Out-Heroding Herod: Josephus, Rhetoric, and the Herod Narratives (Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity 63)

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Author: Tamar Landau

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Out-Heroding Herod

Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums

Edited by

Martin Hengel (Tübingen), Pieter W. van der Horst (Utrecht), Martin Goodman (Oxford), Daniel R. Schwartz ( Jerusalem), Cilliers Breytenbach (Berlin), Friedrich Avemarie (Marburg), Seth Schwartz (New York)

VOLUME 63

Out-Heroding Herod Josephus, Rhetoric, and the Herod Narratives

by

Tamar Landau

BRILL LEIDEN • BOSTON 2006

Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity has previously been published as Arbeiten zur Geschichte des Antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums (ISSN 0169–734X) This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Landau, Tamar, 1971– Out-heroding Herod : Josephus, rhetoric, and the Herod narratives / by Tamar Landau. p. cm. — (Ancient Judaism and early Christianity = Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums, ISSN 0169–734X ; v. 63) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 90–04–14923–6 (hard : alk. paper) 1. Herod I, King of Judea, 73–4 B.C. 2. Josephus, Flavius — Literary art. 3. Rhetoric, Ancient. 4. Jews — History — 168 B.C.–135 A.D. — Historiography. I. Title. II. Series: Arbeiten zur Geschichte des antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums ; Bd. 63. DS122.3.L36 2006 933’.05092—dc22 2005055309

ISSN 1871–6636 ISBN 90 04 14923 6 © Copyright 2006 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill Academic Publishers, Martinus Nijhoﬀ Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Brill provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

For my parents, with everlasting love

mh prosdok≈ntaw ploÊth na se d≈sei h |yãkh. H |yãkh sÉ edvse tÉ vra¤o taje¤di. Xvr¤w autÆn den yãbgainew ston drÒmo. Alla den °xei na se d≈sei pia. Ki an ptvxikÆ thn breiw, h |yãkh den se g°lase. Etsi sofÒw pou °ginew, ue tÒsh pe¤ra, Ædh ya to katãlabew h |yãkew ti shma¤noun

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey, Without her you wouldn’t have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you ﬁnd her poor, Ithaka won’t have failed you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, You’ll have understood then what these Ithakas mean. C. P. Cavafy, Ithaka For in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it oﬀends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant—it out-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. W. Shakespeare, Hamlet 3.2

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements .................................................................... Abbreviations ..............................................................................

ix xiii

Introduction ................................................................................

1

I. Historiographies .................................................................. II. Herod’s Portrait in the Jewish War .................................. III. Herod’s Portrait in the Jewish Antiquities .......................... Conclusion ..................................................................................

39 69 115 187

Appendix One—Modern Scholarship ...................................... Appendix Two—BJ 1.201–673/AJ 14.156–17.200: An Outline of the Parallel Narratives .................................... Appendix Three—Rhetorical Tools in Use in BJ and AJ outside the Herod Narratives ..................................................

203

245

Bibliography .............................................................................. General Index ............................................................................

251 259

225

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book is a revised version of my doctoral dissertation, submitted at Oxford in 2003. I have since left Oxford and academic life and returned to my native Israel. In many ways, this book is no mere revision but a revisit. Delving back into Josephan research has not been easy, but it was a rewarding experience. Not many get the opportunity to live a former phase of life with newly-acquired wisdom and hindsight. I chose to include my doctoral acknowledgements almost intact, since my deep thanks and proudly declared aﬀections have hardly changed since the summer of 2003. Looking back, Cavafy was right. There was no way to know where my journey would take me to when I ﬁrst set out on the way to my own Ithaka in September 1997. The journey was not without adventures. Cyclopes and Laistrygonians aside, any excursion towards a doctoral dissertation is bound to be, to quote Cavafy, ‘full of adventures, full of discovery’. It is time now to oﬀer my deep thanks for many who made this journey possible and very enriching. Initial thanks goes for Corpus Christi College and the Faculty of Oriental Studies, University of Oxford, for admitting me into Oxford and enabling the long stay there, and providing for research trips and conference attendance in Toronto, Paris and Jerusalem. Corpus has been a warm and friendly place to reside and work. My greatest academic debt goes to my supervisors, Martin Goodman and Christopher Pelling. Martin’s down to earth approach and sharp critical eye kept me on track and prevented many distractions and diversions. Chris’s penchant for literary theory and enviable command of Greek and Latin historiography and literature was illuminating and eye-opening. I was even more fortunate to enjoy their creative minds, warm sense of humour and wise counsel. I also wish to thank Jonathan Price and Irad Malkin of Tel Aviv University for their long-lasting and steadfast support and advice, Erich Gruen (Berkeley) and Aviad Kleinberg (Tel Aviv) for their illuminating suggestions during the process of revision, John Marincola (Florida) for his generosity and willingness to provide yet unpublished material, my good friends Sylvie Honigman (Tel Aviv) and Steve Mason

x

acknowledgements

(Toronto) for continuous brainstorming on ancient historiography and true support, and last but not least, Martin Ostwald of Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania, for sowing the ﬁrst seeds of academic enthusiasm and conﬁdence in me. I could not have made this journey without my loving family and dear friends in four continents. My family in Israel deserves special thanks for making this big investment and believing it will work out even when my own faith has foundered. My debt to them is enormous and my love for them deepest. Thank you Dad, Ariel Landau, for planting love for all things Greek in me with Odyssey bedtime stories, and for your genuine wisdom and knowledge. I could not have gone to Oxford and back without your all-encompassing support and encouragement, ﬁnancial and otherwise. I dedicate this book ﬁrst and foremost to you. Thank you Ronny, for convincing me to go to England in the ﬁrst place, and for many a tranquil moment upon returning home during our walks together. Thank you aunt Ella, Professor Ella Landau-Tasseron, for reminding me of my capabilities whenever encouragement was needed. Thank you my brothers Nati and Amichai, for asking me repeatedly when I was coming home and taking care of Puella. Thank you Mum, Bella Orion, and Keren, Gideon and Daniel for being there lovingly even from afar in Los Angeles, and Grandmother Lily for still cooking my favourite childhood meals. Thank you my best friends in Israel: Carmit and Israel Halpert, Zehavit Ben-Hillel, and Anat Shchori for standing by me in good times and bad, making me laugh and sustaining six years of hefty overseas phone bills. Your unconditional support and encouragement, good advice and warm aﬀection have made me a better person. I love you all. Life would not be the same without you. In Oxford, life brought on new friendships that very quickly retained deepness and pleasure and happily remained intact even after I left. Thank you my ﬂatmates, Maria Kouroumali, Peter Sherlock and Regine May for making our Liddell Building ﬂat a home away from home. Thank you Jane Barton, for your warmth, wisdom and sharp sense of humour. Todah, Milette Gaifman, for a great new friendship and many entertaining coﬀees and cinema matinees. And, at last, but certainly not least: this book would not have come to life if not for the AJEC Series board of editors and the pleasant and eﬃcient Brill team: Alinda Damsma, Ivo Romein and

acknowledgements

xi

Kim Fiona Plas who made sure I kept my deadlines and provided much needed help and support. The most valuable lesson Oxford has taught me was to notice and follow the changing tides of life. This is never easy. Sometimes, those new roads seem unappealing and daunting. But I have come to realise that new adventures and discoveries wait to be unfolded along the way even outside the ivory tower. I am grateful for what my Ithaka has shown me so far, and am much looking forward to making the next leg of my journey. T. L. Ramat Hasharon, Israel, 2005

ABBREVIATIONS

Ab Urb. AJ ANRW B.Shab. Bciv. BJ BJP BJug. CA CA CPh De. Or. FrGH GRBS Hist.Consc. JHS JJS JRS JSJ LCL LSJ LXX NH PT REPW Rhet. Alex. RICH SCI VC VT

Livy, Ab Urbe Condita Antiquitates Judaicae Aufstieg und Niedergang Der Roemische Welt Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat tractate Appian, Bellum Civile Bellum Judaicum Brill Josephus Project Sallust, Bellum Jugurthinum Contra Apionem Classical Antiquity Classical Philology Cicero, De Oratore Fragmente der Griechische Historiker Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies Lucian, Quomodo Historia Conscribenda Sit Journal of Hellenic Studies Journal of Jewish Studies Journal of Roman Studies Journal for the Study of Judaism Loeb Classical Library H. G. Liddell, R. Scott & H. T. Jones: Greek-English Lexicon The Septuagint Pliny, Historia Naturalis Poetics Today Real Encyclopaedie Pauli Wissowa Aristotle, Rhetorica ad Alexandrum A. J. Woodman, Rhetoric in Classical Historiography: Four Studies Scripta Classica Israelica Nicolaus, Vita Caesaris Vetus Testamentum

INTRODUCTION

The spectacle of human activity which forms [history’s] particular object is, more than any other, designed to seduce the imagination—above all when, thanks to its remoteness in time or space, it is adorned with the subtle enchantment of the unfamiliar.1 Marc Bloch

Writing in seclusion, under cover, at the height of World War II, the French-Jewish historian Marc Bloch had all the reasons to resist the dubious temptation of ‘the spectacle of human activity’. Nevertheless, his last, tragically uncompleted and very personal work is a proud testimony of a mind still enchanted by the unfamiliar turned into gruesome reality. It is the aware and gentle succumbing to the temptation of history that caught my attention in Bloch’s account of our profession. A similar, perhaps surprising surrender to the spell of history is what I have also found in Josephus’ accounts of the life of King Herod of Judea. The human activity in Herod’s court and country is (still) considered by all means a fascinating spectacle. But Josephus’ accounts of the history of King Herod seem to have surpassed the initial fascination. If we were to lay the historian’s hat aside for a moment and judge the Herod narratives by their literary merit, we would realize that both accounts retain an even higher dramatic quality than their plot initially has. Indeed, Herod’s trials and tribulations have a highly dramatic content. But Josephus, to borrow Shakespeare’s phrase, seems to have out-Heroded Herod. Meticulously applying rhetorical devices, and consciously allowing the penetration of emotions to his historical writing, Josephus created highly-charged accounts whose themes and rhetorical tricks often seem to transcend the particular story of Herod to more universal interests.

1

M. Bloch, The Historian’s Craft (Eng. Tr. 1992: 7).

2

introduction

This book focuses on Josephus’ implementation of rhetorical techniques in the two Herod narratives (BJ 1.204–673; AJ 14–17.199). The fact that there are two accounts of the same period in two diﬀerent works by the same author is in itself a puzzle, which I shall address below. My initial assumption, which will hopefully be justiﬁed through the analysis of the texts, is that the narratives display the work of a conscientious and aware historian, who is well versed in Greco-Roman historiography and literature, well attuned to his prospective audience and very well in touch with his own political and moral agenda, even when embracing that ‘subtle charm of the unfamiliar’. It is also my contention that in the Herod narratives, Josephus mainly relies upon, and reacts to, the Greco-Roman historiographical tradition (rather than the Jewish). Nevertheless, it has to be said that the Jewish element in the Herod narratives, although faint, is still present, mainly in the level of ideas.2 Josephus’ works cannot begin to be understood unless we learn to read them in their multicultural context of the Jewish and the Greco-Roman traditions—each of which multifaceted and complex by its own right, and acknowledge the possibility of inﬂuences from both angles alike.3 Josephus was neither an exclusively ‘Jewish’ historian nor distinctively Greek or Roman, however much any of those historiographical traditions could at all be deﬁned distinctively. His writings represent a blend of all three facets in his career, education and culture. True, one should be somewhat wary of the historian’s tendency to ﬁnd the exclusive key for interpreting written works in light of their author’s biography. However, and despite the further complexities, in the case of Josephus it seems helpful to keep an open mind and look for the context of the texts we are reading, both the literary and theoretical context within the works in ques-

2 I shall survey the Greco-Roman and Jewish historiographical traditions in chapter 1 below. The Herod narratives of the BJ and AJ will be examined in chapters 2 and 3 respectively. 3 By that I do not mean that the detection of external inﬂuences and a historical context is easier or more accessible than the analysis of the text itself. Rather, I believe that probing into the context (which can at times be equally evasive as the text in question) might shed more light on the subject matter. H. White, ‘The Historical Text as Literary Artifact’, comments on the illusion that the context of a literary (or historical) work is indeed more ‘real’ or ‘accessible’ than the work itself, and explains why this isn’t so (in B. Fay, P. Pomper & R. T. Vann (eds.), History and Theory: Contemporary Readings (Oxford, Blackwell 1998: 15–33, here p. 23).

introduction

3

tion and the broader cultural and political context. That process might not have the promise of a ﬁnite answer, but it could further illuminate our evaluation of Josephus’ art of writing. Before embarking on my task, let me ﬁrst draw attention to the main elements in my interpretation. Josephus: The Man When the idea to work on Josephus ﬁrst came to my mind, it arrived with some hesitation. For a native Israeli, Josephus Flavius (as he is known there, following the Jewish, not the Roman order of names) was always ‘The Traitor’, or alternatively (and not without contradiction), the eulogist of the Masada rebels and the recorder of heroic events.4 For me, as for many Israelis, Josephus has been ﬁrst and foremost the deserter, the opportunist coward who preferred life to heroic death, indeed chose a very comfortable Roman life over the grim reality of Judea during and after the revolt in 66 ce. But there was another side to that political opportunist, an aspect which Jews and Israelis accepted, eventually, despite themselves: For if it were not for Josephus, we would not have had the detailed and impressive history of the revolt against Rome. We would never have heard

4

The major responsible for the re-reading of the story of Masada in Josephus as an account of heroism and praise was Y. Yadin in his seminal work Masada, Herod’s Fortress and the Zealots’ Last Stand (Eng. Tr. 1966). Indeed, the communis opinio in Israel concerning Josephus’ portraiture of the Jewish rebels stands in contradiction with the text itself: whereas Josephus’ portrait of the rebels (whose identiﬁcation as Zealots rather than Sicarii by Yadin is today questionable) is decidedly negative, and he explicitly puts the blame for the crushing defeat on them (BJ 1.10–11), Israelis generally maintain that the Zealots were heroes, that they fought for their country and faith, and that their heroism was immortalised in Josephus, especially in the Masada account. Following the decision made by UNESCO to grant Masada a ‘world heritage site’ status (2002), the Masada debate was rekindled over the editorial pages of Haaretz newspaper with two articles by Arieh Barne’a (5/11/2002) and the reply by Ron Huldai and Michal Lanir (10/11/02). The tenor of both articles (the ﬁrst warning against regarding the extremist Sicarii as role models, the second re-establishing their acts as a ﬁght for freedom) indicates that this is still a tender issue for Israelis. It is, however, telling (if not expected) that both articles regard the account in Josephus, and especially Eleazar’s speeches at Masada, at face value. On Josephus’ account of Masada see S. J. D. Cohen, ‘Masada: Literary Tradition, Archaeological Remains, and the Credibility of Josephus’, JJS 33 (1982: 385–405) and D. J. Ladouceur, ‘Josephus and Masada’ in L. H. Feldman and G. Hata (eds.), Josephus, Judaism, and Christianity (1987: 95–113). See also B. R. Shargel, ‘The Evolution of the Masada Myth’, Judaism 28 (1979: 357–371).

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of, let alone admired, the Jewish rebels in the Galilee and Masada. In short, we would have known much less about that pivotal period of Jewish history, later turned into one of the most prominent charter myths of the state of Israel.5 Josephus, in other words, is a ﬁgure full of contradictions, which often result in slight discomfort for Israelis, Jews and others.6 He was a Helleniser and Romaniser, but a prodigy in Jewish scholarship (Vita 1–13). He was a protégé of Vespasian and Titus, but came from a distinguished family of priestly and royal descent. He was the commander of the Galilee in the revolt (66–67 ce), but probably chose to live his later life in a nice villa in Rome. He admired the Jewish religion and history but hated some Jews. All of that, then, occupied my mind when, a few years ago, I encountered Josephus once more, this time as a graduate student in Oxford. I discovered a complex and clever historian, a man well versed in both the Jewish and Greco-Roman cultures, whose conscientious and emotional writing could only hint at the deep eﬀects his own life history had on his mindset. It is virtually impossible to settle the myriad contradictions that Josephus presents us with, whether in his life or his writing. The only way to come to terms with his many facets is, in fact, to accept them and learn to appreciate that contradiction in Josephus’ case is not necessarily debilitating, but can be fruitful, enriching and informative. In order to do so, we must ﬁrst learn something about Josephus, the man and the historian. Flavius Josephus was born Yosef ben Matityahu (or Matthias) in Jerusalem in the year 37 ce. His ancestry, he tells us, ‘is rather dis5 On Jewish and Israeli reception of Josephus see e.g. P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, His Works and Their Importance (1988: 15–17). Bilde points out that Jews, and later Israelis, have long tended to view Josephus with suspicion and resentment. Such an approach also inﬁltrated Josephan research, e.g. I. Baer, ‘Jerusalem at the time of the Great Revolt’ (Hebrew), Zion 37 (1972: 127–190). While Baer’s philological analysis of Josephus is impressive, his initial assumptions are somewhat positivistic, his tone is surprisingly emotional and clearly anti-Josephan and his conclusions concerning Josephus’ historiographical competence are that he is a liar, distorter of facts and shameless plagiarist of earlier Greek sources. I can testify from my own experience that Bilde’s observation is correct and Baer’s treatment of Josephus is not rare. Josephus still stirs negative emotions among his compatriots even after two millennia. On some problems in traditional Jewish, Christian and scholarly reception of Josephus see also S. Mason, Josephus and the New Testament (1992: 7–34). 6 Bilde, Flavius Josephus, 13–26. Mason, ibid.

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tinguished, having originated with priests long ago (ÉEmo‹ d¢ g°now §stin oÈk êshmon, éllÉ §j ﬂer°vn ênvyen katabebhkÒw)’.7 He grew up in Jerusalem and already as a child, he says, he was known as a prodigy in Jewish scholarship. He later ventured to try for himself the three Jewish sects or ‘philosophies’—Sadducees, Pharisees and Essenes—and after having spent three years as a hermit in the desert, he returned to Jerusalem. Being young, noble and educated he soon took part in a diplomatic embassy to Rome (61 ce). There, appealing on the behalf of Jewish priests who were taken captive, he made the ﬁrst step on his way to Rome and acquainted himself with an actor named Aliturus, a friend of Nero, and with Nero’s wife Poppaea. His eloquence and political cunning must have been an advantage, as the captive priests were soon released.8 Back in Judea, clouds of war were beginning to gather. The idea of an uprising against Rome was gaining momentum, but Josephus, who was later to take an active part in the revolt, professed to have attempted to convince the promoters of sedition to acquiesce (Vita 17), but to no avail. Eventually, the young Josephus received the command of the Galilee (66–67 ce),9 and remained there until the fall of Jotapata in 67. His survival in Jotapata (having breached a mass suicide pact) and defection to the Roman side (with his prophetic dream, or lucky political bet, about Vespasian becoming an emperor),10 has won him the bad reputation from which he suﬀers to this day. From 66–70 ce Josephus served Vespasian and Titus as mediator and interpreter in Judea. He then went to Rome, a free man, and settled in Vespasian’s old villa where he enjoyed aﬃnity to the

7 Vita 1.1. I quote here the new translation by S. Mason (Brill Josephus Project (BJP) vol. 9 (2001: 3–4). Most of the information we have on Josephus’ life comes from his autobiography, written towards the end of the ﬁrst century ce (ca. 94–95) as a supplement to his magnum opus, the Antiquitates Judaicae. Verifying the self-professed information in the Vita may of course be problematic: given both the peculiar structure and focus of the Vita, and the fact that there is very little external mention of Josephus, we simply have to believe him. All details below are extracted from the Vita, 1–17. 8 Vita 13–16. This anecdotal account is again the only source for the event. On this episode see Mason, BJP 9 (2001: 24–26, esp. notes 110–113). 9 Most of the Vita (28–421) is dedicated to relating a period of about 6 months in the year 66 ce, during Josephus’ command of the Galilee. A parallel account, including a more lurid description of the fall of Jotapata and Josephus’ subsequent defection, is related in BJ 3. 10 BJ 3.400–403. This prophecy, of course, should not be taken as face value but as a rhetorical ornamentation.

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Flavian court, mingling with Roman aristocracy (Romans, Greeks and a few Jews including his old acquaintance King Agrippa II and his sister Berenice) and, among all that, writing four works: two historical accounts, the Bellum Judaicum (ca. 75 or 79–81 ce)11 and the extensive Antiquitates Judaicae (ca. 93–95); an autobiography (Vita, ca. 95 ce) which supplemented the AJ,12 and one more work, Contra Apionem, which is essentially an apologetic treatise in favour of the Jews, written to rebut anti-Semitic propaganda (ca. 100 ce). Josephus died in Rome not long after that,13 having bequeathed to posterity his invaluable accounts of the history of Judea and the Jews of his time. Josephus: The Historian Modern analyses of the historical method of Josephus abound.14 Many, too, are the contentions regarding his historical craft: from the old notions of Josephus as mere copyist and compiler of sources15 to very recent opinions focusing not necessarily on his ability as his-

11 Modern scholars diﬀer in their contentions regarding the date of publication of the BJ. See e.g. M. Stern, ‘The Date of Composition of the Jewish War’ (Hebrew), in Stern, Studies in Jewish History of the Second Temple Period (Hebrew, 1991: 402–407), and Cohen, Galilee and Rome, 84–90. 12 Regarding the Vita as a direct and inseparable continuation of the AJ is a fairly recent development in modern scholarship. A convincing reasoning for that is outlined by Rajak, Josephus, 13–14 and Mason, BJP 9 (2001: xiv–xv). 13 We have no exact date of his death. 14 I shall present only an outline of the main trends of Josephan research here. Appendix 1 below contains a more detailed survey of Josephan scholarship, for the keen reader. Modern Josephan scholarship has been addressing the issue of Josephus’ historical method from early in the 20th century, with much varied emphases and conclusions: see e.g. R. Laqueur, Der Juedische Historiker Flavius Josephus (1920) and H. StJ. Thackeray, Josephus: the Man and the Historian (1929). Recent works focusing on Josephus’ historical method include P. Villalba I Varneda, The Historical Method of Flavius Josephus (1986), G. E. Sterling, Historiography and Self-Deﬁnition: Josephos, LukeActs and Apologetic Historiography (1991) and G. Mader, Josephus and the Politics of Historiography: Apologetic and Impression Management in the Bellum Judaicum (2000)—all surveyed in appendix 1. 15 This has been the governing opinion of German scholars (e.g. Hoelscher) in the late 19th and early 20th century, who put the main emphasis of their research on source-criticism or Quellenkritik. This line of research has long been abandoned in Josephan studies. On the problems of source-criticism in relation to Josephus see e.g. R. J. H. Shutt, Studies in Josephus (1961: 87–90), the second chapter in Cohen, Galilee and Rome, 24–65, and Mason, New Testament, 26–30.

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torian but on the political undercurrents that supposedly govern his writing.16 We see a gamut of opinions concerning how, and why, Josephus writes history. Modern Josephan scholarship, from the late 19th century onwards, has evolved considerably both in methodology and in its view, and value of, Josephus as a historian. After more than a century of detailed research, the question of Josephus’ wider generic and cultural aﬃliations still remains open. Josephus’ vast corpus and heterogenic style practically makes it impossible to deﬁne him in any one way. Rather, his variety of styles and many inﬂuences call for varied manners of deﬁnition: from a mere compiler and shameless plagiarist of earlier sources17 to following the Greco-Roman historiographical tradition;18 from a historian well-versed in Jewish literature19 and Jewish apologist20 to pro-Flavian propagandist. Alternatively, scholars in recent years tend to view Josephus almost as a genre of his own, combining elements from both the Greco-Roman and the Oriental and Jewish historiographical traditions,21 and addressing audiences from both cultures. Josephan scholarship from the early Eighties onwards has had the tendency to understand and interpret Josephus more in the light of Greco-Roman historiography. Research in recent years is increasingly inclined towards acknowledging the many explicit allusions to Greek literature, poetry and philosophy, and the more understated inﬂuences from Hellenistic and perhaps Roman historians. The growing tendency is to leave aside the interpretation of those inﬂuences as a testimony for Josephus’ reliance upon assistants, or a mark of his methodological weakness. Rather, it is preferable to view them

16

See e.g. Mader, op. cit. E.g. I. Baer, ‘Jerusalem at the time of the Great Revolt’. 18 See e.g. Cohen, Galilee and Rome, 24–33; 90–91; 110–114. 19 E.g. S. J. D. Cohen, ‘Parallel Historical Tradition in Josephus and Rabbinic Literature’ in D. Schwartz (ed.), Studies in Jewish History of the Second Temple Period (Hebrew, Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar/Ha-Hevrah Ha-Historit Ha-Israelit 1996: 117–124). 20 E.g. Sterling, Self Deﬁnition, Mader, Politics, and although not as a principal thesis, H. R. Moehring, ‘The Acta Pro Judaeis in the Antiquities of Flavius Josephus: A Study in Hellenistic and Modern Apologetic Historiography’, in J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults: Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty, part 3: Judaism before 70 (1975: 124–158). 21 E.g. P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus; Feldman, ‘Revisited’; Rajak, ‘Archaeology’. 17

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as a sign of his conﬁdence and ﬂexibility in writing history.22 It seems to me that this shift in research emphasis and interpretation of Josephus is right, and could be further corroborated by recent theoretical shifts in modern Greco-Roman research that point to greater ﬂexibility of generic borders (between historiography and other genres, and within diﬀerent historiographical traditions), and a greater acknowledgement of the individuality and creativity of each historian by his own right.23 I intend to follow this line of thought in my own analysis of the Herod narratives and hope to demonstrate that indeed, Josephus’ complexity and diversity is not a weakness of his writing, but its very strength. Tackling the issue of Josephus’ historical method is a complex and manifold process. Likewise, there are many interpretations and suggestions concerning his art of writing history. The plethora of opinions on the matter indicates yet again that one indeed cannot harness the entire Josephan corpus into one set of historiographical conventions, nor provide a single interpretation for the form and manner of any of his works. It is precisely this complexity that I wish to bring forward as the main characteristic of Josephan writing. Complexity and variety, however, do not mean lack of thematic focus, or methodological vagueness on Josephus’ side. On the contrary: his personal comments are many, and his explicit methodological declarations sometimes contain much more than they initially reveal. Although Josephus’ inclusion within the Greco-Roman tradition24

22 See e.g. S. Mason, Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives (Sheﬃeld 1998) and his BJP commentaries; Ullman and Price, ‘Drama and History’; Moehring, ‘Acta’ (op. cit. n. 20), et al. 23 Among the most inspiring examples are the recent articles by J. Marincola, ‘Genre, Convention and Innovation in Greco-Roman Historiography’ in C. S. Kraus (ed.), The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts (1999: 281–324); ‘Beyond Pity and Fear: The Emotions in History’ Ancient Society 33 (2003: 285–315); and the forthcoming ‘Towards a New Interpretation of Tragic History’. 24 The question whether Josephus was a ‘Jewish’ or a ‘Greco-Roman’ historian has long been on the minds of modern scholars and the answers, naturally, are manifold. The tendency to include Josephus within the Greco-Roman historical corpus, or at least to detect distinctive Greco-Roman traits in his works side by side with his Jewish convictions, has been growing steadily for the past two decades, as mentioned above. To name a few more examples: A. Eckstein, ‘Josephus and Polybius: A Reconsideration’, CA 9.2 (1990: 175–208); S. J. D. Cohen, ‘Josephus, Jeremiah and Polybius’, History and Theory 21 (1982: 366–381); L. H. Feldman, ‘The Inﬂuence of the Greek Tragedians on Josephus’ in A. Ovadiah (ed.), Hellenic and Jewish Arts: Interaction, Tradition and Renewal (1998: 51–80); L. Ullman and J. J. Price,

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seems to me to be the more plausible research assumption especially in reference to the Herod narratives, I will not assume this suggestion to be all-inclusive and deﬁnitive.25 Instead, I would like to try to accommodate the internal diﬀerences apparent throughout Josephus’ writing and view them as an inevitable outcome of the work of a proliﬁc and conscientious historian, whose immediate and theoretical environment seems to have been equally diversiﬁed. My purpose here is to oﬀer a ﬁrst glimpse into Josephus’ own perception of history and the historian’s craft (to use Bloch’s term).26 Of course, everything Josephus has to say about history must be taken with a pinch of salt, for the inclusion of methodological declarations is a commonplace in Greco-Roman historiography, and historians might not necessarily follow their initial declarations (even if the discrepancy is not always as sharp as S. Cohen states: “we may suppose these pronouncements not to be taken seriously”).27 I will nevertheless begin by examining some of Josephus’ explicit contentions about history and writing history. With generic conventions and rhetorical preferences taken into account, I believe we can still have a taste of Josephus’ methodological preferences by looking at what he has to say about it. This will also set the stage for the analysis of the Herod narratives. In the proem to his ﬁrst historical account, the BJ (1.1–30), Josephus follows in the footsteps of predecessors like Thucydides and Polybius and refers to the greatness of the event (pÒlemon . . . m°giston, 1.1; genom°nou gãr . . . meg¤stou toËde toË kinÆmatow, 1.4), the inadequacy of former accounts of the revolt (1.2, 7–8), his own superior credentials (1.3), and then takes his own stance as to the method and manner

‘Drama and History in Josephus’ BJ’ in SCI 21 (2002: 97–112); T. Rajak, Josephus; H. H. Chapman, Spectacle and Theater in Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum (PhD. Diss. Stanford 1998). 25 Any provisional hypotheses here refer ﬁrst and foremost to the subject of my examination, the Herod narratives, as I will demonstrate in chapters 2 and 3 below. I am aware that other parts of the Josephan corpus may be better interpreted in light of other hypotheses. 26 I will return to discussing the main trends of modern scholarship in detail in appendix 1. 27 Cohen, Galilee and Rome, 28 (24–33). On Josephus’ methodological assertions as part of the Greco-Roman convention see also P. Collomp, ‘La Place de Josèphe dans la Technique de l’Historiographie Hellenistique’ in Publications de la Faculté des Lettres de l’Universite de Strasbourg 106: Etudes Historiques (1947: 81–92).

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of relating the great events in question (1.9–16). All of the above is typical of Greco-Roman historians.28 Josephus’ methodological declaration deserves closer attention. Indeed, the very existence of such a declaration points to his adoption of Greco-Roman conventions and commonplaces, but within the general frame his individual voice can be heard. As may perhaps be expected of an Atticising historian, he promises to write an account ‘with accuracy’ (metÉ ékribe¤aw . . . di°jeimi, 1.9), echoing Thucydides’ key concept for historical inquiry. He also outlines the methodological advantages of writing about contemporary events (13–16). This all sounds very Greek, but Josephus does not refrain from criticising those very Greeks for their disregard of ‘historical truth’ (t∞w ﬂstor¤aw élhy°w, 1.16). An interesting display of Josephus’ individual preferences occurs earlier in the proem (1.9–12) where the historian, immediately after outlining his (seemingly Thucydidean) method of inquiry, declares in addition that he cannot hide his personal sentiments, ‘nor refuse to give my personal sympathies scope to bewail my country’s misfortunes’ (ka‹ to›w §mautoË pãyesi didoÁw §polofÊresyai ta›w t∞w patr¤dow sumfora›w, 1.9). The inclusion of emotion, pãyow, in a historical account can be traced to another historiographical style within Greco-Roman historiography, which is still known as ‘Tragic History’.29 Tragic historiography, or more accurately, historiography that tended to include and emphasise emotions and follow ‘tragic patterns’ (to use H. White’s term), was usually rejected by some historians (e.g. Polybius 2.56.3.5–13) who had taken to the Thucydidean style and saw accuracy and precision as the main objectives of writing history (they also generally abstained from explicit emotional accounts). Many historians did in practice include emotions, and use rhetoric, in their accounts despite their initial declarations along those lines. But here, Josephus alludes in his own voice to both traditions, and seems to consider both as equally important components of his methodology.30 28

See e.g. Herodotus 1.1–5; Thucydides 1.1, Polybius 1.1–3, Sallust BJ 5. See e.g. F. Walbank, ‘History and Tragedy’ (despite his misgivings about that title), Historia 9 (1960: 216–234). More recent essays on emotions in ancient historiography include Marincola, ‘Emotions’, and D. Levene, ‘Pity, Fear and the Historical Audience: Tacitus on the Fall of Vitellius’, in S. M. Braund & C. Gill (eds.), The Passions in Roman Thought and Literature (1997: 128–149). 30 Likewise, modern interpretations may beneﬁt from acknowledging the fact that 29

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Josephus seems to be giving himself both a historical and a poetic licence to write the account of the fall of Jerusalem with both accuracy and emotionalism. Furthermore, he is fully aware of the danger of contradiction between his promise to be precise and his natural tendency to be emotional. From the provisional critic of his method he requests ‘indulgence for a compassion which falls outside an historian’s province’ (didÒtv parå tÚn t∞w ﬂstor¤aw nÒmon suggn≈mhn t“ pãyei, 1.11). Josephus concludes his appeal for emotions with a very clear partition between history and the historian: Should, however, any critic be too austere for pity, let him credit the history with the facts, the historian with the lamentations (tå m¢n prãgmata tª ﬂstor¤& proskrin°tv, tåw dÉ ÙlofÊrseiw t“ grãfonti, 1.12).

Josephus’ declaration is indeed rare in its explicitness, but perhaps not unique. Polybius, Diodorus and Velleius also commented on the diﬃculty for history to embrace strong emotions and display them.31 However, Josephus’ comment seems to be exceptional in that it takes the question of accommodating emotions in historiography one step further. Josephus not only notices the diﬃculty but also oﬀers a methodological solution that recognises both the importance of historical inquiry ( ﬂstor¤a) and the narration (éfhgÆsiw)—both controlled by the historian.32 The initial contradiction between historical inquiry and the display of emotions is settled when one separates the author from the text. Instead of a discrepancy, Josephus here creates a combination

emotions seemed to be an integral part of historiography even for historians (like Polybius and Tacitus) whose quest for accuracy and pragmatism were explicit trade marks. On emotions in Tacitus, and the importance of modern acknowledgement of them, see Levene, ‘Fear and Pity’, 149. On Polybius’ criticism of Phylarchus and a new way of interpreting it see Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 295–302, and ‘Towards a New Interpretation’. 31 Josephus returns to this question later in BJ (5.19–20). J. Marincola, Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography (1997: 168–9), comments on this passage in Josephus and the other historians. 32 Both concepts brought forward by Josephus at the very beginning of BJ (1.2–3): tÚ dÉ ékrib¢w t∞w ﬂstor¤aw oÈdamoË, prouy°men §gΔ to›w katå tØn ÑRvma¤vn ≤gemon¤an, ÑEllãdi gl≈ss˙ metabalΔn ì to›w ênv barbãroiw tª patr¤ƒ suntãjaw én°pemca prÒteron éfhgÆsasyai. More on the diﬀerences (and coexistence) of historia and

aphegesis in T. P. Wiseman, ‘Lying Historians: Seven Types of Mendacity’ in C. Gill and T. P. Wiseman (eds.), Lies and Fiction in the Ancient World (1993: 122–146, here 136–8). More on this issue in the general conclusion below.

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of elements, all in the end directed to focus on the greatness and importance of the events in question. The methodological declaration of the BJ is a clever display of Josephus’ knowledge of GrecoRoman historiographical conventions, his great rhetorical skill and his assertive and independent voice. Much has been written about the genre and historiographical traits of the BJ.33 Here I shall only point out that this is a work whose rhetorical makeup cannot be narrowed down to a single Greek inﬂuence: side by side with the obvious Thucydidean inﬂuences in language (Atticised Greek), format (monograph), subject matter (war and internal sedition) and method (accuracy or akribeia), Josephus uses dramatic elements and pathos in abundance and allows for his own partiality to emerge and at times to dictate his treatment of persons and events. This combination of elements and a heavy reliance upon rhetoric comes into play throughout the whole work and in the Herod narrative in particular. In that sense, it is safe to assume that the latter is organically connected with the rest of the work.34 Josephus’ methodological declarations in the very beginning (1.1–7; 1.17) and the very end (20.260–266) of his later historical work, the AJ, echo those of his ﬁrst historical account but have an added tone to them, and present a diﬀerent nuance of writing history. The historian’s words in AJ are more reminiscent of Josephus’ Jewish heritage, rather than correspond directly with the Greco-Roman tradition. Perhaps, this is more in accordance with the genre of AJ, which, if one insists on a broad deﬁnition, could be titled ‘Universal History’. The AJ begins with a general outline of possible motives for writing history at such a scope (1.1–3). Josephus then continues with a reference to the BJ: For I, who learned from experience about the war waged by us Judeans against the Romans and the events in it and how it ﬁnally turned out,

33 See the relevant chapters in Shutt, Studies, Cohen, Between Galilee and Rome, Bilde, Flavius Josephus, Mader, Politics, Chapman, Theater, and also H. Lindner, Die Geschichtsauﬀassung des Flavius Josephus in Bellum Judaicum (1972) and Price and Ullman, ‘Drama’. 34 This is despite the questions that arise concerning the relevance of the Herod account to the general theme of the work: the Jewish Revolt (see below pp. 20–23). I shall also demonstrate this contention throughout chapter 2 and the general conclusion.

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was forced to relate it in detail because of those who devastate the truth in their writing (. . . ka‹ tåw §n aÈt“ prãjeiw ka‹ tÚ t°low oÂon én°bh pe¤r& mayΔn §biãsyhn §kdihgÆsasyai diå toÁw §n t“ grãfein lumainom°nouw tØn élÆyeian, 1.4).35

He then outlines a declaration of intentions for the present work, referring explicitly—but by no means exclusively—to the part of his audience that was Greek: I have taken this task, thinking that it will appear to all Greeks deserving of studious attention. For it is going to encompass our entire ancient history and constitutions of the state, translated from the Hebrew writings (. . . nom¤zvn ëpasi fane›syai to›w ÜEllhsin éj¤an spoud∞w m°llei går peri°jein ëpasan tØn parÉ ≤m›n érxaiolog¤an ka‹ tØn diãtajin toË politeÊmatow §k t«n ÑEbraÛk«n meyhrmhneum°nhn grãmmatvn, 1.5).36

Despite Josephus’ Jewish echo, his reference to both his experience in the war and the reasons for composing the account (of an event, and an ancient history, worth telling) imply that his perception of the historical profession is essentially the same as it has been twenty years earlier.37 However, in terms of the actual methodology implemented in the AJ, the diﬀerences in style, scope and themes between the AJ and BJ are striking. 38 Whereas BJ is best deﬁned as a contemporary historiography concentrating on one major event, AJ is a much longer and much more complex work. It is, perhaps, inﬂuenced by Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ Roman Antiquities, also presented in 20

35 Translated by L. H. Feldman in BJP 3 (2000: 3). It is interesting to note that Josephus views his task as historian as a calling, a vocation, something that he was forced to do rather than choose independently. 36 Josephus here uses terms familiar from Greco-Roman historiography and culture. But when he refers to érxaiolog¤a and pol¤teuma, he clearly exercises ‘cultural translation’. Feldman in his commentary (BJP 3 (2000: 3 note 3)) notes the discrepancy between what Greeks may have understood as ‘archaeology’ and what Josephus intended by the term, both in content and in methodology. Referring to the Jewish Law in terms of Greek political thought is a similar example of bridging between the two cultures. 37 In both declarations it seems that Josephus appeals mainly to his Greek readership. Cf. BJ 1.3. This however does not mean that his audience was exclusively Greek. See below n. 39. 38 Marincola, Authority, 262–3, summarises the general generic diﬀerences between contemporary and non-contemporary historiography. Many characteristics of BJ and AJ (in scope, subject matter, relations to earlier sources, or the application of inquisitive methodology) may well be a result of this initial diﬀerence.

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books. It has a strong apologetic tone in favour of Judaism, presented primarily, but not exclusively—or at least aﬀecting to be presented—for those of the narratees that were not Jewish.39 It draws upon many diﬀerent sources, from the Bible40 to Nicolaus of Damascus, whose language, style, focus and methodology diﬀer greatly. The work is divided into two major parts, Josephus’ biblical paraphrase (AJ 1–10) and postexilic Jewish history (11–20), and the diﬀerences between those are also many. Modern scholarship has examined the AJ extensively41 and this is not the place to elaborate on that, except to indicate that once again, in terms of themes, the choice of rhetorical devices and the prominence of the narrator, the Herod narrative of the AJ is again organically connected with its surrounding narratives and the general traits of the work. The conclusion of the vast 20-volume work is even more interesting in terms of explicit historical methodology. By way of ring composition, Josephus returns in his ﬁnal chapters to the methodological declarations he included at the beginning of the work. Once again, Josephus outlines his personal qualiﬁcations and credentials (20.262), this time with a slight diﬀerence in emphasis: whereas at the beginning of the work he put the credit down to personal experience in the war (well in accordance with the Greek conventions of ékr¤beia and ˆciw), he now plants his credentials in both his Jewish background and his Greek education (263), asserting quite plainly that No other person who had wished to do so [i.e. write this history], whether a Judean or a foreigner, would have been able to produce this work so precisely for Greek speakers (. . . ˜ti mhde‹w ên ßterow ÆdunÆyh yelÆsaw mÆteÉ|ouda›ow mÆte éllÒfulow tØn pragmate¤an taÊthn oÏtvw ékrib«w eﬁw ÜEllhnaw §jenegke›n, 20.262). 39 On AJ as ‘Apologetic Historiography’ see G. E. Sterling, Historiography and Self Deﬁnition: Josephos, Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography (1992). On Josephus’ prospective (real) audience see Mason, ‘Between the Lines’, and his introduction to BJP vol. 3 (AJ 1–4). On narrator and narratees in Josephus see below, under ‘Narrative’, p. 30ﬀ. 40 And its translations, probably the LXX or a version of it. 41 See the relevant chapters in Shutt, Studies and Bilde, Flavius Josephus. Works that focus on the AJ or treat it more extensively are H. W. Attridge, The Interpretation of Biblical History in the Antiquitates Judaicae of Flavius Josephus (1976), Sterling, Self Deﬁnition, L. H. Feldman, Studies in Josephus’ rewritten Bible and Josephus’ Interpretation of the Bible (both 1998), and S. Mason, ‘Flavius Josephus in Flavian Rome: Reading On and Between the Lines’ in A. J. Boyle & W. J. Dominik (eds.), Flavian Rome: Culture, Image, Text (2003: 559–589).

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Josephus then reminds us of his great expertise in both Judaism and Greek language and literature. His self-confessed bad accent notwithstanding, Josephus now views both traditions, and indeed their fusion, as voucher for the reliability of his account. This is certainly a neat summary for a work that draws upon both traditions in complex and intricate ways. The diversity of authorial opinions should, I think, be borne in mind not as an impediment but as a hermeneutic tool in the process of understanding and interpreting Josephus. Discrepancy, I say, and not contradiction, because the rhetoric (of one speciﬁc work) and the practice (of earlier and more extensive works) need not go hand in hand. Indeed, even within the BJ and the AJ (and especially in the former) Josephus’ methodological declarations do not always go hand in hand with the historiographical traits of the works themselves. Josephus, in other words, presents in both his life and his works an example of intricate cultural fusion. In form and in content, in language and ideas, there is no need to wonder that Judaism and GrecoRoman culture dwell side by side in Josephus.42 To quote H. Moehring, Josephus was a Jewish priest who claimed to be a Pharisee; he was also a Roman citizen who published important works in Greek. From his writings we get the clear impression that he managed to combine the various elements of his life into one organic unity: He was a Roman Jew. He was not a Jewish renegade, and he was not a man with split loyalties. In him, the Jew and the Roman had become one man.43

Despite the strong sense of the past embedded in Judaism, it seems there is a diﬀerence between the perception of history we encounter in ancient Jewish historical texts and the development of historiographical methodology of critical inquiry, accuracy and precision we meet in Greco-Roman historical and philosophical texts. No extant Jewish text, from the Bible onwards, has explicitly set out to undertake historical inquiry in the form ﬁrst laid out by Herodotus and

42 Josephus’ writing is of course one example of the deep cultural fusion between Judaism and Hellenism. E. J. Bickerman, The Jews in the Greek Age (1988), M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism (1974) and E. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism: the Reinvention of Jewish Tradition (1998), among others, have dedicated whole works to the study of this complex intercultural correspondence. 43 H. Moehring, ‘Joseph ben Matthia and Flavius Josephus: the Jewish Prophet and Roman Historian’, in ANRW 2.21.2 (1984: 865–922; here p. 869).

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Thucydides.44 Within the Jewish literary tradition of the Greco-Roman period45 Josephus seems to be a unique example. No other extant46 Jewish historical text from that period contains explicit methodological declarations.47 No other extant Jewish writer seems to have reached such a complex and elaborate degree of intellectual and literary fusion of Jewish and Greco-Roman elements as Josephus did (although there are quite a few examples of Jewish historians who wrote in Greek).48 However, that is not to say that Jewish texts of the Greco-Roman period did not tackle historical questions. It is just that they did so using a very diﬀerent methodology. But this is not the place to elaborate further on this vast subject.49 And a ﬁnal word concerning Latin inﬂuences. It is possible that Josephus read Latin, and speciﬁcally Latin historians.50 After all, he wrote his works in Rome, and probably had some command of Latin

That is not to say, however, that the methodological principles ﬁrst outlined by Herodotus and Thucydides were necessarily the norm in subsequent GrecoRoman historiography. See e.g. E. Gabba, ‘True History and False History in Classical Antiquity’, JRS 71 (1981: 50–63), who maintains that Thucydides was an exception, and Woodman, RICH, chapter 1, who challenges the common modern view of Thucydides as a ‘scientiﬁc’ historian. 45 See Rajak, ‘Intertestamental’, who elaborates on the Jewish sense of history and views the intertestamental Hellenistic Jewish historians as a distinctive group. Cf. G. Vermes with M. Goodman, ‘La Litterature Juive Intertestamentaire a la Lumiere d’un Secle de Recherches et de Decouvertes’ in R. Kuntzmann and J. Schlosser (eds.), Etudes sur le Judaisme Hellenistique (1983: 19–39), who contend that it is virtually impossible to view Hellenistic Jewish historical writing as a distinctive genre. 46 There might have been other examples of such an attempt, but we do not ﬁnd them in any other historical fragment. Given that all in all Josephus’ historical works diﬀer considerably in style and content from earlier Hellenistic Jewish examples (Eupolemus, Artapanus, Demetrius or others), it might be possible to surmise that parallel declarations were not very common. But again, we cannot know for certain. 47 Which diﬀer slightly in their emphasis from work to work within the Josephan corpus. 48 See the fragments in C. R. Holladay, Fragments from Hellenistic Jewish Writers, Vol. I: Historians (1983). 49 I will return to the question of Jewish historiography in chapter 1, p. 42ﬀ. 50 Stern for instance detects certain rhetorical similarities between Agrippa’s speech in BJ 2.345–401 and the speech of Cerialis in Tacitus’ Histories 4.73f. These similarities are most probably due to common use of historiographical convention rather than ﬁrst-hand acquaintance of Tacitus with Josephus. See M. Stern, ‘Josephus’ Jewish War and the Roman Empire’ in Stern, Studies, 393–401. Mason, ‘Between the Lines’, detects and explains a broader range of Roman inﬂuences on Josephus’ AJ, in style and themes alike. Mader, Politics, identiﬁes Caesar as one signiﬁcant inﬂuence on Josephus’ BJ. 44

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and perhaps was involved in the intellectual circles. However, this hypothesis may well remain provisional. Josephus might have known enough Latin to allow a close reading of Sallust or Livy, but a good command of Latin was not a necessity. Roman intellectuals were ﬂuent in Greek and well versed in Greek historiography, philosophy and poetry.51 Moreover, since Josephus did not write primarily about Rome, there was no pressing need for him to consult sources or earlier historical works in Latin. It may well be that any thematic similarities between Josephus and Latin sources could be a result of a looser cultural diﬀusion of ideas rather than of direct textual consultation. Josephus’ overall perception of history as well as his historiographical methods, choice of language (Greek), and implementation of rhetorical devices suggest that he was considerably more inﬂuenced by Greek-writing historians. Given his background and education as part of the intellectual Jewish élite in Jerusalem, this is hardly surprising.52 Greek language, culture and philosophy were well spread in Hellenistic Palestine (including Jerusalem), especially among the educated upper classes. Josephus, who earlier in his life also served as diplomat and mediator,53 must have already been ﬂuent in Greek when he arrived in Rome. The subsequent interaction with Greekspeaking, educated Roman nobility probably improved his command of the language so that he was eventually able to write his histories in that language.54

51 Testimonies to that eﬀect, and to the complex relations between the Greek and Latin traditions, appear in Latin writing. The most relevant example for our purposes may perhaps be the discussion about Greek and Latin historiography in Cicero, De Or. 2.51–64. 52 M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism, 58–70 and 83–106, suggests that Greek language, education and literature, as well as broader cultural manifestations, were already well established within Jewish life in Palestine long before Josephus’ time. 53 Vita 13–16. 54 Regardless of the question of the extent of help he received (if at all) from more ﬂuent assistants. Josephus admits his eﬀorts in mastering Greek grammar and literature, and reveals the diﬃculties he had, in the concluding chapters of AJ (20.262–3).

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introduction Rhetoric55

‘Rhetoric’, in relation to historiography, is a complex term. It can mean both the art of speech composition and the overall dramatic impression of a given text, achieved by the implementation of speciﬁc rhetorical tools. In historiography, rhetoric could be of use either in an inward-looking fashion, in the composition of speeches within the historical narrative, or looking outwards to the prospective audience, with the use of rhetorical techniques by the historian in order to create a more resonant and eﬀective account. My main focus in this section is on the two-tiered and outward-looking aspect of rhetoric, namely, Josephus’ implementation of rhetorical tools, and the problems that a modern interpretive focus on rhetoric may create. The close links between historiography (ancient and modern) and rhetoric, and the slight discomfort this linkage sometimes brings, have long been acknowledged.56 From Herodotus onwards, and especially in the Hellenistic period, with the rise of oratory and theoretical rhetoric—the implementation of rhetorical devices in order to enhance the dramatic, moral or political eﬀects of a historical account has been a phenomenon almost taken for granted, and certainly commented upon. Whether or not this stands in contradiction to the often self-confessed quest for accuracy and proof is another matter on which it is not possible to elaborate here, except to note a certain problem that one sometimes encounters in the process of interpretation of historical texts. In the modern-day version of this historiographical debate,57 it is well worth remembering that focusing on the rhetorical aspects of

55 In this section I shall refer only to rhetoric in relation to historiography. Reviewing the independent ancient discipline of rhetoric is beyond the scope of the present investigation. 56 Ancient historians from Thucydides onwards have noted the complexities that might arise while employing rhetoric in historiography, and the risk of foregoing accuracy, and hence reliability, in the name of a more ornate description. Note e.g. Thuc. 1.22; Polybius 2.56.3, 5–13 and 12.25a–g.; Tac. Ann. 4.33.3. Josephus, while noting the diﬀerence between an accurate description and its (sometimes necessary) embellishment, nevertheless has accuracy and emotional pathos dwell side by side: BJ 1.9–12. See the introduction above, pp. 10–11, and also Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 295–301. 57 Epitomised, perhaps, by four contenders: Hayden White (‘The Question of Narrative in Contemporary Historical Theory’, History and Theory 23 (1984: 1–33)) and Roland Barthes (‘The Discourse of History’ in The Rustle of Language (1986:

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historical narratives does not automatically entail a lapse into extreme relativism and foregoing of the extra-textual dimension.58 In the matter of admitting rhetoric into the realm of historical practice and analysis let us mention two historians, one ancient, the other modern. For Josephus, as we have seen above, the freedom to express emotions and use rhetorical embellishment does not contradict the quest for accuracy and historical precision. Nor does it impede the audience’s reception of the historical account in question.59 Carlo Ginzburg, in his introduction to the Menahem Stern Jerusalem Lectures,60 notes and criticizes the post-modern tendency to assume that the focus on rhetoric (or ‘text’) immediately cancels out the ageold historical essence of ‘proof ’.61 He notes the importance of a historical and cultural context for the understanding of texts,62 whether for the contemporary audience or for subsequent interpreters, and oﬀers a subtle and attentive way of reading history, a way which I hope to have exercised (at least to a certain extent) in my own analysis:

127–140)) at the most text-oriented, relativist end of the scale, and Arnaldo Momigliano (‘The Rhetoric of History and the History of Rhetoric: On Hayden White’s Tropes’ in Settimo Contributo alla Storia degli Studi Classici e del Mondo Antico (Storia e Letteratura: Raccoltà di Studi e Testi 161 (1984: 49–59)) and Carlo Ginzburg (below) at the other end, advocating the relevance of ‘truth’ and ‘proof ’ for historical research and maintaining that these do not contradict, but complement, the rhetorical aspects of the historical practice. 58 Examples of modern interpretations of classical texts with an open eye towards the close connections between historiography and rhetoric include Marincola, ‘Emotions’ and ‘Towards a New Interpretation’, and Levene, ‘Pity, Fear and the Historical Audience’. 59 On the contrary: it seems that Josephus’ awareness of both the power of rhetoric and the cultural makeup of his prospective audience often result in dramatically charged episodes and an attempt to arouse pity, fear and other emotions (see the analysis of the Herod narratives in chapters 2 and 3 below). Whether in all cases he succeeds or not is another issue. Other ancient writers have acknowledged the high emotional impact of rhetoric, e.g. Aristotle, Rhet. 3.7 1408a23–25; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Dem. 22; Cicero, Brut. 188. 60 C. Ginzburg, History, Rhetoric, and Proof: The Menahem Stern Jerusalem Lectures (1998), where he addresses the question of ‘the tension between narration and documentation (p. 2)’ in history. 61 Ginzburg returns in his analysis to Aristotle’s Rhetoric: “I believe . . . that any discussion about history, rhetoric, and proof must set out from the text that Nietzsche, after he had studied and translated for his Basel classes, then set aside: Aristotle’s Rhetoric (Ibid., p. 21)”. He demonstrates his contentions in the second chapter, ‘Aristotle and History, Once More’ (pp. 38–54). 62 Ginzburg, History, Rhetoric and Proof, 22–23.

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introduction Sources are neither open windows, as the positivists believe, nor fences obstructing vision, as the skeptics hold: if anything, we could compare them to distorting mirrors. The analysis of the speciﬁc distortion of every speciﬁc source already implies a constructive element. But construction. . . . is not incompatible with proof; the projection of desire, without which there is no research, is not incompatible with the refutations inﬂicted by the principles of reality. Knowledge (even historical knowledge) is possible.63

Both Josephus and Ginzburg allow for the inclusion of rhetoric, whether in writing or in interpreting historical texts. In the process of interpretation, our own rhetorical preferences and modern theories could oﬀer new angles of reading and understanding of ancient history, so long as we apply them cautiously, and with an awareness of both the historical context and ancient rhetorical predilections.64 Our quest for accuracy, then, becomes not a quest for a ‘real’ truth, but a detection of moods, of mentalities, of conventions. In that sense, rhetoric is no longer a cause for ambivalence, but an integral part of the historian’s craft. As such, it need no longer be justiﬁed, but be acknowledged for its integral part of the process of writing and interpreting history. Herod65 Herodian history was not Josephus’ primary subject in either of his historical works. The earlier BJ took the Judean revolt of 66 ce as its main subject. The later AJ, an extensive ‘universal history’ style account of the history of the Jewish people, does not focus on any particular period but emphasises the prevalence and virtuousness of Jewish religion and law (politeia). Why Herod, then? My question, in fact, is a second tier question. I choose not to focus here on the historical Herod66 but rather on his historiographical

63 Ibid., 25. Ginzburg’s contention might have to be modiﬁed, because in practice there is no real possibility to achieve a totally objective, non-distorting ﬁlter or have direct access to a clear or unbiased view. 64 I will elaborate further on the implementation of modern theories below, under ‘Narrative’. 65 This section addresses the question of Josephus’ treatment of Herod in an introductory manner. A review of modern scholarship on Herod will follow in appendix 1 below. 66 Modern scholarship has indeed tended to focus on the historical Herod, e.g.

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image. In other words, I do not ask ‘what is the importance of the historical Herod?’ but ‘why has Josephus chosen to dedicate ample space and attention to Herod, despite his otherwise diﬀerent interests in both the BJ and the AJ?’ Any historian, no doubt, would have been grateful for obtaining material such as the accounts of Herod’s life and reign. Not only does the subject matter contain elements worthy of relating in many aspects (Herod’s turbulent political career, and his even more turbulent private life), but also the abundance and detail of the available source (the writings of Nicolaus of Damascus, Herod’s aide and court historian)67 suggest a temptation almost impossible to resist. But that, as most historians know, is not enough. The story of Herod, tempting as it may be, is not the main subject matter of either the BJ or the AJ. In both works, Josephus dedicates much attention to the Herod narratives—much greater, in fact, than might have been expected given that the history of Herod is not Josephus’ main interest, and its relevance to the main themes of BJ and AJ respectively is not immediately apparent. In BJ, the Herod narrative occupies most of book 1 (out of seven). Its rhetorical makeup, as we shall see in chapter 2 below, is undoubtedly rich and elaborate. In AJ, the Herod narrative stretches over three books out of twenty. Relatively speaking, this is an unusually large space for some four decades out of the entire Jewish history Josephus was intending to write. Here, too, as we shall see in chapter 3, the narrative is rich in rhetorical embellishment. Why Herod, we ask again, and why in such detail and narratorial attention? It is possible that part of the answer has to do with Josephus’ sources. In the case of Herod, source material from Nicolaus was abundant. This, coupled with the dramatic content, might have persuaded Josephus to use the material, especially in the AJ where detailed sources (apart from the Bible) were not always at hand to make the completion of twenty books an easy task. But it seems that there are other, deeper reasons for Josephus’ decision to include the

A. Schalit, Hordos Ha-Melekh (Hebrew, 1964); M. Grant, Herod the Great (1971); M. Stern, The Kingdom of Herod (Hebrew, 1992); P. Richardson, Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (1999), N. Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty (1998). See appendix 1. 67 On Nicolaus and Josephus see below, pp. 23–28.

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story of Herod in his histories in the ﬁrst place, and moreover, to treat it with much rhetorical attention. These have to do with the thematic and symbolic relevance of Herod to later Jewish history, whether to the understanding of the rise and failure of the revolt in 66 or to the evolution and development of the Jewish ethnos. Herod was the last independent ruler of Judea. His death marked the end of Judean national independence in the Greco-Roman period. Judean self-rule started with the Hasmonean revolt in the second century bce and continued with the subsequent rule of the Hasmonean dynasty, which ruled Judea in one form or another68 until Herod’s assumption of the throne as a client king of Rome in 37 bce. Herod’s reign was in many ways the beginning of the end of the existence of the Judean state, culminating, of course, with the defeat of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Second Temple. Herod’s rule, externally peaceful and prosperous as it eventually became, was far from consensual within Judea. His un-Hasmonean (and not entirely Jewish) background, his Hellenising tendencies, his close political alliance with Rome and his tyrannical behaviour all contributed to the emergence of internal tension, factualism and dissent within Judea. Those seeds came to full and tragic fruition with the rise against Rome, the subject matter of Josephus’ BJ. It seems that for Josephus, the story of Herod was a necessary preface, an ‘archaeology’ of the revolt, without which it would have been much more diﬃcult to understand (and empathise with) the tragic fate of Judea. In the AJ, too, Josephus seems to have found thematic and moral relevance in the story of Herod and make it an illuminating and extended example that helps to understand Jewish history more fully. Herod’s reign was long, and brought economic prosperity and relative external peace. But his questionable ways of maintaining his rule, his violence, emotional turbulence, impious behaviour and personal misfortunes were prime examples for the temptations and dangers of tyranny and the mechanics of divine retribution, all of which were part of Josephus’ historical worldview throughout the AJ.69

68 Whether as autonomous rulers of an independent state (175–63 bce) or, after Pompey’s conquest of Jerusalem, as subject to the supervision of the Roman governor of Syria. 69 See chapter 3 below, and especially the conclusion (pp. 182–185) for the speciﬁc ways in which Josephus addresses his general themes within the Herod narrative.

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The story of Herod, then, seems to have encapsulated many relevant themes and moral interests for Josephus. Source availability, thematic relevance and a very good story combined seem to have made the history of Herod irresistible for an eager historian. But there was still more work to be done: in order to make the Herod narratives completely relevant, Josephus had to rewrite them so that they would read as an organic part of the works they were part of. In the following chapters I hope to demonstrate convincingly that the Herod narratives in the BJ and AJ are original compositions of Josephus. But in order to make my arguments clearer I shall ﬁrst address the question of the relations between Josephus’ ﬁnal products and the main source he used for them, namely, the works of Nicolaus of Damascus70 which seem to have come down to Josephus in a much fuller form than we have them today.71 There is agreement in modern research concerning the Nicolaean provenance of the material for the Hasmonean72 and Herodian narratives in Josephus. There is no way to determine exactly how much of Nicolaus’ vast corpus was available for Josephus, but most scholars73 conjecture that Nicolaus was indeed the source Josephus had used for the history of Herod.74

70 More on the life and works of Nicolaus in Wacholder, Nicolaus; Shutt, Studies, 79–92; Stern, ‘Nicolaus of Damascus’ (Hebrew); M. Toher, ‘On the Use of Nicolaus’ Historical Fragments’, CA 8.1 (1989: 159–172). 71 The most recent work to assess the relations between Nicolaus and the Herod narrative of the AJ is M. Toher, ‘Nicolaus and Herod in the Antiquitates Judaicae’, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 101 (2001: 427–448). Toher detects some stylistic and thematic aﬃnities between Nicolaus and Josephus which are all in all convincing. However, his suggestion that the portraiture of Herod is unique in essence (and not only more extensive in scope) when compared with biblical, Hasmonean and Roman portraits in AJ may be slightly modiﬁed. There seem to be even more stylistic and thematic connections between the Herod narrative and the rest of the work than he suggests. See examples throughout chapter 3 below. 72 Nicolaus was Josephus’ main source for the Hasmonean accounts, but probably not the only one. He seems to have been familiar with the books of Maccabees and perhaps other Jewish writings and oral traditions. See e.g. I. Gafni, ‘Josephus’ Use of 1 Maccabees’ (Hebrew), Zion 45 (1980: 81–95). 73 This issue was particularly investigated concerning the AJ narrative. Thackeray, Historian, 66, agrees that Nicolaus was the main source for the later account of Herod’s life. G. Hoelscher in his Pauli-Wissowa article on Josephus and R. Laqueur, Historiker, contended on the contrary that the AJ narrative was not dependent on Nicolaus. Their arguments, however, are not consensual. 74 The bulk of material for the Herod narratives was probably taken from Nicolaus’ Universal History and from his autobiography, which was composed after the death of Herod. Fragments from both works are collected in F. Jacoby, FGrH II A 90.

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However, opinions diﬀer concerning the manner in which Josephus used Nicolaus and the extent to which he borrowed from him. Whereas earlier scholarship tended to view Josephus as mere copier or attribute the characteristics of the Herod narratives to assistants or earlier sources,75 more recent research sees Josephus’ writing in a new light and credits him with a greater degree of compositional authenticity and originality.76 My analysis of the Herod narratives will aim to show that their structure and content are typical of Josephus’ hand, and are organically connected to the BJ and AJ respectively in form, language, and themes. Moreover, using narratology as an interpretive tool77 minimizes the relevance of the source question.78 Nevertheless, the examination of rhetorical techniques in this dissertation requires further treatment of this issue. For if the dramatic elements, the speciﬁc linguistic choices or the structure of the narrative may not be Josephus’ own, it sheds a slightly diﬀerent light on the underlying questions of historiography and culture which stand at the base of the inquiry. This however is not only a question of sources (who is the original writer) but also of how Josephus uses his material. Even if one arrives at the conclusion that the rhetorical characteristics of the Herod narratives may have been borrowed from Nicolaus, the question concerning Josephus’ use of them in his own works is still valid, because both narratives seem to be well connected with the rest of the work, thematically and rhetorically.

Modern scholarship has acknowledged the presence of other sources in Josephus’ Herod narratives and in some cases tended to attribute the diﬀerences between the accounts, the discrepancies and Josephus’ criticism of Herod to those sources, rather than to Josephus’ editorial hand. See e.g. Shutt’s survey of earlier scholarship on AJ 15–17 and his own explanation (Studies, 88–92), and Stern, ‘Nicolaus of Damascus’, 383. 75 E.g. Thackeray (assistants) and Hoelscher (earlier sources), op. cit. See also Shutt’s criticism of the German predisposition towards Quellenkritik: Studies, 89–90. 76 Among these are Rajak, Josephus, Bilde, Flavius Josephus, and S Mason’s introductions to the BJP volumes (3 and 9). See my survey of modern scholarship in appendix 1. Stern (op. cit.) suggests an aﬃnity of style and thematic concerns between Nicolaus and Josephus but agrees that Josephus treated his source according to his speciﬁc needs in both works. Shutt, Studies, 83–4, compares between Josephus’ and Nicolaus’ life circumstances. Toher, ‘Nicolaus’, 162–3, does not draw an explicit parallel between the two historians but his observations on Nicolaus’ historiographical preferences and rhetorical skill could also be applied to Josephus. 77 I will explain this choice under ‘Narrative’ below. 78 More on that below, pp. 30–37.

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Arriving at a clear-cut conclusion, however, is impossible, and not entirely necessary. There is indeed a certain need to take a stand in the debate and decide whether to attribute the literary creativity of the Herod narratives to Nicolaus or to Josephus. But in fact, the evidence found in the rest of the BJ and the AJ could be interpreted in almost any direction. It is, in fact, easier to assume Josephan originality in structuring the Herod narratives, than to attribute their form (as opposed to the content, which is most probably derived from Nicolaus) to anyone else. Let me brieﬂy explain why, in my opinion, the Herod narratives could naturally be attributed to none other than Josephus and why, in the end, the question of Josephus’ extent of borrowing from Nicolaus becomes redundant. Josephus’ original hand seems more evident from several angles. First, we cannot ignore the simple fact that the two Herod narratives are very diﬀerent from each other.79 This fact alone makes implausible the assumption that Josephus copied the Herod material from Nicolaus without alterations or interventions. At least one of the two narratives must have been changed by Josephus.80 Secondly, the use of dramatic elements and literary allusions to Greek and Roman drama and history are not exclusively conﬁned to the Herod narratives but appear throughout the Josephan corpus.81 Therefore, there is no reason to attribute them to Nicolaus.82 This is the case even if we assume that Josephus used Nicolaus as a source for other parts of his historical works such as the biblical paraphrase of the AJ or the account of the Hasmonean period, as Wacholder83 does. For even if he did, it is assumed that he used

79 As I will demonstrate throughout chapters 2 and 3, and summarise in the general conclusion. 80 Shutt, Studies 87–88, maintains that the later AJ narrative is ‘much more close to the original work of Nicolaus’. That of course raises the question why, if Josephus had an original version, he ﬁrst chose to change it but later went back to using the original. 81 See Thackeray and Shutt (op. cit.), and more recently L. H. Feldman, ‘The Inﬂuence of the Greek Tragedians on Josephus’ in A. Ovadiah (ed.), Hellenic and Jewish Arts: Interaction, Tradition and Renewal (1998: 51–80); J. J. Price and L. Ullman, ‘Drama’; D. R. Schwartz, ‘On Drama and Authenticity in Philo and Josephus’, SCI 10 (1989/90: 113–29). 82 That is despite his penchant for pathetic embellishment. See Toher’s analysis of Nicolaus’ fragments (op. cit., 164–172). 83 Nicolaus, 58ﬀ.

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other sources as well and therefore any textual ornaments need not be attributed solely to Nicolaus. Furthermore, we know that the use of dramatic elements was widespread among Hellenistic historians in general, so there is no particular reason to assume those were borrowed from his source rather than composed independently by Josephus. Thirdly, many rhetorical and dramatic elements in the Herod narrative, as well as the whole of the BJ, are not unique to this work but appear in the AJ as well. The use of speeches and Greco-Roman rhetoric, for instance, or the use of pathos and emotions in the portraiture of rulers,84 appear in the biblical paraphrase (AJ 1–10). This means, at least, that such rhetoric can be found in other sources (such as the Bible) that Josephus used—or that Josephus himself implemented such rhetorical devices throughout his works. As I have shown above, any attribution of those dramatic elements to Josephus’ hypothetical assistants85 (‘The Assistant Hypothesis’) is now all but refuted in modern research.86 Fourthly, we cannot ignore Josephus’ explicit references to his sources throughout the Herod narratives, and especially his sharp criticism of Nicolaus’ aﬃnity to Herod and his historical methodology.87 It may perhaps be odd that a methodologically conscious historian like Josephus would pass such unequivocal criticism on anything, while uncritically and extensively borrowing from that very same source. And a ﬁnal reason, on a diﬀerent level: the use of narratology in my analysis dictates that I focus on the text as we have it, and set aside the source question. Although the implementation of narratology on historical texts requires certain modiﬁcations such as the inclusion of the real author and audience, it is impossible to extend the boundaries of methodology so that earlier levels, both textual

84 The former is apparent in the Josephan parallel to the Joseph story in book 2 ( Judah’s speech in 2.140–159). Josephus’ portrait of king Saul also contains tragic elements. In the case of Herod, as I have contended above (and will show throughout chapters 2 and 3 and the conclusion), Josephus’ use of pathetic and tragic elements is careful and complex. 85 As does Thackeray, Historian, 100ﬀ. 86 By Shutt, Studies, 59–79, and more recently by Ladouceur, ‘Language’, and Williams, ‘Assistant Hypothesis’, passim. See also appendix 1 below, p. 207ﬀ., and chapter 3, p. 115 n. 1. 87 AJ 14.8–9; 16.183–6. On the latter see chapter 3, pp. 173–74 below.

