foreign to the OT and other pre-Markan Jewish literature.25 21
For ways in which the Spirit of God comes upon people, see Judg 3:10; 6:34; 11:29; 13:25; and 1 Sam 10:6; 11:6; 19:20. 22 Trans. Howard Clark Kee, “Testaments of the Twelve Patriachs,” OTP 1:795, 801. 23 Against James R. Edwards, who mentions that the passages from Testament of Levi and Testament of Judah clearly depict the “descent of the Spirit” (“The Baptism of Jesus according to the Gospel of Mark,” JETS 34 [1991]: 44). Donald H. Juel also assesses these texts incorrectly, stating that the Spirit “descends” on the eschatological figure (“The Baptism of Jesus [Mark 1:9–11],” in All Things New: Essays in Honor of Roy A. Harrisville [ed. Arland J. Hultgren, Donald H. Juel, and Jack D. Kingsbury; WW Supplement Series 1; Saint Paul, MN: Luther Northwestern Theological Seminary, 1992], 122). 24 See below for further discussion of the translation of εἰς αὐτόν. 25 Ivor Buse has pointed out that the Spirit descends in Isa 63:14 LXX, three verses after the
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This review of scholarship suggests that Mark, if he so desired, could have used language that would have evoked specific biblical themes. If the evangelist wanted to recall Gen 1:2, he could have had the Spirit “hover” over Jesus. If he wanted to link the baptism definitively to messianic passages from the LXX or intertestamental literature, he could have made the Spirit rest upon Jesus or be poured upon him. However, the evangelist permitted a construction to stand that does not conform to any single biblical antecedent. Perhaps this is because the motif is the result of an amalgamation of biblical allusions or perhaps the construction as it appears in Mark was drawn from a source outside of Jewish literature.
II. Gods as Birds: An Interpretation from Greek Mythology Dennis MacDonald has recently argued for the intertextual relationship between Mark’s Gospel and Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey (eighth to seventh centuries b.c.e.).26 While it is questionable that Mark’s Gospel, as a whole, has an intricate literary connection to the Homeric epics, MacDonald does offer strong support for the idea that Homeric motifs and figures of speech could easily have reached nascent Christian communities.27 As MacDonald indicates, Homer’s works were very influential in the ancient world. The Iliad and the Odyssey were the rudiments of the ancient educational system. The poet’s epics essentially taught children how to read and write.28 Martin Hengel, likewise, observes, “literary instruction . . . was Holy Spirit is put “among” (ἐν) the people of Israel (“The Markan Account of the Baptism of Jesus and Isaiah LXIII,” JTS 7 [1956]: 74–75). He notes further that the Hebrew text of Isa 63:11 has the singular pronoun, denoting that the Holy Spirit is put “in Moses.” In the Hebrew, however, there is no descent of the Spirit in Isa 63:14. This text is provocative, but it does not answer the question of the bird simile. 26 Dennis R. MacDonald, The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000). MacDonald addresses the baptism in his Appendix 1. I discuss his interpretation below. Translations of Homer are my own, unless otherwise noted. 27 Ibid., 1–8. 28 Ibid., 4. The level of literacy in the ancient world, however, should not be overestimated. A majority of the population was served by “schools of letters,” that is, institutions of low prestige that provided “utilitarian literacy” (i.e., enough “literacy” to function in whatever trade one was to be engaged) (Robert Kaster, Guardians of Language: The Grammarian and Society in Late Antiquity [Transformations of the Classical Heritage 11; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988], 24). The ability to read and write extended passages of prose and poetry was attained only by those higher up on the socioeconomic ladder. Nevertheless, the most basic level of education was taught using names of Homeric heroes and gods as well as short lines from Homer’s epics (Ronald F. Hock, “Homer in Greco-Roman Education,” in Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity [ed. Dennis R. MacDonald; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001], 61–62). Jean Morgan has made the logical suggestion that these lists and lines of poetry
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concentrated on one language, the Greek mother-tongue, and on one—it might almost be called the canonical—book, the epic work of Homer, especially the Iliad.”29 Around the same time as Hengel, Homeric scholar Moses Finley also wrote of the general popularity of Homer in the Hellenistic world, noting that the Iliad and the Odyssey were as likely to be found on a Greek’s “bookshelf ” as anything from the rest of Greek literature.30 Proof that Homeric thought remained commonplace in subsequent generations is evidenced also by later poets who used Homer as a prototype for epics of their own. Apollonius of Rhodes (third century b.c.e.) and Virgil (first century b.c.e.) wrote epics in the Homeric tradition (and both authors incorporated bird imagery into their epics; see below). The use of Homer in both the educational system and later epics suggests that Homer’s impact on the first-century world was pervasive. This widespread influence makes it reasonable to think that Mark and other early followers of Jesus would have had a basic familiarity with Homeric stories and conventions, whether through formal education or by means of the general cultural milieu of the first century. Therefore, as we undertake a new search for the antecedent of the bird simile in Mark, it should not surprise the modern reader if the simile has a precursor in the Homeric tradition.31 The baptism of Jesus is, at its base, the descent of a heavenly power from the heavens to earth and the implantation of that power into an earthly figure. As noted above, Mark’s description of a heavenly power’s birdlike descent to earth is unparalleled in the biblical corpus (except in the Gospel parallels). As noted, however, this is not true of all pre-Markan literature. While the heavenly abode of God was an
would have served also to introduce students to larger stories in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Teachers would certainly have told tales associated with the names of the gods and heroes (Jean Morgan, Literate Education in the Hellenistic and Roman Worlds [Cambridge Classical Studies; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998], 77, 101–2). 29 Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism: Studies in Their Encounter in Palestine during the Early Hellenistic Period (trans. John Bowden; 2 vols.; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1973), 1:66. Hengel also notes that constant reading of Homer (in the East) kept alive the knowledge of Greek mythology (ibid., 1:67). 30 Moses I. Finley, The World of Odysseus (London: Chatto & Windus, 1977), 21. 31 The issue of familiarity with Homer is also a question of provenance. Mark’s translation of Aramaic terms (e.g., 5:41; 15:34) suggests that Mark’s audience included Greek speakers who did not know Aramaic. Furthermore, it seems that at least some in the audience were not Jewish (see Mark 7:3, where the evangelist has to explain Jewish purification customs). These observations support a provenance outside of Palestine. Most scholars prefer to locate the Gospel in Rome or Syria. A Syrian or Roman provenance (where Hellenism would have faced less opposition from a conservative Jewish culture) strengthens the possibility that Mark and his audience would have been comfortable with pagan cultural traditions. However, since first-century Palestine was hellenized to a significant extent, even a Palestinian provenance does not demand that Mark and the Gospel stories handed down to him were untouched by Hellenistic influences (Marcus, Mark, 1:70). For further discussion of Mark’s provenance, see Marcus, Mark, 1:33–37.
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enduring concept in the biblical tradition, Greeks too conceived of the heavens above as the home of the gods. Moreover, they believed that these gods commonly visited the earth below. Homer reflects these common beliefs in his epics through frequent accounts of gods’ travels between the two realms. Interestingly, in these scenes in which gods travel to and from earth, Homer often uses bird similes to describe their arrivals and departures.32 On multiple occasions in the Iliad, Homer uses bird similes to describe the descents of gods from the heavenly realm to earth. In book 15, an Achaean soldier smites Hector, leaving him badly injured. Zeus responds to this event by sending his son, Apollo, to aid the Trojan leader. When Apollo makes his descent from Olympus, Homer writes that the god “went down from the hills of Ida [βῆ δὲ κατ᾿ Ἰδαίων ὀρέων], like [ἐοικώς] a swift, dove-slaying falcon, that is the fleetest of winged creatures” (15.237–38). Three books later, Homer uses a simile to depict Achilles’ mother, Thetis, as she descends to earth. In this scene, Achilles is mourning the death of his cousin, Patroclus, who, while donning Achilles’ armor, was killed by Hector. Because this event leaves Achilles without his battle garb, Thetis descends from the heavenly realm in order to bring new armor to the mighty warrior. After she leaves the shop of the god Hephaestus, the famed craftsman of armor for the gods, Homer writes, “like [ὥς] a falcon she leapt down [ἆλτο] from snowcapped Olympus, bearing the flashing armor from Hephaestus” (18.616–17). While Thetis’s presence ultimately encourages Achilles to enter the war against the Trojans, for the time being, the Achaean continues to mourn the loss of his cousin. Because of his refusal to eat during his time of mourning, Zeus sends Athena down to provide Achilles with nectar and ambrosia. Upon his command, Athena, “like [ἐϊκυῖα] a bird of prey, long-winged and shrill-voiced, leapt down [κατεπᾶλτο] from heaven through the air” (19.349–50). Her presence remains unnoticed by all. She secretly puts nectar into Achilles’ breast and returns to Zeus’s house undetected. Homer uses bird similes also to describe departures of gods. In Iliad 13, Poseidon, disguised as Calchas, comes to the two Ajaxes to speak with them regarding the war against the Trojans. When Poseidon finishes his conversation with the two, Homer recounts that the god “took his departure in flight like [ὥς] a swift falcon” (13.62–65).33 In the early stages of the Odyssey, Athena is twice compared to a bird as she ascends to Olympus. In book 1, Athena comes to earth and assumes the form of Odysseus’s old friend, Mentes, in order to tell Telemachus, the son of Odysseus, that his father is still alive. When she finishes speaking to him, Homer writes that the goddess departs, “flying upward as [ὥς] a bird” (1.320). The next day, Telema32 Carroll Moulton notes that arrivals and departures of gods are typical points in Homer’s narrative for bird similes (Similes in the Homeric Poems [Hypomnemata 49; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977], 138). 33 Trans. John Pollard, in idem, Birds in Greek Life and Myth (Aspects of Greek and Roman Life; London: Thames & Hudson, 1977), 158.
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chus prays for Athena to return to him. Again the goddess comes (this time in the guise of Mentor) and again Homer compares her departure to a bird. When Athena leaves Telemachus on this occasion, she flies away “in the likeness [εἰδομένη] of a sea-eagle” (3.371–72). The use of bird imagery in the mythological tradition was not limited to Homer. The motif was adopted by later authors who wrote epics of their own. Virgil’s Aeneid is replete with heroes and gods and, like Homer, Virgil likens gods to birds when they descend and ascend to and from earth. Early in the epic, Apollo tells Aeneas that he is to go to the land of his ancestors. During his voyage, the hero and his crew land at Carthage. There Venus causes Aeneas and Dido, the queen of Carthage, to fall in love. Because this love affair jeopardizes the completion of Aeneas’s god-ordained mission, Jupiter sends his son, Mercury, down from the heavens to remind Aeneas of his mission. Upon Jupiter’s command: the god . . . first binds on his feet the golden shoes which carry him upborne on wings over seas or land, swift as the gale. . . . And now in flight [volans] he descries the peak and steep sides of toiling Atlas. . . . Here, poised on even wings, the Cyllenian first halted; hence with his whole frame he sped sheer down to the waves like a bird [avi similes], which round the shores, round the fish-haunted cliffs, flies low near to the waters. . . . So soon as with winged feet he reached the huts, he sees Aeneas founding towers and building new houses. (4.238–61)34
While this is the only time, to my knowledge, that Virgil specifically uses a bird simile to describe the descent of a god to a mortal, he does employ bird imagery in other divine–human encounters. Twice Virgil uses bird imagery to describe the goddess Iris as she ascends to the heavens. On both occasions Virgil remarks that Iris, “poised on wings [alis] rose into the sky, cleaving in flight her mighty bow beneath the clouds” (Aen. 5.657–58 and 9.14–15). Interestingly, the latter of the two accounts parallels Mark 1:10 in an additional manner. In Aeneid 9, Iris’s birdlike departure is accompanied by a tearing of the heavens. As she flies away, Turnus yells after her, “Iris, glory of the sky, who has brought thee down to me, wafted upon the clouds to earth? Whence this sudden brightness of the air? I see the heavens part asunder [discedere], and the stars that roam in the firmament. I follow the mighty omen, whoso thou art callest to arms!” (9.18–22).35
34
Unless otherwise noted, all translations of Virgil are by H. Rushton Fairclough in the LCL. Turnus takes the parting of the heavens to be an omen that verifies the words of the goddess. Thetis informs Turnus that the time had come for him to battle Aeneas. Because of this omen, Turnus obtains the courage to follow Iris’s command. Cicero also attests that the rending of the heavens was an omen for the Romans. The rending of the heavens appears in a list of wellknown omens that warned the Roman people of “mighty wars” and “deadly revolutions” (Cicero, Div. 1.43.97). Perhaps members of Mark’s audience familiar with Roman traditions would have more readily identified the “rending of the heavens” in Mark 1:10 as an omen regarding Jesus’ ministry than a prerequisite for divine communication. 35
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In addition to divine–human encounters, authors of Greek myth also likened gods to birds when they traveled to meet other gods or simply traveled the earth. Homeric Hymn 2 (To Demeter) describes Demeter speeding over the earth “like [ὥστ᾿] a bird,” searching for her daughter, Persephone, whom Pluto had taken captive (43). In Odyssey 5, Zeus sends Hermes down to the nymph Calypso to discuss the future of Odysseus. Homer writes that the messenger god, obeying his father’s command, “lighted upon the sea, and then sped over the wave like [ἐοικώς] a seabird . . .” (5.50–51). Finally, in Apollonius’s Argonautica, Hera tells Iris to go down to the sea in order to bring Thetis up to Olympus. Accordingly, Iris “sprang from Olympus and cleaved her way, stretching out her nimble wings” (4.769). While bird imagery was a common way in Greek mythology to describe the general movement of the gods, the Markan baptism account most closely parallels the Homeric examples. Like Homer’s epics, Mark’s Gospel uses a bird simile to describe a heavenly entity’s descent from the heavens to earth.36 The connection is strengthened when it is observed that bird similes in Homer typically occur at the moment of a god’s arrival or departure.37 In the instances above, bird similes mark the arrivals of Apollo, Thetis, and Athena and the departures of Poseidon and Athena. Mark 1:10, then, parallels Homer not only in its use of a bird simile but also by using the simile to mark a heavenly arrival on earth. These similarities, in addition to the fact that the OT never uses a bird simile to describe a heavenly descent, invite the suggestion that Homeric traditions influenced the formation of the Markan baptism account.38
III. Making Meaning with Greek Mythology In the introduction to this article, I noted recent scholars who have argued that certain Markan miracle stories contain motifs from both Greek and Jewish lit36
In the Homeric parallels, the gods themselves descend and ascend to and from the earth, while in the Gospels it is the Spirit, the heavenly power of God, that descends. 37 Moulton, Similes, 138. 38 Some scholars submit that Mark’s use of simile points to the world of apocalyptic symbolism, where earthly comparisons approximate heavenly realities. Ernst Lohmeyer (Das Evangelium des Markus übersetzt und erklärt [MeyerK; 15th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1959], 23) also sees the dove as coming from apocalyptic roots. See also Rudolf Pesch, Das MarkusEvangelium (Wege der Forschung 411; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1979), 91; Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:331; and Marcus, Mark, 1:159. Pesch even argues that ὡς, as used in Mark 1:10, represents the specific apocalyptic particle used in comparisons that explain the heavenly unobservable through the observable. The image of the tearing of the heavens, the voice from the heavens, and the particle’s use in Revelation and other apocalyptic texts (e.g., Ezekiel and Daniel) may invite the apocalyptic reading. However, the many examples put forth above suggest that Greek mythology is another tradition from which the simile in Mark’s baptism account could have derived.
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erary traditions. Such scholars take seriously the notion that elements from both traditions are present because the identity of Jesus was communicated by and to individuals from diverse backgrounds. Not all adherents to the Jesus movement would have had complete familiarity with traditional Jewish ways of thinking, nor would all its potential converts. While motifs of Jewish origin would have spoken meaningfully to those steeped in Jewish traditions, individuals who were familiar with Greek traditions would have come with their own symbolic universes as they created, passed on, and received stories about Jesus. Accordingly, the investigation now turns to explore ways in which early tellers and hearers of Gospel stories who were familiar with Homeric traditions may have construed the Spirit’s descent as a dove in their attempt to understand Jesus’ identity. Mark’s baptism scene depicts the Spirit descending from heaven to earth. Although this observation is painfully obvious, it establishes a setting that is necessary for a proper understanding of the account. Individuals who were familiar with Greek mythology would have known that the Homeric gods frequently came down from their heavenly abodes to visit the earth. Jean-Pierre Vernant notes that the gods typically assume one of three forms during these visits.39 He groups in one category the instances in which the gods either remain hidden to all or appear undisguised to select individuals, while clustering in a second category the scenes in which gods disguise themselves as humans.40 In the first category, the gods simply come “to” the mortal (i.e., they do not assume human form). As several of the examples above indicate, Homer sometimes introduces such visits with bird imagery (e.g., Apollo to Hector in Il. 15.237–45 and Thetis to Achilles in Il. 18.616– 17). In these instances, the gods frequently bestow strength and/or encouragement upon the epic hero. Followers of Jesus whose minds turned to these examples would have conceived of Jesus attaining strength or encouragement for his public ministry. While this is one possible motif to which the simile in Mark may have pointed, Vernant’s second category has stronger associations with Mark’s Gospel. In the second category, gods take on the form of humans so that they may keep their divine identity concealed while they walk the earth and converse with mortals. Several examples of this type were also offered above. Poseidon assumes the form of Calchas when he speaks to the two Ajaxes (Il. 13.62–65) and Athena takes the form of Mentes and, later, Mentor, when she converses with Telemachus (Il. 1.320 and 3.371–72, respectively). Individuals who recalled these instances would have perceived Jesus as having a concealed divine identity. Certain grammatical and narrative clues in the baptismal pericope and in other Gospel stories would have directed individuals to think of Jesus in these terms. Among the elements pointing in this direction are the Spirit’s descent εἰς αὐτόν, the proclamation of God in Mark 1:11, and the epiphany at the transfiguration. 39
Jean-Pierre Vernant, Mortals and Immortals: Collected Essays (ed. Froma I. Zeitlin; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 42. 40 Ibid., 42–43.
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The Spirit’s descent εἰς αὐτόν has received much attention. Exegetes are divided over whether the Spirit would have been understood by the pericope’s creators and audience to be descending “to,” “into,” or “upon” Jesus.41 A. T. Robertson indicates that in the first century c.e., the preposition εἰς could represent any of the three alternatives, especially when used with a verb of motion.42 Although the position that εἰς equals “to” is not held by many, Vincent Taylor argues in its favor on the basis that εἰς is generally rendered “to” when it follows a verb of motion.43 While Taylor is right to make this observation, the problem with his argument is that whenever Mark uses εἰς with a verb of motion to indicate movement “to” something, the construction always takes an impersonal object.44 Πρός is Mark’s preposition of choice to designate movement toward a personal object.45 Moreover, each time εἰς or πρός is used in the entire NT corpus with the verb καταβαίνω (which is used in Mark 1:10), this distinction is maintained. In no NT text is a personal object ever used with καταβαίνω + εἰς to denote movement “toward,” nor is an impersonal object ever used with καταβαίνω + πρός.46 Therefore, when Mark 1:10 says that the Spirit descends εἰς αὐτόν (αὐτόν = personal object), it is unlikely that the original author(s) and hearers would have understood εἰς αὐτόν to mean that the Spirit descends “to” Jesus. Mark’s uses of εἰς also suggest that he did not intend the Spirit to descend “upon” Jesus. Mark employs εἰς approximately 140 times in his Gospel and only 41 For “to him,” see Lohmeyer, Markus, 23; and Taylor, Mark, 160. For “upon him,” see Jack Dean Kingsbury, The Christology of Mark’s Gospel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 62–63; Hooker, Mark, 43; Marcus, Mark, 1:160; and John R. Donahue and Daniel J. Harrington, The Gospel of Mark (SP 2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2002), 65. For “into him,” see Ferdinand Hahn, The Titles of Jesus in Christology: Their History in Early Christianity (Lutterworth Library; New York: World, 1969), 293; Edwards, “Baptism of Jesus,” 46; Robert H. Gundry, Mark: A Commentary on His Apology for the Cross (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993), 48; and M. Eugene Boring, Mark: A Commentary (NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 43, 45. 42 A. T. Robertson, Grammar of the Greek New Testament in Light of Historical Research (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1914), 593. 43 Taylor observes that this is the case, except when the verb governs the sense of the preposition, such as its use with εἰσέρχομαι (Mark, 160). 44 E.g., 1:14; 2:11; 3:13, 20; 4:35; 6:31; 7:24; 8:22; 9:33; 13:14; etc. 45 E.g., 1:5, 40, 45; 2:13; 3:8; 5:15; 6:51; 9:14; etc. The one exception is 6:45, πρὸς βηθσαϊδάν, where the preposition is used in apposition with εἰς τὸ πέραν. The change was likely for stylistic purposes. Some scholars have cited Nigel Turner’s conclusion that the full meaning of εἰς cannot be insisted on in Mark because the instances of πρός in the Gospel are limited and εἰς has assumed some of the duties of πρός (e.g., Kingsbury, Christology, 62). However, Turner also notes in his discussion of εἰς, as we have confirmed, that πρός tends to be used with personal objects and εἰς with impersonal objects (Nigel Turner, Syntax [vol. 3 of James H. Moulton, A Grammar of New Testament Greek; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1963], 256–57). 46 Taylor points to the use of καταβαίνω + εἰς in John 2:12; Acts 7:15; 14:25; 16:8; 18:22; and 25:6 to support his argument (Mark, 160). In each of these cases, however, the subject of the verb goes to a place, not a person. Whenever καταβαίνω is used with πρός (Acts 10:21; 14:11; Rev 12:12), it receives a personal object.
