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130 2 2011
JOURNAL OF
BIBLICAL LITERATURE SUMMER 2011
VOLUME 130, NO. 2
JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE
Differentiation in Genesis 1: An Exegetical Creation ex nihilo Richard Neville
209–226
Sexual Desire? Eve, Genesis 3:16, and hqw#t Joel N. Lohr
227–246
The Story of Saul’s Election (1 Samuel 9–10) in the Light of Mantic Practice in Ancient Iraq Jeffrey L. Cooley
247–261
The Rab Ša}qe}h between Rhetoric and Redaction Jerome T. Walsh
263–279
Did Nehemiah Own Tyrian Goods? Trade between Judea and Phoenicia during the Achaemenid Period Benjamin J. Noonan
281–298
The Dangerous Sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel Amy Kalmanofsky
299–312
Suspense, Simultaneity, and Divine Providence in the Book of Tobit Ryan S. Schellenberg
313–327
A Centurion’s “Confession”: A Performance-Critical Analysis of Mark 15:39 Kelly R. Iverson
329–350
Divine Judgment against Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1–11): A Stock Scene of Perjury and Death J. Albert Harrill
351–369
What Do the Gentiles Have to Do with “All Israel”? A Fresh Look at Romans 11:25–27 Jason A. Staples
371–390
Does περιβόλαιον Mean “Testicle” in 1 Corinthians 11:15? Mark Goodacre
391–396
Blessing God and Cursing People: James 3:9–10 Dale C. Allison, Jr.
397–405 US ISSN 0021-9231
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JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE
General Editor: JAMES C. VANDERKAM, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556
EDITORIAL BOARD
Term Expiring 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, Marian University, Indianapolis, IN 46222 YVONNE SHERWOOD, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, Scotland, G12 8QQ, United Kingdom LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ 08542 PATRICIA K. TULL, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY 40205 2012:
DAVID L. BARR, Wright State University, Dayton, OH 45435 COLLEEN CONWAY, Seton Hall University, South Orange, NJ 07079 MARY ROSE D’ANGELO, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 J. ALBERT HARRILL, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN 47405 PAUL JOYCE, Oxford University, Oxford, OX1 3LD, United Kingdom ELIZABETH STRUTHERS MALBON, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 TURID KARLSEN SEIM, University of Oslo, N-0315 Oslo, Norway CAROLYN SHARP, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520 BENJAMIN D. SOMMER, The Jewish Theological Seminary, New York, NY 10027 LOUIS STULMAN, University of Findlay, Findlay, OH 45840 DAVID TSUMURA, Japan Bible Seminary, Tokyo 205-0017, Japan MICHAEL WHITE, University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX 78712
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JBL 130, no. 2 (2011): 209–226
Differentiation in Genesis 1: An Exegetical Creation ex nihilo richard neville
[email protected] Laidlaw College, Papanui, Christchurch 8053, New Zealand
Paul Beauchamp championed the idea that the noun “( מיןkind, type”) introduced the concept of differentiation to the creation narrative in Genesis 1. It was his contention that “just as the immutable works are subjected to the principle of separation (hibadîl), so also are the mutable ones subjected to the principle of differentiation (mîn . . .).”1 Since then it has become something of a commonplace in biblical scholarship to associate the phrase “after its kind” with the larger theme of God bringing order to his creation by means of separation and distinction. Just as God separated light from darkness (Gen 1:4) and water above from water below (1:6), so also he distinguished the plants and animals “each according to its kind.” In his comments on the creation account, John Goldingay has a section entitled “God Arranged,” which includes subsections “Making Distinctions,” “The Structuring of the Cosmos,” and “The Structuring of Nature.” In this last subsection Goldingay observes that, although the language of separation is not applied to animals and plants as it is to other elements in the creation account, the same point is made using the language of differentiation: “an analogous point is made about the different living elements within nature, which were made distinctive from one another. They belong to different ‘kinds’ (mîn; Gen 1:11, 12, 21, 24, 25).”2 Kenneth A. Mathews had already come to the conclusion that “just as ‘separations’
1 Beauchamp, “Nym mîn,” TDOT 8:288–90. The corresponding volume of ThWAT was published in 1983–84. Also see his earlier volume, Création et séparation: Étude exégétique du chapitre premier de la Genèse (Bibliothèque de sciences religieuses; Paris: Aubier-Montaigne, 1969), to which I have not had access. 2 Goldingay, Old Testament Theology, vol. 1, Israel’s Gospel (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2003), 94.
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are integral to creation, so are distinctions among living things as indicated by their ‘kinds.’”3 When commentators combine this interest in distinctions and divisions with the notion that God has invested plant and animal life with the capacity to reproduce, they conclude that Genesis 1 records how God established boundaries for reproduction, “As with fish and fowl (vv. 20–22), God set reproductive parameters (‘according to their kinds’) for these creatures. The major groupings are domesticated cattle, crawlers, and wild animals (v. 24). The text emphasizes that within the animal world there were limitations for each group.”4 These reproductive boundaries serve as comfort to humanity, since they address concerns of the kind, “when we plant corn seed, will we get corn or some other vegetable? Do we have to do something special to make sure that corn seed produces corn rather than beans?”5 Some English translations make this emphasis on differentiation and reproductive boundaries explicit. Let the earth produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants, and fruit trees on earth, bearing fruit with their seed inside, each corresponding to its own species. (Gen 1:11 NJB) God made all sorts of wild animals, livestock, and small animals, each able to reproduce more of its own kind. (Gen 1:25 New Living Translation)
Beauchamp detects a level of analogy between differentiation in the creation account and the stipulations contained in the Mosaic law, “In their own turn, separation and differentiation are closely related to law: the divine law that puts an end to chaos, the Mosaic law that is to prevent mixing of species (kil’ayim) (Lev 19:19; Deut 22:9–11).”6 Gordon J. Wenham suggests that the creation account implies that “what God has distinguished and created distinct, man ought not to confuse (Lev 19:19; Deut 22:9–11).”7 Mathews also juxtaposes the divinely imposed limitations of the creation account and the prescriptions that governed Israel’s daily life. Inherently, the created order possesses divinely imposed limitations that establish self-maintained and governed systematic categories. The Hebrews experienced limitations and prescriptions that governed their daily lives as part of the community of God. The great Architect of the universe does not permit the colors of his canvas to run together.8 3
Mathews, Genesis 1–11:26 (NAC 1A; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 1996), 153. Ibid., 160 (emphasis added). 5 Eugene F. Roop, Genesis (Believers Church Bible Commentary; Kitchener, ON: Herald, 1987), 28. See also C. John Collins, Genesis 1–4: A Linguistic, Literary and Theological Commentary (Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian & Reformed, 2006), 59, 267; and Goldingay, Israel’s Gospel, 94. 6 Nevertheless, Beauchamp is uncertain whether the occurrences of Nym in the creation narrative contain direct references to regulations of the Torah (“Nym,” 289). 7 Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (WBC 1; Dallas: Word Books, 1987), 21. 8 Mathews, Genesis, 157. 4
Neville: Differentiation in Genesis 1
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All this differentiation suggests to Goldingay that in bringing the world into being “Yhwh was involved in dividing like a priest.”9 Claus Westermann, while recognizing the emphasis on distinctions in Genesis 1, rejects even a foreshadowing here of the later divisions of animal life into clean and unclean. For him, the divisions in Genesis 1 show P’s systematic way of thinking. This thinking “goes far beyond the priestly-cultic mentality and tries to arrange creation analytically.”10 The creation of living things according to species is a trait in P’s creation account that “does not belong either to theological or religious tradition but to the tradition of the natural sciences. . . . In the context of P’s careful distinction of the species of plants and animals, one can speak of a scientific interest, provided one distinguishes it from our idea of ‘science.’”11 Others are less cautious about applying the language of differentiation in Genesis 1 to modern scientific discussions. As a result, the language of differentiation (notably Nym) in Genesis 1 has found its way into debates about origins.12 There are commentators who make no mention of differentiation in the creation accounts of plants and animals in Genesis 1 (e.g., Bill T. Arnold and Victor P. Hamilton),13 but I have not encountered any who dispute the theme. This notion of differentiation in Genesis 1, along with all of its theological and scientific implications, is based on the prepositional phrase “after its kind” (hnyml, wnyml, whnyml, etc.). Yet, for all the theological weight that the phrase -nyml14 bears, it has attracted little attention at the linguistic level. The very different translations of this phrase (e.g., “each according to its kind” [RSV], versus “of every kind” [NRSV]) suggest some uncertainty, but the matter appears to cause little if any concern among commentators on Genesis. It is even possible to find two quite distinct renderings coexisting happily within a single translation, “cattle, creeping things and wild animals of all kinds . . . wild animals in their own species” (Gen 1:24–25 NJB). In spite of its beguiling simplicity, the phrase -nyml exhibits some puzzling linguistic peculiarities. The discussion that follows presents a set of solutions to these problems and draws some conclusions about the translations and theological implications that the text will sustain. 9
Goldingay, Israel’s Gospel, 94. Westermann, Genesis 1–11: A Commentary (London: SPCK, 1984), 125. 11 Ibid., 88, 126. 12 For the problematic ways in which theistic evolutionists and creationists define Nym, see Paul H. Seely, “The Meaning of Mîn, ‘Kind,’” Science & Christian Belief 9 (1997): 47–56. 13 However, see Arnold’s discussion of )rb (Genesis [New Cambridge Bible Commentary; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009], 36–37). Hamilton sees a movement from creation involving separation to creation involving divine covering: land with vegetation, Adam and Eve with garments, the sky with luminaries (The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17 [NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990], 125). 14 The construction always has a pronominal suffix in the biblical text. In the discussion that follows I use this attenuated form of the prepositional phrase as a generic form. 10
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I. The Meaning of Nym The term Nym means “kind,” or “type.”15 Its use with plants and animals invites comparison with terms such as “genus,” or “species.”16 This arises from the fact that both ancient science and modern science endeavor to identify low-order classes of animal and plant life based on similarities and differences.17 Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to suggest that the ancient categories or methods of categorization correspond to those of modern science.18 Further, the etymology of Nym is uncertain.19 The only undisputed point is its link with hnwmt (“likeness, form”).20 In addition to the evidence for this in the Hebrew lexicon, a connection between these two nouns is evident also in Ugaritic.21 Nym occurs thirty-one times in the Hebrew Bible in five contexts. It appears ten times in the creation account of Genesis 1 (1:11, 12 [2x], 21 [2x], 24 [2x], 25 [3x]). It occurs also in the accounts of the assembling of the animals to the ark in Gen 6:20 and 7:14, in the lists of clean and unclean animals in Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14, and once in Ezek 47:10 with reference to fish. Every biblical occurrence concerns categories of plant life (Gen 1:11 and 12 only) or animal life. In extrabiblical texts, however, Nym designates nonbiological categories.22 For example, the term 15
Alternative definitions have been suggested for Nym, but none has met with widespread approval. HALOT has “type, kind” (p. 577); Beauchamp has, “kind, species” (“Nym,” 289); and BDB has, “kind, species” (p. 568). Jastrow notes the frequent use of the term in the construction Nymk with the sense “something like, in the shape of, of the nature of ” (p. 776). This usage and the etymological connection with hnwmt raise the possibility that Nym can mean “form.” 16 Nahum Sarna, for example, suggests that “of every kind” in Gen 1:11 refers to “the various species that collectively make up the genus deshe” (Genesis: ty#)rb. The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation [JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989], 9). 17 Similarity of form or being is suggested also by Sir 13:14, in which the parallelism suggests that likeness is a feature of belonging to the same Nym (hmwdh t) Md) lkw wnym bh)y r#bh lk wl). 18 Seely investigates the correspondence between the biblical use of Nym and modern taxonomic levels, with the aid of ethnobiological studies (“Meaning of Mîn,” 47–56). 19 The various theories are given in the standard lexica but are too uncertain to be of any value to the present discussion. 20 Beauchamp, “Nym,” 289. 21 Ernst-Joachim Waschke notes, “No satisfactory etymology has been found for the noun. It is clear only that there is an etymological relationship with the noun mîn ‘sort, kind, species’, since temûnâ is an abstract taqtûi l from the base mîn” (“hnFw@mt%; temûnâ,” TDOT 15:687). On the Ugaritic cognates, see Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, “Die sieben Kunstwerke des Schmiedegottes in KTU 1.4 i 23–43,” UF 10 (1978): 57–63; and “Ug. tmn ‘Gestalt,’” UF 10 (1978): 433. 22 Extrabiblical uses include references to kinds of righteousness and kinds of deeds (see table 1).
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occurs four times in Sirach, twice in CD, once in 1QS, three times in 4QJuba, and once in 4Q384 (see table 1). In these texts the term can refer to kinds of grasshoppers, people, spirits, deeds, angels, and righteousness. Jastrow notes also several instances of the term in the Mishnah and Talmud. The only significant semantic development in this later literature is the use of the term to refer to certain people with the meaning “sectarian, infidel.”23 There is ample evidence, particularly in the biblical dietary laws (Lev 11:1–47; Deut 14:3–21) and the wisdom tradition (1 Kgs 4:33), that the ancient Israelites made detailed observations on the behavior and anatomy of animals (Job 39:13–18; Lev 11:3–12) and insects (Prov 30:24–28; Lev 11:20–25) and were no less aware of the varieties and qualities of plant life.24 None of this is surprising for an ancient agrarian people well situated to observe their natural environment. Their wisdom tradition esteemed such observations, while their laws assumed them.
II. The Function of the Construction -nyml in Genesis 1 Every biblical instance of Nym occurs in a construction of the kind l + Nym + pronominal suffix. The construction -nyml is listed in HALOT as an example of l when it “divides a whole into its parts.”25 Bruce Waltke and M. O’Connor include -nyml in the category “class and type” within a group of quasi-locational uses “based on connections with regard to.”26 Ronald J. Williams and BDB list this construction as an example of the preposition l when it indicates the norm governing the verbal action.27 All of these authorities translate -nyml as “according to its kind/type” and compare -nyml to constructions such as wy+b#l, “by its tribes,” that is, “tribe by tribe” (Num 24:2); Mtwb) tybl, “by their fathers’ house(s),” that is, “father’s house by father’s house” (Num 1:2); Mhytxp#ml, “by their families,” that is, “family by family” (Gen 8:19). BDB and Williams also note that when the noun to which l is prefixed indicates a quality, the phrase functions as an accusative of manner:28 +)l, “gently” (Isa 8:6), tm)l, “faithfully” (Isa 42:3), qdcl, “righteously” (Isa 32:1). 23
Jastrow, 775–76. This is evident from the fundamental distinction between seed-bearing plants and trees bearing fruit with their seeds in them (Gen 1:11), and from the description of Solomon’s wisdom in 1 Kgs 4:33. 25 HALOT, 509. Cf. the category “Gliederungs-Reidentifikation” in Ernst Jenni, Die Hebräischen Präpositionen, Band 3, Die Präposition Lamed (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2000), 46. 26 Other uses of l in this group include possession, authorship, specification, manner, and comparison (IBHS, 206). 27 Williams, Hebrew Syntax: An Outline (2nd ed.; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), §274; BDB, s.v. l, 5j; cf. “yardstick (according to),” in Joüon (2nd ed.), 458. 28 See Andrew B. Davidson, Introductory Hebrew Grammar: Hebrew Syntax (3rd ed.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901), 140; and IBHS, 206. 24
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In spite of the apparent affinities with the phrase -nyml, these other constructions function quite differently within a sentence. All the instances given above are adverbial in nature; -nyml, on the other hand, functions more like an adjective modifying the noun. In Gen 7:14, for example, -nyml does not modify the verb )wb as though indicating how the animals were to enter the ark, “according to their kinds.” Instead, the list functions (along with an exhaustive list of Noah’s family in v. 13) to expand the subject of the verb )wb,29 detailing which animals entered the ark. they [hmh = Noah and his family] and every wild animal of every kind, and all domestic animals of every kind, and every creeping thing that creeps on the earth, and every bird of every kind—every bird, every winged creature. (Gen 7:14 NRSV)
The animals that entered the ark were of every kind.30 The phrase indicates which animals entered the ark not how they entered the ark.31 This explanation of the function of -nyml fits its context perfectly well. By indicating which animals entered the ark, -nyml serves the purpose of emphasizing the fact that representatives of every kind of animal entered the ark. It contributes to the sense of comprehensiveness that is evident in the text. Notice the repeated use of lk in the same verse: They and every beast [hyxh-lkw], according to its kind, and all the livestock [hmhbh-lkw] according to their kinds, and every creeping thing [#mrh-lkw] that creeps on the earth, according to its kind, and every bird [Pw(x-lkw], according to its kind, every winged creature [Pnk-lk rwpc lk]. (Gen 7:14 English Standard Version [ESV])
The text makes it clear that all creatures of every variety entered the ark. -nyml emphasizes not divisions and limits but variety in the service of comprehensiveness. In Gen 6:20, -nyml is not adverbial in nature but serves this time to expand a prepositional phrase (lkm) in v. 19. The same prepositional phrase is repeated after the -nyml constructions in v. 20. 29
The construction is appositional; Joüon (2nd ed.), 507. If -nyml were functioning adverbially, one occurrence with the verb would be sufficient, whereas the text has an occurrence of the term with each noun. 31 For the purposes of this study I distinguish adjectival (“in all their varieties”) and adverbial (“by their tribes”) uses of l. Nevertheless, both of these uses of l function to indicate divisions within a whole. As such, they are both candidates for the categories “class and type” (IBHS, 206), “Gliederungs-Reidentifikation” (Jenni, Die Präposition Lamed, 46), and something that “divides a whole into its parts” (HALOT, 509). The analysis of -nyml offered here suggests that these categories include uses of l that vary significantly in their connection to the verbal idea and the head noun. In this regard the adverbial accusative provides an analogy. It encompasses both the accusative of manner, which “describes the way in which an action is performed,” and the accusative of state, which can specify a feature of the verb’s object in relation to that action (IBHS, 171–72). A thorough study of all of the relevant uses of l may provide a more linguistically precise explanation and nomenclature for the distinction I am making in terms of adjectival and adverbial. 30
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19
you shall bring two of everything [lkm Myn#] into the ark . . . (that is, two) of every kind of bird [whnyml Pw(hm], of every kind of animal [hnyml hmhbh-Nm], of every kind of creeping thing [whnyml hmd)h #mr lkm], two of everything [lkm Myn#] will come to you to stay alive. (Gen 6:19–20; my translation) 20
Once again, the phrase is part of an explanation of which animals came, not how they came. Similarly, when the animals leave the ark, lk is used repeatedly (this time without -nyml) in a nominal expansion of the subject of the verb (8:19). The adverbial idea is supplied by the phrase Mhytxp#ml. This phrase is equivalent not to -nyml but to the “two by two” (male and female) of Genesis 6 and 7. The point is that the animals came to the ark in pairs (pair-wise, 7:9), but these pairs have now multiplied so that they disembark in family groups (family-wise). Throughout these texts -nyml itself functions adjectivally, not adverbially. If we want to know how the animals entered and exited the ark, we must look instead to Myn# Myn# and Mhytxp#ml. The case is essentially the same in the uses of -nyml in the enumeration of clean and unclean animals in Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14. And these you shall have in abomination among the birds, they shall not be eaten, they are an abomination: the eagle, the vulture, the osprey, the kite, the falcon according to its kind [hnyml]. (Lev 11:13–14 RSV)
To the question “What shall we have in abomination?” the RSV’s answer appears to be “the falcon according to its kind.” It is not obvious, however, what it means to detest the falcon “according to its kind.” The RSV has retained a translation suited to an adverbial use of the construction, but the passage lacks a suitable verbal idea. The NRSV is much clearer in its translation of the same text, These you shall regard as detestable among the birds. They shall not be eaten; they are an abomination: the eagle, the vulture, the osprey, the buzzard, the kite of any kind [hnyml]; every raven of any kind [wnyml]; the ostrich, the nighthawk, the sea gull, the hawk of any kind [whnyml]; the little owl, the cormorant, the great owl.
To the question “What are we to detest?” the NRSV’s answer is “the kite of any kind.” The prepositional phrase is clearly not functioning as a norm governing the verb. It does not indicate how the kite is to be detested or how it is not to be eaten. Instead, it indicates which birds are to be detested and not eaten.32 The text requires
The LXX translation of -nyml in Leviticus and Deuteronomy does not use κατά to translate the prepositional phrase with an adverbial sense. Instead, the relevant texts use the expression τὰ ὅµοια αὐτῷ (“the [animals] like it”) to indicate what is forbidden. Thus, Lev 11:22 forbids eating locusts and “the [creatures] like it.” 32
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a meaning of the kind, “do not eat kites of any variety.”33 As with Gen 6:20 and 7:14 -nyml emphasizes variety in the service of comprehensiveness.34 It remains to discover what sense -nyml carries in Genesis 1. If it is adverbial in nature, it tells how God made the various creatures and conveys the sense, “God made the cattle according to their kinds (kind by kind, or, conforming them to their various kinds).” If, on the other hand, it is more closely related to the noun, it tells what God created and means “God made cattle of every kind” (fig. 1). Figure 1. The Phrase -nyml Used Adverbially and Adjectivally God made birds
↓
according to their kinds / in all their varieties God made birds
↓
according to their kinds / kind by kind
A characteristic of the -nyml construction that distinguishes it from the adverbial uses of l noted above is its frequent appearance in lists. This minimizes any verbal idea and in some instances leaves no alternative but to link -nyml with a noun. A comparison of Gen 6:19–20 and 8:18–19 will illustrate the point. Gen 8:18-19
#mwr lk Pw(h-lkw #mrh-lk hyxh-lk .wt) wynb-y#nw wt#)w wynbw xn-)cyw hbth-Nm w)cy Mhytxp#ml Cr)h-l( So Noah went out with his sons and his wife and his sons’ wives. And every animal, every creeping thing, and every bird, everything that moves on the earth, went out of the ark by families. (NRSV) Gen 6:19-20
wyhw hbqnw rkz Kt) tyxhl hbth-l) )ybt lkm Myn# r#b-lkm yxh-lkmw w)by lkm Myn# whnyml hmd)h #mr lkm hnyml hmhbh-Nmw whnyml Pw(hm twyxhl Kyl) And of every living thing, of all flesh, you shall bring two of every kind into the ark, to keep them alive with you; they shall be male and female. Of the birds according to their kinds, and of the animals according to their kinds, of every creeping thing of the ground according to its kind, two of every kind shall come in to you, to keep them alive. (NRSV)
33 See S. R. Driver and H. A. White, The Book of Leviticus: A New English Translation (London: James Clark, 1898), 18: “the falcon in its various kinds.” 34 lk also features in the lists of clean and unclean animals (e.g., Lev 11:15, 22–27).
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In Gen 8:18–19, the phrase Mhytxp#ml occurs once and is associated with the verb w)cy following the list. In that instance the phrase Mhytxp#ml is functioning adverbially to indicate how the animals disembarked: they exited the ark family by family. In Gen 6:19-20 the verbs precede and follow the list, whereas -nyml is repeated and embedded in the list itself, and the phrase -nyml always occurs immediately after the noun or noun phrase that it modifies. It functions adjectivally, modifying the noun, rather than adverbially. This pattern of occurrence is consistent for all the uses of -nyml in Gen 6:20; 7:14; Leviticus 11; and Deuteronomy 14.35 Genesis 1 follows the same pattern of use for -nyml. Without exception, -nyml follows the noun (or the noun with its modifiers)36 but is never located adjacent to the verb. As with the lists in Deuteronomy and Leviticus, there is a strong tendency to repeat the phrase after each entry. This pattern of usage is consistent with the observation that -nyml does not serve to indicate a norm governing the verbal action but is more closely related to its head noun. The first creation account also exhibits the repeated use of lk (Gen 1:21, 25; 2:1) that is evident in other contexts where -nyml features.37 Genesis 1:21 reads, So God created the great creatures of the sea and every living and moving thing [t#mrh hyxh #pn-lk] with which the water teems, according to their kinds, and every winged bird [Pnk Pw(-lk] according to its kind. (NIV)
Similarly, the use of the article with stars (Mybkwkh) in 1:16 indicates that all the stars are included.38 Once again -nyml expresses variety in the cause of comprehensiveness (cf. 2:1, M)bc-lk). Biblical writers frequently refer to Yhwh as the Maker/Creator of heaven and earth, without further comment on the deity’s creative work. However, when biblical writers do single out a feature of God’s creative work, it is frequently its comprehensiveness. God is the creator of “all things” (Eccl 11:5; Isa 44:24; Jer 10:16; 51:19; John 1:3; Eph 3:9; Col 1:16; Rev 4:11; cf. Rom 11:36; 1 Cor 8:6), of “heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them” (Ps 146:6; Acts 4:24; 14:15), and of “the world and everything in it” (Acts 17:24). When in Nehemiah 9 the Levites lead the people in prayer, they survey God’s faithfulness to his people from the time he made a covenant with Abram all the way to their present day. In proper chronological fashion, the prayer opens with this summary statement of God’s work at creation: You are the Lord, you alone; you have made heaven, the heaven of heavens, with all their host [M)bc-lk), the earth and all that is on it [hyl( r#)-lk], the seas and 35
The single instance of hnyml in Ezek 47:10 is distinctive. In this instance it is a lamed of specification used in conjunction with k to indicate the point of comparison. Compare Gen 41:19, and see BDB, s.v. l, 5e[b]. 36 Where it has two antecedent nouns, it is adjacent to the second (Gen 1:21). 37 The term lk appears also in 1:26, 28, 29, 30, 31, but these occurrences are not directly relevant to this discussion. 38 Cf. Joüon (2nd ed.), 477.
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Once again the focus is on the comprehensive nature of God’s work of creation. It is its ability to express variety (not division, differentiation, or delimitation) that explains why -nyml features so prominently in the creation account. It serves the vastly important theological point that God created absolutely everything; a truth that is definitive for biblical faith. The essential element in what I have called Jewish monotheism, the element that makes it a kind of monotheism, is not the denial of the existence of other “gods,” but an understanding of the uniqueness of Yhwh that puts him in a class of his own, a wholly different class from any other heavenly or supernatural beings, even if these are called “gods.” I call this Yhwh’s transcendent uniqueness. . . . Especially important for identifying this transcendent uniqueness are statements that distinguish Yhwh by means of a unique relationship to the whole of reality: Yhwh alone is Creator of all things, whereas all others are created by him.39
III. The Problem of Number in the -nyml Construction It remains to explore how -nyml conveys the idea of variety when, with one exception, it is morphologically singular (lit., “according to its kind”). Translations vary in how they treat the singular construction. In particular, there is uncertainty over the correspondence between morphological number and semantic number. The RSV illustrates the problem. All of the prepositional phrases below translate a singular pronominal suffix on a singular form of Nym. 1:11 1:12 1:12 1:21 1:24 1:24 1:25 1:25 1:25
each according to its kind (wnyml) according to their own kinds (whnyml) each according to its kind (whnyml) according to its kind (whnyml) according to their kinds (hnyml) according to their kinds (hnyml) according to their kinds (hnyml) according to their kinds (hnyml) according to its kind (whnyml)
This vacillation in number is not unique to the RSV (cf. NIV and ESV), and suggests that there is uncertainty as to the significance of the morphologically singular pronominal suffixes and the morphologically singular Nym.
39 Richard Bauckham, “Biblical Theology and the Problems of Monotheism,” in Out of Egypt: Biblical Theology and Biblical Interpretation (ed. Craig Bartholomew et al.; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004), 210–11.
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In isolation the obvious translation of the phrase would be “according to its kind.” In this case morphological number maps directly onto semantic number. It works well when the text has lk, “every winged bird according to its kind” (Gen 1:21 ESV). Otherwise translations that use this singular construction typically insert “each” to make it work, as in the ESV translation of v. 11, “each according to its kind.”40 In this instance the pronominal suffix refers not to the collective as a whole but to each individual within it. If, however, we take seriously the adjectival role of the prepositional phrase, it is difficult to justify the insertion of “each.” It is necessary only when the phrase is treated as though it functions as a norm governing the verbal idea. If we drop “each,” it becomes difficult to maintain a strictly singular translation of the phrase. What does it mean to create “cattle according to its kind”? The problem is even more obvious if we drop the collective singular and have God creating “living creatures according to its kind.” On the other hand, there is something to be said for translating -nyml using plural forms.41 This can be demonstrated most convincingly for the pronominal suffixes, and the case for translating the noun Nym with a plural term is not without support. The creation account of plants, animals, and humans is dominated by collective nouns.42 This means that the creation account of plants, animals, and humans is populated by morphologically singular nouns. In addition, the creation account of the plants and animals, as well as the references to plants and animals in the creation account of humans (vv. 26–31), exhibit a preference for morphological agreement over constructio ad sensum. In fact, there is not a single instance of a plural form associated with a collective in any of the references to plants or animals.43 In other words, when a collective noun designates plants or animals, 40
Cf. “fruit trees (each) producing fruit according to its type” (IBHS, 207). See Williams, Syntax, §274, “Fruit-trees producing fruit according to their types” (emphasis added), and BDB, 516, “according its kinds” (emphasis added). 42 There are around forty uses of collectives in the creation account of plants, animals, and human beings. This includes a small number of singular substantive participles functioning as collectives (or class nouns). 43 In his investigation of number concord with collective nouns, Ernest J. Revell notes that he encountered passages in which there was an “unusually high proportion of singular coreferents” (“Logic of Concord with Collectives in Biblical Narrative,” Maarav 9 [2002]: 61–91, esp. 84– 85, 88–89). He characterizes these texts as passages of “historical synopsis” (Judges 1; 11:13–21; 20) and passages in the “prophetic register” (2 Kgs 19:30). Revell argues that the unmarked form for coreferents of the collective is the singular, and the plural form marks “immediacy” (a term he uses to encompass “narrative prominence” and the “level of transitivity”). Historical synopses are low in “immediacy” and are therefore low in the (marked) plural forms of coreferents found in more vivid narrative passages. Revell’s discussion of these passages cannot be applied directly to Genesis 1, since this portion of Revell’s discussion focuses on collectives that function as the subjects of verbs. Genesis 1 is a passage with a high density of collectives that are not the subjects of verbs and which have coreferents in the same clause or phrase. The significance of this phenomenon for explaining the high number of singular coreferents in Genesis 1 is discussed in n. 52 below. 41
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· · ·
If it is the subject of a verb, the verb will be singular (e.g., Ppw(y, 1:20). If it is the antecedent of a pronominal suffix, that suffix will be singular (e.g., wb-w(rz, 1:11). If it is modified by or agrees with a participle, that participle will be singular (e.g., h#( C(w, 1:12).
On the other hand, there is only one instance in which a plural noun is used to designate a plant or animal, and it is associated with plural forms. The great sea creatures (Myldgh Mnynth) together with the other sea creatures (hyxh #pn) are followed by plural pronominal suffixes and verbs. This is all the more striking since the plural continues into v. 22 with three plural imperatives addressed to all the sea creatures,44 while the collective Pw( (birds) in v. 21 is antecedent to a singular pronominal suffix and the collective Pw( in v. 22 is the subject of a singular verb. Morphological agreement is adhered to impeccably across two verses. Thus, when animals or plants are designated by a singular noun, all subsequent forms are singular, but when the great sea creatures are designated by a plural all subsequent forms are plural. There is strict morphological agreement to the exclusion of constructio ad sensum. The only apparent exception among plants and animals proves the rule.45 This pattern of strict morphological agreement implies that the singular pronouns on -nyml are singular because their antecedents are mor44
Mt) in v. 22 may refer to both the sea creatures and the flying creatures. The pronominal suffix on Mhnyml in v. 21 is plural even though hyxh #pn is singular. However, in this instance Mhnyml does double duty for both the more distant masculine plural (Mnynt) and the closer feminine singular (hyxh #pn). A number of observations support this analysis. If we compare the announcement and the report for each account where the -nyml con45
struction occurs, two points become evident. First, the creation of the plants or animals is announced, and then the creation of the same plants and animals is reported. Second, in the reports, the -nyml construction modifies each (and every) category of plant or animal. The effect is that both categories of plant life, all aquatic life, bird life, and all the categories of terrestrial life (except humans) are each qualified by the construction -nyml. The apparent exception to this is the Mnynt. The report of their creation does not include the use of the construction -nyml, unless the occurrence of Mhnyml after the report of the creation of all the other aquatic life was intended to do double duty and include the Mnynt. This observation, along with the fact that this is also the only instance in which the construction -nyml takes a plural pronominal suffix almost certainly means the author intended to include Mnynt as the second head noun for the pronominal suffix. This analysis finds one last piece of support from the observation that in the announcement of the creation of aquatic creatures there is a reference to the teeming sea creatures but not to the Mnynt. Then in the report the Mnynt are introduced. The introduction of a distinct group of creatures is unique to this report. It appears that having expanded the list of sea creatures with an explicit reference to the Mnynt the writer chose not to repeat the -nyml construction but instead changed it to a plural construction to cover all sea creatures, including the Mnynt. Otherwise, this would be the only instance in which a category of life is not modified by the construction -nyml in the report of its creation. This omission would have been very significant. It would have left open the question, “Yes, but did God create every kind of Nynt?”
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phologically singular (collective) nouns. Semantically, the pronominal forms may be plural, like their head nouns. Some illustrations will serve to establish this point. In v. 29, the singular pronominal suffix (wb) and singular participle ((rz) are associated with collective singular nouns. All of the trees that have fruit(s) on them that produce seeds. (my translation)
(rz (rz C(-yrp wb-r#) C(h-lk-t)w In v. 12, a singular participle (h#() and two singular pronominal suffixes (wb-w(rz) each have a collective singular head noun. There needs to be some justification for failing to treat the singular pronominal suffix on whnyml in the same way. Trees that bear fruit(s) which have their seeds in them, in all their varieties. (my translation)
whnyml wb-w(rz r#) yrp-h#( C(w The same pattern is evident in v. 11, but with wnyml in a different position. Fruit trees in their various kinds that produce fruit(s) with their seeds in them, on the earth.46 (my translation)
Cr)h-l( wb-w(rz r#) wnyml yrp h#( yrp C( The lists of clean and unclean animals in Leviticus and Deuteronomy show the same use of the singular construction following class nouns (Lev 11:13–16, 21–22, 29; Deut 14:12–18). There are also instances in which both plural and singular forms are associated with the same class noun in a single sentence.47 And all winged insects are [= it is] unclean for you; they shall not be eaten. (Deut 14:19 NRSV)
wlk)y )l Mkl )wh )m+ Pw(h Cr# lkw In Genesis 1, the use of singular forms with collectives is followed assiduously. Only in the account of the creation of humans do we find a collective followed by a plural form (the verbs and pronominal forms in vv. 26–28), and even here, references to animals and plants continue to use singular forms only. These observations suggest that the singular participles, pronominal forms, and verbs associated with collective nouns in the record of the creation of animals and plants should be treated as semantically plural. They are morphologically singular because of the abundance of collective nouns and a consistent preference for constructio ad formam (grammatical concord) over constructio ad sensum. 46
Alternatively, “Fruit trees that bear all varieties of fruit(s) with their seeds in them, on the
earth.” 47 Note the striking examples of this same fluctuation in number following class nouns (Exod 34:12–13; Ezek 11:6) listed in Joüon (2nd ed.), 468.
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An instance of constructio ad sensum involving -nyml does occur in the Samaritan Pentateuch rendering of Gen 6:20. In one instance the Samaritan Pentateuch reads the singular construction with the plural Mhynyml. hmd)h l( #mr r#) lkmw hnyml hmhbh Nmw whnyml Pw(h Nm hyhw SP Mhynyml whnyml hmd)h #mr lkmw hnyml hmhbh Nmw whnyml Pw(hm MT This suggests that the two constructions are essentially equivalent.48 The singular construction maintains morphological agreement with its head noun, whereas the plural is a constructio ad sensum. Something similar occurs in CD 12:14 in a formulation of dietary laws. Where Leviticus and Deuteronomy used consistently singular forms of the construction -nyml, this text refers to “locusts in all their varieties,” using a plural construction (and substituting b for l), Mhynymb Mybgxh lkw.49 It appears that the thirty instances of the singular pronominal suffix on -nyml are motivated by grammatical agreement with the collective singular head nouns and do not represent a difference in meaning from the plural.50 While the occurrences of the singular construction -nyml in Genesis all involve collective nouns, those in Leviticus and Deuteronomy all involve class nouns. Like collectives, nouns of class are morphologically singular and yet are equivalent to plurals.51 It is this very precise grammatical context for -nyml that explains the consistent use of the singular pronominal suffix.52 These conclusions find further support in the distinctive use of -nyml in Ezek 47:10. Once again there is the familiar collective head noun, a singular verb, and the singular pronominal suffix on -nyml. In this instance the construction cannot be
48 The Samaritan Pentateuch returns to the singular form (whnyml) in Gen 7:14, the text that records the fulfillment of the instruction given in 6:20. 49 On the increased use of plural coreferents with collectives toward the end of the biblical period, see Revell, “Logic of Concord,” 90–91. 50 Waltke and O’Connor’s comment on the relationship between grammar and thought illustrates how this can be the case: “a noun’s grammatical number is determined by the language’s lexical structure, and thus it does not represent the speaker’s thought or experience directly. For example, English lexical structure demands that ‘oats’ be represented as plural (‘The oats are in the field’) but ‘wheat’ as singular (‘The wheat is in the barn’). We cannot argue that speakers of English think of ‘oats’ as plural and ‘wheat’ as singular; this is simply false. . . . Grammatical number thus does not directly and necessarily represent ‘thought’. It is rather a language- and culturalspecific [sic] system” (IBHS, 112). 51 Joüon (2nd ed.), 467. 52 It is possible to be even more specific about the contextual motivation for the singular pronominal forms on -nyml in the biblical text. Revell notes that a pronoun coreferent with a collective that does not act as subject is usually plural. However (and this point is relevant to our interest in -nyml), singular pronouns are common when they occur “within the same clause as the collective,” and they “usually occur as part of the same phrase” (“Logic of Concord,” 85).
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understood as distributive (each according to its kind), and the singular pronominal suffix must be semantically plural. Its fish will be of a great many kinds, like the fish of the Great Sea. (NRSV)
d)m hbr lwdgh Myh tgdk Mtgd hyht 53hnyml This explanation of the singular pronominal suffixes makes it possible to translate all thirty-one instances of -nyml (including one morphologically plural instance in Gen 1:21) in a consistent manner. All the pronominal suffixes are semantically plural (as are all of their head nouns). English translations are justified in using a plural for both the collective singular head noun54 and the singular pronominal suffix, “God made the birds according to their kind(s).”55 There remains the problem of the singular noun Nym. If the possessor (pronominal suffix) is semantically plural, how can the thing possessed (Nym) be singular? S. R. Driver suggested that Nym is itself a collective, and Eduard König proposed that Nym is a collective that also carries an abstract sense.56 In fact, König gives the term both a concrete meaning (Spezies, Art), and an older abstract one (Beschaffenheit, Qualität).57 Furthermore, he suggests that Nym is singular because of an attraction to the singular form of the possessor (i.e., its singular pronominal suffix) under the influence of a natural congruence between the morphological number of the possessor and the number of the thing possessed (Nym).58 There is little, however, to support König’s or Driver’s proposal that Nym is a collective noun. The lexical data for Nym, some of which were not available to König 53 54
On the absence of the mappiq in the h, see Joüon (2nd ed.), 266. In some instances English has an equivalent collective head noun, such as in the case of
“cattle.” 55 The LXX translation of -nyml in Genesis (ch. 1; 6:20; and 7:14) is simply κατά followed by a form of γένος, and in all but three instances there is no pronoun. In the three instances when a pronoun is present it is always plural (αὐτῶν). In Gen 1:21 the plural form corresponds to the Hebrew plural -nyml, but in 1:25 and 6:20 the plural pronoun correspond to singular pronouns in the Hebrew text. In both instances the pronouns in the Greek text have plural antecedents (τὰ ἑρπετά). 56 Driver does not elaborate on the reasons for this choice: “after its kind. Rather, after its kinds (the word being collective), i.e. according to its various species: so vv. 12, 24, 25” (The Book of Genesis: With Introduction and Notes [London: Methuen, 1915], 9); Eduard König, “Die Bedeutung des hebräischen Nym,” ZAW 31 (1911): 135. 57 König suggests that the concrete sense developed by a process of metonymy from the abstract sense (“Die Bedeutung,” 134). 58 Ibid., 136: “Vielmehr steht in 1:24 zunächst ‘lebendige Seele (je) nach ihrer Art’ (zugleich Qualität und Spezies), und wieder ist der Singular des Besitztums Nym teils durch den Singular des Besitzers und teils durch seinen eigenen ursprünglichen abstrakten Begriff motiviert. . . . Vielmehr zeigt diese Tatsache, das der Singular des Besitztums mîn in den andern ällen auch und zunächst von der singularischen Form des Besitzers attrahiert wurde, weil so eine natürliche Kongruenz zwischen der Numerusform Besitzer und Besitztum vorhanden war.”
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and Driver, show that Nym does not exhibit the characteristics of a collective noun (see table 1). It occurs in singular and plural forms in response to its context. It is plural, for example, in Gen 1:21 in the only biblical instance in which Nym carries a plural pronominal suffix. Similarly, in a Samaritan Pentateuch variant of Gen 6:20, the pronominal suffix is plural and so is Nym. In several extrabiblical texts (see table 1) Nym is plural when it occurs with a plural pronominal suffix (CD 12:14; 4Q384 8:3), when it is in construct with a genitive plural possessor (1QS 3:14), and when it occurs with a plural numeral (CD 4:16; 4QJuba 7:9, 15). Nym appears to behave as a countable noun. How, then, is the singular form of Nym to be explained? König’s explanation of why Nym is morphologically singular may be correct. There may be an attraction to Table 1. Number Agreement for Nym in Sirach, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Samaritan Pentateuch Location
Text
Agreement in Number
Sirach 13:14 13:15 13:15
wnym bh)y r#bh lk Md) rbwxy wnym l)w wlc) r#b lk Nym
43:25
yx lk Nym
Sg. with sg. pronominal suffix Sg. with sg. pronominal suffix Sg. followed by lk with a collective sg. (and sg. pronominal suffix on preposition) Sg. followed by lk with a collective sg.
Dead Sea Scrolls 1QS 3:14 CD 4:16 CD 12:14
Mtwxwr ynym lwkl qdch] ynym t#wl#l Mhynymb Mybgxh lkw
4QJuba 7:4
hl)h Mynmh [h(br) t)
4QJuba 7:9
hl)h Mynymh [yn#
4QJuba 7:15 4Q384 8:3
h#(m yny]m Myr#(w My
#w w#(n Mh]ynyml Mhy#(m[. . .
Pl. followed by pl. genitive Pl. with cardinal number Pl. with pl. pronominal suffix and head noun Pl. with *cardinal number and pl. demonstrative Pl. with *cardinal number and pl. demonstrative *Pl. with cardinal number Pl. with *pl. pronominal suffix and pl. head noun
Samaritan Pentateuch 6:20
hmd)h l( #mr r#) lkmw Mhynyml
Pl. with pl. pronominal suffix
* Indicates a reference to a reconstructed form.
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the singular form of the possessor under the influence of a natural congruence between the morphological number of the possessor and the number of the thing possessed (Nym).59 In all the instances of Nym with a pronominal suffix or in construct relation with a genitive noun, there is only one in which Nym does not agree in number with its pronominal suffix or genitive noun (CD 4:16, but note that the plural form of Nym is required by the presence of the cardinal number “three,” t#wl#).60 König’s explanation addresses the question of why the form of Nym is singular. There is still the problem of how Nym can be understood as semantically plural. The head nouns are singular but can be treated as semantically plural because they are collectives. The pronouns are morphologically singular but can be treated as semantically plural (“collective” pronouns) because pronouns with morphologically singular but semantically plural head nouns (collective nouns) are known to behave in this manner. It is possible, then, that Nym is morphologically singular under the influence of its singular possessor but can be treated as semantically plural because it is functioning as a noun of class. Joüon and Muraoka note that in Hebrew almost any noun may be used in the singular to indicate a class or group.61 While the article is common with nouns of class, in Hebrew it is not unusual to omit the (generic) article.62 Furthermore, in the case of -nyml the noun is definite by virtue of the pronominal suffix. In the following example from Gen 32:5 all the nouns in the Hebrew text are singular, anarthrous, and functioning as class nouns. I have oxen, donkeys, flocks, male and female slaves. (NRSV)
Class nouns can also carry pronominal suffixes. Three times in the year all your males (Krwkz-lk) shall appear before the Lord God, the God of Israel. (Exod 34:23 NRSV)
Contextual factors are consistent with the suggestion that Nym is functioning as a noun of class in Genesis 1. Every time the singular form of Nym occurs in the biblical text, it is in conjunction with a collective noun or a class noun. In Genesis 1 the text is replete with classes of animals and plants. The contexts in Leviticus and Deuteronomy contain one class of animal after another. It is possible that Nym is functioning as a class noun also in these contexts. And since a class noun “is equiv-
59 The same thing occurs when a collective noun gives rise to a “collective” pronoun. The semantically plural pronoun is morphologically singular under the influence of its morphologically singular head noun. 60 This instance also involves a reconstructed form. 61 Joüon and Muraoka note the prominence of class nouns in Hebrew: “This use of the singular is also found in some languages, but does not have the same extension as in Hebrew” (Joüon [2nd ed.], 467 n. 4). Similarly, IBHS, 115. 62 IBHS, 114.
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alent to a plural,”63 there is no problem translating Nym with an English plural, “kinds, varieties, types.”
IV. Conclusions and Implications In spite of its resemblance to adverbial uses of the preposition l, the phrase -nyml functions to modify the noun with which it is associated. As such, the prepositional phrase does not indicate how God created (kind by kind by kind) but what God created (all kinds of); not how creatures were to be detested but which creatures were to be detested; not how the animals came to the ark but which animals came to the ark. Translations such as “according to its kind,” “corresponding to its kind,” and “after its kind” can be misleading. They suggest that -nyml is functioning adverbially or distributively. It is preferable to translate the phrase “in all their varieties,” “all kinds of,” or similarly. Among English Bible translations the NRSV and NJPS are the most consistent in adopting this approach. Explaining how the singular forms of the phrase -nyml produce this kind of plural sense proves difficult. I have argued that the collective head nouns give rise to collective pronouns and the collective pronouns give rise to the use of Nym as a class noun. The construction is remarkably consistent at the morphological level. In effect, the writer prefers constructio ad formam to constructio ad sensum. As a result, the singular forms of the construction -nyml should not preclude the use of plural forms in translation. There are good reasons for understanding Nym and its associated pronominal suffixes as semantically plural. The theological significance of -nyml in Genesis 1 does not lie in any emphasis on distinctions and boundaries. The phrase does not suggest that God has established distinctions in creation, or that reproduction must proceed within the confines of the created kinds. It is unlikely that ancient readers received consolation from this expression, because it assured them that corn would produce corn and not beans. Nor does the expression anticipate later Priestly distinctions between clean and unclean animals. The expression -nyml does not point to P’s systematic way of thinking, or to P’s scientific interest and capacity for making careful distinctions among species. It is a mistake to appeal to this expression in debates over origins. The theological import of the prepositional phrase -nyml in Genesis 1 is far more significant than these themes suggest. The expression conveys variety in order to establish the comprehensiveness of God’s creative work. God created everything of every kind. Surprisingly, commentators on Genesis 1 have not highlighted the role of -nyml in making the vastly important theological point that God made absolutely everything. By giving attention to this small prepositional phrase, the reader of Genesis 1 is better able to recognize a truth that is central to the creation account and essential to the biblical faith. 63
Joüon (2nd ed.), 467.
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Sexual Desire? Eve, Genesis 3:16, and hqw#t joel n. lohr [email protected] Trinity Western University, Langley, BC V2Y 1Y1, Canada
Yhwh Elohim says to the woman, “I shall multiply your suffering and your . . . pregnancies; with pain you shall give birth to sons; and your desire shall be unto your husband, and he shall rule over you” (3.16). Any interpretation of this utterance—as a curse, aetiological statement of fact, blessing or otherwise—is largely dependent on the reader’s gender position and may vary considerably.1
Thus states Athalya Brenner in her important monograph The Intercourse of Knowledge. Those who have spent any time in the literature surrounding the interpretation of this verse will probably only affirm Brenner’s dictum. In fact, some may be inclined to suggest that she is given to understatement. Her words could give the impression that readings of this verse “may vary,” when in fact they regularly do much more—at times they clearly oppose or contradict each other. There is also a risk in saying too little in speaking of one’s “gender position.” Clearly there are a variety of factors in play, not the least of which is one’s religious or theological persuasions, or one’s place in history, society, and culture. All of this, to be sure, contributes to one’s “gender position,” but we need to be clear. The effects of one’s wider presuppositions are truly far-reaching and profound in reading this verse. For some, Gen 3:16 is a problem not only for faith communities that hold the Bible as Scripture but also for the larger world and its social order. Given the Bible’s influence in and on various societies, the potential for this verse to be used for oppressive means should not be underestimated. Many see here the institution of I am grateful to Dirk Büchner, Joel Kaminsky, Walter Moberly, and Christopher Seitz for their comments on an earlier draft of this article. A shorter version of it was presented at the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies Annual Meeting in Ottawa, Ontario (May 26, 2009). 1 Athalya Brenner, The Intercourse of Knowledge: On Gendering Desire and ‘Sexuality’ in the Hebrew Bible (Biblical Interpretation Series 26; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 53.
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patriarchy. Phyllis Bird’s words might be taken as representative: “A hierarchy of order is introduced into the relationship of the primal pair. Mutuality is replaced by rule. Patriarchy is inaugurated. . . . The rule of man over the woman, as announced in Genesis 3:16, is the Bible’s first statement of hierarchy within the species.”2 But perhaps the term hqw#t in Gen 3:16, often translated as “desire,” is not the primary issue regarding the institution of patriarchy; it instead introduces the clause that makes this clear. That is, the immediately following line, “and he will rule over you,” is really the crux. It is clear, however, that the two ideas are intricately related. In fact, all four lines of this verse are important and should be understood together; it is also clear that this verse cannot be properly understood outside of the larger context of the Eden story and especially the deity’s other pronouncements upon the man and the serpent. In this article, I am principally concerned to provide an overview of how this verse—particularly the third line and the term hqw#t—has been translated and interpreted in antiquity, the rabbis, and the fathers. All of this is with a view toward understanding the meaning of hqw#t for both translation and interpretational purposes. Prior to this overview, however, I briefly survey some of the different readings this verse has brought about in the recent past, especially regarding the term hqw#t. I do this first to highlight the remarkable confusion there is surrounding the term and, at times, the existence of profoundly opposed readings regarding it. Following my survey of the history of reception, I examine instances of the term in the Dead Sea Scrolls and then make suggestions on how we might best translate and understand the term in the light of ancient practice.
I. Survey of Recent Interpretations: hqw#t Perhaps the most common way of understanding the term hqw#t is simply through the word “desire”—often taken as sensual, or sexual, desire. For example, Gordon J. Wenham, in his Genesis commentary, calls this a “sexual appetite,” something he claims will “sometimes make [women] submit to quite unreasonable male demands.”3 Hermann Gunkel, in his commentary on the verse, refers to the woman here as having “a stronger libido than the man,” an idea with which John Skinner does not concur, though he agrees that the verse refers to a sexual desire, something he calls an “ardent desire.”4 Everett Fox, in his translation of the Torah, uses
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Bird, “Bone of My Bone and Flesh of My Flesh,” ThTo 50 (1994): 527. Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (WBC 1; Waco: Word, 1987), 81. 4 Gunkel, Genesis (1901; trans. Mark E. Biddle; Mercer Library of Biblical Studies; Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), 21; Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (2nd ed.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1930), 82–83. 3
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the term “lust,” but he provides no explanation for this decision in his notes.5 Anne Lapidus Lerner, in her in-depth and astute Jewish feminist reading of Eve, calls this an “apparently unbridled sexual desire.”6 Perhaps the most extreme view here comes from the conservative Christian commentator Herbert C. Leupold. He translates the term hqw#t as “yearning,” but states: This yearning is morbid. It is not merely sexual yearning. It includes the attraction that woman experiences for man which she cannot root from her nature. . . . feminists may seek to banish it, but it persists in cropping out . . . even to the point of nymphomania. It is a just penalty. She who sought to strive apart from man . . . finds a continual attraction for him to be her unavoidable lot.7
To contrast this extreme view, we might note the idea of Terence E. Fretheim, in the New Interpreter’s Bible. There he refers to the term in Gen 3:16 simply as a type of longing, a longing for “sexual intimacy.” This desire for sexual intimacy, he continues, comes despite the potential for resultant pains of childbirth.8 This is but a small sampling of the literature, and not all interpreters agree that we are dealing with desire of a sexual kind. Some are not even clear that the term indicates desire. S. R. Driver, in his classic commentary on Genesis, suggests that we are here dealing not so much with desire as with “dependency.” According to him, this dependency shows itself as a woman’s need for “cohabitation.”9 Phyllis Trible, in her book God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, suggests that hqw#t must be understood in the larger context of the man and the woman losing the original union and equal bond found in the creation stories of Genesis 1 and 2. For Trible, hqw#t comes to symbolize that for which the woman longs but which is now lost: the original unity and equality of male and female.10 In a rather different reading, Adrian Janis Bledstein suggests that hqw#t should be understood not as desire or attraction to something but rather as “attractiveness.” That is, the woman will be “powerfully attractive” to her husband yet he can/will rule over her.11 Carl Friedrich
5 Fox, The Five Books of Moses: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. A New Translation with Introductions, Commentary, and Notes (Schocken Bible 1; New York: Schocken, 1995), 23, 27. Fox uses the term in both Gen 3:16 and 4:7. 6 Lerner, Eternally Eve: Images of Eve in the Hebrew Bible, Midrash, and Modern Jewish Poetry (HBI Series on Jewish Women; Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2007), 112. 7 Leupold, Exposition of Genesis (2 vols.; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1942), 1:172. 8 Fretheim, “The Book of Genesis: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflections,” NIB 1:363. 9 Driver, The Book of Genesis: With Introduction and Notes (4th ed.; WC; London: Methuen, 1905), 49. 10 Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality (OBT 2; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1978), 128. 11 Bledstein, “Are Women Cursed in Genesis 3.16?” in A Feminist Companion to Genesis (ed. Athalya Brenner; FCB 2; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 142–45. She bases this on a potential semantic link to the Akkadian term kuzbu, which carries the sense of being desirable, or having allure.
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Keil and Franz Delitzsch also resist the word “desire” and instead opt for the idea of a “violent craving.” Though this term is perhaps seemingly close to sexual desire, they instead specify that it indicates a constant “seeking” of something, not necessarily in the sexual realm.12 Lastly, while discussing various interpretations, it is worth noting the reading of Benno Jacob. He states that, although the woman feels “‘irresistibly’ attracted to man,” it is nevertheless nothing new. In fact, nothing at all has really changed in the Gen 3:16 pronouncement made to Eve. He states: It is a mistake to believe that the relation of woman to man is [here] changed (from 2.20). Does the dominating position of man contradict her position as helper? Naturally the stronger, the protector, should be the leader. . . . Nothing would have changed had she not eaten the fruit; even in the garden of Eden she would have given birth in pain and would have been subordinate to man.13
From all of the above, we can see that a plethora of interpretations surrounds this term and the sampling offered here is just a smattering of more recent commentaries and studies. Indeed, things become more complex as we venture further into history. We turn, then, to examine how this term has been used in the ancient versions and translations, and then in the interpretations of the rabbis and the church fathers.
II. Versions and Translations The Masoretic Text To begin, it is worth noting how and where the term hqw#t features in the masoretic tradition. As is well known, the term appears in only three places: here (Gen 3:16), in Gen 4:7, and in Cant 7:10 [MT 11]. In Gen 4:7 it is used to describe sin (or perhaps Abel), something said to be lying in wait, ready to pounce on Cain. Cain, however, is counseled that he can/may/must/shall “master” it, the same verb (l#m) used of the man concerning the woman in 3:16. As the parallels between these two passages are clear, how we translate this term in 3:16 will undoubtedly have implications for our understanding of the enigmatic Gen 4:7, a verse that Umberto Cassuto probably rightly called “one of the most difficult and obscure” sentences in the Bible.14 In Canticles, hqw#t is used in a setting where the female 12 Keil and Delitzsch, The Pentateuch (trans. James Martin; 3 vols.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1973; German original, 1861–70), 1:103; compare Walter C. Kaiser Jr., Toward Old Testament Ethics (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983), 204–5. 13 Jacob, The First Book of the Bible: Genesis (trans. Ernest I. Jacob and Walter Jacob; augmented ed.; Jersey City: Ktav, 2007), 30. 14 Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis (trans. Israel Abrahams; 2 vols.; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1972), 1:208. Compare Otto Procksch, who calls it “Der dunkelste Vers . . . der Genesis”
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lover waits for her beloved, stating that she belongs to him and that his hqw#t is for her. It is not hard to see why this word is often translated as “desire,” given the highly erotic nature of Canticles and the immediate context of the verse.
Greek Versions The LXX provides our first example of translational difficulty. When translating Genesis, the translator chose not to use ἐπιθυµία for hqw#t, as we might expect.15 Ἐπιθυµία (from ἐπιθυµέω) carries the sense of “desire” or “craving,” and Greek Genesis uses this elsewhere, for example, in Gen 31:30. In that passage, Laban questions Jacob after his abrupt departure, stating, “So now you have gone, for with longing you longed [ἐπιθυµίᾳ γὰρ ἐπεθύµησας; Hebrew htpskn Pskn-yk) to go off to your father’s house. [But] why did you steal my gods?”16 Alternatively, Greek Genesis might have chosen ὁρµή (“rushing towards,” “impulse,” or “inclination”), a term that Symmachus uses in his translation of Gen 3:16 and 4:7. Instead, the LXX interpreter uses ἀποστροφή in both instances of hqw#t in Genesis (3:16 and 4:7), a term that usually indicates a “turning” or “return.”17 Interestingly, LXX Canticles translates hqw#t in a similar fashion. It uses ἐπιστροφή, a word that also carries the sense of “return,” “turning toward,” or “attention.”18 Given the evidence, interpreters regularly raise the plausible explanation of graphic confusion; that is, the translator(s) took the word to be not hqw#t but rather hbw#t—or perhaps
(Die Genesis übersetzt und erklärt [3rd ed.; KAT 1; Leipzig: Deichert, 1924], 47). Space does not permit a full discussion of the translation of this verse. See further my “Righteous Abel, Wicked Cain: Genesis 4:1–16 in the Masoretic Text, the Septuagint, and the New Testament,” CBQ 71 (2009): 485–96. 15 Again, I do not here have the space to engage questions regarding what the Genesis translator was translating. I address this question briefly elsewhere (Lohr, “Righteous Abel, Wicked Cain,” 486 n. 4). 16 The translation is taken from A New English Translation of the Septuagint (ed. Albert Pietersma and Benjamin G. Wright III; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 27. 17 For more on ἀποστροφή as “return” and “turning,” consult LXX Deut 22:1; 31:18; 1 Sam 7:17; Sir 16:30; 18:24; 41:22; Mic 2:12; Jer 5:6; 6:19; 8:5; 18:12; Ezek 16:53; 33:11, as well as the definitions in LSJ, 220; and BDAG, 123. Contrast Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint (ed. J. Lust, E. Eynikel, and K. Hauspie; 2 vols.; rev. ed.; Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, 2003), 1:76, which suggests the gloss “inclination” (in 3:16), a definition that seems more likely influenced by later Hebrew than lexical considerations, and T. Muraoka (A Greek-English Lexicon of the Septuagint: Chiefly of the Pentateuch and the Twelve Prophets [rev. ed.; Louvain: Peeters, 2002], 62), who suggests a gloss of “turning to [somebody] for companionship and intimacy,” a gloss seemingly derived solely from his reading of LXX Gen 3:16. 18 Or at times, though usually only in later literature, it means “conversion.” Note LXX Jer 8:5, where the terms ἀποστροφή and ἐπιστροφή are juxtaposed, one indicating a “turning away” (ἀποστροφή) and the other a “return” (ἐπιστροφή).
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hbw#t was the reading of the underlying Vorlage.19 I will return to this later in the article. Whatever the case, as we shall see, the LXX is part of a long-standing tradition that understands Eve’s “curse” to involve a “turning” or “return” to her husband, a translational practice largely carried forward until the production of the first English Bibles.20 The other Greek versions vary to a small degree. Aquila uses συνάφεια (“conjoining,” “union,” or “close contact,” from συνάπτω, “to join to together”), and here we get the impression that the pronouncement entails that Eve will be joined to, or in union with, her man, yet he will rule over her. Theodotion for Gen 3:16 has not survived, though he uses ἀποστροφή in 4:7. Symmachus, as mentioned, uses ὁρµή. Though definitions of ὁρµή may seem close to English ones for hqw#t (e.g., desire, longing, etc.), in my reading of the literature, the term ὁρµή is never used of a sexual desire but rather signifies a “strong movement toward,” often of the mind, though also in the sense of an attack.21
The Dead Sea Scrolls, Samaritan Pentateuch, and Jubilees Unfortunately, the biblical manuscripts from Qumran do not contain Gen 3:16; they are missing 3:15–4:1.22 Canticles 7:11 is likewise missing (4QCanta becomes fragmented and ends at Cant 7:7). Genesis 4:7, however, is found in 4QGenb, albeit in fragmented form. There the text contains [w]tqw#t, in agreement with the MT. It is interesting to note that, although the term hqw#t is otherwise rare in extant ancient literature, it occurs seven times in the nonbiblical manuscripts from Qumran.23 I will discuss these passages below. The Samaritan Pentateuch is consistent with the MT in its attestation of hqw#t in both Genesis instances. Jubilees, on the other hand, uses the term megbā' (ምግባእ), “place of refuge” or “place of return,” similar to the translation we observed above in the LXX.24 In Jub. 3:24, therefore, Eve is told, “Your place of refuge will be
19 See, among others, Ronald S. Hendel, The Text of Genesis 1–11: Textual Studies and Critical Edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 126, 128; and Roland Bergmeier, “Zur Septuagintaübersetzung von Gen 3,16,” ZAW 79 (1967): 77–79. 20 I discuss this below; see also n. 70. 21 Pace John William Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis (SBLSCS 35; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1993), 45, who states that the word is used here “in sexual connotation.” Though it is possible that ὁρµή could be employed in this way, usage of this sort would be exceptional. 22 4Q10 contains Gen 3:1–2; 1Q1 contains 3:11–14; 4Q2 contains 4:2–11. 23 There are seven main instances of the term (1QS 11:22; 1QM 13:12; 15:10; 17:4; 4Q418 frg. 168.3; 4Q446 frg. 3.1; 6Q18 frg. 2.4) and four reconstructions (4Q256 frg. 23.1 [reconstruction of 1QS]; 4Q264 frg. 1.10 [reconstruction of 1QS]; 4Q416 2 iv.3 [reconstruction of 1Q26]; and 4Q495 frg. 2.4 [reconstruction of 1QM]). 24 I here depend on James C. VanderKam, The Book of Jubilees (2 vols.; CSCO 510–11; Leuven: Peeters, 1989), 1:19. For our purposes I refer only to the Ethiopic version, as the fragments
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with your husband; he will rule over you.”25 The same term is used in the Ethiopic version of Genesis in both 3:16 and 4:7.26
Latin Versions We turn now to Latin versions. The Old Latin tends to use conversio (or occasionally reversio) in its rendering of MT hqw#t. Both Latin terms signify a “turning” or “return” and are therefore good synonyms for the Greek ἀποστροφή.27 The Old Latin (primarily) uses conversio in all three canonical instances of MT hqw#t.28 More significant for our purposes is Jerome’s Latin translation, the Vulgate, in that it is believed to be a translation of the Hebrew. Of particular interest is Jerome’s decision to render all three biblical instances of hqw#t differently. In Gen 3:16 he uses phrasing that indicates not “turning” or “desire” but the submission of the woman to the man. It states et sub viri potestate eris, meaning “and under the power of your husband you will be.” This then dovetails into his translation of the following line: the man will “have dominion” over the woman (et ipse dominabitur tui). In Gen 4:7, however, Jerome uses the term appetitus, indicating an “attack,” a “longing,” or a “grasping at.”29 In Canticles, however, Jerome translates the term conversio, signifying a “turning” or “return.” If appetitus were indeed the closest of the terms to hqw#t, indicating a type of desire, we might have expected Jerome to employ it in the sexually charged Canticles passage as well, which he does not. Whatever the case, in Gen 3:16 the matter is further complicated in that Jerome discusses the passage in his later Quaestiones Hebraicae in Genesim, where he uses
from Qumran and the citations by Greek writers do not include Jub. 3:24 (the verse related to our study). For more on the state of the text of Jubilees, see VanderKam, “Recent Scholarship on the Book of Jubilees,” Currents in Biblical Research 6 (2008): 405–31. 25 The translation is from VanderKam, Jubilees, 2:19. In his annotations, VanderKam notes that “place of refuge” could also be rendered “place of return.” Orval S. Wintermute translates similarly: “to your husband you will return and he will rule over you” (“Jubilees: A New Translation and Introduction,” OTP 2:60). 26 See J. Oscar Boyd, The Octateuch in Ethiopic: According to the Text of the Paris Codex, with Variants of Five Other Manuscripts (Bibliotheca Abessinica 3; Leiden: Brill, 1909), 8, 10; as well as VanderKam, Jubilees, 2:19. 27 In later Latin, conversio comes to be associated with religious conversion, though it is not in view here. See Charlton T. Lewis and Charles Short, A Latin Dictionary: Founded upon Andrews’ Edition of Freund’s Latin Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1879), 464. 28 The details may be found in Bonifatius Fischer, Genesis (VL 2; Freiburg: Herder, 1951), 69–71, 82–83. Unfortunately, only vol. 1 of the Canticles critical edition has appeared (Eva SchulzFlügel, Canticum canticorum [VL 10/3; Freiburg: Herder, 1992]), containing introductory material. 29 Definitions are taken from Lewis and Short. Despite its age, this dictionary is preferred here, as P. G. W. Glare (Oxford Latin Dictionary [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982]) excludes works written later than 200 c.e.