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and contextual, gain precedence over the text (and its context). My focus is on Josephus the narrator and his own, rather than his predecessors’, art of narrating. In other words, the emphasis of my analysis is not on the provenance of Josephus’ material but on the ways in which he treated his source material and composed an original and independent text. Despite our attempt to ﬁnd a neat solution for the source question and attribute the dramatic creativity to Josephus exclusively, the situation might be a little more blurred. My research leads me to suggest that the text we have is Josephus’ original composition, neither borrowed from nor composed by anyone else. However, if we were to play devil’s advocate we could claim that although it is possible to attribute rhetorical and linguistic tendencies to a certain speciﬁc writer, in the end there is hardly any way to verify exactly which rhetorical trait, at any given passage, is a product of Josephus’ hand, or of Nicolaus’.88 Even if one arrives at the conclusion that Nicolaus’ hand is the dominant one in content and form, one must accept that the ﬁnal editorial touches must have been Josephus’. That is to say, even if regarding Herod the Jewish historian adopted (or even copied) almost everything from Nicolaus, he still had to combine this narrative within the wider frameworks of the BJ and AJ, which evidently has taken some editing and modifying, and involved making authorial choices. In short: it would be very diﬃcult to rule out Josephus’ part in the composition and editing of the Herod narratives, even if one assumes Nicolaus, and not Josephus, to be mostly responsible for its present form. Josephus did not write his historical works in a vacuum. Like most ancient historians, he had consciously borrowed from earlier writers (be they historians, tragedians or chroniclers), adjusted their material to his own needs, and reacted to earlier conventions and opinions. And as every intellectual, Josephus was engaged in a cultural dialogue with his contemporary colleagues and audience.89 We should

88 This is partly because the works of Nicolaus have survived in fragmentary form and not as full compositions, partly due to philosophical and methodological assumptions concerning the veriﬁability of historical texts. 89 This is evident both from his literary allusions and from his explicit references to his audience (e.g. BJ 1.3), benefactors (Vita 430) and mention of literary rivals ( Justus of Tiberias in the Vita and Apion in the CA).

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read his works in context, as a product of at least two diﬀerent cultures, and not ignore his historical, religious and cultural background. Nevertheless, it seems that it is time now to pay more attention to Josephus’ independent literary choices, his methodology, and the manner in which he, and not his sources, fuses the Greco-Roman and the Jewish traditions. Indeed, the story of Herod is certainly fascinating and worth relating. Herod’s long reign, and its political aftermath, were not episodes to be ignored in Judean history. Born a commoner, and of Idumean descent, Herod had risen to be Judea’s king and Roman protégé and reigned over Judea for nearly 40 years. A perceptive and ﬂexible politician, he wisely crafted an alliance with Augustan Rome which, despite Josephus’ favourable contentions, proved to be a double edged sword for Judea. It brought prosperity and resulted in better facilities and extensive rebuilding projects (including the major refurbishment of the Temple in Jerusalem), but also internal strife, distrust and tension which grew under Herod’s increasingly tyrannical rule.90 Herod’s troublesome family aﬀairs and his extreme paranoia resulted in the short-lived and even more tyrannical rule of his son Archelaus which, in turn, brought about direct Roman rule over Judea: this eﬀectively put an end to Judean autonomy, achieved by the (proRoman) Hasmoneans in the second century bce and maintained, almost intact, until the end of Archelaus’ rule in 6 ce. In relation to both Judean history and more abstract themes such as freedom, tyranny and personal weaknesses, this story was undoubtedly worth relating. To the best of my knowledge, modern scholarship has not yet addressed the Herodian question from a historiographical point of view. My book aims at making the ﬁrst step in that direction. The answer, of course, is complex and manifold. On the one hand, it seems almost natural for any storyteller to adopt and adapt a story as complex and fascinating as that of Herod’s life and reign. It is full of tension and turbulence, intrigue and emotion. It contains many grand themes, moral messages to remember, political and personal lessons to be learnt. It is, in many ways, a perfect story. Almost

90 This view of Rome as bearer of both good and evil is later attested in the Babylonian Talmud as well (B.Shab. 33.2).

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every angle of human existence ﬁnds an exemplum in the history of Herod. Whether it is political cunning, personal ambition, faith, trust or surging passion, it is all there. It is almost unsurprising, on a certain level, that Josephus decided to tell this story twice. But on the other hand it is surprising. Josephus, of course, was no mere storyteller but a conscientious and learned historian. Once he had chosen his subject matter and historiographical pattern, he was not entirely at liberty to tell a story simply because it was a good one. His evident historiographical verve and awareness indicated that his own paraphrase of the history of Herod required a lot of editing, adapting and rephrasing of structure, themes and words. The Herod narratives in both the BJ and the AJ have a distinctive Josephan signature and ﬁt in context, themes and language to the surrounding narrative and indeed to the works as a whole.91 Concerning the portrait of Herod, I suggest that Josephus in both narratives (but especially in the earlier BJ ) shifts the focus from the historical Herod to a more symbolic Herod. Herod seems to have become a metaphor and exemplum of fundamental themes and issues that recur in Josephus’ writing: overriding personal ambition and shrewd political perception, but also of slavery to one’s passions, paranoid behaviour and, in the AJ, impiety and cruelty.92 It seems that in many ways, the historical details of Herod and the underlying structure, mood and story-type of Josephus’ histories were a match made in heaven. This emphasis on the symbolic qualities of Herod is important, because among other things, it might be a clue for solving a rhetorical riddle that underlies the Herod narratives. This issue has to do with a certain discrepancy between the elaborate dramatic form and engaging content of the narratives on the one hand, and Herod’s

91 On the contextual relevance of the Herod narratives see above, pp. 20–25. On Josephus’ independence from Nicolaus, above, pp. 23–28. 92 Here it might be worth noting one of H. White’s illuminating observations concerning the historical narratives and their subject matter: “Historical narratives are not only models of past events and processes, but also metaphorical statements which suggest a relation of similitude between such events and processes and the story-types that we conventionally use to endow the events of our lives with culturally sanctioned meanings. Viewed in a purely formal way, a historical narrative is not only a reproduction of the events reported in it, but also a complex of symbols which gives directions for ﬁnding an icon of the structure of those events in our literary traditions.” (White, ‘The Historical Text’, 22; emphases in the original).

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dimmer overall impression on the other. Herod’s life may have been very turbulent, and Josephus’ narration of it is certainly full of dramatic embellishment and allusions to tragedy—but Herod himself fails to pass as a convincing protagonist in a historical narrative that seems to follow a ‘tragic pattern’.93 As this is the key contention of my dissertation, I shall not elaborate on that further here but will come back to it in chapters 2 and 3 and the general conclusion. Narrative My analysis of the Herod narratives relies mainly (but not exclusively) on the modern theory of narratology. Narratology, as deﬁned by Mieke Bal, is The Theory of narratives, narrative texts, images, spectacles, events; cultural artifacts that tell a story.94

Bal essentially modiﬁes the model devised by G. Genette in his Figures III (1972) translated as Narrative Discourse 95 and later revised in Narrative Discourse Revisited.96 What stands at the basis of the analyses of Genette, Bal and Shlomith Rimmon-Kenan97 is a tripartite division of the levels of text, from the basic (independent?) plot through an intermediate version where the plot is ordered, articulated and structured, and ﬁnally to the method of narration. Genette’s tripartite division is into ‘story, narrative and narrating’; Bal prefers ‘fabula, story, text’. Rimmon-Kenan talks about ‘story, text and narration’. Another branch of narratology prefers a two-level reading. S. Chatman,98 for instance, divides between ‘story’ and ‘discourse’, essentially forgoing the notion of the initial ‘fabula’. While the division to levels is useful as a tool within the process of interpreting a text, it may be well worth remembering that the borders between story, text and narration tend to blur: it is not always clear where a textual phenomenon belongs. This is especially

93 On historiographical patterns see H. White, Metahistory (1973: 7–11), ‘The Historical Text’, 16–20, and Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 304. 94 M. Bal, Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narrative (2nd edition 1997: 3). 95 Eng. Tr. by J. E. Lewin, 1980. 96 Eng. Tr. by J. E. Lewin, 1988. 97 Narrative Fiction: Contemporary Poetics (2nd edition 2002). 98 Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film (1978).

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relevant in the analysis of historical texts, where the notion of ‘an event’ in ‘real life’ determines the character of the text and the author’s methodology but where, in highly elaborate works such as those of Josephus or Thucydides, it is virtually impossible to distinguish the original chain of events from its relating. For this reason, the twofold division into ‘story’ and ‘discourse’—what one relates, and how one does so—seems to me to be more convenient in relation to the analysis of historical texts. Hence, I shall leave aside the questions of historical accuracy and to a certain extent, the use of sources in Josephus’ Herod narratives and concentrate here on the two levels of story and narration only.99 The implementation of narratology to classics has been growing steadily since its ﬁrst introduction to the ﬁeld by Irene de Jong in 1987.100 Ancient historical texts, mainly Thucydides, have recently been re-read with the help of narratological tools.101 Tim Rood, whose narratological reading of Thucydides is a ﬁne example of ﬂexibility and harmony between ancient texts and modern theories, adds that Narratology is the study of the constants of narrative: the what and the how, the story and its presentation, and the instance of narration itself. Its theoretical turn need not be an end in itself; as a broad but incisive hermeneutic tool, with the framework provided by its systematic analysis of aspects such as the narrator’s voice, variations of time and perspective, character, and the presentation of speech and thought, it can helpfully be applied to the analysis of texts and the relations between texts.102

It is Rood’s cautious implementation of narratology as a tool, rather than an all-encompassing theory, that I wish to follow here. It seems to me that an overbearing implementation of the narratological model

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The decision to leave aside this question does not, however, entail any judgement on the historical accuracy of Josephus. It is simply a methodological step, derived from the narratological perspective I have adopted throughout my analysis. A. Feldherr, Spectacle and Society in Livy’s History (1998: ix–xi) takes a similar methodological step in his historiographical analysis. 100 I. D. F. de Jong, Narrators and Focalizers: The presentation of the Story in the Iliad (1987). 101 S. Hornblower, ‘Narratology and Narrative Techniques in Thucydides’ in Hornblower (ed.), Greek Historiography (1994: 131–166) and T. C. B. Rood, Thucydides: Narrative and Explanation (1998). 102 Rood, Thucydides, 9.

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of analysis on any text, ancient or modern, results in a rather mechanical layout that robs the text of its essence and beauty.103 Finding the golden mean is not easy. Once we ﬁnd a hermeneutic tool convincing, we inevitably tend to read everything in its light. That may be possible in some cases, but it seems to me that in the case of ancient historical texts, this may be not only impossible but futile, because of the density and ﬂexibility of the works in question. This is where narratology operates best as a device, a means of clariﬁcation and explanation. Once rigid theory turns into ﬂexible device, a narratological reading becomes illuminating and enriching. Using narratology in the analysis of historical texts (as opposed to ﬁction) poses a few problems and requires certain modiﬁcations.104 A key issue that requires a certain degree of conceptual acrobatics has to do with the relations between author and audience (and their parallel textual personae, narrator and narratees) in historical texts. History, as genre, is perceived somewhat diﬀerently from ﬁction. Rood explains that What distinguishes historical texts from ﬁction is the reader’s assumption that they relate ‘what actually happened’. Works of ﬁction may purport to relate that, and may call upon the discursive apparatus of historical texts to give their claims an air of plausibility, but these claims are seriously meant only by the narrator, not by the author, who belongs to a diﬀerent diegetic world. Readers of historical texts, by contrast, tend to identify author and narrator and to suppose an ‘ontological connection’ between the discourse and the events it signiﬁes. The status of history as a discourse of the real calls for some further reﬁnement of narratological models. A dichotomy of story and discourse is no longer adequate; one must also allow for a referential level, and beyond that for the extra-textual level of the deeds and words of real people, even if this level is itself only accessible through other stories.105 103 One example of such overpowering ‘harnessing’ of an ancient text to narratology is D. F. Tolmie, Jesus’ Farewell to the Disciples: John 13:1–17:26 in Narratological Perspective (1995). While it is clear that Tolmie’s command of modern narratological theory is superb, his analysis seems at times to be forced upon the text. 104 Narratologists have already pointed out that the diﬀerences between ﬁction and non-ﬁction (or ‘factual’ narratives) raise several questions regarding the application of narratology to the latter. Both Genette (‘Fictional Narrative, Factual Narrative’ in his Fiction & Diction (Eng. Tr. 1993: 54–84) and also in Poetics Today 11:4 (1990: 755–774) and D. Cohn (‘Signposts of Fictionality: A Narratological Perspective’, Poetics Today 11:4 (1990: 775–804) point out the generic diﬀerence on the one hand, and the possible ﬂexibility of narratology on the other, and view ﬁction and non ﬁction as part of a continuum rather than two discrete genres. 105 Rood, Thucydides, 10.

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Narratology, by deﬁnition, concentrates on narratives and therefore sets aside questions concerning real author and audience.106 These of course exist outside the realm of the text. However, one cannot really address textual questions without admitting that texts, in the end, are a means of communication between the writer and his prospective readers. Enter the notions of ‘implied’ author and ‘implied’ audience.107 The ‘implied author’, says Booth, Chooses, consciously or unconsciously, what we read; we infer him as an ideal, literary, created version of the real man; he is the sum of his own choices.108

Booth’s deﬁnition preceded the evolution of narratology. Assuming that the notion of narrator was not yet in existence when he articulated his ‘implied author’, this virtual alter ego of the real author proves to be necessary in textual analysis. However, with the shift of focus from ‘author’ (implied or real) to ‘narrator’ introduced by narratology, ‘implied authorship’ seems to have become redundant. Author and narrator represent, in turn, the real and the textual aspects of analysis. There is no need for an intermediary.109

106 Genette, in the last chapter of Narrative Discourse Revisited, addresses the issue but admits that ‘it would be easy enough to respond [to earlier criticism concerning his omission of the notion of ‘implied author’], no doubt, by excluding from the narratological ﬁeld not only the real author but also the “implied author”, or more exactly the question (for me [Genette] it is one) of his existence (1988: 137)’. 107 Introduced by W. Booth, The Rhetoric of Fiction, (1961; 2nd edition 1983: 71–76; 151–52; 157; 200; 211–21; 395–96) and adopted by some, but not all, narratologists (e.g. S. Rimmon, ‘A Comprehensive Theory of Narrative: G. Genette’s Figures III and the Structuralist Study of Fiction’, PTL 1:1 (1976: 58) and D. F. Tolmie, Jesus’ Farewell (1995: 15–17, esp. n. 66) 108 Ibid. pp. 74–75. However, this deﬁnition assumes that audiences ignore the extratextual, real-world knowledge of who the author is. As Rood noted (above) and as we shall see below, this assumption may not apply for historical texts, especially in a case where the writer is also a character (e.g. Caesar, De Bello Gallico, or Xenophon, Anabasis). 109 Genette rightly points out (Fictional Narrative, 71ﬀ.) that the relation between author and narrator (he adds ‘character’ to the equation) takes diﬀerent forms in ﬁctional and factual narratives. In historical narratives in particular, he too equates author and narrator and deﬁnes it as a basic trait of the genre. Yet the functional diﬀerence between those instances, which he points out to as a trait of ﬁction, may also apply to historical narratives such as Josephus’ (see below), mutatis mutandis: “The Borges who is an author, an Argentine citizen, a man widely viewed as deserving a Nobel Prize, the Borges who signs his name to ‘El Aleph’, is not functionally identical with the Borges who is the narrator and hero of ‘El Aleph’, even if they share many (not all) biographical features (ibid., 75–6)”.

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By the same token, the parallel instance of ‘implied audience’ becomes negligible once we recognise the relevance of real audience and the textual notion of ‘narratees’—the assumed recipients of the narrative. 110 In relation to historical texts, the term ‘potential reader’, suggested by Genette,111 may even be a better option because it encompasses both the immediate audience (at times assumed and referred to by the author, e.g. Jos. AJ 1.5; 20.262) and the secondary readership, stretching across time and place. The questions concerning author and audience, narrator and narratees, and the relations between them become, as hinted above, more acute when applying narratology to historical texts.112 The historian and his readership are indeed very relevant to the discussion even if the emphasis is on the textual characteristics of the work. We, as modern historians, cannot ignore the real Flavius Josephus regardless of whether or not his ‘real’ self had any discernible impact on his contemporary ‘real’ audience. We also cannot ignore Josephus’ prospective (immediate) audience, constructed or real: A Jewish audience, probably educated and familiar with Greek culture, and with it an educated, Western, Greek-speaking readership for BJ,113 and probably Roman aristocrats with a penchant for Judaism ( joined, perhaps, by Greek-speaking Diaspora Jews) for AJ.114 They are all part and parcel of the essential analysis of the works of Josephus.

110 I adopt here Genette’s review of the term and his neat repudiation of ‘implied author’ and indeed ‘implied reader’ in Revisited, pp. 138–150. While having been made in relation to ﬁction, his case seems all the more powerful when it comes to history. 111 Ibid., pp. 148–50. 112 J. P. Sullivan points out some of the issues that arise in relation to authoraudience relationship in antiquity, as well as some of the problems entailed in the application of modern literary theories to classical texts when it comes to those issues, in his introduction to I. J. F. de Jong & J. P. Sullivan (eds.), Modern Critical Theory and Classical Literature (1994: 10–11). On classical authors and their audiences see T. Woodman and J. Powell, Author and Audience in Latin Literature (1993), J. Marincola, Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography (1997: 19–33), and M. J. Wheeldon, ‘ “True Stories”: The Reception of Historiography in Antiquity’ in A. Cameron (ed.), History as Text: The Writing of Ancient History (1989: 35–64). 113 BJ 1.3 designates them as ‘subjects of the Roman Empire’, to›w katå tØn ÑRvma¤vn ≤gemon¤an. 114 In this matter I am convinced by S. Mason’s arguments in his introductory essay to the third volume of the Brill Josephus Project. On the basis of textual references from Josephus, Tacitus and Juvenal, Mason conjectures that “The simplest solution [to the question of Josephus’ readership] is that Josephus expects gentile readers who are deeply interested in Judean culture. . . . this atmosphere of fascination

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This may well be the result of the ‘ontological connection’ between text and reality that Rood detected (see above). Not only would the readership assume that the historian and narrator are the same, and not only would the narrator allude to his own life experience and education in order to corroborate his account: narrative and facts described also seem closer to each other than the case may be in ﬁction. Moreover, and more generally, I would suggest that an interpretation of any text may beneﬁt from the examination of the extratextual context: time and place of composition, and contemporaneous trends and mindsets in politics, culture and religion. These issues may perhaps be external to theoretical considerations, but they may nevertheless aﬀect them. Putting extratextual questions aside in the name of theory may lead to unnecessary misreadings and misinterpretations. The inclusion of the ‘real’ author and audience in the analysis brings in turn more complexity. Apart from discussing issues concerning author and audience (and narrator-narratees) and the extent to which real-life prior knowledge may aﬀect, we also have to address the question of the relationship between these facets, especially between author and narrator. Much as we would like to believe that Josephus the man, the historian and the narrator are distinctively diﬀerent facets which have separate roles in the understanding of the works of Josephus, it is not always possible to make a clear diﬀerentiation.115 The three facets tend to blur, diﬀuse into each other and sometimes almost disappear, most notoriously when it comes to the instances of ‘historian’ and ‘narrator’. In the case of Josephus I will suggest that these two entities are even more closely linked. This is because, in addition to the conventional means of establishing authority (outlining the historical method; ﬁrst-hand experience), Josephus’ narrating voice seems to

with Judaism is the context that Josephus claims for his Antiquities, and his claim happens to match conditions otherwise known.” See S. Mason (ed.), Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 3: Judean Antiquities 1– 4 (2000: xvii–xx (here pp. xix–xx), and also Mason, ‘Should anyone wish to Enquire Further (Ant. 1.25): The Aim and Audience of Josephus’ Judean Antiquities/Life’ in Mason (ed.), Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives (1998: 64–103). 115 Marincola, Authority, 131–133, discusses this tendency to identify author and narrator in antiquity. As noted above, this problem appears to some extent in ﬁction (see n. 109). It seems to me that it becomes somewhat more acute in historical narratives, ancient or modern.

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remain the main focalizer of both Herod narratives from beginning to end. This, as I will demonstrate in chapters 2 and 3, has a direct impact on the way Herod’s character is portrayed and on his qualities as a dramatic character. Given the complexity of the works of Josephus, it is sometimes very diﬃcult to determine which of the three is responsible for a certain comment, piece of information or point of view.116 When encountering such puzzlement, it is best to leave the issue as an open question and let the text lead the way. The way in which the ‘real’ Josephus intrudes into the narrative could have various diﬀerent textures and rhetorical eﬀects, and only the analysis of the text in question could determine which texture we have got. A ﬁnite conclusion at this stage (or even later) may even be unnecessary. After all, Josephus did not write his histories with a narratological manual on his desk. But where does this confusion stem from? Let me propose a possible explanation. One of the methodological credos of Greek historiography is the importance of autopsy, ﬁrst-hand witness, to the credibility and accuracy (ékr¤beia) of a historical text.117 In the proem to the BJ, Josephus addresses this issue as well and follows his classical predecessors in declaring that the contemporary historian (who can apply autopsy to his inquiry) is superior to those who compile ancient history (1.13–16). However, although he took part in the events and places his personal involvement high up the scale as proof of his credibility, he (like Thucydides before him) succumbs to literary convention and refers to himself in the third person.118 The narrative character of Josephus the commander of the Galilee (as opposed to the ‘real’, extratextual Josephus) can be more easily detached from the Josephus the historian, or Josephus the narrator. This, from a narratological point of view, is both a brilliant hermeneutic device and a very confusing act. Detaching the narrating

116 I use ‘point of view’ here in the general sense, not as a technical substitute for ‘focalization’. 117 This tendency, explored by Marincola in chapter 2 of Authority, even precedes classical historiography and goes back to the Odyssey (Authority, 63–65). Examples from historians include Herodotus 1.8.2 (within the Gyges-Candaules story); the famous methodological declaration in Thucydides 1.22.2–3; Polybius’ advocacy of personal experience as a precondition for writing good history (12.25f.1–7; 25g.1–3) and Josephus BJ 1.13–16. 118 His later autobiography, the Vita, is related in the ﬁrst person.

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voice from the characters (any character) allows more authority and freedom of composition for the narrator. On the other hand, when the narrator happens to be (an important) part of the story but still retains his heterodiegetic (i.e., external) stance, his overall credibility might undergo a slight change: he may no longer be a reliable witness in the strict Thucydidean or Polybian sense, but to a certain extent, precisely because of this involvement, his authority gains force and verve. It should be noted here that in the case of the Herod narratives this does not directly apply because there, Josephus does not feature as—and could not have been—a character (for chronological reasons). The absence of one of the instances in the Herod narratives does not, however, diminish the blurring between the two remaining facets: narrator and historian. The Herod narratives of Josephus, with their rich content, intricate form and plethora of universal themes almost beg to be read with the help of narratology. Complex, multilayered texts would inevitably beneﬁt from a reading that aims at a careful dissection of the diﬀerent levels of the narrative and the diﬀerent aspects of order, narrating voice and focalizing agents. Josephus’ Herod narratives prove to be very fertile ground for such a reading. Josephus here displays rhetorical acrobatics and dynamic control of the story he tells, and the ways to tell it. I should point out that my analysis of Josephus’ use of rhetorical tools is two-tiered. First, there is the level of the implementation of ancient rhetorical devices throughout the narrative.119 Once we have established which tools Josephus uses, we can apply modern narratological concepts in order to interpret his narrative from a new angle. My attempt to understand the image and impact of Josephus’ Herod will focus mainly on the narratological aspects of order,120 voice121 and focalization.122

119

See above under ‘Rhetoric’, p. 18ﬀ., and chapters 2 and 3 below. Genette, Narrative Discourse, 33–85; Revisited, 21–32. Bal, Narratology, 80–99. 121 Genette, Narrative Discourse, 212–262; Revisited, 79–83. 122 The term ‘focalization’ was originally introduced by Genette (Narrative Discourse, 161–211; Revisited 64–78). It is deﬁned by Bal as “The relationship between the ‘vision’, the agent that sees, and that which is seen” (Narratology, 142–160, here 146; ‘Notes on Narrative Embedding’ and ‘The Laughing Mice, or On Focalization’, both in Poetics Today 2:2 (1981: 41–60; 203–210). The concept replaces the older ‘point of view’. What essentially stands at the basis of focalization is Genette’s distinction between ‘who sees’ and ‘who speaks’ (Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction, 120

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Chapter 1 of the book will oﬀer a brief summary of Greco-Roman and Jewish historiographical traditions that may have inﬂuenced Josephus as he set out to begin his own historiographical enterprise. Chapters 2 and 3 will focus on the Herod narratives themselves (BJ and AJ respectively) and provide a detailed analysis of their rhetorical makeup. Following the conclusion are three appendices. Appendix 1 includes a more detailed survey of modern Josephan scholarship and focuses on the issues relevant for my analysis: the historical Josephus, his historiographical method, and Herod. Appendix 2 is a parallel outline of the Herod narratives. Appendix 3 will provide a list of instances in the BJ and AJ other than the Herod narratives, where Josephus uses similar rhetorical devices.

72–3). Once we realise that the two are not necessarily identical, we introduce more ﬂexibility to our reading and interpreting. The narrator may be the main focalizer, transfer the focalization to one of the characters (‘embedded focalization’), or create an instance where the coincidence of narrator and focalizer is expected, but not actually made (‘deviant focalization’), to use D. Fowler’s term (‘Deviant Focalization in Vergil’s Aeneid’ in Fowler, Roman Constructions: Readings in Postmodern Latin [2000: 40–63]).

CHAPTER ONE

HISTORIOGRAPHIES

Before setting oﬀ to explore the nature and meaning of the Herod narratives of Josephus, we must set the stage for his general historiographical enterprise. No historian—indeed, no writer—operates in a vacuum. A historian is a product of his time and culture, and historical works should be read as part of a wider political, cultural, social, methodological and theoretical background—even if this background tends to be as evasive and distant as the text itself.1 A diﬀerent background may produce diﬀerences in many crucial points, not least the very perception of history and the underlying cultural conventions and modes of telling stories. Such diﬀerences in cultural contexts could also provide diﬀerent methods of writing (or telling) about what happened.2 What kind of literatures and histories, beliefs and conventions, was Josephus likely to have been reading and absorbing when he set out to write his own histories? Or, to narrow the limits of the present inquiry: what were Josephus’ possible historiographical inﬂuences? This question is both very easy and very diﬃcult to answer. On the one hand, we have enough knowledge of Josephus’ historical background, and have his works come down to us almost intact, so that we could put one and one together and locate his writing in a more or less familiar background. Indeed, many have detected in Josephus direct linguistic allusions, rhetorical embellishments and philosophical resemblances to earlier Greek and Hellenistic writers.3 On the other hand, much as it is easy to ﬁnd the occasional Thucydidean echo, a Platonic idea, a borrowing from Greek tragedy

1

See the general introduction above, pp. 15–17; 27–28 (and notes). On conceptual diﬀerences in the perception of history among diﬀerent societies see recently M. Detienne, ‘A Debate on Comparative Historicities’ in A. de Pury, T. Roemer and J.-D. Macchi (eds.): Israel Constructs its History: Deuteronomistic Historiography in Recent Research (2000: 174–188). 3 E.g. Thackeray, Historian, D. J. Ladouceur, ‘Masada: A Consideration of the Literary Evidence’, GRBS 21 (1980: 245–260). 2

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or similarity of themes and ideas to contemporary historians, it is impossible to determine for sure whether Josephus had actually read Thucydides and Plato, or acquainted himself with Greek drama and Roman historiography—or whether these ideas had found their way into his works by way of a more subtle inﬁltration. In the case of Josephus, there are two main historiographical traditions to consider as inﬂuential: the Jewish and the Greco-Roman. By the time Josephus set out to write his accounts, in the aftermath of the Judean revolt (in Rome, post 70 ce), he had at his disposal an impressive corpus of written works from both traditions. On the Jewish side, material was abundant, and appeared in Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek, and stretching in style and scope from the Bible and its translations through the apocryphal literature to the Hellenistic Jewish historians. The Greco-Roman historical tradition, too, was well established by Josephus’ days, with many works both in Greek and in Latin, diverse styles, and a tradition of theoretical discussion on the writing of history. Apart from history, the Greeks and Romans of course produced many more texts in diverse genres, and exercised considerable ﬂexibility, interaction, borrowing, reaction to and inﬂuence from one genre to another. Epic poetry, drama, philosophy, rhetorical theory and oratory, letters and of course historical works dwelled side by side and seemed to have enjoyed a much more fruitful correspondence than modern research has tended to assume in the past century or so.4 As an intellectual living in Flavian Rome, Josephus could have borrowed from, and alluded to, virtually everything in these traditions.5 Our present analysis, in turn, faces a double-edged sword when tackling these issues. Indeed, the acknowledgement of broader inﬂuences 4 Here I follow F. Walbank (‘History and Tragedy’) and J. Marincola (Authority, and more explicitly in ‘Genre, Convention and Innovation’) who, each in their own time, have set out to demonstrate how limiting Jacoby’s initial classiﬁcation of genres turned out to be for modern research of ancient historiography. Indeed it seems that a more ﬂexible approach towards ancient writers, and a broader acknowledgement of the legitimacy and ubiquitous nature of generic ﬂexibility and broader generic borders, could yield more interesting fruit. This I believe is especially so when we examine multicultural and proliﬁc historians like Josephus. 5 Modern scholarship points at several lines of inﬂuence and detects borrowing and allusions from Classical Greek tragedy and Homeric epic (Feldman), or Roman historiography (Mason). I agree with the initial assumption concerning the wide scope of literary and rhetorical inﬂuences over Josephus. However, one must maintain caution and consider contextual elements when coming to determine those traces in Josephus’ texts.

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and greater generic ﬂexibility could absolve us from the need to classify and deﬁne with precision the ‘kind’ of history Josephus wrote— a rather diﬃcult task, when faced with Josephus’ great diversity of styles and inﬂuences and vast corpus of works. But this freedom might bear the danger of further complications whilst attempting to determine Josephus’ method of writing history. And since the initial assumption here is that indeed he had one—rather than assuming he compiled material with no leading hand—our task here must focus on detecting the possible inﬂuences that might have aﬀected his writing, but not on harnessing Josephus into any methodological strait-jacket. For the sake of clarity and general background only, this chapter will outline brieﬂy some basic characteristics of the historiographical traditions surrounding Josephus. I will forego the attempt to deﬁne each of those—the Greek and Hellenistic historiographical tradition, the Roman, and the Jewish—in absolute or clear-cut terms. This I believe is impossible, and unnecessary, if we adopt the growing awareness to the subtlety, individuality, active reaction and innovation that each and every ancient historian engaged in. If we put these notions ahead, we would probably let go of most strict and limiting deﬁnitions, generic and sub-generic boundaries and preconceived titles concerning ancient historiography. However: when we acknowledge the diversity and individuality of ancient historians from all three cultures, it does not, and should not, follow that the subsequent picture is one of total disarray. We could note here Hayden White’s contentions concerning the mental ‘common ground’ that exists between author and audience, and adapt them to a broader level: it seems there is still a need to presuppose a certain frame of mind, a basic set of understandings and conventions to make sense of it all, whether between Josephus and his immediate audience or between his works and a modern audience far ahead in time.6 The following outlines

6 White, ‘The Historical Text’, 18: “. . . what the historian brings to his consideration of the historical record is a notion of the types of conﬁgurations of events that can be recognized as stories by the audience for which he is writing.” 19: “How a given historical situation is to be conﬁgured depends on the historian’s subtlety in matching up a speciﬁc plot structure with the set of historical events that he wishes to endow with a meaning of particular kind.” And 20: “The historian shares with his audience general notions of the forms that signiﬁcant human situations must take by virtue of his participation in the speciﬁc processes of sensemaking which identify him as a member of one cultural endowment rather than

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of the three historiographical traditions aims at oﬀering such common ground, but by no means sets out to interpret, summarise or redeﬁne these traditions. Greater scholars have been engaged in doing that with much success.7 Jewish Historiography Although the urge (social, cultural, personal) to write history could have been similar in all three cultures, and in spite of the fact that historiography in Jerusalem and Athens (evolving from the seventh century bce in the former, the ﬁfth in the latter) might have been triggered at some point by the same agent: the Persian Empire,8 we encounter a plethora of styles, forms and shapes that writing history has taken both within each tradition and between one tradition and the other. The Jewish historiographical tradition from the Bible onwards has in itself taken many shapes, some of which were essentially diﬀerent from Greek and Roman historiography. It seems that the evolution of the sense of history (and of historiography with it) in the Greek and Jewish traditions took diﬀerent directions. True, the very essence of history is that of change and movement. But it seems at times that whereas Greeks and Romans put more explicit and methodological emphasis on change9 as the primary force that drives history, Jewish writers often tended to emphasise the ongoing contract between God and his people. Continuity of law and tradition seemed to have dwelled side by side with change. Whereas Greek, Hellenistic and Roman historians regarded rhetorical embellishment as something to think about, write about and argue about (especially in the Hellenistic period), it seems that Jewish historians writing biblical history as early perhaps as the

another.” White here talks about a more speciﬁc angle of the interaction between author and audience, but the discussion in general points to the cultural and mental ‘building blocks’ that exist in every society, and without which there is no basic level of understanding. 7 Precise references are in the notes throughout this chapter. 8 A. Momigliano, ‘Eastern Elements in Post-Exilic Jewish, and Greek, Historiography’ in Momigliano, Essays in Ancient and Modern Historiography (1977: 25–35), points out to the Persian Empire as triggering the sense of ‘nationality’ and self-deﬁnition in both Greek and Jewish societies. 9 The concepts of k¤nhsiw and metabolÆ were regarded as part and parcel of history from Thucydides onwards. See Detienne, ‘Historicities’, 178–182.

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seventh and sixth centuries bce did not take so much eﬀort to reﬂect explicitly on the beauty and power of rhetoric.10 This is perhaps due to the historical and cultural diﬀerences—rhetoric in its theoretical form has evolved from the 4th century bce onwards. But this theoretical formation seems to have deﬁned earlier inclinations and tendencies in the Greek culture. At ﬁrst glance it almost seems that these two approaches may be diﬃcult to bridge. However, while examining several works it becomes apparent that Jewish writers, especially in the Hellenistic and GrecoRoman periods, succeeded in intermingling elements from both traditions in their works to a greater or lesser extent. The diﬀerences, then, are not so stark but in eﬀect tend to be subtler and more complex. Sometimes, these presupposed diﬀerences disappear and leave us with a much more ﬂexible state of aﬀairs. I shall not delve into a full comparative analysis of Jewish and Greco-Roman historiography here but rather try to highlight diﬀerent aspects of each tradition, much as those can be detected. This section will focus on the traits and trends prevalent within Jewish historical writing in the Greco-Roman period. Hellenistic Judaism, as M. Hengel and E. Gruen have demonstrated (mutatis mutandis), was a culture of fusion and interaction between Greco-Roman elements and the Jewish heritage.11 This tendency, with its many facets (willing interaction, cultural diﬀusion or active resistance to new inﬂuences) is expressed and manifested in Hellenistic Jewish writings. The abundance of genres and languages exercised by Jews in the Greco-Roman period makes any attempt at generalisation or broad-deﬁnition very diﬃcult. Indeed, the diversity of examples is in itself a manifestation of the extensive intellectual attempts to grapple with the meeting of cultures. What we have, then, is a diverse collection of written works and possible sources in at least 10

This of course does not mean they did not use rhetorical embellishment; Biblical rhetoric exists, but it is diﬀerent in nature (and in language) from Greco-Roman rhetoric. 11 M. Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism (Eng. Tr. 1974), and more recently ‘Judaism and Hellenism Revisited’ in J. J. Collins and G. E. Sterling (eds.), Hellenism in the Land of Israel (2001: 6–37). In this recent article, Hengel goes back to his thesis in order to ‘revisit, but not revise’: his main contention that what we call ‘Hellenistic Judaism’ was a widespread phenomenon not only in the Diaspora but also in Judea still holds water. E. Gruen, Heritage and Hellenism and more recently Disapora, sees Hellenistic Judaism as actively interacting with, rather than resisting, Hellenistic inﬂuences.

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three diﬀerent languages (Hebrew, Aramaic and Greek). Out of this vast corpus, we have to deﬁne which works, in essence, could qualify as historical works.12 For all intents and purposes let us deﬁne ‘Jewish historiography in the Greco-Roman Period’ as those works, written by Jews, about Jews and Judaism in Hebrew, Aramaic or Greek, that bear more than a hint of historical interest. Writing history, in general, is indeed more than mere storytelling or a methodological experiment. There is a deeper essence to it in all cultures: it is also a testimony of the manner in which societies, or nations, deﬁne and construct their common past and their present self-identity. In the case of Jewish historiography, S. Japhet rightly points out that ‘Writing history’ is, thus, a consistent and continuous cultural phenomenon in Israel, an immanent expression of its spiritual constitution, disposition and presuppositions.13

Jewish historiography of the Greco-Roman period is a fertile soil for an investigation of the attempts of an evolving culture to re-deﬁne its unique characteristics, facing change, new inﬂuences and times of crisis. The deeper level of national self-deﬁnition, spirituality and religion, which may be present in any historical text, becomes the prominent trait of Jewish historiography, especially postexilic and intertestamental. For Jewish writers, it seems that history always contained a strong religious and nationalistic element that could not be contested.14

12 More on the need to broaden the deﬁnition of ‘historiography’ in the Jewish context, and in comparison with Hellenistic historiography, in the concluding pages and notes (138–141) of the introductory essay by T. Roemer and A. de Pury: ‘Deuteronomistic Historiography (DH): History of Research and Debated Issues’ in de Pury, Roemer & Macchi (eds.), Israel Constructs. 13 S. Japhet, ‘Postexilic Historiography: How and Why?’ in de Pury and Roemer, Israel Constructs, 144–173. 14 In a short article that says a lot about the Jewish concept of history beyond its content, Y. Baer contends (rather uncritically) that for Jews in antiquity “the history of the Jewish people remains distinct from the astrologically determined history of the nations (i.e. a history determined by causes operating within the ﬁnished framwork of nature), for the Jewish people in its special relationship to God is removed from the context of natural law.” Baer’s own analysis of the Jewish perception of history transcends from his designated period (antiquity, rather than ‘late antiquity’ as in the title) and creates a strong impression that Baer himself, an observant Jew, shared at least some of the perceptions of ancient Judaism concerning the nature of history, religion and law. Y. Baer, ‘The Jewish Concept of History during Late Antiquity’ in Baer, Galut (1975: 9–13).

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If we deﬁne ‘historiography’ according to modern standards, based essentially on the Greco-Roman model of an informed and methodological inquiry (with changing degrees of rhetorical embellishment),15 then the only close relative of a Jewish historian along those lines in the Greco-Roman period whose work has survived would indeed be Josephus.16 No other extant Jewish (or pagan) historian undertakes to write extensively and methodically about Jews and Judaism17 with a conscientious and explicit methodology of accuracy and inquiry, and with a further play on the Greco-Roman model in the form of an explicit inclusion of emotions in his account.18 Jewish historians in the Greco-Roman period would relate past events, and sometimes try to explain them.19 Some of those works, especially in the Hellenistic period, may have been inﬂuenced by trends and conventions from Greek historiography.20 All of the works in question have in common an explicit interest in Jewish issues, and with it, a strong degree of Jewish religious conviction—whichever form it takes—that determines their outlook on world events. The general requirement for a clear and consistent methodology, in the Greco-Roman (and modern) sense, will have to be left out when we discuss Jewish historiography. Renouncing the methodological requirements of historiography also obliterates the important

15 See e.g. T. L. Thompson, ‘Israelite Historiography’, Anchor Bible Dictionary III (1992: 206–212). 16 This opinion, however, is but one option. Some scholars, e.g. J. Van Seters, In Search of History: Historiography in the Ancient World and the Origins of Biblical History (1983), draw parallels between biblical and classical Greek historiography. 17 Justus of Tiberias may indeed have done so, perhaps presenting Josephus with a historiographical challenge. However, Justus’ work has only survived in fragmentary form and there is simply not enough information to determine that for certain. T. Rajak, ‘Justus of Tiberias as a Jewish Historian’ (1973), now in Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction (2002: 161–176) contends that “the scant attention paid to Justus by Christian writers is signiﬁcant. If Justus’ work was substantial, it is odd that it was not studied in the early Church in the way that Josephus was, and preserved” and concludes that “Justus’ literary achievements must have been very limited” (p. 174). On Justus and Josephus see Rajak, ‘Josephus and Justus of Tiberias’ (1985), Ibid., 177–193. 18 See the general introduction, pp. 6–17. 19 Perhaps not by the rigorous methods of Thucydides, but they would provide some kind of explanation nevertheless, such as divine power, miracles, retribution for sins etc. 20 E.g. the penchant for pathos, the Hellenistic Greek, and the presence of a narrating voice in 2 Maccabees.

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distinction between ‘historiography’ and ‘antiquarianism’21 which may prove to be crucial in analysing texts as varied and generically blurred as the Bible or the books of Maccabees.22 Under the above we may state that the Jewish historical works available for Josephus in the ﬁrst century ce ranged from the historical books of the Bible (the Deuteronomistic history: Joshua-Kings, and the Chronicler: the books of Chronicles, Ezra and Nehemiah),23 through the apocryphal 1 and 2 Maccabees, the Hellenistic Jewish Historians, and early oral (and perhaps written) Midrashim.24 Scholarly research has expressed extensive interest in biblical historiography, from early rabbinic and patristic exegesis, through medieval and early modern scholarship, to this day.25 The Bible is

21 On this distinction see A. Momigliano, ‘Ancient History and the Antiquarian’ in Momigliano, Studies, 1–39. 22 T. M. Bolin, ‘History, Historiography and the Use of the Past in the Hebrew Bible’ in C. S. Kraus (ed.), The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts (1999: 113–138), oﬀers a new angle of analysis in light of this distinction (pp. 131–38). The Bible would be better understood, he contends, if it were regarded as a work of antiquarian interest rather than a historiographical enterprise. 23 I do not include the LXX (or any biblical Aramaic targumim) here because these works essentially do not oﬀer an independent approach to history or historiography. Their independent exegetical value bears little emphasis on their overall historical framework. 24 These are naturally more diﬃcult to detect in Josephus because Midrash, in its written form, was formed later than Josephus. Nevertheless, one may assume that Josephus was familiar with some oral traditions concerning biblical matters. L. H. Feldman, ‘Hellenizations in Josephus’ Portrayal of Man’s Decline’ in J. Neusner (ed.), Religions in Antiquity: Essays in Memory of Erwin Ramsdale Goodenough (1968: 336–353), lists a few echoes of ideas in Josephus that appear in later Rabbinic literature. I shall not examine Midrash further for two reasons: ﬁrst, the later date (that makes a direct methodological or textual inﬂuence on Josephus impossible) and second, the exegetic and essentially a-historical nature of Midrash as a genre. More on Midrash as a literary genre in G. H. Hartman and S. Budick (eds.), Midrash and Literature (1986). 25 Modern scholarship on biblical historiography includes e.g. O. Eissfeldt, The Old Testament: An Introduction (1965), J. Van Seters, In Search of History, T. L. Thompson, ‘Israelite Historiography’, B. Halpern, The First Historians: The Hebrew Bible and History (1988), T. M. Bolin, ‘History, Historiography’, de Pury, Roemer & Macchi (eds.), Israel Constructs its History (2000), and L. Grabbe (ed.), Did Moses Speak Attic? Jewish Historiography and Scripture in the Hellenistic Period (2001). The latter four studies present concise and critical summaries of earlier modern research concerning biblical historiography, including the seminal works of M. Noth, The Deuteronomistic History (Eng. Tr. 1981, original German published in 1943), and the many studies of G. von Rad, e.g. Old Testament Theology (1962), and The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (Eng. Tr. 1966).

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perhaps one of the most diﬃcult sources to tackle for Western scholars. Its religious signiﬁcance, together with many methodological problems such as the near absence of written contemporaneous sources,26 the diﬃculties in determining genres in the Bible, or questions of authorship, historicism and historiography, pose many diﬃculties over the interpretation, paraphrasing or analysis of the Bible as a historical source.27 Biblical scholarship is a vast subject, with a fascinating history of its own. However, there is no room for further elaboration here. The following short survey of the main characteristics of biblical historiography is by way of summary only. The Bible, as a core text which embraces both past (the history) and present (religious laws and practice), contains historical passages of considerable length concerning the evolution of the Jewish people. Two historical ‘blocks’ tell the story of the formation (or reformation, in the postexilic works) of the Jewish nation. The ﬁrst block, designated ‘Deuteronomistic Historiography (DH)’, stretches from Deuteronomy to 2 Kings.28 The second, ‘Chronicler Historiography’, comprises 1 and 2 Chronicles, Ezra-Nehemiah and, for some scholars, the apocryphal 1 Esdras.29 Despite this designation, it is diﬃcult to determine a precise set of common denominators for the books themselves. In fact, the diﬀerences in tone and general outlook are sometimes quite striking.30

26 On the problem of sources for Deuteronomistic Historiography see de Pury and Roemer, ‘DH’, 106–134. 27 Bolin, ‘History, Historiography’, de Pury and Roemer, ‘DH’, 24–141, and S. Japhet, ‘Postexilic Historiography: How and Why?’, 144–173, are all recent summaries of the history, trends and main issues in debate in biblical research. 28 The extensive DH scholarship sometimes draws the limits diﬀerently, but Deut.—2 Kings are generally considered to be the main core. De Pury and Roemer, ‘DH’, present an extensive summary of current research on the subject. See also E. A. Knauf, ‘Does ‘Deuteronomistic Historiography’ (DH) Exist?’ in de Pury and Roemer, Israel Constructs, 388–398. 29 S. Japhet, ‘Postexilic Historiography’, provides a clear summary of research and historiographical characteristics of these books. 30 Japhet, ibid., lists the diﬀerences among Ezra-Nehemiah, Chronicles and 1 Esdras, within postexilic historiography. In her conclusion she also notes that postexilic historiography bears a stronger political undertone and that “Very much in contrast to its Deuteronomistic antecedent, postexilic historiography has a positive message at its core and is basically optimistic (pp. 172–3)”. But these diﬀerences in style and mood do not constitute a diﬀerence in the perception of history. Biblical historiography in general, as Japhet notes, puts God and Israel as its main “two protagonists (p. 172)”.

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These range from style (e.g. the unique use of decrees and documents in Ezra-Nehemiah) to thematic stresses (such as the clear diﬀerences in the depiction of the Davidic dynasty between 1–2 Kings and the parallel version31 in Chronicles).32 The similarities that run through the historical books of the Bible have to do mainly with thematic emphases, such as the framework of sin and punishment, the relations between God and the people of Israel, the promise of the land, or in the case of the Chronicler, the role of foreign empires in determining Jewish history, and the religious and political implications of the return from exile and restoration of the Temple on the history of the Jewish people. The historical books of the Bible (except Ezra-Nehemiah) do not tend to have an author who develops a distinctive and independent voice,33 and are relatively lacking in rhetorical ornamentation (in the Greco-Roman sense). Among the rhetorical devices used we can ﬁnd the insertion of documents (Solomon’s correspondence with Hiram of Tyre, and supposedly Persian edicts in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah), the inclusion of miracles and prophecies and the dominance of prophets (all through Samuel and Kings). However, the political aﬃliation of the author(s) is at times clearly apparent (as is the case with the strong Davidic inclination of Chronicles). This comes through in the particular portrayal of characters and omissions of embarrassing episodes from the paraphrased account. The books of Ezra and Nehemiah are slightly diﬀerent in that they deal not with the remote past but with more recent historical events. The authors, in this case voiced and named, present themselves as having taken part in the events, and their bias is apparent. As these books relate more recent events, the tendency to include miracles and prophecies is scant, and considerable emphasis is turned

31 Or rather, the “corrective history”, as Japhet deﬁnes Chronicles, ‘Postexilic Historiography’, 161. 32 Another study of the diﬀerences between the books of Chronicles and EzraNehemiah is that of H. G. M. Williamson: Israel in the Book of Chronicles (1977). Williamson challenges the (older) view of same authorship of Chronicles and EzraNehemiah by demonstrating how the style of those is strikingly diﬀerent: they use diﬀerent vocabulary, emphasise diﬀerent issues and use diﬀerent rhetorical devices. In the end though (and that has no bearing on Williamson’s thesis), all books contain similar theology, themes and interests. 33 This issue is rhetorical, and diﬀerent from the broader questions concerning authorship such as the Noth hypothesis regarding one author for DH, or the identity and dating of the Chronicler.

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towards foreign powers (Cyrus), political alliances and the role these have in determining Jewish history. Still dominant are the theological tone and the centrality of God and the Jewish religion in determining Jewish history. These, however, are incorporated into a more politically inclined view of history.34 Despite the diversity and variety of forms, styles and agendas, we can still identify a few general traits of biblical historiography: the link between law, land and nation, the perception of God as determining the course of history, and the general framework of sin and punishment.35 These ideas, and especially the link between religion and historical events (in that the latter are very much determined by following the former), inevitably turn the Bible into more than a collection of historical works. It turns it into a very powerful constitutive text and a charter myth for an evolving nation. The biblical scheme of sin and punishment is one theme that remains strong in extra-biblical postexilic and apocryphal Jewish writings as well. The two historical works of the period are 1 and 2 Maccabees,36 which relate the account of the Hasmonaean revolt and rule in very diﬀerent manners in terms of language,37 style,38 historical approaches, political agendas and theological stances. 1 and 2 Maccabees tell, each in its own way, another chapter in the story of a nation struggling for religious, cultural and political independence. These stories are full of heroism and despair. The nationalistic element is prominent in 1 Maccabees, and is almost never presented independently from God. Here, just as it is in the Bible, the devout are rewarded and the sinners are punished. No force other than the Jewish God operates behind history. 1 Maccabees could be read as a thematic and even stylistic descendant to the late biblical historical books. It even relies on biblical models when

34

More on Ezra-Nehemiah in Japhet, ‘Postexilic Historiography’, 148–158. Whose emphasis and role in history nevertheless diﬀers in various sections of the Bible. See Japhet, ‘Postexilic Historiography’, 151–2, and Williamson, Chronicles, 67–8. 36 3 and 4 Maccabees resemble ancient novels more than historical works: they focus on personal stories of heroism, and are very dramatic, if not pathetic, in tone. M. Stern, ‘Maccabees, The Books of Maccabees (Hebrew)’ in Stern, Studies, 347–362, provides a good summary of the content and form of 1–4 Maccabees. 37 Hebraised Greek in the case of 1 Macc., and an elaborate Hellenistic Greek in 2 Macc. 38 Resembling a biblical chronicle in 1 Macc., and leaning towards ‘pathetic’ or ‘tragic’ Hellenistic historiography in 2 Macc. 35

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portraying key ﬁgures in the Hasmonean dynasty ( Judah’s wars contain resemblance to those of the biblical David).39 The Greek is Hebraised, probably a translation from an original Hebrew. The author does not identify himself or insert editorial comments. And, the familiar biblical framework of sin and punishment is prevalent throughout the account. 2 Maccabees, on the other hand, reads more like a Hellenistic historical work.40 It is structured not as a chronicle but as an epitome of an earlier and much longer historical work. The language is rich and elaborate, resembling the Hellenistic style known as ‘tragic historiography’.41 Diﬀerently from previous Jewish historical works, the voice of the author of 2 Maccabees is explicit. He refers to his work and style, as well as to his prospective audience, in accordance with conventions of Greek and Hellenistic historiography.42 However, when it comes to the underlying moral message, 2 Maccabees stands well in line with 1 Maccabees and biblical historiography. The idea of divine retribution, the necessity of adherence to the Law and advocacy of the absolute rule of the Jewish God are all part of the moral message of the work that adopted an explicit Hellenistic form. The moving martyrdom accounts are not only a stylistic choice: they also serve as a clear demonstration of the contention that sins—whether individual or committed by many—are always met by divine retribution. The Jewish model often views the entire nation as an organic entity, whose parts are synergetically connected: a sin, be it individual or common, is always met with common punishment. This tendency is of course not exclusive to Jewish historiography but features in Greek historians and poets.43 1 and 2 Maccabees are perhaps an example of the ‘evolution in progress’ of intertestamental Jewish historiography and the diversity of style that characterised Jewish historical writing in this period. We observe a shift towards contemporaneous (or at least near-

39 See T. Rajak, ‘The Sense of History in Jewish Intertestamental Writing’, Oudtestamentische Studien 24 (1986: 124–145), now in Rajak, Jewish Dialogue, 11–38. 40 Whether or not we consider its style and rhetoric as belonging to Jason of Cyrene or to the Epitomiser. 41 This is especially typical of the martyrdom stories: 2 Macc. 6.18–31; 7. 42 2 Macc. 2.19ﬀ. 43 E.g. Hdt. 1.13: tosÒnde m°ntoi e‰pe ≤ Puy¤h …w ÑHrakle¤d˙si t¤siw ¥jei §w tÚn p°mpton épÒgonon GÊgev, and Hesiod, Works and Days 240: pollãki ka‹ jÊmpasa pÒliw kakoË éndrÚw éphÊra.

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contemporaneous) history, and a change in language and style that is a result of exposure to Hellenistic culture. Nevertheless, the essential Jewish ideas about history, religion and politics are not easily abandoned. From then on, Jewish historical writing presents us with varying degrees of balancing between the two ends of the scale. The fragmentary Hellenistic Jewish historians, writing in Greek between the mid-third century bce and the late ﬁrst century ce, survive only in excerpts in the works of the Church Fathers. Most of the fragments are preserved in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica (who most probably excerpted them from an earlier work by the ﬁrst century bce scholar, Alexander Polyhistor). Some fragments also appear in Clement of Alexandria’s Stromata.44 The fragmentary Hellenistic Jewish historians include Demetrius, Eupolemus, Pseudo-Eupolemus, Artapanus, Cleodemus-Malchus, Aristeas, Pseudo-Hecataeus, Theophilus, Thallus and Justus of Tiberias.45 The surviving fragments indicate that these were all writers who were concerned with Jewish matters, mainly with paraphrasing, commenting or enhancing passages of the Bible. Some of them, however, tended towards adopting Hellenistic commonplaces in their writing. But even so, their subject matter was always biblical in essence, whether they paraphrased the Bible or augmented it with their own versions, as did Artapanus for instance, in his novelistic account of Moses in Ethiopia. Despite this basic common denominator, it is not entirely evident that these historians formed a coherent and continuous historiographical tradition, if ever there is one.46 Indeed, the vast majority

44

More on the textual transmission and MSS in Holladay, Fragments, 7–13. See Holladay, Fragments. On Demetrius see E. J. Bickerman, ‘The Jewish Historian Demetrios’ in J. Neusner (ed.), Christianity, Judaism and Other Greco-Roman Cults: Studies for Morton Smith at Sixty, Part 3: Judaism before 70 (1975:72–84). 46 More on this issue in G. Vermes and M. Goodman, ‘La Litterature Juive Intertestamantaire a la Lumière D’un Siècle de Recherches et Decouvertes’, in R. Arnaldez et al. (eds.), Etudes sur la Judaisme Hellenistique (Paris 1984) pp. 19–39. Goodman maintains that it is impossible to regard the group of Hellenistic Jewish historians as a distinctive genre (p. 38). Cf. Rajak, ‘Intertestamental’, who broadens the scope and includes the Hellenistic Jewish historians within a marked tradition of Hellenistic Jewish historiography (pp. 34–35); see also S. J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah (1987); J. J. Collins, Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Period (1983; 2000: chapter 1); M. Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (1984: chapter 4). These general summaries refer in turn to many speciﬁc works concerning the individual historians. 45

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of fragments deal with biblical material, especially with the lives of the nation’s fathers or the kings of Judea. But they diﬀer in tone and content. Moreover, because they are fragmentary, we cannot draw any substantial conclusions regarding their form, or their methodology. These Hellenistic Jewish historians present us, for instance, with a chronographical treatise such as Demetrius’, an account of Moses’ life which contains many pagan elements such as identifying him with Hermes and claiming he invented the alphabet (Artapanus), or with an inadequate account (according to Josephus) of the revolt in 66 ce ( Justus).47 None of the extant fragments contains any assertions regarding history or historiography. Moreover, the narratives as we have them seem to be rather simple in form. We cannot detect ring compositions, considerable digressions or speeches in the surviving fragments. It should be pointed out, however, that this might well be a result of the textual transmission rather than the original methodology, but we cannot ascertain that. On the other hand, the Hellenistic Jewish historians cannot be automatically dismissed as chronographers or storytellers. The mere attempts at tackling older sources, writing in Greek and composing an ‘archaeology’ of some sort for the Jewish people, make their works historical (at least to a certain extent). It is diﬃcult, then, to draw a clear common line among the Hellenistic Jewish Historians, other than the mere fact that they all wrote in Greek, and were probably Jews, concerned with paraphrasing or interpreting biblical passages or writing about events in Jewish history.48 They may not form a distinctive historiographical group by themselves, but given the broader deﬁnition suggested above, they belong to the general tradition of Jewish historical writing in the Greco-Roman period.49 Postexilic and intertestamental Judaism saw the formation of a strong link between religion and national sentiments, a link that 47 Justus survives fragmentarily in Josephus’ works and is mentioned in the writings of the Church Fathers (Eusebius, Historia Ecclesiastica 3.10, 8; Jerome, de Viris Illustribus 14), Photius, Bibliotheca 33 (= Jacoby, FrGH 34 T2) and in Steph. Byz., s.v. ‘Tiberias’; Suda, s.v. ‘Justus’, s.v. ‘Tiberias’. As Justus was Josephus’ political and intellectual enemy, his portrait of Justus is very unﬂattering. Therefore, there is good reason to suspect Josephus when he alleges that Justus’ account of the revolt was inadequate. 48 See Vermes and Goodman, ‘Litterature’, 38. 49 I here generally follow Rajak’s suggestion, ‘Intertestamental’, 34–5—with acknowledging the need to loosen and broaden the generic borders and the very deﬁnition of ‘genre’.

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remains at the heart of Judaism to this day. Jewish historians evidently addressed this issue in diﬀerent forms and manners. The Bible, a religious text but also a primary source for Jewish history, was a point of departure for both the religion and the nationality of Jews. It contained all the elements needed to establish a nation’s selfdeﬁnition: archaeology and genealogy, laws and miracles, chronicles and proverbs. It was, and in many ways still is, an ‘absolute text’, containing anything and everything, providing inﬁnite possibilities of reading and interpretation of what was considered to be the total truth, the unequivocal word of God.50 It seems that the impetus to study the Bible, for Jews in times of change or turbulence, stemmed not only from a desire to inquire and analyse, but also from a deeper need of political and religious reassurance. The exposure to Hellenistic culture, politics and education, which both enriched and confused Jews, had taken its toll in this process of exegesis as well. Perhaps, for bilingual and multicultural Jewish scholars, it was only natural to start reading the Bible, and understanding the very history of their people, in a new and more critical way. This, as we have seen from the examples above, was to be a long and complex process. The Greco-Roman Angle In the Greco-Roman period, we ﬁnd as many opinions and versions of how history should be written as there are historians. Indeed, every writer at least from Thucydides onwards took pains to relate to former historians and often pass judgement on their methodology and style, whether more explicitly, in Greek and Hellenistic historiography, or only implicitly in some Roman writers. Some did it by outlining a new framework for history (Thucydides 1.22), some by criticising former historians (Polybius 2.56 and 12.25, Duris on Ephorus and Theopompus (fr. 1)). Historians were not the only ones to address the issue of writing history: this was a subject of discussions

50 More on the diﬀerence between ‘believing’ in myths and ‘believing’ in the realistic sense in P. Veyne, Did the Greeks Believe in their Myths? An Essay on the Constitutive Imagination (Eng. Tr. 1988). Cf. C. Pelling, ‘Making Myth Look Like History: Plutarch’s Theseus-Romulus’ in Pelling, Plutarch and History: Eighteen Studies (2002: 171–195), who does not agree with Veyne’s approach.

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for philosophers and other writers from Aristotle to Cicero (De Oratore, book 2) and later Lucian (How to Write History). There is great diversity of conventions, styles and methods that ranges from Classical Athens through the Hellenistic period and into Republican and Imperial Rome. This, together with our working assumption regarding the ﬂexibility and active nature of generic boundaries both within Greco-Roman historiography and in relation to other historiographical traditions, we must bear in mind when attempting to deﬁne and characterise Greco-Roman historiography. As J. Marincola51 observed, Since ancient historiography constantly evolved, one must pay attention to the interplay between form, content, and context for each work individually, and . . . one must always make allowance for innovation within any generic category.

The relationship and interaction between Greek and Hellenistic historiography and their younger Roman sister may be more complex than it sometimes seems. It is usually assumed that the direction of inﬂuence was mainly from the former to the latter, Greek historiography being well established by the time Romans set out to start their own accounts in the third century bce. It should be noted, however, that in the Imperial period reciprocity between the two, understated as it may be, was the name of the game. While Roman intellectuals like Cicero openly harboured the opinion that theirs was an inferior kind of historiography,52 Roman inﬂuences on later Greek historiography can be detected.53 Having acknowledged the broad and ﬂexible generic borderlines while not letting go of them completely, we can observe some basic common denominators that characterise Greco-Roman historiography. Among those, and with the risk of oversimpliﬁcation, we ﬁnd the initial inquisitive approach to history, the perception of history as a dynamic process of change and movement, the acknowledge-

51

Marincola, ‘Genre, Convention, and Innovation’ p. 282. Most notably in Antonius’ words, De Or. 2.51–64. Woodman, RICH, 75–81, oﬀers an illuminating analysis of this passage. 53 Historians like Dionysius had to rely upon Roman sources, but furthermore might have been inﬂuenced by Livy’s treatment of early Roman history, his style and his emphases. Another example is Cassius Dio’s adaptation of Roman annalistic models. See C. Pelling, ‘Biographical History? Cassius Dio on the Early principate’ in M. J. Edwards & S. Swain (eds.), Portraits: Biographical representation in the Greek and Latin Literature of the Roman Empire (1997: 117–144). 52

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ment of the complex interplay between human beings and greater forces, and the use—in practice as well as in theory—of rhetoric and emotions in historical writing. Within these very broad borders, there are some essential diﬀerences between Greek and Roman historiographies. These range from methodology (the choice and use of sources, or the resonance of authorial voices) to political issues (the role of history for society and historians in society or the connection between history and contemporary politics). Modern scholarship provides many studies and lively debates concerning the nature of Greek, Hellenistic and Roman historiography.54 These are extremely learned and extensive studies, and I humbly refer to them for further consideration on this vast subject. Here, as the need arises, I shall outline only a few signiﬁcant diﬀerences55 in the areas of the methodology of history, the use of rhetorical tools, the inclusion and treatment of emotions and the question of authorship. All of these are relevant to my subsequent analysis of the Herod narratives. Greek and Hellenistic Historiography Greek historiography might have begun to take shape before Herodotus, but his Histories is the ﬁrst text we have in full. Its main subject matter, as is declared in the proem,56 is both very speciﬁc and very broad: Mht° ¶rga megãla te ka‹ yvmastã, tå m¢n ÖEllhsi, tå d¢ barbãroisi épodexy°nta, ékleç g°nhtai, tã te êlla ka‹ diÉ ¥n aﬁt¤hn §pol°mhsan éllÆloisi.

Deeds and marvellous things, both of Greeks and of Barbarians, deserve their share of glory as proper subjects of history. The reasons 54 Among those which oﬀer a deep and learned overview and discussion are C. W. Fornara, The Nature of History in Ancient Greece and Rome (1983); J. Marincola, Authority and Tradition in Ancient Historiography (1997); Woodman, Rhetoric in Ancient Historiography; T. P. Wiseman, Historiography and Imagination (1994); S. Hornblower (ed.), Greek Historiography (1994); C. S. Kraus (ed.), The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts (1999). Studies focusing on speciﬁc historians include S. Hornblower, Thucydides (1987); E. Gabba, Dionysius and the History of Archaic Rome (1991), F. W. Walbank, Polybius (1972); A. M. Gowing, The Triumviral Narratives of Appian and Cassius Dio (1992), R. Mellor, The Roman Historians (1999). 55 An excellent summary of the diﬀerences and similarities between Greek and Roman historiographies is in Fornara, Nature, chapters 2 and 3, and Marincola, Authority, passim and 264–266. 56 Hdt. 1.1.

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why they fought against each other deserve special attention. But these subjects, of course, were very familiar to the Greeks: those were among the main subjects of the Homeric epic,57 and of several of the tragedies later written in Athens. What distinguishes, then, history from other genres of literature, poetry or philosophy? The answer lies in the method, or more precisely, in the intricate relations between a new methodology and content whose importance was familiar and understandable.58 It is true that changes in focus and emphasis in the historians’ subject matter occurred later, too: Thucydides, for one, chose to focus on one great event (k¤nhsiw meg¤sth). Polybius later focused not on one event, but on a historical process: the rise of Rome, in a relatively short period of time, to might and prowess as the world’s ﬁrst empire. Dionysius looked at Rome’s remote past, trying, perhaps, to work out what it took to become an empire. Arrian, a few centuries later, focused on the rise and fall of one man, Alexander the Great, rather than that of a city or a nation. It seems, that, ‘great deeds’ was a wide enough deﬁnition to include everything from wars and conquests to political history of states, and to the very nature of a speciﬁc ruler. Fornara59 points out that the tendency towards biographical accounts was more prevalent in GrecoRoman historiography from the ﬁrst century bce onwards. He observes an extension of the deﬁnition of history by adding ‘. . . the life and character of famous men to speeches and deeds as the proper subject of history’. Grabbe60 also agrees that biographical accounts, so long as they were seen ‘as part of the national history’, were included as an appropriate theme within history.61 All of these subject matters had a public aspect to them: even if the history was concentrating on the life of one king, it usually had

57 The Homeric kl°ow, too, echoes in Herodotus’ proem. More on allusions to Homer in Herodotus (and Thucydides) in J. L. Moles, ‘Truth and Untruth in Herodotus and Thucydides’ in Gill & Wiseman, Lies and Fiction, 88–121, and D. Boedecker, ‘Epic Heritage and Mythical Patterns in Herodotus’ in Bakker, de Jong & van Wees (eds.), Brill’s Companion (2002: 97–117). 58 Marincola, ‘Genre’, 282. 59 Nature, 116. 60 Moses, 157. 61 More on this subject in A. Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (expanded edition, 1993), passim.

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implications on the nature of his regime, and on his kingdom. More importantly perhaps, all of them were concerned with change, with movement from one state to another. Perceiving history as a dynamic process in which humans took a considerable part, and recognising the human ability to observe, analyse and explain this process, required a new and critical methodology that allowed for this new kind of explanation. The tendency to theorise and conceptualise history and the process of writing history is common to the vast majority of Greek historical texts at our disposal. It seems to be one of the traits that stand at the core of Greek, Hellenistic and Roman historiography and threads through the many styles, forms and genres that writing history in the Greco-Roman world has taken. Together with the perception of history as a process of change, the focus on the human element, and the subtle acknowledgement of the delicate relationship between form and content, they form the basic building blocks of Greco-Roman historiography. Changes in focus brought further ﬁne-tuning and discussion about methodology. There are distinctive diﬀerences between Herodotus’ relation to the Iliad and Odyssey (which dictated a certain methodology diﬀerent from that of later historians)62 and the treatment of sources of his immediate follower, Thucydides. Along with many literary and thematic allusions to the Homeric epic, Thucydides also outlined the inquisitive methodology for the ﬁrst time, with an emphasis on accuracy, critical inquiry and focusing on contemporary history.63 However, the quest for accuracy did not, in the end, come at the expense of rhetorical embellishment. The rise of rhetoric as a separate discipline from the fourth century bce onwards, together with considerable geopolitical changes such as the rise of Alexander the Great, presented historians with new challenges.64 Having been well aware of the power of rhetoric and its eﬀect on audiences, they had

62 More on the treatment of ‘mythical’ sources in Herodotus and non-contemporary historiography in Marincola, Authority, 117–127 and 262–3. 63 Mainly in the famous methodological declaration in 1.22. Moles, ‘Truth’, 98–114, points out to the complexity of Thucydides’ methodological declaration and its inclusion of Homeric themes and rhetorical embellishments. Woodman, RICH, 1–32, outlines a few essential diﬀerences between ancient and modern concepts of ‘scientiﬁc inquiry’ and even ‘truth’. 64 On the historical background and its possible inﬂuence on historiography see e.g. D. Asheri, Kinyan Le-Dorot (Hebrew), 89–98.

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to determine more clearly the relation between form and content, and decide whether to treat them as equal parts of the historiographical enterprise, or give more weight to one or the other. Was good rhetoric to have any impact on the truth-value of the historical report? To what extent could the historian use rhetorical tools to make his point clearer, his narrative more lucid or his morals more evident without losing the historical value and meaning of his work?65 The complex relationship between words and deeds, as well as the acknowledgement of the power of words, is a theme addressed by Thucydides already in the ﬁfth century bce. This issue became more central to historiography once rhetoric had acquired a more prominent place in public life, from the fourth century bce onwards, and once the art of speechwriting became formalised.66 Most historians inevitably implemented rhetorical tools in their narratives. Speeches, digressions, editorial comments, emotional descriptions and anecdota, all became part and parcel of historical texts regardless of whether the historians explicitly addressed the issues of the use of rhetoric in historiography and its eﬀect on the audience, or not. This ongoing and lively debate also expressed itself within the works themselves. For instance, Polybius, the statesman writing ‘pragmatic’ history for fellow statesmen, at one point (on Phylarchus, 2.56.3–13, and Timaeus, 12.25) regarded any kind of dramatic ornamentation as false in its nature and alien to the nature of writing history.67 He even maintained a somewhat negative approach towards speeches in historiography. However, his own implementation of historiographical principles was more complex in its nature, even within that very same comment.68 Rewritten speeches, which Polybius regarded as inaccurate and redundant, were long considered to be an appropriate subject to be included in historical accounts.69 Speeches

65 This subject was treated extensively in antiquity by historians, philosophers and thinkers such as Cicero (De Or), Polybius (2.56.3–13), Plutarch (Pericles 28) or Lucian, Hist. Consc. Ginzburg, History, Rhetoric, and White, ‘The Historical Text’, are modernday examinations of this issue. 66 In handbooks such as the Rhetorica Ad Alexandrum, or Ad Herennium. 67 On Polybius and his notion of ‘Pragmatic History’ see Walbank, Polybius, passim. 68 Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 295–302, oﬀers a new and illuminating reading of Polybius’ famous criticism of Phylarchus. 69 Thuc. 1.22 is the ﬁrst explicit comment concerning the place of speeches in historiography, but Herodotus had already included speeches in his Histories.