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twice out of these instances can εἰς indisputably mean “upon” in the spatial sense.47 Moreover, in neither of these instances is the preposition used with a verb of motion. In 11:8, the crowds spread their cloaks “on” the ground before Jesus as he enters Jerusalem. In 13:3, Jesus sits “on” the Mount of Olives. Comparatively, virtually every time Mark uses εἰς with a verb of motion, as he does in 1:10, the preposition is translated as “to” or “into”—and the former has already been ruled out.48 Thus, the syntax of Mark’s Gospel suggests that Mark, at least, intended to convey that the Spirit descended “into Jesus.”49 The probability that first-century Greek speakers would have conceived of the Spirit as descending “into” (or perhaps “upon”) Jesus suggests that Vernant’s second category—that of a god’s assumption of human form—is a viable way in which those familiar with Greek mythology could have understood the Spirit’s descent εἰς αὐτόν. The tendency to think of Jesus in such terms would have been aided by the commonality of the mythical idea that gods walk the earth in human form. An oft-cited passage from the Odyssey illustrates this idea. Upon Odysseus’s return to his home in Ithaca, Antinoös, one of Penelope’s suitors, strikes Odysseus, who is disguised as a beggar. This prompts another of Penelope’s suitors to remark: A poor show, that—hitting this famished tramp— bad business, if he happened to be a god. You know they go in foreign guise, the gods do, looking like strangers, turning up in towns and settlements to keep an eye on manners, good or bad. (Od. 17.485–87)50
This excerpt is but one of the numerous times that Homer depicts gods walking about on earth in human form.51 The passages of interest for this article are the 47 In contrast, Mark commonly uses ἐπί to denote “upon” in the spatial sense, e.g., 4:26; 6:39; 7:30; 8:6; 10:16; etc. Further, Bart Ehrman notes that a majority of the Markan manuscripts likely changed εἰς to ἐπί in order to combat the Gnostic claim that a divine being entered “into” Jesus at his baptism (The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament [New York: Oxford University Press, 1993], 141). 48 The two exceptions occur in idiomatic expressions: 5:34, “go in peace,” and 10:17, “going out on a journey.” 49 Uses of ἐπί in the LXX also indicate Mark’s intentions. As noted above, the LXX typically uses ἐπί to denote the Spirit’s coming upon individuals: e.g., Judg 3:10; 11:29; 14:6, 19; 1 Sam 10:6; 11:6; Isa 11:2; 32:15; 42:1; 44:3; 61:1. Therefore, Mark’s use of εἰς to denote the Spirit’s interaction with Jesus suggests an intentional shift in meaning from the OT. Nonetheless, even if some first-century Greek speakers conceived of εἰς as “upon” (such a translation is grammatically possible), this understanding would still cohere with Vernant’s second category of divine visitation. Given the technical grammatical possibilities of εἰς, we retain “upon” as a secondary translation option. 50 Trans. Robert Fitzgerald, Homer: The Odyssey (Garden City, NY: Doubleday Anchor, 1961), 338–39. 51 E.g., Il. 20.81–82; Od. 7.20; 22.200–235; and others cited below.
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ones that link a god disguised as a human with a description of that god’s assumption of birdlike form or flight.52 In the previously discussed passage from book 13 of the Iliad, Poseidon comes to the two Ajaxes in the form of Calchas, the seer, in order to provide them with strength in their fight against the Trojans. Homer writes that Poseidon, after speaking with the two, “took his departure in flight like [ὥς] a swift falcon, which, rising from a huge precipitous cliff, sets out to pursue another bird across the plain” (13.62–65).53 Similarly, Athena’s visits to Telemachus in Odyssey 1 and 3 (cited above) are also marked by a human disguise and a birdlike departure. In the first encounter, Athena assumes the likeness of Mentes in order to keep her true identity a secret. Because she assumes human form, she is able to speak freely with the unsuspecting Telemachus. When Athena ends her time with Telemachus, Homer writes, “So spoke bright-eyed Athena, and she departed, flying upward as [ὥς] a bird” (1.320). This same pattern is repeated in the goddess’s subsequent visit with the son of Odysseus. In the second encounter, Athena assumes the guise of Mentor, spends time with Telemachus, and then departs “in the likeness of a sea-eagle” (3.371–72).54 52 See Moulton, Similes, 135–39, for a discussion of whether Homer’s bird similes imply an actual metamorphosis or simply the manner of flight. While certain passages do seem to indicate metamorphoses, a certain ambiguity in Homer’s similes persists. A similar ambiguity exists in Mark. It is not clear whether the evangelist intends to describe the Spirit’s form or manner of flight (cf. Keck, “Spirit and the Dove,” 63-67). If Homer is any indication, the fact that Jesus “sees” the Spirit’s descent as a dove does not mean that the simile is adjectival. Characters in Homer also sometimes “see” the gods’ birdlike ascents and descents, but even in these instances it is possible that the characters are noting birdlike flight rather than form (see more on this below). Regardless of whether the simile in each work is adjectival or adverbial, the literary and thematic relationship between Homer and Mark remains. 53 Trans. Pollard, Birds, 158. 54 See also Od. 22.239–40, where Athena, after talking with Odysseus in the likeness of Mentor, watches him battle the suitors from a ceiling beam in the likeness of a swallow. MacDonald has suggested that Mark modeled his baptism account after Athena’s visit to Telemachus in Od. 1.102–324 (Homeric Epics, 194–97). According to MacDonald, Mark’s account parallels Homer’s because both Telemachus and Jesus learn of their paternity by means of a flying messenger and because Homer uses ἀΐξασα (darting), which can suggest the flight of a bird, to describe Athena’s descent. It does not appear that Mark has this specific scene in mind. MacDonald’s model equates the Spirit with Athena and Jesus with Telemachus. This means that MacDonald would be proposing Vernant’s first category of divine visitation, in which the deity simply comes to the mortal. Αs I have argued, however, Greek speakers were not likely to have understood the Spirit’s descent εἰς αὐτόν in this way. Accordingly, the Spirit’s descent into/upon Jesus has more affinities with Athena’s assumption of the form of Mentes (for whom MacDonald does not even account) than with her visit “to” Telemachus. Because MacDonald equates Jesus with Telemachus, rather than with the goddess, he fails to make this connection. Additionally, MacDonald merely offers Athena’s ἀΐξασα from heaven as the parallel to the Spirit’s birdlike descent, but I have illustrated that Homer’s bird similes provide a much stronger parallel. Thus, it is best to assume that
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In these Homeric examples, a god’s human disguise is connected to the god’s departure as a bird, not the god’s arrival as is the case for the Spirit in the Markan baptism. Nonetheless, the scene in Mark carries enough parallels to Homer to warrant the idea that Spirit’s birdlike descent could have evoked, perhaps even intentionally, thoughts of descending Olympian gods in the minds of those who first produced and heard the story of Jesus’ baptism.55 Homer’s mere juxtaposition of gods in human form with bird similes provides the necessary elements through which individuals familiar with Greek mythology could have associated the Spirit’s descent into Jesus. As these individuals told and/or heard of the Spirit’s avian arrival and apparent union with Jesus, they may well have envisioned an Olympian god’s birdlike descent to earth and subsequent assumption of human form. The voice from the heavens in Mark 1:11 likely added to this suspicion. The voice says to Jesus, “You are my son, the beloved; in you I am well pleased.” In Greek myth, Zeus was regarded as the father of the gods. To individuals familiar with the Greek pantheon, God addressing Jesus as “my son” would be associated with Zeus speaking to one of his sons, such as Apollo or Hermes.56 God’s proclamation would have hinted at Jesus’ divine identity by relating to him as father to son. Such a reading of the baptism is supported by the reappearance of the topos of gods in human form later in the Gospel. The transfiguration in Mark 9:2–8 has parallels with Greek mythology that also would have likely evoked thoughts of gods walking the earth in human form. In Greek myth, it is common for gods who meander about earth in human disguise to reveal themselves to selected individuals. A prominent example comes from the Homeric Hymn to Demeter. As a result of Demeter’s anger over her daughter’s abduction, the goddess goes to the towns of men disguised as an old woman. When she chooses to reveal her true identity, her transformation is described in terms reminiscent of Jesus’ transfiguration: “the goddess changed her stature and her form, thrusting old age away from her: beauty spread round about her . . . and from the divine body of the goddess a light shone afar.”57 Like Demeter, Jesus reveals his divine nature by thrusting away his humble disguise in exchange for resplendent clothing. Previous scholars have argued that members of Mark’s audience who were conversant with Greek myth would have the author(s) of Mark’s baptism account did not base the pericope on Od. 1.102–324 (pace MacDonald), but simply incorporated a popular motif from the Homeric tradition. 55 We should not expect the use of the motif in Mark to mirror Homer in every detail—nor does it need to in order for Homer to be the literary thought world from which the motif derives. A certain amount of intentional adaptation (and/or unintentional variation) is to be expected in instances of imitation. 56 Adela Yarbro Collins, “Mark and His Readers: The Son of God among the Greeks and Romans,” HTR 93 (2000): 86. 57 Homeric Hymn 2 (To Demeter) 275–79; trans. Collins, “Son of God,” 91. This parallel is cited also by Moss, “Transfiguration,” 78.
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recognized Jesus’ transfiguration as an epiphany of a Greek god.58 Further, Moss has argued persuasively that the similarities between Mark’s account and Greek epiphanies are not accidental. It is likely that Mark intentionally modeled the transfiguration after a Greek epiphany in order to accommodate the members of his audience who were more familiar with Greek traditions than with Jewish ones.59 Since the express point of a Greek epiphany is to reveal to the privileged characters, as well as to the story’s readers and hearers, that the “human” is actually a god, Jesus’ transformation before Peter, James, and John would have signaled to those in Mark’s audience familiar with such epiphanies that Jesus too is a divine being walking the earth in human disguise. When the proposals of Yarbro Collins and Moss are read in conjunction with the thesis of this article, a unifying motif in the baptism and transfiguration comes to light. Together the two scenes echo the common Greek mythological topos of gods walking about the earth disguised as humans. The bird epiphany calls to mind the arrival of a god upon the earth who subsequently takes up human form. The transfiguration, in accordance with the narrative fashion of Greek mythology, marks the point at which the god, after a period of secrecy, chooses to reveal his/her divine identity to a select few. In the Gospel, these scenes establish a narrative progression that would have made sense to readers and hearers of the Gospel who were familiar with Homeric traditions. The dual motif would have likely turned these individuals’ minds to images of gods in human form, thereby compelling them to think of Jesus in similar terms.60
58
Collins, “Son of God,” 91; Moss, “Transfiguration,” 77–83. Moss, “Transfiguration,” 69–89. 60 The presence of this motif in Mark’s Gospel is supported by the fact that other Christian writings make use of this topos. It is commonly acknowledged that the Lukan account of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra (Acts 14:8–20) draws on Ovid’s story of Baucis and Philemon (Metam. 8.612–725). In the Roman tale, Jupiter and Mercury visit the hill country of Phrygia, disguised as humans. The two gods remain undetected until they reveal themselves to the worthy Phrygian couple. Dean Philip Bechard and Amy Wordelman rightly suggest that these two features in Ovid (gods in human disguise and their subsequent revelation) are common motifs in Greek mythological traditions. In his adaptation of the Baucis and Philemon story, Luke, then, also appears to access these common Greek elements (so Wordelman). The naïve Lystrans deduce that Paul and Barnabas must be gods based on the healing Paul performs. Accordingly, the Lystrans proclaim of the missionaries, “The gods have come down to us in the likeness of humans” (Acts 14:11). Although Luke refutes the Lystran belief, his mere use of such a motif lends support to my interpretation of Mark 1:10. For the idea that Acts 14:11 comes from the heart of Greek mythological tradition, see Amy L. Wordelman, “Cultural Divides and Dual Realities: A Greco-Roman Context for Acts 14,” in Contextualizing Acts: Lukan Narrative and Greco-Roman Discourse (ed. Todd C. Penner and Caroline Vander Stichele; SBLSymS 20; Boston: Brill, 2004), 205–32. For the opinion that Ovid himself draws upon long-standing Greek topoi, see Dean Philip Bechard, Paul Outside the Walls: A Study of Luke’s Socio-Geographical Universalism in Acts 14:8-20 (AnBib 143; Rome: 59
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IV. Greek Myth and Markan Secrecy Reading the baptism in the context of Greek mythology also adds a new dimension to the scene’s role in the Markan secrecy motif. It is a well-known feature of the Gospel that the evangelist reveals Jesus’ true identity to his readers while keeping it a secret within the narrative itself. Accordingly, Mark makes his audience privy to the Spirit’s descent into Jesus, while, at the narrative level, he restricts the observation of this event to Jesus alone (indicated by the singular εἶδεν in 1:10). This textual clue would have preserved the messianic secret in an important way for those in the audience who were familiar with Homeric traditions. These readers and hearers would have been aware that a god’s avian departure signifies to epic characters that the “human” conversing with them was actually a god in disguise.61 Such epiphanies occur in several of the passages discussed above. Poseidon’s birdlike departure from the two Ajaxes enables them to identify that it was not Calchas speaking with them but a god. Upon Poseidon’s departure, Homer writes, “And of the twain swift Aias, son of Oileus, was first to mark the god, and forthwith, spake to Aias, son of Telamon: Aias, seeing it is one of the gods who hold Olympus that in the likeness of the seer biddeth the two of us fight beside the ships—not Calchus is he . . . for easily did I know the tokens behind him of feet and of legs as he went from us” (Il. 13.66–72 [trans. Murray, LCL]). There has been much debate surrounding Ajax’s final phrase, “the tokens behind him of feet and legs,” but it is most natural to assume that the comment refers to footprints left by a raptorial bird after takeoff or to Poseidon’s birdlike gate.62 Regardless, it is the god’s assumption of bird form (or, at least, the Ajaxes’ imagining that he became a bird) that makes him known.63 Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 2000), 293. Confusing impressive humans (typically because of their beauty) for gods occurs also in Hellenistic novels; see Luke Timothy Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles (SP 5; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 248. For example, in Xenophon’s An Ephesian Tale, the people of Rhodes believe the main protagonists, Habrocomes and Anthia, to be a visitation of gods. The pair receives worship and adoration from the Rhodians (1.12). In Chariton’s Chaereas and Callirhoe, some mistake Callirhoe for a goddess because of the belief that Aphrodite would manifest herself in the fields (1.14). 61 Pollard observes, “The majority of transformations take place at the moment of a god’s arrival or departure, when a bird’s sudden appearance apparently convinces those present that a deity had been present all the time” (Birds, 155). Similarly Gerard Mussies comments, “On several occasions in Homer ordinary men or women who have been helpful in some way or other disappear in the end in the shape of a bird and thus give themselves away as gods” (“Identification and Self-Identification of Gods in Classical and Hellenistic Times,” in Knowledge of God in the Graeco-Roman World [ed. Roelof van den Broek, Tjitze Baarda, and Jaap Mansfield; EPRO 112; Leiden/New York: Brill, 1988], 3). 62 Pollard, Birds, 58. 63 Ibid.
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When Athena speaks with Telemachus in Odyssey 1, she disguises herself as Mentes. It is only her departure “like a bird” that enables him to recognize her true identity. When Athena flies away, in his mind Telemachus “observed her and marveled, for he suspected that she was a god” (1.323). Athena’s second visit to the son of Odysseus follows a similar pattern. During this visit, Athena assumes the form of Mentor and converses freely with Telemachus on multiple occasions. However, not until the goddess departs “in the likeness of a sea-eagle” are Telemachus and one of Odysseus’s old friends, Nestor, able to determine that she is a god (3.371–72). When they see Athena fly away, Nestor remarks, “Friend, I do not think you will be evil or cowardly if truly when you are young the gods look after you as your guides. For truly this is no other than one of those who has an abode on Olympus, but the daughter of Zeus” (3.375–78). In each of these Homeric passages, a god’s assumption of avian form or flight reveals the deity’s true identity to those present. However, like Mark’s audience, Homer’s audience is already aware of the human character’s divine identity. It is only the actors in the story who do not possess an omniscient viewpoint. At the story level, the actors learn the truth of the matter only through the god’s birdlike flight. Consequently, Mark’s readers who were familiar with this motif would have been aware that if other characters in the Gospel were privy to the Spirit’s birdlike descent into Jesus, they too would have known his divine identity. However, because it is only Jesus and the Gospel’s audience who see the Spirit descend as a dove, the secrecy motif remains intact.
V. Implications for Christology The past twenty to thirty years have brought a decided movement away from theios anēr as the key to Markan christology. We heed the cautions of earlier scholars that neither theios anēr nor “son of God” was a fixed title used to denote a specific type of divine-human figure, and it is not my intention to suggest a Markan “divine man” christology.64 I do intend, however, to object to the concomitant movement toward the notion that all imagery in scenes such as Jesus’ baptism and transfiguration, including imagery that characterizes Jesus as “son of God,” is to be found only in OT and Jewish backgrounds.65 The move away from theios anēr 64 For notable arguments against a fixed “divine man” figure, see Wülfing von Martitz, “υἱός,” TDNT 8:339–40; David L. Tiede, The Charismatic Figure as Miracle Worker (SBLDS 1; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1972); and Carl Holladay, Theios Anēr in Hellenistic-Judaism: A Critique of the Use of This Category in New Testament Christology (SBLDS 40; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1977). 65 Against Kingsbury, Christology; Barry Blackburn, Theios Anēr and the Markan Miracle Traditions: A Critique of the Theios Anēr Concept as an Interpretative Background of the Miracle Traditions Used by Mark (WUNT 2/40; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1991); and Marcus, Mark, 1:164–
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should not also insist on a turning away from the true cultural plurality in which the Gospel grew and was disseminated. Scholars who insist on this movement are returning to a pre-Hengelian dichotomy of cultural separation. This tendency must be resisted, and scholars must continue to allow for a conflation of backgrounds and cultural traditions in both the Gospel’s production and its reception. Allusions such as the Spirit’s avian descent at the baptism and Jesus’ epiphany at the transfiguration, among other scenes and phrases throughout the Gospel, should be conceived of in the fullness of their Judeo-Greco-Roman culture. Further, if such culturally plural allusions are present, it is then necessary for scholars to inquire about the possible resonances, christological or otherwise, that such imagery might have had in the minds of those who first produced and heard stories about Jesus. In terms of the thesis of this article, a look into the broader, non-Jewish Greco-Roman culture reveals that the image of Olympian gods in human form occurs in accounts of heroic figures such as miracle workers, wise men, and rulers. Perhaps the most well-known example of a miracle worker who receives divine attributions is Pythagoras (sixth century b.c.e.). In addition to Porphyry’s preservation of a Nicomachean list of Pythagorean miracles (third century c.e.) in which Pythagoras reveals that he is the Olympian Apollo, Iamblichus (third to fourth century c.e.) accesses the topos of gods in human form in a list that recounts the ways in which Pythagoras was worshiped. He writes that some regarded Pythagoras as “one of the Olympian Gods, who, in order to benefit and correct the mortal life, appeared to men of those times in human form” (Vit. Pyth. 30).66 Also in the third century, Philostratus writes that Pythagoras has certain knowledge of his divinity because Apollo had come to him acknowledging that he was “the god [i.e., Apollo] in person” (Vit. Apoll. 1.1).67 Finally, Lucian of Samosota (second century c.e.), in a farcical description of Pythagoras’s divinity, closely identifies Pythagoras with Apollo in human form—and does so by means of a bird. A cock, enlivened by Pythagoras’s soul, says, “How my soul originally left Apollo, flew down to earth and entered a human body and what sin it was condemned to expiate in that way would make a long story” (Gall. 18).68 Although Lucian’s account is certainly satirical, his choice to access the topos demonstrates its popularity in the general culture. Such attributions were not reserved solely for miracle workers such as Pythagoras. Rulers also, especially Roman emperors, were depicted as gods in human form. In his Odes, Horace interprets the purpose of the life of Augustus as
67. For instance, Kingsbury writes,“if one probes the story of Mark itself, the indications are that 1:10 is part and parcel of the same OT and Jewish imagery that is so prominent throughout the whole section 1:1–13” (Christology, 64; cf. 37). 66 Trans. Blackburn, Theios Anēr, 51. 67 This text is cited by Blackburn, Theios Anēr, 46. 68 Trans. Blackburn, Theios Anēr, 46.
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an epiphany of Hermes or Apollo: “Whom of the gods shall the folk call to the needs of the falling empire? . . . To whom shall Jupiter assign the task of atoning for our guilt? Come thou at length, we pray thee, prophetic Apollo . . . or thou, winged son of benign Maia, if changing thy form, thou assumest on earth the guise of man, right ready to be called the avenger of Caesar” (Carm. 1.2.25–44 [trans. Bennett, LCL]).69 In a similar way, Virgil describes Augustus’s birth through the lens of Apollo’s descent to earth to establish peace: “The last age of the Sibyl’s poem is now come. . . . Now a new offspring is sent down from high heaven. Do thou, chaste Lucina, favour the birth of the child under whom the iron breed will first cease and a golden race arise throughout the world. Now shall thine own Apollo bear sway” (Ecl. 4.4–10).70 The characterization of great figures as Olympian gods in human form suggests that it would have been natural for followers of Jesus to think of their own Savior in similar categories. Exactly how the producers of the miracle stories, the Markan evangelist, and the Gospel’s audience would have conceived of these potential parallels is beyond the scope of the present study. The intent here is simply to note that other figures around the time of Jesus who were proclaimed to be divine or semi-divine were also depicted as Olympian gods on earth. The topos was a part of the cultural landscape.
