LIBRARY OF HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT STUDIES
474 Formerly Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplement Series
Editors Claudia V. Camp, Texas Christian University Andrew Mein, Westcott House, Cambridge
Founding Editors David J. A. Clines, Philip R. Davies and David M. Gunn
Editorial Board Richard J. Coggins, Alan Cooper, John Goldingay, Robert P. Gordon, Norman K. Gottwald, Gina Hens-Piazza, John Jarick, Andrew D. H. Mayes, Carol Meyers, Patrick D. Miller, Yvonne Sherwood
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PERSPECTIVES ON PURITY AND PURIFICATION IN THE BIBLE
edited by
Baruch J. Schwartz, David P. Wright, Jeffrey Stackert, and Naphtali S. Meshel
Copyright © 2008 by Baruch J. Schwartz, David P. Wright, Jeffrey Stackert, and Naphtali S. Meshel All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, T & T Clark International. T & T Clark International, 80 Maiden Lane, New York, NY 10038 T & T Clark International, The Tower Building, 11 York Road, London SE1 7NX T & T Clark International is a Continuum imprint.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Perspectives on purity and purification in the Bible / edited by Baruch J. Schwartz ... [et al.]. p. cm. -- (The library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament studies ; 474) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-567-02832-7 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN-10: 0-567-02832-1 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Purity, Ritual--Judaism. 2. Cohanim. 3. Sacrifice--Judaism. I. Schwartz, Baruch J. BM702.P447 2008 296.3'2--dc22 2007051330
06 07 08 09 10 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS Preface List of Abbreviations
vii ix
INTRODUCTION
1
Part I SYSTEM THE FUNCTION OF THE NAZIRITE’S CONCLUDING PURIFICATION OFFERING Roy E. Gane
9
SIN AND IMPURITY: ATONED OR PURIFIED? YES! Jay Sklar
18
PURE, IMPURE, PERMITTED, PROHIBITED: A STUDY OF CLASSIFICATION SYSTEMS IN P Naphtali S. Meshel
32
DIRT AND DISGUST: BODY AND MORALITY IN BIBLICAL PURITY LAWS Thomas Kazen
43
DOES THE PRIESTLY PURITY CODE DOMESTICATE WOMEN? David Tabb Stewart
65
Part II METHOD BLOOD AS PURIFICANT IN PRIESTLY TORAH: WHAT DO WE KNOW AND HOW DO WE KNOW IT? William K. Gilders
77
METHODOLOGY AND IDEOLOGY IN THE STUDY OF PRIESTLY RITUAL Jonathan Klawans
84
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Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
PAGANS AND PRIESTS: CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON METHOD Frank H. Gorman Index of References Index of Authors
96
111 116
PREFACE The essays in this volume are based on papers read at two sessions on Purity and Purification in Pentateuchal law held at the 125th Anniversary Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature at its 125th Annual Meeting in Philadelphia, November 2005. In coordinating these sessions on behalf of the Pentateuch Section’s steering committee, I had the gracious assistance of David P. Wright, who then agreed to join with me in editing the present volume. Sincere thanks to him, and to our colleagues Jeffrey Stackert and Naphtali S. Meshel, for their devoted efforts in this cooperative venture. Thanks also to committee co-chairs Diane M. Sharon and Thomas B. Dozeman for encouraging us to conduct the sessions and for urging us collect the papers for publication. On behalf of the editors it is a pleasure to thank the participants for contributing their papers to this collection. Most important, heartfelt thanks go out on behalf of the editors and contributors to Claudia V. Camp and Andrew Mein for inviting us to include this collection in the Library of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, to Henry Carrigan, Burke Gerstenschlager, Katie Galoff, Gabriella Page-Fort, along with the rest of the acquisitions, editorial and production staff at T&T Clark International/Continuum, and to Duncan Burns, copyeditor and typesetter of this volume, for their painstaking and accommodating work in bringing this project to completion. Baruch J. Schwartz Jerusalem, April 2008
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ABBREVIATIONS AB ABD AJS Review AUSDS AV
BRLJ BZAW CBQ CC ConBNT FOTL HAT HTR HUCA ICC IDB JB
JAAR JAOS JBL JANES JQR JSOT JSOTSup LXX
NAC NASB
NCBC NEB
NICOT NIV
NIVAC NJPS/V NRSV
OBT OTL OTS PEQ RB
The Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday, 1992 Association for Jewish Studies Review Andrews University Seminary Doctoral Dissertation Series Authorized Version Brill Reference Library of Judaism Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Catholic Biblical Quarterly Continental Commentaries Coniectanea biblica: New Testament Series Forms of the Old Testament Literature Handbuch zum Alten Testament Harvard Theological Review Hebrew Union College Annual The International Critical Commentary The Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible. Edited by G. A. Buttrick. 4 vols. Nashville: Abingdon, 1962 Jerusalem Bible Journal of the American Academy of Religion Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society Jewish Quarterly Review Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Journal for the Study of the Old Testament: Supplement Series Septuagint New American Commentary New American Standard Bible New Cambridge Bible Commentary New English Bible New International Commentary on the Old Testament New International Version NIV Application Commentary New Jerusalem Publication Society Version New Revised Standard Version Overtures to Biblical Theology The Old Testament Library Old Testament Studies Palestine Exploration Quarterly Revue biblique
x
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RSR
Recherches de science religieuse Revised Standard Version Society of Biblical Literature Dissertation Series South Florida studies in the history of Judaism Scripta hierosolymitana Studies in Jerusalem in Late Antiquity Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Edited by G. Kittel and G. Friedrich. Translated by G. W. Bromiley. 10 vols. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964–76 Theologisches Wörterbuch zum Alten Testament. Edited by G. J. Botterweck and Helmer Ringgren. 10 vols. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1970–2000 Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries Vetus Testamentum Supplements to Vetus Testamentum Word Biblical Commentary Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
RSV
SBLDS SFSHJ SH SJLA TDNT ThWAT TOTC VT VTSup WBC ZAW
INTRODUCTION Two related themes hold the essays in this volume together: the question of whether the purity laws central to the priestly writings, together with the broader ritual legislation contained therein, constitute a systematically conceived corpus, and the question of the methods and perspectives that ought to be employed for assessing such a system. The first question arises in the wake of research conducted during the last generation, research that tended to emphasize the internal coherence of the priestly legislation. This includes the work of biblical scholars, primarily Jacob Milgrom, and that of anthropologists, most notably Mary Douglas. Their research has been a sort of intellectual fertilizer, yielding a bumper crop of younger scholars who have now begun to study the priestly corpus and its concerns—reviewing, questioning, and proposing corrections to the accomplishments of their influential mentors. The essays that appear here range from specific questions to broad methodological issues. The first five explore the question of system. Roy E. Gane’s essay, “The Function of the Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering,” proposes a new solution to one of the apparent inconsistencies in the system of the haÓÓƗ t rituals. Within the overall context of haÓÓƗ t sacrifices prescribed, Gane finds the interpretation that the Nazirite’s haÓÓƗ t is required because of the desanctification occurring when he exits his status as a Nazirite difficult to sustain. Turning instead to the analogy of the haÓÓƗ t performed in the consecration of the priests, Gane suggests that the Nazirite’s haÓÓƗ t is a function of his having dedicated his hair to the deity, which is the culmination of his vow. The function of the haÓÓƗ t is therefore to effect purification, making it consistent with the majority of cases. The essay “Sin and Impurity: Atoned or Purified? Yes!” by Jay Sklar likewise seeks to solve a classic crux in the attempt to interpret the priestly legislation as a coherent system, namely, the precise meaning of the verb kipper. Rejecting the vacillation posited by several scholars in the use of the word, he finds that the term has a dual meaning, signifying at the same time both ransoming (with which the concept of “atone” is associated) and purifying. This duality of meaning, he suggests, explains why the term appears in contexts of both sin and impurity: the rites that achieve the goal of kippur resolve situations that both endanger and defile. The essay by Naphtali S. Meshel, “Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited: A Study in Classification Systems in P,” seeks to expose the system underlying the dietary laws of Lev 11. Noting precisely which animal carcasses are called impure and which are called abominable, and differentiating between those that
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Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
are said to pollute and those that do not pollute, Meshel is able to arrive at a complex yet symmetrical classification of animals based on whether they are pure, may be eaten, or may be touched. This classification, he discovers, was the result of a sophisticated intellectualization of traditional and simpler dietary rules, and was probably not practiced or even intended to be practiced. Rather, it appears to make a theological statement: the prohibitions about contact and ingestion are divinely decreed inasmuch as their logic does not follow what was conceived as the natural order or the taxonomy of animals. Thomas Kazen’s “Dirt and Disgust: Body and Morality in Biblical Purity Laws” goes beyond the study of the biblical texts in order to make sense of the nexus of ritual and moral impurity. Kazen employs insights drawn from developmental psychology and evolutionary biology to show how the emotion of disgust underlies the aversion both to noxious or harmful agents and to unacceptable behaviors. Hence the use of the terminology for impurity with regard to behaviors is not simply a function of secondary, metaphorical extrapolation, but a primary use of that terminology, and what appears to be an inconsistency in priestly conceptions is in fact a form of coherence. His analysis of the dietary laws of Lev 11 can profitably be studied in conjunction with Meshel’s analysis. David T. Stewart’s “Does the Priestly Purity Code Domesticate Women?” seeks to get behind the priestly text and to detect the hidden female voice or perspective in the purity laws of Lev 11–15. He notes that women and their concerns appear, explicitly or implicitly, in the inclusive introduction to the subsection of Lev 13:29–39, in the context of weaving in 13:47–59 (a passage perhaps originally addressed to women), in the law of purification after childbirth in ch. 12 and in the laws of purification from regular and irregular sexual flows in ch. 15. He argues that the male perspective responsible for creating the texts of these chapters has appropriated these female realms and effaced female concerns, and he suggests that the chapters also reflect an uneasiness that the (male) writers may have had with female potentiality. The last three essays raise questions not only of system but of method. William K. Gilders’ essay, “Blood as Purificant in Priestly Torah: What Do We Know and How Do We Know It?” expresses some doubts on the validity of the reigning interpretations of the priestly texts by asking pointedly whether the various blood rites indeed achieve purification. Gilders makes use of the blood rites prescribed for the person cured of scale-disease in Lev 14 as a heuristic avenue. His purpose is not to show that interpreting these rites as acts of purification is necessarily wrong, but that the specific texts in question actually say very little about the purpose of the blood rites. Turning from Lev 14, Gilders makes more general observations regarding descriptions of blood manipulation in the priestly writings, arguing that the P authors never explain what blood actually does to impurities or why blood possesses purifying power. He thus questions whether the conceptual gap-filling performed by scholars in their quest for systematic interpretation of priestly ritual is justified, and suggests that the texts are more interested in praxis or performance than in the meaning of the performances.