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provided historians with ample opportunity to display their rhetorical skills, and use those to evoke emotions in their audiences, regardless of whether they explicitly regarded verisimilitude necessary (like Thucydides or Polybius) or forfeited this notion in favour of a more colourful display of ideas and emotions outside speeches.70 Despite Polybius’ sharp criticism, the Hellenistic period in general saw the ﬂourishing of historiography that reacted to political and cultural changes and evolved hand in hand with rhetoric. Hellenistic historians, much as we can detect from fragments, tended to broaden the scope and style of writing history. From previous interest in the history of Greece and Athens, whose primary focus (and focalization) was on Greece and Greek culture, Hellenistic historians turned to writing history whose growing focus was on the very local on the one hand (Atthidography and local historiography of the Greek West such as that of Timaeus)71 and the universal (in scope, e.g. Dionysius, or in subject matter, e.g. Megasthenes or Hecataeus)72 on the other.73 The historical interest has broadened, from the treatment of speciﬁc events like the Peloponnesian War (Thucydides) to slower processes like the growth of Rome (Polybius). They acknowledged that history was intended not only to teach lessons for posterity but also to teach and persuade, and even provide entertainment. They also openly favoured the inclusion of a wide range of emotions, pãyh, in historiography.74 The inclination towards lurid descriptions and melodramatic scenes has since won the title ‘tragic’ or ‘pathetic’ historiography. If one insists on that title, which has in recent years been rightly reviewed and questioned,75 one may include the Hellenistic historians Duris76 and

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See in general F. W. Walbank, ‘Speeches in Greek Historians’, J. L. Myers Memorial Lecture (Oxford 1965), also in Walbank, Selected Papers (1985: 242–61). 71 On the evolution of local historiography in the Hellenistic period see e.g. Asheri, Kinyan, 115–126 et al. 72 Megasthenes’ work on India survived in fragmentary form (FrGH n. 715), and so did Hecataeus (no. 264 in Jacoby). 73 This could also be viewed as a ‘return to Herodotus’ and his ethnographic interests. 74 On the larger scope of emotions in question see Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 288ﬀ. 75 Most notably by F. Walbank, ‘History and Tragedy’, and more recently Marincola, ‘Emotions’ and ‘Towards a New Interpretation’, who takes after Walbank, and Asheri, Kinyan, 108–114, who in his understated manner indicates the problematic nature of this deﬁnition. 76 FrGH 76.

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Phylarchus. The debate (ancient and modern) about the relationship between history and tragedy is ever complex and lively. Other than reach a deﬁnitive conclusion, it is better yet again to let diversity speak for itself. Duris (in his criticism of his predecessors Ephorus and Theopompus) has pointed out that mimesis and hedone were essential to historical writing, thus making a direct connection, one that may be open to discussion, between history and tragedy. Phylarchus allowed himself an extremely lurid description of the fall of Mantinea and won in turn unequivocal criticism of his methodology from none other than Polybius.77 When it comes to audiences, even Polybius seems to have acknowledged the power of rhetorical persuasion. It may be the case that the strong link with rhetoric and the growing focus on emotions (whether positively or negatively), Hellenistic historians displayed a greater degree of interaction and popularity with their contemporary audiences, despite the occasional high-brow comment (again, ancient or modern) on the quality of their narratives.78 Rather than regard the evolution of Greek and Hellenistic historiography as a linear process, it seems we ought to acknowledge the great diversity, livelihood and constant process of reaction and interaction if at all we venture at outlining a brief summary of the subject. The scope of this book does not allow me to develop this subject further, but I hope the highlighted issues above will contribute to the understanding of Josephus’ professional and cultural background, and possible inﬂuences on his work. Roman Historiography Once again, it is almost impossible to draw characteristic outlines of Roman historiography—it too enjoyed a variety of styles and ten77 2.56. 3–13. Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 295–302, suggests to read this passage in a more broad-minded light, and not to assume a priori that Polybius’ attack is on the inclusion of emotions in general. Polybius, suggests Marincola, (pp. 299–301) “. . . is not arguing against the portrayal of emotions (even strong emotions) in history . . . Phylarchus’ scenes are faulted not because they are emotional, but because they are invented.” He adds that “For in seeing pity and anger as appropriate emotions for history . . . Polybius is invoking rhetorical teaching, since one of the deﬁning tasks of the orator is to raise exactly these emotions of pity and anger . . . and to do so precisely in order that he may sway his audience and win his case.” 78 A modern day comparison is perhaps the relation between tabloids and spreadsheet newspapers, with the exception that high-brow journalism has long acknowledged the impact and popularity of their lower-brow competition.

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dencies, and a fair degree of individuality and creativity. By the time Roman historians started writing their own history in their own language, Greek historiography was a well-established and appreciated genre. The ﬁrst historical text produced in Rome by Fabius Pictor in the late third century bce was written in Greek, and while there is no doubt that Greek historiography had a direct and considerable inﬂuence on Roman historiography, the latter naturally took a slightly diﬀerent course of evolution. The political system of Rome, its culture and language were diﬀerent from that of Greece and evidently played a part in the construction of historiography in Rome, whether directly (source availability from the Senate archives) or by way of broader cultural impact. How did Roman writers perceive of history? A quick overview suggests that most Roman historians were engaged in a diﬀerent kind of theoretical discussion.79 Rather than focus on the philosophical and methodological aspects of writing history, the theoretical discussions of Roman historians tended to emphasise the pragmatic aspects and political relevance and usefulness of history.80 But that is not to say that Roman historians were not interested in the philosophy of history. The diversity of style, moral messages and use of rhetorical devices may perhaps indicate that the scarcity of more abstract methodological discussions within the historical texts in Latin could be more a stylistic convention than a conceptual one. That is not to say, however, that Roman writers underestimated the literary and philosophical aspects of history. On the contrary: Cicero, although not a historian, put it eloquently in his De Oratore:81 Historia vero testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae, nuntia vetustatis, qua voce alia nisi oratoris immortalitati commendatur?

History is the witness of the ages, the light of truth, the teacher of life, with what voice other than the orator’s can it be entrusted to

79 Marincola, Authority, 264–266 summarises a few of the diﬀerences between Greek and Latin historiography. 80 See e.g. the prefaces of Livy and Sallust, B.Cat., both (mutatis mutandis) alluding to the moral and political beneﬁts of reading history. More on the political relevance of Livy’s preface in A. Feldherr, Spectacle and Society in Livy’s History (1998: 1–19). On Livy’s preface as a reaction to that of Sallust see Moles, ‘Truth’, 100, and Woodman, RICH, 131. 81 De Or. 2.36.

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immortality? asks Cicero, in what is perhaps the most precise description of the essence of history by a Roman writer. It has it all: the glory of history, the assumption that history tells the truth (to be elaborated further in De Or. 2.62), that it contains valuable lessons for life. And, last but not least, Cicero acknowledges that rhetoric and history are closely intertwined. The high morals of history, as well as its practical morals and guidelines, are too important not to be told properly, and to do it justice requires good rhetoric.82 However, we should by no means consider Cicero to be the highest authority when it comes to analysing Roman historiography. His words simply serve as an example, or an indication for Roman sentiments concerning history. With all his admiration and appreciation of the genre, he himself did not engage in writing history explicitly,83 and we must take into account a wider diversity of opinions among Roman writers: Cato the Elder, who represents a more conservative and Romanocentric approach, might not fully agree with Cicero’s later praise of history (perceived as a Greek invention) and rhetoric. Whereas Greek historians since Herodotus showed interest (in diﬀerent forms) in other peoples and places, an interest which grew during the Hellenistic period—their Roman counterparts were mostly concerned with Rome’s own history and politics and often showed lack of interest, not to mention ignorance, concerning foreign nations.84 The few accounts that focus on foreign peoples, whether partly or wholly (Caesar’s Bellum Gallicum, Tacitus’ Germania) are usually written from a distinctively Roman point of view. These are not ethnographies in the Greek sense that seek to report about foreign nations impartially and with a fair degree of curiosity. Germans, Gauls, Greeks and others are depicted through the prism of Roman interests and issues.85 The political orientation of Roman historiography and its matterof-fact character may have depended on that fact that most of the Roman historians (Livy, though, is one of the few Roman exceptions)86

82

For a more speciﬁc rhetorical analysis of history see Cicero, Orator 66. Although he certainly wrote about history (De.Or. book 2; Ad Familiares 5.12), and some of his works, e.g. Brutus, can be read as history. 84 See e.g. Tacitus’ comments on the Jews, Hist. 5.5ﬀ. 85 In other words, Roman historians have scarcely engaged in ‘mirroring Self and Other’, to use F. Hartog’s terms (Hartog, The Mirror of Herodotus (Eng. Tr. 1988)). 86 See Mellor, Roman Historians, chapter 3, and Feldherr, Spectacle, chapter 1. Livy’s lack of political activity might have also inﬂuenced his style and emphases. 83

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were politicians. They often belonged to the senatorial ranks, served time as active men of state and had access to state documents. This possibly had some inﬂuence on their prime historical interests as well as on their methodological approach to writing history.87 The strong political orientation was expressed not only in the choice of subject matter, but also in the underlying moral interests of Roman historians. The centrality of the aﬀairs of the state brought in turn a strong emphasis on human conduct. Non-human powers such as Fate ( fatum), Fortune ( fortuna) or necessity played part in the overall perception and interpretation of history but were well intertwined with, and perceived through the framework of, human activity. These forces tended to subtly aﬀect, rather than directly determine, events. Even Livy, who is perhaps the least ‘secular’ Latin historian, perceives the role of supernatural forces in history as a complex phenomenon.88 Latin historiography tended to intertwine religion (and with it, supernatural forces) with politics and the political realm and view it through the political frame. The focus on the political element in history often resulted, in turn, in a highly moralistic and didactic tone, compared with the subtler undertones of Greek historians.89 The prevalence of the human element found expression in the interest Roman historians had in emperors (Tacitus, Annales) and, on the other hand, in conspirators, traitors and dissidents (Sallust, Catiline). This in turn aﬀects the style and makes more room for biographical accounts, and eventually for the development of biography as a separate genre, culminating in the biographies of Suetonius.90 History and biography were not the same thing: the former concentrated on what the Greeks deﬁned as ‘great deeds’, even those of an individual, whereas the latter was more inclined to list ephemeral details such as an individual’s childhood, education, and even bodily characteristics. However, we should take into account a fair degree of generic diﬀusion.91 87

See also Marincola, Authority, 265. To the extent that modern scholarship interprets the very same passages as ‘religious’ or ‘sceptic’. See D. S. Levene, Religion in Livy (1993: 1–38). 89 See R. W. Cape, Jr. ‘Persuasive history: Roman rhetoric and historiography’, in W. J. Dominik (ed.), Roman Eloquence: Rhetoric in Society and Literature (1997: 212–229). 90 S. Swain, ‘Biography and Biographic in the Literature of the Roman Empire’ in Edwards & Swain, Portraits, 1–37, oﬀers a summary of the topic. This introductory essay opens a collection of articles all concerned with biographical elements in the literature of the Roman Empire. 91 An interesting example of an extended historical portrait which borrows 88

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Latin historians after Livy (with the exceptions of Florus and Ammianus) mostly wrote contemporary or near-contemporary accounts. They would preferably base their accounts on personal experience (Caesar’s Bellum Gallicum) or eyewitness. Although they often had access to senatorial archives and state documents, their use and treatment of those was surprisingly scant and uncritical. Biographers such as Suetonius were using a wider range of sources, but that was perhaps due to their focus on the informal aspects of their protagonists’ lives. Suetonius, for example, claimed to have got hold of personal artefacts, hand-written diaries of emperors, and the like (Augustus 8, Nero 52). As we have seen, rhetoric was often considered as an important part and an inseparable element of historiography. Rhetorical and dramatic elements are prevalent in Roman historiography. Speeches, though not discussed theoretically, appear in either direct or indirect speech forms.92 The underlying assumption was that speeches would both contribute to the dramatic ﬂow of the narrative, and adequately portray the nature of political life in Rome. Roman historians often took after the Greek and Hellenistic examples, often composing their own (more eloquent) versions of senatorial and imperial speeches.93 Among the rhetorical devices in use we also ﬁnd obituaries.94 These often carried moral summaries of a person’s (and sometimes, an era’s) characteristics (e.g. Tacitus on Tiberius, Annales 6.51; Ammianus on Valens, 31.14). Digressions and ethnographic accounts existed, but did not have a considerable rhetorical weight within accounts. We may suggest then that the Roman combination of political orientation, pragmatic worldview and focus on the human element

biographical elements is Tacitus’ portrait of Tiberius (Annales). However, Tacitus’ account is closely intertwined with matters of the state: the king’s personality seems to have had a direct inﬂuence on the turn of events. 92 This change of mode sometimes has a rhetorical signiﬁcance. See e.g. Levene, ‘Pity, Fear’, 137. 93 In some cases, archaeological evidence helps in establishing that phenomenon: see Tacitus’ version of Claudius’ speech in Annales 11.24 compared with the oﬃcial version inscribed on a bronze tablet found in Lyons. See M. T. Griﬃn, ‘The Lyons Tablet and Tacitean Hindsight’, CQ 32.2 (1982: 404–418) and ‘Claudius in Tacitus’, CQ 40.2 (1990: 482–501), and also Mellor, Roman Historians, 90–92. 94 This is especially characteristic of Tacitus, e.g. his obituary of Tiberius, Ann. 6.51. See also Ammianus’ obituary of Valens, 31.14. On obituaries in Tacitus see R. Syme, ‘Obituaries in Tacitus’ in Syme, Ten Studies on Tacitus (1970: 79–90).

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in history found their expression in one other aspect of Latin historiography: the development of an independent and assertive authorial voice. Despite the scarcity of explicit methodological discussion, Roman historians chose to express their authority and opinion with the rhetorical device of editorial comments in the ﬁrst person, often by way of introductions or summaries to narratives. They did not hesitate to express their opinions concerning moral issues95 and used rhetoric as orators would do: in order to enhance their own voice, and hence teach and persuade their audiences. Conclusion: Historiography The generic borders of Greco-Roman historiography, if ever these were deﬁnable, were ﬂexible enough to include variations on the deﬁnition of history, and on the methodology used to relate it. These generic borders, however, would have still been ﬁrm enough to form a comprehensible distinction between this genre and other means of writing about the past, whether within the Greco-Roman world or outside it. Greek and Roman historians diﬀered in their background, language, style, political circumstances and philosophical convictions, and those in turn took part in shaping and forming each work of each historian. But underneath the great diversity there is a basic common ground, or cultural set of conventions, which allowed variety and individuality to evolve, but still remain comprehensible to both authors and audiences.96 The Greco-Roman perception of history seems to have inﬁltrated the methodology of writing about history. Greco-Roman historiography is in itself dynamic. We see not only reaction to, but interaction with, former and contemporaneous historical works. We see variety of genres and styles of historiography, to the extent that sometimes it becomes very diﬃcult to outline any common characteristics even within one work.97 In Roman historiography, the

95

E.g. Tacitus, Hist. 1.3. White, ‘The Historical text’, 15–20 oﬀers an interesting discussion of the issue of cultural common grounds and mentalities. 97 Such is Herodotus’ historical enterprise, which contains sections that could themselves be deﬁned as ‘sub-genres’. Marincola, ‘Genre’, 283–290, addresses the problems in Jacoby’s generic division. R. Fowler, ‘Herodotos’, challenges Jacoby’s linear perception of the evolution of Greek historiography. 96

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methodological independence and individuality resulted in a greater emphasis on the historian’s voice, expressed mainly through editorial comments, and a creative implementation of rhetorical devices. Josephus Josephus’ extensive corpus seems to have adopted, and reacted to, quite a few traits from each of the historiographical traditions. This, I believe, was done both by way of cultural inﬁltration and speciﬁc treatment of earlier historians and their methodology. It is, however, diﬃcult and perhaps artiﬁcial to deﬁne and segregate each and every instance of such methodological, thematic and linguistic inﬂuences. Writing history is a far too complicated task to be dissected in such fashion. Moreover, and despite the diﬀerences between Jewish and Greco-Roman perceptions and methodologies of historiography, there are similarities between the two traditions—the basic need to ‘tell a story’,98 the acknowledgement of higher forces, the cycle of human activity in the form of action and consequence, or the social and political drive to write history. Nevertheless, I shall try to isolate a few basic tendencies we detect in Josephus and attribute them to each of the traditions in question, if only to demonstrate that indeed, his writing is a true example of cultural fusion on the one hand, and an individual mind on the other. From Jewish historiography, Josephus seems to have taken his thematic interest in, and emphasis on, Judaism and Jewish history.99 Whether an account of the Jewish revolt or an extended account of Jewish history to his day, Josephus’ subject matter in his historical works is Judaism and the history of the Jewish people. Being an educated Jew and living in exile, however, his accounts diﬀer from ear-

98 H. White, ‘The Value of Narrativity in the Representation of Reality’, (The Content of the Form, 1–25), suggests that despite our initial assumptions, writing history in the form of narrative is not a fundamental requirement in all societies and periods. 99 This, of course, is obvious. However, the tendency of a historian of a certain tradition to tell the Greco-Roman world about the history of his people seems to have been characteristic of other Oriental Hellenistic historians such as Berosus and Manethon, who also wrote in Greek about their traditions. See e.g. Asheri, Kinyan, 122–124.

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lier examples (outlined above) in the use of language (Atticising Greek), choice of themes and topoi (e.g. war and stasis (BJ); ‘universal’ history and the Jewish politeia (AJ), portraits of rulers (both works), and overall interpretation of history (God is no longer perceived as necessarily determining all of history; the human element plays an important part in the course of events). Josephus also alludes to the Jewish tendency towards a theological perception of history as the relationship between God and humanity (especially Jews), but this view tends to be blended with Greco-Roman ideas of greater freedom of action for humankind.100 From the Greco-Roman and Hellenistic historiographical traditions Josephus learned not only the language but also the basic methodology of critical inquiry, the acknowledgement of the importance of rhetoric with an eye for his audience, and the inclusion of emotions in historical accounts, accuracy notwithstanding.101 Josephus also learned to develop and establish an individual and assertive authorial voice and demonstrate greater ﬂexibility of generic conventions, to the extent those were indeed limiting. The Hellenistic interest in the place of individual characters in history and the development of the genre of biography in Rome may have inﬂuenced Josephus’ focus on individual characters as part of his historical interpretation, most especially in the Herod narratives. With precedents like Herodotus’ Xerxes, Xenophon’s Cyrus, Arrian’s Alexander and Suetonius’ Caesars, Josephus’ extensive treatment of Herod seems perfectly acceptable as an integral part of historical writing.102 Josephus exercises these traits with great skill in his two portraits of Herod which I shall examine in the following chapters. His 100 In the later CA (1.28–43) Josephus states the superiority of the Bible to Greek historiography (in that it contains the uncontested truth). But this later declaration has a rhetorical purpose, and Josephus’ own treatment of the Bible as historical source reveals a considerable degree of emendations, omissions and additions that digress from his declaration in AJ 1.17 that he will neither omit nor change anything from Scripture. For explanations of this discrepancy see Cohen, Galilee and Rome, 24–42. L. H. Feldman, ‘Decline’, examines the gap between Josephus’ declaration and his practice and points out to Hellenistic inﬂuences apparent in Josephus’ biblical paraphrase. 101 BJ 1.1–30. This proem outlines Josephus’ methodology for the BJ, which clearly adopts all of the above. The later AJ follows along similar lines. See the general introduction, pp. 10–17. 102 This alone, of course, does not suﬃce to explain the more speciﬁc questions concerning the relevance of Herod to BJ and AJ. I have addressed this issue in the general introduction above, pp. 20–30.

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portraiture of the king in both BJ and AJ demonstrates good command of Greco-Roman topoi of tyrants in historiography and literature, and an assertive authorial voice that takes charge of the narratives with much verve. As far as the inclusion of emotions is concerned, Josephus seems to be very much at ease with both acknowledging the importance of emotions in historical accounts (BJ 1.9–12) and using them in his writing. Hand in hand with the prominent GrecoRoman elements, Josephus also combines Jewish themes and ideas into his complex portraits of Herod. Herod’s (problematic) Jewishness, and his accountability to the Jewish God and people as king of the Jews (a theme more prominent in AJ ), bear some resemblance to biblical portraits, such as that of king Saul. But unlike the anonymous and straightforward biblical narrator, Josephus’ own voice has a very high impact on the emerging image of the king, and the narrative as a whole. Josephus stands out among Jewish historians in antiquity in his extensive adoption and application of the various Greco-Roman methodologies of writing history. Not only does he demonstrate knowledge of styles and conventions, he is also conﬁdent enough of his own writing to blend them into an original display of historiography. It may perhaps be a result of the catastrophe of the revolt that this conceptual leap has occurred.103 But the question whether taking this methodological step in a new direction is indeed a conceptual ‘quantum leap’ or simply a modest move on the same scale remains, at this stage, open. In the following chapters, I will look at the ways in which Josephus implements ideas from both historiographical traditions into the Herod narratives.

103 De Pury and Roemer, ‘DH’, p. 136, point out to the power of catastrophe as an intellectual stimulus. They refer to biblical historiography after the destruction of the ﬁrst Temple and the Babylonian exile, but what they maintain (that in the event of a catastrophe, “it’s necessary to preserve what has taken place, to recall what is in danger of being forgotten, to preserve what is on the way to foundering. The biblical historiography . . . is born of this catastrophe and lives from the crisis that follows. But it is precisely then that the choice of a new identity is expressed through the choice for its myths of origin”) can be applied to the circumstances that prompted Josephus to set out on his historiographical enterprise.

CHAPTER TWO

HEROD’S PORTRAIT IN THE JEWISH WAR

This chapter presents a close analysis of the Herod narrative in the BJ, examining the rhetorical tools Josephus uses throughout the account. As mentioned earlier, my working hypothesis credits Josephus with good command of rhetorical conventions in Greek historiography and with a strong editorial hand. We have noted in the general introduction1 how the Herod narrative ﬁts in well with the rest of the work. Here I shall examine more closely the rhetorical makeup of the account itself. Even though the following analysis concentrates on the devices operated within the narrative, we must at the same time bear in mind some broader considerations regarding the art of narrating, and the roles of narrator and audience.2 As with every complex story, the Herod narrative is not simply a sum of its elements, but something more: a coherent account which derives its dramatic force not only from the implementation of rhetorical tools within it, but also from the stance the narrator adopts, his interaction with the audience, and the relation between this particular account and the rest of the work. As we shall see below, Josephus3

1

Pp. 20–30. See also the conclusion to this chapter, p. 106ﬀ. I shall be using terms and tools from narratology throughout the analysis since I ﬁnd them useful and illuminating when conducting a rhetorical examination. In the present case, a narratological analysis provides further possible explanations for the narrative’s structure, the portraiture of Herod and the peculiar dramatic eﬀect of both. However, I am not assuming exclusive narratological interpretation. See the section on methodology in the general introduction. Most helpful in clarifying narratological method and analysis were Bal, Narratology, and Genette, Narrative Discourse. Successful examples of the application of narratology to Classics (literature and historiography) include de Jong, Narrators and Focalizers; A Narratological Commentary on the Odyssey (2001); ‘The Origins of Figural Narration in Antiquity’ in W. Van Peer & S. Chatman, New Perspectives on Narrative Perspective (New York: State University of New York Press 2001: 67–81); ‘The Anachronical Structure of Herodotus’ in S. J. Harrison (ed.), Texts, Ideas and the Classics (2001: 93–116); Hornblower, ‘Narratology’, and Rood, Thucydides. 3 In the case of the present historical narrative (and perhaps of most historical narratives) there is close resemblance between Josephus the historian and Josephus 2

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retains a resonant and assertive narrating voice throughout the Herod narrative. This continuous retention of focalization4 has some interesting implications for the overall dramatic character of the narrative and for the portraiture of Herod, the main protagonist. The Narrative Structure—Chronology and Storyline (Order)5 Already when looking at the order of the Herod narrative—the sequence of relating the events—it is evident that Josephus chooses to narrate the historical account in an unusual manner. There is a clear partition between Herod’s public and domestic aﬀairs.6 Josephus begins his narrative with a presentation of Herod as a young man, already endowed with his most characteristic traits (an energetic nature, ambition, a hot temper, and their political consequences, 1.204–228). Then comes an account of his struggle for power, his victories and failures (1.229–353). Finally, Josephus relates an account of Herod’s actual reign (1.354–673). The two parts are juxtaposed in chapters 430–31, where the narrator contrasts Herod’s good fortune in his public career with his grave misfortune concerning his family aﬀairs.7 The account of Herod’s rise to power is dominated by his public conduct (1.204–430). That of his actual reign, in turn, emphasises his private comings and goings (1.431–673). The two parts are divided by a smaller section, Herod’s building projects (1.401–430).

the narrator. One may venture to suggest that they are, in a sense, one and the same. This tendency is common in historical (as opposed to ﬁctional) narratives. See Rood, Thucydides, 9–10, and the general introduction above, under ‘Narrative’, p. 30ﬀ. 4 This is not to say that the narrative is devoid of embedded focalizations: these come into play in speeches, letters, and certain stories. However, the main focalizing voice seems to remain that of the narrator, Josephus, from beginning to end. 5 On narrative order see Genette, Discourse, 33–85. 6 This of course has been noted by many scholars. See most recently L. Ullman and J. J. Price, ‘Drama and History in Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum’, SCI 21 (2002: 97–114, esp. 98–99), and T. Rajak, ‘whose Herod? Josephus and Nicolaus on the Reign of Herod the Great’, a paper given at the Herod conference of the British Museum, April 2001. 7 The duality of fortune is a familiar topos in Greco-Roman historiography. See below.

herod’s portrait in the

BJ

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This particular chronological arrangement has two main eﬀects: it grants the narrative an extended dramatic essence, and it leaves the narrator in charge of things. The main voice in the narrative, with his choice of structuring the narrative in this order, remains that of Josephus throughout the account. I shall go back to the particulars of this partition below. Josephus separates the public from the domestic and hence delays certain domestic events, but once he concentrates on each realm, events form a loose chronological framework. I say loose, because the narrator again exercises his power of focalization and embellishes his narrative with prolepses and analepses (digressions forwards and backwards in time and place, respectively). Most common in the ﬁrst part of the narrative are external analepses: what de Jong deﬁnes as ‘narration of events which took place before the point in the story which we ﬁnd ourselves, and outside the time and place limits of the main story.’8 These digressions are concerned, in our case, with Rome. The inclusion of events like the murder of Caesar and changes of power in Rome and her provinces in the Herod narrative has a few rhetorical justiﬁcations. Apart from creating a more dynamic rhythm for the narrative and establishing a certain degree of parallelism between Judea and Rome (see below), those Roman analepses put the events in Judea in a wider context and credit the account with external means of corroboration. The ﬁrst digression into Roman aﬀairs appears in book 1, chapters 216–221. The events in question take place in Syria: the war at Apamea and the murder of Sextus Caesar, Herod’s ally and protector. Then, by way of an external analepsis, Josephus mentions the murder of Caesar in Rome and the civil war that followed.9 He also writes about the arrival of Cassius in Syria and Herod’s friendship with him. This short section consists of two Roman events (one local, one in Rome) that are essentially the same phenomenon: sedition, strife, civil war. This is of course highly relevant to the BJ in general,

8

de Jong, Odyssey, xi–xix. An interesting comparandum might be the Life of Augustus (Vita Caesaris) of Nicolaus (On Josephus and Nicolaus see the general introduction, pp. 23–27). Nicolaus, too, digresses from the narrative and devotes a lengthy and dramatic account of the murder of Caesar and the unrest which preceded and followed it (VC chapters 19–28 (58–107)). 9

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for it draws attention to stasis,10 one of the central themes of the work. However, its particular place within the Herod narrative suggests further relevance. The ﬁrst Roman analepsis dealing with civil strife comes immediately after the section relating Herod’s near attack on Jerusalem, and right before the section that tells the story of the sedition in Samaria, which Herod manages to pacify, and more importantly of the plots of Malichus, Herod’s compatriot, against him. Stasis, then, is relevant in both the immediate and the wider context. The next Roman digression appears in chapter 242. It focuses on the death of Cassius, Herod’s ally, at Philippi. Following that, Octavian headed for Rome and Antony remained in Bithynia. This marks another shift within the struggle for power in Rome. Herod’s next step follows: establishing loyalty to Antony on the basis of both former familial connections and shrewd political senses. This short section follows an account of further sedition and disquiet in Judea: the revolt of Helix and Antigonus’ attempts to resume power in Judea with Roman help. Josephus continues his narrative with the story of the Jewish delegation to Antony, complaining against Herod. This embassy results in the appointment of Herod and his brother Phasael as Tetrarchs of Judea. Again, this is not a sign of peace and quiet on the Jewish front. These are the two external analepses concerning Roman aﬀairs. There are a few other passages where Josephus mentions Rome, but only in direct relation to Herod. As far as other foreign aﬀairs are concerned, Josephus mentions the Parthian invasion of Syria and Judea (1.248), their conquest and destruction of Jerusalem (1.268) and ﬁnally, the Roman victory (1.317). In all cases mentioned above, Josephus chooses to focus on Rome’s weaker aspects, rather than relate stories of Roman prowess and successful conquests. Rome is under threat both from within and without. Sedition and civil war take place, and the eastern threat from Parthia becomes serious. This is striking, for stasis would not necessarily be the ﬁrst thing to associate with Imperial Rome, as opposed to the late Republic.11 Associating Rome with stasis might be part 10 Josephus uses the term pÒlemow here but describes internal sedition, and later substitutes stãsiw for the term. 11 Note the associations between the Roman Republic and civil strife in Sallust’s BJug. 41 and later in Appian BCiv. 1.6.

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of Josephus’ overall historiographical view, and his eﬀort to enhance civil strife as a central theme to the whole of the BJ.12 Josephus mentions the Parthians, too, in a way that enhances his underlying theme of stasis and disquiet.13 The Parthians not only conquer Syria and Judea, but also openly support Herod’s enemy, Antigonus. They meddle with Judean aﬀairs in their attempt to put him on the throne (1.269). Their conquest of Jerusalem is violent, they pillage the city, and in the end they are not satisﬁed with either their loot or their choice of puppet-king. This very clear connection between Antigonus and the Parthians (both devoid of any positive trait whatsoever) further strengthens the parallelism between the ‘right’ Judea, under the reign of Herod, and the ‘right’ empire, Rome. The external analepses help therefore to place the Herod narrative in a wider historical context. The parallels with the events in Judea, as well as the moral and philosophical implications of the digressions are thus embedded into the narrative in a subtle way and create a mirroring eﬀect: Rome and Judea reﬂect each other. However, they do so in a complex fashion. They are of course neither total opposites nor entirely parallel, and their structure is very diﬀerent. Yet the two societies are attacked by a common enemy and are also aﬄicted by the same internal disease: civil war.14

12 Discussion of Roman stasis, as opposed to Greek stasis, is a theme that appears elsewhere in Greco-Roman historiography, e.g. in Dionysius of Halicarnassus and his account of the early republic. In the case of Josephus in the BJ this theme could have ﬁtted in more than one way: as an allusion to the Thucydidean notion; as an indirect allusion to Rome (whose dominance in the BJ is obvious in more than one way); as a historically relevant theme, related to his own analysis. 13 I only refer here to Josephus’ treatment of the Parthians within the rhetorical conﬁnes of the Herod narrative of the BJ. It has to be stressed that the Parthian Empire retained a much deeper signiﬁcance for Josephus (with its prominent Jewish community and the linguistic and cultural aﬃnities). Parthia’s relations with both Rome and the Jewish dynasts were complex and multi-faceted, and the stance of the eastern empire in general (and especially in the AJ ) is by no means that of an outright enemy. The particularly negative portrait of Parthia is characteristic of the digression in question, for the reasons stated above. More on Parthians in Josephus in T. Rajak, ‘Josephus and the Parthians’ in Josef Wiesenhoefer (ed.), Das Partherreich und seine Zeugnisse, Historia Einzelschriﬀten 122 (1998: 309–324). 14 However, it has to be noted that the political threat from Parthia is diﬀerent: whereas Rome and Parthia are portrayed as two empires that face each other on almost equal terms, the Parthian involvement in Judea is presented by Josephus as an extension of the internal struggle for power. The Parthians act on behalf of Antigonus (and Rome, in this equation, does not act on behalf of Herod).

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Despite the obvious diﬀerences between them, Rome and Judea undergo similar political and social experiences. The constant comparison is illuminating and enriching as far as the theme of stasis is concerned. Stasis becomes a real threat, given that even Rome is aﬀected by it. Judea, on the other hand, becomes closer and more comprehensible for the part of Josephus’ audience that was not Jewish,15 when it is depicted as a state that is aﬀected by events similar to those of Rome. The connection between internal disquiet and external war is made obvious as well and links between the theme of stasis and the very main theme of the work, the Jewish revolt.16 But Josephus leaves the mirroring process at that and does not go any further. Judea and Rome do not join hands in ﬁghting their common enemy. Indeed, they will form a fruitful alliance with Herod playing a major role in establishing the connection. However, narrator and narratees alike know that in the end, the two allies will face each other in a devastating war. The dramatic irony, which will be developed throughout the account by several methods,17 is already evident here. Let us now concentrate more on the portraiture of Herod. The ﬁrst section of the Herod narrative contains, as mentioned above, an account of Herod’s rise and struggle for power (BJ 1.204–430). The main emphasis is on Herod’s political image, as a young and powerful contestant to the Judean throne. We are told a lot about Herod’s public traits: he is quick to react, energetic, conﬁdent, cunning and hot-headed. However, Josephus does not tell us anything about Herod’s early upbringing, education or domestic relationships: the way he treats his relatives, his personal feelings, or what indeed drives him to take the road he has taken.18 Perhaps as a result of

15 Non-Jewish readership, especially intellectuals with interest in Judaism, was probably part of Josephus’ immediate audience in Rome (but by no means the only audience). Josephus certainly aimed beyond his immediate Jewish audience, and also addressed a Gentile readership, aﬀected or real. See the general introduction above, pp. 34–35. Cf. H. H. Chapman, Theater and Spectacle in Josephus’ Bellum Judaicum (Ph.D. Diss. Stanford 1998, chapter 1), and S. Mason’s introduction to the Brill commentary on Antiquities 1–4 (BJP Vol. 3, 2000: xvii–xx). 16 Already in the proem to the BJ (1.9–10), Josephus explicitly claims a strong causal connection between internal civil unrest (stãsiw oike¤a) and the outbreak of the revolt. 17 See the analysis of rhetorical devices below, p. 82ﬀ., and the conclusion to this chapter, pp. 106–113. 18 Ancient biography, by contrast, often tends to include accounts of early child-

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that, Herod at this stage seems more symbolic than real. His character is almost schematic, that of ‘a young, promising (but potentially problematic) politician rising to power’.19 We do not know anything speciﬁc about his personality, his thoughts, his wishes or his formative past experiences. Josephus does not write about Herod’s childhood, or include anecdotes of any kind.20 Herod’s existence, as it were, begins not with a wise or anticipatory anecdote from early childhood as is often the case in ancient biography, but with an immediate and glorious military action: the ousting of the brigands in the Galilee (1.204).21 It is my contention that he would retain this quality and remain distant throughout the narrative, in spite of, or perhaps due to,22 the rhetorical and dramatic embellishments. I hope to oﬀer an adequate explanation for this riddle in this chapter. The story itself, despite the brevity of description, already reveals that this young man has certain qualities that would make him a leader. Herod’s praises are immediately ‘sung, as the restorer of their

hood and upbringing (ÉAgvgÆ) in such accounts, whether they consist of curious anecdotes or an outline of the education of the promising young man who would become king. Earlier examples tend to do so much more than later Greco-Roman, and Roman political biography tends to have very little of such material: Suetonius’ Life of Augustus, for instance, contains an account of Augustus’ family history (1–7) but only a short account of Augustus as a child prodigy (8). The rest of the work is dedicated to the emperor’s political career. Cf. C. B. R. Pelling, ‘Childhood and Personality in Greek Biography’ in Pelling (ed.), Characterization and Individuality in Greek Literature (1989: 213–244). Note that the 1st century bce Life of Augustus by Nicolaus (1–14 and 25 a–b) includes a longer and more detailed section dedicated to the life of the ‘young Caesar (ka¤sarow toË neoË, 25), albeit in a fragmentary and pastiche-like form. 19 I am borrowing C. Sourvinou-Inwood’s notion of ‘schemata’ and their function in historical narrative. See her analysis of Herodotus 3.48, 50–53 in ‘Reading’ Greek culture: Texts and Images, Rituals and Myths (1991: 244–267). Here the ‘schema’ appears in the initial portraiture of Herod, but later it will also come into play in the construction of several sub-stories within the Herod narrative. Among those most notably (and interestingly similar to Herodotus) is Herod’s relations with his sons. 20 Josephus only includes a reference to Herod’s young age when achieving his ﬁrst political role, the governor of Galilee (n°on, 1.203). Cf. Nicolaus on Augustus, VC 3.4–5, and also Josephus on himself as a young prodigy, Vita 8–9. 21 This method of presentation of Herod resembles that of ancient historical monographs concentrating on one prominent character rather than an event, such as Arrian’s Anabasis. In Josephus, this could perhaps be a remnant of Nicolaus. But even if that is the case, Josephus later moulds the literary conventions into his own narrative structure and adjusts them to his independent agenda. 22 This has to do with the force of the narrator. See below under ‘The Historian’s Voice’, p. 98ﬀ.

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[i.e. the towns and the villages of the Galilee] peace and possessions (1.205)’. Only later one discovers that this fast track to fame is somewhat problematic, ﬁrst because ‘it is impossible in prosperity to escape envy (208)’,23 and secondly, because actions like these always have a price in the form of killing innocent people (209). Five chapters after Herod had been introduced, we are acquainted with his most characteristic quality: the twofold nature of his personality, his aﬃliations, and his conduct. However, the full rhetorical eﬀect of Herod’s complex personality will only be revealed later on. In the ﬁrst part of the narrative, the overall image of Herod that we receive is of a young and ambitious politician, whose shrewd nature and sharp political senses have brought him the title of king. One thing is clear: his way to power was not smooth. Internal sedition, violence, mutual suspicion, political opportunism, all the vices that would later become very characteristic of his domestic life are already in play in the Judean public sphere.24 Herod, however, does not seem to be fully and solely responsible for the events, as would be the case in the later part of the narrative, where the focus is on his domestic aﬀairs. He does not initiate plotting, killing or attacking yet (except that near-attack on Jerusalem, a result of his hot-tempered nature, which was prevented by his father and brother). He is portrayed as reacting to the circumstances, not as taking action. This relative passiveness, however, is not conﬁned to the ﬁrst section.25 In Josephus’ portrait of Herod’s image, this quality of character penetrates more deeply and comes into play in a more negative fashion in Herod’s personal life. To a certain extent, Herod’s portrait in the second section of the BJ narrative bears some resem-

23

This early comment contains a subtle hint to Herod’s subsequent misfortunes. The construction ‘prosperity-envy’, which is common in Greco-Roman historiography beginning with Herodotus, appears in Josephus both in the BJ and the AJ (see below, under ‘The Historian’s Voice’). 24 As they would be in Roman politics, too. Cf. VC 19 (58–66). However, while Herod’s tribulations come at a stage in the narrative where his vices have already been hinted at, Nicolaus’ biography of Augustus is considerably more laudatory; the young Octavian is portrayed as a noble, virtuous, honest young man. 25 As Ullman and Price convincingly demonstrate (Drama, 98–105), Herod’s tendency to ‘react, rather than control’ events is prevalent in the second part of the narrative as well.

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blance to that of a tragic hero. The tendency of ancient historians to add certain tragic character qualities to historical ﬁgures is well attested and quite common in Greco-Roman historiography.26 Josephus’ emphasis on personal misfortune, the self-destructive streak, the fact that he is confronting and succumbing to external, more powerful forces (Fortune, as Josephus notes in his obituary of the king), all point in that direction. That is not to say, of course, that Herod’s image is constructed exclusively upon the models from classical Athenian tragedy. It is simply that Josephus seems to adopt in his portrait of Herod certain traits which show an aﬃnity with familiar features from tragedy.27 Herod is perhaps not a tragic character per se, but a historical ﬁgure which has a few characteristics of a tragic character. There are a few major diﬀerences between his portrait and those of characters in an Athenian tragedy. These are a result of many reasons, such as the generic boundaries, the cultural disposition and the historian’s voice and rhetorical preferences. I shall elaborate on them in the next section of this chapter and the conclusion, but for the moment let us brieﬂy mention a few of the diﬀerences: The context of the Herod narrative is historical, and the episode is part of a historical text. Non-human forces, if they appear at all, are not vengeful Gods, but more abstract entities. Herod’s quasi-tragic traits of character are not counter-balanced by exceptional virtues and a pious character or by higher causes. He does

26 Josephus’ portraiture of Herod indeed echoes earlier Greek historiographical tendencies to portray characters, human or non human, as tragic heroes. See most notably Cornford’s reading of Thucydides in his Thucydides Mythistoricus (passim). On a smaller scale, the tendency to attribute tragic qualities to historical ﬁgures in order to enhance the dramatic eﬀect of the narrative is seen e.g. in Herodotus’ Croesus in book 1 and in a more complicated manner his portrait of Xerxes in books 7–9. More on tragedy and history in C. Pelling (ed.), Greek Tragedy and the Historian (1997) and M. Ostwald, ‘Tragedians and Historians’, SCI 21(2002: 9–25). On Aristotle’s deﬁnitions of tragic characters (e.g. Poetics 13, 1452b34–1453a17) see Ostwald, ‘Tragedians’, 12–13; A. W. Gomme, ‘Aristotle and the Tragic Character’ in Gomme, More Essays in Greek History and Literature (1962: 194–213). See also P. E. Easterling, ‘Constructing Character in Greek Tragedy’ in Pelling (ed.), Tragedy, 83–99. 27 For some scholars, this corroborated the theory of Josephus’ use of assistants. See Thackeray, Historian, and my review in appendix 1. I suggest that Josephus’ choice in awarding Herod ‘almost tragic’ qualities (that is, Herod does not develop into a fully tragic character) is intentional and points once more to his assertiveness as author and narrator. More on that in the conclusion to this chapter, p. 106ﬀ., and the general conclusion, p. 187ﬀ.

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not even seem to follow any moral, social or religious code. He does not even ﬁnd himself cast under the spell of Fate or nemesis. Herodotus’ portrait of Xerxes, by comparison, is also that of an ambitious king whose weaknesses cause grave disaster. However, Xerxes ‘allows himself to be persuaded (Hdt. 7.7)’, his acts have direct implications on the fate of an entire empire, and he is subject to divine wrath for his attempt to bridge the Hellespont (an act which is perceived as a sin against the gods and not merely as human misconduct). Moreover, Herodotus allows his audience more than a glimpse into Xerxes’ psyche, with the inclusion of his dreams and internal scruples in the narrative and the continuous debates with Artabanus throughout books 7–9. The external elements, as well as the internal glimpse, are absent from Herod’s portrait and impede the tragic eﬀect. Herod, however, is very human.28 But later in the narrative, as the account of his domestic trouble unfolds, the impression is that even his humanness is ‘incomplete’ and incapable of stirring pity, fear or empathy in the audience. ‘Incomplete’, that is, somewhat lacking in what Ostwald calls ‘frailty’.29 Such frailty may be deﬁned, in essence, as the common human tendency to act ﬁrst, in convinced belief that this would solve a problem, and realise the futility of the action in retrospect. Herod, it seems, lacks both the scruples that sometimes accompany such action and a convincing retrospective regret, or indeed any realisation that his deeds were wrong. It is true that Herod spends many an anguished moment after the rash execution of his wife Mariamme (1.444), but his tantrums seem to be not a result of true remorse, but rather of the same enslavement to emotions that brought about the execution in the ﬁrst place. Josephus does not put any rational word in Herod’s mouth but only describes his frenzy. That is why, in the end, this initial impression is revealed to be misleading. The expectation Josephus the narrator creates for his narratees 28

The emphasis on humanness, i.e. leaving the focus and responsibility of action in the human sphere, is a characteristically Greek idea (as opposed to the monotheistic tendency to view divine power as the main generator of action). See most recently Ostwald, ‘Tragedians’, 25: “Man is not a mere toy of divine powers who use him for their own inscrutable ends. . . . these powers may themselves be subject to a transcendent necessity, which they may know and communicate, but which they cannot avert”. 29 Ostwald, ‘Tragedians’, 25.

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and their readiness for emotion remain unfulﬁlled. Hence, in retrospect, they retain yet deeper dramatic irony.30 Herod’s passive thread of character indeed runs throughout the whole narrative. However, the account of his conduct as King of Judea (1.431–637) takes a somewhat diﬀerent turn. The second part of the Herod narrative is entirely governed by the unfortunate family aﬀairs. Those are of course connected to the political issues, and Josephus includes political aﬀairs in this part. However, the tone and emphasis of the narrative is more personal than political. Josephus, for instance, lingers upon certain personality traits of Herod as well as of his relatives. He neglects to provide the readers with full details of certain Roman aﬀairs, including the crucial battle of Actium in 31 bce. This major event is only mentioned in passing, and only in connection with Herod’s conduct (his appeal to Octavian, seeking his alliance, 1.386–7). Rome here is no longer an external means of chronological reference, nor is it mirroring Judean aﬀairs. That, however, may be understandable, because Josephus was not aiming at writing a history of Rome. But on the other hand, leaving Roman history aside has a further meaning. As the narrative emphasis becomes more inward-looking,31 Rome’s symbolic signiﬁcance is diminished. It is portrayed mostly in the political context, as an empire whose alliance and protection Herod seeks. The shift from an external context to a more inward-looking point of view marks a shift in the dramatic focus of the narrative and prepares the audience for the later part of the story. At the same time, and in conjuncture with this shift of focus, we read a lot about Herod’s family aﬀairs. The contorted relationship with his wife Mariamme, the painful treatment of his sons32 (and their reactions, mostly furious, cunning, vengeful), as well as his own thoughts, regrets, and sorrows, are all mentioned at this relatively early stage of the account. Despite the constant mentioning of internal

30 I shall elaborate on the issue of Herod’s complexity of character and Josephus as narrator in the conclusion to this chapter, p. 106ﬀ. 31 Perhaps as preparation for the main narrative of the work, the Jewish Revolt. See the general introduction, pp. 20–23. 32 Herod’s relationships with his sons may be viewed not only in the personal context but also as part of a historiographical stereotype of the (Greek) tyrant and his questionable personal conduct, especially concerning the spouse and sons. See Sourvinou-Inwood, ‘Reading’, on Herodotus’ Periander, (n. 19, p. 75 above).

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political scheming in Judea, the focus is again not political but personal. Antipater, Herod’s plotting son, carries out his political manoeuvres on a personal basis. What prompts him to take action is his hatred for his brothers, his feeling of inferiority and his greed. He does not operate on the basis of any political ideology or motivation, nor as a result of any non-human intervention as is sometimes the case in Athenian tragedies.33 The image portrayed in this part is that of a king whose personal ﬂaws are accentuated. Herod is not the successful ruler any more, but an unbalanced man and a slave to his own emotions. He not only torments others and spares no sentiments, but is also often tormented to great extents by his own weaknesses. He kills his beloved wife and then laments her death. He sentences his own children to death. He is under constant life threats from diﬀerent directions, and he even tries to commit suicide with a fruit-cutting knife. However, Herod does not stir the readers’ empathy as an ordinary tragic hero, or historical ﬁgures with tragic qualities, often do. Why is that? A few reasons come to mind. First, whereas Josephus indeed elaborates upon Herod’s prowess, and lists some virtues (bravery and political shrewdness), the general impression is that Herod’s own sense of propriety is somewhat ﬂawed. He refuses to be subject to any restraining powers (be they moral, religious, political) other than his own. And his own fetters, in turn, are not morally acceptable. His vanity, verging on hybris but not quite reaching the full depth of the concept, diminishes the empathy that could otherwise be stirred in the audience.34 Moreover, the inability to stir empathy might have to do with another factor. The impression of an unruly tyrant, which Josephus builds gradually into a complex portrait, is not only that of Herod the man, but it also alludes to more abstract discussions familiar

33 More on the possible dramatic (both Greek and Roman) inﬂuences on the Herod narrative in Ullman and Price, ‘Drama’, esp. 103–109. See also Chapman, Theater. 34 An interesting comparison from tragedy might be that of Xerxes in Aeschylus’ Persae. There, too, the impression is that Xerxes’ hybris was directly and almost solely responsible for the Persian defeat. However, his unbridled ambition did stir the gods’ anger and the defeat is viewed as divine punishment, not as a result of human error or vanity. Although Xerxes’ character seems rather distant and unable to invoke pity, the divine intervention and human helplessness seem to balance Xerxes’ crude vanity and make empathic reaction possible.

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from Greek historiography, concerning the ‘best regime’: what are the boundaries between monarchy and tyranny, when does a king transgress those and become a tyrant, and what are the implications of tyranny for society.35 Josephus, unlike Herodotus or Dionysius, does not conﬁne his treatment of the subject to a discrete philosophical debate within the narrative but stretches the theme throughout his whole work. Within the wider (and essentially more symbolic) scope, Josephus seems to be using the portrait of Herod as an extended metaphor for two issues that will prove to be relevant to the later account: the possible beneﬁts of a political alliance with Rome, and the vices of extreme and tyrannical behaviour. Herod’s image and life are prime examples for the temptations of power and the thin line between virtuous conduct and tyrannical frenzy. His story is also an excellent opportunity for Josephus to include and display emotions in his narrative.36 However: the excess of pathos seems to create an opposite eﬀect to the expected rise in pity and fear. The audience’s emotional distance from Herod is enhanced even more by the slight passiveness or emotional weakness Josephus grants him.37 It is as if Herod does not make the eﬀort to disentangle himself from the webs of personal misery, paranoia and cruelty that he has woven with his own hands. Furthermore, the tragic eﬀect is diminished by Josephus’ assertive narrating voice (see below) and also by his treatment of non-human agents and their part in Herod’s life. The Greek gods are naturally absent from the narrative. The Jewish God, otherwise a powerful force and central to understanding the moral and religious messages underlying the BJ, plays an almost negligible role in the actual account of Herod’s life. Josephus, it seems, leans in this particular episode more on Thucydidean viewpoints concerning human responsibility within the frameworks of fate than on principles of biblical historiography.38

35 Other examples for such debates in historiography include the Persian debate on monarchy in Herodotus 3.80–82, and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Roman Antiquities 4.70–85. In philosophy, the lengthy discussion in Plato, Rep. 8–9. 36 On Herod as a symbol see the general introduction, pp. 20–23 above, and the conclusion to this chapter, p. 106ﬀ. Josephus’ contentions in BJ 1.9–12 include all the above: civil strife, tyranny, Rome and the historian’s right to include emotions (to›w •mautoË pãyesi, 1.9, and tåw dÉ ÙlofÊrseiw, 1.12). 37 I will elaborate more on that below in the conclusion to this chapter, p. 106ﬀ. 38 Further discussion of the rhetorical function of non-human agents will be presented below, under ‘Natural and Supernatural Forces’, p. 89ﬀ.

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To conclude: In the ﬁrst part of the narrative, the emphasis is on Herod’s external image. His political portrait is constructed more along somewhat abstract, philosophical lines of a king, who must be brave, and ambitious, must ﬁght and win wars, depicted as a saviour of his country (paciﬁes seditions, establishes close ties with Rome, and builds cities and the Temple). The second part of the narrative, however, is inward-looking and concentrates on aspects of Herod’s personality and private life. This time, the emphasis is entirely upon Herod’s speciﬁc traits of character. The portrait of Herod as a private man, as opposed to Herod the King, concentrates on the king’s vices rather than on his virtues. This juxtaposition serves Josephus as a uniting, rather than a dividing, element. The partition enhances the complexity and twofold nature of Herod the man, the king and the metaphor: good and bad, peaceful and bellicose, reassuring and threatening could, in the end, dwell under the same roof.39 Another uniting element is Herod’s unchanging character.40 It seems that the static stance of a main protagonist calls for something to ﬁll the dramatic vacuum. The account contains dramatic elements in abundance, but in order to extract their full potential, the narrative needs a leader. Where Herod fails to lead the story, Josephus steps in with great conviction. His narrating voice, as was hinted above and will be demonstrated in the next section, is resonant, assertive and well heard throughout the narrative. The Rhetorical Techniques in Use In this section, I will look at some rhetorical techniques Josephus uses within the narrative, in order to create the image of Herod. A full rhetorical examination would have to embrace many more issues. The rhetorical devices I chose to consider here are the most frequent and prominent Josephus uses, and best demonstrate some points of particular importance concerning Josephus’ historiography. Among those are: 39

Cf. Pliny’s comments about the changing fortunes of Augustus in HN 7.155. However complex Herod’s image is, it does not evolve throughout the narrative but remains unchanged. This somewhat static quality of protagonists is typical of ancient biographies. More on the ‘integrated conception of personality’, especially in Plutarch, in C. B. R. Pelling, ‘Childhood and Personality in Greek Biography’, in Pelling (ed.), Characterization, 213–244. 40

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• The choice of language, including literary allusions to earlier sources (historical texts, tragedies and the Homeric epic) and the adjectives used to describe Herod and other characters. • The inclusion of speeches within the narrative. • References to natural phenomena, supernatural forces and nonhuman agents (earthquakes, droughts, famine, and the role of God and Fortune in determining human action in history). • The use of obituaries and descriptions of death. • Editorial comments (on events or characters) by Josephus himself (the historian’s voice). These are the most frequently used rhetorical devices in the narrative. All of them contribute, in one way or another, to Josephus’ portraiture of Herod. I have chosen to treat the digressions to Roman aﬀairs in the previous section, because in my opinion that device has a more signiﬁcant role in shaping the overall structure of the narrative. The order in which I shall treat the rest of the rhetorical devices does not bear any signiﬁcance as to their relative importance (if that can at all be determined). Speeches Josephus does not include many speeches in the Herod narrative. There are seven speeches, mostly in direct speech form, throughout 673 chapters: four by Herod (in diﬀerent circumstances, to diﬀerent audiences), and three others: one by Octavian as a reply to Herod, one by Antipater, Herod’s son and ﬁerce enemy, and one by Nicolaus of Damascus. The last two are part of a set of forensic speeches carried out during Antipater’s trial. Of the seven, two appear in the ﬁrst part of the narrative, and ﬁve in the second. The speeches are mostly straightforward and often tend to follow conventions of Greek oratory.41 However, in Josephus’ case, in the transition from rhetorical convention to historiography, the speeches often lack the complexity

41 These are summarised in rhetorical treatises such as Aristotle’s Rhetoric or the 4th century bce Rhetorica Ad Alexandrum. Speeches in Greek historiography relate closely to oratorical conventions (or vice versa: Herodotus and Thucydides precede 4th century rhetorical handbooks), but the two genres should be distinguished from each other.

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and dramatic qualities of Thucydidean speeches such as Pericles’ Funeral Oration in book 2, or the Melian dialogue in book 5. The ﬁrst speech in the narrative appears in 1.373–79. It is Herod’s exhortation to his troops. This episode comes immediately after the account of the losses in battle to the Arabs and the mention of the earthquake, which was the last straw, so to speak, to break the soldier’s morale. Herod speaks about the ever-changing quality of fortune (tÊxh, 374), reassures his soldiers that their fear and despondency are appropriate before battle (376), tells them that God is on their side, and rouses the men against their enemies on account of their brutality (378).42 The following account is that of a success in battle (380–82). The second speech, in 1.388–392, is also a speech by Herod. The king speaks before Octavian and seeks his alliance. Octavian consents. Speeches of seeking (or oﬀering) political alliance are common in Greco-Roman historiography. Usually, though, the alliance is a matter between two states43 and not between two individuals (representative of states as they are) as is the case here. Following the loss of his Roman ally Antony in the battle of Actium, Herod immediately understands that in order to secure his position, he must seek alliance with the new Roman ruler, Octavian. It is as if he anticipates the possible Roman intervention in Judea and the internal unrest such an action can bring. Rather than wait for the Roman oﬀer, he approaches Octavian. Unlike Thucydides’ Melos, Herod’s Judea does not have a taste for independence.44 It seems that Herod’s

42

Cf. Nicias’ speech to the defeated Athenian troops in Sicily (Thuc. 7.77). There, too, the speech comes after a devastating defeat in battle. Nicias also mentions Fortune and angry gods. However, whereas Nicias’ speech is longer and more compassionate, Herod’s words are relatively short, and his encouragement seems somewhat crude. 43 More often than not, and especially in Thucydides (e.g. the Corcyra Debate, 1.32–44, the Melian Dialogue, 5.86–114, or the Camarina Debate, 6.72–88), the ‘alliance’ is not between states equal in power and agreeing in intention, but between an imperialist (Athens) who forces the agreement and a distant polis (Melos or Camarina) who usually wishes to retain her independence. In the Melian Dialogue, the alliance (summax¤a) is ‘oﬀered’ by Athens as something that is for the beneﬁt of both parties (5.91) but words here clash with deeds and create an ironic eﬀect: Athens does not oﬀer alliance for altruistic reasons but threatens Melos with a clear intention to conquer the island whether by peaceful means or not. 44 Judea has of course enjoyed years of independent rule during the Hasmonean period, but has been under Roman supervision since Pompey’s conquest of Jerusalem in 63 bce. Later on, in the ﬁrst century ce, Judean calls for independence will have

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intentions at this stage are simply expedient. He needs Rome’s support to secure his position facing his Hasmonean rival, Antigonus. Herod uses what might be deﬁned as ‘the rhetoric of honesty’: he admits his deep loyalty to Antony, but uses this loyalty as a proof for his general reliability and integrity (390). The line of argument is emotional and personal, not political.45 Herod advocates his own virtues as a reliable friend, less so as a political ally. Octavian accepts Herod’s plea and grants him alliance. Octavian, and not Herod, is the one who explicitly makes the connection between the virtues of a reliable friend and those of a powerful ruler (391). Octavian’s remarks, then, bring together the two ends of the scale already familiar in the Herod narrative: the personal and the political. This speech does not stand out in its eloquence or elaborate structure, but it does serve Josephus as another means to express two themes central to the narrative. The ﬁrst is the complexity and interconnectedness between the domestic and the public aspects of Herod’s life. The second theme is conveyed in a subtler manner. By placing Herod the Judean king and Octavian the Roman emperor opposite each other, Josephus enhances the developing metaphor of Herod as Judea. Despite the personal tone of Herod’s speech, it is not only he who stands in front of Rome’s emperor. It is Judea’s political interests that he represents, just as Octavian represents Rome. Public and domestic are blurred here, in spite of the external distinction Josephus makes between the two aspects of Herod’s life. The Herod-Judea axis is yet to be further developed, but this might be a preliminary stage of that evolving and complex parallel.46 This axis will come into play both in the sense that Herod’s reign marks the beginning of the end of independent Judea, and that his personal weaknesses (emotional turmoil, extremism, rash judgement, violent

risen again with the result of the revolt against Rome—Josephus’ main subject matter in BJ. On the scale of the whole work, Herod’s alliance with Rome is presented as beneﬁcial and pacifying. In part, this view explains why Josephus grants Herod such a large space within the BJ. However, one cannot escape the ironic aspect of Herod’s initiative: eventually, as a result of internal disagreement and extremism, Rome would become the enemy of Judea. 45 However, there should be no doubt that Herod’s underlining interest is political. The evident gap between Herod’s political cynicism and the sweet words he uses helps Josephus in emphasising his true colours. 46 It is early, too, in the sense that Octavian is yet to establish his power and dominion.

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predisposition) would later in the BJ be characteristic of Judean society on the eve of the revolt. The next speech, in 1.457–466, is again by Herod. He addresses the people of Jerusalem. This speech could be understood as an inaugural speech, addressed to the people of Jerusalem upon Herod’s return from Rome, endowed with Augustus’ support. The main theme in this speech is concord (ımono¤a, 457), unity, and a promise of peaceful succession. It is included in the second part of the narrative, where the reader is already aware of Herod’s tendencies to violent discord and faction. Planted amidst accounts of plotting on either side of the Herodian dynasty (Antipater’s further scheming is next), it therefore has a strong ironical note. Herod’s promises to his subjects in this speech form the total opposite of his actual conduct. The following speech in 1.556–558 now moves from the political realm to the familial scene. Herod here speaks to his family. This plea to family and friends is more explicitly emotional than the former speeches. This is in accordance with the general tone of this part of the narrative. Again, the dramatic irony is striking: Herod assembles his relatives and, in tears, promises to be ‘a better grandfather’ than the father he had been, and arranges intermarriages in order to secure his already fragile dynasty. Antipater, who is present, cannot help but shudder with discontent and ‘his chagrin was evident to all (559)’. This seemingly innocent account reveals that Herod’s tantrum was more directed towards Antipater than intended to display genuine care and aﬀection to his descendants. The next three speeches, in 1.622–638, form a coherent unit. These are the speeches carried out during Antipater’s trial: Herod (1.622–8), Antipater (630ﬀ.) and Nicolaus (637ﬀ.) This is a set of forensic speeches47 that contains a charge, a defence, and a thirdparty summary. Herod’s own rhetoric is once again emotional and personal. He appeals for the persecutor’s pity, and expresses his fear lest he be blamed for ‘being the most devoted father to such abominable wretches (622)’. The accusations are yet again personal: this is a struggle for power, but Herod’s arguments revolve around Antipater’s evil character, his endless and immoral scheming, and

47 The speeches in Antipater’s trial are well in accord with the ancient oratorical outlines for this kind of speech. See e.g. Rhetorica Ad Alexandrum, 1426b–1427b; 1441b–1445a, and Cicero, De Or. 2.71–333.

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his greed for the throne.48 Herod’s speech, as demagogic and cynical as can be, also includes a ‘warning’ to Varus, the head of court, not to be persuaded by Antipater’s demagogy, his emotional pleas and ‘hypocritical lamentations’ (627). The irony here is evident. Antipater’s reply (630–36) immediately follows. It is all that Herod warned against: a very personal attack, whose essence is the claim that Antipater had no reason for scheming against his father because he was satisﬁed with what he had. He presents the court with further evidence (the letters from Caesar, 633) of his supposed innocence and loyalty, and ends his speech with a rhetorical trick aimed yet again at arousing pity: admitting that he deserves to die in torture, if he is found guilty of parricide (636). The third speech in this set is Nicolaus’. The essence of this speech is brought in the form of reported speech only, and it seems like a more traditional, indeed more professional appeal to the court, beginning with a full list of Antipater’s wrongdoings and thus ‘dissipating the commiseration which his speech had aroused (637)’49 and continuing with a direct and severe set of accusations of parricide. Antipater, who is asked to reply, only declares ‘God is witness of my innocence’ (639). Of all the intriguing family relations, the bitter rivalry between Herod and his son Antipater is the one granted the greatest attention from Josephus. This might have been historically accurate (or alternatively, have been accurately following the earlier source), but deserves our attention for its evident historiographical and rhetorical qualities. The chasm between father and son is utterly irreconcilable, but it is not a case of simple good and bad, right and wrong. It is not even a case of bad and worse, for Josephus does not portray Herod (despite all his vices) as evil only (Antipater, by contrast, has no virtues whatsoever). This rivalry seems almost schematic, and is transferred (like most issues in a tyrant’s life) from the personal realm to the political: it is a power struggle not between individuals,

48 Slandering the opponent is commonplace in forensic oratory. See e.g. Rhet. Alex. 1442a; 1445a; De Or. 2.209; 216–290 (concerning the use of ridicule, wit and irony to undermine the opponent). 49 This set of speeches seems to be following Aristotle’s recommendations concerning the incorporation of emotions in speeches in book 2 of the Rhetoric (2.1.8ﬀ.). Especially relevant here is pity (¶leow), a key element in creating a tragic eﬀect. More on pity below, p. 106ﬀ.

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but between two possible rulers, neither of whom is willing to compromise. Here, despite the lesser degree of creative restructuring of a familiar convention, Josephus still harnesses the general GrecoRoman theme of political rivalry between fathers and sons to his more speciﬁc ( Judean) agenda, in that the Herodian dynastic power struggles in Judea50 were last and worst in a long line of such events51 that ultimately brought Judean independence to an end. After examining the speeches in the Herod narrative, we may observe a certain change of impact once we move from the ﬁrst part of the narrative to the second. While the speeches in the former are often more standard, and usually bear less relevance to the plot or the underlying themes it carries, the ones in the latter are more carefully crafted into the narrative itself, and are richer in devices like irony and contrast to the surrounding context. The impression created by the speeches time and again in the second part is that of instability, both on the personal and the political levels. They usually appear in the narrative when discord, political tension or personal rivalry rise, and the diﬀerence between the turbulent context and feebly appeasing content is often striking. Herod may be blind to the circumstances, but Josephus the narrator is fully aware of what is going on, and chooses to use juxtapositions, ﬁne words and display of turbulent emotions to create irony and keep his audience in expectation. Apart from creating dramatic irony and enhancing suspense in the narrative, the speeches in BJ often emphasise the main themes the historian is concerned with. Through the speeches, Josephus demonstrates once again Herod’s complexity of character and his double-edged fortune. Unrest, both in the political and personal senses, is emphasised. And more implicitly, the alliance and strong connections with Rome on the one hand, and the troublesome internal aﬀairs (both concerning Herod’s family and the internal political rivalry) are relevant to the later account of the revolt and could be perceived as a ‘thematic prolepsis’: for later on it would become

50 This sort of power struggle is not, of course, exclusive to Judea. Rome too has suﬀered from violent power struggles (be they dynastic or not) and those in turn were highlighted in Roman historiography, e.g. Sallust’s Catiline. This might be another example of the mirroring between Rome and Judea, mentioned above, pp. 70–74.

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evident that both elements contribute to the rise of internal tension and dissent in Judea.51 Natural and Supernatural Phenomena In the course of the Herod narrative of the BJ Josephus includes only one description of a natural disaster: that of the earthquake in Judea in 31 bce (1.370). It might have been the case that nature was rather quiet during Herod’s reign. In Greco-Roman historiography, however, it is more often the case than not that powerful natural phenomena such as earthquakes, ﬂoods, droughts, famine or disease occur very near in time to major political and military events.52 In our narrative this conjunction occurs once.53 The description itself is very concise, but clearly depicts a major natural disaster. The close association of natural disasters and human calamities is made here explicitly, but the general impression the reader has is not that of a cumbersome, too-obvious attachment of events in the name of ‘Fate’, but of a more intricately crafted connection of the two. Unlike Herodotus, for whom most natural disasters are a result of direct and speciﬁc divine intervention (tÚ ye›on), Josephus does not attribute the earthquake to God (any god), but describes it with a more abstract adjective (daimÒniow).54 This tendency is similar to that of Thucydides: in 1.23 Thucydides speciﬁcally links natural disasters with human misfortune, but he does not perceive them to be a direct result of divine intervention. In Thucydides, as well as in Josephus’ BJ narrative, the link is somewhat open-ended and its main impact seems to be the enhancing of dramatic eﬀect of the narrative.55 51 The earlier Hasmonean account (BJ 1.31–204) is much more condensed than the Herod narrative, but nevertheless it is evident that Hasmonean power struggles were not inferior to the Herodian family feuds. The reasons for Josephus’ diﬀerent historiographical treatment of the two periods (despite their aﬃnities and the common source (Nicolaus) he used, should be looked into, but it is not within the scope of this chapter. 52 In the later books of Herodotus, for instance, natural disasters are often linked with political and military failures (which they precede: Hdt. 6.44, 7.34, 7.42, 8.12) and are usually attributed to a higher force (most often in Herodotus, ı yeÒw: 6.27, 6.98; 7.10, 7.37, 8.13). 53 The parallel narrative of the AJ contains in addition a detailed account of the famine in Judea (15.299–317). See chapter 3, p. 158. 54 According to LSJ: “Heaven-sent, miraculous, marvellous”, but not the work of a speciﬁc deity. 55 In the Herod narrative of the AJ, however, the link between human misfortune and the supernatural is made more explicitly. See chapter 3, p. 156ﬀ.

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The account begins at 1.370. Josephus tell us of a major earthquake in Palestine, which occurred during the spring of 31 bce. Described as ‘another calamity [and] an act of God (sumforå daimÒniow êllh)’, he reports that it destroys ‘cattle innumerable and thirty thousand souls’. The timing is very close to Herod’s defeat by the Arabs at Canatha, as well as to the battle of Actium that is mentioned here explicitly (‘when the war of Actium was at its height’ ékmãzontow d¢ toË per‹ áAktion pol°mou). Josephus makes the point that this was indeed a turbulent year. Herod’s defeat (as well as his ally’s, Antony) is not directly linked with the unusual natural phenomenon. After all, Josephus presents himself as a historian who is committed to the tradition of relating the facts as clearly and as reliably as possible.56 However, there is a clear textual proximity of the events: ﬁrst, Herod is defeated. Then Josephus mentions the battle of Actium, followed by the earthquake. This is followed by an account of another Arab invasion induced by the disaster. The last event makes clearer the connection between natural and human disasters.57 The inclusion of a natural disaster in the narrative in the manner as we have seen above could, despite its rarity, be regarded as a rhetorical device of greater signiﬁcance. Although Josephus uses this device only once in BJ, it still has a powerful dramatic eﬀect, and, when used in conjunction with describing human disasters (mainly losses in battle), it might be considered as a more subtle way to enhance both the sense of drama stirred in the reader, and at a deeper level to make a philosophical point about the helplessness of human beings and their relative blindness to their own mistakes and the dire consequences of rash actions. Usually, when unusual natural phenomena are mentioned in ancient texts (most notably in tragedy, but also in historical texts), it may be a hint that someone has sinned, or has to mend their ways.

56 See the proem to the BJ (1.1–16), and its analysis in the general introduction pp. 9–12. 57 This sequence is actually quite diﬀerent from the usual in Greco-Roman texts: the human ‘sin’ is mentioned here ﬁrst, and only then comes the natural disaster (cf. Zeus’ changing of the course of the sun in reaction to Atreus’ deeds, Eur. Electra 700–750). The course of events here in BJ is not entirely depicted in the scheme of ‘natural disaster predicting human calamity’ either. Here the mere temporary weakness of Herod’s army makes an excellent opportunity for the Arabs to attack again. Nevertheless, the connection between the two is still there and depicted very clearly.