VI. Conclusion The Spirit’s “descent as a dove” suggests the presence of a Homeric literary motif in Mark’s baptism account. Such an interpretation by no means intends to suppress the Jewish characteristics of the Markan baptism. The report certainly draws on images from the OT as well. The rending of the heavens and the echo of Ps 2:7 would have spoken to those who were well-versed in Jewish literary traditions. The existing “Jewish” interpretations of the Spirit’s “descent as a dove,” however, are lacking because most exegetes have focused too intently on the dove. By 69
This text is cited by Charles H. Talbert, “The Myth of a Descending-Ascending Redeemer in Mediterranean Antiquity,” NTS 22 (1976): 420. 70 Trans. Talbert, “Myth,” 420. In addition to these literary references, the material culture was permeated with associations of emperors with Olympian gods: for example, coins (Harold Mattingly, Coins of the Roman Empire in the British Museum, vol. 1, Augustus to Vitellius [London: British Museum, 1923; repr., 1965], 103–4 [nos. 637–42], 209–11 [nos. 67–80], etc.); inscriptions (e.g., IG 1:1117, 1163, 1206, 1322; CIG add. 2903–4; etc., cited by Lilly Ross Taylor, The Divinity of the Roman Emperor [Philological Monographs 1; Middletown, CT: American Philological Association, 1931], 270, 277; Victor Ehrenberg and A. H. M. Jones, Documents Illustrating the Reigns of Augustus & Tiberius [Oxford: Clarendon, 1949], 85, no. 117); and statues (e.g., the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias). On various ways emperors were conceived to be godlike, see Simon R. F. Price, “Gods and Emperors: The Greek Language of the Roman Imperial Cult,” JHS 104 (1984): 79–95.
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separating the Spirit’s “descent as” from “the dove,” I have allowed each element to be interpreted on its own terms. The dove alone may be an echo of the OT. It may have called to mind Noah’s dove or Israel’s comparison to a dove in Hosea and other texts. The Spirit’s birdlike descent, however, finds no antecedent in Jewish literature. Passages from Homer show that the motif draws largely on Greek myth. Given that Greek mythology uses bird similes to signify the arrivals and departures of divine beings on the earth, Mark’s simile, along with other mythological resonances in the Gospel, appears to echo the common mythological topos of gods in human form. Such resonances would have expanded the ways in which Jesus’ identity could have been communicated and received in the culturally diverse world of the first century.
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The Johannine Prologue and Jewish Didactic Hymn Traditions: A New Case for Reading the Prologue as a Hymn matthew gordley [email protected] Regent University, Virginia Beach, VA 23464
The problem of identifying and classifying early Christian hymns within the NT has not gone away, and no identifiable consensus has emerged with regard to the nature, structure, and purpose of any single purported NT hymn. The Johannine prologue is a case in point. Though many scholars recognize the prologue as something of an early Christian hymn, others suggest that the whole enterprise of identifying early Christian hymns is ill-advised. The sharp differences of opinion on the issue of early Christian hymns indicate that this continues to be an important issue; it is particularly important in that it affects the way scholars interpret the rich and complex thought of John 1:1–18. In this essay I wish to carve out some conceptual space for a position between those who identify hymns in the NT and those who dismiss that impulse as methodologically unsound. I will argue that we have in John’s prologue an instance of a particular kind of hymnody—didactic hymnody—an instructional strategy with roots in the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple Jewish writings, but that also resonates with instructional approaches of the Greco-Roman world. To make this case I first define the concept of didactic hymnody as it existed in the centuries before the Gospel of John. Second, I analyze the prologue as a didactic hymn showing that this perspective provides a satisfying reading of the prologue on a number of levels as it takes account of primary features of the prologue. Since this reading leads to the conclusion that the John the Baptist materials are interpolations, I devote a section to addressing this problem. Next, I review objections to the claim that the Johannine prologue is a hymn, responding in detail to arguments made by Daniel Boyarin.1 Finally, I contrast Boyarin’s approach with 1 Daniel Boyarin, “The Gospel of the Memra: Jewish Binitarianism and the Prologue to John,” HTR 94 (2001): 243–84. Boyarin provides a reading of the prologue that places its contents
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my own and show that, while Boyarin identifies some serious problems with the traditional hymn view, he also sets aside some important clues to the true nature of the prologue as a didactic hymn.
I. The Ancient Phenomenon of Didactic Hymnody Scholars have long recognized the existence in ancient times of didactic hymnody—a kind of composition that instructs an audience even as it praises the divine.2 Although the term has been used for decades, the concept of didactic hymnody has never been adequately defined. In this essay I use the term didactic hymnody as a shorthand phrase for a larger set of texts that includes psalms, hymns, prayers, and religious poetry whose primary purpose is to convey a lesson, idea, or theological truth to a human audience. Thus, a number of different kinds of poetic or religious compositions can be considered didactic hymns when their contents register a didactic tone and their style participates in hymnic conventions. Didactic hymns often use traditional language and expressions to paint a portrait of ultimate reality that a human audience is expected to embrace. By adapting time-honored conventions to address the needs of the present community, didactic hymns invite the audience to see its current circumstances in the context of a larger picture of reality that takes account of the divine realm as well as the human world. In fact, this appears to be the value of the didactic hymn: it teaches not merely through direct instruction but also through imagery and metaphor, creating a vision of ultimate reality. This vision may or may not align with visible realities that the community is experiencing, and thus a didactic hymn has the potential to serve as a powerful vehicle for articulating an alternative view of the world and how God is at work in it through people. In this regard didactic hymns and prayers are well-suited to play a role in communal formation.3 squarely within the world of Jewish thought while claiming that the prologue is emphatically not a hymn. Though no extended response to his arguments has yet been offered, scholars have continued to read the prologue as an early Christian hymn. See, e.g., Martin Hengel, “The Prologue of the Gospel of John as the Gateway to Christological Truth,” in The Gospel of John and Christian Theology (ed. Richard Bauckham and Carl Mosser; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 265– 93. Hengel writes, “The Prologue is a hymn or psalm to the Logos, composed with great linguistic art and deep reflection” (p. 268). Though he notes Boyarin’s contribution regarding the thought world of the prologue, Hengel does not address his arguments regarding the form of the prologue. 2 See, e.g., Gerhard von Rad, Wisdom in Israel (Nashville: Abingdon, 1972), 48, 176, 203. More recently Jan Liesen has examined Sir 39:12–35 as hymnic instruction, a hymnic wisdom poem, and a didactic hymn in Full of Praise: An Exegetical Study of Sir 39, 12–35 (JSJSup 64; Boston: Brill, 2000), 2–3, 39. 3 The best analysis of poetic material along the lines of communal formation can be found in Carol A. Newsom, The Self as Symbolic Space: Constructing Identity and Community at Qum-
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In ancient Jewish writings instructional hymnody is most clearly seen in psalms that state their intent to teach in explicit terms (e.g., Pss 34:11; 78:1). Many other psalms lack this explicit reference to their teaching function though it is clear that they also intend to convey a lesson to the audience. For example, psalms that review events in history (e.g., Psalms 105; 106) and psalms that are often classified as “wisdom psalms” (e.g., Psalms 1; 37; 49) lay claim to a didactic function through their contents and form, if not through explicit claims to their teaching function. Some psalms, hymns, and prayers embedded in narrative contexts serve a didactic purpose that works on several levels.4 Hymnlike passages in other genres likewise teach even as they appear to offer praise to God in hymnic or psalmlike form.5 Many of these passages blend characteristics of several genres as they utilize hymnic forms to paint a picture of reality that the hearer is encouraged to embrace. In light of the multifaceted use of this instructional strategy in the Hebrew Bible, it is not surprising that didactic hymnody plays a significant role in later writings of the Second Temple period as well. Many Qumran hymns and prayers reveal a didactic emphasis as they reflect some of the features of the didactic hymns of the Hebrew Bible.6 The earliest Christian writings likewise show an interest in hymns, prayers, and liturgically styled passages for instructional purposes.7 One frequently recurring feature of early Jewish didactic hymns is noteworthy since it is also found in the Johannine prologue: a review of history. Jewish hymns that review history for the purpose of making a theological statement about the present constitute an underexplored storehouse of comparative material that can shed additional light on the Johannine prologue. Though the present context does not permit a thorough analysis of ways in which reviews of history are incorporated into didactic hymns in Second Temple Jewish texts, Wisdom of Solomon 10 provides a clearer picture of the context in which I am suggesting we read the prologue. ran (STDJ 52; Leiden: Brill, 2004). For example, she examines these dynamics at work in 1QHa 9:1–39 (pp. 222–30). 4 E.g., The Song of the Sea (Exodus 15), the Song of Moses (Deuteronomy 32), the Song of Deborah (Judges 5), the Song of Judith (Judith 16). These are treated in James W. Watts, Psalm and Story: Inset Hymns in Hebrew Narrative (JSOTSup 139; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992); Steven Weitzman, Song and Story in Biblical Narrative: The History of a Literary Convention in Ancient Israel (Indiana Studies in Biblical Literature; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997); and Terry Giles and William Doan, Twice Used Songs: Performance Criticism of the Songs of Ancient Israel (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2009). 5 E.g., Isa 42:10–17; Prov 8:22–31; Sir 24:1–22; the Song of the Three Young Men. 6 For references to wisdom and teaching in the context of psalms and prayers, see, e.g., 4Q381 frag. 1, line 1 and 1QHa 9:33–35. 7 In addition to the NT christological hymns, one can observe the important functions of hymns and psalms in Luke’s Gospel and Revelation, along with doxologies and confessional materials in the Pauline epistles.
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Wisdom of Solomon 10 is an excellent example of a didactic hymn found in the context of a larger work and intended to instruct its readers/hearers. It is well known that the author used Greek forms and ideas as he urged readers to seek wisdom as understood within the Jewish tradition. The overall work is generally regarded as a logos protreptikos, a kind of discourse that unites philosophy and rhetoric in order to persuade the audience to embrace a particular approach to life.8 The genre lends itself to the incorporation of a number of smaller genres or literary forms. Indeed in Wisdom one can observe diatribal features predominating in several sections, elements reflective of the genre of problem literature in some places, and the incorporation of many Greek stylistic devices throughout.9 The use of hymnic elements in the course of a protreptic discourse is thus not surprising. As the culmination of the second major section of the discourse, ch. 10 presents a series of examples of Wisdom’s saving work on behalf of the righteous.10 The passage treats seven pivotal figures in Jewish history in what amounts to a review of history in hymnic form: Adam (vv. 1–3); Noah (v. 4); Abraham (v. 5); Lot (vv. 6–9); Jacob (vv. 10–12); Joseph (vv. 13–14); Moses and the people during the exodus (vv. 15–21). In each case the author asserts that it was Sophia who rescued, saved, or preserved the righteous. In its literary context, there can be little doubt about the didactic purpose of Wisdom 10. The hymnic style of the passage is also clear. A number of features suggest a close connection with Hellenistic hymns as well as earlier Jewish hymns. First, a number of scholars have seen strong similarities with praises of Isis, who is identified as savior of all.11 Second, the passage connects strongly with Hellenistic hymn traditions more generally. For example, the use of the emphatic pronoun αὕτη, which occurs repeatedly in Wisdom 10 and at least one aretalogy is “one form of the encomium to the gods in Greek literature,” as Eduard Norden has shown.12 Third, the chapter meets the expectations for the contents of hymns as reflected in the rhetorical handbooks and progymnasmata of antiquity: the nature
8 David Winston, The Wisdom of Solomon: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 43; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1979), 18–20; James M. Reese, Hellenistic Influence on the Book of Wisdom and Its Consequences (AnBib 41; Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1970), 117–21. 9 Reese claims 115 places in Wisdom where Greek stylistic figures appear (Hellenistic Influence, 28). Winston notes thirteen major figures of Greek style that Ps.-Solomon employs (Wisdom of Solomon, 15–16). 10 Winston refers to the passage as an “Ode to Wisdom’s Saving Role in History” (Wisdom of Solomon, 210). 11 Reese suggested that ch. 10 was part of a larger section that imitates Isis aretalogies in terms of form and contents (Hellenistic Influence, 43-50). Cf. John S. Kloppenborg, “Isis and Sophia in the Book of Wisdom,” HTR 75 (1982): 57-84, here 67-72. 12 Winston, Wisdom of Solomon, 212. See Eduard Norden, Agnostos Theos: Untersuchungen zur Formengeschichte religiöser Rede (1923; Stuttgart: B. G. Teubner, 1956), 163–65, 223–24.
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of the deity, her powers, and her deeds in history are crucial components of a hymn.13 Finally, as it reviews a series of historical events, Wisdom 10 is reflective of earlier psalms that review history in order to assert a theological lesson (e.g., Psalms 105 and 106). The overall framework, along with the way the individual pieces are brought together, suggests a connection with both the tradition of Jewish historical psalms and the recitation of the deeds of Greek gods found in Hellenistic hymns, as represented by the Isis aretalogies. From both a Greco-Roman and a Jewish perspective, then, this passage can be considered a didactic hymn. Given that this passage fits within a broad understanding of didactic hymnody, we might briefly consider its instructional aims and how they are achieved. The passage is both part of an explicit call to appreciate the saving power of Wisdom (see 6:22, 23, 25) and also an implicit call to be counted among the righteous who experience the benefits of Wisdom. This didactic aim is achieved not through direct instruction but through the recounting of seven well-known examples from history interpreted anew and expressed in hymnic style. This series of historical examples reflects the theology that undergirds the author’s overall appeal while at the same time illustrating the main contentions of the work. The form, style, and contents of this passage work together to reflect the author’s attempt to present traditional Jewish theology to a new generation—a generation that needed to be encouraged to trust in the saving power of Wisdom for the righteous. If space permitted, we could observe similar dynamics at work in other early Jewish writings, as authors sought to use psalms and hymns to give meaning to the present in light of the past.14 These hymns and prayers that review history offer a vision of present reality that is theologically oriented and historically grounded. In each instance the review of history plays a role in providing encouragement, exhortation, and perspective leading to an enhanced sense of identity for the community in which the psalm was composed and/or used. Further, it can be argued that many of these texts cast their vision of reality in a context where competing visions of present reality have the potential to win the hearts and minds of community members. Whether explicitly or implicitly, these texts present an alternative vision of reality that is grounded in the community’s experience of God in history. When we turn to the prologue of the Fourth Gospel with these other texts in mind, we see similar dynamics at work. Of course, we will not find that the author of the prologue drew on any one of these psalms as a model for the prologue. Rather, these didactic hymns, psalms, or prayers show the widespread power of the
13 Note the discussion of hymns in Quintilian, The Orator’s Education (5 vols.; ed. and trans. Donald A. Russell; LCL; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 3.7.7–9; Aelius Theon, Progymnasmata (trans. George A. Kennedy; Writings from the Greco-Roman World 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2003), 50. 14 The hymn in Sirach 44–50; the prayer for the time of war in the War Scroll (1QM 10–12); the opening psalm in Barkhi Nafshi (4Q434 1 i 1–14); and Psalms of Solomon 8 and 9.
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hymnic review of history to speak authoritatively to situations facing the people of God in the present. It is this impulse that is behind John’s prologue and is, I suggest, a primary feature of the prologue.
II. The Johannine Prologue as Didactic Hymn Like the texts we have just surveyed, John 1:1–18 reviews key historical periods as part of the divine work of God in compressed, hymnic form in the context of a larger work for the purposes of supporting the didactic aims of the larger composition. Given its similarities, particularly with Wisdom 10, which focuses on the saving role of Wisdom in history, it is perhaps not surprising to find seven different periods of history described in the Johannine prologue: the Logos before creation (vv. 1–2); the Logos involved in creation (vv. 3–4); the Logos in the world after creation (vv. 5, 9); the Logos rejected by some Israelites in biblical history (vv. 10–11); the Logos received by some Israelites in history (vv. 12–13); the Logos made flesh (v. 14); the community’s experience of grace and truth through Jesus Christ (vv. 16–17). As with Wisdom 10, the series of seven historical examples serves to support the didactic aims of the larger composition. In this case the prologue implicitly urges the audience to see themselves as recipients of grace and truth, the true children of God at the time of the final and complete manifestation of the Logos in human history. The arrangement below highlights these seven phases in the history of the redemptive and creative work of the Logos in history. In reviewing the proposal below, several points should be noted. First, though many strophic arrangements have been proposed, this is the first that presents the hymn in seven strophes.15 Second, the way I divide the strophes is based primarily on the subject matter and its development from one section of the prologue to the next. Obviously, most lines of the prologue are closely connected both with what precedes and with what follows, so that at some points it is difficult to discern where the focus changes. What my divisions suggest, however, is that in each case there is a closer thematic connection between the lines within a given strophe than with the lines that precede or follow that strophe.16 Third, though the strophic divisions 15 This proposal is similar to the four strophes of Raymond E. Brown and the six strophes recognized by Hartmut Gese, at least in terms of the overall flow of the hymn and which lines are later additions. See Hartmut Gese, Essays on Biblical Theology (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1981), 167–221. For the basic arguments regarding vv. 6–8, 15, and 18 as additions, see Raymond E. Brown, The Gospel according to John: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (2 vols; 2nd ed.; AB 29, 29A; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1986), 1:1–42. 16 Though to my knowledge no one has offered an arrangement in seven strophes, none of my individual strophe divisions represents an innovation. What is new is the selection of this particular set of divisions between strophes to create seven strophes that review the history of the
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are based not on syllable count or word counts but on thematic and chronological development, the lines and strophes do fall within a fairly small range.17 The fifth strophe is the outlier in terms of length, which may suggest that v. 13 should be considered an addition of the final editor of the prologue. However, as Wisdom 10 and other examples suggest, the Jewish didactic hymn tradition does not appear to be overly concerned with line lengths and strophe lengths as a compositional constraint. First Strophe (vv. 1–2): The Word with God Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, In the beginning was the Word, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, and the Word was with God, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος. and the Word was God. 2 οὗτος ἦν ἐν ἀρχῇ πρὸς τὸν θεόν. He was in the beginning with God. Second Strophe (vv. 3–4): The Word and Creation 3 πάντα δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, All things came into being through him, καὶ χωρὶς αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο οὐδὲ ἕν. and without him nothing came into being. ὃ γέγονεν 4 ἐν αὐτῷ ζωὴ ἦν, What came to be in him was life, καὶ ἡ ζωὴ ἦν τὸ φῶς τῶν ἀνθρώπων· and the life was the light of humanity; Third Strophe (vv. 5, 9 with an interlude in vv. 6–8): The Word in the World 5 καὶ τὸ φῶς ἐν τῇ σκοτίᾳ φαίνει, The light shines in the darkness, καὶ ἡ σκοτία αὐτὸ οὐ κατέλαβεν. and the darkness has not overcome it. John the Baptist Interlude Number One (vv. 6–8) 6 Ἐγένετο ἄνθρωπος ἀπεσταλμένος παρὰ θεοῦ, ὄνομα αὐτῷ Ἰωάννης· 7 οὗτος ἦλθεν εἰς μαρτυρίαν, ἵνα μαρτυρήσῃ περὶ τοῦ φωτός, ἵνα πάντες πιστεύσωσιν δι’ αὐτοῦ. 8 οὐκ ἦν ἐκεῖνος τὸ φῶς, ἀλλ’ ἵνα μαρτυρήσῃ περὶ τοῦ φωτός. There came a man sent from God, his name was John. He came as a witness, that he might testify concerning the light, that all people might believe through him. He was not the light, but he came that he might testify concerning the light. 9 Ἦν τὸ φῶς τὸ ἀληθινόν, ὃ φωτίζει πάντα ἄνθρωπον, ἐρχόμενον εἰς τὸν κόσμον.
The true light which enlightens every person, was coming into the world.
Logos in the creation and redemption of humanity. For comments on the less common divisions between vv. 2 and 3 and vv. 4 and 5, see Ernst Haenchen, John: A Commentary on the Gospel of John (trans. Robert W. Funk; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 112, 114. For the division between vv. 11 and 12, see Gese, Essays on Biblical Theology, 182. 17 Lines range in length from five to fourteen syllables, with all but seven lines falling in the eight- to twelve-syllable range. Strophes are composed of combinations of couplets and triplets. Strophes 1, 2, and 5 are made up of couplets. Strophes 3, 4, and 6 join a couplet and a triplet. The climactic strophe 7 joins two triplets.