Introduction
3
Jonathan Klawans’s study, “Methodology and Ideology in the Study of Priestly Ritual,” treats three broad issues. He calls attention to apologetic interests that may be at work in some of the symbolic approaches to ritual employed by scholars, and suggests that appeal to the prophetic texts may lead to a more objective understanding of the actual degree to which symbolism infused priestly performance in Biblical Israel. To accomplish this, Klawans explores the apparent contradiction between the lack of ethical interest in priestly prescriptions and the foregrounding of ethical interests in prophetic texts. An inversion in perspective, based on a more dispassionate approach, reveals that priestly thought is more precisely nuanced than prophetic, in that it distinguishes shades of gray, as against the often black-and-white perspective characteristic of prophetic denunciation. Klawans concludes by calling into question the models of religious development from the Priestly Torah to the Holiness Legislation proposed by recent scholarship, models that often imply that P’s legislation was indifferent to moral issues. Linear trajectories, he warns, should be avoided. Frank H. Gorman, in his wide-ranging essay, “Pagans and Priests: Critical Reflections on Method,” is concerned, like Klawans, about the symbolic interpretation of ritual that has come to dominate scholarship, but his questions are more basic: What is a symbol, how is symbolic meaning determined, and what different types of symbolism are there? Scholars, he observes, do not always keep these questions separate. Gorman too notes some of the inconsistencies in the priestly legislation and asks whether its authors even intended to provide a fully coherent body of literature or whether the perception of system may in fact be the creation of interpreters. He is further concerned with ascertaining the precise nature of what is represented by the ritual legislation preserved in P: are the actions prescribed really rituals in the historical, practical sense, or have they perhaps been written to be read, but not necessarily to be performed? Gorman concludes by criticizing some of the comparative analysis found in contemporary scholarship, finding that it errs on the side of privileging the ritual legislation in the Bible over the “pagan” rites of Israel’s neighbors, a value-laden and apologetic enterprise. In sum, there is a range of views represented, from cautious skepticism to relatively confident reconstructions. Between these two poles we have discussions elucidating priestly thought in terms of common humanity and extrabiblical, theoretical models and disciplines. This sampling is representative of the range of views that can be found in the larger literature on biblical purity and ritual. All of the authors provide recommendations for approaches they believe should be adopted and specific questions that need to be explored in future scholarship. We would add here only a few of our own broad methodological observations. When it comes to matters of systematization and symbolic interpretation, it must be realized that as soon as one translates the text, one has already affirmatively committed oneself to these matters to a significant degree. Difficult terms in P such as kipper and haÓÓƗ t cannot be translated without making a decision about what they represent systematically, and even symbolically, in the
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Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
thought-world of P, and this applies to all of the many so-called termini technici employed by P as well. Moreover, any interpretation of the text—any representation of it “in other words”—entails decisions about systems of ideas and symbolic significance. We can strive to follow Klawans’s and Gorman’s advice to be aware of what we are doing when we are doing it. Yet at the same time, since these matters come into play at every point of engagement with the text, at every word and between the words and lines, exaggerated self-awareness can become debilitating. Moreover, it is no simple matter to be aware of what is not apparent, and that is why the next generation can often see things to which we are oblivious. With regard to system, while one must be careful about assuming complete, or even extensive, consistency in the priestly writings, one should start from the indications of the texts themselves. These indicate that the corpus does at least seek to represent a system of thought to a significant degree. At the level of the individual pericopae, for instance, the presentation of the several cases of the haÓÓƗ t in Lev 4 and the contrasts between them, which betray gradations of cases, are clearly indicative of systematic conceptualization, and literary features such as the chiastic shape of ch. 15 are evidently expressive of a coherence not only of composition but of thought as well. Larger units of legislation, such as the arrangement of different types of sacrifices across Lev 1–7 and the treatment of impurities in chs. 11–15, for all the questions that can be raised regarding the particulars, display sufficient coherence for us to avoid extreme agnosticism; indeed such evidence predisposes us at least to begin by searching for system. One difficulty that complicates this endeavor is the presence of distinct diachronic strata in the priestly writings, primarily the Priestly and Holiness strata. The system that may be visible in each stratum of the priestly work is harder to discern because the amount of text available for study is necessarily reduced. At the same time, diachronic distinctions allow us to investigate the development of thought. To be sure, as Klawans has argued, this investigation can be adversely affected by the imposition of evolutionary models that may be tendentious and may arise from considerations beyond the text. Further, we must recognize the inherent difficulty of comparing systems when only one of the two strata contains legislation on a topic while the other says little or nothing about it, and we should take care to avoid the fallacy involved in assuming that silence about a particular matter is evidence of acquiescence, disagreement or ignorance—or, for that matter, of anything else. But comparing texts, especially when one text appears to have been influenced by another, and intuiting how ideas and practice have changed from one text to another, is still the primary and best way we have of exploring the history of biblical religion. Some scholars eschew all study of the stratification of these texts, preferring instead to attempt systematic analysis of the priestly writings as a whole. This, however, can effectively skew historical understanding just as much as an approach that searches only for development and ignores coherence. One can only agree with Gorman on the need to avoid confusing different types of symbolism and to show appropriate regard for the complexity of
Introduction
5
semiotic analysis, distinguishing as required between signs, signals, symbols, indices and icons. We would also stress the importance of keeping the interpretation of ritual symbols (such as scarlet material in Lev 14:4–6, 49–51 and Num 19:6, perhaps representing blood) separate from anthropological analysis that examines how ritual may reflect social categories, keeping in mind that different symbolic approaches may be complementary. We would further emphasize the need to avoid as much as possible the temptation to equate latent or implicit meaning with manifest or explicitly stated rationales. One should ask oneself what it is that one is looking for: the underlying conceptions of the society that allegedly practiced these rituals, in which case an etic approach is indicated and comparative material may be very useful, or the manner in which the rituals were understood by the practitioners, in which case an emic approach is most appropriate and the textual evidence is helpful but not conclusive, or the interpretations of the rituals provided by the literary elite, in which case the question is hardly anthropological in the narrow sense of the term, but is rather explicitly ideological or theological and the textual evidence is crucial. Gilders rightly reminds us of the laconic nature of the priestly writings. The analysis of the text can only proceed on the basis of what the text provides in its context, and should begin by assuming that what is necessary for understanding the text is incorporated therein. At the same time, an examination of genre might reveal that the gaps can best be filled by attempting systematic analysis of the broader context. By “the text,” after all, we do not necessarily mean the smallest textual unit; the dictum of the Talmudic sages that “the words of the Torah are sparse in one passage and plentiful in another” is often applicable to the priestly writings when studied in their fullest form. The key to dealing with the problems posed by the methods plied in these essays is to be found in the explicit recommendation of the writers, which we cannot but endorse: to be in dialogue with the whole range of competently argued views, and to make every effort to take into account the legitimate objections that may be raised about systematic, diachronic, and symbolic interpretations of biblical ritual practice and ritual texts. David P. Wright Baruch J. Schwartz Jeffrey Stackert Naphtali S. Meshel
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Part I
SYSTEM
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THE FUNCTION OF THE NAZIRITE’S CONCLUDING PURIFICATION OFFERING Roy E. Gane
Introduction Numbers 6:13–20 outlines a ceremony, including a purification offering (vv. 14, 16), to be performed at the end of a successfully completed Nazirite period. The purpose of this mandatory purification offering constitutes a crux. For what nondefiant sin or severe physical ritual impurity—the evils remedied by noncalendric purification offerings elsewhere (e.g. Lev 4:1–5:13; 12:6–8; 14:19)— could such a sacrifice expiate in this context?1 The answer to this question may affect or at least test our understanding of purification offerings in general. Sin and/or Desanctification of the Nazirite? Most commentators fail even to mention the special problem of the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering.2 Some have attempted to interpret his/her need for expiation as arising simply from human imperfection and consequent ongoing need for pardon3 or as a result of “the sins committed involuntarily during the period of consecration.”4 But elsewhere in pentateuchal ritual law, 1. On the nature of evils that are removed from offerers through noncalendric purification offerings, see R. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 198–213. 2. See, e.g., R. D. Cole, Numbers (NAC 3B; Nashville: Broadman & Holman, 2000), 125. On the concluding purification offering in Num 6:14, P. J. Budd simply refers the reader to his comment on vv. 11–12, in the context of premature termination of Naziriteship due to corpse contamination (Numbers [WBC 5; Waco, Tex.: Word, 1984], 72), without acknowledging the difference between the cases. Similarly on vv. 16–17, T. Ashley mentions “the purification offering, to deal with impurities that have been brought into the sanctuary,” without attempting to identify the “impurities” remedied by the sacrifice (The Book of Numbers [NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1993], 144–46). B. Levine describes the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering as expiatory, but does not raise the question of why expiation is needed in this case (Numbers 1–20 [AB 4; New York: Doubleday, 1993], 225–26). 3. E.g. F. B. Meyer, The Five Books of Moses (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1955), 129: “Sinoffering for the sin that mingles with our holiest service.” 4. C. F. Keil and F. Delitzsch, Biblical Commentary on the Old Testament (trans. J. Martin; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1872), 3:39; cf. A. Noordtzij, Numbers (trans. E. van der Maas; Bible Student’s Commentary; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1983), 65.
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except during the special initiation ceremonies of (a) consecration and inauguration in Exod 29 and Lev 8–9 and (b) purification of the Levite work force in Num 8, a noncalendric purification offering is required when someone realizes his/her liability with regard to an identifiable evil (e.g. Lev 4:13–14, 22–23, 27– 28; 5:4–5), not because the person may have sinned or become impure without realizing it or because of an assumption that over a period of time he/she must have sinned or become impure.5 We would expect Num 6 to prescribe a purification offering that is required only if the Nazirite realizes that he/she has sinned or needs purification.6 But that is not how the text reads. Nor does the text hint that the motivation for taking the Nazirite vow in the first place is “an incurred sin or guilt” and the Nazirite submits to the votive obligations (including the purification offering) “as an act of penitence.”7 Ramban found a kind of sin for the Nazirite in his desanctification: up to this point he had been separated for holiness and service for YHWH, “and he should therefore have remained separated forever.”8 However, Num 6:8, which Ramban cites, speaks of the temporary Nazirite’s special holiness only during the promised time of separation, giving no indication that the votive obligation extends for the duration of one’s life. Jacob Milgrom picks up on Ramban’s idea of desanctification, but regards it as legitimate rather than sinful.9 Milgrom points out that like temporary Naziriteship, votive dedication of land to the sanctuary applies for a limited period of time, “the land reverting to its owner on the Jubilee and the Nazirite reverting to 5. Cf. J. Milgrom, Numbers (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1990), 48. The nature of expiation provided by calendric purification offerings for the community, which are appointed for specific days according to the cultic calendar (e.g. Num 28:15, 22; 29:5, 11, 16, etc.), is not clear from the biblical text (cf. Gane, Cult and Character, 63 n. 72). 6. According to b. Nazir 19a, R. Eleazar Ha-Kappar does come up with a specific sin for the Nazirite, whether he remains ritually pure or his vow is voided by defilement: the sin of excessive self-denial. But in b. Nazir 3a the same rabbi is reported to regard as a sinner only the Nazirite who contracts ritual impurity. 7. Against the suggestion of R. Knierim and G. Coats (Numbers [FOTL 4; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005], 91). 8. Ramban, Numbers (trans. C. Chavel; Commentary on the Torah; New York: Shilo, 1975), 55–56; cf. A. Rodriguez, Substitution in the Hebrew Cultus (AUSDS 3; Berrien Springs: Andrews University Press, 1979), 120–21. 9. J. Milgrom, “Sin-Offering or Purification-Offering?,” VT 21 (1971): 237–39 (237); idem, Cult and Conscience: The Asham and the Priestly Doctrine of Repentance (SJLA 18; Leiden: Brill, 1976), 69; idem, Numbers, 48; cf. Z. Weinberg’s suggestion that the Nazirite’s purification offering renews a normal relationship with the deity (“Purification Offering and Reparation Offering,” Beth Miqra 55 [1973]: 524–30 [526] [Heb.]). Some scholars interpret the Nazirite’s entire concluding set of sacrifices, including the purification offering, as accomplishing his desanctification: G. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), 121; idem, Numbers (TOTC; Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1981), 88; N. Amorim, “Desecration and Defilement in the Old Testament” (Ph.D. diss.; Andrews University, 1985), 166–68; T. Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?,” CBQ 51 (1989): 409–22 (414); P. Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World (JSOTSup 106; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1992), 51. Jenson supports the idea of a desanctifying rite of passage here by referring to other ritual activities that some scholars have
GANE The Nazirite’s Concluding Purification Offering
11
his lay status upon the termination of his vow (Lev. 27:21, by implication; Num. 6:13).”10 Rather than resolving our crux, Milgrom’s analogy reinforces it: a monetary fine for land redemption is imposed only when the owner (voluntarily) shortens the period of dedication. This parallels the need for a Nazirite to offer expiatory sacrifices if he (involuntarily) aborts his period of separation by unavoidable corpse contamination (Num 6:10–12), but not if his term is brought to completion.11 Notice that the Nazirite, unlike the land owner, has no option of legally shortening the period of dedication.12 As Milgrom recognizes, desanctification is outside the scope of purification offering function attested elsewhere.13 The biblical text provides no clear rationale for such a radically exceptional usage, which would compromise the cohesion of the purification offering system. Alfred Marx agrees that the Nazirite’s sacrifice desanctifies. However, by contrast with Milgrom’s treatment of the case as an anomaly, Marx uses this instance as a central example of the “rite of passage” function that he finds to be the common denominator of purification offerings.14 Marx is right that purification offerings carry out a kind of “passage” in the sense that they restore status with YHWH.15 However, his system seriously overextends the “passage” significance of purification offerings and he does not adequately justify desanctification in the case of the Nazirite.16 “Passage” is not the defining trait of purification offerings, as Marx would have it, because other classes of sacrifice, such as the ordination sacrifice of the priests (Lev 8:22–28) and the Nazirite’s own concluding well-being offering with its accompaniments (Num 6:17), also contribute to changing states of persons. A purification offering can be included in a “passage” process of priestly consecration because it serves a purifying function prerequisite to transition into construed as desanctification: changing of clothes and washing by the high priest on the Day of Atonement (Lev 16:23–24), and scouring or breaking vessels used for cooking purification offering meat (6:21 [Engl. v. 28]). However, these activities can better be explained in terms of purification (Gane, Cult and Character, 172–73, 186–90). 10. Milgrom, Numbers, 355–56; cf. 48. 11. Ibid., 356; cf. idem, Cult and Conscience, 67–68. This point is missed by Rodriguez, who suggests by analogy with Lev 27 that the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering is a “rite of redemption” that expiates for the “sin” of desanctification (Substitution, 121). 12. Naphtali Meshel; personal communication. 13. Milgrom, Numbers, 48. 14. A. Marx, “Sacrifice pour les pèches ou rite de passage? Quelques réflexions sur la fonction du aÓÓƗ t,” RB 96 (1989): 27–48. Marx interprets combinations of purification and burnt offerings (e.g. of the Nazirite in Num 6:14, 16) as coordinating to provide dynamics of passage: purification offerings accomplish separation from the previous state and burnt offerings effect aggregation to a new or renewed state. Therefore, he proposes that the purification offering should be labeled “sacrifice of separation.” 15. D. Wright characterizes processes of contracting “tolerated” impurities, being in a state of impurity, and undergoing purification from them as “rites of passage” (“The Spectrum of Priestly Impurity,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel [ed. G. A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991], 150–81 [173]; cf. 174). 16. J. Milgrom, “The ÐaÓÓƗ t: A Rite of Passage?,” RB 98 (1991): 120–24; idem, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 289–92; cf. my critique in Gane, Cult and Character, 195–97.