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This ties in with the role of non-human agents in determining the course of history. For in the end someone, or something, is responsible for moving the earth in such proximity to a failure in battle. Josephus sometimes uses the adjective ‘godly’ or ‘marvellous’ to describe natural disasters (such as deﬁning the earthquake in Judea as sumforå daimÒniow). Direct mention of supernatural forces throughout the narrative is not very frequent. The Jewish God is amply present in other parts of the BJ, as moral corruption grows and the end is near. God also has a (natural) resonant presence in the biblical paraphrase in the later AJ.58 A glance at the parallel Herod narrative in the AJ also reveals ampler presence of God and other supernatural agents.59 The BJ narrative, by contrast, is relatively lacking in direct divine presence.60 This human focus seems to be intentional and ﬁts in well with the portraiture of Herod, and is hence distinctively Josephan rather than blindly borrowed from Nicolaus.61 The focus on the human factor is in accordance with one of the main inﬂuences on BJ—namely, Thucydides (where the faults of the human nature are to blame for the calamity). It is also relevant to the rest of the work, where Josephus too puts the blame more on human actions than on divine whims. Hence, it is yet another indication of the strong Josephan hand and overall coherence in composing the entire narrative. Nevertheless, and as is indeed the case in Greco-Roman historiography, non-human forces do come into play. The four main forces mentioned are Fortune (tÊxh, occurs 8 times), God (yeÒw, 5 times), Necessity or Inevitability (tÚ xr°on) and the more elusive versions of divine presence, Ú da¤mvn and tÚ daimÒnion. These numbers include other words from the same root, adjectives and nouns. Josephus associates with the terms above either unusual events on a large scale, such as victories or losses in battle or the earthquake, or personal

58 Although God’s presence in itself is uncontested in the biblical paraphrase, Josephus tends to downplay direct divine intervention. See Attridge, Interpretation, and more recently Feldman, Josephus’s Interpretation, 14–74 and passim. 59 The rhetorical analysis of the AJ narrative is in chapter 3 below, p. 115. 60 Rajak, Whose Herod?, asserts that the Herod narrative of the BJ is more inclined to enhance the king’s Roman characteristics. This could be done by the choice of rhetorical tools and their particular implementation, such as restricting or even omitting God from the narrative. 61 On Josephus and Nicolaus see the general introduction, pp. 23–27.

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turns of fate: the ways certain individuals’ lives had turned out to be.62 These attributes usually remain in the abstract and are not directly attached to human characters. In general, and despite the emphasis on human action, Josephus refrains from attributing all events and occurrences in the human sphere directly to non-human forces. There is a tendency to keep the divine and human realms operating in tandem, but not in a direct and explicit chain of cause and eﬀect.63 Josephus uses the general scheme of (human) sin and (divine) punishment, but keeps it in the background, with the occasional comment, or leaves it for the audience to understand. Human beings are mostly responsible for their own deeds. When they sin, it is often a result of their own misjudgement and negligence, and not of divine retribution or interference of any kind. If they refuse to take responsibility or show remorse, whether personally (like Herod) or politically (like the many Jewish factions, later on in the BJ) the result is disastrous. This comes into play most strikingly in the second part of the Herod narrative, but is not entirely missing from the ﬁrst. Obituaries and Accounts of Death Obituaries and eulogies are common in Greco-Roman historiography. Their rhetorical eﬀect in a historical narrative, however, is not always straightforward. Apart from the obvious function of honouring and praising the dead, Greek and Latin historians would sometimes use obituaries as a means of structuring the narrative,64 adding drama and pathos, or conveying the historian’s own opinion, whether it be concerning the person in question or concerning the general themes65 of the work in question. Josephus uses obituaries in the

62

Josephus mentions Fortune in Herod’s obituary. See below, pp. 95–97. Note by comparison Herodotus 8.12–13. This is an account of a sea storm that wreaks havoc in the Persian ﬂeet, and is explicitly explained as being sent by a god (unnamed) so that the Persian ﬂeet will equal in size to the smaller Greek ﬂeet. However, it should be noted that in Herodotus too the relations between divine action and human events are often more open-ended. 64 This seems to be a tendency of Tacitus, who places obituaries (though not as a standard means) at the end of annual chronicles in his Annales. On the function of obituaries in Tacitus See R. Syme, ‘Obituaries’. 65 This seems to have been the case with Nicolaus. See B. Z. Wacholder, Nicolaus of Damascus (1962:69–70). 63

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Herod narrative in a similar manner. Whether or not he followed the earlier example of Nicolaus, the fact remains that his treatment of the literary convention is yet again done so as to ﬁt his individual narrative requirements: enhancing the dramatic eﬀect, sharpening irony, or clarifying matters concerning personalities and characters.66 Josephus generally limits his written obituaries to more prominent characters in the plot, whether their prominence is political, personal or transcends from the narrative into the symbolic level. The length and character of the obituaries change as well. Not all obituaries are elaborate, nor are they entirely positive, or praising the character in question. It seems that in the cases of such distinctively negative characters as Antigonus and Herod’s sons (Alexander, Aristobulus and Antipater), Josephus prefers descriptions of death rather than proper obituaries. These descriptions often lack any positive assertions whatsoever concerning the individuals in question. I have chosen to include them here, because these accounts retain a dramatic eﬀect similar to that of proper obituaries: they serve as concluding remarks, as a point of departure in the narrative from one story to another. Apart from summarising the traits of the characters in question, they also help in shedding more light on the image of Herod himself. The ﬁrst obituary in the Herod narrative (1.226) is that of Herod’s father, Antipater. Antipater was murdered by Malichus. He is described by Josephus as ‘A man of great energy (drastÆriow énÆr, the same epithet is the very ﬁrst to describe Herod in 1.204) in the conduct of aﬀairs, whose crowning merit was that he recovered and preserved the kingdom for Hyrcanus’. The second obituary, in 1.271, is that of Herod’s brother, Phasael. He committed suicide in the custody of Antigonus, by dashing his head upon a rock ( Josephus mentions a second version, claiming that he was poisoned). By his deed, says Josephus, Phasael was ‘showing himself to be a true brother of Herod, and Hyrcanus the most ignoble (égenn°staton) of men, [he] died a hero’s death—an end in keeping with his life’s career’. The next one (1.324) is the obituary of Joseph, another brother of Herod. He died in the battle against Antigonus (38 bce). The

66

This tendency is most striking in Herod’s obituary, 1.665, see pp. 95–97 below.

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description is concise: ‘After displaying great gallantry in the battle he fell, and the whole Roman force was cut to pieces’. The following obituary (1.357) is that of Antigonus, Herod’s main adversary in the ﬁrst part of the narrative. Antigonus was executed by Herod after a long and bitter struggle for the Judean throne. He has been depicted most negatively throughout the narrative. The description of his death is again concise, but unequivocally lacking any respect: ‘This prisoner, to the last clinging with forlorn hope to life, fell beneath the axe, a ﬁtting end to his ignominious career’. The following obituary, the ﬁrst one in the second part of the narrative (1.433–34) is that of Hyrcanus. He was executed by Herod upon suspicion of plotting. This is the ﬁrst in a series of controversial executions Herod carries out, which are mentioned throughout the second part of the narrative. Hyrcanus clearly did not deserve to die, but he did, eventually, because of Herod’s whim. Despite a few earlier displays of contempt towards Hyrcanus by Josephus, his death is clearly depicted as unjust: ‘Had he but followed their [the Jews living beyond the Euphrates] advice not to cross the river to join Herod, he would have escaped his tragic fate; but the marriage of his granddaughter [Mariamme] lured him to his death. He came relying upon that and impelled by an ardent longing for his native land, and roused Herod’s resentment not by making any claim to the throne, but because it actually belonged to him by right (1.434)’.67 Following the unjust death of Hyrcanus are two more cruel executions (1.437–444)—those of Jonathan and Herod’s beloved wife, Mariamme, which he nevertheless put to death on account of adultery. This account is very close to the account of Hyrcanus’ death and might be considered as part of that ﬁrst explicit account of Herod’s frenzy. Josephus does not write explicit eulogies for Mariamme and her brother Jonathan, but it is clear from the narrative that they, too, were murdered in vain. Despite his expressed (but questionable) grief on Mariamme,68 Herod continues with his family executions. In 1.550, Josephus tells us of the death of Herod’s sons, Alexander and Aristobulus—accused

67

This is perhaps in accord with the later tendency of Josephus to put the emphasis on the act of execution rather than on the individual executed. 68 See also p. 110 below.

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of treason. Josephus does not include an obituary as such, but this might be a case where the facts that speak for themselves, and are dramatic enough to shed more light upon Herod’s cruelty. In 1.581, Herod puts to death his brother in law Pheroras. Herod here acts with some grace but his public image does not sustain that. The rumour is spread that he had poisoned Pheroras with his own hands. Pheroras, in turn, is deﬁned as ‘one of the murderers of Alexander and Aristobulus’. The ﬁnal execution in the narrative, in 1.663, is that of Antipater, Herod’s son and worst enemy. Antipater is portrayed as utterly evil and indignant throughout the narrative, including the last few moments of his life. Herod’s ﬁercest enemy in the second part of the narrative is not accorded a proper obituary despite his royal descent and prominent role in the plot. This is, perhaps, a Nicolaean echo. With all enemies, real and imagined, dead, it is now Herod’s time to die. In 1.665, we read Herod’s obituary. This short account encapsulates the complexity of character and turbulent life of the king and serves as the dramatic conclusion of the entire narrative. In writing the summary of the life and deeds of the king, Josephus returns to the longer and more explicit form of obituary. Herod’s obituary enfolds the very gist of the whole narrative: an account of a man who was both blessed and cursed, and had carried both to their very extreme. It seems indeed that the concluding remarks on Herod’s political prowess and personal misfortune are in accord with the image that Josephus portrays throughout the narrative. We began with a ﬁerce and determined struggle for power, continued with military and political successes and vast building projects, and then went on to a lengthy and quite painful account of Herod’s domestic miseries: his paranoid behaviour, his rash temper that brought personal disasters upon him, the vengeful attitude of his own sons, his illness and ﬁnally his unpleasant death. To the modern eye, the ﬁnal epithet given to Herod: ‘blessed with good fortune’ (tuxª dej¤& xrhsãmenow, 1.665) might seem slightly odd. The reader may remember well that Herod’s ﬁnal years were not so blessed with good luck and peace of mind, to say the least. It must be remembered, however, that obituaries were often formulaic, and that the fact that Herod had achieved such impressive goals may be regarded as a sign for being blessed by Fortune. But hand in hand with that, Josephus’ choice of word might be yet

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another contrasting device, enhancing irony and emphasising one of his general themes once again: the inevitable link of fortune and misfortune, and the force of human agents in determining the nature of this link. For Herod is (on the one hand) fortunate, ‘but’ (m¢n tå ílla), stresses Josephus, there is another aspect to his life, and that, in the end, is the more prominent one. It is hard to envy Herod after reading the whole account, ending with these comments in his obituary. But however hard it may be, Herod’s character still does not arouse empathy, pity or fear—nor any other substantive emotion. One would not want to be in his shoes, but one does not tend to feel compassion for him either.69 Josephus does not seem to be using a ﬁxed rhetorical pattern for his obituaries. The two accounts that create the deepest impact are the ﬁrst and the last: the obituaries of Herod’s father Antipater, and that of Herod himself. The two form a nice frame, especially since the same epithet, drastÆriow, is used to describe both father and son (the former in his obituary, the latter, however, in his very ﬁrst appearance in the narrative).70 Within this frame, we detect a subtly crafted pattern of degradation. We begin with the obituary of Antipater, a true ﬁghter for the Judean throne. Then we read about his sons who were unjustly murdered by their political adversaries. Then we encounter the ﬁrst understandable political execution: that of Antigonus, Herod’s ﬁercest enemy in the ﬁrst part. Upon the transition from the ﬁrst (public) part of the narrative to the second (the domestic), we notice a change in the tone of the accounts: Hyrcanus, executed by Herod unjustly, marks the turning point in this sequence. Herod no longer conducts a legitimate struggle to secure his reign. He is now subject to his own passions and to his uncontrollable frenzy. The remaining accounts in the second part (with the exception of the obituary of Herod) are generally devoid of explicit opinions or descriptions. However, they are an integral part of the tone of the

69 I shall suggest a possible solution to this issue in the conclusion to this chapter, p. 106ﬀ. below. 70 DrastÆriow is a common epithet in historiography and tragedy, used often in a military or political context to denote capability of action, or energetic character of prominent ﬁgures. E.g. Thucydides 2.63, 4.81; Dion. Hal. AR 1.31,2.37,3.1,4.4; Cassius Dio HR 2.81. In Josephus this epithet appears a few more times in the BJ, outside the Herod narrative: 2.590,3.107, 4.230, 4.624, 7.196.

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later part of the narrative. Obituaries appear more frequently in the second part, their conjunction with Herod’s deterioration seems closer, and in many ways these accounts of death ‘speak for themselves’ as the acts of a clearly frenzied king whose mental state grows worse. There is no need for the narrator to explain, comment on or clarify the deeds. The obituaries often retain a deeper dramatic function in the narrative. On the level of the plot, their changing frequency is perhaps indicative of Herod’s erratic behaviour. However, the change of rhythm also serves as a clever rhetorical device. The rhythm has an immediate impact on the narrative structure and tone—especially on enhancing the drama in the second part. There is a tendency in the later part to choose accounts of death rather than explicit obituaries when describing the deaths of Herod’s close family members (Mariamme and the sons). Josephus seems to be treating the deaths of Herod’s closest family in a diﬀerent, perhaps more personal light. The fact of their (unjust) executions surpasses any formulaic praise or honour in words. It is as if their horrifying deaths happen in the shadow of other and more politically oriented executions. Moreover, the succession of short accounts of death shifts the attention from each individual case to the overall phenomenon. The dramatic eﬀect here is achieved not through focusing on the virtues of each victim (evoking pity or empathy in the audience) but on the very act of swift and irrational executions (evoking fear). The rhythm of the narrative, too, becomes faster and more expressive. The change of focus and of rhythm also enhances the eﬀect of the tragic irony and contributes to Herod’s human incompleteness and alienation. But also, almost in contrast to that, it sets the stage for Herod’s own obituary and emphasises its dramatic eﬀect. Herod’s obituary, in turn, seems to be the dramatic climax and summary of the whole narrative.71 Moreover, it seems that the thread of deaths in the narrative could be read as a microcosmic parallel to the whole account. If we were to isolate the obituaries and read them without the surrounding text, we would still be able to understand the gist of Herod’s reign: the internal political struggle, the victory and establishment of rule, and the familial and personal degradation. Herod’s obituary, as men-

71

An account of his funeral follows, but does not contain a general summary.

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tioned above, contains those ideas in the most crystallised form.72 The obituaries also enhance the connections between public and private, and between the concrete political circumstances Josephus relates in his account and more abstract themes he sees important, or relevant. The deceased are not merely prominent political individuals. They also represent higher ideas, good or bad.73 The Historian’s Voice74 In this section I shall consider the speciﬁc rhetorical device of authorial comments, written often in the ﬁrst person. Indeed, the historian’s voice is by no means constructed only by the direct comments he plants in the narrative. These are but one option, and ancient historians did not always choose to use it.75 The historian’s voice is rather the total sum of the rhetorical tools in use, his particular outlook on the events, and the generic conventions of historiography he chooses to follow. The Herod narrative is an example of ‘intrusive narration’ (to follow Marincola and Booth): Josephus’ narrating voice presides over the account with his ﬁrst-person comments, whether they contain moral assertions, cultural explanations or a personal opinion. There is no doubt that the story of Herod is powerful enough to speak for itself. However, Josephus’ voice does not hide behind the facts, but rather takes its own explicit stand. Ancient historiography applied several methods to enable the historian to make his voice heard: writing proems76 and concluding paragraphs, including them-

72 This particular use of obituaries seems to me to be uniquely Josephan. Tacitus, in comparison, uses obituaries as a framing device and as means to express authorial comments, but he tends to leave their order and rhythm static. 73 Again, the symbolic qualities of minor characters reﬂect and interact with the deeper symbolism of the character of Herod. 74 On ‘Voice’ as a narratological concept see Genette, Discourse, 212–263, and Bal, Narratology, 19–36. 75 On historical authority and diﬀerent methods of historical narration in antiquity see Marincola, Authority, 3–12 and passim. Marincola distinguishes between ‘intrusive narration’ (pp. 6–7), where ﬁrst-person comments are included (Herodotus), and a more implicit form of narration (9–10) where a personal presence is absent (Thucydides). Marincola detects a third form of narration, that of Polybius, tends to ‘combine a largely unobtrusive narrative of the deeds with a highly intrusive explicator of the narrative’ (p. 10). 76 Proems in Greco-Roman historiography have been the subject of thorough

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selves (usually in the third person, though) in the events (Thucydides and Josephus both tell us about their military exploits during the Peloponnesian and Jewish wars), elaborating and explaining certain local customs (Herodotus, who gives extensive explanations about other, distant peoples, and Josephus, who illuminates some Jewish customs to his Gentile readers), and ﬁnally, enriching the text with their own meditations: historical, philosophical, emotional, religious, moral, or all the above. Josephus uses all of those devices throughout the BJ. Most common in the Herod narrative are the editorial remarks concerning Jewish customs and beliefs and philosophical-historical meditations. The comments are usually short: one sentence or two. They do not happen to appear at key points of the narrative, but put together they present us with a neat summary of Josephus’ views concerning Herod, his reign, his vices and his virtues (mainly the former, as it happens). Josephus’ ﬁrst authorial comment appears at the very beginning of the narrative, in 1.208. It is clear and concise, and very GrecoRoman in spirit: ‘But it is impossible in prosperity to escape envy’ (ÉAmÆxanon dÉ §n eÈprag¤aiw fyÒnon diafuuge›n). This editorial comment comes immediately after the introduction of Herod and serves as the exposition to the ﬁrst negative response to Herod’s exploits: that of Hyrcanus the High Priest and the Jewish leaders. This theme, namely Herod’s struggle with the current Jewish leadership, is a central one and will be pursued throughout the narrative. However, the

studies in the past. See e.g. T. Janson, Latin Prose Prefaces: Studies in Literary Conventions (1962). On self-validation in proems in ancient historiography see Marincola, Authority, 8–10. Historical proems from antiquity often depict, in my opinion, an attempt to balance conventions with the historians’ individual voice. The earliest extant example, Herodotus’ proem (1.1–5), is mainly concerned with his event, the war between the Greeks and the Barbarians, and once he set out to his inquiry (ﬂstor¤h) he seems to put himself (and his methodology) aside and to concentrate on the story (with its diﬀerent versions). Thucydides, in turn, makes much more room for his methodology (1.22 in particular). Josephus’ proem to the BJ (1.1–30) weaves together conventional (and rather Thucydidean) comments concerning earlier accounts, his dedication to a reliable method of inquiry, and the historical importance of the great event he relates with a (rather un-Thucydidean) account of the historian’s own feelings and the importance of recording them (1.9–12). Cf. Sallust’s introduction to the BJug., where he concentrates on matters philosophical concerning human nature and behaviour side by side with stating how seminal an event was the war he is about to relate (1–5).

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comment itself is distinctively abstract—almost philosophical in tone. Only after having introduced the much discussed philosophical subject of prosperity and envy77 does Josephus elaborate upon Hyrcanus’ speciﬁc and complex feelings towards Herod. The narrator’s following comment comes in 1.214. Of the High Priest Hyrcanus he says, ‘Nor was he [Hyrcanus] mistaken in his surmise’. This short comment might be a direct thematic continuation of the ﬁrst authorial comment. Hyrcanus is envious of Herod’s fame and fears it. Josephus reassures us that despite the High Priest’s weak character and turbulent mixed feelings, he is right in foreseeing the danger, for Herod’s hurt pride and hot temper resulted in his plan to attack Jerusalem in an act of sedition. This comment also has a premonitory quality, in that it hints at later things to come concerning the Judean reaction to Herod’s deeds. The next authorial comment appears in 1.233. It is part of an account that focuses on the local resistance to Herod. Josephus refers to Malichus, who plots against Herod and attempts to kill him and resume his own political power. Malichus does his best to kill the new contender, but, says Josephus with another Greco-Roman wink, ‘destiny (tÚ xr°on) derided his [Malichus’] hopes’. Despite the fact that this account is mostly governed by human will and actions, Josephus here includes a non-human—and very Greco-Roman— agent named destiny (see above, section 2). It seems that Josephus sees destiny as possessing the ultimate power to determine the events here. This perception of the power of destiny bears much resemblance to the Herodotean concept of ‘necessity’.78

77 This is of course a theme long pursued by Josephus himself and by GrecoRoman writers (historians, tragedians and poets alike). Josephus uses the pair fyÒnoweÈprag¤a in relation to the reign of John Hyrcanus I and the Pharisees (BJ 1.67 and AJ 13.288) and this might attest to deeper Hellenistic inﬂuences on his writing. Cf. S. Mason, Flavius Josephus On the Pharisees (1991: 219, 225–7) and I. Shatzman, ‘Hatzlacha u-ve-Ikvoteha Kin’a: Greek Tradition and Joseph Ben Matthia’ (Hebrew, 2002) respectively. Earlier examples include the accounts of Gyges and Candaules, and Croesus in Herodotus 1. There, too, the link of prosperity and envy is made clear. But whereas in Herodotus it seems that the envy is not human but divine (1.34), in Josephus the envy of both characters named Hyrcanus is all too human in nature. 78 Hdt. 1.8.2: xr∞n går KandaÊl˙ gen°syai kak«w. Despite Josephus’ strong Jewish inclinations, the supernatural agents provoked in the Herod narrative are usually abstract, like ‘Destiny’ here, or Fortune. Sometimes a Godly entity is mentioned: the daimon rather than the theos. Mentioning God in a more biblical manner becomes frequent later on in the BJ, as the end of the revolt is nearing.

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Josephus the narrator intervenes one more time (1.235) in the Malichus episode and comments on the events and says about Hyrcanus: ‘Whether he [Hyrcanus] expressed his real opinions or from fear acquiesced in the deed, was uncertain’. Malichus eventually met his end and was assassinated by Roman soldiers. This was done with the silent agreement of Cassius, who heard Herod’s suspicions and was convinced by them. Malichus and Hyrcanus were invited to meet Cassius in Tyre, then went for a walk on the beach where the troops surround them and stabbed Malichus to death. Hyrcanus, who is an eyewitness to the murder, acts in accordance with his weak and shifty character and immediately crosses over to the other side, praising Cassius for killing ‘the traitor’. Then comes Josephus’ comment, concerning the obscure reasons for Hyrcanus’ impulsive act. What do we learn from that? We are reminded that terror and violence go hand in hand with Herod’s ambition, and that the political atmosphere is already such that Hyrcanus understands he must yield, or else he would be in danger. Josephus’ uncertainty and his inability to present a clearer explanation for Hyrcanus’ deed may be emblematic of the confusion and suspicion in Herod’s court. They may also correspond to a contemporary audience’s diﬃculty in reading the events. This short comment is mostly about the change of mentality in Judean politics,79 and it might be regarded as a hint of things to come. Josephus’ following comment in 1.243 directly concerns Antony, but bears much signiﬁcance concerning Herod too. The narrator comments that while ‘a hundred Jewish oﬃcials approached Antony’, the Roman leader was ‘. . . now a slave to his passion for Cleopatra’ (ÉAnt≈nion ≥dh t“ Kleopãtraw ¶rvti dedoulvm°non). It is interesting to note that in spite of Josephus’ general avoidance from relating Roman issues at length, he ﬁnds it appropriate to comment about the peculiar emotional state of Antony and about the weakness of character that eventually brought him to his end. Why does he mention Antony’s passion for Cleopatra? It might be that this is needed in order to explain Herod’s later crossing-over to Octavian’s side. Or, it might be another example for a later theme directly related

79 There might be a faint Thucydidean echo here, of the idea of a change of mentality which is exquisitely expressed in the stasis chapters, Thuc. 3.80–82.

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to Herod: the destructive power of irrational passions, even over powerful leaders.80 The narrator intervenes again in 1.270 to explain an event that might seem odd to a Gentile audience. Josephus explains that ‘Hyrcanus threw himself at the feet of Antigonus, who with his own teeth lacerated his suppliant’s ears, in order to disqualify him forever . . . from resuming the high priesthood; since freedom from physical defect is essential to the holder of that oﬃce’. Josephus here uses his editorial authority in order to explain Antigonus’ deed, because the nonJewish audience would probably not be familiar with the Jewish rule preventing physically maimed people from serving as High Priests. The change in the narrative voice, which gives further emphasis to the atrocity committed, is also justiﬁed by the horror of the deed itself.81 We return now to Phasael’s obituary (1.271–2). Josephus uses this passage not only as an ordinary obituary (as mentioned above) but also exercises his professional integrity and again82 quotes an alternative version. This version does not happen to undermine his own reading and conclusion,83 but it is a reminder of the prevailing uncertainty and confusion alluded to earlier. In 1.275, the narrator again alludes to non-human agents. During the account of Herod’s ﬂight to Arabia, Josephus comments that ‘Fate (tÚ xr°on), however, proved to have outstripped his [Herod’s] zeal’. Herod, Josephus tells us, searches in vain for help and support in Arabia. Fate is a non-human agent that Josephus has mentioned before (see above). Here she plays her game again, and despite the seemingly promising preconditions (a former friendship and a nice sum of money to give away), Herod’s appeal to king Malchus is rejected. But Herod eventually wins support from above. In 1.331, Josephus comments that in Jericho Herod indeed had a ‘providential and

80 This is echoed in 1.431, where Josephus opens the account of Herod’s family turbulence with a comment concerning Herod’s passions for a woman. See below, p. 104. 81 Cf. Cassius Dio HR 58.11.5: Sejanus’ daughter is raped by her executioner and the historian explains the deed: it is unlawful to execute a virgin. 82 As was the case with Hyrcanus’ alternative motives in 1.235, see above, p. 101. 83 This is once again a common tool in Greco-Roman historiography. Cf. e.g. Herodotus 1.5 and Tacitus, Annales 4.11.

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miraculous (daimÒnion) escape, the surprising nature of which won him the reputation of a special favourite of heaven’ (éndrÚw yeofilestãtou dÒjan éphn°gkato). So Herod, who earlier did not meet his hopes during the ﬂight from his enemies, is now granted a surprising lucky escape, which has a supernatural—and Greco-Roman—ﬂavour. Josephus is careful not to fully admit this was so, but says, with an historian’s instinct, that it ‘won him the reputation’.84 A second miraculous escape from murder is to follow (1.340–1). Both happen in Jericho, which would become Herod’s sanctuary in his last days. We now approach the focal point of the Herod narrative, where Josephus moves from the public realm to the private arena. The historian makes his change with a brilliant and ironic contrast. In 1.430, he praises Herod: ‘Herod’s genius was matched by his physical constitution. Always foremost in the chase, in which he distinguished himself above all by his skill in horsemanship. . . . As a ﬁghter he was irresistible. . . . But besides these pre-eminent gifts of soul and body, he was blessed by good fortune (§xrÆsato ka‹ dejiò tÊx˙); he rarely met with a reverse in war, and, when he did, this was due not to his own fault, but either to treachery or to the recklessness of his troops’. Herod, the Judean monarch, is described in very Greco-Roman terms. He excels in horsemanship, hunts successfully (wild boars, stags and wild asses), throws javelins (where the spectators ‘were often struck with astonishment at the precision with which he threw the javelin’), shoots arrows and, of course, ﬁghts wars and wins them. Those are distinctively Greco-Roman virtuous attributes, and typical of kings and noblemen.85 Herod, says Josephus, enjoys all the above and is furthermore ‘blessed by good fortune’ (§xrÆsato ka‹ dej¤& tuxª)—not by the Jewish God.

84 Note the power of dÒja here, which keeps the slight scepticism and ‘scholarly’ distance: Josephus does not say this under his own name but brings forward a possibility, an opinion. This also diminishes the force of the supernatural agent, and again tells us something of the climate of the times. 85 Cf. what Nicolaus has to say about the young Octavian at the beginning of his narrative, VC 3 (5–6, good horsemanship and keen exercise of body and soul). Note the ironic eﬀect in Josephus’ account: it comes at the end (and not the beginning) of an account of Herod’s ‘political biography’; it depicts the king of the Jews in strong Greco-Roman colours; it anticipates the other half of the account. See below. Again, Josephus borrows a familiar rhetorical convention (which creates certain expectations from the audience, concerning the protagonist’s character) but readjusts them to ﬁt his own historiographical needs.

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These, then, are the narrator’s comments that conclude the ﬁrst part of the Herod narrative. They seem eulogistic, in that no negative comment is uttered about Herod, and his physical and mental prowess seem almost supernatural.86 This passage seems even odder, when we take into account the fact that Josephus as a historian takes eﬀort to seem trustworthy by using means like external chronology, the inclusion of alternative versions to stories, or indeed by his editorial comments. The last comment, as mentioned above, has a sharp ironic eﬀect on the reader, which is immediately revealed in the next chapter (431, see below). The second part pf the narrative that follows contains the long and elaborate account of Herod’s turbulent private life. The contrast is very striking. In 1.431, then, Josephus begins with ‘But’ (mØn), and continues: ‘in revenge for his public prosperity, Fortune visited Herod with troubles at home (≤ tÊxh to›w katÉ o‰kon éniaro›w §nem°shsen); his illfated career originated with a woman to whom he was passionately attached’. The power of the contrast lies in the straightfowardness of this comment. Its brevity and bluntness, and especially the contrast between the aforementioned high noble virtues, and the unﬂattering attribution of Herod’s misfortunes to a woman (echoing Antony in 1.243), enhance the ironic eﬀect even further. Herod was gifted with good fortune in his public conduct, but was met with divine indignation, n°mesiw, at home. The textual—and thematic—partition is thus explicitly made. Note that the supernatural power here is not the abstract tÚ xr°on, but a more personiﬁed87 tÊxh. Note also the use of the verb §nem°shsen, derived from n°mesiw, a very Greek force, also familiar from Herodotus in the context of misfortunes of tyrants.88 And ﬁnally, note the connection Josephus makes between bad luck and the passion for a woman. This theme was mentioned before, concerning Antony and

86 Herod’s obituary in 1.665 is strikingly lacking in such praise. See above, pp. 95–96. 87 This subtle choice of concepts might have been intended for Josephus’ GrecoRoman readership. 88 Cf. Hdt. 1.34, where n°mesiw meg¤sth strikes Croesus both because of his own deeds (especially his hybristic assumptions concerning his wealth and prosperity) and as a realisation of an ancestral divine retribution (revealed later in the story). Herod is struck by bad fortune for his own deeds only.

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Cleopatra, although the choice of words is diﬀerent; whereas Antony was ‘slave to his erotic passion for Cleopatra (t“ Kleopãtraw ¶rvti dedoulvm°non, 1.243)’, Herod is ‘mostly dedicated’ (mãlista §spoÊdasen, 1.431) to a woman.89 As far as the atmosphere is concerned, then, this short passage is an appropriate ‘proem’ to the second section of the Herod narrative. Most of the short comments Josephus plants in the narrative from now on are concerned with the speciﬁc traits of Herod’s family members. Thus, Herod is ‘paralysed by his infatuation (1.438)’, ‘beside himself ’ or ‘frenzied with passion (443)’.90 Antipater, Josephus’ most hated descendant, is ‘the cause of all this hatred (455)’. Other members of the family are not portrayed very positively either. The cunning sister Salome for example, or the relentless sons, ﬁghting for the throne. It is as if Josephus took liberty in elaborating and proving his initial remark about the grave misfortunes of the Herodian dynasty. The next editorial comment comes towards the end of the narrative, in 1.647. Josephus says that Herod’s illness ‘steadily grew worse, aggravated as were the attacks of disease by age and despondency. For he was now nearly seventy years old, and his tragic experiences (sumfora›w) with his children had so broken his spirit, that even in good health he no longer enjoyed any of the pleasures of life. His malady was further increased by the thought that Antipater was still alive; for he had determined that his execution should be no casual aﬀair, but seriously undertaken once he had himself recovered’. This passage enfolds once again two aspects of Herod’s personality. On the one hand, he is portrayed as an old and sick man, who is exhausted by his life’s misfortunes and wishes for peace of mind. On the other hand though, this is a man who would rise from his deathbed to see his full revenge carried out. The narrator’s last

89 Later on his destructive passion for Mariamme becomes ‘¶rvw’ nonetheless (1.436). Note the choice of vocabulary: §spoÊdasen may echo the Aristotelian ‘spouda›oi’, used to describe characters of tragedy (Poet. 2). Here, if this is indeed an allusion, it has an ironic eﬀect: surely, the lure of a woman, however virtuous she may be, would not cause so much concern and preoccupation, nor such suﬀering, especially not for a king. 90 Thackeray tends to translate all Greek words denoting emotional turbulence as ‘passion’: we have seen ¶rvw and spoudÆ before, pãyow is the current addition.

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comment is echoed soon after by Herod’s obituary (see above). Josephus refers there once again to the king’s familial misfortune. This close proximity of authorial comments strengthens the narrator’s voice and retains the focalization. Herod’s last moments, tragic and full of pathos as they may be, are nevertheless represented from Josephus’ point of view. 91 Conclusion Having examined the manner in which Josephus constructs the Herod narrative in the BJ, we can now conclude with a further attempt to understand the way Josephus creates the image of Herod, and perhaps understand better why Herod, in spite of a highly turbulent life and the treatment of a skilled and highly rhetorical historian, still remains somewhat distant and fails to arouse fear, pity92 or any other substantial emotion93 in the prospective audience.94 It is evident from both ancient texts and modern research—and common

91 On narrative interventions in Thucydides see D. Gribble, ‘Narrator interventions in Thucydides’, JHS 118 (1998: 41–67). On Herodotus see R. L. Fowler, ‘Herodotos and his contemporaries’, JHS 116 (1996: 62–87, esp. sections II and III). 92 The locus classicus is of course Aristotle, Rhet. 1382a21–2 ﬀ. (fear, fÒbow) and 1385b13–15ﬀ. (pity, ®leow). M. Heath, The Poetics of Greek Tragedy (1987: 11–17) provides a concise and illuminating summary of the place and function of pity and fear in tragedy. 93 Such as those mentioned by ancient philosophers, rhetoricians and historians as necessary ina text or performance for arousing the audience—any audience: pain, pleasure, anger, pity, fear (Aristotle, Rhet. II 1. 1378a 19–22); aﬀection, hate, anger, envy, pity, hope, joy, fear and grief (Cicero, de Or. II 206); disbelief, anguish, terror, contempt, hatred, pity, goodwill, anger, envy (Dion. Hal., Dem. 22). 94 I am well aware of the problems concerning the deﬁnition of emotions, and the probable diﬀerences in meaning between ancient and modern interpretations. More on the obstacles of cross-cultural and non-contemporary interpretation of emotions in D. Konstan, Pity Transformed (2001: 1–25). On emotions in historiography see recently Marincola, ‘Emotions’, esp. pp. 294–5 concerning ancient historians and their audiences. On the common roots of history and tragedy in Greek epic see Walbank, ‘History and Tragedy’. Nevertheless, I shall assume a basic similarity between modern and ancient understanding of these emotions for two reasons. The ﬁrst has to do with Aristotle’s concept of ‘the Universal’; any attempt to understand the eﬀect of Josephus’ dramatic constructions would be doomed if we leave no common grounds between our culture and the Greco-Roman world. The second reason is linked with the ﬁrst: since the nature of my analysis is textual and rhetorical, and not anthropological, it is possible to leave aside wider issues concerning cultural diﬀerences and examine the constant element in the equation: the Herod narratives themselves.

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sense—that historical texts may well evoke many more emotions than the emblematic pity and fear (see n. 92). Human events, as well as the art of narrating them, is by far more complex than those two ends of the emotional scale. However, I chose to concentrate here on the two emotions most associated with tragedy for two reasons: ﬁrst, Josephus’ inclusion of, and emphasis on, tragic elements in his narrative. Those seem to me to be more prominent in both the content and the intertextual references (tragic ideas and elements echo more than rhetorical treatises). Josephus, of course, does not rely solely upon tragedy to make his points and evoke emotions in his audience—but his borrowing of tragic themes (from both tragedy and historiography), as well as his explicit and favourable declaration concerning emotions in historiography in the BJ proem, may point to that direction. Secondly, pity and fear are each emblematic of a broader gamut of emotions that may be evoked in audiences. They seem to take a more prominent stance in ancient (and modern) debates of rhetoric and textual criticism. Their prominence, together with Josephus’ own emphasis on tragic themes, lead me to focus on them as well. However, I am well aware that these are not, and should not, be the only emotions to take place within a historical narrative. The human range of emotions is of course far broader, and rhetorical ‘tricks’, in turn, have long been known to evoke emotions from pity to anger, from admiration to empathy, and many more.95 Concerning the question of why Herod would be similar to tragic heroes in the ﬁrst place, and evoke emotions such as pity and fear: historical heroes with tragic qualities are not rare in ancient historiography (e.g. Herodotus’ Croesus and Xerxes, Thucydides’ Athens). Familiar too albeit controversial, especially in the Hellenistic period, is the historiographical tendency to include emotions in historical accounts, to portray events in a more lurid manner (e.g. Phylarchus, as attested by Polybius). My suggestion here is that Josephus’ Herod is an example for such a case, and it is well in accord with both the general historiographical conventions of the period and Josephus’ style elsewhere96— 95

See Marincola, ‘Emotions’, passim, and n. 93 above. More echoes of tragedy’s inﬂuence on Josephus in L. H. Feldman, ‘The Inﬂuence of Greek Tragedians on Josephus’, A. Ovadiah (ed.), Hellenic and Jewish Arts: Interaction, Tradition and Renewal (Tel Aviv 1998: 51–80). 96

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but with a clever twist. However many allusions to tragedy we ﬁnd, in the end, Herod fails to deliver. Let me elaborate on that. Herod, says Josephus, was both blessed in his public life and most unfortunate (étux°statow, 665) in his domestic aﬀairs. Indeed this duality of fortune seems to be Herod’s most characteristic trait. This is not untypical in the two major historiographical traditions Josephus corresponds with. Greco-Roman historical accounts of tyranny often tend to portray kings fortunate in riches and prowess as suﬀering in their personal lives.97 Biblical portraits of kings are also abundant in personal misfortune.98 Throughout the narrative, Josephus takes us from Herod’s successes as a young man to his emotional frenzy as an aging monarch. The two aspects of Herod’s life seep into each other, and sometimes the very same traits can be perceived in diﬀerent ways. What at times seems like shrewd political sense in the public sphere (Herod’s fast changes of Roman loyalty as soon as Antony’s end was at sight, for instance) might be regarded as disloyalty and opportunism in the private realm (betraying a friend, and a long-standing familial commitment). Herod’s image in the BJ is ﬁrst and foremost complex, in both form and essence. But is it indeed a historiographical portrait of a hero with tragic qualities, much as generic diﬀerences would allow? I hope to have demonstrated in the analysis above that despite the initial impression and the abundance of dramatic embellishment, Herod’s portrait lacks the essential quality of tragic heroes, be they of drama, epic poetry or historical narratives. What is missing? It seems to me that Josephus’ Herod fails to convince as a historiographical tragic hero not so much because he lacks certain tragic characteristics (and he does) but because he is not independent enough to develop them in the ﬁrst place. In other words, Herod remains a distant ﬁgure and fails to arouse deep pity or fear because Josephus never ceases to be the main focalizer of the narrative.

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Again, Herodotus’ Croesus and Pliny’s Augustus (HN 7.155) are good exam-

ples. 98 But there, as is the case with Saul and David’s portraits, the personal grief is often directly connected with committing sins (whether consciously or not), and sins in turn cause political trouble as well. The biblical scheme tends to view domestic and public as parallel rather than contradictory.

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The discussion in Heath, Poetics, 90–98 about ‘focus’ in tragedy may be relevant here, with the essential generic modiﬁcations. Heath suggests that “intense engagement with a focal ﬁgure is a characteristic of tragedy” (p. 92), and explains that this “engagement” is primarily emotional. The focus may change from one ﬁgure to another (e.g. Antigone to Creon, pp. 92–3), but it will continue to arouse emotions in the audience. Likewise, we may borrow Rood’s observation on the ‘ontological connection’ which readers of history assume between story and discourse99 and cautiously infer from it that for audiences of historical accounts, ‘real’ events could evoke ‘real’, or stronger, emotions.100 In the case of Herod, none of this is achieved: although he remains the main protagonist in terms of plot and historical interest, his character never manages to emotionally engage the audience in the ﬁrst place. Josephus’ focus on human conduct notwithstanding, it seems that Herod is portrayed not only as not engaging in initial contemplation of his deeds but also as failing to feel and express true retrospective remorse. Moreover, Herod does not seem to act in the best of intentions and to the best of his ability, and does not seem to have a sound moral conviction, or a higher cause, that prompts him to act the way he does.101 This calling, whose strength often blinds heroes in tragedy, may have virtuous roots (such as Oedipus’ wish to end the curse on the city) or rise from revenge, which can still be more appealing or understandable to the audience (Euripides’ Hecuba) or less so (Medea). In any case, this sense of revenge is often strong enough to overcome reason, insight or sensibility. In the

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Rood, Thucydides, 10. See also the general introduction under ‘Narrative’. My assumption here is careful, but I suggest a modern equivalent for clariﬁcation: often, our reaction to atrocities from real life (as reported in the news) could be stronger and more empathic than the reactions to similar ﬁctional events. 101 Ostwald, ‘Tragedians’, 25, suggests that “the central fact of all Greek beliefs is that humans are agents who have to act in the belief that what they are doing is done to the best of their knowledge and ability; what they do not realize until after they have acted is their own frailty, the fact that in acting they have encountered limits they cannot trespass with impunity. This is the condition I should like to name ‘tragic’”. This may help to illuminate one aspect of Herod’s un-tragicness, namely the lack of retrospective remorse, but Ostwald may tend to generalise here: his analysis may suit some tragic ﬁgures like Deianeira, but others (Medea, Antigone) do not come to acknowledge any ‘frailty’, and are certainly aware of limits before they set out to action. Still, there is no doubt concerning their ability to arouse pity and fear. 100

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case of Herod, however, it seems that his sheer cruelty is simply a result of his emotional weakness. He is not driven by any higher calling, good or bad. As a result, neither pity nor fear (of him, or for him)102 are evoked. Herod’s emotional blandness and inability to arouse emotions is what I earlier deﬁned as an ‘incomplete’ humanness. This is even more striking when we bear in mind that the narrative is indeed historical—i.e., primarily concerned with human events. Although he is a historical ﬁgure, Herod in the BJ is better understood on the more distant or symbolic level.103 He is not portrayed as being morally ‘like us’, but as someone who operates on an almost inhuman level of emotions—or alternatively, with cold calculations in mind. Herod also fails to convince as ‘better than us’, neither in status (a commoner) nor, as mentioned above, in moral conviction (no higher cause behind his deeds). In either case, it is impossible to fully empathise with him, fear for him, or rather hate him deeply for a good reason. Herod’s misconduct is not a result of an understandable, human shortcoming, nor of temporary madness driven by higher causes. Josephus exposes his audience to Herod’s acts, but unlike other historical ﬁgures such as Herodotus’ Croesus or Xerxes, he does not to reveal to his audience what prompts Herod’s acts from within. Herod’s few demonstrations of apology and regret (grave sorrow after Mariamme’s execution, 1.444; the mock-sentimental speech entitling his sons with royal rights, 1.457–66; or his attempts of reconciliation after the murder of Alexander and Aristobulus where he promises to be ‘a more considerate grandfather’, 1.556–58) are shallow, dubious and still within the realm of his emotions,104 not his thoughts.

102 On ‘fear for’ tragic characters as stemming from a feeling of equality see Arist. Poet. 1453a4–6 and Heath, Poetics, 12–14. 103 On Herod as a symbol see also the general introduction, pp. 20–23; 29–30 (and notes). On historical narratives as metaphorical statements see White, ‘The Historical Text’, 18–22. 104 Cf. Ullman and Price, ‘Drama’, 105: “The king lacks heroic stature, and his impulsive behaviour lacks tragic greatness. He reacts to, rather than controls, the things which are done to him, and his reactions are usually wrong. . . .”. This quotation is concerning the Eurycles episode (1.448f.) but applies to Herod’s overall portraiture in the narrative. Marincola, ‘Emotions’ (p. 294), quotes D. Levene’s distinction between ‘audience-based’ emotion and ‘analytic’ emotion. Here it seems that Josephus employs ‘analytic’ emotion (i.e., the reader’s emotions are evoked by

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Josephus does not allow Herod to take the reins of focalization in the narrative. We never get to see the events as Herod sees them, or even to share any of his sincere thoughts or feelings. He is constantly kept behind Josephus’ rhetorical veil. This, in turn, leaves the main protagonist of a highly dramatic historical account distant from the audience, and incapable of stirring substantial emotions. And Herod’s distance, in turn, keeps Josephus in control as narrator and main focalizer throughout the narrative. And the narrator, no doubt, shows great skill. Josephus writes the story of a turbulent, complicated and rather miserable life with a careful and knowledgeable rhetorical hand and with an open eye for dramatic allusions. As we have seen in the examples above, he uses conventional rhetorical devices such as digressions and speeches, but often readjusts them to the speciﬁc agenda of his narrative. Josephus always retains his voice, whether in actual comments or in the meticulous implementation of other rhetorical devices. The Herod narrative contains familiar and conventional rhetorical and dramatic devices, but their speciﬁc functions within the account are tailored to the historian’s individual aims. For example: Josephus describes Herod’s youthful promise in a manner similar to that of Nicolaus when describing Augustus, but whereas the latter meant (we assume) to praise the young Caesar, Josephus uses the audience’s expectations to create irony and surprise. Or he takes the rhetorical frame of a political speech of alliance, but places it in an unusual context, reversing the roles of the speakers and adding a twist to the usual theme (for the alliance between Judea and Rome is later to be turned into grave animosity). Obituaries, too, operate in a deeper level of the narrative in that they help in highlighting the complex connections between the individual, political and philosophical realms.105 Often, the result of Josephus’ continuous readjustment of the role and function of his rhetorical tools is dramatic irony, in more than

his own appreciation of the situation rather than echo a similar emotion expressed in the text). On Herod’s passivity see also above, pp. 76–80ﬀ. 105 This seems to be a pattern, but that is not to say that Josephus uses all his rhetorical tools ironically. The speeches in Antipater’s trial (see above pp. 86–87) obey Aristotelian conventions of forensic oratory and follow Aristotelian recommendations as to the arousal of emotions in the audience (whether present in Rome or later readership). The irony here is achieved by placing those speeches against the narrative background.

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one stance: whether blunt or subtle, it is ever present in the Herod narrative. It is mostly apparent in the interaction between narrator and narratees, and less so within the story frame of the narrative. Characters are usually not using irony themselves.106 Josephus exercises his power as narrator to create dramatic irony both within the narrative, and in a more outward-looking direction, towards more general moral assertions.107 On the narrative level, irony is present both in internal allusions and echoes in the narrative itself (as demonstrated above) and intertextual allusions and parallels to earlier GrecoRoman narratives, from both history and tragedy. On the more general level, dramatic and tragic irony is derived mostly from the retrospective historical glance of the whole work. In either case both narrator and narratees are highly engaged in the process. They are well aware of the intertextual references and the literary background, and are also familiar with the fatal outcome of the revolt. Hence, all political successes and small failures described in the narrative, all attempts to win Rome’s support and all internal scheming may seem futile, if not pathetic (in the modern sense of the word). The Herod narrative in the BJ is, as it were, a chronicle of premeditated, or at least unsurprisingly unfortunate events. Its strength is derived not from one element or the other, but from the careful combination of plot, characters, a meticulous implementation of rhetorical tools and an assertive narrating voice who keeps the main focalization of the narrative well in his own hands. Moreover, and by way of a concluding thought: the meticulous and elaborate manner in which Josephus tells the story of Herod premeditates the turbulent circumstances that later befell the main protagonists of the rest of the work: Judea and the Jewish people. The story of Herod may be more than the historical beginning of all that. Josephus’ account reads more than a linear chronology of events. It is the ﬁrst link in a circular, ring-like perception of history. The reign of Herod already contains the seeds of the later historical outcome of Judea: internal strife and an active association

106 Except, perhaps, in the speeches during Antipater’s trial at Rome. But there irony again operates on a diﬀerent rhetorical level, not as the characters’ own, nor as the narrator’s, but as part of forensic rhetoric. 107 More on the two kinds of irony in Josephus in Mason, ‘Importance’.

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with Rome.108 Herod, provoking internal unrest on the one hand but strengthening the alliance with Rome to bring relative prosperity on the other, is the embodiment of both themes. It is only natural, then, for a highly rhetorical narrator to make the most out of the details.

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See the general introduction above, pp. 20–23.

CHAPTER THREE

HEROD’S PORTRAIT IN THE JEWISH ANTIQUITIES

Josephus tells the story of Herod for the second time in books 14–17 of the Jewish Antiquities. Three books out of the entire twenty are dedicated to a relatively short period of Jewish history. In this chapter I shall ask why Josephus chooses to spread the Herod narrative over three books, how he does it, and by what means he constructs the image of Herod.1 This later image of Herod turns out to be quite diﬀerent from the earlier. It is considerably more critical of Herod’s character and deeds, and seems to have a more emotional tone—and with it, a slightly deeper impact on the audience. As in chapter 2, I shall focus on the narrator’s role in determining the voice of the narrative. We have seen how Josephus uses rhetorical devices in the BJ narrative, and how he creates dramatic tension and narrative ﬂow. The rhetorical examination here will be similar, but not identical. Not only is the AJ narrative diﬀerent in length, rhythm, structure and the speciﬁc use of rhetorical tools; it also has a precedent that calls for comparison. The two narratives tell the same story and display similar rhetorical devices, but their overall impression is rather diﬀerent.2 The diﬀerence comes into play in two main areas. First, there is the manner and method of using some of the rhetorical and dramatic devices

1 I am aware of the longstanding debate in scholarship concerning the inconsistency in language and style of books 14–19 of the AJ. Most notable on this debate are the works of Laqueur, Historiker, Thackeray, Historian, Shutt, Studies, (see my summaries in appendix 1 below). A more speciﬁc evaluation of this subject is oﬀered by D. J. Ladouceur, ‘Language of Josephus’, JSJ 14 (1983: 18–38) and D. S. Williams, ‘Thackeray’s Assistants Hypothesis: A Stylometric Evaluation’, JJS 48.2 (1997: 262– 75). Following modern criticism of Thackeray from the above and also in T. Rajak, P. Bilde and S. Mason (see Williams, ibid.), I also suggest here, as well as in chapter 2 above, that there is suﬃcient literary evidence to grant Josephus major, if not full authorial responsibility for the creative and rhetorical makeup of both Herod narratives. 2 Some discrepancies in details and facts are also apparent. See the parallel story outlines in appendix 2.

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in the text.3 Josephus seems to be paying more attention to the dramatic impact of the details, be they of content or of form, than to that of the structure.4 Second, Josephus’ authorial voice in AJ is more explicit and more resonant in the narrative. The narrator tends to be more opinionated and certainly more emotional towards Herod: the king is portrayed in a decidedly negative fashion. Josephus replaces his earlier slight admiration, emphasis on virtue and relative leniency towards Herod’s tyranny and turbulence with unequivocal criticism of Herod’s ways. In the AJ narrative, the historian chooses to directly express his changed views by authorial comments. These seem, at times, to stray away from standard historical practice and verge on a strong personal dislike—in this instance, too, emotions take centre stage. It is my suggestion that in this narrative, too, the narrator’s voice has a direct impact on the way Herod’s image is portrayed and that the diﬀerence in the narrator’s manner in the two Herod narratives is perhaps the cause of the diﬀerent portraits of the king. In the BJ, Josephus’ insistence on remaining the main focalizer resulted in a ﬂat, distant and rather unemotional portrait of Herod (despite the resonant presence of dramatic devices). Herod then failed to arouse fear or pity, or any other strong emotion, in the audience.5 In the AJ narrative, in turn, Josephus’ direct narrating voice indeed has a more emotional tone to it. However, it seems he often lets go of his control of the narrative and allows more room for embedded focalization for Herod.6 This in turn creates a more rounded character, whose emotions, thoughts and dilemmas are revealed to the audience to a greater extent than they were in BJ. A more rounded portraiture enables the narratees to develop a broader and more independent range of emotions towards Herod.7 These, however, are

3 I have addressed the broader questions of generic diﬀerences between BJ and AJ, source questions, and the textual context of the Herod narratives in the general introduction above, under ‘Historian’ and ‘Herod’ respectively. The present comparison will focus on the text, its rhetorical makeup and the narrator’s voice. 4 This is in contrast with the BJ narrative, where the frame and structure have a considerable rhetorical impact on the tone and voice of the narrative. See chapter 2, pp. 70–82. 5 See the analysis in chapter 2, and especially the conclusion, pp. 106–113. 6 As well as for a few minor characters, e.g. Antipater, Herod’s son, or Mariamme’s sons Alexander and Aristobulus (book 16). 7 To return to Heath’s concept of ‘focus’ (Heath, Poetics, 90–98, and chapter 2

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not positive or compassionate. It is not pity that Herod stirs, but anger, perhaps fear, even disgust or revulsion.8 Indeed, we are allowed a window to Herod’s soul, but the sight is not very promising. Herod remains fully aware of his deeds and their dire consequences but nevertheless continues to act in the same way, partly because he cannot control his emotions, partly as a result of cold opportunistic calculations.9 The king’s awareness and lack of remorse, which were alluded to (albeit less explicitly) in the BJ as well, are in fact contrasted with the enhanced dramatic (at times tragic) tone of the narrative. Josephus here creates a rhetorical eﬀect similar to that of the BJ narrative: Herod fails to convince as a historiographical character with tragic qualities despite the highly charged textual surroundings. This dissonance may perhaps be a distinctively Josephan trait. Josephus also pays more attention to the public and the audience, both within the narrative and outside it.10 Herod’s subjects, for instance, express increasing discomfort and protest concerning his acts of impiety and tyranny. The people present in the ﬁrst instance of the trial of Alexander and Aristobulus, on another occasion, are reported to have been swayed by the drama.11 Furthermore, Josephus’ authorial comments are more frequent than in the BJ narrative, and tend to appeal more directly to the audience and to clarify issues such as Herod’s impious acts and his deﬁance of Jewish laws and customs.

pp. 109–110 above): Josephus here enables Herod to become more of a ‘focal character’, in that he evokes “emotional engagement”, at least to some extent. Also relevant here is Levene’s concept of ‘analytic emotion’: the readers have more room here to assess the situation and develop their own emotions. (see Levene, ‘Pity, Fear and the Historical Audience’, 131–136 and passim, and Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 294). 8 These strong emotions are all included in Aristotle’s discussion of emotions in the Rhetoric. Pity may be just as powerful an emotion. On the complexity of pity see Konstan, Pity, 1–25, and in the context of Greek tragedy, Heath, Poetics, 11–15. 9 See e.g. Josephus’ long and explicit authorial comment in 16.150–159 and esp. 16.155, concerning Herod’s awareness and deﬁance. This comment will be examined in detail below, under ‘The Historian’s Voice’, pp. 172–173. 10 Many narrator interventions appeal directly to the audience, and Josephus’ highly dramatic account presupposes, in my opinion, an involved audience. On narrator-audience relationship and generic expectations in antiquity see M. J. Wheeldon, ‘ “True Stories”: the reception of historiography in antiquity’ in A. Cameron (ed.), History as Text: The Writing of Ancient History (1989: 35–64). 11 16.121 (on Caesar); 126.

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The multi-faceted augmentation of rhetorical devices could have come at the cost of the story’s dramatic ﬂair. But in fact, the result is almost opposite: the length of the AJ narrative, its rhetorical elaboration and the resulting resonant voice of the narrator create a fuller, albeit more disagreeable, image of Herod. This later and more negative image is of a remorseless tyrant, rather than that of an ambitious ruler who is slave to his emotions. This is the image that eventually prevailed in posterity. That, I assume, is not only a result of the later date and more extensive scope, but also of the rise in the evocation of emotions. It seems that hatred and revulsion have more rhetorical power than the inability to identify with a hero and empathise with him. As I will demonstrate below, the rise in emotion does not, in the end, lead to greater empathy for Herod. Despite the great misfortunes that befall him, and the more revealing portrait Josephus draws in the AJ, Herod still fails to convince as a rounded character with tragic qualities. But before we examine the similarities between the two narratives we should take a closer look at the rhetorical diﬀerences. Apart from the diﬀerent tone of the narrating voice, we detect a few more distinctions. The scope of the narrative is wider: Josephus allows three books out of twenty for the story of Herod, and he makes full use of the space he assigned himself.12 Episodes are longer, more details are revealed, more anecdotes are added. Speeches are longer, too, and the reader encounters a new device: the inclusion of external material (Roman decrees concerning the Jews). Reading the Herod narrative of the AJ in light of the early BJ account seems to be inevitable for us modern scholars. Immediate comparisons beg to be made, and further intertextual allusions claim their place. But in fact there are no hints in the later narrative that allude to the earlier account, and we should not assume that Josephus’ audience would either remember the early account in detail or aim at a comparative reading when presented with the AJ narrative. His readers may have known of the earlier version, but there is a big diﬀerence between general knowledge and a detailed comparative reading.

12 On the genre of AJ—much as genres could be determined in ancient historiography—and the possible reasons why the Herod narrative of AJ is so extensive, see the general introduction, pp. 12–15 and 20–23 respectively.

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The Narrative Structure—Chronology and Storyline (Order)13 The main structural characteristics of the Herod narrative of the AJ are its length,14 the straightforward duration of the account and the attention Josephus pays to speciﬁc rhetorical devices within the narrative rather than to its overall structure.15 The initial impression is that the narrative lacks a deﬁnitive overall structure and that the editing hand is far less apparent than in the BJ narrative. However, a closer examination of the text reveals that the narrative has, if not a concise overall structure, a distinctive pace and rhythm to it. The pace of the narrative is characterised by a gradual increase in the dramatic tone (augmented by recurring references to themes such as impiety, tyranny, human weakness and cruelty and comments directed at the audience). That, together with the prominence of the narrating voice, creates a uniﬁed tone for the account. Rather than containing two distinctive sections like the former BJ narrative,16 the present narrative is related in a straightforward chronological manner. Private and public are not parted, but blurred and interconnected. This feature has some impact on the overall image of Herod in this account, because it seems more diﬃcult to make a distinction between his positive and negative qualities. Herod does not save his greed, lust and cruelty to his family alone. He does not hesitate to act similarly towards his subjects, when his mood is foul. That, in turn, brings about hatred (right before the famine episode in book 15), dissatisfaction and suspicion (before the rebuilding of the Temple in book 16) and causes sedition (tearing down the eagle, book 17) among the people.17 And when hatred and suspicion are

13 Cf. the parallel section in chapter 2, p. 70ﬀ. above. On narrative order see Genette, Narrative Discourse, 33–85. 14 Depending, among other things, on the length and character of the whole work. 15 These basic traits all come by contrast to the earlier BJ narrative, which is much more concise and whose overall structure—the partition between public and private aﬀairs—has a rhetorical impact that supersedes that of the discrete use of internal rhetorical devices. 16 See above, chapter 2, p. 70ﬀ. 17 Hatred, m›sow, is a key theme in the narrative and recurs many more times in both the public and private domains of Herod’s life. See below, esp. under ‘Speeches’, p. 134ﬀ. and ‘The Historian’s Voice’, p. 160ﬀ.

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invoked within the plot, the audience might tend to adopt these emotions as well.18 Another feature of the Herod narrative of the AJ is the more frequent use of digressions19 from the main storyline into other events. Most digressions in our case, whether they are analeptic, proleptic, parallel to the narrative time, external or internal,20 remain thematically connected to the main story and its protagonist, Herod.21 The digressions here also include two lists of Roman decrees in favour of the Diaspora Jews (14.185–268; 16.160–178).22 In many cases, the narrator marks either the beginning or the end of a digression with a comment, explaining why he chose to digress and what is the importance of the material related (e.g. 16.174–178).23 Thematic digressions usually serve as extended pauses for thought. On the one hand, they shift the focus from the main story and thus enliven the account. On the other hand, the close thematic connections between most digressions in the Herod narrative and the main plot indicate that their rhetorical function is indeed to enhance the focus on the main account, and provide both the narrator and the audience with new angles and perhaps deeper understanding of the events. Digressions in books 14–15 tend to focus on Rome, while those that appear in books 16–17 resume focus on Herod and deal with aﬀairs connected to his rule both in Judea and elsewhere. They vary in length and tone, but it is safe to note that those concerning Herod tend, especially towards the end of the narrative, to be more emotional in tone, or at least point to rising tension and soaring emotions among the populace.

18 By way of ‘audience-based’ emotion. See Levene, ‘Pity, Fear’, 132–133, and Marincola, ‘Emotions’, 294. 19 Digressions also feature in the earlier narrative, but they are not as frequent and refer mostly to Roman aﬀairs. See chapter 2, pp. 70–74. 20 I use here the same deﬁnitions I have used in chapter 2. de Jong, Odyssey, xi–xix provides a concise glossary for basic narratological terms. See also the general introduction, pp. 30–38. 21 At times, when the thematic links to the main narrative are strong, it is hard to determine whether an episode in question is a digression or not. A good indication for that is the use of temporal clauses (such as ‘at the same time, tÒte d¢’, or ‘meanwhile, §n toÊtƒ), or ﬁrst person comments announcing a forthcoming digression (see below, and also under ‘The Historian’s Voice’). 22 More on these dossiers see e.g. E. Gruen, Diaspora: Jews Amidst Greeks and Romans (Harvard University Press, 2002: 9–37, 73, 82–86 and notes). 23 See below, p. 173.

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The ﬁrst external analepsis in the narrative appears in 14.185–268. It is considerably long, appears in an early stage of the account, and features a list of Roman decrees concerning the Jews. These decrees appear in the narrative right after Herod is persuaded by his father and brother not to attack Hyrcanus, the High Priest. Hyrcanus, who senses the political danger, appeals to Caesar in Rome to ‘conﬁrm the treaty of friendship and alliance with him’ (tØn prÚw aÈtÚn fil¤an ka‹ summax¤an, 185). Josephus then explains his motivations for including the decrees in detail.24 It is necessary to digress, ‘in order that the other nations may not fail to recognise that both the kings of Asia and the kings of Europe have held us in esteem and have admired our bravery and loyalty’ (diå spoud∞w ¶sxon ≤mçw, tÆn te éndre¤an ≤m«n ka‹ tØn p¤stin égapÆsantew, 186). This appeal to the audience hits a few targets on more than one level: concerning the themes of the narrative, this early comment could be read as a reconﬁrmation of the Jewish virtue and esteem, and also as a sign of Judean allegiance to Rome. Methodologically, Josephus’ intervention reconﬁrms his control of the narrative, especially since the digression that follows is a very long one and could result in audience distraction. Moreover, using an external source such as the Roman decrees has a reconﬁrming and ‘legitimising’ eﬀect on Josephus’ own historical method: this impartial testimony strengthens his contentions concerning the relationship between Rome and the Jews and further enhances his advocacy of Jews as a respectable and admirable nation.25 The next digression, in 15.88–95, concerns Antony and Cleopatra. Indeed, Josephus here focuses on Cleopatra’s ‘covetousness’ (pleonej¤a, 89)26 and Antony’s emotional weakness and passion for her (prÚw

24 Chapters 186–89 could technically be regarded as a ‘narrator intervention’, and hence are also mentioned below, p. 162. However, it seemed to me to be more plausible to comment on Josephus’ comments here, as they are part of the digression itself. 25 This theme recurs many times in the AJ. The fact that it appears at such an early stage in the Herod narrative indicates that there are deeper thematic links between the story of Herod and other parts of the AJ. 26 The term pleonej¤a, ‘greed’ or ‘covetousness’ (repeated again in 15.91) is used by Josephus not only in the personal sense but also in relation to the political ‘love of power’. This will later prove to be one of Herod’s main character traits (coupled with filotim¤a). Ironically, Josephus also puts the term in Herod’s mouth, relating to the Arabs, in the king’s address to his soldiers (15.130, see below under ‘Speeches’, pp. 137–139). Here, Josephus establishes a parallel in character with

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aÈtØn §piyum¤aw, 88), two themes that will later be alluded to with

regard to Herod. However, the context is political and public: Cleopatra’s greed and aspirations to expand her kingdom cause turbulence in Syria and even worse, cause her to violate sacred places (tombs and temples, ka‹ nao‹ ka‹ tãfoi, 90). Antony, in turn, has given in to his passions, and seems to have lost all reason, as if he was ‘under the inﬂuence of drugs’ (farmãkoiw, 93).27 This concise account allows Josephus to deepen Herod’s evolving image in an implicit manner whose full impact will only be revealed later in the narrative, with verbal echoes and allusions. The next digression (15.104–105) is a short external prolepsis.28 It focuses on Antony’s campaign in Armenia. It is a short report in the middle of an account concerning political campaigns in the area (Cleopatra, Antony and Herod all wish to expand their respective kingdoms). The intention here is probably to put Herod’s aﬀairs (especially his enmity with Cleopatra) in a wider context within the Roman Empire. In 15.121, Josephus includes a short reference to the battle of Actium. As was the case in the BJ, Josephus refrains here too from reporting about this seminal event in Roman history but only mentions it in passing, and with reference to the events in Judea (Herod’s campaign against the Arabs and the earthquake).29 This is of course understandable, because Josephus does not write Roman history in either work. The following digression is in 15.318–341. Here, Josephus provides a detailed account of Herod’s extensive building projects in Judea. This digression follows the account of the famine in Judea that had initially aroused more hatred towards Herod, but eventually turned out to be a cause for overwhelming support for the king who used his political connections and shrewd policies to buy grain

both Antony and Cleopatra. The character-mirroring with Cleopatra is resumed in 15.267–98, where Herod’s pagan celebrations and athletic games in Jerusalem, instituted in the name of self-gloriﬁcation and love of honour, are regarded as desecration of the Temple. More on those terms below, under ‘Speeches’, and ‘The Historian’s Voice’, p. 160ﬀ. 27 Cf. Plut. Ant. 37.6, 60.1. More on that below under ‘The Historian’s Voice’. 28 Josephus concludes the report with an explicit future reference: “But these things happened later” (taËta m¢n oÔn §n Íst°rƒ, 105). 29 See below under ‘Natural and Supernatural Phenomena’, p. 156ﬀ.

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and save the population of Judea from perishing.30 Herod’s extensive building projects start in Jerusalem (318) but extend rapidly to the rest of his kingdom (Herodeion, 323; Caesarea, 331). It seems at ﬁrst that Herod is reconciled with his subjects and that they view his lavish reconstructions favourably. However, Herod’s building projects do not remain favoured, because he does not conﬁne himself to refurbishing Jewish cities only. On the contrary: his benefactions to pagan cities (326–330) cause a re-emergence of the public’s hatred and suspicion. What stands behind Herod’s projects, says Josephus in 330, is in the end his love of glory, filotim¤a. 31 This digression, then, seems at ﬁrst glance to glorify Herod, but it is ultimately aimed at focusing the attention on Herod’s increasingly tyrannical behaviour and his excessive tendency of self-gloriﬁcation. In introducing the Herodian building projects, this account also sets the stage for the extended Temple digression at the end of book 15.32 The next digression (15.371–379) reads very much like a Herodoteanstyle anecdote.33 Josephus writes about the meeting between Herod the child and an Essene prophet, who predicts that Herod—then a young child of common descent—will become king. The story breaks the narrative, which at this stage focuses on Herod’s increasingly tyrannical behaviour, and provides an analeptic glimpse into Herod’s early childhood.34 Josephus here also uses a proleptic reference (372) when he breaks oﬀ his narrative (concerning Herod’s ‘measures to encourage obedience’, namely instituting grave security measures). He mentions the Essenes and promises to ‘speak more clearly’ (saf°steron di°jeimi, 372) about them ‘in another place’. Then, he declares why it is ‘proper to explain what reason Herod has for holding the Essenes in honour . . . for such an explanation is not out

30

Josephus comments on the Judeans’ change of heart in 15.315. filotim¤a is not necessarily a pejorative term. But in the context of Herod’s behaviour (criticised throughout the narrative by Josephus) the negative undertones are clearly emphasised. See above, n. 26, and the authorial comment in 15.326–330 (examined below, pp. 168–169). 32 See below, p. 124. 33 Cf. Hdt. 1.108–21, and esp. 114, on Cyrus. 34 Which is otherwise unaccounted for in the narrative. On the absence of an account of Herod’s childhood, which is also missing from the BJ narrative and could hence be depended upon Josephus’ source material (However, cf. Nicolaus’ Vita Caesaris, by contrast), see chapter 2, pp. 74–75. 31

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of place in a work of history (oÈ går éprepØw ı lÒgow fane›tai t“ t∞w ﬂstor¤aw g°nei), since it at the same time will show what the (general) opinion of these men was’. He then relates the story of Menachem (ManaÆmow), the Essene seer. This anecdote contains many elements of Herodotean folktales: the supernatural element, prophecy, awarded to Menachem from God (§k yeoË, 373); the supposed divine favour bestowed upon the young and (uncharacteristically) humble Herod (‘for you have been found to worthy of this [kingship] by God’ (±j¤vsai går §k yeoË, 374), and the Herodotean notion of an ever-changing fortune (ka‹ toËto sÊmbolon e‰nai t«n katå tØn tÊxhn metapt≈sevn, 374). The following digression (15.380–425) focuses on the Temple in Jerusalem. It oﬀers a detailed description of the building and its contents. The narrator here digresses neither in time nor in place, but simply shifts the focus onto the extensive rebuilding of the Temple in Jerusalem. Herod’s intentions are now viewed with suspicion, and thus he must speak to the people of Jerusalem and convince them of his sincere intentions (382–387).35 The people are surprised and astonished by the king’s intentions (388). They are further dismayed by the idea that the Temple would have to be torn down, and are afraid that the sheer size of the operation would prove to be insurmountable. Herod, however, eventually persuades the Jerusalemites (389–90). Then follows a detailed description of the works, and the structure and contents of the Temple. This description and a mention of the celebrations of the completion of the reconstruction conclude book 15. The emphasis on the Temple may seem excessive, but in fact it is well in accordance with the general AJ view of the centrality of the Temple to Jewish life and history.36 It also oﬀers a neat break from the narrative and enables Josephus to start book 16 with greater focus on Herod’s increasingly tyrannical behaviour and his deteriorating domestic situation.37

35

The speech is examined below, pp. 139–140. On this view, and the contention that the entire work is organised in a Templeoriented ring composition, see P. Bilde, Flavius Josephus, and Mason, ‘Between the Lines’. 37 Centring on the growing enmity between Herod and his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus. This axis will be developed throughout book 16 to be the dramatic climax of the entire narrative. See below under ‘Speeches’, p. 134ﬀ. and ‘The Historian’s Voice’, p. 160ﬀ. 36

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In the following digression (16.27–65),38 Josephus focuses on the Ionian Jews.39 They suﬀer mistreatment on account of their religion and appeal to Rome for support. Herod, who is a close friend of the Roman oﬃcial in charge Marcus Agrippa, is present in the occasion and so is his aide Nicolaus of Damascus.40 Agrippa hears the complaints and eventually conﬁrms the rights of the Jews of Ionia. This digression is indeed tightly connected with its surrounding narrative. Its rhetorical function lies in the ironic contrast between Diaspora and Judean Jews, concerning Rome and Herod alike. While the Jews of Ionia recognise the beneﬁts of an alliance with Rome and welcome Herod, his own subjects are mainly suspicious and hateful. The following episode focuses again on Herod’s domestic troubles. In 16.160–178, Josephus includes another list of Roman decrees in favour of the Jews. This time they are addressed to the Jews of Asia Minor by Augustus.41 Again, it is an appeal from Diaspora Jews (this time from Cyrene) on account of local mistreatment that provokes their appeal to Rome. And again, the Roman emperor reconﬁrms the alliance. The rhetorical function of this digression resembles that of the ﬁrst list of decrees in 14.185–267 examined above. The following episode that breaks from the main narrative is in 17.23–31. While the main account now focuses on Herod’s deteriorating family aﬀairs, this digression is concerned with the king’s relationship with the Babylonian Jews. Herod approaches them and oﬀers to settle them in Batanea, ‘wishing to be safe from attack by the Trachonites’ (boulÒmenow prÚw Traxvn¤taw ésfalØw e‰nai, 23). One Jew, Zamaris the Babylonian, who ‘crossed the Euphrates with ﬁve hundred horsemen (24)’ and an additional 100 kinsmen, accepts the oﬀer and builds a settlement named Bathyra. The initial settlement is then augmented by many more Jews, not least because the area has been declared free from taxation (27). This special status remained intact even after Herod’s death and was kept by Agrippa I and II, but was eventually terminated by Rome (28).