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Fourth Strophe (vv. 10–11): The Rejection of the Word in History 10 ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ ἦν, He was in the world, καὶ ὁ κόσμος δι’ αὐτοῦ ἐγένετο, and the world came into being through him, καὶ ὁ κόσμος αὐτὸν οὐκ ἔγνω. but the world did not know him. 11 εἰς τὰ ἴδια ἦλθεν, He came to his own, καὶ οἱ ἴδιοι αὐτὸν οὐ παρέλαβον. but his own did not receive him. Fifth Strophe (vv. 12–13): The Reception of the Word in History 12 ὅσοι δὲ ἔλαβον αὐτόν, But to as many as received him, ἔδωκεν αὐτοῖς ἐξουσίαν he gave authority τέκνα θεοῦ γενέσθαι, to become children of God, τοῖς πιστεύουσιν εἰς τὸ ὄνομα αὐτοῦ, to those who believed in his name. 13 οἳ οὐκ ἐξ αἱμάτων Those not of blood οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος σαρκὸς neither of the will of flesh οὐδὲ ἐκ θελήματος ἀνδρὸς nor of the will of man ἀλλ’ ἐκ θεοῦ ἐγεννήθησαν. but born of God. Sixth Strophe (v. 14): The Community’s Experience of the Incarnate Word 14 Καὶ ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο And the Word became flesh καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν, and tented among us, καὶ ἐθεασάμεθα τὴν δόξαν αὐτοῦ, and we have beheld his glory, δόξαν ὡς μονογενοῦς παρὰ πατρός, glory as an only begotten from the father, πλήρης χάριτος καὶ ἀληθείας. full of grace and truth. John the Baptist Interlude Number Two (v. 15) 15 Ἰωάννης μαρτυρεῖ περὶ αὐτοῦ καὶ κέκραγεν λέγων, Οὗτος ἦν ὃν εἶπον, Ὁ ὀπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος ἔμπροσθέν μου γέγονεν, ὅτι πρῶτός μου ἦν. John testifies concerning him and cried out saying, “This is he of whom I said, ‘The one coming after me was before me, for he is prior to me.’” Seventh Strophe (vv. 16–17): The Community’s Reception of Grace through Jesus Christ ὅτι ἐκ τοῦ πληρώματος αὐτοῦ For out of his fullness ἡμεῖς πάντες ἐλάβομεν we all received, καὶ χάριν ἀντὶ χάριτος· even grace upon grace. 17 ὅτι ὁ νόμος διὰ Μωϋσέως ἐδόθη, For the law was given through Moses, ἡ χάρις καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια grace and truth διὰ Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ ἐγένετο. came through Jesus Christ. Editorial Explanation and Summary (v. 18) 18 θεὸν οὐδεὶς ἑώρακεν πώποτε· μονογενὴς θεὸς ὁ ὢν εἰς τὸν κόλπον τοῦ πατρὸς ἐκεῖνος ἐξηγήσατο. No one has ever seen God; God the only begotten who is at the bosom of the father has made him known.
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With the editorial insertions removed, the underlying hymn may have looked something like this (in English translation): First Strophe (vv. 1–2): The Word with God In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. Second Strophe (vv. 3–4): The Word and Creation All things came into being through him, and without him nothing came into being. What came to be in him was life, and the life was the light of humanity; Third Strophe (vv. 5, 9): The Word in the World The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The true light, which enlightens every person, was coming into the world. Fourth Strophe (vv. 10–11): The Rejection of the Word in Israel’s History He was in the world, and the world came into being through him, but the world did not know him. He came to his own, but his own did not receive him. Fifth Strophe (vv. 12–13): The Reception of the Word in Israel’s History But to as many as received him, he gave authority to become children of God. To those who believed in his name. Those not of blood neither of the will of flesh nor of the will of man but born of God. Sixth Strophe (v. 14): The Community’s Experience of the Incarnate Word And the Word became flesh and tented among us, and we have beheld his glory, glory as an only begotten from the father, full of grace and truth.
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009) Seventh Strophe (vv. 16–17): The Community’s Reception of Grace through Jesus Christ For out of his fullness we all received, even grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses, grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.
I do not offer this arrangement as “proof ” of the correctness of the didactic hymn approach. Rather, such an arrangement serves to show precisely what attending to the hymnic features of the prologue can bring to light. This arrangement brings into focus three central features of the dynamic movement of the hymn: its topical development, its chronological development, and its thematic/stylistic development. First, one can observe the way the passage deals with many of the traditional topoi of ancient hymnody. Rhetorical handbooks, progymnasmata, and examples of ancient hymns suggest a well-developed understanding of the kinds of things that should be articulated in praise of an exalted being.18 These include the names and epithets of the god, the god’s powers, the god’s accomplishments, benefactions the god has given to humanity, the god’s manifestations in the world, and the god’s relationship with other beings. One could fairly easily see that the contents of the strophes in the Johannine prologue address nearly all of these standard topoi, including the benefactions of the Logos toward humanity (vv. 4, 12, 16, 17), the relationship of the Logos to other beings (i.e., God and Moses), and his visible manifestation to humanity (v. 14). Interestingly, the ancient discussions on how to praise a god do not address issues of meter, length, or style as much as content. This should not surprise us, given the wide range of texts that are referred to as hymns in antiquity. Ancient conceptions of hymnody were quite broad and could include compositions ranging from carefully crafted metrical hymns on the model of the Homeric Hymns to prose hymns in the form of speeches at a symposium.19 At this point, then, we simply note
18 Primary texts include Quintilian, On the Orator’s Education 3.7.7–9, Alexander Numenius (Leonardi Spengel, Rhetores Graeci [Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana; 3 vols.; Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1853–56], 3:4–6), and the progymnasmata of Theon (first century c.e.), Hermogenes (second century c.e.), and Aphthonius (fourth century c.e.). See the survey of this material in Matthew E. Gordley, The Colossian Hymn in Context: An Exegesis in Light of Jewish and Greco-Roman Hymnic and Epistolary Conventions (WUNT 2.228; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2007), 112–24. 19 Eduard Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa vom VI. Jahrhundert v. Chr. bis in die Zeit der Renaissance (2 vols.; Leipzig: B. G. Teubner, 1915–18; repr., Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1958), 2:844.
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that the claims made on behalf of the Logos in the prologue can be understood to reflect hymnic conventions; meter or lack thereof is not a determining factor. Second, this arrangement reveals the clear chronological movement of the whole in its description of the nature and work of the Word. The protological and cosmological function of the Word (strophes 1 and 2) is spelled out as a basis for the Word’s life-giving, enlightening work, which is elaborated in the remainder of the hymn. Strophe 3 bridges the imagery of the timeless past with the coming of the Logos into the time frame of human history. In the original hymn the incarnation is not yet the focus, though the reader in the know will see that as an implication.20 The chronological progression points instead to the early chapters of Genesis, where humanity is created in the image of God but chooses darkness over the light.21 The fourth and fifth strophes relate the responses of people to the presence of the Logos in human history in a period that is still prior to the incarnation. The specific focus of these strophes is the Israelites in biblical history as the chosen people of God, some of whom rejected the Logos (fourth strophe) but some of whom received him and were truly his children (fifth strophe).22 Finally, strophes 6 and 7, with the switch from third person pronouns to first person plural pronouns, relate the specific experience of one particular community with the incarnate Logos. The coming of Jesus Christ is thus presented in this passage as the latest and fullest experience of the Logos by humanity in the ongoing life-giving work of God in human history. Third, in addition to the topical and chronological movement of the hymn, this arrangement brings into focus the stylistic movement of the hymn from one strophe to the next. Table 1 (p. 792) highlights the ways in which the last line of each strophe leads creatively into the first line of the next strophe. Either a key word is repeated exactly, or the main idea of the last line is echoed in some way and built upon by the following line, as the table indicates. Regardless of the extent to which this particular arrangement of the prologue represents the original hymn, it is fair to say that the forward movement by thematic development and repetition of key words as outlined here is an important feature of the text. In the absence of more compelling reasons for other strophic arrangements (e.g., clearer rhythmic and metrical patterns, more explicit thematic, conceptual, or linguistic patterning, etc.), this arrangement, which depends on verifiable features in the text, should be considered a good approximation of what the original may have looked like.
20
Haenchen, John, 114–15. Hengel, “Prologue of the Gospel of John,” 277–78. 22 Ibid., 282. 21
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009) Table 1 Thematic Connections between Strophes’ Ending and Opening Lines
Transition from:
Key phrase in last line of previous strophe:
Key phrase in first line of following strophe:
Connection
First to second strophe
in the beginning (v. 2)
All things were made . . . (v. 3)
Genesis 1 creation account
Second to third strophe
light of humanity (v. 4)
The light shines . . . (v. 5)
Light imagery
Third to fourth strophe
coming into the world (v. 9)
He was in the world . . . (v. 10)
The world
Fourth to fifth strophe
did not receive him (v. 11)
But to as many as received him . . . (v. 12)
Receiving the Word
Fifth to sixth strophe
born of God (v. 13)
The Word became flesh . . . (v. 14)
Contrasting images relating to birth
Sixth to seventh strophe
full of grace and truth (v. 14)
For out of his fullness . . . (v. 16)
Fullness imagery and grace and truth
III. The Insertion of the Baptist Materials As much as this reading allows for a more nuanced appreciation of the prologue’s hymnic nature as well as a clearer outline of the historical progress of the passage, it also creates a challenge that must be addressed. The didactic hymn interpretation requires, as does the traditional hymnic interpretation, a hypothetical original composition that was interpolated by an editor who added vv. 6–8 and v. 15. This is potentially a problem on three levels. First, when choosing between alternative readings, we should probably prefer, when possible, a reading that makes sense of the text “as is” over against one that requires hypothetical emendations over which scholars do not express agreement.23 Nevertheless, if the evidence is strong enough, most scholars would agree that emendation should not be avoided at all times. Our limited knowledge of the processes by which ancient texts were written and copied does indicate that emen23 N. T. Wright adduces this element as a point in favor of his perspective on Col 1:15–20 over against hymnic interpretations that call for emendation of the text by supposed editorial insertions (“Poetry and Theology in Colossians 1:15–20,” NTS 36 [1990]: 444–68).
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dation and interpolation are realities that modern interpreters must consider. So there exists at least the possibility that an original composition lies beneath the prologue as it now stands. Naturally, we recognize a distinction between possibility and probability, so the question here must be whether the evidence supports such a claim. The second issue, then, is probability: what indicators in the text suggest that this has occurred, and how conclusive is the evidence? Third, given those indicators, what would explain the insertion of part of the John the Baptist narratives at such an early point in the prologue (after v. 5), when the incarnation is not yet referenced, at least in the supposed original hymn? These two issues can be worked out together. The main indicators that an earlier source has been supplemented with the John the Baptist narrative have to do with the flow of the contents of the passage. The first Baptist interlude abruptly shifts the focus from the Logos and his light (v. 5) to a man who came as a witness to the light (vv. 6–8). The focus of the passage then immediately returns to the light itself (v. 9). This section (vv. 6–8) thus has something of a parenthetical function. The second Baptist interlude seems to disrupt its context in a similar way.24 Verse 14 ends with a reference to one who is “full of grace and truth.” Verse 16 picks up directly on that idea and continues, “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.” Removing the Baptist materials has no impact on the flow of the material that remains—if anything, it could be argued that it flows better.25 In addition, the Baptist materials themselves have a certain unity. In any reading it is fair to say that there are two narrative strands running side by side through the prologue: the story of the Logos and the story of John the Baptist. Separating them out does not seem to harm the movement or meaning of either one. Verses 6–8 together with v. 15 could arguably lead directly to the John narrative in v. 19. This observation is not evidence for the theory that they were originally two independent opening sequences. But if there were more of a disconnect between the John “interludes” and the John narrative in vv. 19–37, that would surely detract from this hypothesis. But there is no disconnect. When taken together, the recognition that the prologue flows smoothly with the John traditions removed and the recognition that the John traditions themselves appear to be coherent when grouped together suggest that it is not unreasonable to posit two distinct opening sequences for the Gospel of John.26 It is at least as reasonable to posit an interpolation as it is to posit a carefully composed prologue that originally contained several somewhat disconnected interpretive asides. 24
The NRSV notes this by placing this verse in parentheses. This continues to be a widely held view, as most recently asserted in Hengel, “Prologue of the Gospel of John,” 268. 26 J. A. T. Robinson, “The Relation of the Prologue to the Gospel of St. John,” NTS 9 (1962– 63): 120–29. He suggests an original beginning of the Gospel of John that included vv. 6–9, 15, and 19 (p. 127). 25
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If the hymn is interpolated, however, why would an author insert this material about John the Baptist? Further, why would the author insert it in the places selected? These questions together are really the most significant problem for the didactic hymnody proposal. By inserting the John material in the middle of the third strophe, the editor gives the impression that from v. 6 onward the hymn is dealing with the recent history of the coming of Jesus in the flesh. However, the underlying hymn does not see the incarnation occurring until v. 14. Why would the author/editor place this material so early in the narrative? Did this person misread the hymn, which was so clearly a review of the Logos in history?27 Obviously, these questions cannot be answered with certainty. Nevertheless, the fact that the hymnic view raises these questions should not discredit the view as a whole. One can look at the limited evidence and offer tentative answers that do support the thesis more fully. To begin, we can note that one does not need to read too far into the Fourth Gospel to realize that John the Baptist was a contested figure and that his role in the work of Jesus was in question (1:19–37; 3:22–30). Though we cannot be certain of the particulars of the dispute at the time the Gospel was written, we can be confident that the references to John in the prologue are intended to address these issues.28 I suggest that the references to John early in the prologue serve as a way to honor the Baptist by showing his important role in the redemptive history of the Logos, while at the same time making a distinction between the two figures. In support of this explanation, I return to the two easily distinguished strands of narrative materials noted above: the Logos/Jesus materials and the John materials. If there were at some point in the compositional history of the Gospel two independent opening sequences (i.e., the narrative opening beginning with John, and the christological hymn beginning with the Logos), then, when synthesized in the final edition, either they could have been placed in order one after the other, or they could have been integrated with one another. The final author/editor of the prologue apparently chose the latter approach. The choice to integrate the two narratives (one of which was the original “hymn”) was quite remarkable in that it created a further dynamic and a heightening of tension that neither narrative achieved independently.29 Such a move would also have served to give further honor to John 27 Haenchen reviews several explanations (John, 116–17), concluding, “The lack of skill that characterizes the way in which the redactor permits verses 8 and 9 to clash shows us that he was not a particularly deft author, and he repeats this clumsy process again in verse 15” (p. 117). 28 Hengel, “Prologue of the Gospel of John,” 277. For references to the ongoing community of followers of the Baptist, see also the discussion in Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Gospel according to St. John (trans. Kevin Smyth; 3 vols.; Herder’s Theological Commentary on the New Testament; New York: Herder & Herder, 1968), 1:249–53. 29 Charles H. Giblin argues that the additions created a new chiastic structure in the prologue that was not present in the original (“Two Complementary Literary Structures in John 1:1– 18,” JBL 104 [1985]: 87–103, here 88–89).
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for his important role in the work of Jesus—he is part of the hymnic prologue, and not simply an afterthought. At the same time, the presence of John in the prologue would also reinforce from the very beginning the distinction between John, who was a witness to the light, and the Logos, who was the light. On this reading we must surmise that the early insertion of John into the hymn was intentional, not accidental or due to the ignorance of the redactor. The primary impulse may have been to honor John, perhaps as a conciliatory gesture to the faithful disciples of John, by showing that he too was a part of this redemptive work of God in history. His place in the chronological development of the prologue (in the middle of the third strophe) may even imply that John is a paradigmatic representative of those who came before him in that era of redemptive history, such as Abraham, Moses, and Elijah, who themselves were not the light, but who by their lives and their words witnessed to the reality of the light. Though this explanation cannot be proven, it does reflect something of the likely social situation to which other parts of the Gospel attest.30 Stepping back from the details of the proposal offered above, one can review several facets of interpretation that this reading uncovers. As we saw with Wisdom 10, didactic hymns were especially well-suited (1) to draw on traditional imagery and ideas and (2) to paint a new and compelling portrait of ultimate reality, in order to (3) address current challenges facing a particular community. The prologue as a didactic hymn can be seen to do each of these things. It uses traditional imagery as it reviews foundational historical events that were meaningful to the community. It expresses traditional ideas in a new way to paint a compelling and persuasive picture of ultimate reality. It does so to address current challenges facing the community with regard to both the identity of Jesus and the identity of the community members relative to Jewish history. Finally, with the addition of the Baptist materials, the original hymn was able to address another concern of the present community: the relationship of Jesus to John the Baptist and the place of the latter’s followers within this community.
IV. Arguments against Identifying the Prologue as a Hymn Having placed the prologue in conversation with the ancient practice of didactic hymnody and its features, we can now deal head-on with objections that scholars raise with regard to identifying the prologue as a hymn. In the most recent critique of the hymn view, Daniel Boyarin offers the following arguments:31 30 Bruce J. Malina and Richard L. Rohrbaugh, Social-Science Commentary on the Gospel of John (Social-Science Commentary; Minneapolis, MN: Fortress, 1998), 33. 31 Boyarin, “Gospel of the Memra,” 263–67.
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009) 1. The Sitz im Leben of the prologue is preaching, not praise. 2. The genre of the prologue is narrative, in contrast to hymn. 3. Parallelism and similar features in the prologue are indicative of intertextuality, not hymnody. 4. The prologue is very different from wisdom hymns, which are often cited as models for this hymn. 5. The existence of many different hymnic arrangements shows the futility of the attempt.
Boyarin’s aim in raising all these points together is to argue that an alternative view is needed. In this section I briefly engage these arguments and show that the didactic hymn proposal I offer above is a better alternative. 1. The Sitz im Leben of the prologue is preaching, not praise. Boyarin writes, “In my view, the Sitz im Leben of the Prologue is a homiletical or preaching situation, and not one of praise or adoration.”32 Boyarin is wise to draw attention to this issue, particularly since advocates of hymns in the NT often imagine a particular setting for the recitation of a given hymn. If a homiletical Sitz im Leben can be argued at the expense of a liturgical one, then one aspect of the hymn theory is neutralized. Other scholars have sought to make a similar distinction between an instructional context and a liturgical one.33 While one can agree that theological instruction and reflection are primary elements in the prologue, a sharp distinction between two settings is not defensible. Ancient rhetoricians recognized that praise and exhortation, as practiced in their world, were very closely related; often it was just a matter of emphasis.34 As for the original setting of a Jewish or Christian text, a liturgical setting surely would have involved teaching on some level, while a homiletical setting surely would have involved some kind of praise.35 Not only is the distinction between a homiletical and a liturgical setting not entirely defensible; it is also the wrong distinction. Given the hymnic features of the prologue (e.g., elevated style, compressed construction, cosmic scope, rehearsal of the deeds and benefactions of a divine being), the question to ask is, What kind of hymnic text is this? The strong instructional and theological interests in the prologue, rather than serving to unravel a theory that the prologue is a hymn of some kind, in actuality lend support to the view that it is a didactic hymn. 32
Ibid., 264. Giblin, for example, reads the prologue as a doctrinal meditation, which is emphatically not a hymn (“Two Complementary Structures,” 94). 34 Quintilian, On the Orator’s Education 3.7.28; Aristotle, Art of Rhetoric 1.35–36. 35 On the early Christian front, Paul’s instructions in Colossians place psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs in the context of teaching (Col 3:16). Philo’s discussion of the hymnic compositions of the Therapeutae suggests that instruction and praise were closely related for this group (Contempl. 25, 88). 33
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2. The genre of the prologue is narrative, in contrast to hymn. A second argument against the hymn theory is the observation that the prologue is really a narrative. Boyarin explains that, as a homiletic retelling of Genesis, the prologue is “interpretative and narratival in its genre and not hymnic and cyclical, that is, liturgical.”36 Though one can easily agree that the prologue is interpretative and narratival in its development, one need not accept the second part of Boyarin’s claim—that the passage is not hymnic. Boyarin fails to point out that these descriptors (interpretative and narratival) represent common features of a number of kinds of texts, including the centuries-old tradition of didactic hymnody. As noted above, hymns and psalms often rehearsed historical events in what amounts to being both an interpretative and narratival framework. Didactic hymns seem to have been particularly well suited to blending hymnic form with narrative, interpretative, or other instructional content. In addition to his failure to consider didactic hymnody as a factor in the instructional strategies of the prologue, Boyarin’s equation of hymnic styles with liturgical genres is problematic. Numerous examples of nonliturgical hymns and hymnic compositions have been discovered at Qumran and are similarly represented throughout the ancient world.37 In Qumran studies there is an ongoing debate about the use and purpose of nonliturgical psalmlike compositions such as the Hodayot.38 Scholars of the Hebrew Bible continue to debate the nature and role of wisdom psalms in particular.39 I must voice agreement with part of Boyarin’s argument: the Johannine prologue is not necessarily a liturgical piece. Yet that recognition does not lead to the conclusion that it is not hymnic. It remains possible that the prologue’s hymnic elements may indeed be its most telling features in terms of discerning its meaning.