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the term conversio and makes no mention of his translation.30 Coupled with negative comments toward women in Jerome’s other writings, this suggests to some a misogynist tendency in Jerome’s Vulgate (“under the power of your husband you will be”). Jane Barr, for instance, argues that Jerome’s otherwise faithful renderings in the Vulgate appear most slanted and inaccurate in matters pertaining to women.31
The Peshitta The manuscripts of the Old Testament Peshitta are also important in that they are generally believed to be a translation of a Hebrew original that was very close (though not necessarily identical) to the MT.32 The long-standing debates regarding the influence of the LXX on the Peshitta will not here be answered but are certainly relevant.33 They are relevant because the Peshitta, in this case, is in agreement with the LXX. In Gen 3:16 and the other two instances of MT hqw#t, the Peshitta translates the term by using the root (“return”). In an article that seeks to establish criteria for determining when the Peshitta Vorlage contained a variant or when the translator engaged in translational exegesis, Yeshayahu Maori uses Gen 3:16 as an important component in building his case.34 Maori convincingly argues that differences in the Peshitta and the MT, even 30 For more on Jerome’s Quaestiones here, and an excellent overview of the relationship between the Vulgate and Quaestiones, see C. T. R. Hayward, Saint Jerome’s Hebrew Questions on Genesis (Oxford Early Christian Studies; Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), 1–14, 33, 116–17. 31 Barr, “The Vulgate Genesis and St. Jerome’s Attitude to Women,” in Papers Presented to the Eighth International Conference on Patristic Studies Held at Oxford, 1979 (StPatr 18; Oxford: Pergamon, 1982), 268–73, as also stated in Hanneke Reuling, After Eden: Church Fathers and Rabbis on Genesis 3:16–21 (Jewish and Christian Perspectives Series 10; Leiden: Brill, 2006), 38 n. 35. 32 This seems to be the consensus in Peshitta studies, though of course detractors certainly exist. For an overview of the issues involved, see Michael P. Weitzman, The Syriac Version of the Old Testament: An Introduction (University of Cambridge Oriental Publications 56; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Consult also the review article by Yeshayahu Maori, “Is the Peshitta a Non-Rabbinic Jewish Translation?” JQR 91 (2001): 411–18, which challenges Weitzman. 33 Generally, Peshitta scholars agree that there is some evidence of LXX influence on the translation of the Peshitta. The amount of influence, however, is under debate. Jerome A. Lund’s study, though never published, has been instrumental in challenging previous and long-held views. He argues that there was little—perhaps no—direct LXX influence. See Lund, “The Influence of the Septuagint on the Peshitta: A Re-Evaluation of Criteria in Light of Comparative Study of the Versions in Genesis and Psalms” (Ph.D. diss., Hebrew University, 1988). 34 Maori, “Methodological Criteria for Distinguishing between Variant Vorlage and Exegesis in the Peshitta Pentateuch,” in The Peshitta as a Translation: Papers Read at the II Peshitta Symposium Held at Leiden 19–21 August 1993 (ed. Piet B. Dirksen and Arie van der Kooij; Monographs of the Peshitta Institute 8; Leiden: Brill, 1995), 103–20. Consult also the ensuing discussion (pp. 121–28) regarding the essay (between Robert P. Gordon and Maori).
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when shared with the LXX (or with the Samaritan Pentateuch, or targumic versions), do not necessarily confirm variants in the Vorlage. Rather, he argues that we must respect that in many cases translations will reflect a “common Jewish tradition of exegesis” rather than a shared variant.35 To be specific for our purposes, Maori shows that the Peshitta’s use of for MT hqw#t, even if in direct agreement with the LXX’s ἀποστρφή, does not necessarily reflect a variant in the Vorlage. He shows that the LXX and Peshitta’s decision to render all three instances of the MT’s term similarly (as “return” or “turning”) likely indicates not variants in all six separate instances but rather a common Jewish exegetical tradition. I will return to this idea below.
The Targumim Though perhaps not versions in the true sense, the Targums are important for our discussion in that they provide examples—through paraphrase and embellishment—of ancient Jewish interpretation. For reasons of space, however, I here summarize a potentially lengthy discussion. In place of hqw#t in Gen 3:16, Onqelos uses hbwyt, “turning,” “repentance,” or “response.” It is not clear why English translations use the term “desire” (e.g., Bernard Grossfeld and J. W. Etheridge), as its meaning is not in doubt and all other uses of the term in Onqelos are best translated as “turning” or “repentance.”36 Neofiti is also close to the LXX in its use of btm (from bwt), meaning a “return” or “turning.”37 It is interesting that Neofiti then includes a marginal note explaining what the “turning” means more specifically: this is “your safety and he will rule over you.”38 35 Here I truncate and simplify a lengthy and nuanced discussion. I return to this methodological principle in the conclusion below. 36 Both Bernard Grossfeld (The Targum Onqelos to Genesis: Translated, with a Critical Introduction, Apparatus, and Notes [ArBib 6; Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1988], 46) and the older translation of J. W. Etheridge (The Targums of Onkelos and Jonathan ben Uzziel on the Pentateuch, vol. 1, Genesis and Exodus [London: Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts, 1862], 41) translate this as “desire.” Compare the use in all other occurrences of the term in Onqelos, which are clearly referring to turning, or repentance: 1 Sam 7:6; Esth 3:7; Job 21:34; 32:3, 5; 34:36; Eccl 1:15, 18; 3:18–19; 7:20; 9:5, 16; Song 1:5; 2:16; 5:2, 5; 6:1; Isa 1:6; 17:11; 57:18; Jer 4:1; 5:6; 12:5; 14:7; 31:22; 33:6; Lam 1:2; 2:14, 19; 3:40, 42; 4:6; 5:21; Ezek 7:13; 14:5; 16:28; 24:6–7; Amos 5:12; Hos 14:5, 9. For more on hbwyt, see Michael Sokoloff, A Dictionary of Jewish Babylonian Aramaic of the Talmudic and Geonic Periods (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2002), 1204; and idem, A Dictionary of Jewish Palestinian Aramaic of the Byzantine Period (2nd ed.; Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2002), 580. (Though the latter might appear to deal only with later literature, it covers, inter alia, “Fragments of the Palestinian Targums, the Neophyti Targum, and the Fragmentary Targums” [p. 3]). 37 See Sokoloff, Jewish Palestinian Aramaic, 336. 38 Martin McNamara, Targum Neofiti 1: Genesis. Translated, with Apparatus and Notes (ArBib 1A; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 61. Compare Alison Salvesen, Symmachus
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Pseudo-Jonathan is more obscure. It uses wtm, a word often associated with desire, though its meaning is not certain. Michael Maher translates this as “desire,” a definition found in a small entry in Jastrow (which references only Ps.-J.’s Gen 3:16) and in Jacob Levy’s Wörterbuch (which references Gen 3:16; 4:7; and Song 7:11) and is similar to that found in the Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon database.39 It is interesting that, although Levy’s definitions are similar to Jastrow’s (“Aufregung,” “heftiges Verlangen,” “leidenschaftliche Aufregung”), Levy suggests that the term is derived from h@wAt.@; When one looks up that entry, however, one is baffled to find the definitions “erstarren, sich entsetzen, sich ängstigen, erschrecken.”40 wtm occurs in only three places in Late Jewish Literary Aramaic (Ps.-J. Gen 3:16; 4:7; and Tg. Song 7:11), and some Aramaic dictionaries, accordingly, do not contain the term. Although it is speculative, it may be that the term is wt (from Babylonian Aramaic wt, bwt, meaning “again,” or “more”) with a m prefix.41 This would be similar to btm in Neofiti (just discussed), with a meaning of something like “return.” Given the evidence, and the challenges involved in the study of Late Jewish Literary Aramaic, it is difficult to conclude definitively.42
III. hqw#t in Early Jewish, Rabbinic, and Christian Interpretation Before we examine the Hebrew term more fully, I highlight a few significant examples of interpretation of Gen 3:16 in early Jewish and Christian interpreta-
in the Pentateuch (Journal of Semitic Studies Monograph 15; Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1991), 15. 39 See Maher, Targum Pseudo-Jonathan: Genesis: Translated, with Introduction and Notes (ArBib 1B; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992), 28; Jastrow, 860; and Jacob Levy, Chaldäisches Wörterbuch über die Targumim und einen grossen Theil des rabbinischen Schriftthums (2 vols.; Leipzig: Engel, 1881), 1:80. The Comprehensive Aramaic Lexicon (currently found at http://cal.huc .edu/) defines wtm as “urge, craving,” a term said to be Late Jewish Literary Aramaic. 40 Levy, Wörterbuch, 2:532. 41 For more on wt, bwt in Babylonian Aramaic, see Sokoloff, Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, 1195–96. 42 Stephen A. Kaufman has rightly characterized Ps.-J. (and by implication Late Jewish Literary Aramaic) in this way: “From a linguistic point of view, the text seems . . . to be a hopeless mess. . . .” Kaufman goes on to describe how “order began to emerge from this chaos” through important studies (e.g., Edward M. Cook’s doctoral dissertation and his own work), studies that have increasingly established Late Jewish Literary Aramaic as a distinct, authentic Aramaic dialect (albeit a literary one) with its own grammar and lexicon. See Kaufman, “Dating the Language of the Palestinian Targums and Their Use in the Study of the First Century CE Texts,” in The Aramaic Bible: Targums in their Historical Context (ed. D. R. G. Beattie and M. J. McNamara; JSOTSup 166; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994), 118–41, esp. 124–25. His conclusions (pp. 129–30) rightly underline the lexical difficulties involved in the study of Late Jewish Literary Aramaic,
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tion. I do so briefly and here build on the excellent study After Eden, by Hanneke Reuling.43
Philo In Quaestiones et solutiones in Genesin, Philo addresses Gen 3:16 through a question (QG 1.49). He speaks not of a curse upon the woman but of the “necessary evils” of life. The woman experiences pain and toil; she is plagued by “domestic ills.”44 For our purposes, it is interesting to note that Philo speaks not of the “desire” of the woman but of her “turning,” using the term ἐπιστροφή.45 The Loeb translation of Ralph Marcus brings this out, though the older translation of C. D. Yonge uses the word “desire.”46 Yonge’s translation seems to be more a reflection of the King James Version of Gen 3:16 than a product of lexical considerations.47
Genesis Rabbah Although a variety of rabbinic sources provide instances of exegetical engagement with Genesis, it is probably safe to say that “the primary source for rabbinic interpretation of [this book] is Genesis Rabbah.”48 I briefly highlight a few examples of interaction with Gen 3:16 with special reference to hqw#t. Our first midrash (Gen. Rab. 20.7) is interesting in that it takes the opportunity to explain the nature of desire as it relates to four spheres of life, based on various portions of Scripture. (1) The desire of the woman is for none but her husband (Gen 3:16); (2) the desire of the evil inclination is for none except Cain and his assoespecially because our texts are biblical ones. I would suggest that in this case we should resist reading a meaning of “desire” into wtm simply because the term apparently translates hqw#t and we have no other attestations of the Late Jewish Literary Aramaic term. 43 See n. 31 above. 44 Philo, Questions and Answers on Genesis (trans. Ralph Marcus; LCL 380; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953), 28. 45 According to the note in Marcus, Questions and Answers on Genesis, 28. The Latin version uses conversio. For more on the textual difficulties related to Philo’s QG, see Earle Hilgert, “The Quaestiones: Texts and Translations,” in Both Literal and Allegorical: Studies in Philo of Alexandria’s Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus (ed. David M. Hay; BJS 232; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1991), 1–15. 46 Marcus, Questions and Answers on Genesis, 28; Philo, Questions and Answers on Genesis (trans. C. D. Yonge; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993), 800–801. 47 This is especially apparent when Philo later gives his answer to the question, stating, “according to the deeper meaning, there takes place a turning [ἐπιστροφή/conversio] of sense to the man, not as to a helper, for it is a subject of no worth, but as to a master” (Marcus translation). Yonge in this instance rightly translates the same term (ἐπιστροφή/conversio) not as “desire” but as “conversion.” 48 Reuling, After Eden, 223.
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ciates (Gen 4:7); (3) the desire of the rain is only for the earth (Ps 65:10); (4) the desire of the Holy One is for none but Israel (Song 7:11).49 Though we could explore each of these ideas separately, for our purposes I simply note that, although hqw#t seems to be understood as desire, the term clearly has a wide semantic range here as it has diverse subjects such as rain, the evil inclination, and God. It is evident that the word by no means implies desire in only strictly sexual terms. Immediately following this, a further midrash is given regarding what the desire might mean in relation to the woman in Gen 3:16. It is introduced with the common midrashic introduction “Another interpretation is . . .”: When a woman sits on the birthstool, she declares, “I will henceforth never fulfill my marital duties,” whereupon the Holy One, blessed be He, says to her: “Thou wilt return [ybw#t] to thy desire [Ktqw#tl], thou wilt return [ybw#t] to the desire [tqw#tl] for thy husband [K#y)].”50
It is interesting that Genesis Rabbah here includes the idea of returning alongside that of desire. It is possible that we are dealing with a sexual desire (i.e., a desire that leads the woman to fulfill her “marital duties”), though it could relate simply to a desire for intimacy, or general desire for the man. It could also be that here we have an ingenious way of explaining what hqw#t is, its meaning being inextricably linked with the idea of returning. Whatever the case, the midrash makes clear that it we are dealing with something that causes the woman to return to the man.
IV. hqw#t in the Fathers The fathers use the equivalents of “return” or “turning” (ἀποστροφή and conversio) largely without exception, unless they follow Jerome’s harsher idea of the man’s power and the woman’s submission. I briefly provide a sampling of interpretations.
Didymus the Blind and Ambrose of Milan Didymus the Blind, in his allegorical interpretation of 3:16 (In Genesim 102), understands the church to be the woman; the church experiences “pain that produces repentance [µετάνοιαν] for salvation,” and she has a “turning [τὴν ἀποστροφήν] to her husband”—Christ—who rules over her.51 Ambrose of Milan is 49 I here loosely quote and paraphrase from H. Freedman, trans., Midrash Rabbah: Genesis (3rd ed.; London: Soncino, 1983), 165–66. Compare Reuling, After Eden, 237. 50 The translation is from Freedman, Midrash Rabbah, 165–66. 51 See Pierre Nautin and Louis Doutreleau, “In Genesim,” in Didyme l’Aveugle, Sur la Genèse: Texte inédit d’après un papyrus de Toura (SC 233; Paris: Cerf, 1976), 102, as well as the discussion in Reuling, After Eden, 66–67.
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more pointed in his reading of the pronouncement made to the woman. In his reading (De paradiso 14.72), Eve’s sentence is made milder because she confesses, or least acknowledges, her guilt (“the serpent tricked me”); she is to “turn [conversa] to her husband and serve him [serviret].”52 Ambrose suggests that the origin of sin lies with the woman; thus, the decree is a corrective measure to prevent further harm to the human race.
Chrysostom Chrysostom uses the Greek term ἀποστροφή in Gen 3:16 to explain the relationship between husbands and wives. In his Sermones in Genesim (Sermon 4), Chrysostom provides three definitions of ἀποστροφή: “place of refuge,” “harbor,” and “protection” (καταφυγή, λιµήν, ἀσφάλεια).53 The woman will turn to her husband for refuge, refuge from her difficulties; the man will protect her, care for her, and rule over her. Later, Chrysostom uses Ephesians 5 to explain things more fully: the woman’s “turning” (or place of refuge) is found in her husband. The husband, for his part, reciprocates by loving his wife (Eph 5:33). In doing so, the original “burden of slavery” implied in Gen 3:16 (“he will rule over you”) is taken away (τὸ φορτικὸν ἀνῄρηται τῆς δουλείας).54
Augustine Lastly, we look at Augustine, whose readings are often based either on the Septuagint or an Old Latin translation that uses the term conversio.55 In his earlier writings, Augustine is reluctant to comment on the “literal meaning” of Gen 3:16 (see Gen. Man. 2.29). As Reuling shows, “Augustine has some difficulty defining [Gen 3:16’s] literal meaning . . . [because he] deems it incredible that woman should not have been subject to her husband from the beginning.”56 Following Paul’s understanding in 1 Cor 11:7–9—that only the man was made in God’s image—Augustine argues that the woman’s role has always been subordinate. Reluctantly, however, Augustine decides that Gen 3:16 announces a “changed form of dominance”—the 52 For the text, see Ambrose of Milan, De Paradiso (ed. C. Schenkl; CSEL 32/1; Leipzig: Tempsky, 1896), 429; see also the discussion in Reuling, After Eden, 87–88. 53 See John Chrysostom, Sermones in Genesim (PG 54:594); for definitions, see PGL. Compare Salvesen, Symmachus, 15. 54 See further Chrysostom, Sermones in Genesim, 595, and the discussion in Reuling, After Eden, 132–34. 55 How much Greek Augustine actually read, of course, is a matter of debate, as is also, therefore, the extent of his use of the LXX. For a helpful overview, see Gerald Bonner, “Augustine as Biblical Scholar,” in The Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. 1, From the Beginnings to Jerome (ed. Peter R. Ackroyd and C. F. Evans; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), 541–63. 56 Reuling, After Eden, 193.
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woman will turn to her husband and he will rule over her. Service once performed in love now takes on a yoke of slavery.57
V. Testing the Interpretive Status Quo through the Dead Sea Scrolls The survey above, though brief, navigates a large body of literature. A number of factors make conclusions difficult, and it is clear that we cannot base our lexical and interpretive decisions purely on the frequency of a particular translation. If that were the case, a translation of “turning,” or “return” for hqw#t would be virtually definite. An interesting test presents itself, however, in that, within the past six decades (in most cases less), a new body of ancient literature has become available that is both Jewish and essentially contemporary with our earliest extant translations of the Hebrew Bible, the Dead Sea Scrolls. The Qumran nonbiblical manuscripts, as mentioned, contain seven new instances of the term hqw#t heretofore unknown. Although three of these occurrences are too fragmentary to be of significance, four instances are well preserved. The test for our discussion is to see how well a translation as “desire” fits in these instances (thus agreeing with recent translations of the scrolls), or whether a translation of “turning,” or “return” is best based on context. In other words, how did this ancient community understand and use the term? I will treat the texts in cave order. The first text, from the Rule of the Community, is, interestingly, quite straightforward, making an important contribution to our discussion. h)whw .wrwdm hmr Mxlw wlbgm rp(m h)whw .hkynpl b#{x}y hm h#) dwlyw qwrycm .Nyby hm tc(lw dy rcwyw rmx by#y hm .wtqw#t rp(lw Crwq rmx As what shall one born of woman be considered in your presence? Shaped from dust has he been, maggots’ food shall be his dwelling; he is spat saliva, moulded clay, and for dust is his longing. What will the clay reply and the one shaped by hand? And what advice will he be able to understand? (1QS 11:21–22)58 57 See Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram (ed. Joseph Zycha; CSEL 28/1; Prague: Tempsky, 1894), 11.37, pp. 371–72; and Reuling, After Eden, 193–95. 58 Translations are taken from Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, The Dead Sea Scrolls Study Edition (2 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1997), here 1:99; italics added (here and elsewhere) for emphasis.
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The above translation of Florentino García Martínez and Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar is consistent with that of Geza Vermes (who translates hqw#t as “inclines”) and that of Michael O. Wise, Martin G. Abegg Jr., and Edward M. Cook (who translate the term as “longing”).59 Yet, in view of the history of translation and interpretation sketched above, what happens if we translate this with the more frequently used term “turning,” or “return”? The results are remarkable in that the passage makes much more sense: As what can he, the one born of a woman, be considered before you? He has been shaped from dust, and his body shall be the food of maggots; he is spat saliva, moulded clay, and to dust is his return. What will a heap reply [by#y], the one shaped by hand? And what counsel can he understand?
The mortal, taken from clay, shall eventually be the food of worms. The one molded from saliva and clay will return to it. In other words, the human is nothing compared to the one who shaped him; the one made of clay is but dust and will return to it. Dust as the mortal’s “longing,” “inclination,” or “desire” makes little (or minimally, much less) sense contextually. The second text is from the War Scroll: (y#rhl wtc(bw wt[l#mm K]#wxbw .hm+#m K)lm tx#l l(ylb hty#( yxwr lwkw .My#)hlw lrwgb wn)w .dxy hmtq[w#t] wyl)w wklhty K#wx yqwxb lbx yk)lm wlrwg dyb hxm#n hktm) . . . .hkmwl[#bw hktr]z(b hlygnw hkt(w#yb h#y#nw hktrwbg You made Belial for the pit, angel of enmity; in dark[ness] is his [dom]ain, his counsel is to bring about wickedness and guilt. All the spirits of his lot are angels of destruction, they walk in the laws of darkness; towards it goes their only [de]sire. We, instead, in the lot of your truth, rejoice [or ‘let us rejoice’] in your mighty hand, we exult in your salvation, we revel in [your] aid [and in] your peace. (1QM 13:11–13)60 59
Vermes, The Dead Sea Scrolls in English (rev. and extended 4th ed.; London: Penguin, 1995), 88–89; and Wise, Abegg, and Cook, The Dead Sea Scrolls: A New Translation (rev. ed.; New York: HarperCollins, 2005), 135. 60 García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 1:135.
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In this case, the translation of García Martínez and Tigchelaar, again in agreement with Vermes and Wise, Abegg, and Cook, makes reasonable sense.61 What happens, however, when we put the passage to our test and exchange the above translation of hqw#t with “return”? It is a matter of debate, but I would suggest that a translation of “return” or “turning,” given the context, also makes good sense. The translation of 13:11–12 could then be rendered something like the following: And all the spirits of his [Belial’s] lot, angels of destruction, walk in the statutes of darkness; to them is their (continual) return. But let us, those in the lot of your truth, rejoice in your mighty hand and exult in your salvation.
The third text also is from the War Scroll: l)w Mhynpm wcwr(t l)w wzpxt l)w .hm[kbbl Kry l)w wt]xt l)w w)ryt l) Mhy#(m lwk K#wxbw h(#r td( hmh )yk .[Mhynpm wswnt] l)w rwx) wbw#t lhq lwkw xlmn N#(k Mtrwbgw Mhysxm[ -- M]tqw#t wyl)w . . . )cmy )wl hmm[# -- rbw( Cwmk ] Mnwm[h] Do not be afraid or [tremble, may your hearts not weaken], do not panic, or be terrified by them, do not turn backwards, or [run away from th]em. For they are a wicked congregation and all their deeds are in darkness and to it go [their] desires, […] their refuge, their power disappears like smoke. All the assembly of their [ho]rdes … […] … will not be found. (1QM 15:8–11)62
The translation of García Martínez and Tigchelaar here varies to a small degree from those of Vermes and Wise, Abegg, and Cook. Vermes translates the sentence in question as “for they are a congregation of wickedness and all their works are in Darkness; they tend towards Darkness,” while Wise, Abegg, and Cook translate it “all their deeds are in darkness; it is [their] desire.”63 In the context of the speaker giving instruction to the faithful not to fear but to stand firm against the army of Belial which will come to nothing, a reading of “return” also makes sense. In such 61
Compare Vermes, Scrolls in English, 139; and Wise, Abegg, and Cook, New Translation,
160. 62
García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 1:137–39. See Vermes, Scrolls in English, 141; and Wise, Abegg, and Cook, New Translation, 161, respectively. 63
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a reading the congregation is to stand firm and not be afraid, knowing that the ones whose deeds are in darkness will return to darkness: Do not fear or be discoura[ged, may y]our [heart not be faint], do not panic or be alarmed because of them, do not turn back, or [flee from the]m. For they are a wicked congregation; all their deeds are in darkness and to it they will return. . . . [They have established] their refuge [in a lie,] their strength is as smoke that vanishes, and all their vast assembly [is as chaff which blows away . . . ] their name shall not be found. Every creature of destruction will quickly wither away . . .64
In other words, the faithful can take courage because the enemy will be powerless and will return to darkness, not to be a threat again. Given the context of the enemy’s eventual ruin, a translation of return makes good sense. The last passage for discussion, also from the War Scroll, is remarkably clear in that it alludes to the Hebrew creation story with its use of whbw wht. A better understanding is achieved in reading hqw#t as “return” rather than “desire”: Mtn(#mw Mtqw#t whblw whtl hmh [)yk -- ] Mw)ryt l)w wqzxth Mt)w [l)m )yk w(dy])wlw .[ly]x )wlb .Mymlw( yyhn lwkb l[ -- ][ -- ]w .hyhnw hywh lwk l)r#y .h(#r tl#mm r# lyp#hlw (ynkhl wd(wm Mwyh And you, exert yourselves and do not fear them. [for] their desire goes toward chaos and emptiness, and their support is without [. . .]. Not [do they know that from the God of] Israel everything is and will be [. . .] in all that will happen eternally. Today is his appointed time to humiliate and abase the prince of the dominion of evil. (1QM 17:4-6)65
It is unfortunate that the translation of García Martínez and Tigchelaar obscures a clear linkage to creation and the idea that the enemy will, in a sense, be uncreated in the appointed day of judgment. Wise, Abegg, and Cook, though still translating hqw#t as “desire,” make this slightly more transparent: “But, as for you, take courage and do not fear them [. . . for] their end is emptiness and their desire is for the 64 I make use here of the reconstructions (and aspects of the translation) of Wise, Abegg, and Cook, New Translation, 161. 65 García Martínez and Tigchelaar, Study Edition, 1:141.
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void.”66 In the context of the faithful being encouraged that their enemies will be defeated on the appointed day, it is altogether plausible, if not necessary, to read hqw#t as “return,” signifying that the enemies will return to chaos and emptiness, return to where they originated: But you, take courage and do not fear them. [For] they will return to chaos and emptiness [whblw whtl]. Their support is without strength and they do not [know that from the God] of Israel is all that is and will be. He [. . .] in all that exists for all time. Today is his appointed time to subdue and humiliate the prince of the dominion of evil.67
It is less natural, especially in the light of the history of interpretation presented here, to suggest that the enemies desire whbw wht. It is more plausible that the Qumran community used hqw#t, particularly in this instance, to indicate a return. The remaining instances of hqw#t in the manuscripts at Qumran are either reconstructions of the above or are too fragmentary to be of significance for our purposes.68
V. A New (Old?) Translation? Our history of translation and interpretation reveals that ancient Jewish and Christian interpreters regularly, if not always, understood hqw#t as an action involving the return of the subject or thing. Despite increased pain in childbearing, Eve would actively return to the man. Cain was warned that sin (or perhaps Abel) would return to him, but he could master, or rule over, it. The woman who waited for her absent lover in Canticles was certain that her lover would return to her. An obvious question comes to mind in that it is plausible that we are dealing not with hqw#t but with hbw#t. That is, in the above instances where translators use a definition of “turning” or “return,” they are basing this on a Vorlage of hbw#t, or they are translating the terms similarly. Based on our examination, however, it seems unlikely that the overwhelming number of translational instances of “return” or “turning”—coupled with our findings in the nonbiblical manuscripts of the Dead Sea Scrolls—allow for such a conclusion. Not only is bw# in some cases used alongside hqw#t, but texts at Qumran seem to use the term quite straightforwardly when a nuanced meaning of “return” is wanted, often in the context of final destruction or a return to origins. Maori’s idea that we are dealing with a “common Jewish tra66
Wise, Abegg, and Cook, New Translation, 163. I again freely use the reconstructions and translation of Wise, Abegg, and Cook, New Translation, 163. 68 See n. 23 above for details. 67
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dition of exegesis” is, I think, altogether plausible. We might conclude that, for ancient interpreters and writers, hqw#t and hbw#t had an overlapping semantic range, but it would be difficult to suggest that a confusion of terms was present or that variants of hbw#t existed. It seems more likely that ancients understood hqw#t to be close in meaning to hbw#t, though perhaps there was a nuance involved whereby with hqw#t there is a strong movement toward, perhaps of an impelling nature, returning someone (or thing) to where he or she (or it) belonged, perhaps for refuge or to one’s origins, or even for destruction or in the sense that the returning is final.69 One might suggest that the movement is to an appropriate or natural place, almost as if part of the genetic makeup of the one (or thing) returning. Although such ideas are speculative, they seem to fit the literature well. In recent translations and interpretation (modern and contemporary), interpreters have, more often than not, translated hqw#t as “desire” and have interpreted this to be sexual desire, though it is not altogether clear why. Later rabbinic interpretation gives some credence to this definition, though, as we have seen, even in that literature desire in one place will cause the woman to return to her husband, and in another place desire can have diverse subjects such as rain, the evil inclination, and Israel’s God. The question of where the English translation “desire” (or German “Verlangen”) originates is beyond the scope of this article, yet future work may show that later rabbinic and targumic traditions contributed to modern and recent understandings, ideas present in some of the earliest—and influential— English Bibles.70 Alternatively, it may simply be that conceptually the term “desire” (in the sense of being naturally driven toward or back to something) was useful in older English but has since become problematic on account of its usage and connotations in a highly sexualized Western society.71 Our study has demonstrated 69 I have purposely avoided discussions on etymology, as I would rather prefer to privilege conclusions drawn from examining the term’s usage than to trace a word’s possible history. However, it may be helpful to point out that qw# in Hebrew can mean “leg” or “street” (or thoroughfare or market, that which a person walks through), and some see a connection between qw# and a potential cognate Arabic term also meaning “leg” (esp. shank), “drive” (beast), “impel,” or “attract” (see entries for qw# in BDB and HALOT). 70 See, e.g., the translations of Gen 3:16; 4:7; and Cant 7:10 in Wycliffe (1395) (which uses “vndur power,” “desir,” and “turnyng,” respectively), Tyndale’s Pentateuch (1530) (which uses “lustes” and “subdued” in the Genesis instances, respectively), the Miles Coverdale Bible (1535) (which uses “lust,” “subdued,” and “turne,” respectively), the Bishop’s Bible (1568) (which uses “desire,” “desire,” and “turne,” respectively), the Geneva Bible (1587) (which uses “desire” in all three instances), and the King James Version (1611) (which also uses “desire” in all three instances). Luther’s Bibel (1534) uses “vnterworffen” (similar to the Vulgate), “las” (from Old German/ Sächsische Kanzleisprache, equivalent to begehren), and “helt” (from Old German/Sächsische Kanzleisprache, equivalent to spalten), respectively. Interestingly, Luther’s 1545 version changes these, and uses “Verlangen” in all three instances. 71 We might also note that the contexts of two of the MT instances, Gen 3:16 and Cant 7:10, do not help matters, since the first is related to pregnancy and the second involves two lovers.
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that a definition of “desire” for ancient instances of hqw#t, at least as that term is commonly understood today, not only is open to question but cannot be held uncritically any longer. At a minimum, interpreters and lexicons have an obligation to point out ancient perceptions of the term and statements such as Wevers’s that, quite simply, “[t]he Hebrew word refers to sexual desire” should be qualified or avoided.72 We certainly need to question definitions that relate the term to a “strong libido,” “sexual appetite,” “unbridled sexual desire,” “nymphomania,” and so on, definitions attested earlier.
VII. Conclusion Reading the term hqw#t as sexual desire (or similar) ignores the early usage, reception, and history of interpretation of the term and has the potential to skew our reading of a foundational text, one that has had—and likely will continue to have—a tremendous influence on religion and society. Because we began our study by looking at interpretations of Gen 3:16, perhaps it is appropriate to comment, albeit briefly, on how our findings might contribute to an interpretation of that passage. I think our nuanced understanding of the term has the potential to shed light on how ancient Israel understood the Eden tale to function etiologically—that is, as a story designed to explain why human existence is what it is; why life, death, suffering, and daily difficulties are experienced as they are. In view of the discussion above, and in the light of similar examples in extant ancient literature, it would seem that hqw#t (in Gen 3:16) is operating in conjunction with bw#t (in Gen 3:19) to form a type of inclusio. As is commonly noticed, the story explains, through divine pronouncements, why the daily lives of ancient man and woman are difficult: “by the sweat of your brow you will eat food” and “in pain you will bring forth children.” The text would also like to explain, however, that the man and woman will return to their places of origin. Just as the 'ādām is said, in his “curse,” to return (bw#t) to the 'ădāmâ from which he was taken, so too is the 'iššâ, in her “curse,” said to return (hqw#t; or be driven to return) to the 'îš from which she was taken. The content of these statements is open to question, but the parallelism now apparent should not be overlooked. The artistry of the language here is rich and impossible to reduplicate adequately in an English translation. Had our only known instances of hqw#t been Gen 4:7 and the four Dead Sea Scrolls examples examined above, the situation would likely be quite different. 72 Wevers, Notes on the Greek Text of Genesis, 45.
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The Story of Saul’s Election (1 Samuel 9–10) in the Light of Mantic Practice in Ancient Iraq jeffrey l. cooley [email protected] Boston College, Chestnut Hill, MA 02467
Narratives describing the divine election of Saul in 1 Samuel 9–10 have long been the subject of traditional source criticism. All such analyses of these chapters conclude that the story of Saul’s identification as ruler or “designated one” (dygn) in ch. 9 through prophetic revelation and his selection via cleromancy in ch. 10 represent two separate narrative strands that have been knitted together by a redactor.1 Source critics have focused primarily on the contrasting opinions regarding kingship in these accounts, with ch. 9 being ascribed to a promonarchical source and ch. 10 to an antimonarchical source. Stepping beyond the sources themselves, redaction-critical scholars read the text in its final form. They are joined by scholars frustrated with the difficulties
I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to Steven W. Holloway for inviting me to read a version of this paper at the Assyriology and the Bible section of the 2009 annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in New Orleans, Louisiana. In addition to this, I offer my sincere gratitude to J. J. M. Roberts, Peter Machinist, and the members of the Boston College Bible Colloquium, in particular David Vanderhooft and John R. Barker, OFM, for their insights and suggestions. I am indebted to Amy E. Albertson, Thomas Flaherty, and Matthew Richey for their assistance in preparing this manuscript. Any errors are, of course, my own responsibility. 1 Martin Noth, The Deuteronomistic History (2nd ed.; JSOTSup 15; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 80–81; Tryggve N. D. Mettinger, King and Messiah: The Civil and Sacral Legitimation of the Israelite Kings (ConBOT 8; Lund: Gleerup, 1976), 151. In addition to this, many, following Otto Eissfeldt, hold that the oracle following the lot procedure in 1 Sam 10:22–23 identifying Saul among the baggage as a “man head and shoulders taller” than any other (wmk#m M(h-lkm hbgyw hl(mw) is, in fact, a partial oracle that was yet another tradition concerning Saul’s mantic selection as ruler (Eissfeldt, Die Kompostion der Samuelisbücher [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1931], 7, 56).
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and decreasing returns of traditional historical-critical methods and who have approached these texts employing the hermeneutics of the New Criticism. These groups, when confronted with the obvious redundancy of mantic confirmation in 1 Samuel 9–10, understand the accounts in a number of ways. For example, Noth took 10:17–27 as an attempt to preserve an alternate tradition of Saul’s royal accession within the narrative.2 More typical, however, is Antony F. Campbell, who sees the prophecy concerning Saul revealed to Samuel and Saul’s subsequent anointing in ch. 9 as a “secret kingship,” while his selection by lot and his ensuing proclamation in ch. 10 are a public ceremony.3 Following Otto Eissfeldt in understanding the lot procedure in 10:15–21 and the oracle in 10:22–23 as two different mantic events, Campbell and Mark A. O’Brien do a fine job of bringing to bear redaction and literary approaches. Assuming that the reader clearly sees two mantic acts in play, they explain that the traditions need to be read complementarily, in spite of the difficulties.4 Though the two are speaking of 1 Sam 10:15–21 and Eissfeldt’s oracle in 10:22–23, what they write can easily be said of 1 Sam 9:15–17 as well.5 Now, the fundamental issue with which all of these authors are struggling is the issue of the “doublet.” Long a cornerstone of the historical-critical method, doublets have always posed a problem for those who wish to read the ancient text as a literary unity, regardless of whether they claim to be using New Critical, canonical, 2
Noth, Deuteronomistic History, 80-81. Campbell, Of Prophets and Kings: A Late Ninth-Century Document (1 Samuel 1–2 Kings 10) (CBQMS 17; Washington: Catholic Biblical Association, 1986), 50. See also P. Kyle McCarter, I Samuel: A New Translation with Introduction, Notes, and Commentary (AB 8; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1980), 187–88, 194–95; Jan P. Fokkelman, Narrative Art and Poetry in the Books of Samuel: A Full Interpretation Based on Stylistic and Structural Analyses, vol. 4, Vow and Desire (I Sam. 1–12) (SSN 31; Assen: Van Gorcum, 1993), 446; David Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 296. The precise significance of “secret kingship” is, however, entirely unclear and is not dealt with adequately by any of these authors. I know of no ancient Near Eastern parallels to such an idea; the closest parallel in the biblical text is 1 Kgs 11:26–40, in which Ahijam the prophet declares to Solomon’s official Jeroboam that he would take the lion’s share of the kingdom away from the king’s successor. Indeed, in 1 Kgs 14:7, Jeroboam is even referred to as dygn; see 1 Kgs 14:7–8: l)r#y ym( l( dygn Knt)w M(h Kwtm Kytmyrh, “Have I not raised you from the midst of the people and made you designated one over my people Israel?” This is no secret, of course, and there is no anointing. Jeroboam is forced to flee to Egypt, where he is sheltered by Shishak for the remainder of Solomon’s reign. 4 Campbell and O’Brien, Unfolding the Deuteronomistic History: Origins, Upgrades, Present Text (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000), 243. Frederick H. Cryer, following Eissfeldt in his understanding of 10:22–23 as yet another oracle, describes the passage as a possible physiognomical omen (Cryer, Divination in Ancient Israel and Its Near Eastern Environment: A Socio-Historical Investigation [JSOTSup 142; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994], 310). 5 Other interpretations abound; see, e.g., Robert P. Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel: A Commentary (Exeter: Paternoster, 1986), 109; Hans W. Hertzberg, I & II Samuel: A Commentary (trans. J. S. Bowden; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1964), 88–89; Cornelis Van Dam, The Urim and Thummim: A Means of Revelation in Ancient Israel (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 262. 3
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or some other method. Why a redactor chose to employ such double narratives is easier to infer in some cases than in others. For example, the two creation accounts in Genesis 1–2 are usually read as complementary. Other cases, however, prove more difficult to explain, such as the two etiologies for the origin of the saying “Is Saul too to be counted among the prophets?” in 1 Sam 10:11 and 19:24. We know that ancient readers, too, could see these doublets as problematic and occasionally sought to resolve them. When, for example, the Chronicler imparts the exploits of Elhanan (1 Chr 20:5), he has Elhanan slaying Goliath’s brother rather than Goliath himself, thus resolving the conflict between 1 Samuel 17 and 2 Sam 21:19. In the only recent book-length study of doublets, Aulikki Nahkola laments that “in Old Testament study there is no appreciation of double narratives as a general phenomenon.”6 Given the wide variety of forms of the phenomenon, no single explanation is possible. Though we cannot explain such logically contradictory passages in toto, we can and must, I believe, tackle them on a case-by-case basis. Returning to the narratives describing Saul’s various mantic appointments, I am by no means denying that these passages present patently different traditions. While recognizing that there are, without a doubt, multiple traditions regarding Saul’s divine election, we must come to terms with the fact that an editor chose to weave these traditions together to make what he believed to be a single logical narrative. I take for granted that that editor was not oblivious to the fact that he was presenting multiple traditions that could be understood as contradictory. He was not stupid, nor did he employ some “non-Western” logic. Nor do I believe that the editor was simply using the narrative as a depository for equally valid alternate traditions. I am seeking to understand how the redactor appreciated these separate traditions in a complementary fashion, and in this case I believe that bringing comparative material to bear on the problem will be productive. Specifically, by examining the parallel mantic conventions of ancient Iraq, I argue that the redactor believed that any particular mantic act, if controversial or ambiguous, could be confirmed by undertaking a second mantic act of a different method. Jack M. Sasson has already offered such a comparative approach in regard to divination in the story of Gideon in Judges 6–7, associating the undertaking there with the texts from Mari.7 Focusing rather on Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian material, which is more or less contemporary with the composition and redaction of 1 Samuel, I too will present this aspect of mantic practice in ancient Iraq. I will also survey the few other examples in the Hebrew Bible of mantic confirmation using multiple divinatory means.
6 Nahkola, Double Narratives in the Old Testament: The Foundations of Method in Biblical Criticism (BZAW 290; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2001), 162. 7 Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries in Judges,” in Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. Chaim Cohen et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008), 149–68.
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I. Mantic Confirmation in Ancient Iraq The evidence for various forms of divination in ancient Iraq is particularly robust, especially in the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian periods. Of the five types of scholars (Akk. ummânū, “masters”) operating in that period, two of them, the tupšarru i and the bārû (celestial diviners and haruspices, respectively) concerned themselves with specific means of divination.8 The overwhelming bulk of divination literature generated by these scholars was practical in nature. Dominating the textual horizon are the great omen series such as Enūma Anu Enlil,9 Šumma ālu,10 and Šumma izbu.11 These series categorize and list traditional omens, often collected from more ancient sources. In addition to the omen compendia, modern scholars have at their disposal several hundred reports and letters that were sent to the Neo-Assyrian monarchs.12 Reports record the bare-bones observation and interpretation of celestial omens (a few contain observations and interpretations of terrestrial and birth omens; see below) by a particular celestial diviner. On the other hand, the letters were simply part of the larger corpus of royal correspondence and originated with many of the same celestial diviners who composed the reports. The letters often include the same kind of information that is presented in the reports, though they are set in an epistolary context. Together, the reports, letters, and series, in addition to a few unique sources such as the Diviner’s Manual
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For the best discussion of the ummânū, see SAA 8:xiii–xxvii. Francesca Rochberg-Halton, Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination: The Lunar Eclipse Tablets of Enūma Anu Enlil (AfO Beiheft 22; Horn: Berger, 1988); Wilfred H. van Soldt, Solar Omens of Enuma Anu Enlil (Uitgaven van het Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul 73; Leiden: Nederlands Instituut der Nabije Osten, 1995); Erica Reiner and David Pingree, Babylonian Planetary Omens, part 1, Enūma Anu Enlil Tablet 63, The Venus Tablet of Ammisai duqa; part 2, Enūma Anu Enlil Tablets 50–51 (Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 2:1–2; Malibu, CA: Undena, 1975, 1981); Babylonian Planetary Omens 3 (Cuneiform Monographs 11; Groningen: Styx, 1998); Babylonian Planetary Omens 4 (Cuneiform Monographs 30; Groningen: Styx, 2005); Lorenzo Verderame, Le tavole I–VI della serie astrologica Enūma Anu Enlil (Nisaba 2; Messina: Universtità di Messina, 2002); F. N. H. Al-Rawi and Andrew George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV and Other Early Astronomical Tables,” AfO 38–39 (1991–92): 52–73. 10 Sally M. Freedman, If a City Is Set on a Height: The Akkadian Omen Series šumma alu ina mēlê šakin (2 vols.; Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 17, 19; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 1998, 2006). 11 Erle Leichty, The Omen Series Šumma Izbu (Texts from Cuneiform Sources 4; Locust Valley, NY: Augustin, 1969). 12 For critical editions, see Hermann Hunger, Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (SAA 8; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1992); and Simo Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (SAA 10; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1993); but see also Simo Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, part 1, Texts; part 2, Commentary and Appendices (AOAT 5; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1970, 1983). 9
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(below) and occasional references to the practice in other texts, paint a vivid picture of the mantic practice in the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian periods. As is typical in ancient Iraq, while practical texts abound, those that speculate on the theoretical underpinning of ominous phenomena are generally lacking.13 We get a glimpse of native theorizing in the so-called Babylonian Diviner’s Manual, a text that dates to the middle of the first millennium and is also practical in nature.14 As its modern title suggests, the Manual is really intended to be a practical document that helps the diviner coordinate the interpretation of signs, especially when the interpretation of a particular omen might not be clear in isolation.15 In such situations, states the author, the diviner can trust that omina do not occur in isolation but rather are part of a symbolic web of signs offered by the gods for guidance: i-da-at KI-tim it-ti AN-e sai -ad-du i-na-áš-šá AN-e u KI-tim UR.BI GIŠ.GIM.MA ub-ba-lu-ni a-he-en-na-a ul BAR.MEŠ AN u KI it-hu-zu The signs on earth just as those in the sky give us signals. Sky and earth both produce portents; though appearing separately, they are not separate (because) sky and earth are related.16
The author of the Manual seeks to coordinate both celestial and terrestrial omens into a single system to clarify ambiguous signs in order to determine if an apotropaic procedure, namburbî, needs to be conducted. The Manual suggests that diviners should coordinate celestial and terrestrial signs, and there is clear documentation that some diviners were skilled in multiple mantic methods (or at least claimed to be). In one of the letters to the NeoAssyrian monarch, a certain Marduk-šapik-zeri lists his skills in a desperate attempt to find employment in the royal court: 1 UD-AD-dEN.LÍL [ x x x x al-t]a-si MUL.MEŠ AN-e us-s i ab i !-bi BE-iz!-bu! [x x x (x) 1 ALAM.DÍ]M-mu-ú 1 NÍG.DÍM.DÍM-mu-ú x[ x x x x x x x 1 URU-i]na-SUKUD-GAR al-ta-si I have read (the astrological omen series) Enūma Anu Enlil […] and made astronomical observations. I have read (the anomaly series) Šumma izbu, the (physiognomical works)[Kataduqqû, Alandi]mmû and Nigdimdimmû, [… and the (terrestrial omen series) Šum]ma ālu.17 13 For a discussion of this ancient Mesopotamian tendency toward the concrete rather than the abstract, see Peter Machinist, “Mesopotamia in Eric Voegelin’s Order and History,” in Occasional Papers of the Eric-Voegelin-Archiv XXVI (ed. P. J. Opitz and D. Herz; Munich: Eric-VoegelinArchiv, 2001), 27–33. 14 A. Leo Oppenheim, “A Babylonian Diviner’s Manual,” JNES 33 (1974): 209. 15 Ibid., 207. 16 Ibid., 200, 204 (lines 38–40). 17 SAA 10, 160:40–42.
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Marduk-šapik-zeri is not the only unemployed scholar in his ken. In the same letter he attempts to find employment for his colleague: mNÍG.GUB
ba-ru-ti i-le-’e-e iš-ka-ru UD-AN- dEN.LÍL il-ta-si a-na LUGAL EN-ia ta-a-bu i
Kudurru is proficient in extispicy and has read Enūma Anu Enlil; he is useful to the king, my lord.18
Apparently (and familiarly), in the first millennium there was a glut of trained scholars and too few positions. Furthermore, in the letters to the Neo-Assyrian monarchs, it is not uncommon for known celestial diviners to note noncelestial omina or try to interpret them. Nabû-zeru-lešir, for example, writes that he has been vigilantly searching for all sorts of omens and has been recording them: GISKIM.MEŠ lu-u šá AN-e lu šá KI.TIM lu-u ša BE-iz-bi am-mar ši-na-ni a-sa-tar i ina ba-at-ta-ta-a-a ma-har dUTU ú-sa-ad-bi-ib-šú-nu I wrote down whatever signs there were, be they celestial, terrestrial or of malformed births, and had them recited in front of Šamaš, one after the other.19
The purpose of reciting them in front of the sun god Shamash, one of the two patron gods of extispicy, seems to be to verify via that practice whether the omens were positive or negative. In other letters and reports, too, celestial diviners make reference to omens of Šumma ālu (terrestrial) and Šumma izbu (monstrous birth) types.20 But, in spite of the cross-training claimed by Marduk-šapik-zeri for himself and his friends who seem to have been padding their curricula vitae, it seems to have been the case that a scholar who specialized in celestial divination, the tupšarru, i commonly had exposure to other unprovoked omen traditions, while the haruspex, bārû, concentrated on that specific provoked method.21 Thus, none of
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SAA 10, 160:r 31–32. SAA 10, 002:6–9. 20 Balasî, the author of numerous letters and reports with serious celestial content, notes unusual bird activity in SAA 10, 058; Issar-šumu-ereš, a scribe with a similar bibliography, interprets the repercussions of something running under the king’s chariot. In the report SAA 8, 287, the celestial diviner Nergal-etiri cites an ominous monstrous birth. In a similar vein, although there are extant four extispicy oracle questions presented to clarify whether there would be lunar or solar eclipses, none of the extant oracles seeks to clarify the results of another divinatory method; see Wilfred G. Lambert, Babylonian Oracle Questions (Mesopotamian Civilizations 13; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007), no. 2 (43–51). 21 This observation was noted by David Brown (before Lambert’s publication of the Oracle Questions), who attributed this fact to “an increasing specialization of the Scholars during the period after c. 750” (Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology [Cuneiform Monographs 18; Groningen: Styx, 2000], 34–35). 19
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the letters from the haruspices (SAA 10, 173–84) mentions other forms of divination. Perhaps the division between scholars trained in unprovoked versus provoked divinatory methods afforded the opportunity to remove ambiguity from what was understood as an often uncertain source of policy advice. In actual practice, then, when there were two different mantic methods employed to confirm and clarify, an unprovoked omen is always tested with a provoked one.22 This makes great practical sense: one could conceivably wait for a second unprovoked omen, but that may never come, or, if it does come, it may be just as unclear as the first. For example, in the first-millennium examples available to us, it is always a celestial omen that is tested with extispicy. In his lengthy literary letter prayer describing his third campaign, Sargon II recounts how he, with the support of positive celestial omina confirmed by extispicy, diverted a detachment of his returning army to the mountain cultic center of Musias iir. i-na ki-bi-ti siir-te šá dNÀ dAMAR.UTU šá i-na man-za-az MUL.MEŠ šá šú-utbi-e gišTUKUL.MEŠ-ia is-i ba-tu ta-lu-ku ù i-da-at dum-ki šá li-qi-e kiš-šú-ti dMÁ.GÙR EN a-gi-e a-na šul-pu-ut kurgu-tiki ú-ša-ni-ha EN.NUN i-na an-ni šú-qu-ri šá dUTU qu-ra-di šá UZU.MEŠ ti-kil-ti šá a-lak i-di-ia ú-šaaš-tii -ra a-mu-ti . . . 23 har-ra-an urumu-sa-s i iri ur-uh mar-sa-ti i as-bat-ma i At the exalted command of Nabû and Marduk, who had moved on a path in a stellar station for starting my campaign, and besides, as a favorable sign for seizing power, Magur,24 lord of the tiara, (made an eclipse that) lasted one watch, to herald the destruction of the Gutium. Upon the precious approval of the warrior Shamash, who wrote an encouraging omen on the exta that he would walk at my side . . . I launched a campaign against Musai sir i on a strenuous road.25
Sargon’s advisors notice the lunar eclipse and confirm its meaning via extispicy. Despite the difficulties of the mountain campaign, Sargon was, of course, successful in his assault on the sacred site. Mantic advice could inform any royal decision, whether it regarded the course of action to take while on campaign or who should be installed in what office. 26 Later, in the Neo-Babylonian period, Nabonidus responds to a celestial omen that
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See Sasson, “Oracle Inquiries,” 150–53. TCL 3:317–21. 24 “The Boat,” an epithet of the moon. 25 Translation from Ulla Koch-Westenholz, Mesopotamian Astrology: An Introduction to Babylonian and Assyrian Celestial Divination (CNI Publications 19; Copenhagen: Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, Museum Tusculanum Press, University of Copenhagen, 1995), 153, with modifications. 26 See SAA 3, 149–82, 274–75, 299–310, all of which concern royal appointments. 23
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seems to indicate the moon god Sin’s request that the king install a new priestess at Ur, something that has not been done for generations: dNANNA
i a-na da-ad-mi 4-ri EN a-gi-i na-aš sa-ad-du ú-ad-di it-ta-šú aš-šum e-re-eš NIN.DINGIR.RA i-na itiKIN UD.13.KÀM ITI ši-bi-ir dIŠ.TAR.MEŠ DINGIR in-bi in-na-di-ir-ma i-na na- 'i-du ri-šú ir-bi dZUEN NIN.DINGIR.RA i-ri-iš ki-a-am it-ta-šú ù pu-ru-us-su-šu a-na-ku mdna-bi-um-na- 'i-id re-e-a-am pa-li-ih i-lu-ti-šu qí-bi-it-su ki-it-tim ap-la-ah at-ta- 'i-id-ma aš-šum e-re-eš NIN.DINGIR.RA ra-šú-tu ni-ki-it-tim27 Nannar, the lord of the crown, who bears the signal for all peoples, revealed his sign concerning his request for a high priestess. On the thirteenth of Ulūlu, the month of the work of goddesses, the Fruit28 became eclipsed and set while eclipsed. “Sin requests a high priestess”—such was his sign and decision. As for me, Nabonidus, the shepherd who reveres his divine majesty, I reverently heeded his reliable order, so that I became concerned about this request for a high priestess.29
The omen, a lunar eclipse in the month of Elul, is known from two divination series, the celestial series Enūma Anu Enlil and the related menological series Iqqur īpuš. It reads, DIŠ ina itiKIN AN.MI EN.NUN U4.ZAL.LI GAR d30 NIN.DINGIR.[RA APIN-eš], “If an eclipse occurs in Ulūlu in the morning watch, Sin [will request] an entu-priestess.”30 But this unprovoked omen was not an exact enough match with what was observed (a near total eclipse of the moon that set while eclipsed) to be sure of the validity of the apodosis, which would necessitate the reinstitution of a long-extinct religious office. Or perhaps it was the apodosis itself that seemed outlandish. In either case, there seems to have been enough debate about the eclipse and the relevance of the associated omen that it became the subject of official investigation. The so-called Nabonidus Chronicle notes that the king sent scribes to Babylon to check the relevant portions of Enūma Anu Enlil and that they disagreed with Nabonidus’s understanding of the eclipse (III.2–5):31 27
YOS I, no. 45, 1:6–24 and plate XXXIII. An epithet of the moon, perhaps used here to allude to the royal hemerology series Inbu Bēl arhi, “The Fruit, the lord of the month”; see Erica Reiner, Your Thwarts in Pieces, Your Mooring Ropes Cut: Poetry from Babylonia and Assyria (Michigan Studies in the Humanities 5; Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1985), 8. 29 English translation from Reiner, Your Thwarts in Pieces, 2–3. 30 Rochberg-Halton, Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination, 133 (= Tablet 17 of the series); René Labat, Un calendrier babylonien des travaux des signes et des mois (Séries Iqqur Îpuš) (Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études: 4, Science historiques et philologiques 321; Paris: Honoré Champion, 1965), 148–49 (§73 line 6). 31 As Paul-Alain Beaulieu notes, there really should not have been much debate, but the Royal Chronicle, which is not otherwise critical of the monarch, is not particularly kind to Nabonidus in this instance (The Reign of Nabonidus, King of Babylon 556–539 B.C. [Yale Near Eastern Researches 10; New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989], 128–29). 28
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[ . . . . . . . . . ] tiup-pi.MEŠ ÈŠ.GÀR U4-AN-dEN.LÍL.LÁ gipi-sa-an ul-tu TIN.TIRki a-na nap-lu-su [lú]DUB.SAR.MEŠ ú-bil-lu-nu ma-har-šú la še-mu [l]a i-di lib-bu-uš ma!-la qa-bé-e-šú The scribes brought baskets from Babylon (containing) the tablets of the series Enūma Anu Enlil to check (it, but since) he did not hearken to (what it said), he did not understand what it meant.32
Interestingly, at least in Nabonidus’s opinion, this doubt and uncertainty were not considered a problem. The king’s discernment of the controversial omen is characterized as an act of pious reverence, qibīssu kittim aplah atta 'idma, “I reverently heeded his reliable order.” Thus, to dispel all skepticism, the king orders not one, but two, extispicies to be conducted to confirm his interpretation:33 aš-ra-a-ti dUTU ù dIŠKUR EN.MEŠ bi-ri aš-te-’e-e-ma dUTU ù dIŠKUR an-na ki-i-nu i-tap-pa-lu-in-ni i-na bi-ri-ia iš-tu-ru i UZU da-mi-iq-tum UZU e-ri-iš-ti na-da-a-ti e-ri-is-ti DINGIR.MEŠ a-na LÚ aš-ni-ma te-er-tum ap-qi-id-ma UZU SIG5 e-li-šá mah-ri i-tap-pa-lu-ni I sought out the sanctuaries of Šamaš and Adad, the patrons of extispicy, and Šamaš and Adad, as usual, answered me a reliable yes, wrote a favorable omen in 32 Ibid., 128; see also Wilfred G. Lambert, “A New Source for the Reign of Nabonidus,” AfO 22 (1968): 4, 6. Peter Machinist and Hayim Tadmor offer an appealing alternative to this understanding. Reading the problematic ma!-la of line 5 as ba-la, they translate, “(But) they were not read; no one understood them without (ba-la) his (= Nabonidus) telling (them)” (“Heavenly Wisdom,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo [ed. Mark E. Cohen et al.; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993], 149). This paints the king in a significantly more favorable light and is more in line with the positive attitude regarding Nabonidus in the rest of the Royal Chronicle. 33 The fact that Nabonidus offers multiple extispicies is unusual but not unheard of. The haruspex was generally discouraged from performing many repeated extispicies, and the generally expected limit seems to have been three repetitions if there was an unfavorable result. Thus, one of the rituals of the diviner notes, šumma bārû ana bīri kajānu sadir mūt arni imât, “if the diviner is in the habit of continuously being engaged in extispicy: he will die the death of wrongdoing” (Heinrich Zimmern, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der babylonischen Religion [AB 12; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1896–1901], 11 iii 18–19 [pp. 114–15]; corrected text in Ulla Jeyes, “Divination as Science in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JEOL 32 [1991–92]: 31). Similarly, in a physiognomic omen series, šumma alamdimmê, šumma ana ilīšu dīna sadir šibsat ili, “If he keeps going to his god for oracular decisions: anger of the god” (text = CT 51:147 39’; translation from Erica Reiner, “A Manner of Speaking,” in Zikir Šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday [ed. G. van Driel et al.; Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Osten, Studia Francisci Scholten memoriae dicata 5; Leiden: Brill, 1982], 286–87; see also Jeyes, “Divination as Science,” 31). For a discussion of repetition of extispicies in ancient Iraq, see Ulla Koch, “Three Strikes and You’re Out! A View on Cognitive Theory and the First-Millennium Extispicy Ritual,” in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World (ed. Amar Annus; University of Chicago Oriental Institute Seminars 6; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), 43–60.
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Journal of Biblical Literature 130, no. 2 (2011) my extispicy, the omen pertaining to the request for priestesses, the request of the gods to man. I repeated the extispicy for confirmation and they answered me with an even more favorable omen.
Having confirmed the general validity of the omen and its interpretation, Nabonidus conducts two more extispicies to determine precisely whom the god wishes to hold that office: aš-šu DUMU.SAL.MEŠ ki-im-ti-ia te-er-tum e-pu-uš-ma ul-la i-tap-pa-lu-ni aš-lu-uš-ma aš-šu DUMU.SAL si-it i lib-bi-ia te-er-tum e-pu-uš-ma UZU SIG5 i-tap-pa-lu-in-ni a-ma-at dZUEN EN šú-ur-bu-ú DINGIR ba-a-ni-ia ki-bi-it dUTU ù dIŠKUR EN.MEŠ bi-ri at-ta-'i-it-ma DUMU.SAL sii -it lib-bi-ia a-na e-nu-ti as-si-ma I made an extispicy inquiring about a daughter born to one of my relatives, but they answered me no. A third time34 I made an extispicy inquiring about my own daughter and they answered me with a favorable omen. I heeded the word of Sin, the supreme lord, the god of my creator and the verdict of Šamaš and Adad, the patrons of extispicy; I installed my own daughter as high priestess . . . .
Similar to Saul’s lot ceremony at Mizpah, in which the prophet successively narrows the pool of potential kings until he comes to Saul, Nabonidus narrows down the candidate pool from all the young women in his family ultimately to his own daughter. Thus, the unprovoked omen is succeeded by a series of provoked omens both to validate and to clarify.
II. Mantic Confirmation in the Hebrew Bible Descriptions of Israelites engaged in multiple acts of divination in regard to the same situation are not undocumented in the Hebrew Bible.35 Joseph, for instance, 34 The first two extispicies, which confirmed the validity of the omen and its interpretation, are being counted together as the first. 35 Of course, the oft-quoted description of Nebuchadnezzar at the crossroads in Ezek 21:26– 28 depicts the Babylonian monarch undertaking three methods of divination, all of them provoked, to determine whether he should proceed to Rabbah of the Ammonites or to Jerusalem. This tells us little of Israelite practice, even if two of the methods, tĕrāpîm and belomancy, seem more Israelite than Babylonian, as Walther Zimmerli notes (Ezekiel 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, Chapters 1–24 [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1979], 443–44). But see also Wayne Horowitz and Victor Hurowitz, “Urim and Thummim in Light of a Psephomancy Ritual from Assur (LKA 137),” JANES 21 (1992): 95–115; as well as Erica Reiner, “Fortune Telling in Mesopotamia,” JNES 19 (1960): 23–35. On the other hand, the inspection of the liver is a wellattested method of divination in ancient Iraq, though it is also attested in the Levant in the Bronze Age at Hazor and Ugarit. See Jacques-Claude Courtois, “La maison de prêtre aux modèles de poumon et de foies d’Ugarit,” Ugaritica 6 (1969): 101–16; Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz,
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has two unprovoked dreams that foretell his exaltation over his brothers (Gen 37:6– 9). Brotherly love aside, this sequence of mantic events offers us little vis-à-vis decisions made at the state level. More telling is the story of the kings of Israel and Judah and their decision to retake Ramoth-Gilead from Aram in 1 Kings 22. After agreeing to participate in the campaign, Jehoshaphat requests that Yahweh be consulted (v. 5). In what amounts to a mantic pep rally, a large group of prophets are assembled and they uniformly proclaim the deity’s blessing on the undertaking. Witnessing this provoked prophetic oracle, Jehoshaphat asks the king of Israel for a second opinion, and the king quite reluctantly sends for Micaiah ben Imlah. Micaiah’s first oracle delivered in the kings’ presence is in agreement with that of the group (v. 15). Incredulous, the king of Israel demands that the prophet tell him Yahweh’s true will, and the chilling vision that follows contradicts the oracle delivered by the Israelite king’s yes-men. In this narrative, three things are significant for our discussion. First, in his initial oracle, Micaiah quite deliberately offers the kings erroneous information, not because Yahweh has ordered him to do so but rather on the prophet’s own initiative. Thus, in the mind of the Deuteronomistic Historian, true prophets of Yahweh could deliberately and of their own accord offer misleading oracular information. Second, despite their contradictory natures, the group’s unified positive oracle and Micaiah’s lone negative one both have their origin with Yahweh, and in this sense both are legitimate. Third, the reluctance of the king of Israel is not that Jehoshaphat, the king of Judah, wants a second opinion but that the only other available professional is someone who never has an encouraging omen (1 Kgs 22:8). Hence, the kings develop a plan that, to a certain degree, recognizes the legitimacy of both prognostications. They launch their campaign, but the king of Israel (now identified as Ahab; 1 Kgs 22:20) dresses as a common charioteer. The battle, as Micaiah predicted, is a disaster for the coalition, and Ahab dies as a result of an arrow wound to the chest. In the David narratives, in which we see the most intense use of mantic counsel, there is only one instance in which a second act of divination is performed in order to verify the results of a previous act. In 1 Sam 23:2–4, David consults lots to determine if Yahweh wishes him to counterattack the Philistines who have assaulted “Beschrifte Lungen- und Lebermodelle aus Ugarit,” Ugaritica 6 (1969): 166–79; Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik in Ugarit: Keilalphabetische Texte der Opferschau, Omensammlungen, Nekromantie (ALASP 3; Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 1990), 5–38; Dennis Pardee, Les textes rituels (2 vols.; Ras Shamra-Ougarit 12; Paris: Recherche sur les civilisations, 2000), 1:707–11; 2:766–76, 811–12; Benno Landsberger and Hayim Tadmor, “Fragments of Clay Liver Models from Hazor,” IEJ 14 (1964): 201–18; and Wayne Horowitz and Takayoshi Oshima, Cuneiform in Canaan: Cuneiform Sources from the Land of Israel in Ancient Times (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 2006), 66– 68. Nonetheless, the passage really offers us a caricature of the Babylonian monarch, whose discernment is being manipulated by Yahweh via ridiculous heathen soothsaying in order to carry out the deity’s own will.
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Keilah.36 His army, however, is uncertain, and so he consults lots again to confirm the first prognostication. Thus emboldened, David and his army attack and are, of course, victorious. Here the second act is not to clarify ambiguity inherent in the first act or to confirm to David what the decision from Yahweh was, but rather to verify for the troops that their god would truly deliver their enemy into their hands.37 But this is an unusual case—in every other case in which David consults Yahweh, the resulting decision is accepted outright with no further confirmation (1 Sam 23:9, 12; 30:8; 2 Sam 2:1; 5:19, 23).38 Outside of the David accounts, the story of Gideon in Judges 6–7 provides the most productive area for this inquiry.39 The messenger of Yahweh reveals to Gideon that he will be the one who will deliver Israel from the Midianites (6:11–16). Gideon then, several times provokes a confirmatory sign from Yahweh that this will indeed come to pass. First, asking for a sign that Yahweh is, in fact, the one speaking to him through the messenger, Gideon arranges an offering in his presence.40 The messenger zaps the offering, and Gideon is then sure that he has indeed spoken to Yahweh (6:17–21). This is not so much a method of divination as a miraculous confirmation of Yahweh’s presence. Though the oracle that Gideon would rescue Israel from Midian came to the judge via an unprovoked revelatory experience, the 36 Though the method of divination is not stated explicitly, it is clearly lots that are meant, since in both cases the question is one that expects a binary answer and, more importantly, v. 6 notes that Abiathar had previously defected to David and had taken the ephod, the container for the lots, with him. 37 Sasson offers an alternate explanation for the army’s reticence, arguing that the question David posed to Yahweh, “Should I go and attack these Philistines?” (hl)h Myt#lpb ytykhw Kl)h, 1 Sam 23:2), makes no mention of Keilah, while the response from Yahweh, “Go and attack the Philistines and rescue Keilah!” (hly(q-t) t(#whw Myt#lpb tykhw Kl) specifically mentions the name of the city. This gratuitous expansion of the original inquiry, to paraphrase Sasson, led to the army’s trepidation (“Oracle Inquiries,” 155–56). But the Philistines, we are told in 23:1 are attacking Keilah, and we are left to ask, if Sasson is correct, just what would have been the outcome of a successful counterattack if not the liberation of the territory the Philistines were attacking? Nonetheless, Sasson’s point is well taken, that “matters of deep importance required sophisticated, multilayered, and repetitious inquiry” (pp. 157). 38 In the description of David’s reign, the only case in which multiple methods of mantic inquiry must have been used is in 2 Sam 5:19, 23, when David was trying to determine the course of action in the wake of the second Philistine assault in the valley of Rephaim. In this instance, Yahweh gives him a negative response but then gives him specific instructions precisely how he should counterattack. The specific nature of the instruction precludes it from having been delivered via cleromancy, which can provide only binary results. We must assume that it was delivered via prophecy, though there is no prophet mentioned in the pericope. Though the narrative must be describing multiple mantic methods in a single case of decision making, the two instances of divination are not concerned with answering the same question. 39 See Sasson’s brief discussion (“Oracle Inquiries,” 158). 40 Judges 6:17: ym( rbdm ht)# tw) yl ty#(w, “make for me a sign that you are speaking with me.”