38

Which, once again, relates to Herod but takes place outside Judea. On this historical episode see e.g. Gruen, Diaspora, ch. 3. On Josephus and Herod in Ionia see pp. 99–100. 40 Whose speech on behalf of the Ionian Jews is recorded, and will be examined below, pp. 140–142. 41 Ibid., n. 39. 39

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Josephus here promises to treat this subject ‘more fully in the course of the narrative’ (ka‹ tãde m¢n √ kairÚw ékrib≈somai proiÒntow toË logoË, 28). He concludes the digression with a short genealogical comment concerning the family of Zamaris and notes, in another proleptic comment, that the family has eventually established ‘faithful friendship and lasting goodwill’ (fil¤a te pistØ ka‹ eÎnoia ésfalØw, 31) with king Agrippa.42 This successful political move does not, however, improve Herod’s family situation. This digression is again juxtaposed with its surrounding narrative, and thus creates suspense, enhances the drama and illustrates once again Josephus’ contention as regarding the conﬂicting nature of Herod’s domestic and public aﬀairs. These are the digressions in the Herod narrative of the AJ. As I hope to have shown above, they are not uniform in either form or content. Their rhetorical functions also tend to change according to their place in the narrative, subject-matter and length. The inclusion of external material, for instance, operates more on the methodological level and serves as reaﬃrmation of the historian’s craft and reliability.43 However, the inclusion of digressions does have an eﬀect on the level of narrative. By occasionally deviating from the main course of events, digressions often create suspense (they sometimes come at points of high tension), enhance the drama by juxtaposition with the content or themes of the surrounding account, or further emphasise central themes of the narrative. Paradoxically, the occasional deviation from the main narrative line has a uniting eﬀect that stresses the narrator’s control and reminds the narratees that indeed there is a strong hand that leads the pace of the narrative and has freedom to move it from time to time from its main road. There is no need to search for similarity and singularity of character in historiographical digressions. These, as any other rhetorical device, tend to lean more towards broader deﬁnitions. More than

42 This episode illustrates some of the Near Eastern power structures, originating in groups of brigands and in formal friendships. More on that in B. D. Shaw, ‘Tyrants, Bandits and Kings: Personal Power in Josephus’, JJS 44 (1993:176–204). See also below under ‘Speeches’, p. 134ﬀ. 43 They help, in other words, to establish the ‘truth eﬀect’ of Josephus’ narrative and reassert the authority and validity of his account. See Wheeldon, “True Stories”, esp. 35–44.

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anything, diversiﬁed digressions are yet another attestation of the narrator’s conﬁdence. The Rhetorical Techniques In Use This section will consist of an analysis of some of the diﬀerent rhetorical techniques Josephus uses within the narrative, rather than those he uses in order to compose and maintain the overall frame of it. The selection of rhetorical devices used here is similar to that used for the earlier narrative. The emphasis here is on the particular application (and more detailed presentation) those have on the content of the narrative, and on the manner in which they depict both Herod’s image and Josephus’ underlying ideas concerning history and human nature. I shall consider the following: • Obituaries and accounts of death • Speeches • Natural and supernatural phenomena (earthquakes, droughts, famine, storms, as well as the role of God and Fortune in determining events) • The historian’s voice (narrator interventions and authorial comments) These are the most frequently used rhetorical devices in the narrative. The portrait of Herod achieves its unique form from a combination of all the above, and other reasons too. The historian’s voice, in turn, is a sum of all that, and is expressed through the implementation of rhetorical devices and the overall structure of the narrative. Obituaries and Accounts of Death In a similar fashion to that of the earlier BJ account, obituaries and accounts of death are a natural part of the Herod narrative of the AJ, not least because deaths (natural and unnatural) are abundant and grow more frequent in the later part of the narrative (books 16 and 17). Here, too, most prominent ﬁgures receive an obituary (or alternatively, an account of their death) as standard practice.44 Some

44

As is the case with the BJ narrative, the two may be treated as a single rhetorical device. Here, the narrator’s decision whether to include a full obituary or make do with an account of execution does not seem to have a consistent logic behind

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of them only receive a short account of the circumstances of their death. Also apparent is the tendency to use obituaries as landmarks and dramatic climaxes45 throughout the narrative.46 In general, obituaries in the AJ narrative tend to focus on characters and personalities and to suggest a certain connection between one’s character and one’s deeds. In contrast to the BJ narrative, Josephus here uses a more emotional, perhaps informal tone in his accounts of death and includes ﬂaws of character and vices of conduct in his ﬁnal remarks on many characters (see below). Both the emotional tone and the dramatic impact of obituaries become more enhanced in the later part of the narrative (books 16 and 17) and culminate, once again, in Herod’s obituary (17.191–92). The ﬁrst obituary in the narrative (14.283) is once again that of Antipater, Herod’s father. He is murdered by Malichus. His obituary is very short: ‘This was the way in which Antipater died, a man distinguished for piety (eÈsebe¤a) justice (dikaiosÊnh) and devotion (spoudÆ) to his country’. This obituary seems to be rather insigniﬁcant and certainly does not carry the rhetorical weight that the BJ obituary of Antipater has.47 However, the three virtues mentioned play a double role. On the one hand, these are distinctively positive Greek traits. On the other hand, those three retain similar importance in the Jewish tradition, and allude to themes that will be stressed in the narrative later on. These are in many ways mirror-images of the negative traits Herod will later display, among which impiety (ésebe›a, with all the connotations from Greek tragedy) takes centre stage. The death of Herod’s brother Phasael, in Parthian captivity, is related in 14.367–9. The account is similar to that of the BJ (Phasael dashes his head against a rock, preferring to commit suicide than to be killed by the enemy). Here, too, Josephus adds a second version for the events, according to which Phasael did not die instantly, but

it. It probably has to do with the rhythm of the episodes rather than with the prominence of characters per se. On obituaries in BJ see chapter 2, p. 92ﬀ. (and notes). 45 Most notably the trial and execution of Alexander and Aristobulus at the conclusion of book 16 (16.356–404). 46 In a similar manner to Tacitus’ use of obituaries in the Annales and to Josephus’ own use of this dramatic device in the Herod narrative of the BJ. See R Syme, ‘Obituaries in Tacitus’ in Syme, Ten Studies, 79–90, and chapter 2 above. 47 BJ 1.226. See chapter 2, p. 93.

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was poisoned, at the order of Antigonus (368). Josephus leaves the account at that and does not give a full obituary to Phasael. The following account of death (14.448–50) is concerning Joseph, Herod’s other brother. He died during a battle at Jericho. This account too is an account of his death (brutally murdered by Antigonus), but lacks an obituary as such.48 The end of book 14 (490–1) tells of the execution of Antigonus, Herod’s main contender to the Judean throne. Being the last Hasnomean contender, his death is followed by an obituary of the entire Hasmonean dynasty. Antigonus himself does not receive an obituary. The praise is saved for the Hasmonean dynasty, for which Josephus has a lot of respect. In a similar fashion to that of the BJ narrative, Antigonus is depicted throughout book 14 as a very negative character. He is Herod’s ﬁerce enemy who does not hesitate to recruit any means in his ﬁght for the throne.49 However, it is evident that Josephus has exceptional respect for the Hasmonean dynasty, and that he considers the demise of the Hasmoneans as a grave and eventful occasion: The Hasmoneans, he asserts, were ‘a splendid and renowned house both because of both their lineage and their priestly oﬃce, as well as the things which its founders achieved on behalf of the nation’ (490).50 But apart from their virtues, Josephus adds, their inclination towards family feuds and internal strife (tØn prÚw éllÆlouw stãsin, 491) was the calamity that brought an end to their rule, which then passed to Herod. Both the division of public and private, and mentioning the dangers of family feuds, might be considered as a ‘thematic prolepsis’, a hint for Herod’s subsequent fate. The following account is in 15.164–178—the execution of the High Priest Hyrcanus. This account precedes Hyrcanus’ obituary (15.179–182, see below). Josephus includes two diﬀerent versions for the events that preceded Hyrcanus’ execution.51 The two versions 48

The earlier BJ version has a very short comment on Joseph’s ‘gallantry in battle (1.271)’. The later account replaces this remark with a longer account of the murder and decapitation. 49 There, too, he does not receive an obituary and the account of his death is concise. 50 One must not forget Josephus’ own personal bias: he is of Hasmonean descent on his mother’s side (Vita 2). 51 This method is often used in Greco-Roman historiography in order to assert the histrorian’s credibility and authority. See e.g. Herodotus 1.1–5. On establishing historiographical authority see e.g. Marincola, Authority, passim, and Wheeldon, “True Stories”.

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are in disagreement concerning Hyrcanus’ character and Herod’s reasons for executing his former benefactor. Josephus points out the source for the ﬁrst version. This version is to be found in Herod’s own memoirs (…w §n to›w ÍpomnÆmasin to›w toË basil°vw ÑHr≈dou perie¤xeto, 174). The second (unnamed) source (174–177) provides an alternative version for the events in question and suggests that Herod was not only afraid or envious of Hyrcanus,52 but also plotted (¶j §piboul∞w) against him in a characteristic manner (katå tÚn aÍtoË trÒpon, 174). The unnamed source contains further evidence for Herod’s treachery in the form of comments regarding Hyrcanus’ inoﬀensive character. Josephus does not explicitly agree or disagree with either version but it is clear where he stands from his tone and the choice to conclude the episode with the anti-Herodian version. Hyrcanus’ obituary immediately follows, in chapters 179–182. It is the most detailed obituary in the narrative so far. In agreement with the earlier reasoning that character determines action, the narrator now describes Hyrcanus in his own voice as a docile and harmless man. Josephus lists both his public and private virtues and reminds the reader that Herod and Antipater had owed him their positions. This in turn puts more indirect emphasis on the injustice of this execution.53 The emphasis on character as determining action concerns both Herod and Hyrcanus. The contrast between their respective characters and the injustice of the execution both add to the growing negative tone and criticism the narrator develops towards Herod. The obituary of Mariamme, Herod’s beloved wife (nevertheless executed by him) comes next, in 15.237–239.54 Josephus focuses mainly on her character and again uses personal traits to interpret acts (the relationship with Herod). Mariamme was ‘a woman who excelled in continence and greatness of soul (megalocux¤an êrista gegenhm°nh, 237) though lacking in reasonableness and of too quarrelsome a nature’ (tÚ dÉ §pieik¢w ¶leipen aÈt∞ ka‹ ple›on ∑n §n tª fÊsei tÚ filÒneikon). Mariamme’s obituary is relatively long and

52

As is asserted in the beginning of the episode, in 164. This implicit hint of criticism becomes more directly pronounced, in Josephus’ own voice, in books 16 and 17. 54 The BJ narrative (1.437–444) does not contain an explicit obituary for the queen but only relates the manner of her death (executed by Herod on account of adultery). 53

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detailed.55 Rather than focusing on her positive aspects or virtuous deeds, Josephus chooses to include both her strengths and weaknesses of character. Mariamme is not merely a queen, a Hasmonean, or Herod’s wife. She is a human being rather than a symbol, as has been the case with Hyrcanus a few chapters earlier. This enables the audience to empathise with her and feel pity for her unfortunate fate. Greater identiﬁcation with Mariamme creates greater criticism of Herod, and lesser empathy for him. Even the next few chapters (240–247) that concentrate on the king’s subsequent misery and illness do little in making his frenzy and sorrow convincing. Josephus indeed calls Herod’s infatuation ‘a divine madness’ (ı prÚw aÈtØ ®rvw . . . ∑rjen §nyousiastik«w, 240) and ‘a kind of divine punishment (n°mesiw) 56 for the death of Mariamme’. But the highly charged use of language does not seem to be enough. Herod’s emotional turmoil does not evoke pity. There is no doubt that he is distressed, but his desperation seems fake. It is followed neither by remorse nor by a steadfast conviction that he did the right thing.57 Nor do Herod’s subsequent deeds attest to any change of heart. The rhetorical emphasis, however emotional it may be, is on Herod’s emotional weakness and not on higher moral causes or the force of a divine element.58

55 Mariamme’s obituary corresponds with that of another prominent Hasmonean, Hyrcanus, in length, in the focus on personal traits and in the degree of injustice. The two parallel accounts of death correspond in the BJ narrative as well. See chapter 2, pp. 94–95. 56 The use of this particular word (n°mesiw) echoes former Greco-Roman historians such as Herodotus, who attributed the downfall of Croesus of Lydia (1.34) to this divine avenging force. It also corresponds with the BJ narrative, where Josephus, in the passage that marks the shift from Herod’s public aﬀairs to his family ordeals, uses the verb §nem°shsen (BJ 1.431). 57 Expressing remorse is of course not a suﬃcient and necessary condition for tragic characters in tragedy or in historiography. However, if a tragic character fails to regret his deeds it is usually because s/he is still driven by a higher moral conviction, be it positive (Antigone) or negative (Medea). In the case of Herod, both in BJ and AJ (albeit to diﬀerent extents) neither option exists. More on that in the conclusion to chapter 2, pp. 106–113, the conclusion to this chapter, pp. 182–185, and the general conclusion, p. 187ﬀ., below. 58 The divine element here seems to be more a literary allusion than an explicit inclusion of God’s intervening. However, and despite its appearance in BJ 1.431, it is absent from the BJ version of Herod’s grief over Mariamme (1.444). On the other hand, this allusion ﬁts well with the general tone of the AJ that allows such inclusions.

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In 15.250–52, we read about the executions of Alexandra, Costubarus, Lysimachus, Antipater surnamed Gadia and Dositheus. These executions are noted but not elaborated upon. Josephus, again, holds that Herod’s ‘ugly mood (251)’ is the cause for the hasty executions. Brief as this account may be, its rhetorical power is not absent, for this cluster of many an in-vain execution paves the way for Herod’s next preposterous deed, and undoubtedly one of the dramatic highlights of the entire narrative—namely, the execution of his sons. The execution of Mariamme’s sons, Alexander and Aristobulus follows, in 16.392–394. The execution (by strangling, 394) comes at the end of a long and highly dramatic episode, relating the trial of the sons and the protest following their conviction (16.356–391).59 The episode of the trial and execution of the sons seems to be the dramatic climax of the entire narrative. It comes at the end of book 16, which concludes with a lengthy authorial comment60 concerning Herod’s deeds and misfortunes. However, Josephus’ report of the execution at Sebaste is again as concise as can be. The sons receive no proper obituaries, but it seems that the preceding account and the subsequent authorial comment carry the dramatic weight of the event.61 We read next (17.58–60) about the death of Pheroras. Pheroras dies from an illness. Herod, who earlier had a dispute with him demanding that he divorce his wife, seems to be reconciled with Pheroras at the latter’s deathbed and gives him a respectful funeral. This death seems innocent at ﬁrst, but Josephus immediately draws attention away from the event itself to a wider and more sinister context, and declares that it was, in fact, ‘the beginning of Antipater’s misfortunes (kak«n §g°neto érxÆ, 60),62 and continues to relate the

59

An analysis of the speeches in the trial is below, under ‘Speeches’, p. 142ﬀ. 16.395–404. See below under ‘The Historian’s Voice’, pp. 176–179. 61 The parallel account of death in the BJ (1.550) is similarly short. There, too, the entire episode is related at length and its dramatic impact is considerable. 62 The beginning of all evil, érxØ kak«n, is a familiar theme from classical historiography: cf. Hdt. 5.97: atai d¢ aﬂ n°ew érxØ kak«n §g°nonto ÜEllhs¤ te ka‹ barbãroisi, and Thuc. 2.12: ¥de ≤ ≤m°ra to›w ÜEllhsi megãlvn kak«n êrxei. However, while in Herodotus and Thucydides this expression hints at misfortune on a greater scale (war), Josephus here refers to the demise of Antipater, an event within a family context (royal nevertheless). This has little repercussions on the fates of entire nations. Josephus’ use of this expression may therefore be ironic. In any case, it enhances the dramatic eﬀect of the episode. 60

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account of the many intrigues of Herod’s elder son Antipater—where the historian reveals that Antipater might have poisoned Pheroras (61–2). But Antipater’s days are short. In 17.187, we read about his execution. Josephus’ report on the death of Herod’s scheming son and arch-enemy is yet again short and contains neither an obituary nor any comment concerning Antipater’s ﬂawed character and many intrigues. The long and detailed episode relating Antipater’s trial and conviction (17.93–145) precedes the report of his execution. However, the two episodes are separated by other signiﬁcant accounts (sedition in Jerusalem, Herod’s ﬁnal illness, a letter from Augustus). The separation and delay of cause and eﬀect, as well as mentioning that the execution takes place while Herod is already dying, enhance the dramatic tone and impact of the narrative. Josephus here creates more tension and emphasises the high drama: this is almost the end of the narrative. With Antipater’s execution, Josephus clears the stage and sets it for the ﬁnal obituary, that of Herod. Herod’s Obituary is naturally the last one in the narrative (17.191–192). Unlike the preceding accounts of death, Josephus here gives the king a full, albeit unusual, obituary. It may not be as condensed as the earlier version, but it still serves as a neat conclusion for the entire story. The most striking feature about Herod’s obituary is the order of appearance, perhaps of importance, of the two aspects of Herod’s life. First come Herod’s negative traits: rash temper, cruelty, contempt, injustice, (énØr »mÚw eﬁw pãntaw ımo¤vw ka‹ Ùrg∞w m¢n ¥ssvn kr°ssvn d¢ toË dikaioË, 191). Only then is his good fortune mentioned, in that he managed to climb the social ladder from commoner to king and secure his title for his heirs. But Josephus does not leave the contrast at that. In Herod’s obituary he expresses his own opinion and retains his voice as main focalizer. It is Herod’s own opinion, he stresses, that he was a fortunate man. In my opinion, he concludes, the man was ‘very unfortunate indeed’ (pãnu dustuxÆw, 192). Who has the last word? Josephus does, of course. Opening the obituary with Herod’s unstable character rather than with mentioning more positive aspects of his rule63 is not accidental. It ﬁts very

63 As is the case with the BJ obituary (1.665), where this order perhaps echoes that of the narrative sequence.

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well with the consistent narrating voice, stating time and again how the king’s character determined his action and how dangerous, even tragic, emotional slavery and weakness can be. And concluding the main protagonist’s obituary with Josephus’ own voice ﬁts in well with his characteristic tendency to be an assertive and authoritative narrator. The obituaries in the AJ narrative seem to have a weaker overall rhetorical impact than those of the earlier narrative. This is perhaps due to the length of the AJ narrative, and the fact that it is more detailed. In general, AJ obituaries are shorter than their earlier counterparts, contain very little praise and often express a causative link between man’s character and deeds. One reason for that is the detailed narrative: when events are related in full, there is no need to ornament the account with catch phrases and restate the obvious. Another reason is thematic: AJ in general is more concerned with such causative links and with schemes of reward-and-punishment. This tendency has roots both in the Jewish tradition (here it extends beyond the biblical paraphrase in books 1–10), and the Greco-Roman (where it is evident in both tragedy and historiography). Accounts of death, too, are often very concise. It seems that together with shifting the focus to issues of personality and making more room for emotions, Josephus’ obituaries in the AJ lose their earlier tendency toward symbolism (as depicting greater political and philosophical issues). The narrator’s voice, on the other hand, changes the tone but does not lose the authority. Josephus may focus now on personal traits and turbulences and allow himself a little more pathos, but he still has the last word. It seems he chooses to express his voice more fully through other rhetorical devices. But even so, Josephus cannot seem to neglect expressing some thematic threads through his obituaries, or occasionally add a literary or historiographical allusion. Speeches Set speeches regularly appear throughout the Herod narrative of the AJ. As is the case with the earlier BJ narrative, speeches appear in all parts of the narrative but not very frequently. Speeches in the two narratives are not fully parallel, though. Josephus not only includes more speeches in the AJ narrative but also augments some of the versions of those already included in the BJ.64 64

In the case of the speeches during Antipater’s trial (17.90–120), however, the

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Speeches do not appear very often in the ﬁrst two books (14 and 15) but become more frequent, as well as more elaborate and crafted, in books 16 and 17.65 The speeches in the AJ narrative usually conform with the conventions of Greek rhetoric in historiography, be they military exhortations or forensic statements. Most speeches do not have a great dramatic eﬀect on their own, but derive their force from their correspondence with the surrounding narrative (whether by juxtaposition or by simply echoing themes and ideas) and create a greater dramatic eﬀect. Speeches sometimes digress from the rhetorical conventions and turn into emotional monologues.66 Such cases certainly enhance the drama and tension of the episode in question.67 In the later books, some speeches appear partly in an indirect form, and partly in the form of direct speech.68 In those cases, Josephus employs what Don Fowler calls ‘deviant focalization’, namely “instances where in normal language we should expect focalizer and narrator to coincide but they do not”.69 Josephus delivers words (and ideas) that are not his own: sometimes those clash with his asserted point of view (Herod and Antipater), sometimes they are in accord with them (Tiro). The gap between narrator and focalizer often creates irony: more sarcastic in the case of Herod and Antipater, more dramatic and emotional in the case of Tiro, where the two points of view meet. At any rate, this display of rhetorical skill is indicative of Josephus’ assertive narrating voice. The ﬁrst speech in the AJ narrative is in 14.165–167. It is an appeal of the Jewish leaders to Hyrcanus. They warn him against

ﬁrst two speeches (of Herod and Antipater) are delivered in a concise indirect discourse, as opposed to the direct rendition in the earlier narrative. See below. 65 This discrepancy, too, has served as indication for the involvement of assistants in the composition of the AJ. See Thackeray, Historian. This theory is all but refuted today. For a critique of Thackeray’s theory and a thorough stylometric analysis of AJ 15–19 that brings forth diﬀerent conclusions concerning the assistant hypothesis see Williams, ‘Assistant Hypothesis’. 66 Such as the speeches of Samaias (book 14) and Tiro (book 16), see below, pp. 136–137 and 149–150 respectively. 67 The use of emotional monologues occurs elsewhere in Josephus and is often reminiscent of Greek Tragedy. See Chapman, Theater, ch. 3, on the episode of the cannibalism of Mary in BJ 6. 68 This tendency, as D. Levene has observed concerning Tacitus, is probably a conscious rhetorical choice (Levene, ‘Pity, Fear’, 141–143). In Josephus these speeches are: Herod (16.90–99 and 17.94–99), Tiro (16.375–383) and Antipater (17.100–105). They will be examined in detail below. 69 D. Fowler, ‘Deviant Focalization in Vergil’s Aeneid’ in Fowler, Roman Constructions: Readings in Postmodern Latin (2000: 40–63, esp. 42).

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the dangers of allocating power to Antipater and his sons, following their political success and growing popular support in Judea. The main contention of the Jewish leaders is that ‘Antipater and his sons have girded themselves with royal power (tØn érxØn diezvsm°nouw) while you [Hyrcanus] have only the name of king given you’ (165). The leaders are worried lest the newcomers assume full royal power and eﬀectively end the supremacy of the Sanhedrin and Jewish leadership in Judea. Their protest is both political and moral: Herod not only assumes power unlawfully, he also breaks the Jewish Law and executes a man without trial. Their claim, as well as Hyrcanus’ overlooking of the problem, both set the stage for Herod’s grand entrance into the narrative. He is summoned to stand trial before the Sanhedrin, but chooses a very controversial way to do so: he enters Jerusalem with accompanying troops, wearing royal attire. Herod’s act stirs a most convenient response. He ‘overawed them all (kat°plhjen ëpantaw) and no one of those who had denounced him before his arrival dared to accuse him thereafter; instead there was silence and doubt about what was to be done’ (171). However, one man, Samaias, rose to the challenge. His speech comes next. Samaias speaks to the Sanhedrin (14.172–175), following Herod’s controversial appearance in the assembly. Herod appears before the court accompanied by troops and even worse, wearing a purple cloak.70 Samaias, ‘an upright man and for that reason superior to fear’ (d¤kaiow énØr ka‹ diå toËto toË dedi°nai kre¤ttvn, 172), rebukes Herod’s indignant and vain behaviour. This speech appears at a very early stage of the narrative, shortly after Herod’s ﬁrst political achievement (overcoming the bandits in the Galilee). It is not recorded in the BJ version, and is surprising in its boldness: Samaias comments on Herod’s vain behaviour, violent nature and self-centred tendency to ‘save himself by forcing justice’ (aÈtÚw d¢ svyª biasãmenow tÚ d¤kaion, 173). Samaias then continues with criticism of Hyrcanus and the Sanhedrin for their weakness and leniency towards Herod: ‘But it is not Herod whom I should blame for this or for putting

70 Nicolaus of Damascus in his Vita Caesaris relates a similar incident, where Augustus wears purple, but his stance bears no negative tones as does Josephus’ (augmented by the speech of Samaias). Augustus’ conduct is becoming, while Herod’s is certainly viewed as hybristic. Not only does he challenge the authority of the Sanhedrin, he does so in a distinctly Roman manner.

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his own interests above the law (eﬁ tÚ aÍtoË sumf°ron poie›tai per‹ ple¤onow μ tÚ nÒmimon), but you and the king, for giving him such great licence’ (174).71 Samaias ends his speech with a reference to God’s (ı yeÒw) great power and predicts that Herod will one day punish both the Sanhedrin and Hyrcanus (174). Josephus concludes the speech in his own voice, commenting that ‘he [Samaias] was not mistaken in either part of his prediction’ (diÆmarte dÉ oÈd¢n t«n eﬁrhm°nvn, 175). Herod reacts in a typical manner for tyrants in Greco-Roman historiography: he does not punish Samaias but rather holds him in great honour (176).72 This speech continues in strengthening the impression of the ﬁrst speech: Herod, right from the beginning, displays tyrannical tendencies. This impression is diﬀerent from Herod’s image in the BJ. Josephus here uses these speeches in order to set the emotional stage of the narrative. The following speech, in 15.127–147, is Herod’s exhortation to his soldiers during the Nabatean war. This speech is fuller and more elaborate than its BJ parallel.73 The speech contains few signiﬁcant features that seem to digress from the usual themes of exhortative speeches familiar from historiography. For instance, Herod draws a clear moral and cultural border between ‘self ’ ( Jews) and ‘other’ (Arabs). Herod paints the Arabs (now with the upper hand in battle) in very unﬂattering colours. They are, it seems, the ultimate ‘other’. They are ‘lawless’ and ‘faithlessly . . . deal with all other nations’. Furthermore, they are characteristically lacking in faith of God, as is the case with barbarians (tØn går t«n ÉArab«n paranom¤an ‡ste m¢n dÆpou ka‹ prÚw toÁw êllouw ëpantaw oÏtvw ép¤stvw diakeim°nvn, …w eﬁkÚw ¶xein tÚ bãrbaron ka‹ énennÒhton yeoË, 130).74 Furthermore,

The juxtaposition of tÚ d¤kaion and tÚ sumf°ron is a prominent Thucydidean theme. There, the emphasis is more on the public realm: choosing between ‘the just’ and ‘the expedient’ for the country, not for one’s own good. The emphasis here is on Herod’s own expediency. He does not act in the name of any higher ideals. 72 Thus, in Herodotus, Cyrus spares Croesus’ life and makes him his adviser in 1.85–91; Xerxes allows his uncle Artabanus to express more criticism and dismay concerning the journey to Greece (7.46–53) and later, on the eve of the battle of Salamis, not only listens to Artemisia’s criticism and upright advice but holds her in great honour for her boldness (7.68–69). However, Samaias is not portrayed as the classical ‘wise adviser’: he is not a close adviser to Herod, he is not asked for his opinion, and his criticism refers both to Herod and the Sanhedrin. 73 BJ 1.373–379. 74 These xenophobic remarks are somewhat ironic, coming from Herod, who 71

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Herod contends that the reason for the present conﬂict was augmented by the Arabs’ ‘greed and envy of us’ (≤m›n pleonej¤& ka‹ fyÒnƒ, 130).75 From this point onwards, the speech takes a more personal and then more theological turn.76 Herod continues with a lengthy account of past favours he did the Arabs, saving them from being conquered by Cleopatra by using his friendship and inﬂuence with Antony. He advocates the justice of war against the unjust Arabs and then for the ﬁrst time, he brings God into the argument: ‘Is there any question in your minds whether we should punish these unjust men, especially when God wishes this and always exhorts us to hate arrogance and injustice . . .? (eﬁ de› toÁw éd¤kouw timvrÆsasyai toËto ka‹ toË yeoË boulom°nou kai paragg°llontow ée‹ mise›n tØn Ïbrin ka‹ tØn édik¤an, 135)’. Herod then mentions the murder of heralds by the

Arabs, an unforgivable deed both in Greek and barbarian cultures (136),77 stressing the impiety (és°bhma) of such deeds. Herod’s overtly theological tone may be surprising when we think about his usual expedient and crude conduct. God’s prevalence and the emphasis on justice and piety have a slight ironic tone to them as well, when they come from the mouth of a king who will later be perceived as gravely impious by his subjects.78 Herod’s equation of justice with divine support and that with power and courage (138)

would have been regarded as barbarian in origin and godless in behaviour (as was already pointed to by Samaias and the Jewish leaders in book 14, see above). Throughout the narrative, Josephus portrays Herod as a barbarian who desperately tries to win the hearts of Greeks and Romans by adopting pagan customs. This, ironically, brings about increasing protest from his Jewish subjects, who in turn view his own behaviour as lawless and faithless. It might be worth pointing out that this issue, ‘The Barbarian Question’, if you like, is a vast and complex theme in Josephus’ writing, not least because he himself stood in between barbarian and Greco-Roman cultures. 75 These themes (envy and greed) will be characteristic of Herod’s own behaviour and will similarly cause conﬂicts in the later stages of the narrative. For the moment, Josephus uses them (quite ironically) in reference to others: the Arabs here, and Cleopatra in 15.89,91 (see above, pp. 121–123ﬀ.). 76 See the editor’s comment in LCL 489, p. 325: “the whole tenor of Herod’s speech in Ant. is more theological than in BJ.” 77 This could be a rhetorical commonplace, aimed at stressing the unusual and shocking deed. Cf. Thucydides 1.1 and BJ 1.1, where both historians claim the war they will relate is the greatest disaster known for both Greeks and Barbarians. Cf. also Hdt. 7.133 on the killing of heralds as an unacceptable deed. 78 Herod’s vanity and law-breaking tendencies were already pointed to in the previous speech. See above.

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is striking and telling: later, when he will act in an unjust way, God will turn his back on him.79 This theological emphasis, however, ﬁts in with the greater thematic focus of the AJ as a whole, and of the Herod narrative in particular.80 Herod’s ﬁrst speech in the narrative is more complex than it seems in the ﬁrst instance. Josephus augments and enriches the standard exhortative formula by including many themes relevant to the whole narrative and perhaps to the whole of the AJ. Greeks and Barbarians, piety and power, vices and virtues, God and chance are all included in Herod’s words to his soldiers. Subtle irony is present, too: the vices that Herod mentions will be revealed as his own vices before too long. The following speech (15.382–387) is also by Herod. Here, he speaks to the people about the rebuilding of the Temple. The speech begins with an adequate measure of self-praise. Herod portrays himself as a benefactor of the people. His subjects’ needs, rather than his own, are put forward as the underlying reason for his many achievements (382–383). This statement contains much dramatic irony. It contrasts with the general gist of the preceding narrative (15.349ﬀ.), whose focus is on the discord between Herod and his subjects. Rather than peace and prosperity, Herod’s reign is here characterised by clashes, tensions and public protest concerning the king’s cruelty and tyrannical manner (354), or about his ‘emergency measures’ (375–371). Furthermore Josephus, in his own voice, stresses that Herod’s prime motive for his vast building projects was not care for his people but his own love of honour (filotim¤a, filotimoÊmenow, 326–330).81 Thus, when Herod proclaims that the rebuilding of the Temple is ‘the most pious and beautiful one of our time’ (pantÚw eÈseb°staton ka‹ kãlliston §fÉ ≤m«n gen°syai, 384), the irony is enhanced even further. Herod relates a short history of the Temple

79 Josephus’ authorial comments in books 16 and 17 stress Herod’s impiety and link his sins with divine punishment. See below under ‘The Historian’s Voice’. It should also be noted that the link between virtue, divine support and power (political or military) also runs through the BJ, where the idea that God turned away from Israel and towards Rome is expressed in many ways. This Josephan worldview is sometimes regarded as a Jewish version of a theme borrowed from Polybius. See A. M. Eckstein, ‘Josephus and Polybius: A Reconsideration’, CA 9.2 (1990: 175–208, esp. pp. 203–4). 80 See below, in the conclusion to this chapter, pp. 182–185. 81 On filotim¤a see above, n. 26 and 31, and below, pp. 1–2.

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and refers twice more to God and piety (386, 387). However, piety has to be counter-balanced with worldly matters. I rule by the will of God, says Herod (nËn §gΔ m¢n êrxv yeoË boulÆsei, 387) but I am also very much indebted to the Romans, ‘great friends and, so to speak, rulers of the world’ (tÚ d¢ m°giston f¤loi ka‹ diÉ eÈno¤aw oﬂ pãntvn …w ¶pow eﬁpe›n kratoËntew ÑRvma›oi). He then concludes with a promise to achieve ‘by this act of piety . . . full return to God for the gift of this kingdom (387)’. Herod’s speech once again contains deeper themes and has a greater rhetorical impact than its rhetorical formula may have allowed. Josephus here creates several contrasts: between narrative and speech, and within the speech, between piety and impiety, and between the Jewish God and Rome. The next speech is the speech of Nicolaus on behalf of the Ionian Jews (16.31–57). Nicolaus addresses the Roman oﬃcial Marcus Agrippa. The Ionian Jews complain about the violation of Jewish customs and request that Rome restore their freedom of religion. This speech is the longest in the Herod narrative so far. It conveys many themes and its rhetoric is tighter and more Greco-Roman in tone. This is in accord with the speaker’s identity: Nicolaus was not Jewish, and his proliﬁc writing was part of Greco-Roman historiography and rhetoric.82 Nicolaus starts with an appeal to Rome’s benefaction and protection (31–35), and then refers to the Jews’ fervent faith, stating that they prefer to die and not violate their customs (35–36).83 He then continues by emphasising yet again the unequivocal beneﬁts of Rome’s rule for all: ‘Is there any people or city or national community for which the protection of your empire and the power of the Romans have not come to be the greatest blessing? (38)’. After establishing the might of Rome and her subjects’ gratitude, Nicolaus turns to talk about the Ionian Jews (41–46), where he elaborates a little on a few Jewish customs (keeping the Sabbath, contemplation on the

82 The slight diﬀerence in tone and themes could also be indicative of earlier source material. See below, pp. 141–142 (and notes). 83 This Jewish predisposition towards martyrdom is here presented in a positive manner, but earlier in the BJ Josephus addresses the more sinister aspects of this trait. His criticism of Jewish Zealots and their extremism seeps through the entire work, beginning with his contention in 1.10–11 that they were to blame for the revolt, and ending with Eleazar’s speeches in book 7, advocating suicide.

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Law, 43), and stresses that ‘there is nothing hostile to mankind in our customs, but they are all pious and consecrated with saving righteousness (§y«n te t«n ≤met°rvn épãnyrvpon m¢n oÈd°n §stin eÈseb∞ d¢ pãnta ka‹ tª svzoÊs˙ dikaiosÊn˙ sugkayvsivm°na, 42). The Jewish God, however, is not mentioned in the speech. This of course might be a result of source availability, for there is no particular reason why Nicolaus, whose speech seems to have been available for Josephus, would mention the Jewish God.84 Nor is any connection between human sin and divine retribution. Even the Jews’ complaint (violation of their rights, 45), which is religious in essence, is presented and perceived as political. Nicolaus refers to the ‘undeserved and unauthorized’ hatred (m›sow) the Jews arouse, but keeps the debate in the practical political realm. The request for Rome is not justiﬁed by divine right, but by an earlier Roman acknowledgement of the Jews’ rights (47–48), and later to the friendship (jen¤a 55, and fil¤a, 56)85 between the Romans and the Herodians (Antipater and Herod). Herod, who is present at the occasion, is mentioned very favourably (50ﬀ.), not only as friend of the Romans but also as friend and benefactor of the Diaspora Jews.86 Nicolaus even goes further and mentions the good words of Judean Jews concerning Herod and the ‘friendly’ Roman presence in Judea (54–56). This, in turn, is where Josephan irony ﬁnally comes into play. The respect and appreciation of Herod mentioned in this speech contrast with the tenor of the surrounding narrative where Judeans are not on good terms with their king. But the irony is only present after the speech is over. The speech in general seems somewhat detached from the narrative. Nicolaus’ rhetoric reads as his own, Greco-Roman in style and well versed politically. Jewish themes are generally left out (except what is necessary to make the argument). This is understandable, considering the high probability of an earlier Nicolaean source for this speech, but by leaving the speech

84 Nicolaus mentions tÚ ye›on in passing (16.42), but not God (ı yeÒw). God was mentioned, however, in the two previous speeches. 85 On the relationship between Herod and M. Agrippa and power structures in the Hellenistic Near-East in comparison with the Greco-Roman world see Shaw, ‘Tyrants’, 176–204, esp. 189–198. 86 Assuming the stance of benefactor has not only altruistic motives but also, and perhaps mainly, political aims. Herod establishes his superiority by acting as what Shaw calls ‘a dispenser of “beneﬁts” (euergesiai ) and a go-between (mesites)’.

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in a style that is diﬀerent from the surrounding narrative, Josephus here employs it to his own rhetorical needs. He uses the contrast in order to create irony. By doing so, he strengthens the impact of his own narrative. Herod, too, is depicted in Nicolaus’ speech in more ﬂattering colours. This too may well be an echo of Nicolaus87—whose favourable stance towards Herod was known and even later criticized by Josephus himself.88 However, allowing for these diﬀerences and juxtaposing them with the surrounding narrative is typically Josephan. In 16.90–99, Herod speaks again. This time he appeals directly to none other than Augustus. This appeal is related by Josephus in the form of indirect speech.89 Herod approaches the Roman Emperor on account of the increasing suspicion he has about his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus. He does so, says Josephus, ‘in order not to make a mistake through carelessness or rashness’ (…w d¢ mÆtÉ émel«n mÆtÉ §k propete¤aw èmartãnoi, 90). Herod plans to accuse his sons before Caesar and not to judge his sons on his own because such action ‘might be looked upon askance because it greatly violated family loyalty’90 (ka‹ mhd¢n aÍt“ toioËton §pitr°pein, ˘ ka‹ diå m°geyow t∞w ésebe¤aw Ïpopton ∑n, 90). Herod requests to discuss ‘what seemed to him his great misfortunes’ (91) and accused his sons of ‘desperate conspiracy’. He continues with accusations of all-encompassing hostility and hatred (…w §xyr«w ¶xousin ëpanta trÒpon §spoudakÒtew mise›n tÚn •aut«n pat°ra, 92). Herod’s slander of the sons’ character continues with the emphasis of their (alleged) disregard of the throne and the unreasonable place of ‘savage and unholy hatred’ in their souls (égriÒn ti ka‹ miarÚn §ntethk°nai ta›w cuxa›w aÈt«n m›sow, 93).91 This in turn brings

87

See the editorial notes in LCL 410 p. 15, 21 and Laqueur, Historiker, 221–230. 16.183–187. See under ‘The Historian’s Voice’, pp. 173–175. 89 Relating the whole speech in oratio obliqua and including authorial comments both retain the focalization of this episode under Josephus’ hands (rather than forward the narrating point of view to Herod). The retention of focalization in turn keeps the distance between the protagonist and the narratees and enhances the ironic eﬀect. 90 I am using the LCL translation here, which translates és°beia as ‘violation of loyalty’, but in the context of my analysis I contend that ‘impious’ might be a more appropriate rendition. Herod’s deeds are viewed not only as disloyal, but also as sinful, and hence as culprits for the misfortunes that befall him. 91 Slander of an opponent’s character is a standard feature of forensic speeches. See e.g., Rhet. Alex. 1442a; 1445a. On a more light-hearted version of slander see 88

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Herod to portray himself as a victim of circumstances and an honest advocate of justice and familial duty (94–97). He mentions the generous material support his sons enjoyed and his reluctance to bring them ‘before Caesar, their common benefactor’, thus giving up ‘all his rights as a father impiously treated and as a king plotted against’ (aÈt«n égage›n §pi tÚn koinÚn eÈerg°thn Ka¤sara, ka‹ parelÒmenow aÍtoË pçn ˜son ± patØr éseboÊmenow ± basileÁw §pibouleuÒmenow dÊnatai, 98). By approaching Caesar, Herod sees

himself as assuming his own rights as father and king.92 His own rhetorical presentation as ‘impiously treated and plotted against’ will later become a grim self-predicting prophecy, but the king of course, whose own voice is not heard here directly, cannot be aware of that. Josephus, in his own voice, provides an explanation for Herod’s appeal but this explanation is better read as ironic, because Herod’s careful premeditation, caution and reluctance to commit impious deeds is hardly in accordance with his character as portrayed in the surrounding narrative. Josephus here sows the seeds of the central episode of book 16 and perhaps of the whole narrative: the trial and execution of Alexander and Aristobulus. The event, which concludes book 16 in a highly rhetorical and dramatic climax, is again regarded as an utterly impious act in Josephus’ sharp concluding remarks that echo the earlier words almost verbatim.93 Only there, Josephus’ choice of vocabulary is not ironic at all. Following the speech of Herod comes Alexander’s reply (16.105–120) to Herod’s accusations.94 The situation is highly charged with emotion: the accused sons, Alexander and Aristobulus, are aware of their delicate stance and are, at ﬁrst, ‘unable to decide what to say’ (∑n épor¤a toË dÊnasyai l°gein, 102). Josephus sets the stage for the

Cicero, De.Or. 2.209; 216–290. These traits feature in the BJ account of the sons’ trial at Rome, 1.622–638. See above, chapter 2, pp. 86–87. 92 See Shaw, ‘Tyrants’, on the Josephan view of family as the ﬁrst and most important circle of support in societies structured by what he calls ‘personal power’. If this indeed was the case, Herod’s distress and grave accusations may represent an acceptable social contention as well as rhetorical ornamentation. 93 The later verbal echo is in 16.400. See below, pp. 178–179. 94 This speech has no parallel in the BJ narrative. The account of the event (1.454–454) only states that Alexander made the speech, and ‘was assisted not only by a clear conscience but by his powerful oratory, for he was an extremely able speaker’ (sunÆrgei dÉ aÈt“ metå kayaroË toË suneidÒtow ≤ per‹ lÒgouw ﬁsxÊw, ∑n går dÆ deinÒtatow eﬁpe›n, 453).

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drama95 even before the speech itself. He stresses the high emotion that engulfs everyone present: Herod had brought his charges ‘with deep emotion’ (§mpay«w, 100); the sons are in distress and fearful, groaning ‘very pitifully’ (oﬁmvgØ sumpayest°ra dedoikÒtvn, 102) and moreover, they are ‘an object of pity to the bystanders, but they particularly moved their father, who was seized by genuine emotion’ (§leeino¤ tÉ §gegÒnesan to›w paroËsi ka‹ ﬁd¤& tÚn pat°ra diek¤nhsan élhyin“ t“ pãyei sunexÒmenon, 103). It is worth to note the speciﬁc choice of vocabulary here. Josephus’ description of the scene contains key words and concepts that are directly related to tragedy: we have ‘deep emotions’ (§mpay«w), ‘very pitifully’ (sumpay°stera) and ‘pitiful’ or ‘objects of pity’ (§leeino¤ ). It seems that this cluster of signiﬁcant words serves as a strong allusion to tragedy and indeed intensiﬁes the dramatic eﬀect of the entire episode. Alexander’s speech (105–120), in turn, continues this line. It is also very emotional and is reminiscent of speeches of supplication. Its tenor and themes, too, echo those familiar from tragedy, rather than from forensic oratory. Herod’s previous words, by contrast, are more reminiscent of forensic oratory and lack the pathos of Alexander’s reply.96 It seems that this contrast, too, carries with it both dramatic irony and implicit criticism of Herod. The sons are here asking ﬁrst and foremost for their father’s forgiveness, not for justice to be made. Alexander’s opening remarks refer directly to Herod’s appeal. The act of bringing the trial to Rome, which was presented by the king as a virtuous and just deed in the political and moral realm (98), turns in Alexander’s speech into an act of piety and salvation: ‘For having both the authority of a king and the authority of a father, you might have punished the guilty, but your bringing us to Rome and making Caesar a witness was the act of one who meant to save us, since no one who intends to kill another brings him to a sanctuary or a temple’ (. . . tÚ dÉ eﬁw ÉR≈mhn êgein ka‹ toËton poie›syai mãrtura s≈zontow ∑n, oÈde‹w går épokte›na¤ tina proairoÊmenow eﬁw ﬂerå ka‹ naoÁw êgei, 106). It is hard to say whether these words are meant sincerely or ironically, but judging from Josephus’ earlier comments regarding the

95 As noted above, the episode of the trial and execution of Alexander and Aristobulus is the dramatic climax of the entire narrative. 96 Herod’s speech is in chapters 90–99 (see above).

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sons’ confusion and distress (101–103), the general feeling is that Alexander’s appeal is genuine. He simply has no choice but to ﬂatter his father and try to appease him. The dramatic irony here operates on a higher level, for Alexander’s naïve assumption that a trial in Rome is a guarantee for safety and justice is already known to be wishful thinking, a vain hope. We have already been told by Josephus that Herod’s intentions were not so virtuous after all (90). The dramatic irony continues to be enhanced when Alexander states that they had rather be dead than live under suspicion (107–108). Again, his statement is made rhetorically: the sons’ true wish is ‘to have persuaded you and to have escaped danger’ (makãrion ka‹ s° pe›sai ka‹ tÚn k¤ndunon diafuge›n, 108). But as is sometimes characteristic of tragic characters (even in historiography), their courageous readiness to die for a just cause would be both the very thing they would not deserve and the fate that befalls them in spite of, and sometimes because of, their virtue. Alexander’s speech rises above the grim Herodian reality and alludes to more general situations. He requests that his father ‘consider whether these are not common charges and such as might be made against all young men alike’. For, he claims, if a king has young sons whose mother has been put to death, nothing will keep him from suspecting them of plotting against their father. But suspicion is not enough to prove so great an impiety (. . . éllÉ oÈ tÚ Ïpopton prÚw toiaÊthn és°beian érketÒn, 110). Impiety, the theme that prevails over the entire episode, is here taken up explicitly.97 Generalising the situation and viewing it from a philosophical rather than a political point of view once again elevates Alexander’s speech from the mundane to the sublime, so to speak, and enhances its tragic tenor. Alexander then stresses the absurdity of the situation by calling anyone to ‘speak up then if we have done a thing so rash as plainly to make credible what is ordinarily incredible’ (eﬁpãtv dÆ tiw, ≤m›n eﬁ tetÒlmhtai toioËton ⁄ ka‹ tå mØ pistå p¤stin e‡vyen ÍpÉ §narge¤aw lambãnein, 111). Almost every word in this sentence has a deeper signiﬁcance. TÒlma, daring or boldness, usually has a negative tone in Josephus (following Thucydides) and denotes not only haste of action but also

97

And it is also repeated in 118.

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a subversive tendency.98 Reversing the meaning of concepts like p¤stiw, trust, is perhaps reminiscent of Thucydides stasis chapters,99 where such a phenomenon is a clear sign of moral deterioration. And ﬁnally §nãrgeia, vividness, rashness or haste, tends in Greco-Roman historiography to be associated both with violent deeds and with the vividness required to describe them.100 Josephus’ choice of words here seems to be deliberate. In the immediate narrative context, Alexander’s words may not initially seem all that telling. But the underlying references all point to a violent disaster which, once again, is already known to the audience. The next stage in the speech is a series of rhetorical questions (111–117) whose replies tend to focus, again, on a higher realm. Questions such as ‘can anyone convict us of having prepared poison or conspired with our comrades or bribed servants or written a latter against you [Herod] (111)’ are followed by contentions such as ‘it is a terrible thing for the kingdom when the (royal) house is not of one mind, and the throne, which you say is to be the reward of ﬁlial piety, often proves to ﬁll very wicked men with hopes which make them show no restraint at all in their vicious acts’ (xalepÚn går oÈx ımono«n o‰kow §n basile¤&. ka‹ tØn érxÆn ∂n sÁ f∫w ¶paylon eÈsebe¤aw, sumba¤nei pollãkiw aﬁt¤an gen°syai to›w ponhrotãtoiw §lp¤dvn diÉ ìw oÈdem¤an ÍpostolØn poioËntai kakohye¤aw, 112).

Alexander here speaks in general terms but it is clear that he refers directly to the events in Herod’s household. Alexander concludes his speech with a plea for agreement: if Herod will forego his suspicion, the sons will be ‘willing to live, although even then not happily, for an accusation of grave crimes is a terrible thing even when it is false’ (zÆsomen, oÈdÉ oÏtvw eÈtux«w deinÒn går t«n megãlvn kak«n ka‹ ceudØw aﬁt¤a, 119). But, Alexander concludes, if Herod’s fears linger, they agree that he pursues his action ‘blamelessly’ (§n tª katå sautÚn eÈsebe¤& m°ne, 120), and they will come to terms with that because ‘life is not so precious to us that we wish to have it at the cost of wronging him who gave it to us’.

98 Especially in the BJ, referring to the rebels, zealots and extremists. See Chapman, Theater, chapters 2–4. 99 Thuc. 3.80–82. 100 See e.g. V. van D’Huys, ‘How to Describe Violence in Historical Narrative’, Ancient Society 18 (1987: 209–250). Levene analyses an example of Tacitus’ use of enargeia, ‘Pity, Fear’, 144–149.

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Alexander’s speech, then, operates on a high emotional level and marks the hightlight of a highly dramatic episode. Josephus portrays Alexander as sincere in his intentions and genuinely in distress. His arguments, however, are not at all in accord with those of his father. Whereas Herod’s appeal is grounded in his self-centred, somewhat paranoid political reality, Alexander rises above the mundane details and conveys higher arguments. Those are accompanied with an enhanced emotional tone, both in his words and in the general setting. The emotional contrast between the two speeches adds to the tragic character of the scene, and so does the fact that Josephus the narrator sets the stage, but immediately moves aside and gives priority to Alexander’s voice. This case of embedded focalization comes in contrast with the narrator’s position in Herod’s previous speech, where he retains focalization by conﬁning Herod’s appeal to the form of indirect speech. More room for Alexander’s emotions in his own voice, then, turn the tone and make previous emotional ﬂatness of scenes and characters into a resonant drama that verges on tragedy, especially if the audience might now be captivated by those invoked emotions.101 Alexander’s words, at least for the time being, seem to have made the right impact not only on the audience102 but also on Augustus. The immediate consequence of this conference is reconciliation between Herod and his sons (16.121ﬀ.). The restored ımono¤a, however, is only temporary. In 16.209–216, the following exchange of words, partake Herod, Pheroras and Salome. Herod confronts Pheroras and accuses him of an ‘unmeasured and excessive degree of ingratitude’ (eﬁw toËto t∞w ém°trou ka‹ peritt∞w ∑lyew éxarist¤aw, 209), when inciting Herod’s son Alexander against his father. It seems that to Herod Pheroras’ greatest sin was neither plotting within the family nor dishonesty, but slander of the king (katÉ §moË blasfhm¤an, 211). Herod’s selfcentred approach is evident, and so is the dramatic irony of the situation: by accusing Pheroras, Herod himself sins in slander and plotting. Pheroras, on his part, tries to blame his wife Salome but she, in turn, deﬁes all accusations and claims she alone remained loyal to the king (214–5, delivered in reported speech). Salome accompanies

101

By way of what Levene calls ‘audience-based’ emotion, ibid., 132. Both present at the scene, as Josephus describes, and the aﬀected audience that reads the account. 102

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her words with a physical display of distress. This ‘spectacle’, says the narrator, ‘helped somewhat to make her denial plausible’ (≤ m¢n ˆciw e‰x° ti prÚw tØn êrnhsin piyanÒn). The whole incident has a pathetic tenor to it: it is not pity or sympathy but slight contempt and even ridicule that are provoked by the narrator. The next speech (16.339–350) is again by Nicolaus. He is requested to settle the dispute between Herod and Augustus over the war with the Arabs. Nicolaus’ diplomatic skills are here called to save the day. The speech is diplomatic and eloquent, albeit concise, and is devoid of any emotion or dramatic embellishment. It is divided in two, the ﬁrst half delivered in the form of indirect speech (339–345) and the second in direct speech (346–350). This rhetorical device, namely breaking a full speech in two, and adding some external details regarding the participants (here, most crucially, it is Caesar’s reactions to the information Nicloaus brings), adds an ‘active’ quality to the account. The speech itself may be somewhat bland, but the scene is certainly alive and under the focalizing control of the narrator. The change from oratio obliqua to oratio recta is marked by an interesting comment. After relating the Herodian version of the dispute with Syllaeus, it seems that the whole event was not a major turbulence but rather a storm in a teacup: ‘And so “the war”, as these men theatrically called it, and the expedition were of this [above described] nature’ (ı m¢n dØ pÒlemow, …w otoi tragƒdoËntew ¶legon, ka‹ tå t∞w §pistrate¤aw toiaËta, 346). This reference to tragic exaggeration may be either an echo of the Nicolaean source (perhaps even the speech itself ), or, it may be read as some kind of an internal joke, for Josephus in his narrative often exploits dramatic embellishment. Nicolaus’ speech resembles forensic speeches, and his attack on Syllaeus’ character and appeal to Caesar’s sense of justice are well in accord with the rhetorical convention. Indeed, Nicolaus portrays Syllaeus the Arab as a greedy and unreliable liar whose breach of a former agreement (344–345) is compared to no less than sacrilege (±sebhm°nou d¢ metå t«n êllvn ye«n ka‹ toË soË, Ka›sar, ÙnÒmatow; 346), but this is not the same kind of impiety as that referred to by Alexander or Herod in the former speeches. Syllaeus’ vices are mainly political, not moral. He may be profaning the name of Caesar ‘and other gods’, but the use of ±sebhm°nou here may be viewed as a rhetorical embellishment within the speech rather than a reference to the greater, moral és°beia Josephus alludes to in the case of Herod and his family. The whole episode is concise, bland and lack-

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ing in narratorial dramatic embellishment.103 Syllaeus is not a major character in the plot. Nicolaus has to refer to Caesar’s divinity and honour by way of convention or ﬂattery, but the tenor of this reference is by no means as emotionally charged as those of Herod and Alexander. The following two speeches (16.375–376; 379–383) are the speeches of Tiro, the bold soldier. First he speaks ‘driven by his freedom’ (ÍpÉ §leuyeriÒthtow) about all the things that the others had secretly felt but had kept silence about (375)’. Tiro, whose words are ﬁrst brought by Josephus in the form of indirect speech, acts like the prophet at the gates. Tiro is the only one who ﬁnds courage to express in words what the crowds are secretly feeling. He laments the vanishing of truth and justice (≤ élÆyeia, tÚ d¤kaion) and the rise of ‘lies and malice’ (tå ceÊsmata, ≤ kakoÆyeia, 376),104 which, he says, ‘cast such a cloud over things that not even the greatest human suﬀerings were visible to erring men’ (. . . …w mhd¢ tå m°gista t«n ényrvp¤nvn pay«n ırçsyai to›w èmartãnousin, 376). Josephus had already set the dramatic stage by commenting on the tension and fear of the public, awaiting a verdict for Alexander and Aristobulus (373). Here, the words he puts in Tiro’s mouth enhance the dramatic expectation even further: distortion of truth, blindness, revelation, suﬀering and ‘erring men’ are all concepts well known from tragedy.105 The narrator then takes the scene one stage further: Tiro summons enough courage to confront Herod. His speech is now delivered in direct discourse (379–383).106 Tiro expresses direct and blunt criticism of Herod’s absence of reason. He starts with a personal rebuke (380) but continues with the implications that the prospective

103 Again, this is perhaps a result of the inclusion of earlier source-material without extensive editing. 104 One is immediately reminded of the stasis chapters in Thucydides 3.80–82, where such ‘replacement of morals’ takes place. There, however, it is the historian who writes these comments under his own authority, rather than put them in a character’s mouth. 105 Moreover: the use of ‘vision language’ here also enhances the dramatic eﬀect: narratees become not only listeners but also spectators. On spectacle in GrecoRoman historiography see e.g. Feldherr, Spectacle, and Chapman, Theater, passim. 106 The two parts are divided by an authorial comment, referring to Tiro’s ‘reasonableness’ (tÚ dÉ eÎlogon) which ‘moved all his hearers (377)’. The authorial note in LCL 410 p. 155 (a) refers to tÚ eÎlogon as a Thucydidean concept: cf. Thuc. 4.87 and 6.84.2.

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executions will have for the entire kingdom (381–2). Tiro emphasises the unlawfulness of Herod’s intention to execute his sons and warns of the ‘great deﬁlement coming upon your [i.e. Herod’s] once blessed kingdom’ (toioËto mËsow §p‹ tª makarizom°n˙ pot¢ basile¤&, 381). This is a clear reference to the reversal of Herod’s fortune, as well as to his direct responsibility for this turn of fate. MËsow, contamination or deﬁlement, is later echoed by m›sow, hatred, the result of such deeds.107 Tiro then elaborates on the internal dissent already boiling over the sons’ trial and notes that ‘even though they are silent, the masses will note your error (tØn èmart¤an) and abhor the tragic event (ka‹ mise› tÚ pãyow), and that the entire army with its leaders has begun to feel pity (¶leon) for the unfortunate (étuxoÊntvn) youths but hatred (m›sow) for those who are bringing these things about (383)’. Once again, the key concepts here allude to tragedy. Even if ‘hatred’ may be a little unusual in that context, it is a powerful emotion nonetheless. Its inclusion here is well in accord with the gradual building of tension towards the execution itself—the dramatic climax of the narrative. Herod himself, as if to prove all the points Tiro had brought up, neglects his former kingly benefaction and imprisons and tortures Tiro and his son. This act is contrasted with Herod’s treatment of Samaias in book 14 (see above), where, despite the man’s blunt criticism, he spares his life. The reverse of fortune, it seems, has already taken place. The next set of speeches (17.96–120) are the speeches during Antipater’s trial.108 Of the three statements (by Herod, 96–99, by Antipater, 100–105, and Nicolaus, 106–122), only the second part of the speech of Nicolaus109 is given in direct discourse. Herod’s words more or less repeat the same contentions delivered during his audience with Caesar concerning Alexander and Aristobulus (16.90–99). His focus is personal and emotional. He laments his own misfortune, having reared such treacherous sons, and lists his material benefactions (94–5). Herod once again portrays himself as a victim of

107 A similar word play occurs in BJ 6.212–214, in the episode of Mary’s cannibalism: her deeds is perceived as an abomination by the Jews, and arouses a certain degree of hatred from the Roman soldiers when they hear about it. See Chapman, Theater, 109–110. 108 The parallel account is in BJ 1.620ﬀ. 109 Nicolaus’ speech is divided in three, see below, pp. 152–154.

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scheming and plotting (95), and states that the alleged attempts to seize power were conducted ‘impiously’ (dusseb«w, 95). He then refers speciﬁcally to Antipater’s deeds, wondering why he went to such length, for the throne was promised to him anyway (96), and accuses his son of plotting against Alexander and Aristobulus as well. Josephus concludes the report of Herod’s speech with a single sentence: ‘Herod burst into tears and was unable to speak (99)’. Nicolaus is then summoned to ﬁnish Herod’s speech and he does so, ‘stating whatever was necessary by way of evidence and proof ’. The report of the incident enhances the dramatic eﬀect of the episode and creates expectations concerning the dramatic ﬂair of Antipater’s reply. However, and in contrast with the BJ account,110 Antipater’s defence (100–105) is concise, cleverly stated and lacks any emotional vocabulary or tone. Antipater here follows a rational and circumstantial logic in his defence: the accusations simply do not make sense. He picks up on Herod’s contentions (that the throne was promised to him already) and uses them to demonstrate the force of his argument. The speech is well in accord with his portrait as a shrewd and highly elaborate schemer. His subsequent claim for virtue and righteousness could therefore be ironic. He begins with praise for Herod,111 but immediately continues with self-praise, asserting that he himself deserved all such good deeds because of his ‘virtuous conduct toward his father’ (ìw mØ ên pote gen°syai mØ oÈk éret∞w éj¤ƒ per‹ aÈtÚn gegonÒti, 100). Antipater continues conﬁdently and claims that it is unlikely that he would plot against his father after having saved him from plots formed by others, as he did not wish to destroy his reputation for virtue (101). Also, he says, such plotting would not make sense because he had already been promised the throne (102, cf. 96). Antipater then refers to the case of Alexander and Aristobulus and contends that his struggle with them is proof for his sincere aﬀection (ékrãtƒ eÈno¤&, 103) for his father, by way of ‘an enemy’s enemy is a friend’. In the case of the Herodian dynasty, this argument does not seem to hold water. Even Herod referred to the complex situation in his speech (97–99). Antipater concludes his speech with a reference to

110

Antipater’s speech in the BJ (1.630–6) is more emotional and personal. See chapter 2, p. 87. 111 As did Alexander’s speech in 16.105.

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the problems with torture: ‘extreme suﬀering by its very nature prompts the victims to say many things that will please those who have power over them’, and then, by way of rhetorical elaboration, oﬀers himself for torture (105).112 This ﬁnal gesture, says Josephus, eventually results in a ‘change of feeling’ in the council (106) so as ‘he [Antipater] moved even his enemies to compassion’ (Àste ka‹ to›w §xyro›w diÉ o‡ktou katast∞nai, 106).113 The concluding speech, by Nicolaus, is presented ﬁrst by indirect discourse (106–110), then has a long section in direct discourse (110–120) and ﬁnally concludes with another short passage concerning Antipater’s vices (121–123). Nicolaus replies to Antipater’s contentions and seems to be unmoved by his emotional gesture. He repeats Herod’s claims but, as a skilled orator would, Nicolaus ‘made things worse in the retelling’ (lÒgoiw palilloge› meizÒnvw §kdein«n, 106). He particularly emphasises Herod’s ‘virtue’ (tØn éretØn, 107)114 in undertaking the rearing and education of his sons without ﬁnding it proﬁtable to himself in any way’. Nicolaus then pays special attention to Antipater’s corrupt nature and controversial personality and portrays him in a most unﬂattering way. His ‘horrible crime’ (tØn miar¤an, 109),115 says Nicolaus, is astounding: not only was he not ‘softened by the benefactions received from his father (109)’, even ‘the unhappy fate of his brothers’ did not prevent him from ‘imitating their cruelty’ (éllå mhd¢ tåw tÊxaw t«n édelf«n prÚw tÚ oÈ mimhtØn aÈt«n katast∞nai t∞w »mÒthtow §mpodΔn stãntow, 109). After this grave accusation, Nicolaus’ speech is delivered in direct discourse (110–120). The gist of his direct words is clear: Antipater’s actions stemmed not from love for his father but from hatred and manipulation (110).

112

Antipater’s suggestion is conveyed more elaborately in the BJ version. Here, Josephus mentions that even Herod is aroused here by Antipater’s plea (106). The LCL editor (LCL 410, p. 215 (a) notes that in the BJ parallel, the king remains unmoved by his son’s gestures (BJ 1.636). 114 Again, this is a case of ‘deviant focalization’: the narrator is Josephus, but the focalizer is Nicolaus. See above and in Fowler, ‘Deviant Focalization’, 42. 115 This word is highly charged and alludes to tragedy. tÚ m¤aron is no mere crime, but a crime of impiety, of ‘pollution’, that transcends the human realm. Josephus may have been using this word in the general context of és°beia which he advocates throughout the narrative, and in the speeches as well. The connotation with tragedy also enhances the dramatic quality of the passage. Here, then, the narrator and focalizer convey the same opinion. 113

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Antipater’s ‘imitation’ (tÚ mimhtØn, 109, and mime›syai,110) of his brothers’ reckless behaviour is emphasised as his greatest vice. M¤mhsiw is of course a key concept in Greek thought and is usually neutral: good—or bad—imitation is a matter of methodology, not of morals. It is also a key concept in ancient theoretical discussions, and is relevant to the historiographical debate concerning the purpose of history and the inclusion of emotions in historical accounts.116 In short, it is no innocent concept, and much as it alerts the modern eye, it would have been bound to do so for an educated audience in antiquity. Here, however, the use of this word in relation to Antipater’s deeds117 may be a rhetorical embellishment, but it certainly renders the scene with deeper dramatic impact. His actions are perhaps part of a greater m¤mhsiw: the tragedy of Herod’s court. Moreover, Antipater is accused of planning ‘no common parricide, but one hitherto without precedent in human history’ (oÈ koinØn éllÉ o·an m°xri nËn oÈx ﬂstÒrhsen ı b¤ow, 115). This is of course a rhetorical commonplace: depicting a deed as greatest and most powerful in order to arouse more pathos and tension. However, there might be something more here: as is the case with m¤mhsiw, a reference to a ‘great deed’ tends to take place in the methodological level of historiography rather as an internal reference relating to an event within the narrative frame. The two references may perhaps have to do with Nicolaus’ occupation as historian. In any case, the choice of ı b¤ow is interesting. It seems to have broader implications: Antipater’s deed is unusually atrocious not only as a ‘story’, or part of a historical account, but also as a ‘real’ event (as is stressed again in 120, see below). The slander of Antipater118 continues (115–120). He is accused of inﬂuencing his mother, creating dissension among his brothers, using the guards, torturing men and women and above all that, having the audacity ‘to contradict the truth (118)’. Nicolaus concludes his speech with an appeal to Varus, the Roman arbitrator, to ‘save the

116 Among those who put mimesis forward was Duris (fr. 1). An adamant critic was Polybius. See chapter 1, p. 55ﬀ. 117 Those deeds take place within the narrative: the concept is used by Nicolaus in direct discourse. Josephus’ voice is here silent. 118 This is standard practice within the rhetorical conventions of forensic oratory. See above, pp. 142–143 concerning Herod’s ﬁrst appeal to Augustus, and the parallel BJ, 1.622–628 in chapter 2, pp. 86–87.

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king from the abuse of his kin’ and ‘destroy this wicked beast’ (ponhrÚn yhr¤on, 120).119 Parricide, he says, ‘is a wrong done to both nature and humanity’ (éd¤khma ka‹ t∞w fÊsevw ka‹ toË b¤ou, 120), and it should be treated as such. The addendum to Nicolaus’ speech (120–122) is again presented in indirect discourse and essentially adds little to the argument. It consists of further elaboration on Antipater’s scheming and his dubious character (licentiousness with women, erotic excesses, predisposition towards torture, 121). Josephus then mentions the people’s reaction: some men, he says, were silent about Antipater’s crimes for fear of his vengeance, but when they noticed ‘that Fortune, who had greatly favoured him before’ (tÆn pot° pollØn aÈt“ sustçsan tÊxhn), was now ‘openly delivering him to his enemies, they gave full rein to their implacable hatred of him’ (éplÆstvw m¤souw toË prÚw aÈtÚn §neforoËnto, 122). The theme of ever-changing fortune is one pursued by Josephus in relation to Herod in general and here ﬁts in with the account of Antipater’s demise.120 The next set of speeches (17.152–4; 158–9) belong to the Jewish scholars (oﬂ sofista‹, 152), who set out to advocate the tearing-down of the golden eagle Herod had installed at the gate of the Temple. They speak ﬁrst to their disciples (152–4), and then directly to Herod, after the perpetrators Judas and Matthias had been caught (158–9). The short exhortation is given in the form of reported speech, but the confrontation with Herod is in direct speech. Both speeches convey ideas that stand in sharp contrast to Herod’s behaviour, corrupt morals and self-centredness. The scholars encourage their disciples to tear down the eagle in deﬁance of the king’s orders and not to fear death, because ‘to those about to die for the preservation and safeguarding of their fathers’ way of life (§p‹ svthr¤& ka‹ fulakª toË patr¤ou b¤ou mellÆsousi teleutçn) the virtue (tØn prostiyem°nhn éretØn) acquired by them in death would seem far more advanta-

119 This term too has tragic overtones, and echoes Josephus’ earlier possible allusions to the Bacchae in his comment in 16.258. See below, under ‘The Historian’s Voice’, pp. 175–176. 120 Unlike the portrait of Herod, Antipater is portrayed as the extreme evil, who exercises constant scheming and manipulation and gets punished in the end. It is interesting to note that the punishing force here is the pagan tÊxh rather than the Jewish God: more often in the AJ Josephus tends to emphasise the sin and punishment hypothesis, which is a prominent theme in biblical historiography.