36
Boyarin, “Gospel of the Memra,” 264. On Greek hymns, William D. Furley and Jan Maarten Bremer observe, “A wide variety of hymnic texts survive from antiquity which share the defining property of being addressed to one or more gods, but which were not all sung or danced, nor intended for performance in a cult context at all. This is another way of saying that we find hymnic texts in almost all genres of literature—lyric, epic, dramatic, elegiac poetry—as well as in some prose genres” (Greek Hymns: Selected Cult Songs from the Archaic to the Hellenistic Period [2 vols.; Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum 9–10; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001], 1:41). 38 See, e.g., Eileen M. Schuller, “Some Reflections on the Function and Use of Poetical Texts among the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Liturgical Perspectives: Prayer and Poetry in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Proceedings of the Fifth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literture 19–23 January 2000 (ed. Esther G. Chazon; STDJ 48; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2003), 173–89. 39 James L. Crenshaw, “Wisdom Psalms?” CurBS 8 (2000): 9–17; J. Kenneth Kuntz, “Reclaiming Biblical Wisdom Psalms: A Response to Crenshaw,” Currents in Biblical Research 1 (2003): 145–54; James L. Crenshaw, “Gold Dust or Nuggets? A Brief Response to J. Kenneth Kuntz,” Currents in Biblical Research 1 (2003): 155–58. 37
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3. Parallelism and similar features in the prologue are indicative of intertextuality, not hymnody. Boyarin is correct to observe that the presence of parallelism in the prologue is not conclusive in determining the genre of the prologue. He explains the parallelism as evidence of the prologue’s reliance on an intertext. “Intertextuality” is a major feature of this passage, especially in regard to allusions to historical events in creation and human history. Many scholars note its connection to Genesis 1 as well as to wisdom and Sinai traditions.40 By offering this view, Boyarin aims to create some distance between parallelism and poetic style, suggesting that an intertextual reading explains the parallelism more adequately. Indeed, it is possible that occurrences of parallelism may be seen as an aspect of that kind of interpretation. However, such a recognition does not automatically exclude the reality that parallelism is also one of several markers of poetic style in Jewish poetry.41 Taken together, the multiple indicators of poetic style (of which parallelism is only one) suggest that in the prologue we are dealing with a psalmlike passage at the very least.42 4. The prologue is very different from the wisdom hymns, which are often cited as models for this hymn. Boyarin points out significant differences between the prologue and the Wisdom hymns of the Hebrew Bible, suggesting that the Johannine prologue should not be considered a hymn in the same sense as these earlier texts. He develops this idea further to point out a key to the prologue: “the recognition that the Wisdom aretalogy is, indeed, its theme, but not its Gattung.”43 This is a brilliant observation, but one that needs some careful unpacking. Boyarin recognizes the influence of wisdom hymns, as most scholars would. But I claim that the influence goes beyond just content to include influence on the form, as my construction of the argument above shows. The early Christian hymns do not necessarily follow the precise form of the earlier wisdom psalms, but they do utilize the conventions of didactic hymnody, more broadly conceived, of which wisdom psalms are but one part. In other words, 40
See, e.g., Craig A. Evans, Word and Glory: On the Exegetical and Theological Background of John’s Prologue (JSNTSup 89; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 198–99; Anthony Tyrrell Hanson, “John 1.14–18 and Exodus XXXIV,” NTS 23 (1976): 90–101; Thomas Tobin, “The Prologue of John and Hellenistic Jewish Speculation,” CBQ 52 (1990): 252–69. 41 For various perspectives on what constitutes biblical poetry, see Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic Books, 1985), 3–26; Adele Berlin, The Dynamics of Biblical Parallelism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 1–16; S. E. Gillingham, The Poems and Psalms of the Hebrew Bible (Oxford Bible Series; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), 30–36. 42 For discussion of these qualities, including poetical and rhythmical sentences, see Brown, Gospel according to John, 1:21–22; Haenchen, John, 125; Schnackenburg, Gospel according to St. John, 1:225–26. 43 Boyarin, “Gospel of the Memra,” 266.
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wisdom psalms are not the model for the Johannine prologue; instead they are part of the larger tradition in which the Johannine prologue may be read. 5. The existence of many different hymnic arrangements shows the futility of the attempt. Among scholars who embrace the Johannine prologue as a hymn, there is no consensus as to what the original hymn looked like, how it was structured, or what it emphasized. Scholars are unable to come to agreement.44 Boyarin writes, “Brown affords a convenient summary of the multifarious efforts to somehow dig out a hymnic text from the text as it is, revealing, I think, the inevitable failure of the attempt.”45 This line of reasoning, or a version of it, has been applied to other NT hymns as well.46 However, recognition of a lack of scholarly agreement is not an argument at all, as much as it is an observation about how modern scholars view the text. Surely lack of agreement among scholars has very little bearing on the reality of what we have before us in a given text. To be fair, the idea behind this particular argument is not unsound: if a theory or interpretive position makes good sense of the evidence and is compelling in its own right, then we might expect something of a consensus among scholars with the expertise to make an informed decision. The emergence of a consensus would lend support to the view that the theory itself is a good one. However, the argument does not work the other way around: lack of consensus does not mean that a given theory should be discarded. All that it indicates is that more work is needed. The existence of such a vast and divergent body of literature on the structure, theme, background, and function of the prologue reflects the reality that the passage is indeed a rich one—one that brings together a variety of traditions and ideas in a provocative manner. In reviewing Boyarin’s reasons for dispensing with a hymnic approach, I have either refuted them altogether or shown that the conclusions Boyarin draws based on those observations are not inevitable. Accordingly, Boyarin has failed to demonstrate that the prologue is not formally a hymn. Instead, the weight of Boyarin’s observations points to the conclusion that the prologue cannot be considered one 44 See the detailed review of scholarly proposals in Michael Theobald, Die Fleischwerdung des Logos: Studien zum Verhältnis des Johannesprologs zum Corpus des Evangeliums und zu 1 Joh (NTAbh 20; Münster: Aschendorff, 1988), 3–161. His own arrangement is provided on pp. 468– 69. 45 Boyarin, “Gospel of the Memra,” 266. 46 On the Philippian hymn, Gordon D. Fee writes, “The very lack of agreement should call into question the whole procedure” (“Philippians 2:5–11: Hymn or Exalted Pauline Prose,” BBR 2 [1992]: 29–46). Similarly, Stephen E. Fowl claims that the task of reconstructing an original is simply an arbitrary choice—entirely speculative (Philippians [Two Horizons New Testament Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans 2005], 113).
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specific kind of hymn, that is, a liturgical psalm of praise. Several of Boyarin’s observations (narrative movement of the prologue; instructional/homiletical emphasis; parallelism; intertextuality; thematic connection to Wisdom psalms; use of midrashic techniques) can actually be used to support a view that this passage is indeed a hymn: it is a didactic hymn in the Jewish tradition.
V. Conclusions In the end, the major shortcoming of Boyarin’s proposal is that it does not do justice to the hymnic and highly stylized nature of the prologue. My proposal does account for those readily recognizable features, while at the same time allowing for the narrative, interpretive, and intertextual dynamics that Boyarin brings to our attention. For example, my reading allows for close connections between the prologue and earlier Jewish tradition. Whether the prologue is a midrash with commentary and expansion or a didactic hymn employing midrashic techniques, the prologue does indeed link the story of the Gospel with the Jewish theological heritage as well as grounding it in a cosmological framework.47 Further, my reading lends clarity regarding the role of the prologue in the Gospel as a whole. The prologue sets the stage for the discourse that will follow, placing the life and ministry of Jesus within the Jewish traditions of creation discourse, Mosaic discourse, and wisdom discourse. It places the story of Jesus Christ in the context of God’s creative and redemptive work throughout history, and invites the reader to draw the conclusion that the coming of Christ and the establishment of communities of his followers are not simply recent historical phenomena. Rather they are rooted in the life-creating and light-giving nature of God, which has been experienced by humanity in a number of ways throughout history. On this point, our readings may be evenly matched as well.48 Where Boyarin’s proposal appears to have an advantage is in the fact that it does not require the interpolation that my view requires. Does his midrash-pluscommentary view defeat the didactic hymnody view on this score? That depends on the criteria one uses to judge between the two readings. In a previous section I painted a reasonable picture of the scenario that would result in a didactic hymn about Christ being interrupted by parenthetical comments about John the Baptist. In addition I have outlined a number of other factors that, taken together, suggest 47
On the distinction between midrash (a genre) and midrashic hermeneutic (an interpretive approach with a defined set of characteristics positioning the community and the biblical text in close relationship), see Daniel Patte, Early Jewish Hermeneutic in Palestine (SBLDS 22; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press for the Society of Biblical Literature, 1975), 315–24. 48 It remains to be argued that a hymnic prologue has stronger literary precedent than a midrash-plus-commentary prologue. See, for example, the opening of Hesiod’s Works and Days, or the opening prologues of Sirach and Wisdom of Solomon.
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the validity of this didactic hymn approach. These factors include a recognition of the presence of standard hymnic topoi, the chronological movement of the prologue, the stylistic and thematic move from strophe to strophe, the disruptive character of the John the Baptist interludes, the cohesiveness of the two distinct narrative strands by themselves, and the reality of the tensions within the Johannine community with regard to the place of John the Baptist. While this is a reasonable explanation, Boyarin’s approach, by contrast, requires no emendation or search for a hypothetical original. Why should the more complicated explanation be preferred to the simpler one in this case? In addition to the reasoning noted above, my position has three other benefits that tip the scale in its favor. First, viewing the prologue as didactic hymnody allows for a greater appreciation of the aesthetic qualities of the composition, qualities that many interpreters have recognized over the years. These qualities themselves convey something of the grandeur and the significance of the subject they treat, beyond simply the exegetical content of ideas they trace out. The fact that the prologue is a hymn is itself significant in communicating meaning. Second, viewing the prologue as a didactic hymn allows for a richer development of the many connections between this passage and other didactic hymn traditions from the first century and before. All of Boyarin’s targumic connections remain valid in my reading, as do the connections that other scholars find between the thought-world of the prologue and the landscape of Hellenistic Jewish wisdom speculation. Didactic hymns, as argued here, are instructional texts that can draw on any number of traditions (exegetical, historical, philosophical, theological, rhetorical) to achieve their didactic aims in poetic and/or hymnic form. The didactic hymn reading of the prologue thus allows for a richer understanding of the prologue than any previous view. Third, reading the prologue as a didactic hymn allows us to gain further insight into some of the issues facing the community at several stages. The original hymn places Jesus in the context of the work of the Logos in history, a history that includes the giving of the law through Moses. It is evident that the author of the hymn was attempting to navigate the complexity of claims about Jesus that were contested in light of a larger Jewish heritage. At the same time, the author was drawing on key periods and themes of Jewish history to make the case for the identity of Jesus as the Logos incarnate. This fact alone suggests the value of Jewish theology and history for understanding the Johannine view of Jesus. How the hymn contributed to a conflict between those who accepted Christ and those who rejected him we cannot know. Nevertheless, this reading suggests that the issue was an ongoing one. This reading also potentially sheds light on another level of conflict: the disputed place of John the Baptist and his followers within the Johannine community. My approach does not offer definitive answers on either of these issues of dispute, but it does suggest that further analysis of the two opening sequences of the Fourth
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Gospel, and their ultimate integration, might shed further light on the dynamics of these disputes. The collective weight of these arguments favors the didactic hymnody proposal over both the targumic midrash proposal and the more traditional hymn view. With its potential to paint a fresh and compelling portrait of reality using traditional language and imagery to address the challenges facing a particular community, the vitality of the Jewish didactic hymn tradition in the Second Temple period is not surprising. Nor is it surprising that a teacher in the Johannine circle might attempt to utilize this medium to negotiate certain tensions within the community. Reading the prologue as a didactic hymn enables us to account for many of the central features of the prologue even as it opens up new interpretive possibilities and a new appreciation of its form and function.
JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 803–808
Two Neglected Textual Variants in Philippians 1 brent nongbri [email protected] Oberlin College, Oberlin, OH 44074
Recent studies of Paul’s Letter to the Philippians have highlighted the epistle’s connections to the ancient institution of friendship as well as the closely related Greek and Roman social conventions of patronage and benefaction.1 These studies have drawn attention also to Paul’s emphasis on his own role in these relationships of patronage, not only as a client and recipient of financial support from the Philippians but also as a patron and a broker of divine benefaction.2 In light of this development, it would be timely to reexamine two textual variants in the first chapter of Philippians that have not received due attention. At the end of Phil 1:7, the 27th edition of Nestle-Aland prints the following participial phrase: συγκοινωνούς μου τῆς χάριτος πάντας ὑμᾶς ὄντας with no indication of variation in the manuscript tradition. Most modern translations and commentaries understand μου as a possessive genitive modifying the noun that precedes it, συγκοινωνούς. The RSV thus translates, “for you all are partak-
Thanks to Kevin W. Wilkinson and the anonymous readers at JBL for their close reading of earlier versions of this paper and for their helpful suggestions. 1 See, e.g., Stanley K. Stowers, “Friends and Enemies in the Politics of Heaven: Reading Theology in Philippians,” in Pauline Theology, vol. 1, Thessalonians, Philippians, Galatians, Philemon (ed. Jouette M. Bassler; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 105–21; and L. Michael White, “Morality between Two Worlds: A Paradigm of Friendship in Philippians,” in Greeks, Romans, and Christians: Essays in Honor of Abraham J. Malherbe (ed. David L. Balch, Everett Ferguson, and Wayne A. Meeks; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1990), 201–15. 2 Thus, White writes, “[I]t seems to me that Paul is calling on the Philippians to fulfill their obligations to him as ‘friends,’ which may mean a play on patron–client relations as well. In this sense, Paul may be suggesting the same kind of relationship to the Philippians as he does with Philemon. There, he claims an obligation (the requested hospitable reception for the runaway Onesimus) from Philemon as his spiritual client” (“Morality between Two Worlds,” 214 n. 59).
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ers with me of grace.”3 This is a grammatically sound interpretation. Yet μου could just as easily be read as modifying the noun χάριτος (this possibility is reflected in the translation of the KJV: “ye all are partakers of my grace”), which would accent Paul’s role as a broker and dispenser of his own divine benefaction.4 As it stands in Nestle-Aland, the phrase is ambiguous. The latter understanding, however, would be somewhat more likely if μου were in a position after the noun χάριτος.5 What is interesting is that the so-called Western witnesses of Paul’s letters do in fact show this reading, συγκοινωνοὺς τῆς χάριτός μου. Nestle-Aland obscures this point by not including this reasonably well-attested reading in its critical apparatus. Modern commentaries have followed suit in not noting this variation unit. Older editions of the Greek NT do document this reading. In his edition of 1752, Johann Jakob Wettstein reported that τῆς χάριτός μου appears in the Greek text of four Greek-Latin bilingual codices: Claromontanus (sixth century), Sangermanensis (early ninth century), Boernerianus (ninth century), and Augiensis (ninth century).6 It is true that this collection of manuscripts does not represent four independent witnesses, since Sangermanensis is certainly a copy of Claromontanus; The NRSV takes the further interpretive step of specifying exactly whose χάρις is at issue by translating “for all of you share in God’s grace with me.” The majority of modern commentators follow this interpretation. See, e.g., Marvin R. Vincent, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistles to the Philippians and to Philemon (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1897), 10; and Markus Bockmuehl, The Epistle to the Philippians (BNTC 11; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1998), 63. 4 A few other modern translations render the phrase in a similar fashion: The NJB, for example, has “since you have all shared together in the grace that has been mine.” A number of German commentators and a handful of scholars writing in English follow this line of interpretation as well; see the literature cited in Peter T. O’Brien, The Epistle to the Philippians: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 70 n. 36. Of the eight authors O’Brien cites as supporting the μου + τῆς χάριτος understanding, only one briefly mentions the Greek textual variant I discuss below: Erich Haupt, “Der Brief an die Philipper,” in Die Gefangenschaftsbriefe (KEK 9; 7th ed.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1902), 13 n. 1. An earlier tradition of interpretation read μου as modifying τῆς χάριτος but understood the term χάρις as a reference to the financial gift from the Philippians to Paul. Thus, William Paley translated the phrase as “joint contributors to the gift that I have received” (Horae Paulinae, or The Truth of the Scripture History of St. Paul Evinced, by a Comparison of the Epistles which Bear his Name, with the Acts of the Apostles, and with One Another [London: J. Davis, 1790], 256). 5 In Paul’s letters, one typically finds possessive personal pronouns after the noun that they modify, but there are a number of exceptions to this general rule, such as Phil 4:14 (καλῶς ἐποιήσατε συγκοινωνήσαντές μου τῇ θλίψει), in which the possessive precedes the noun it modifies. I shall have more to say about this verse below. 6 I consulted a reproduction of Wettstein’s 1752 edition: Novum Testamentum Graecum (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1962). Both Wettstein and Constantin von Tischendorf (in Novum Testamentum Graece [8th ed.; Leipzig: Giesecke & Devrient, 1869–72]) also note several witnesses for the reading μοι τῆς χάριτος, but this variation most likely results from a simple orthographical slip from upsilon to iota. 3
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and Boernerianus and Augiensis should also likely be regarded as a single witness since they appear to derive from a common ancestor.7 Nevertheless, some weight should be granted to this particular combination. As Peter Corssen has pointed out, when the Greek text of Claromontanus is in agreement with that of Boernerianus and Augiensis, the reading likely goes back to the fourth-century predecessor from which all three texts are ultimately derived.8 Yet, by the standard rules of textual criticism, a single fourth-century witness cannot take priority over the combined support of p 46 (third century), Sinaiticus (fourth century), Vaticanus (fourth century), and Alexandrinus (fifth century) for the reading συγκοινωνούς μου τῆς χάριτος.9 While there is thus insufficient evidence to suggest that συγκοινω-νοὺς τῆς χάριτός μου represents the earliest recoverable text of Phil 1:7, this reading could represent an early clarification of the verse and thus could provide evidence for how some early readers of the ambiguous συγκοινωνούς μου τῆς χάριτος understood that phrase.10 The Greek and Latin versions of the commentary on Philippians by Theodore of Mopsuestia help to illustrate this point.11 Likely written in the early fifth century, Theodore’s commentary on Philippians survives in a Latin translation that Henry Barclay Swete suspected was produced in North Africa in the middle of the sixth century.12 Fortunately, a few Greek fragments also survive, and the relevant portion of Phil 1:7 is among them. Theodore writes: καὶ συνκοινωνοὺς δέ μου 7 See W. H. P. Hatch, “On the Relationship of Codex Augiensis and Codex Boernerianus of the Pauline Epistles,” HSCP 60 (1951): 187–99. 8 See Peter Corssen, Epistularum Paulinarum codices Graece et Latine scriptos Augiensem, Boernerianum, Claromontanum examinavit inter se comparavit ad communem originem revocavit, I-II (Programme des Gymnasiums Jever; Kiel, 1887, 1889). I was unable to obtain a copy of this work; I rely on a summary of its arguments found in Nils A. Dahl, “0230 (= PSI 1306) and the Fourth-century Greek-Latin Edition of the Letters of Paul,” in Text and Interpretation: Studies in the New Testament Presented to Matthew Black (ed. Ernest Best and R. McL. Wilson; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 79–98; reprinted in Studies in Ephesians: Introductory Questions, Text- & Edition-Critical Issues, Interpretation of Texts and Themes (ed. David Hellholm, Vemund Blomkvist, and Tord Fornberg; WUNT 131; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 211–30. 9 If p 46 supported the “Western” reading, one could make a case for the reading συγκοινωνοὺς τῆς χάριτός μου dating to the second or third century based on the arguments of Günther Zuntz to the effect that “p 46 alone with one Western witness can be right against the whole of the other tradition” (The Text of the Epistles: A Disquisition upon the Corpus Paulinum [London: Oxford University Press, 1953], 159). Zuntz’s argument is perhaps more pertinent with regard to the variant reading in Phil 1:11 that I discuss below. 10 It is thus unfortunate that Nestle-Aland does not indicate this variant. Even if a variant reading in a given manuscript has no obvious claim to be the so-called original reading, it may nevertheless provide clues as to how early readers understood the text in question. 11 I refer to the edition of Henry Barclay Swete, Theodori episcopi Mopsuesteni: In epistolas B. Pauli commentarii (2 vols.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1880), 1:202–3. 12 For the date of composition and translation of the commentary, see Swete, Theodori episcopi Mopsuesteni, 1:lvii–lxiii.