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nature of which he miraculously confirmed, Gideon still holds doubts as to its legitimacy. Like Nabonidus, he is not rebuked for his doubt. He requests that Yahweh further confirm the outcome he has already revealed. He thus devises his own provoked mantic method in which he lays out a fleece on the ground, which, if in the morning it is covered with dew while the ground around it is dry, will confirm that Yahweh will truly give Gideon success against Midian (6:36–38). Gideon is still not convinced, however, and he reverses the procedure: this time the ground is wet and the fleece is dry, verifying Yahweh’s blessing of Gideon’s military endeavor (Judg 6:39–40). As in the Mesopotamian examples, an unprovoked prognostication, namely, the direct revelation to Gideon in Judg 6:11–16 is followed and confirmed by a provoked method, the “fleece-omancy” of 6:36–40.41
III. Mantic Confirmation in 1 Samuel 9–10 Returning to 1 Samuel 9–10, we can observe a similar logic in the redundant accounts of Saul’s divine election. Saul and his servant, while looking for his father’s lost asses, decide to consult a seer for a small fee in a nearby town (9:6–10). Perhaps they can locate the animals if they pay the local prophet to provoke an oracle. As the two approach the city, Yahweh reveals to the seer, now identified as Samuel, that the one to be anointed is coming to him (9:15–17): Kyl) xl#) rxm t(k :rm)l lw)#-)wb ynpl dx) Mwy l)wm# Nz)-t) hlg hwhyw Myt#lp dym ym(-t) (y#whw l)r#y ym(-l( dygnl wtx#mw Nmynb Cr)m #y) whn( hwhyw lw)#-t) h)r l)wm#w :yl) wtq(c h)b yk ym(-t) yty)r yk :ym(b rc(y hz Kyl) ytrm) r#) #y)h hnh Now, Yahweh had revealed to Samuel one day before Saul’s arrival, saying, “At the same time tomorrow I will send you a man from the land of Benjamin. You will anoint him as a designated one42 over my people Israel. He will rescue my 41 There is, of course, one more mantic event that precedes and confirms the validity of Gideon’s mission. After Yahweh has radically pared down the size of Gideon’s army in Judg 7:2– 8, he sends Gideon into the Midianite encampment in the evening, where he overhears one of the enemy recounting a dream. Gideon interprets the dream to mean that the Israelites will indeed be victorious. Encouraged, Gideon returns to his own army and devises the plan by which, through guile, he will rout the enemy that very evening. 42 Though in this passage Saul is not explicitly appointed “king” (Klm) but rather “designated one” (dygn) the fact that this is clearly what is at stake is stated in no uncertain terms in 1 Sam 10:16: r#) wl dygh-)l hkwlmh rbd-t) twnt)h w)cmn yk wnl dygh dgh wdwd-l) lw)# rm)yw l)wm# rm), “Saul said to his uncle, ‘He did, in fact, tell us that the asses had been found,’ but about the matter of kingship, about which Samuel had spoken, he did not tell him.” Further, in 1 Sam 15:1, Samuel states explicitly that the anointing made Saul king over Israel: hwhy xl# yt) l)r#y-l( wm(-l( Klml Kx#ml, “It was me Yahweh sent to anoint you king over his people, over Israel.”
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Journal of Biblical Literature 130, no. 2 (2011) people from the power of the Philistines, for I have seen my people, their cry has reached me.” Now, when Samuel saw Saul, Yahweh answered, “Here is the man about whom I spoke to you, ‘This one will control my people!’”
The oracular revelation regarding Saul’s appointment, though responding to the people’s request for a king in 1 Sam 8:5, is nonetheless, in terms of divination, an unprovoked oracle. The revelation that Samuel received regarding Saul’s kingship in 1 Sam 9:15–18 could have been perceived as ambiguous or problematic by the reader. Was Samuel looking at the correct man when Yahweh pointed him out? Is Samuel so upset that the people want a king rather than a judge that he selected a man who he knew would be incompetent? As in Micaiah’s first oracle in 1 Kgs 22:15, is Samuel simply giving the audience what they want? If Samuel could be hired for prophetic guidance, could he be bought?43 Remember, Samuel had previously appointed his two sons, Joel and Abijah, as judges and they took bribes (1 Sam 8:1–5). Was Samuel really communicating with Yahweh in that situation, and was his interpretation of what Yahweh was communicating to him accurate? Was Yahweh deliberately misleading him for his own purposes? After all, Yahweh’s prophets sometimes deliver incorrect prophecy: in 1 Kings 22 Yahweh sends a false spirit deliberately to misguide the king of Israel; in 2 Kgs 3:16–19, Elisha falsely predicts that the Israelite–Judahite–Edomite coalition will be victorious against Moab; in 2 Kgs 22:20 Huldah prophesies that Josiah will die in peace, but he is actually killed in conflict with the Egyptian king Necho II at Megiddo (2 Kgs 23:29– 30).44 Any of these questions could have been real concerns for the ancient redactor —especially since he casts Saul’s reign in such a negative light. As in the Gideon account, the fact that Yahweh was indeed involved with this selection is confirmed by a series of miraculous signs (1 Sam 10:2–12). But these signs are for Saul’s benefit, and not the nation as a whole. This is followed by an assembly of the entire nation at Mizpah, in which Samuel selects, by lot, the first divinely appointed king of Israel (1 Sam 10:19b–21):45 y+b#-lk t) l)wm# brqyw .Mkypl)lw Mky+b#l hwhy ynpl wbcyth ht(w [wytxp#ml] wtxp#ml Nmynb +b#-t) brqyw .Nmynb +b# dklyw l)r#y )cmn )lw wh#qbyw #yq-Nb lw)# dklyw yr+mh txp#m dkltw [Samuel said] “Now, stand before Yahweh according to your tribes and families.” Samuel brought near all the tribes of Israel and he selected the tribe of Benjamin. 43
Cf. Mic 3:11, which condemns prophets who divine for compensation. Cf. 2 Chr 35:24, in which Josiah is brought back wounded to Jerusalem, where he dies peacefully. 45 There is some debate regarding the exact nature of the procedure in 1 Sam 10:19–21. For example, Cryer, though he acknowledges that it appears to be a lot procedure, notes that in other descriptions of lot ceremonies the verbal root dkl is never used, as it is here (Divination in Ancient Israel, 277). Though I assume that it was, in fact, a lot procedure, regardless of the specific means employed in this passage, it is clear that the method is provoked in nature. 44
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He brought near the tribe of Benjamin according to its clans and the clan of Matri was selected. Then Saul, son of Kish, was selected. They sought him but he was not found.
This provoked means of divination leaves no ambiguity. The redactor has supplied the reader with a possibly ambiguous, unprovoked mantic act in the instance of the private revelation of Saul’s destiny to Samuel. But, in accordance with ancient Near Eastern practice, the redactor has verified the unprovoked prognostication by supplying the reader with one that is provoked and whose outcome is unmistakable. Saul is king, and Yahweh is the one who selected him for the position. Furthermore, as in the Neo-Babylonian example of Nabonidus, the mantic stacking in 1 Samuel 9–10 not only confirms Saul’s monarchy; it also confirms what is ultimately a new office, that is, the kingship. The importance of this office in the Deuteronomistic History and its initiation under Yahweh’s guidance apropos of Deut 17:15 cannot be overestimated. In this regard it is thus noteworthy that +p#m hklmh, “the law of the kingship,” is not recorded and deposited until after both mantic procedures are undertaken and accepted. As in Nabonidus’s case, in spite of earlier models such as Gideon’s flirtation with the throne and Abimelech’s shortlived reign in Shechem (Judges 8–9), the kingship was a novelty and its (re)vivification necessitated ample divine authentication.
IV. Conclusion With the evidence from then-contemporary Iraq in hand, we can approach the contradictory divine election narratives in a new light. The redactor perhaps well recognized that the two traditions of Saul’s election could be perceived as redundant, but placed them in a deliberate order in the text, preserving them, yes, but, more importantly, arranging them in such a way that they could be read in a complementary manner. In accordance with acceptable ancient Near Eastern mantic practice, the unprovoked oracle that identified Saul in 1 Sam 9:15–18 was later confirmed in the provoked cleromantic ceremony of 1 Sam 10:19–21. This mantic repetition emphasized and confirmed Yahweh’s role in the selection process—a necessary element in the Deuteronomic conception of kingship as laid out in Deut 17:15. It also mitigated any sort of anxiety that the reader might have had regarding Samuel’s role in the selection, given the ultimately negative results of Saul’s monarchy.
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JBL 130, no. 2 (2011): 263–279
The Rab Šāqēh between Rhetoric and Redaction jerome t. walsh [email protected] 3736 Trinity Terrace Lane, Euless, TX 76040
The present study has a dual focus. First, it explores the Rab Šāqēh’s first speech to Hezekiah’s envoys (2 Kgs 18:19–25) using the literary-critical methods of close reading and rhetorical criticism. Those methods permit one to appreciate the literary structure and persuasive strategies of the speech and to distinguish two speaking voices in the passage. Identifying two different voices invites comparison with the similar though not identical results that some historical critics have reached by using source and redaction criticism to discern two compositional strata in the passage. This analysis constitutes the first and longer part of the study. Beyond the textual analysis, however, comparing the results of a literarycritical analysis to those of historical criticism affords an opportunity to ask whether, and if so how, the efforts of the two disparate methodologies might converge. And so, in a much shorter second part, I educe methodological implications of the textual analysis considered as a test case. What emerges, at least in regard to the passage under consideration, is a broadened concept of redaction and a recognition of how literary methods can assist the historical critic to discriminate potential redactional elements in a structurally coherent text.
I. 2 Kings 18:19–25 The longest episode in the story of Hezekiah (2 Kings 18–20) recounts the invasion of Judah and the siege of Jerusalem by Assyrian forces under Sennacherib This paper has undergone many incarnations. I am particularly grateful to the late Dr. Roy Melugin for the invitation to deliver it at the Southwest Biblical Studies Seminar at Brite Divinity School in Fort Worth, Texas. It is to Roy’s honored memory that I dedicate this tribute.
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(18:13–19:37). That episode falls into three main phases. The first phase, 18:13– 16, is a brief report that summarizes Sennacherib’s invasion, Hezekiah’s submission, and the tribute Hezekiah paid Sennacherib. The second phase, 18:17–19:7, is a much longer narrative in scenic style. Sennacherib sends three emissaries to deliver a message to Hezekiah. Although the narrator identifies all three by what seem to be official administrative titles, only one, the Rab Šāqēh (the junior official of the trio1), actually speaks. For his part, Hezekiah has sent three envoys to intercept Sennacherib’s emissaries and to parley with them. His envoys too are identified by titles as well as by personal names; and they likewise speak with a single voice, though the narrator does not tell us which one is Hezekiah’s official spokesperson. In this part of the story, the Rab Šāqēh delivers two substantial speeches, both highly threatening, separated by a very brief exchange with Hezekiah’s envoys. Following the Rab Šāqēh’s two speeches, Hezekiah’s envoys report back to Hezekiah; he sends a desperate plea to the prophet Isaiah; and he is answered with a short oracle of reassurance. The third phase, 19:8–37, is also in scenic style. After a narrative digression (vv. 8–9a), Sennacherib again sends emissaries (this time their identity is unspecified) to Hezekiah. They are instructed to “say” (rm)l, v. 9b) their message, although it is subsequently described as a “letter” (Myrpsh, v. 14). Hezekiah presents this threatening missive to Yhwh, who responds through Isaiah with a very long poetic oracle promising miraculous deliverance. The deliverance occurs in vv. 35– 36, and Sennacherib returns to Nineveh. The last verse recounts Sennacherib’s assassination at the hands of his sons, in further fulfillment of Isaiah’s oracle. The purpose of the first part of this paper is to examine in detail one short passage of the second phase of the narrative, namely, the Rab Šāqēh’s first speech to Hezekiah’s envoys, 18:19–25.
Status Quaestionis Modern historical-critical investigation of the Hezekiah story may fairly be said to have begun with Bernhard Stade.2 He argued that the three “phases” of the story in 2 Kgs 18:13–19:37 stem from three originally independent sources, the 1 For details on the three Assyrian officials, see Mordechai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 11; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1988), 229–30. They describe the Rab Šāqēh as “a high official whose duties were usually restricted to the court and the king’s person. He never took part in military campaigns.” However, 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], 166) cites evidence that a Rab Šāqēh could govern a province and sometimes have charge of troops; see also Francolino J. Gonçalves, L’Expédition de Sennachérib en Palestine dans la littérature hébraïque ancienne (EBib n.s. 7; Paris: Gabalda, 1986), 384. 2 Stade, “Anmerkungen zu 2 Kö 15–21,” ZAW 6 (1886): 156–89.
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first archival, the second and third narratively elaborated. All three recount the same event, Sennacherib’s punitive expedition against Hezekiah in 701 b.c.e. Assyrian records also witness to the occasion in terms strikingly similar to the archival source in 18:13–16. Following Stade, modern scholarship refers to the archival account as A and the two narrative accounts as B1 and B2.3 I am tempted to say that modern historical-critical investigation of the Hezekiah narrative also ended with Bernhard Stade. While that would be something of an overstatement, it is substantially true for the account B1 in general and for 18:19– 25 in particular. Accepting Stade’s source analysis, most diachronically oriented scholars plunge immediately into a historical debate about whether the archival story, in which Hezekiah pays tribute to Sennacherib, can be describing the same event as the narrative accounts, in which Sennacherib’s threats are undone by a divine miracle.4 There is generally no further attempt at a more detailed close reading or source analysis of the three accounts.5 This is true in particular for the speech in 18:19–25, to which we now turn.
The Problem Careful reading of that speech reveals a puzzling inconsistency in pronominal and nominal references. Although spoken by the Rab Šāqēh to Hezekiah’s envoys, the speech presents itself (18:19) as Sennacherib’s words addressed, at least at first, to Hezekiah himself. Yet not everything in the speech can be attributed to Sennacherib, nor can everything in the speech be understood as addressed to Hezekiah. Third person references to “my lord, the king of Assyria” (18:23–24) show that the Rab Šāqēh interrupts his king’s message to interject remarks of his own; and second person plural forms, along with a third person reference to Hezekiah (18:22),
3
There is some difference of opinion in assigning the last verses of the passage, 19:35–37, to the two narrative sources, but this discussion is not relevant to my present purpose. A minority of scholars also rejects the separation of the narrative account into two sources; see Gallagher, Sennacherib’s Campaign, 149–59, for detailed arguments for this position. 4 The debate centers on whether all three stories can derive from Sennacherib’s invasion in 701 b.c.e. or we must postulate a second, later invasion—for which there is no extrabiblical evidence whatsoever—to account for the narratives. Most scholars favor the former alternative. 5 James A. Montgomery, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Kings (ed. Henry Snyder Gehman; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1951); John Gray, I & II Kings (2nd ed.; OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970); R. E. Clements, Isaiah and the Deliverance of Jerusalem: A Study of the Interpretation of Prophecy in the Old Testament (JSOTSup 13; Sheffield: Department of Biblical Studies, University of Sheffield, 1980); H. A. Brongers, II Koningen (De Prediking van het Oude Testament; Nijkerk: Callenbach, 1982); Cogan and Tadmor, II Kings; Peter Machinist, “The Rab Šāqēh at the Wall of Jerusalem: Israelite Identity in the Face of the Assyrian ‘Other,’” HS 41 (2000): 151–68. The few exceptions will be discussed below.
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indicate that the speech expands to include other auditors besides him.6 This is precisely the sort of inconsistency that, in pentateuchal studies, often generates enthusiastic source and redaction analysis.7 Two scholars speak of “redactional strata” in 18:19–25, but neither makes a compelling case for his analysis. Ernst Würthwein asserts that 18:22 and 18:25 represent redaction, as is evidenced by their concern with Hezekiah’s reform and with religious arguments; these are Deuteronomistic issues, and therefore these verses belong to the Deuteronomistic redactor.8 This, it seems to me, is not classic redaction criticism, which ought to build on a separation of sources based on literary observations about inconsistencies in the text. As a matter of fact, Würthwein’s putative “original speech” (18:19–21, 23–24) retains almost all the inconsistencies we have enumerated above. Rather, Würthwein analyzes the text by using a theological a priori that does not derive from the immediate text itself. Volkmar Fritz likewise assigns 18:22 and 18:25 to a redactor; and he includes 18:21 as well. Surprisingly, he offers no reasons at all for his claims and, indeed, spends only one inconsequential sentence on 18:21 and none at all on the other two verses.9 Other historical-critical scholars have paid more attention to the lexical complexities of the passage, yet they too have not produced readings that account for all the grammatical problems in a convincing way. Brevard S. Childs is fully aware of the inconcinnities in the passage, which he calls “perplexing problems” and details at length in Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis. He concludes that source criticism is of no avail in this case, and he proposes a form-critical solution that, in the last analysis, is no solution at all.10 Citing as a parallel one of the Nimrud letters, Childs identifies the genre of the passage as a “diplomatic disputation in which arguments are raised and counter-arguments parried in an effort to break down the resistance.” Since in such a disputation the negotiators would be free to elaborate arguments; respond to objections; use threats, ridicule, or sarcasm; and so on, according to the needs of the moment, Childs sees
6 These observations do not include four explicitly marked embedded quotations (18:20a, 22a, 22b, 25b), where this sort of referential variation is to be expected. Moreover, my itemization is based on the MT of 2 Kings; the ancient versions and the parallel in Isa 36:4–10 smooth out some of the irregularities. 7 There is some similar referential confusion in the Rab Šāqēh’s second speech (18:27–35), but not in Sennacherib’s (written?) message in 19:10–13. 8 Würthwein, Die Bücher der Könige: 1. Kön. 17–2. Kön. 25 (ATD 11/2; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1984), 419, 422. 9 Fritz, 1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 369–71. 10 Childs, Isaiah and the Assyrian Crisis (SBT 2/3; Naperville, IL: Allenson, 1967), 79–85. For similar form-critical suggestions, see also Gonçalves, L’Expédition, 407–9; Chaim Cohen, “NeoAssyrian Elements in the First Speech of the Biblical Rab-šāqê,” IOS 9 (1979): 32–48; and Peter Höffken, “Die Rede des Rabshake vor Jerusalem (2 Kön. xviii / Jes. xxxvi) im Kontext anderer Kapitulationsforderungen,” VT 58 (2008): 44–55.
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no difficulty in the shifts of referent, content, and tone in the Rab Šāqēh’s speech. Yet none of the parallels that Childs and, following him, other form critics have adduced displays the lexical confusion of this biblical passage. In all of them, identities of speakers and addressees are always clear and unambiguous, and a sovereign’s words are always clearly distinguished from the glosses added by his diplomatic negotiator. 11 In 1964, Chaim M. Y. Gevaryahu published an article entitled “The Speech of the Rab Šāqēh to the People on the Wall of Jerusalem,”12 in which he assigned 18:19–21 to Sennacherib and 18:22–25 to the Rab Šāqēh, even though this was not the main point of his study. Gevaryahu’s analysis is not based on a consideration of nominal and pronominal referents, though it does successfully distinguish some passages that clearly belong to Sennacherib (by virtue of the introductory phrase) from others that clearly belong to the Rab Šāqēh (by virtue of references to “my lord the king of Assyria”). Nevertheless, it is surely odd to see the Rab Šāqēh claiming for himself rather than for Sennacherib a divine mandate from Yhwh to “go up and destroy that land” (v. 25). On the other hand, Gevaryahu does not explain the variation in the addressees indicated by singular and plural second person forms and the third person reference to Hezekiah. Ehud Ben Zvi has attended carefully to the speech’s lexical confusion and used it as a means to distinguish component elements of the passage.13 Though arrived at independently and worked out in somewhat greater detail, the results of my close reading coincide almost entirely with his source analysis. (The principal difference between us is that Ben Zvi overlooks the complexity of v. 22 and, like Gevaryahu, assigns it entirely to the Rab Šāqēh. I will propose a different reading below.) Ben Zvi’s intention was to pursue two historical questions: “Who Wrote the Speech of 11 In this regard it should be pointed out that Childs’s example is not entirely parallel. The passage in 2 Kings is a narrative that portrays the disputation itself; the Nimrud letter is more properly described as a report of a diplomatic disputation. Childs admits that the parallel “is not absolute” (Assyrian Crisis, 81), but he does not recognize that the differences vitiate any attempt to use the Nimrud letter to explain the referential confusions in the biblical passage. Other form critics appeal to similar speeches in ancient Near Eastern and Hellenistic texts to identify a genre they call, variously, “besieger’s speech” or “demand for surrender.” But in none of the examples adduced as parallels—not even the most complex (see Herodotus, Hist. 8.140, discussed by Höffken, “Die Rede,” 48–51)—is there at any moment any ambiguity about precisely whose words are being spoken or who is being addressed. 12 The article is found in a Festschrift in modern Hebrew, Studies in the Bible Presented to M. H. Segal (ed. J. M. Grintz and J. Live; Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1964), 94–102. I am grateful to Dr. Serge Frolov, through whose good offices I was enabled to understand and address the content of Gevaryahu’s article. Any misrepresentation of Gevaryahu’s arguments remains my responsibility. 13 Ben Zvi, “Who Wrote the Speech of Rabshakeh and When?” JBL 109 (1990): 79–92. For an earlier and identical identification of speakers and addressees in 18:19–25, see Gonçalves, L’Expédition, 406–7.
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Rabshakeh and When?” He concludes that the entire speech is an Israelite composition; that the words attributed to Sennacherib (18:19–21, 25) date to sometime after the event, contemporary with the Isaianic tradition but not with its earliest stratum; and that the words attributed to the Rab Šāqēh (18:22–24) originate much later, in the Deuteronomistic/Deuteronomic tradition of the Josianic period at the earliest. Synchronically oriented studies occasionally remark one or another of the passage’s linguistic irregularities, but none addresses them systematically.14 Burke O. Long notes them at length but then proceeds to a structural analysis of the final form of the text that takes no account of the referential confusion. He proposes that 18:21–25 displays a four-part alternating symmetry (ABA´B´), each element of which comprises a thesis and a counterthesis.15 But he relates that structure to thematic elements only (the A elements refer to reliance on Egypt, the B elements to reliance on Yhwh) and not to vagaries in speaker and addressee. Somewhat similarly, Francolino Gonçalves proposes to read 18:20–25 as a three-part parallel symmetry (ABCA´B´C´), where the A elements address Hezekiah’s weakness (vv. 20a, 23–24a), the B elements address confidence in Egypt (vv. 21, 24b), and the C elements address confidence in Yhwh (vv. 22, 25).16 Gonçalves too, however, considers only thematic issues and ignores the questions of whose voice is speaking and to whom at any given point in this putative arrangement.
Close Reading of the Speech The results of my analysis appear on the accompanying table, which also includes pertinent text-critical notes. The column marked “you” identifies the addressee of each clause; in the translation I have distinguished second person singulars and plurals by using archaic pronouns and by two superscripts. The column marked “I” specifies whether the sentence belongs to Sennacherib’s original message or to the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration.17 14 See, e.g., T. R. Hobbs, 2 Kings (WBC 13; Waco: Word Books, 1985); Richard D. Nelson, First and Second Kings (Interpretation; Atlanta: John Knox, 1987); Robert L. Cohn, 2 Kings (Berit Olam; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000); Jesse C. Long, Jr., 1 & 2 Kings (College Press NIV Commentary; Joplin, MO: College Press, 2002); Marvin A. Sweeney, I & II Kings: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007). Other synchronic studies of the passage include Danna Nolan Fewell, “Sennacherib’s Defeat: Words at War in 2K 18:13–19:37,” JSOT 34 (1986): 79– 90; Dominic Rudman, “Is the Rabshakeh Also among the Prophets? A Rhetorical Study of 2 Kings XVIII 17–35,” VT 50 (2000): 100–110; Yoo-Ki Kim, “In Search of the Narrator’s Voice: A Discourse Analysis of 2 Kings 18:13–16,” JBL 127 (2008): 477–89; Paul S. Evans, “The HezekiahSennacherib Narrative as Polyphonic Text,” JSOT 33 (2009): 335–58. 15 Long, 2 Kings (FOTL 10; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 208–14. 16 Gonçalves, L’Expédition, 398. 17 Naturally, by these terms I do not pretend to reconstruct an utterance of the historical
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2 Kings 18:19–25 Verse
Text
You
“I”
19aα
And the Rab Šāqēh said to them:
19aβbα
Saypl to Hezekiah: Thus says the great king, the king of Assyria
envoys
Rab Šāqēh
19bβ
What is this trustiness that thou hast trusted?
Hezekiah
Sennacherib
20a
Thou hast saida, “Indeed, a word of lips is counsel and potency for war.”
Hezekiah
Sennacherib
20b
Now, to whom hast thou trusted, that thou rebelled against Me?
Hezekiah
Sennacherib
21a
Nowb, look: thou hast trusted thyself to this staff of a broken reed—to Egypt—which, when a man leans upon it, it goes into his hand and pierces it.
Hezekiah
Sennacherib
21b
Thus is Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to all who trust in him.
Hezekiah
Sennacherib
22a
And when ye shall sayc to me, “In Yhwh our god we have trusted”—
envoys
Sennacherib
22b
is it not he whose high places and altars Hezekiah took away and said to Judah and to Jerusalem, “Before this altar shall ye bow in Jerusalem”?
envoys
wagersg,
please, with my lord, with the king of
23a
And now, Assyria:
Hezekiah
Rab Šāqēh
23b
Let me supply thee with two thousand horses if thou canst supply thuself with riders for them.
Hezekiah
(unmarked quotation)
How shalt thou turn back the face of one captain of the least servants of my lordd, yet thou hast trusted thyself to Egypt for chariot and cavalry?
Hezekiah
Rab Šāqēh
24
25a
Now, is it without Yhwh that I have gone up against this place to destroy it?
Sennacherib
25b
Yhwh said to me, “Go up against this land and destroy it.”
Sennacherib
Selected Text-critical Notes a20a
The second person singular form “thou hast said” is a first person form in Isa 36:5, according to the Leningrad Codex. However, there is strong manuscript evidence (including Qumran) to support the second person in Isa 36:5 as well.
b21a
“Now” is lacking in the parallel passage in Isa 36:6, and in some ancient versions.
c22a
The second person form (“ye shall say”) is plural here but singular in the parallel passage in Isa 36:7, the Greek, and the Syriac. Since the preceding second person forms are uniformly singular, the plural is the lectio difficilior. It is more likely that the singular arose under the influence of the five preceding second person singular verbs, especially the singular “thou hast said” in v. 20a, than that the plural arose under the influence of the first person plurals in the following quotation, “In Yhwh our god we have trusted.”
d24
The grammar is anomalous, with an adjective interrupting a construct chain. Nevertheless, the presence of the same wording in Isa 36:9 argues for the antiquity, if not the originality, of the reading and against emendation.
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My criteria for identifying the addressee are that second person singular forms address Hezekiah and plurals address Hezekiah’s envoys or, perhaps, the Judahite populace at large. In the narrative scene as we have it, either could be true, since the people18 are standing on the wall listening to the Rab Šāqēh deliver Sennacherib’s message to Hezekiah’s envoys (18:26–27). These criteria leave the addressee in vv. 21b and 25ab undetermined. In the first case, syntactic smoothness and thematic continuity from v. 21a to v. 21b argue that Hezekiah probably remains the addressee.19 The identification is further supported by the introductory word of v. 21b, “thus” (Nk), which points back to the derogatory metaphor of Egypt as a broken reed in v. 21a and thereby links v. 21b closely to what precedes. In the case of v. 25, I have left the addressee column blank because there are no second person forms to judge by and there is a thematic break between v. 24, which targets Hezekiah’s reliance on Egypt, and v. 25, which disparages reliance on Yhwh. The identity of the addressee here is unclear, and the ambivalence has rhetorical effect. I will return to this below. Verbal indicators also help identify the speaker in each clause. The Rab Šāqēh’s introduction (v. 19a) points to Sennacherib’s as the speaking voice starting in v. 19bβ. The speech flows coherently from v. 19b through v. 22a, which argues for assigning the whole speech to Sennacherib’s original message; the first person form in v. 20b, which clearly refers to Sennacherib, supports this inference.20 The third person reference to “my lord . . . the king of Assyria” marks v. 23a as belonging to the Rab Šāqēh; similarly, the Rab Šāqēh speaks of “my lord” in v. 24. Finally, the first person forms in vv. 25a and 25b point to the invading general, Sennacherib, as the speaking voice; these are hardly claims that the Rab Šāqēh would have made in his own name.21 Sennacherib nor a speech of the historical Rab Šāqēh. “Sennacherib’s original message” comprises those words of the narrative that present themselves as the speech Sennacherib commissioned the Rab Šāqēh to deliver; conversely, the Rab Šāqēh’s words are those that present themselves as his own elaborations of Sennacherib’s speech. 18 Or perhaps the army. See Hans Wildberger, “Die Rede des Rabsake vor Jerusalem,” TZ 33 (1977): 35–47, esp. 39. 19 My working assumption here is that if the text flows smoothly there is no a priori reason to posit multiplicity of sources or of voices. Thematic incompatibility probably points to different sources, but thematic diversity may or may not. 20 The shift to second person plurals in v. 22a betokens a change in addressee, but it does not necessarily indicate a change in speaker (pace Ben Zvi, “Who Wrote,” 83). There is no particular difficulty in reading the first part of the message as Sennacherib’s warning to Hezekiah that his secret plans are known, and the second part as Sennacherib’s attempt to undermine the theological basis of public confidence (compare the very similar strategy in 18:28–30). As we shall see, the structure and rhetoric of Sennacherib’s original message can accommodate a change in the addressee at this point. 21 Contra Childs and Gevaryahu. If any Assyrian is to cast himself as divinely mandated by Yhwh to destroy the land of Judah, it is more likely to be Sennacherib than a subordinate official.
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This leaves vv. 22b and 23b unassigned. The ambivalence of v. 22b will be important later in the rhetorical analysis of the speech. Note that we cannot assume the same assignments for vv. 22a and 22b; they are separated by an anacolouthon, which means that they must be dealt with independently.22 Here I offer a working hypothesis that the words in v. 22b belong to the Rab Šāqēh and mark the beginning of his adaptation of Sennacherib’s original message. My reasoning is pragmatic: as we shall see, this permits a more coherent stylistic and structural appreciation of the speech than the alternatives of assigning v. 22a to the Rab Šāqēh or v. 22b to Sennacherib. As for v. 23b, the first person form is most likely to belong to the king of Assyria. It is not impossible, I suppose, that the Rab Šāqēh could have authority to offer battle-trained horses to Hezekiah, but it strikes me as unlikely that he would make such an offer in his own name. On the other hand, since this clause spells out the specifics of a wager that the Rab Šāqēh himself—not Sennacherib—has just proposed in v. 23a, it should be construed not as part of Sennacherib’s original message but as part of the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration of that message. The sentence is best read as an unmarked quotation of an offer authorized by Sennacherib and made in his name, but introduced into the discussion by the Rab Šāqēh only as part of his diplomatic negotiations.23 In effect, though, since the Rab Šāqēh is responsible for adding these words to the message he was commissioned to proclaim, the referent of the first person form is irrelevant for the rhetorical analysis of Sennacherib’s original message. These criteria divide the whole speech into Sennacherib’s original message (vv. 19b–22a, 25): What is this trustiness that thou hast trusted? Thou hast said, “Indeed, a word of lips is counsel and potency for war.” Now, to whom hast thou trusted, that thou rebelled against me? Now, look: thou hast trusted thyself to this staff of a broken reed—to Egypt—which, when a man leans upon it, it goes into his hand and pierces it. Thus is Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to all who trust in him. And when ye shall say, “In Yhwh our god we have trusted . . .”
.......... Now, is it without Yhwh that I have gone up against this place to destroy it? Yhwh said to me, “Go up against this land and destroy it.”
22 This is where I part company with Ben Zvi (“Who Wrote,” 83) and with Gonçalves (L’Expédition, 406), who read the whole of v. 22 as the Rab Šāqēh’s words to the envoys. The anacolouthon is not in itself an argument for a change in the speaking voice. Indeed, my reconstruction of Sennacherib’s original message (see below) has an anacolouthon at precisely this point. However, the anacolouthon invalidates any attempt to rely on syntactic smoothness as evidence for a continuity of speaking voice. 23 In this respect, Childs’s likening of the rhetoric of the passage to the freedom displayed in a diplomatic disputation is on the mark (Assyrian Crisis, 80–82).
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and the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration that interrupts it (vv. 22b–24): Is it not he whose high places and altars Hezekiah took away and said to Judah and to Jerusalem, “Before this altar shall ye bow in Jerusalem”? And now, wager, please, with my lord, with the king of Assyria: “Let me supply thee with two thousand horses if thou canst supply thyself with riders for them.” How shalt thou turn back the face of one captain of the least servants of my lord, yet thou hast trusted thyself to Egypt for chariot and cavalry?
Rhetorical Analysis Sennacherib’s Original Message Sennacherib’s original message begins with a brief introductory keynote question: “What is this trustiness thou hast trusted?” The root x+b, “trust,” will appear seven times in the course of the whole speech, always in Sennacherib’s voice (though one of the appearances is in an unmarked embedded quotation and not in the king’s original message24); its first two appearances are in this brief keynote. This sets the tone for Sennacherib’s message: he intends to erode the reliance that his addressees have on outside sources of help against Sennacherib’s own forces. Following the keynote, the remainder of Sennacherib’s original message falls into two parts distinguished by their addressees and, more importantly, by their targets. The first part continues the address to Hezekiah, using second person singular forms; it targets Hezekiah’s reliance on military aid from Egypt. The second part is addressed to the envoys (or the populace), using a second person plural form; and it targets their reliance—and, by implication, Hezekiah’s—on help from Yhwh. This arrangement allows further refinements in determining the structure of the speech. Each of the two parts comprises three elements, marked by formal indicators and arranged in parallel symmetry. Thematic question: What is this trustiness that thou hast trusted? A Thou hast said, “Indeed, a word of lips is counsel and potency for war.” B Now, to whom hast thou trusted, that thou rebelled against me? C Now, look: thou hast trusted thyself to this staff of a broken reed—to Egypt—which, when a man leans upon it, it goes into his hand and pierces it. Thus is Pharaoh, king of Egypt, to all who trust in him. A´ And when ye shall say, “In Yhwh our god we have trusted . . .” B´ Now, is it without Yhwh that I have gone up against this place to destroy it? C´ Yhwh said to me, “Go up against this land and destroy it.” 24
The Rab Šāqēh’s words in v. 24, “Thou hast trusted thyself to Egypt,” are an abbreviated (and therefore unmarked) quotation of Sennacherib’s words in v. 21, “Thou hast trusted thyself to this staff of a broken reed—to Egypt.”
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The first element in each part is a quotation attributed explicitly to the addressee and introduced by the verb “say” (rm)). The second element in each part begins with the particle “now” (ht() and continues with a rhetorical question. Finally, each part culminates in an assertion of why the addressee’s trust is misplaced. Sennacherib’s rhetorical strategy can be seen in the similar flow of the argument in each half of the speech. In each part, he begins by quoting the addressee; the quotation alludes, but without explicit detail, to the basis for the addressee’s trust. In v. 20a, Sennacherib quotes Hezekiah as equating “a word of lips” with “counsel and potency for war.” This obscure remark probably refers to a verbal agreement about military support that Hezekiah has struck with Egypt (though Sennacherib does not mention Egypt by name yet).25 In v. 22a, Sennacherib quotes the envoys speaking of “Yhwh our god,” implying that it is Yhwh’s fidelity to Judah that inspires their confidence that he will not allow Sennacherib to conquer. The rhetorical question that follows in each half aims to undermine the addressee’s confidence. To Hezekiah, Sennacherib addresses a question about the identity of his military partner. One effect of this question would be to plant an insidious doubt in Hezekiah’s mind. The preceding quotation has Hezekiah speaking of “a word of lips”; this suggests that his diplomatic negotiations with Egypt were not in writing and were probably intended to be secret. By challenging Hezekiah to name the one on whom he is relying, Sennacherib insinuates that he might already know who that partner is (as indeed he does) and that, therefore, the negotiations might not be as secret as Hezekiah had hoped. Hezekiah’s confidence in his whole plan cannot but be shaken. To the envoys, Sennacherib poses a direct question about their certitude that Yhwh is their god and suggests that Yhwh may in fact have come over to Sennacherib’s side. Finally, the assertion directly challenges the basis for the addressee’s reliance. To Hezekiah, Sennacherib states flatly that Egypt cannot be relied on. And to the envoys, he claims that Yhwh himself has sanctioned Sennacherib’s conquest of Judah. Consonant with the usual dynamic of parallel symmetry, the intensity of the speech increases from the first half to the second. The first half attacks the king’s confidence in a military rescue. The second half attacks the envoys’ (and, perhaps, the people’s) religious reliance on Yhwh. Rhetorically, this raises the ante from the human level to the divine—a radical escalation of Sennacherib’s polemic that leaves 25 Commentators regularly understand the phrase “word of lips” in the light of its only other appearance in the Hebrew Bible, Prov 14:23, where it seems to mean “mere talk” or “empty words.” However, the present narrative context invites broader speculation than does the brief wisdom aphorism. The phrase underscores the oral nature of the words (“word of lips”), and the subsequent indictment of reliance on Egypt seems to imply that the “empty words” are the Egyptian promises. In that light, the implication here would be that any verbal agreement with an unnamed partner on which Hezekiah may be relying is just so much hot air.
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no tertium quid as a haven for Israelite hope. Politically, it is a failsafe mechanism. If Sennacherib succeeds in undermining popular trust in Yhwh, it will not matter whether Hezekiah continues to rely on Egypt. Not only will Hezekiah have lost his people’s loyalty and support; the people’s mistrust of Yhwh will likely sway Yhwh himself against Judah. Sennacherib’s strategy, then, is a diplomatic one. He does not attempt to bluster or threaten. He uses subtler means to attack Judah’s hopes. He warns rather than intimidates. He acknowledges common grounds with his enemy. He establishes that they both know that Hezekiah is in league with Egypt. And he establishes that he, like the Judahites, recognizes the power of Yhwh. Then he turns both of these shared premises on their heads: a league with Egypt is worthless, because Egypt is deceptive; reliance on Yhwh is misguided, because Yhwh has taken the part of Judah’s enemies. The Rab Šāqēh’s Elaboration Like Sennacherib’s original message, the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration falls into two parts distinguished by addressees and targets. The first part, v. 22b, is addressed to the envoys; there are no second person forms, but the third person reference to Hezekiah indicates that he is not the addressee. The target, as it was in Sennacherib’s message to the envoys (or populace), is reliance on Yhwh. The second part of the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration, vv. 23–24, is marked by second person singulars as addressed to Hezekiah; its target, as in Sennacherib’s words to Hezekiah, is reliance on military aid from Egypt. The two parts thus correspond both in theme and in addressee to the two parts of Sennacherib’s message and can be related to the A-B-C elements of Sennacherib’s original message as elements D and D´. A Sennacherib to Hezekiah on trust in Egypt; citation of Hezekiah; v. 20a B Sennacherib to Hezekiah on trust in Egypt; rhetorical question; v. 20b C Sennacherib to Hezekiah on trust in Egypt; argument; v. 21 A´ Sennacherib to (envoys?) on trust in Yhwh; citation of (envoys?); v. 22a D´ Rab Šāqēh to envoys on trust in Yhwh; v. 22b D Rab Šāqēh to Hezekiah on trust in Egypt; vv. 23–24 B´ Sennacherib to (envoys?) on trust in Yhwh; rhetorical question; v. 25a C´ Sennacherib to (envoys?) on trust in Yhwh; argument; v. 25b The Rab Šāqēh elaborates on both of Sennacherib’s attacks by providing additional arguments for doubting the reliability of Yhwh and of Egypt. His arguments add considerable weight to those Sennacherib proposed. Both of Sennacherib’s original arguments spoke more directly of the target—Egypt or Yhwh—than of the addressee; and both lacked cogent substantiation. Sennacherib asserted that Egypt is a “broken reed that pierces the hand of one who leans upon it,” but he offered no instantiations of the claim. Similarly, the claim that Yhwh has commissioned
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Sennacherib to destroy Judah is, in the very nature of things, unverified and unverifiable. In both cases, however, the Rab Šāqēh offers arguments that can be verified, and directs them more pointedly at the addressees themselves. His attack on faith in Yhwh points to what the envoys know well: that Hezekiah has systematically destroyed sanctuaries of Yhwh in an attempt to eradicate the sacrificial cult of Yhwh outside Jerusalem. And he bases his attack on Egypt’s reliability on what Hezekiah (and no doubt the envoys as well) must be aware of—the desperate depletion of the Judahite armed forces: even should Egyptian support materialize, Hezekiah lacks the personnel to make use of it. The purpose of the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration, therefore, is to strengthen Sennacherib’s attack on both fronts—Hezekiah’s reliance on Egypt and popular reliance on Yhwh—by bringing the arguments to bear much more directly on the hearers themselves and by substantiating them in ways the hearers cannot deny. However, the Rab Šāqēh’s elaborations seriously disrupt the symmetry of the original message. First, though they correspond to Sennacherib’s outline, they do so in reverse order. The first part of the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration, addressed to the envoys and directed against Yhwh, corresponds to the second half of Sennacherib’s original message and vice versa. Second, instead of respecting the balanced parallel symmetry of the original message—for example, by coming in the middle, between C and A´—they intrude asymmetrically into the second half of the pattern. The effect of these irregularities is evident only when we consider the rhetorical effect of the final form of the speech on its hearers. The Whole Expanded Speech A rhetorical analysis can also examine the speech from the hearers’ point of view: how would the speech be heard in its final, expanded form? In other words, what rhetorical impact would it have on the envoys (and the populace on the wall) and how would that differ from the rhetorical strategies of Sennacherib’s original message and of the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration considered as separate components? The first thing to note is that the rhetorical impact of the expanded speech does not depend on the hearers’ ability to distinguish Sennacherib’s original message from the Rab Šāqēh’s elaborations. Quite the contrary. The anacolouthon at v. 22b is not enough to make them suspect that these words are added by the Rab Šāqēh: their originator is not made explicit; they continue to be addressed to the envoys; and they continue to attack reliance on Yhwh. The hearers will quite naturally assume that they continue Sennacherib’s proclamation. Moreover, some rhetorical elements of the original message will be entirely lost to the envoys. For instance, the parallel symmetry of the original message will be impossible to discern, and the smooth flow by which Sennacherib subtly erodes confidence in Egypt and in Yhwh will be disturbed by the more direct challenges that the Rab Šāqēh poses to the envoys and to Hezekiah himself.
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What will the envoys (and the people) hear? Since the keynote question and the next four elements of the Rab Šāqēh’s speech come unchanged from Sennacherib’s original message, the hearers’ perception of vv. 19–22a will be as we have already described it. They will hear a menacing warning to Hezekiah that his secret agreement with Egypt for military support will come to naught. Then they will hear an intensification of the peril as Sennacherib addresses them directly and focuses his warning on their national reliance on Yhwh. The words of v. 22b, which the envoys (and people) will continue to hear as Sennacherib’s, remind them of Hezekiah’s destruction of Yhwh sanctuaries outside of Jerusalem. The attack is twopronged. Overtly, it offers concrete grounds to doubt whether Yhwh will support Judah. Tacitly, it lays the blame for that doubt squarely on the shoulders of Hezekiah himself, and thus it attempts to sow discord among Hezekiah’s chief councilors and between them (and his subjects) and the king. When, in vv. 23–24, the Rab Šāqēh makes his own intervention plain with the phrase “my lord . . . the king of Assyria,” his words will appear more as a kind of comradely aside—one king’s councilor to another—than as a continuation of the royal menace. Although they support Sennacherib’s earlier assertions against reliance on Egypt with the incontrovertible fact of Judah’s military disarray, they do so with a tone of realism: “Look, guys, I know, and you know, how desperate you are. Face it. You’re done for!” But this too is an insidious attempt to subvert the envoys’ relationship with Hezekiah. Since the envoys know that Hezekiah knows the military situation, the Rab Šāqēh’s apparent candor is an invitation either to pressure Hezekiah to capitulate or to abandon him if he refuses to do so. After Sennacherib has opened his attack on popular reliance on Yhwh, the mention in v. 22b of Hezekiah’s destruction of Yhwh sanctuaries lays the groundwork for further development of the argument, but it is not explicit in asserting anything about Yhwh himself. The Rab Šāqēh’s obvious intervention in vv. 23–24 about Hezekiah’s military forces temporarily suspends the attack on Yhwh. The delay builds tension and allows the envoys time to wonder what Sennacherib is going to claim about Yhwh. In his attack on reliance on Egypt, Sennacherib asserted Pharaoh’s unreliability; will he claim the same thing of Yhwh? Sennacherib’s argument against reliance on Yhwh finally comes clear when Sennacherib’s voice returns in v. 25 with the shocking claim that, like Egypt, Yhwh too will not support Judah’s cause. However, unlike Sennacherib’s argument against Egypt, which simply asserted Egypt’s faithlessness, his argument about Yhwh—thanks to the intervening mention of Hezekiah’s cultic purge—exonerates Yhwh from a charge of duplicity and puts responsibility for the divine abandonment of Judah on Hezekiah. Thus the expanded speech ends with the same powerful claim that culminated Sennacherib’s original message: Yhwh himself has spoken and acted against Judah. There is one further change occasioned by the Rab Šāqēh’s words in vv. 23–24. The addressee shifts back from the envoys in v. 22 to Hezekiah in vv. 23–24. Since the addressee is not explicitly identified in v. 25, the rhetorical effect is different
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from what it would have been in Sennacherib’s original message. In the original message, structural symmetry and thematic continuity would have left little doubt that this information about Yhwh was addressed to the envoys. In the expanded speech, however, it will be unclear to the envoys whether this shocking claim about Yhwh is, like the immediately preceding words of the Rab Šāqēh, to be conveyed to Hezekiah or whether, on the contrary, it is for themselves alone (there are no second person forms in v. 25). And so, for the envoys, the speech ends not just on a note of disaster—Yhwh’s abandonment of Judah—but also on one of discomfiting uncertainty—about whether to tell, and how much, and how this dire news might be received.
Conclusion Close reading of 2 Kgs 18:19–25 reveals that the speech is a sophisticated achievement on several levels. Structurally, rhetorically, and psychologically it coheres as a complex yet carefully integrated unity. The original message attributed to Sennacherib uses thematic balance and structural symmetry to support a subtly subversive argument against Judah’s reliance on external sources of support in its opposition to Assyria. The Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration of that message respects the thematic balance and invests it with increased power and persuasiveness. However, it obscures the structural symmetry for the rhetorical purpose of increasing tension and thereby deepening the emotional impact of Sennacherib’s claims about Yhwh’s abandonment of Judah both on Hezekiah and on the Rab Šāqēh’s actual auditors.
II. Methodological Implications The foregoing analysis of the Rab Šāqēh’s speech rests on observations about aspects of the text’s coherence, namely, close reading of morphological and thematic variations. To that extent, it begins from the same sorts of evidence as redaction criticism, though its aims are not the same. Redaction criticism seeks to reconstruct the editorial history of the text in its transmission as a literary artifact; rhetorical criticism seeks to reconstruct the persuasive strategies of characters’ words and deeds within the narrative world.26 Source and redaction criticism typically begin from observations about tensions in a text that indicate its composite character.27 Conversely, to the extent that 26 Rhetorical criticism, of course, is interested also in the way authors attempt to influence readers in the real world. But in a narrative text, that influence is mediated through the interactions of characters in the story and of narrator and narratee in the world of the narrative. 27 See, e.g., John Barton, “Source Criticism,” ABD 6:162–65. He lists three categories of “evidence for composite character”: inconsistencies, repetition and doublets, and stylistic differences.
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a text coheres, it offers no purchase for source or redactional analysis. Yet paradoxically, at least in the present case, recognition of thematic and rhetorical coherence in the final form of the text has positive implications for redaction criticism. The Rab Šāqēh’s expansion is structured around the same morphological and thematic duality as Sennacherib’s original message (singular addressee and arguments against reliance on Egypt versus plural addressee and arguments against reliance on Yhwh). And although it disrupts the parallel symmetry of the original message, it does so purposively to strengthen and deepen the rhetorical effect of the original message. The two components then, original message and elaboration, are fundamentally coherent and effectively integrated into a single, complex literary unit. Though complex, such detailed thematic and structural integration ought to be prima facie evidence for single authorship. However, were we to conclude that the coherence of 2 Kgs 18:19–25 in its present form makes it the original work of a single author, then we would also have to conclude that that author carefully crafted a symmetrical speech—that is, Sennacherib’s original message—that no one would ever deliver, hear, or read, and whose elegant balance could be discerned and appreciated only by an obsessive modern literary critic. Then the author immediately obscured the message’s symmetry and organization by inserting an interruption in it, and in so doing gave it the appearance of an address with two stages of composition, each with different though harmonious rhetorical effect. No matter how high an opinion one may have of ancient Israelite authorial practice, such a convoluted compositional strategy seems very unlikely.28 It is more reasonable to assume, with Ben Zvi, that the Rab Šāqēh’s remarks (in my analysis, vv. 22b–24) make up a later redactional stratum that modifies an original, symmetrically structured speech by adding a spin of urgency and concrete realism.29 28
In principle, a literal historicist reading—that the “original message” reproduces an original message entrusted by the historical Sennacherib to the Rab Šāqēh and that the “elaboration” reproduces the historical Rab Šāqēh’s expansion of that message in the course of his negotiations— could escape the dilemma. It would allow for compositeness (Sennacherib as “original author,” the Rab Šāqēh supplying the “redaction”) without requiring redactional strata in the Israelite written tradition. Such a reading, however, would have its own serious problems. It would not explain how Sennacherib’s original message came to be organized according to a typical Hebrew symmetrical pattern and expressed in Judahite (which was not the diplomatic lingua franca of the day), nor how a virtually flawless record of the entire speech was preserved for the Deuteronomistic author of 2 Kgs 18:19–25, while slight but structurally significant changes crept into the tradition used by the editor of Isa 36:4–10. 29 Ben Zvi, “Who Wrote,” 91–92. A full redactional study of the passage, including an attempt to date the various stages of composition, would have to take into consideration the larger context of 18:13–19:37 in order to discern redactional strata throughout the account as a whole and to argue for their provenance and historical settings. That project goes well beyond the scope and intent of this paper. Ben Zvi’s article establishes a solid starting point for such an undertaking.
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Note also that the two apparent “stages of composition” as perceived by hearers of the speech (who would hear 18:19–22, 25 as Sennacherib’s words and 18:23– 24 as the Rab Šāqēh’s words) do not coincide precisely with the redactional strata (18:19–22a, 25, Sennacherib’s “original message,” and 18:22b–24, the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration) that close reading reveals. Thus, the persuasive impact of the speech as a whole is quite different from the sum of the rhetorical thrust of its two redactional “parts.” These differences result primarily from the ambiguity in the speaking voice(s) in 18:22. But since nothing in the wording of the text indicates a change in speaker before 18:23, only rhetorical and structural indicators point to the speaking voice in 18:22b as the Rab Šāqēh’s. In this way, literary methods afford a refinement of the compositional history not easily discerned by standard source- and redaction-critical approaches. Assignment of the Rab Šāqēh’s elaboration to a redactor entails a noteworthy corollary about the nature of redaction and the method of redaction criticism itself. Since source and redaction criticism usually begin from observations about tensions in the text, redaction criticism’s main emphasis is most often on the distinctiveness of the redactor and the ways in which the redactor’s thought differs from or modifies that underlying the original material. As a result, redactors’ interventions are frequently treated like foreign bodies encysted in the original text rather than as constituents of a new, coherent unity. As far as I am aware, appreciating the redactor’s work as a creative transformation of a whole text has not played a large role in the practice of redaction criticism. The present test case suggests that at least some redactors may be more ambitious than they are given credit for. The redactor of 2 Kgs 18:19–25 was more than an editorial glossator with a distinct agenda. He had a sophisticated appreciation of the organization and rhetorical thrust of his source. In redacting that source, he recognized its structure and purpose, integrated his own modifications coherently into the whole, and respected and enriched its rhetorical effect. In short, his redaction is a creative weaving of words fully integrated with the original author’s. Attention to points of unevenness in a text can help to isolate the hand of a redactor whose modifications produce tensions and discernible seams; but attention to layered complexities in a unified and coherent text may sometimes reveal the hand of a redactor whose literary achievement is as admirable as that of the original author.
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Did Nehemiah Own Tyrian Goods? Trade between Judea and Phoenicia during the Achaemenid Period benjamin j. noonan [email protected] Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion, Cincinnati, OH 45220
In recent years, much debate has centered on the status of Jerusalem during the Achaemenid period, particularly with regard to the size and composition of its population.1 Relevant for this discussion is Neh 13:16, which in the context of Nehemiah’s reforms refers to Tyrian traders in Jerusalem: “Tyrians lived there, bringing fish and every kind of merchandise and selling them on the Sabbath to the people of Judah and in Jerusalem.” This interesting verse has been largely neglected by scholars and commentators. Nearly forty years ago, Ben-Zion Luria argued for the historicity of Neh 13:16 on various grounds, but many of his arguments are now outdated or questionable.2 This text was discussed more recently in a study by Diana V. Edelman, but because her primary question was whether the Tyrian trade colony of Neh 13:16 was endorsed by the Persian government, Edelman did not discuss in much detail eviI would like to thank Professor Nili Fox, Jennifer Noonan, Brian Gault, Thomas Beyl, Young Bok Kim, and Charles Halton for their insights at various stages during the composition of this essay. 1 See, e.g., Oded Lipschits, “Persian Period Finds from Jerusalem: Facts and Interpretations,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9, no. 20 (2009): 2–30; Israel Finkelstein, “Jerusalem in the Persian (and Early Hellenistic) Period and the Wall of Nehemiah,” JSOT 32 (2008): 501–20; idem, “Persian Period Jerusalem and Yehud: A Rejoinder,” Journal of Hebrew Scriptures 9, no. 24 (2009): 2– 13; Gabriel Barkay, “hymxn ymyb Myl#wry l( Pswn +bm,” in Myl#wry l# hygwlw)ykr)b My#wdyx Myrqxm Cbwq :hytwbybsw [New Studies in the Archaeology of Jerusalem and Its Regions] (ed. David Amit and Guy D. Stiebel; Jerusalem: Hebrew University of Jerusalem Institute of Archaeology, 2008), 2:48–54. 2 Luria, “(z+ ,g~y hymxn) `rkm lkw g)d My)ybm hb wb#y Myrchw`,” Beit Mikra 15 (1970): 363–67.
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dence for a Tyrian enclave in Jerusalem.3 Similarly, many commentators on the book of Nehemiah have glossed over the mention of the Phoenician traders, simply assuming the existence of trade between Judea and Tyre during this period.4 The goal of this article is to assess the pertinent archaeological and textual evidence concerning a Phoenician presence in Jerusalem, supplementing the studies of Luria and Edelman and incorporating recent and important archaeological finds. Thus, a framework of Phoenician commerce will be constructed within which the plausibility of a Tyrian trade colony in Jerusalem as described in the book of Nehemiah can be evaluated.
I. Historical Context and Questions According to Neh 13:16, Tyrians (Myrch)5 had established a trade enclave in Jerusalem to conduct their trade in fish and other merchandise.6 This verse is found 3 Edelman, “Tyrian Trade in Yehud under Artaxerxes I: Real or Fictional? Independent or Crown Endorsed?” in Judah and the Judeans in the Persian Period (ed. Oded Lipschits and Manfred Oeming; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006), 207–46. 4 Many commentaries deal with the issue in a cursory manner or not at all: Lester L. Grabbe, Ezra-Nehemiah (Old Testament Readings; New York: Routledge, 1998), 64–67; F. Charles Fensham, The Books of Ezra and Nehemiah (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 263; Loring W. Batten, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Books of Ezra and Nehemiah (ICC; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1913), 295; Wilhelm Rudolph, Esra und Nehemia, samt 3. Esra (HAT 20; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1949), 206–8; Joachim Becker, Esra/Nehemia (NEchtB 25; Würzburg: Echter, 1990), 117–18; Frank Michaeli, Les Livres des Chroniques, d’Esdras et de Néhémie (CAT 16; Neuchâtel: Delachaux & Niestlé, 1967), 358. Only a few commentaries refer to the Phoenician practice of establishing trading colonies or selling fish, and their discussions are very brief: H. G. M. Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah (WBC 16; Waco: Word, 1985), 395; Joseph Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1988), 359–60; Jacob M. Myers, Ezra, Nehemiah: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 14; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1965), 213; David J. A. Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther (NCB Commentary; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1984), 243–44. 5 The absence of Myrchw in the LXX A, LXXB, and Syriac traditions does not require the text to be emended; see Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 358; Myers, Ezra, Nehemiah, 213. The reference to Tyrians raises the question of whether the term “Tyrian” is a synonym for “trader” (similar to the usage of the term yn(nk in the Hebrew Bible), a general term for the Phoenicians as an ethnic group, or a specific reference to Tyrians in Neh 13:16. While inconclusive, several factors argue in favor of understanding the term as a specific reference to Tyrians. Sidon, not Tyre, became the preeminent city of Phoenicia during the Achaemenid period (H. Jacob Katzenstein, “Tyre in the Early Persian Period [539–486 B.C.E.],” BA 42 [1979]: 24). Thus, if the Phoenicians in general were in mind, one might expect the term “Sidonian” to have been used. This is even more the case in light of the fact the term “Sidonian” is often used in ancient sources, including the Hebrew Bible, to refer to the Phoenician peoples as a whole or to Phoenicians from city-states other than Sidon (e.g., Josh 13:4–6; 1 Kgs 5:15–20 [5:1–6]; 16:31; Homer, Il. 23.743–44; KAI 31:1). Thus, the text’s explicit reference to Tyrians may suggest that these traders were, in fact, specifically Tyrians. 6 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 359–60; Myers, Ezra, Nehemiah, 213; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 395.
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in the framework of Nehemiah’s social and religious reforms, which constitute most of the chapter. Many scholars consider Neh 13:4–31 to be a discrete account of Nehemiah’s second term as governor,7 and many agree that this pericope is part of the Nehemiah Memoir, a first-person account traceable to Nehemiah himself or someone writing under his immediate direction.8 Based on the chronological information of Neh 13:6, the events described in this section probably took place ca. 430 b.c.e. Assuming this to be the case, the Tyrian enclave would have existed in Jerusalem during the Achaemenid period in Palestine.9 With this background in mind, a number of questions need to be examined in order to assess the historical plausibility of Neh 13:16. What evidence is there for the establishment of Phoenician trade colonies in the ancient world, and what evidence is there for trade between Phoenicia and Palestine? Is there evidence of a Tyrian trade colony selling fish in Jerusalem during the Achaemenid period, or at the very least a Phoenician presence in the city?
II. Evidence for Phoenician Trade Colonies Phoenician establishment of trading centers in foreign cities is well attested in a variety of textual sources.10 As early as the ninth century b.c.e., the Tyrian king
7
Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 353; Myers, Ezra, Nehemiah, xl; Fensham, Ezra and Nehemiah, 30. 8 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 394; Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 358; Fensham, Ezra and Nehemiah, 4–5. Although the contents of the Nehemiah Memoir are the subject of debate, the account is generally considered to consist of Nehemiah 1–7; 13:4–31, as well as portions of ch. 12. 9 While the issue of dating is complex, the final edition of Nehemiah is broadly dated by scholars ca. 400–300 b.c.e., and the events described in the book are typically dated ca. 450–425 b.c.e. For a discussion of the dating of the book, see Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 41–54; Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, xxxv–xxxvi; Myers, Ezra, Nehemiah, lxvii–lxx. 10 For detailed discussions of textual sources and archaeological evidence related to Phoenician expansion in the Levant and Mediterranean, see Maria Eugenia Aubet, The Phoenicians and the West: Politics, Colonies and Trade (trans. Mary Turton; 2nd ed.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Guy Bunnens, L’expansion phénicienne en Méditerranée: Essai d’interprétation fondé sur une analyse des traditions littéraires (Études de philologie, d’archéologie et d’histoire anciennes 17; Rome: Institut historique belge de Rome, 1979); Edward Lipiński, Itineraria Phoenicia (Studia Phoenicia 18; Leuven: Peeters, 2004). It is important to recognize that there are historical uncertainties inherent in using the textual material related to this study. Because the various texts and inscriptions reflect the viewpoint of their authors and represent varying degrees of historical reliability, it is imperative that they be used cautiously and critically for the purposes of historical reconstruction. Despite the difficulties, however, these writings constitute a valuable source for Phoenician history, and critical evaluation need not lead to skepticism. In general, the reliability of a statement in a source increases when textual sources, particularly those from different or independent traditions, can be correlated among themselves or with data gleaned from archaeology. For a discussion of the proper use of epigraphic and other textual sources for the recon-
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Ithobaal I (887–856 b.c.e.) is credited with establishing several trade colonies. Citing the Tyrian chronicles of Meander of Ephesus, which are otherwise lost, Josephus notes that Ithobaal I founded trade colonies at Auza in Libya as well as at Botrys, located north of Byblos (A.J. 8.324).11 The Assyrian annals of Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 b.c.e.) and Tiglath-pileser III (744–727 b.c.e.) refer to the presence of Phoenicians in northern Syria and Turkey during this period, and other evidence points to their presence in this region at sites such as Karatepe, Zincirli, and Myriandros.12 Around 820 b.c.e., Tyre founded a colony at Kition on Cyprus in order to obtain commercial control of the island’s copper supply.13 It was also around the end of the ninth century that the Tyrian colony of Carthage was founded. According to the Latin historian Justinus (Epitoma historiarum Philippicarum 18.4–5) and other classical sources, Elissa—the sister of the Tyrian king Pygmalion (820–774 b.c.e.), a successor of Ithobaal I—was forced to flee Tyre as a result of a crisis that developed between the king and the local aristocracy. After fleeing to the west, Elissa founded Carthage in northern Africa in 814 b.c.e., a city that would later become the most important trade colony of the Phoenicians.14 Other significant colonies established in the Mediterranean by the Phoenicians include Utica in northern Africa, Tartessos and Gadir in Spain, Sulcis and Nora in Sardinia, Motya in Sicily, and Malta.15 Throughout the Neo-Assyrian period, the Assyrian kings permitted the Phoenicians to utilize kāru-settlements, or trade quarters in cities, for the profit of
struction of Phoenician history, see Josette Elayi and Jean Sapin, Beyond the River: New Perspectives on Transeuphratene (trans. J. Edward Crowley; JSOTSup 250; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 85–109. 11 Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 46–47; H. Jacob Katzenstein, The History of Tyre: From the Beginning of the Second Millennium B.C.E. until the Fall of the Neo-Babylonian Empire in 538 B.C.E. (2nd ed.; Jerusalem: Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 1997), 131, 135. 12 Guy Kestemont, “Tyr et les Assyriens,” in Studia Phoenicia: Bijdragen van de Interuniversitaire Contactgroep voor Fenicische en Punische Studies (National Fonds voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek) (ed. Eric Gubel et al.; Studia Phoenicia 1–2; Leuven: Peeters, 1983), 59-66. The existence of Phoenicians in this region is indicated by the ninth-century b.c.e. Phoenician Kulamuwa inscription (KAI 24) from Zincirli in Turkey and the eighth-century b.c.e. Azatiwada inscription (KAI 26), a Phoenician–hieroglyphic Luwian bilingual discovered at Karatepe in Cilicia. The later testimonies of Xenophon (Anab. 1.4.6) and Pseudo-Scylax (Periplus 102) confirm the existence of a Phoenician harbor installation at Myriandros (near modern İskenderun, Turkey). 13 Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 51–54. 14 Ibid., 214–30. Although some historians consider the accounts of Carthage’s founding to be pure myth, there are too many correspondences between ancient Near Eastern and classical sources to think that they had no historical basis; see Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 215; Donald B. Harden, The Phoenicians (Ancient Peoples and Places 26; London: Thames & Hudson, 1962), 66. 15 Harden, Phoenicians, 57–65; Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 194–346.
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the Assyrian empire.16 A letter from an official named Qurdi-Ashur-lamur to Tiglath-pileser III at Kalh~u (Nimrud) describes an agreement between Tyre and Assyria concerning timber obtained from Lebanon. The terms of the agreement allowed the Tyrians to enter and leave the quay stations and to sell and buy as long as they paid the required taxes to Assyria (ND 2715, lines 3–13).17 Similarly, a fragmentary treaty between Esarhaddon (680–669 b.c.e. ) and Baal I (680–660 b.c.e.), king of Tyre, reflects a continuing partnership in which Assyria allowed Phoenicia to carry out its trade. The treaty records that Esarhaddon entrusted Baal I with several kāru-settlements, including Akko, Dor, and Byblos (K3500 + K4444 + K10235 [+] Sm 964, col. iii, rev., lines 18´–22´).18 As early as the Late Bronze and Iron I periods, Phoenicians from Tyre settled at Akzib, Tell Abu Hawam, and Tell Keisan near the Mount Carmel region, and these cities flourished as important Phoenician enclaves into the Iron II period.19 The Hebrew Bible refers to trading establishments (twcwx)20 in both Samaria and Damascus during the Neo-Assyrian period (1 Kgs 20:34), and, while not specifically labeled as such, they may have been Phoenician.21 Herodotus records that the Tyrians established a trading quarter in Egypt at Memphis (Hist. 2.112), probably under the reign of Psamtik I (664–610 b.c.e. ).22 16 The Akkadian term kāru, originally associated with a quay, came to be associated with the trading quarter of a city where merchants gathered to transact business (CAD, K, 231–37; AHw, 451–52). 17 H. W. F. Saggs, “The Nimrud Letters, 1952—Part II,” Iraq 17 (1955): 127–28. 18 Simo Parpola and Kazuko Watanabe, eds., Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths (SAA 2; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1988), 25. The contents of this treaty are especially confirmed in the case of Dor, where an abundance of commercial Tyrian pottery from the seventh century b.c.e. has been discovered; see Ayelet Gilboa, “hdm(ml twr(hw rwdb tyrw#) hqym)ryq yrw#)h #wbykh tpwqtb ry(h l#,” in Pswy rps hytwqyt(w Cr)h t(ydyb Myrqxm :l)r#y Cr) Mryb) [Joseph Aviram volume] (ed. Avraham Biran, Amnon Ben-Tor, Gideon Foerster, Abraham Malamat, and David Ussishkin; ErIsr 25; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1996), 122–35. 19 Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 68–69. Mount Carmel, designated as a holy mountain of Zeus (ὄρος ἱερὸν ∆ιός) by Pseudo-Scylax in Periplus 104, is also associated with the Canaanite deity Baal in 1 Kgs 18:17–40. This narrative describes Elijah’s confrontation with the prophets of Baal and Ahab, an Israelite king with Phoenician ties via his wife, Jezebel. A Phoenician connection with Mount Carmel is further established by Josephus, who describes it as Τυρίων ὄρος, “a mountain of the Tyrians” (B.J. 3.35). 20 The Hebrew term Cwx, literally, “outside” or “street” (HALOT, 298–99), is sometimes used by metonymy to refer to a market in the Hebrew Bible; see Hayah Katz, “Commercial Activity in the Kingdoms of Judah and Israel,” TA 31 (2004): 270. 21 Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet, Les relations entre les cités de la côte phénicienne et les royaumes d’Israël et de Juda (Studia Phoenicia 12; Leuven: Departement Oriëntalistiek, 1992), 267. 22 H. Jacob Katzenstein, “Myrcm Cr)b Pwnb r#) `Myrwch hnx`,,” in Myrqxm :l)r#y Cr) grbznyg )~x rps :hytwqyt(w Cr)h t(ydyb [H. L. Ginsberg volume] (ed. Menahiem Haran; ErIsr 14; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1978), 161–64.