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a state of enhanced intimacy with the deity (e.g. Exod 29:10–14; Lev 8:14–17).17 However, the goal of consecration is carried out by application of anointing oil (Exod 28:41; 29:7; 30:30; 40:13, 15; Lev 8:12, 30), rather than by a purification offering.18 The “passage” function of purification offerings is confined to purification; it is not so broad or plastic as to serve also for sanctification or desanctification. Empowerment of the Nazirite? Albert Baumgarten argues that because vital force resides in hair, when the Nazirite cuts and offers his hair to YHWH, this part of his joyful celebration lowers his status and strength below the normal level. Therefore, to restore the balance and protect him from possible harm, he needs to offer a purification offering.19 Aside from systemic flaws in Baumgarten’s approach to purification offerings as rituals of empowerment, which Milgrom and I have diagnosed elsewhere,20 his explanation of the Nazirite’s sacrifice is immediately invalidated by the fact that this purification offering is performed (Num 6:16) before the Nazirite cuts his hair (v. 18), when he would not yet need transcendental medication to remedy his weakness. Baumgarten tries to address this problem by citing R. Eliezer, according to whom the haircut accompanies the slaughter of the purification offering (m. Nazir 6.7).21 But Num 6 rules out such a protocol by requiring the Nazirite to offer his well-being offering and basket of grain, with an accompanying grain offering and drink offering (v. 17), between his purification offering and his haircut. Preparation for Culmination of Nazirite Sanctity? N. Kiuchi suggests that the Nazirite’s concluding ceremony “could mark the culminating point of the Naziritehood expressing the special relationship between God and the Nazirite. Thus ‘desanctification’ seems rather secondary in the essential nature of the ceremony.”22 Kiuchi compares the Nazirite’s ceremony 17. Cf. J. Hartley, Leviticus (WBC 4; Dallas: Word, 1992), 56–57. 18. Cf. Milgrom, “The ÐaÓÓƗ t: A Rite of Passage?,” 121. 19. A. Baumgarten, “ÐaÓÓƗ t Sacrifices,” RB 103 (1996): 337–42 (341–42); cf. the suggestion of C. Lemardelé that the Nazirite’s sacrifice protects him from impurity (“Le sacrifice de purification: Un sacrifice ambigu?,” VT 52 [2002]: 284–89 [286–88]). 20. Baumgarten, “ÐaÓÓƗ t Sacrifices,” 339–40; idem, “The Paradox of the Red Heifer,” VT 43 (1993): 442–51; J. Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred and the Impure: A Rejoinder,” VT 44 (1994): 555–57; Gane, Cult and Character, 186–91. 21. Baumgarten, “ÐaÓÓƗ t Sacrifices,” 341 n. 15. Baumgarten attempts to confirm his interpretation by referring to vulnerability that results from cutting hair in the story of Samson, a lifelong Nazirite (Judg 16), and vulnerability in folklore (pp. 341–42). Even if he is right about the nature of vulnerability in these kinds of cases, he has not established that the same dynamics apply to the temporary Nazirite of Num 6. 22. N. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature: Its Meaning and Function (JSOTSup 56; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1987), 55.
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with the installation of the priests in Lev 8–9. Justifying this comparison are the facts that the Nazirite’s holy status resembles that of the high priest23 and the categories of sacrifices brought by the Nazirite are the same as those offered by the priests: purification, burnt, grain, and well-being offerings. Focusing on the inauguration ceremony in Lev 9, Kiuchi observes that the priests, who are already holy after their seven-day period of ordination (Exod 29; Lev 8), nevertheless need expiation/purification through a purification offering (Lev 9:8–11) because they approach YHWH. He concludes that similarly in Num 6, the already holy Nazirite “needs expiation/purification simply because he approaches God (v. 13),” not because he has committed any particular offense.24 Presumably Kiuchi takes these cases of approaching YHWH to be special because elsewhere in pentateuchal ritual law an Israelite does not need to bring a purification offering every time he/she approaches God with another kind of sacrifice (e.g. Lev 1–3). Kiuchi’s reasons for comparison with Exod 29 and Lev 8–9 are sound. However, he fails to point out a crucial difference between Lev 9 and Num 6: whereas the priests approach YHWH as officiants, even when they are also the offerers, the Nazirite remains a layperson, who can only approach YHWH as an offerer.25 In spite of his super-sanctity, he needs a priest to officiate his sacrifices. Therefore, the parallel between the priestly and Nazirite approaches breaks down. Kiuchi was on a productive track until he took a wrong turn. By backing up slightly, we can build on his strengths while avoiding his weakness. Rather than the inauguration in Lev 9, it is the priestly consecration prescribed in Exod 29 and described in Lev 8 that presents the strongest parallels to the Nazirite’s ritual complex prescribed in Num 6.26 For one thing, in Exod 29 and Lev 8 the priests are only offerers, not also officiants; it is Moses who officiates. Moreover, the special offering of breads in a basket (Exod 29:2–3, 23–25, 32, 34; Lev 8:2, 26–28, 31–32) is strikingly similar to that of the Nazirite (Num 6:15, 17, 19–20). Unique to these two cases of celebrating consecration are baskets containing unleavened cakes and wafers, of which representative items are placed on the palms of the offerers with portions of animal sacrifices (ordination and well-being offerings, respectively) and raised by the officiants as elevation (9AH?E) offerings dedicated to YHWH.27 23. Like the high priest, the Nazirite is prohibited from any corpse contamination (Lev 21:11; Num 6:6–7) and his holiness to YHWH is signified on his head as a CK$?, “separation/consecration” (Exod 28:36; 29:6–7; 39:30; Lev 8:9, 12; 21:12; Num 6:7–9, 11–12, 18–19). The Nazirite’s ban on wine is much more stringent than that of the priests (including the high priest), which only applies when they are on duty at the sanctuary (Lev 10:9; Num 6:3–4); cf., e.g., Milgrom, Cult and Conscience, 67 n. 240; idem, Numbers, 355; Wenham, Numbers, 86–87; Jenson, Graded Holiness, 50. 24. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering, 56. 25. On differences between the Nazirite and the priests, see Wenham, Numbers, 88. 26. Wenham (ibid., 87) and Noordtzij (Numbers, 65) notice that the Nazirite’s set of offerings are like those of the priestly consecration in Lev 8, but they do not follow up on implications for the function of the Nazirite’s purification offering. 27. These rituals are somewhat similar to the 95HE, the joyful thank offering of well-being, in that meat portions are accompanied by unleavened bread cakes and wafers (Lev 7:12–15—but also including leavened bread).
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In Lev 8, when the priests offered their purification offering (vv. 14–17), their multi-stage consecration/ordination “rite of passage” was in progress, but not yet complete. They had already been washed and arrayed in holy vestments (vv. 6–9, 13), and Moses had consecrated Aaron by pouring anointing oil on his head (v. 12). After the purification offering came further acts of consecration: Moses put blood from the ram of ordination on the extremities of Aaron and his sons, affecting them pars pro toto, and sprinkled the rest of the blood on the altar (vv. 23–24). A little later, Moses sprinkled anointing oil and some blood from the altar on Aaron and his sons, thereby consecrating them (v. 30). Finally, the priests had to remain in the sacred precincts to complete their ordination (vv. 33–35). Now we can better assess the Nazirite’s purification offering. Before this sacrifice, he has already been holy from the beginning of his votive period. But after this, he is to shave his hair and put it on the fire under the well-being offering (Num 6:18), thereby relinquishing the token portion of himself that represents his separation to holy YHWH.28 The irrevocable and therefore permanent dedication of hair would consecrate the Nazirite, pars pro toto, to a higher level of holiness. This extraordinary votive gift of symbolic self-sacrifice to YHWH (cf. v. 2) is as close as the Israelite cult comes to human sacrifice.29 E. Diamond argues that whether the fire under the well-being offering is the altar fire or another fire for cooking its meat portions for human consumption (the Hebrew does not specify), the Nazirite’s act of putting (*E?) his hair in the fire (Num 6:18) is part of the sacrificial procedure, rather than mere discarding of consecrated material, for which Hebrew would employ the Hiphil of (=, “throw/cast” (cf. Ezek 5:4).30 This argument fails because in sacrificial contexts the Hiphil of (= can be used not only for disposal (Lev 1:16), but also for throwing that is not disposal (Num 19:6; Ezek 43:24).31 I agree with Diamond that the Nazirite’s act of placing his hair on the fire is part of the sacrifice, but I reach this conclusion by a different route. Even disposal can be viewed as a postrequisite part of the ritual if this activity is prescribed as part of the procedural paradigm.32 Cooking meat from the Nazirite’s well-being offering over a fire is certainly an integral part of the sacrifice because continuation of the sacrificial process requires the ram’s shoulder to
28. On hair, which represents vitality because it grows throughout life and was offered in place of whole persons in ancient rituals, see Milgrom, Numbers, 356–57. 29. Cf. G. B. Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers (ICC; New York: Scribner’s, 1903), 69; E. Diamond, “An Israelite Self-Offering in the Priestly Code: A New Perspective on the Nazirite,” JQR 88 (1997): 1–18. Diamond points out that in Lev 27:1–8 the monetary equivalent of a person is vowed to God, but in Num 6 “one dedicates one’s physical self pars pro toto” (pp. 4–5). 30. Ibid., 10–12; against, e.g., M. Noth, Numbers (OTL; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1968), 57. 31. I am indebted to Naphtali Meshel (personal communication) for drawing my attention to Num 19:6 and Ezek 43:24. 32. R. Gane, Ritual Dynamic Structure (Gorgias Dissertations 14, Religion 2; Piscataway, N.J.: Gorgias, 2004), 61, 141–42, 153–54, 156–75, 296, 304–5, 311.
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have been boiled (Num 6:19), and prescriptions for well-being offerings in general require their sacred meat to be (cooked and) eaten by offerers while they are in a state of ritual purity (Lev 7:15–21). Whether the Nazirite puts his hair on the altar fire, as could be suggested by the wording, “under the sacrifice of well-being” (Num 6:18), that is, the sacrifice as a whole rather than specifying a portion of it, or whether he puts it on a cook fire, the act is prescribed and therefore part of the sacrificial procedure. It is not disposal because emphasis is on placement (*E?) of the hair on a ritual fire rather than its mere incineration, which would be indicated by the verb ,C (Lev 4:12, 21—outside the camp; 6:23 [Engl. v. 30]; 7:17, 19, etc.). Notice that if the Nazirite puts his hair on the fire burning on the altar, it would be the only occasion when a lay offerer is ever permitted to place anything on this holy object, which is otherwise exclusively a locus of priestly officiation. It is true that the Nazirite as a whole does not retain his Nazirite sanctity after his hair is burned up and his well-being and grain offerings are finished, as shown by the fact that he is permitted to drink wine (v. 20b). But for a brief, shining moment, the ceremony does seem to mark “the culminating point of the Naziritehood,” to borrow Kiuchi’s phraseology.33 If so, the purification offering has a prerequisite function of purification within an overall process of ascending sanctity, as in the consecration of the priests, not the descending sanctity of desanctification. Further support for the idea that the Nazirite’s concluding rituals belong to his dedication rather than serving as his exit from consecration is found in v. 21, where his offering complex is an integral part of what he has vowed to give to YHWH.34 Whereas Kiuchi suggested that desanctification may be downgraded to “secondary,”35 I conclude that the final ceremony of the Nazirite does not enact desanctification at all. His culminating sanctification simply burns itself out, after which he is no longer a Nazirite.36 There are two key differences between consecration of the priests and of the Nazirite. First, whereas the priests offer their consecration gifts at the beginning of lifelong service at the sanctuary, a Nazirite offers his at the end of a temporary, voluntary period of holiness. This difference is reflected in the fact that whereas the Nazirite offers his special basket with a well-being offering (Num 6:17), the functionally equivalent animal sacrifice for the priests is their ordination ()J :=F!>!:) offering, which is also eaten by the offerer(s) (Exod 29:19–28, 31–34; Lev 8:22–32), but signifies authorization37 of the priests for their permanent role.
33. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering, 55. 34. Cf. Cartledge, “Were Nazirite Vows Unconditional?,” 415. 35. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering, 55. 36. Compare Samson, whose literal rather than symbolic self-sacrifice culminated and ended his career as a lifelong Nazirite (Judg 16:28–30) (a point made by Naphtali Meshel in a personal communication). 37. Literally, “filling the hand”; Exod 28:41; 29:9, 29, 33, 35; Lev 8:33.
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Second, while the purification offering of the priests is on their behalf, as shown by the fact that they lean their hands (one hand each) on the head of the victim (Lev 8:14), this sacrifice primarily decontaminates (Piel of I) the altar, upon which they are to officiate expiatory sacrifices (Exod 29:36–37; Lev 8:15; cf. Ezek 43:18–27).38 The nonpriestly Nazirite has no such connection with the altar. Conclusion Like the purification offering of the priests at their consecration in Exod 29 and Lev 8, it appears that the Nazirite’s concluding purification offering (Num 6:14, 16) accomplishes purification that is necessary before a person can be elevated to an extraordinary degree of sanctity, which exceeds the holy status that the Nazirite has previously enjoyed during his/her votive period.39 This explains why a purification offering “was not also imposed upon the Nazirite upon entering his or her holy status.”40 While purification presupposes some kind of prior condition of impurity,41 the evil removed by prerequisite purification in these cases is unspecified.42 The purification offerings of the priests and Nazirite are like calendric rituals, such as festival offerings (Num 28–29), in that they are required at times that are predetermined (by the command of YHWH and expiration of the votive period, respectively), whether or not there is awareness of sin or impurity.43 The sacrifices of the priests and Nazirite appear to raise the purity of already basically pure persons, who need no remedy for specific, known evils, to a higher level that is compatible with a higher level of sanctity.44 Compare the fact that before basically pure priests, who are free from any particular impurities and therefore 38. The two functions of this purification offering are closely related because the priests and altar serve together within the holy sphere (cf. G. Klingbeil, A Comparative Study of the Ritual of Ordination as Found in Leviticus 8 and Emar 369 [Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1998], 269). Note that the purification offerings of consecration and of the Day of Atonement, which specify that they purge sancta (Exod 29:36–37; 30:10; Lev 8:15; 16:16, 18–20, 33), are exceptional in this regard; all other purification offerings remove evils from their offerers (Gane, Cult and Character, 106–43). 39. Cf. R. Gane, Leviticus, Numbers (NIVAC; Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2004), 535. 40. Milgrom, “The ÐaÓÓƗ t: A Rite of Passage?,” 121. 41. Ibid. 42. Milgrom suggests that during the consecration week the priests may have incurred some unavoidable physical ritual impurity (Leviticus 1–16, 522). However, it appears unlikely that the initial decontamination of the altar could remedy specific evils of the priests because the altar itself was undergoing qualification for its function (Kiuchi, Purification Offering, 42). 43. For the suggestion that treatment of the inauguration ceremonies as calendric may explain omission of the hand-leaning gesture in Lev 9, see Gane, Cult and Character, 55 n. 34. However, hand-leaning is included in the consecration sacrifices of Lev 8 (vv. 14, 18, 22). 44. Cf. Jenson’s suggestion that in cases such as Lev 8:14–17; 9:8; and Num 8:8, where purification offerings do not seem to deal with specific sin or impurity, they may “be part of a comprehensive ritual to insure that purification is complete or fully assured” (Graded Holiness, 157; cf. 156).
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eligible to contact sancta (cf. Lev 22:1–9), are permitted to engage in sacred officiation at the altar or in the sacred Tent, they must wash their hands and feet with water drawn from the sacred laver in order to reach an elevated level of purity (Exod 30:17–21). My bottom line is that the Nazirite’s termination purification offering does purify like all other instances of this class of sacrifice.45 Therefore, it is an integral part of the purification offering system, although it occupies a special niche alongside the purification offering of the priests at their consecration.
45. Strong support for the conclusion that purification offerings uniquely purify is found in the fact that privative *>: + a term for sin or ritual impurity, expressing removal of that evil, follows and is syntactically governed by CA< only in goal formulas of purification offerings (Gane, Cult and Character, 116–19, 139).
SIN AND IMPURITY: ATONED OR PURIFIED? YES! Jay Sklar
The goal of this essay is to answer one basic question: Why does the verb CA6
This essay draws heavily from my dissertation, now published as Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement: The Priestly Conceptions (Hebrew Bible Monographs 2; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2005). I am thankful to Sheffield Phoenix Press for granting me permission to draw from this book in the following pages. 1. A more thorough review of the literature can be found in Bernd Janowski, Sühne als Heilsgeschehen. Studien zur Sühnetheologie der Priesterschrift und zur Wurzel KPR im Alten Orient und
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be conveniently grouped into two main camps. The first camp translates CA6<:! with “to atone/expiate” or “to make atonement/expiation” in all priestly occurrences. The second camp sometimes translates CA6<:! in this manner, but also translates it with renderings such as “to purify/effect purgation.” Each of these two main camps will be considered in turn. “To Atone” Traditionally, CA6<:! has been translated in the priestly literature with renderings such as “to atone/make atonement” or “to expiate/make expiation.”2 While these renderings have generally been agreed upon, there has been a diversity of opinion as to the exact nature of this atonement. At least two main approaches may be identified.3 “To cover.” Many scholars, especially in the nineteenth century and first half of the twentieth, argued that CA6<:! is related to Arabic kafara, “to cover,” and that atonement thus refers to a covering over of sin or the sinner.4 This approach has been critiqued on both linguistic and exegetical grounds, however, and has largely fallen out of favor.5 “To ransom.” A second approach understands atonement in terms of CA6< !, that is, “ransom.” It is helpful in this regard to begin by defining the term CA6<. ! A survey of the various texts making use of this term leads to the following definition: “A CA6< ! is a legally or ethically legitimate payment that delivers a guilty party from a just punishment that is the right of the offended party to execute or to have executed. The acceptance of this payment is entirely dependent upon the choice of the offended party, it is a lesser punishment than was
im Alten Testament (Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1982), 1–26 (15–25). See also references in N. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature: Its Meaning and Function (JSOTSup 56; Sheffield: JSOT, 1987), 94 and notes; Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Prohibitions Concerning the ‘Eating’ of Blood in Leviticus 17,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (ed. Gary A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 34–66 (51 n. 3); and, for important earlier works, Johannes Herrmann, Die Idee der Sühne im Alten Testament. Eine Untersuchung über Gebrauch und Bedeutung des Wortes kipper (Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs, 1905), 7–31. 2. AV; RSV; NASB; NIV; NEB; JB. 3. A third approach is that of Janowski (Sühne), who emphasizes the positive aspects of atonement and describes it as a process by which the worshipper symbolically dedicates his or her life to the holy. His view does not appear to have had a major impact, however, and will not be considered here. For interaction with and critique of this view, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 70–71 nn. 71–72, 113 n. 23. 4. See the references in Janowski, Sühne, 20–22; Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 54 n. 2. For a full defense of this view, see Johann Jakob Stamm, Erlösen und Vergeben im alten Testament. Eine begriffsgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Bern: A. Francke, 1940), 61–66 and references cited there. See also Johann Heinrich Kurtz, Sacrificial Worship of the Old Testament (trans. James Martin; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1863), 67–71; Karl Elliger, Leviticus (HAT 4; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr: 1966), 71. 5. For interaction with and critique of this view, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 44 n. 2.
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originally expected, and its acceptance serves both to rescue the life of the guilty and to appease the offended party, thus restoring peace to the relationship.”6 The fact that CA6<:! is used to refer to “ransom” in at least some instances enjoys a broad consensus among biblical scholars. Thus Johannes Herrmann,7 Herbert Brichto,8 Baruch Levine,9 Adrian Schenker,10 Bernd Janowski,11 and Jacob Milgrom12 all agree that CA6<:! does occur with a meaning denominative of CA6< ! in at least some passages. Support for this is found in two avenues. First, and most significantly, the verb CA6<:! and the noun CA6< ! at times occur together in the same pericope and are clearly related in meaning. Milgrom’s comments in this regard are helpful: There are…cases in which the ransom [i.e. CA6<] ! principle is clearly operative. (1) The function of the census money (Exod 30:12–16) is lpkappƝr !al-napš¿têkem “to ransom your lives” (Exod 30:16; cf. Num 31:50): here the verb kippƝr must be related to the expression found in the same pericope k¿per napšô “a ransom for his life” (Exod 30:12). (2) The same combination of the idiom k¿per nepeš and the verb kippƝr is found in the law of homicide (Num 35:31–33). Thus in these two cases, kippƝr is a denominative from k¿per, whose meaning is undisputed: “ransom” (cf. Exod 21:30). Therefore, there exists a strong possibility that all texts that assign to kippƝr the function of averting God’s wrath have k¿per in mind: guilty life spared by substituting for it the innocent parties or their ransom.13 6. For fuller discussion, including the exegesis of the relevant texts (Exod 21:28–32; 30:11–16; Num 35:30–34; Ps 49:8–9 [ET 7–8]; Prov 6:20–35; 1 Sam 12:1–5; Amos 5:12; Isa 43:3–4; Job 33:24), see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 48–67. It is also noted there that the term CA6<@! can be used in a negative way, that is, as referring to a “bribe.” This sense of the term, however, is unrelated to the sacrificial contexts of the priestly texts. 7. “Many students rightly assume that there is a close connection between CA< and CA6<”! (Johannes Herrmann, “JMB TLPNBJ, JMBTNP K,” TDNT 3:301–10 [303]); “At Is. 47:11 CA< means ‘to pay CA6<,! ’ ‘to raise a CA6<,! ’ ‘to avert by CA6<’! ” (Herrmann, TDNT 3:303). 8. Brichto’s general conclusion on the meaning of the verb is as follows: “To offer/make composition [i.e. a CA6<@!], to accept composition—is the basic force of kipper” (Herbert Chanan Brichto, “On Slaughter and Sacrifice, Blood and Atonement,” HUCA 47 [1976]: 19–55 [35]; see also 26–27, 34, and discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 76–77). 9. Baruch A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord: A Study of Cult and Some Cultic Terms in Ancient Israel [SJLA 5; Leiden: Brill, 1974], 67: “KippƝr in biblical cultic texts reflects two distinct verbal forms: (1) kippƝr I, the primary Pi!!Ɲl, and (2) kippƝr II, a secondary denominative, from the noun kôper ‘ransom, expiation gift’.” (Note: kippƝr in Levine’s original is likely an error, the correct form being kipper.) 10. See Adrian Schenker, “k¿per et expiation,” Biblica 63 (1982): 32–46, as well as discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 72–76. 11. Janowski, Sühne, 154: “Im Interesse einer sachgemäßen Erfassung nicht nur der einzelnen Bedeutungsaspekte der Wurzel CA<, sondern auch der alttestamentlichen Sühnetheologie wird darum zu fragen sein, ob die alttestamentlichen CA6<@!-Belege nicht auf eine Bedeutung der Wurzel CA< hinweisen, die—bei aller sonstigen Differenz!—gerade für die CA6<-:! Belege im kultischen und außerkultischen Bereich konstitutiv ist. Der älteste CA6<-@! Beleg (Ex 21,30), der diesen Terminus unzweifelhaft als ‘ein Wort von bürgerlich-juristischer Natur’ ausweist, vermag eine erste, positive Antwort auf diese Frage zu geben.” 12. Jacob Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16 [AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991], 1082–83) lists no less than seven different contexts in which he sees CA6<:! functioning as a denominative of CA6<@!. 13. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1082. The last line of the above actually reads as follows: “Therefore, there exists a strong possibility that all texts that assign to kippƝr the function of averting God’s
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Second, the verb CA6<:! is frequently followed by the verb I=2D7 (“to forgive”) in contexts of sin: “and the priest will atone for them and they will be forgiven” ()96=7 I=2D ?:H *9 < !92 )96= ; CA6<:H , Lev 4:20; see also Lev 4:26, 31, 35; 5:10, 13, 16, 18, 26 [ET 6:7]; 19:22; Num 15:25 [cf. v. 26], 28). This is significant because the term I=2D7 can refer to the acceptance of a mitigated penalty in place of the penalty deserved, resulting in restored fellowship between the sinner and the LORD.14 This is illustrated clearly in Num 14, especially vv. 11–25.15 This is the well-known story of the Israelites’ reaction to the spies’ report. In brief, the people refuse to obey the LORD’S command to enter the Promised Land (vv. 1–10a). The LORD then appears and states that he will destroy the people (vv. 11–12). Moses responds by pleading for forgiveness: “Forgive the iniquity (*H+ ;=2 ?%I=2D ) of this people…” (v. 19a). The LORD grants this request, stating, “I have pardoned (JE!:I =2D7), according to your word” (v. 20). What is important to note is that this granting of pardon does not mean complete remission of penalty, for the LORD immediately proceeds to state that the people of Israel who doubted him would surely die before ever reaching the Promised Land (vv. 21–23)! What this is, however, is a mitigation of the original penalty. To be specific, instead of the entire nation being immediately wiped out, it is only the adults who partook in the Exodus from Egypt that are affected: they are prohibited from entering the Promised Land and will eventually die in the wilderness.16 Stated differently, by agreeing to forgive (JE!:I =2D7, v. 20), the LORD was allowing for a CA6<@!-arrangement with the people. In sum, forgiveness is not necessarily the remission of all penalty; it can refer to the allowance of a mitigated penalty—a CA6< !—in place of the one deserved. This understanding of I=2D7 fits very well in contexts where CA6<:! and I=2D7 occur together: the sinner has breached the law of the LORD and can expect judgment to follow; instead, however, the sinner can bring a sacrifice, so that the priest can CA6<:! (i.e. effect a CA6< !-payment) on the sinner’s behalf with the result that this mitigated penalty is accepted and the sinner is forgiven (I=2D7). To paraphrase the wrath have k¿per in mind: innocent [sic] life spared by substituting for it the guilty [sic] parties or their ransom.” In a private communication to the author, Milgrom states that he inadvertently switched the words “innocent” and “guilty” in the original, for which reason they are switched back in the above. (Note: kippƝr in Milgrom’s original is likely an error, the correct form being kipper.) 14. It can also refer to the full remittal of an expected penalty (Num 30:6–16 [ET 5–15]; cf. esp. vv. 6, 9, 13 [ET 5, 8, 12] with v. 16 [ET 15]) or to the complete cessation of a current penalty (e.g. 1 Kgs 8:33–34; see also 1 Kgs 8:35–36, 37–39, 46–50; 2 Chr 7:13–14; Dan 9:19). In either case, it again leads to restored fellowship between the sinner and the LORD. 15. Traditionally, Num 13–14 is seen as a mixture of JE and P, with vv. 11–25 belonging to JE (see the discussion and references in Katharine D. Sakenfeld, “The Problem of Divine Forgiveness in Numbers 14,” CBQ 37 [1975]: 317–30 [317–20]; see also the overview and critique of the traditional approach in Gordon J. Wenham, Numbers [TOTC; Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1981], 124– 26). Verses 11–25 are still relevant to our present discussion, however, insofar as the putative P doublet of vv. 11–25 (i.e. vv. 26–39a) does not contradict or correct the idea of forgiveness presented in vv. 11–25 in any way; rather, it simply expands on the punishment mentioned in v. 23a. For further aspects of the coherence of Num 13–14, see Wenham, Numbers, 124–26. 16. For the connection between I=2D7 and the mitigation of the original penalty in this context, see also Stamm, Erlösen und Vergeben, 160.