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τῆς χάριτος τὸ αὐτὸ λέγει· ἐπειδὴ γὰρ αὐτὸς εἰλήφει χάριν ἀποστολῆς εἰς τὸ πιστεύειν ἑτέρους, ὁ πιστεύων ὡς εἰκὸς ἐκοινώνει τῆς χάριτος.13 Theodore’s exposition of the verse does not especially clarify the question of how to construe μου (“For since he himself received an act of benefaction for apostleship in order that others might become faithful, the one who is faithful quite reasonably shares in the benefaction”14), and his citation of the end of the verse also remains ambiguous (the isolation of μου τῆς χάριτος from συνκοινωνούς by the particle δέ notwithstanding). The Latin translator, however, removes any confusion by rendering the Greek συνκοινωνοὺς δέ μου τῆς χάριτος unambiguously as comparticipes gratiae meae, “partakers in my benefaction.”15 By placing μου after χάριτος, the Greek of the bilinguals could well represent a similar interpretive clarifying move.16 Given the comparable construction involving the participle συγκοινωνήσαντες in Phil 4:14 (καλῶς ἐποιήσατε συγκοινωνήσαντές μου τῇ θλίψει), in which μου clearly modifies the noun that follows it (“You all have done well by sharing in my distress”), it is quite possible that Paul’s first readers in Philippi understood his words in Phil 1:7 in just this way, as emphasizing that it is by virtue of their support of Paul during his bondage that they had become partakers of the benefaction that Paul himself had originally received.17 13
Swete’s source for the Greek fragments of Theodore is a manuscript of the eleventh century, the Paris catena of commentaries, Coislin 204 (published by John Anthony Cramer in Catenae Graecorum Patrum in Novum Testamentum vols. 6 and 7 [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1842–43]; reprinted under the same title in 1967 by Georg Olms Verlagsbuchhandlung, Hildesheim). For the Latin text, Swete relied primarily on two manuscripts from the ninth or tenth centuries, Harley ms 3063 in the British Museum and Amiens ms 88. See the account in Swete, Theodori episcopi Mopsuesteni, 1:xvi–xxxiv. 14 “Benefaction” or “act of benefaction” is a more acceptable translation for χάρις than the vague and theologically loaded term “grace.” For a compelling argument to this effect, see Zeba A. Crook’s excellent discussion in Reconceptualising Conversion: Patronage, Loyalty, and Conversion in the Religions of the Ancient Mediterranean (BZNW 130; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2004), 139–48. 15 The lemma for this verse in the Latin version of Theodore’s commentary lacks the possessive altogether (comparticipes gratiae omnes vos esse). The Vulgate has gaudii mei, possibly reflecting a mistaken χαρᾶς for χάριτος. 16 Bart D. Ehrman has observed and aptly described this kind of phenomenon in the early church: “Scribes altered their sacred texts to make them ‘say’ what they were already known to ‘mean’” (The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament [New York: Oxford University Press, 1993], 276). 17 Such an understanding is consonant with Paul’s assertions elsewhere that he himself is the holder of divine χάρις. In Rom 12:3, Paul speaks of “the χάρις given to” him (λέγω γὰρ διὰ τῆς χάριτος τῆς δοθείσης μοι; but note that a number of minuscule manuscripts add τοῦ θεοῦ after τῆς χάριτος). Later in the letter (Rom 15:15), he claims that he has written so frankly “because of the χάρις that was given to” him from God (διὰ τὴν χάριν τὴν δοθεῖσάν μοι ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ). He uses similar diction in Gal 2:9 (τὴν χάριν τὴν δοθεῖσάν μοι) and 1 Cor 3:10, which in p 46 and several other manuscripts reads: κατὰ τὴν χάριν τὴν δοθεῖσάν μοι (Sinaiti-
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This interpretation of Phil 1:7 would also make the variant readings of Phil 1:11 especially interesting. For the conclusion of v. 11, Nestle-Aland prints: εἰς δόξαν καὶ ἔπαινον θεοῦ, “for the glory and praise of God.” As the critical apparatus indicates, this reading finds a great deal of support among the ancient manuscripts and commentators, but there are a variety of other readings preserved in the ancient witnesses. Here again, the attestation of the so-called Western tradition is intriguing, for in these witnesses the emphasis is not on the deity but on Paul himself. Boernerianus and Augiensis read εἰς δόξαν καὶ ἔπαινόν μοι, “for glory and praise for me.” This reading is also reflected in some Latin witnesses, including the fourth-century commentary on Philippians attributed to Ambrosiaster (in gloriam et laudem mihi).18 That this reading goes back to a very early date indeed would seem to be confirmed by the conflate reading in what is widely regarded as our oldest manuscript of Paul’s letters, p 46, which reads εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ καὶ ἔπαινον ἐμοί, “for the glory of God and praise for me.”19 A few commentators have flirted with the idea that either p 46 or Boernerianus and Augiensis represent the earliest recoverable reading, although to my knowledge none of the major commentaries actually adopts either reading in the printed text of the letter.20 If the cus, Vaticanus, and most other manuscripts add τοῦ θεοῦ after τὴν χάριν). All of these references to Paul’s χάρις are best understood as the authority granted to him as apostle to the Gentiles (see the chart of Paul’s various uses of χάρις in Crook, Reconceptualising Conversion, 143). 18 See the edition of Heinrich Joseph Vogels, Ambrosiastri qui dicitur Commentarius in epistulas Paulinas, Pars tertia (Vienna: Hoelder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1969). For a fuller breakdown of the Greek variants for this verse, see Kurt Aland, Text und Textwert der griechischen Handschriften des Neuen Testaments II: Die paulinischen Briefe, Band 3, Galaterbrief bis Philipperbrief (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1991), 571–74. 19 There is little doubt that p 46 ranks among our oldest extant papyrus manuscripts of any part of the NT, but recent attempts to date it in the first century are totally unconvincing. Frederic G. Kenyon’s dating of the hand to the “first half of the third century” is as specific and as early as the paleographic evidence warrants (The Chester Beatty Biblical Papyri: Descriptions and Texts of the Twelve Manuscripts on Papyrus of the Greek Bible, fasc. III suppl. [London: Emery Walker Limited, 1936], xiv-xv). In fact, Henry A. Sanders’s statement of caution in this matter is quite appropriate: “I agree the manuscript belongs to the third century, but I would hesitate to put emphasis on the first half of the century” (A Third-Century Papyrus Codex of the Epistles of Paul [Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1935], 13). 20 Gerald F. Hawthorne muses, “Could one of these ill-supported readings be original? It is hard to imagine how they came into existence if the original reading was ‘(for the glory) and praise of God’” (Philippians [WBC 43; Waco: Word Books, 1983], 14). Jean-François Collange writes, “In spite of weak attestation, the [reading of p 46 in v. 11] seems so strange that we can only ask whether or not it was the original reading” (The Epistle of Saint Paul to the Philippians [trans. A. W. Heathcote; London: Epworth, 1979], 48). And most recently, Moisés Silva has commented, “In short, the reading of p 46 accounts most easily for the history of the text, but one hesitates to adopt such a jarring variant when it is found in this lone witness” (Philippians [Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament; 2nd ed.; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005], 58). The single, confident champion of the Boernerianus/Augiensis reading is John MacDonald Ross, who writes,
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reading of p 46 is in fact a conflation of two older readings: εἰς δόξαν καὶ ἔπαινον θεοῦ and εἰς δόξαν καὶ ἔπαινόν μοι,21 then the latter (the reading preserved in Augiensis and Boernerianus), clearly the lectio difficilior from the standpoint of developing Christian orthodoxy, should be regarded as the oldest recoverable reading, as it is best able to explain the genesis of the other readings.22 Thus, this early version of Phil 1:11 would suggest that the Philippians being found “pure and blameless for the day of Christ” accrues glory and praise for Paul.23 The understanding of Phil 1:7 that I outlined above, which highlights Paul’s sense of his own importance as a broker of divine benefaction, would be quite amenable to the readings of Boernerianus and Augiensis for 1:11, and this overall understanding of Phil 1:7-11 would fit comfortably in the context of ancient Greek and Roman conventions of friendship and patronage. “The UBS editors say it is not easy to explain how such a wide variety of readings developed, but on the contrary it is quite easy if we have the courage to accept [εἰς δόξαν καὶ ἔπαινόν μοι] as original” (“Some Unnoticed Points in the Text of the New Testament,” NovT 25 [1983]: 59–72, quotation from p. 70). 21 That the reading in p 46 is a conflation seems clear. Bruce Metzger describes the reading of p 46 as an “astonishing . . . early conflate reading” (A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament [2nd ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 1994], 544), and James R. Royse lists this variation unit in p 46 as one of eight readings in p 46 “most plausibly viewed as conflations, and indeed as conflations from readings that are now found in the Western and Alexandrian traditions” (Scribal Habits in Early Greek New Testament Papyri [New Testament Tools, Studies and Documents 36; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2008], 335). 22 That is, discomfort with the idea of Paul praising himself in such lofty terms led to the replacement of Paul’s “me” (μοι) with either “God” (θεοῦ in Sinaticus, Vaticanus, Alexandrinus, and many other witnesses) or “Christ” (χριστοῦ in Claromontanus and 1962, a minuscule manuscript of the eleventh century). The reading of p 46 reflects a decision to resolve the conflicting readings by dividing the accolades between Paul and his God: εἰς δόξαν θεοῦ καὶ ἔπαινον ἐμοί. 23 Again, this sentiment is consistent with Paul’s statements elsewhere to the effect that on the Day of Christ, the blameless state of his addressees will be a source of boasting for him, as in Phil 2:15–16 (ἵνα γένησθε ἄμεμπτοι καὶ ἀκέραιοι . . . εἰς καύχημα ἐμοὶ εἰς ἡμέραν χριστοῦ) and 1 Thess 2:19, where Paul asks, “ For what is our hope or joy or crown of boasting before our Lord Jesus at his coming? Is it not you?” (τίς γὰρ ἡμῶν ἐλπὶς ἢ χαρὰ ἢ στέφανος καυχήσεως—ἢ οὐχὶ καὶ ὑμεῖς— ἔμπροσθεν τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν ἰησοῦ ἐν τῇ αὐτοῦ παρουσίᾳ;), but note that Codex Alexandrinus has ἀγαλλιάσεως (“joy, gladness”) in place of καυχήσεως.
JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 809–812
A Note on 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9 theodore a. bergren [email protected] University of Richmond, Richmond, VA 23173
5 Ezra (2 Esdras 1–2) is a short, early Christian supersessionist tract that probably dates from the late second or third century. Pseudepigraphically ascribed to “Ezra the son of Chusi” (1:4), it depicts “Ezra” as a prophet who denounces Israel for its sins during the exodus, predicts the advent of a new, more righteous people of God, and describes the eschatological delights to be enjoyed by this new people. The book closes with Ezra’s vision on Mount Zion of the “son of God” handing out crowns and palms to a surrounding multitude. The text of 5 Ezra survives only in Latin, probably the book’s original language. It is possible, however, that the Latin text depends on a Greek Vorlage. The Latin text manifests two distinct recensions, traditionally labeled the “Spanish” and the “French.” Although most modern translations (including the NRSV) are based on the “French” recension, the “Spanish” text is clearly superior (i.e., the more original), and it is this latter text that is used in this study.1 A close reading of 5 Ezra suggests that the author was an accomplished littérateur. One of his main concerns is to lay out in narrative form a clear contrast between the “old” (Jewish) and “new” (Christian) covenants with God. This manifests itself in 5 Ezra as a distinction between the “old” people and “new” people of God (see esp. ch. 1); the “old” Scripture (Jewish Scriptures) and “new” Scripture (New Testament) (passim; see esp. 1:25–34); the “mother” of the old people (Jerusalem) and the “mother” of the new people (the Christian church) (see 2:1– 32); and the mountain of the “old” covenant (Sinai) and the mountain of the “new” covenant (Zion) (see 2:33–48).2 1 For comparison and evaluation of the two recensions, see Theodore A. Bergren, Fifth Ezra: The Text, Origin and Early History (SBLSCS 25; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1990), ch. 4. Appendix 1 contains a critical edition, appendix 2 a critical Latin text, and appendix 3 an English translation. 2 These distinctions may have been inspired by Paul’s “allegory” in Gal 4:21–31, which (explicitly or implicitly) contains all of these elements.
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Besides displaying literary acumen, the author of 5 Ezra exhibits a certain literary inventiveness or agility, almost a literary “sense of humor.” This quality is often manifested most strongly in pericopae that seem at first sight to be especially difficult to interpret. One such pericope lies in the first verse of 5 Ezra, 1:4, which labels Ezra as “son of Chusi.” Anyone familiar with biblical genealogy, as the author of 5 Ezra almost certainly was, knows that the Ezra famous in the Jewish Scriptures was the “son of Seraiah” (Ezra 7:1; 1 Esdr 8:1). “Chusi” is the father of the biblical prophet Zephaniah (Zeph 1:1). However, the author of 5 Ezra, apparently aware that the biblical Ezra lacked any credentials for the prophetic role in which he was about to be cast in 5 Ezra, supplied these credentials by whimsically providing Ezra with the paternity of a “genuine” biblical prophet. This move may have been intended also to alert the reader that not everything in this book was to be taken entirely seriously (compare Jdt 1:1!). For indeed, as 5 Ezra progresses, its eponymous hero is cast in the equally unlikely roles of “mother Jerusalem” (1:38; cf. Bar 4:36–37; 5:5), Moses (2:33), and an inspired apocalyptic seer (2:42–48). The most dramatic examples of the author’s literary inventiveness, however, come in 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9, two of the most intractable passages in the book. 5 Ezra 1:11 reads as follows: Didn’t I [God] overthrow [everti] the town of Bethsaida because of you [the Israelites], and to the south burn two cities, Tyre and Sidon, with fire, and kill those who hated you?3
This verse clearly alludes to the passage Matt 11:21–24//Luke 10:12–15. The problem for the interpreter of 5 Ezra, however, is that 5 Ezra 1:11 is placed squarely in the context of mighty acts performed by God for the Israelites during the exodus! Our initial reaction is to read 1:11 as a whimsical attempt by 5 Ezra’s author to introduce a passage from the “new Scriptures” into an “old scriptural” context. However, closer inspection reveals the situation to be more complex. The NT passages in question read not “overthrow Bethsaida” but “Woe to you, Bethsaida,” and the threatened punishment (applied in NT to Capernaum) is not “to the south burn . . . with fire,” but “you shall be brought down to Hades.” The punishment to which “Tyre and Sidon” are consigned in 5 Ezra 1:11 is, in fact, a clear allusion to that other most famous pair of biblical cities, Sodom and Gomorrah (see Gen 19:24–29; Ezek 16:46). To complicate the situation still further, Sodom itself also figures prominently in the NT passages under discussion (cf. Matt 11:23–24//Luke 10:12). It seems that the author of 5 Ezra, in addition to introducing a Synoptic passage into his “exodus review,” could not resist the temptation to make a play on those two most famous pairs of biblical cities, Sodom/Gomorrah and Tyre/Sidon. This exegetical move was made all the more apt by the fact that both pairs of cities 3 Quotations of 5 Ezra are drawn from Bergren, Fifth Ezra, appendix 3. Quotations of other biblical texts are taken from the RSV or NRSV.
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appear, in some form, in the NT passage to which he alludes. Furthermore, the verb “overthrow” (everti; Greek equivalent καταστρέφω; Hebrew equivalent Kph), applied in 5 Ezra 1:11 to Bethsaida, is the standard verb used by biblical authors to describe the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah (see Gen 19:24-29; Deut 29:23; Jer 49:18; 50:40; Lam 4:6; Amos 4:11)! I suggest that the choice of this verb by 5 Ezra’s author early in the verse represents a deliberate attempt to evoke the image of Sodom and Gomorrah in the minds of the readers.4 We know the author of 5 Ezra well enough to suspect that he might attempt, at some point, to introduce an “old scriptural” counterpart to 1:11, and in this we are not disappointed. 5 Ezra 2:8–9 reads as follows: Woe to you, Assyria [Vae tibi Assur], who hide sinners in your midst. Evil city! [Civitas mala!] Remember what I did to Sodom and Gomorrah, whose land sinks to hell. I will do the same to those who have not obeyed me!
5 Ezra 2:8–9, like 1:11, appears in a completely improbable context: 2:8–9 stands as an utterly intrusive element between two passages, 2:5–7 and 2:10–14, that have no discernible relationship to it. 5 Ezra 2:8–9 is in fact modeled on Zeph 2:13–3:5. The apparently anomalous reference to “Assyria” as a “city,” probably intended to balance the references to a “town” and “cities” in 5 Ezra 1:11, is explained by the fact that Zeph 2:13–3:5 shifts reference in mid-passage from “Assyria” to “Nineveh,” the capital city of Assyria. The most provocative aspects of 5 Ezra 2:8–9, however, as in 5 Ezra 1:11, occur in elements that do not appear in the scriptural passage to which the author alludes—in this case, Zeph 2:13–3:5. Zephaniah 2:13–3:5 does not contain the phrase “Woe to you, Assyria,” has no reference to Sodom or Gomorrah, and has no occurrence of the phrase “whose land sinks to hell.”5 The perceptive reader will have noted that these are all elements that occurred, in some form, in Matt 11:21–24//Luke 10:12–15 and in fact are elements that were transformed and thus omitted by the author of 5 Ezra in his paraphrase of Matt 11:21–24//Luke 10:12–15 in 5 Ezra 1:11!
4
For a more “historicizing” approach to 5 Ezra 1:11, see Frederick Strickert, “2 Esdras 1.11 and the Destruction of Bethsaida,” JSP 16 (1997): 111–22; and idem, “The Destruction of Bethsaida: The Evidence of 2 Esdras 1:11,” in Bethsaida: A City by the North Shore of the Sea of Galilee (ed. R. Arav and R. A. Freund; 2 vols.; Kirksville, MO: Thomas Jefferson University Press, 1999), 2:347–72. 5 No Septuagintal witness to Zeph 2:13–3:5 enunciates a “woe” against either Assyria or Nineveh. However, the Vulgate and several Old Latin witnesses to Zeph 3:1 read, with reference to Nineveh, Vae civitas provocatrix (“Woe [to you] city, provocatrix”) or Vae provocatrix et redempta civitas columba (“Woe [to you] provocatrix and ‘redeemed’ city, the dove”). If the author of 5 Ezra did have access to a version of Zeph 3:1 that did pronounce a “woe” against Nineveh, this could help to explain why his attention was drawn to Zeph 2:13–3:5 as an “old scriptural” counterpart to Matt 11:21–24//Luke 10:12–15, the “woe” against Bethsaida.
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Thus, in composing 2:8–9, the author of 5 Ezra has come full circle from his locution in 1:11. In 1:11, he has supplied two elements—“overthrow” and “to the south burn . . . with fire”—that clearly allude to Sodom and Gomorrah rather than to Bethsaida, Capernaum, Tyre, or Sidon, the primary cities featured in his “model” passage (Matt 11:21–24//Luke 10:12–15). At the same time, in 1:11 he has suppressed the phrase “Woe to you,” the punishment threatened to Capernaum (“you shall be brought down to Hades”) and the actual references to Sodom in that same “model” passage. In 2:8–9, on the other hand, he has added to his model passage (Zeph 2:13–3:5) not only a reference to Sodom (and Gomorrah) but also the phrase “Woe to you” and the punishment threatened to Capernaum in Matt 11:23//Luke 10:15, all elements that were suppressed in 5 Ezra 1:11! This produces a strange sort of chiasm between 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9: the former passage features Tyre/Sidon and “to the south burn . . . with fire,” the latter Sodom/Gomorrah and “you shall be brought down to Hades.” Again, our author has demonstrated a remarkable combination of literary flair and literary ingenuity. It may seem too easy a solution to the literary conundrums presented here to attribute them to the author’s “literary inventiveness,” as I did at the start of this note. However, the pericopae 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9 are individually so radically anomalous in their contexts, and the interrelations between them so intricate, that it seems difficult to formulate a more satisfactory explanation. Textual corruption and textual interpolation are always options in such cases, but in my view these should be appealed to only as a last resort. Perhaps some ancient authors possessed a greater sense of literary imagination than we sometimes give them credit for!
JBL 128, no. 4 (2009): 813–821
A Nomen Sacrum in the Sardis Synagogue james r. edwards [email protected] Whitworth University, Spokane, WA 99251
The Sardis synagogue displays several notable differences from other ancient synagogues known to us. At eighty-five meters long and twenty meters wide—large enough to accommodate a thousand people—it is “the largest synagogue ever found in the Roman world.”1 Many synagogues in the ancient world were located on the periphery of towns and cities, but the Sardis synagogue shares pride of place in city-center with a colonnaded row of shops on the south and a spacious palaestra and mammoth bath-gymnasium complex on the north and west. Unlike other known synagogues of antiquity, there is no evidence of benches along the outer walls of the Sardis synagogue, and no staircase or upper gallery for the separation of women from men. Whether these two features imply mixed-gender worship or the exclusion of women from worship is not clear. No less unusual is the presence of a huge marble table in the apse of the synagogue, the supports of which are decorated by Roman eagles clutching thunderbolts. The table is flanked by two sixthcentury b.c.e. sculpted lions from the Temple of Cybele, recycled in the synagogue ostensibly as lions of Judah. The synagogue of Sardis is the largest known and probably most magnificent synagogue of antiquity—and compared to other synagogues of the Mediterranean, the most eclectic and syncretistic.2 To this list of unique features of the Sardis synagogue may now be added 1 A. Thomas Kraabel, in Andrew R. Seager and A. Thomas Kraabel, “The Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” in Sardis from Prehistoric to Roman Times: Results of the Archaeological Exploration of Sardis 1958–1975 (ed. George M. A. Hanfmann, assisted by William E. Mierse; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983), 179. 2 On the Sardis synagogue, see Seager and Kraabel, “Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” 168–90; John G. Pedley, “Sardis,” ABD 5:982–84; and Clyde E. Fant and Mitchell G. Reddish, A Guide to Biblical Sites in Greece and Turkey (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), 303–13.
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another—the presence of a nomen sacrum in the wall inscriptions. This appears to be the first known example of a nomen sacrum in a synagogue, and perhaps the first certain example of a nomen sacrum in a written Jewish source.
I. The Sardis Synagogue The Sardis synagogue originated as a Roman basilica that was previously part of a Roman gymnasium. It was adapted to a synagogue in the latter part of the third century, and over the next century it flowered, in the words of John Kroll, into “the most significant monument of diaspora Judaism in Roman Asia Minor.”3 The final stage of the synagogue in which the inscription appears dates to 360–370 c.e.4 The size, décor, and more than eighty wall inscriptions of the Sardis synagogue make it “the single most important building left to us by the Jews of the ancient world.”5 For the most part, the wall inscriptions commemorate members of the synagogue who contributed to its structure, décor, and furnishings. With the exception of six Hebrew fragments, all the inscriptions are Greek.6 On the wall near the entrance, at the most prominent place for members of the congregation to record their dedications, 106 extant letters of the twenty-ninth inscription at Sardis read: [ . . . . . . . . . . ]ς μετὰ τῆς συμβίου μου Ῥηγείνης καὶ τῶν τέκνων ἡμῶν ὑπὲρ [εὐχὴς ἀπέδ]ωκα ἐκ τῶν δωρεῶν τοῦ παντοκράτορος θυ τὴν σκούτλωσιν πᾶσαν [τοῦ διαχώρο]υ καὶ τὴν ζωγραφίαν (“. . . with my wife Regina and our children, in fulfillment of a vow, I gave out of the gifts of Almighty God all the skoutlōsis of the [bay?] and the painting”).7 All letters in the original inscription (sometimes called the “Regina inscription”) are unaccented capitals. Kroll takes θυ as a simple abbreviation and reconstructs the reading to “. . . τοῦ παντοκράτορος θ(εο)υ·. . . .” But Θ ¯ Υ¯ of the original inscription—clearly visible in the digital image on the following page8—is scarcely a mere abbreviation. For one, Θ ¯Υ ¯ is not at the end of a line, where abbreviations normally occur, but in the 3 For the full report of the Sardis inscriptions, see John H. Kroll, “The Greek Inscriptions of the Sardis Synagogue,” HTR 94 (2001): 5–55; quotation from p. 5. 4 Seager, “Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” 171–73. 5 Kraabel, “Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” 190. 6 Kurt Treu notes that Greek predominated in the vernacular particularly of Diaspora Jews, leaving only occasional Hebrew expressions, particularly in grave inscriptions. “Das Griechische ist noch Realität, das Streben geht zum Hebräischen . . . . [d]as Hebräische beschränkt sich auf Formeln, vor allem das shalom” (“Die Bedeutung des griechischen für die Juden im Römischen Reich,” Kairos 15 [1973]: 134). 7 As reconstructed and translated by Kroll, “Greek Inscriptions,” 30–31. Although it is immaterial for the argument of his note, I propose that the final portion of the inscription should read, “ . . . I gave out of the gifts of Almighty God for all the mosaics of the forecourt (?) and the painting.” 8 Personal photograph, taken January 2007.