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Their presence in Memphis is supported by the discovery of the Saqqara Papyrus (KAI 50), dated to the late seventh century b.c.e. Found in the city, this papyrus fragment contains two Phoenician names, Arishut and Eshmun-yaton, and invokes the Canaanite deity Baal-Saphon. While the exact nature of the transaction between the individuals mentioned in the papyrus is unclear, it is probable that their base of operations was the Tyrian trade colony in the city.23 Additional inscriptions, including a fourth- or third-century b.c.e. Phoenician inscription written on a sphinx (CIS I, 97) and a second- or first-century b.c.e. one containing several Phoenician names and written on the pedestal of a stele (KAI 48), confirm the continued presence of Phoenicians at Memphis.24 Herodotus also records that Psamtik I’s successor, Necho II (610–595 b.c.e. ), constructed a canal linking the Pelusiac branch of the Nile to the Red Sea by way of the Wadi Tumilat, probably to capture the spice and incense trade with the Mediterranean world (Hist. 2.158). As suggested by vast numbers of Phoenician amphorae and a Phoenician ostracon dating to the fifth century b.c.e. , the Phoenicians probably had established a colony at nearby Tell el-Maskhuta and were involved with the trade activities of the canal.25 The Periplus of Pseudo-Scylax (fourth to third centuries b.c.e.) provides evidence for Phoenician expansion and establishment of trade colonies during the Achaemenid period. After describing Phoenician colonization in Cilicia and Cyprus, Pseudo-Scylax turns to Syria and Phoenicia, and, after mentioning several cities in Phoenicia proper, he lists a number of locations along the Palestinian coast, including Dor and Joppa (Periplus 104), both important port cities.26 Pseudo-Scylax specifically notes that Dor was under Sidonian control, a statement supported by the fifth-century b.c.e. Eshmunazor sarcophagus inscription. This inscription states that the king of Persia, most likely Xerxes I (485–465 b.c.e.), granted both Dor and Joppa to Sidon as a reward for services of Sidon’s king (KAI 14:18–20).27 Dor’s sta23
Katzenstein, “Tyre in the Early Persian Period,” 29–30. André Lemaire, “Les Phéniciens et le commerce entre la Mer Rouge et la Mer Méditerranée,” in Phoenicia and the East Mediterranean in the First Millennium B.C.: Proceedings of the Conference Held in Leuven from the 14th to the 16th of November 1985 (ed. Edward Lipiński; Studia Phoenicia 5; Leuven: Peeters, 1987), 56–57. 25 John S. Holladay, Jr., “Maskhuta, Tell el-,” ABD 4:590; Lemaire, “Phéniciens et le commerce,” 58–59. 26 The town name of Joppa is actually missing from the extant manuscript of Pseudo-Scylax’s Periplus, but the city in question is mentioned in connection with the myth of Andromeda and the sea monster. This myth is associated with the city of Joppa by numerous sources in antiquity, including Pliny the Elder (Nat. 5.14), Strabo (Geogr. 16.28), and Josephus (B.J. 3.420). Thus, the restoration of Joppa is plausible and nearly certain. 27 As noted above, Dor had been under Tyrian control during the Neo-Assyrian period. The passing of Dor from Tyrian to Sidonian control reflects Tyre’s loss of preeminence and Sidon’s rise to power late in the sixth century b.c.e. (see Katzenstein, “Tyre in the Early Persian Period,” 24). 24
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tus as a Phoenician city is supported also by a fourth-century b.c.e. Phoenician inscription from Dor that refers to the “servant of Eshmun,”28 and Joppa’s status is supported by Pliny the Elder’s reference to Joppa as Iope Phoenicum (Nat. 5.69). Archaeological excavations indicate a Phoenician presence at several other sites in the general region, including Shiqmona, Tel Mevorakh, Makmish, Tell Abu Hawam, Atlit, and Tell Kudadi.29 Phoenician establishment of trade colonies continued even into the Hellenistic period. At Maresha, a Greek graffito written on the door frame above the entrance to a sarcophagus chamber attests to a Phoenician presence. The graffiti, dated to the second century b.c.e., marks the inhabitant of the tomb as Apollophanes the son of Sesmaios and describes him as “ruler of the Sidonians at Maresha” (ἄρξας τῶν ἐν Μαρίσῃ Σιδωνίων). Proper names containing the theophoric element Apollo were commonly used by the Phoenicians during this period, both in the Levant and in Cyprus. This graffito demonstrates that the Sidonians had established a colony a Maresha, a colony that was probably originally a mercantile settlement.30 To sum up, there is abundant evidence for Phoenician establishment of trade colonies in the ancient world. Presumably, some of the trade structures established by the Assyrians were kept in place by the Babylonians when they came to power and were adopted by the Persians after the fall of the short-lived Neo-Babylonian empire. As Edelman has suggested, it is possible that the Tyrian trade enclave mentioned in Neh 13:16 was endorsed by the Persian government, perhaps in order to establish a presence in Judea.31 Given Jerusalem’s importance as a city and its strategic position along the Way of Beth-Horon, which went from Jerusalem to the trade port of Joppa on the coast,32 it would have been quite logical from an economic standpoint for the Tyrians to choose Jerusalem as a location for a merchant colony. Thus, the Phoenicians’ common practice of establishing mercantile settlements in foreign cities is consistent with the existence of a trade colony in Jerusalem during the time of Nehemiah. 28 Joseph Naveh, “A Phoenician Inscription from Area C,” in Excavations at Dor: Final Report, vol. 1B, Areas A and C: The Finds (ed. Ephraim Stern; Qedem Reports 2; Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1995), 489; Ephraim Stern, “The Many Masters of Dor, Part 3, The Persistence of Phoenician Culture,” BAR 19, no. 3 (1993): 44, 46. An inscription from Dor during the Hellenistic period refers to an individual named Zebul, a common element in Phoenician and Punic onomastics; see B. Delavault and André Lemaire, “Les inscriptions phéniciennes de Palestine,” RSF 7 (1979): 19. 29 Josette Elayi, “Studies in Phoenician Geography during the Persian Period,” JNES 41 (1982): 99–104; cf. Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 68–69. 30 NEAEHL 3:948, 955; John P. Peters and Hermann Thiersch, Painted Tombs in the Necropolis of Marissa (Marêshah) (ed. Stanley A. Cook; London: Israel Exploration Fund, 1905), 37–40. 31 Edelman, “Tyrian Trade,” 226–27, 231–40. 32 David A. Dorsey, The Roads and Highways of Ancient Israel (ASOR Library of Biblical and Near Eastern Archaeology; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 181–84.
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III. Evidence for Trade between Palestine and Phoenicia A. Phoenician Pottery The presence of a Tyrian merchant colony in Jerusalem is further supported by archaeological evidence for trade between Palestine and Phoenicia. The typological features of Phoenician cylindrical (so-called torpedo) jars—strong carination, the ratio between diameter and height, and the fine rim and round-triangular lower part—reflect a design geared toward controlling the capacity of each jar. This indicates that they were used for shipping measurable items such as foodstuffs, a conclusion supported by chemical analysis of the jars.33 At Tyre and other locations such as Sarepta along the Phoenician coast, these vessels have been found in great quantities. However, these jars are found also at locations in northern Palestine such as Hazor beginning in the ninth century b.c.e., and through the sixth century b.c.e. they are found at numerous locations in Palestine, including Samaria, Beth-Shean, Taanach, Tel Yoqneam, Megiddo, Lachish, and Azor.34 In light of this varied distribution, it should be asked whether these vessels were made in Phoenicia or Palestine. Numerous sherds of these vessels have been found as kiln wasters in large dumps at Phoenician sites, suggesting that they were produced at kilns local to Phoenicia.35 This conclusion has recently been confirmed by petrographic and typological analyses, which have demonstrated that most of these vessels were manufactured in Phoenicia and exported to Palestine.36 These jars thus provide evidence for trade in foodstuffs between Phoenicia and Palestine in the ninth through sixth centuries b.c.e. It is logical to conclude that similar trade practices continued during the Achaemenid period, even if in smaller quantities. Phoenicia was known for its exports of honey, pine nuts, grain, wine, olive oil, olives, and fish paste during the Roman period, and it is unlikely that exportation of these and other agricultural items would have ceased entirely between the Neo-Assyrian and Roman periods.37
33 Shulamit Geva, “Archaeological Evidence for the Trade between Israel and Tyre?” BASOR 248 (1982): 71; Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 48. 34 Patricia M. Bikai, “Observations on Archaeological Evidence for the Trade between Israel and Tyre,” BASOR 258 (1985): 71–72; Briquel-Chatonnet, Relations, 246–47. 35 Bikai, “Observations on Archaeological Evidence,” 71–72. 36 Carolina A. Aznar, “Exchange Networks in the Southern Levant during the Iron Age II: A Study of Pottery Origin and Distribution” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 2005), 56–68, 156– 61, 206–13; Ayelet Gilboa et al., “Towards Computerized Typology and Classification of Ceramics,” Journal of Archaeological Science 31 (2004): 688–92. 37 Bikai, “Observations on Archaeological Evidence,” 72.
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B. Phoenician Luxury Goods Phoenician trade connections with Palestine during the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian periods are suggested by the presence of carved ivories at various locations in Palestine, most notably at Samaria. While some of these ivories may have been carved locally, many were imported from Phoenicia.38 Produced during the ninth to eighth centuries b.c.e., they were a well-known Phoenician luxury product, and their value is evident from the fact that Hezekiah submitted ivory products as tribute to Sennacherib (Rassam Cylinder, lines 55-58).39 Similarly, redslip ware (also called “Samaria-ware”) points to the existence of trade connections between Palestine and Phoenicia. Although in the past scholars debated whether this form of pottery indicates Phoenician imports or the presence of Phoenician craftsmen in Samaria, recent petrographic analysis has confirmed that this type of pottery was manufactured in Phoenicia and exported to Palestine.40 Phoenician luxury items imported to Palestine during the Achaemenid period include furniture, decorated metal vessels, and bone objects. The bronze joints of a couch and stool found in a tomb at Tell el-Farah (South) were incised with manufacturers’ markers that indicate these items were produced in Phoenician workshops. A stool with similar markings was found at Tell Jemmeh, and additional furniture remains from Palestine during this period provide evidence of Phoenician furniture imports.41 Evidence of imported Phoenician metalwork from the Achaemenid period includes iron and bronze candelabra found in cities such as Samaria and Shechem. They are crafted in the Phoenician style and were probably produced in Phoenician workshops along the coast and exported to various locations. Metal bowls blending Mesopotamian, Persian, and Egyptian motifs were also manufactured in Phoenicia and exported to Palestine and Syria.42 Lastly, the similarity of ninth- and eighth-century b.c.e. “lamp-goddess” figurines in the Transjordan region (Ain Jenin in Edom), at Gezer, and at Beth 38 Aubet, Phoenicians and the West, 47–48; Richard D. Barnett, Ancient Ivories in the Middle East and Adjacent Countries (Qedem 14; Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1982), 49; Briquel-Chatonnet, Relations, 262–64. 39 Eckart Frahm, Einleitung in die Sanherib-Inschriften (AfO Beiheft 26; Vienna: Institut für Orientalistik der Universität Wien, 1997), 54–55. 40 Aznar, “Exchange Networks,” 70–76, 100–116, 240–42. 41 Ephraim Stern, Archaeology of the Land of the Bible, vol. 2, The Assyrian, Babylonian, and Persian Periods (732–332 B.C.E.) (ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 524–25. 42 Ibid., 525–26. It is possible that some of these objects were made locally, as suggested by the existence of a Phoenician-style workshop in Samaria; see Ephraim Stern, “A Phoenician Art Centre in Post-Exilic Samaria,” in Atti del I Congresso internazionale di studi fenici e punici, Roma, 5–10 Novembre 1979 (ed. Piero Bartoloni et al.; 3 vols.; Collezione di studi fenici 16; Rome: Consiglio nazionale delle ricerche, 1983), 1:211–12.
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Shemesh to Punic figurines from several centuries later may attest to the practice of trade between Phoenicia and Palestine and the Transjordan.43 These figurines are unique, atypical of Palestinian or Transjordanian figurines and very similar to Phoenician colonial products. They were probably manufactured by Phoenician artisans and imported, perhaps by means of a Phoenician merchant colony located in Edom near Bozrah.44
IV. Evidence for Phoenicians in Jerusalem A. Possible Indications of a Phoenician Presence in Geographical Toponyms In light of the evidence for Phoenician establishment of trade colonies and trade with Palestine, it should now be asked whether any evidence for a Phoenician presence in Jerusalem exists. Luria has argued that traces of a Phoenician presence have been preserved in three geographical locations in the city: the Tyropoeon Valley, Straton’s Tower, and the Corner Gate. The Tyropoeon Valley, also called the Central Valley because it lies between the Hinnom and Kidron Valleys, ran through the center of ancient Jerusalem, dividing the upper and lower parts of the city. The valley begins near the Damascus Gate at the north end of the city and runs south along the west side of the Temple Mount and the City of David. In his Jewish War (5.140), Josephus calls the Tyropoeon Valley the “valley of the cheese-makers” (τῶν τυροποιῶν φάραγξ). However, this description is not found in any other contemporary sources, and, based on modern anthropological comparisons, one would expect cheese to have been made in a nearby pasture where the flocks were, not in a valley, and to have been brought into the city once it was made.45 Accordingly, Luria has argued that the name of the valley should instead be derived from Τύριος, or “Tyre” (Hebrew rwc).46 Yet, even 43
G. Lankester Harding, “Some Objects from Transjordan,” PEQ 69 (1937): 253–55. Ibid.; B. S. J. Isserlin, “On Some Figurines of ‘Lamp-Godesses’ [sic] from Transjordan,” Revista de la Universidad Complutense 25 (1976): 140–41. The presence of a Phoenician trading colony in Edom is perhaps consistent with Amos 1:9, which refers to Tyrian slave-trade connections with Edom; see Francis I. Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Amos: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989), 261–63; Isserlin, “Figurines of ‘Lamp-Godesses,’” [sic] 141–42. 45 Jan Jozef Simons, Jerusalem in the Old Testament: Researches and Theories (Studia Francisci Scholten memoriae dicata 1; Leiden: Brill, 1952), 53; Luria, “`hb wb#y Myrchw`,” 365. 46 Luria, “`hb wb#y Myrchw`,” 365; cf. Hans-Peter Müller, “Phönizien und Juda in exilischnachexilischer Zeit,” WO 6 (1971): 200. This was suggested also by Captain Charles Wilson, one of the early surveyors of Jerusalem for the Palestine Exploration Fund; see Charles William Wilson, “The Ordinance Survey of Jerusalem, 1864–5,” in The Recovery of Jerusalem: A Narrative of Exploration and Discovery in the City and the Holy Land (ed. Walter Morrison; New York: D. Appelton, 1871), 6–7. 44
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if the first element of the valley’s name in Greek were originally derived from Hebrew rwc, this would not explain the remainder of the name, particularly the presence of the letter pi. Other scholars have suggested a number of possibilities for its origin. Gustaf Dalman conjectured that the name for the valley was an error for the Hebrew term hprwt, meaning “weakness.”47 This derivation assumes that the valley represented a weak point of the city that could easily be conquered, a fact noted by the Tosefta (t. Sanh. 3:4) and Talmud (b. Šebu. 16a). A. van Selms and others, however, have argued that Josephus’s name for the valley was based on an ancient tradition of cheese-making associated with the Dung Gate, located at the northern end of the Tyropoeon Valley.48 These etymologies for Josephus’s description of the Tyropoeon Valley are speculative, however, and the exact origin of the name remains a mystery.49 Luria’s suggestion that the name of the Tyropoeon Valley is ultimately derived from Hebrew rwc does not adequately explain the origin of the name and cannot be used to demonstrate the existence of a Tyrian merchant colony in Jerusalem. Luria has further argued that a Phoenician presence in Jerusalem is indicated also by the existence of the tower known as “Straton’s Tower” in the city. Like the Tyropoeon Valley, this location is mentioned only by Josephus. According to Josephus, Antigonus, the son of John Hyrcanus, was murdered by his brother Aristobulus ca. 104 b.c.e. in a subterranean passageway that led to the Temple Mount (B.J. 1.77–80; A.J. 13.307–13). The part of the passageway where this occurred was located somewhere in or near the Hasmonean fortress that later became Herod’s Antonia and was known as Straton’s Tower (τὸν Στράτωνος πύργον).50 Another and more familiar location known as Straton’s Tower in ancient Palestine, however, is the site of Caesarea Maritima, the city and harbor built by Herod the Great near the end of the first century b.c.e.51 During the fourth century b.c.e., a tower known as Straton’s Tower in classical sources was constructed here under
47
Dalman, Jerusalem und sein Gelände (BFCT 2/19; Gütersloh: Bertelsmann, 1930), 197– 98. See also Jastrow, 1658. 48 Van Selms, “The Origin of the Name Tyropoeon in Jerusalem,” ZAW 91 (1979): 175–76; Selah Merrill, Ancient Jerusalem (New York: Fleming H. Revell, 1908), 77–81. This option assumes a connection between the term for the Dung Gate, tp#)h r(# (Neh 2:13; 3:13; 12:31), and the Hebrew term twp#, a hapax legomenon occurring in 2 Sam 17:29 with the meaning “cheese” (HALOT, 1620). 49 Michael Avi-Yonah notes that “the form of the name itself is highly suspect, being probably a corruption of some Hebrew name, which has not been ascertained” (The Holy Land: A Historical Geography from the Persian to the Arab Conquest [536 B.C.–A.D. 640] [ed. Anson F. Rainey; 2nd ed.; Jerusalem: Carta, 2002], 193). 50 Duane W. Roller and Robert L. Hohlfelder, “The Problem of the Location of Straton’s Tower,” BASOR 252 (1983): 65. 51 Pliny the Elder equates Straton’s Tower with Herod’s Caesarea (Nat. 5.14), as do Ptolemy (Geogr. 5.15) and Justinian (Nov. 103).
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the supervision of the Phoenicians. According to the third-century b.c.e. Zenon Papyrus (P.Cair.Zen. 59004) and the later testimony of Strabo (Geogr. 16.275), Straton’s Tower had an anchorage. It probably also functioned as a warehouse that held imported goods, such as wheat, oil, and wine, from Palestine.52 Noting that the Greek equivalent of the Phoenician deity Ashtart (trt#() is Στράτων,53 several scholars have argued that the Sidonian king Straton I (376–361 b.c.e.),54 or AbdAshtart (trt#( db() in Phoenician, was the original founder of this tower and anchorage.55 Despite disagreements among scholars,56 this association seems fairly certain, and it is likely that Straton I’s construction of the tower was a larger part of the Phoenician expansion described by Pseudo-Scylax (Periplus 104).57 Based on this connection between Straton’s Tower of Caesarea and the Phoenicians, Luria argues that Straton’s Tower of Jerusalem was also founded by Straton I, demonstrating a Phoenician connection with Jerusalem.58 Despite the evidence that links Straton I with the Greek name Στράτων and the foundation of Straton’s Tower, however, one significant difficulty with Luria’s hypothesis exists: because Josephus is the only source to mention Straton’s Tower in Jerusalem and because he provides no details on the origin of this toponym, the exact connection, if any, 52
Elayi, “Studies in Phoenician Geography,” 100. The equivalence of Greek Στράτων and Phoenician trt#( is evident, for example, in Josephus’s reference to the Tyrian king Abd-Ashtart (918–910 b.c.e.), which he renders as Ἀβδάσταρτος in Greek (C. Ap. 1.122). 54 Although there was at least one other Sidonian king named Straton during the fourth century b.c.e., Straton I is the most likely candidate for the one who constructed Straton’s Tower; see Lee I. Levine, “À propos de la fondation de la Tour de Straton,” RB 80 (1973): 75–76; Hans Hauben, “Straton,” Dictionnaire de la civilisation phénicienne et punique (ed. Edward Lipiński; Paris: Brepols, 1992), 427–29. 55 Edward Lipiński, “Tour de Straton,” Dictionnaire de la civilisation phénicienne et punique, 467–68. 56 K. B. Stark, for example, argued that Straton’s Tower was named after a Ptolemaic general named Straton, not the Sidonian king (Gaza und die philistäische Küste [Jena: F. Mauke, 1852], 450–52). Arguing that the Hebrew name for the location was r# ldgm, a toponym derived from a popular translation of the Greek name, Robert R. Stieglitz has adopted this basic position (“Stratonos Pyros—Migdal Śar—Sebastos: History and Archaeology,” in Caesarea Maritima: A Retrospective after Two Millennia [ed. Avner Raban and Kenneth G. Holum; Documenta et monumenta Orientis antiqui 21; Leiden: Brill, 1996], 596–99). Other scholars have argued that Στράτων is unrelated to any individual. Leo Kadman has suggested that the name of the town reflected the worship of the goddess Ashtart in the city (The Coins of Caesarea Maritima [Corpus Nummorum Palaestinensium 2; Tel Aviv: Schocken, 1957], 52–53). Rami Arav has contended that Στράτων should be taken as a Greek translation of the term ldgm, which he claims has the meaning “camp, fort” and should be associated with Greek στρατός, meaning “army” (LSJ, 1653); see Arav, “Some Notes on the Foundation of Straton’s Tower,” PEQ 122 (1989): 146–47. 57 Josette Elayi, ‘Abd‘aštart Ier/Straton de Sidon: Un roi phénicien entre orient et occident (Supplément à Transeuphratène 12; Paris: Gabalda, 2005), 95–101. 58 Luria, “`hb wb#y Myrchw`,” 364–65; cf. Müller, “Phönizien und Juda,” 200. 53
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between Straton’s Tower of Caesarea and Straton’s Tower of Jerusalem remains uncertain.59 In other words, although there seems to be an association between the founding of Straton’s Tower of Caesarea and Straton I, there is no clear historical association between Straton’s Tower of Jerusalem and Straton I. Although there may be a connection, it cannot be assumed, given the present lack of evidence. Lastly, Luria has also argued that the three different terms used for the Corner Gate in the Hebrew Bible, hn%fp%iha (2 Kgs 14:13; 2 Chr 26:9; Jer 31:38), hnEwOp%ha (2 Chr 25:23), and Myn%ip%iha (Zech 14:10) reflect a Phoenician presence in Jerusalem. The Corner Gate was probably located at the northwest corner of Jerusalem.60 Thus, it was located along the northern wall of the city, close to the probable location of the Fish Gate, which, as will be discussed in more detail below, was probably associated with the Phoenicians and the fish trade. In light of this, and because this gate is mentioned only five times but is written three different ways, Luria suggests that the different terms reflect a corruption of the original name of the gate, which he reconstructs as Myqynyph r(# (“Gate of the Phoenicians”).61 This reconstruction presupposes that the term yqynyp is a Semitic term, but the various terms for “Phoenician” in the ancient world are probably Mediterranean rather than Semitic in origin.62 The term yqynyp never occurs in the Hebrew Bible and is not attested until the rabbinic period;63 in the Hebrew Bible, the term yn(nk or more specific gentilics, such as yndyc (“Sidonian”) or yrc (“Tyrian”), are used to designate the Phoenician peoples. The same is true of other extant Northwest Semitic texts, including Phoenician ones. Thus, although it is admittedly possible that a term such as yqynyp had been adopted into the Semitic languages to denote 59
Duane W. Roller, “Straton’s Tower: Some Additional Thoughts,” in Caesarea Papers: Straton’s Tower, Herod’s Harbour, and Roman and Byzantine Caesarea, Including the Papers Given at a Symposium Held at the University of Maryland, the Smithsonian Institution, and the Jewish Community Center of Greater Washington on 25–28 March, 1988 (ed. Robert Lindley Vann; Journal of Roman Archaeology Supplementary Series 5; Ann Arbor: Journal of Roman Archaeology, 1992), 25. 60 Dale C. Liid, “Corner Gate,” ABD 1:1156. 61 Luria, “`hb wb#y Myrchw`,” 363–64. 62 Michael C. Astour has proposed that the Linear B term po-ni-ki-ya (“red dye”) and the related Greek term φοῖνιξ (“Phoenician”) are etymologically connected with the Hebrew name h)wp (HALOT, 916), a name meaning “madder, red dye” that is found in Num 26:23 along with its gentilic ynwp (HALOT, 918); see Astour, “The Origin of the Terms ‘Canaan,’ ‘Phoenician,’ and ‘Purple,’” JNES 24 (1965): 348–49. To support his claim, he notes that Semitic cognates with the meaning “madder” exist also as Ugaritic pwt, Syriac put aā, and Arabic fuwwat. However, the issues surrounding the origin of the term φοῖνιξ are complex, and a Semitic origin for this term is not conclusively supported by the biblical and other lexical evidence. For a critique of Astour’s proposal as well as a detailed discussion of the origin of the term φοῖνιξ, see James D. Muhly, “Homer and the Phoenicians: The Relations between Greece and the Near East in the Late Bronze and Early Iron Ages,” Ber 19 (1970): 24–34. 63 Jastrow, 1190.
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the Phoenicians during the Achaemenid period, its usage is otherwise unattested and there is no evidence that it was in use in the Semitic languages during this period. Moreover, although there are not enough occurrences to determine for certain, it is possible that diachronic or dialectal factors rather than corruption of an original spelling are behind the different orthographic traditions of the Corner Gate. Accordingly, it is unlikely that the variant spellings of the Corner Gate in the Hebrew Bible reflect a Phoenician presence in Jerusalem.
B. Phoenician Involvement in the Rebuilding of the Temple Although Luria’s arguments for a Tyrian presence in Jerusalem by linking the Phoenicians with several toponyms are dubious, evidence for a Phoenician mercantile presence in the city during the Achaemenid period comes from Ezra 3:7, which notes that Tyrian and Sidonian merchants were suppliers of wood for the rebuilding of the temple after the exile. In light of the similarities between this text and the account of Solomon’s construction of the temple (1 Kgs 5:15–25 [5:1–11]; 1 Chr 22:2–4; 2 Chr 2:7–15 [2:8–16]), such as the shipment of timber by sea to Joppa and the method of payment, the narrative has probably been shaped by a concern to connect the construction of the second temple with that of the first temple.64 However, the general similarities between the two temple construction accounts would also have been dictated by necessity, and there is no reason to discount entirely the historicity of this statement.65 It is possible that part of the trade agreement, not specified in the text here, entailed Phoenician trade rights in Jerusalem. If this were the case, perhaps the Phoenicians were permitted to establish a trade colony in Jerusalem. However, this is not explicitly mentioned by the text, so it is uncertain whether there were additional terms of the agreement and, if so, what the terms were. Nevertheless, while Ezra 3:7 does not provide conclusive evidence for a Phoenician trade enclave in Jerusalem, it at the very least points to mercantile connections between Phoenicia and Jerusalem during this period.
C. The Tyropoeon Valley and the Fish Gate Additional evidence for a Phoenician trade colony as described by Neh 13:16 can be found in the Tyropoeon Valley. Excavations in this valley have revealed that it was a well-traversed region of the city in antiquity, in part because it provided easy access through Jerusalem and to the temple. It is not surprising, therefore, that the remains of numerous merchant shops from the Second Temple period have been 64 Blenkinsopp, Ezra-Nehemiah, 100; Clines, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, 67–68; Batten, Ezra and Nehemiah, 115–16. 65 Williamson, Ezra, Nehemiah, 47.
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identified in the valley.66 The northern part of the Tyropoeon Valley was located close to roads leading to the coastal plain and the Mediterranean, which would have provided merchants with access to trade routes. The term for the Tyropoeon Valley in the Hebrew Bible is #tkm, which denotes a hollow or depression.67 It is used with reference to this valley only in Zeph 1:11,68 a verse found in a pericope describing impending judgment (1:7–18). Verse 11 describes the outcry of the inhabitants of the valley at the demise of the valley’s traders and merchants, denoted by the Hebrew expression N(nk M(-lk. There are several cases in the Hebrew Bible where the term yn(nk denotes merchants because peoples associated with the region of Canaan commonly served as merchants in the ancient world (Job 40:30; Prov 31:24; Zech 14:21). Accordingly, the geographical term N(nk is occasionally used in the Hebrew Bible to refer to Phoenicia (Isa 23:11; cf. Gen 10:15–19), and the term yn(nk can also be used to denote the Phoenicians, who, through their trade of purple dye, ivories, and other luxury goods, were the example par excellence of merchants (cf. Isa 23:8).69 It is quite possible, therefore, that the traders in Jerusalem that are referred to in Zeph 1:11 were Phoenician merchants. This possibility is further strengthened by the association of the Tyropoeon Valley with the Fish Gate in the preceding verse, 1:10.70 The exact location of the Fish Gate is unknown, although the Hebrew Bible (Neh 3:3; 12:38–39) indicates that it was situated near the Tower of Hananel and the Tower of the Hundred, both located at the northwestern corner of the Temple Mount area.71 Thus, it is probable that the Fish Gate was located along the
66 Robert W. Smith, “Tyropoeon Valley,” ABD 6:692; Hillel Geva, “Jerusalem: The Second Temple Period,” NEAEHL 2:740–42. 67 HALOT, 583; Marvin A. Sweeney, Zephaniah: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 90; Adele Berlin, Zephaniah: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 25A; New York: Doubleday, 1994), 87. The term #tkm refers to a different valley in Judg 15:19 and to a mortar for crushing grain in Prov 27:22. 68 Despite the likely identification of #tkm with the Tyropoeon Valley in Zeph 1:11, the ancient versions differ in their understanding of the term. The Vulgate follows a literal reading of the Hebrew text, reading habitores pilae (“inhabitants of the mortar”). The LXX, on the other hand, translates #tkmh with τὴν κατακεκοµµένην (“the area broken into pieces” or “the area coined into money”) based on the meaning of the root #tk in Hebrew (“to pound”) and the mention of silver in the verse. The Peshitta does not attempt a translation, simply transliterating it as mktš. Lastly, Targum Jonathan reads Nwrdqd Nwlxnb (“in the Kidron Valley”), but this is perhaps due to a desire to connect the idolatrous vessels destroyed in the Kidron Valley (2 Kgs 23:4–6) with pagan Canaanites rather than traders. See Sweeney, Zephaniah, 90–91. 69 Benjamin Mazar, “Canaan and the Canaanites,” BASOR 102 (1946): 9–10. 70 The translation of the LXX (ἀπὸ πύλης ἀποκεντούντων) stems from a misreading of the Hebrew text, reading a reš in place of the dalet in the term Mygdh; see Sweeney, Zephaniah, 73. 71 Michael Avi-Yonah, “The Walls of Nehemiah—A Minimalist View,” IEJ 4 (1954): 241–42; Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, “Hananel, Tower of,” ABD 3:45; Dale C. Liid, “Hundred, Tower of,” ABD 3:333–34.
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northern wall of the city to the west of the Temple Mount, close to the northern part of the Tyropoeon Valley.72 Because a city gate functioned as the passageway in and out of a town, it developed into a place for commercial and judicial activities in the biblical world. Like many of Jerusalem’s other gates, such as the Potsherd Gate (Jer 19:2), the Fish Gate probably received its name from the particular commodity that was traded at the gate.73 Because the Fish Gate probably provided access to the coast via the Way of Beth-Horon, it would have been a natural location for merchants selling fish from the Mediterranean to bring their merchandise. According to the Hebrew Bible, this was the route by which the Phoenicians transported timber during the time of Solomon (2 Chr 2:15) as well as during the time of Ezra (Ezra 3:7), so it is logical that other goods, such as fish, would also be transported along this same route.74 Fish was an important dietary component in ancient Palestine, and abundant evidence exists for its consumption.75 In the City of David, located just to the west of the Tyropoeon Valley in Jerusalem, numerous fish remains are attested as early as the Middle Bronze II Age. While a good number of the fish remains found in the City of David can be traced to Nilotic species from Egypt, most of the remains originated from the Mediterranean. Fish remains of Mediterranean species are attested primarily during the Iron I and II periods but also during the Achaemenid, Hellenistic, and later periods.76 Similarly, excavations at the Ophel, located just north of the City of David adjacent to the Tyropoeon Valley in Jerusalem, have revealed a significant number of Mediterranean fish remains from the Iron II period.77 Because these fish originated in the Mediterranean, they must have been brought to Jerusalem from the coast by merchants, and recent excavations con72
Dale C. Liid, “Fish Gate,” ABD 2:797–98. Katz, “Commercial Activity,” 268–69; Liid, “Fish Gate,” 798. 74 To prevent spoilage, fish was typically dried, salted, or smoked when transported over long distances in the ancient world; see Wim Van Neer et al., “Fish Remains from Archaeological Sites as Indicators of Former Trade Connections in the Eastern Mediterranean,” Paléorient 30, no. 1 (2004): 102. Although there are a number of factors that can affect the speed of transport, it is possible that fish could have been traded in a fresh state up to a distance of 50 km, meaning that fresh rather than preserved fish could have been delivered to Jerusalem from the coast; see Van Neer et al., “Fish Remains,” 106. 75 Nathan MacDonald, What Did the Ancient Israelites Eat? Diet in Biblical Times (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), 37–38. For a summary of the sites in which fish remains have been discovered in Palestine, see Van Neer et al., “Fish Remains,” 110–30, 134–39. 76 Hanan Lernau and Omri Lernau, “Fish Remains,” in Excavations at the City of David 1978–1985, Directed by Yigal Shiloh, vol. 3, Stratigraphical, Environmental, and Other Reports (ed. Alon de Groot and Donald T. Ariel; Qedem 33; Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1992), 131–48. 77 Hanan Lernau and Omri Lernau, “Fish Bone Remains,” in Excavations in the South of the Temple Mount: The Ophel of Biblical Jerusalem (Qedem 29; Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1989), 155–61. 73
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ducted by Israeli archaeologists Ronny Reich and Eli Shukron suggest that at least some of the merchants were Phoenician traders. Their excavations near the Gihon Spring in the City of David have unearthed a building dated to the late eighth century b.c.e. that was constructed on top of a dried-up, rock-cut pool. A large amount of debris, used to fill the dried-up pool before construction of the building, was discovered under the dwelling’s beaten earth floor. Preliminary analysis of the debris has revealed more than ten thousand fish remains deriving from at least 228 individual fish, and of these more than 90 percent of the fish are seawater fish originating from the Mediterranean. The large number of fish discovered, greater than that discovered elsewhere in Jerusalem or at any other site in Palestine, points to the presence of an eighth-century b.c.e. market in the city, where fish were brought in, sealed in sacks or crates, and eventually distributed.78 Significantly, several items discovered among the debris and fish remains point to a connection with the Phoenicians. The presence of a small, two-centimeterhigh carved ivory pomegranate reflects the Phoenician tradition of ivory working attested at Samaria, Nimrud, and elsewhere.79 Numerous clay bullae and several seals and scarabs also evince Phoenician motifs, such as the stylized palmette. One bulla depicts a Phoenician-style ship, and another portrays a big fish with a fisherman and small boat floating above. Overall, the assemblage of bullae, scarabs, and seals is most closely paralleled by that of Samaria,80 which is significant because Samaria was a city with strong Phoenician connections during the Iron II period. Based on the association of the fish remains with these Phoenician-style objects, it is likely that commercial ties between Jerusalem and Phoenicia involving the trading of fish existed during the Iron II period.81 Phoenician involvement with the fish trade is entirely consistent with the association of the Phoenicians, and particularly the Tyrians, with fish in the ancient world. The Ramesside period Papyrus Anastasi I, for example, describes Tyre as richer in fish than in sand (P.BM 10247, 21.1–2).82 Although Egypt also was known for exporting fish in the ancient world, as the eleventh-century b.c.e. story of Wena78 Reich, Shukron, and Omri Lernau, “Recent Discoveries in the City of David, Jerusalem,” IEJ 57 (2007): 153–60. 79 Ibid., 160–61. 80 Ibid., 156–57, 161. For the assemblage of bullae, scarabs, and seals from Samaria, see John W. Crowfoot, “Scarabs, Seals and Seal Impressions,” in John W. Crowfoot et al., The Objects from Samaria (Samaria-Sebaste Reports 3; London: Palestine Exploration Fund, 1957), 85–89. 81 Reich, Shukron, and Lernau, “Recent Discoveries,” 162–63. 82 Hans-Werner Fischer-Elfert, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I: Übersetzung und Kommentar (Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 44; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1986), 170–73; idem, Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I: Textzusammenstellung (2nd ed.; Kleine ägyptische Texte; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1992), 131–32. Several Phoenician colonies also were known for their involvement with the fish trade. Gadir and Carthage, both Tyrian trade colonies, were known in Punic times for their export of fish (Glenn E. Markoe, Phoenicians [Peoples of the Past; Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000], 104).
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mun attests (P.Moscow 120, 2.39–2.42),83 the predominance of Mediterranean rather than Nilotic fish (which are clearly attested at sites with Egyptian commercial connections) suggests that someone other than the Egyptians was controlling the fish trade in Jerusalem. Given the clear association of Iron Age II fish remains in the City of David with Phoenician objects as well as the fact that fish remains have been found in Jerusalem from later periods, it is plausible that the Phoenicians established a fish trade operation in Jerusalem that flourished in the Iron II period and continued into the Achaemenid period.84 Phoenician merchants selling fish probably set up their shops near the Fish Gate at the north of the Tyropoeon Valley and also sold their wares farther south in the City of David. Thus, the mention of merchants in connection with the Tyropoeon Valley and Fish Gate in Zeph 1:11, as well as the abundance of Mediterranean fish remains found throughout Jerusalem, confirm the plausibility of Tyrian traders selling fish in the city as Neh 13:16 states.
V. Conclusion Both archaeological and textual data demonstrate Phoenician expansion and establishment of trade colonies, beginning with the Neo-Assyrian period and continuing into the Achaemenid and Hellenistic periods. Given this common Phoenician practice, it would not be surprising if a trade colony was established also in Jerusalem, especially in light of the strong evidence for trade between Phoenicia and Palestine during these periods. Although the arguments that attempt to prove a Phoenician presence in Jerusalem by lexically linking the Phoenicians with several toponyms may be dubious, the Hebrew Bible as well as other textual and archaeological evidence supports the presence of Phoenician merchants in Jerusalem, specifically the areas surrounding the Tyropoeon Valley and the City of David. Recent archaeological discoveries of fish remains connect commercial activity in Jerusalem with the fish trade, a practice in all likelihood linked with the Phoenicians and probably connected with the Fish Gate. Thus, despite the lack of direct evidence for the presence of a Phoenician colony in Jerusalem during the Achaemenid period, the statement in Neh 13:16 that the Tyrians sold fish in Jerusalem is quite plausible. Perhaps, then, Nehemiah did own some Tyrian goods. 83 Bernd U. Schipper, Die Erzählung des Wenamun: Ein Literaturwerk im Spannungsfeld von Politik, Geschichte und Religion (OBO 209; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005), 80–82. 84 Despite the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians, the city’s economy during the Achaemenid period would have been reinvigorated with the rebuilding of the temple, leading to the renewal of prior commercial practices.
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The Dangerous Sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel amy kalmanofsky [email protected] The Jewish Theological Seminary, New York, NY 10027
Like many feminist biblical scholars, I am challenged by the metaphor of Israel as God’s sexually promiscuous wife as developed throughout the prophetic literature.1 Much recent scholarship addresses the origins, rhetorical purpose, and theological relevance of this metaphor.2 What follows is an examination of one feature of this metaphor that has been noted but not fully considered by scholars. Three texts personify Israel and Judah (and in the case of Ezekiel 16, Sodom as well) as sisters married to God: Jer 3:6–11; Ezek 16:44–63, and Ezekiel 23.3 I contend that 1
Gerlinde Baumann locates the metaphor in the following texts: Isa 1:21; 49:15–23; 50:1; 51:17–52:2; 54:1–6; 57:6–13; 62:4–5; Jer 2:1–3, 13; 4:1–31; 13:20–27; 30–31; Lam 1:1–22; Ezekiel 16; 23; Hos 2:1–23; 9:1; Mic 1:4, 6–7; Nah 3:4–7; Zeph 3:14–17; Mal 2:10–16 (Love and Violence: Marriage as Metaphor for the Relationship between YHWH and Israel in the Prophetic Books [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2003], 41). 2 Ibid.; Christl M. Maier, Daughter Zion, Mother Zion: Gender Space and the Sacred in Ancient Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress 2008), 94–140;Yvonne Sherwood, The Prostitute and the Prophet: Reading Hosea in the Late Twentieth Century (1996; London/New York: T&T Clark International, 2004); Renita J. Weems, Battered Love: Marriage, Sex, and Violence in the Hebrew Prophets (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Gale A. Yee, Poor Banished Children of Eve: Woman as Evil in the Hebrew Bible (Minneapolis, Fortress, 2003), 81–134. 3 Commentators note the representation of Israel and Judah as sisters and consider it a crucial feature that links the Jeremiah and Ezekiel passages, but do not address the impact their relationship as sisters has on the metaphor. See William L. Holladay, Jeremiah 1: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, Chapters 1–25 (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1986), 116– 17; Moshe Greenberg, Ezekiel, 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 22; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1983), 288, 303; Walther Eichrodt, Ezekiel: A Commentary (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1970), 214–15. Feminist biblical critics are more concerned with the gender-specific nature of the imagery and with asking why Israel and Judah are personified as promiscuous women than they are with the particular detail that these women are presented as
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the portrayal of Israel and Judah as sisters introduces a particular set of anxieties into the metaphor of the wayward wife that are an essential part of the prophets’ rhetoric of horror designed to terrify their audience into reform.4 Represented as sisters within the patriarchal literary context of the Hebrew Bible, Israel and Judah pose a formidable threat. As I will show, sisters raise anxieties related to their interpersonal relationship and their sexual desire. Their sisterbond challenges the authority of the patriarchs in their lives, and their sexual promiscuity is a devastating act of externally focused sororal desire. Thus, Israel and Judah’s relationship as sisters is a potent rhetorical feature of the metaphor of the wayward wife that both heightens the tensions and expresses the terrors related to Israel’s demise while conveying what is necessary to secure Israel’s redemption. If the sisters break their bond, maim their bodies, and redirect their desire to God, they can resume their place in God’s metaphorical family.
I. Sisters in Victorian Literature and the Hebrew Bible: A Theoretical Framework In order better to understand the role sisters play in the biblical texts, I draw from another literary context in which sisters also play a significant role—Victorian literature. Though at first glance, these literatures may appear too distinct in time and place to draw comparisons, Victorian and biblical literature share a focus—the family. Certainly, family is essential to the narratives, metaphors, and theology of the Hebrew Bible. The national story of Israel is, at heart, the family story of Abraham, his wives, and their descendants. Family also provides the metaphorical framework in which to understand the relationship between God and Israel. The Hebrew Bible presents God alternatively as father/mother/husband to his wife/son/daughter Israel.5 Family is central also to nineteenth-century Victorian sisters. In her analysis of the marriage metaphor, Baumann briefly observes, “The frame of the imagery is being expanded: parents, the two sisters, and children take us far beyond the marriage imagery and present the panorama of a family” (Love and Violence, 144). 4 In my book Terror All Around: Horror, Monsters, and Theology in the Book of Jeremiah (Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies 390; New York/London: T&T Clark International, 2008), I identify and examine the prophetic rhetoric of horror. There I argue that the prophets employ a rhetoric designed to elicit the response of horror, the composite emotional response of fear and shame, from their audience. Images of bloody swords, cannibalistic enemies, and writhing maternal bodies are staples of the prophetic horror rhetoric. To these I now add the wanton, dangerous sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel. 5 Leo G. Perdue writes: “The household in the Bible occupies a central place in Old Testament theology and ethics. Much of what the Old Testament says about the character and especially the activity of God is shaped by discourse concerning the family. And much of what the Old Testament says about human morality concerns behavior within the context of the household. Indeed, the household of ancient Israel was one of two major social institutions that shaped theological
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literature.6 In fact, scholars credit Victorian literature with the creation of the domestic ideal perhaps best exemplified by the March family (a family with four sisters) in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women (1868–69).7 Literary theory, which examines the representation of the Victorian family and, in particular, the sister, provides a helpful framework in which to understand the roles sisters play in the Hebrew Bible.8 Commenting on the critical role sisters play in Victorian literature, Leila Silvana May writes: The nineteenth century’s well known fixation on the family has generally been dealt with by critics in terms of the parent-child relationship, with remarkably little attention given to the sibling bond. Yet, to a great extent, that century’s obsession with the family, particularly in England, proves to be an anxiety about the reflection and discourse in the Old Testament and the subsequent formation of its theological traditions” (“The Household, Old Testament Theology, and Contemporary Hermeneutics,” in Families in Ancient Israel [ed. Leo G. Perdue, Joseph Blenkinsopp, John J. Collins, and Carol Meyers; Family, Religion, and Culture; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997], 225). 6 In her discussion of the domestic ideal in Victorian children’s literature, Elizabeth Thiel writes: “This constant reaffirmation of domestic values was of vital importance in maintaining the ideological status quo for Victorian adults, but if it was to endure, it was essential that subsequent generations subscribed to a similar doctrine. The myth of home and family that resonated throughout the early part of the century had simultaneously been replicated through popular children’s literature to create a template for a world in which father and mother, devoted to the moral and/or spiritual well-being of their offspring, were ever-present and ever-mindful of their duties” (The Fantasy of Family: Nineteenth-Century Children’s Literature and the Myth of the Domestic Ideal [Children’s Literature and Culture; New York/London: Routledge, 2008], 5). 7 Leila Silvana May describes the social factors that contributed to “the nineteenth-century obsession with the family”; she writes: “As the world beyond the walls of the middle-class household became increasingly turbulent (fear of revolution inspired by events in France, the bread riots of the 1840s, the Chartist demonstrations, conflict between religious and scientific forces), an ever more tightly knit and strongly hierarchical nuclear family developed as a buffer against both social instability and the increasingly dehumanized features of the economy” (Disorderly Sisters: Sibling Relations and Sororal Resistance in Nineteenth-Century British Literature [Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2001], 15). John R. Gillis also chronicles the rise of domestic ideology in the Victorian period in A World of Their Own Making: Myth, Ritual, and the Quest for Family Values (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), 61–108. 8 In a cursory glance at sister stories in Victorian literature, one notes Jane Austen’s Bennet and Dashwood sisters, George Eliot’s Brooke sisters, Elizabeth Gaskell’s Brontë and Jenkyns sisters. In the Bible, there are Lot’s daughters, Rachel and Leah, Michal and Merav, Dinah, and Tamar. Biblical sisters and their narrative roles remain relatively unnoticed by scholars. In his book examining sibling rivalry among brothers, Frederick Greenspan quickly dismisses the idea of independent sister stories, viewing sisters as narratively serving and reflecting their male counterparts: “The few exceptions (Rachel and Leah or Michal and Merab) merely confirm the Bible’s androcentric focus, for the narratives that do include females invariably function as adjuncts to those dealing with males in one way or another. Thus Rachel and Leah echo Jacob’s relation with Esau, and Michal and Merab epitomize the conflict between David and Saul” (When Brothers Dwell Together: The Preeminence of Younger Siblings in the Hebrew Bible [New York: Oxford University Press, 1994], 7).
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According to May, Victorian society perceived sisters as paradigms of sexual innocence and virtue. Deeply invested in constructing the home as a pristine if not sacred10 sanctuary from the moral ambiguity of the public realm, patriarchal Victorian society assigned women the task of maintaining and representing the domestic realm.11 Thoroughly ensconced in the household, unmarried sisters in particular embodied the domestic ideal. Unlike their mothers, who have sexual partners and interact with the outside world, these sisters are sexually unsullied, physically and morally pure.12 It becomes the task of the family to protect and to cultivate their innocence by teaching them obedience, tenderness, and loyalty. Often these values are taught through a sister’s relationship with her brother, who serves as an apt stand-in for her future husband. According to May, She is taught that she must defer to and minister to her brother, and understands that eventually she might have to reject a beloved suitor if her brother disapproves of him. She begins to learn her role as wife and mother by solicitously deferring to her brother; and thereby becomes an idealized (future) wife. She must learn to identify the desire of the (br)other, and then come to identify it as her own.13
Victorian literature’s focus on the family captures the ideological enthusiasm and expectation heaped upon the sister while simultaneously revealing deep 9
May, “Sibling Revelry in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein,” SEL 35 (1995): 669. Gillis contends that in the Victorian period, the family replaces the church as the sacred center: “Middle-class Victorians turned the family into an object of worshipful contemplation. As a result of the crisis of faith that had caused so many to have serious doubts about the existence of God and his transcendent order, the family became proof of the existence of the divine. . . . Victorians on both sides of the Atlantic began to worship God through their families” (World of Their Own Making, 71). Similarly, Claudia Nelson notes, “Faced with a rapidly changing world, English society clung to the idea that family might provide stability and access to eternal values. . . . As constructed by Ruskin and countless other cultural commentators, home and family were potent forces, amounting, at least in the abstract, to a secular religion” (Family Ties in Victorian England [Westport, CT: Praeger, 2007], 6–7). 11 May writes: “In the home, little men (more often than not at the expense of little women) must learn to prepare for the battle. It is women’s responsibility, we are told by the Magazine of Domestic Economy in 1836, to create in the home a ‘place of happiness . . . which alone can make compensation for all troubles, and toils and struggles, with which men of all classes must meet in public life, and business, and occupation of any description’” (Disorderly Sisters, 17). 12 As May observes, not only are mothers sexually active and therefore not pure, but a woman’s personal relationship with her husband brings her one step closer to the public sphere (Disorderly Sisters, 18). Nelson states: “In contrast, the moral power of an unmarried sister was typically traced to her sexual inexperience. Presumed to be above contamination by the animal world of sensual gratification, sisters were considered to be in a position to preserve their brothers from the fate to which men’s allegedly stronger sex drive might otherwise lead them” (Family Ties, 107). 13 May, Disorderly Sisters, 18–19. 10
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anxieties felt toward the sister’s place in the family—anxieties that May believes all stem from the fear of female agency and female desire.14 Victorian novels, according to May, are fascinated and horrified by the possibility of a sister asserting her own desire apart from the needs of her family. A sister’s independent desire is dangerous whether focused externally or internally. When a sister desires someone external to the immediate family, a potentially threatening outsider enters the family circle.15 Even a welcome outsider raises anxieties, as a legitimate suitor becomes a husband and a sister’s allegiance shifts from her familial patriarch to her husband.16 Perhaps the most threatening manifestation of female agency is a sister’s internally focused, incestuous desire. Brothers can function as pseudo-husbands to their unmarried sisters as long as the relationship remains chaste.17 Like Victorian literature, the Hebrew Bible works to protect and perpetuate the family and its values while simultaneously revealing what threatens them. Fears of female agency and desire are reflected in the Bible’s sister stories, suggesting that sisters function in biblical narratives in a manner similar to their role in Victorian literature, as Claudia V. Camp observes: 14 May writes: “The Victorians’ obsession with familial drama belies their ideological enthusiasm for the nuclear family and their assumption that the family as the foundation of society was a unit organized around natural virtue and cemented by individual love, service, and self-sacrifice. For this Victorian enthusiasm masked a fear about the nature of a key component of the familial recipe: namely, female agency as it manifested itself in its purest, most untainted, and ‘natural’ form—sisterly love” (“Sensational Sisters: Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White,” Pacific Coast Philology 30 [1995]: 82). 15 For example, in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (1813), the deceitful Mr. Wickham seduces both Elizabeth Bennet’s sister Lydia and Mr. Darcy’s sister Georgiana, wreaking havoc on both homes. 16 May writes: “While on the one hand the sibling bond models future families, on the other, being ostensibly asexual, it offers quite a different model—one that prevents siblings from moving out of the ‘immaculate’ family stronghold. By remaining allied to their brothers, sisters are shielded from the ‘the perils of exogamy.’ . . . Brothers are seen as teachers and protectors of sisters; they are not like the sexual marauders who lurk outside the family” (Disorderly Sisters, 19). 17 In May’s words, “As the Victorian family increasingly became the touchstone of all moral worth, the hermetic seal around brother–sister relations grew ever tighter, producing a horror of childhood sexuality as well as much more ambivalent treatment of the sibling bond. Victorian culture is permeated by a denial of the potential for incest and a deeply entrenched anxiety about its possibility” (Disorderly Sisters, 22). Like May, Nancy F. Anderson considers incest anxiety a prominent feature of Victorian society: “Incest is a topic which probably arouses anxiety in most people . . . but it was especially tension-laden in Victorian England because of the particular emotional climate within the middle and upper class family at that time. By the early nineteenth century the nuclear family group had become more cohesive and socially isolated, and affective bonds among family members were stronger, than in the pre-industrial period. . . . For many young Victorian men and women, the only available people towards whom to direct erotic strivings were family members” (“The ‘Marriage with a Deceased Wife’s Sister Bill’ Controversy: Incest Anxiety and the Defense of Family Purity in Victorian England,” Journal of British Studies 21 [1982]: 69–70).
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Journal of Biblical Literature 130, no. 2 (2011) Women are not only dangerous because of the openings they create for one family’s (culture’s) intrusion into another; they are also problematic precisely because they are not men, not “us”, at least from a priestly point of view. Women’s Otherness has to be mythologically confronted in the same way as that of ethnic foreigners, which, indeed, it comes to represent. Far from solving the problem, sisters raise it all the more acutely, since they are the closest thing to “us” without being that. . . . Where descent from males is all, sisters are an anomaly that cannot be encompassed by the system: apparently of the “right” lineage, they must be mythically disclosed as the outsiders they are.18
Sisters, suggests the Bible, are best ensconced within the family, protected by and serving the needs and desires of their patriarchs—particularly their brothers. Genesis 34 tells a story of one sister’s externally focused desire and the dangers it brings to the family. Dinah asserts her independence, is sexually violated, and introduces an unwanted outsider into her family. Her brothers, not her father, avenge the family honor, and bring their sister home.19 Genesis 19 tells the story of two sisters’ internally focused desire and its dangers. After sleeping with their father, Lot’s daughters produce sons who are progenitors of Israel’s enemies the Ammonites and Moabites.20 By portraying a less-than-ideal sister in the midst of her sexual awakening, the Song of Songs provides insight into the ideal sister who remains within the domestic sphere and is protected by the brother, to whom she can express loyalty and a chaste affection.21
II. The Dangerous Sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel Fears of female agency and desire are integral to the representation of Israel and Judah as the sexually promiscuous sisters introduced by the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel. By evoking particular anxieties in the context of the patriarchal family, these dangerous sisters are a crucial part of the prophetic rhetoric of horror 18
Camp, Wise, Strange and Holy: The Strange Woman and the Making of the Bible (JSOTSup 320; Gender, Culture, Theory 9; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 197. 19 Ingo Kottsieper comments on the active role that brothers assume in the Dinah story and other narratives: “In contrast to the father the full brothers have a closer relationship to their sister, based not on legal terms but on an emotional proximity. They take care of her fate and represent her interest regarding an outsider. So they also act in the context of her marital negotiation and are obliged to defend her and to take revenge for her” (“We Have a Little Sister: Aspects of the Brother–Sister Relationship in Ancient Israel,” in Families and Family Relations as Represented in Early Judaisms and Early Christianities: Texts and Fictions. Papers Read at a NOSTER Colloquium in Amsterdam, June 9–11, 1998 [ed. Jan Willem Van Henten and Athalya Brenner; Studies in Theology and Religion 2; Leiden: Deo, 2000], 73–74). 20 The wife/sister stories in Gen 12:10–20; 20:1–18; and 26:1–11 and the rape of Tamar in 2 Samuel 13 reflect anxieties about incest and inappropriate brother–sister affection. 21 See Song 8:1–2, 8–9. Danger occurs when the sister asserts her desire, leaves home, and pursues her lover. See Song 5:2–8.
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designed to terrify its audience into reform.22 Perhaps more than any other characters, Jeremiah’s Rebel Israel and Faithless Judah and Ezekiel’s Oholah (Israel) and Oholibah (Judah) tell the terrifying tale of the fall of the house of Israel. Though there are significant differences between Jeremiah’s and Ezekiel’s accounts of the sisters, they share core elements that reflect common anxieties raised by sisters.23 Both prophets consider the sisters to be alike and perceive the bond between them as threatening. In his account, Jeremiah makes clear that Faithless Judah learned her promiscuous behavior from watching her sister Rebel Israel, as Jer 3:7–8 relates: I said, after doing all this, she will come back to me, but she did not return. Her sister, Faithless Judah, watched. She saw24 that on account of Rebel Israel’s adultery, I sent her off and gave her a bill of divorce, yet her sister Faithless Judah was not afraid and also behaved promiscuously.
Like Jeremiah, Ezekiel considers the sisters to be similar. Each is her “sister’s sister” (Ezek 16:45). Ezekiel’s Oholibah also learns to misbehave by watching her sister Oholah, as Ezek 23:11–13 describes: Her sister Oholibah saw, yet her lusting was more depraved than her sister’s and her promiscuity more debauched. She lusted after the Assyrians, governors and prefects, guardsmen—wearers of finery—horsemen, riders, all devoted men. And I saw she was defiled, one path for both of them.
Both prophets suggest that the sister-bond is dangerous. Not only does one sister teach another to misbehave, but also the intimacy they share threatens the authority of the familial patriarchs. The bond between the sisters enables them to act independently and to assert their agency apart from their patriarchs, as Ezek 16:45–46 illustrates: You are your mother’s daughter, who despises her husband and sons. You are your sister’s sister who despise their husbands and children. Your mother is Hittite, your father Amorite. Your elder sister, Shomron, she and her daughters sit upon your left and your younger sister, Sodom and her daughters, sit upon your right. 22 In Terror All Around, I apply a methodology developed by Noël Carroll (The Philosophy of Horror, or, Paradoxes of the Heart [New York: Routledge, 1990], 15–23) for identifying horror texts in the Hebrew Bible. According to Carroll, the genre of horror is defined by audience reaction. A horror text seeks to horrify. Yet how does one gauge the reaction a text intends to provoke? According to Carroll, the characters in horror narratives mirror the intended audience reaction. Horrified characters shriek, cringe, cover their eyes and shake. Character reactions, therefore, register audience reaction and provide critics with a way to identify and analyze horror texts. Characters’ horrified reactions can be found in the sister texts of Ezekiel. Israel’s neighbors jeer at them (Ezek 16:57) and God turns away from them in disgust (Ezek 23:18). 23 Though scholars consider the sister texts of Jeremiah and Ezekiel to be related, they debate which text came first. For a discussion of the various opinions, see Holladay, Jeremiah 1, 116. 24 Though the MT reads the more difficult “I saw,” the translation “she saw” follows the LXX and the Syriac.
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In this passage, Ezekiel expands the sisterhood and constructs an even broader community of women who defy their husbands and sons.25 Now there are three sisters, as well as their daughters. The community of women grows even larger in Ezek 23:10 as Oholah’s reputation spreads among all the women. Elsewhere in the Hebrew Bible, sisters band together in opposition to their patriarchs. As mentioned above, Lot’s daughters trick their father in Gen 19:29– 38. Rachel and Leah barter mandrakes for Jacob in Gen 30:14–18. In Num 27:1–11, the daughters of Zelophehad challenge Mosaic law. As Beverly Bow observes, the Bible negatively depicts relationships among women in order to sever them: Biblical depictions of women’s relationships with other women advance the interests of patriarchy. The few stories in which such relationships appear generally present these relationships in one of two negative ways. Often the relationship itself is negative: the women are rivals in conflict with one another. . . . In stories where women get along with each other, they are frequently cooperating for an evil purpose—again a negative depiction of women’s relationship. . . . The patriarchal message is that women cannot or should not band together.26
By presenting Israel and Judah as sisters, Ezekiel and Jeremiah raise the threat of a positive interpersonal relationship among women. Unlike Rachel and Leah, these sisters are not rivals but partners in crime. Their allegiance to each other allows them to defy their patriarchs (husbands and sons) and to overturn the patriarchal structures of society.27 Together they embody the ultimate patriarchal nightmare—they become adulterous wives and murderous mothers. And they dare to commit their crimes within God’s patriarchal house, as Ezek 23:36–39 relates: Yhwh said to me: Human, will you judge Oholah and Oholibah and tell them their abominations? For they committed adultery, blood is on their hands. They committed adultery with their idols and their sons, which they bore for me, they offered as food. Even more they did to me, they defiled my sanctuary on that day and profaned my Sabbaths. They slaughtered their children to idols 25 This is one of the major differences between Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Jeremiah imagines only two sisters, Faithless Judah and Rebel Israel. Not only does Ezekiel include a third sister, Sodom, but he also brings daughters into the sisterhood. 26 Bow, “Sisterhood? Women’s Relationships with Women in the Hebrew Bible” in Life and Culture in the Ancient Near East (ed. Richard E. Averbeck, Mark W. Chavalas, David B. Weisberg; Bethesda: CDL, 2003), 205. 27 Nina Auerbach observes the threat that communities of women pose throughout literature: “As a recurrent literary image, a community of women is a rebuke to the conventional ideal of a solitary woman living for and through men, attaining citizenship in the community of adulthood through masculine approval alone. The communities of women which have haunted our literary imagination from the beginning are emblems of female self-sufficiency which create their own corporate reality, evoking both wishes and fears” (Communities of Women: An Idea in Fiction [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978], 5).
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and brought them into the sanctuary on that day to profane it. Indeed they did so within my house!
Perhaps in a futile attempt to save the sisters, both prophets work to break the sister-bond. Despite the sisters’ similarities, the prophets insist on difference and thereby introduce conflict into the sisters’ relationship. Establishing difference among sisters is a common element of many Victorian sister narratives, as Sarah Brown notes: This blend of sameness and difference . . . lies at the heart of the relationship’s appeal to artists and writers. Sisters have both an individual and a collective identity; variety and contrast are given special significance and piquancy by the ballast of shared heredity and upbringing; divergences are more pointed when they emerge from a single source. . . . Whatever difficulties a text may place in the way of the reader making a definitive choice between sisters, the invitation to make a choice of some kind is almost invariably implicit with the narrative. Even where two sisters are broadly similar women the novelist will naturally wish to differentiate between his two heroines.28
In Jeremiah and Ezekiel, difference is marked by one sister being better than the other, as Jer 3:11 states: “Thus Yhwh said to me: Rebel Israel is more righteous than Faithless Judah.” Ezekiel 16:51–52 similarly states: But Shomron did not sin half your sins. Your abominations were more than theirs. You made your sister more righteous with all the abominations you did. Indeed you must bear the shame of interceding on behalf of your sister. Since you have sinned more abominably than they, they appear more righteous than you. Be disgraced, bear shame, because you have made your sisters look righteous.
Not only does Ezekiel accuse Judah of behaving worse than her sister; he also admonishes her for acting on behalf of her sister. At some point Judah advocated for her sister, and Ezekiel condemns her for it. In other words, the prophet condemns Judah for behaving like a loving sister. Clearly Ezekiel desires sister-conflict. Indeed, the relationship between the sisters proves fatal, and their mutual fate serves as a violent warning to all women. Sisters who sin together suffer together, as Ezek 23:31–33 makes clear: 28 Brown, Devoted Sisters: Representations of the Sister Relationship in Nineteenth-Century British and American Literature (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003), 2–5. According to Terri Apter, sisters in life, as in literature, work to establish difference: “Sisters influence the formation of identity. We note similarities between ourselves and a sister who shares so many things with us. . . . But a sister not only presents us with someone similar to us, she also reveals our differences. She challenges us to find our own niche within the family. We search for a place that is not already staked out by another sibling. We mark a place that we can own. In so doing we engage in a relentless process of sibling differentiation. We work hard to define ourselves through ‘contrast effects’ ” (The Sister Knot: Why We Fight, Why We’re Jealous, and Why We’ll Love Each Other No Matter What [New York: W. W. Norton, 2007], 99).
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Journal of Biblical Literature 130, no. 2 (2011) You walked your sister’s path, therefore I will put her cup in your hand. Thus says Lord Yhwh: You will drink your sister’s cup, deep and wide. It will be for mockery and scorn, it holds so much—you will be full of drunkenness and sorrow—the cup of horror and desolation—the cup of your sister Shomron.
In order to serve as an effective warning, their punishment is public, witnessed specifically by the broader community of women, as Ezek 23:46–48 mandates: For thus says Lord Yhwh: Summon a crowd against them and make them an object of horror and spoil. Let the community pelt them with stones and cut them with their swords. They will kill their sons and their daughters and burn their houses. I will stop wantonness in the land and all women will be warned not to act according to your depravity.29
The conclusion of Ezekiel 16 suggests that the prophet effectively breaks the sister-bond. Ezekiel 16:60–61 describes the reconciliation between God and Judah: I will remember my covenant with you from the days of your youth and I will establish with you an eternal covenant. You will remember your ways and be ashamed and when you receive your older sisters and your younger sisters, I will give them to you as daughters though they are not from your covenant.
As this passage relates, God renews his covenant with only one sister, while the other sisters are transformed into daughters.30 Only in this family reconfiguration, with the anxiety caused by the sister-bond removed, can the patriarch reclaim his bride. Another anxiety raised by the sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel is caused by externally focused desire. Rebel Israel, Faithless Judah, Oholah, and Oholibah are sexually active and, even more shocking, sexually proactive. Jeremiah 3:6 and 3:8 describe Rebel Israel’s and Faithless Judah’s promiscuity: YHWH said to me in the days of King Josiah: Have you seen what Rebel Israel did, going to every high mountain and under ever lush tree and behaving promiscuously there? 29 Ezekiel 16:41 also describes Israel’s punishment as occurring “before the eyes of many women.” 30 Jacqueline Lapsley considers the transformation of the sisters into daughters as an inversion of the previous sinful hierarchy: “Where previously Jerusalem has exalted her sinful sisters by her even more egregious transgressions, now Yahweh inverts the hierarchy, exalting Jerusalem over her sisters, so that they become ‘daughters’ to her (v. 61)” (“Shame and Self-Knowledge: The Positive Role of Shame in Ezekiel’s View of the Moral Self,” in The Book of Ezekiel: Theological and Anthropological Perspectives [ed. Margaret S. Odell and John T. Strong; SBLSymS 9; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000], 165).
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She saw that on account of Rebel Israel’s adultery, I sent her off and gave her a bill of divorce, yet her sister Faithless Judah was not afraid and also behaved promiscuously.
Clearly, sisters Israel and Judah assert their agency and seek to satisfy their sexual desires, and God condemns them for their promiscuity. Remarkably, this passage also suggests that God waits for the sisters to assert their agency and their independent sororal desire and return to him. God wants the sisters back, but he wants the sisters to come back to him on their own with full heart, as Jer 3:10 relates: Indeed through all this, her sister Faithless Judah did not return to me with all of her heart but rather in deceit, declares Yhwh.31
True repentance, suggests Jeremiah, requires a redirection of desire back toward the proper patriarch. Compared to Jeremiah, Ezekiel presents a more detailed and disturbing account of independent sororal desire. Ezekiel’s graphic, if not pornographic,32 account of the sisters’ promiscuity reveals a deep-seated fear of female desire. Whereas Jeremiah envisions an initial, utopian period of love and romance between God and Israel,33 Ezek 23:2–3 describes the sisters’ sullied past:
31 Scholars recognize that Jer 3:1 and 3:8 refer directly to the laws of divorce and remarriage found in Deut 24:1–4. See Holladay, Jeremiah 1, 112. By having Israel redesire and return to God, Jeremiah inverts conventional expectations and plays freely with the passage from Deuteronomy. In Deuteronomy the husband initiates the divorce and is not permitted to return and remarry his former wife if she has been married in the interim. Jeremiah suggests that God can remarry Israel despite the fact that she has had lovers in the interim. 32 Fokkelien Van Dijk-Hemmes concludes that Ezekiel 23 does share characteristics with pornography: “The depiction of Oholibah’s desire in terms of the sizes of male members seems not so much to be an example of mere misnaming of female experience, but a distortion of it. Instead of reflecting female desire, it betrays a male obsession. . . . Thanks to the model, offered by Setel, this mode of participating in the construction of the metaphorical meaning of the text is no longer necessary. Setel’s model enables us to recognize the other distinguishing features of pornography in the description of the sisters’ treatment too. Both are degraded and publicly humiliated in order to make clear that their sexuality is and has to be an object of male possession and control” (“The Metaphorization of Woman in Prophetic Speech: An Analysis of Ezekiel XXIII,” VT 43 [1993]: 168). 33 In Jer 2:2, God states: “I remember for your benefit the devotion of your youth, the love of your bridal days.” Jeremiah suggests that God and Israel began their relationship with love and loyalty and that Israel’s promiscuity developed later. Perhaps the memory of Israel’s love enables God in Jeremiah to wait for and accept Israel back. Like Jeremiah 2, Ezekiel 16 envisions an early honeymoon period between God and Israel. Ezekiel 16:1–13 recounts Israel’s infancy and early years as a bride when God cared for and adorned her. In contrast, Ezekiel 23 portrays Oholah and Oholibah as promiscuous from the start. Perhaps this explains why Ezekiel 23 does not expect or hope for Israel’s return to God.