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texts in Lev 4–5: “*9 < !92 )96= ; CA6<:H (and the priest will effect a ransom payment for them) )96=7 I=2D ?:H (and this mitigated penalty will be accepted in place of the one deserved, i.e. they will be forgiven).”17 Nonetheless, despite the fact that the verb CA6<:! is clearly related to CA6< ! in some instances, this understanding of the verb does not always appear to work well. Two comments may be made in this regard. First, this understanding of CA6<:! appears problematic in purification contexts, where no obvious sin has been committed. The woman who has had a baby, for example, offers a purification offering, by which the priest makes atonement (CA6<):! for her. But why is atonement needed in this context? Indeed, the result of atonement in this instance is not forgiveness (as one might normally expect for an atoning sacrifice), but purification: “and the priest will atone for her and she will be pure” (*9 < !92 97J=6 7 CA6<:H 9C%9 7H, Lev 12:8b; see also 14:20b, 53b). Second, in several instances the sancta appear to be the direct object of CA6<:! (e.g. Lev 16:20, 33; cf. Ezek 43:20, 26), and one may legitimately ask what the sense of “atoning the sancta” might be.18 “To Purify/Purge/Effect Purgation” Recognizing these difficulties, several authors have proposed that CA6<:! can refer to purification, like Akkadian kuppuru (“to wipe off, to purify”), and can thus be translated “to purify/purge/effect purgation.”19 This understanding of CA6<:! finds support in four avenues. First, the priestly literature uses words for purification, such as C9 and I, right alongside CA6<:!: “For on this day he will effect purgation for you to purify you” ()<6E 6 C9 2= )<6J= ; CA <2J 9K!$92 )H+J32 J<:!, Lev 16:30a).20 Second, as mentioned above,21 Akkadian attests kuppuru, “to purify.” This is not only similar to CA6<:! in form (D stem of kpr), it is also used in cultic texts in a way analogous to CA6<:!.22 Third, translating CA6<:! with “to purge/effect purgation” works well in contexts of impurity, the results of which are the purification or consecration of the offerer or the sancta. 17. For interaction with Milgrom’s understanding at this point, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 87 n. 23. 18. Though see the discussion in ibid., 188–93 (192–93). 19. The principal authors holding to this are Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1040, 1080–82, and Levine, Presence of the Lord, 56–61 (Levine further notes [p. 56] that a connection between CA6<:! and kuppuru was favored by Gray; see George Buchanan Gray, Sacrifice in the Old Testament [Oxford: Clarendon, 1925], 67–73). Though not appealing to the Akkadian, Gerleman understands CA6<:! to refer to a rite of sprinkling or washing (“streichen, sprengen; [ab]wischen”); see Gillis Gerleman, “Die Wurzel kpr im Hebräischen,” in Studien zur alttestamentlichen Theologie (Heidelberg: L. Schneider, 1980), 11–23. For a summary of the discussion on kapƗru (D stem kuppuru), as well as a survey of relevant texts, see Janowski, Sühne, 29–60, and Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 3 n. 7. 20. See also Lev 14:52–53: “Thus [the priest] shall decontaminate ( I:H ) the house with the blood of the bird and with the running water…so he shall CA6<:! for the house (EJ&3!292= 2 CA6<:H ), and it shall be clean (C9 7H) ” (Lev 14:52–53). 21. See above, n. 19. 22. See Levine, Presence of the Lord, 60.
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Finally, this understanding of CA!6:E 6 CA!6<:H ), and he shall purge/purify the Tent of Meeting and the altar (CA <2J I"3! K >!:92E 6H 5 H+> =96 @E 6H) …” (Lev 16:33a).23 These authors do not claim that CA6<:! should always be translated with “to purify” or “to effect purgation.” Recognizing that this translation does not work in every context, they translate CA6<:! with “to purify/effect purgation” in some instances and with “to atone/expiate” or “to make atonement/expiation” in other instances. In short, there are two different translations possible and context must decide which one to use. While this understanding appears helpful in approaching the verb CA6<,:! it turns out that it can be very difficult to choose between these two translations, as evidenced by certain tensions in the work of those who follow this approach. One example of this is found in Milgrom’s comments on Num 35:31–33.24 These verses state that no act of CA6<:! can be made for land defiled by bloodshed, except the shedding of the slayer’s blood. Milgrom understands CA6<:! in this verse to refer to the ransom principle, which seems justified on the basis of CA6< ! in vv. 31 and 32.25 And yet the text could not be clearer that shed blood pollutes (,?I, Hiphil, v. 33) and defiles ( >, Piel, v. 34) the land, suggesting that the act of CA6<:! must not only ransom, but also cleanse (a point to which we return in some detail below).26 How do we resolve this tension? If we argue that Milgrom has simply put the text in the wrong category, and that CA6<:! here refers to “effecting purgation,” we have not resolved the dilemma, since then we are failing to account for the obvious “ransom” elements present in the passage (CA6< ! in vv. 31 and 32). Perhaps instead, then, we should ask the question: Should the tension between ransom and purification be solved one way or the other, or are there elements of both involved in the concept of CA6<:!? Stated differently: Is it possible that CA6<:! refers to a certain type of purgation, namely, to CA6<@!-purgation? The answer to this question may be found in a more careful consideration of how sin and impurity are related to one another. It is to the relationship between sin and impurity that we now turn. The Relationship Between Sin and Impurity On the one hand, it is clear that sin and impurity are not the same thing.27 On the other hand, however, it is also clear that the priestly literature understands sin
23. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1011. See also Baruch A. Levine, Leviticus (JPS Torah Commentary; New York: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1989), 110; Gordon J. Wenham, Leviticus (NICOT 3; London: Hodder & Stoughton, 1979), 227; NJPS. 24. For a different example, this time from Levine, see the discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 4–5. 25. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1082. 26. See the discussion below, “Numbers 35.” 27. Klawans, who discusses the relationship between sin and impurity in terms of “moral impurity” and “ritual impurity,” identifies five main differences between the two (Jonathan Klawans,
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and impurity to be closely related. The Day of Atonement rituals, for example, were meant to atone (CA6<):! for both sin and impurity: “…thus [the priest] shall make atonement (CA6<:H ) for the holy place, because of the impurities (E > F>): of the people of Israel, and because of their transgressions ()96J A:>:H), all their sins ()E7 I2=<7= )…” (Lev 16:16a). Moreover, several texts speak of sins which have a polluting effect: “Do not defile yourselves (H >! 2E!:= 2) by any of these [sexual sins], for by all these the nations I am casting out before you defiled themselves (H > ?): ; and the land became defiled (#C$ 797 >7 E:!H)" …” (Lev 18:24– 25a; see also 20:3). And finally, people are not purified simply of impurities, but also of sins: “For on this day shall atonement be made for you, to purify you ()<6E 6 C9 2= ); from all your sins you shall be pure before the LORD (=< !>: HC97 E:! 9H%9J J? A =: )<6JE @9)2 ” (Lev 16:30). Clearly, then, sin and impurity are closely related. While there are various similarities between sin and impurity that may be identified,28 the most relevant to our present discussion is as follows: in contexts that require CA62 2= ) 79)7 …”32 Inadvertent sin, therefore, does not mean the absence of punitive consequences. Second, Lev 17:11 suggests that these punitive consequences
Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000], 26). For further discussion of the relationship between sin and impurity, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, Chapter 5. Klawans is discussed on pp. 144–50. 28. See again discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, Chapter 5. 29. Exod 28:35, 43; 30:20–21; 31:14–15; 35:2; Lev 8:35; 19:20, etc. 30. Exod 30:33, 38; 31:14; Lev 7:20, 21; 17:4, 9; 18:29, etc. 31. Exod 28:43; Lev 7:18; 17:16; 19:17; 20:20; 24:15; Num 9:13, etc. For discussion, see Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 11–25. 32. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 226. Milgrom (ibid., 232) has noted that the sin of the priest does not simply make the people guilty, it also endangers them: “That priestly misconduct can harm the community is explicitly stated: ‘Do not dishevel your hair and do not rend your clothes, lest you die and anger strike the whole community’ (10:6; cf. Gen 20:9, 17–18).” The sense of 9>7 2 in this passage is therefore consequential. See further Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 25–41.
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could be severe. This verse states that the blood of atoning sacrifice serves to ransom the life of the sinner,33 which naturally implies that the life of the sinner is at risk. Since, however, the principal context of atoning sacrifice is inadvertent sin, the implication is that it is the life of the inadvertent sinner that is at risk, and that sacrifice is the means by which to deliver the inadvertent sinner from this danger.34 In further support it may finally be noted that it was possible to commit a sin inadvertently that would result in severe consequences if done intentionally, for example, eating the meat of fellowship offerings while unclean (Lev 7:20). If one committed such a sin inadvertently and was then made aware of it or became aware of it, but refused to bring the appropriate sacrifice, the natural inference is that such a person would suffer the consequences that this sin normally calls for, namely, kareth. One does not have to suffer kareth if this is done inadvertently, but this is only because a sacrifice may be offered instead. Stated differently, sacrifice allows the inadvertent sinner to escape the danger caused by their sin. In short, sin—whether intentional or inadvertent—endangers. Sin Pollutes Second, sin also pollutes. This is evident on the one hand from the verses mentioned above, where sin is described as defiling (Lev 18:24–25a; 20:3; Num 35:33–34a) and as in need of being cleansed (Lev 16:30). It is evident on the other hand from the fact that inadvertent sins requiring a purification offering (and thus CA6! 2) my sanctuary and profaning my holy name.”35 It is therefore possible that the sins of Lev 4 and 5 also result in the defiling of the sanctuary. Second, this possibility is strengthened by the fact that one function of the purification offering is the cleansing of the sanctuary and its sancta (Lev 16:16, 19, 33; see also 8:15). For this reason, the requirement of the purification offering in contexts such as Lev 4:1–5:13 suggests that the sins here have resulted in the pollution of the sanctuary, and that CA6<,:! at least in the context of the purification offering in Lev 4:1– 5:13, could also refer to the cleansing of the sanctuary. Indeed, in Lev 4:1–5:13 the blood of the purification offering is put upon the horns of the altar, an act
33. Levine, Leviticus, 115, and Presence of the Lord, 67–68; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 707–8, and Leviticus 17–22 (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1474; Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 55 and n. 1; Wenham, Leviticus, 115; Philip J. Budd, Leviticus (NCBC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 248. 34. Milgrom’s attempt to limit this verse to the “fellowship” (or “peace”) offering (Leviticus 1–16, 706–13; Leviticus 17–22, 1472–79) has not gained widespread acceptance. For a critique, see (among others) Schwartz, “Prohibitions,” 58–60, and Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 174–79. 35. Noted by Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 257.