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middle of a line. Moreover, no dot follows Θ ¯ Υ¯ to signify an abbreviation, and no words in this or other Sardis inscriptions are abbreviated without such designation.9 Most important, Θ ¯ Υ¯ is clearly crowned with a horizontal stroke. The horizontal stroke is omitted and unmentioned in Kroll’s article on the Sardis inscriptions, as well as in the archaeological report of Sardis edited by G. M. A. Hanfmann. The horizontal line is equally visible in the fragments of the inscription before it was reassembled.10 The other letters of inscription 29, although clearly legible, display the irregularity of a free hand. The Θ ¯Υ ¯, by contrast, is slightly larger, and exactly uniform: the Θ is perfectly round, the Υ is perfectly symmetrical, and the stroke above them—the only horizontal stroke above a word or letter in inscription 29—is perfectly horizontal, with delicate serifs at each end. An abbreviation would scarcely call for such care and craftsmanship. This is not a simple abbreviation but an accentuation, exhibiting the essential characteristics and enhanced craftsmanship of a nomen sacrum. Material and linguistic evidence points to a Jewish rather than Christian origin of the Regina inscription. Most obviously, the inscription occurs in a synagogue whose inscriptions otherwise betray no evidence of Christian influence. The mosaic floor and marble wall panels, for example, contain depictions of pomegranates, lions, doves, peacocks, fish, and dolphins, but no human figures. More than a dozen menorahs were also found in and around the synagogue.11 The inscription was dis9 Only six words are abbreviated in the Sardis inscriptions. The name Aurelios is thrice abbreviated “ΑΥΡ.” (inscriptions 30, 31, 66); Counselor is twice abbreviated “ΒΟΥΛ.” (##31, 67); and Sardis is once abbreviated “ΣΑΡΔ.” (#66). 10 See G. M. A. Hanfmann, Sardis from Prehistoric to Roman Times, fig. 270. The reconstructed wall inscriptions are facsimiles of the originals. Although the 106 extant letters of the inscription were broken into several fragments, the Θ ¯ Υ¯ was unbroken, intact, and clearly visible. The red pigment in the inscription is a reapplication rather than an innovation. The inscriptions and recessed areas of the wall reliefs were originally scored with red pigment, which was still faintly visible to archaeologists in the late twentieth century. 11 On the artistic depictions and menorahs, see Seager, “Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” 170–71.
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covered in the southwest corner of the synagogue, where the fragments of Hebrew inscriptions were found and where a marble plaque incised with a seven-branched menorah and shofar was also found.12 Likewise, the term θεοσεβής, which commonly designated a Gentile sympathizer or affiliate of Judaism, and which occurs in six of the inscriptions (##8, 9, 22, 57, 59, 66), does not occur in the long twentyninth Regina inscription. Θεοσεβής continues to defy exact definition, and hence this datum should be considered with caution.13 Nevertheless, θεοσεβεῖς apparently regularly identified themselves as such in the Sardis synagogue. It seems reasonable to assume that patrons not so identified were Jewish. More important is the presence of παντοκράτωρ, “Almighty,” the typical Jewish translation of tw)bc.14 This is the only occurrence of παντοκράτωρ in the synagogue inscriptions, which otherwise designate “God” by πρόνοια, “Providence” (ten times). Finally, we may assume that the nomen sacrum was not a later Christian addition. The synagogue remained active until the Sassanid invasion in 616 c.e., when both the city and synagogue were destroyed, after which Sardis Jews seem to have dispersed. At no time was the Sardis synagogue converted into a church. This nomen sacrum is a preconceived form and could not be executed—at least in its present elegance—by an alteration of a preexisting word. The context and linguistic evidence of inscription 29 conform throughout to typical Jewish usage. The Θ ¯ Υ¯ appears to be an indisputable nomen sacrum located in an indisputable Jewish text and context.
II. The Christian Use of Nomina Sacra Nomina sacra are contractions of select names and terms that appear in ancient Christian literature and art. Scholars agree that nomina sacra are particularly characteristic of early Christian texts and art and are not typical of manuscripts or art of demonstrably Jewish or pagan provenance. The four most common nomina sacra are θεός, κύριος, χριστός, and Ἰησοῦς. Nomina sacra normally comprise the first and last letters of each word, thus ΘΣ, ΚΣ, ΧΣ, ΙΣ (or ΙΗΣ), for God, Lord, Christ, and Jesus. Other nomina sacra, which by the Byzantine era totaled at least twenty words, are the words for Spirit, mother, savior, heaven, Son, Father, man, cross, David, Israel, Jerusalem, Theotokos, and names of the apostles 12
Ibid., 170. Bernd Wander finds Θεοσεβής used in three different ways in antiquity: as an honorary title for specific Jews; with reference to Gentiles who sympathize with the Jewish community; and in a variety of ways not defined by either of the first two (Gottesfürchtige und Sympathisanten: Studien zum heidnischen Umfeld von Diasporasynagogen [WUNT 104; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998]). Its six occurrences in the Sardis synagogue inscriptions appear to refer to Wander’s second category, Gentile sympathizers with the Jewish community. 14 BDAG, 755. 13
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(especially John, Peter, and Paul). Several nomina sacra include also a third or fourth medial letter in the abbreviation.15 The final letter of nomina sacra may vary according to case ending. Regardless of the case ending or number of letters, however, a horizontal line extending the length of the abbreviation occurs above all nomina sacra. Nomina sacra should not be confused with Greek numbers or occasional Greek abbreviations. Greek numbers are signified by individual letters of the Greek alphabet (or two or more letters for higher numbers). Although Greek numbers are also crowned with a horizontal stroke, none of them corresponds to Christian nomina sacra. Greek abbreviations, on the other hand, are conventions of utility in ancient texts, commonly followed by a dot at the end of a line. Such abbreviations are not crowned by horizontal strokes, as are all nomina sacra. Unlike abbreviations, the primary purpose of nomina sacra is not to save space, since manuscripts in which they most frequently occur typically exhibit ample margins and line spacing. Nomina sacra occur regularly in Christian literature and art in order to designate and distinguish words of special devotion and theological significance. In literature they are found in manuscripts and inscriptions, and in artifacts they appear in mosaics, icons, amulets, and various religious objects. Nomina sacra occur in Christian texts written in Greek, Latin, Coptic, Slavonic, and Armenian. They are also found in Gnostic Christian texts such as the Gospel of Thomas, the Acts of Peter, the Acts of John, and the recently published Gospel of Judas, where the standard ΙΗΣ occurs twenty-four times for Jesus.16 But to date the presence of a genuine nomen sacrum in an indisputable Jewish source is either extremely rare or nonexistent. “There is no undisputably Jewish manuscript in which any of the nomina sacra are written as we find them in undeniably Christian manuscripts,” states Larry Hurtado.17 In response to qualified objections by Christopher Tuckett, Hurtado recently modified his position slightly: “There may be a very few instances of Jewish scribes occasionally using a nomina sacra form (e.g., P.Oxy. 1007), but no instance [Tuckett] cites is certainly Jewish and early enough to be relevant for the question of how the practice originated.”18 15 πνεῦμα, ΠΝ; μήτηρ, ΜΗΡ; σώτηρ, ΣΗΡ; οὐρανός, ΟΥΝΟΣ; υἱός, ΥΣ; πάτηρ, ΠΗΡ; ἄνθρωπος, ΑΝΟΣ; σταυρός, ΣΤΣ; Δαυίδ ΔΑΔ; Ἰσραήλ, ΙΗΛ; Ἰερουσαλήμ or Ἱεροσόλυμα, ΙΛΗΜ; Θεοτόκος, ΘΚΟΝ; Ἰωάννης, ΙΩ; Πετρός, ΠΕ; Παῦλος, ΠΑΥ. For a comprehensive index of nomina sacra in biblical and apocryphal manuscripts, see Kurt Aland, ed., Repertorium der griechischen christlichen Papyri, vol. 1, Biblische Papyri (PTS 18; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1975), 420–28. 16 For the Gospel of Judas, see Peter Head, “The Gospel of Judas and the Qarara Codices,” TynBul 58 (2007): 20. 17 Larry W. Hurtado, “The Origin of the Nomina Sacra: A Proposal,” JBL 117 (1998): 662. 18 Larry W. Hurtado, The Earliest Christian Artifacts: Manuscript and Christian Origins (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 109, responding to Christopher Tuckett, “ ‘Nomina Sacra’:
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Despite the ongoing debate over a few nomina sacra present in either late or unprovenanced texts, scholars agree in principle that nomina sacra are strong or even indisputable evidence of a Christian source of a Greek text.19 The worm in the apple of the nomina sacra debate remains the evidence of the Oxyrhynchus Papyri, however, for the forty-seven papyri discovered in Egypt contain at least two dozen nomina sacra, most with reference to “God” or “Lord,” and some in texts that could be either Christian or Jewish. Papyri with explicitly Christian terminology or context, or both, can be accepted as Christian. Apart from Christian terminology or context, the single most helpful criterion in determining provenance is the medium in which the nomina sacra appear. Since extant Jewish scriptural texts are normally preserved on scrolls and Christian scriptural texts in codices, nomina sacra from Oxyrhynchus that occur on rolls are presumed to be Jewish and those on leaves are presumed to be Christian. Two papyri that may be presumed to be Jewish (no Christian content, preserved on scrolls) contain nomina sacra. P.Oxy. 1166, a third-century Greek text of Genesis, contains nomina sacra for “Lord” and “God”; and P.Oxy. 1075, a third-century Greek text of Exodus, contains a nomen sacrum for “Lord.”20 Moreover, P.Oxy. 1007, a late-third-century Genesis text (not on a scroll, however, but on a vellum leaf), follows the Hebrew tetragrammaton with the Greek nomen sacrum for “God.” The Oxyrhynchus evidence dampens the certainty of proponents of the Christian nomina sacra theory, and whets the appetite of those who oppose it. Eldon Jay Epp, a proponent of the Christian nomina sacra theory, maintains that, despite the complexity of the matter, “a criterion commonly taken as virtually decisive is that ‘god’ and ‘lord’ in the singular (when the latter refers to deity) are non-Christian when nomina sacra are absent and Christian when present.”21 To the contrary, Kurt Treu argues, especially on the basis of P.Oxy. 1007, that Jews initially developed nomina sacra forms of “Lord” and “God” as Greek counterparts to the unpronounceable Hebrew tetragrammaton, and that Christians later adopted and
Yes and No?” in The Biblical Canons (ed. J.-M. Auwers and H. J. de Jonge; BETL 163; Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 433–35.. 19 For example, Colin H. Roberts finds no evidence of nomina sacra in clearly Jewish manuscripts (Manuscript, Society, and Belief in Early Christian Egypt [Schweich Lectures 1977; London: British Academy by Oxford University Press, 1979], 26–34, 74–78). Eldon Jay Epp (“The Oxyrhynchus New Testament Papyri: ‘Not without Honor Except in Their Hometown’?” JBL 123 [2004]: 5–55) claims “with great assurance” that the use of “God” or “Lord” in nomina sacra should be deemed Christian (p. 25) and are “virtually exclusive to Christian letters” (p. 24). 20 These two texts are discussed in Treu, “Die Bedeutung des griechischen für die Juden,” 142–43; and Epp, “Oxyrhynchus NT Papyri,” 22–24. The following texts from Oxyrhynchus also contain references to “God” or “Lord” in letters that could be Jewish: P.Oxy. 1493 (fourth to fifth century), 1774 (early fourth century), 2156 (fourth to fifth century), 4127 (early fourth century), 2731 (fourth to fifth century). 21 Epp, “Oxyrhynchus NT Papyri,” 23.
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expanded the convention to include additional load-bearing Christian names and words.22
III. Can Sardis Break the Logjam? Which of the two theories does the Sardis nomen sacrum support? A case can of course be made that the nomen sacrum is evidence of Christian influence in pluralistic Sardis. The history of Sardis Jews and the material remains of their synagogue testify to a thriving and assimilated Jewish community quite at home in the Roman world. For five centuries Sardis Jews had profited from the largesse of other cultures. Already in the third century b.c.e. the Seleucid ruler Antiochus III had transported two thousand Jews from Mesopotamia and Babylon to Asia Minor because of their loyalty to Seleucid interests (Josephus, Ant. 12.3.4 §§147–53). Once in Sardis, the Jewish community, as noted earlier, incorporated pagan motifs from the Cybele cult into the architecture and décor of its synagogue. The size, setting, and décor of the synagogue betray no hint that Sardis Jews were either ghettoized or marginalized. Eleven occurrences of βουλευτής, “member of the city council,” in the marble revetments, and further references to provincial administrators, counts, and procurators, attest, as Kraabel recognizes, to “a Jewish community of far greater wealth, power, and self-confidence than the usual views of ancient Judaism would give us any right to expect.”23 Indeed, as he further notes, other Jewish inscriptions in the ancient Roman world document the status of the named within the Jewish community, but the Sardis inscriptions stress the status of Jews outside the Jewish community in civic and political affairs.24 Roman hegemony in Asia had smiled on Sardis Jews. On at least two occasions the Jews of Sardis had sought the aid of Rome—shortly before the Christian era they appealed to Lucius Antonius, and shortly after they appealed to Caesar Augustus himself—to redress wrongs of local magistrates. In both instances their cases were upheld by the Roman Imperium (Josephus, Ant. 14.10.17 §235; 16.6.6 §171). The historical record and material remains related to Sardis challenge the stereotype that, especially by the fourth century, Jewish and Christian communities were divided into opposing and inevitably hostile camps. The synagogue and church in Sardis were, to be sure, separate and distinguishable entities, but from the first through third Christian centuries they appear to have coexisted along parallel lines in close proximity and evident harmony.25 Jews benefited from and con22
Treu, “Die Bedeutung des griechischen für die Juden,” 141. Kraabel, “Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” 178. 24 Ibid., 184. 25 Seager notes that the synagogue did not occupy a specific “Jewish quarter” of Sardis, but rather the civic center of Roman and Early Byzantine Sardis: “Jewish and Christian merchants were trading side by side in the shops outside the Synagogue at the time the area was abandoned, 23
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tributed to an unusual level of cross-cultural pollination. In the latter half of the second century Melito, bishop of Sardis, championed the celebration of Easter on the same day that Jews celebrated Passover (Eusebius, H.E. 4.26; Jerome, Vir. ill. 24). Quartodecimanism, as the practice was called, was, to be sure, strongly rooted in Asia Minor where it was believed to derive from the apostle John at Ephesus. But the long and evidently ecumenical history of Christians and Jews in Sardis may also have positively influenced Melito’s advocacy of celebrating Easter on 14 Nisan. A synagogue so successfully assimilated to its diverse milieu can perhaps be imagined to accommodate a Christian convention for the name of God. There is an outside chance that Regina and her husband (whose name is expunged from the inscription) were Christians, and that the nomen sacrum in inscription 29 was the result of Christian patronage of the synagogue. More likely, the mason who chiseled the Regina inscription may have been a Christian. More likely yet, the mason may have been an artisan experienced in Christian nomina sacra. The Christian basilica in Sardis was under construction in the latter half of the fourth century at virtually the same time that the synagogue wall inscriptions were being produced.26 A mason might be expected to employ at a Jewish construction site tricks of the trade that he had learned earlier at a Christian construction site. Any one of the foregoing hypotheses is possible. Nevertheless, the presence of this particular nomen sacrum in a clearly identifiable Jewish context does not make any of the foregoing hypotheses very probable. The Oxyrhynchus Papyri open the window to the second possibility of a Jewish provenance of the nomen sacrum, which in my mind is more plausible. As already noted, the relevant archaeological, material, and circumstantial evidence all point to a Jewish milieu as the source of the nomen sacrum. The use of πρόνοια, “Providence,” is of considerable relevance in this regard. Πρόνοια illustrates the degree to which Greek philosophical concepts and vocabulary influenced Sardis Jews. Especially in Stoicism, πρόνοια is a common metonym for “God.”27 Πρόνοια is exceedingly rare in inscriptions in synagogues, however, and when it occurs in synagogues it usually does not mean
and the nearest contemporary dwelling house . . . may have belonged to a high church official” (“Synagogue and Jewish Community,” 168). On general contact between Jews and Christians in the early Christian centuries, see Treu, “Die Bedeutung des griechischen für die Juden,” 144: “Wir haben Belege für längere und intensivere Kontakte zwischen Juden und Christen auf dem Gebiet, das ihnen gemeinsam war.” John S. Crawford (“Jews and Christians Live, Work and Worship Side by Side,” BAR 22/5 [1996]: 38–47) likewise emphasizes the evident respect of the Sardis Jews and Christians for one another. 26 Hans Buchwald, “Christianity: Churches and Cemeteries,” in Sardis from Prehistoric to Roman Times, ed. Hanfmann, 203. In the same article, Hanfmann notes a “Christianization of generalized symbols of immortality” (p. 209) evident in Sardis grave motifs. A similar “Christianization” may have extended to synagogue construction as well. 27 Johannes Behm, “πρόνοια,” TDNT 4:1009–16; Walter Radl, “πρόνοια,” EDNT 3:159.
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“divine providence” or “God.”28 In the wall inscriptions of the Sardis synagogue, however, πρόνοια appears ten times, in each instance as a liturgical circumlocution for “God.” Jews avoided using the name of God in wall inscriptions of the Sardis synagogue by adopting πρόνοια, a Greek philosophical epithet for “God.” This seems to allow for the possibility that they might have used other circumlocutions for “God.” As noted earlier, the Θ ¯ Υ¯ is executed with greater perfection than other words and letters in the inscription, indicating that it was not inadvertent but intentional. In the single instance where the word “God” occurs in the Sardis synagogue wall inscriptions Jewish architects apparently avoided the name by substituting a carefully incised nomen sacrum. If so, the nomen sacrum in the Sardis synagogue refutes the alleged rule “that ‘god’ and ‘lord’ in the singular (when the latter refers to deity) are non-Christian when nomina sacra are absent and Christian when present.”29 The same nomen sacrum, while not arguing one way or another for the hypothesis that nomina sacra originated with Jews, does seem to support Treu’s suggestion,30 that on occasion Jews dealt with the problem of the nomen ineffabilis by employing Greek nomina sacra of the divine name as a counterpart to the Hebrew tetragrammaton. 28
Kraabel, “Synagogue and the Jewish Community,” 185–86. Epp, “Oxyrhynchus NT Papyri,” 23. 30 Treu, “Die Bedeutung des griechischen für die Juden,” 141. 29
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N. T. Wright Answers His Critics This lively and irenic book is an important contribution for those in the middle and on various sides of the debate about this crucial doctrine of the Christian faith. Here is a chance for readers to interact with Wright’s views directly on the issues at stake and form their own conclusions.
“Wright’s . . . substantive reply to critical work by many, including John Piper . . . should be read and reflected on, just as work on the other side should be. . . . In the dialogue, all of us will learn more about what Paul and Scripture say about justification.” Darrell Bock, Dallas Theological Seminary
N. T.Wright is bishop of Durham and one of the foremost New Testament scholars in the world. His previous books include Evil and the Justice of God and The Challenge of Jesus.