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Journal of Biblical Literature 130, no. 2 (2011) Mortal, there were two women, daughters of one mother. They were promiscuous with Egypt in their youth. There, their breasts were squeezed and there, the breasts of their maidenhood were pressed
As this passage shockingly relates, God marries damaged goods, who behave true to form.34 Ezekiel 23:8 and 23:19 both describe the sisters’ engrained lust: She did not abandon her whoring in Egypt, for they lay with her in her youth, they pressed the breasts of her maidenhood, they poured their lust upon her. She increased her lust to remember the days of her youth when she whored in the land of Egypt.35
Oholah and Oholibah desire and act on their desire. They are more than willing recipients of their lovers’ advances; they brazenly pursue their lovers, as Ezek 23:12–17 graphically describes: She lusted after the Assyrians, governors and prefects, guardsmen—wearers of finery, horsemen, riders, all desirable men. I saw how she defiled herself. One path for both of them. She increased her whoring, she saw men incised upon the wall, Chaldean figures engraved in red, girded waistbands upon their loins, trailing turbans upon their heads, all of them looking like officers, all the image of Chaldeans, the land of their birth. At the sight of them, she lusted after them and sent messengers to them, to Chaldea. The Babylonians came to her for lovemaking and defiled her with their lust and she defiled herself with them until she turned away from them.
This scene captures the anxiety provoked by externally focused sororal desire. Mere pictures of soldiers arouse Oholibah, and she invites her lovers to satisfy her lust.36 Brazen Judah, suggests Ezekiel, pursues Babylon and welcomes the dangerous outsider into her home. She is responsible for her own destruction. 34 Baumann comments on the unique features of Ezekiel’s portrayal of the sisters’ parentage and sullied past: “Characteristic of Ezekiel is an aspect of this depiction that was already present, in a somewhat different form, in Hosea and Jeremiah in the context of the marriage imagery: Reference is made to history, to the imaginary biographical background of the ‘woman,’ to establish a foundation for her determination to ‘play the whore’. . . . ‘Her’ parental origins (ch. 16) and the experiences of ‘her’ youth (ch. 23) have already laid the foundations for what will later be manifested in ‘her’ falling away from Yhwh” (Love and Violence, 142). 35 In his commentary on Ezekiel 23, Greenberg notes: “The sisters’ pursuit of connections with powerful males was initiated by their youthful relations with the Egyptians, to whom they periodically reverted, thus incensing later paramours. . . . The Egyptian appeal is neither power nor wealth, but purely erotic” (Ezekiel 21–37: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 22A; New York: Doubleday, 1997], 492). 36 Greenberg comments: “Ezekiel may have seen Babylonians in gorgeous dress; he may even have seen them pictured on local buildings and monuments, but that does not account for the bizarre scene he depicts here: Oholibah-Jerusalem gazing at painted engravings of Babylonian officers—located where?—and being aroused to lust for them. Apparently the prophet esca-
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By asserting independent desire, Ezekiel’s sexually active sisters are dangerous and must be brutally punished, if not killed; as Ezek 23:25–26 illustrates: I will be zealous toward you and they will deal with you in fury. They will remove your nose and ears and what remains will fall by the sword.37 They will take away your sons and daughters and what remains will be consumed by fire. They will strip you of your clothes and take the objects of your glory.
Oholah and Oholibah bear the punishment of murderers and adulterers (Ezek 16:38; 23:47). Yet what is most interesting is not the brutality of the punishment but the precision. Just as Ezekiel introduced conflict in the sisters’ relationship in order to remove the threat of the sister-bond, now the prophet works to remove the threat of sororal desire by physically removing the site of their desire, as Ezek 23:32–34 shows: Thus says Lord Yhwh: You will drink your sister’s cup, Deep and wide. It will be for mockery and scorn, It holds so much. You will be full of drunkenness and sorrow. The cup of desolation and horror, The cup of your sister Shomron. You will drink it and suck (upon it), And devour its shards. You will remove your breasts, For I have spoken—declares Lord Yhwh.
In this passage, Ezekiel evokes the image of the cup of wrath from which Oholah has already drunk and from which now Oholibah must drink (see also Ps 75:9; Jer 25:15–16). But Oholibah does more than drink from the cup—she sucks it dry. The use of the verb hcm, “to slurp,” is related to the roots Cym/Ccm meaning “to suck” or “to nurse.”38 The sisters’ breasts had been the initial site of their lust (Ezek 23:3, 8, 21). Now in their shame they are forced to suck from a different kind of breast—a lethal breast—while they must cut off their own breasts.39 With this brutal act of lates his wanton’s lewdness: if at first she lusted for the Assyrians in the flesh, the next stage of her degeneracy is conceiving a passion for Babylonians from mere pictures of them, and inviting them to an orgy from afar” (Ezekiel 21–37, 478). 37 As I mention in my article “The Monstrous-Feminine in the Book of Jeremiah,” Lectio Difficilior 1 (2009): 1–21 (http://www.lectio.unibe.ch/09_1/kalmanofsky_the_monstrous_ femininine.html), the removal of the ears and nose may demonstrate the symbolic logic of corporal punishment. 38 HALOT 1:621. 39 Greenberg comments: “In a paroxysm of self-loathing you will destroy ‘the peccant members’ (G.R. Driver, 1954, p. 155), around which erotic memories lingered that caused you to reject your Mesopotamian lovers for Egyptians, to your misfortune” (Ezekiel 21–37, 484).
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self-mutilation, Ezekiel removes the threat of sororal desire. The sisters’ double mastectomy removes the site of their lust. Effectively neutered, the sisters are no longer dangerous.
III. Conclusion Like Victorian literature, the Hebrew Bible concentrates and represents patriarchal anxieties in the figure of the sister. In the Bible, as in Victorian literature, the interpersonal relationship among sisters creates a sister-bond that threatens the authority of the patriarch. In addition, independent sororal desire introduces outsiders into the family that rival the family patriarchs and threaten the family unit. Therefore, the portrayal of Israel and Judah as sisters married to God in the prophecies of Jeremiah and Ezekiel introduces particular anxieties into the metaphor of Israel as God’s wayward wife. The prophetic texts intentionally evoke and develop dangerous sisters as an effective part of its rhetoric of horror. By bonding together and pursuing their lovers, these sisters help convey Israel’s vulnerability and depravity. Sisters Israel and Judah welcome their violent lovers into God’s metaphorical family. The prophets use these sisters as warnings to their audience how not to behave. Once dangerous, can sisters redeem their status within the patriarchal family? Can Rebel Israel, Faithless Judah, Oholah, and Oholibah return home? Jeremiah and Ezekiel suggest that they can. God wants Israel back, so the prophetic texts work to reform the sisters and to restore them to their ideal state. By insisting on difference between the sisters and even transforming the sisters into daughters, they break the sister-bond. By removing the site of their lust, they attempt to remove externally focused sororal desire and redirect it back toward God. Thus the dangerous sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel serve a significant and complex rhetorical purpose. They demonstrate Israel’s depravity in order to warn and to reform Israel.40 Sisters Israel and Judah know what they must do. They must renounce their sisterhood and cut off their breasts. If they do these things and redirect their desire properly toward God, then God will welcome them back into his restored family and into a renewed and eternal covenant. 40 This is, in fact, the dual purpose of monsters reflected in the meaning of the word “monster,” as Timothy Beal notes: “The politically and religiously conservative function of the monstrous is to encourage one to pull back from the edge. The monster is a warning or portent, demonstrating what to avoid, and remonstrating with anyone who would challenge established social and symbolic boundaries. They literally scare the hell out of us” (Religion and Its Monsters [New York: Routledge, 2002], 195).
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Suspense, Simultaneity, and Divine Providence in the Book of Tobit ryan s. schellenberg [email protected] University of St. Michael’s College, Toronto, ON M5S 1J4, Canada
“Look at all the works of the Most High,” Ben Sira urges his readers, “they are two by two, one corresponding to the other” (δύο δύο ἓν κατέναντι τοῦ ἑνός [33:15]). This is a sentiment with which the author of the book of Tobit would have been in certain agreement. In Tobit’s carefully ordered narrative world, each problem has its corresponding solution, each need its corresponding fulfillment. Thus, the story ends in perfect equilibrium; there are no loose ends. The orderliness of this narrative itself corresponds, I will argue, to one of Tobit’s most salient theological emphases—namely, divine providence. According to George W. Ε. Nickelsburg, the book of Tobit “creates a portrait of a God who carefully orchestrates . . . the dark events of human life and history, working them toward gracious ends.”1 And our hero certainly shows no ambivalence about the reality of God’s providential intervention: “There is nothing that can escape his hand” (13:2), he proclaims in his joyful hymn of praise upon the story’s successful dénouement.2 1
Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah: A Historical and Literary Introduction (2nd ed.; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 32. Cf. Paul Deselaers, Das Buch Tobit: Studien zu seiner Entstehung, Komposition und Theologie (OBO 43; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag, 1982), 364–73; Athanasius Miller, “Das Buch Tobias,” in Die Bücher Tobias, Judith und Esther (ed. Athanasius Miller, and Johann Schildenberger; 3 vols. in 1; HSAT 4.3; Bonn: Hanstein, 1940), 3:27. 2 All English translations are from the NRSV. I have used the longer Greek recension (GII), attested chiefly by Sinaiticus, throughout this study (Robert Hanhart, ed., Tobit [vol. 8.5 of Septuaginta: Vetus Testamentum Graecum; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983]). On Tobit’s diverse textual traditions, see esp. Michaela Hallermayer, Text und Überlieferung des Buches Tobit (Deuterocanonical and Cognate Literature Studies 3; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008).
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My purpose in this essay is twofold: First, I want to explore the narrative techniques by which the author creates this tale’s reassuring sense of tidiness. In particular, I will suggest that the story’s management of suspense and artful use of simultaneity posit a world in which God is firmly in control. Second, I hope to illuminate the interaction between this author’s fiction and his reality: Tobit’s carefully supervised narrative world is, I will argue, a fitting response to the anxiety and seeming chaos of life in Diaspora—chaos that is itself represented but rendered impotent in the narrative. First, however, I will risk two brief comments concerning this book’s genre: Emil Schürer, noting Tobit’s salient emphasis on almsgiving, burial, and endogamy, categorized this book among Jewish “didactic and paraenetical stories”—a characterization that continues to exert considerable influence.3 I would not deny that this story presents its readers with moral exempla: the elderly Tobit’s assiduous devotion to Jewish piety certainly does provide a model for life in the Diaspora, and the author’s concern for righteousness is evident in the ethical omnibuses provided by both Tobit and the angel Raphael (4:3–19; 12:6–10). However, such moralizing is but a corollary of the book’s primary aim, for this narrative does its work on a more fundamental level—it constructs a world in which traditional mores make sense. Second, the sobriety of Tobit’s alleged parenetic purpose has been challenged recently by those who see this as a much more light-hearted book. David McCracken considers Tobit “essentially a comic narrative” that encourages us to laugh at a character who is “obsessed with tribe and family” and “comically overzealous about his own virtues.”4 But Tobit is hardly the only biblical character who claims to have “walked in the ways of truth and righteousness all the days of [his] life” (1:3),5 and we do not accuse David (see Psalm 26) or Hezekiah (see 2 Kgs 3 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, Fergus Millar, and Martin Goodman; 3 vols.; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1986), 3:222–32. See also Amy-Jill Levine, “Tobit: Teaching Jews How to Live in the Diaspora,” BRev 8 (1992): 42–51, 64; and Lawrence M. Wills, The Jewish Novel in the Ancient World (Myth and Poetics; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995), 92. The prominence of this perspective is evident from the list of “purpose statements” gathered by Carey A. Moore (Tobit: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 40A; New York: Doubleday, 1996], 23–24); see also Richard A. Spencer, “The Book of Tobit in Recent Research,” CurBS 7 (1999): 153–54. 4 McCracken, “Narration and Comedy in the Book of Tobit,” JBL 114 (1995): 403, 413, 409. See also Anathea Portier-Young, “Alleviation of Suffering in the Book of Tobit: Comedy, Community, and Happy Endings,” CBQ 63 (2001): 35–54; Wills, Jewish Novel, 81–82. For a careful rebuttal to McCracken, see J. R. C. Cousland, “Tobit: A Comedy in Error?” CBQ 65 (2003): 535–53. 5 Notably, Tobit’s allegedly comic first-person characterization in 1:3 is corroborated by reliable characters throughout the narrative (7:7; 9:6; 14:2). Further, as Sabine Van Den Eynde has shown, by conforming to a biblical pattern of righteous pray-ers, Tobit’s prayer reinforces his pious
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20:3; Isa 38:3) of risible egotism. Moreover, Tobit’s concern for proper burial and endogamous marriage is no more laughable than, for example, the book of Jubilees’ calendrical preoccupation—though indeed it may be difficult for secularized readers like us to take such religious scruples seriously.6 So, although this novel undeniably contains the occasional humorous touch, and although we may find it amusingly superstitious, there is simply no compelling reason to imagine that it was intended as a comedy.7 Οn the contrary, it is deeply concerned with the wholly serious theme of God’s providence. Indeed, as I hope to demonstrate, the very structure of this narrative emphasizes that God’s ordered universe has not—despite the vagaries of exile—succumbed to chaos.8 Through conscientious management of suspense and artful use of simultaneity, Tobit posits a world in which God is firmly in control.
I. Suspense In his influential study of the “poetics of biblical narrative,” Meir Sternberg highlights the dilemma that arises from the biblical narrators’ competing impulses with regard to the use of suspense.9 On the one hand, suspense provides a convencharacterization (“Prayer as Part of Characterisation and Plot: An Analysis of Its Narrative Function in Tobit 3,” in Analyse narrative et Bible: Deuxième colloque international du RRENAB, Louvain-la-Neuve, avril 2004 [ed. Camille Focant and André Wénin; BETL 191; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005], 529–30). 6 On the importance of kinship in Tobit, see esp. Gabriele Fassbeck, “Tobit’s Religious Universe between Kinship Loyalty and the Law of Moses,” JSJ 36 (2005): 192–95. On the background and function of burial concerns, see János Bolyki, “Burial as an Ethical Task in the Book of Tobit, in the Bible and in the Greek Tragedies,” in The Book of Tobit: Text, Tradition, Theology (ed. Géza G. Xeravits, and József Zsengellér; JSJSup 98; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 89–102. In the same volume, see on endogamy Thomas Hieke, “Endogamy in the Book of Tobit, Genesis, and EzraNehemiah,” 103–20; Vincent Skemp, “ Ἀ∆ΕΛΦΟΣ and the Theme of Kinship in Tobit,” ETL 75 (1999): 92–103. 7 Recent interpretation has fruitfully emphasized Tobit’s affinity with the ancient novel. See Jacques Schwartz, “Éléments romanesques dans le livre de Tobit,” in Le monde du roman grec: Actes du colloque international tenu à l’École normale supérieure (Paris 17–19 décembre 1987) (ed. Marie-Françoise Baslez, Philippe Hoffmann, and Trédé Monique; Études de littérature ancienne 4; Paris: Presses de l’École normale supérieure, 1992), 245–48; Wills, Jewish Novel, 68–92. For a thorough history of approaches to Tobit’s genre, see Deselaers, Tobit, 261–79. 8 So Cousland, “Comedy in Error?” 552: “The novella does . . . have affinities with comedy because both describe a kosmos that is far from orderly. The hierarchical inversions described in Tobit, though, are not designed to be humorous but to give expression to the dilemma of the Diaspora. The restoration of order in the story portends the larger restoration of Israel.” 9 Sternberg, The Poetics of Biblical Narrative: Ideological Literature and the Drama of Reading (Indiana Literary Biblical Studies; Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985), 264–68.
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ient narrative correlate to a moral principle that underlies the biblical worldview— namely, human freedom. As Sternberg asks, “What gives a sharper sense of the agents’ freedom of choice than the uncertainty of their ultimate fate?”10 But, on the other hand, Sternberg notes “a powerful coalition of anti-suspense factors,”11 chief among which is the biblical narrators’ insistence on divine supervision and providence. As Sternberg explains, “the generation of suspense throughout the tale would militate against our sense of the divine control of history.”12 Thus, biblical narrative is characterized by an ongoing dialectic between these two contradictory impulses, a constant attempt both to retain and to dissolve suspense. In short, it tries to have its cake and, well, to leave open the suspenseful possibility of eating it. The book of Tobit is a case in point. Even before Tobias sets out on his divinely ordained journey, our omniscient narrator gives us a glimpse of what takes place in “the glorious presence of God”13—namely, God hears (3:16), and God provides for our heroes’ redemption. Thus, immediately after describing the misfortunes that generate suspense for the reader, our narrator anticipates their resolution: So Raphael was sent to heal both of them: Tobit, by removing the white films from his eyes, so that he might see God’s light with his eyes; and Sarah, daughter of Raguel, by giving her in marriage to Tobias son of Tobit, and by setting her free from the wicked demon Asmodeus. For Tobias was entitled to have her before all others who had desired to marry her. (3:17)
This proleptic plot summary dissolves the story’s suspense the moment that suspense is evoked.14 As Sabine Van Den Eynde has noted, this knowledge of the story’s eventual outcome refocuses the reader’s interest from the question of what will happen to the question of how it will happen.15 It is one thing to know that Tobit will be healed and Sarah married, quite another to anticipate the narrative movements that weave together these distant but parallel petitioners. Yet even this problem is quickly resolved: “That same day” (4:1), Tobit remembers that he has left money in trust with a distant relative. Our narrator now has a pretext for the journey that will bring 10
Ibid., 266. Ibid., 267. 12 Ibid. 13 Deselaers suggests that the reference to God’s glory here helps assure us that everything will be set aright: “In dieser Kennzeichnung wird die Macht und Souveränität Jahwes angesprochen, so daß das ‘Hören’ Konsequenzen nach sich ziehen wird” (Tobit, 97). 14 Cf. Irene Nowell, “The Narrator in the Book of Tobit,” in SBL Seminar Papers, 1988 (SBLSP 27; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988), 32. For Joseph A. Fitzmyer, this anticipation of the resolution results in a story with “no suspense and no buildup to a climax” (Tobit [Commentaries on Early Jewish Literature; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2003], 34)—an evaluation I hope my analysis will qualify. 15 Van Den Eynde, “One Journey and One Journey Makes Three: The Impact of the Reader’s Knowledge in the Book of Tobit,” ZAW 117 (2005): 274 n. 6. 11
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Tobias into Sarah’s home and provide opportunity for the realization of the divine plan.16 Further, a mere three verses into Tobias’s journey with Raphael, the young man encounters a fish the gall, heart, and liver of which he is told have medicinal value (4:3–6); indeed, he even learns that the fish’s heart and liver can be burned to ward off evil spirits and that its gall can be applied to eyes “where white films have appeared on them” (4:8–9). Despite Tobias’s apparent inability to “put two and two together,”17 the reader cannot help but recognize this fish as a solution corresponding to the problems that occasioned Tobit’s and Sarah’s prayers. But knowing this story’s resolution does not, as any sympathetic reader will attest, rob it of its interest. No, reading Tobit is a curious combination of knowing what will finally happen and waiting to see what will happen next. In his study of suspense in ancient epic, George Duckworth noted the predominance of this “suspense of anticipation,” which he differentiated from “suspense of uncertainty”— that is, suspense in which the reader does not know what resolution to expect. According to Duckworth, “The reader of ancient epic . . . usually feels no uncertainty about the events that have been foretold; his interest in the story, however, is by no means at an end; he remains in a state of emotional tension and is on the lookout for something which he either wishes or dreads to see happen.”18 This “state of emotional tension” will be familiar, for example, to viewers of Hollywood romantic comedy.19 We know from the outset that, in accordance with the rules of the genre, the hero and the heroine will end up safely in each other’s arms. But still we agonize through a series of misunderstandings, threateningly attractive rivals, and circumstantial obstacles: missed flights, missed phone calls, and so forth. Similarly, despite dissolving the story’s “suspense of uncertainty,” Tobit’s narrator uses anticipatory suspense to engage his audience. Although the reader has been assured of the eventual outcome, the momentum of the narrative toward this end is repeatedly retarded by incipient narrative possibilities that highlight the contingent nature of the desired resolution.20 Although it also functions as the means of plot resolution, Tobias’s long journey is itself one such retarding factor. As Tobias’s mother’s weepy farewell emphasizes (5:18–20), this well-worn journey motif—in Tobit as in other ancient 16 See Jacques Schwartz, “Remarques littéraires sur la roman de Tobit,” RHPR 67 (1987): 294; Van Den Eynde, “One Journey,” 279. 17 Van Den Eynde, “One Journey,” 277. 18 George Duckworth, Foreshadowing and Suspense in the Epics of Homer, Apollonius, and Vergil (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1933), 37; see also Dennis R. MacDonald, “Tobit and the Odyssey,” in Mimesis and Intertextuality in Antiquity and Christianity (ed. Dennis R. MacDonald; SAC; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 18. 19 Thanks to Colleen Shantz for this comparison. 20 On retardatory suspense in biblical narrative, see Sternberg, Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 139–40, 278.
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novels—immediately adds an element of uncertainty for readers familiar with the worrying vicissitudes of ancient travel (cf. 1:15).21 But this renewed suspense is short-lived, for the reader, cognizant of Raphael’s identity, knows that Tobit speaks more truthfully than he realizes when he promises Anna that “a good angel will accompany [Tobias]” (5:22).22 The possibility of a disastrous outcome is all but eliminated.23 Anna’s fear at the outset of Tobias’s journey inaugurates a consistent pattern in which a character’s fear is used to provoke retardatory suspense, which is then quickly undermined by the narrator’s “abundant assurance of a happy outcome”24— assurance often placed on the lips of the eminently reliable Raphael. Thus, when Raphael urges Tobias to marry Sarah (6:10–13), Tobias recalls the frightening story of the seven deaths in Sarah’s bridal chamber (6:14–15; cf. 3:8, 15), thus raising the daunting specter of an eighth dead bridegroom. Tobias heightens the potential pathos by reminding Raphael that his death would mean the tragic end of the family line (6:15).25 But again the reader’s anxiety is quickly ameliorated as Raphael explains to Tobias that burning the magic fish’s liver and heart will cause the demon to flee (6:16–18). Still our narrator does not let sleeping dogs lie. During Tobias’s conversation with his future father-in-law, Raguel, we are treated for the third time to the story of Sarah’s husbands’ ill fortune (7:11). Such repetition reinforces the same point that was made initially by the sevenfold iteration of the tragedy: Sarah’s problem has long proven intractable. This potent combination of iterative and repetitive reference to Sarah’s dilemma raises the stakes by imbuing her story with a troubling inertia: Can this pattern of tragedy really be overcome? As in a good detective story,
21 See Loveday Alexander, “‘In Journeyings Often’: Voyaging in the Acts of the Apostles and in Greek Romance,” in Luke’s Literary Achievement: Collected Essays (ed. C. M. Tuckett; JSNTSup 116; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 17. On the dangers of ancient travel, see Lionel Casson, Travel in the Ancient World (London: Allen & Unwin, 1974), 72–76, 160–62. 22 On the use of dramatic irony here, see Irene Nowell, “Irony in the Book of Tobit,” TBT 33 (1995): 81–82; Van Den Eynde, “One Journey,” 276; Frank Zimmermann, The Book of Tobit: An English Translation with Introduction and Commentary (JAL; New York: Harper, 1958), 74–75, 78; Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 31. 23 But divine alleviation of travel danger in this story hardly means that, as Jane Webster would have it, the book of Tobit sets out to “promote travel” as a safe and desirable activity (“A Journey through the Book of Tobit: To Travel Is to Prosper” [paper presented at the annual meeting of the Canadian Society of Biblical Studies, Ottawa, Ontario, May 25, 2009]). As in the Greek novels, travel is a compelling plot device here precisely because it evokes uncertainty and danger. 24 McCracken, “Narration and Comedy,” 402. 25 This only-child motif is used by the narrator also in 3:10, where it raises the stakes for Sarah’s family: “Never shall they reproach my father, saying to him, ‘You had only one beloved daughter but she hanged herself because of her distress.’” Again we see the centrality of kinship in Tobit’s narrative world.
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where repetition is used to overdetermine “false clues,”26 the repetition of the fate of Sarah’s husbands encourages the reader to entertain a narrative possibility that will ultimately go unrealized. Thus, for fleeting moments throughout the story, two foreshadowed futures compete for our allegiance: one too good to be true, the other almost too awful to contemplate. When the happy resolution is finally realized, both it and the providence that accomplished it are all the more celebrated for having been threatened. As Sternberg emphasizes, such narrative representation of God’s providence makes a compelling theological point: God, omniscient and omnipotent by doctrinal fiat, will prove so in dramatic terms as the action translates his implicit will and pledge into the stuff of history: the premise lays the ground for the demonstration and the demonstration vindicates and inculcates the premise—which sounds poor logic but makes excellent rhetoric in the telling.27
But there is another mode of suspense in this story as well, for even after the demon’s flight and bondage are narrated (8:3), Raguel’s late-night grave digging (8:9–11) reminds the reader of the already averted tragedy. Here the reader can hardly be expected to entertain Tobias’s death as a real possibility; instead, the narrator plays the reader’s knowledge off against the inferior knowledge possessed by the story’s characters to create dramatic irony.28 Raguel does not know what the reader knows, namely, that Raphael is God’s agent and has already accomplished the defeat of the demon. Thus, although there is no suspense here for the reader, he or she is reminded that, from the perspective of Raguel—who has endured seven other such wedding nights—Tobias’s death seems inevitable. Gratuitous details pile up here, while the reader awaits with impatience the moment when Raguel’s fears are dispelled (8:11–14). Raguel sends his wife to the wedding chamber; she in turn sends a maid. The pace of narration slows to a crawl while she lights a lamp and opens the door and enters the room. The moment of truth: she finds them (εὗρεν αὐτούς) lying there (καθεύδοντας) and, yes, peacefully sleeping together (ὑπνοῦντας κοινῶς [v. 13]). Finally, she goes out to the anxious parents and informs them that the couple is alive and that all is well, and the episode’s pent-up tension erupts into a song of praise: “It has not turned out as I expected,” says Raguel with relief (v. 16). The reader knows the good news all along, of course, but nevertheless cannot help but identify with Raguel’s fear and then his relief. 26 See Christine Brooke-Rose, “The Readerhood of Man,” in The Reader in the Text: Essays on Audience and Interpretation (ed. Susan R. Suleiman, and Inge Crosman; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), 134–35. 27 Sternberg, Poetics of Biblical Narrative, 135. 28 See Nowell, “Irony,” 80; Van Den Eynde, “One Journey,” 274; cf. Duckworth’s comments on this phenomenon in ancient epic (Foreshadowing and Suspense, 70–71).
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Similarly, readers are already cognizant of the story’s happy outcome while they watch Anna and Tobit fret, awaiting the delayed return of their son (10:1–7). Cutting away from the joyous revelry of the wedding celebration, our narrator drops us back in Nineveh, where Tobit is counting the days (ἑκάστην δὲ ἡµέραν ἐξ ἡµέρας ἐλογίζετο Τωβὶθ τὰς ἡµέρας ἐν πόσαις πορεύσεται καὶ ἐν πόσαις ἐπιστρέψει [10:1]). Finally his daily retabulation can no longer explain the delay of Tobias’s return. Anna gives vent to the worst of her fears—“my child has perished” (10:4)— and Tobit once more finds himself attempting to comfort his distraught wife (10:6). But this time Anna is inconsolable. As with Tobit’s reckoning of the days, the ongoing agony of Anna’s new daily routine is augmented by its expression in the imperfect tense: “She would rush out every day and watch [περιεβλέπετο] the road her son had taken, and would heed [ἐπείθετο] no one. When the sun had set she would go in and mourn [ἐθρήνει] and weep [ἔκλαιεν] all night long, getting [εἶχεν] no sleep at all” (10:7). Of dramatic tension there is plenty, though the resolution is already certain. Importantly, because the potential for the failure of God’s purposes here obtains only from the internal perspective of the characters, the reader can remain confident that God is ultimately in control, even while enjoying at least some of the aesthetic payoff that a good, suspenseful story provides. Indeed, this narrative allows readers to identify simultaneously both with the calmly omniscient perspective of the narrator and with the characters’ ultimately unfounded anxiety. This dual identification surely serves a cathartic function:29 readers are enabled to unleash their fears and then to experience the relief of fears unrealized. Finally, it is worth reflecting on the correspondence between this quasisuspenseful narrative situation and Tobit’s theological interpretation of Diaspora. Readers of the narrative know that all is well, yet still the characters spend sleepless nights; likewise, Tobit asserts, is Israel’s extratextual reality: In his prophetic words at the close of the story, Tobit insists that, although Israel still experiences the anxiety of exilic life, its ultimate fate has already been secured by the providence of God (14:4–7).30 Thus, the extratextual uncertainty of life in the Diaspora is represented in this narrative, but it is defused by juxtaposition with God’s superintendence of the story.
II. Simultaneity Surely the most striking aspect of Tobit’s narrative structure is the extensive parallel between the account of Tobit’s misfortune in 1:3–3:6 and of Sarah’s in 29 Again, Duckworth sees a similar dynamic at work in ancient epic: the reader simultaneously views the story from the omniscient perspective of the narrator and “shares the emotions of the sympathetic character” (Foreshadowing and Suspense, 70–71). See also Suzanne Keen, “A Theory of Narrative Empathy,” Narrative 14 (2006): 213–20. 30 See Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 32–33.
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3:7–15:31 Tobit goes blind; Sarah loses her seventh husband (2:10; 3:8). Both lament having to endure undeserved reproach (3:6; 3:7, 10).32 Both Tobit and Sarah cry out to God in prayer (3:1–6; 3:11–15). Both conclude that death is better than disgrace and ask God to release (ἀπολύω) them from the earth (3:6; 3:13). Finally, “at that very moment,” both of their prayers are “heard in the glorious presence of God” (3:16). God’s simultaneous hearing of these parallel prayers leads, of course, to the redemptive interweaving of Tobit’s and Sarah’s lives. This elegant narrative move has deservedly occasioned from interpreters an outpouring of eloquence: Comme le texte lui même le souligne à plusieurs reprises, [la prière de Tobit] présente un effet un parallélisme parfait avec celle de Sara, de future éspouse du jeune Tobias. Les deux prières sont prononcées le même jour et au même moment; elles sont inspirées par le même sentiment, la lassitude du juste en butte à la persécution, et elles ont le même dessein, demander la mort puisque le suicide est exclu; elles sont simultanément présentées à Dieu par Raphaël et symétriquement exaucées.33 Their lives [are] no longer parallel but distant tales of woe. Divine providence will fuse them together and so transform sorrow into joy.34 Deux misères, la nuit du vieil aveugle Tobit et les deuils de la jeune veuve Sarah, vont devenir une seule joie par la correspondance de leurs deux priéres unies devant Dieu.35 Each problem contains the germ of a solution for the other. The combination of these plots for the common alleviation of everyone’s suffering is not simply evidence of the author’s literary genius. . . . Our author presents a hypothetical case
31 See esp. Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 30; McCracken, “Narration and Comedy,” 411–12. 32
Tobit’s squabble with his wife has generated an ongoing discussion that centers on whether Tobit, who narrates 1:3–3:6 in the first person, should be considered a reliable narrator. McCracken sees Tobit as an unreliable narrator, noting that, although Tobit laments suffering the unjust reproach of his wife, it is he who has made unjust accusations (“Narration and Comedy,” 406). Cousland counters that Tobit’s perspective accords with the third-person narrator of the rest of the book and defends Tobit by reading the incident in the light of the shame incurred by Tobit’s dependence on his wife’s work (cf. Sir 25:22) and her master’s charity (“Comedy in Error?” 544; cf. Nowell, “Narrator,” 29; Levine, “Teaching Jews,” 51). Noting that the narrator provides a specific date for the event—the seventh of Dystrus (2:12)—Daniel Bertrand argues that the issue here is the suspect provenance of a Passover victim (“Le chevreau d’Anna: La signification de l’anecdotique dans le livre de Tobit,” RHPR 68 [1988]: 271). Whether Bertrand is right or whether Tobit simply is ashamed to accept charity, Fitzmyer’s interpretation of Anna’s rather cryptic response admirably suits the context: “[Anna’s] reaction is somewhat like that of Job’s wife: ‘Do you still hold on to your integrity? Curse God, and die!’ [Job 2:9]” (Tobit, 141). 33 Bertrand, “Le chevreau d’Anna,” 271. 34 Portier-Young, “Alleviation of Suffering,” 47. 35 Jacques Goettmann, Tobie: Livre des fiancés et des pèlerins (BVC; Paris: Desclée, 1966), 11.
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that serves as a window into the workings of divine sovereignty that operates in spite of suffering and the presence of demonic evil.36
As each of these scholars intuits, there is a synergistic relationship in our text between narrative structure and theological assertion: God’s sovereignty finds a particularly apt narrative correlate in the movement from two parallel crises to one resolution. But what makes this narrative move so theologically evocative? One clue arises from the narrator’s repeated emphasis on the simultaneity of these two prayers. Following Tobit’s prayer for death, the scene suddenly shifts: “On that same day . . . it also happened . . .” (ἐν τῇ ἡµέρᾳ ταύτῃ συνέβη . . . καί [3:7]). Sarah’s parallel misfortune is narrated, and her parallel prayer is introduced with another, rather pleonastic, reference to this simultaneity: “At that same time . . .” (ἐν αὐτῷ τῷ καιρῷ [3:11]). This exact phrase recurs immediately following Sarah’s prayer (3:16); and, after the brief scene in heaven wherein Raphael is dispatched, we are told, “At the same time [ἐν ἐκείνῳ τῷ καιρῷ] that Tobit returned from the courtyard into his house, Sarah daughter of Raguel came down from her upper room” (3:17). Finally, the next scene begins with a reference to what Tobit did on “that same day” (ἐν τῇ ἡµέρᾳ ἐκεινῃ [4:1]). Thus, the entire account of Sarah’s misfortune and prayer is punctuated at its beginning and its end and at every internal scene transition by a notice of simultaneity.37 Moreover, the presentation of Sarah’s story here, intercalated into the ongoing story of Tobit—which could easily have continued uninterrupted from 3:6 to 4:138—is a departure from the ordinary procedure of classical biblical narrative. The typical strategy would rather involve the presentation of Sarah’s misfortune only after Tobias has arrived in Ecbatana—probably during the dialogue with her father that even now contains an abbreviated summary of her story (7:11). As Robert Alter notes, biblical narrative generally follows the main character through to the resolution of his or her crisis, and background information regarding the supporting cast is typically given in retrospective dialogue only as it becomes immediately relevant.39 36
Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 32. Tobit’s usage is clearly much more explicit—and therefore more emphatic—than the pattern of resumptive repetition that Shemaryahu Talmon identified as the primary means of indicating simultaneity in biblical narrative (“The Presentation of Synchroneity and Simultaneity in Biblical Narrative,” ScrHier 27 [1978]: 9–26). 38 Cf. Van Den Eynde, “One Journey,” 275. 39 Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Narrative (New York: Basic Books, 1981), 66, 91. Our introduction to Rebekah, of whom we hear nothing before Abraham’s servant sees her drawing water, is a convenient example (Gen 24:1–27). As William Soll notes, the same is true of the fairy tales to which he compares the book of Tobit (“Tobit and Folklore Studies, with Emphasis on Propp’s Morphology,” in SBL Seminar Papers, 1988 [SBLSP 27; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988], 226; cf. Wills, Jewish Novel, 76 n. 19). 37
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Although alternating presentation of parallel story lines is characteristic of Greek romances, wherein the two lovers are often separated for the bulk of the narrative and thus their stories must be told separately,40 Tomas Hägg notes that the potential of this narrative structure to facilitate comparisons or connections between the two story lines is seldom exploited.41 Moreover, simultaneous action in the two stories is rare; rather, the absence of explicit time indicators gives the impression of successively occurring events,42 and “it is taken for granted that nothing important has happened to one of the characters when the narration has been concentrated on the other.”43 The unusual intercalation of Sarah’s story into Tobit’s is thus emphatic, highlighting both the parallel between these two characters and the simultaneity of their prayers. The narrative function of simultaneity has not been carefully articulated,44 but it is clear that to ancient readers simultaneity suggested providential interweaving of fates. Herodotus assures us that the battles of Plataea and Mycale occurred on the very same day (τῆς αὐτῆς ἡµέρης συµπιπτούσης [9.100]; τῆς αὐτῆς ἡµέρης συνέβαινε [9.101]), and deduces “divine ordering of things” (9.100; Godley [LCL]) from this (historically dubious) coincidence.45 Such use of simultaneity to assert the intervention of providence became a common historiographical topos. It is heavily exploited by Polybius, for whom the providential ordering of history is a major theme. As Frank Walbank explains, “[Polybius] is at pains to underline the clues which Tyche distributed in the form of synchronisms, by which at certain dates universal movement is signalled by dynastic or other changes occurring
40 See esp. Tomas Hägg, Narrative Technique in Ancient Greek Romances: Studies of Chariton, Xenophon Ephesius, and Achilles Tatius (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Institutet i Athen 8.8; Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Athen, 1971), 138–88, 311–14. 41 Hägg, Narrative Technique, 314. 42 Ibid., 312. 43 Ibid., 187. 44 See Meir Sternberg, “Telling in Time (I): Chronology and Narrative Theory,” Poetics Today 11 (1990): 941. In 1994, Ayhan Aksu-Koç and Christiane von Stutterheim found not a single study devoted to the topic (“Temporal Relations in Narrative: Simultaneity,” in Relating Events in Narrative: A Crosslinguistic Developmental Study [ed. Ruth Aronson Berman, and Dan Isaac Slobin; Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum, 1994], 394–95). But note Bianca Theisen’s description of a recurring pattern in the novels of Heinrich von Kleist, wherein “two completely contingent events . . . are given simultaneously, meeting in one instant, and from that instant seem to be contingent on one another, necessitating interpretations . . . that construct casual or teleological relationships for these events” (“Simultaneity: A Narrative Figure in Kleist,” Modern Language Notes 121 [2006]: 515). 45 See Thomas Harrison, Divinity and History: The Religion of Herodotus (Oxford Classical Monographs; Oxford: Clarendon, 2002), 32–33. On the unlikelihood of this account being historically accurate, see W. W. How and J. Wells, A Commentary on Herodotus: With Introduction and Appendixes (2 vols.; corrected ed.; Oxford: Clarendon, 1928), 2:331.
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simultaneously in several realms.”46 In a similar vein, Plutarch reports that the birth of Alexander was concurrent with favorable portents: To Philip . . . there came three messages at the same time: the first that Parmenio had conquered the Illyrians in a great battle, the second that his race-horse had won a victory at the Olympic games, while a third announced the birth of Alexander. These things delighted him, of course, and the seers raised his hopes still higher by declaring that the son whose birth coincided with three victories would be always victorious. (Alex. 3.8–9; Perrin [LCL])
In the NT, Luke too capitalizes on the assumption that simultaneity signals divine providence. In Acts 10, the conclusion of Peter’s vision authorizing him to eat profane food is simultaneous with the arrival of Cornelius’s delegation (vv. 9, 17, 19)—a coincidence that reinforces Luke’s contention that the reception of Gentiles into the community has divine backing.47 This synchronism thus serves an important function in Luke’s narrative rhetoric by highlighting God’s providential intervention (cf. 10:30; 11:11). Similarly, Tobit posits a world in which—to quote an heir to this belief—“all things work together for good” (Rom 8:28). The lives of God’s people coincide because thus God has preordained. Simultaneity, then, is an assertion of order, of stability, of divine plan. The temporal coincidence of Sarah’s and Tobit’s prayers is not happenstance but rather a testament to and actualization of the fact that God set Sarah apart to be Tobias’s wife “before the world was made” (6:18). Thus, Tobit’s explicit assertion that nothing can escape God’s hand (13:2) is reinforced implicitly by the narrative’s structure—the parallel presentation of Sarah’s and Tobit’s simultaneous pleas.
III. Conclusion: Asserting God’s Providence in Exile Although a few have suggested a Palestinian provenance, most scholars see Tobit as a product of the Diaspora.48 Perhaps the most convincing evidence here is
46 F. W. Walbank, “Polybius and the Past,” in idem, Polybius, Rome and the Hellenistic World: Essays and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 182. See also the synchronisms in Herodotus, Hist. 7.166; Diodorus Siculus 11.24, 34. 47 Daniel Marguerat, Les Actes des apôtres (1–12) (CNT 5a; Geneva: Labor et Fides, 2007), 381: “Le narrateur marquait la simultanéité entre l’approche des envoyés du centurion et la montée de Pierre sur la terrasse pour prier. Cet emboîtement des événements induit l’idée d’une main invisible à l’action providentielle.” 48 According to Zimmerman, “There is scarcely any other extracanonical book that conveys so unmistakable an impression of being written in the Dispersion” (Tobit, 18). See also Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 34; Richard Bauckham, “Tobit as a Parable for the Exiles of Northern
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the pervasive sense of dislocation that inheres in its exilic setting (cf. 1:10), an aspect of this narrative that has been emphasized by William Soll.49 For Soll, exile is the “root misfortune” of which the concrete troubles experienced by Tobit and Sarah are “acute manifestations”:50 Tobit’s poverty is caused by Sennacherib’s oppressive rule (1:15, 20), and it is the late-night labor of burying his brutally murdered kinsmen that eventually leads to his sleeping outdoors and thus his sparrow-droppinginduced blindness;51 Sarah’s vulnerability to Asmodeus is made possible by her residence in the land over which he has domain (cf. T. Sol. 5:10). In short, the crises that arise in Tobit’s initial chapters evoke “the chronic condition of exile.”52 Although not every aspect of Soll’s argument is persuasive—I, for one, am not convinced that the narrative presents Tobit’s blindness as deriving in any direct way from his exile—nevertheless, his more general observation is compelling. Moreover, it is easy to see why such a setting would appeal to an author living in the Diaspora. Just as the writer of 4 Ezra, wrestling with the theological implications of the Roman destruction of Jerusalem, set his story against the historically analogous situation of the Babylonian destruction, so Tobit’s author reflects on Diaspora life in the second century—or thereabouts53—using the historical analogy of eighth-century Israelite exile. The relevance of Diaspora anxiety for understanding Tobit’s narrative rhetoric has been lucidly emphasized by Amy-Jill Levine. She argues that Tobit’s preoccupation with kinship and endogamous marriage is best understood as reflecting an attempt to reestablish Jewish identity in the Diaspora by means of “a shift from a geographical to a genealogical definition.”54 Of course, in order to accomplish this redefinition and relieve male anxiety, Jewish women must be “properly domi-
Israel,” in Studies in the Book of Tobit: A Multidisciplinary Approach (ed. Mark Bredin; Library of Second Temple Studies 55; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 151–64. Palestinian origin is favored by Fitzmyer, Tobit, 52–54; and Merten Rabenau, Studien zum Buch Tobit (BZAW 220; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1994), 175–90; cf. J. T. Milik, “La patrie de Tobie,” RB 73 (1966): 522–30. Others remain agnostic—so Moore, Tobit, 42–43. 49 Soll, “Misfortune and Exile in Tobit: The Juncture of a Fairy Tale Source and Deuteronomistic Theology,” CBQ 51 (1989): 209–31; see also idem, “Tobit and Folklore Studies,” 50–52; Bauckham, “Tobit as a Parable”; Fassbeck, “Tobit’s Religious Universe,” 187–88. 50 Soll, “Misfortune and Exile,” 222–25. 51 Ibid., 223–24. Another interpretation sees the sparrows as demonic instruments (cf. Jub. 11:9–24; Mark 4:4, 15). See Moore, Tobit, 131. 52 Soll, “Misfortune and Exile,” 222. Cf. Amy-Jill Levine, “Diaspora as Metaphor: Bodies and Boundaries in the Book of Tobit,” in Diaspora Jews and Judaism: Essays in Honor of, and in Dialogue with, A. Thomas Kraabel (ed. J. Andrew Overman and Robert S. MacLennan; South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 41; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992), 105–6. 53 See Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 35. 54 Levine, “Diaspora as Metaphor,” 107.
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ciled” into procreative roles.55 Thus Levine summarizes the work of the narrative: “Emphasizing the acute threat to identity posed by the exilic collapse of boundaries and then diffusing that threat by reinscribing distinctions, the Book of Tobit brings stability to the unstable world.”56 If this is the meaning of endogamy in Tobit, it is not surprising to see echoes of the patriarchal marriages in the account of Tobias’s journey. As Tobit reminds his son, “Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, our ancestors of old, all took wives from among their kindred” (4:12).57 What is somewhat surprising is that the reference in Tobias’s wedding night prayer (8:5–7) is to Adam and Eve rather than, say, Jacob and Rachel. As Gabriele Fassbeck has noted, this “would have been a perfect opportunity for the narrator to make the many underlying parallels with the patriarchal stories explicit.”58 Instead, Tobias reiterates the creation account: You made Adam, and for him you made his wife Eve as a helper and support. From the two of them the human race has sprung. You said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; let us make a helper for him like himself.” (8:6)
This association of Sarah and Tobias with Adam and Eve confirms Levine’s suggestion that something more fundamental than endogamy is at stake here—or, better, that endogamy is but one expression of this story’s broader concern for reasserting order. Like God’s provision of a partner for Adam, God’s providential uniting of Sarah and Tobias is an assertion of the fundamental orderedness of creation.59 Dispersion, then, is not a return to primordial chaos, for God continues to order creation into its corresponding elements.60 This, then, is what is at stake in Tobit’s assertion of divine providence. Tobit posits a world carefully ordered, a world in which every lack has its corresponding fulfillment and every exigency “contains the germ”61 of another’s resolution. Tobit’s narrative world has no loose ends; each element is integrated into God’s compre55
Ibid., 105, 117. Ibid., 105. 57 See Van Den Eynde, “One Journey,” 278–79; Weitzman, “Allusion, Artifice, and Exile in the Hymn of Tobit,” JBL 115 (1996): 60; Fassbeck, “Tobit’s Religious Universe,” 180. 58 Fassbeck, “Tobit’s Religious Universe,” 189–90. 59 Jon Levenson aptly describes the biblical idea of creation as “the emergence of a stable community in a benevolent and life-sustaining order” (Creation and the Persistence of Evil: The Jewish Drama of Divine Omnipotence [San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988], 12). 60 Note that the account of Eve’s creation in Genesis 2 evokes precisely the notion of correspondence that informs Tobit’s narrative structure. God makes for Adam “a helper as his partner,” as the NRSV translates the construction (wdgnk rz( [2:18, 20]); “corresponding to him” would be a more literal translation of wdgnk (see Claus Westermann, Genesis 1–11: A Commentary [trans. John J. Scullion; Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1984], 227)—as is suggested by the Septuagint’s rendering (κατ’ αὐτόν). 61 Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature, 32. 56
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hensive plan. The story’s two families are joined not only by the bonds of kinship but also by the preordaining purposes of God—better, it is precisely the correspondence of kinship and divine arrangement that fascinates the teller of this story and reassures its reader. The simultaneity of Tobit’s and Sarah’s prayers thus serves as a narrative assertion of God’s supervisory control. And, as the preordained plot unfolds, carefully managed suspense gives expression to the anxiety of Diaspora life but finally robs it of its power; for, despite Dispersion, the world is still providentially aligned.
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The Targums / A Critical Introduction Paul V. M. Flesher and Bruce Chilton
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A Centurion’s “Confession”: A Performance-Critical Analysis of Mark 15:39 kelly r. iverson [email protected] St. Mary’s College, University of St. Andrews, St. Andrews, KY16 9JU, Scotland
In many respects, Mark 15:39 is deceptively simple. Immediately after Jesus dies and the temple curtain is torn from top to bottom, the centurion standing opposite the crucifixion scene speaks seven uncomplicated words: ἀληθῶς οὗτος ὁ ἄνθρωπος υἱὸς θεοῦ ἦν. The lexical meaning of these individual terms is not in doubt, and the christological significance of the utterance, at this juncture in Mark’s story, is widely recognized. At issue, and what complicates an otherwise straightforward verse, is the intended force of the utterance. At the level of the story, what precisely did the centurion mean when speaking these words? Is the so-called confession a genuine expression of faith and devotion, a final, derogatory statement of mockery meant to belittle Jesus and his followers, or an ambiguous pronouncement whose intent cannot be determined?1 While various grammatical and historical issues weigh on the interpretation of this statement, the verse hinges on elements that are not readily obvious in the textual remains of Mark’s story. Taken in isolation and stripped from the printed page, the response might be construed in a variety of ways. Most germane to the 1
Some have also argued that the confession is a statement of Hellenistic respect (“Truly this man was a son of God”). See Alfred Plummer, The Gospel according to St. Mark (Cambridge Greek Testament for Schools and Colleges; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1914; repr., Grand Rapids: Baker, 1982), 361. Since Ernest C. Colwell argued that the anarthrous predicate nominative is best translated “the son of God” (“A Definite Rule for the Use of the Article in the Greek New Testament,” JBL 52 [1933]: 12–21), this view has not been as widely held. For a survey of the grammar, as well as continued discussion of this issue, see Philip B. Harner, “Qualitative Anarthrous Predicate Nouns: Mark 15:39 and John 1:1,” JBL 92 (1973): 75–87; Tae Hun Kim, “The Anarthrous υἱὸς θεοῦ in Mark 15,39 and the Roman Imperial Cult,” Bib 79 (1998): 221–41.
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problem is how Mark and/or early storytellers dramatized the statement, since it makes a profound difference whether the words were spoken with heartfelt sincerity or a condemnatory scowl. These paralinguistic and extralinguistic features— the intonation of the storyteller’s voice, gestures, facial expression, and so on—are inherent in all communication and, as Whitney Taylor Shiner has shown, used with skill and passion by early performers of the Gospels.2 Unfortunately for the modern reader, these additional conveyors of meaning have not been recorded in our written artifacts. It has often been assumed that the distinction between oral and written media is largely irrelevant, but a number of scholars have begun the fruitful exploration of performance criticism, further demonstrating that meaning is intrinsically bound to the particular mode of communication.3 Accordingly, the objective of this essay is to situate Mark 15:39 within its oral context, recognizing that “the medium is the message.”4 The intent is not to postulate about what, if anything, the centurion actually said but to understand the force of the centurion’s statement as reflected in the Markan passion narrative. Though it is impossible to revert to a pre-literate mind-set and our only remains are written documents, we can and must do a better job of attempting to reconstruct likely performance scenarios that are based on the social realities of the first century.
I. Illocutionary Force in Mark A growing number of scholars have begun to assert that the centurion’s postcrucifixion remarks are not an expression of belief but a form of sarcasm intended to mock Jesus. While nothing in the statement inextricably leads to this conclusion, Donald H. Juel argues that the derision is “in accord with the rest of the taunts in the account of Jesus’ trial and death.”5 Likewise, Stephen D. Moore questions the 2
Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel: First-Century Performance of Mark (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2003). 3 Contra Rudolf Bultmann, who argued that the distinction between oral and written media is “unimportant” and “immaterial” (The History of the Synoptic Tradition [trans. John Marsh; New York: Harper & Row, 1963], 48, 87). For an introduction to performance criticism, see David Rhoads, “Performance Criticism: An Emerging Methodology in Second Temple Studies,” BTB 36 (2006): 118–33, 164–84. 4 Quoted in Tom Boomershine, “Peter’s Denial as Polemic or Confession: The Implications of Media Theory for Biblical Hermeneutics,” in Orality, Aurality and Biblical Narrative (Semeia 39; Decatur, GA: Scholars Press, 1987), 59. 5 Juel, A Master of Surprise: Mark Interpreted (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 74 n. 7. See also Richard A. Horsley, Hearing the Whole Story: The Politics of Plot in Mark’s Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 252; Sharyn Dowd, Reading Mark: A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament Series; Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys, 2000), 162; Stephen P. Ahearne-Kroll, The Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion: Jesus’ Davidic Suffering (SNTSMS 142;
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genuineness of the response but focuses on the consistent misunderstanding surrounding the identity of Jesus and the unlikelihood that a Gentile soldier succeeds “where Jesus’ elite hand-picked disciples have so singularly failed.”6 Whatever objections might be raised, these interpretations expose one of the more vexing problems in biblical interpretation. That the Gospels are derived from oral stories and influenced by the dynamics of oral storytelling practices has been discussed at length, and need not be rehearsed here.7 The question raised by Mark 15:39 is how one interprets the potential loss of meaning generated by the gap between different communication media. Though all translation results in communication loss, the impact is even more pronounced in the transition from one media type to another. If, as Richard Watts suggests, it is “difficult to detect ironic intent” in literature, then discerning the force of the centurion’s remark is even more problematic since the confession is situated in a piece of orally derived literature that potentially obscures the aim of the original statement.8 David R. Olson, in a stimulating book entitled The World on Paper, discusses this issue and the means that developed to compensate for the loss of communication during this transitional period.9 Utilizing speech act theory, Olson argues that the distinction between a locutionary act—what a speaker says—and illocutionary force—the intent of a particular speech act—is of critical importance. In oral communication, Olson suggests, illocution is typically not lexicalized but embed-
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 220-21. As a variation of this interpretation, Michael L. Cook argues that the centurion “offers the same kind of recognition as the demons who always knew who Jesus was” (Christology as Narrative Quest [Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1997], 92). 6 Moore, “Deconstructive Criticism: Turning Mark Inside-Out,” in Mark & Method: New Approaches in Biblical Studies (ed. Janice Capel Anderson and Stephen D. Moore; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008), 107. 7 See Kelly R. Iverson, “Orality and the Gospels: A Survey of Recent Research,” Currents in Biblical Research 8 (2009): 71–106. 8 Watts, The Pragmalinguistic Analysis of Narrative Texts: Narrative Co-operation in Charles Dickens’s “Hard times” (Studies and Texts in English; Tübingen: G. Narr, 1981), 101. The precise relationship between sarcasm and irony is disputed. See Salvatore Attardo, “Irony as Relevant Inappropriateness,” in Irony in Language and Thought: A Cognitive Science Reader (ed. Raymond W. Gibbs Jr. and Herbert L. Colston; New York: Taylor & Francis Group, 2007), 137. Regardless of how one interprets this passage, the centurion’s statement is ironic, though not necessarily sarcastic. If the utterance is intended to mock Jesus, there is obvious and deliberate verbal irony. If the confession is genuine, dramatic irony is in view: the onlookers claim that they will believe if they “see” Jesus come down from the cross (15:32), but the centurion believes after “seeing” how Jesus dies (15:39). Elizabeth Struthers Malbon comes to the same conclusion regarding the potential irony in 15:39 (Mark’s Jesus: Characterization as Narrative Christology [Waco: Baylor University Press, 2009], 123–24). 9 Olson, The World on Paper: The Conceptual and Cognitive Implications of Writing and Reading (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994).
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ded within the act of communication. The intent of an utterance, though not explicitly stated, is communicated in large measure through paralinguistic (voice intonation, pitch, loudness, etc.) and extralinguistic features (gestures, eye contact, facial expression, etc.) that are readily identifiable in performance. But a transcription of that same performance does not and cannot capture the range of communicative features that are essential for understanding illocutionary force. Thus, while writing has distinct advantages, permanence being one of them, a written transcription obscures the full dynamics of a communicative event. As Olson observes, “writing readily represents the locutionary act” but leaves the “illocutionary force underspecified.”10 If this is the case, then how is illocution conveyed in the transcription of oral speech? Or, as Plato asked, “How do you smile in writing?”11 Olson goes on to argue that the primary means by which illocutionary force is preserved is through the use of speech act and mental state terms, as well as other verbal descriptors.12 These words, though not utilized by the actual speaker, are “edited in” as a kind of metalinguistic commentary to facilitate understanding of the overarching intention. Olson argues that these chirographic adaptations arose over a considerable period of time and evolved well into and beyond the twelfth century. In fact, Olson shows that many widely used terms, such as “assert,” “assume,” “conclude,” “criticize,” “declare,” “explain,” “imply,” “remember,” and “suggest,” were introduced from Latin into English as late as the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in order to cope with the perennial problem of conveying illocutionary force.13 The ramifications of Olson’s study are extremely important for assessing the intended meaning of Mark 15:39. “Because illocutionary force is not indicated in the transcription of what is said, and because what is transcribed tends to be taken as a completely adequate representation of what is meant, naïve readers often fail” to question the intended meaning of a particular utterance.14 Therefore, if illocutionary force is often “underspecified” in documents composed during the transition from orality to textuality, and if the Second Gospel is either a transcription of an oral performance (Botha) or a written document shaped by an oral milieu and composed for performance (Dewey), then it is quite possible that, although Mark 15:39 appears to be an authentic confession of faith, it may actually be a confession of disbelief and mockery.15 10
Ibid., 93. Quoted in ibid., 91. 12 Ibid., 92–97. Speech act terms are words that can be used in place of the verb “say” (e.g., “asked,” “claimed,” “told”), while mental state terms can be substituted for the verb “think” (e.g., “believe,” “know,” “understand”). 13 For a complete list of terms, see ibid., 102–9. 14 Ibid., 93. 15 Joanna Dewey, “Oral Methods of Structuring Narrative in Mark,” Int 43 (1989): 43–44; Pieter J. J. Botha, “Mark’s Story as Oral Traditional Literature: Rethinking the Transmission of Some Traditions about Jesus,” HvTSt 47 (1991): 318–26. 11
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In light of Olson’s research, the question that must be asked in relation to Mark 15:39 is how the storyteller employs metalinguistic commentary in the Gospel. Though it is far beyond the scope of this article to address the issue in detail, two observations are noteworthy. First, although Mark has often been deemed an unsophisticated writer, and in some sense is, the written text utilizes speech act and mental state terms, as well as descriptive commentary, with noted frequency. The narrative of Mark’s Gospel is not merely a string of character exchanges differentiated by primitive narrator asides (“he/she said”). The employment of metalinguistic commentary frequently accompanies the verb λέγω, but the usage is not merely a pleonastic or stereotyped expression. For example, in Mark 1:21–27 Jesus enters the synagogue and encounters a man with an unclean spirit who cries out, “Have you come to destroy us? We know who you are, the holy one of God” (1:24)—to which Jesus responds, “Be quiet, and come out of him” (1:25). While the intent of Jesus’ statement is fairly obvious and might have been introduced without comment, Mark includes a verb providing explicit reference to the motivation behind the speech act: “he rebuked [ἐπετίµησεν] him and said” (1:25; cf. 4:39; 8:33; 9:25). A similar phenomenon is observable in 8:11–12 when the Pharisees ask Jesus to perform a “sign from heaven.” Before rejecting the Pharisees’ request (8:12c), Jesus first poses the question, “Why does this generation seek a sign?” (8:11b). Though the immediate context and ongoing conflict with the religious establishment suggest that the query is not concerned with the mere acquisition of information, Mark again provides specific commentary that clarifies the intended purpose of the speech act. The storyteller indicates that Jesus “sighed deeply and said” (ἀναστενάξας τῷ πνεύµατι αὐτοῦ λέγει, 8:12). That Jesus sighs before his reported speech act is suggestive of both his deep disappointment with the religious establishment and the rhetorical aim of the question. Descriptive commentary is further illustrated in Mark 12:13–17, when the Pharisees and Herodians address Jesus in an apparent, honorific fashion: “Teacher, we know that you are truthful and do not court anyone’s favor.” Although the statement appears to be a compliment, the audience intuitively knows that the affirmation is disingenuous. Not only is the audience aware that the Pharisees and Herodians have begun to conspire against Jesus (3:6), but Mark underscores the devious purpose behind the remark by noting that the party came to “trap [ἀγρεύσωσιν] him [Jesus] in a statement” (12:13). Such metalinguistic commentary is not uncommon in Mark, and the storyteller uses a litany of terms to provide additional description and/or to communicate the underlying intent of a given statement: θαµβέω (1:27), συζητέω (1:27), σπλαγχνίζοµαι (1:41), διαλογίζοµαι (2:6; 11:31), κράζω (3:11; 5:7; 9:24; 10:47–48; 11:9; 15:13–14), διδάσκω (4:2; 9:31; 11:17; 12:35), φοβέω (4:41), ἐκπλήσσω (6:2; 7:37; 10:26), ὀµνύω (6:23; 14:71), στενάζω (7:34), διαστέλλω (8:15), ἀγανακτέω (10:14; 14:4), ἀγαπάω (10:21), ἀναθεµατίζω (14:71), and ἐµπαίζω (15:31). In all these texts, although the intended meaning of the saying might have been inferred from other features in the narrative, the storyteller makes a deliberate effort to under-
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score the illocutionary force of the speaker’s words through the inclusion of verbal descriptors. Thus, while the Gospel has been shaped by an oral culture and one might expect an absence of metalinguistic language, just the opposite appears to be the case: Mark frequently includes verbal forms that specify the manner and/or meaning of reported speech, even when such “editing in” is largely unnecessary.16 Second, given the inclusion of metalinguistic terminology and/or descriptive commentary to provide textual precision and understanding throughout Mark’s story, it is not surprising that the passion narrative is replete with illocutionary details. Though superfluous, Judas’s kiss is described as an act of betrayal (14:44), and the witnesses marshaled against Jesus are characterized as providing “false testimony” (14:56–57). The latter point is particularly important since, although Jesus never claimed that he would destroy the temple and build another in three days, the audience understands that the saying is partially true, having heard Jesus’ passion predictions (8:31; 9:31; 10:32–34) and his pronouncements against the temple (11:12–25; 12:1–12; 13:1–2). Nonetheless, Mark exposes the character of the witnesses’ testimony in order to show that, for the purposes of the trial, the evidence is fallacious. This kind of irony is not isolated in the passion but is part of a pervasive pattern that, according to Jerry Camery-Hoggatt, is “embedded in the framework of the narrative itself.”17 Three additional instances during the trial and crucifixion episodes represent sarcastic verbal taunts against Jesus. The prophecy of Peter’s denial (14:30) is fulfilled at the moment Jewish officers maliciously beckon Jesus to “prophesy” (14:65, 66–72), Jesus is acclaimed “king of the Jews” in a mock coronation as he is prepared for crucifixion by the Roman soldiers (15:16–20), and while Jesus hangs on the cross the passers-by, chief priests, and individuals crucified with Jesus assail him with insults, recalling how “he saved others” and would “destroy the temple” (15:29–32). All three episodes develop in a similar fashion: a character issues a statement intended to mock the present status of Jesus, but within the purview of the storyteller, the character unwittingly becomes a vehicle through which the performer communicates theological truth to the audience. These “paradoxical theological affirmations” take place in rapid succession and are a major 16 Even when Mark does not include mental state and speech act terms, potentially ambiguous speech is rendered intelligible through other features in the story, such as narrative asides, what characters say or do, and the like. When, for example, Jesus says to the Pharisees and scribes, “you have a fine way of setting aside the commandments of God” (7:9), the audience readily understands that this is not a compliment but an ironic utterance. Not only has Jesus been in steady conflict with the religious establishment since the opening scenes of the Gospel (the Pharisees and Herodians began plotting to kill Jesus, 3:6), but immediately before this potentially ambiguous statement Jesus refers to his interlocutors as “hypocrites” (7:6). 17 Camery-Hoggatt, Irony in Mark’s Gospel: Text and Subtext (SNTSMS 72; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 171.
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reason that many interpret the confession as a continuation of the ironic barbs already leveled against Jesus.18 While there is a context for understanding the centurion’s utterance in this manner, the conclusion would be unusual given Mark’s concern to clarify illocutionary force in the passion narrative. The three verbal taunts in the trial and crucifixion scenes are set apart by metalinguistic terminology and/or descriptive commentary. The Jewish officials “condemn” Jesus, “spit” on him, and “beat him” (14:64–65). The Roman soldiers dress Jesus in royal colors, weave a crown of thorns, beat him with a reed, spit on him, and bow down before him—all of which the storyteller explicitly describes as mockery (ἐνέπαιξαν αὐτῷ, 15:20). Likewise, those at the cross were “blaspheming him” (ἐβλασφήµουν αὐτόν, 15:29), “shaking their heads” (κινοῦντες τὰς κεφαλὰς αὐτῶν, 15:29), “mocking” (ἐµπαίζοντες, 15:31), and “hurling insults at him” (ὠνείδιζον αὐτόν, 15:32). In Mark’s passion, the pervasive use of metalinguistic indicators seems to be a deliberate strategy to demarcate certain kinds of characters. Although the use of speech act and mental state terms here and elsewhere is not intended to suggest that Mark’s story is free of enigma and uncertainty, it facilitates the identification of characters that are decidedly opposed to Jesus. The absence of such language surrounding the Roman centurion is conspicuous and suggests a more favorable portrayal. Though one could argue that the confession is devoid of understanding—similar to Pilate’s identification of Jesus as the “king of the Jews” (15:2)— neither the clause prefacing the statement (15:39a) nor the centurion’s verbalized response suggests that mockery or misunderstanding is intended.19 On the contrary, the centurion makes an explicit declaration that his verbal affirmation is true (ἀληθῶς, 15:39). While some have attempted to downplay this aspect of the narrative, the adverb ἀληθῶς (or the adjectival form ἀληθής) has an unambiguous force in Mark (12:14; 14:70); and, more broadly speaking, though the term can be used ironically, it typically functions in concert with assertions that are genuine and real.20 18
Ibid. Contra Ched Myers, who argues that the centurion stands “over against” Jesus—an ominous spatial indicator that anticipates the sarcastic confession (Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus [Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1988], 393). This translation of ἐξ ἐναντίας αὐτοῦ would be more plausible if the personal pronoun were dative rather than genitive. See BDAG, 330-31, s.v. ἐναντίoς. It should be noted that, while Pilate’s understanding is rightly questioned, his interaction with Jesus should not be characterized as mockery. Though Pilate is ultimately responsible for the crucifixion, he recognizes that Jesus is innocent (15:10), defends him before the crowd (15:14), and seeks to have him released (15:9). On this somewhat favorable depiction of Pilate, see John Painter, Mark’s Gospel: Worlds in Conflict (New Testament Readings; London: Routledge, 1997), 201; Jack D. Kingsbury, Conflict in Mark: Jesus, Authorities, Disciples (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 52. 20 See BDAG, 43, 44, s.v. ἀληθής, ἀληθῶς, respectively. Earl S. Johnson claims that the “centurion’s solemnity does not carry particular weight (ἀληθῶς) since Mark has previously put this 19
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Considering the general pattern of metalinguistic usage in Mark, particularly in the passion narrative, it is unlikely that the confession is intended to mock the crucified Jesus. Mark’s use of speech act and mental state terminology, along with descriptive commentary, is carefully situated in order to identify those aligned against Jesus. The systematic treatment of characters in this regard provides an implicit affirmation that the centurion is not to be associated with the other scoffers at the scene of the cross. Though such a statement does not rule out the possibility that the response is an ambiguous pronouncement, an analysis of Markan characterization and performance will attempt to show that the confession is an authentic expression of belief and understanding.