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which elsewhere clearly refers to cleansing the sanctuary and/or its sancta (Lev 8:15; cf. 16:18–19). In sum, then, when CA6
36. The word “continuum” is used above due to the impurity of the corpse-contaminated person and menstruant, which falls in between minor and major impurities. See Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 128 n. 69. 37. So Philip Peter Jenson, Graded Holiness: A Key to the Priestly Conception of the World (JSOTSup 106; Sheffield: JSOT, 1992), 225–26. 38. The word “typically” is used because in some instances it is not clear that the person had to bathe or launder, only that they had to wait until sunset (see Lev 11:24, 27). 39. For a comprehensive list of those with minor impurities, see Jenson, Graded Holiness, 225. 40. We also find that the metallic items from the spoil are to be passed through the fire as well as sprinkled with the “water for impurity” (95!%?: J> , Num 31:21–24).
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though no one is allowed in there (Lev 16:16);41 and (2) those suffering from a major impurity must bring a purification offering; since the blood of this offering has a purifying function (Lev 8:15), and since it is placed upon the sanctuary and its sancta, it follows that the sanctuary and its sancta have been polluted by the major impurity and are in need of cleansing.42 This leads to the second consideration, namely, that the defiling of sancta is a sin of the most serious consequences in the priestly literature. Thus the priests are warned, “If any one of all your descendants throughout your generations approaches the holy things, which the people of Israel dedicate to the LORD, while he has an impurity, that person shall be cut off from my presence: I am the LORD” (Lev 22:3). Again, after a series of warnings to the priests about not approaching the holy gifts while impure, we read: “They shall therefore keep my charge, lest they bear sin for it and die thereby when they profane it: I am the LORD who sanctifies them” (22:9).43 In short, it is not simply that the person has a major impurity. Rather, through their major impurity they have also (inadvertently) defiled sancta, a sin of the most serious consequences.44 It thus stands to reason that the verb CA6<:! in these contexts does not simply refer to cleansing; in keeping with its use elsewhere in
41. Jacob Milgrom, “Israel’s Sanctuary: The Priestly Picture of Dorian Gray,” RB 83 (1976): 390–99 (394). 42. Milgrom, “Israel’s Sanctuary,” 391. For how this relates to Lev 15:31, see the discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 129–30 n. 71. 43. See also the warnings of Num 3:10; 8:19; 18:3–5, 7, 22. 44. True, it was never the intent of the parturient, leper, or the one suffering from a flow to defile the sanctuary or its sancta. This is granted. Nonetheless, even the inadvertent defiling of sancta was considered sinful, as is made clear by the case of the Nazirite in Num 6: “And if a person dies very suddenly () E A: E2A63)! beside him [i.e. the Nazirite], and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head on the day of his cleansing; on the seventh day he shall shave it. On the eighth day he shall bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons to the priest to the door of the Tent of Meeting, and the priest shall offer one for a purification offering and the other for a burnt offering, and make atonement for him, because he sinned by reason of the dead body (C6 ;> HJ=7 7 CA6<:H A6?792= 2 7I)7 ” (Num 6:9–11a). The situation envisaged here is one in which the holy head of the Nazirite has been defiled by corpse contamination. The inadvertency of the situation is indicated by the suddenness of the death ( E2A63! ) E A): , that is, the Nazirite did not purposefully expose himself to corpse contamination; instead, the event came about unexpectedly and in a manner outside of his control. Nonetheless, from the priestly perspective, the Nazirite has sinned, and is in need of atonement: “…and [the priest will] make atonement for [the Nazirite], because he sinned by reason of the dead body (CA6<:H A6?792= 2 7I7 C6 ;> HJ=7 7)” (v. 11). Granted, the sin in view in this instance is the defiling of the Nazirite’s head, and the text does not explicitly address the defiling of the sanctuary itself or its sancta. Nonetheless, the fact remains from this passage that the inadvertent defiling of a holy item (the Nazirite’s head) was considered a sin in the priestly system, and therefore in need of redressing. Given that major impurities also defile holy items (namely, the sanctuary and its sancta), it may be concluded that those suffering from a major impurity are in a similar position as the Nazirite, namely, as those who have sinned inadvertently. As a result, it would seem that CA6<:! in these contexts refers not only to an act of purgation, as argued above, but that it also refers to the principle of CA6<@! (“ransom”), in keeping with its use in contexts of inadvertent sin elsewhere.
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the context of inadvertent sin, it also refers to ransom (CA6
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implication was that the CA6<:!-rite effected a ransom payment on behalf of the sinner. Significantly, a central part of the CA6<-:! rite in Lev 4–5 is the manipulation of the blood upon the altar (cf. Lev 17:11), suggesting again that blood is central to the effecting of ransom (and that CA6<:! in Lev 4 and 5 is actually used in consonance with the understanding of CA6<:! in Lev 17:11). In sum, blood has both the power to ransom and to purify, which further supports the possibility that the verb CA6<:! may refer to CA6<-@! purgation. Numbers 35 This understanding of the verb is confirmed further by the use of CA6<:! in Num 35:30–34.49 Numbers 35:9–29 deals with the cities of refuge and who may legitimately go there, namely, those who have unintentionally slain another. Verses 30–34, which conclude the chapter, read as follows: If anyone kills a person, the murderer shall be put to death on the evidence of witnesses; but no person shall be put to death on the testimony of one witness. Moreover you shall accept no ransom (CA6<)! for the life of a murderer, who is guilty of death; but the murderer shall be put to death. And you shall accept no ransom (CA6
The thrust of the passage is straightforward. Verse 30 states that a murderer must be executed, provided there is more than one witness to the crime.50 Verse 31 then states that when a person is found to be guilty of murder, that no ransom payment (CA6!7!32H CA <2 ); that you may bless the heritage of the LORD?” (v. 3). The fact that David was offering a payment of money is evident from the Gibeonites’ response: “It is not a matter of silver or gold between us and Saul or his house…” (v. 4). In the end, the only ransom suitable—as in Num 35:33— was blood, namely, that of Saul’s sons (v. 6). Though not in the context of murder, see also Exod 30:11–16, where the phrase H+A ?" CA6<@! (Exod 30:12), which is paralleled in our text by A6?6= CA6<@! (Num 35:31), is a payment of a half shekel of silver (Exod 30:13). See the discussion in Sklar, Sin, Impurity, Sacrifice, Atonement, 48–59 for this and other CA6<-@! texts.
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or her city of refuge.52 The reason that CA6< ! may not be accepted is given in v. 33: murder pollutes the land. The severity of this is such that no CA6<:! can be effected for the land by a CA6< ! of money; it is only a CA6< ! of blood that will CA6<:! the land, namely, the blood of the slayer: “…for blood pollutes the land, and no CA6<:! can be made for the land, for the blood that is shed in it, except by the blood of the one who shed it” (H+
In this instance, a normal CA6< ! (i.e. a payment of money) was insufficient to effect CA6<:! for the land; only a CA6< ! of blood (i.e. the blood of the slayer) would suffice. In executing the slayer, and thus effecting CA6<,:! the sufficient ransom for the land would be paid and its defilement would be taken care of. What is particularly important to note, however, is that while CA6<:! here does refer to the payment of a suitable ransom, the intended result of the CA6<:!-action— that is, the payment of a suitable CA6< !—is that of cleansing, since it is the pollution and defilement of the land that is being addressed (vv. 33–34). In short, it appears that CA6<:! here refers to the effecting of a ransom payment which has purgative results.54 This adds still further support to the argument above that the verb CA6<:! may be used to refer to CA6<- ! purgation. 52. That is, until the death of the high priest (see vv. 25, 28). 53. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 1082. 54. In an important article on Lev 17:11, Schwartz (“Prohibitions,” 56) argues that “[Lev 17:11] is the only place in which the CA6<-:! action attributed to blood has the sense of ransom rather than purification.” Recognizing that Num 35:31–33 would also seem to use CA6<:! in this way, Schwartz (p. 56 n. 1) offers the following comments: “In vv. 31–32…the noun CA6<@! is, of course, ‘ransom,’ ‘payment’. In v. 33, however…the word CA2 ‘purify’ the land of the blood of the innocent; only the blood of the homicide can accomplish this.” In this way Schwartz holds that CA6<:! in v. 33 refers solely to purification. While Schwartz’s article as a whole is extremely insightful, the above comments may be questioned on two grounds. First, even leaving Num 35 aside, it does not seem to be the case that Lev 17:11 is the only verse where the CA6<:!-action attributed to blood refers to ransom (see the comments above on CA6<:! and I=2D7 in Lev 4–5). (Schwartz has followed Milgrom on the translation of CA6<:! in Lev 4–5, understanding the purification offering to be that which cleanses the tabernacle from impurity but which does not atone for the initial inadvertent sin itself. This understanding of the purification offering, however, is problematic to the context of Lev 4–5; see Sklar, Sin, Impurity,
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Summary This essay has attempted to answer the question: Why does the verb CA6
Sacrifice, Atonement, 87 n. 23. For a more thorough critique of Milgrom’s understanding of the purification offering, see now Roy E. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy [Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 2005], especially Chapter 6.) Second, Schwartz has correctly identified that one element of CA6<:! in Num 35:33 is that of purification. More problematic, however, is his concluding statement: “The play on words is that CA6<@! ‘ransom’ cannot CA <2> ‘purify’ the land of the blood of the innocent; only the blood of the homicide can accomplish this.” There are two issues here which must be addressed. First, this statement is not specific enough, since it is important to note that the text is not referring at this point to a CA6<@! in general but to a CA6<@! of money (cf. 2 Sam 21:3-6 and discussion above in n. 51; see also the use of CA6<@! elsewhere, e.g., Exod 21:28-32; 30:11-16). The text is thus not claiming that a CA6<@! cannot cleanse the land of blood pollution, only that a CA6<@! of money cannot. This leads to the second problem: this statement introduces a false disjunction into the text between ransom and cleansing, assuming that the verb can refer only to one or the other. The context, however, suggests that both are in view, as Schwartz himself seems to recognize in his very preceding statement: “In v. 33...the word CA2
PURE, IMPURE, PERMITTED, PROHIBITED: A STUDY OF CLASSIFICATION SYSTEMS IN P Naphtali S. Meshel
In 1962 C. Lévi-Strauss1 showed that animal classification systems expressed through ritual attitudes towards particular animal species are neither limited to societies where there is a fixed correlation between social groups and animal species, nor do they pertain to species which are materially or symbolically significant in the respective societies. Therefore, he argued, such systems cannot be explained as side-effects of social classification, as Durkheim and Mauss had claimed, nor can they be understood on the narrow materialistic grounds posited by Radcliffe-Brown and Malinowski.2 According to Lévi-Strauss, the ritual expression of the mental act of classification functions like a language, containing “stressed” and “unstressed” elements and aiming to convey theoretical messages.3 Lévi-Strauss argues that in primitive societies, animal species are commonly chosen as logical operators in the language of classification, since animal species, as opposed to most natural phenomena, are by nature discrete (there may be no clear borders between colors in the spectrum of visible light, but there is a clear border between cats and dogs). Furthermore, there is a homologous relation between the grouping of individuals in discrete social groups, and the distribution of individual animals between discrete species.4 1. Claude Lévi-Strauss, Le Totémisme aujourd’hui (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1962), English trans. Totemism (trans. R. Needham; Boston: Beacon, 1963); idem, La Pensée sauvage (Paris: Plon, 1962), translated into English anonymously as The Savage Mind (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1966), cf. esp. 115–17. 2. A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, “The Sociological Theory of Totemism,” in his Structure and Function in Primitive Society (London: Cohen & West, 1952), 117–32; Bronislaw Malinowski, Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays (Boston: Beacon, 1948), 27–28; cf. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 56ff. 3. Four years after the publication of these essays, and without explicitly referring to them, Mary Douglas (Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Pollution and Taboo [London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966]) attempted to demonstrate how such a system of categorization might serve as a medium for conveying an ideological, religious message. Since 1966, Douglas has reformulated and revised several of the insights of Purity and Danger, though without abandoning the general theory regarding the relation between impurity and anomaly posited in her monograph. 4. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 135–36. The seeds of this argument are already intimated by Durkheim and Mauss, who discerned the problem of lack of differentiation in 1903. Cf. Émile Durkheim and Marcel Mauss, Primitive Classification (trans. R. Needham; London: Cohen & West, 1963), 7–8. For a lucid discussion, cf. Edmund Leach, “Anthropological Aspects of Language:
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Thus, animal species became objects of ritual attitudes not due to their material value, that is to say, not because they are “good to eat,” but rather because they are “good to think,” serving as a useful model for differentiating thought.5 However, the animal kingdom was chosen as a model for categorization not, in Levi-Strauss’s view, merely due to its formal structure. The choice lies also in the primordial affinity between human and animal, and hence in the semantics of the language of classification, expressing what Lévi-Strauss considers the central problem of human culture: the relation between human and animal, between culture and nature. What follows is an attempt to prove that one particular system of animal categorization, produced by ancient Israelite religion and formulated in Lev 11, is a theoretical attempt to address precisely this central problem. In order to accomplish this, it will be necessary to set aside the theoretical discussion and turn to the biblical texts concerned with “ritual taxonomy,” particularly Lev 11 and its parallel Deut 14. The Common Vorlage of Leviticus 11 and Deuteronomy 14 The remarkable similarity between Lev 11:2b–20 and Deut 14:4–19 indicates that there exists a genetic relation between these two texts. Several models of this relation have been presented, scholars often emphasizing the textual evidence which accords with their general conception of the relationship between P and D, and explaining away the contradictory data accordingly.6 I believe that a common Vorlage underlies the two texts, which can even be reconstructed with a relatively high degree of certainty. This will not be attempted here,7 but I will use Deuteronomy as a proof-text: terms and passages found in Lev 11 but absent from Deut 14, or vice versa, which cannot be explained in terms of D’s particular ideology will be suspected as alterations which the authors of Lev 11 made in their Vorlage.