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geous than the pleasure of living.’ When confronted by Herod, they boldly reply that their thoughts and deeds ‘had the highest degree of manly excellence’ (metÉ éret∞w éndrãsi prepvdestãthw). They continue and declare that their prime loyalty is to God and the Jewish Law, even at the price of transgressing the king’s orders. Death, they claim, is welcome: ‘and with pleasure we will endure death or whatever punishment you may inﬂict on us because we shall be conscious that death walks with us not because of any wrongdoing on our part, but because of our devotion to piety’ (diå tÚ mØ §pÉ éd¤koiw ¶rgoiw éllå fil¤& toË eÈseboËw m°llein sune¤sesyai tÚ §fomil∞san aÈtoË).

These principles, then, stand in sharp contrast to everything Herod has represented throughout the narrative. The tyrannical king obeys self-interest and fears for his life, and he is often portrayed as unjust and impious. In this context, the zealot extremism of Matthias and Judas loses its disagreeable tenor121 and becomes an epitome of piety and dedication. By way of conclusion to this section I suggest that the speeches in the Herod narrative of the AJ receive deeper and more elaborate rhetorical treatment than those in the BJ parallel. The dialogue between speeches and narrative is more pronounced, especially in terms of the echoing and contrasting of themes and ideas. This contrast, in turn, enhances the tension and the dramatic irony. Josephus’ tendency to deliver speeches in indirect discourse, as well as to combine direct and indirect discourse within single speeches, changes the tone of his narrating voice and allows more room for embedded and deviant focalizations. This tendency is in accord with Josephus’ general predisposition in this narrative: he ‘moves aside’, as it were, and allows his characters to speak for themselves from time to time. Allowing more voices to be heard also results in a greater display and diversity of opinions, disagreements and emotions. It seems that in the AJ narrative, the most prominent rhetorical device (apart from the narrating voice) would be the speeches. The frequency of speeches, their length, detail and often, their tone, all form a thematic and

121 The dangers and destructiveness of this kind of religious extremism were heavily emphasised throughout the BJ.

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emotional axis that enhances and strengthens the underlying themes of the narrative that surrounds them. Natural and Supernatural Phenomena Unusual natural and supernatural phenomena tend to appear a little more often in the Herod narrative of the AJ than in the earlier BJ account.122 As is the case with the BJ, Josephus remains close to the facts when he describes the occurrence of an earthquake, a lunar eclipse or a plague. However, it seems that he invests considerable thought and eﬀort in the details of his descriptions and in choosing their place in the narrative.123 This often enhances the dramatic eﬀect of the account, and accentuates the importance of certain occurrences, which according to Josephus deserve additional emphasis. Josephus tends to place accounts of natural disaster in the narrative so that they precede those of human misconduct. He often explains the connection in his own voice, attributing the disaster to a non human agent (God [yeÒw],124 Fortune [tÊxh] or necessity [tÚ xr°on]). The role Josephus attributes to non-human agents in the narrative indeed echoes other Greco-Roman examples, but it also ﬁts in well with his own tendency in the AJ to emphasise the connection between human sins and divine punishment.125 This connection does not diminish his focus on human conduct, but it assumes a greater degree of divine intervention in comparison with the earlier BJ narrative. The ﬁrst natural disaster Josephus mentions in the narrative (15.121) is the earthquake in Judea, in 31 bce. The events is mentioned here too (as in BJ) in conjunction with the battle of Actium and Herod’s consequent battle against the Arabs. The description here is more detailed than in the BJ and the connection between the natural disaster and subsequent human event is made more explicitly. 122 The BJ narrative contains only one such account, that of the earthquake in Judea in 31 bce. See chapter 2 above, under the parallel section, pp. 89–92. 123 This is a familiar convention in Greco-Roman historiography, e.g. the increasing frequency of unusual natural phenomena in the later books of Herodotus (6–9). See above in the parallel section of chapter 2, ibid. 124 Herodotus, too, attributes similar occurrences to a god and uses yeÒw in a similar fashion. The identiﬁcation of Josephus’ yeÒw with the Jewish God is contextual and not linguistic. Evidently, the word he uses has pagan connotations as well. 125 The scheme of sin and punishment may also be borrowed from biblical historiography. See chapter 1 above, p. 42ﬀ. On BJ parallels and similar allusions to Greco-Roman historiography see chapter 2, pp. 89–92.

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Another and more pronounced example of such a connection (15.243–46) is the account of the plague that befell Judea, following Mariamme’s execution by Herod. Josephus explains this event, explicitly as a case of divine retribution (although the plague hits not only the perpetrator, Herod, but his entire kingdom).126 The plague is not mentioned in the BJ narrative. This short account is reminiscent of the account of the plague in Thucydides.127 However, Josephus’ account explicitly connects human sin and divine punishment, whereas in Thucydides the reason for the outbreak of the plague is entirely grounded in this world.128 People in Judea, says Josephus at the start of his report, suspected that this disease (loim≈dhw nÒsow, 243),129 was ‘brought upon them by God in His anger at what had lawlessly been done to Mariamme’ (katå m∞nin toË yeoË toËto sunenexy∞nai diå tØn gegenhm°nhn paranom¤an §p‹ tª Mar¤amm˙). However, what follows is not (as in Thucydides) an account of the symptoms of the disease and the suﬀering of the people, but a report of Herod’s own ‘serious illness’ (nÒsƒ dusxerestãt˙, 244).130 Josephus in fact focuses more on the king’s illness and the futile attempt to cure it (245–246), than on the public suﬀering. Herod’s disease, he says perhaps ironically, caused him a temporary loss of reason (t∞w diano¤aw parallagÆ, 245). That ‘reason’, we already know, had initiated Mariamme’s execution, which in turn allegedly131 caused the plague.

126 The accountability of an entire community to one man’s sins is typical of the Deuteronomistic view of history. See chapter 1 above, p. 42ﬀ. and Aune, New Testament, 98–101. 127 Thucydides 2.47–55, cf. Woodman, RICH, 32–40. H. Chapman has already noted the linguistic echoes and similar dramatic construction in her Ph.D. dissertation. See Chapman, Theater, chapter 2. Furthermore: the later account of Herod’s ﬁnal illness (17.146–179), too, echoes the Thucydidean account of the plague ( AJ 17.167–170 echoes Thuc. 2.49). See D. J. Ladouceur, ‘The Death of Herod the Great’, CPh 76 (1981: 25–34), esp. 28–29. 128 He provides an entirely plausible explanation for the outbreak of the disease (2.48), and only expresses a connection between the disease and human lawlessness (énom¤a) later on in chapter 53. 129 Cf. Thucydides 2.47.3: ≤ nÒsow . . . loimÚw; 2.54: loimÚw. Note also Herodotus, on the people of Crete in 7.171: l‹mon te ka‹ loimÚn gen°syai. The exact phrase, ≤ loim≈dhw nÒsow, is used by Thucydides in 1.23.3 at the end of his opening statement concerning the magnanimity of the war. 130 Note that Josephus uses the same word, nÒsow, to describe both the Judean plague and Herod’s illness. 131 Josephus does not claim this connection directly in his own voice. He shifts focalization and puts it down to a general suspicion of the people, reconstructing

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Judea continues to suﬀer misfortune, and soon after the plague it is hit by famine (15.299–318). This detailed and highly dramatic episode does not appear in the earlier BJ narrative. Again, Josephus oﬀers a possible explanation for yet another calamity. Drought and subsequent famine occurred, he says in the beginning of the episode, ‘whether by the wrath of God or because evil falls like this in cycles’ (e‡te dØ toË yeoË mhn¤santow μ ka‹ katå periÒdouw oÏtvw épantÆsantow toË kakoË, 299). The causation here is not as directly suggested as in the earlier case of the plague, but it is still attributed to supernatural forces. The famine, however, is only the beginning: it is followed by ‘body illnesses and eventually the plague prevailed’ (nÒsoi t«n svmãtvn ka‹ pãyow ≥dh loimikÚn §krãtei, 300). In this case, however, divine intervention is left aside in favour of a more realistic explanation. Josephus here echoes once again Thucydides’ account of the plague in Athens. The plague happened this time because of famine, drought and lack of medical care (301–302). Not only the populace suﬀers, says Josephus, but the king, too, does not receive his revenue and has ﬁnancial problems because of his ‘lavish reconstruction of cities (303)’. The crisis further aggravates the resentment already felt by Herod’s subjects.132 Herod’s reaction, in fact, seems a little out of character and is all targeted at regaining the people’s support. He turns the palace ornaments into coins, sends them to the prefect of Egypt who happens to be his friend (f¤low, 307),133 thus securing a steady import of grain. His actions bring ‘not only a reversal of attitude on the part of those who had formerly been hostile to him (xalep«w §xÒntvn), but also made a very great demonstration of his goodwill and protective attitude toward them (t∞w eÈno¤aw ka‹ t∞w prostas¤aw, 308)’. Herod’s benefactions continue (309–315). This time they are directed towards his people and the neighbouring populations as well. how they would react. This rhetorical trick achieves credence both to him, as a committed and serious historian, and to the account, for it would make sense for people to try and look for such a connection. 132 In the AJ narrative, the theme of Herod’s tense relationship with the Judeans is much more prominent than it is in the earlier account. The people of Judea feel increasing hatred for Herod as his conduct becomes more and more tyrannical and cruel. The more emphasised voice of such a hostile internal audience is perhaps designed to create greater emotional involvement among the narratees. 133 On the political signiﬁcance of personal relationships in the Near-East see B. D. Shaw, ‘Josephus: Roman Power and Responses to it’, Athenaeum 83.2 (1995:357–390) and Shaw, ‘Tyrants’.

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Eventually, his generosity makes such an impression on ‘the Jews (to›w É|ouda¤oiw, 315)’ and other nations, that ‘the old hatreds which had been aroused by his altering some of the customs and royal practices were completely eradicated throughout the entire nation’ (Àste tå m¢n pãlai m¤sh kinhy°nta diå tÚ paraxarãttein ¶nia t«n §y«n ka‹ t∞w basile¤aw §jairey∞nai toË pantÚw ¶ynouw, éntikatãllagma d¢ fa¤nesyai tØn §n tª bohye¤& t«n deinotãtvn filotim¤an, 315). For Herod, then, these natural disasters result in a positive reversal of fortune. He is suddenly revered and appreciated, and what at other places in the narrative seems to be the core of dissension, his ‘change of practice’,134 is here forgotten in the need of the hour. It seems that the Thucydidean view that connects (however implicitly) plague with social discord,135 here takes an opposite turn. The next unusual natural event (17.167) is a lunar eclipse. It occurs during the night after the execution of the two seditious scholars who attempted tearing down the golden eagle from above the Temple’s gates. This eclipse is dated to March 13th, 4 bce. Josephus merely records a real natural phenomenon here, but carefully places it at a highly dramatic point in his narrative. The episode of the golden eagle comes close to the end of Herod’s rule, and in the AJ narrative it is placed well within a long account concerning the king’s deteriorating health and increasing family disasters.136 Josephus does not explicitly connect the eclipse with Herod’s deteriorating health or with the growing dissension among his subjects. Neither does he point out to a divine intervention.137 However, the mere mentioning of the unusual event adds to the drama of the surrounding account, which ascends toward another dramatic climax.138 The incident of the eagle is surely the highlight of the Judeans’ increasing popular dissension and their apprehension of Herod’s

134

Which, elsewhere, is often viewed as an impious breach of the Jewish Law. E.g. Thuc. 1.23, 2.53. 136 On the rhetorical aspects of the description of Herod’s illness see Ladouceur, ‘Death’. Ladouceur mentions the lunar eclipse (p. 28) but does not elaborate on the possible connection between the eclipse and the account of Herod’s disease. 137 Divine retribution, however, ﬁnds its implicit expression in the detailed account of Herod’s disease. See Ladouceur, ‘Death’. 138 The previous climax was the execution of Alexander and Aristobulus at the end of book 16. Approaching the ultimate stages of the narrative, the dramatic tension is increased once more. 135

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adoption of foreign customs.139 The presence of supernatural forces, which is often demonstrated by unusual natural phenomena, tends to increase in the later part of the AJ narrative (books 15–17). Explicit and direct connection between acts of human impiety and divine retribution also becomes more stressed, often in Josephus’ own voice, towards the end of the account.140 This is a familiar device designed mostly to create greater dramatic eﬀect. Josephus does not always make an explicit connection between the unusual occurrences and divine intervention. However, when he does, it is often his own voice that speaks, whether it is an explicit remark or a more general contention.141 Furthermore, the context in which the accounts of natural phenomena appear in the narrative is usually telling: Josephus records the events in conjunction with unusual political or military events or with an account of further domestic strife in Herod’s household. This practice in itself enhances the narrator’s point of view142 and the prominence of the narrating voice. The Historian’s Voice In this section, I shall focus on the authorial comments Josephus inserts throughout the Herod narrative. Given the wider scope and diﬀerent structure of the AJ narrative, Josephus’ authorial voice here is also diﬀerent in tone. Authorial comments tend to be more direct

139 This theme, again, is more prominent in the later part of the narrative. Josephus builds the narrative tension towards the present climax with details about Herod’s pagan celebrations (15.167–176), donations to pagan cities and further desecration of Jewish establishments (e.g. opening of David’s tomb, 16.179–187). The dramatic climax in this section of the narrative takes place at the heart of Jerusalem and Jewish identity: the Temple. 140 Most explicitly towards the very end of the narrative, in 17.168–70, on the connection between Herod’s deeds and his grave illness. 141 I suggest that this is the case although Josephus does not always use a ﬁrst person verb or an explicit explanation (such as in 15.243), but states this opinion without attributing it to anyone speciﬁc (e.g. 15.299, where he states that the famine has happened ‘whether from God being angry or because misfortunes occur in such cycles’). This lack of embedded focalization implies that the only possible focalizer for such a contention is the narrator. 142 Often, Josephus uses mild anachrony in the structuring of the episodes in question: even when he is true to the chronology of events, he chooses the speciﬁc place in the narrative where a report of an unusual phenomenon would be most dramatic (e.g, mentioning the lunar eclipse in the middle of the account of Herod’s illness, not before or after it).

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(speciﬁcally referring to Herod’s vices and controversial deeds) and more emotional. We detect a gamut of emotions, ranging from mild criticism to outright disgust and anger. The length and structure of the narrative also entails a more technically-involved narrating voice: Josephus does not limit his narrative interventions to direct comments where narrator and focalizer are one and the same.143 He allows more room for shorter, indirect interventions, which often appear close to speeches or descriptions of natural disasters144 and which, often, involve what D. Fowler calls ‘deviant focalization’.145 In this section I shall only treat the direct authorial comments.146 The diversity of form, however, does not entail in this case an inconsistency of authorial opinion. Josephus’ voice, which becomes more critical of Herod’s conduct and expresses recurrent dismay at the king’s impiety and transgression of law, remains sound and clear throughout the diﬀerent means he uses to make himself heard. On the other hand, a consistent authorial voice does not mean that the interpretation of events becomes simpliﬁed. As Gribble notes in reference to Thucydides: Although the narratorial voice seeks to rule out the openness of alternative versions of the facts, there is still a complexity of historical understanding, arising from the multiplicity of voices in the work. There may be only one story, but what is presented is still a complex story, not a treatise.147

Josephus’ editorial comments often appear at, and mark, key moments in the plot.148 Both the act of inserting a comment and its content

143 These may be either ﬁrst-person comments (‘in my opinion . . .’) or general assertions (‘fate comes in circles’). In both cases, the narrator (‘who speaks?’) keeps the focalization (‘who sees?’) under his own control. 144 I have included examples of such authorial interventions in the relevant sections of this chapter. 145 I.e., where the narrator, in his voice, expresses opinions or points of view that are not his own. (‘Herod thought such an act would raise his favour in the eyes of Caesar’). 146 I am aware of the slight artiﬁciality of such an analysis, but since Josephus’ comments are many and often come in conjunction with other rhetorical devices (in which case they are often short and technical in nature) it seemed that a partition is necessary for reasons of clariﬁcation. 147 Gribble, ‘Narrator Interventions’, 45. 148 This is also the case in Thucydides. See Gribble, ‘Narrator Interventions’.

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often enhance the dramatic eﬀect of episodes and contribute both to the intellectual perception (‘understanding’) of the event in question and to a greater emotional involvement (‘pathos’).149 The ﬁrst authorial comment (14.186–189) is a standard narrator intervention. It precedes the ﬁrst digression in the narrative and explaining why for Josephus it seemed necessary to include such material in his account.150 In the following authorial comment (14.280), Josephus comments on a fateful act of Antipater (Herod’s father). In saving Malichus’ life, says Josephus, Antipater ‘had unwittingly, it turned out, saved his own murderer (280)’. Antipater’s act of benevolence is made without the foreknowledge of its fatality. However, both narrator and audience already know the outcome and anticipate it. Josephus’ proleptic comment appears in medias res, and the short pause in the narrative enhances the ensuing drama. Following a digression citing Roman decrees and imperial letters in favour of the Diaspora Jews (14.306–322), Josephus concludes this section (14.323) by mentioning more letters (‘to the people of Sidon, Antioch and Aradus’) and by justifying his narratorial choice of citing the documents: ‘Now we have cited these documents in a suitable place (eÈka¤rvw), for they will be proofs (tekmÆria) of our statements concerning the thoughtfulness which the Romans showed for our nation’ (∏w fam¢n ÑRvma¤ouw poiÆsasyai prono¤aw Íp¢r toË ≤met°rou ¶ynouw). This comment serves two methodological ends: the historian’s obligation for accuracy, and his underlying theme of favourable relationship between Rome and the Jews. In 14.386–87, Josephus includes another proleptic authorial comment. This appears towards the end of the episode relating how Herod received the title of king in Rome. The task was not easy: Herod was threatened by Antigonus, the Hasmonean contender to the throne, and had a ﬁnancial dispute with the neighbouring Arab king Malchus. On the way to Rome, Herod’s ship was caught in a storm and nearly capsized. And in Rome Antony and the senate were debating whether at all to grant kingship to Herod. Herod himself is doubtful and does not expect to become king because he is not related to the reigning family, the Hasmoneans. But in the

149 150

Cf. Gribble, ‘Narrator Interventions’, 51. See above, 121.

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end, much to his surprise, he is awarded the title. This, Josephus says, ‘was the greatest sign of Antony’s devotion to Herod (t∞w ÉAntvn¤ou per‹ tÚn ÑHr≈dhn spoud∞w), that not only did he obtain the kingship for him . . . but he also made it possible for Herod in only seven days altogether to obtain these unexpected grants and leave Italy. This youth [i.e. his rival Antigonus], however, Herod put to death, as we shall relate in proper time (…w katå kairÚn dhl≈somen)’. Josephus here focuses on two main issues: Herod’s favour with Rome,151 and his predisposition towards violence and tyrannical behaviour. Again, this authorial intervention draws the attention of the audience towards later (and more dramatic) parts of the narrative and thus creates suspense and anticipation. The next comment is in 14.398. Here, Josephus explains the growing popular support of Herod in Judea: Herod advances through Judea, takes hold of the coastal cities and then heads to Masada to save his relatives who were hiding there from Antigonus’ persecutions. Then, says Josephus, ‘the local inhabitants joined him, some because of their friendship with his father (diå tØn patr–an prosex≈roun fil¤an), others because of his reputation, and still others as a return for beneﬁts (eÈerges¤aw) received from both of them [i.e. Herod and Antipater], but the majority because of the hopes which they placed in him as one who would thereafter have a secure position as king.’ This comment is an illustration of the intricate local power structures152 in Judea and Idumaea. It ﬁts in well with the narrative context—the account of Herod’s establishment of power in Judea.153 In the level of the narrative, Josephus’ words are both emotional and ironic. When he mentions the ‘hope (tåw §lp¤daw)’ of the people to ﬁnally have a stable regime, we feel sympathy for the Judeans. When the narrator adds that this, rather than any other political consideration, was the main reason for supporting Herod, he provokes dramatic irony. For the general feeling is that Herod’s subsequent regime

151 The Herodians and Antony shared a relationship of friendship (fil¤a), which probably contributed to Herod’s good reputation and close political ties with Rome. See Shaw, ‘Roman Power’. 152 On fil¤a and eÈerges¤a in Josephus and their depiction as powerful means of constructing personal power see Shaw, op.cit. 153 I.e., his Roman title was not enough to secure his way to Jerusalem.

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(and even the preceding account of his struggle for power) will eventually become neither stable, nor something to hope for. In the following comment (14.487), Josephus writes about the decisive battle on Jerusalem, where Antigonus was ﬁnally defeated and Herod (with the help of the Roman Sossius) secured his reign. The conquest of the city was once again not easy. It involved a siege (470–482). Josephus concludes the episode (and indeed, book 14) with a dating of the event and with a symbolic reminder. This ‘calamity’ (toËto tÚ pãyow), says Josephus, ‘befell the city of Jerusalem during the consulship at Rome of Marcus Agrippa and Caninius Gallus, in the hundredth and eighty-ﬁfth Olympiad, in the third month, on the day of the fast, as if it were a recurrence of the misfortune which came upon the Jews in the time of Pompey’ (Àsper §k peritrop∞w t∞w genom°nhw §p‹ Pomph¤ou to›w É|oudaio›w sumforçw). This event, then, is marked out not as a positive development in Judean politics but as a disaster. It is followed in the narrative by the execution of Antigonus and the ‘obituary’ of the Hasmonean dynasty.154 By using dramatically charged words (tÚ pãyow) and by a careful construction of the narrative, Josephus here expresses a clear authorial opinion: Herod’s rise to power should be considered with great caution. The short proem to book 15 (15.1) is of course related by the author, but does not bear any signiﬁcance other than the reassertion of the prominence of Josephus’ narrating voice. Shortly after the opening of book 15 (15.6–7), Josephus comments on Herod’s pattern of behaviour after assuming power. The new king, says Josephus, ‘showed special favour to those of the city’s populace who had been on his side while he was still a commoner, but those who chose the side of his opponents he harried and punished without ceasing for a single day (3)’. Josephus goes on to describe the manner in which Herod punished his opponents and then comments, once again, that ‘there was no end to their trouble, for on the one hand the greed of their master, (≤ pleonej¤a toË kratoËntow) who was in need of money, and on the other hand the seventh year, which came round at that time, forced them to leave the land unworked, since we are forbidden to sow the earth in that year (7)’.

154

See above, p. 129, and chapter 2, p. 94.

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This comment encompasses three issues: Herod’s tyrannical behaviour,155 his greed,156 and the Jewish law. Those three issues will be developed throughout the narrative from now on: Herod’s rule will become even more tyrannical; his greed more pronounced, and his transgression of Jewish law157 (arousing dissent and protest) more frequent. In 15.9–10, Josephus relates the execution of Antigonus by Antony in Antioch. He quotes from Strabo, in order to corroborate his explanation of the decision to behead the captive. Antony resolved to execute Antigonus, says Josephus, because ‘the [ Jewish] nation was rebellious (nevter¤zein tÚ ¶ynow) and had remained loyal to Antigonus out of hatred for Herod’ (dia toË prÚw ÑHr≈dhn m¤souw, 8). My account, Josephus says, is also attested to in Strabo. Strabo’s identical explanation is brought forth in direct discourse. The external quotation serves as support and enhancement of Josephus’ contentions.158 Concerning Hyrcanus’ departure for Babylonia and the favours bestowed upon him by the local Jews, Josephus comments (15.17) on the futility of Hyrcanus’ wish to return to Jerusalem, relying upon Herod’s benefaction in return for his former help. ‘Favours received by commoners are not returned by them in like manner when they become kings, since Fortune changes them in no small measure’ (§jallattoÊshw aÈtoÁw oÈk Ùl¤gvw t∞w tÊxhw). This short comment expresses a recurring theme in Josephus’ Herod narrative: that the change of fortune is both inevitable and has grave consequences. In 15.60, following Herod’s murder of the young High Priest Aristobulus, Josephus comments on Herod’s display of emotions. The

155 Herod is not explicitly called ‘tyrant’ here, but in later stages of the narrative Josephus indeed uses the term and its derivatives (e.g. 15.354; 16.4). 156 The term pleonej¤a, according to LSJ, means ‘greediness, assumption, arrogance’. Here, the immediate context is ﬁnancial, but the term has negative political undertones. It is often connected to love of power (Hdt. 7.149, concerning the Spartans’ lust for power) or transgression of political and social conventions (Thuc. 3.82, concerning the stasis in Corcyra, and in book 4, where toË pl°onow Ùr°gesyai becomes a key concept of Athens). Earlier in Josephus the term is used in relation to Cleopatra (15.89, 91) and by Herod in relation to the Arabs (15.130). In both Josephan cases the underlying connotations noted here are relevant. See above, p. 121 and n. 26. 157 Again, the introduction of this theme is made here subtly. Herod does not act ‘impiously’ yet, but the importance of Jewish custom to Judean life, and its clash with Herod’s behaviour, are depicted clearly. 158 On source treatment in Greco-Roman and Jewish historiography see chapter 1 above.

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king ‘convincingly (piyan«w) dispelled any thought in the minds of outsiders that the lad’s death had been premeditated’ not only by conventional mourning but also by ‘exhibiting real (élhyinÆn) perturbation of the soul’. However, it has to be made clear that Herod’s conduct was not as innocently genuine as it may have just been portrayed. Josephus then oﬀers a more sinister explanation for the rise in emotions: ‘it may be, too, that emotion overcame him when he looked upon the youthful beauty of the lad even though his death had been considered necessary for his own safety. But it was clear that he was taking these measures to excuse himself ’ (d∞lon dÉ …w épolog¤an aÈtå pragmateuÒmenow). Josephus use of the impersonal ‘d∞lon’, in contrast with the very personal glimpse he allowed into Herod’s mind and motives, brings the focalization back into his own hands. The following authorial comment (15.93) is concerning Antony’s emotional enslavement to Cleopatra.159 Antony, says Josephus, ‘was so much dominated by this woman . . . that it seemed (doke›n) as if he obeyed her every wish not only because of his intimacy (mØ mÒnon §k t∞w ımil¤aw) with her but also because of being under the inﬂuence of drugs’. Antony’s emotional weakness may allude here to Herod’s similar predilection, one which later in the narrative will become a major cause of the king’s misfortune. In 15.211–2, Josephus elaborates on Herod’s complex and turbulent relationship with his wife Mariamme. The king is torn between passionate love and uncontrollable anger. He is, says Josephus, ‘dismayed to see that his wife’s unreasonable hatred of him (tÚ parãlogon t∞w gunaikÚw eﬁw aÈtÚn m›sow) was unconcealed’, but his love and anger cannot be reconciled. As a result, Herod keeps oscillating between the two extremes and is in great agony. This description allows the audience a partial glimpse into Herod’s tormented psyche by way of deviating focalization. But the explanatory m¢n går that opens the paragraph and the concluding tÚ d¢ sumpçn160 frame the entire argument, so that the narrator retains his focalizing point of view.

159 A similar authorial comment concerning the queen’s domination over Antony appear in BJ 1.243. See chapter 2, pp. 101–102. 160 Followed by a summary explanation: ‘though he [Herod] would gladly have punished her, he was afraid that if she died he would unwittingly inﬂict greater punishment (upon himself than) upon her’.

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The following comment which appears shortly after (15.218) is concerning Herod’s conﬂicting fates in the public and private scenes. Following the account of the meeting between Herod and Octavian in Egypt (216), Josephus returns to the main theme of the episode: Herod’s domestic troubles with special reference to Mariamme. Josephus here draws a sharp contrast between Herod’s political success and domestic failure: ‘But the more he believed himself to be increasingly successful in external aﬀairs, so much more did he fail in domestic aﬀairs, especially in his marriage in which he had formerly seemed to be so fortunate’ (ka‹ mãlista per‹ tÚn gãmon, §n ⁄ ka‹ mçllon eÈtuxe›n §dÒkei prÒteron). Josephus continues with a comment on the problematic nature of Mariamme. Hand in hand with her virtues, says Josephus, ‘she had in her nature something that was both womanly and cruel, and she took full advantage of his enslavement to passion’ (dedoulvm°nƒ diå tØn §piyum¤an).161 In the next comment (15.266–67), Josephus points explicitly to Herod’s transgression of Jewish law and ancient custom. Herod’s violent conduct here takes a turn for the worse. After the execution of the sons of Baba (hence eliminating all possible threat from the Hasmoneans), ‘the kingdom was wholly in Herod’s power, there being no one of high rank to stand in the way of his unlawful acts’ (mhdenÚw ˆntow §pÉ éji≈matow §mpodΔn ·stasyai to›w paranoum°noiw). Josephus then continues directly to report Herod’s further departure from ‘the native customs’ (t«n patr¤vn §y«n): he adds that ‘through foreign practices he gradually corrupted the ancient way of life, which had hitherto been unviolated.’ Herod’s predilection for és°beia, a prominent theme in the narrative that comes into play in many ways, is here attested to by the narrator.162 In 15.299, we read a comment concerning the cause of drought and famine in Judea (either God or Fortune).163 In 15.304, Josephus includes another comment within the account of the famine in Judea. This contention has a generalising and almost

161 The theme of male ‘enslavement to passion’ and female manipulation of this weakness was introduced in reference to Antony and Cleopatra in 15.93 (see above). However, while the parallel between Herod and Antony is clear, Mariamme is by no means depicted as negatively as Cleopatra. 162 The term itself is not used, but just as is the case with Herod’s tyranny (see above and below), Josephus here spells out the king’s conduct while using the term in other instances. 163 See above, under ‘Natural and Supernatural Phenomena’, pp. 158–159.

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philosophical tenor. Josephus here notes that not only the people but the king too was under duress. Herod, he explains, could do nothing about it. He is already hated by his subjects. That, to Josephus, is not surprising, not least because ‘when people do not get on well, there is always a tendency to blame those who rule over them’ (tÚ går oÈk eÔ prãttein fila¤tion ée‹ katå t«n proesthkÒtvn). Herod’s behaviour towards his subjects, which was mellowed for a while because of the famine, returns to its old tenor of submission by fear of punishment (325). In other words, Herod becomes more and more tyrannical. But absolute power, as says Josephus in his next comment (15.328), has a price. Herod’s position ‘became stronger in all ways as his aﬀairs prospered’, says Josephus, but, he adds, ‘because of his ambition . . . and the ﬂattering attention (ÍpÚ d¢ t∞w eﬁw toËto filotim¤aw ka‹ t∞w yerape¤aw) which he gave to Caesar and the most inﬂuential Romans, he was forced (±nagkãzeto) to depart from the customs [of the Jews] and to alter many of their regulations.’ Herod’s love of honour, filotim¤a,164 would soon recur and prove to be a key explanation for yet another extravagant venture: Herod’s gifts to pagan cities (pÒleiw te kt¤zvn ÍpÚ filotim¤aw ka‹ naoÊw §ge¤rvn, 328–9). In 15.330, Josephus summarises165 the account of Herod’s extensive building projects and benefactions towards foreign cities with his own ‘truest cause’ for the enterprise.166 Herod, he says, ‘was intent upon his own interests or was also ambitious (filotimoÊmenow) to leave behind to posterity still greater monuments for his reign. It was for this reason that he was keenly interested in the reconstruction of cities.’ Josephus’ explanation here both adds to the growing criticism of Herod and enhances the ironical ﬂavour to the account. For Josephus, even Herod’s most tangible and enduring enterprise has

164 Translated in LCL by ‘ambition’ (cf. LSJ). In my opinion the more explicit ‘love of honour’ may be more adequate here, because of the continuing emphasis on the king’s personality and the connection Josephus makes (e.g. 16.150–159) between his emotional character and his changing fortune. Filotim¤a is connected at least once in Thucydides to ‘greed’, pleonej¤a (see above, n. 26, 156). This occurs in the seminal stasis chapters (3.82). This connection also occurs here in Josephus’ portraiture of Herod. More on Herod’s filotim¤a above, n. 26 and below, p. 172–3.7. 165 This summary comes mid-way, for the report on Herod’s building projects continues until 15.341. 166 He mentions Herod’s ‘excuse’ (ÉIouda¤oiw m¢n épologoÊmenow . . . 330) made to his Jewish subjects, that his deeds were done ‘by command and order’.

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questionable roots, and would not mend the bad impression his erring ways have made. In 15.409, Josephus includes a short proleptic intervention within the extensive digression concerning the Temple in Jerusalem (15.388–425). This digression concludes book 15, and serves as a long pause in the main narrative, whose degree of tension and drama has begun to escalate. Within the Temple digression, Josephus breaks the sub-narrative167 once again and describes the High priest’s robe (403–408). This inner digression, he says to his audience, ‘has been occasioned by the sad experiences (ÍpÚ toË pãyouw) that happened later’.168 This narrator intervention creates anticipation and suspense. In 16.76–77, Josephus includes a comment which appears in proximity to the accusation of treachery of Mariamme’s sons Alexander and Aristobulus (16.75–78). The trial and execution of Mariamme’s sons is the most dramatically charged episode in the Herod narrative of the AJ and Josephus’ comments within the episode are but one rhetorical device he uses to enhance the dramatic eﬀect of the account. Here, we are in a relatively early stage of the episode, where other family members (Pheroras and Salome) work to increase the king’s mistrust of his sons. As a result of the constant family scheming Herod’s suspicion and fear increase. Herod, Josephus tells us, believes that ‘the impending misfortune would be heavier and greater than what had already befallen him, [and] he was in a confused state of mind (75)’. This glimpse into Herod’s point of view169 is then balanced with Josephus’ own explanation: ‘In truth, a divine power (tÚ daimÒnion)170 had given him a great many instances of good fortune (eÈtux¤an), even more than he had hoped for, in external aﬀairs, but in his own home it was his fate to meet with the greatest misfortunes and such as he had never expected’ (m°gista d¢ t«n o‡koi ka‹ mhd¢ pros-

167 This is perhaps a form of what Genette (Narrative Discourse, 234) calls ‘author’s metalepsis’. 168 Josephus gives no reference to either the subject or the place of the anticipated ‘sad experiences’. The LCL editor notes (Vol. 489: 453) that the story in question appears later in the AJ and outside the Herod narrative: 18.90–95; 20.12. 169 Josephus does not often let Herod become the main focalizer in the AJ narrative, but this is more than he ever allows for in BJ, where he retains full control of focalization all through the account. See chapter 2 above, pp. 106–113. 170 On Josephus’ use of the topos of divine intervention see above, p. 156ﬀ.

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dok≈mena dustuxe›n aÈt“ sun°bainen). The theme of Herod’s chang-

ing fortunes is here referred to explicitly, and will reappear in Josephus’ words once again in Herod’s obituary (17.192).171 In the meantime, Josephus continues to develop this theme: ‘Each of these experiences continued in a way that exceeded credibility, until a climax (tØn ÍperbolÆn) was reached that raised the question whether it was right to purchase such great good fortune in public aﬀairs at the cost of domestic woes (eﬁ d°on tØn tosaÊthn eÈtux¤an t«n ¶jvyen pragmãtvn éllãjasyai t«n o‡koi kak«n), or to escape great tragedies at home by foregoing his miraculous success as king.’ The opinion Josephus expresses here is crucial for the understanding of his approach to Herod and consequently, for the manner in which he portrays the king. Indeed, fate itself is induced by a divine element, but a certain degree of human responsibility and free will is nevertheless there. Herod’s fate, in other words, is to some extent in his own hands. He has a choice, to renounce the good political fortune in order to restore peace at home. Herod however does not make this (right) choice and therefore brings about his own downfall. Apart from introducing a major theme at a key moment in the narrative, this authorial intervention creates suspense, increases the drama and asserts once again the narrator’s control of the account. In 16.126, Josephus provides what could be termed ‘an emotional glossary’ for the events during the ﬁrst stage of the trial of Herod’s sons, Alexander and Aristobulus.172 The occasion is highly charged with emotions, both explicitly described in the actions (the speeches in question aﬀect the audience present) and implicit in the narrative structure (Herod’s falling out with his sons is presented throughout book 16 as a very dramatic development). Josephus provides us with the points of view of Caesar (121) and Herod (123), and ﬁnally brings his own comment (126) concerning the temporary reconciliation between the king and his sons: ‘he [Herod] took them in his arms and embraced each in turn, so that no one who was present, whether free man or slave, was left unaﬀected’ (…w mhd°na t«n paratugxanÒntvn §leÊyeron μ doËlon épay∞ gen°syai). 171 See above, pp. 133–134. Cf. BJ 1.430–1, and 1.665 (and my analysis in chapter 2, pp. 95–96). 172 For a fuller analysis of the speeches in this trial see above, under ‘Speeches’, p. 142ﬀ.

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This comment once again adorns the narrative with more emotional charge by the subtle word play on the ambiguous meaning of the term pathos. Josephus here notes that nobody could remain untouched by the reconciliation. However, he uses the same word time and again when he refers to the suﬀering and misfortunes that befall Herod and his household. For the time being and in the immediate context, the familial enmity is paciﬁed. However, the authorial reference to the all-encompassing surge of emotions creates both relief and anticipation at the same time. One is temporarily relieved that the trial did not end badly (given the earlier empathy the boys arouse in the audience, 121–122). But this relief does not mean the end of pathos, the suﬀering or pain. On the contrary: pathos is what deﬁnes it. Following the completion of the building work in Caesarea, Herod announces pagan celebrations that include musical performances, athletics, gladiator shows and horse races (137–38). Furthermore, he dedicates the festivities to Caesar (139). Caesar, says Josephus in 16.139–141, ‘adding lustre to his [Herod’s] love of honour (tØn filotim¤an §pikosm«n)’, sends the necessary equipment to Caesarea. Josephus continues with the description of the extravagant events (140) that ‘made his [Herod’s] generosity famous’ and then provides an explanation for such extravagance: ‘for in all the things he undertook he was ambitious (§filone¤kei)173 to surpass what had been done before.’ This comment refers indeed to the local celebrations in Caesarea, but it applies to Herod’s general motivations in conducting the extensive building projects in Judea.174 In the middle of an extended account of Herod’s building projects and other material benefactions to pagan cities, Josephus pauses and in 16.146, perhaps ironically, states that ‘it would be diﬃcult to mention all his [Herod’s] other benefactions (tåw d¢ êllaw eÈerges¤aw),

173 LSJ contends that filonik°v, ‘to be fond of victory, engage in rivalry, be contentious’ is used mostly in a negative sense. It also echoes filotim¤a (most lately used in 16.139 see above nn. 26, 31, 156, and below, 16.150–9) which is associated with Herod’s negative behaviour. C Pelling, Plutarch and History (2002: 345, 347 n. 24) discusses Plutarch’s use of this word, and the close etymological aﬃnity between filoneik°v, ‘love of quarrel’ and filonik°v, ‘love of victory’. It seems that filonik°v carries a negative aspect both in Josephus and in Plutarch. 174 As was suggested before by Josephus in relation to the Temple, 15.330, and will soon be elaborated upon in 16.150–159 (see below).

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such as those that he conferred on the cities in Syria and throughout Greece and on whatever places he happened to visit’. The irony is achieved here by the contrast between this explicit comment, what immediately follows: more details concerning Herod’s foreign benefactions (147–149)—and the surrounding narrative: the reader already knows that Herod’s own subjects in Judea do not tend to see these acts as beneﬁcial or beﬁtting the king of the Jews. Benefactions to pagan cities are frowned upon in Judea, especially in the context of Herod’s behaviour in other areas. Herod’s acts, as if almost to spite, are all within the realm of pagan culture: his manner is pagan and the many cities he honours are outside Judea. Josephus here does not mention Herod’s Judean subjects (who may have been displeased, to say the least, by his conduct), but the implicit criticism is inferred from what we have already heard about the relationship between Herod and his subjects. Josephus’ next elaborate intervention, in 16.150–159, provides further explanation for Herod’s deeds. Here, Josephus provides an extended explanation for Herod’s seemingly inconsistent conduct (benefaction on the one hand, cruelty and paranoia on the other). Josephus admits that it might be diﬃcult to reconcile the two conﬂicting aspects concerning Herod, and oﬀers his own view of the matter: Both these tendencies had the same cause. For Herod loved honours (filÒtimow går vÖn, 153) and, being powerfully dominated by this passion (toÊtou toË pãyouw ≤tthm°now iÙxur«w), he was led to display generosity (megalocux¤an) whenever there was reason to hope for future remembrance or present reputation, but since he was involved in expenses greater than his means, he was compelled to be harsh towards his subjects. Filotim¤a,175 then, is Josephus’ ultimate answer to the riddle of Herod’s

character and conduct. Josephus elaborates more on Herod’s motives, and then continues with what seems to be his single most important comment on Herod, and perhaps the key to his own portraiture of the king: And though he was aware (suneid≈w) of being hated because of the wrongs he had done his subjects, he decided that it would not be easy to mend his evil ways (tÚ m¢n §panoryoËsyai tåw èmart¤aw oÈ =ñdion

175 Mentioned again here, already in the beginning of Josephus’ comment, in 150, and again later in 158 (tÚ filÒtimon). See above, nn. 26, 31, 156.

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§nÒmizen)—that would be unproﬁtable in respect of revenue—and,

instead, countered their [his subject’s] opposition by seizing upon their ill will as opportunity for satisfying his wants (155).

Herod, then, is not only aware of his wrongdoing but also chooses to continue in this unjust vein on account of his own expediency. He is neither blind nor acts in the best of intentions, nor is he driven by higher moral causes or vengeance. Despite the careful choice of vocabulary that echoes that of tragedy,176 Herod’s deeds—desperate as they may be—fail to evoke sympathy of any kind. Following the citation of external material (Roman decrees in favour of the Diaspora Jews),177 Josephus pauses (16.174–178) to explain why he included such material in his account. The reason, he says, has to do with the audience: Now it was necessary for me to cite these decrees since this account of our history (aﬂ t«n ≤meter«n prãjevn énagrafa¤ ) is chieﬂy meant to reach the Greeks in order to show them that in former times we were treated with all respect and were not prevented by our rulers from practising any of our ancestral customs but, on the contrary, even had their co-operation in preserving our religion and our way of honouring God.

Josephus then continues and elaborates on the uniqueness of Jewish custom (176) on the one hand but their underlying and universal principle of justice on the other (tÚ d¤kaion, 177). He advocates the advantages of the Jewish religion but seems to be well aware of his pagan audience. Nowhere does Josephus seem condescending or isolationist. On the contrary, his rhetoric here is to appeal to the common denominator of both cultures. The narrator here combines methodological and thematic issues: he justiﬁes his historical method, but goes on to elaborate on a central theme of his work, the relationship between Jews and pagans. In both cases, his direct appeal is to the narratees. This methodical pause in the narration of events also frames the preceding digression and allows the narrator to return to the main plot. Following the episode of the alleged opening of David’s tomb, Josephus intervenes again (16.183–187), this time with another

176 The use of a highly charged term as èmart¤a occurs twice in this short passage, in 155 and 157. 177 See above under ‘Narrative Structure’, p. 125.

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methodological comment concerning his source, Nicolaus of Damascus. His main attack is on Nicolaus’ partiality, being Herod’s close friend and adviser. He contends that Nicolaus did not mention Herod’s visit inside the tomb because ‘he [Nicolaus] knew that this action was improper’ (oÈk eÈprep∞ tØn prçjin §pistãmenow, 183). Furthermore, Josephus says, Nicolaus not only refrained from reporting Herod’s unseemly deeds but was also unfaithful to the truth in ‘transforming his [Herod’s] obviously unjust acts into the opposite or concealing them with the greatest care’ (pollå d¢ ka‹ t«n §mfan«w éd¤kvn éntikataskeuãzvn ka‹ metå pãshw spoud∞w §pikruptÒmenow, 184). In other words, Josephus blames Nicolaus for betraying the historical cause—adherence to the truth and a precise and impartial report. But, Josephus adds, ‘one may fully forgive him since what he produced was not history for others, but a work meant to help the king’ (oÈ går ﬂstor¤an to›w êlloiw éllå Ípourg¤an t“ basile› taÊthn §poie›to, 186). The tendency to criticise earlier historians is common in Greco-Roman historiography.178 Josephus, however, seems to be taking the argument one step further with a critique of his main source for the Herod narratives and a somewhat twisted reasoning for his use of the source despite its methodological shortcomings. Following the account of the opening of David’s tomb, Josephus here continues his narrative (chapters 188–189) with a further deterioration of the state of aﬀairs at Herod’s household. The narrative at this stage rapidly gains a more dramatic tone, and the turn for the worse has to be explained. The explanation provided encapsulates many key themes that run throughout the Herod narrative: It seemed as if because of the attempt which Herod had made upon the tomb that the state of aﬀairs in his household got worse, whether it was the wrath [of God] (toË mhn¤matow) that caused just those ills from which he was already suﬀering to grow even worse and to develop into incurable misfortunes (prÚw énhk°stouw §jelye›n sumforãw), or whether Fortune (t∞w tÊxhw) attacked him at a time so appropriate to the occa-

178 E.g. Thucydides’ criticism of the ‘storytellers’ in 1.22; Polybius on Phylarchus in 2.56 and on Timaeus in 12.25a. It should be noted here that these examples refer mostly to the excessive use of emotions in a historical account, whereas Josephus, both in principle (BJ 1.9–12) and in practice, embraces the use of emotion in his work. More on the use of emotions in ancient historiography in Marincloa, ‘Emotions’, passim, and his forthcoming article, ‘Towards a New Interpretation of Tragic History’.

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sion as to provoke no little suspicion that these misfortunes had come upon him because of his impiety (diå tØn és°beian aÈt“ tåw sumforåw éphtthk°nai). For the dissension in the palace was like a civil war (stãsiw går ∑n Àsper §mful¤ou pol°mou katå tØn aÈlØn . . . 189).

Indeed, Josephus here brings forward the themes of Divine retribution,179 the changing wheel of fortune,180 Herod’s impiety181 and the destructive power of stasis.182 He does not seem to prefer one reason or another for Herod’s misfortunes but rather leaves the choice open. The way the diﬀerent notions are combined here is worth noting: it is perhaps a good example for the neat way in which Josephus brings together Greco-Roman and Jewish elements in his historical interpretation and in the rhetorical makeup of his narrative. The next authorial comment appears in 16.205. As dissension within Herod’s family grows (with the dispute with Pheroras and Salome), Herod’s own suspicion and bewilderment increase. The king is so aﬀected by his own suspicions that ‘he began to believe everyone against everyone else.’ Josephus adds that Herod felt more at ease for the time being ‘after he had rebuked his sons and they had defended themselves’ and concludes with a short proleptic comment: ‘but later on, much worse troubles came upon him’ (ta›w dÉ •j∞w polÁ xe¤rv pros°pesen). This short authorial glimpse into a later stage of the narrative promises greater drama and creates audience anticipation. As aﬀairs in the palace grow from bad to worse and personal suspicion and distrust increase, Josephus describes (16.258) how Herod now turns against his closest friends. The suspicion and paranoia, however, pass from Herod to the others, to the extent that sensible behaviour and old trust are no longer relevant: ‘When mad rage (lÊtthw tinÒw)183 fell upon them—for what else could it have been?—

179

A theme derived most probably from biblical historiography. See chapter 1 above, p. 42ﬀ. 180 A common Greco-Roman theme. See chapter 1, p. 55ﬀ. 181 The notion of és°beia ﬁts in well in both the Greco-Roman and the Jewish traditions. 182 A Thucydidean contention, that Josephus adopts more explicitly in the BJ. See above in chapter 2, pp. 70–74. 183 The term lÊssa (Att. lÊtta as is the case here) often appears in tragedy and denotes unhuman rage, madness, fury or frenzy, e.g. in Euripides’ Bacchae 851, 977 (it is personiﬁed as a character in Eur. Heracles). The use of the verb yhriÒv with its connotations to ‘wild beasts’ may also echo Euripides. One therefore could extend

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those who had formerly been the best of friends behaved bestially towards one another (katÉ éllÆlvn oﬂ pãlai f¤ltatoi teyhr¤vnto) since they had no opportunity for defence or refutation to establish the truth, and destruction continually faced all of them without a trial.’ The atmosphere is that of loss of control, of mad frenzy, of highly charged emotions such as fury, violence and distrust. The drama is increased once again. The comment in 16.300 is a preamble to the episode of Eurycles the Spartan.184 Once again, Josephus here mentions the very unfortunate state of aﬀairs, whose prevalence and impact are now crystal clear: ‘For even earlier it had been altogether impossible not to see at a glance that the kingdom was threatened by fortune with the greatest and most grievous of human ills (…w tÚ m°giston ka‹ dusxer°staton t«n ényrvp¤nvn pay«n épeile›tai tª basile¤&) and these increased and became still greater for the following reason.’ Just when it seemed that things could get no worse than they already have, the visit of Eurycles to the Herodian court brought further scheming and intrigue. Josephus’ use of superlatives enhances the already charged tone of the account and again creates anticipation. It is interesting to note that this time Josephus does not conﬁne the misfortunes to Herod’s family, but refers to his kingdom as a whole. In chapter 359, Josephus comments on Herod’s decision to convene a Roman council concerning his sons, Alexander and Aristobulus. This council, resulting in the trial and execution of the sons, is the dramatic climax of the entire Herod narrative. For Josephus, executing the sons is Herod’s gravest sin. The narrator has for a while been preparing his audience for the culmination of drama. Here again he expresses a theme and a tone that have already been introduced:

the verbal echo into an allusion to the Bacchae, where such madness also brings upon confusion, distrust and ultimately the destruction of the royal family. Later in the account, Nicolaus refers to Antipater as ‘a wicked beast’, ponhrÚn yhr¤on (17.120, see above under ‘Speeches’). This tragic echo indeed increases the emotional tone of the account, but that does not mean Josephus draws a full parallel between the two situations (in terms of moral virtue and responsibility). Elsewhere in Josephus the term appears in BJ 6.196, referring to the violent acts of the rebels, who, during the famine in Jerusalem, were ravaging houses in search of food ‘like rabid dogs’ (Àsper luss«ntew kÊnew). See Chapman, Theater, 65. 184 AJ 16.301–310. Cf. BJ 1.513–531, where the account is longer, more elaborate and contains elements from Greek and Roman drama. On the BJ version see Ullman and Price, ‘Drama’.

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Herod’s inherent rashness of behaviour, and the critical tone when connecting his prosperity with his cruelty: Whereas at an earlier time, when he [Herod] was not prospering, he showed himself severe but neither reckless nor rash enough to destroy his sons (xalepÚn m¢n éllÉ oÎte yrasÁn oÎte propet∞ prÚw tØn ép≈leian t«n t°knvn pare›xen aÍtÒn), he now took advantage of the change for the better and his freedom of action to boast of his hatred and his power (tÚ m›sow §kenodÒjei ka‹ tØn §jous¤an).

Once again, Herod consciously chooses pride over compassion and excessive display of emotion over self-control. Both narrator and narratees seem to beneﬁt from that in terms of the pace and interest of the narrative. As the trial begins, Herod is the ﬁrst to speak. In 16.362–363, Josephus describes the scene: Herod, alone, approaches the 150 men present and makes his accusation. Here the narrator intervenes and comments on the nature of Herod’s appearance. This, however, is not a case of embedded focalization. The audience is not allowed to have a glimpse into Herod’s thoughts, but is rather exposed to those of the narrator. Herod makes his case ‘which was not as painful as would beﬁt an unfortunate necessity but very unlike what a father should say about his sons (oÈk Ùdunhrån …w prÚw énãgkhn œn ±tÊxei, ple›ston d¢ épeoiku›an √ patØr §p‹ pais‹n ên e‡poi). For he was violent (b¤aiow går ∑n) and emotional in demonstrating their guilt, and he gave the strongest signs of fury and savagery (ka‹ m°gista yumoË ka‹ égriÒthtow §ned¤dou shme›a).’ Josephus’ opinion concerning virtuous fatherly behaviour is clear. Herod’s violence and savagery is here emphasised to such an extent that his humanness is almost lost. His inhuman, wild, uncontrolled behaviour, which was already introduced in 16.258 (see above), here takes another turn for the worse. The extended authorial comment in chapters 395–404 comes at the end of book 16, in conclusion to the episode of the sons’ trial and execution.185 Here, the narrator’s reﬂections on Herod’s grave 185 The LCL editor points out (LCL 410:161 n. c) that chapters 395–404 are ‘wanting in the Latin [and] are regarded by Richards and Shutt (p. 172) as “almost certainly additions made to the second edition of the work, prepared and perhaps not completed by the author”. Cf. Thackeray, Historian, p. 67. However, it seems to me that Josephus’ authorial comment here is closely connected to the immediate (and wider) narrative context in theme, language and tenor and hence could be attributed to Josephus after all.

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misfortune extend from the particular to the universal: again, more general explanations are attempted and philosophical contentions are made. It is diﬃcult, the narrator contends, to decide who is to blame for the events: whether it is the sons, who ‘drove their father to the extreme of anger’; whether it may have been Herod himself, ‘who was so unfeeling and so immoderate in his desire to rule and to enjoy other forms of glory’ (épay∞ ka‹ perittÚn ˆnta per‹ tØn §piyum¤an t∞w érx∞w ka‹ t∞w êllhw eÈdoj¤aw), or indeed ‘Fortune, who has a power greater than all prudent reﬂection’ (tØn tÊxhn pantÚw eÈgn≈monow logimoË me¤zv tØn dÊnamin §sxhku›an). In the end, the narrator concedes that Fortune is the greater power that determines human action (397). It should be noted that the Jewish God is absent from the argument. This is mildly surprising, given Josephus’ strong predilection for interpreting much of Herod’s conduct by way of divine retribution. However, the doctrine of free will186 is mentioned nonetheless (398). After this intermittent general comment, Josephus returns to ‘the other two causes’, namely Herod and his sons, and demonstrates why each of them could be blamed (the sons for ingratitude, conceit and maliciousness, 399, and Herod in 400–404). Herod, it turns out, is here considered to be the main intentional culprit. He ‘should not be thought worthy of respect because of his unfatherly loyalty to them (§k toË per‹ §ke¤nouw ésebÆmatow) since without obtaining any clear evidence . . . he had the hardihood to kill his own ﬂesh and blood.’ Herod, continues Josephus, added insult to a grave injury since they posed no real threat to his security. Enjoying Roman support, he could have kept them alive after having them condemned but again chose to commit an impious act. Herod’s swift execution of his sons, especially in his old age, is ‘a sign of an irreligious spirit that is beyond assessment’ (és°beiaw tekmÆrion énupotimÆtou). Furthermore, Josephus is adamant that Herod cannot be pardoned (403). And what is the reason for that? Again, it is Herod’s conscious awareness of his deeds and his long deliberation (403). Josephus concludes his extended comment with another proleptic reference, noting that ‘Herod also revealed the same traits in his later acts,’

186

Which might be a notion associated with Pharisaism, cf. AJ 18.12–15.

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but in order to preserve the dramatic climax of the current episode and to emphasise the tragic qualities, he adds that although Herod himself showed ‘equal cruelty’ (tÚ dÉ »mÚn ˜moion) towards his victims, ‘justice made men pity them less for their destruction’ (tÚ m¢n d¤kaion ¶latton §po¤ei sumpaye›syai toÁw épollum°nouw).187 The authorial comment in 17.32 is short and refers back to the preceding digression concerning Herod’s settlement of the Babylonian Jews in Batanea (23–31).188 Josephus uses this comment simply as a way back into the main narrative: ‘With Herod in the state I have described, the management of all aﬀairs (tå pãnta prãgmata) fell to Antipater.’ The next authorial intervention (17.60) allows Josephus to direct the attention towards Antipater’s increasing misfortunes, and at the same time to create dramatic anticipation and also be somewhat didactic: ‘This [Pheroras’ death] proved to be the beginning of Antipater’s misfortunes (kak«n §g°neto érxÆ)189 even though he had sailed to Rome, for God was punishing him for the murder of his brothers (t∞w édelfokton¤aw aÈtÚn tinnum°nou yeoË). Josephus continues to declare that he ‘shall relate the whole story of this in order that it may be an example and warning to mankind to practise virtue in all circumstances’ (parãdeigma t“ ényrvpe¤ƒ genhsÒmenon toË éretª politeÊsontow §p‹ pçsin’). Josephus then relates the discovery of Antipater’s intrigues in detail (61–82). Following the detailed account of the disclosure of Antipater’s scheming, Josephus concludes this part of the account (chapter 82) with a clariﬁcation of the puzzling fact that Antipater is still free, and unaware of the situation: ‘The reason for this was the careful guarding of the roads and the general hatred of Antipater (ka‹ m›sow t«n ényr≈pvn tÚ prÚw ÉAnt¤patron), for there was no one who was found willing to endanger himself in order to provide for Antipater’s safety.’ The public hatred, which was directed towards Herod before, is now turned against his son. This is yet a further sign of the total deterioration of the royal Herodian house and of the growing animosity towards the Herodians in Judea.

187 On the negative (contemptuous) aspects of pity, and on pity and power in the ancient world see Konstan, Pity, 1–25 and his chapter 3. 188 See above, pp. 125–126. 189 This is similar to Josephus’ comment in the parallel BJ narrative and bears similar signiﬁcance. See chapter 2, p. 100, n. 78, and above p. 132, n. 62.

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The following narrator intervention (17.125) comes within the account of Antipater’s trial. Following Nicolaus’ speech against Antipater,190 others come forward and disclose incriminating information concerning Herod’s son. Many kinds of proofs of the crimes Antipater committed are given. But these, explains Josephus, ‘could not be assailed on the ground of falsity because the majority spoke not out of goodwill to Herod nor from fear of the danger . . . but because they considered Antipater’s acts wicked’ (éllå t“ ponhrã te ≤ge›syai tå prãgmata) and ‘believed him deserving of extreme punishment (ponhr¤& d¢ tª aÈtoË pãshw êjion timvr¤aw) not for the sake of protecting Herod but because of his own villainy.’ It is not a matter of choosing between good and bad but between bad and worse, and the choice here is clear. These events, and this authorial comment, run along the same line Josephus brought forward in his previous intervention: the public grows more and more impatient with the atrocities of the Herodians, and more adamant that justice be done. The following comment (chapter 129) is also included in the account of Antipater’s trial. Antipater, who begins to understand his dire situation, appeals to God for defence. Whether he does so with sincere intentions or as an act of courtroom rhetoric is not immediately disclosed. However, Josephus’ comment on this unexpected evocation discloses a little more: For it is the custom for all those who are lacking in virtue (pãntew oÂw §pile¤pei éret∞w) to rule out the Deity’s (toË yeioË) intervention in all matters when they undertake a crime and to proceed to act in accordance with their own purpose, but when they are caught in the act and are in danger of having to pay the penalty, they seek to overthrow all the testimony against them by calling upon His help’.

The immediate reference is to Antipater, but the more general tone indicates, perhaps, that these words are directed towards other selfcentred individuals who forego piety and compassion in the name of pursuing their own interests.191

190

See above, pp. 172–175. This subtle reference to Herod’s conduct should, however, be taken with caution. Nowhere in the narrative does Josephus make Herod directly invoke God, not even under the worst of circumstances. Perhaps indeed this ‘custom’ remains conﬁned within the courtroom. 191

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The last direct authorial intervention in the narrative is in chapter 180. It is an explicit and very severe comment concerning Herod’s ﬂawed nature. Referring to Herod’s frenzied death wish—to execute the crowd assembled in the theatre at Jericho—Josephus casts his ﬁnal blow on the king’s character. Whereas in earlier comments the narrator provided some kind of an explanation for Herod’s conduct,192 here he seems to have nearly run out of possible explanations. This last wish of Herod, he states, is an ultimate proof that ‘the man’s character had nothing human to recommend it’ (oÈd¢n ényrvpe›on). This conclusion, says Josephus, is unavoidable in the circumstances ‘if, when he was about to leave this world, he took care to leave the entire nation in a state of mourning over the loss of their dearest ones, and gave orders to do away with one member of each household, although they had done nothing wrong.’ Herod’s selfcentredness, suspicious nature, emotional turmoil, violence and impiety are all expressed in an extreme manner in his last wish that in the end is not fulﬁlled. Josephus will later express a mellower view of Herod in his obituary (17.192).193 But for the moment, it seems that the old king would not go gracefully. The historian’s voice as expressed in the authorial comments and narrator interventions is amply heard throughout the narrative. There is little doubt in my opinion that this is indeed one voice: the themes, the verbal echoes, the ideas expressed in the ﬁrst person and by way of regaining focalization are coherent all throughout the narrative and often correspond with the earlier account of the BJ. Josephus uses this rhetorical device to express his opinion, enhance the dramatic tension, frame episodes, summarise and conclude thematic parts of the narrative and keep an active and continuous dialogue with his audience. Often, the narrator’s comments bear the same tone—strong disapproval of Herod’s deeds—and emphasise the king’s ﬂawed moral and religious conduct (as well as that of a few of his household members). The continuous evocation of Herod’s problematic behaviour

192

In 16.150–59, above pp. 172–173, and to a certain extent in 16.395–404, above pp. 177–179. 193 See above under ‘Obituaries and Accounts of Death’, pp. 133–134.

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and the repeated mentioning of public disapproval seem to strengthen underlying messages of the entire narrative—as well as AJ as a whole—such as the moral superiority of the Jewish religion, or the futility of human vanity and hybris. It seems that Josephus chose to use diﬀerent rhetorical devices for emphasising diﬀerent themes. His authorial comments, explicit and unequivocal in their criticism of Herod, seem to stress these themes even further and at the same time, to repeatedly reassert his own control of the narrative. Despite the length of the account and complex structure, we still cannot ignore the resonant narrating voice. A well-heard narrator in the case of AJ indeed allows a certain degree of embedded focalization for his main protagonist, but Josephus’ verbosity compensates for this temporary loss of narrative control and reminds the readers who really remains in charge throughout. Conclusion The AJ Herod narrative provides Josephus with a second chance and a greater scope for the portraiture of the king. While it has already been made clear in the BJ narrative that Herod’s life was not entirely blessed with prosperity and tranquility, the later account seems to be concentrating even more on the sinister aspects of the king’s life, and accentuate the drama and emotional turmoil. This diﬀerence, as has been stated above, is a result of many causes: the diﬀerence in length between the narratives; their interaction with the works in general and the immediate context; the diversity of themes and diﬀerent messages Josephus chooses to focus on in either work. But it seems to me that another reason for the diﬀerence in tone and structure lies in Josephus’ own evolution as a historian. I shall return to this issue in the general conclusion. For now, let us focus on the AJ narrative. In the AJ narrative, Josephus seems to write more freely and more extensively about Herod, express sharper criticism of the king and his ways and employ the rhetorical tools with considerable ﬂexibility. The length and scope of the narrative make for further diversity of style and tone than the earlier BJ narrative, but even so, I hope to have made clear that Josephus retains his strong editorial hand throughout. Exercising ﬂexibility in both style and content seem to me to be not a sign of weakness on Josephus’ part but rather a sign

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of the historian’s conﬁdence and individualism regarding both the content and the form.194 Josephus’ familiarity with the Herodian material tends to result in a certain freedom he allows himself, to stray from previous patterns and develop his portrait of Herod into a more rounded—and more opinionated—narrative. The complexity of Herod’s history, which was well demonstrated in the BJ narrative by the sharp contrast of fates between Herod’s public and private domains, is here treated from a diﬀerent angle and ﬁnds expression in the complexity of the narrative structure, the implementation of rhetorical tools and the more rounded, albeit more negative, portrait of Herod. Complexity of aﬀairs aside, Josephus concentrates on the toll those highly charged circumstances have taken on Herod’s life. Indeed, this could have been a real tear-jerker: the swift rise to power, the friendships and betrayals, the passion and the perversity are all present in the narrative, all in turn augmented by the rhetorical devices Josephus uses in abundance in his story. Furthermore, the allusions to tragedy, both in language and in ideas, are prevalent. Notions such as impiety (és°beia), moral pollution (tÚ m¤aron), justice and injustice (tÚ d¤kaion, éd¤khma) all play an important part in the intricate composition of Herod’s life, reign and character. These notions are emphasised even more by Josephus’ narrating voice. The narrator here adopts a distinctively emotional tone and seems much more engaged in the events in comparison with the more distant (but still very assertive) voice he adopted in the earlier narrative. It seems that whereas in BJ the narratorial assertiveness was more a result of technicalities and structure, here in AJ the resonance of the narrator is more expressed through Josephus’ explicit voice and a greater display of emotion. Josephus’ authorial comments are not necessarily more frequent, but express more emotions, more freely (his own feelings concerning the events, as well as reporting those of the other characters present). Also more frequent are references to tragedy or the tragic nature of events195 and moralistic

194 On historiographical individualism and patterns of reaction and innovation in ancient historiography see Marincola, ‘Genre’, and Authority, passim. 195 Especially in book 16 (e.g. 16.155; 395–404) where events take on a more dramatic turn, culminating in the execution of Alexander and Aristobulus, Mariamme’s sons.

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observations concerning the impiety of Herod’s (and later Antipater’s) deeds.196 It seems that at least in terms of actual display of (a broad spectrum of ) emotions in the narrative, Josephus’ voice goes to great lengths in order to put the emphasis on Herod’s negative traits (tyrannical nature, turbulent mood swings, cruelty, impiety). This is achieved mainly by the use of authorial comments, and at the same time allowing more embedded focalization for Herod. Josephus creates the illusion to his audience that a truly moving narrative unfolds. Yet the excess of emotions and many tragic references do not suﬃce. Herod’s character in the AJ may be slightly more emotionally engaging than in the earlier BJ,197 but the emotions of the narratees are evoked mostly in one direction: Herod arouses anger, repulsion perhaps, but that, it seems, is not quite enough to make his tragic qualities convincing, even for a historiographical character.198 We never feel for him. Josephus the narrator may hint heavily at his intention to emplot the Herod narrative along a tragic pattern,199 but he never takes the next step in that direction: that of enabling Herod to adopt more deeply the tragic qualities alluded to, and hence, arouse a little more pity and sympathy (and not just fear, revulsion or anger). It never happens, because despite the occasional cases where he allows a glimpse into Herod’s point of view (by way of embedded focalization), Josephus still remains the main focalizer of the narrative. That, i.e. Josephus’ awareness to the importance of focalization and his almost constant retention of it, is yet another attestation of his historiographical conﬁdence. The discrepancy between the highly charged rhetoric of the narrative and the explicit emotional tone on the one hand, and Herod’s

196

These are more prominent in book 17 (e.g. 17.129–130; 180–81). I.e., he draws more emotional ‘focus’ (to return to Heath’s term). See above, p. 109. 198 That is not to suggest of course that such emotions are not evoked by ‘real’ tragic characters, such as Medea. However, Medea also evokes pity, perhaps even sympathy, because her actions are driven by a deep moral conviction (even if the morality itself is questionable), and not only by emotional weakness. 199 See Marincola, ‘Genre’, 304. Marincola quotes Hayden White’s suggestion in his Metahistory, concerning the patterns which historical narratives tend to follow: comedy, tragedy, romance or satire. He observes correctly that ‘even if we disagree with the categories and their exclusivity, nonetheless it cannot be denied that historians ‘read’ the events of their history in a certain way.’ 197

herod’s portrait in the

AJ

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poor performance in terms of audience identiﬁcation and empathy on the other, creates a certain uneasiness around the narrative. This uneasiness ﬁnds expression in the sharp ironic tone of the entire account (as well as of certain key episodes), and an inability to reach historical catharsis—or at least to feel that the story reaches some kind of a moral conclusion or lesson to posterity. However, we should remember that Herod’s life, however tragic it may be, is not written as tragedy per se, but as history—perhaps history with a tragic pattern, but still, history. Conﬁdent as Jopephus may be in his authorial role and partial as he may be towards the inclusion of emotions in a historical account,200 to generic borrowing, individual creativity, and to the constant ﬂexing of his historiography muscle—in the end, the historian remains loyal to his primary profession. Josephus could not allow, and probably never intended to make, a full transgression of generic conventions and audience expectations,201 however ﬂexible those may be.

200 201

Expressed e.g. in the proem to the BJ, 1.9–12. See Wheeldon, “True Stories”, 37–50.

CONCLUSION

In the opening lines of act three, scene two of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the prince speaks to the actors about to put on a play in the palace. He gives them stage directions, which, no doubt, they had better not ignore: For in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, it oﬀends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant—it out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.

Hamlet prefers temperance and restraint and believes even the most tumultuous passions can be transmitted to the audience by well-controlled means. He is well aware of the diﬀerence between content and form, or in other words—of that smooth but eﬃcient tool called rhetoric. The reference to Herod, I must admit, surprised me at ﬁrst. But this should come as no surprise: Herod had been infamous for his passionate character and turbulent life long before Shakespeare1 and has continued to raise interest in writers and audiences alike long after.2 It is perhaps not just the story of Herod but Josephus’ well-composed narratives, and especially the later AJ account, that contributed to this longstanding interest.3 Let us return to the four elements of the analysis outlined in the introduction and summarise Josephus’ art of narration as examined throughout this book. Josephus It seems that Josephus, too, was paying close attention to that fascinating gap between facts and their written transmission, between 1 Stories such as the Massacre of Innocents, Matthew 1.16, and later Talmudic references to Herod, e.g. B. Sanhedrin 19a–b or Baba Bathra 3b–4a. 2 Most recently in Edna Mazia’s play, ‘Herod’, performed by the Israeli Kameri theatre in 2000. 3 Josephus may not have been directly familiar to Shakespeare, but his narratives probably inﬂuenced the negative Christian tradition about Herod.