II. Performance and Plot Many scholars find it difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile the legitimacy of the confession with the sociopolitical milieu of the first century. Johnson, for instance, argues that the statement should be interpreted in the context of what is known about life in the Roman army: Soldiers . . . took religious oaths to the Emperor, praising him as a god or a Son of God. . . . A Roman soldier’s allegiance to the Emperor was expected to be absolute and it is unlikely that Mark’s readers would find it believable that a professional soldier would risk his career in order to worship a crucified man, especially if by such a confession he might be risking his own death for treason.21
According to Johnson, the authenticity of the confession does not harmonize with historical data. It is highly unlikely that a Roman centurion would make such a bold and public profession while serving in Caesar’s army; and, given the soldier’s frame of reference, it is doubtful that such a profession was even possible. In this regard, Myers poignantly states, “to put such a realization on the lips of a Roman soldier—moreover the very one presiding at Jesus execution—. . . gives the man more credit than he deserves.”22 same exclamation on the lips of Jesus’ enemies” (“Mark 15,39 and the So-Called Confession of the Roman Centurion,” Bib 81 [2000]: 412). Johnson, however, obscures the central issue, which is how the term is used rather than who employs the language. It is relatively certain in 14:70 that the bystanders genuinely believe that Peter is a follower of Jesus (ἀληθῶς ἐξ αὐτῶν εἶ), and although ἀληθής is used ironically in 12:14, the intent of the statement is readily apparent (12:13). 21 Johnson, “Is Mark 15:39 the Key to Mark’s Christology?” JSNT 31 (1987): 8, 11–13. 22 Myers, Binding the Strong Man, 393. Rudolf Pesch argues that the use of ἦν in 15:39 limits the confession to what Jesus “was” during his earthly existence and should not be equated with the author’s christology (Das Markusevangelium [2 vols.; HTKNT 2; Freiburg: Herder, 1976, 1977], 2:500). It seems more likely, however, that the use of the past tense underscores the pervasive christological misunderstanding in Mark and the profundity of the centurion’s insight. See Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (2 vols.; EKKNT 2; Zurich: Benziger, 1978, 1979), 2:327.
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While generalized data regarding Roman soldiers are immensely useful and provide an enriching backdrop, this approach betrays a subtle, though discernible, perspective that is driven by an analysis of the text as a literary document. This tendency is reflected most noticeably in Johnson’s assertion that the “interpretation of the centurion’s words must depend” on an understanding of military personnel in the first century.23 While Johnson provides a minor qualification to this statement, his exegesis of Mark 15:39 is influenced, if not determined, by this historical information, which surprisingly neglects other historical factors, most notably a recognition that the early transmission of the Gospel was through oral performance rather than silent reading. The suggestion that the centurion’s statement must be a sarcastic and cruel taunt is based on historical probabilities that, absent an immediate textual warrant (i.e., an indication of illocutionary force), are indicative of a hermeneutical perspective shaped by chirographic proclivities and the distancing that one experiences as a reader of the text. As Werner H. Kelber has argued, audiences do not have the privilege of turning back the page, pausing to reflect on a questionable statement, or fact-checking elements in the story against empirical data recorded in encyclopedic literature.24 Literary perspectives of this sort, though helpful, have the propensity to distort understanding by creating a “psychological distance” that detaches the interpreter from the emotive features of the story.25 The consequence of such a reading is a failure to appreciate the existential and performative context in which the Gospels were delivered in antiquity. As a counterbalance to this tendency, Shimon Levy and Jo-Ann A. Brant have both argued that biblical narratives enjoy many similarities with ancient drama and can be profitably examined through the lens of theater studies.26 Though distinctions exist between ancient drama and the Gospels (e.g., the presence of a narrator) and it is difficult to determine whether the biblical narratives were written for the stage, this approach offers a fresh and insightful heuristic through which to analyze the Gospels. At the very least, these studies call attention to a discipline that shares a similar concern for the interaction between performer and audience, offering a perspective that has not been fully appreciated by biblical scholars.
23
Johnson, “Mark’s Christology,” 8 (emphasis added). Kelber, The Oral and the Written Gospel: The Hermeneutics of Speaking and Writing in the Synoptic Tradition, Mark, Paul, and Q (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 1. Quintilian (Inst. 10.1.16) makes this same basic point in distinguishing between oral performance and written speech. 25 Boomershine, “Peter’s Denial,” 47. Perhaps this is why Walter J. Ong argues that “the longer the writing (and print) tradition endures, the heavier the ironic growth becomes” (Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word [New Accents; London: Methuen, 1982], 103). 26 Brant, Dialogue and Drama: Elements of Greek Tragedy in the Fourth Gospel (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004); Levy, The Bible as Theater (Portland, OR: Sussex Academic Press, 2000). 24
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This approach is of notable relevance to the confession in Mark 15:39, particularly as it relates to audience expectations and the construction of meaning based on audience experience and preconceived understanding. Bernard Beckerman has shown that in the world of theater an audience’s preunderstanding constitutes but one of the interpretive grids through which meaning is constructed in performance. Unlike Johnson, Beckerman suggests that any given event or saying in a theatrical presentation is processed though the audience’s historical knowledge and the information that is supplied by the emerging story.27 It is the confluence of these “grounds” (Beckerman’s term) that provides the basis for interpretation and the assignment of meaning to any particular aspect of the performance. What is more, Beckerman suggests that the importance and/or influence of these grounds can be relativized, and that the two need not carry equal weight. At times even, the audience’s preunderstanding—which provides the initial point of contact between audience and performer—may be directly challenged and subverted by the ensuing story. Indeed it is the manipulation of these grounds that “enables the spectator to take a leap beyond physical limitations into a realm of infinite possibilities” that “can stir transcendent responses.”28 This leap into the “realm of infinite possibilities,” as Beckerman suggests, is facilitated by the powerful dynamic between performer and audience. Unlike the act of reading, a performance can uniquely appeal to an audience through a multitude of sensory experiences. This does not deny the possibility of a similar experience among readers, but it does suggest that the potential for vicarious participation is heightened in an oral context due to the full sensory experience associated with dramatic performance. So real and penetrating may the events be that—following Coleridge—many have suggested that audiences engage in a “willing suspension of disbelief.” Though such a position need not be maintained, and various scholars have argued that audiences even construct fictional worlds without sacrificing preunderstanding, the underlying assertion remains.29 The “chemistry and magic” inherent in a dramatic, oral performance create a special relationship between performer and audience that facilitates the audience’s entrance into the narrative world of the story.30
27 Beckerman, Theatrical Presentation: Performer, Audience and Act (ed. Gloria Brim Beckerman and William Vincent Coco; New York: Routledge, 1990), 80–81. 28 Ibid., 13–14. 29 On the indispensable union between the narrative world and the audience’s preunderstanding, and for additional bibliographic material along these lines, see Ian Ruffell, “Audience and Emotion in the Reception of Greek Drama,” in Performance, Iconography, Reception: Studies in Honour of Oliver Taplin (ed. Martin Revermann and Peter Wilson; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 40. 30 Edwin Wilson and Alvin Goldfarb, Theater: The Lively Art (5th ed.; Boston: McGrawHill, 2005), 24.
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The question thus becomes how the Markan story shapes the audience’s perception and whether the evangelist attempts to subvert stereotypical assumptions about the Roman centurion. Though a rehearsal of Mark’s story, focusing on the dramatization of key themes such as the temple and the Gentile mission, would further contribute to the thesis advanced here, space does not permit a fuller exposition.31 Instead, for the purposes of this article, the discussion will highlight a critical aspect of the story that has often been ignored but subtly prepares the audience for understanding the confession as a sincere articulation of belief. Many scholars are skeptical about the genuineness of the confession in view of the centurion’s likely participation in the crucifixion. In this regard, Robert M. Fowler insists that any so-called confession must be understood in relation to the soldiers over whom the centurion had charge.32 The mock coronation and the cavalier attitude displayed by the soldiers, Fowler argues, provide the interpretive framework through which to understand the centurion, who furthers the response of the “ruthless, callous execution squad.”33 However, though the centurion is most definitely a soldier, this perspective does not go far enough in assessing broader patterns of characterization that are essential for appreciating the depiction of the centurion. More specifically, Fowler, and others who follow this line of argumentation, seldom consider Mark’s penchant for asymmetrical character portrayals. One of the interesting features of Mark’s Gospel is that individuals who are otherwise associated with a particular character group are occasionally depicted in a manner that defies audience expectation. For example, in the sequence of confrontations spanning Mark 11:27–12:34, Jesus systematically outwits the religious leaders who seek to trap and/or discredit him. However, the series of confrontations ends not with a decisive verbal attack masquerading as a question but with a sincere exchange between Jesus and a scribe. Unlike the previous encounters in which 31
In the history of interpretation, particularly those approaches oriented to questions pertaining to the world behind the text, the development of Mark’s plot has often played a peripheral role in the discussion. On the importance of the Gentile mission in Mark, see Jesper Svartvik, Mark and Mission: Mk 7:1–23 in Its Narrative and Historical Contexts (ConBNT 32; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2000); Kelly R. Iverson, Gentiles in the Gospel of Mark: “Even the Dogs under the Table Eat the Children’s Crumbs” (Library of New Testament Studies 339; London: T&T Clark, 2007). 32 Fowler, Let the Reader Understand: Reader-Response Criticism and the Gospel of Mark (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), 207. See also Ahearne-Kroll, Psalms of Lament in Mark’s Passion, 220–21. Some argue that, by carrying on with his military duties (15:44–45), the centurion does not provide proof of his newfound faith. Myers, for instance, states: “The fact that the man did not defect from his role as a Roman soldier loyal to Pilate erases the possibility that this is meant by Mark as a discipleship story” (Binding the Strong Man, 393; emphasis original). The difficulty with this argument is that it assumes that a sincere response necessitates a complete abandonment of the centurion’s prior commitments, but this is not the pattern found in the Gospels (Matt 8:5–13; Luke 7:1–10), Acts (10:1–48), or Paul (Phil 4:22). 33 Fowler, Let the Reader Understand, 207.
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Jesus rebuffs his adversaries, in the final episode the scribe is praised for being “not far from the kingdom of God” (12:34).34 A similar phenomenon occurs in the immediate context of the crucifixion, when Joseph of Arimathea is singled out for his courage and willingness to identify with Jesus (15:43). The action is all the more unexpected in view of the fact that Joseph is εὐσχήµων βουλευτής—“a prominent member of the council [Sanhedrin]” (15:43) that condemned Jesus and handed him over to Pilate (14:55; 15:1).35 This latter point is not often debated, though many have questioned the rationale for Joseph’s actions, claiming that “he is not a secret disciple, but an opponent.”36 Unfortunately, attempts to minimize Joseph’s righteous deed obscure the verbal echo with 12:28–34, for just as the scribe is praised by Jesus for not being “far from the kingdom of heaven” (12:34), so too is Joseph described in conjunction with God’s inbreaking rule (15:43). In contrast to the disciples and the other religious authorities, Joseph has the courage (τολµάω, 12:34; 15:43)—a characteristic of genuine discipleship that is frequently juxtaposed with fear—to go before Pilate and request the body of Jesus for burial. Mark’s selection of characters at this juncture appears to be a calculated attempt to subvert audience expectations. In the episodes of the wise scribe and Joseph of Arimathea, individuals who are otherwise aligned with forces that are hostile to Jesus emerge as characters that are sympathetic to and/or aligned with him. Though the anonymous scribe is presumably to be identified with the religious establishment that endeavors to “seize” (12:12) and “trap” Jesus (12:13), Mark 34
The designation (“not far from the kingdom of God”) is not a pejorative statement. Joel F. Williams argues that the verbal and thematic links between 12:28–34 and 10:17–22 (the story of the rich man) indicate that, “although expressed in a negative form, the emphasis of Jesus’ words lies on the nearness of the scribe to God’s kingdom rather than on some lack on the part of the scribe” (Other Followers of Jesus: Minor Characters as Major Figures in Mark’s Gospel [JSNTSup 102; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994], 174). 35 Elsewhere in Mark’s Gospel the Sanhedrin is referred to as συνέδριον (14:55; 15:1), but Raymond E. Brown demonstrates that this term is synonymous with βουλή (The Death of the Messiah: From Gethsemane to the Grave: A Commentary on the Passion Narratives in the Four Gospels [2 vols.; ABRL; New York: Doubleday, 1994], 2:1213–14). Cf. Josephus (J.W. 2.405), who refers to the Jerusalem authorities (i.e., the Sanhedrin) as βουλευτής. 36 Dowd, Reading Mark, 164. Following Brown, many scholars argue that Joseph acts in order to fulfill the law, which according to Deut 21:23 required criminals to be removed from the tree before nightfall (Brown, “The Burial of Jesus [Mark 15:42–47],” CBQ 50 [1988]: 233–45). In this sense, Joseph’s “courage” stands in relation to his willingness to go before Pilate to fulfill Jewish tradition. However, if this is correct, it is curious why Joseph requires “courage,” since the Markan Pilate has already shown a willingness to appease Jewish customs (15:1–15). The narrative seems more intelligible if Joseph’s “courage” is related to his desire to identify with a crucified man who was rejected by the Jewish people and Rome. The description of Joseph stands in stark contrast to the many “fear”-related terms, a word group that typically has a negative connotation in Mark. See Andrew T. Lincoln, “The Promise and the Failure: Mark 16:7, 8,” JBL 108 (1989): 286– 87. Matthew and John both describe Joseph as a “disciple” of Jesus (Matt 27:57; John 19:38), and Luke exonerates him from involvement in the Jewish trial (Luke 23:50–51).
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singles out a particular character from among the Jewish leadership for his intelligent (12:34) and positive response to Jesus. Likewise, though the “whole council” tries to obtain false testimony against Jesus (14:55) and the “whole council” (15:1) delivers Jesus to Pilate, one from the council (Joseph) is shown to be an exemplar by caring for the body of Jesus in lieu of the Twelve, who have long since betrayed (14:10–11), fled (14:50), or denied Jesus (14:66–72). It therefore seems that the depiction of the Roman centurion has a basis in the asymmetrical character portrayals of Mark’s story. While these examples could have been expanded to include others (Jairus and Judas), they nonetheless suggest that Markan characters are not simply plot functionaries that behave in strict accord with sociological data or even the general patterns of characterization in Mark’s own story.37 To argue that the centurion’s response must be interpreted through the portrayal of the soldiers and that it furthers the “dark, dramatic irony” that “runs through the whole of Mark’s Passion Narrative” is an oversimplification of Markan characterization.38 On the contrary, while various characters embody the qualities of a particular group, each must be appreciated on its own terms. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, perhaps the most prolific and incisive writer on the subject of Markan characterization, argues that the characters in the Second Gospel defy simplistic categorization. Rather, when viewed across the panoply of the story, Markan characters exhibit a “response continuum” such that the determinative factor “is not a character’s social group” but the “character’s response to Jesus.”39 What must not be lost in this analysis is the communication medium through which the story was delivered since, as Elizabeth C. Fine observes, a performance is an aesthetic experience that is “something more than words.”40 Though a text is capable of recording aspects of oral communication, the aesthetic transaction between performer and audience is a multifaceted sensory experience characterized by immediacy and directness.41 Unlike the written text, a performer may utilize facial expressions, voice intonation, and gestures to emphasize elements of the per-
37 Judas is one of the “twelve” (3:7–12) but ultimately conspires against and betrays Jesus (14:10–11, 43–45), and Jairus, though a religious leader, displays faith in Jesus’ ability to heal (5:21–24, 35–43). For a study of the religious leaders in Mark, see Elizabeth Struthers Malbon, In the Company of Jesus: Characters in Mark’s Gospel (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000), 131–65. 38 Mark S. Goodacre, The Case against Q: Studies in Markan Priority and the Synoptic Problem (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2001), 160. 39 Malbon, In the Company of Jesus, 195–96. For a bibliography of Malbon’s research in the area of characterization, see her recent monograph, Mark’s Jesus. 40 Fine, The Folklore Text: From Performance to Print (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 1. 41 Ibid., 80–81. Here Fine follows the work of Arnold Berleant, The Aesthetic Field: A Phenomenology of Aesthetic Experience (American Lecture Series 774; Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas, 1970).
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formance. It is not difficult, for example, to imagine a performer of Mark using a sweeping hand gesture to link the tearing of the heavens and the tearing of the temple veil, to incorporate performative space as a means of demarcating Jewish and Gentile territory, or to identify asymmetrical character portrayals via a twinkle in the eye. Such a view does not dismiss the preunderstanding that an audience brings to the performance, but locates it more appropriately within the horizons of the aesthetic exchange between performer and audience. Though the cultural setting is undeniably relevant, it is presumptuous to argue that a storyteller’s portrayal of a character must always cohere with generalized data. When the post-crucifixion announcement is uttered in a performative context, the audience’s understanding of the centurion is impacted most directly by the development of the plot, which showcases Mark’s propensity for asymmetrical character portrayals. Having willingly surrendered to Mark’s story, the audience understands the subversive nature of the confession: not only is a Gentile the first to enter the new temple made without hands (11:12–25; 12:1–12; 14:58), but it is a ranking member of the Roman army who affirms that the true son of God is Jesus and not Caesar.42
III. Confession as an Audience Applause Line In recent years, Whitney Shiner has explored the issue of ancient performance in a provocative book that draws from the work of ancient rhetoricians such as Quintilian, Lucian, Cicero, and Tacitus.43 Shiner has marshaled significant evidence to show that first-century performances were “quite bombastic by contemporary standards,” with performers engaged in first-person dialogue using dramatic and impassioned delivery styles.44 Likewise, ancient sources describe active—even raucous—audience participation that might include spontaneous applause, expressions of disapproval, questions, or in the case of religious gatherings, charismatic interjections of praise and worship. As Shiner argues, the relevance of these findings cannot be overstated, for in order to “recover the meaning of the Gospel as an aural event, we need to think about how the performer would try to move and involve the audience in and through the recitation of the Gospel.” 45 Although audience response cannot be determined with absolute certitude since no two audiences are the same, Shiner argues that an “ideal performance style” can be reconstructed based on ancient rhetorical manuals and evidence in the Gospels.
42
Craig A. Evans, Mark 8:27–16:20 (WBC 34B; Dallas: Word, 2001), 512. Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel. See also The Bible in Ancient and Modern Media: Story and Performance (ed. Holly E. Hearon and Philip Ruge-Jones; Biblical Performance Criticism 1; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2009). 44 Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel, 4–5. 45 Ibid., 143. 43
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Of the many insights in Shiner’s study, his discussion of audience applause is most central to the issue at hand, since, as Shiner acknowledges, a confession is a paradigmatic opportunity for audience applause46 “reinforce[s] the existing values of the group.”47 As such, applause is more than an expression of gratitude for the performer; it is a mechanism through which the identity of the community is validated and strengthened. It follows that if the confession is a genuine expression of belief for the encouragement of the community, Mark’s depiction of the scene should anticipate an affiliative response, including the appropriate applause markers. Shiner identifies three characteristics that typically accompany applause lines in Mark’s Gospel. These markers, Shiner argues, reflect ancient applause patterns that generally relied on the substance of a speech, an engaging verbal style, or an extravagant delivery technique to stimulate the desired effect.48 First, because performance builds community and establishes in-group values, applause lines frequently coincide with the vindication of Jesus or the triumph over his enemies. Second, highly stylized language and/or creative verbal effects often signal anticipated applause, particularly if used in conjunction with other indicators. Third, in order to avoid undue disruption to the performance, applause often occurs at natural breaks in the narrative, thus providing ample opportunity for audience participation. Although no single characteristic is a definitive marker, taken together, these criteria provide a performative map to assist the modern interpreter in reconstructing probable applause lines. Shiner’s criteria are particularly helpful in assessing Mark 15:39, as the confession appears to include all three markers. Though the statement is not found on the lips of Jesus, the affirmation represents the christological high point of Mark’s Gospel and echoes the repeated declaration that Jesus is God’s son (1:11; 9:7). The pronouncement has been aptly described as Mark’s “climactic Christological statement” since it entails the first such declaration by a (human) character in the story.49 Moreover, the profession is made in the face of Jesus’ detractors and during an episode that culminates the escalating conflict that has been a major undercurrent in the narrative. Indeed, one might argue that if there is any point at which the community of followers is likely to applaud the denunciation of Jesus’ adversaries, it is here. While the centurion’s statement is rather terse and not overly embellished, it does display the kind of tonal characteristics that Cicero indicates were impressive to the ancient ear.50 The repetition of /o/, /os/, and /ō/ sounds is striking 46
Ibid., 167. Ibid., 153. 48 Ibid., 154–59. 49 M. Eugene Boring, Mark: A Commentary (NTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 434. A similar assessment is made by Philip G. Davis, “Mark’s Christological Paradox,” JSNT 35 (1989): 14. 50 Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel, 162. 47
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(ἀληθῶς οὗτος ὁ ἄνθρωπος υἱὸς θεοῦ ἦν) and creates a rhythmical quality that draws further attention to the significance of the pronouncement.51 In addition, this definitive statement of Jesus’ identity, constructed with a touch of verbal flair, is strategically positioned at the end of the crucifixion, thus providing, even encouraging, a natural point for audience applause. The confession is followed by a notation about the women who watched the crucifixion (15:40–41), but, as Morna D. Hooker observes, this narrative aside has a transitional function: “The women who witness Jesus’ death are mentioned here in order to prepare for their role in the next two sections.”52 It is telling that many commentators, in their structural assessment of Markan episodes, locate these verses with the burial scene rather than the crucifixion.53 In sum, it seems that the participatory indicators that Shiner identifies are all evident in the centurion’s pronouncement, suggesting that the account has been deliberately structured to allow for the interjection of applause in response to the announcement of Jesus’ true identity. Despite these observations, Shiner does not mention 15:39 in his discussion of audience response, perhaps because he has elsewhere argued that the pronouncement is an ambiguous declaration, although this does not entirely explain the omission.54 The closest Shiner comes to providing a rationale for this lacuna is found in his assessment of Jesus’ death: “I do not applaud at the crucifixion, no matter how well crafted the scene, nor when the women flee from the tomb.”55 It appears that Shiner is hesitant to describe the confession as an applause point because it is situated within the narration of Jesus’ death, which one might assume invites quiet and somber reflection rather than vigorous applause. While this conclusion seems like the prudent appropriation of good common sense and generally speaking is, the issue is perhaps more complex. Various scholars have discussed the intersection between Jesus’ crucifixion and the martyrological literature. John Pobee, for instance, has demonstrated that Mark 15 is imbued with martyrological proof-texts from the biblical tradition, including the Psalms
51 See the innovative study on sound mapping by Margaret Ellen Lee and Bernard Brandon Scott, Sound Mapping the New Testament (Salem, OR: Polebridge, 2009), 212–18. Lee and Scott argue that 15:39 contains “fluid consonant sounds and well-blended long and short vowels” that distinguish it from the “parallelism of the taunts and the onomatopoeia of hissing and spitting that characterized them” (ibid., 212). 52 Hooker, The Gospel According to Saint Mark (BNTC; London: A. & C. Black, 1991), 379. 53 R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), 661; Bas M. F. van Iersel, Mark: A Reader-Response Commentary (trans. W. H. Bisscheroux; JSNTSup 164; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1998), 482; Boring, Mark, 435. 54 Whitney T. Shiner, “The Ambiguous Pronouncement of the Centurion and the Shrouding of Meaning in Mark,” JSNT 78 (2000): 3–22. 55 Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel, 161.
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and Isaiah.56 In particular, Psalm 22—the song of the righteous sufferer—is woven throughout the scene and provides the backdrop to numerous features in Mark’s depiction, including the division of Jesus’ clothes (Ps 22:18; Mark 15:24), the wagging of heads by the passers-by (Ps 22:7; Mark 15:29), and Jesus’ cry of dereliction (Ps 22:1; Mark 15:34). Besides these and other Jewish martyrological parallels (b. ‘Abod. Zar. 18a; Gen. Rab. 65.22; Dan 3:28–30; 6:1–28; 3 Macc. 6:18–7:23), others have noted similar points of comparison in Greek (e.g., Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 7.16–8.5) and Christian literature (e.g., Luke 23:39–43). An important motif in several of these texts, besides the stock elements of persecution, ridicule, and the miraculous, which all resonate with Mark’s crucifixion scene, is the vindication of the martyr by those responsible for the persecution. Typical of these accounts is the conversion of the executioner or authority figure(s), or the absolution of the persecuted by those directly responsible for the hostile acts. For example, Nebuchadnezzar, after the deliverance of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, issues an empire-wide injunction that “any people, nation, or language that utters blasphemy against” their God “shall be torn limb from limb, and their houses laid in ruins” (Dan 3:28–29); Emperor Domitian absolves Apollonius of all the charges leveled against him (Philostratus, Vit. Apoll. 8.5); and the executioner of Hanina b. Teradion, upon witnessing his heroic and virtuous suffering, is so deeply affected that he plunges himself into the fire that he might obtain the “life to come” (b. ‘Abod. Zar. 18a). Though space does not permit a detailed analysis of these martyrological parallels, it should be observed that the thesis advanced here is not without literary precedent.57 Of course, it is important to note that the evidence has been variously understood, with some arguing that the confession is “the conversion of an unbeliever by the dying Saviour”58 and others suggesting it is merely an attempt to downplay Roman culpability.59 For the sake of the present conversation, the significance of these texts lies beyond questions of individual conversion. What is particularly striking is the discernible shift in atmosphere illustrated in these texts, which has a direct bearing on the crucifixion scene as a potential applause point. Whether these parallels are literary fictions or historical occurrences is largely irrelevant. 56
Pobee, “The Cry of the Centurion—A Cry of Defeat,” in The Trial of Jesus: Cambridge Studies in Honour of C. F. D. Moule (ed. Ernst Bammel; SBT 2/13; London: SCM, 1970), 91–102. 57 Adela Yarbro Collins discounts these parallels, insisting that Mark’s characterization of the centurion is “something new” (Mark: A Commentary [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007], 769–70). While Mark’s depiction is unique in certain respects and the passage in Daniel may represent a “legendary court tale,” as Yarbro Collins argues, there are enough similarities to legitimate a cross-generic comparison of these texts. 58 Dennis E. Nineham, The Gospel of St Mark (Pelican Gospel Commentaries; New York: Penguin Books, 1963), 430. 59 Shiner, “Ambiguous Pronouncement,” 14–16.
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Time and again, these texts exemplify the emotional reversal surrounding the martyrdom or near-martyrdom of a particular individual. Though the scenes begin with violence and anger, they end on an altogether different emotional chord: Nebuchadnezzar’s wrath turns to praise, and Apollonius, immediately before his acquittal by Emperor Domitian, issues such a wise rebuttal that the audience responds with loud applause. It is fair to assume that these texts possess a degree of verisimilitude and that the accounts reflect the potential emotional response of others, including those to whom these and similar stories were passed down and performed. If this is the case, it is presumptuous to conclude that the crucifixion—a scene that has obvious ties to the martyrological literature—must be experienced as a strictly passive and somber occasion. This conclusion is also indirectly supported by Joel Marcus’s recent study on the linkage between crucifixion and exaltation.60 As has been often noted, of all the christological titles in Mark’s Gospel, the designation “king” is carefully withheld until Jesus is brought before Pilate. In ch. 15, however, the term is repeated six times and forms the backbone of the evangelist’s theological agenda (15:2, 9, 18, 22, 26, 32). Although Jesus is crucified as “the king of the Jews” and is mocked by the soldiers and religious establishment, the audience discerns a profound irony: Jesus is a king, but he reigns not through self-aggrandizement or worldly displays of power but through humble service and the giving of his life (8:35; 10:42–45). This link between crucifixion and exaltation in Mark is obscured if one chooses to focus primarily on the macabre features of the story. Though the association between the two concepts seems strange, Marcus argues that the conceptual link is not a Christian innovation. Rather, following the work of Justin Meggitt, Marcus points to a constellation of texts, including Servius the Grammarian (Aeneid 1.277), Artemidorus’s Oneirocritica (2.53), and the Joseph narrative (Gen 40:13–19), each of which forges a close association between crucifixion and social elevation, suggesting that the conceptual antecedent predates the evangelist and is not an isolated, Christian motif.61 Marcus argues that “this strangely ‘exalting’ mode of execution” was an invention of the powerful who developed methods of punishment that sought “to mimic, parody, and puncture the pretensions of insubordinate transgressors by displaying a deliberately horrible mirror of their selfelevation.”62 As Marcus observes, however, the line between parody and reality is often tenuous. In situations where the condemned was a person of dignity or was 60
Marcus, “Crucifixion as Parodic Exaltation,” JBL 125 (2006): 73–87. Ibid., 75–76. Servius (fourth century) and Artemidorus (second century) are both postChristian writers, but neither appears to have been influenced by the Gospels. See also Justin Meggitt, “Laughing and Dreaming at the Foot of the Cross: Context and Reception of a Religious Symbol,” in Modern Spiritualities: An Inquiry (ed. Laurence Brown, Bernard C. Farr, and R. Joseph Hoffmann; Critical Studies in Religion; Oxford: Prometheus Books, 1997); idem, “Artemidorus and the Johannine Crucifixion,” Journal of Higher Criticism 5 (1998): 203–8. 62 Marcus, “Parodic Exaltation,” 78. 61
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innocent of the accused crime, the height of the cross—which typically offered a mocking portrait of the individual’s perceived self-evaluation—underwent a transvaluation that pointed to “the spiritual eminence rather than the arrogance of the victim.”63 At such points, Marcus concludes, “the ‘hidden transcript’ of resistance bursts into the open with electrifying power, so that the mockery is reversed.”64 This suggests that when Mark’s Gospel was performed, a first-century audience might have been inclined, despite the violence surrounding the crucifixion, to interpret the scene in a manner different from what Shiner assumes. The presentation of the crucifixion would undoubtedly create a pensive atmosphere, but it would be anachronistic and historically naïve to conclude that such a response exhausts the potential emotional range. Given the close association between crucifixion and exaltation, it is just as likely that a Christian community that was already sympathetic to the figure of Jesus would interpret the scene with a more positive appreciation of the inherent symbolism bound up with the cross. This is not to suggest that the crucifixion, in and of itself, is the catalyst for audience applause. Rather, it is the storyteller’s crafting of the scene—the juxtaposition of mockery and confession—that anticipates and prompts the affiliative response. In general, the style of a first-century performance was semi-dramatic and the “dialogue was spoken in character and inflected to indicate emotional meanings.”65 Even more significantly, the dialogue was addressed directly to the audience rather than to an imaginary onstage character. This dynamic of oral performance has the potential effect of evoking a much stronger emotional response than what might be expected through silent reading, since the distance between those addressed in the story and those addressed by the performance is minimized.66 Thus, when the passion narrative turns toward the crucifixion scene, the mockery leveled against Jesus has a profound effect upon the emotional state of the audience, which plays a crucial role in the development of the performance.67 63 Ibid., 87. Yarbro Collins rejects this interpretation, arguing that the passage in Artemidorus’s Oneirocritica does not represent actual crucifixion but is a symbolic and allegorical interpretation of life experiences (“Mark’s Interpretation of the Death of Jesus,” JBL 128 [2009]: 551). On this issue, Marcus would likely agree. However, Yarbro Collins seems to have misunderstood the thrust of the argument, since the underlying issue is when and why these concepts are drawn together. The text in question assumes this connection, even though it is an allegorical interpretation of crucifixion. At the very least, the Joseph narrative suggests that this linkage is ancient and literal. 64 Marcus, “Parodic Exaltation,” 87. 65 Shiner, Proclaiming the Gospel, 4. 66 Terry Giles and William J. Doan, Twice Used Songs: Performance Criticism of the Songs of Ancient Israel (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2009), 21–22. See also Philip Ruge-Jones, “Omnipresent, Not Omniscient: How Literary Interpretation Confuses the Storyteller’s Narrating,” in Between Author and Audience in Mark: Narration, Characterization, Interpretation (ed. Elizabeth Struthers Malbon; New Testament Monographs 23; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2009), 35–36. 67 Karl Allen Kuhn, The Heart of Biblical Narrative: Rediscovering Biblical Appeal to the Emotions (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009), 6.
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Mark’s depiction of the crucifixion is masterful, and it is the use of mockery— accentuated by an impassioned performance—that draws the audience into the world of the story. As many scholars have noted, Mark does not provide a lengthy description of the physical suffering that Jesus endures. In fact, the act of crucifixion is grossly understated and lacks any descriptive detail—καὶ σταυροῦσιν αὐτόν (15:24).68 The effect of this rhetorical strategy, however, punctuates those elements that can be immediately experienced by the audience. Had Mark chosen to develop the physical reality of suffering—for instance, a blow-by-blow account of how the nails were driven through Jesus’ hands—the performance would have spawned audience sympathy toward Jesus. This is no doubt a powerful emotion, and I do not wish to minimize this aspect of the scene, but this is not the most effective way to stimulate audience identification, since the suffering is external to the listener at the moment of performance. Instead, by highlighting the repeated mockery of Jesus, the storyteller is able to invite a more powerful response by involving the audience in the emotional suffering of Jesus. Through the repeated mockery, the audience is not merely a spectator to the abuse but directly experiences the taunts as a result of the performative context. Quite literally, the scathing insults and verbal attacks are spoken to and against the community of faith. It is no longer a person in the imaginative world who is being persecuted; it is the audience—corporately and personally—and Mark stylizes the account to involve the audience in the most impactful and direct manner possible.69 In transcending the boundary between the story world and the social location of the audience, the storyteller provokes an emotional response that pulls the audience ever further into the narrative web of the performance. Audience participation is extremely important at this stage, because the anger aroused through mockery sets up the celebratory reaction to the confession. Specifically, the divergent perspectives surrounding the crucifixion provide the impetus for this response. The technique used to accomplish this, the employment of dramatic contrast, is perhaps the most effective means of inciting audience applause and is a rhetorical strategy used with noted regularity in both ancient and contemporary performance.70 In Mark’s story, it is the contrast between the repeated 68 Donald Senior, The Passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark (Passion Series 2; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1991), 117. 69 Despite Shiner’s interpretation of the confession, his discussion of the crucifixion scene is particularly insightful (Proclaiming the Gospel, 183). 70 J. Maxwell Atkinson states that this technique is “by far and away the most commonly used preresponse verbal construction” to incite applause (“Public Speaking and Audience Responses: Some Techniques for Inviting Applause,” in Structures of Social Action: Studies in Conversation Analysis [ed. J. Maxwell Atkinson and John Heritage; Studies in Emotion and Social Interaction; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984], 391–98). See also Pam Wells and Peter Bull, “From Politics to Comedy: A Comparative Analysis of Affiliative Audience Response,” Journal of Language and Social Psychology 26 (2007): 322.
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mockery of Jesus and the centurion’s confession that prompts audience applause. The audience’s anger, generated by the cascade of mockery, is redirected at the moment of confession into an eruption of applause and exultation. On one level, the reaction is a collective response to a character and his willingness to identify with Jesus, but it is much more than this. In light of the persistent mockery, the centurion’s recognition underscores what the audience knows and believes to be true. By applauding the confession, the audience simultaneously affirms the centurion’s response to Jesus and their own faith as well, demonstrating their fidelity to the confession that Jesus is God’s son, despite opposition from outsiders. This intended audience response is signaled by the substance, style, and placement of the confession, but it is the deliberate contrast between the repeated assault on the audience and the vindication of their faith, expressed through the centurion, that generates applause. Thus, in the moment when the audience is in their most vitriolic and impassioned state—in their hatred and anger toward those responsible for the crucifixion of Jesus—Mark triggers an entirely different emotional response, the intensity of which is matched only by the intensity of the previous state.71 Although this reaction may seem unusual, these contrasting emotions are often experienced in close proximity.72 By implication, the anticipated response rules out the possibility that the statement is an ambiguous pronouncement (or deliberate mockery) since the performance discourages misguided conceptions of Jesus.73 Perhaps most illustrative of this phenomenon is Peter’s confession in Mark 8:29. One might expect the audience to applaud Peter’s declaration that Jesus is the Christ, a proclamation that reinforces what the audience knows to be true from the opening line of the Gospel (1:1), but 71 The genuineness of the confession is important also for understanding Mark’s ending. If the confession is a concluding taunt in a concatenation of mockery, then the rhetorical punch of 16:8 is diminished as the women’s failure is yet another predictable and negative response to Jesus. 72 Psychologists have often noted the relationship between anger and joy (applause being an expression thereof), and the propensity to experience both emotions in close association. See Robert Plutchik, The Emotions (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1991), 85–90. Richard W. Swanson argues that this emotional vacillation is common in Mark (Provoking the Gospel: Methods to Embody Biblical Storytelling through Drama [Cleveland: Pilgrim, 2004], 19). 73 On the inherent ambiguity of the statement, see Shiner, “Ambiguous Pronouncement,” 3–22; C. Clifton Black, “The Face Is Familiar—I Just Can’t Place It,” in The Ending of Mark and the Ends of God: Essays in Memory of Donald Harrisville Juel (ed. Beverly Roberts Gaventa and Patrick D. Miller; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2005), 33–44; Vernon K. Robbins, Exploring the Texture of Texts: A Guide to Socio-Rhetorical Interpretation (Valley Forge, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996), 88–89; Harner, “Qualitative Anarthrous Predicate Nouns,” 75–87; Johnson, “Mark’s Christology,” 3–22; Michael F. Trainor, The Quest for Home: The Household in Mark’s Community (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2001), 171–72; Matti Myllykoski, “Mark’s Oral Practice and the Written Gospel of Mark,” in Testimony and Interpretation: Early Christology in Its Judeo-Hellenistic Milieu. Studies in Honor of Petr Pokorný (ed. Jiří Mrázek and Jan Roskovec; JSNTSup 272; London: T&T Clark, 2004), 105–6.
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it is clear that this is not the desired response. The subsequent command by Jesus demands the opposite reaction, since the imperative “not to tell anyone” (8:30) effectively undermines any applause that may or may not have begun.74 Mark rejects this response because applause is a powerful means of building community identity and solidifying ideological beliefs.75 Peter’s confession reveals that, like the supplicant in the preceding episode (8:22–26), he too is partially blind to the mystery of Jesus’ identity and is in need of a second restorative touch. His failure to embrace the centrality of the cross is the rationale for his rebuke (8:31–34) and the reason Mark shuns audience participation, lest the community affirm a faulty christology. In contrast, by structuring the centurion’s confession in a manner that allows and encourages the audience to offer unmitigated praise, Mark tacitly authenticates the genuineness of the response, which bolsters the community’s proclamation and diminishes the possibility that the confession is nothing more than an ambiguous or sarcastic response to the death of Jesus.
IV. Conclusion Mark 15:39 is a text fraught with interpretive issues, due in large part to the medium in which the narrative has been passed down. Taking my cues from the world of speech act theory, theater, and performance, I have endeavored to shed new light on the intended force of the centurion’s confession. While a growing number of scholars have argued that the centurion’s response is an ambiguous pronouncement or an ironic form of mockery, these interpretations are tethered to literary perspectives that do not account for the dynamic relationship between performer and audience. Though reconstructing a performance scenario requires historical imagination, the proposed interpretation has sought to understand the Gospel of Mark in its oral context, including the use of ancient delivery techniques, illocutionary force, characterization, and the performance scenario envisioned by the Second Gospel. In short, appreciating the confession as a sincere affirmation that reflects a genuine Markan understanding of Jesus’ identity coheres with an interpretation that is sensitive to the oral matrix in which the Gospel was performed and transmitted by the followers of Jesus. 74 Shiner also makes this observation, but he does not draw out the full christological implication, particularly as it relates to 15:39 (Proclaiming the Gospel, 166–68). 75 Richard Bauman, Verbal Art as Performance (Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland, 1977), 16.
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Divine Judgment against Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1–11): A Stock Scene of Perjury and Death j. albert harrill [email protected] Indiana University, Bloomington, IN 47405
The story of Ananias and Sapphira begins with a utopian scene of the earliest believers sharing all goods in common. A Levite named Joseph (alias Barnabas) sells his field and lays all the proceeds at the feet of the apostles for distribution to the community’s needy (Acts 4:32–37). Ananias then, “with the consent of his wife Sapphira,” sells a piece of property and appears to follow suit. Ananias, however, lays “only a part” of the sale’s proceeds before the apostles (5:1–2). The apostle Peter berates Ananias for “lying not to humans but to the Holy Spirit” (5:3), and Sapphira for “putting the Spirit of the Lord to the test” (5:9). Upon hearing the apostle’s rebuke, Ananias and Sapphira each die in turn, suddenly and on the spot. The story ends with “great fear” (φόβος µέγας) seizing “all who heard these things” and especially the whole “church”—the first occurrence of ἐκκλησία in the narrative (5:11). The story’s apparent moral injustice has long offended biblical interpreters. In the third century, a Greek “philosopher,” most likely Porphyry, condemned Peter’s rebuke as hypocritical and irrational: the apostle, who perjured himself by denying Jesus three times (Luke 22:31–34, 54–62), ritually murders the couple for Previous versions of this essay were presented at Boston University, Universität Wien, and the Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität Münster. Peter Arzt-Grabner, David Brakke, Martin Ebner, William Hanson, Thomas Kazan, Dietrich-Alex Koch, Jennifer Wright Knust, Hermut Löhr, Timothy Long, Martin Rese, and Zsuzsanna Várhelyi provided helpful criticism and advice. I began the research for the essay in Münster in 2008, supported by an Arbeitsbesuch summer grant from the Alexander von Humboldt-Stiftung. I am grateful to all these people and institutions. Unless otherwise noted, translations of classical texts are adapted from the LCL.
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doing a much lesser sin, if indeed the couple’s action was a sin.1 More recent commentators have shared Porphyry’s shock at the story and its theological implications.2 To resolve the story’s apparent moral injustice, scholars have proposed various exegetical solutions. A typological reading, the most common, argues that the sin and punishment of Ananias and Sapphira conform to an OT archetype of the bad Israelite—namely, Achan, who was executed by a protracted burning and stoning because he stole part of the Jericho battle spoils devoted to the Lord (Josh 7:1–26).3 An etiological approach argues that the story originates from early Christian oral traditions of untimely deaths of believers, before the parousia of the Lord (e.g., 1 Thess 4:13–17). A third reading considers the social situation in light of ancient Judaism. This interpretation points to prescriptions of similar disciplinary expulsions in the Dead Sea Scrolls for candidates who try to keep back some of their private possessions from the Qumran community (1QS 6:24b–25; CD 14:20–21). A fourth reading emphasizes the story’s function, which is said to legitimate the practice of excommunication in the institutionalization of the early church (cf. Matt 18:15–17; 1 Cor 5:13). A fifth reading, from a “salvation-history” perspective, identifies the sin of Ananias and Sapphira as blocking the free activity of the Holy Spirit in human history, announced in Acts 1:8. A sixth, “original sin” reading, argues that the episode recounts sins at “beginnings,” a narrative form familiar from the Hebrew Bible (e.g., Genesis 3; 6:1–4; Exodus 32; 2 Samuel 11).4 There is an over-
1 John Granger Cook, The Interpretation of the New Testament in Greco-Roman Paganism (Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity 3; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000; repr., Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2002), 155, 209–10; R. Joseph Hoffmann, Porphyry’s “Against the Christians”: The Literary Remains (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 1994), 54–55; Lamar Williamson Jr., “The Use of the Ananias and Sapphira Story (Acts 5:1–11) in the Patristic Period” (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1962), 26–30. 2 Daniel Marguerat, The First Christian Historian: Writing the “Acts of the Apostles” (trans. Ken McKinney, Gregory J. Laughery, and Richard Bauckham; SNTSMS 121; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 155; Justin Taylor, “The Community of Goods among the First Christians and among the Essenes,” in Historical Perspectives: From the Hasmoneans to Bar Kokhba in Light of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Proceedings of the Fourth International Symposium of the Orion Center for the Study of the Dead Sea Scrolls and Associated Literature, 27–31 January, 1999 (ed. David Goodblatt, Avital Pinnick, and Daniel R. Schwartz; STDJ 37; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 156. For further examples, see Rick Strelan, Strange Acts: Studies in the Cultural World of the Acts of the Apostles (BZNW 126; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 2004), 199; and Julian V. Hills, “Equal Justice under the (New) Law: The Story of Ananias and Sapphira in Acts 5,” Forum n.s. 3 (2000): 105. 3 Most recently argued by Hyung Dae Park, Finding “Herem”? A Study of Luke-Acts in the Light of “Herem” (Library of New Testament Studies 357; London: T&T Clark, 2007), 131–45. 4 On these various interpretations, see Richard I. Pervo, Acts: A Commentary (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008), 125–37; idem, Dating Acts: Between the Evangelists and the Apologists (Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 2006), 70–73; Marguerat, First Christian Historian, 155–78; Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Acts of the Apostles: A New Translation with Introduction and Commen-
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arching problem with each of these proposals. The debates over the “meaning” of the story have become mired in the questionable assumption that antecedents determine meaning. Instead, I examine the story of Ananias and Sapphira in the broader cultural context of ancient oaths, vows, and promises. After all, breaking a promise—“lying to the Holy Spirit”—drives the story’s plot and theme. I argue that the episode depicts divine judgment for perjury, a stock scene familiar in ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern cultures.5 This thesis offers a plausible context in which ancient readers would have made sense of the story of Ananias and Sapphira. I do not deny that ancient Christian readers could also have seen in the story an allusion to paradigmatic texts in Jewish Scripture, such as that of Achan, or biblical injunctions about oaths. Such biblical precedents do not, however, exhaust the story’s resonances within Greco-Roman culture. I propose one such resonance, for example, to be the form or structure of a comedy.6
I. The Broad Practice of Oaths in Antiquity: The Formula of the Self-Curse A verbal oath ritual confirmed virtually every agreement and business transaction in the ancient world, including the sale of property.7 The oral formula was remarkably fixed and included the imprecation for perjury in a self-curse. The oath was often sworn over the destruction of a paradigmatic object, such as melted wax effigies, a pealed vegetable, or a slaughtered animal, which accompanied the pouring out of wine. Mutilated animals (σφάγια, victims simply killed and never cooked) and their severed parts (τόµια) were not technically a “sacrifice” (θυσία), an offering to the divine, but analogies in a sympathetic ritual that modeled the penalty for violating the promise.8 A biblical example is the prophet Jeremiah, who tary (AB 31; New York: Doubleday, 1998), 315–37; C. K. Barrett, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, vol. 1, Preliminary Introduction and Commentary on Acts I– XIV (ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1994), 261–71; and Hills, “Equal Justice,” 109–13. 5 On the episode as a punitive miracle, see Pervo, Acts, 52–53. 6 I use “comedy” in the sense of a form or structure that embodies certain thematic meanings, such as the inversion of tragedy, and not in the sense of what is funny or laughable; see Dan O. Via, Kerygma and Comedy in the New Testament: A Structuralist Approach to Hermeneutic (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 41. 7 On the broad ancient practice of oaths in the marketplace, see Nicholas K. Rauh, The Sacred Bonds of Commerce: Religion, Economy, and Trade Society at Hellenistic Roman Delos, 166– 87 B.C. (Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben, 1993), 129–88; and Walter Burkert, Greek Religion (trans. John Raffan; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985), 253. On the legal context of verbal formulae, see J. Albert Harrill, “The Influence of Roman Contract Law on Early Baptismal Formulae (Tertullian, Ad martyras 3),” StPatr 35 (2001): 275–82. 8 See Burkert, Greek Religion, 250–54.
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warns the Jerusalemites about the covenant ramifications of their oath ritual: “And those who transgressed my [the Lord’s] covenant and did not keep the terms of the covenant that they made before me, I [the Lord] will make like the calf when they cut it in two and passed between its parts” (Jer 34:18). Forswearers will suffer the act performed to the paradigmatic object at the oath ceremony—death.9 Indeed, the oath’s self-curse was so important and familiar that ancient audiences recognized it to be in force regardless of whether a narrative expressly mentioned or detailed it.10 Retribution, however, tells only one half of the story. The other half was a blessing for faithfulness to the oath’s promise. Ancient oaths normally uttered both a blessing and its complementary curse, which coincides with the blessing (Barnabas) and curse (Ananias/Sapphira) scenes in Acts 4–5. An example of the pairing in Greek oaths is the Athenian decree passed after the restoration of all democracy in 410 b.c.e. It stipulates an oath to be sworn over animal slaughter, with the typical complementarities of a blessing and a curse: “All the Athenians shall take this oath over victims without blemishes [καθ᾽ ἱερῶν τελείων], as the law enjoins, before the Dionysia. And they shall pray that he who observes this oath shall be blessed abundantly; but that he who does not observe it may perish from the earth, both he and his house” (Andocides 1.98). Both the blessing and the curse—καὶ εἰ µὲν εὐορκῶ . . . εἰ δὲ ἐπιορκῶ—as well as animal slaughter were standard features of Athenian preliminary oaths, in which litigants and jurors called perdition upon themselves (and their families) for any perjuring of their forthcoming testimonies or decisions. This tradition continued into later periods; Roman orators quote it approvingly.11 The formula is always the same: “If I swear truly, may many bless9 On the oath ritual and its destruction of a paradigmatic object, see Christopher A. Faraone, “Molten Wax, Spilt Wine and Mutilated Animals: Sympathetic Magic in Near Eastern and Early Greek Ceremonies,” JHS 113 (1993): 60–80; Billie Jean Collins, “The First Soldiers’ Oath (1.66)” and “The Second Soldiers’ Oath (1.67),” in COS 1:165–68; and Fritz Graf, “Eid” and “Fluch und Verwünschung,” in Thesaurus cultus et rituum Antiquorum (ThesCRA) (5 vols.; Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 2004–6), 3:237–70. 10 See Jon D. Mikalson, Athenian Popular Religion (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1983), 36; Lindsay Watson, Arae: The Curse Poetry of Antiquity (ARCA Classical and Medieval Texts, Papers, and Monographs 26; Leeds: F. Cairns, 1991), 55; and Frances Hickson Hahn, “Performing the Sacred: Prayers and Hymns,” in A Companion to Roman Religion (ed. Jörg Rüpke; Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World, Literature and Culture; Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007), 242. For comprehensive studies, see Horkos: The Oath in Greek Society (ed. Alan H. Sommerstein and Judith Fletcher; Exeter: Bristol Phoenix, 2007); Moshe Weinfeld, “The Loyalty Oath in the Ancient Near East,” UF 8 (1976): 379–414; Paul Stengel, “Zu den griechischen Schwuropfern,” Hermes 49 (1914): 90–101; Rudolf Hirzel, Der Eid: Ein Beitrag zu seiner Geschichte (Leipzig: Hirzel, 1902); and the mine of information in Kurt Latte, “Meineid,” in idem, Kleine Schriften zu Religion, Recht, Literatur und Sprache der Griechen und Römer (ed. Olof Gigon, Wolfgang Buchwald, and Wolfgang Kunkel; Munich: Beck, 1968), 367–79; repr. from PW 15.1 (1931). 11 Quoting the self-imprecation formula (καὶ εἰ µὲν εὐορκῶ . . . εἰ δὲ ἐπιορκῶ) of Demosthenes: Pseudo-Aelius Aristides, Ars rhetorica 1.91 (Michel Patillon, Arts rhétoriques/Pseudo-
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ings be mine, and may I never again suffer such an outrage; but if I am forsworn, may I perish utterly, I and all I possess, or ever may possess” (Demosthenes, Con. 41).12 The same self-curse formula (εὐορκοῦντι ἔστω µοι εὖ, ἐφιορκοῦντι δὲ ἐναντία) is routine for oaths in documentary papyri.13 And epigraphic examples appear especially in political treaties and other civic alliances, which invariably provide identical conditional clauses that announce, “If I keep this oath may it go well for me, but if I forswear may I perish, myself and all that is mine” (καί µοι εὐορκοῦντι µὲν εὖ εἴη, εἰ δ᾽ ἐπιορκοίην, ἐξώλης εἴην καὶ αὐτὸς καὶ τἀµά).14 The various dates (700 b.c.e.–200 c.e.) and the scattered provenances of these inscriptions prove the diffusion and stability of the oath’s central formula throughout classical antiquity. Indeed, the complementarities of blessing and curse, sworn over animal slaughter, constitute one of the oldest and most fixed traditions of oaths and go back to treaties of the ancient Near East, including the covenants of the Hebrew Bible.15 Aelius Aristide [2 vols.; Collection des universités de France 423–24; Paris: Belles lettres, 2002], 1:135). Cf. Pliny, Pan. 64.3 (Roman consul oath of office). For the Athenian self-deprecation oath and its sacrifice, see Antiphon 5.11–12; Aeschines, Ctes. 233; Rosamond Kent Sprague, The Older Sophists (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1972), 166. 12 See also Demosthenes, Mid. 119; Aristocr. 67–69; Timocr. 151; 3 Aphob. 26, 54; Eub. 22, 53; Antiphon 5.11–12; Andocides 1.31–33; 1.126; Lysias 32.13. 13 On the self-curse formula in documentary papyri, see BGU II.543.13–14 (27 b.c.e.); BGU XVI.2589.10–11 (28 b.c.e.); BGU XVI.2591.7–8 (2 b.c.e.); BGU XVI.2592.11–12 (30 b.c.e.–14 c.e.); C.Pap.Gr. II.1.12.4–5 (= PSI XIV.1433) (69 c.e.); Chr.Wilck. 145.25–26 (= P.Flor. I.79) (60 c.e.); P.Amst. I.28.5–6 (3 b.c.e.); P.Bingen 46.5 (52 b.c.e.); P.Hamb. I.60.23 (90 c.e.); P.Lips. II.132.17–18 (25 c.e.); P.Lond. II.181.15–16 (64 c.e.); P.Mich. II.122.33 (43 c.e.); P.Oxy. II.240.8– 9 (37 c.e.); P.Oxy. II.253.22–23 (19 c.e.); P.Oxy. II.259.20–21 (23 c.e.); P.Oxy. X.1258.10–11 (ca. 45 c.e.); P.Oxy. XII.1453.27–28 (= Sel.Pap. II) (30–29 b.c.e.); P.Oxy. XLIX.3508.35–36 (70 c.e.); P.Oxy.Hels. 10.23–24 (34 c.e.); SB XX 14440.19–21 (= P.Mil. I.3) (12 c.e.). 14 On the self-curse formula in inscriptions, see SIG3 1:145.9–10; 1:173.69–70; 1:764.31–33; 2:633.114–15; 2:577.47–48; 2:826C.II.13–15; 3:913.45; OGIS 1.229.65–70, 75–80; 2:66.50; 2:532.19–35. Hermann Bengtson, Die Verträge der griechisch-römischen Welt von 700 bis 338 v. Chr., vol. 2 of Die Staatsverträge des Altertums (ed. Hermann Bengtson; Munich: Beck, 1962), 297.68–90; 263.24–26; 308.5–7; Hatto H. Schmitt, Die Verträge der griechisch-römischen Welt von 338 bis 200 v. Chr., vol. 3 of Bengtson, Staatsverträge (Munich: Beck, 1969), 468.20–22; 476.89– 90; 463.12–14; Robert Parker, Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion (Oxford: Clarendon, 1983), 186–88. 15 See Gen 15:7–17; Num 5:19–22; Deut 28:1–45; 1 Sam 11:7; 25:22 (scribal change because David failed to uphold his oath); 1 Kgs 8:31–32 (par. 2 Chr 6:22–23); Job 31; Jer 11:1–5; 34:18– 20; Zech 5:3–4; Weinfeld, “Loyalty Oath,” 397–99; Faraone, “Molten Wax,” 62–63, 71–72; Yael Ziegler, Promises to Keep: The Oath in Biblical Narrative (VTSup 120; Leiden: Brill, 2008), 32–37, 58–80, 92–94; Paul Sanders, “So May God Do to Me!” Bib 85 (2004): 91–98; Charles Fensham, “Malediction and Benediction in Ancient Near Eastern Vassal-Treaties and the Old Testament,” ZAW 74 (1963): 1–9; Sheldon H. Blank, “The Curse, Blasphemy, the Spell, and the Oath,” HUCA 23 (1950–51): 73–95; Saul Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine: Studies in the Life and Manners of Jewish Palestine in the II–IV Centuries C.E. (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of American, 1942), 115–43.
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The formula appears in Livy’s story of the unification of Rome and Alba Longa under King Tullus Hostilius (ca. seventh century b.c.e.). Livy recounts the archaic Roman oath ceremony in language familiar to his first-century b.c.e. audience: The Fetial priest was Marcus Valerius; he made Spurius Fusius pater patratus, touching his head and hair with the sacred sprig. The pater patratus is appointed to pronounce the oath, that is, to solemnize the pact; and this he accomplishes with many words, expressed in a long metrical formula, which it is not worthwhile to quote. The conditions being then recited, he shouts, “Hear, O Jupiter; hear, pater patratus of the Alban People: hear ye, people of Alba: from these terms, as they have been publicly rehearsed from beginning to end, without fraud, from these tablets, or this wax, and as they have been this day clearly understood, the Roman People will not be the first to depart. If it shall first depart from them, by general consent, with malice aforethought, then on that day do you, great Father of the gods [Diespiter], so smite the Roman People as I shall here today smite this piglet: and so much the harder smite them as your power and your strength are greater.” When Spurius had said these words, he struck the piglet with a flint. In like manner the Albans pronounced their own forms and their own oath, by the mouth of their own dictator and priests. (Livy 1.24.6–9)
The essential ritual moments of the Alban treaty invoke divine witnesses and the slaughter of an animal victim, which executes by analogy the ritual power of the gods against oath violators. The smiting of the piglet with a flint knife represents Jupiter’s lightning bolt, an instrument believed to punish perjurers. Livy’s scene is stylized. It resembles designs on Roman coins showing two figures taking an oath by touching their swords upon a piglet.16 The language and action of the oath ritual come from the world of sacrifice. In that world, the enforcement of oaths mattered. The principle of divine judgment figured prominently in the myriad of social contexts that required a personal loyalty oath. Soldiers swore to their commanders with a self-curse that invoked the divine: “If I wittingly speak falsely, may Jupiter Optimus Maximus utterly destroy me, my house, my family, and my estate” (Livy 22.53.11–12). Initiates into a school or profession swore to keep the mysteries of the teachings, as we find in the prologue of a professional astrological handbook: “To those who keep this oath may it go well and may the abovementioned gods be in accord with their wishes, but may the opposite happen to those who forswear this oath” (Vettius Valens, Anthologies 7.1).17 Physicians who swore the Hippocratic oath pleged their loyalty with a self16 Jonathan Williams, “Religion and Roman Coins,” in Rüpke, Roman Religion, 144–45 (fig.
11.4). See also Hahn, “Performing the Sacred,” 240–41; and Fritz Graf, “The Power of the Word in the Graeco-Roman World,” in La Potenza della parola: Destinatari, funzioni, bersagli; Atti del Convegno di studi, Siena, 7-8 maggio 2002 (ed. Simone Beta; Fiesole [Florence]: Cadmo, 2004), 97. 17 David Pingree, Vettii Valentis Antiocheni anthologiarum libri novem (Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana; Leipzig: Teubner, 1986), 251; Tamsyn Barton, Ancient Astrology (Sciences of Antiquity; London: Routledge, 1994), 59.
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curse: “Apollo Physician and Asclepius and Hygieia and Panaceia and all the gods and goddesses . . . If I fulfill this oath and do not violate it, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and art, being honored with fame among all people for all time to come; if I transgress it and swear falsely, may the opposite of all this be my lot.”18 In addition, actors on the dramatic stage also swore loyalty to their patrons and the leaders. Cicero recounts one memorable episode involving the famous tragic actor Aesop: For in the first place those actors had returned to the stage out of respect for the occasion [to honor Pompey], who had, as I thought, quitted it out of self-respect. Indeed your favorite, our friend Aesop, was such a failure that nobody in the world would have regretted his leaving off. When he began to swear the oath, his voice failed him at the crucial point, If I wittingly deceive. Why should I tell you anything more? You know what the rest of the games were like. (Fam. 8.2; emphasis added)
This passage is important because it suggests that ancient audiences recognized oaths to take a usual formula, even when not detailed in the story.19 “Who will deny,” writes Cicero, in another work, “that such beliefs [in the gods as the lords and rulers of all things] are useful when one remembers how often oaths are used to confirm agreements, how important to our well-being is the sanctity of treaties, how many persons are deterred from crime by the fear of divine punishment, and how sacred an association of citizens becomes when the immortal gods are made members of it, either as judges or witnesses?” (Leg. 2.7.16). Oaths functioned as community self-definition, to bond the social order. However, ancient society recognized that people can and do speak empty words in oaths, often with impunity.20 Uttering a self-curse did not necessarily affirm the existence and participation of the divine in human affairs. This question is important for the exegesis of Acts 5:1–11, because in Acts Ananias and Sapphira behave in just this way. Their willing deception about participating in God’s plan of a community of goods, before Peter, suggests their unbelief in divine judgment.
18
Translation adapted from Ludgwig Edelstein, Ancient Medicine: Selected Papers (ed. Owsei Temkin and C. Lilian Temkin; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987), 6. 19 “Usual formula”: Tacitus, Hist. 4.31. For additional examples of the oath’s fixed formula in a broad variety of contexts, see Anne Pippin Burnett, Revenge in Attic and Later Tragedy (Sather Classical Lectures 62; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 197–99; and Joseph Plescia, The Oath and Perjury in Ancient Greece (Tallahassee: Florida State University Press, 1970). 20 Angelos Chaniotis, “Under the Watchful Eyes of the Gods: Divine Justice in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor,” in The Greco-Roman East: Politics, Culture, Society (ed. Stephen Colvin; Yale Classical Studies 31; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 1–43.
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II. Not Fearing the Divine: The Impious and Their Swearing Habits Swearing habits revealed moral and religious character before ancient audiences and readers. Specific stereotypes and stock scenes tagged the perjurer as impious. This characterization evoked for ancient audiences debates about divine judgment. Evidence for this characterization comes especially from Greco-Roman comedy. Yet the tragedy of Euripides provides the most famous line of perjury in Greek literature. The character Hippolytus almost perjures himself by saying he is going to tell his father what had happened (a case of incest), and when the nurse protests that he swore to keep it secret, Hippolytus declares, “My tongue swore, but my mind is not on oath [ἡ γλῶσσ᾽ ὀµώµοχ᾽, ἡ δὲ φρήν ἀνώµοτος]” (Hipp. 612). This line was famous in antiquity because it was so often quoted in Greek comedy, being fodder for playwrights like Aristophanes.21 The ancient comedy of the perjurer’s impiety revolved around the character’s lies and deceit in order to avoid paying debts. The debt-ridden father, Strepsiades, in Aristophanes’ Clouds (Nubes), for example, seeks out Socrates’ “Thinking House” hoping to learn the Unjust Argument for this specific reason: “all the debts, which I have incurred . . . I’ll never pay, no not one penny of them” (114–18); “My debts! my debts! I want to shrink my debts” (738–39). Strepsiades pleads, with cash, to have Socrates teach him sophistry’s hidden secrets: “A galloping consumption seized my money. Come now: do let me learn the Unjust Argument that can shirk debts. Now do just let me learn it. Name your own price, by all the gods I’ll pay it” (243–46). The first lesson that Socrates teaches is atheism (380–81). When Strepsiades asks where the thunderbolt comes from, Socrates drops his bombshell: “If [Zeus] really blasts perjurers, why hasn’t he burned Simon or Kleonomos or Theoros—they’re certainly perjurers. Instead he hits his own temple, and Sounion, the Acropolis, and great oaks. What’s he thinking of? I’m sure oaks don’t commit perjury” (399–402). Socrates’ pontification on the theological problem of unpunished perjury shatters Strepsiades’ old beliefs in the gods in favor of Socrates’ meteorological abstractions (the clouds). The linking of impiety (atheism) and perjury recurs as a stock theme again in New Comedy. In Rome, in Plautus’s The Rope (Rud.), the plot turns on a comic stage perjurer—the slave trader (pimp)—whose disregard for oaths, especially those involving cash transactions, was proverbial.22 Labrax perjures himself by trying to 21
Aristophanes, Thesm. 275–76; Frogs 101–2 and 1471. See Harry C. Avery, “‘My Tongue Swore, but My Mind Is Unsworn,’ ” TAPA 99 (1968): 19–35; and Charles Segal, “Curse and Oath in Euripides’ Hippolytus,” Ramus 1 (1972): 165–80. 22 On the proverbial deceit of slave dealers in Greco-Roman society, see J. Albert Harrill,
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get away with abduction of merchandise (girls) on which others have entered into a contract: “This pimp [leno], true to his type, cared not a straw for his promise or the oath he had given” (44–48); “If he has cheated gods and men, it’s all in the day’s work for a pimp” (345). The very introduction of the slave dealer elicits an entire vice list: “A cheat and villain, a perjured, parricidal monster, lawless, impudent, impure, impious past all telling—in one word, a pimp. Why describe him further?” (651–53). Foreshadowing all this trouble, the play’s very prologue has a prosopopoetic member of the celestial firmament, the star Arcturus, put all perjurers on notice: In the company of Him [Jupiter], who sways all peoples and the seas and lands, a citizen I am of the celestial city. . . . All who bring to court cases supported by false witness, all who before the magistrate deny on oath their honest debts, we take note and take their names to Jove. Day by day, He knows who they be that do seek evil here on earth. When the wicked here expect to win their suits by perjury, or press false claims before the judge, the case adjudged is judged again by Him. And the fine He fines them far exceeds their gains in courts of law. (Rud. 1–20)
Sure enough, the slave trader faces the threat of getting “what suits him” (Rud. 875), a prison sentence (891). To get out of the pickle, the slave trader (Labrax) goes into a nearby temple, of Venus, where he agrees to swear yet another oath with a self-curse, but Labrax whispers to himself, “My tongue may swear, but I act as I please” (1329–56). Ironically, Labrax swears his oath on orders of a slave (Gripus), whom a previous character had already condemned as a “font of perjury” (1109). When Gripus comes for the promised money and reminds Labrax of his oath, Labrax replies, “Swear, yes, and I’ll swear now, if it gives me any pleasure. Swearing was invented to save property, not wreck it” (1373–74). The slave trader chatters on about his impious habit: “Hobby of mine, swearing. Are you high priest over my perjury?” (1377). Labrax doubts the ritual power of the self-curse. Venus is irrelevant to his business; the gods demand nothing. Yet, in the end, the wrath of Jupiter against perjurers promised in the prologue never actually materializes. This stock comedy, therefore, raised the question of divine punishment for perjury but left the answer open and ambiguous for comedic effect. Another self-perjuring pimp in Roman comedy is Dorio in the Phormio of Terence. Dorio the Pimp has a contract with a youth named Phaedria not to sell Phaedria’s girlfriend before a certain date, thus giving Phaedria the chance to come up with the money for her. But then a buyer with ready cash appears, and the pimp abrogates the old contract and tells Phaedria that he has only twenty-four hours to come up with the cash (Phorm. 485–533). Even though Dorio breaks his oath, there
Slaves in the New Testament: Literary, Social, and Moral Dimensions (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2006), 119–44.