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The Faith of Jesus Christ
Exegetical, Biblical, and Theological Studies Michael F. Bird and Preston M. Sprinkle, editors In The Faith of Jesus Christ, top scholars look at one of the most perplexing perplexing problems in Pauline studies, namely that of the pistis christou debate. The most penetrating and comprehensive attempt to date to grapple with the significance of Jesus’ faithfulness and obedience for Christian salvation and the extent to which it is represented in key biblical texts. s )3". s 0APER s *ANUARY Available through Hendrickson Publishers only in the U.S. and its dependencies and Canada
Analytical Lexicon to the Septuagint
Expanded Edition with Word Definitions from Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint by J. Lust, E. Eynikel, and K. Hauspie Bernard Taylor Taylor’s lexicon includes every Greek word found in the Rahlfs LXX text in fully parsed form. This expanded edition also includes complete definitions for each Greek word from the Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint by Lust, Eynikel, and Hauspie. s )3". s (ARDCOVER s *ANUARY
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Library of Pauline Studies Thomas E. Phillips In this latest addition to Hendrickson’s Library of Pauline Studies series, Thomas Phillips embarks on the quest for an accurate picture of the historical Paul by investigating two very different sources for details about the apostle’s ministry: the book of Acts and the Pauline epistles. Phillips evaluates the consistency of the details presented and draws conclusions that will allow professors, pastors, and students see a clear picture of the apostle’s work. An essential resource for reconstructing the life of Paul. s )3". s 0APER s *ANUARY
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with CD Jo Ann Hackett Widely respected linguistics expert and long-time educator Jo Ann Hackett offers a robust introduction to biblical Hebrew grammar and the Masoretic text. This quick-moving one-semester course (30 lessons) effectively prepares students for their second year of Hebrew, and can easily be adapted for shorter intensive terms or for a two-semester time frame. The accompanying CD includes a wealth of helps: Audio vocabulary lists, a reading of Genesis 22:1-19, printable exercises, and much more. s )3". s (ARDCOVER s -ARCH
Christianity in the Greco-Roman World
A Narrative Introduction Moyer Hubbard Background becomes foreground in Talbot NT professor Moyer Hubbard’s creative introduction to the social and historical setting for the letters of the Apostle Paul to churches in Asia Minor and Europe. Teachers, students, and laypeople alike will be able to better understand the historical and social context of the New Testament and the early church through Hubbard’s insightful elaboration of cultural and traditional issues including: religion and superstition; education, philosophy, and oratory; and urban society, households, and family life in the Greco-Roman world. s )3". s 0APER s *ANUARY
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Der sprechende Gott Gesammelte Studien zum Hebräerbrief 2009. VIII, 344 pages (WUNT 240). ISBN 978-3-16-150027-5 cloth $128.00
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The Law and the Prophets A Study in Old Testament Canon Formation 2000; unrev. paperb. ed. 2009. XVII, 356 pages (FAT 27). ISBN 978-3-16-149973-9 paper $70.00
2009. XVIII, 317 pages (WUNT 244). ISBN 978-3-16-149961-6 cloth $128.00
Jenseits von Indikativ und Imperativ Kontexte und Normen neutestamentlicher Ethik / Contexts and Norms of New Testament Ethics. Band I Hrsg. v. Friedrich W. Horn u. Ruben Zimmermann 2009. XIII, 386 pages (WUNT 238). ISBN 978-3-16-149997-5 cloth $142.00
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Die kognitive Dimension des Kreuzes Zur Deutung des Todes Jesu im Johannesevangelium 2009. XIII, 335 pages (WUNT II/263). ISBN 978-3-16-150017-6 paper $99.00
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Allegory Transformed The Appropriation of Philonic Hermeneutics in the Letter to the Hebrews 2009. 290 pages (est.) (WUNT II/269). ISBN 978-3-16-149968-5 paper $85.00 (est.) (October)
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Embr aci ng Emancip ation i n E d u ca ti o n “No seriou serious reader of the book will come away teaching the Bible in the same old way again.” —Kwok Pui-lan, P Episcopal Divinity School
Schüssle Fiorenza argues for a more democratic Schüssler approa approach to graduate biblical education—one that respects respec diverse perspectives and fosters collaboration. She also a emphasizes the dangers of using the Bible to find definite answers and exclude alternate interpretations. pret Student feedback is included and an accompanying acco Web site is available. http://www.wjkbooks.com/DemocratizingBiblicalStudies http Democratizing Biblical Studies Toward an Emancipatory Educational Space Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza Paper s $24.95 s 9780664235093 Hardback s $34.95 s 9780664233624 Phone: 1.800.672.1789 s &AX s WWWCOKESBURYCOM
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New and Recent Titles JOHN, JESUS, AND HISTORY, VOLUME 2 Aspects of Historicity in the Fourth Gospel Paul N. Anderson, Felix Just, S.J., and Tom Thatcher, editors Using various methodologies and addressing key historical issues in John, these essays advance the critical inquiry into Gospel historiography and John’s place within it. Paper $49.95 978-1-58983-392-0 468 pages, 2009 Code: 064502 Early Christianity and Its Literature 2 Hardback edition www.brill.nl
IAMBLICHUS OF CHALCIS: THE LETTERS Translated with an Introduction and Notes by John M. Dillon and Wolfgang Polleichtner These nineteen letters, here translated into English for the first time, address such topics as providence, fate, concord, marriage, bringing up children, ingratitude, music, and the cardinal virtues. Paper $24.95 978-1-58983-161-2 148 pages, 2009 Code: 061619 Writings from the Greco-Roman World 19 Hardback edition www.brill.nl
PHILODEMUS, ON DEATH Translated with an Introduction and Notes by W. Benjamin Henry On Death is among the most significant philosophical treatments of the theme surviving from the Greco-Roman world. The surviving copies of Philodemus’s treatises were carbonized following the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 C.E. This edition contains the Greek text, newly reconstituted with the help of infrared imaging technology, and completely translated into English for the first time. An extensive introduction provides background, accompanying notes enrich the text, and forty-four pages of photographs illustrate the papyrus manuscript from which the translation is drawn. Paper $34.95 978-1-58983-446-0 194 pages, 2009 Code: 061629 Writings from the Greco-Roman World 29 Hardback edition www.brill.nl
Society of Biblical Literature • P.O. Box 2243 • Williston, VT 05495-2243 Phone: 877-725-3334 (toll-free) or 802-864-6185 • Fax: 802-864-7626 Order online at www.sbl-site.org
New and Recent Titles THE BIBLE AND THE HERMENEUTICS OF LIBERATION Alejandro F. Botta and Pablo R. Andiñach, editors These essays highlight the different receptions that liberationist hermeneutics has found in a number of contemporary contexts. The authors provide regional overviews of liberating struggles and liberation hermeneutics and engage the biblical text from various perspectives. Paper $31.95 978-1-58983-241-1 272 pages, 2009 Semeia Studies 59 Hardback edition www.brill.nl
Code: 060659
STRANGELY FAMILIAR Protofeminist Interpretations of Patriarchal Biblical Texts Nancy Calvert-Koyzis and Heather E. Weir, editors The current recovery of the work of women who interpreted the Bible prior to contemporary feminism reveals writings that seem “strangely familiar” in their anticipation of later feminist approaches to the biblical text and their thematic interest in liberation. Paper $35.95 978-1-58983-453-8 Hardback edition www.brill.nl
304 pages, 2009
Code: 069201
TRANSLATION THAT OPENETH THE WINDOW Reflections on the History and Legacy of the King James Bible David G. Burke, editor This volume considers the historical context in which the King James Bible was born, explores its beauty and complexity, and evaluates its lasting impact on church and society throughout the English-speaking world. Paper $34.95 978-1-58983-356-2 290 pages, 2009 Code: 061123 Biblical Scholarship in North America 23 Hardback edition www.brill.nl
Society of Biblical Literature • P.O. Box 2243 • Williston, VT 05495-2243 Phone: 877-725-3334 (toll-free) or 802-864-6185 • Fax: 802-864-7626 Order online at www.sbl-site.org
The Concise Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament Frederick William Danker Each entry in this comprehensive lexicon includes basic etymological information, information on usage, and biblical references. Cloth $55.00
The University of Chicago PresstXXXQSFTTVDIJDBHPFEV
Annual Index Volume 128 (2009) Ackerman, Susan. See Cox, Benjamin D. Aichele, George, Peter Miscall, and Richard Walsh, “An Elephant in the Room: HistoricalCritical and Postmodern Interpretations of the Bible,” 383–404 Baden, Joel S., “The Tower of Babel: A Case Study in the Competing Methods of Historical and Modern Literary Criticism,” 209–24 Banister, Jamie A., “Ὁμοίως and the Use of Parallelism in Romans 1:26–27,” 569–90 Beaulieu, Paul-Alain, “The Babylonian Background of the Motif of the Fiery Furnace in Daniel 3,” 273–90 Berger, Yitzhak, “Ruth and Inner-Biblical Allusion: The Case of 1 Samuel 25,” 253–72 Bergren, Theodore A., “A Note on 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9,” 809–12 Bernstein, Moshe J., “Divine Titles and Epithets and the Sources of the Genesis Apocryphon,” 291–310 Blenkinsopp, Joseph, “Abraham as Paradigm in the Priestly History in Genesis,” 225–41 Campbell, Douglas A., “2 Corinthians 4:13: Evidence in Paul That Christ Believes,” 337–56 Chan, Michael, “Rhetorical Reversal and Usurpation: Isaiah 10:5–34 and the Use of NeoAssyrian Royal Idiom in the Construction of an Anti-Assyrian Theology,” 717–33 Cox, Benjamin D., and Susan Ackerman, “Rachel’s Tomb,” 135–48 Crook, Zeba, “Honor, Shame, and Social Status Revisited,” 591–611 Croy, N. Clayton, “The Messianic Whippersnapper: Did Jesus Use a Whip on People in the Temple (John 2:15)?” 555–68 Dixon, Edward P., “Descending Spirit and Descending Gods: A ‘Greek’ Interpretation of the Spirit’s ‘Descent as a Dove’ in Mark 1:10,” 759–80 Edenburg, Cynthia, “Ideology and Social Context of the Deuteronomic Women’s Sex Laws (Deuteronomy 22:13–29),” 43–60 Edwards, James R., “A Nomen Sacrum in the Sardis Synagogue,” 813–21 Gass, Erasmus, “Topical Considerations and Redaction Criticism in 2 Kings 3,” 65–84 Gillmayr-Bucher, Susanne, “Framework and Discourse in the Book of Judges,” 687–702 Gordley, Matthew, “The Johannine Prologue and Jewish Didactic Hymn Traditions: A New Case for Reading the Prologue as a Hymn,” 781–802 Halton, Charles, “Samson’s Last Laugh: The Ś/ŠHiQ Pun in Judges 16:25–27,” 61–64 Ho, Edward, “In the Eyes of the Beholder: Unmarked Attributed Quotations in Job,” 703–15 Hood, Jason, “Matthew 23–25: The Extent of Jesus’ Fifth Discourse,” 527–43 Israeli, Edna, “‘Taxo’ and the Origin of the Assumption of Moses,” 735–57 Kelle, Brad E., “Dealing with the Trauma of Defeat: The Rhetoric of the Devastation and Rejuvenation of Nature in Ezekiel,” 469–90 LaCocque, André, “Whatever Happened in the Valley of Shinar? A Response to Theodore Hiebert, 29–41
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Journal of Biblical Literature 128, no. 4 (2009)
Logan, Alice, “Rehabilitating Jephthah,” 665–85 Malul, Meir, “yt%i(i #$y)i (Leviticus 16:21): A Marginal Person,” 437–42 Matthews, Victor H., “Back to Bethel: Geographical Reiteration in Biblical Narrative,” 149– 65 Miller, James E., “A Critical Response to Karin Adams’s Reinterpretation of Hosea 4:13–14,” 503–6 Miscall, Peter. See Aichele, George Niskanen, Paul, “The Poetics of Adam: The Creation of Md) in the Image of Myhl),” 417–36 Noam, Vered, “Corpse-Blood Impurity: A Lost Biblical Reading?” 243–51 Nongbri, Brent, “Two Neglected Textual Variants in Philippians 1,” 803–8 Notley, R. Steven, “The Sea of Galilee: Development of an Early Christian Toponym,” 183– 88 Novenson, Matthew V., “The Jewish Messiahs, the Pauline Christ, and the Gentile Question,” 357–73 Novick, Tzvi, “ ‘She Binds Her Arms’: Rereading Proverbs 31:17,” 107–13 Olyan, Saul M., “Unnoticed Resonances of Tomb Opening and Transportation of the Remains of the Dead in Ezekiel 37:12–14,” 491–501 Park, Song-Mi Suzie, “The Frustration of Wisdom: Wisdom, Counsel, and Divine Will in 2 Samuel 17:1–23,” 453–67 Rösel, Hartmut N., “Why 2 Kings 17 Does Not Constitute a Chapter of Reflection in the ‘Deuteronomistic History,’” 85–90 Schellekens, Jona, “Accession Days and Holidays: The Origins of the Jewish Festival of Purim,” 115–34 Schipper, Jeremy, “Deuteronomy 24:5 and King Asa’s Foot Disease in 1 Kings 15:23b,” 643– 48 Schmitt, Mary, “Restructuring Views on Law in Hebrews 7:12,” 189–201 Siquans, Agnethe, “Foreignness and Poverty in the Book of Ruth: A Legal Way for a Poor Foreign Woman to Be Integrated into Israel,” 443–52 Smith, Jonathan Z., “Religion and Bible,” 5–27 Steiner, Richard C., “On the Rise and Fall of Canaanite Religion at Baalbek: A Tale of Five Toponyms,” 507–25 Stokes, Ryan E., “The Devil Made David Do It . . . Or Did He? The Nature, Identity, and Literary Origins of the Satan in 1 Chronicles 21:1,” 91–106 Stone, Lawson G., “Eglon’s Belly and Ehud’s Blade: A Reconsideration,” 649–63 Thiessen, Matthew, “The Text of Genesis 17:14,” 625–42 Tsumura, David Toshio, “Vertical Grammar of Parallelism in Hebrew Poetry,” 167–81 Udoh, Fabian E., “The Tale of an Unrighteous Slave (Luke 16:1–8[13]),” 311–35 Walsh, Richard. See Aichele, George Wayment, Thomas A., “A Reexamination of the Text of P.Oxy. 2949,” 375–82 Yarbro Collins, Adela, “Mark’s Interpretation of the Death of Jesus,” 545–54
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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE
SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (Constituent Member of the American Council of Learned Societies) EDITOR OF THE JOURNAL General Editor: JAMES C. VANDERKAM, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556
EDITORIAL BOARD Term Expiring 2009: DAVID L. BARR, Wright State University, Dayton, OH 45435 THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 ELIZABETH STRUTHERS MALBON, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 MARTTI NISSINEN, University of Helsinki, FIN-00014 Finland EUNG CHUN PARK, San Francisco Theological Seminary, San Anselmo, CA 94960 TURID KARLSEN SEIM, University of Oslo, N-0315 Oslo, Norway BENJAMIN D. SOMMER, Northwestern University, Evanston, IL 60645 LOUIS STULMAN, University of Findlay, Findlay, OH 45840 2010: BRIAN BRITT, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 JOHN ENDRES, Jesuit School of Theology at Berkeley, Berkeley, CA 94709 MICHAEL FOX, University of Wisconsin, Madison, WI 53706 STEVEN FRAADE, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520-8287 MATTHIAS HENZE, Rice University, Houston, TX 77251 STEPHEN MOORE, Drew University, Madison, NJ 07940 CATHERINE MURPHY, Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, CA 95053 EMERSON POWERY, Messiah College, Grantham, PA 17027 ADELE REINHARTZ, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, ON K1N 6N5 Canada SIDNIE WHITE CRAWFORD, University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln, NE 68588-0337 2011: ELLEN B. AITKEN, McGill University, Montreal, Quebec H3A 2T5 Canada MICHAEL JOSEPH BROWN, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 JAIME CLARK-SOLES, Perkins School of Theology, So. Methodist University, Dallas, TX 75275 STEVEN FRIESEN, University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX 78712 JENNIFER GLANCY, University of Richmond, Richmond, VA 23173 ROBERT HOLMSTEDT, University of Toronto, Toronto, ON M5S 1C1 Canada ARCHIE C. C. LEE, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Shatin New Territories, Hong Kong SAR MARGARET Y. MACDONALD, St. Francis Xavier University, Antigonish, NS B2G 2W5 Canada SHELLY MATTHEWS, Furman University, Greenville, SC 29613 RICHARD D. NELSON, Perkins School of Theology, So. Methodist Univ., Dallas, TX 75275 DAVID L. PETERSEN, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322 MARK REASONER, Bethel University, St. Paul, MN 55112 YVONNE SHERWOOD, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, Scotland, G12 8QQ, United Kingdom LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, University of Durham, Durham, England, DH1 3RS, United Kingdom PATRICIA K. TULL, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY 40205 Editorial Assistant: Monica Brady, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 President of the Society: David Clines, University of Sheffield, Sheffield S10 2TN England; Vice President: Vincent Wimbush, Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA 91711; Chair, Research and Publications Committee: Benjamin G. Wright III, Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA 18015; Executive Director: Kent H. Richards, Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329.
N New and Recent T Titles i itles HISTOR HISTORY I RY O OFF BBIBLICAL IBLICAL IINTERPRETATION NTER RPRET TATTION Henning Reventlow H e enning Graf R eventlow e VVolume oolume 1: From the Old Old Testament Teestameent to Origen Origen TTranslated rranslated by Leo G. Per rdue d Perdue Early interpretive practices are reflected reflectted in the translation tio on of the Septuagint and the writings off Qumran, Philo, the early the apostolic ear rly l rabbis, bbi th t li fathers f th Barnab BBarnabas b andd Cl bas Clement,t and Martyr,r, Marcion, an nd early Christian leaders such as Justinn Martyr Irenaeus, Ire enaeus, and Origen. Papper $29.95 978-1-58983-202-2 256 pages, Paper pagees, 2009 Code: 060350 R essources for BBiblical iblical SStudy tudy 50 Hardback Hardback edition edittion www.brill.nl www w..brill.nl Resources
VVolume olume o 2: From Late Late Antiquity Antiquity too the End End of the Middle M iddle Ages Ages TTranslated rranslated by James O. Duke This volume examines the lives, work works, ks, and interpretive praactices of Theodore of Mopsuestia, Didymus practices Diidymus the Blind, Jer rome, Ambrose, Augustine, Gregory the thhe Great, Isidore of Jerome, Sev ville, the Venerable Venerable Bede, Alcuin, Johnn Scotus Eriugena, Seville, Abelard, Ab belard, Rupert of Deutz, Hugo of St. VVictor, icctorr, Joachim of Fiore, Fio ore, Thomas Aquinas, Bonaventure, Rashi, Raashi, Abraham ibn Ezr ra, Nicolas of LLyra, yra, y and John W yyclif. Ezra, Wyclif. Papper $36.95 978-1-58983-455-2 324 pages, Paper pagees, 2009 Code: 060361 Resources R essources for BBiblical iblical SStudy tudy 61 Hardback Hardback edit edition tion www.brill.nl www w..brill.nl
METHOD METHOD E M MATTERS ATTTERS EEssays s ssays on the Interpretation Interpretation of th the he Hebrew Hebrew Bible Bible in nH Honor onor of David David L. L. Petersen Joel Jo el M. LeMon and Kent H Harold aarold R Richards, iicharrdds, editors
The Journal of Biblical Literature (ISSN 0021–9231) is published quarterly. The annual subscription price is US$35.00 for members and US$180.00 for nonmembers. Institutional rates are also available. For information regarding subscriptions and membership, contact: Society of Biblical Literature, Customer Service Department, P.O. Box 133158, Atlanta, GA 30333. Phone: 866-727-9955 (toll free) or 404-727-9498. FAX: 404-727-2419. E-mail: [email protected]. For information concerning permission to quote, editorial and business matters, please see the Spring issue, p. 2.
Reeaders will find focused discussions off traditional and Readers newly ne ewly emerging methods, including historical histoorical criticism, ideological ide eological criticism, and literary criticis criticism, sm, and case studies that tha at indicate how these approaches workk and what insights they the ey yield.
The Hebrew font used in JBL is SBL Hebrew and is available from www.sbl-site.org/Resources/default.aspx.
Papper $49.95 978-1-58983-444-6 644 pages, Paper pagees, 2009 Code: 060356 Resources R essources for BBiblical iblical SStudy tudy 56 Hardback Hardback edit edition tion www.brill.nl www w..brill.nl
The JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (ISSN 0021–9231) is published quarterly by the Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329. Periodical postage paid at Atlanta, Georgia, and at additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Society of Biblical Literature, P.O. Box 133158, Atlanta, GA 30333. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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B AY L O R U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S
128 4 2009
New from
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BIBLICAL LITERATURE
A Groundbreaking Study of Mark’s Christology
Mark’s Jesus
WINTER 2009
Characterization as Narrative Christology
Noted biblical scholar Elizabeth Struthers Malbon asks a literary, especially narrative critical, question in this landmark volume: what are the many ways that Mark’s Gospel characterizes Jesus?
Available November 2009 $39.95 / Cloth 978-1-60258-247-7
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Elizabeth Struthers Malbon
VOLUME 128, NO. 4 The Text of Genesis 17:14 Matthew Thiessen
625–642
Deuteronomy 24:5 and King Asa’s Foot Disease in 1 Kings 15:23b Jeremy Schipper
643–648
Eglon’s Belly and Ehud’s Blade: A Reconsideration Lawson G. Stone
649–663
Rehabilitating Jephthah Alice Logan
665–685
Framework and Discourse in the Book of Judges Susanne Gillmayr-Bucher
687–702
In the Eyes of the Beholder: Unmarked Attributed Quotations in Job Edward Ho
703–715
Rhetorical Reversal and Usurpation: Isaiah 10:5–34 and the Use of Neo-Assyrian Royal Idiom in the Construction of an Anti-Assyrian Theology Michael Chan
717–733
“Taxo” and the Origin of the Assumption of Moses Edna Israeli
735–757
Descending Spirit and Descending Gods: A “Greek” Interpretation of the Spirit’s “Descent as a Dove” in Mark 1:10 Edward P. Dixon
759–780
The Johannine Prologue and Jewish Didactic Hymn Traditions: A New Case for Reading the Prologue as a Hymn Matthew Gordley
781–802
Two Neglected Textual Variants in Philippians 1 Brent Nongbri
803–808
A Note on 5 Ezra 1:11 and 2:8–9 Theodore A. Bergren
809–812
A Nomen Sacrum in the Sardis Synagogue James R. Edwards
813–821
US ISSN 0021-9231