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deeds and words,4 or to put it in narratological terms, between story and narration. I hope to have shown throughout my analysis not only that he did, but also how his meticulous implementation of rhetorical devices allowed him to address the issue. The analysis of the Herod narratives in chapters 2 and 3 above has revealed that Josephus was neither a sloppy compiler of earlier sources, nor an indiﬀerent or careless historian. Moreover, a comparative reading of the Herod narratives seems to me to be an excellent test-case for examining the evolution of Josephus the historian. Treating the same material twice, and in two diﬀerent ways, allows a modern reader to follow the growth of authorial conﬁdence in writing history. Not many examples of such a process survived from antiquity. The interest in that, I believe, transgresses many generic boundaries. The Herod narratives present us with an opportunity to examine Josephus’ good knowledge of Greco-Roman historiography and command of rhetoric. He alludes to earlier historians whether in name or in his historical craft (Thucydides, Polybius, Nicolaus and Strabo, to name but a few), implements rhetorical tools throughout the narratives, and moreover, allows himself the freedom to pick and choose from diﬀerent historiographical schools, rather than blindly stick to one or the other.5 This, of course, should come as no surprise. It has long been demonstrated that ancient historians were in fact much more ﬂexible, creative and innovative in their perception and practice of writing history than Jacoby might have led us to believe.6 Josephus, of course, was not aware of the modern diﬀerentiation between author and narrator. But a narratological reading, as this book suggests,7 reveals a strong and opinionated narrating voice, who has a thematic agenda and takes editorial decisions (such as the thematic partition of the BJ Herod narrative) that are clearly independent from the earlier source.8 This voice, however strong its narratorial If I may borrow Thucydides’s distinction between lÒgow and ¶rgon into a slightly diﬀerent context. 5 On some generic diﬀerences between BJ and AJ see the general introduction, pp. 6–17 (and notes). On Josephus’ possible historiographical inﬂuences see chapter 1, pp. 39–67. 6 Most fruitful in making this point is Marincola, in Authority, ‘Genre’ and most recently, ‘Emotions’ and the forthcoming ‘Towards a New Interpretation’. I have gladly followed Marincola’s suggestions in this direction. They shed much light upon Josephus’ methodology. 7 I have outlined my methodology in the general introduction, pp. 30–38. 8 On Josephus and Nicolaus see the general introduction, pp. 23–27. 4

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function is, cannot be entirely severed from the historical (‘real’) Josephus. This is the case not only because readers of historical texts assume an aﬃnity, if not identity, between author and narrator,9 but also because in Josephus’ case his life circumstances seem to have a considerable degree of inﬂuence over his writing. Moreover, Josephus the narrator seems to establish such a connection in the level of the text, when claiming that life circumstances (experience in war, knowledge of Jewish religion and history, aﬃnity with the Flavians) were relevant to his historical method and vouched for its quality and reliability.10 Josephus’ audience, real and aﬀected, is thus invited to make this connection too. Herod’s life had presented Josephus with an excellent opportunity a historian could usually only wish for: available and detailed source material, and a fascinating subject matter whose trials and tribulations were not only appealing by themselves but also proved to be very relevant for Josephus’ understanding of Jewish history. Herod’s four-decade reign was undoubtedly one of the most important episodes in Second Temple Judean history. The ‘commoner turned into king’, as Josephus describes him in the AJ obituary,11 had a fair share of good and bad and had equally endowed his kingdom with both. His usurpation of power and ousting of the Hasmoneans, his close political alliance with Rome, his wise economic policy, benefactions to Diaspora Jews (and pagan cities) and extensive building projects caused both suspicion and relief among Judeans. His notorious temper, paranoid behaviour, outrageous means of obtaining power and sheer cruelty certainly did not make life easier for his subjects, nor did his Idumean background and Greek cultural aﬃliation. All of that, in available detail from Nicolaus’ history and autobiography, must have increased Josephus’ temptation to write about

9

See the general introduction, p. 30ﬀ. BJ 1.1–3. By this I do not mean to claim a superﬁcial and direct connection between life and works (such as explaining the BJ as pro-Flavian propaganda, the AJ as Jewish apologetic) but a deeper and more complex web of ideas, emotions and cultural inﬂuences that may have found their way into Josephus’ works (such as the strong (Greek) emphasis on freedom, §leuyer¤a, in both BJ and AJ (esp. the Hasmonean account, or the (Biblical) theme of sin and punishment all through the AJ ). D. J. Ladouceur, ‘Masada: A Consideration of the Literary Evidence’, GRBS 21 (1980:245–260), oﬀers an analysis of the speeches of Josephus (BJ 3.362–82) and Eleazar (BJ 7.323–336; 341–388) in light of Josephus’ actual circumstances in Rome. 11 AJ 17.191–2. 10

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Herod. It is a story that begs to be told again—this time, in a manner most suitable for its main protagonist. But it seems to me (and this is a cautious remark), that Herod’s bi-cultural life had more in it for Josephus: he, too, hovered between Jerusalem and Rome; while by no means exercising cruelty or tyranny Josephus, too, aroused suspicion among his compatriots; and in his writing, much as he did in reality, he approved very much of the alliance between Judea and Rome. Only he, as opposed to Herod, lived to see the grim results of breaking this alliance. Moreover, it seems that the temptation to tell Herod’s story twice was too strong to resist in another way. Perhaps, it provided Josephus with an excellent opportunity to examine his own writing. For the modern reader, at least, the parallel Herod narratives provide an invaluable glimpse into the evolution of a historian’s voice.12 While in the BJ Josephus’ voice was mostly expressed by technical means (narrative structure and rhetorical devices) and his command of them, in AJ we meet a more expressive authorial voice in terms of opinions, literary allusions, moral lessons and display of emotions. The strength of the BJ narrative seems to me to be in its structure. The concise account, the sharp contrast between public and private, the meticulous display of rhetorical tools and the strong hold of Josephus over his protagonist might be marks of a novice historian. Talented, of course, and educated—but one that does not allow himself more freedom in other aspects of writing. In AJ, on the other hand, we meet him twenty years later. This time, everyone is older and wiser. Josephus treats the Herod material with what seems to be a deeper breath—in scope, for sure, but also in structure and content. While the story remains the same, there is much ampler room for Josephus’ own voice to be heard and it is safer to express it—both in terms of historical circumstances and author/audience relationship. Indeed, it was in BJ that Josephus declared he would include emotions in his historical narration.13 But it is in the later narrative that he allows a broader gamut of emo-

12 By ‘voice’ I do not refer here to the narratological narrative function but to the individual amalgamation of language, style, tone and theme that make a writer’s voice whatever his chosen genre may be. 13 BJ 1.9–12. the declaration refers to the entire work, not only to the Herod narrative.

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tions to come forth, and lets his main protagonist arouse more of those in the prospective audience. Josephus seems to be more at ease with letting go of narrative control and alluding more explicitly to tragedy. This, as was noted in the conclusion to chapter 3, is indeed a mark of his strength and conﬁdence as a historian and not of a careless or unintended generic slip of pen. The Herod narratives, then, allowed Josephus to return—or rather revisit—familiar grounds and reexamine himself, his audience and his profession. These remarks are of course only food for thought. We cannot but suggest that this was so, by way of our own authorial empathy. Josephus cannot be said to have admired Herod blindly. He certainly did not like him. Even in the earlier BJ narrative, whose tone is more pro-Herodian (or at least not as explicitly critical), Josephus (the narrator) adopts a reluctant and somewhat distant stance when he talks about Herod. That, as we have seen above in chapter 2, creates a dissonance between the dramatic display of events and the un-empathetic portrait of Herod himself.14 In the AJ narrative, he allows himself more explicit criticism (of both Herod and Nicolaus) and a harsher and less forgiving tone.15 We have seen throughout chapters 2 and 3 how great is the rhetorical emphasis Josephus put on Herod and the account of his reign.16 The two narratives are products of a well-versed and conscientious historian. Josephus takes care to use Greco-Roman rhetoric to convey both Greek and Jewish ideas and thus display an impressive control of the narratives, augmented by means of an assertive narrating voice. He moulds the Herod story into two works that are quite diﬀerent in style, length and emphases. The portrait of Herod in each work is diﬀerent, again ﬁtting into the wider scheme of themes

14 See the conclusion to chapter 2, pp. 106–113. More on that below, under ‘Herod’, p. 194ﬀ. 15 See chapter 3, p. 160ﬀ. Some scholars (e.g. Laqueur, Historiker, ch. 5) explain these diﬀerences as stemming either from Josephus’ own ‘development’ and change of political opinion, or from his aﬃliation with the later Herodians (e.g. Agrippa II). By the time the AJ was published, they were no longer alive, and therefore Josephus was safe to express more critical opinions concerning Herod. That might be the case. But perhaps there are more reasons for the diﬀerences between the narratives, such as the generic diﬀerences between BJ and AJ, diﬀerent thematic agenda and the natural stylistic evolution of Josephus as a historian. 16 Pp. 69–185. See also the summary below, under ‘Rhetoric’, pp. 192–193.

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and ideas on Josephus’ agenda.17 These are by no means sloppy, careless or unoriginal narratives. The narrating of the story of Herod, in both BJ and AJ, matches its lurid and dramatic content in both cases (albeit diﬀerently). At times it seems that Josephus even surpasses his original story with dramatic ornamentation and rhetorical ﬂair. It seems that in his own way, on his own historiographical turf, Josephus out-Herods Herod. The variety of Josephan borrowing18 and of conclusions in modern research concerning his style and historical method19 could perhaps lead into one certainty: that Josephus was a multicultural, original and well-read historian, who composed his works both in the light of broader conventions and according to his independent agenda. Modern research, especially studies that see ancient historiography in a broader and more ﬂexible light, may also breathe a sigh of relief: as we have seen, it is nearly impossible to ﬁt Josephus into any one rigid category of historiography. Even within his own corpus, works diﬀer greatly in style and tone. But that no longer needs to be considered as an attestation to methodological carelessness, shameless plagiarism, heavy leaning on assistants or any such notion. Josephus unfolds as a creative, fruitful and methodologically-versed historian. Moreover: in his generic open-mindedness, ﬂexibility, response to earlier works and freedom of expression, he proves to be not very diﬀerent from many of his counterparts in antiquity.20 Rhetoric Josephus uses an abundance of rhetorical techniques in both of the Herod narratives. Most of the rhetorical devices in the accounts, as we have seen in chapters 2 and 3, are typical of Greco-Roman historiography (earlier to and contemporaneous with Josephus). Among the most frequent rhetorical tools found in the Herod narratives are digressions, speeches, obituaries, descriptions of natural and super-

17

See more below, under ‘Herod’, p. 194ﬀ. See chapter 1, pp. 66–68. 19 See the general introduction, pp. 7–9 (and notes), and appendix 1. 20 Marincola, ‘Genre’ pp. 309–321, suggests a similar reading of other ancient historians. 18

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natural phenomena, and ﬁrst-person editorial comments. These rhetorical devices are not, however, conﬁned to the Herod narratives but appear throughout Josephus’ works.21 The diﬀerence is the extent to which they are implemented. The Herod narratives of BJ and AJ both stand out in their rich and complex rhetorical makeup, compared to other sections of either work. Moreover, and well within the conventions of Greco-Roman historiography,22 Josephus takes the liberty to outline his methodology, rewrite his sources, pass criticism on earlier historians, and allude in his writing not only to those but also to Greek and Roman epic, philosophy and tragedy.23 Diﬀerent emphases in the implementation of rhetorical tools within the two Herod narratives help to create the diﬀerences in form, length, and style and in a sense, help in conveying the diﬀerent thematic emphases of each narrative (e.g. danger of tyranny and the beneﬁt of alliance with Rome in BJ; dangers of impiety, moral deterioration and the ultimate surrendering of man to greater forces in AJ). That is not to say that there is a direct and clear relation between rhetorical tools and certain themes, only to point out that the diﬀerences in form sometimes create diﬀerences in thematic emphases. This is to Josephus’ credit: his rhetorical competence results in each narrative in a diﬀerent image of Herod. While the Herod narrative of the BJ is rhetorically governed by its thematic structure, the longer AJ narrative is related chronologically. Obituaries, for instance, seem to be a strong rhetorical device in the earlier account in that they provide a structural axis for the narrative and convey in a nutshell the pattern of deterioration. In AJ, precedence is given to speeches and ﬁrst-person authorial comments. The BJ narrative, concise and conﬁned within the thematic frame of the account of the Jewish War, focuses on the advantages of an alliance with Rome and the dangers of tyranny and sedition. The AJ narrative, more expanded and detailed, highlights the biblical themes of divine retribution and adherence to the Mosaic Law.24

21 22 23 24

Appendix 3 below lists the instances where they appear in BJ and AJ. See chapter 1, p. 53ﬀ. Examples, of course, abound. See throughout chapters 2 and 3. See examples in chapter 3, passim.

194

conclusion HEROD

The diﬀerences summarised above ultimately result not only in two diﬀerent narratives, but in two diﬀerent portraits of Herod. King Herod in the BJ is close in traits and spirit to many Greek and Roman characters.25 His virtues are Greco-Roman: he is strong in body and soul, he excels in battle, in wrestling and in hunting; he is skilled in rhetoric and in general blessed by Fortune.26 His vices, too, echo those of pagan tyrants like Herodotus’ Cambyses or Xerxes: he is slave to his passions, cruel, violent towards his subjects and family alike, and fails to see his good fortune until after it is gone.27 Following Momigliano’s observation that Herodotus’ portraits of tyrants usually feature Oriental kings,28 it is worth noting here that Herod’s resemblance to Herodotean tyrants might close a circle of thematic and historiographical interaction between East and West. Herod resembles tyrants in Greek historiography, whose portraiture may have been inﬂuenced by Oriental writing in the ﬁrst place. Of course, there is no way to determine the exact course of mutual inﬂuences. But simply noting the phenomenon might teach us something more about the diﬀusion of ideas and rhetorical conventions in antiquity. Now all of that, in addition to the distinctively Greco-Roman characteristics of the BJ account and Josephus’ evident penchant for drama,29 oﬀers us an almost too easy answer to the riddle of Herod’s portrait: surely, Herod as a historiographical ﬁgure bears many allusions and similarities to tragic heroes. This was not uncommon for ancient historians. Generic boundaries aside, they freely alluded to tragedy and tragic ﬁgures, ideas and even linguistic varieties.30 Again, let me stress that this generic reaction does not mean the foregoing

25

Cf. Nicolaus’ portrait of Augustus. See in Toher, ‘Nicolaus and Herod’. BJ 1.429–30. See my analysis in chapter 2. 27 BJ 1.430. Note also Josephus’ comments on Herod’s behaviour following Mariamme’s execution, 1.444. 28 On possible inﬂuences on Josephus from the Greco-Roman genre of biography see chapter 2, pp. 74–75. Cf. A. Momigliano, ‘Eastern Elements in Post-Exilic Jewish, and Greek, Historiography’ in his Essays in Ancient and Modern Historiography (1977: 25–35, esp. 30). More on ancient biography in Momigliano, The Development of Greek Biography (expanded edition, 1993), esp. his chapter 4. 29 Declared explicitly in BJ 1.9–12. See the general introduction, pp. 10–12. 30 Examples abound. See throughout chapters 2 and 3 for Josephan instances and other. 26

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of generic awareness either on the author’s part or on his audience’s. We may return to Hayden White and John Marincola and point once again to their suggestions concerning possible patterns of history and alternative categories for historiographical genres.31 If we understand historiography to be an individual expression of voices and tendencies and see in historical writing an opportunity to interact both within the (broader) generic boundaries and outside them, then the portraiture of a historical ﬁgure along the lines of tragic characters may not seem so odd after all. The complexity of the portraiture of Herod is where Josephus’ historical craft is perhaps best expressed. Despite the excessive drama of the story itself and the increasingly dramatic manner of its relation and of the literary allusions, Herod in the end fails to pass as a convincing tragic hero, even one within the boundaries of historiography.32 The gap lies not between genres, but between technical means and emotional impact. The portrait of Herod is a well-adorned one, but it lacks a human depth that would have enabled the reader to feel any elaborate emotion, fear or pity included, towards this colourful protagonist. Herod’s political success is described in the BJ almost mechanically, as if his topos of a character prevails over his independent portrait. This symbolic quality has a rhetorical power of its own, and, and some modern thinkers have it, might also be emblematic of historical texts, whichever form they take.33 Herod’s personal misfortunes, in turn, fail to arouse empathy because among other things, in Josephus’ consistently focalizing narration, they are inﬂicted upon Herod by none other than himself, in full awareness, without remorse or regret, and with no moral or vengeful driving forces behind them. The emotional dissonance of the BJ narrative is antithetic, perhaps, to some kind of a tragic catharsis that might have been expected if this were indeed a tragedy—but it is nevertheless as impressive. It is achieved not by a dull story, nor by a careless relation but by

31

Best summarised in Marincola, ‘Genre’, esp. section III. See my discussion in the conclusions of chapters 2 and 3 above, p. 106ﬀ. and 182ﬀ. respectively. 33 I have elaborated on that in the general introduction, p. 20ﬀ., and the conclusion to chapter 2, pp. 106–113. I refer here once again to H. White, ‘The Historical Text as Literary Artifact’, 18–22. 32

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precisely the opposite: a fascinating account, related by an assertive, meticulous and well-versed narrator. And that ironic eﬀect, if nothing else, is the mark of a gifted (hi)storyteller—if not in full bloom. The AJ, which in general has a more prominent Jewish slant, still has Herod portrayed along Greco-Roman lines. Josephus implements similar rhetorical tools to those he used in the BJ, albeit with diﬀerent emphases. Moreover, he introduces and emphasises themes, such as divine retribution and the importance of adhering to the Jewish Law, which were absent from the earlier account.34 In the later portrait of Herod, Josephus allows himself to be more explicitly critical of the king. Herod’s Hellenistic predispositions, some of which were formerly hailed as virtues, are more likely here to be viewed as unlawful breaches of the Jewish religion.35 His vices, by the same token, are now not only a regrettable result of his slavery to passion or his tyrannical tendencies, but are portrayed by Josephus as impious, in the biblical sense, as sins that inevitably bring about divine retribution. We have noted above that one of most prominent rhetorical tools in the later narrative is ﬁrst-person authorial comments.36 Josephus’ narrating voice adopts a distinctively critical and more emotional stance towards Herod, his deeds and what they were seen like by his family and subjects. This, in combination with the length of the narrative and other rhetorical tools, results in a more negative portrait. This enhanced negativity opens the way for deeper emotions: in a way, Herod’s later and more gruesome portrait is also more involving to the reader, in that it arouses more emotions, unappealing as those may be. In his incessant and often pitiless criticism of Herod, Josephus succeeds in creating a deeper portrait that evokes fear, anger, disgust and frustration.37 But Herod’s portrait in the AJ still fails to be fully rounded, because it is as distant from pity and empathy almost as the earlier and more 34 This is well in accord with the rest of the work. See the general introduction, pp. 9–15. 35 This is expressed both in Josephus’ own words (e.g. AJ 15.267, 16.139,141) and in his description of the general dismay in Judea concerning Herod’s athletic games and pagan celebrations (15.275–277). See chapter 3, pp. 167, 171–172. 36 See chapter 3, p. 160ﬀ. 37 This range of emotions is certainly in accordance with ancient oratory and rhetorical theory, e.g. Cicero, de Or. II 206; Dionysius, Dem. 22. Marincola, ‘Emotions’, links between these opinions and ancient historiography, and his arguments seem very convincing.

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symbolic Herod is. This similar eﬀect occurs despite the obvious diﬀerences between the narratives: in both cases, Josephus achieves a distancing eﬀect by using diﬀerent tools. The earlier portrait focuses on Herod’s exemplary qualities: Josephus presents Herod’s traits as part of a broader and more abstract picture of ‘A Ruler’. Herod is more of a symbol than a human being.38 The dissonance between the excessive dramatic embellishment and the rather hollow protagonist results in passive indiﬀerence, perhaps irony, towards Herod. In the later portrait, on the other hand, Josephus lends freedom to explicit criticism and negative emotions towards the king. An increased aﬃnity between form and content here creates active dislike of Herod, instead of a disinterested reaction. In both cases, Josephus’ constant retention of the focalization of the narrative plays an important part in maintaining Herod’s distance from, and failure to invoke engaging emotions in, the narratees. Herod’s two portraits may fail to invoke more noble emotions in the reader, but together they form a complex picture of both protagonist and narrator. Our readers’ expectations may experience a certain disappointment, but our scholars’ minds ﬁnd an abundance of material to dwell upon when reading the parallel accounts. Nevertheless, Herod to this day is more commonly associated with the Massacre of Innocents than with the economic prosperity and relative political tranquility he brought upon Judea. He is remembered as the ‘half-Jew’, not as a ruler who, in his days of better judgement, had taken close care of adhering with Jewish and Judean law and customs. The two portraits of Herod neither contradict nor entirely complement each other. We hardly learn anything new about Herod from reading the AJ narrative, nor does his overall image change signiﬁcantly, or contradict the early account. The narratives complement each other on a diﬀerent level: there is an added emotional value to the later account, which adds human depth and individuality to the somewhat abstract and symbolic portrait of Herod in the BJ. But that, as we have seen, does not result in a full and empathetic portrait of the king of Judea. Herod may be more human, but his humanness is still incomplete. It neither arouses compassion

38

See the conclusion of chapter 2, pp. 106–113.

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nor is it truly frightening. Herod is an almost tragic hero of a history with a tragic pattern—but not quite so. Above all, the parallel reading of the Herod narratives, which I would presume to be a modern phenomenon,39 reveals the complexity of both Herod himself and the art of narration of his story and teaches us something more about the relationship between the historian and his craft. Herod was certainly a multifaceted character with many aﬃliations (Greek by culture, Roman by citizenship and Jewish by religion) and had a turbulent personality. The many aspects in which the history of Herod turned out to be relevant for Josephus required him to engage in a careful and conscientious process. He had to adapt his source material twice, and adjust the accounts to their respective works.40 Not only that, it seems Josephus also used this material in order to express and examine his own art of narration. It seems that almost every aspect of Herod’s rise to power and reign was relevant, thematically, for both the BJ and the AJ. Herod’s close alliance with Rome, which brought prosperity and relative peace to Judea, ﬁtted well with Josephus’ agenda in the BJ concerning the importance and wisdom of an alliance with Rome. Herod’s rash temper, love of honour and passionate predisposition echoed Josephus’ negative view of the Zealots and their destructive actions. The same outrageous behaviour had become relevant for the later work, too, as a reproachful model for impiety and transgression of the Jewish Law. Herod’s misfortunes, viewed more as self-inﬂicted in the BJ, become an example for the ways divine retribution works. On the other hand, Herod’s long and prosperous reign occupies a considerable part of the AJ not only because the source material was abundant, but also because this long period of Judean self-rule (preceded in the second Temple period only by the Hasmonean state), is an impressive piece of history to present to any audience, Jewish or not, in the name of praising Jews. And furthermore, as I suggested above, it is also possible that Herod had struck a personal chord with Josephus, a multicultural, troubled and frowned-upon

39 Although Josephus refers in the AJ to his earlier work, I would not venture to assume a priori that his audience had the earlier Herod narrative memorised, or immediately available for comparison. 40 See the general introduction, pp. 20–30.

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man himself, and an evolving and proliﬁc historian who more than once shared his methodological thoughts with his readers. All of that required a high degree of rhetorical and methodological competence, as well as historiographical knowledge and conﬁdence, from Josephus. It is one thing to compile material, but to mould and reshape it, twice, into coherent narratives41 whose narrator gains the upper hand in presentation and manipulation of characters and audience alike, is quite another. Narrative From a narratological point of view, both Herod narratives present us with an assertive and opinionated narrator, who remains the main focalizer throughout the accounts (despite the occasional allowing of embedded focalization for Herod in the AJ narrative). Josephus the author, responsible for both narratives, may perhaps retain slightly diﬀerent narrating personae in either case: the narrator’s impressive command of Greco-Roman rhetoric and historiographical convention—and ﬂexibility—in the BJ is augmented by an emphasis on Jewish ideals in the AJ. His distant stance towards Herod later becomes an explicit and unequivocal criticism. In both narratives, however, Josephus the narrator is in control of his story, his characters and his method of narration. While in the BJ it is more a case of technical control, in the later AJ we see a narrator who is conﬁdent enough to control his account by his tone and opinions. Indeed, the many diﬀerences between the BJ and AJ narratives may serve as an indication for Josephus’ overall command of historical craft and the art of narration. My choice of narratology as an interpretive method has been guided by Josephus’ display and control of rhetoric. The application of modern theory to ancient texts should be undertaken with caution.42 I hope not to have fallen into too many traps in my analysis and

41 I am aware of the linguistic and stylistic incoherencies in the later AJ narrative (cf. Laqueur, Historiker, Thackeray Historian, Shutt, Studies, Ladouceur ‘Language’, and Williams, ‘Assiatant Hypothesis’). Here, however, I refer to the thematic coherence (both internal and in relation to the respective works) and the consistent application of rhetorical tools. 42 I have indicated the main problems in the general introduction, pp. 30–38.

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interpretation of Josephus’ portraitures of Herod. Modern Josephan scholarship has been characterised, as many have indicated before me,43 by a strong emotional involvement with our subject matter not untypical of biblical and New Testament scholarship. There are many reasons for that phenomenon, aﬀecting both Jewish and Gentile scholars throughout the years. This subject certainly deserves a separate study which I hope to conduct in the future. This study has been an attempt to break free from as many biases as possible and, paraphrasing Moehring, to ‘read Josephus for the sake of what he actually says’44 and moreover, for how he says it. To this end, narratology (used with moderation) oﬀers a technical method that simultaneously allows a greater focus on the text, and a greater degree of scholarly distance from the subject matter. The focus on narratology has allowed me to grant Josephus’ texts a new angle of independence which, I feel, has made it possible to read the Herod narratives in a new and diﬀerent light and in turn to understand Josephus from a new perspective.45 Narratology, however, is but once choice of many, and it is by no means the only method whose application to Josephus may grant us a fresh perspective. Other methods, perhaps not so distinctively ‘textual’, may yield similar fruit. As for history, rhetoric and what lies between them: despite the presupposition that history’s quest for truth and rhetoric’s cunning ways of veiling it were a priori incompatible, or at least problematic,46 43 See e.g. the notes in the ﬁrst part of the general introduction and also Moehring, ‘Acta’. Moehring examines how certain biases, apologetic intentions and prejudices of modern scholars directly aﬀect their reading of Josephus. 44 Ibid. p. 128, where Moehring outlines the prejudices of modern Josephan scholars: “Josephus is not read for the sake of what he actually says, but rather for what he can be made to say by the appropriate methods of exegesis, or rather eisegesis” (my emphasis). 45 Together with narratology, modern readings of ancient historiography such as that of Marincola (op. cit.) shed a new and more illuminating light on Josephus. 46 Challenging this old assumption in relation to ancient historiography is e.g. Ginzburg, History, Rhetoric, 1–25 and passim. Ginzburg challenges the notion that rhetoric and proof are mutually exclusive and demonstrates how rhetoric, and especially narrative models, “play a role . . . at every stage of the [historical] research, creating both roadblocks and possibilities (p. 25)”. A. Momigliano, ‘Historicism Revisited’ in Momigliano, Essays, 365–373, has a somewhat diﬀerent view of the relations between history and rhetoric. Modern historical theories that address this issue include (among many) H. White, ‘The Question of Narrative’, Momigliano, ‘The Rhetoric of History’, and Barthes, ‘Discourse’. See the general introduction, pp. 18–20 (and notes).

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historical texts from Thucydides to Gibbon, from Josephus to modern day post-Zionist essays have always used rhetoric. Whether they did so with slight discomfort or with explicit pleasure is another question. But it seems that using rhetoric in historiography has almost always been accompanied with an added explanation. Whereas in practice rhetoric was most often an integral part of the historical method, there seems to be a theoretical need to study and explain the intricate relations between the two, whether in antiquity or in the modern era.47 While we may accept Momigliano’s contention that “Rhetoric does not pose questions of truth”,48 we may perhaps suggest that in the light of our historiographical examination, this qualiﬁcation alone does not suﬃce to exclude rhetoric from historiography. Rhetoric may be an inadequate tool for historical inquiry in the Greco-Roman sense, but ﬂstor¤a, as Greek and Roman historians have long observed,49 is not the only element in writing history. Truth and accuracy, however those are deﬁned, belong to one level of history: the level of inquiry and research. Rhetoric, or the art of how to deﬁne, arrange and relate the results of the inquiry, belongs to a diﬀerent level altogether: narration, or éfhgÆsiw.50 The two seem to have always coexisted in historiography. The complex and diversiﬁed possibilities of this coexistence have in turn occupied historians for more than two millennia. T. P. Wiseman’s observation of the diﬀerence between inquiry and narration51 seems all the more appealing when applying narratological tools to historical analysis. Narratology, too, allows for the coexistence of several levels simultaneously, puts emphasis on the art of narration and acknowledges the crucial role of the historian/narrator. It seems that in Josephus, and most especially in the Herod narratives, we ﬁnd a prime example of a fruitful coexistence of inquisitive methods and elaborate narration, both strongly controlled by an

47 Among ancient explanations for the use (or misuse) of rhetoric in historiography are Thuc. 1.22–3, Josephus BJ 1.9–12, Cicero, De Or. 2.51–64. 48 Momigliano, ‘Historicism’, 366–7. 49 Instances where Greco-Roman historians comment on their craft are numerous. For a few important examples see chapter 1 (and notes). 50 See the general introduction, pp. 10–11 (and notes). 51 Wiseman, ‘Lying Historians’, esp. 136–38. See the general introduction as in n. 32, p. 11.

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assertive narrator. And he, already in the opening paragraphs of his ﬁrst historical work,52 not only acknowledged the diﬀerent aspects of historical writing but also suggested a possible way of combining them. The careful combination of the historian’s critical mind and surging emotions came into elaborate display in the two accounts of the life of Herod. The task of balancing between Josephus’ texts, their historical contexts and our own biases remains a complex and delicate one. This tango of past and present may have been frustrating at times, but through it one learns a lot about one’s own borders, real and imagined, and how to broaden and make them more ﬂexible. Josephus’ life and works, laborious and full of painful moments, may be an example of such a process. Though there is no way of reconstructing it, the results have come down to us for further study and examination. While doing so, let us however bear in mind the words of Marc Bloch, perhaps a modern paraphrase of Josephus’ declaration53 in favour of the inclusion of emotions in history: Let us guard against stripping our science of its share of poetry. Let us also beware of the inclination, which I have detected in some, to be ashamed of this poetic quality. It would be sheer folly to suppose that history, because it appeals strongly to the emotions, is less capable of satisfying the intellect.54

52

BJ 1.2–3, 9–11. See the general introduction, pp. 9–11. BJ 1.12: “Should, however, any critic be too austere for pity, let him credit the history with the facts, the historian with the lamentations (eﬁ d° tiw o‡ktou sklhrÒterow e‡h dikastÆw, tå m¢n prãgmata tª ﬂstor¤& proskrin°tv, tåw dÉ ÙlofÊrseiw t“ grãfonti)”. See also the discussion in the general introduction, pp. 10–11. 54 Bloch, The Historian’s Craft, 7. 53

APPENDIX ONE

MODERN SCHOLARSHIP

Modern study of Josephus has enjoyed an abundance of approaches, analyses and contentions concerning almost every aspect of Josephus’ life and work. It seems that the rare combination of his life circumstances, his proliﬁc writing and the preservation of his corpus almost intact, have attracted many from academia and other ﬁelds alike.1 Moreover, the strong emotional undertone both in the works themselves and in their ensuing reception from very early on, have presented us with enough material to last for two millennia. Much attention has been given to Josephus’ life, his qualities and tendencies as a historian, and how these feature in his writing. More focused research concerning the peculiarity of Josephus’ historiography has been done in recent years, but still, work on the rhetorical traits of Josephus’ works, with special reference to the Greco-Roman characteristics of his writing, has been surprisingly scant. This appendix presents a survey of modern Josephan scholarship in two main areas: Josephus’ historiography (his method and style), and speciﬁc research concerning Herod and the Herodian dynasty. While there are many scholarly works in each of those areas, it seems there is still a need for further integrative research on Josephus’ historiography, especially concerning his use of rhetorical tools. The Herod narratives may be a good place to start, as their speciﬁc structural and rhetorical makeup serves as a good example for Josephus’ use and implementation of rhetorical conventions from Greco-Roman historiography. This survey comes in the form of an appendix for the beneﬁt of those who are interested in the evolution of recent Josephan scholarship.

1 Among the most recent works is the Hebrew novels by Yoram Avi-Tamar, Hayei Yosef: Hasefer Haganuz (2000), which is based upon Josephus’ Vita and BJ, and by Mino Ben-Gigi Yaeger, Ani Shalom Bat Sh’muel (2004), which takes the Masada narrative in BJ as its departure point.

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Scholarly interest in the historical method of Josephus has become more prominent in modern research in the past 40 years or so,2 though it has usually been part of a broader analysis. A few works (surveyed below) granted more attention to historiographical issues in Josephus. This angle of research has been evolving especially since the 1980s and now enters centre stage. Modern methods of analysis and interpretation vary and so do emphases and textual choices, but all in all scholars agree that structurally and linguistically Josephus belongs more with the GrecoRoman, rather than the Jewish, historiographical tradition.3 This, of course, is evident: Josephus wrote in Greek, under Roman auspices, and in many ways his works serve as ‘cultural translations’ of Jewish history and religion for foreign audiences. However, opinions vary greatly as regarding the historian’s more speciﬁc literary inﬂuences, genre of writing, underlying themes, political biases and quality as a historian. For a thorough and well-summarised bibliographical survey, L. H. Feldman’s volumes are still very helpful, despite nearly two decades of fruitful research following Feldman’s latest bibliographical survey.4 I will summarise 19th century research very brieﬂy because most of 20th century scholarship surveyed below tends to relate to earlier research and pass relevant criticism which I see no reason for repeating here.5 I also limit my summary to works which are directly rel-

2

With the exception of Richard Laqueur’s work from 1920, which in many ways preceded its time. 3 Among these are M. Stern, ‘Josephus’ Method of Writing History’ in Stern, Studies in Jewish History of the Second Temple Period (Hebrew, 1991: 408–416), who places Josephus well within Greco-Roman historiography by identifying linguistic and methodological conventions, but does not elaborate on Josephus’ independent rhetorical and narratological adjustments; T. Rajak, ‘Josephus and the Archaeology of the Jews’, JJS 33 (1982: 465–477), now in Rajak, The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome: Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction (2002: 241–256), broadens the scope and points out to Josephus’ methodological and linguistic peculiarities in comparison with Greco-Roman historians. 4 Summaries of 19th and 20th century Josephan scholarship can be found in L. H. Feldman, Josephus and Modern Scholarship 1937–1980 (1984); Feldman, Josephus: A supplementary Bibliography (1986); Feldman, ‘Flavius Josephus Revisited’, ANRW 21.2 (1984: 764–862); H. Schreckenberg, Bibliographie zu Flavius Josephus: Supplementband mit Gesamtregister (Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte des Hellenistischen Judentums, 1979). 5 See especially Thackeray, Historian, Shutt, Studies, Cohen, Galilee and Rome, and Feldman, as above.

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evant to my areas of research ( Josephan historiography, Herod) and whose conclusions have opened the way for, or may shed more light on, my analysis of the Herod narratives. The works below are presented in a loose chronological order—that is, earlier works will be surveyed ﬁrst, but I choose to digress from strict chronology in the cases where works are thematically connected or where later research reacts directly to an earlier work which does not immediately precede it (as is the case with Thackeray and Shutt, or Cohen and Schwartz). Editions We have been fortunate to have most of Josephus’ works transmitted almost fully. Nineteenth century scholarship, mainly German and culminating with B. Niese’s6 extensive editions of Josephus, focused on issues of textual transmission and source criticism. The main issue to have been considered was the varied state of manuscripts of diﬀerent sections of Josephus’ work. Manuscripts of the BJ, for instance, were preserved in fairly good condition, but the two parts of the later AJ (1–10 and 11–20) have come down to us in diﬀerent conditions, which in turn created problems of authenticity, style and even content.7 More than a century after their publication, Niese’s editions continue to remain the main critical editions of Josephus. The main English translation of Josephus’ works is still the bilingual Loeb Classical Library series. However, a new and full English translation and commentary of Josephus, of which two volumes have been

6 B. Niese (ed.), Flavii Josephi Opera, 7 vols. (Berlin 1885–95; reprinted 1955 (editio maior)); Niese (ed.), Flavii Josephi Opera, 6 vols (Berlin 1888–95, editio minor). Some of Niese’s emendations and general contentions have been challenged by many scholars since, but the importance of his critical edition still remains intact. 7 It is generally accepted that BJ was transmitted in a better shape than the AJ and that AJ 18 is in worse shape than other books. Considering the Herod narratives (BJ 1; AJ 14–17), BJ 1 seems to pose no signiﬁcant problems of textual transmission. AJ 14–17 contains many stylistic and linguistic diversities (see the survey of Thackeray, below), but later scholars (Schreckenberg, Tradition, below) detected unity of style throughout AJ. More on Josephan MSS and issues of textual transmission and criticism in H Schreckenberg, Die Flavius Josephus Tradition in Antike und Mittelalter (1972) and ‘Rezeptionsgeschichtliche Und Zu Flavius Josephus Textkritische Untersuchungen’, in Arbeiten zur Literatur und Geschichte Des Hellenistischen Judentums (1977). Also see the introduction to the Loeb series translation of BJ (LCL 203, Tr. Thackeray). Feldman, Scholarship, 20–27, oﬀers a concise summary of the issue.

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published in recent years, is now well in progress. A parallel project in German is also under way.8 The scholarly debate concerning the reliability of manuscripts and issues in the critical edition of Josephus has continued throughout the 20th century, but the abundance of material and earlier research have permitted many scholars the convenience of putting aside those issues and treating the texts as we have them as reliably Josephus’. General Scholarship on Josephus and his Historical Method Two major works from the 1920s stand out as having proposed a new angle in the study and understanding of Josephus. R. Laqueur, Der Juedische Historiker Flavius Josephus (1920), is in many ways a work preceding its time in that it has a historiographical focus, rather than the more prevalent tendency of the day to concentrate on Josephus’ life and merits as a (credible) historian. Laqueur was the ﬁrst to step away from Quellenkritik and focus on Josephus’ historiographical method and to view the heterogeneity of his extensive corpus (discrepancies and contradictions as well as diﬀerences in style and method) as something essentially Josephan, and not a negative thing at that. For Laqueur, Josephus was an active and evolving historian. The discrepancies in Josephus’ works (changes in details, style, language and tone) are for Laqueur not a mark of sloppiness or unreliability, but of a natural course of development highly determined by Josephus’ life circumstances. His career, in other words, was one of development, Entwicklung, that found expression both in Josephus’ changing point of view and in his methodology. Laqueur’s analysis focuses on a comparative reading of parallel sections in the BJ and Vita (chapter 3) and AJ 14 and the parallel section of BJ 1 (chapter 5). His analysis of the parallel sections of the Herod narratives—the ﬁrst attempt to examine the parallel versions systematically—was determined mainly by the view that Josephus’

8 In English: the Brill Josephus Project (BJP): S. Mason (ed.), Flavius Josephus: Translation and Commentary, Vol. 3, AJ 1–4 tr. and comm. by L. H. Feldman (Leiden: Brill 2000) and vol. 9, Vita (tr. by S. Mason, Leiden: Brill 2001), and forthcoming. In German: Siegert, F., Schreckenberg, H. & Vogel, M. (eds.), und dem Josephus Arbeitskreis des Institutum Judaicum Delitzschianum, Muenster: Aus Meinem Leben / Vita, Flavius Josephus, Kritische Ausgabe, Uebersetzung und Kommentar (Tuebingen 2001 and forthcoming).

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opinion of the Herodians had changed and that his Jewish sentiments had become more nationalistic in the later work.9 Laqueur also contends that the BJ account contains later interpolations in that spirit. The importance of Laqueur’s theory lies in his focus on Josephus as an independent writer and the emphasis on the text. This shift of focus alone serves as proof against earlier opinions10 concerning Josephus’ total dependence on earlier sources, his poor abilities as historian and his sloppiness. From Laqueur onwards, the road was open for scholars to view Josephus as a historian in his own right and examine his historical method unapologetically. However, the accommodation of the ‘human element’ appears at times to be too strong. Laqueur studies Josephus’ works in a vacuum, focusing on their interconnections but failing to put Josephus in a wider context, whether methodologically or politically. His analysis of AJ 14 and BJ 1 concentrates on the thematic aspects of the narrative, which are explained almost exclusively by Josephus’ life circumstances. The literary and rhetorical diﬀerences are perhaps noted, but a further examination, or a possible historiographical explanation, are not developed. Laqueur’s important observations are an obvious starting point for the type of textual analysis presented in this book. The second prominent work of the 1920 is that of Henry St. J. Thackeray, Josephus, the Man and the Historian (1929). This modest collection of lectures oﬀers a more general outlook concerning diﬀerent aspects of Josephus’ life and work. The main contention of Thackeray’s research is his thesis that Josephus had used assistants well versed in Greek literature, history and drama in composing both the BJ and the AJ. This suggestion led to his reading of AJ and Vita as continuous works (based on a linguistic aﬃnity between AJ book 20 and the autobiography). Thackeray corroborates this hypothesis by numerous linguistic and literary examples from both works, including phraseology and literary allusions to Greek drama (echoes of Sophocles’ Ajax in AJ 15 and Electra in AJ 16 and BJ 3) and history (Thucydidean inﬂuences

9

See Laqueur’s conclusion to his chapter 5, pp. 215–221. E.g. Hoelscher, REPW v.s. ‘Josephus’, (9,2 1916: 1934–2000) and J. Juster, Les Juifs dans l’Empire Romain, p. 12ﬀ. 10

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in AJ 17–19), and even to Latin poetry and history (Virgil in the description of the fall of Jotapata, BJ 3, and Sallust in the portrait of John of Gischala, BJ 2). The extensive knowledge displayed of Greco-Roman literature points, in his opinion, not to Josephus’ education but to that of his assumed assistants—Thackeray detects two, one employed through both the BJ and the AJ and the other only in the later work.11 Thackeray’s reading of Josephus is an integrated portrait of the historian’s craft and personality. He maintains that life circumstances, and personal character, may have a direct inﬂuence over the nature of Josephus’ work. He rightly maintains (by way of mild criticism towards the earlier and fairly biased research) that Josephus should be “assessed by the actualities of his own time and fashions of contemporary literature, not by ideals of another age.”12 He is one of the ﬁrst scholars in the modern era to have declared so, and hence free Josephan scholarship from prejudices and negative judgements concerning the Jewish historian. While his short portrait of Josephus the man is not ﬂattering, he gives him a little more credit as a historian. However, Thackeray’s portrait of Josephus the historian still tends not to acknowledge his full literary and historiographical abilities. His assumption concerning the use of assistants, which in Thackeray’s eyes provides the central explanation for Josephus’ style and method, deprives the historian of his full literary authority.13 Thackeray’s analysis of Josephus’ works tends to concentrate on the grander picture, and does not delve into a full textual or rhetorical analysis of any portion of Josephus’ works. He writes about the content, style, sources14 and tone of Josephus but rests most of his explanations on external elements (the sources, the assistants) and not on Josephus’ own method, rhetorical tendencies, or internal evo-

See in his ﬁfth lecture, Historian, 100–125. Historian, ix. 13 While at the time the ‘Assistant Hypothesis’ seemed plausible, it is considered outdated today. On criticism on Thackeray’s hypothesis, see e.g. Shutt, Studies (below) and Rajak, Josephus, who rejects the hypothesis on the basis of Thackeray’s ‘methodological ﬂaws’ and ‘mechanical approach to literature (appendix 2, pp. 233–6). Rajak’s integrative reading (see below) is bound to reject a linguistic analysis such as Thackeray’s almost by deﬁnition, but she takes eﬀort to demonstrate why the ‘Assistant Theory’ is implausible. More on that above in chapter 3, n. 1. 14 See his criticism on the German tendency to concentrate on Quellenkritik in his pp. 62–65. 11 12

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lution as a historian. The reasons for many of Josephus’ literary characteristics lay outside Josephus’ head, so to speak. It may follow that if one tends to grant Josephus more independence in composing his narratives, those discrepancies still need to be further explained. R. J. H. Shutt, Studies in Josephus (1961) is a work not dissimilar to that of Thackeray in scope and general outlook, and indeed serves as a belated critical reply to Thackeray’s 1929 series of lectures. Shutt, too, opens his survey with an essay concerning Josephus’ life and writing, and then goes on to a more speciﬁc set of short surveys on the BJ, the Contra Apionem and the AJ. His more detailed analysis of the style and language of the AJ, and Josephus’ relation to his sources, re-examines Thackeray’s thesis regarding Josephus’ use of assistants. Shutt eventually rejects the earlier contention and suggests that Josephus, rather than any supposed assistant, was responsible for the style, phraseology and tone of the AJ.15 Shutt uses a similar methodology to that of Thackeray and shows, again through a linguistic examination of the BJ, and more speciﬁcally books 15–20 of the AJ and the subsequent Vita, that Josephus’ works share a unity of phraseology which was more likely to have come from the historian’s own hand than from that of an assistant. The Thucydidean references and allusions to Greek tragedy are explained as historical commonplaces and a result of Josephus’ own education.16 Shutt admits to focusing in his investigation on the linguistic aspects.17 His examination lacks any overview of Josephus’ rhetorical methodology and implementation of dramatic devices through his narrative. His analysis of the parallel Herod narratives focuses not on their independent rhetorical makeup but on their relation to the common source, Nicolaus of Damascus.18 As previous scholars have done, Shutt notices the discrepancies between the two versions and points them out,19 but does not conduct a full and thorough analysis of the narratives in the light of broader historiographical

15 Concerning the BJ, he accepts Josephus’ own admission that he used the help of assistants, but concludes that their role was merely to polish and embellish the historian’s own translation, rather than be fully responsible for writing the Greek version. See his p. 33. 16 See Shutt pp. 64–75, esp. 64–67. 17 Ibid., p. 30. 18 See his chapter 5, pp. 79–92. 19 Pp. 87–89.

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considerations. He agrees with Thackeray with respect to the diﬀerences between the two Herod narratives20 and further notices Josephus’ change of tone towards Herod (more openly critical in the later AJ account). His explanation rests on Josephus’ ‘change of opinion’, and the possibility to express criticism on the Herodians once his patron, Agrippa II, has passed away. The earlier BJ version, he asserts, must be closer to that of Nicolaus. As demonstrated in the general introduction above,21 Josephus’ Herod narratives may in fact be quite far removed in style, structure and themes from their (now extinct) common source. An explanation that relies upon this common source rather than on the independent rhetorical makeup of Josephus’ accounts may no longer be satisfactory. Shutt’s analysis, then, moves one step further than that of Thackeray which he criticises. However, it still does not oﬀer a thorough methodological and historiographical reading of Josephus. His criticism of earlier scholarship (Laqueur, Hoelscher, Juster) and “the characteristically German study of Quellenkritik”22 is convincing, but when he passes judgement on Thackeray’s problematic study of ‘style’ he seems to have similar illnesses. Despite his many linguistic references (both internally in Josephus’ works, and with reference to his sources), Shutt, too, fails to suggest a more focused deﬁnition of the ‘style’ of Josephus or alternatively place the Jewish historian within the (loose) frame of Greco-Roman historiography. A short study of Josephus’ historiography is Paul Collomp’s article, ‘La Place de Josephe dans la Technique de l’Historiographie Hellenistique’ (1947). Collomp reads Josephus in the light of contemporary and later Hellenistic historiography, and his conclusion is that Josephus’ preference for reliable sources against rhetorical ornamentation of the text puts him closer to the oriental chroniclers than to his Greek fellow historians.23 Again, this survey is concerned with general issues in historiography and not with speciﬁc cases in the text.

20 Namely, the diﬀerences in structure (public/private division in BJ, chronological account in AJ ), and the more dramatic character of the earlier account. See Shutt, p. 87. 21 pp. 24–30. 22 p. 89. 23 pp. 91–2. This opinion could be challenged: Josephus’ extensive use of rhetoric has been demonstrated throughout my analysis. However, if one were to accept

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P. Vidal Naquet’s introduction to the French translation of the BJ, Du Bon Usage de la Trahison (1977), oﬀers a broader cultural study of the religious and political context of Josephus’ account of the Jewish revolt and of subsequent reception and research on Josephus. Vidal-Naquet’s essay is not a philological or literary study of the text as such, but of its immediate and near-immediate historical context and the environment in which a work like the BJ could have evolved. He addresses issues such as the degree of interaction and fusion of Judeo-Hellenistic elements in the lives of Jews (languages spoken, citizenships taken, political careers conducted) or the internal political structures in Judea. In other words, this study examines Josephus as a cultural phenomenon, in itself perhaps not unique, whose result— the BJ—is nevertheless one speciﬁc manifestation of this cultural fusion. Some of Vidal-Naquet’s research assumptions, such as the existence of the Aramaic version of the BJ or the Assistant Hypothesis, may today be debatable.24 However, the overall approach outlined in this essay is unusual in its broad cultural references and the elegant movement from ancient to modern contexts. It is the broader cultural reading, and the original context of reading Josephus that are worth following. An integrative (but more scholarly) approach to understanding Josephus and his historical context is suggested also in T. Rajak’s book from 1983, Josephus: The Historian and His Society.25 Rajak oﬀers to read Josephus not as an isolated text but in the light of the inevitable ‘intersection of culture, politics and society’. Thus, Josephus is understood in broader terms: not only his Jewish context and background are considered, but also Roman cultural and social history,

Collomp’s view, it should be mentioned that Josephus resembles Polybius—and not only Oriental chroniclers—in his preference for reliable sources. On Josephus and Polybius see A. Eckstein, ‘Josephus and Polybius: A Reconsideration’, CA 9.2 (1990: 175–208). 24 On the Aramaic version see e.g. Rajak, Josephus, 230–33. More reasons to doubt the view that BJ is not an independent work but a translation from an earlier Aramaic version are Josephus’ highly elaborate Greek, the Greco-Roman topoi and rhetorical tools implemented in the work, and his implicit and explicit references to a Western, Greco-Roman readership (BJ 1.3). On the Assistant Hypothesis see above, n. 13 and chapter 3 n. 1. 25 Now reprinted in a second edition, with a new introduction and revised bibliography: London, Duckworth: 2002.

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Greco-Roman historiography, and even general issues like ‘subjectivity in writing history and general historical method’.26 Rajak’s analysis of Josephus is highly historical, in that she sees the background and cultural context as essential to understanding the text. She takes into account both the Jewish and the GrecoRoman elements in Josephus and tries not to grant superiority to any of them. Acknowledging the external Greek appearance of Josephus’ historical works, Rajak also detects Jewish ideas, inﬂuences and undercurrents. Rajak’s analysis remains broad and outward looking, and does not examine particular test cases in Josephus’ works. This integrative reading with its attempt to leave modern biases (as much as possible) aside, was a new and refreshing approach in the early Eighties, in the light of the highly linguistic emphasis and the tendency to judge Josephus in negative terms, characteristic of earlier scholarship. Per Bilde’s 1988 book, Flavius Josephus Between Jerusalem and Rome: His Life, His Works and Their Importance, is a rather unusual work which at the time of its publication oﬀered a fresh and more organic interpretation of the connection between Josephus’ life and work. Furthermore, Bilde’s work put an initial (and yet to be pursued) emphasis on Josephan reception in modern research, a subject almost as fascinating as the study of Josephus per se. Bilde admits in his preface to his ambitious and hitherto unattempted task, attempting to “. . . take all aspects of research on Josephus and his works into account”.27 The result is surprisingly concise in scope (less than 300 pages, including the bibliography and index), but nevertheless oﬀers Bilde’s vast knowledge of both Josephus and the relevant modern scholarship, as well as his insights concerning these matters. Bilde’s study of Josephus is indeed innovative in its all-encompassing approach, the angles of investigation and the issues considered, but his research has its drawbacks. A general survey as such cannot oﬀer more detailed analyses of speciﬁc test-cases from Josephus’ works, which would have helped in clarifying some of his contentions. There is no textual analysis as such, not even short linguistic surveys. These might have been sacriﬁces on the altar of Bilde’s new

26 27

See her introduction, pp. 1–10. Bilde, Flavius Josephus, 7.

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(and much needed) points of view. For instance, an important contention such as the inclusion of Josephus within Greco-Roman historiography occupies only about seven pages and appears to be somewhat too general. Bilde merely repeats earlier contentions regarding Josephus’ relation to Thucydides, Polybius and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, but does not add many new ideas to them. Bilde’s own analysis is again concise28 and there is much more room for further investigation on this subject. In their integrative and organic approaches to Josephus, both Rajak and Bilde oﬀered a broader framework for subsequent Josephan research and opened the way for further investigation of Josephus as an example of complex cultural fusion. S. J. D. Cohen, Josephus in Galilee and Rome: His Vita and Development as a Historian (1979)29 presents us with a detailed survey of the diﬀerent works of Josephus, and provides a possible explanation for the many diﬀerences, discrepancies and contradictions within the Josephan corpus. This comparative work stresses the connection between the historiography of Josephus and its historical context, both changing from the 60s and 70s ce to the late 90s. The most emphasised trait of Josephus as a historian, says Cohen, is his inconsistency, and hence unreliability,30 a fact which is problematic indeed for many modern scholars. Surveying the Herod accounts (Chapter 2, part B: 48–67, esp. 50–58) Cohen emphasises the larger picture, but does not delve into an analysis of Josephus’ diﬀerent use of rhetorical devices within the accounts.31 He places Josephus well within the Greek historiographical tradition, pointing to the many commonplaces concerning the historian inserts in his narratives concerning historical method (see also Chapter 7: 233), but it is not within the limits of his book to discuss any literary or historiographical inﬂuences on Josephus coming from the Jewish angle. Reading Josephus in the context of GrecoRoman historiography is a relatively new and growing approach, and Cohen is one of the pioneers of this approach. Josephus’ works indeed can be analysed in the light of Greek, Hellenistic and Roman historiography, as was demonstrated in chapters 2 and 3 above. 28 29 30 31

See his chapter 3.1 pp. 61–65, and chapter 5.4, pp. 200–207. Now issued in paperback edition (2002). See especially chapter 7. He does, however, refer shortly to Josephan rhetoric in the BJ on p. 90.

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Following Cohen’s approach in reconstructing the historical context from Josephus’ works is Seth Schwartz’s 1990 book, Josephus and Judaean Politics. Schwartz sets oﬀ on a complicated task: the reconstruction of the state of Judean politics between 70–100 ce from the works of Josephus. Of course, this reconstruction is by way of reading between the lines: for Josephus, as we know, did not record Judean history after the fall of Masada in 73. I shall not consider the overall methodological problems with Schwartz’s otherwise impressive work, as this has been done before.32 However, there is need to mention his treatment of Josephus as a historian. Given the political emphasis of the work, Schwartz’s reading of Josephus tends to perceive Josephus more as propagandist (for the Herodians and the High Priesthood in the earlier BJ, for the newly established Rabbinic leadership of Yavneh in the AJ ), and less as an independent writer with both a political and a literary/philosophical agenda. The only place where Schwartz pays more attention to literary issues and inﬂuences on Josephus’ works is in his second chapter, where he outlines Josephus’ ‘intellectual development’.33 He detects quotations, allusions, paraphrases, commonplace themes and stylistic inﬂuences on both the BJ and the AJ from the Jewish angle (Bible and biblical interpretation, Jewish-Hellenistic historians) and the GrecoRoman angle (Greek history and literature) alike, suggesting a shift, a clear increase in Josephus’ own knowledge of the Bible and Greek historiography and literature from the earlier work to the later. However, Schwartz’s surveys are concise, and come by way of an auxiliary support to his main argument concerning the shift in the political bias of Josephus from the Seventies to the Nineties ce. As his focus is indeed historical, he does not elaborate on Josephus’ change of historiographical method and diﬀerent use of rhetorical devices even if those could indicate a further political shift. P. Villalba I Varneda, The Historical Method of Flavius Josephus (1986) is another work that examines Josephus’ historical method in light of the Greco-Roman historiographical traditions. While Varneda’s detection and analysis of the rhetorical elements of Josephus’ narrative is thorough and methodical, his internal division of subjects

32 33

See S. Mason’s review in the electronic journal Ioudaios, Vol. 2.008, 1992. Judean Politics, 23–57.

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seems slightly artiﬁcial. Moreover, Varneda’s conclusions (pp. 242–279) concerning Josephus’ style, method and speciﬁc Greco-Roman inﬂuences seem at times too simplistic. For instance, his contention that Josephus’ works can be classiﬁed as ‘pragmatic history’, and are in essence pedagogic and ‘aimed at clarifying the truth of events, that is, has a classiﬁcatory and educational objective’34 relies too heavily upon Josephus’ authorial comments, which Varneda seems to take at face value rather than consider their rhetorical function. One might have expected a more ﬂexible view of Josephus’ historiography which would allow a combination of the ‘pragmatic’ methodological declarations with the abundance of rhetorical and dramatic elements in his works, as we have seen in the analysis in chapters 2 and 3 above. However, this study is both important and relevant to the present investigation because, despite its shortcomings, it places Josephus well within Greco-Roman historiography and directs scholarly attention to his historical method and use of rhetoric. G. E. Sterling, in Historiography and Self-Deﬁnition: Josephos, Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography (1992) provides a much broader genre analysis. Having placed Josephus in what he deﬁnes (and has been accepted by most scholars) as ‘apologetic historiography’,35 Sterling maintains that Josephus’ historiographical method is twofold. The historian, he suggests, uses two diﬀerent genres in writing his historical works,36 one reliant upon earlier sources (AJ), the other on the historian’s own testimony (BJ ).37 However, Sterling detects a single and coherent Josephan opinion regarding historiography: regardless of the question of sources, Josephus seeks to balance truth and style in a way not dissimilar to that of Thucydides.38 Any excess of ornamentation, says Sterling, is considered by the historian as inappropriate, or unreliable,39 and is generally

34

Pp. 251–56, here p. 253. Namely, “. . . The story of a subgroup of people in an extended prose narrative, written by a member of the group who follows the group’s own traditions, but Hellenizes them in an eﬀort to establish the identity of the group within the setting of a larger world” (p. 17). 36 Sterling refers to Josephus’ comment in CA 1.53. 37 Sterling, Self Deﬁnition, 241ﬀ. 38 Pp. 244–45. 39 See his historiographical reasoning in CA 1.6–56. 35

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attributed by Josephus to western, Greek and Hellenistic historians. The near-eastern counterparts, especially the Jews, are on the contrary praised for their quest for accuracy. Josephus’ own words, in the concluding chapters of the AJ, attest to his self-designation as belonging to both cultures. However, given his criticism of the excessive rhetorical emphasis of Greek historiography, he leans more towards his native near-eastern traditions. Sterling suggests, in the end, that the AJ plays a part in deﬁning Judaism in historical terms.40 However, his study remains within the broad lines of genre analysis, and speciﬁc passages (which might have shed a diﬀerent light upon his analysis) are not considered as regarding their rhetorical structure and function, but their possible literary connection to other sources.41 Despite its somewhat limited view of genre and generic deﬁnitions, Sterling’s study opens the door for further generic considerstions in Josephan research and sheds some light on the complex and ﬂexible manifestations of generic borrowing in Josephan historiography. Many modern studies are concerned with the nature and methodology of Josephus’ biblical paraphrase (AJ 1–10). Although this section of Josephus’ AJ is beyond the scope of the present book, the following studies by L. H. Feldman may oﬀer some insights into Josephus’ portraiture of Herod, both in the analysis of historiographical traits and in the speciﬁc examination of biblical portraits in Josephus. Most recent of these are Studies in Josephus’ Rewritten Bible (1998) and Josephus’s Interpretation of the Bible (1998). Both contain a close analysis of Josephus’ portraits of biblical characters, as well as general surveys of the historiographical tendencies and literary inﬂuences on Josephus’ works. Feldman maintains as well that Josephus’ writing in the AJ was inﬂuenced by both Jewish and Greco-Roman historiographical traditions. He demonstrates how, in many instances, ideas and literary characteristics of both can be detected in Josephus’ biblical paraphrase. For instance, Feldman suggests that the historian’s choice of

40 Self Deﬁnition, 308–10. Cf. also P. Spilsbury, The Image of the Jew in Flavius Josephus’ Paraphrase of the Bible (1998). 41 See for instance pp. 265–68, where Sterling compares a passage from Josephus with a fragment from Demetrius, in order to illustrate the similarities and bring up the question of Josephus’ use of sources.

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personal qualities of the biblical heroes resembles those apparent in Thucydidean portraits and Greek philosophical ideals.42 Moreover, says Feldman, Josephus adds a ﬁfth virtue, piety (revered by Greek and Jewish cultures, given the diﬀerences of course). All of these, as we have seen in chapter 3 above, also come into play in the portraiture of Herod. A collection of essays which aims at emphasising Josephus’ qualities as an independent historian whose careful historiographical method is worthy of serious consideration, is Understanding Josephus: Seven Perspectives, edited by S. Mason (1998).43 This collection contains seven essays focused on diﬀerent issues in Josephus. The thread that links all essays is the attempt to explore and understand ‘Josephus as an author (p. 11)’ and not only as an invaluable ‘source (ibid.)’ for historical deduction, as has usually been the case in the past.44 Despite the diﬀerences in focus, the overall portrait of Josephus presented in this volume is that of an author in his own right, whose life experiences ﬁnd their way into his works. As such, it is perfectly legitimate to explore not only his texts, but also the historical context in which they were composed and use the text as a key to such an enquiry. Mason’s underlying rationale for producing this volume (an appeal for a new way of reading Josephus, indeed a new understanding of the essence of his writing as wholly intermingled with and inﬂuenced by the historical context) can provide new and convincing angles of Josephan scholarship. Especially relevant to my reading of the Herod narratives is his contention that Josephus’ authorial voice and historiographical method are well worthy of serious consideration. Mason’s more recent work has continued along these veins, with more exploration and emphasis of Josephus’ historical method.45

42

E.g. Thucydides’ portrait of the ‘ideal statesman’ (2.60–65). Mason’s extensive work on Josephus will not be examined here but has been referred to throughout my analysis in chapters 2 and 3. 44 Mason contends (and I agree) that textual inconsistencies in Josephus are an evidence of Josephus’ thoughtful and creative art of narration, rather than attestations of historiographical sloppiness. See my general introduction, and conclusion. Precise references for Mason’s works are in the next note. 45 See e.g. Mason’s introduction to volume 3 of the BJP ( Judean Antiquities 1–4); Mason, ‘Flavius Josephus in Flavian Rome: Reading On and Between the Lines’ in A. J. Boyle and W. J. Dominik (eds.), Flavian Rome: Culture, Image, Text (2003: 559–589); and also his article ‘Figured Speech and Irony in the works of T. Flavius 43

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G. Mader, Josephus and the Politics of Historiography, Apologetic and Impression Management in the Bellum Judaicum (2000) is a work that represents another step in the new direction that Josephan scholarship has taken recently, to read and analyse Josephus’ historical compositions as part of the Greco-Roman historiographical tradition. Modern scholars usually assume those elements to be mostly formal, adorning the narrative, framing it and endowing it with adequate Greco-Roman character. However, Mader goes one step further and asserts that the abundant classical elements in the BJ not only serve as a generic frame, but are also used to convey Josephus’ subjective agenda concerning the causes of the Jewish revolt. In other words, the classical elements in the BJ are not mere form, they also have a crucial function in the understanding of both the narrative, and the underlying perception of the historian. The underlying assumption of these contentions seems to regard Josephus as an assertive and highly elaborate historian and narrator. Mader may be taking this a little bit too far, but his starting point is convincing and relevant to the present study of the Herod narratives, if indeed we concentrate on the narratives themselves rather than infer from them Josephus’ (real) political agenda. Herod and the Herodians The two accounts of the reign of King Herod have attracted considerable attention from modern scholars.46 Modern interest in Herod ranges from archaeology,47 through historical investigation and, to a minimal extent, the historiographical and rhetorical makeup of the two parallel narratives. Scholars have mostly been concerned with the historical Herod and the rise of the Herodian dynasty, its impact on Judea and on the relationship with Rome, and the circumstances which brought to its fall.

Josephus’ in J. Edmondson, S. Mason and J. Rives (eds.), T. Flavius Josephus and Flavian Rome (Oxford: OUP 2005: 243–88); ‘Contradiction or Counterpoint? Josephus and Historical Method’, in Review of Rabbinic Studies 6 (2–3), 2003: 145–88. 46 The interest in Herod ranges from scholarship to poetry and playwriting. See Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty, 23–26. 47 See K. Fittschen and G. Foerster (eds.), Judaea and the Greco-Roman World in the Time of Herod in the Light of Archaeological Evidence (1996), and D. W. Roller, The Building Program of Herod the Great (1998).

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Among the works which concentrate on those issues we have the work of A. H. M. Jones, The Herods of Judea (1938). This is a straightforward and mostly uncritical historical account of the Herodian dynasty from Antipater to Agrippa II. It relates the history in a storylike manner, taken at the most part from Josephus. Jones does not engage in a critical review of the details or the sources; he does not even oﬀer textual references to either Josephus or earlier scholarship. This work reads more as a clear modern (and perhaps, simpliﬁed) paraphrase of Josephus, than a scholarly analysis. Some scholars have indeed noticed several historiographical and literary issues related to the Herod narratives. Most noticeable were the diﬀerences in content, style, tone and structure between the earlier and the later versions. This, however, was done only in passing, and often produced general possible explanations for those diﬀerences, all concentrating on external reasons (assistants, new sources) rather than on internal reasons such as the changes in Josephus’ historiography or thematic agenda.48 Among the major works concerning the historical Herod49 we can ﬁnd the work of Abraham Schalit, King Herod: Portrait of a Ruler (1960, Hebrew).50 Schalit’s thorough portraiture of Herod’s rise to power, reign and fall aims at drawing an impartial portrait of a historical ﬁgure, and abandons the highly biased earlier accounts which mostly tended to view the king of Judea as a menacing and violent tyrant, overlooking his positive contributions (his building projects, the economic prosperity, the good relations with Rome).51 The only reference to historiography concerning Herod is in the concluding chapter, and even there, Schalit does not elaborate upon Josephus’s intricate portraits of Herod but merely uses a quotation from Josephus’s own words about Herod and his character.52 His

48 E.g. Laqueur, Historiker, Thackeray, Historian. See my summary below, under ‘Herod and Historiography’. 49 A comprehensive list is drawn by Kokkinos, Dynasty. 50 μylçwry wl[pw. çyah ˚lmh, swdrwh. fylç μhrba. The work has been published in German too, but has not been translated into English. A recent reprinting in German includes a revised introduction by D. Schwartz. All references here are from the Hebrew edition. 51 See the introduction (pp. 8–9) and the conclusion (pp. 341–2). Schalit mentions W. Otto’s short study in REPW as the only impartial work concerning Herod he could ﬁnd and fully admits to have been highly inﬂuenced by Otto’s work. 52 Schalit refers to AJ. 16.150ﬀ. Josephus comments on Herod in the BJ as well, most notably on his obituary, BJ. 1.665 (see chapter 2, pp. 95–96).

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study was clearly not aimed at tackling historiographical questions concerning the Josephan portrait of Herod, but at drawing a modern historical portrait as impartially as possible, and in that he succeeds. M. Stern’s review of Schalit’s magnum opus does justice to the work and rightly points out its erudition and learning.53 Stern’s own studies on Herod,54 which were summarised (posthumously in print) in his radio lectures on Herod’s kingdom,55 follow a similar line to that of Schalit in the focus on the historical Herod rather than on his literary portrait. Stern goes further though, and aims at understanding Herod’s reign and policy in their wider political context of the Roman Empire as well as recent Judean history. He explains Herod’s rise to power, administration of the kingdom, connections with Rome and policy towards his subjects and the neighbouring provinces in light of Rome’s policy in the east and history of the Hasmonean period. His analysis is clear, learned and illuminating. Stern’s Herod is portrayed in a balanced and contextualised manner, emphasising the positive aspects of his reign (the economic prosperity of Judea, the building projects, close political ties with Rome, benefactions for the Diaspora Jews) along with the less appealing traits of the king (his violent temper, the internal tension in Judea). As Stern’s focus is on the historical aspects of Herodian research he pays little attention to the historiographical portrait of the king. He addresses the question of Josephus’ dependency on Nicolaus,56 but does not dwell on the intricacies of this subject. His survey of the rhetorical characteristics of the Herod narratives is concise and mainly points out that the two narratives are diﬀerent in form and in tone.57 Stern does not tackle the diﬀerences themselves, nor address their wider historiographical considerations. M. Grant, Herod the Great (1971), is an apologetic study of Herod aimed at restoring his bad reputation in Christianity as responsible

53

M. Stern, ‘A. Schalit’s Herod’, JJS 11.1 (1960: 49–58). ‘Herod and Rome’, ‘Herod’s Policy and Jewish Society in the Late Second Temple Period’, ‘The Herodian Dynasty and the Roman Empire after the Death of Herod’, all in Hebrew in Stern, Studies. 55 M. Stern, The Kingdom of Herod (Hebrew, 1992). 56 Op. cit., chapter 2, and ‘Nicolaus of Damascus as a Source for Jewish History in the Hasmonean and Herodian Periods’ (Hebrew) in B. Uﬀenheimer (ed.), The Mikra and Jewish History: Studies in Mikra and Second Temple Literature in memory of Jacob Liver (Hebrew, 1972: 375–394). 57 Kingdom, 18–25. 54

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for the Massacre of the Innocents. Its intended audience seems to be non-academic, but that is evident from the form (fewer footnotes and more photos) rather than from the content or methodology. Grant relies mainly on Josephus as a source for Herodian history but incorporates a few more sources ( Jewish, Christian and apocryphal) as well. Grant’s own Herod narrative is almost as dramatic as that of Josephus. However, he notices the discrepancies in Josephus’ accounts and, despite the popular slant of the book, the last chapter outlines the important methodological problems of Josephus’ Herod narratives (the relations with the source, Nicolaus, and the incoherences and discrepancies within the Josephan narratives). Although his outline of the problems is accurate, Grant oﬀers no methodological solutions for them. In his book Herod: King of the Jews and Friend of the Romans (1996), P. Richardson tackles Herod’s life and reign from a slightly unusual angle. Being ‘a biographical study (p. xii)’, this book allows its methodology to be more ﬂexible. Richardson chooses to portray Herod by using a more creative rhetoric, which comes to play in both the structure of his work (beginning with Herod’s death and going backwards to Idumaean and Hellenistic history and the formation of Herod’s kingdom) and the individual presentation of themes and issues (such as the ﬁctional ‘reports’ about Herod’s death in the introduction). Richarsdon’s multi-disciplinary approach (which still has room for growth) builds a much more tangible portraiture of Herod and his complex background. Reading Herod’s history in its wider cultural, political and social contexts of the Greco-Roman world and NearEastern culture has proved since to be a fruitful way to tackle Herodian history and historiography.58 The most recent comprehensive work on Herod comes from N. Kokkinos, The Herodian Dynasty: Origins, Role in Society and Eclipse (1998). The focus and interest of this work is “purely historical (p. 30)”, and the task Kokkinos puts out for himself is to present, for the ﬁrst time, an integrative and internal (p. 26) portrait of the Herodian

58 This tendency in research is now shared e.g. by Kokkinos (below), Mason (ed.), Understanding Josephus and BJP, and others.