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is no divine revenge upon the pimp for his perjury. In fact, he gets his money from Phaedria and the deal goes through on the new terms he demands. Terence’s selfperjuring pimp is thus another example of how New Comedy leaves open the question of divine punishment for perjury: characters break their oaths without consequences.23 The comedy of sellers as proverbial perjurers appears also in a poetic calendar of the Roman year, Ovid’s Fasti. Ovid explores religious thinking on this question in a witty tale about the cult of Mercury, the patron god of circulation (the movement of goods) and of commerce itself, who was a well-known deceiver.24 On the Ides of May, Rome celebrates an annual public festival at the state temple of Mercury that, Ovid emphasizes, faces the racetrack (circus). “All who make a business of selling their wares give you incense,” writes Ovid, “and beg that you would grant them gain” (Fast. 5.671–72). The betting-like spectacle of this festival prompts Ovid to explore the additionally ridiculous show of the merchant’s (mercator) furtive cult to Mercury at the shop, away from customers’ eyes. The poet recounts the scene of a merchant, “with his tunic girt up” and “ceremonially pure,” drawing water from the so-called Spring of Mercury in a jar to carry it back to his shop: With the water he wets a laurel bough, and with the wet bough he sprinkles all the goods that are soon to change owners. He sprinkles, too, his own hair with the dripping laurel and recites prayers in a voice accustomed to deceive. “Wash away the perjuries of past time,” says he, “wash away my false words [perfida verba] of the past day. Whether I have called you to witness, or have falsely invoked the great divinity of Jupiter, in the expectation that he would not hear, or whether I have knowingly taken in vain the name of any other god or goddess, let the swift south winds carry away the wicked words, and may tomorrow open the door for me to fresh perjuries, and may the gods above not care if I shall utter any! Only grant me profits, grant me the joy of profit made, and see to it that I enjoy cheating the buyer!” At such prayers Mercury laughs from on high, remembering that he himself rustled the Ortygian cattle. (Fast. 675–92)
The merchant prays privately “in a voice accustomed to deceive,” admitting his bad swearing habits to himself and to the gods. His past perjuries had invoked Jupiter falsely and had knowingly taken in vain the names of enough other gods and goddesses to fill a pantheon. Yet he aims to remove his past perjuries solely in order to make a ritual opening for committing fresh ones, “in the hopes that the gods above do not care that I utter any.” He prays not for his own moral improvement but for 23
In all fairness, Phaedria has apparently failed to pay the pimp several times in previous agreements, but that does not excuse Dorio from violating his sacred oath. Indeed, the text makes explicit the pimp’s shameless and unscrupulous desire to break an oath if he can “profit by it” (Phorm. 256). 24 On the long tradition of Mercury/Hermes as a perjurer of oaths, signaling his immaturity, see Judith Fletcher, “A Trickster’s Oaths in the Homeric Hymn to Hermes,” AJP 129 (2008): 19–46.
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Mercury’s divine apathy. His goals remain fixed on profit. The single-mindedness characterizes the merchant as a serial perjurer—and perpetually impious—intending forever to profane the self-curse in the oath that will complete his every marketplace sale. Ovid’s witty tale, like ancient comedy, explores ancient thinking about the use of religion by the impious for monetary gain. In the happy economics of a merchant’s business theology, the gods demand nothing. While the formula of oaths was obvious to ancient audiences, the swearer’s intent or sincerity was ambiguous. Swearing an oath (and its ever-present imprecation) thus illustrates a fundamental paradox in ancient culture, because it signaled either one’s piety or one’s impiety, depending on the context and the morality of the speaker. The author of Luke-Acts, I argue, sought to resolve this paradox both early and categorically for the history of the church, in the story of Ananias and Sapphira. The scene of Acts 5:1–11 functions to heighten the acceptance in the audience for the piety of the true oaths that the Lukan heroes later make in the narrative.
III. Ananias and Sapphira: God Demands Death for Forswearing The story of Ananias and Sapphira remains a long-standing exegetical puzzle in biblical commentary. Yet scholarship has overlooked the stock theme of a perjurer’s impiety as a plausible context for reconstructing how an ancient audience would have made sense of their deaths.25 I argue that the Ananias and Sapphira 25 Some scholars have, however, hinted in this direction, but without developing either the perjurer theme or the oath ceremony. Helpful to my analysis is Henriette Havelaar, “Hellenistic Parallels to Acts 5:1–11 and the Problem of Conflicting Interpretations,” JSNT 67 (1997): 68–73, 82; and Hans Dieter Betz, Lukian von Samosata und das Neue Testament: Religionsgeschichtliche und Paränetische Parallelen (TU 76; Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1961), 178–79. See also G. H. R. Horsley, New Documents Illustrating Early Christianity: A Review of Greek Inscriptions and Papyri Published in 1978 (North Ryde, Australia: Macquarie University, 1983), 27–28; Alfons Weiser, “Das Gottesurteil über Hananias und Saphira,” TGl 69 (1979): 150–51; idem, Die Apostelgeschichte: Kapitel 1–12 (ÖTK 5/1; Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn; Würzburg: Echter, 1981), 141–42; S. J. Noorda, “Scene and Summary: A Proposal for Reading Acts 4,32–5,16,” in Les Actes des Apôtres: Traditions, rédaction, théologie (ed. Jacob Kremer; BETL 48; Gembloux: Duculot; Leuven: Leuven University Press, 1979), 482; Brian J. Capper, “The Interpretation of Acts 5:4,” JSNT 19 (1983): 118; Ivoni Richter Reimer, Woman in the Acts of the Apostles: A Feminist Liberation Perspective (trans. Linda M. Maloney; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 6–14; Barrett, Acts, 263, 266; Marguerat, First Christian Historian, 168–78, 173 n. 45; Streeter, Strange Acts, 230; and Richard S. Ascough, “Benefaction Gone Wrong: The ‘Sin’ of Ananias and Sapphira in Context,” in Text and Artifact in the Religions of Mediterranean Antiquity: Essays in Honour of Peter Richardson (ed. Stephen G. Wilson and Michel Desjardins; Studies in Christianity and Judaism 9; Waterloo, ON: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2000), 92.
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story participates in the cultural world of the oath ceremony and its divine ramifications for perjurers. Importantly, the self-curse is present in that cultural world even if unspoken or not detailed, which helps explain the characters’ deaths. In short, it supplies the missing piece of the story’s puzzle. Peter, the narrative hero, exposes Ananias and Sapphira as impostors who claim an undeserved share in the honor of contributing to the community of goods, by his use of irony (Acts 5:4 and 7) and his close scrutiny of a monetary transaction. The plot thus embodies a structural theme of comedy, which achieves its effect by inverting the role of death in a tragedy.26 The subsequent narrative celebration of the deaths of the impostors functions as apologetic discourse to defend the early church against the charge of having atheists among its members.27 The commerce of buying and selling drives the plot of key episodes in LukeActs. These episodes advance Luke’s apologetic theme of possessions.28 The Lukan Jesus pronounces it repeatedly: “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions” (Luke 14:33); “Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Luke 12:33–34). To the rich ruler asking how to inherit eternal life, and listing Mosaic commandments to show his piety, the Lukan Jesus teaches: “There is one thing lacking. Sell all that you own and distribute the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven” (Luke 18:22). For Acts, this teaching forms the basis of the original, and utopian, community of believers sharing all their goods (Acts 2:44–46). The community of shared goods goes hand in hand with moral virtue (“generosity”) and Jewish piety (“praising God” in the Jerusalem temple), which generates “goodwill” from the entire Jerusalem population, including from nonbelievers. The apologetic narrative affirms that the first believers were neither immoral nor atheist.29 26 The classical comic hero is often an ironical person (εἴρων) who exposes an impostor (ἀλαζών) claiming an undeserved share in the fruits of victory; see Via, Kerygma and Comedy, 45– 46, who unfortunately does not discuss Acts. 27 Atheism (rejection of the gods) appears later in the text as a specific charge against Paul: λέγων ὅτι οὐκ εἰσὶν θεοὶ οἱ διὰ χειρῶν γινόµενοι (Acts 19:26). On ἄθεος, ἀθεότης, ἀσεβής, and τὸ µὴ νοµίζειν θεούς in classical culture, see Plato, Apol. 26b–c; Leg. 10.885c; 10.908c; Cicero, Nat. d. 1.23.63; Plutarch, Mor. 165c (Superst. 2); Cassius Dio 52.36.2–3 and 67.14.2–3. On the charge of “atheism” against Christians, see Lucian, Alex. 38; Justin, 1 Apol. 5; Minucius Felix, Oct. 8.1–5; Athenagoras, Leg. 4 and 13; Mart. Pol. 3.2 and 9.2. 28 See Pervo, Acts, 11; Luke Timothy Johnson, The Literary Function of Possessions in Luke– Acts (SBLDS 39; Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1977), 204–11; and Halvor Moxnes, The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economy Relations in Luke’s Gospel (OBT; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 160 and passim. 29 On Acts as an apologetic (legitimating) narrative, see Pervo, Acts, 21–22; Loveday C. A. Alexander, Acts in Its Ancient Literary Context: A Classicist Looks at the Acts of the Apostles (JSNTSup 298; London: T&T Clark, 2006), 183–206; and Philip F. Esler, Community and Gospel
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Negative tales about the rooting out of the impious from among the believers reinforce this theme. The counterexamples reveal, by their contrast, the true piety of the apostles and other believers. One tale (Acts 8:4–25) has the apostle Peter preaching in Samaria to bestow the Holy Spirit on new converts through a ritual of laying on of hands. The antithesis of Peter appears, Simon the magician, and he wants to purchase his own franchise of the ritual power, offering silver for the ritual ability. “Give me also this power,” Simon says, “so that anyone on whom I lay my hands may receive the Holy Spirit” (Acts 8:19). But Peter curses Simon for his merchandising of religion: “May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain God’s gift with money! You have no part or share in this, for your heart is not right before God. Repent therefore of this wickedness of yours, and pray to the Lord that, if possible, the intent of your heart may be forgiven you. For I see that you are in the gall of bitterness and the chains of wickedness” (Acts 8:20– 23). In this way, Luke’s narrative participates in ancient Mediterranean criticism of buyers and sellers as proverbially impious. Further episodes of the merchant’s impiety include the story of the Philippian slave girl (Acts 16:16–40). Paul exorcises a slave girl who “had a spirit of divination and brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling” (Acts 16:16). The loss of the spirit renders the slave girl worthless as an oracle; her owners no longer have any fortune-telling to sell. “When her owners saw that their hope of making money was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the authorities” (16:19). In the judicial hearing that ensues, the browbeating owners lie: “These men are disturbing our city. They are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe” (16:20). Yet the magistrates release Paul and Silas after only a night in prison and apologize (παρακαλέω) for the city’s mistreatment of them as Roman citizens (16:39), which prepares Luke’s apologetic point about the church’s mission not violating Roman law.30 The bully slaveholders exploit religion for commercial gain, profane legal proceedings, and lie to authorities, all of which characterize them as stock perjurers who fear no divine judgment. The story of the Ephesian silversmiths concerns a businessman worried about his bottom line (Acts 19:23–41). The silversmith Demetrius spins his speech into a pious call to protect the great Ephesian cult of Artemis, but the narrative makes in Luke–Acts: The Social and Political Motivations of Lucan Theology (SNTSMS 57; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 205–19. The old suggestion that Acts addressed Roman officials to argue for Christianity’s recognition as a religio licita is highly unlikely. The apologetics of Luke-Acts has multiple purposes but is primarily aimed at insiders in Luke’s community to build up reassurance and self-definition; see Robert F. Stoops Jr., “Riot and Assembly: The Social Context of Acts 19:23–41,” JBL 108 (1989): 90. 30 Hans Conzelmann, Acts of the Apostles: A Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles (trans. James Limburg, A. Thomas Kraabel, and Donald H. Juel; Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 131, 133.
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clear that his real fear is personal financial loss. In the end, the story defends the piety of the traveling Christian heroes before Roman law and blames their accusers as illegitimate citizens—the real atheists. The episode thus stereotypes the local merchants as cultic merchandisers who lie for gain, an apologetic theme.31 Important to this theme is fidelity to oaths and vows. Affirming God’s own fidelity to oaths plays a key role in the opening birth stories. “Filled with the Holy Spirit,” John’s father, Zechariah, speaks a prophecy in the form of a prayer, which blesses the Lord of Israel for keeping his sacred promise sealed with an oath: “Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and he has remembered his holy covenant, the oath that he swore [ὅρκον ὃν ὤµοσεν] to our ancestor Abraham” (Luke 1:72–73; see also 1:55). The assurance that God keeps his sworn oaths recurs as a theme in Peter’s inaugural sermon in Acts. His synopsis of Israelite history reminds the Jerusalem crowd that King David “knew that God had sworn with an oath to him [ὅρκῳ ὤµοσεν αὐτῷ ὁ θεός] that he would put one of his descendants on the throne” (Acts 2:30). Trust in the Hebrew prophecy of oaths belongs also to Paul’s speech. Paul defends himself before King Agrippa: “And now I stand here on trial on account of my hope in the promise made by God to our ancestors [ἐπ᾽ ἐλπίδι τῆς εἰς τοὺς πατέρας ἡµῶν ἐπαγγελίας γενοµένης ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ], a promise that our twelve tribes hope to attain, as they earnestly worship day and night” (Acts 26:6–7). These passages about the Hebrew covenants show Luke’s awareness of the ancient oath’s solemnity and importance. The Christian heroes in Acts take vows, observe the solemnity of their oaths, and are trustworthy witnesses of their proclamation’s promises. These episodes describe the apostles and their followers as pious Jews, which furthers the apologetic theme defending the early church from the charge of atheism. At Cenchreae, for example, Paul cuts his hair ritually as a public expression of “being under a vow” (εἶχεν γὰρ εὐχήν), most likely meaning the Nazirite vow (Acts 18:18). Later, to curb false allegations that he forsakes the Jewish law, Paul and four others go under a vow (εὐχὴν ἔχοντες) publicly, in Jerusalem, at the request of James. This second vow requires purification rites and an offering of sacrifice (προσφορά) at the temple, which also matches a Nazirite vow (Acts 21:20–26).32 The gestures seal the completion of vows before a divine witness known for loyalty to covenant, the oath par excellence. Paul’s wholehearted payment of the vows displays him as no atheist.33 31
On the episode’s apologetic function, see Pervo, Dating of Acts, 179–83; and Stoops, “Riot and Assembly,” 73–91. 32 The Nazirite vow required a sacrifice on account of its particular ritual requirements. On the distinction between oaths and vows, see Tony W. Cartledge, Vows in the Hebrew Bible and the Ancient Near East (JSOTSup 147; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1992), 11–18. 33 On the vows as Nazirite and their function as apologetic discourse, see Stuart Chepey, Nazirites in Late Second Temple Judaism: A Survey of Ancient Jewish Writings, the New Testament, Archaeological Evidence, and Other Writings from Late Antiquity (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 60; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 159–75.
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This characterization extends also to Barnabas, who had previously been the positive example to the negative one of Ananias and Sapphira. Barnabas exhorts all the church members “to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast devotion; for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith” (Acts 11:23–24). Members of the church thus swear oaths and vows faithfully, for the whole world to see. The narrative of Luke-Acts uses counterexamples of profaned and inverted oaths among Jewish nonbelievers to complement its apologetic picture of Christian origins. When neither Roman law nor Jewish law proves to be an obstacle to Paul’s mission, “the Jews” swear an oath to lie, explicitly called a “conspiracy” (συνωµοσία) in the text (Acts 23:12–15, 20–21). “The Jews” behave like comic stage perjurers who use religion only as a pretext for personal gain. On the profane authority of their oath, the conspirators ask “the chief priests and the elders” to abandon the faithful observance of holy law and to lure Paul to his death. Their pledge is an inversion of the sacred oath and its imprecations. In sum, “the Jews” behave as functional atheists who impiously do not fear that the Lord will act on forswearing. Their plot of murder and lawlessness reveals their unbelief in divine judgment. The idea that the Jews so willingly invert the practice of sacred oaths adds significant detail to the overarching negative portrayal of nonbelieving Jews in Acts.34 Warning signs of divine judgment are present throughout the narrative. The Lukan Jesus exhorts the crowd, saying, “Whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven” (Luke 12:10; cf. Acts 7:51). Protesting his violent interrogation in the Jewish council, Paul warns the high priest (another character named Ananias): “God will strike you, you whitewashed wall! Are you sitting there to judge me according to the law, and yet in violation of the law you order me to be struck?” (Acts 23:3). Earlier, in Acts 5, the Pharisee Gamaliel advises the council to let the Christian mission run its course; otherwise, the council risks divine judgment upon itself. He pleads, “So in the present case, I will tell you, keep away from these men and let them alone; because if this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God! [θεοµάχοι εὑρεθῆτε]” (Acts 5:38–39).35 The warning signs of theomachos (fighting against God) become divine judgments in a number of key scenes. Blindness afflicts Bar-Jesus (alias Elymas), the magician and Jewish false prophet, for opposing the Christian mission (Acts 13:6– 12). Judas dies in a gory mess that emphasizes the stain of money (Acts 1:18–20). Herod Agrippa I, the Jewish tetrarch with divine pretensions, also has a sudden and horrible demise: an angel of the Lord strikes him down, and he is eaten by worms and dies (Acts 12:21–23). In addition, there is the expectation of death for 34
On this negative portrayal, see Lawrence M. Wills, “The Depiction of the Jews in Acts,” JBL 110 (1991): 631–54. 35 On the link between Acts 5:1–11 and the later trials before the Jewish authorities in Acts, see Boris Repschinski, “Warum Mussten Hananias und Saphira Sterben?” PzB 18 (2009): 49–61.
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Paul when the tribal natives of Malta witness him being bitten by a viper: “When the natives [οἱ βάρβαροι] saw the creature hanging from his hand, they said to one another, ‘This man must be a murderer; though he has escaped from the sea, justice [ἡ δίκη, likely meaning the goddess Justice] has not allowed him to live’” (Acts 28:4). The narrative thus supports beliefs in divine judgment not only in Judaism but also in paganism. Such scenes participate in ancient Mediterranean expectations of gods demanding summary judgment, the elements of which come from the cultural world of the oath ceremony and its sacrifice. I argue that the aim of the Ananias and Sapphira scene (Acts 5:1–11)—part of a unified story that begins in 4:32–37—is to encourage readers to accept the church as genuinely pious. The deadly consequences of “lying to the Holy Spirit” point back to the narrative summary: the believers were “of one heart and soul” with “no one claiming private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common” (4:32). The expression οὐδὲ εἷς . . . ἔλεγεν (“no one claimed . . .”) is another way of explicitly telling the reader that they all swore an oath. The Greek construction functions very much like an adherescent negative, in which a negative placed before a verb gives the verb an opposite meaning: they do not say something and similar sentences really mean “they are denying something.”36 The expression is thus stronger than it may at first appear, and the next sentence describes the blessings for faithfulness to the oath’s promise (4:33). Keeping part of the money from the property sale in light of the explicit oath in 4:32 characterizes Ananias and Sapphira in the stock of the atheistic perjurer. Such a character consistently behaves without fear of the gods, denying any divine intervention in human affairs. Only after the couple’s expulsion is the community called a “church” (ἐκκλησία, 5:11). Luke’s scene thus shows the church’s belief in the power and reality of the divine, the author’s apologetic response to potential or actual charges that Christians were atheists. At a crucial point in its history of the church, the narrative exposes two converts to Christianity, Ananias and Sapphira, as impostors—atheists who must suffer swift divine judgment for violating their oaths to the community of goods. Many narrative clues in the story of Ananias and Sapphira show that the couple swore a sacred oath. First, the apostle Peter clearly expects to receive all their proceeds (Acts 5:3–4, 8–9), which implies that the couple had promised to donate all the money. Second, a series of Lukan summaries emphasizes a community-wide agreement of “one heart and soul [καρδία καὶ ψυχὴ µία]” to share everything (ἅπαντα κοινά), which implies a mutual agreement of some sacred kind (Acts 4:32– 35; see also 2:44); and the emphasis on “heart” [καρδία] also recalls a saying of Jesus in the Gospel: “For where your treasure is, there your heart [καρδία] will be also” (Luke 12:34). Third, Barnabas offers a positive example of a member acting on his 36 See Herbert Weir Smyth, Greek Grammar (rev. Gordon M. Messing; Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1956), 610 (§§2691–92).
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promise to hand over all his cash proceeds from a property sale (Acts 4:36–37). And, fourth, the text makes it explicit that Peter condemns Ananias and Sapphira for their specific offense against the divine and not against humans: “You have not lied to human beings but to God [οὐκ ἐψεύσω ἀνθρώποις ἀλλὰ τῷ θεῷ]” (5:3); “How is it that you have agreed together to put the Spirit of the Lord to the test?” (5:9). This condemnation participates in the widespread ideology of ancient oaths, which held that perjury is a specific offense against the gods, not humans. Furthermore, ancient audiences would have expected that any property sale would have included an oath, sworn before witnesses in the marketplace, and the reaction of Peter makes it clear that Ananias and Sapphira have sworn by divine witnesses (Acts 5:3, 9). The couple’s behavior is atheistic in the sense that it assumes no consequences for one’s actions, as if God and “the Spirit of the Lord” do not care about human speech and actions.37 At this point, a reader might object that the self-curse of Ananias and Sapphira is not detailed. In reply, I would point to the consensus of scholars who agree that the author of Luke-Acts suppresses many preparatory parts of narratives. These so-called Lukan summaries generalize a broad theme or set of themes; the summaries need not detail individual actions.38 For the author of Luke-Acts, the consequences of forswearing are more important to narrate than the self-curse itself, which is already implied in the explicit oath of the community (Acts 4:32). In this way, the narrative of Acts follows a convention in ancient poetic and dramatic literature that emphasizes less the curse per se than the dramatic events that it sets in motion. In his work on Greek and Roman curse poetry, Lindsay Watson explains the literary device: One example is the ἀραί of Oedipus in Aeschylus’ Septem. Their brooding presence dominates the second half of the play, yet the actual words used by Oedipus in cursing his sons are reproduced only briefly, and in summary, at lines 786– 90. . . . Aeschylus is more interested in the dramatic and psychological possibilities of the curse, than in what was actually said at the moment of imprecation. In this connexion, it is interesting to observe a similar procedure on Euripides’ part in the second Hippolytus. The action of the latter half of the play is determined by Theseus’ cursing of his son, but the curse proper is allotted the briefest compass in the text, a mere four lines (887–90). It is hard not to feel that Euripides has let slip an opportunity by not placing in Theseus’ mouth a truly terrific curse. Here it is noteworthy that Seneca, in his Phaedra, likewise handles Theseus’ curse upon Hippolytus in a low-key fashion (942–7)—yet permits the hero a far more lengthy and imposing (self-)imprecation, after the truth has come to light (1201–1243).39 37 Paul B. Brown, “The Meaning and Function of Acts 5:1–11 in the Purpose of Luke–Acts”
(Ph.D. diss., Boston University, 1969), 209–10. 38 See Pervo, Acts, 135; and Conzelmann, Acts, xliii, 23–24, 36. 39 Watson, Arae, 55.
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In addition, ancient readers would not have needed an explicit reference to the self-curse to recognize the perjury of Ananias and Sapphira. Early Christian exegetes provide confirmation. Cyprian places Peter’s condemnation of Ananias (Acts 5:3–4) alongside other biblical passages that illustrate punishment for not paying quickly what one has vowed to God (Test. 30).40 Basil preaches that Ananias “dedicated his property to God” and “consecrated his possessions to God by a vow,” which “provoked the Lord’s displeasure against him to such a degree that he was not given time for repentance.”41 And John Chrystostom uses the episode to preach against oaths generally: Ananias made his money sacred by vowing it to God but afterwards took some back from God’s treasury; by lying to Peter, the couple thought that they were speaking only to a human—evidence of their impiety (Hom. Act. 12).42 Chrysostom exhorts further: You have seen the fate of liars. Consider what is the fate of those swearing falsely [οἱ ἐπιορκοῦντες], consider and desist. It is impossible for one swearing not also to forswear himself, whether he wants to or not; and no perjurer can be saved [οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιορκοῦντα σωθῆναι]. One false oath suffices to finish all, to draw upon us the whole measure of vengeance. Let us then take heed to ourselves, so that we may escape the punishment due to the offence, and be deemed worthy of the loving kindness of God. (John Chrystostom, Hom. Act. 12 [PG 60:105– 6]).43
Later patristic authors continue this line of interpretation. Gregory the Great writes, “Ananias had vowed money to God” and “was deserving of the penalty of death,” because he “withdrew the money that he had given to God” (Ep. 34).44 Jerome, responding to Porphyry, asserts that the couple deserved death because their perjury signals impiety: “for having made a vow, they offered their money to God as if it were their own and not His to whom they had vowed it; and keeping back for their own use a part of that which belongs to another, through fear of famine (cf. Acts 11:28), which true faith never fears, they drew down on themselves suddenly the avenging stroke, which was meant not in cruelty towards them but as a warning to others” (Ep. 130.14).45 Jerome saw the couple’s attempt to save some money, presumably for getting them through the impending famine, as proof of their utter unbelief in the providence of God—sheer atheism. Jerome thus con-
40
CSEL 3.1:143–44; trans. in ANF 5:543. Basil, An Ascetical Discourse, trans. in Monica Wagner, Ascetical Works/Saint Basil (FC 9; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1962), 208. 42 PG 60:99–105; trans. in NPNF 11:76–80. 43 On Chrysostom’s interpretation, see Williamson, “Use of the Ananias and Sapphira Story,” 211–12, 226–27, 237–42. 44 Trans. in NPNF 12:84. 45 Trans. in NPNF 6:268. 41
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demns Ananias and Sapphira as “idolaters” (Ep. 14.3).46 Moreover, when Augustine preaches on this passage, he also defends the divine judgment of death, by saying that the Holy Spirit punished not avarice but a lie. Augustine uses the Scripture to prompt his exhortation on the importance of fulfilling all vows made to God, especially monastic ones.47 The history of patristic interpretation confirms, therefore, that divine judgment for perjury is a probable context in which ancient readers would have made sense of the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira.48
IV. Conclusion This exegetical study remaps the interpretation of Acts 5:1–11 beyond the search for biblical antecedents and toward stock scenes of divine judgment for the crime of perjury in Luke’s Greco-Roman culture. In Mediterranean and Near Eastern antiquity, the destruction of a paradigmatic object typically sealed the oaths, vows, and other pacts used in everyday life, such as business and commercial transactions. The verbal formulas in oath ceremonies included a self-curse for dishonesty and perjury (e.g., “May I die . . .”). Many ancient works questioned, however, the value of such self-imprecations, especially when impious characters with a habit of forswearing were proverbial. The comedy of the stage perjurer explored this question in stock scenes to great dramatic effect. From the perspective of Luke’s narrative, the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira are not tragic. Rather, the scene encourages the audience to have confidence that the church (ἡ ἐκκλησία) is blameless of impiety (ἀσέβεια) and that promises about its deity are true. The positive resolution thus matches the form or structure of a comedy. The author of Luke-Acts engages the notions of ritual and religious identity in his contemporary culture. He distinguishes the piety of his early Christian heroes by the deaths of Ananias and Sapphira, who scorn the keeping of oaths that God demands. 46 Trans. Charles C. Mierow, The Letters of Jerome, vol. 1 (ACW 33; Westminster, MD: Newman, 1963), 63. 47 Augustine, Sermon 148 (98) (PL 39:799–800); trans. Edmund Hill, The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century, vol. 3.5: Sermons 148–183 (ed. John E. Rotelle; New Rochelle, NY: New City Press, 1992), 17–18. Augustine mentions the destructive power of an oath’s imprecation in another work: Augustine, On the Psalms 7.3, trans. Maria Boulding, in Rotelle, Works of Saint Augustine, vol. 3.15, Expositions of the Psalms, 1–32 (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2000), 116. 48 More patristic interpretation in light of ancient oaths and vows is found in Williamson, “Use of the Ananias and Sapphira Story,” 38–39, 42, 47, 50–60, 135, 175–79, 187–88, 199–200, 202–5, 335; and Brown, “Meaning and Function,” 62–64.
Ovidiu Creanga˘ (ed.) MEN AND MASCULINITY IN THE HEBREW BIBLE AND BEYOND Masculinity in the Bible is not one thing, but a network of complex and multifaceted constructions. This book focuses on men and the world they inhabit, documenting changes in the type of men and masculinities deemed legitimate, or illegitimate, across various social and historical contexts of the ancient Near East. xiv + 273 pp. hbk $47.50 (list $95) ISBN 978-1-907534-09-6 John Walliss and Lee Quinby (eds.) REEL REVELATIONS: APOCALYPSE AND FILM In the last decades, writers and directors have increasingly found the Book of Revelation a fitting cinematic muse for an age beset by possibilities of world destruction. This is the first in a series of six titles on The Apocalypse and Popular Culture. viii + 179 pp. hbk $45 (list $90) ISBN 978-1-907534-10-2
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Daniel Bodi THE DEMISE OF THE WARLORD: A NEW LOOK AT THE DAVID STORY The David-Bathsheba_Uriah story in the context of nomadic warlords and Amorite tribal chieftains documented at Mari. Dallying with women, and eating, drinking and living in the shade were unworthy of a warlord, to say nothing of murdering a resident alien. vii + 270 pp. hbk $42.50 (list $85) ISBN 978-1-906055-82-0 Susan Lochrie Graham THE FLESH WAS MADE WORD: A METAHISTORICAL CRITIQUE OF THE CONTEMPORARY QUEST OF THE HISTORICAL JESUS Armed with a ‘metahistorical’ approach adapted from the work of Hayden White, Graham reads the work of four representative historical Jesus writers: Meier, Wright, Schüssler Fiorenza and Crossan. She exposes the theological and cultural meanings embedded in all historical Jesus writing, showing how narrative forms function ideologically. x + 197 pp. hbk $40.00 (list $80) ISBN 978-1-906055-96-7
Helen Leneman LOVE, LUST, AND LUNACY: THE STORIES OF SAUL AND DAVID IN MUSIC Shows how tales of love, lust and lunacy in the books of Samuel have captured the imagination of librettists and composers of many eras. Included are not only David and Saul, Samuel, Michal and Bathsheba, but also personages barely glimpsed between the lines of the biblical text. xii + 399 pp. hbk $47.50 (list $95) ISBN 978-1-907534-06-5 Martin M. Culy ECHOES OF FRIENDSHIP IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN Some ‘friendships’ in the Graeco-Roman world involved nothing more than a political alliance or patron_client relationship; others involved deep personal intimacy. When Jesus says his disciples are to be called ‘friends’, what type of friendship does he have in mind? xii + 226 pp. hbk $47.50 (list $95) ISBN 978-1-906055-96-7
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What Do the Gentiles Have to Do with “All Israel”? A Fresh Look at Romans 11:25–27 jason a. staples [email protected] University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Chapel Hill, NC 27599
In Rom 11:25–27, Paul triumphantly concludes his discussion of Israel’s fate: I do not want you to be ignorant, brothers, of this mystery (lest you become highminded yourselves)1 that a hardening has come upon a part of Israel2 until the fullness of the nations [τὸ πλήρωµα τῶν ἐθνῶν] has come in—and thus [καὶ οὕτως]3 all Israel will be saved, just as it is written: “The deliverer will come from
Earlier versions of this paper were presented at the Southeastern Commission for the Study of Religion (SECSOR) meeting in Atlanta, Georgia, March 11, 2006, and at the Pauline Epistles Section at the SBL annual meeting in Boston, Massachusetts, November 22, 2008. I am especially indebted to William L. Lyons, Stephen Carlson, David Levenson, Sonya Cronin, Douglas Campbell, Benjamin L. White, and Bart D. Ehrman for their insights and critiques throughout this project. 1 Echoing the LXX of Prov 3:7 (see Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary [Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007], 699). All translations throughout are my own. 2 Gk. πώρωσις ἀπὸ µέρους τῷ Ἰσραὴλ γέγονεν, which could also be rendered “a partial hardening has come upon Israel”; see Jewett, Romans, 699–700; Ernst Käsemann, A Commentary on Romans (trans. and ed. Geoffrey W. Bromily; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 312–13; C. E. B. Cranfield, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans (2 vols.; ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1979), 2:572–75. 3 It is unclear whether καὶ οὕτως is temporal or causal; see Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 719–20; Pieter W. van der Horst, “‘Only Then Will All Israel Be Saved’: A Short Note on the Meaning of καὶ οὕτως in Romans 11:26,” JBL 119 (2000): 521–39; James M. Scott, “‘And Then All Israel Will Be Saved’ (Rom 11:26),” in Restoration: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Perspectives (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 72; Leiden: Brill, 2001), 491–92.
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Most commentators have found Paul’s confident assertion that “all Israel will be saved” impenetrable; ironically, Paul’s explanation has been found to be as cryptic as the mystery, his cure worse than the disease. Four major interpretations have been put forward: (1) the “ecclesiastical” interpretation, (2) the “total national elect” view, (3) the “two-covenant” perspective, and (4) the “eschatological miracle” position.4 The “ecclesiastical” interpretation was the majority position in the patristic period.5 This view equates Israel and the church, arguing against defining Israel on ethnic grounds—based largely on Paul’s apparent redefinition of Israel in 9:6. This view has largely fallen out of favor, with most modern interpreters resisting such a radical redefinition of Israel.6 A “strong consensus” now insists that “Israel” must mean all “ethnic” or “empirical” Israel (i.e., all Jews), instead focusing the debate on what Paul means by “all” and on the timing and modality of the Jews’ salvation.7 The “total national elect” interpretation argues that “the complete number of elect from the historical/empirical nation” (i.e., all “elect” Jews) will be saved in the same manner as the Gentiles (i.e., through Christ).8 Though it retains coherence with Paul’s statements about salvation elsewhere, this view seems to make what appears to be a climax of Paul’s argument into a mere truism.9 4 The terms are borrowed from Christopher Zoccali’s outstanding history of recent scholarship (“ ‘And so all Israel will be saved’: Competing Interpretations of Romans 11.26 in Pauline Scholarship,” JSNT 30 [2008]: 289–318). Mark D. Nanos’s “Roman Mission” interpretation is a fifth option but has not gained a substantial following (The Mystery of Romans: The Jewish Context of Paul’s Letter [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996], 239–88). 5 Joseph A. Fitzmyer, Romans: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 33; New York: Doubleday, 1993), 623–24; Brendan Byrne, Romans (SP 6; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1996), 354; but see Ben Witherington III and Darlene Hyatt, Paul’s Letter to the Romans: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 273 n. 104. N. T. Wright has become the chief proponent of the view today (The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and Law in Pauline Theology [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992], 248–51), while Karl Barth also held the ecclesiastical view (The Epistle to the Romans [trans. Edwyn C. Hoskyns; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1968], 412–17). 6 See Jewett, Romans, 701; Cranfield, Romans, 2:576–77; Moo, Romans, 721. 7 James D. G. Dunn, Romans 9–16 (WBC 38B; Dallas: Word, 1988), 681. 8 See Zoccali, “Competing Interpretations,” 303–14; Ben L. Merkle, “Romans 11 and the Future of Ethnic Israel,” JETS 43 (2000): 711–21; C. M. Horne, “The Meaning of the Phrase ‘And thus all Israel will be saved’ (Rom 11.26),” JETS 21 (1978): 329–34; Herman Ridderbos, Paul: An Outline of His Theology (trans. John Richard DeWitt; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1975), 354–61; François Refoulé, ‘. . . Et ainsi tout Israel sera sauvés’: Romans 11.25–32 (LD 117; Paris: Cerf, 1984), 181. 9 See Zoccali, “Competing Interpretations,” 303–14; Cranfield, Romans, 2:577; Jewett, Romans, 702.
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A small contingent of scholars holding to a “two-covenant” perspective has argued that both the “all” and “Israel” should be taken at face value. In this view, every individual Jew will be saved by membership in the Jewish covenant—regardless of their reception of the Gospel.10 Thus, when Paul says, “all Israel will be saved,” he means all Jews will be saved throughout history, regardless of their response to the gospel proclamation and Gentile mission.11 Though appealing, this interpretation does not seem to cohere with Paul’s statements elsewhere (e.g., Rom 9:1–5; 11:17–24) and remains in the minority.12 The “eschatological miracle” interpretation, in which Paul envisions a future salvation of all Jews at or immediately prior to the eschaton, presently holds the majority.13 After the “fullness of the Gentiles” (11:25) has come in, the Jews will finally be saved all at once,14 probably through a mass conversion of all Jews to Christ, perhaps brought on by the jealousy sparked by the Gentile mission,15 though there is some debate as to whether “all Israel” means every individual Jew will be saved or idiomatically represents ethnic Israel as a collective. The majority of scholars hold the latter view.16 A minority advocate a larger, diachronic view of “all Israel” 10
Lloyd Gaston, Paul and the Torah (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1987); Stanley Stowers, A Rereading of Romans: Justice, Jews, and Gentiles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994); John G. Gager, Reinventing Paul (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2000). Occasionally the “eschatological miracle” position amounts to a Sonderweg position also (see Franz Mussner, “Ganz Israel wird gerettet werden (Röm 11,26): Versuch einer Auslegung,” Kairos 18 [1976]: 241–55). For a full critique of the two-covenant perspective, see Reidar Hvalvik, “A ‘Sonderweg’ for Israel: A Critical Examination of a Current Interpretation of Romans 11.25– 27,” JSNT 38 (1990): 87–107. 11 Gaston rightly connects Paul’s statement to the typical rabbinic belief in the salvation of all Israel (Paul and the Torah, 147); see also Gager, Reinventing Paul, 138–43; Alan F. Segal, “Paul’s Experience and Romans 9–11,” PSB, Supplementary Issue 1 (1990): 66. 12 E. P. Sanders suggests that a post-Holocaust Paul might have held to a two-covenant perspective, though the historical Paul did not (Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985], 197; idem, “Paul’s Attitude toward the Jewish People,” USQR 33 [1978]: 175–87). 13 For a lengthy (though certainly not exhaustive) list of advocates of this interpretation, see Zoccali, “Competing Interpretations,” 290 n. 2. 14 The phrase τὸ πλήρωµα τῶν ἐθνῶν is interpreted as either some “predestined number of the elect [Gentiles] according to an apocalyptic scheme” (Jewett, Romans, 700; cf. Käsemann, Romans, 313; Dunn, Romans, 680; Fitzmyer, Romans, 622; Moo, Romans, 718–19) or as representing the completion of the Gentile mission (Johannes Munck, Christ and Israel: An Interpretation of Romans 9–11 [trans. Ingeborg Nixon; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967], 135). This interpretation requires the οὕτως of 11:26 to be understood temporally, though this necessitates an inversion of the traditional eschatological order (cf. n. 77 below). 15 E.g. Moo, Romans, 723; Käsemann, Romans, 314. Jewett sees a parallel to Paul’s own conversion, which followed his violent zeal against the church (Romans, 701; see also Dunn, Romans, 683; and Otfried Hofius, “‘All Israel will be saved’: Divine Salvation and Israel’s Deliverance in Romans 9–11,” PSB, Supplementary Issue 1 [1990]: 19–39, esp. 37). 16 See Cranfield, Romans, 2:576–77; Leander Keck, Romans (ANTC; Nashville: Abingdon,
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in which all Jews throughout history will be miraculously redeemed at the eschaton.17 It is therefore clear that to solve this passage one must satisfactorily answer three primary interpretive questions: (1) how Paul defines “all Israel,” (2) what Paul means by “the fullness of the nations,” and (3) how the salvation of “all Israel” is related to (οὕτως) the ingathering of “the fullness of the nations.” In short, the essential question can be framed as follows: What does the ingathering of “the fullness of the Gentiles” have to do with the salvation of “all Israel”? This article seeks to answer this question in a way that not only coheres with and illuminates Paul’s statements elsewhere but also confirms this passage as the climax of the central argument of Romans itself, concluding with a wholly new interpretive option.18
I. A Problem of Terminological Precision Though it is often taken for granted that “Israel” can only mean “ethnic Jews,” there are in fact three possibilities for how “Israel” correlates to “the Jews” (οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι): Table 1. Israel and Ioudaioi: Three Possibilities Israel Israel = Ioudaioi
Israel
Ioudaioi
Ioudaioi
The first option illustrates the current consensus view: “Israel” is synonymous with “ethnic Jews.” In the other two options, the terms are not equivalents, though there is some overlap in meaning. The last options make a historically grounded distinction that is all too often forgotten or ignored in modern NT scholarship: Israel is an entity larger than (but including) the body of ethnic Jews. (The difference between the latter two options concerns the question of whether Israel includes all ethnic Jews or only some.) As Josephus informs us, the term Ἰουδαῖος 2005), 280; Friedrich W. Maier, Israel in der Heilsgeschichte nach Röm 9–11 (Biblische Zeitfragen 12.11–12; Münster: Aschendorff, 1929), 140; Käsemann, Romans, 313; Nanos, Mystery, 276–77; Rainer Stuhlmann, Das eschatologische Mass im Neuen Testament (FRLANT 132; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1983), 178–81. For collective uses of “all Israel,” see Josh 7:25; 1 Sam 7:5; 25:1; 2 Sam 16:22; 1 Kgs 12:1; 2 Chr 12:1; Dan 9:11; Jub. 50:9; 4Q164 frg. 1.1–8; 4Q521 2 iii 1–5; T. Levi 17:5; T. Jos. 20:5; T. Benj. 10:11; L.A.B. 22:1; 23:1; m. Sanh. 10:1 (notable in that the dictum “All Israel has a share in the age to come” is followed by exceptions). 17 Jewett, Romans, 701–2; see also Luke Timothy Johnson, Reading Romans: A Literary and Theological Commentary (Reading the New Testament; New York: Crossroad, 1997), 172. 18 For Romans 9–11 as the letter’s climax, see Cranfield, Romans, 2:445–50.
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(“Jew” or “Judean”) refers to a person descended from the southern kingdom of Judah, which is only a part of the larger historical entity called Israel.19 Regardless of whether it refers to “Judeans” or “Jews” living outside Judea, the term Ἰουδαῖος is necessarily limited to descendants of the southern kingdom, which was exiled to Babylon and then returned (or to proselytes and their descendants, who are regarded as having become a part of this people).20 In contrast, “Israel” is a polyvalent (often confusing) term, with several distinct references in the Hebrew Bible/LXX: (1) the patriarch Jacob/Israel; (2) “the nation composed of his descendants, that is, all twelve tribes of ‘Israel,’ including Judah”; (3) the northern kingdom, the ten tribes of the “house of Israel,” excluding the southern kingdom, the “house of Judah”; and (4) the returnees from Judah after the Babylonian Exile.21 To use a modern parallel, a Floridian would surely be called an American when being distinguished from an Australian, but not all Americans are Floridians. In the same manner, the term “Israel” may—and often does—refer to Jews, though its meaning is not limited to just the Jews. The addition of the quantifier “all” (as in Rom 11:26) helpfully narrows the possibilities. As James M. Scott has shown, “In the OT the expression ‘all Israel’ relates exclusively to the tribal structure of the descendants of Jacob/Israel,” while also consistently referring to the twelve tribes in Jewish literature of the Second
19 “From the day they went up from Babylon, they were called by that name [οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι], after the tribe of Judah, which was prominent coming to those places; both the people themselves and the land received that name” (Josephus, A.J. 11.173). 20 Shaye J. D. Cohen has concluded that, until the end of the second century b.c.e., the Greek Ἰουδαῖος had, unlike the English term “Jew,” an “ethnic-geographic” or political sense and was best translated as “Judean” (The Beginnings of Jewishness: Boundaries, Varieties, Uncertainties [Hellenistic Culture and Society 31; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999], 69–106). The waters are considerably muddier by the first century c.e., when the term often carries the geographic/political sense (i.e., “Judean”) but also often carries the ethnic or religious sense in reference to non-Judean “Jews,” typically as an “outsider” term to distinguish non-Gentiles from Gentiles. See John H. Elliot, “Jesus the Israelite Was Neither a ‘Jew’ Nor a ‘Christian’: On Correcting Misleading Nomenclature,” Journal for the Study of the Historical Jesus 5 (2007): 119–54; Philip F. Esler, Conflict and Identity in Romans: The Social Setting of Paul’s Letter (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 63–68; Steve Mason, “Jews, Judaeans, Judaizing, Judaism: Problems of Categorization in Ancient History,” JSJ 38 (2007): 457–512. 21 John S. Bergsma, “Qumran Self-Identity: ‘Israel’ or ‘Judah’?” DSD 15 (2008): 172–89, here 173. That “Israel” is sometimes used of the Judahite returnees seems on first glance to counter my case for terminological precision. On the contrary, even those sources that sometimes conflate the terms still show an awareness of the distinction between them. For example, though EzraNehemiah, Judith, and 1 Esdras sometimes refer to the returnees as “Israel” (e.g., Ezra 2:70; Neh 9:1–2), they still recognize the larger scope of “Israel” (e.g., offering twelve animals “for the number of the tribes of all Israel” [Ezra 6:17; 8:35; cf. also 1 Esdr 7:8; 8:63]), sometimes adding specifiers demonstrating a consciousness that not all of Israel had yet been restored (e.g., “children of Israel who had returned from exile” [Ezra 6:21; see also 1 Esdr 7:10]).
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Temple period.22 So, in a technical sense, “Israel” necessarily includes Jews but is not limited to the Jews, while “all Israel” more specifically refers to all twelve tribes as a whole. Obviously the key question is whether first-century Jews (Paul in particular) continued to make this distinction. The evidence points to an answer in the affirmative. Josephus certainly upholds the distinction, using the terms Ἰσραηλίτης and Ἰσραήλος only in the first eleven books of the Antiquities—books dealing with the preexilic and exilic periods—and nowhere else in the Josephan corpus.23 Ἰουδαῖος, on the other hand, occurs 1,190 times in the Josephan corpus—but only twentyseven times in the first ten books of the Antiquities.24 Once the northern tribes are off the scene, Josephus restricts himself to more precise terminology referring only to the southern tribes—he no longer speaks of “Israel,” but only “the Jews.” But when all twelve tribes are in play, Josephus clearly prefers the more comprehensive term “Israel.”25 The Qumran community maintains similar distinctions. As E. P. Sanders has observed, it is noteworthy that the sect “generally refrained from simply calling [itself] ‘Israel.’”26 Indeed, “the members seem to have been conscious of their status as sectarians, chosen from out of Israel, and as being a forerunner of the true Israel, which God would establish to fight the decisive war,”27 identifying themselves as a faithful subset within Israel (e.g., “the remnant of Israel,” “captives of Israel,” “house in Israel,” and “repentant of Israel”).28 They likewise avoid calling themselves “Judah” or “Judahites” (Mydwhy), instead preferring precise tribal distinctions—Judah, Levi, and Benjamin (the three tribes of the southern kingdom)— 22
Scott, “All Israel,” 507–19; quotation from 507. Josephus uses Ἰσραηλίτης 188 times in the first eleven books of the Antiquities, but does not use it elsewhere. He uses uses Ἰσραήλος only twice, in the first and fourth books (all word searches were made using Accordance Bible Software 8.1 [Orlando: Oak Tree Software, Inc., 2008]). 24 Although Ἰουδαῖος is anachronistic when applied to ancient Israel, it is not exactly incorrect (especially when one intends to emphasize the continuity of ancient Israel with modern Jews), since Judah was part of Israel. For my argument, what matters is that Josephus refrains from equating postexilic “Jews” with “Israel,” retaining that moniker for the northern tribes or all twelve tribes as a collective. Notably, after quoting Nicolaus of Damascus, who refers to “the Jews” of the preexilic northern kingdom, Josephus corrects the terminology to “Israel” in the next sentence (A.J. 7.103). 25 Owing to the nature of his work, Philo presents data more difficult to mine for such distinctions than does Josephus. Nonetheless, although he uses Ἰσραήλ and Ἰσραηλιτικός 90 times across nineteen works and uses Ἰουδαῖος and Ἰουδαϊκός 112 times across nine works, Philo uses both terms in the same work only once—in Legatio ad Gaium, where the terms are separated by 111 lines. There is no indication that Philo regards the terms as synonymous. 26 Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1977), 247. “They do not call themselves simply ‘Israel’” (p. 246). 27 Ibid., 245. 28 4Q163 4–7 ii 10; CD 4:2; 6:5; 1QS 8:9. 23
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or using subset language as they do with Israel.29 They are the faithful remnant of the southern tribes awaiting the return and restoration of Israel.30 4QNarrative and Poetic Composition provides an excellent example of the apocalyptic expectation of a “pan-Israelite restoration” evident in the Dead Sea Scrolls. In this fragmentary text, “Joseph” and his brothers are depicted as “cast into lands which he did not k[now], among unknown nations and scattered in all the world” and “given into the hands of foreigners who were devouring his strength and breaking all his bones until the time of the end.”31 Meanwhile, “fools” living in Joseph’s land are inciting “Judah, Benjamin, and Levi” to jealousy and anger.32 But Joseph and his brothers will return and offer sacrifices and praise when God “will destroy [the foreigners] from the entire world” (4Q372 frg. 1.22). Similarly, the War Scroll expects the “sons of Levi, the sons of Judah, and the sons of Benjamin” to be joined by “the exiles of the sons of light” in the final apocalyptic battle when everything is set right (1QM 1:2–3). The Qumran community was not alone in anticipating a full restoration of the northern tribes; 4 Ezra 13:40–47 expects the eschatological restoration of the ten tribes still lost in exile, as does T. Benj. 10 (which connects this restoration with the resurrection and the Lord revealing “his salvation to all nations”). Evidence from the early Jesus movement suggests similar expectations. Jesus’ selection of the Twelve and his promise that they would judge the twelve tribes clearly demonstrate anticipation of a pan-Israelite restoration, as does his promise that the Son of Man will gather the elect from the four winds.33 The importance of
29 See Bergsma, “Qumran,” 172–89; Matthew Thiessen, “4Q372 1 and the Continuation of Joseph’s Exile,” DSD 15 (2008): 380–95, esp. 389–95. For good examples of subset language, see CD 20:26–27; 1QpHab 12:3–5; l)r#y is used even with reference to the enemies of the sect—“the wicked in Israel” (4Q171 1–10 iii 12). 30 “The Yaha i d is actively anticipating the eschatological, pan-Israelite restoration of the twelve tribes. They are the vanguard, the spearhead of the incoming of the lost tribes in the eschatological era” (Bergsma, “Qumran,” 188). 31 4Q372 frg. 1.10–11, 14–15, 19. See E. Schuller and M. Bernstein, “371–373. 4QNarrative and Poetic Composition (a), (b), (c),” in Qumran Cave 4.XXVIII: Miscellanea, Part 2 (ed. Moshe Bernstein et al.; DJD 28; Oxford: Clarendon, 2001), 151–204; Martin G. Abegg, Jr., “Exile and the Dead Sea Scrolls,” in Exile: Old Testament, Jewish, and Christian Conceptions (ed. James M. Scott; JSJSup 56; Leiden: Brill, 1997), 111–25; Thiessen, “4Q372 1,” 380–95. 32 The Samaritan presence in “Joseph’s” land is a constant reminder that full restoration has not been achieved and still lies in the future (Thiessen, “4Q372 1,” 395). Thiessen persuasively connects the themes of jealousy in 4Q372 to Deuteronomy 32 and Psalm 78, a similar trajectory to that of Rom 10:19 and 11:11–17. 33 Craig A. Evans, “Jesus & the Continuing Exile of Israel,” in Jesus & the Restoration of Israel: A Critical Assessment of N. T. Wright’s Jesus and the Victory of God (ed. Carey C. Newman; Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 1999), 77–100; see also E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 98; N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, vol. 2 of Christian Origins and the Question of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 430–31; and Brant Pitre, Jesus, The Tribulation, and
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the Samaritans in Luke/Acts and John suggests a connection with the northern tribes, the Epistle of James is addressed “to the twelve tribes of Israel in the dispersion” (Jas 1:1), and Revelation 7 depicts the sealing of all twelve tribes of Israel— not just the three southern tribes.34 The present consensus notwithstanding, Paul also makes it abundantly clear in Rom 9:6 that when he says “Israel,” he does not restrict his meaning to ethnic Jews, nor does he think all who are born Jews are “Israel.”35 When describing himself, Paul demonstrates precision on a par with that found at Qumran, preferring to identify himself as “of the nation of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin” (Phil 3:5; Rom 11:1; 2 Cor 11:22) rather than using the more generic term “Jew.”36 In addition, Paul frames his ministry in “new covenant” language, suggesting the centrality of the restoration of all Israel to his gospel.37
II. Paul’s Gospel as the Fulfillment of the New Covenant Paul’s allusions to the new covenant prophecy are often noted in individual passages (including Rom 11:27),38 but its central importance to the Pauline proclamation has been underestimated, in part because of a widely held view that Paul does not operate within a covenantal framework.39 Even general treatments that the End of the Exile: Restoration Eschatology and the Origin of Atonement (WUNT 2/204; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005). 34 That they are “sealed” in such a fashion parallels Paul’s concept of the Holy Spirit and the law written on the heart (cf. 2 Cor 1:22). 35 See Segal, “Experience,” 58; Wright, Climax, 238. 36 Paul’s rebuke of Peter in Gal 2:14 is the prominent exception, but Ἰουδαῖος is the appropriate outsider term in this context, emphasizing common non-Gentile status. In other (insider) contexts Paul distinguishes himself (as a Benjaminite) from descendants of the tribe of Judah. More importantly, Paul distinguishes himself and Peter from Gentiles not as “Israelites” but as Ἰουδαῖοι, thus avoiding an Israelite/Gentile dichotomy. For more on insider/outsider terminology, see Elliot, “Jesus the Israelite,” esp. 121–29. 37 The new covenant prophecy is found in Jer 31:31–34 (38:31–34 LXX). Unless otherwise noted, references are to the MT throughout. 38 It is commonly argued that the covenant in Rom 11:27 is the new covenant (see Fitzmyer, Romans, 625; Jewett, Romans, 705), while the foundational γράµµα/πνεύµα dichotomy in 2 Corinthians is likewise connected with Jeremiah 31 (see Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul [New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989], 125–40). 39 E. P. Sanders concludes that Paul rejects the covenantal Jewish system in favor of a noncovenantal participationist eschatology (Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 543–56). Christopher D. Stanley observes that in the few places where Paul uses διαθήκη, the idea tends to be “presupposed” rather than developed, concluding that covenant plays a “surprisingly limited” role in Paul’s theology (Paul and the Language of Scripture: Citation Technique in the Pauline Epistles and Contemporary Literature [SNTSMS 74; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992], 169). Of course, Sanders’s argument about Judaism could easily be applied to Paul: “it is the fundamental
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attempt to show Paul’s interaction with new covenant concepts have tended to start from a traditional reading of Paul, only trotting out the new covenant in the service of a supersessionist reading (i.e., that the Pauline proclamation “terminates the Mosaic covenant”) rather than examining its foundational implications for Paul’s gospel.40 On the contrary, Paul’s distinctive and unambiguous use of new covenant terminology in the institution narrative in 1 Corinthians (11:23–25) suggests a central role of the new covenant in his theology—it is embedded in the ritual most central to community identity.41 Even more telling is that, when Paul frames his own ministry, he does so with clear echoes of Jeremiah’s life and call.42 His role as “apostle to the nations” (Rom 11:13) echoes Jeremiah’s commission as “prophet to the nations” (Jer 1:5). Like Jeremiah, who was known, called, and set apart by God before birth (Jer 1:5), Paul was “set apart and called by [God’s] grace even from [his] mother’s womb” (Gal 1:15). Even better, when defending his message, Paul declares that he is a “servant of the new covenant” (2 Cor 3:6). In considering the role of the new covenant in Paul’s proclamation, it is critical to remember that Jeremiah’s prophecy primarily concerns the reconstitution of all Israel—that is, that both Israel and Judah will be restored by means of God’s writing the law on their hearts.43 In fact, the prophecy is part of a larger section promising the return of the northern kingdom and the reunification of all twelve tribes, picking up with 30:3, “ ‘For, behold, days are coming,’ says hwhy, ‘when I will restore the fortunes of my people Israel and Judah.’”44 That both Israel and Judah are called “my people” is particularly significant in light of Hosea’s declaration that the northern kingdom is “not my people” (Hos 1:9), a declaration certainly known to Jeremiah (Jer 3:8) and to Paul (Rom 9:25–26). nature of the covenant conception which largely accounts for the relative scarcity of appearances of the term ‘covenant’” (Paul and Palestinian Judaism, 420–21; his emphasis). For Paul as a covenantal thinker, see Morna D. Hooker, “Paul and ‘Covenantal Nomism,’” in Paul and Paulinism: Essays in Honour of C. K. Barrett (ed. Morna D. Hooker and S. G. Wilson; London: SPCK, 1982), 47–56. 40 For a signal example of this phenomenon, see William J. Dumbrell, Romans: A New Covenant Commentary (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2005), ix. 41 That none of the parallel institution narratives (aside from the Western non-interpolation in the longer reading of Luke) directly mentions ἡ καινὴ διαθήκη hurts Stanley’s case that the Pauline reference merely “reflects traditional language” (Paul and the Language of Scripture, 169). 42 Josephus also identifies with Jeremiah, who seems to have been a popular prophet in the first century (B.J. 5.391–93). 43 The restoration of the northern tribes is arguably the main theme of Jeremiah 31 and is a major theme in the book of Jeremiah as a whole (e.g., 3:6–12; 16:14–16; 23:3–6; 30:3; 31:7–10, 20–21, 31–34). 44 Jeremiah 30:1–33:26 is called “The Book of Consolation” because of its consistent message of restoration (John A. Thompson, The Book of Jeremiah [2nd ed.; NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980], 29). The Qumran sect also seems to regard the new covenant prophecy as foundational (CD 6:19; 8:21; 19:33; 20:12; 1QpHab 2:3).
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Jeremiah 3 explains that Judah’s “treachery” has proven “faithless Israel” more righteous than Judah, leading hwhy to call out to “faithless Israel,” promising that he will restore even the faithless (divorced) northern kingdom because of the disobedience of Judah. Jeremiah 31 calls for Ephraim to return from among the nations (31:1–22)—this despite Jeremiah’s recognition that Ephraim is “no more” (31:15). It is in this context that a new covenant is promised “with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah” (31:31). Significantly, Gentiles are not mentioned in Jeremiah’s prophecy; the covenant will be made only with Israel and Judah.45 Thus, if Paul thought that the new covenant was being fulfilled, he would have been expecting the miraculous return of the northern tribes. Instead, he strangely obsesses over the “mystery” of the circumcision-free justification of the Gentiles—while still insisting that he is preaching the fulfillment of the new covenant. It is in pondering this paradox that all the pieces snap together: Paul’s “mystery” is that faithful Gentiles (those with “the law written on their hearts”; see Rom 2:14–15) are the returning remnant of the house of Israel, united with the faithful from the house of Judah (cf. the “inward Jews” of Rom 2:28–29).46
III. Hosea: “Not My People” Identifying faithful Gentiles with the returning house of Israel obviously assigns much more significance to Rom 9:24–26, where, after first declaring natural ancestry an insufficient criterion for covenant membership (9:6–13) and defending God’s justice in election (vv. 14–23),47 Paul quotes Hosea’s words to the northern kingdom, demonstrating that God is calling his elect: 45 This is a key point that is often missed when Gentile inclusion in the new covenant is addressed. Wright, for example, says, “the new covenant is emphatically not a covenant in which ‘national righteousness’ . . . is suddenly affirmed. It is the covenant in which sin is finally dealt with” (Climax, 251). But no rationale is given for why this (quite national) covenant suddenly applies to the Gentiles, raising an obvious question, given the terms stated in the covenant promise itself. 46 Regardless of whether Paul actually imagines that all redeemed Gentiles are literal descendants of ancient Israelites, Gentile inclusion is the means of Israel’s promised restoration, since Ephraim’s seed was mixed among the Gentiles—thus God’s promise to restore Israel has opened the door for Gentile inclusion in Israel’s covenant. On the new covenant in Romans 2, see Akio Ito, “Romans 2: A Deuteronomistic Reading,” JSNT 59 (1995): 21–37; N. T. Wright, “The Law in Romans 2,” in Paul and the Mosaic Law (ed. James D. G. Dunn; WUNT 89; Tübingen: Mohr, 1996), 131–50; Timothy W. Berkley, From a Broken Covenant to Circumcision of the Heart: Pauline Intertextual Exegesis in Romans 2:17–29 (SBLDS 175; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000); against these, see Simon Gathercole, “A Law unto Themselves: The Gentiles in Romans 2.14–15 Revisited,” JSNT 85 (2002): 27–49. 47 Segal, “Experience,” 58; Wright, Climax, 238; but see Gaston, Paul, 94.
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. . . whom he called not only from Jews but also from Gentiles, as he also says in Hosea, “I will call my people those who were not my people, and she who was not beloved, I will call beloved. And it will be in the place where it was said to them, ‘you are not my people,’ there they will be called children of the living God.” (Rom 9:25–26)
The quotation initially appears haphazard, as if Paul has arbitrarily wrenched these Hosea passages from their historical application to Israel to apply them to Gentiles.48 Upon closer examination, however, it becomes clear that Paul’s connection of elect Gentiles with the motif of “my people”/“not my people” stems from much reflection on the Hosea tradition itself.49 The terrible message of Hosea is that God is cutting off the northern kingdom—it has “been mixed among the peoples” (Hos 7:8), the chosen people of hwhy no longer.50 The house of Israel has intermingled, intermarried, among the nations, no longer having the distinction of being “elect.” Once a part of God’s elect nation, Ephraim has become “not my people,” indistinct from the non-chosen nations—that is, they have become “Gentiles” (what does “not my people” mean if not “Gentiles”?).51 Hosea 8:8 sums up the situation: “Israel [the north] is swallowed up; they are now in the nations [Gentiles] like a worthless vessel [LXX: ὡς σκεῦος ἄχρηστον].”52 Paul appears to be subtly echoing this passage when he defends God’s choice to make some of the “lump” (= Israel) into worthless vessels (σκεῦος) for dishonor, leading to the inclusion of the Gentiles, citing Hosea’s promise of the restoration of
48 E. Elizabeth Johnson, The Function of Apocalyptic and Wisdom Traditions in Rom 9–11 (SBLDS 109; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1989), 150; in contrast, Nils Alstrup Dahl observes that it is unlikely that Paul has overlooked the context of mercy toward Israel (Studies in Paul: Theology for the Early Christian Mission [Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1977; repr., Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2002], 146). 49 William S. Campbell argues that Paul’s use of Hosea applies primarily to Israel and secondarily (and typologically) to Gentiles, but he stops short of identifying the two groups (“Divergent Images of Paul and His Mission,” in Reading Israel in Romans: Legitimacy and Plausibility of Divergent Interpretations [ed. Cristina Greenholm and Daniel Patte; Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 2000], 199); see also Cranfield, Romans, 2:499–500. Scott Hahn also has arrived at conclusions similar to my own, presenting them at the 2001 SBL International Meeting in Rome (a paper of which I was unaware until a helpful conversation with Hahn after my 2008 SBL presentation). 50 In the LXX, the word for “mixed” is συναναµίγνυµι, a word carrying a sexual connotation (cf. Herodotus, Hist. 2.64; Homer, Il. 21.143; Od. 1.73) in addition to meaning “become included among” (BDAG, 965, s.v. συναναµείγνυµι; LSJ, 1092, s.v. µείγνυµι; 1695, s.v. συναναµείγνυµι); in Hosea, the idea is clearly that of ethnic mixture. 51 “Paul reads Hosea’s promise of Israel’s restored relationship to God as a promise that God will call those who are “not my people,” that is, Gentiles” (Hays, Echoes, 120; my emphasis). 52 That Israel is here called ἄχρηστον (a homonym of ἄχριστον, “without Christ”) may have drawn attention to the verse.
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“not my people” as proof.53 So Paul takes the radical step of identifying faithful, uncircumcised Gentiles with the “not my people” being restored to Israel as promised in Hosea.54 That is to say, as promised, Ephraim’s seed is being restored from among the nations, being redeemed from its cut-off, Gentile state, becoming “children of the living God” once again. Moreover, in the process, God has provided for the salvation of the Gentiles by scattering Ephraim among the nations only to be restored. In saving Ephraim, God saves the nations; in saving the nations, God saves Ephraim. Thus, the new covenant not only restores Israel but also—in the unforeseen plan of God—fulfills the promises to Abraham that all the nations would be blessed, not “through” his seed (i.e., as outsiders) but by inclusion and incorporation in his seed (Gal 3:8). Paul insists that these faithful Gentiles are not to become Jews (that is, Judah) in order to become members of Israel—rather, they have already become Israelites through the new covenant. Thus, all persons should remain in the state in which they were called (1 Cor 7:17–20). Before protesting that Paul would never have called Gentiles “Israelites,” one should remember that the circumcision controversy makes sense only if the debate is over full Israelite status. If Gentiles were to be saved simply as Gentiles (i.e., as the fulfillment of the nations flocking to Jerusalem at the eschaton),55 circumcision— which marks a status transition from “Gentile” to “Israelite”—would have been entirely unnecessary.56 Why would Gentiles ever need to be circumcised to worship the God of Israel, and on what basis would they be circumcised if not to become part of Israel? If uncircumcised Gentiles could already worship the Lord with somewhat secure status in non-Christian Judaism, there is little reason to think that such a thing would have been a problem in even the most conservative law-observant Christian circles.57 Rather, the debate must have centered on the question of
53 As the context involves God’s justice in dealing with Israel, not with humanity as a whole, the “lump” (φύραµα) more sensibly refers to Israel than to humanity as a whole. In addition to Hos 8:8, Paul’s “vessel” discussion appears to draw on Jer 50:25 (LXX 27:25); Hos 13:15; Pss 2:7–10; 31:12; Wis 15:7; Sir 27:4. 54 “Paul extends the logic of reversal at work in the text well beyond the referential sense envisioned in the original” (Hays, Echoes, 120). 55 See Dunn, Romans, 680; Moo, Romans, 716–17; and Jewett, Romans, 700–701. 56 Cf. Jdt 14:10, which equates circumcision with being joined to Israel. On circumcision as the mechanism for full conversion, see Cohen, Beginnings, 137–38, 156–58, 218–20; idem, “Crossing the Boundary and Becoming a Jew” HTR 82 (1989): 26–33. 57 The temple had a “court of the Gentiles” for this very purpose. On Gentile worshipers of hwhy in early Judaism, see Cohen, “Crossing,” 20–26; John G. Gager, “Jews, Gentiles, and Synagogues in the Book of Acts,” HTR 79 (1986): 91–99; Jerome Murphy-O’Connor, “Lots of GodFearers? Theosebeis in the Aphrodisias Inscription,” RB 99 (1992): 418–24; J. M. G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora: From Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 438–39.
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whether Gentile converts can acquire full Israelite status without circumcision, food laws, or any other visible marker of identification with the Torah or traditional Jewish identity. For Paul, Gentile converts are not saved “as Gentiles” but actually become equal members of Israel alongside their law-observant Jewish brothers.58 It is this assertion that was so unbearable for Paul’s opponents. Gentiles saved as Gentiles are no concern; Gentiles as Israel are a shocking affront and a grave threat to traditional Israelite identity. The debate is therefore fundamentally over status—specifically the status and identity of the people of Israel. It is precisely at this point that Paul is simultaneously most continuous and discontinuous with traditional Judaism. He continues to preach God’s special election of Israel, the lasting value of Israel’s covenant, and the restoration and ultimate salvation of Israel; but he extends this election to Gentiles without any requirement of circumcision, food laws, or any of the other external markers of covenantal membership—an unacceptable move in the eyes of his peers (both Jesus-followers and those who were not).59 In this sense, Paul’s gospel could most accurately be called “messianic new covenant Israelitism”—not exactly Judaism but in no way something wholly “other.” Far from de-emphasizing the Torah and the Prophets, Paul sees the prophecies contained therein as being fulfilled in his own day and through his own ministry. Israel is indeed being restored “from the nations” through an internal transformation, just as the prophets foretold.