Animal Categories and Verbal Abuse,” in New Directions in the Study of Language (ed. E. H. Lenneberg; Cambridge: M.I.T., 1964), 34–36. 5. The original context of this well-known aphorism is Lévi-Strauss’s criticism of the materialistic interpretation offered by Radcliffe-Brown; cf. Lévi-Strauss, Totémisme, 128: “On comprend enfin que les espèces naturelles ne sont pas choisies parce que ‘bonnes à manger’ mais parce que ‘bonnes à penser.’ ” The idiom bonnes à penser is syntactically awkward, created by analogy to bonnes à manger. The wording used above, “a useful model for differentiating thought” requires clarification in light of the general context of Lévi-Strauss’s writings. Animal classification systems are not a model external to logic, which logic imitates; rather, thinking with the aid of animal species is an expression of the mental operation itself. 6. For a brief review of scholarly literature, cf. William L. Moran, “The Literary Connection between Lev. 11:13–19 and Deut. 14:12–18,” CBQ 28 (1966): 271–77; Meir Paran, Forms of the Priestly Style in the Pentateuch (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1989 [Hebrew]), 340; Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3a; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 698–704. 7. I hope to address the text-history of Lev 11 in detail in a separate study, “The Structure and Composition of Leviticus 11: A New Proposal” (forthcoming).
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Deuteronomy 14:3–21a The deuteronomic legislator is no innovator in terms of the classification of the animal kingdom. First, the general injunction at the head of the sermon asserts that the legislator was not attempting to define what food is abominable and what food is not. He simply assumed that the “impure” species and the flesh of animals that died naturally are t¿!Ɲbâ, that is, abominable and reviling (though not inedible). His innovation was only that in formulating categorical injunctions, addressed to the whole nation, he prohibited the consumption of such meat. Just as H forbids those whom it considers inherently holy, namely, the priests (but not the lay Israelites, striving for holiness), to eat carrion (Lev 22:8), since carrion is self-evidently inherently impure, so D (like E, in Exod 22:30) prohibits those whom it considers inherently holy, namely, all Israelites, to eat certain species (and carrion), since these are self-evidently inherently despicable (14:21).8 Secondly, the commands in vv. 11 and 20 (“You may eat any pure birds,” “You may eat any pure winged creature”) presuppose that the audience knows which birds and flying insects are “pure” and which are not; the law simply asserts that whatever is known as “pure” is permitted for consumption. One should not be surprised that D lists the “impure” birds even though it assumes that they are known; similarly, having listed the criteria for the purity of large quadrupeds, D proceeds to list the ten pure species. By analogy to a modern situation, this would be similar to a general ban on cheap meat, followed by a list of fast food chains for clarification. D mentions four main categories of animals: large quadrupeds, water animals, birds, and flying insects. The author consistently distinguishes between species permitted for consumption (t¿!kƝlnj, t¿!kelnj, vv. 4–5, 9, 11, 19) and species prohibited for consumption (l¿ t¿!kƝlnj, l¿ t¿!kelnj, vv. 7–8, 10, 18, 20). The adjectives ÓƗmƝ (vv. 7–8, 10, 19) and ÓƗh¿r (v. 11) are distributed somewhat less symmetrically, but in a manner that leaves little doubt that the dichotomy in its entirety holds true in each of the four groups: the species permitted for consumption are all “pure” and the prohibited species are all “impure.” The use of the terms “pure” and “impure” in Deut 14 is somewhat equivocal. The author may have intended these terms to serve as mere labels, designating species permitted and prohibited for consumption respectively (this is clearly how the terms are used in Gen 7:2, 8; Lev 27:11, 27; Num 18:15, where they refer to live specimens, which are certainly not considered ritually defiling); or he may have wished to indicate that aside from the fact that some species are prohibited for consumption, those same species are also ritually defiling. 8. Cf. Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), 226. For a similar argument (regarding carrion alone, in both D and E), cf. Baruch J. Schwartz, The Holiness Legislation: Studies in the Priestly Code (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1999 [Hebrew]), 126. Israel Knohl (Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1995], 183 n. 43) argues that as far as lay Israelites are concerned, H permitted defilement but prohibited remaining impure, and therefore permitted the consumption of carrion, whereas D prohibited its consumption since it viewed it as absolutely unsuitable for a holy nation. This is true, though, admittedly, D and E do not assert, but simply assume, that carrion is impure.
MESHEL Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited
35
In light of D’s general lack of interest in ritual impurity, the former possibility seems more likely. It appears that D adopted the terms “pure” and “impure” from its Vorlage, deliberately or unintentionally ignoring the ritual implications of the labels “pure” and “impure.” In v. 8, D did not discard the command “and their carcasses you shall not touch,” since it does not oppose to ritual impurity per se; but for D, the main function of the terms ÓƗh¿r and ÓƗmƝ , in the context of animal species, is to indicate permissibility or impermissibility for consumption. In any case, Deut 14 presents a traditional dichotomy: “okay” animals on the one hand (i.e. species which are termed ÓƗh¿r which may be eaten), and “not okay” animals on the other hand (i.e. species termed ÓƗmƝ which may not be eaten) (cf. Appendix II, Table 1). Leviticus 11 In contrast to this simple dichotomy, Lev 11 presents a complex legal grid, which I will now proceed to examine. The chapter treats several groups of animals, presented in a manner which seems disorderly: large quadrupeds, water animals, birds, flying insects, land swarmers, again large quadrupeds, and once again land swarmers (cf. Appendix I, below). An explanation of this disorder, as well as a thorough presentation of the theoretical argument of Lev 11, would entail a detailed diachronic analysis of the chapter.9 For the sake of brevity, however, it is methodologically warranted to present the argument from the final form of the chapter, since it is textually demonstrable that all three P strata in the chapter strove in a single theoretical direction, each logically dependent upon its predecessors, and each pressing the same theoretical development a step further. One critical note is called for: the exhortation in vv. 43–45 differs from the main body of the chapter linguistically, ideologically, and thematically, but is reminiscent of H in all these aspects (cf. particularly Lev 20:25–26). These verses do not stem from P, but are related to the Holiness School (H).10 It has long been noticed that in the main body of the chapter (i.e. in P) the terms šeqeÑ and ÓƗmƝ appear to be mutually exclusive. An animal is either termed šeqeÑ or ÓƗmƝ , never both. Though this statement may need qualification (cf. wek¿l in 11:41; see also 7:21), Milgrom’s insightful distinction, intimated in the Sifra and noticed by David Z. Hoffmann, is basically true: ÓƗmƝ , when 9. Milgrom and Wright differ slightly on the details of this analysis. Cf. Jacob Milgrom, “The Composition of Leviticus, Chapter 11,” in Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel (ed. Gary A. Anderson and Saul M. Olyan; JSOTSup 125; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1991), 182–91; David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity, Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 20; idem, “The Spectrum of Priestly Impurity,” in Anderson and Olyan, eds., Priesthood and Cult in Ancient Israel, 168 n. 1; and Wright’s written communication quoted in Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 698. 10. Cf. Knohl, Sanctuary or Silence, 69; Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 683–88, 694.
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attributed to a species, designates “ritually defiling, and also prohibited for consumption”; šeqeÑ indicates “prohibited for consumption, but not ritually defiling.”11 Milgrom also notes correctly that the author of the H appendix (vv. 41–45 according to Milgrom himself, or vv. 43–45 according to other scholars) was unaware of this distinction, and that terms from the stems šqÑ and Óm are therefore used interchangeably in those verses. The terminological distinction between šeqeÑ and ÓƗmƝ has immediate legal implications: not every animal which is prohibited for consumption is considered ritually impure. Thus, only the flesh of large quadrupeds and of eight species of land-swarmers, which are termed ÓƗmƝ , may convey ritual impurity (Appendix II, Table 2, category b2; cf. Lev 5:2, as well as the precise wording of 11:29a and 22:5 regarding land-swarmers;); all other land-swarmers, as well as all birds and water animals, whether permitted for consumption or not, are ritually pure and convey impurity neither by contact nor by consumption (Table 2, category a2 and the obvious a1). Like any other transgression in P, consumption of prohibited birds or fish may give rise to a miasma-like substance which clings to the sancta and which must be purged by the blood of a hatta t sacrifice,12 but the individual remains pure: he is not expected to undergo ritual ablutions or to wait until sunset before approaching the sancta.13 The other side of this legal distinction between impurity and prohibition is that not every animal which is ritually contaminating is prohibited for consumption. Although every species which is termed ÓƗmƝ is, in fact, prohibited for consumption, there is a type of meat which, though ritually contaminating, is permitted for consumption (cf. Table 2, category b1). Verses 39–40 specify that if a quadruped of the species permitted for consumption—for example, a cow— dies of itself, its flesh is ritually contaminating. However, here, as elsewhere in priestly literature (as opposed to D and E), it is evident that lay Israelites are permitted to become contaminated by eating the flesh of a cow that died of itself; it is only priests that are prohibited to do so (7:24; 22:8). It should be remembered that in priestly literature, becoming ritually impure is generally not considered a vice—though subsequent purification may be 11. David Z. Hoffmann, Das Buch Leviticus (2 vols.; Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1905), 1:340; cf. Jacob Milgrom, “Two Biblical Hebrew Priestly Terms: eqeÑ and ƗmƝ ,” Ma arav 8 (1992): 107–16. 12. Milgrom has elaborated on this point extensively; the locus classicus for this argument is perhaps Jacob Milgrom, “Israel’s Sanctuary: The Priestly ‘Picture of Dorian Gray,’ ” RB 83 (1976): 390–99. 13. Milgrom is somewhat unclear on this matter. At times, he states that the animals termed šeqeÑ “defile not by contact but only by ingestion” (Leviticus 1–16, 648, cf. 656, 694), insinuating that these animals are ritually impure, though defiling only through ingestion (like the flesh of an animal that dies of itself in most strata of P, except for Lev 11:39–40). However, he also explicitly states that “šeqeÑ animals are cultically pure” (p. 656), indicating that in the above-mentioned use of “defile,” he must have meant metaphoric defilement. Wright opines that “all the prohibited animals…probably polluted by eating” (“Spectrum,” 167 n. 1; cf. Disposal, 203–4), meaning that the prohibited water animals, birds and flying insects probably conveyed ritual impurity through ingestion, though not by contact.