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dynasty. He sees the Herodians of Judea as a Roman client-kingdom dynasty whose importance should not be overlooked, both due to its peculiar and multi-cultural character and because it is the only one of whom we have a thorough and near-contemporary historical account (in Josephus, following Nicolaus). Observing the multiculturalism of the Herodians (Idumeans by birth, Jews by religion,59 Hellenised by culture, strongly aﬃliated to Rome by political inclination), Kokkinos singles out their Hellenised background60 as a crucial factor in their evolving stance as a prominent ruling family in Judea and the surrounding provinces, and mediators between the inhabitants of Judea and Rome. This distinctively non-Jewish origin, he suggests, was also the cause of their problematic reception by the Jews. Herod’s turbulent life and highly dramatic portrait seem to have raised suspicion in Kokkinos, who tries to separate the historical Herodian dynasty from its historiographical portraiture. In order to do so Kokkinos brings into his study other disciplines (mainly archeology and numismatics but also more documentary evidence from non-Josephan sources). His attempt, however, remains in the historical realm. The issue raised—i.e. not taking the Josephan accounts at face value, and integrating other disciplines into an analysis which stems from within, not depending on external views—is important and innovative. Herod and Historiography As mentioned above, few scholars have taken notice of several historiographical issues concerning the two Herod narratives in Josephus. Laqueur’s parallel analysis of BJ 1 and AJ 14 is only partial and does not focus on the portraits of Herod. Thackeray61 notices the

59 Kokkinos suggests that the Herodian’s Jewishness was accidental, a result of the forced conversion of the Idumeans by the Hasmoneans (p. 360), and that ‘balancing on the edge of Judaism’ (ibid.) contributed to the suspicion and resistance of their Jewish subjects. 60 He detects their origin in ‘Hellenized Phoenician Ascalon’, and from there draws the intricate map of the spread of the dynasty further into Judea, Palestine, southern Syria and farther in Asia Minor and Armenia (pp. 360–1). This contention is debatable. 61 Historian, 65–70; 106–7.

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diﬀerences between the two narratives in language, tone, style, structure and even rhetorical makeup, but he does so in light of his more general contention regarding Josephus’ use of Greek assistants62 and places his explanation for those discrepancies within that theory. The highly dramatic tone of the BJ account, with the occasional allusions to Greek tragedy, is attributed not to Josephus’ own knowledge but either to Nicolaus,63 or to that of one of Josephus’ assistants. The more straightforward chronology of the longer AJ account, as well as its relative lack of dramatic ﬂair and the more outspoken criticism of Herod is, again, claimed to be the result of an assistant’s redaction.64 Thackeray still identiﬁes the main common source for both narratives as Nicolaus, but he also suggests that the later version might have been ampliﬁed by newer sources. While Thackeray’s observations concerning the diﬀerences between the narratives are illuminating—especially the identiﬁcation of literary allusions to Greek and Latin writers—his overall analysis of the facts tends to be general and concentrate on the wider frame of content, style and language. It does not provide a closer textual analysis. Towards the end of his concise article, ‘Josephus and His Works’,65 H. Attridge includes a short summary of the Herod narrative of the AJ.66 His short summary and analysis of books 14–17 of the AJ indeed has a historigraphical angle: he notices the shift in Josephus’s treatment of Herod from the earlier BJ account to the later and much extended AJ version, and explains it convincingly by attributing the shift to several causes: Josephus’ use of a diﬀerent historiographical genre, the prevailing biblical sin-and-punishment theme for which Herod serves as prime example and the additional inclusion of anti-Herodian sources. These are all plausible explanations and should be taken into account, but Attridge’s summary is by deﬁnition concise and general. There is no doubt that Josephus—and Herod—have provided considerable research material for scholars. In summary, let me only 62

See esp. his pp. 100–125. Who was known to have written tragedies. Thackeray, Historian, 66. 64 Ibid. Later in his book (pp. 100–125) Thackeray develops the (now rejected) Assistants Theory and adds further linguistic parallels, identifying one assistant in both the BJ (book 3) and the AJ (books 15–16). See above, pp. 198–199 (and notes), and chapter 3, p. 115 n. 1. 65 In M. E. Stone (ed.), Jewish Writings of the Second Temple Period (1984: 185–231). 66 Attridge, ‘Works’, 219–222. 63

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emphasise the initial observation I have made: in spite of extensive scholarship and ample literature concerning Josephus, his historical method and Herod, no single work so far has taken up an integrative approach and examined these angles together, from a historiographical point of view and with emphasis on the rhetorical makeup of the narratives. My intention in the present study was to do precisely that.

APPENDIX TWO

BJ 1.201–673 / AJ 14.156–17.200: AN OUTLINE OF THE PARALLEL NARRATIVES

1.201–203: Antipater returns to Judea, rebuilds the wall of Jerusalem destroyed by Pompey and takes the government of Judea in his own hands by ‘quelling the local disturbances and everywhere combining menaces with advice (201)’. He assures peace for Hyrcanus’ supporters. Notices Hyrcanus’ ‘indolence and lack of energy necessary for a king’ and appoints his sons governors of Galilee and Jerusalem.

14.156–157: Antipater returns to Jerusalem, rebuilds the wall, gains government of Judea by ‘both threatening and advising the people to be quiet (156)’. A more elaborate account of his words (oratio obliqua). Appointment of Herod and Phasael seems a direct result of his observation that Hyrcanus is ‘dull and sluggish (158)’. Mention of H.’s young age, elaborating on this point.

204–207: Young Herod ﬁghts the brigands in the Galilee successfully and gains Syrian support; His brother Phasael gains popular support in Jerusalem; their father Antipater is ‘treated by the nation as if he were king’.

158–162: H. suppresses the brigands successfully and gains Syrian support. Phasael is driven to succeed as well and governs Jerusalem ably, and gains popular support there. Antipater receives royal honours from the inhabitants of Judea, but Josephus adds: ‘. . . With all his glory, however, he did not, as so often seems to happen, in any way alter his friendship and loyalty to Hyrcanus (162)’.

1.208–213: Herod’s success is followed by Hyrcanus’ personal envy, supported by a few ‘malicious persons at court (208)’.

14.163–180: ‘The leading Jews (163)’ notice the Antipatrids’ growing power and support and become hostile. Antipater develops

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Those claim Hy. Abandons Judean rule to the Antipatrids, Elaborating on this point (209). They convince Hy. To summon Herod to trial for violating the Jewish law in killing the brigands without trial. Herod arrives with a strong escort and proves his leadership. Sextus Caesar interferes and requests pardon. Hy. Agrees ‘for he loved Herod (211)’.

a friendship with Roman generals and bribes them with Hy.’s money. Hy. Sees but doesn’t notice. The leading Jews are afraid, ‘when they saw how powerful and reckless Herod was and how much he desired to be a dictator (165)’. They now come to Hy. And openly challenge him. They request summoning Herod to trial (oratio recta, 165–7). Hy. Is persuaded by the above and his anger grows as he sees the mothers of the murdered brigands begging at the temple to bring H. to justice. H. appears in court with a troop. Sextus requests to discharge H. This is a pretext for Hyrcanus to release H., ‘for he loved him as a son (171)’. Herod overawes the Synhedrios with his troop and his garments. No denouncing person dares to challenge him. Samaias is the only one who speaks up (oratio recta, 14.172–4), rebukes H. for his vanity and Hy. And the Synhedrion ‘. . . for giving him such great licence (174)’. Josephus adds that when H. assumed power, he killed Hy. And all other members of the Synhedrion except Samaias whom he honoured and kept as an adviser.

Herod joins Sextus at Damascus and plans to refuse compliance to a second summon. The Jewish court men are trying to convince Hy. Of the dangers in H.’s freedom and power. Hy. Understands

Hy. Postpones the trial and permits H.’s escape. H. ﬂees to Damascus and dwells under Sextus’ wings. The Synhedrion tries to persuade Hy. That it was all directed

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the dangers but is too weak and indecisive to do anything. H. is appointed governor or Coele-Syria and ‘Hyrcanus was reduced to consternation (213)’.

against him, but ‘though he was not unaware of this, he was incompetent to do anything because of his cowardice and folly (179)’. Sextus appoints H. as governor of Coele-Syria ‘for he gave him his title in return for money (180)’ and Hy. Is afraid lest H. will attack him.

214–215: Herod, angry and impulsive, is about to attack Jerusalem in retaliation for being summoned to trial. His father and brother hurry to Damascus and ‘mollify his rage (214)’. Elaborating their reasons in oratio obliqua. They implore him to subdue his will of revenge, and to practice humility in front of God. H. is yielding, because he thinks ‘he has satisﬁed his expectations for the future by this exhibition of his strength before the eyes of the nation (215)’.

181–184: Herod is about to march against Jerusalem with his troops but is prevented from doing so by his father and brother who persuade him not to attack Hy. but only to terrorise him for H. should be grateful for Hy.s weakness that helped establishing his own power. They mention humility and gratefulness for escaping punishment. All in the hands of God. They convince him that Hy.s’ hostility was not personal, but a result of his compliance with ‘evil counsellors (184)’. H. yields and believes it is enough at that stage to have displayed his strength. More details about Hyrcanus and the tension with Jewish leadership, are added. 14.185–267: a lengthy digression consisting of decrees of alliance and friendship between Rome and the Jews (whether in Judea, Hy. addressed personally as the chief Jewish authority and his family is granted Roman support—or elsewhere in Asia minor and Greece). Josephus places these in time and adds his motives for citing the

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appendix two decrees—so that other nations would understand the esteem and loyalty with which the Jews were treated (185–6).

1.216–221: Digression into Roman aﬀairs: war at Apamea; murder of Sextus Caesar; civil war in Rome after the murder of Julius Caesar; Cassius arrives in Syria, takes command and begins to raise very high taxes. The Jews are aﬀected as well. Antipater, alarmed by the Roman pressure, recruits his sons to collect the money. Herod excels in eﬃciency and becomes Cassius’ friend (no reason given).

14.268–276: Roman aﬀairs: disturbances in Syria, the murder of Sextus, and Roman war in Apamea. Antipater sends reinforcements with the intention of gaining more Roman support. Murder of Caesar (related in one sentence, with a reference to other historians, 270). Cassius arrives in Syria and is supported by the Antipatrids. Heavy taxation is installed. Antipater is fearful facing the general disorder (273; note the Thucydidean phrasing) and appoints his sons to collect the money. Herod excels and becomes ‘especially friendly with Cassius, for he though it prudent to court the Romans and secure their goodwill at the expense of others (274; that last anti-Herodian statement is absent from BJ )’.

1.222–228: Judean cities reduced to servitude by Cassius. Malichus is nearly put to death for tardy tax collection but is saved by Antipater. Cassius departs from Judea and Malichus, ungratefully, plots to kill Antipater ‘to remove one who was an obstacle to his malpractices (223)’. The latter fears for his life and moves to Jordan, collects an army and prepares for war. Malichus is detected

14.275–284: Cassius reduces Judean cities to servitude (a more elaborate account) and nearly kills Malichus—but Antipater— through Hyrcanus—sends in the money and thus saves him. Cassius leaving Judea, Malichus plots against Antipater, ‘thinking that his death would make for the security of Hyrcanus’ rule (277)’. Ant. ﬁnds out about the plot, moves to Jordan and col-

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and nearly dies again but outwits Herod and Phasael with false oaths, and once again Antipater saves his life. Then a short Roman chronology: Octavian and Antony declare war on Cassius and Brutus; Cassius levies an army in Syria and pays a favour to Herod, appoints him perfect of Syria and further promising him to appoint him ‘king of Judea (225)’ once the war is over. Malichus is alarmed by that, and kills Antipater by bribing a royal butler to serve him poison. He then denies his part to H. and Ph. H. is not convinced, Ph. Is and gives his father a big funeral.

lects an army. Malichus, ‘being a shrewd fellow (278, note the footnote: this is a weaker term than the one used in BJ—“shameless”)’, denies the plot (and falsely ﬂatters H. and Phasael, 278). Antipater saves Malichus’ life once again from Murcus’ hands: the Roman governor learns about the disorder in Judea and wants to kill M. Cassius and Murcus appoint Herod governor of Coele-Syria and promise to appoint him king of Judea after the war with Octavian and Antony is over (280). Malichus’ fear is growing, and bribes Hyrcanus’ butler to poison him. Malichus restores order in Jerusalem and denies his part in the murder to H. and Ph. H. resolves to avenge his father’s death while Ph. Is reconciled and buries his father. H. arrives in Samaria and restores peace.

1.229–235: Herod returns to seditious Samaria and restores peace there. He then sets oﬀ to Jerusalem, where a festival takes place (229). Hyrcanus, ‘instigated by Malichus (229)’, forbids him to enter the city during the festival. Herod ignores the order and enters by night. Malichus pretends to mourn Antipater. Herod hardly restrains himself and sends a complaint to Cassius. The latter, ‘who had other grounds for hating Malichus (230)’, permits H. to avenge his father’s death and kill

14.285–293: Herod arrives in Jerusalem with his soldiers during the festival of Tabernacles. Malichus, ‘in fear, sought to persuade Hyrcanus not to permit him to enter (285)’. Hyrcanus is persuaded. Herod ignores the orders and enters Jerusalem by night, ‘to the terror of Malichus (286)’ who still pretends to mourn Antipater, but ‘nevertheless he secretly provided himself with a bodyguard’. Herod in turn still keeps himself from showing his true intentions and treats M. with friendliness,

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M. Cassius secretly orders his tribunes to lend aid to H. Cassius conquers Laodicea (231), Herod prepares for revenge. M. is suspicious, and plans to escape from Tyre with his son. ‘Desperation stimulated him to conceive yet grander schemes (232)’: He has dreams of raising a national revolt against the Romans (in Judea) while C. is ﬁghting Antony, of deposing Hy. and taking the throne himself. ‘But Destiny derided his hopes (233)’ Herod invited bith Hy. and M. to supper, then orders the hidden tribunes to ambush M. and those stab him to death. ‘Hyrcanus, from sheer fright, swooned and fell (234)’ and asks who had ordered the murder. H.’s men reply it was Cassius, and Hy. praises the deeds, but ‘whether he expressed his real opinion or from fear acquiesced the deed, was uncertain (235)’.

but writes to Cassius and receives his permission to avenge Ant.’s death, with the help of the military tribunes at Tyre (288). Cassius takes Laodicea (289) and receives oﬃcial honours at Tyre. Herod expects M. to arrive there and plans him revenge. M. plans to abduct his hostage son from Tyre, ﬂee to Judea, raise a revolt and seize power there (290, no dreams, no desperation). But: ‘A heavenly power (291)’ and Herod intervene and prevent that from happening. H. sends the servant to warn the tribunes, those ambush M. and stab him to death on the seashore. Hyrcanus is ‘struck speechless with amazement (292)’ and inquires as to whom had M. slain. Herod’s men say Cassius had ordered this and Hy. praises the death of a traitor (293).

1.236–247: Cassius exits Syria; strife in Judea, revolt of Helix in Jerusalem, Phasael defeats Helix and reproaches Hyrcanus for his ingratitude towards the Antipatrids. Masada is taken by the rebels (237). Herod ﬁghts rebels from Galilee to Masada, and restores control. Antigonus son of Aristobulus returns to Judea with Roman aid (Ptolemy, Fabius, Marion) but is expelled again by Herod. H. returns to Jerusalem,

4.294–329: Cassius departs from Syria; outbreak of Helix’s revolt in Jerusalem. Phasael defeats Helix and reproaches Hyrcanus. Massada is taken by Helix. Herod returns from Damascus and recovers the fortresses. Antigonus is brought back to Judea but is defeated by Herod (297–9, a slightly more elaborate account than BJ ). Herod arrives in Jerusalem and ‘Hyrcanus and the people wreathed his head with crowns

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‘where his success won him all the men’s hearts (240)’ and marries Mariamme the Hasmonite. Then a Roman chronology: Cassius dies at Philippi, Octavian heads for Italy, Antony for Asia (242). In Bithynia, among other delegations, Jewish leaders approach Antony with a complaint about Herod’s usurpation of government in Judea. H. bribes Antony, the latter refuses them a hearing.

(299). He marries Mariamme. A Roman chronology (301): Cassius is defeated at Philippi, Caesar heads for Italy, Antony for Asia. In Bithynia, among the other embassies, the Jewish delegation accuses H. and Ph. Of usurping power in Judea and ousting Hyrcanus (302). Herod, ‘who was held in great honour by Antony (303), defends himself both by this and by bribing Antony. In Ephesus a second Jewish delegation now requests the release of Jewish captives taken by Cassius in the provinces. Antony consents to this request and sends letters and decrees to Hyrcanus and the Jews, and to the Tyrians (306–323).

A second delegation of 100 prominent Jews approaches Antony with considerable rhetorical eﬀort, accusing ‘the brothers (243)’ while the latter is ‘now a slave for his passion for Cleopatra (243)’. He hears them, hears the defence now supported by Hy. due to his marriage connections with Herod (despite the complaint about usurping his own power). Antony, due to his former xenia relationship with Antipater, appoints Herod and Phasael tetrarchs of Judea (244). Antony imprisons the Jewish deputies, agitation in Jerusalem intensiﬁes. Another, larger delegation of Jews is sent to Antony at Tyre; Herod approaches them and recommends

Antony meets Cleopatra in Cilicia and she ‘made him a captive of love (14.324)’. Another Jewish delegation of ‘a hundred of the most inﬂuential Jews (324)’ approaches him and accuses ‘Herod and his friends (324), putting forward their most skillful speakers’. Messala defends H. with the support of Hy., now connected to H. by marriage. Antony inquires Hyrcanus and the latter declares that Herod and his people are better leaders of the nation (325–6). Antony, due also to his former xenia relationship with Antipater, appoints Herod and Phasael tetrarchs of the Jews. He conﬁrms this with letters and imprisons 15 of their adversaries. However, Herod’s

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them not to go there. Antony orders out troops and massacres the Jewish deputies (246). The wounded are aided by Hyrcanus who was present. Antony then kills the Jewish prisoners as well.

opponents are not convinced and send another delegation to Tyre, this time of 1000 men. Antony, being ‘heavily bribed by Herod and his brother (327)’, orders to punish the Jewish envoys. H. (accompanied by Hy.) urges them to depart, they refuse to take his advice and are attacked by the Romans. Ant. Also kills the Jewish prisoners.

1.248–262: Parthian invasion of Syria and Judea. Antigonus receives help from the Parthians, who consent to that, having been bribed (by Lysanias son of Ptolmey, 248). Jews volunteer in large numbers ( polloi, 250) to help Antigonus. Parocus attacks Jerusalem. Phasael and Hyrcanus ﬁght back, but are attacked by opposing Jews |who burn the garrison. Herod is enraged, and kills many citizens (250–2). Pentecost in Jerusalem: ﬁghting continues, Antigonus requests Parocus (his ally) as a mediator, Phasael (naively) agrees and admits P. into Jerusalem. The latter induces him to leave for an embassy to Barzapharnes (255). Herod objects, believing that ‘barbarians being by nature perﬁdious (255), but Ph. Heads on. Revolt in Galilee (256). Phasael and Hyrcanus meet with the satrap, who was ‘a very crafty individual who disguised his plot under a show of benevolence (257)’. They are given presents but are am-

14.330–351: Parthian invasion to Syria and Judea. Antigonus receives Parthian support and their promise to restore him as ruler of Judea in return for money and women. Some Jews from mount Carmel join Antigonus (334). Herod and Phasael ﬁght their enemies in Jerusalem. The opponents burn people to death in their houses (335). Herod, enraged, takes vengeance and kills many of his adversaries. Pentecost in Jerusalem, the ﬁghting continues (337) description very similar in length and content to BJ. Parocus arrives in Jerusalem (340, with similar intentions to the BJ ), and persuades Phasael to go and see Barzapharnes. Herod disapproves ‘because of the faithlessness of the barbarians (341). Phasael and Hyrcanus are met with resistance in Galilee. Barzapharnes lures them with gifts but plans to plot against them. Hy. and Ph. Learn about the scheme, Ph. Is oﬀered an easy escape but refuses and

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bushed and captured, and then discover the plot. Phasael is oﬀered an easy escape but refuses to abandon Hy. (259), and instead tries to bribe the satrap with even more money than Antigonus had oﬀered. Plot to entrap Herod (261) which fails because he is suspicious, and already knows about his brother’s arrest. Mariamme daughter of Hy., ‘a most sagacious woman (261) implores H. not to believe the barbarians.

reproaches B. and oﬀers more money. (same as BJ ). Ph. And Hy. are put in chains. An attempt to capture Herod fails because he ﬁnds out about Phasael’s capture by a letter his brother sent to him (349). Mariamme, whom nobldy else pays attention to despite her being ‘a very sensible woman (351) begs him not to go, and he becomes more suspicious of the Parthians.

1.263–285: Herod and his close family escape from Jerusalem to Idumaea. The Parthians chase him, he ﬁghts back and manages to secure his family in Masada. Opponent Jews harass him even further, he slaughters them mercilessly (and later on founds Herodeion, 265). Herod, at the advice of his brother Joseph, dismantles his men and returns to Masada, then ﬂees to Arabia via Petra. The Parthians conquer Jerusalem and plunder the city while leaving ‘the whole country the horrors of implacable war (269), then place Antigonus on the throne and bring Phasael and Hyrcanus for torture. Phasael dies, Hyrcanus mutilated by Ant. Himself who bites his ears oﬀ—in order to prevent him from obtaining the high priesthood again ( Josephus explains this to his foreign audience, 270). Phasael commits suicide to escape torture and

14.352–389: Herod, who knows about the Parthian plot, decides to escape with his family to Idumaea (352–362, a longer and more emotional account of the tribulations of the escaping Herodians, the hostile Jews and the arrival at Masada. But the details are similar). Herod secures his family at Masada and sets out for Petra in Arabia (362). Parthian invasion of Jerusalem, plunder of private possessions and the palace bar Hyrcanus’ funds. Parthians ravage the rest of the country as well and destroy the city of Marisa. Antigonus is brought back to Judea and imprisons Phasael and Hyrcanus. He is despondent over the escape of the women he had promised the Parthians and afraid lest Hyrcanus will be restored to his position as high priest, and so cuts oﬀ his ears (a short explanation of the Jewish

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further humiliation (described as a courageous act, and his death is heroic, as opposed to Hyrcanus’ ignobility, 271). More about Ph.’s death: another account, claiming that he survived the head injury but took poison. The Parthians do not obtain their coveted prizes but nevertheless put Antigonus to the throne, and take Hyrcanus away as a prisoner (273).

law follows, 366). Phasael dies corageously by dashing his own head against a rock (or by taking poison after having survived the wound, similar to BJ ).

H. seeks help from Malchus king of Arabia in the name of the friendship between him and Antipater. He is willing to give money and his nephew as guarantees, but ‘Fate, however, proved to have outstripped his zeal (275)’, and he is declined (the Arab king pretending to have received orders from the Parthians but in reality, says Josephus, was escaping from paying his debts to Antipater, 276. Malchus is portrayed as a greedy, shameless and weak). H. escapes through Egypt and Rhodes to Rome and arrives at Antony’s court. In Egypt he is warmly welcome by Cleopatra but does not succumb to her political solicitations, 279). He survives the journey’s perils and arrives in Rome. There A., ‘moved with compassion at his reverse of fortune (282)’, and inﬂuenced by the former xenia with Antipater and ‘above all’ by Herod’s ‘heroic qualities’ (282), resolves to appoint him King of the Jews. Josephus

Herod appeals for help to the Arab king Malchus, who had received many beneﬁts from the family before. But M. refuses to help and sends him away with the pretext of Parthian threats but in reality to escape his debt-paying (similar to BJ albeit slightly shorter, and without the comments about fate, 371–3). Herod proceeds to Egypt (where he learns about his brother’s death but the account is missing the fact that this had grieved him greatly, 374), and Cleopatra receives him with respect in Alexandria but fails to persuade him to remain there (no mention of the help she required for her expedition). H. then sails to Pamphylia and Rhodes, braves the storm and helps the ravaged city (377). He then reaches Rome and hurries to see Antony (379). Herod relates his misfortunes to Antony (and the political situation in Judea, in more detail than BJ, 379–80). Antony resolves to help Herod,

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mentions Antony’s aversion for Antigonus. Caesar (i.e. Octavian) seconds this decision and the Senate is convened. Herod’s nomination is approved unanimously, and he is given a banquet by Antony (285).

because he is ‘moved to pity by the reverses of Herod, and indulged in the familiar reﬂection concerning those who are placed in so high a station, that they too are subject to the rule of fortune (381)’ and partly because of Antipater’s hospitality (this is the ﬁrst reason mentioned in the BJ; the philosophical meditations are absent from the BJ ), and chieﬂy because of his hatred of Antigonus. Octavian agrees to help H. due to Antipater’s former assistance, and as a favour to Antony (383, the latter is not mentioned in the BJ ). They convene the Senate and appoint Herod King of the Jews. The next two chapters, 386–7, have no parallel in the BJ: Antony bestowes further devotion and goodwill to Herod: not only did he grant him a title Herod had not expected or wished for himself (but for his wife’s brother, of the royal Hasmonean descent), he also enabled him to leave within 7 days. Another additional comment: Herod later killed that brother-in-law, as will be related later (AJ 15.53 ﬀ ). H. is leaving the Senate walking between Antony and Caesar, and is given kingly honours in Rome.

1.286–353: Meanwhile, Antigonus besieges Masada (which was in want of water, but an unexpected rain had saved the inhab-

14.390–481: Masada, besieged by Antigonus and lacking in water, defended successfully by Joseph, brother of Herod. The

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itants, Herod’s family, from the need to escape, 287). Vestidius and Silo advance from Syria into Judea, camp near Jerusalem with the intention of extorting money from Antigonus. Herod then returns to Judea from Rome (290) and begins his armed struggle to obtain internal control in Judea. He receives support from the Romans (however small), as well as from locals who join his forces (291–2). Conquest of Joppa and release of Masada, while ‘the country-folk rallied him, some drawn by old aﬀection for his father, others by his own renown; some in return for beneﬁts oﬀered by both father and son, but the majority attracted by their expectations from one whose claim to the throne seemed assured (293)’. Arrival of Herod near Jerusalem, and battle with Antigonus at the outskirts of the city.

Silo’s corruptive schemes revealed (297). Further campaigns in Judea and Galilee: Idumaea, Arbela, the executions of the cave-dwellers (309),

Romans arrive from Syria and extory money from Antigonus.

Return of Herod from Rome, supported by Silo and Ventidius as well as by the local population (this is a shorter and more condensed account than the BJ, but Josephus oﬀers the same explanation for the local support as in BJ 1.293 in AJ 14. 395–8). Conquest of Joppa and Masada.

The siege of Herod and Silo on Jerusalem. Local clashes at the outskirts of the city (almost verbatim as BJ ). But then comes an addition to the former account: Antigonus appeals to Silo and claims ‘that it would be contrary to their own notion of right if they gave the kindship to Herod who was a commoner and an Idumaean, that is, a half-Jew (hemiioudaion), when they ought to oﬀer it to those who were of the (royal), as was their custom (403–5)’. Silo’s schemes revealed (a slightly longer account than BJ, 406–12). Herod’s wars in Galilee, and the cavedwellers aﬀair (similar account, but emphasis on Galilee).

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and overcoming yet another rising in the Galilee. Roman victory over the Parthians (317). Machaeras in Judea, resents Herod. Herod complains.

Machaeras (longer account than BJ ).

Herod assists Antony in the siege of Samosata. Joseph, Herod’s brother, is meanwhile defeated and killed. Further revolt in Judea. Herod returns to the land and escapes death ‘miraculously’ twice ( Jericho, 331–2, and the bath scene, 340–1). Herod’s siege of Jerusalem and the marriage with Mariamme. The war over Jerusalem, Herod’s victory and capture of the city and Antigonus with the help of Sossius.

H. Helps Antony in Samosata. Joseph killed in Jericho. War in Jericho, Herod defeats Antigonus. Miraculous escape from assassination (bath in Jericho, 462–4).

1.354–400: Establishment of Herod’s kingdom. First, his attempts to restrain his foreign allies from looting Jerusalem and the Temple. Antigonus is put to death (ﬁrst time that Herod is referred to as ‘King Herod’, Basileus Heròdès, 358). Cleopatra plots against Herod (this theme will recur many times from now on, intermingled with the internal family feuds). As a consequence of her schemes, Antony orders some exactions from Herod’s kingdom in favour of Cleopatra (361–3). Then comes a long account of the external wars with the neighbouring kingdoms: Cleopatra, Arabia. Defeats and victories (and Herod’s address to his troops). Actium. Herod makes a pact with

14.482–15.13: Establishment of Herod’s reign and his relationship with his foreign allies. Herod restrains his foreign allies from plundering Jerusalem. He then bribes Antony and the latter orders the Execution of Antigonus, the last Hasmonean. Herod is then ‘freed of his fear (14.490)’ lest the Romans will reappoint a Hasmonean king. End of book 14. ( The following has no straightforward parallel in the BJ and the parallel part appears later in the narrative, in 15.15–163, 182–202: foreign aﬀairs, see below): Establishment of Herod’s reign in Jerusalem: spares Samaias and Pollion. Again: execution of Antigonus by Mark Antony. Hyrcanus released by the Parthians.

Marriage with Mariamme. War over Jerusalem and capture of the city and Antigonus with the help of Sossius (including an account of the bravery of the besieged, and the fall of the city, 470–81).

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Octavian and in return his kingdom is enlarged (up to 20 bc). 1.401–430: Herod’s building projects (and his physical prowess and virtue, 429, followed by:).

These appear at a later stage of the AJ, partly in 15.292–298, and are partly dispersed through the narrative as follows: (15.360f; 380, 318; 296ﬀ., 363f., 331–339 (Caesarea); 16.136–145 (Anthedon, Antipatris, Cypros and Phasaelis); 16.145f., 323ﬀ. (Herodium, and his tributes to foreign cities); 147–149 (Olympic games). 15.14–73; 164–182: Herod’s aﬀairs with the Hasmoneans, beginning with Hyrcanus’ return to Jerusalem and ending with his execution (164–182, two alternative versions). (This passage as it is has no direct parallel in the BJ, where it is included (in a shorter version) in the account of Herod’s familial tragedies). 15.15–163; 182–202: The account of Herod’s foreign aﬀairs, wars with the neighbours, and Roman aﬀairs (his friendship with Antony and Cleopatra, and then, after the battle of Actium (161–3) his pact with Octavian. 182 ﬀ. is an extended account of the political relationship between Octavian and Herod, including the former’s visit to Judea.

1.431–551: Herod’s domestic tragedies (ending with the executions of Alexander and Aristobulus, 1.551. (This account is very long and elaborate, and concentrates

15.202–291: Family aﬀairs, beginning with the Mariamme episode, and ending with the discovery of a plot to kill Herod and the execution of the rebels (291).

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mainly on H.’s family aﬀairs with hardly any comments about the nature of his reign, or his foreign policy. H. is portrayed very much like a ‘mad Roman Emperor’). 1.552–655: More unfortunate family aﬀairs, with an emphasis on Herod’s wives and children, and their scheming, (especially Antipater).

The parallel narrative of AJ is roughly 17.1–199. See below.

1.656–673: Herod’s last days (portrayed as days of extreme confusion and reckless madness, resembling those of emperors like Nero and Caligula. More personal emphasis than the AJ, where some political issues of unrest are related with considerable detail): his last illness; the Jericho aﬀair (imprisonment of the notables). Herod’s attempt of suicide, Antipater’s execution, Herod’s death and funeral.

15.292–298: Herod’s Building projects, see above. 15.299–316: Until otherwise stated, the following is additional to the narrative of the BJ, by way of digressions within the general frame of Herod’s reign and family aﬀairs. The rhetorical eﬀect of those digressions is quite clear, compared to the BJ: Herod’s dubious personal conduct that brought upon him tragedies and misfortunes is mellowed and downplayed by the laudatory accounts of building and a successful conduct of foreign aﬀairs. Drought and plague in Judea; Herod relieves the population (no parallel). 15.317–341: More building projects, donations to foreign cities. 15.342–379: Alexander and Aristobulus are sent to Rome; more foreign aﬀairs, extension of Herod’s kingdom, suppressing rebellious attempts; Augustus visits Judea.

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appendix two 15.380–425: Rebuilding of Jerusalem and the Temple. A long and elaborate account with a lot of technical details. 16.1–65: Miscellaneous: Herod’s laws concerning theft; the return of Alexander and Aristobulus from Rome and Salome’s rising enmity; Herod and Marcus Agrippa and the aﬀair of the Ionian Jews (claiming their rights, and those being conﬁrmed by Agrippa, after having heard Nicolaus’ speech). 16.66–135: family aﬀairs: dissention from within, especially Antipater. The dispute over the heritage, Augustus interferes and Herod and his sons reach reconciliation. 16.136–159: More building projects (Caesaria), donations to foreign cities, plus a long comment on Herod’s love of fame (150– 159). 16.160–178: Roman decrees in favour of the Jews in Asia Minor, and Josephus’ explanation for citing them. 16.179–187: Herod opens David’s tomb; a comment regarding Nicolaus’ partiality (!!). 16.188–270: Family dissentious aﬀairs resume. Antipater plays a key role but not as enhanced as in BJ. Salome, Pheroras, Alexander. Herod’s mistrust of his family increases.

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16.271–299: Herod wages war against the Arabs, wins, but Augustus disapproves. 16.300–334: More family disorder, including Antipater’s further schemes, and the beginning of the Alexander and Aristobulus aﬀair (mentioning H.’s ‘extreme hatred’ of his sons). 16.335–355: Nicolaus clears Herod of the charges brought against him in Rome by the Arabs; Augustus executes Syllaeus. 16.356–404: Roman council concerning Alexander and Aristobulus. Diﬀerent opinion as to the appropriate punishment. Popular condemnation of the decision to kill the sons. Tiro the solider provokes Herod but is accused of plotting against him. Execution of the sons by strangling, and some reﬂections over Herod’s familial tragedies. 17.1–22: Family aﬀairs resumed, this time with an emphasis on Antipater’s intrigues (This theme will rule the rest of the narrative). Ant.’s plotting, Herod’s marital arrangements (wives and children). 17.23–31: a short interval concerning Herod’s involvement in settling the aﬀairs of the Babylonian Jews at Batanaea.

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appendix two 17.32–92: Antipater’s schemes continue (Pheroras and Salome). (This includes a political comment: the Pharisees refuse to swear allegiance to Herod and he kills some of them in 41–5). Roman involvement in Herod’s family feuds: Antipater in Rome before Augustus, accuses Syllaeus. The plot against H. is disclosed. Pheroras’ death. Antipater’s schemes are discovered (61). Divorce of H. and (the second) Mariamme. Antipater eventually returns to Judea and is received coldly (an account of H.’s reception in 17.89). 17.93–145: Antipater’s trial in Judea—a lengthy account, including Nicolaus’ accusations (a long account in itself, in oratio obliqua which summarises Antipater’s traitorous conduct once more, 106–23). Antipater then appeals to God for defence and mercy (as a last resort after all his scheming, 127–9), but is nevertheless put under arrest. His plot against Salome discovered and his crimes are reported to Rome. 17.146–199: The last days of Herod. His illness and personal suﬀering serve here as a frame which contains two political subnarratives: ﬁrst, the seditious attempt in Jerusalem with the attempt to tear down the golden eagle, the trial and punishment

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of the rebels, and the appointment of a new high priest, Joazar (149–67). The second sub-narrative is intermingled with the very end of Herod’s life. After going back to Herod’s illness which goes worse, and his desperate search for a cure, Josephus mentions the letter from Rome announcing Acme’s death, then Herod’s attempt of suicide, then Antipater’s execution (182–88). Then come the account of Herod’s death, his last will, and short but sober summary of his character and reign which can hardly be described as an obituary: ‘He was a man who was cruel to all alike and one who easily gave in to anger and was contemptuous of justice. And yet he was as greatly favoured by fortune as any man has ever been in that from being a commoner he was made king, and though encompassed by innumerable perils, he managed to escape them all and lived on to a very old age. As for the aﬀairs of his household and his relation to his sons, he had, in his own opinion at least, enjoyed very good fortune since he had not failed to get the better of those whom he considered his enemies, but in my opinion was very unfortunate indeed (17.191–2). The Herodian narrative of the AJ ends with Herod’s funeral (193–9).

APPENDIX THREE

RHETORICAL TOOLS IN USE IN BJ AND AJ OUTSIDE THE HEROD NARRATIVES

The following is a list of instances throughout the BJ and AJ where Josephus implements rhetorical tools similar to those he uses in the two Herod narratives. This list serves as an indication to my earlier suggestion that Josephus’ use of rhetorical tools is not conﬁned to the Herod narratives. The Herod narratives may have been more rhetorically adorned than other parts of the BJ and AJ, but Josephus’ authorial voice and editorial hand are apparent throughout his works. I shall not include editorial comments in the ﬁrst person here, as these appear extensively throughout Josephus’ works and are usually context related. Although some of the instances below (especially the longer speeches in BJ )1 have a signiﬁcant rhetorical impact, I shall not elaborate on that here, as such an analysis is beyond the scope of this book. Rhetorical Tools in BJ Digressions 2.119–166: Account of the three Jewish philosophies. 2.188–191: Description of Ptolemais and its sand. 2.204–220: Events in Rome following the assassination of Gaius and the accession of Claudius. 3.35–58: Geographical description of Galilee, Peraea, Judea and Samaria, and the kingdom of Agrippa II. 3.70–109: Detailed description of the Roman army. 3.158–160: Jotapata: landscape and characteristics.

1 With special reference to the following speeches: Agrippa in Jerusalem (2.345–401); Josephus in Jerusalem (5.362–420); and the two speeches of Eleazar in Masada (7.323–336 and 341–388). These have been extensively researched in modern scholarship, e.g. Lindner, Geschichtsauﬀassung.

246

appendix three

3.506–521: Geographical excursus of Lake Genassareth, Jordan River and the fertile soil of the area. 4.4–10: Description of the fortress of Gamla. 4.440–441: Events in Rome (Gallic revolt, Nero). 4.451–485: On Jericho and its environs. 4.530–533: Hebron: the city and its historical signiﬁcance. 4.545–549: Civil war in Italy. 4.585–88: More upheaval in Rome. 4.607–615: Description of Egypt. 4.630–655: Detailed account of further events in Rome. 5.47–49: Structure of the Roman army on the march to Judea. 5.136–183: Detailed description of the city of Jerusalem, immediately followed by: 5.184–247: Detailed account of the Temple and the fortress of Antonia. 7.132–152: The Triumphal procession in Rome: description of the pictorial stages and Temple spoils. 7.163–189: Description of the fortress of Machaerus. 7.219–237: Misfortunes of King Antiochus of Commagene. 7.280–303: Description of Masada: the rock and Herod’s fortress. Speeches 2.26–36:

2.84–92:

2.345–401: 2.605–608: 3.362–382: 3.399–403:

3.473–484: 4.39–48:

Speeches of Antipater and Nicolaus in Rome, concerning the reign of Archelaus (both related in an indirect speech form). Jewish deputies speak in Rome, requesting autonomy (direct speech). Nicolaus refutes their changes against the Herodians (short summary of his words). King Agrippa II to the people of Jerusalem. Josephus speaks to the people of Tarichaea, defending their accusations of treason. Josephus speaks to his soldiers in Jotapata, advocating suicide. Josephus to Vespasian after his capture. This short speech contains the prophetic premonition concerning Vespasian’s future as Emperor. Titus to his troops, in Tarichaea, before battle. Vespasian consoles his troops after the ﬁrst defeat at Gamla.

rhetorical outside the herod narratives 4.92–103:

4.216–223: 4.238–282:

4.366–376: 5.121–124: 5.362–420: 6.33–53: 6.96–110: 6.124–128: 6.328–350: 7.323–336: 7.341–388:

247

Titus urges the imhabitants of Gischala to surrender; John of Gischala replies with indignant refusal (both speeches are conveyed in indirect speech form). John of Gischala to the rebels in Jerusalem, urges to seek outside help against the moderates. The High Priest Jesus speaks to the Idumaeans (supporting the rebels), requests that they withdraw from the conﬂict; Simon, the Idumaean oﬃcer, replies with refusal. Vespasian to his colleagues, debating whether to attack Jerusalem. Titus reprimands his troops for complacency and lack of discipline. Josephus speaks to the rebels in Jerusalem (from outside the walls), implores them to surrender. Titus to his troops (exhortation speech). Josephus to John of Gischala and the rebels in Jerusalem, after the destruction of the Antonia fortress in Jerusalem. Titus appeals to the Jews in Jerusalem for surrender. Second appeal of Titus to the rebels. First speech of Eleazar to the rebels in Masada. Second speech of Eleazar, advocating mass suicide. Obituaries

2.469–476: Account of the tragic death and obituary of Simon, a Jewish citizen in Scythopolis who has slain his own family during the violent anti-Jewish events in the city. 4.319–325: Obituaries of the High Priests Jesus and Ananus, murdered by the rebels in Jerusalem. Natural and Supernatural Phenomena 1.78:

Prophetic prediction of Judas the Essene concerning the murder of Antigonus the Hasmonean. 2.112–116: Prophetic dreams of Archelaus and Glaphyra. 2.650: Mentioning of bad omens in Jerusalem at the eve of the revolt (no details). 3.419–427: Sea storm destroys the city of Joppa. 4.385–388: List of ‘ancient prophecies’ concerning the destruction of Jerusalem.

248 6.288–315:

appendix three More omens, portents and unnatural occurrences predicting the fall of Jerusalem. Rhetorical Tools in AJ Digressions

3.115–87:

Tabernacle and Temple technical descriptions, mainly of the Tabernacle tools. 3.224–294: A detailed digression outlining all the laws of the evolving Hebrew Politeia. This includes rules concerning all areas of life: religious sacriﬁces, social laws, the structure of the army. It comes as a summary for the lengthy account of the foundation of the Jewish nation (i.e. Jews, or Hebrews, as a political entity). 8.50–99: Description of the Temple. 8.155–60: Etymological digression on the meaning of the title ‘Pharaoh’. 11.317–347: an otherwise uncorroborated account of the encounter between Alexander the Great and the Jews.2 This digression from the narrative is interesting, as its impact has to do with combining Jewish and Greco-Roman histories and rendering the text with further reliability in the eyes of a Gentile audience. It contains many traits familiar from Greco-Roman history and literature—the encounter of an acclaimed ruler with a foreign nation, and his conviction with their ways and manners, following an oracular dream (336). 12.11–118: Josephus’ paraphrase of The Letter of Aristeas relating the story of the writing of the LXX. 18.11–25: The Three Jewish Philosophies. This account outlines the three main sects in Second Temple Judaism, and includes an additional, ‘fourth’ philosophy, all designed to depict the internal structure of Jewish society in a more comprehensible light to non-Jewish audience. 18.39–52: Events concerning the Parthian king.

2

A similar story appears in the Babylonian Talmud: B.Yoma 69a.

rhetorical outside the herod narratives

249

18.127–239: An extended digression concerning Herod’s descendants, then focusing on Agrippa as a central ﬁgure, and his aﬀairs within the Roman court ( Josephus’ aﬃliation to both the Flavians and Agrippa is obvious). 18.310–79: A history of the Jewish community in Babylon. 19.1–277: The longest account of Roman aﬀairs, relating the events from Caligula to Claudius. Very detailed, containing a few editorial remarks (19.15), and one extended speech (see in the relevant section). 20.17–96: The story of Helena of Adiabene and the conversion to Judaism of the Adiabene royal family. 20.224–251: list of the High priests from the ﬁrst Temple to the day. Speeches 2.141–158:

Judah to Joseph, seeking his brother’s salvation. This speech is an augmented and Hellenised version of the biblical speech (Genesis 44). 3.84–88: Moses to the Hebrews when returning from Mt. Sinai. This speech does not appear in Scripture. 6.40–45: Samuel tries to dissuade the people from having a king. This is an augmentation, which bears very Greco-Roman tones. Samuel mainly lists the vices of tyranny. 11.168–171: Nehemiah speaks to the people of Jerusalem. Here Josephus combines a few sources, namely Nehemiah 2.11 and 2 Esdras. He creates an ampliﬁed version of the biblical speech. 12.302–304: Judas Maccabeus’ exhortation speech. This speech is derived from 1 Maccabees but ampliﬁed by Josephus. 19.167–185: Sentius Saturninus speaks in the Senate following the decision to declare Claudius as Caesar. This is one of the longest and certainly most elaborate speeches in the narrative. Very Greco-Roman in nature, and addressing issues like tyranny and tradition. Quite unusual in the AJ, in its length, style and thematic focus. However, it is well placed in the narrative and draws the attention to the Rome-Judea axis, one of the themes of AJ.3 3 See chapter 3 above. Mason, ‘Between the Lines’, examines this speech more closely.

250

appendix three Obituaries

Josephus writes obituaries of central ﬁgures in Jewish history, such as Moses (4.327–31); Saul (6.378), David and Solomon, and the Hasmonean brothers and later kings (books 12–14). These obituaries are usually short, straightforward in style and present the reader with a summary of the person’s conduct. Natural and Supernatural phenomena 5.218–221: Dream of the Medianite soldier. This is an insigniﬁcant and non-Jewish character, which, in a way, serves as proof of the independent existence of supernatural forces (i.e. not only Jews are subject to the powers of the Jewish God). 8.124–128: God is revealed to Solomon in a dream. 6.92: A Divinely induced storm to make a point to Saul and the people. The Saul episode is full of supernatural phenomena, culminating in the encounter with the witch of Endor. This of course follows the biblical narrative, but Josephus, it seems, makes no eﬀort to remder his narrative with credible ‘historical’ tones but rather succumbs to the strong tendencies of the Bible. Saul, in general, is portrayed in a manner similar to that of Herod: i.e. a king who is subject to his emotions, a tragic ﬁgure, blinded by ambition and pride. 13.311: the prophecy of Judas the Essene concerning the fate of Aristobulus. 17.345: Archelaus’ dream followed by the dream of his wife Glaphyra, both predicting their doom.

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GENERAL INDEX

I have left out the following entries because they appear in virtually every page of the book: Josephus, Herod, Jerusalem, AJ, BJ, Jews and Judaism, narrative, narrator, narratees. Actium, battle of 79, 84, 90, 122, 156 Agrippa I 125 Agrippa II 6, 16 n.50, 125, 126, 191 n.15, 210, 219 Alexander (son of Herod) 93–95, 110, 116 n.6, 117, 124 n.37, 128 n.45, 132, 142–43, 143 n.94, 144, 144 n.95, 145–51, 151 n.131, 159 n.138, 169–70, 176, 183 n.195 Alexander Polyhistor 51 Alexander the Great 56, 57 alliance, speeches of 79, 84, 84 n.43, 85, 85 n.44, 111, 121 analepsis 71, 72, 121 Antigonus 72–3, 73 n.14, 85, 93, 94, 96, 102, 129, 162–65 Antipater (father of Herod) 93, 96, 128, 130, 141, 162–63, 219 Antipater (son of Herod) 80, 83, 86, 86 n.47, 87, 93, 95, 105, 111 n.105, 112 n.106, 116 n.6, 132, 132 n.62, 133, 134 n.64, 135, 135 n.68, 136, 150–52, 152 nn. 112–13, 153–54, 154 n.120, 176 n.183, 179–80, 184 Antony 72, 84–5, 90, 101, 104–5, 108, 121–22, 122 n.26, 138, 162–63, 163 n.151, 165–66, 166 n.159, 161 Apamea 71 Appian 72 n.11 Archelaus 28 Aristeas (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51 Aristobulus (son of Herod) 93–5, 110, 116 n.6, 117, 124 n.37, 128 n.45, 132, 142–43, 144 n.95, 149–51, 159 n.138, 165, 169–70, 176, 183 n.195 Aristotle 19 nn. 59, 60, 77 n.26, 83 n.41, 87 n.49, 106 nn.91, 93, 94, 117 n.8 Artapanus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 16 n.46, 51, 52 Asia Minor 125, 222 n.60 Assistant Theory/Hypothesis 115 n.1,

135 n.65, 207–8, 208 n.13, 209, 209 n.15, 211, 211 n.24, 219, 223, 223 n.64 Athens 42, 54, 56, 59, 84 n.43, 107, 158, 165 n.156 Batanea 125, 179 Berosus 66 n.99 biblical paraphrase (of AJ ) 14, 25, 26, 67 n.100, 91, 91 n.58, 134, 216 biography (ancient literary genre) 56 n.61, 63, 63 n.90, 67, 74 n.18, 75, 76 n.24, 82 n.40, 194 n.28 Bithynia 72 CA (Contra Apionem) 8 n.24, 23 n.70, 27 n.89, 67 n.100, 215 nn.36, 39 Caesar (Augustus) 75 nn.18, 20, 82 n.39, 86, 87, 108 n.97, 111, 117 n.11, 121, 125, 133, 136 n.70, 142–44, 147, 148–50, 153 n.118, 168, 170, 194 n.25 Caesar ( Julius) 62, 64, 71, 71 n.9 Caesarea 123, 171 Cambyses 194 Cassius 71, 72, 101 Cassius Dio 54 n.53, 55 n.54, 96 n.70, 102 n.81 Chronicles, books of 46–7, 47 n.30, 48, 48 nn.31–2, 49 n.35, 53 Cicero 17 n.51, 19 n.59, 54, 58 n.65, 61–2, 62 n.82, 86 n.47, 106 n.93, 143 n.91, 196 n.37, 201 n.47 Cleodemus-Malchus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51 Cleopatra 101, 105, 121–22, 122 n.26, 138, 138 n.75, 165 n.156, 166, 166 n.159, 167 n.161 Costubarus 132 Cyrene, Jason of 50 n.40 Cyrene, Jews of 125 Cyrus 49, 67, 123 n.33, 137 n.72

260

general index

Demetrius (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51, 51 n.45, 52, 216 n.41 Deuteroministic Historiography 39 n.2, 44 n.12, 47, 47 nn.26, 28, 157 n.126 deviant focalization 37 n.122, 135, 135 n.69, 152 n.114, 155, 161 Diaspora Jews 34, 43 n.11, 120, 125, 141, 162, 173, 189, 220 Dionysius (of Halicarnassus) 13, 19 n.59, 54 n.53, 55 n.54, 56, 59, 73 n.12, 81, 81 n.35, 196 n.37, 213 earthquake in Judea 84, 89, 90–1, 122, 156, 156 n.122 Egypt 158, 167 embedded focalization 37 n.122, 70 n.4, 116, 147, 160 n.141, 177, 182, 184, 199 Essenes 5, 123 Eupolemus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 16 n.46, 51 famine, in Judea 89 n.53, 119, 122, 127, 158, 160 n.141, 167–68, 176 n.183 Flavian court 6 Rome 40 Flavians 189 focalization 36 n.116, 37, 37 n.122, 59, 70, 71, 106, 111–12, 142 n.89, 147, 157 n.131, 161 n.143, 166, 169 n.169, 181, 184, 197, 199 forensic oratory 87 n.48, 111 n.105, 144, 153 n.118 rhetoric 112 n.106 speeches 83, 86, 142 n.91, 148 Galilee 4, 5, 5 n.9, 36, 75, 75 n.20, 76 , 136 Greco-Roman historiography 2, 7, 8–10, 13 n.36, 16 n.44, 43, 54–65, 70 n.7, 73 n.12, 76 n.23, 77, 84, 89, 91, 92, 98 n.76, 102 n.83, 129 n.51, 137, 140, 146, 149 n.105, 156 nn.122, 125, 174, 188, 192–93, 203, 204 n.3, 210, 212–13, 215 Greek historiography 45, 45 n.16, 54, 55–60, 61, 65 n.97, 67 n.100, 69, 81, 83 n.41, 194, 194 n.28, 214, 216

Hasmonean 131, 131 n.55 account 189 n.10 dynasty 22, 129, 164 narrative 23 period 25, 84 n.44, 220 revolt 22 state 198 Hasmoneans 28, 129, 162, 167, 189, 222 n.59 Hellenistic historiography 44 n.12, 49 n.38, 50, 53–60, 210, 213 Hellenistic Jewish Historians (as genre) 16 nn. 45–8, 40, 46, 51, 51 n.46, 52, 214 Herodeion 123 Herodotus 10 n.28, 15, 16 n.44, 18, 36 n.117, 55, 56 n.57, 57 n.62, 58 n.69, 59 n.73, 62, 65 n.97, 67, 75 n.19, 76 n.23, 77 n.26, 78, 79 n.32, 81, 81 n.35, 83 n.41, 89, 89 n.52, 92 n.63, 98 n.75, 99, 99 n.76, 100 n.77, 102 n.83, 104, 106 n.92, 107, 108 n.97, 110, 129 n.51, 131 n.56, 132 n.62, 137 n.72, 156 nn.123–4, 157 n.129, 194 Hyrcanus (High Priest) 93–4, 96, 99, 100, 100 n.77, 101–2, 102 n.82, 121, 129–31, 131 n.55, 135–37, 165 Idumaea, Idumaeans 163, 221 impiety (as theme in AJ ) 29, 117, 119, 128, 138, 139 n.79, 140, 145, 148, 152 n.115, 160–61, 175, 181, 183–84, 193, 198 irony (in Josephan historiography) 74, 79, 86–7, 87 n.48, 88, 93, 96–7, 111, 111 n.105, 112, 112 n.106, 135, 139, 141–42, 144–45, 147, 155, 163, 172, 197 Jericho 102–3, 129, 181 Jotapata 5, 5 n.9, 208 Judea 3, 5, 6, 22, 28, 43 n.11, 52, 71–3, 73 n.14, 74, 79, 80, 84, 84 n.44, 85, 85 n.44, 88, 88 n.50, 89, 89 n.53, 91, 111–12, 120, 122–23, 123 n.30, 125 n.38, 136, 141, 156, 156 n.122, 157–58, 158 n.132, 163, 167, 171–72, 179, 190, 196 n.35, 197–98, 211, 218–20, 222, 222 n.60 Judean autonomy 28 history 28, 189, 214, 220

general index

261

independence 88 revolt 20, 40 society 86 state 22 Judeans 14, 123 n.30, 141, 158 n.132, 159, 163, 189 Justus of Tiberias 27 n.89, 45 n.17, 51

Pseudo-Eupolemus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51 Pseudo-Hecataeus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51

Livy 17, 31 n.99, 54 n.53, 61 n.80, 62, 62 n.36, 63, 64

readership (of AJ, BJ, Josephan readership, secondary-modern readership) 13 n.37, 34, 34 n.114, 35, 74 n.15, 104 n.87, 111 n.105, 211 rhetoric (in historiography, in Josephus) 1, 10–12, 15, 18–20, 26, 69–72, 82–3, 83 n.41, 106–113, 115–17, 127, 135, 140, 182–84, 187–88, 191–93, 194, 196 n.37, 199, 200, 200 n.46, 201, 201 n.47, 207–8, 210, 210 n.23, 213 n.31, 214–16 Roman historiography 40, 40 n.5, 42, 55, 57, 60–65, 88 n.50, 213

Maccabees, books of 23 n.72, 45 n.20, 46, 49, 49 n.36, 50, 51 n.46 Manethon 66 n.99 Marcus Agrippa 125, 140, 141 n.85, 164 Mariamme 78–9, 94, 97, 105 n.89, 110, 116 n.6, 130–31, 131 n.55, 58, 132, 157, 166–67, 167 n.161, 169, 183, 194 n.27 Masada 3, 3 n.4, 4, 163, 203 n.1, 214 Menachem the Essene 124 Narratology 24, 26, 30–38, 69 n.2, 98 n.74, 199, 200, 200 n.45, 201 Nicolaus of Damascus 14, 21, 21 n.67, 23–29, 70 n.6, 71 n.9, 75 nn.18, 20, 21, 76 n.24, 83, 86–7, 89 n.51, 91, 91 n.61, 92 n.65, 93, 103 n.85, 111, 123 n.34, 125, 136 n.70, 140–41, 141 n.84, 142, 148–50, 150 n.109, 151–52, 152 n.114, 153, 153 n.117, 154, 174, 176 n.183, 180, 188, 188 n.8, 189, 191, 194 n.25, 209–10, 220–23 Octavian 72, 76 n.24, 79, 83–5, 85 n.46, 101, 103 n.85, 167 oratio obliqua 142 n.89, 148 oratio recta 148 Pharisees, Pharisaism 5, 100 n.77, 178 n.186 Phasael (brother of Herod) 72, 93, 102, 128–29 Pheroras 95, 132–33, 147, 169, 175, 179 Philippi, battle of 72 Polybius 8 n.24, 9–11, 11 n.30, 18 n.56, 36 n.117, 53, 56, 58, 58 n.65–8, 59, 60 n.77, 98 n.75, 107, 139 n.79, 153 n.116, 174 n.178, 188, 211 n.23, 213

Quellenkritik 6 n.38, 24 n.75, 206, 208 n.14, 210

Sadducees 5 Salome 105, 147, 169, 175 Samaias 135 n.66, 136, 136 n.70, 137, 137 n.72, 138 n.74, 150 Sanhedrin 136, 136 n.70, 137, 137 n.72 stasis 67, 72–3, 73 n.12, 74, 101 n.79, 146, 149 n.104, 165 n.156, 168 n.164, 175 supplication, speeches of 144 Tacitus 10 n.29, 11 n.30, 16 n.50, 34 n.114, 62, 62 n.84, 63, 64, 64 nn.91, 93–4, 65 n.95, 92 n.64, 98 n.72, 102 n.83, 128 n.46, 135 n.68, 146 n.100 Temple (Second) 22, 28, 68, 82, 119, 122, 122 n.26, 123–24, 124 n.30, 139, 144, 154, 160 n.139, 169, 171 n.174, 189, 198 Thallus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51 Theophilus (Hellenistic Jewish historian) 51 Thucydides 9, 10, 10 n.28, 16, 16 n.44, 18 n.56, 31, 31 nn.101–2, 32 n.105, 36, 36 n.117, 40, 42 n.9, 45 n.19, 53, 56, 56 n.57, 57, 57 n.63, 58–9, 77 n.26, 83 n.41, 84, 84 n.43, 89, 91, 96 n.70, 98 n.75, 99, 99 n.76, 106 n.91, 107, 109 n.99, 132

262

general index

n.62, 138 n.77, 145–46, 149 n.104, 157, 157 nn.127–29, 158, 161, 161 n.148, 168 n.164, 174 n.178, 188, 201, 213, 215, 217 n.42 Tiro (outspoken soldier) 135, 135 nn.66, 68, 149, 149 n.106, 150 Titus 4, 5 tragedy (genre) 30, 39, 40 n.5, 60, 77, 77 n.26, 80 n.34, 90, 96 n.70, 105 n.89, 106 nn.91, 94, 107, 107 n.96, 108–9, 112, 117 n.8, 128, 131 n.57, 134, 135 n.67, 144, 147, 149, 150, 152 n.115, 153, 155 n.183, 183, 184 n.199, 185, 191, 193–95, 209, 223 tragic (character/hero in historiography) 77, 77 nn.26–7, 108, 110 n.102, 131 n.57, 145, 147, 184 n.198, 194–95, 198 tragic historiography 10, 50 tyranny (theme in historiography) 22,

28, 81, 81 n.36, 108, 116–17, 119, 167 n.162, 190, 193 universal history (genre) 12, 20, 67 Varus (Roman oﬃcial) 87, 153 Vespasian 4, 5 Vita, autobiography of Josephus 4, 5, 5 nn.7–9, 6, 6 n.12, 17 n.53, 27 n.89, 36 n.118, 75 n.20, 129 n.50, 206–7, 209 wise adviser (in Greco-Roman historiography) 137 n.72 Xenophon 67 Xerxes 67, 77 n.26, 78, 80 n.34, 107, 110, 137 n.72, 194 Zamaris ( Jew from Babylonia)

125–26

Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity (Arbeiten zur Geschichte des Antiken Judentums und des Urchristentums)

martin hengel Tübingen pieter w. van der horst Utrecht·martin goodman Oxford daniel r. schwartz Jerusalem ·cilliers breytenbach Berlin friedrich avemarie Marburg ·seth schwartz New York 1 M. Hengel. Die Zeloten. Untersuchungen zur jüdischen Freiheitsbewegung in der Zeit von Herodes i. bis 70 n.Chr. 2.verbesserte und erweiterte Auflage. 1976. isbn 90 04 04327 6 2 O. Betz. Der Paraklet. Fürsprecher im häretischen Spätjudentum, im Johannes-Evangelium und in neu gefundenen gnostischen Schriften. 1963. isbn 90 04 00109 3 5 O. Betz. Abraham unser Vater. Juden und Christen im Gespräch über die Bibel. Festschrift für Otto Michel zum 60. Geburtstag. Herausgegeben von O. Betz, M. Hengel, P. Schmidt. 1963. isbn 90 04 00110 7 6 A. Böhlig. Mysterion und Wahrheit. Gesammelte Beiträge zur spätantiken Religionsgeschichte. 1968. isbn 90 04 00111 5 7 B.J. Malina. The Palestinian Manna Tradition. The MannaTradition in the PalestinianTargums and its Relationship to the New Testament Writings. 1968. isbn 90 04 00112 3 8 J. Becker. Untersuchungen zur Entstehungsgeschichte der Testamente der zwölf Patriarchen. 1970. isbn 90 04 00113 1 9 E. Bickerman. Studies in Jewish and Christian History. 1. 1976. isbn 90 04 04396 9 2. 1980. isbn 90 04 06015 4 3. 1986. isbn 90 04 07480 5 11 Z.W. Falk. Introduction to Jewish Law of the Second Commonwealth. 1. 1972. isbn 90 04 03537 0 2. 1978. isbn 90 04 05249 6 12 H. Lindner. Die Geschichtsauffassung des Flavius Josephus im Bellum Judaicum.

Gleichzeitig ein Beitrag zur Quellenfrage. 1972. isbn 90 04 03502 8 13 P. Kuhn. Gottes Trauer und Klage in der rabbinischen Überlieferung. Talmud und Midrasch. 1978. isbn 90 04 05699 8 14 I. Gruenwald. Apocalyptic and Merkavah Mysticism. 1980. isbn 90 04 05959 8 15 P. Schäfer. Studien zur Geschichte und Theologie des rabbinischen Judentums. 1978. isbn 90 04 05838 9 16 M. Niehoff. The Figure of Joseph in Post-Biblical Jewish Literature. 1992. isbn 90 04 09556 x 17 W.C. van Unnik. Das Selbstverständnis der jüdischen Diaspora in der hellenistischrömischen Zeit. Aus dem Nachlaß herausgegeben und bearbeitet von P.W. van der Horst. 1993. isbn 90 04 09693 0 18 A.D. Clarke. Secular and Christian Leadership in Corinth. A Socio-Historical and Exegetical Study of 1 Corinthians 1-6. 1993. isbn 90 04 09862 3 19 D.R. Lindsay. Josephus and Faith. Πστις and πιστε ειν as Faith Terminology in theWritings of Flavius Josephus and in the New Testament. 1993. isbn 90 04 09858 5 20 D.M. Stec (ed.). The Text of the Targum of Job. An Introduction and Critical Edition. 1994. isbn 90 04 09874 7 21 J.W. van Henten & P.W. van der Horst (eds.). Studies in Early Jewish Epigraphy. 1994. isbn 90 04 09916 6 22 B.S. Rosner. Paul, Scripture and Ethics. A Study of 1 Corinthians 5-7. 1994. isbn 90 04 10065 2 23 S. Stern. Jewish Identity in Early Rabbinic Writings. 1994. isbn 90 04 10012 1 24 S. Nägele. Laubhütte Davids und Wolkensohn. Eine auslegungsgeschichtliche Studie zu Amos 9:11 in der jüdischen und christlichen Exegese. 1995. isbn 90 04 10163 2 25 C.A. Evans. Jesus and His Contemporaries. Comparative Studies. 1995. isbn 90 04 10279 5 26 A. Standhartinger. Das Frauenbild im Judentum der hellenistischen Zeit. Ein Beitrag anhand von ‘Joseph und Aseneth’. 1995. isbn 90 04 10350 3 27 E. Juhl Christiansen. The Covenant in Judaism and Paul. A Study of Ritual Boundaries as Identity Markers. 1995. isbn 90 04 10333 3 28 B. Kinman. Jesus’ Entry into Jerusalem. In the Context of LukanTheology and the Politics of His Day. 1995. isbn 90 04 10330 9 29 J.R. Levison. The Spirit in First Century Judaism. 1997. isbn 90 04 10739 8 30 L.H. Feldman. Studies in Hellenistic Judaism. 1996. isbn 90 04 10418 6 31 H. Jacobson. A Commentary on Pseudo-Philo’s Liber Antiquitatum Biblicarum. With LatinText and EnglishTranslation. Two vols. 1996. isbn 90 04 10553 0 (Vol.1); isbn 90 04 10554 9 (Vol.2); isbn 90 04 10360 0 (Set) 32 W.H. Harris iii. The Descent of Christ. Ephesians 4:7-11 and Traditional Hebrew Imagery. 1996. isbn 90 04 10310 4

33 R.T. Beckwith. Calendar and Chronology, Jewish and Christian. Biblical, Intertestamental and Patristic Studies. 1996. isbn 90 04 10586 7 34 L.H. Feldman & J.R. Levison (eds.). Josephus’ Contra Apionem. Studies in its Character and Context with a Latin Concordance to the Portion Missing in Greek. 1996. isbn 90 04 10325 2 35 G. Harvey. The True Israel. Uses of the Names Jew, Hebrew and Israel in Ancient Jewish and Early Christian Literature. 1996. isbn 90 04 10617 0 36 R.K. Gnuse. Dreams and Dream Reports in the Writings of Josephus. A TraditioHistorical Analysis. 1996. isbn 90 04 10616 2 37 J.A. Draper. The Didache in Modern Research. 1996. isbn 90 04 10375 9 38 C. Breytenbach. Paulus und Barnabas in der Provinz Galatien. Studien zu Apostelgeschichte 13f.; 16,6; 18,23 und den Adressaten des Galaterbriefes. 1996. isbn 90 04 10693 6 39 B.D. Chilton & C.A.Evans. Jesus in Context. Temple, Purity, and Restoration. 1997. isbn 90 04 10746 0 40 C. Gerber. Ein Bild des Judentums für Nichtjuden von Flavius Josephus. Untersuchungen zu seiner Schrift Contra Apionem. 1997. isbn 90 04 10753 3 41 T. Ilan. Mine and Yours are Hers. RetrievingWomen’s History from Rabbinic Literature. 1997. isbn 90 04 10860 2 42 C.A. Gieschen. Angelomorphic Christology. Antecedents and Early Evidence. 1998. isbn 90 04 10840 8 43 W.J. van Bekkum. Hebrew Poetry from Late Antiquity. Liturgical Poems of Yehudah. Critical Edition with Introduction and Commentary. 1998. isbn 90 04 11216 2 44 M. Becker & W. Fenske (Hrsg.). Das Ende der Tage und die Gegenwart des Heils. Begegnungen mit dem NeuenTestament und seiner Umwelt. Festschrift für Prof.Heinz-Wolfgang Kuhn zum 65. Geburtstag. 1999. isbn 90 04 11135 2 45 S. von Stemm. Der betende Sünder vor Gott. Studien zu Vergebungsvorstellungen in urchristlichen und frühjüdischenTexten. 1999. isbn 90 04 11283 9 46 H. Leeming & K. Leeming (eds.). Josephus’ JewishWar and its Slavonic Version. A Synoptic Comparison of the English Translation by H.St.J. Thackeray with the Critical Edition by N.A. Mescerskij of the SlavonicVersion in theVilna Manuscript translated into English by H. Leeming and L. Osinkina. isbn 90 04 11438 6 47 M. Daly-Denton. David in the Fourth Gospel. The Johannine Reception of the Psalms. 1999. isbn 90 04 11448 3 48 T. Rajak. The Jewish Dialogue with Greece and Rome. Studies in Cultural and Social Interaction 2000. isbn 90 04 11285 5 49 H.H.D. Williams, iii. The Wisdom of the Wise. The Presence and Function of Scripture within 1 Cor. 1:18-3:23. 2000. isbn 90 04 11974 4 50 R.D. Rowe. God’s Kingdom and God’s Son. The Background to Mark’s

Christology from Concepts of Kingship in the Psalms. 2002. isbn 90 04 11888 8 51 E. Condra. Salvation for the Righteous Revealed. Jesus amid Covenantal and Messianic Expectations in Second Temple Judaism. 2002. isbn 90 04 12617 1 52 Ch.Ritter. Rachels Klage im antiken Judentum und frühen Christentum. Eine auslegungsgeschichtliche Studie. 2002. isbn 90 04 12509 4 53 C. Breytenbach & L.L. Welborn (eds.). Encounters with Hellenism. Studies on the First Letter of Clement. 2003. isbn 90 04 12526 4 54 W. Schmithals & C. Breytenbach (ed.). Paulus, die Evangelien und das Urchristentum. Beiträge von und zu Walter Schmithals zu seinem 80. Geburtstag. 2003. isbn 90 04 12983 9 55 K.P. Sullivan. Wrestling with Angels. A Study of the Relationship between Angels and Humans in Ancient Jewish Literature and the New Testament. 2004. isbn 90 04 13224 4 56 L. Triebel. Jenseitshoffnung in Wort und Stein. Nefesch und pyramidales Grabmal als Phänomene antiken jüdischen Bestattungswesens im Kontext der Nachbarkulturen. 2004. isbn 90 04 12924 3 57 C. Breytenbach & J. Schröter. Die Apostelgeschichte und die hellenistische Geschichtsschreibung. Festschrift für Eckhard Plümacher zu seinem 65. Geburtstag. 2004. isbn 90 04 13892 7 58 S. Weingarten. The Saint’s Saints. Hagiography and Geography in Jerome. 2005. isbn 90 04 14387 4 59 A. Hilhorst & G.H. van Kooten (eds.). The Wisdom of Egypt. Jewish, Early Christian, and Gnostic Essays in Honour of Gerard P. Luttikhuizen. 2005. isbn 90 04 14425 0 60 S. Chepey. Nazirites in Late Second Temple Judaism. A Survey of Ancient Jewish Writings, the New Testament, Archaeological Evidence, and Other Writings from Late Antiquity. 2005. isbn 90 04 14465 X 61 R.T. Beckwith. Calendar, Chronology and Worship. Studies in Ancient Judaism and Early Christianity. 2005. isbn 90 04 14603 2 62 L. Grushcow. Writing the Wayward Wife. Rabbinic Interpretations of Sotah. 2006. isbn 90 04 14628 8 63 T. Landau. Out-Heroding Herod. Josephus, Rhetoric, and the Herod Narratives. 2006. isbn 90 04 14923 6 64 S. Inowlocki. Eusebius and the Jewish Authors. His Citation Technique in an Apologetic Context. 2006. ISBN 90 04 14990 2 65 D. Milson. Art and Architecture of the Synagogue in Late Antique Palestine. In the Shadow of the Church. 2006. isbn 90 04 15186 9

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