IV. The Olive Tree In Romans 11, Paul is at pains to clarify why some in Israel have not obtained the salvation they were seeking (11:7). He proceeds to explain that it is precisely Israel’s transgression that has brought salvation to the Gentiles in order to make Israel jealous/zealous (11:11–15). Not surprisingly, Paul’s theme again parallels Jeremiah, where God chastises “treacherous Judah” for being even worse than “faithless Israel” despite having seen what happened as a result of Israel’s disobedience: “Faithless Israel has proved herself more righteous than treacherous Judah. Go and proclaim these words toward the north and say, ‘Return, faithless Israel, declares hwhy; I will not cause my face to fall on you in anger’” (Jer 3:11–12). To shame Judah, 58
Paul argues that Christian Gentiles are “Abraham’s seed” (Galatians 3 and Romans 4), includes them as descendants of the patriarchs (1 Cor 10:1), references them as non-Gentiles (1 Cor 12:2, “when you were Gentiles”), and probably includes them in “the Israel of God” (Gal 6:16); see Dunn, The Epistle to the Galatians (BNTC; Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1993), 345; Nils Dahl, “Der Name Israel: Zur Auslegung von Gal. 6.16,” Jud 6 (1950): 161–70; Richard B. Hays, “The Letter to the Galatians,” NIB 11:346. 59 Cf. Josephus’s account of Izates’ conversion in A.J. 20.34–48. Philo complains of Jews who recognize the allegorical truths of the law but neglect the literal, even seeing circumcision as unnecessary (Migr. 89–92; QE 2.2).
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God chooses to restore Israel from divorce—all the while pleading with Judah to repent in order to be saved (Jer 3:6–12).60 Not only does Paul connect the restoration of Israel from the Gentiles with the disobedience of Judah (following Jeremiah); there is a double edge when he explains that the Gentiles are saved because of the hardening of part of Israel (11:7, 25). The transgression of the northern kingdom caused them to be intermingled among the nations, providing for the incorporation of the Gentiles when Israel is restored through the new covenant, but it is actually Judah’s rebellion that sets the restoration of the house of Israel (and the Gentiles) in motion. Thus, Paul explains that the rebellion of both houses of Israel has been the agent of salvation for the Gentiles. It is the hardening not only of the Jews but also of their northern brothers (long ago) that has brought about Gentile salvation—both houses of Israel have indeed been hardened in order for the Gentiles to come in (11:25) and, ultimately, for “all Israel” to be saved.61 At this point, Paul warns the Gentiles not to glory in their newfound election, using the metaphor of branches being grafted onto an olive tree.62 The metaphor recalls Jer 11:16–17, where God burns up the “evil branches” from the olive tree of Israel.63 Again Paul stands firmly within prophetic tradition: since Israel has not “cut off ” the unfaithful as the law prescribes,64 God himself is cutting them off from Israel.65 It is not that the rules have changed or that God has rejected his people. Quite the opposite, God is cutting off only those of Israel who have forfeited their standing through covenantal unfaithfulness—those from Judah who are indeed “inward Jews” (2:27–29) remain.66 As Paul has already pointed out, this is not the first time the majority of Israel has rejected God, but God has always preserved a remnant through it all (11:2–5). 60
See also n. 45 above. God even uses rebellion redemptively. Since Israel failed to be a “light to the nations” through obedience, God caused them to fulfill this mission through their disobedience. Thanks to Scott Hahn for this point. 62 Romans 11:21–24 and 2:14–16 have some clever wordplay centering on the word φύσις. In 11:21, those cut off are branches κατὰ φύσιν (“according to nature”), while in 2:14 the Gentiles are doing the law φύσει (“by nature”); likewise, the reprobates of 1:28 act παρὰ φύσιν (“against nature”). 63 Cf. Hos 14:6, where Israel will again have “splendor like an olive tree.” Although the branches in Jeremiah’s metaphor are “burned,” Paul holds out hope for the restoration of those being cut off. 64 See Exod 12:15, 19; 30:33, 38; 31:14; Lev 7:20–21, 25, 27; 17:4, 9, 14; 18:29; 19:8; 20:5, 17– 18; 22:3; 23:29; Num 9:13; 15:30–31; 19:13, 20. 65 Not an uncommon prophetic motif: see Pss 37:9, 22, 28, 34, 38; 101:6–8; Prov 2:21–22; Isa 48:18–19; Jer 6:2; 44:7–12; Hos 8:1–4; 10:1–15; Nah 1:15; Zeph 1:4–6; Zech 13:8–9 See also 1 Kgs 9:7; 14:10, 14; 21:21; 2 Kgs 9:8; 10:32; 2 Chr 22:7. 66 In no way does Paul think that true Israelites have been rejected (Rom 9:6); his defense centers on God cutting off only those who are unfaithful to the covenant. In addition, he is quick to remind the reader that anyone who has been cut off for unfaithfulness can be grafted back in. 61
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Chilling as this passage is, the real force is directed against the newly engrafted Gentile, who stands in danger of boasting just like the Jews whom Paul chastises in Romans 2–3.67 Paul warns that election is no guarantee of final salvation; one must remain faithful and dependent on God in order to be saved. In addition, he reminds his audience that even the branch that has been cut off remains elect “according to nature” and as such can easily be reincorporated into Israel. The Jewish branches are born into the tree by nature (i.e., elect from birth) and can only be cut off for unfaithfulness; the Gentiles, on the other hand, must come into the tree by an “unnatural” process (and can still be cut off for unfaithfulness). Paul’s reminder about God’s capacity to reincorporate cut-off branches is made even more poignant by the realization that the branches now being incorporated from the Gentiles are wild olive branches. That is, these branches are from the long-forgotten and uncultivated house of Israel, having been broken off and mixed among the Gentiles so long ago. So Paul points out that if God is restoring the previously cut-off branches of Israel from the nations, he can much more easily reincorporate the more recently removed branches. God is calling his people back, not only from the Jews but also from the Gentiles in which they had intermingled—both Gentile and Jewish branches must coexist equally in the olive tree, the whole of Israel.
V. The Fullness of the Nations: Paul’s Mystery Revealed Having laid the necessary groundwork, we are now prepared to return to Paul’s conclusion in 11:25–27, where he explains that Israel will be saved through the ingathering of “the fullness of the Gentiles.” Despite the terseness of Paul’s language, the passage becomes quite clear once the phrase τὸ πλήρωµα τῶν ἐθνῶν is recognized as an allusion to Gen 48:19,68 where Jacob blesses Joseph’s sons, explaining that he is placing his right hand on the younger Ephraim’s head because “[Manasseh] will also become a people and he will also be great. However, his younger brother [Ephraim] will be greater than he, and his seed will become the fullness of the nations.”69 67 The motif of boasting recalls Jeremiah: “Let not a wise man boast of his wisdom, nor the mighty boast of his might, nor a rich man of his riches; but let him who boasts boast in this: that he understands and knows me . . .” (Jer 9:22–23). 68 It is surprising that the echo of such an odd phrase has been missed or ignored even by those focusing on the use of scripture in the New Testament, going unmentioned in E. Earle Ellis, Paul’s Use of the Old Testament (1957; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1981); Walter C. Kaiser, Jr., The Uses of the Old Testament in the New (Chicago: Moody, 1985); and Mark Seifrid’s discussion of this passage in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (ed. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson; Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007), 672–78. 69 Following John Skinner’s translation of Mywgh-)lm, “a peculiar expression for populousness” (A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis (2nd ed., ICC; Edinburgh: T&T Clark,
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That Paul’s wording differs from the LXX in using πλήρωµα rather than πλῆθος probably accounts for so many commentators’ having overlooked this connection.70 Paul’s translation renders the Hebrew more precisely than does the LXX, which renders the odd Hebrew phrase Mywgh-)lm in the same way as it does the Mywg Nwmh (“multitude/tumult of nations”) promised to Abraham in Gen 17:4 (itself a passage that Paul cites in a similar context in Gal 3:7–8).71 Paul’s use of πλήρωµα accords with the usual LXX translation for )lm elsewhere,72 while the LXX nowhere else translates )lm as πλῆθος.73 Additionally, Paul’s quotations often differ from the LXX in Romans 9–11,74 while the unique character and context of this phrase (a hapax legomenon and interpretive puzzle in each testament) militate against accidental coincidence of language.75 It is more likely that Paul either had a different Greek version or made the change intentionally, since πλήρωµα is a word that often carries a special apocalyptic or eschatological connotation both in Paul and elsewhere, fitting nicely into the apocalyptic context of this passage.76 1930], 506). Philo (Leg. 3.88–94) interprets Gen 48:19 together with the Jacob/Esau story of Gen 25:21–23 (cf. Rom 9:10–13); likewise, Barn. 13 connects these two Genesis passages (to show that the covenant is “ours” and not “theirs”), suggesting an early tradition of interpreting these passages together. 70
Romans 11:25b
ὅτι πώρωσις ἀπὸ µέρους τῷ Ἰσραὴλ γέγονεν ἄχρι οὗ τὸ πλήρωµα τῶν ἐθνῶν εἰσέλθη 71
Genesis 48:19b MT wnmm ldgy N+qh wyx) Mlw)w Mywgh-)lm hyhy w(rzw
Genesis 48:19b LXX ἀλλὰ ὁ ἀδελφὸς αὐτοῦ ὁ νεώτερος µείζων αὐτοῦ ἔσται καὶ τὸ σπέρµα αὐτοῦ ἔσται εἰς πλῆθος ἐθνῶν
That the LXX uses the same phrase to translate both passages suggests that a tradition connecting Gen 48:19 to Gen 17:4 likely existed before Paul. 72 E.g., 1 Chr 16:32; Pss 23:1; 49:12 [50:12 MT]; 88:12 [89:12 MT]; 95:11; 97:7; Eccl 4:6; Jer 8:16; 29:2 [47:2 MT]; Ezek 12:19; 19:7; 30:12. 73 Greek πλῆθος typically translates bbr (e.g., Gen 16:4; 27:28; 30:30; 32:12; 36:7; 48:16; Exod 1:9; 15:7; 19:21; 23:2) and occasionally Nwmh (Gen 17:4; Judg 4:7; 2 Sam 18:29). 74 The citations in Rom 9:9, 13, 17, 20, 25, 27, 28, 33; 10:5, 7, 11, 15, 19, 20; 11:2, 3, 8, 9–10, 25a, and 26b–27 all differ from the LXX, while those in Rom 9:7, 20, and 11:2 (see Jewett, Romans, 654) appear without introductory formulas. For more on Romans’ use of Scripture and the LXX, see Stanley, Paul and the Language of Scripture, 83–184; and J. Ross Wagner, Heralds of the Good News: Isaiah and Paul “In Concert” in the Letter to the Romans (NovTSup 101; Leiden: Brill, 2002), esp. 341–51. 75 The oddity and distinctiveness of the phrase give the echo a high intertextual volume (borrowing the term from Hays, Echoes, 30). 76 Our LXX versions were not sitting before first-century writers; for example, Stanley has shown that the “Lucianic” family of LXX texts stands closer to Paul’s quotation of Isa 52:7 than the “standard” versions of the LXX (Paul and the Language of Scripture, 135–37; cf. Jewett, Romans, 639). On the significance of πλήρωµα as a specialized apocalyptic term, see Jewett, Romans, 677– 78, 700–701; Hans Dieter Betz, Galatians: A Commentary on Paul’s Letter to the Churches in Galatia (Hermeneia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 206; Stuhlmann, Eschatologische Mass, 164–78;
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By citing this prophecy at the climax of his argument, Paul has placed his cards on the table in grand style: the Gentiles now receiving the Spirit are the fulfillment of Jacob’s prophecy—they are Ephraim’s seed, they are Israel, restored through the new covenant. God had planned all along that Ephraim’s seed would become “the fullness of the nations,” so that when Ephraim was restored, it would result also in the redemption of the Gentiles in Abraham’s seed. Paul’s triumphant conclusion, “καὶ οὕτως all Israel will be saved,” seizes his opponents’ territory, claiming it for the Pauline gospel. “Yes, all Israel will be saved,” he says, “but ‘all Israel’ is more than you realize”; Israel’s redemption is not limited to the Jews alone. God has promised to restore all Israel, and Ephraim—that is, “the fullness of the nations/Gentiles”—must be reincorporated into Israel and reunited with his Jewish brothers. All Israel can be saved only through the ingathering of the nations. The puzzling connection between the ingathering of τὸ πλήρωµα τῶν ἐθνῶν and the salvation of “all Israel” suddenly makes sense, since “all Israel” must include Ephraim’s seed. Romans 11:25–27 is thus entirely coherent: Verse 25: A hardening has happened to part of Israel. Paul starts from the original hardening of the northern kingdom, which caused them to be exiled by the Assyrians and intermingled with the nations. Judah’s partial hardening then leads to the restoration of these lost tribes, necessarily opening the door to the Gentiles (since Ephraim is no longer ethnically distinct)—the Gentiles are gathered in as the result of this twofold hardening that has occurred in both houses of Israel. Nonetheless, Paul insists that even those branches presently being cut off for unfaithfulness can be grafted on again—the mercy being shown to the northern house is the guarantor of mercy toward disobedient Jews. They can (Paul seems to hold more than a little hope that they will) be restored, and this ultimate reincorporation and reunification are the greatest of all—life from the dead (Rom 11:15). Until τὸ πλήρωµα τῶν ἐθνῶν comes in . . . . This is, as we have already seen, also a double reference. It refers to the ingathering of the Gentiles into Israel,77 but in their new identity as the reconstituted “Ephraim.” The forgotten, uncultivated olive Heinrich Schlier, Der Römerbrief (HTKNT 6; Freiburg: Herder, 1977), 340–41; and Hans Hübner, “πλήρωµα,” EDNT 3:110–11. 77 Most commentators see εἰσέλθη as referring to either Gentile pilgrimage to Jerusalem or Gentiles entering the kingdom of God (as distinct from Israel), inverting the anticipated order of Israel’s restoration followed by the salvation of the nations—an order Paul appears to uphold in Rom 1:16 (e.g., Jewett, Romans, 698–701; Dunn, Romans, 680–82). If the Gentiles are understood as incorporated into Israel, however, these difficulties disappear, with εἰσέλθη denoting inclusion of Gentiles into Israel in keeping with the engrafting metaphor immediately preceding. J. Christiaan Beker’s observation, “Paul does not envision Israel’s eschatological salvation as its absorption into the Gentile-Christian church” (Paul the Apostle: The Triumph of God in Life and Thought [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1980], 334–35), is thus absolutely true, since Paul’s vision is exactly the opposite: the Gentiles are participants in Israel’s salvation through incorporation into Israel, not vice versa.
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branches that had long been cut off are now being grafted onto the olive tree of Israel. Paul is simultaneously proclaiming the salvation of the Gentiles and the return of the northern kingdom—as the same event. Verse 26: And thus (καἰ οὕτως) all Israel will be saved. Since “all Israel” includes both houses of Israel and the northern house is indistinct from the nations, “all Israel” must include both Jews and Gentiles. There is a causal relation between the ingathering of the Gentiles and the salvation of “all Israel,” because the latter necessarily involves the restoration of “Ephraim’s seed,” which has become the “fullness of the Gentiles.” Just as it is written, “the deliverer will come from Zion, he will remove ungodliness from Jacob. [27] And this is my covenant with them, when I take away their sins.” This is the mechanism of Israel’s salvation: the new covenant. All those who have the “law written on the heart” (Jew or Gentile) are Israelites (cf. Romans 2). Paul follows with the reminder that even unbelieving Jews have in no way lost their elect status—they remain God’s elect in every sense that a faithful Gentile is, despite their opposition to the gospel. God has not made a mistake—he has not turned back from his promises, nor does he regret his choices.78 There is no cause for boasting but only love and an attitude of brotherhood toward the fellow elect, along with hope for their ultimate reconciliation and participation in the new covenant, leading to their salvation (cf. 9:1–5).79 A major payoff of this reading is that it makes sense of Paul’s argument in the context of apocalyptic early Judaism while simultaneously providing a reasonable explanation for the emergence of the supersessionist patristic perspective on Israel. In full Jewish sectarian fashion, Paul sees the ἐκκλησία in full continuity with Israel—in fact as the righteous remnant of Israel (see Rom 9:27–29; 11:6). Much like those at Qumran, Paul sees Jews who have not yet joined the remnant as still being Israelites (though disobedient); and, so long as time remains, these others can still join the righteous remnant and be saved. The entire discussion is framed by the apocalyptic expectation of the restoration of all Israel as promised by the prophets; Paul is at pains to explain how the ingathering of the Gentiles relates to this anticipated restoration. Thus, when Paul asks, “Has God forgotten his people?” he is not addressing the fate of the Jews alone but a larger question concerning the promised Israelite restoration. He asks, in effect, “Has God abandoned his promises through the prophets to restore all Israel, rejecting his people and turning to the Gentiles?”
78 Recall, however, that election is insufficient for salvation in Paul’s understanding unless it is maintained through faithfulness (see pp. 383–85 above). 79 In the immediately following verses (28–32) Paul concludes that, although the hardened among Israel (not all Israel; the distinction is not between Israel and faithful Gentiles; cf. 11:1–5) have become “enemies for your sake,” neither have they lost their elect status nor are they beyond redemption.
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Paul rejects this, showing how the incorporation of Gentiles into the eschatological ἐκκλησία of new covenant Israel is in fact a fulfillment of God’s promise to redeem “all Israel.” Unlike later patristic writers, Paul does not advocate a primarily Gentile church (which did not yet exist) as the “new” or “true” Israel replacing “the Jews,” nor is he teaching a “third race” perspective.80 On the contrary, the ἐκκλησία (comprising both Jews and Gentiles) is the hwhy lhq,81 in direct continuity with ancient Israel. Gentiles coming into the body of Christ indeed become members of Israel, but they are in no way replacements—they are restorations and additions. Ἰουδαῖοι remain Israel by nature; the engrafting of Gentiles does not threaten or diminish their Israelite status. Both Jews and Gentiles, however, can find themselves cut off from Israel because of unfaithfulness, though restoration is possible even then. Paul envisions the expansion of Israel by restoration and addition, not a transfer of Israelite status from one group to another. Even Gentile inclusion itself is in continuity with ancient Israel, since Israel has been ethnically intermingled among the nations, requiring Gentile inclusion for Israelite restoration. For Paul, salvation is always about God’s faithfulness to his people Israel. That having been said, the patristic perspective did not emerge from thin air; it is in continuity with Paul’s equation of the church and (the remnant of) Israel and Paul’s assertions that faithful Gentiles are Israelites. But as the context of early Christianity changed, the nuance and subtlety of Paul’s argument were lost, succeeded by the blunt replacement theology (or “third race” notion) of the patristic period.82 When Paul wrote Romans, a church led by and primarily composed of Jews was still grappling with the question of Gentile inclusion. But within a generation that problem had long been resolved, and the church was increasingly composed of Gentiles. In this new Gentile-dominated context, Romans 9–11 was (and has continued to be) read nearly exactly backwards, from the perspective of the present situation in the church as opposed to looking forward from the perspective of early Judaism into the situation of Paul’s day—Romans 9–11 has been so misunderstood because interpreters have approached it asking the wrong (often anachronistic) questions. Thus, Paul’s discussion of the promised restoration of Israel in light of Gentile incorporation—a discussion rooted in apocalyptic Jewish concerns—was misinterpreted as a thesis on the fate of the Jews in light of their rejection of the gospel. Likewise, Paul’s argument that Gentiles were being incorporated into Israel (the church itself being the remnant of Israel in continuity with the promises to ancient Israel) was misconstrued as meaning that the Jews had
80
On ethnic reasoning in early Christianity, including the “third race” idea, see Denise Kimber Buell, Why This New Race? Ethnic Reasoning in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005). 81 Deuteronomy 23:1; etc.; cf. also l)r#y lhq, Deut 31:30; 1 Kgs 8:14; etc. 82 E.g., the sloppy argument for replacement theology in Barn. 13; see n. 69 above.
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been replaced as Israel by the Gentiles, who by then constituted the majority of the Christian church. In Rom 11:25–27 (and Romans 9–11 as a whole), the apostle has turned the question of God’s rejection of Israel on its head by reminding the reader that “all Israel” is a larger entity than just the Jews. God has neither been unfaithful to Israel nor rejected his people. In fact, God’s plan goes far beyond saving only Judah but extends to the house of Israel as well—all Israel will be saved, Paul insists, not just one part. Far from rejecting Israel, God has reached out and saved more of Israel than anyone could have imagined. In fact, God desired to save all Israel so much that he is even incorporating the Gentiles to do it. God’s faithfulness to Israel is so great that he has provided to save all—even Gentiles—in Israel. God has not moved to a new people but is gathering, restoring, and reconciling even those who were thought to be irretrievably lost. Paul argues that God’s covenant-keeping power extends beyond the grave, capable even of bringing life from the dead (Rom 11:15), of producing Israelites from the Gentiles. It is no wonder that Paul breaks off in praise at this point, expressing his wonder at the hidden wisdom, the unsearchable and unfathomable plan of God. The mystery has been revealed, and God’s purposes are far deeper than anyone ever imagined—even God’s rejections prove salvific.
JBL 130, no. 2 (2011): 391–396
Does περιβόλαιον Mean “Testicle” in 1 Corinthians 11:15? mark goodacre [email protected] Duke University, Durham, NC 27708
1 Corinthians 11:2–16 remains one of the most perplexing passages in the interpretation of Paul, and persuasive attempts to understand what Paul is talking about are at a premium.1 The logical difficulty at the heart of the passage is well known. Paul appears to argue that a woman should veil her head while praying or prophesying, but he then goes on to suggest that her hair is given to her for a covering (11:15). Under such circumstances, provocative new interpretations of elements in this passage demand special attention. Troy Martin’s recent article, focusing especially on 1 Cor 11:15, opens up a new and intriguing possibility, that περιβόλαιον here means “testicle.”2 The verse in question reads: . . . ὅτι ἡ κόµη ἀντὶ περιβολαίου δέδοται αὐτῇ. Martin says that this is usually translated: “For her hair is given to her instead of a covering.”3 He argues that the translation of περιβόλαιον should be “testicle,” thus: This paper was first presented in the Paul Section at the SBL International Meeting in Rome, July 2009. My thanks to the audience for helpful feedback on that occasion. 1 For a recent article on the passage, with extensive bibliography, see Preston T. Massey, “The Meaning of κατακαλύπτω and κατὰ κεφαλῆς ἔχων in 1 Corinthians 11:2–16,” NTS 53 (2007): 502–23. 2 Martin, “Paul’s Argument from Nature for the Veil in 1 Corinthians 11:13–15: A Testicle instead of a Head Covering,” JBL 123 (2004): 75–84. Joseph A. Fitzmyer (First Corinthians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [Anchor Yale Bible 32; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008], 421) describes Martin’s proposal as “completely far-fetched” but does not explain how he came to this conclusion. Christopher Mount (“1 Corinthians 11:3–16: Spirit Possession and Authority in a Non-Pauline Interpolation,” JBL 124 [2005]: 313–40), on the other hand, thinks that Martin’s proposal is “persuasively argued” (p. 333). 3 Martin, “Paul’s Argument,” 76. Martin cites Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1983),
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“For her hair is given to her instead of a testicle.” Martin’s contention is that Paul is here assuming ancient attitudes to the body, according to which hair is “part of the female genitalia.”5 He explains: This ancient physiological conception of hair indicates that Paul’s argument from nature in 1 Cor 11:13–15 contrasts long hair in women with testicles in men. Paul states that appropriate to her nature, a woman is not given an external testicle (περιβόλαιον, 1 Cor 11:15b) but rather hair instead. Paul states that long hollow hair on a woman’s head is her glory (δόξα, 1 Cor 11:15) because it enhances her female φύσις, which is to draw in and retain semen. Since female hair is part of the female genitalia, Paul asks the Corinthians to judge for themselves whether it is proper for a woman to display her genitalia when praying to God (1 Cor 11:13). Informed by the Jewish tradition, which strictly forbids display of genitalia when engaged in God’s service, Paul’s argument from nature cogently supports a woman’s covering her head when praying or prophesying.6
Martin has written on ancient medical language and the NT before,7 and his exposition of ancient attitudes to sex and gender is intriguing. In order for the new interpretation of this passage to be established, however, it is necessary to look at the lexical basis for identifying περιβόλαιον as “testicle.” Unfortunately for Martin’s argument, the lexical case is weak. He offers two texts to illustrate that the word was used in this way.8 The first is from Euripides, Herc. fur. 1269.9 Martin asserts that Euripides here “uses περιβόλαιον in reference to a body part,” and he translates the passage thus: “After I received [my] bags of flesh, which are the outward signs of puberty, [I received] labors about which I [shall] undertake to say what is necessary” (ἐπεὶ δὲ σαρκὸς περιβόλαι’ ἐκτησάµην ἡβῶντα, µόχθους οὓς ἔτλην τί δεῖ λέγειν). Martin adds, by way of explanation: “A dynamic translation of the first clause would be: ‘After I received my testicles (περιβόλαια), which are the outward 227–28, to establish that this is the usual translation, but in fact it is unusual. Practically all major contemporary translations have “for a covering” (NRSV, ESV [English Standard Version], NASB, NIV, NET Bible). For a study of the translation of ἀντί, see Alan G. Padgett, “The Significance of ἀντί in 1 Corinthians 11:15,” TynBul 45 (1994): 181–87. 5 Martin, “Paul’s Argument,” 79, 80, 83, 84. 6 Ibid., 83. 7 See Martin, “Paul’s Pneumatological Statements and Ancient Medical Texts,” in The New Testament and Early Christian Literature in Greco-Roman Context: Studies in Honor of David E. Aune (ed. John Fotopoulos; NovTSup 122; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2006), 105-28; and idem, “Whose Flesh? What Temptation? (Gal 4.13–14),” JSNT 74 (1999): 65–91. 8 Martin, “Paul’s Argument,” 77. 9 For the Greek text, see Euripides, Hercules (ed. Kevin Hargreaves Lee; Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana; Leipzig: Teubner, 1988); and for the text with introduction and commentary, see Godfrey W. Bond, Euripides Heracles: With Introduction and Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1981).
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signs of puberty.’ In this text from Euripides, the term περιβόλαιον refers to a testicle.”10 Martin does not give any indication that the translation he is proposing is controversial and unparalleled. There are important problems with it, not least his strange translation of ἔτλην as future rather than aorist (first singular aorist indicative active, from τλάω) and the choice not to translate τί as an interrogative, elements that might warn the reader that something is awry in Martin’s translation. But what is most important for Martin’s case, “testicle” is an incorrect translation of περιβόλαιον. The relevant phrase is σαρκὸς περιβόλαι’ ἡβῶντα, where ἡβῶντα (present participle of ἡβάω, “to attain puberty, to be in the prime of youth”) is a transferred epithet agreeing with περιβόλαι(α), “that which is thrown around, covering, clothing” (plural).11 The phrase is naturally construed as “youthful clothes of flesh,” “youthful garb of flesh.” Martin is right that youth and adolescence are in view here, but his literalistic reading misses the point that Euripides is simply using a clothing metaphor.12 Heracles has come of age and has put on his young man’s flesh. It is not a reference to “a body part.” On the only other occasion that Euripides uses the word περιβόλαιον (Herc. fur. 549), it is again used in the plural and with a similarly metaphorical meaning, this time with reference to the “garb of death.”13 The clothing metaphor is picked up in all published translations of the passage, none of which is referenced by Martin. Thus, Theodore Alois Buckley (1850) translates, “But when I obtained the youthful vesture of flesh, what need is there to tell the labours I endured?”14 Likewise, Robert Browning (1875) has, “But when I gained the youthful garb of flesh, The labours I endured, what need to tell?”15 E. P. 10
Martin, “Paul’s Argument,” 77. Martin’s clunky translation of ἡβῶντα as “which are the outward signs of puberty” probably derives from a lexical leap, misapplying the fourth meaning for the verb ἡβάω listed in LSJ, “to have the outward signs of puberty.” 12 See Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Euripides Herakles (2 vols.; Berlin: Weidmann, 1895), 2:258: “Den leib als kleid anzusehen, ist eine aus orphischen kreisen stammende metapher,” citing Pindar, Nimean 11.15 (θνατὰ µεµνάσθω περιστέλλων µέλη); Empedocles 402 (σαρκῶν χιτῶνα); and Euripides, Bacchae 746 (σαρκὸς ἐνδυτά). See also Bond, Euripides Heracles, 384: “flesh is regarded as a cloak as at Ba. 746.” Bond suggests that “there are philosophical undertones,” also citing Empedocles and Pindar, and adding a reference to Plato, Phaedo 87c, where Cebes “likens the soul to a weaver who wears out a succession of cloaks (bodies).” 13 Herc. fur. 548–49 Ἡρακλῆς: κόσµος δὲ παίδων τίς ὅδε νερτέροις πρέπων; Μεγάρα: θανάτου τάδ᾽ ἤδη περιβόλαι᾽ ἀνήµµεθα. 14 Tragedies of Euripides, literally translated with critical and explanatory notes by Theodore Alois Buckley of Christ Church (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1850), 35. 15 Browning, Aristophanes’ Apology: Including a Transcript from Euripides Being the Last Adventure of Balaustion (London: Smith, Elder, 1875), 312. 11
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Coleridge (1938) translates, “After I took on a cloak of youthful flesh . . . ,” and Arthur Sanders Way (1896) similarly has, “Soon as I gathered vestures of brawny flesh, What boots to tell what labours I endured?”16 The most recent English translation (2002) paraphrases a little but still retains the sense common to all the others, “Once the sturdy flesh of youth had clothed my limbs, need I tell of the labours I endured?”17 The phrase is never translated the way Martin suggests. 18 His unusual translation, “After I received [my] bags of flesh, which are the outward signs of puberty . . . ,” appears to construe σαρκὸς περιβόλαι’ as “bags of flesh”; ἡβῶντα is translated by the clause “which are the outward signs of puberty.”19 Even in this literalistic translation, περιβόλαι’ itself could not mean “testicles”; it is the phrase as a whole that would have to be taken to convey the necessary meaning. The word περιβόλαια cannot do this work in isolation. Thus, where Martin subsequently suggests, in his “dynamic translation,” that περιβόλαια indicates “testicles,” this is misleading. Even on Martin’s reading, “testicles” cannot be conveyed by the word περιβόλαια alone.20 Paul, in contrast to Euripides, has περιβόλαιον alone. Not only is the associated phrase from Herc. fur. absent, but περιβόλαιον is singular, which requires Martin to translate “testicle,” singular. The oddity of the expression “instead of a testicle” is itself an indication that the suggested translation is problematic. Martin provides one other text to illustrate the alleged usage, Achilles Tatius and his erotic romance Leuc. Clit. 1.15.2. Martin’s discussion in full is as follows: 16 Euripides, The Complete Greek Drama (ed. Whitney J. Oates and Eugene O’Neill, Jr., in two volumes) vol. 1, Heracles (trans. E. P. Coleridge; New York. Random House, 1938); Arthur Sanders Way, The Tragedies of Euripides in English Verse (London: Macmillan, 1896), 410. 17 Heracles and Other Plays: Heracles, Iphigenia, Among the Taureans, Helen, Ion, Cyclops (trans. John Davie; introduction and notes by Richard Rutherford; Penguin Classics; London: Penguin, 2002), 41. See also Euripides, Herakles (trans. Tom Sleigh; introduction and notes by Christian Wolff; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001): “When I grew up, My arms and legs were sheathed in muscle Tight-woven as a herdsman’s cloak—but why go over All those labours I endured?” (p. 83); and Euripides, Four Plays: Medea, Hippolytus, Heracles, Bacchae (ed. Stephen J. Esposito; Focus Classical Library; Newburyport, MA: Focus/R Pullins, 2002): “And when I attained the cloak of a vigorous body, what need is there to mention the toils I endured?” (p. 197). Similarly, The Complete Greek Tragedies, vol. 3, Euripides (ed. David Grene and Richard Lattimore; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 287–343. 18 Everyone except Martin takes this as a question, reading τί as an interrogative. 19 See n. 11 above. 20 Martin is, to some extent, aware of the difficulty, adding, “Some may interpret Euripides’ statement as referring to the scrotum, but the plural περιβόλαια more likely refers to the testicles rather than the scrotum (ὄσχη), which is singular” (“Paul’s Argument,” 77 n. 7). This admission is telling because of the use of singular περιβόλαιον in 1 Cor 11:15. See further on ὄσχη below.
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Achilles Tatius (Leuc. Clit. 1.15.2) plays on this meaning of περιβόλαιον in his erotic description of a garden in which Clitophon seeks an amorous encounter with Leucippe. Achilles Tatius describes the entwinings of the flowers, embracings of the leaves, and intercourses of the fruits (αἱ τῶν πετάλων περιπλοκαί, τῶν φύλλων περιβολαί, τῶν καρπῶν συµπλοκαί). He portrays this erotic garden by allusions to male and female sexual organs. The term περιπλοκαί alludes to the female hair, the term περιβολαί to the testicles in males, and the term συµπλοκαί to the mixing of male and female reproductive fluid in the female. Achilles Tatius’s description of this garden associates female hair and the testicle in males.21
This passage is also insufficient to establish the desired translation of περιβόλαιον. It is, as Martin points out, an erotic romance, and it is quite possible that Achilles Tatius is intending to evoke sexual intercourse in the choice of imagery in his description of the garden, but the sentence in question does not provide a one-toone correspondence between items in the garden and items in the human anatomy. The phrase τῶν φύλλων περιβολαί, “the overlapping of the leaves,” is a description of an element in the garden that acts as the backdrop for the encounter of the protagonists. If it had been shown on other grounds that περιβόλαιον sometimes carried the meaning “testicle,” it could perhaps have been argued that the image was specially chosen with this in mind, but this is not the case. It is difficult to argue for a new meaning on the basis of an alleged metaphorical usage. Furthermore, the usage here—once again—is plural, and it makes it a weak precedent for the singular περιβόλαιον in 1 Cor 11:15. If there is no basis, then, for translating περιβόλαιον as “testicle” in 1 Cor 11:15, it is worth asking what word(s) Paul might have used if he had intended to convey this meaning. The obvious word for Paul to have used would have been ὄρχις. Martin briefly mentions the word in a footnote, where he observes that it can be used for both testicles and ovaries.22 In another footnote, he mentions ὄσχη as meaning “scrotum.”23 Otherwise, there is no discussion of the alternatives that would have been available to Paul in the alleged unusual usage.
Conclusion If Paul had wished to contrast women’s hair with male testicles in 1 Cor 11:15, we would have expected him to use a plural noun, and the noun of choice would probably have been ὄρχις. There are no known uses of περιβόλαιον to mean “testi21
Martin, “Paul’s Argument,” 77. Ibid., 82 n. 31. 23 Ibid., 77 n. 7. The word κώρυκος can also be used metaphorically for scrotum; LSJ gives Hippiatr. 73 as a reference for this. 22
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cle.” The two examples provided by Martin do not make the case. In Euripides, Herc. Fur. 1269, the term should be translated in a conventional manner as “vestures” along the lines, “youthful vestures of flesh.” In Achilles Tatius, Leuc. Clit. 1.15.2, the term is used of the “overlapping” or “embracing” of the leaves, and an alleged metaphorical usage cannot be the basis for a radical new translation. The interesting ancient medical data may shed light on the kinds of perspectives that Paul and his readers shared with respect to hair, but, in the absence of the necessary lexical basis for the desired translation of 1 Cor 11:15, Martin’s case is not established. There may be good answers to the puzzles thrown up by this passage, but they will not involve translating περιβόλαιον as “testicle.”
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Blessing God and Cursing People: James 3:9–10 dale c. allison, jr. [email protected] Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, Pittsburgh, PA 15206
The Birkat ha-minim, the twelfth blessing in the Shemoneh Esreh or Eighteen Benedictions, has played an important role in some reconstructions of early Christian history.1 In 1964, for example, W. D. Davies urged that, sometime around 85 c.e., the twelfth benediction was reformulated so as to include a curse against Christians: “Let the notserim and minim perish in a moment.” Davies thought this circumstance relevant for understanding the Gospel of Matthew, and especially the Sermon on the Mount, which he interpreted in the light of a growing hostility between the synagogue and followers of Jesus.2
1
For an overview of how NT scholars have read the Birkat ha-minim into the NT, see S. J. Joubert, “A Bone of Contention in Recent Scholarship: The ‘Birkat Ha-Minim’ and the Separation of Church and Synagogue in the First Century AD,” Neot 27 (1993): 351–63. The so-called Palestinian version reads as follows: “For the apostates let there be no hope, and uproot the kingdom of arrogance, speedily and in our days. May the Nazarenes and the sectarians perish as in a moment. Let them be blotted out of the book of life, and not be written together with the righteous. You are praised, O Lord, who subdues the arrogant.” The many textual variants of these words and their relationship to the so-called Babylonian recension of the Amidah are complex issues beyond the scope of this essay. 2 Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), 256–315. Davies claimed, for example, that the undefined “they” of Matt 5:11–12 (“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you”) are opponents in the synagogues (pp. 289–90) and that the appearance of “your synagogues” in 23:34 and “their synagogues” in 4:23; 9:35; 10:17; 12:9; and 13:54 may betray the separation of Matthean Christians from Jewish circles that had instituted the ban (pp. 296–97).
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A few years later, J. Louis Martyn offered a similar thesis regarding John.3 Paying special attention to John 9:22; 12:42; and 16:2, all of which use the term ἀποσυνάγογος, Martyn related portions of the Fourth Gospel to the Birkat haminim, which, he argued, functioned to separate Christians from the synagogue. Since Davies and Martyn wrote in the 1960s, the Birkat ha-minim has been the subject of much critical debate, some of it skeptical of the proposition that Jews formally cursed Christians in the first or second centuries.4 This is not the place for a critical review of that complex discussion.5 Here instead, by way of preface to my argument, I can only express my conviction that recent work has made three propositions more probable than not. First, it is likely that a benediction against the minim goes back to at least the first century.6 Second, even if notserim (= Nazarenes or Nazoraeans, that is, Christians or Jewish Christians) was not added until 100 c.e. or later,7 minim by itself would almost inevitably have brought Jewish Christians to mind in places where they were perceived to be a problem.8 Third, Justin Martyr remains strong testimony to the circumstance that at least some Christians were cursed in some second-century synagogues, whatever the precise prayer(s) or formula(s) may have been. With all this as backdrop, I should like to call attention to a passage in the Epistle of James. The following appears in the middle of the discourse on the tongue in 3:1–12: (8) But no human is able to subdue the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly venom. (9) With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings made in the likeness of God. (10) From one and the same mouth come forth blessings and curses. This need not be, my brothers. (11) Does a spring pour forth from the same opening fresh water and brackish water? (12) Is a fig tree, my brothers, able to make olives, or a grapevine figs? No more than a salt spring can make fresh water. 3 Martyn, History and Theology in the Fourth Gospel (3rd ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2003). 4 See above all Reuben Kimmelmann, “Berkat Ha-Minim and the Lack of Evidence for an Anti-Christian Jewish Prayer in Late Antiquity,” in Jewish and Christian Self-Definition, vol. 2, Aspects of Judaism in the Graeco-Roman Period (ed. E. P. Sanders, with A. I. Baumgarten and Alan Mendelson; Phiadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 226–44; Johann Maier, Jüdische Auseinandersetzung mit dem Christentum in der Antike (EdF 177; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1982); and Daniel Boyarin, Border Lines: The Partition of Judaeo-Christianity (Divinations; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 67–73. 5 For a helpful overview of some of the major contributions, see Pieter W. van der Horst, “The Birkat ha-minim in Recent Research,” ExpTim 105 (1994): 363–68. 6 See David Instone-Brewer, “The Eighteen Benedictions and the Minim before 70 CE,” JTS 54 (2003): 25–44; and Joel Marcus, “Birkat Ha-Minim Revisited,” NTS 55 (2009): 523–51. 7 For the relevant textual evidence, see Uri Ehrlich and Ruth Langer, “The Earliest Texts of the Birkat Haminim,” HUCA 76 (2005): 63–103. They argue against the view that notserim entered the blessing at a secondary stage. 8 See further Marcus, “Birkat Ha-Minim,” 533–37.
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These lines contrast “blessing” (εὐλογοῦµεν/εὐλογία) with “cursing” (καταρώµεθα/κατάρα). This is a natural antithesis, one at home in both Jewish and Christian rhetoric. Illustrations include Gen 12:3 (“I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse”); 27:29 (“Cursed be everyone who curses you, and blessed be everyone who blesses you!”); Num 23:25 (“Balak said to Balaam, ‘Do not curse them at all, and do not bless them at all’ ”); 1QS 2:10 (“All those who enter the covenant will say, after those who pronounce blessings and those who pronounce curses: ‘Amen, amen’ ”); Rom 12:14 (“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them”); and 2 En. A 52:1–4 (“Blessed is he who opens his heart for praise and praises the Lord. . . . Blessed is he who opens his lips, both blessing and praising the Lord. Cursed is he who opens his lips for cursing and blasphemy, before the face of the Lord”).9 Not one of these texts, however, has to do with what we find in James, which is a group of people both blessing God and—perhaps simultaneously10—cursing other people.11 Yet this is precisely what we find also in the twelfth blessing of the Birkat ha-minim, for this immediately follows its curse of human beings—of the minim and notserim—with “Blessed are you, O Lord, who subdue the arrogant.”12 Here, as in James, blessing and curse come from a single mouth: the one who blesses the Lord also, at the very same time, curses human beings. Put otherwise, the Birkat ha-minim, which is a curse that appears amid a series of blessings of God, does exactly what James condemns. There is good cause, in my judgment, to entertain seriously the possibility that this striking parallel is not a coincidence but a key to interpretation: James reflects an environment in which some Jews, unhappy with Jewish Christians, were beginning to use the Birkat ha-minim or something very much like it. At least two reasons, one suspects, have disinclined recent scholars—with one exception to be noted below—to imagine this possibility. One is that many still consider the brother of Jesus to be the real and not just purported author of James. This means that the letter must have been written before his death, which occurred 9 Additional examples include Num 24:9–10; Deuteronomy 30; Ps 62:4 (cf. 1 Clem. 15.3); Prov 3:33; Tob 13:12; Ecclus 33:12; 4Q171 3:9; Philo, Her. 177; T. Levi 4:6. 10 Although most exegetes have thought of the contrasting activities as alternating—on one occasion people praise God, on another they curse people—some have rather supposed that the two activities overlap: even in the midst of religious goings-on, human beings can denounce each other. So, e.g., John Calvin, “The Epistle of James,” A Harmony of the Gospels Matthew, Mark and Luke vol. 3 (1555; Edinburgh: St. Andrew Press, 1972), 291–92; Fenton John Anthony Hort, The Epistle of St. James (London: Macmillan, 1909), 77; C. Leslie Mitton, The Epistle of James (London: Marshall, Morgan and Scott, 1966), 130–31. 11 Psalm 62:4 (“they bless with their mouths, but inwardly they curse”) is not an exception, for here the blessing is not of God but of opponents; see Frank-Lothar Hossfeld and Erich Zenger, Psalms 2: A Commentary on Psalms 51–100 (Hermeneia; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 115. 12 The designation Birkat ha-minim, one should note, is actually a euphemism: the curse is called a blessing.
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in the early sixties;13 yet rabbinic tradition has the Birkat ha-minim being composed or revised after the destruction of the temple.14 It seems to follow that one can hardly have had anything to do with the other. Such a line of reasoning, however, should hold no force for the substantial number of scholars who regard James as a post-70 pseudepigraphon, composed late in the first century or—this is my own opinion—in the first two or three decades of the second century.15 Surely even more significant has been the fact that the vast majority of modern interpreters have read and continue to read James as though it were addressed exclusively to Christians; and since the Birkat ha-minim was not uttered by Christians but against them, it would not occur to such interpreters to read Jas 3:8–9 with the curse against heretics in mind. The problem here, however, is that the letter emphatically does not address itself to Christians, or at least not Christians exclusively. James 1:1 is quite clear: “James, a slave of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, to the twelve tribes that are in the Diaspora: Greetings.” Like Bede, Grotius, and a host of earlier interpreters, we should take this to mean what it says: James purports to address the Jewish Diaspora.16 In line with this, although the author characterizes himself as a Christian, he does not so characterize his readers. There is no “our” with “Jesus Christ” in 1:1. Further, he likewise fails to characterize them as Christian anywhere else, except in 2:1, a verse that is, because of its grammatical peculiarities, almost certainly corrupt.17 The author instead consistently presents himself as addressing Jews in the Diaspora—Jews in general, not Christian Jews in particular.18 This readily explains 13 Josephus (Ant. 20.9) places the death of James during the procuratorship of Porcius Festus (60–62). 14 B. Ber. 28b: “The benediction relating to the minim was instituted in Jabneh. . . . . Our rabbis taught: ‘Simeon ha-Pakuli arranged the eighteen benedictions in order before Raban Gamaliel in Jabneh.’ Said Rabban Gamaliel [who flourished 80–120] to the Sages: ‘Can any one among you frame a benediction relating to the minim?’ Samuel the Small arose and composed it.” 15 See Hubert Frankemölle, Der Brief des Jakobus (2 vols.; ÖTK NT 17/1, 2; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus; Würzburg: Echter, 1994), 1:45–54, 57–62; Ferdinand Hahn and Peter Müller, “Der Jakobusbrief,” TRu 63 (1998): 59–64; Christoph Burchard, Der Jakobusbrief (HNT 15/1; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 2–8; Wiard Popkes, Der Brief des Jakobus (THKNT 14; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2001): 59–69. 16 For a detailed argument to this effect, responses to the standard objections, and references to the relevant secondary literature, see Dale C. Allison, Jr., “The Fiction of James and Its Sitz im Leben,” RB 108 (2001): 529–70. I defend this approach at length in a forthcoming commentary on James (for the ICC). 17 On ἡµῶν Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ as an interpolation—something for which even the conservative Joseph B. Mayor (The Epistle of St. James [3rd ed.; London: Macmillan, 1910], cxciii) thought a “strong case” could be made—see Allison, “Fiction,” 541–43. 18 This is what has allowed some to contend that James was originally a Jewish document, and that its present form has undergone only minimal Christian revision. See L. Massebieau, “L’Épître de Jacques est-elle l’oeuvre d’un chrétien?” RHR 32 (1895): 249–83; Friedrich Spitta, Zur Geschichte und Litteratur des Urchristentums, vol. 2, Der Brief des Jakobus; Studien zum Hirten des
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why the epistle lacks a Christian salutation, why it has no Christian benediction, and why so many have been so puzzled over the lack of specifically Christian theological themes, such as Jesus’ crucifixion, resurrection, or exaltation.19 It further explains why the author rewrites sayings from the Jesus tradition without ever saying so and why 2:1–7 calls the meeting place of the addressees a “synagogue,” a word that everywhere else in the NT means a Jewish assembly or place of gathering.20 One might infer from all this, as did Martin Luther, that James was written by a Jew who did not know much about Christianity.21 But the better explanation is rather that the book poses as an address to the Jewish Diaspora in its entirety. The upshot is that its author does not argue as a Christian to Christians. He rather argues as a Christian to Jews. All this does not mean, of course, that the epistle was actually sent to “the twelve tribes in the Diaspora.” We can no more deduce its real audience from its fictional address than we can infer from 2 Bar. 78:1 (“The letter of Baruch, the son of Neriah, which he wrote to the nine and a half tribes”) that 2 Baruch 78–87 was actually read by the nine and a half tribes in the dispersion. In pseudepigrapha, the named recipients are as fictional as the named authors. Still, given the character of James as a whole and its ostensible addressees (1:1), it seems a safe bet that the author wished his writing to find auditors beyond the church, wished that it be heard not just by Christians but also by Jews who did not follow Jesus, Jews whose sympathy he hoped to win or maintain. I cannot here explore further or defend this understanding of the nature of James but only observe this: when we give 1:1 its natural sense,22 and when we infer that the author hoped his epistle would find its way into the hands of at least some
Hermas (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1896); and Arnold Meyer, Rätsel des Jacobusbriefes (BZNW 10; Gießen: A. Töpelmann, 1930). 19 See Rudolf Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (2 vols.; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1951, 1955), 2:143 (“That which is specifically Christian is surprisingly thin”), and Werner Georg Kümmel, Introduction to the New Testament (rev. ed.; Nashville/New York: Abingdon, 1975), 416 (“the lack of any distinctive Christian message in James”). 20 Matthew 4:23; 6:2; Mark 3:1; 12:39; Luke 4:15; 6:6; John 6:59; 18:20; Acts 6:9; 14:1; Rev 2:9; 3:9; etc. 21 Martin Luther, Table Talk (Luther’s Works 54; ed. Theodore G. Tappert and Helmut T. Lehmann; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1967), 424 (no. 5443): “Some Jew wrote it who probably learned about Christian people but never encountered any. . . . He wrote not a word about the suffering and resurrection of Christ, although this is what all the apostles preached about.” 22 I agree with A. T. Cadoux, The Thought of St. James (London: James Clarke, 1944), 11: “Christians to-day believe that the Church has inherited the privileges of Israel, but if they found a circular letter beginning, ‘My dear fellow Jews,’ they would unhesitatingly conclude that it was written by a Jew to Jews; nor is there less reason for taking the address of this Epistle to mean what it says; while that it was originally taken to mean so would account for its early neglect by the growing Gentile Church. . . .”
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non-Christian Jews, then the chief obstacle to espying a reference to the Birkat haminim in James 3 falls away. Are there, however, any additional reasons, beyond the striking parallelism already observed, for suspecting that 3:8–9 is a direct reference to the Birkat ha-minim? I believe that there are: 1. If, to recall Davies and Martyn, the author of either Matthew or John was familiar with the malediction against heretics, and if the Jewish Christian author of James wrote shortly after those Gospels first appeared, he too would presumably have been aware that the cursing of Christians occurred in some synagogues. The argument is all the stronger because James seems in several respects closely related to traditions now found in Matthew.23 2. James uses both καταρώµεθα and κατάρα. This is noteworthy because Justin Martyr, in likely references to the benediction against heretics, uses that very verb and that very noun. Dialogue with Trypho 16.4 has this: καταρώµενοι ἐν ταῖς συναγωγαῖς ὑµῶν τοὺς πιστεύοντας ἐπὶ τὸν Χριστόν (“cursing in your synagogues those who believe in the Christ”); and 96.2 states: ὑµεὶς γὰρ ἐν ταὶς συναγωγαῖς ὑµῶν καταρᾶσθε πάντων τῶν ἀπ’ ἐκείνου λεγοµένων Χριστιανῶν, ὡς καὶ τὰ ἄλλα ἔθνη, ἃ καὶ ἐνεργῆ τὴν κατάραν ἐργάζονται (“For you curse in your synagogues all those who are called, after him, Christians, just as also the other nations that effectively enact the curse”).24 It is additionally worth noting that, in Dial. 16.4, Justin trails his comments about cursing with a quotation from Isa 57:1–4, which ends by emphasizing sins of speech: “against whom you have opened your mouth, and against whom you have loosened your tongue.” In like manner, Jas 3:9–10 belongs to a little discourse on the transgressions of the tongue (3:1–12). 3. James 3:8–9 seems to echo liturgical language; εὐλογέω + τὸν κύριον (= Krb + hwhy-t)) was a common liturgical idiom, known especially from the Psalms.25 It appears only here in the NT and only one other time before Origen (Mart. Pol
23
See esp. P. J. Hartin, James and the Q Sayings of Jesus (JSNTSup 47; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991); also the collection of essays, Matthew, James, and Didache: Three Related Documents in Their Jewish and Christian Settings (ed. Huub van de Sandt and Jürgen K. Zangenberg; SBLSymS 45; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008). 24 Justin Martyr, Dial. 16.4; 96.2 in Dialogus cum Tryphone (ed. Miroslav Marcovich; PTS 47; Berlin/New York: de Gruyter, 1997), 96–97, 235. On the meaning of these lines see Marcus, “Birkat Ha-Minim,” 532–33. Cf. Dial. 95.4, 234 (τῶν εἰς ἐκεῖνον πιστευόντων καταρᾶσθε); 108.3, 255 (καταρᾶσθαι αὐτοῦ καὶ τῶν πιστευόντων εἰς αὐτὸν παντῶν); 133.6, 301 (καταρᾶσθε . . . τοῖς ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ); and Epiphanius, Pan. 29.9.2 (ed. Karl Holl; GCS 25; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1915), 332 (ἐπικαταράσαι ὁ θεὸς τοὺς Ναζωραίους). 25 Cf. Deut 8:10; Judg 5:2, 9; 1 Chr 29:20; Neh 9:5; Pss 16:7; 26:12; 34:1; 103:1–2, 20–22; 104:1, 35; 115:18; 134:1–2; 135:19–20; Tob 4:19; Ecclus 39:14; Pr Azar 35–66; 1 En. 106:11; etc. Adolf Schlatter notes that James uses not the common Greek εὐχαριστεῖν but the Jewish εὐλογεῖν (Der Brief des Jakobus [1932; Stuttgart: Calwer, 1956], 227).
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19.2).26 This would be consistent with a derivation from Jewish liturgy. The expression in any case readily conjures for readers a communal setting. So too perhaps does the fact that the verbs here are plural: εὐλογοῦµεν, καταρώµεθα. It is no surprise that a number of exegetes, when writing on 3:9, refer to public prayer and even, if only in passing, to the Eighteen Benedictions, with its recurrent Kwrb.27 4. The object of blessing in Jas 3:9 is τὸν κύριον καὶ πατέρα. The compound title is quite unusual.28 It may, then, be worth observing that, in the Eighteen Benedictions, God is blessed as both “Lord” (yy) and “our Father” (wnyb)).29 5. Not only has Jas 3:8–9 moved some commentators, as we have seen, to remark on the Shemoneh Esreh, but, beyond that, a few have called to mind the Birkat ha-minim in particular. James Adamson, commenting on 3:9, wrote these words: “To bless God is the sublimest function of the human tongue; thrice daily the devout Jew recited ‘the Eighteen Benedictions,’ with their ending, ‘Blessed art
26 More common is εὐλογητός with θεός or κύριος, as in Luke 1:68; Rom 9:5; 2 Cor 1:3; Eph 1:3; 1 Pet 1:3. 27 E.g., Spitta, Geschichte, 103; W. E. Oesterley, “The General Epistle of James,” in The Expositor’s Greek Testament (ed. W. Robertson Nicoll; 5 vols.; New York: George H. Doran, n.d.), 4:453; R. J. Knowling, The Epistle of St James (Westminster Commentaries; London: Methuen, 1904), 79–80; H. Maynard Smith, The Epistle of S. James: Lectures (Oxford: B. H. Blackwell, 1914), 187 (James “was here probably thinking of the Eighteen Benedictions which all the Jews were bound to repeat three times a day”); Jacques Marty, L’épître de Jacques: Étude critique (Paris: Libraire Félix Alcan, 1935), 134; Mitton, James, 131; James B. Adamson, The Epistle of James (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1976), 146; Sophie Laws, The Epistle of James (BNTC; London: A. & C. Black, 1980), 155; Peter H. Davids, The Epistle of James: A Commentary on the Greek Text (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), 146; Ralph P. Martin, James (WBC 48; Waco: Word, 1988), 188. Joseph Chaine (L’épître de Saint Jacques [2nd ed.; EBib; Paris: Gabalda, 1927], 85–86) mentions, when explicating 3:9, the Eighteen Benedictions and adds that “les chrétiens seront maudits dans la prière officielle de la Chemoné ‘esré’”; but he draws no direct link between James and the malediction. 28 The title “Lord and Father” seems unattested in Jewish sources, although close are 1 Chr 29:10 LXX (David said, “Blessed are you, κύριε ὁ θεὸς Ἰσραηλ, ὁ πατὴρ ἡµῶν from ages and to ages”); Isa 63:16 LXX (σύ, κύριε, πατὴρ ἡµῶν); Ecclus 23:1 (κύριε, πάτερ, καὶ δέσποτα), 4 (κύριε, πάτερ, καὶ θεέ); 51:4 (κύριον πατέρα κυρίου µου); and Josephus, Ant. 5.93 (ὁ θεός, πατὴρ καὶ δεσπότης τοῦ Ἑβραίων). The double title is rare also in Christian texts, although one may note Clement of Alexandria, Strom. 5.14.134 (ed. Otto Stählin and Ludwig Früchtel; GCS 52; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1985), 417; and perhaps Matt 11:25 = Luke 10:21: πάτερ, κύριε. Good secular parallels exist, however (e.g., Plutarch, Alex. 28.2), and the Corpus Hermeticum knows the phrase as a religious title: Hermes to Tat 2, in Corpus Hermeticum (ed. A. D. Nock and A.-J. Festugière; 4 vols.; Collection des universités de France; Paris: Belles Lettres, 1945–), 1:60 (εὔξαι πρῶτον τῷ κυρίῳ καὶ πατρὶ καὶ µόνῳ); Frag. Varia 23.8, in ibid., 4:23 (πάντων . . . κύριος καὶ πατήρ). 29 “You are praised O Lord” occurs at the end of each benediction. “Our Father” appears in benedictions 4 and 6 of the so-called Palestinian version and in benedictions 5 and 6 of the socalled Babylonian version.
Journal of Biblical Literature 130, no. 2 (2011)
404
Thou, O God.’ But the tongue of blessing can also curse—a reference perhaps to the practice of imprecation but more probably to the disputes and slanders within the community.”30 Although Adamson did not favor finding a reference to the Birkat ha-minim in James nor cite anyone who does (so that it is unclear whether he found the idea in an exegetical predecessor or came up with it on his own), he nonetheless entertained, if only for a moment, the thesis that I am proposing. This is the single such reference I have found in commentaries of the two last hundred years. But if one goes back a bit further in time, one discovers that Adamson is not a solitary voice. The Scottish divine James MacKnight (1721–1800), in his commentary on James, glossed 3:9 with these words: “Perhaps the apostle in this [verse] glanced at the unconverted Jews, who, as Justin Martyr informs us, in his dialogue with Trypho the Jew, often cursed the Christians bitterly in their synagogues.”31 Here James is being read, although tentatively, against the background of those passages in Justin that have played such a large role in modern discussions of the Birkat ha-minim. Shortly before MacKnight, in the middle of the eighteenth century, George Benson (1699–1772) offered these related comments on Jas 3:9–10: “It is said, the jews did often solemnly curse the Christians in their synagogues or places of religious worship. Though that seems not to be here intended by St. James. For the persons addressed were Christians, not unbelieving Jews.”32 It is evident that Benson has read at least one commentator with the view he rejects. Beyond that, the reason he gives for denying that James was envisaging Jews cursing Christians is that the letter addresses the latter exclusively. This reinforces my earlier suggestion that interpreting James as a text written by a Christian to Christians exclusively has probably inhibited scholars from seeing the Birkat ha-minim in Jas 3:9–10. We do not know which commentator gave Benson the interpretation that he rejected. One possibility is Edward Wells (1667–1727), the famous British cartographer and mathematician who also ventured to pen a commentary on the epistles of the NT. His succinct comment on Jas 3:9–10 was this: “The men thus curs’d were the Orthodox Christians curs’d by the unbelieving Jews and Judaizing Believers.”33 Here we seem to have the same proposal as in Adamson, MacKnight, and Benson, but this time it is not qualified or negated. Wells asserted, as though it were obvious, that James had in view Jews who cursed Christians. It is even more likely, however, that Benson had read a contemporary of Wells, the famous English biblical scholar Daniel Whitby (1638–1726), whose A Paraphrase and Commentary on the New Testament was widely read and went through 30
Adamson, James, 146. MacKnight, A New Literal Translation from the Original Greek, of All the Apostolical Epistles (Philadelphia: Thomas Wardle, 1795), 595. 32 Benson, A Paraphrase and Notes on the Seven (Commonly Called) Catholic Epistles (London: J. Waugh & W. Fenner, 1756), 1749. 33 Wells, An Help for the More Easy and Clear Understanding of the Holy Scriptures, being the Epistles of St. James, St. Peter, St. John, and St. Jude (Oxford: James Knapton, 1715), 20. 31
Allison: Blessing God and Cursing People: James 3:9–10
405
many editions in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.34 Whitby’s remarks on Jas 3:9–10 include this sentence: “This the unbelieving Jews did toward the Christians, cursing and anathematizing them in their Synagogues; as Justin Martyr often testifieth to the Face of Trypho the Jew.”35 Like MacKnight, Whitby related Jas 3:9– 10 to Justin’s comments about Jews cursing Christians. And like Wells, Whitby asserted his reading as though it were obvious that Jas 3:9–10 adverts to Christians being cursed in the synagogues. I have been unable to learn whether Whitby had read Wells or whether Wells had read Whitby. Both were engaged in revising their commentaries several times over the same decades, and it is plausible—indeed likely—that at least Wells borrowed from Whitby when producing his work. It is in any case highly improbable that Wells, whose knowledge of extrabiblical Judaism was miniscule, first made the connection with the ancient ban. Whitby is a more likely candidate on that score. Yet he was not much more of an expert on Judaica, and all of his knowledge of the subject was likewise secondhand. One guesses, then, that he borrowed his interpretation of Jas 3:9–10 from someone else. My researches on this matter, however, have come up empty. None of the standard, indispensable interpreters whom everybody read—such as Hugo Grotius (1583–1645), Thomas Manton (1620–1677), and Matthew Poole (1624–1679)— shows any trace of the reading found in Whitby, Wells, Benson, and MacKnight. Nor have I uncovered it in more obscure writings. Its origin remains undetermined. But, as I have not come across any German commentary with this interpretation, I suspect that it originated with a sixteenth-century or early seventeenth-century British scholar who knew Hebrew and worked with rabbinic sources, someone such as Henry Ainsworth (1571–1622), Johannes Buxtorf (1564–1629), or John Weemse (1579–1636). The question, however, remains open. Regardless of who was the first to read Jas 3:9–10 in the light of the Birkat haminim, what counts is that more than one exegete has discerned in the passage a reference to the cursing of Christians in a synagogue. Given this, a question arises: What would have occurred to late first- or early second-century Jews or Jewish Christians when they listened to Jas 3:8–10, if they otherwise knew of the Birkat haminim and how it was being used against followers of Jesus? “No human is able to subdue the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly venom. With it we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings made in the likeness of God. From one and the same mouth come forth blessings and curses. This need not be, my brothers.” I submit that thought of the Birkat ha-minim would have been very near to hand.
34 See D. D. Wallace, Jr., “Whitby, Daniel,” in Dictionary of Major Biblical Interpreters (ed. Donald K. McKim; Downers Grove, IL/Nottingham: InterVarsity, 2007), 1048–52. 35 Daniel Whitby, A Paraphrase and Commentary on the New Testament (2 vols.; 5th ed.; London: Printed for A. Bettesworth et al., 1727), 2:591.
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Term Expiring 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, Marian University, Indianapolis, IN 46222 YVONNE SHERWOOD, University of Glasgow, Glasgow, Scotland, G12 8QQ, United Kingdom LOREN T. STUCKENBRUCK, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, NJ 08542 PATRICIA K. TULL, Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, Louisville, KY 40205 2012:
DAVID L. BARR, Wright State University, Dayton, OH 45435 COLLEEN CONWAY, Seton Hall University, South Orange, NJ 07079 MARY ROSE D’ANGELO, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 THOMAS B. DOZEMAN, United Theological Seminary, Dayton, OH 45406 J. ALBERT HARRILL, Indiana University, Bloomington, IN 47405 PAUL JOYCE, Oxford University, Oxford, OX1 3LD, United Kingdom ELIZABETH STRUTHERS MALBON, Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Blacksburg, VA 24061-0135 TURID KARLSEN SEIM, University of Oslo, N-0315 Oslo, Norway CAROLYN SHARP, Yale University, New Haven, CT 06520 BENJAMIN D. SOMMER, The Jewish Theological Seminary, New York, NY 10027 LOUIS STULMAN, University of Findlay, Findlay, OH 45840 DAVID TSUMURA, Japan Bible Seminary, Tokyo 205-0017, Japan MICHAEL WHITE, University of Texas at Austin, Austin, TX 78712
2013:
JO-ANN BRANT, Goshen College, Goshen, IN 46526 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 LAURA NASRALLAH, Harvard Divinity School, Cambridge, MA 02138 EMERSON POWERY, Messiah College, Grantham, PA 17027 THOMAS RÖMER, Collège de France, Paris, and University of Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland SIDNIE WHITE CRAWFORD, University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Lincoln, NE 68588-0337 DAVID WRIGHT, Brandeis University, Waltham, MA 02454 Editorial Assistants: Monica Brady and Sarah Schreiber, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN 46556 President of the Society: Carol Newsom, Candler School of Theology, Emory University, Atlanta, GA 30322; Vice President: John Dominic Crossan, DePaul University, Chicago, IL 60604; Chair, Research and Publications Committee: Adele Reinhartz, University of Ottawa, Ottawa, ON K1N 6N5 Canada; Executive Director: John F. Kutsko, Society of Biblical Literature, 825 Houston Mill Road, Suite 350, Atlanta, GA 30329. 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. The annual subscription price is US$40.00 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. 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. Copyright © 2011 by the Society of Biblical Literature. The Hebrew and Greek fonts used in JBL are SBL Hebrew and SBL Greek; they are available from www.sblsite.org/Resources/default.aspx. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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The Song of Songs by Christopher W. Mitchell
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by R. Reed Lessing
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Matthew 1:1–11:1 Matthew 11:2–20:34 by Jeffrey A. Gibbs
Luke 1:1–9:50 Luke 9:51–24:53 by Arthur A. Just Jr.
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SOCIETY OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE (Constituent Member of the American Council of Learned Societies) EDITOR OF THE JOURNAL
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130 2 2011
JOURNAL OF
BIBLICAL LITERATURE SUMMER 2011
VOLUME 130, NO. 2
JOURNAL OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE
Differentiation in Genesis 1: An Exegetical Creation ex nihilo Richard Neville
209–226
Sexual Desire? Eve, Genesis 3:16, and hqw#t Joel N. Lohr
227–246
The Story of Saul’s Election (1 Samuel 9–10) in the Light of Mantic Practice in Ancient Iraq Jeffrey L. Cooley
247–261
The Rab Ša}qe}h between Rhetoric and Redaction Jerome T. Walsh
263–279
Did Nehemiah Own Tyrian Goods? Trade between Judea and Phoenicia during the Achaemenid Period Benjamin J. Noonan
281–298
The Dangerous Sisters of Jeremiah and Ezekiel Amy Kalmanofsky
299–312
Suspense, Simultaneity, and Divine Providence in the Book of Tobit Ryan S. Schellenberg
313–327
A Centurion’s “Confession”: A Performance-Critical Analysis of Mark 15:39 Kelly R. Iverson
329–350
Divine Judgment against Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1–11): A Stock Scene of Perjury and Death J. Albert Harrill
351–369
What Do the Gentiles Have to Do with “All Israel”? A Fresh Look at Romans 11:25–27 Jason A. Staples
371–390
Does περιβόλαιον Mean “Testicle” in 1 Corinthians 11:15? Mark Goodacre
391–396
Blessing God and Cursing People: James 3:9–10 Dale C. Allison, Jr.
397–405 US ISSN 0021-9231