MESHEL Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited
37
demanded (17:15–16, H). Impurity is often inevitable, and it is even expected of Israelites as well as priests to become ritually impure at times (e.g. 15:18, 21:2– 3).14 Note that when discussing the eight impure land-swarmers (v. 31) and most quadrupeds (vv. 24–25), the legislator offers instructions for purification from external contact only, not from consumption, since such flesh should not be consumed in the first place. By contrast, vv. 39–40 supply instructions for purification from touching, carrying, and eating the flesh of a permitted quadruped which died naturally, since contacting and eating such flesh are equally permitted.15 At this point, it is already evident that in the ritual taxonomy of Lev 11, a simple dichotomy was replaced by a tetralemma, where all combinations are possible: pure and permitted for consumption, pure and prohibited, impure and permitted, impure and prohibited. However, this is only half of the picture. In fact, the legislators created a much more complex system of categorization, applying this differentiating logic not only to the consumption of animals but also to contact with their carcasses. Verse 3 creates a simple distinction: quadrupeds with split hooves that chew their cud may be eaten, all others by implication may not. In vv. 4–8 four species are named—the only examples known to the author—which were believed to fulfill one of the criteria but not the other. Verse 8 clearly declares these four species impure, and forbids both touching their carcasses and eating their flesh (Table 3, category b2). Presumably, this law, which is paralleled in Deut 14:8, and which probably derives from the common Vorlage, was originally intended to apply to quadrupeds lacking both criteria as well, such as dogs and donkeys. In their original context, the four exceptions were probably named simply to remove all doubt. Yet, in the context of Lev 11 an interesting transformation took place. Technically speaking, though quadrupeds lacking both criteria are prohibited for consumption by implication (v. 3), vv. 2–8 say nothing at all of their ritual impurity, leaving at least two theoretical possibilities open: (a) pawed quadrupeds and perissodactyla (animals like horses) are ritually pure, like the prohibited birds and all but eight species of land-swarmers; or (b) they are ritually impure, but in contrast to the four exceptional species, it is permissible to become defiled by touching their carcasses, just as it is permissible for lay Israelites to become defiled through contact with a human corpse.
14. For a discussion of the complexities of this issue, cf. Tikva Frymer-Kensky, “Pollution, Purification and Purgation in Biblical Israel,” in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth (ed. Carol L. Meyers and M. O’Connor; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1983), 399–413; Wright, “Spectrum,” 150–81; and Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 21–42, 94–97, who links the “compartmentalizing” attitude towards impurity and sin found in tannaitic literature with a similar attitude in P. 15. Note that the law in vv. 39–40 is somewhat more stringent than other priestly laws, since it states that impurity may be contracted not only through consumption of such flesh (as seems to be the case elsewhere in P and H; cf. Lev 5:2; 22:8) but also by mere contact with it (v. 39); cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 681–82.
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Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
Verses 24–28 solve this dilemma. They are logically and grammatically dependent on vv. 2–8, addressing precisely those groups of animals not discussed there: quadrupeds lacking both signs of purity, having either plain hoofs or no hoofs at all. These verses settle what those verses had left unsettled, in the opening words of v. 24, njleƝlle tiÓÓammƗ nj. This formulation, in which the indirect object irregularly precedes the yiqtol form of the verb, is found in a similar context in Lev 21:3 (H), where it is both connective and contrastive in relation to what precedes it. The formula lƗh yiÓÓammƗ , used by the priestly legislators in Lev 21:3, indicates that whereas it is generally forbidden for a priest to become defiled through contact with the dead (21:1b, 4b), he is nevertheless permitted to become defiled by contact with the corpse of a close relative, such as his virgin sister. Therefore, these words should be translated “by her, however, he may become defiled.”16 Similarly, the contrastive and connective formula in v. 24 should be translated: “by these, however, you may become defiled.” The legislators wished to contrast the law of the four exceptional quadrupeds with that of all other quadrupeds prohibited for consumption. Whereas one is forbidden to become ritually defiled by contacting the former (v. 8aE), the latter—though no less defiling—may be touched at will (cf. Table 3, category b1). This counterintuitive conclusion is again supported by the fact that the priestly legislators tend to offer instructions for purification only where defilement was not prohibited in the first place. In contrast to the elaborate laws of purification from contact with the eight impure land-swarmers, perissodactyla, and hoofless animals, in the case of the four exceptional species, no instructions for purifications are offered at all, since, as v. 8 explicitly states, it is forbidden to eat or touch their carcasses. Already with the juxtaposition of vv. 2–8 and 24–28, a distinction was made between impure animals whose carcasses may be touched and impure animals whose carcasses should not be touched. According to all that is known about ancient Israelite religion, there was no reason to prohibit physical contact with the carcass of a ritually pure animal. However, in addition to the prohibition against eating the flesh of certain species of water animals (v. 11bD), v. 11 also contains a prohibition against coming in contact with their carcasses (v. 11bE), we et nublƗtƗm tešaqqƝÑnj, though they are ritually pure. Here, the legislator made use of the common, nontechnical sense of the verb šiqqƝÑ, attested in Deut 7:26 and elsewhere, refining its meaning to carry a new legal sense: prohibition against contact which is not linked to ritual impurity (cf. Table 3, category a2). This counterintuitive hypothesis is supported by two facts. First, v. 11b is structurally identical to v. 8a. One may infer that just as the syndetic structure in v. 8 serves to present two distinct prohibitions (“Of their flesh you shall not eat, 16. The idiom Óm l- indicates becoming impure by (coming in direct of indirect contact with) a ritually defiling person or object (cf. Lev 22:5). In the case of Lev 21:3, the idiom may carry overtones of becoming defiled for the sake of (burying) a person, though this is probably not the primary reading (cf. Num 9:6–7).
MESHEL Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited
39
and their carcasses you shall not touch”) followed by a single definition (ÓƗmƝ , v. 8b), so the same structure in v. 11b (“Of their flesh you shall not eat, and their carcasses you shall regard as detestable”) indicates two different prohibitions, followed by a single definition (šeqeÑ, vv. 10–11a). Secondly, the choice of the term nebƝlâ (“carcass”) in v. 11bE, as opposed to bƗĞƗr (“flesh”) in v. 11bD is significant: it indicates that the first command refers to the status of the carcass as potential food (flesh), whereas the second refers to its status as a material body (a carcass) susceptible to physical contact.17 This same exact terminological distinction is found in v. 8: bƗĞƗr is the object of dietary laws, whereas nebƝlâ is the object of legislation concerned with ritual impurity. This intriguing legislation completes the logical symmetry of P’s ritual taxonomy: not only is there a distinction between animals which are pure and permitted for consumption; pure and prohibited for consumption; impure and permitted for consumption; or impure and prohibited for consumption; but also between species which are pure and permitted to touch; pure and prohibited to touch; impure and permitted to touch; or impure and prohibited to touch. Conceptual vs. Normative Legislation It is quite possible that the complex classification system found in Lev 11 never took root in Israelite society. Even if one does not accept the position adopted by Cohen and Haran that P originated as a secret priestly document,18 it is doubtful that Lev 11 ever served as a normative basis for Israelite society at any given historical period. The very fact that the law lists species which, according to textual evidence as well as osteonic findings, were not commonly considered potential food in the Levant during the Late Bronze and Iron Ages (perhaps with the exception of the pig),19 indicates that the authors were aiming at conceptual rather than normative legislation. 17. The distinction between bƗĞƗr and nebƝlâ in legal contexts is not in the way in which the animal is killed (e.g. bƗĞƗr = properly killed by humans), as Exod 22:30 clearly indicates, but in the point of view of the writer. The cadaver of an animal may be termed bƗĞƗr only inasmuch as it is conceived as potential food (even prohibited food, cf. Lev 11:8aD, 11bD, or food for animals Gen 40:19; 2 Kgs 9:36). When viewed not as food but as a physical body carried or touched, it is termed nebƝlâ (Lev 11:8aE, 11bE, 25ff.). Naturally, even when conceived as potential food, a carcass may be termed nebƝlâ if the context is ritual impurity, not prohibition of consumption (v. 40), or if there is any other reason to specify that the flesh(!) that is eaten is that of a carcass (Deut 28:26, etc.). 18. Cf. Chayim Cohen, “Was the P Document Secret?,” JANES 1, no. 2 (1969): 39–44; Menahem Haran, “Behind the Scenes of History: Determining the Date of the Priestly Source,” JBL 100 (1981): 321–33; and Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22 (AB 3b; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1410–11. Note that Lev 11, as opposed to ch. 16 and the Babylonian New Year’s ritual text published by Thureau-Dangin, is explicitly addressed to the whole community (11:1). 19. Cf. Anneke T. Clason and Hilke Buitenhuis, “Patterns in Animal Food Resources in the Bronze Age in the Orient,” in Archaeozoology of the Near East: Proceedings of the Third International Symposium on the Archaeozoology of Southwestern Asia and Adjacent Areas (ed. H. Buitenhuis, L. Bartosiewicz, and A. N. Choyke; Groningen: Arc, 1988), 233–42, for a zooarchaeological survey of the osteonic findings in Palestinian and Syrian cities. For a comprehensive summary, cf. Walter Houston, Purity and Monotheism: Clean and Unclean Animals in Biblical Law (JSOTSup 140; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993).
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What motivated the authors of Lev 11 to reject the simple, traditional dichotomy and to classify the animal kingdom according to two contingent systems of classification, in a way which was more complicated and less practicable? The traditional conception, which the authors of Lev 11 rejected, assumed that the set of species prohibited for consumption and the set of species designated as “impure” are equal, as are the set of species permitted for consumption and the set of species designated as “pure.” The author of Deut 14 assumed that the status of a species as permitted or prohibited for consumption follows from its natural status as “pure” or “impure,” respectively. Therefore, D can simply write “any pure bird—you may eat” (v. 11). The authors of Lev 11 accepted the basic assumption that the impurity of certain species is naturally inherent. However, they sought to sever the link between impurity, a cosmobiological trait present from creation on, and prohibition, which is a religious category. In fact, what we have here is a clash between OP NPK and GV TJK in ancient Israelite religion. By claiming that the status of an animal as permitted or prohibited for consumption or contact is independent of its status as pure or impure, the legislator argued that permission and prohibition are a divine decree which is imposed upon the natural order, not derived from it.20 Theoretical Conclusions The approach advocated by Lévi-Strauss, which views animal classification systems as essentially theoretical in character, is faced with several difficulties. First, it tends to ignore concrete social needs, projecting whole systems of ritual onto an intellectual plane.21 Secondly, the need for a ritual expression of these theoretical systems of classification remains unexplained.22 But, most severely, it 20. The wording of the recurrent phrase, “it is (or: they are) impure for you” (vv. 4, 5, 6, 8, etc.), should not mislead one to conclude that the authors considered the animals to be impure only from an Israelite point of view (for you). By the specification, “for you,” the author wished to indicate that the legal implications of this universally acknowledged impurity apply to Israelites only. A telling example of such usage is found in Exod 31:12–17. Although the holiness of the Sabbath is clearly believed to be inherent in nature, stemming from creation (v. 17), the legislator still refers to it as holy “for you” (v. 14), since the legal implications of this natural holiness apply to Israelites alone. 21. Cf. Marvin Harris, Cows, Pigs, Wars and Witches (New York: Vintage, 1974); Cultural Materialism (New York: Random House, 1979); Good to Eat: Riddles of Food and Culture (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1985). 22. Cf. S. J. Tambiah, “Animals are Good to Think and Good to Prohibit,” Ethnology 8 (1969): 453. One other problem is the lack of clarity regarding the issue of what exactly is meant by les espèces naturelles, in relation to the question of the so-called totemism. At times, it would seem that the term is designed to refer narrowly to fauna (e.g. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 20), but in many cases it obviously includes flora as well, in accordance with the empirical data (p. 17, and cf. the distinction regarding the Tikopia in p. 29). This seemingly slight ambiguity is significant not only in the particular case of the biblical classification system, which pertains only to animals, but has far-reaching theoretical ramifications. Lévi-Strauss’s secondary argument, that humans use the
MESHEL Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited
41
is difficult to apply Lévi-Strauss’s general theory to particular systems of classification. Focusing on the formal structure of such systems, Lévi-Strauss remains at times obscure about their semantics: How precisely could a theoretical message regarding the relation between nature and culture be encoded in a ritual taxonomy, and what could the contents of this message be? One possible solution, hinted at in the last chapter of Totemism, is that the message lies in the very act of classification. The mental act of categorization can be viewed as the primary cultural act expressing the shift from nature to culture, from animal to human.23 However, this reductionist solution accounts neither for the wide diversity of classification systems nor for the complexity of their inner structures. A better solution would be to argue that no single, universal message common to all taxonomies exists, but rather a large number of diverse messages, perhaps as variegated as the systems themselves. In order to “decode” a categorization system one must analyze the system and study the relation between its categories. In Lev 11, I contend, the message conveyed by the double dissociation between impurity and prohibition—first regarding consumption and again regarding physical contact—is clear: divine law, according to the priestly authors of this chapter, does not derive from nature, but is arbitrarily imposed upon it. Appendix I: The Structure of Leviticus 11 (Following Milgrom)24 (1) Introduction (1–2ba) (2) Prohibition (and Contamination) (a) Large quadrupeds (2bb–8) (b) Water animals (9–12) (c) Birds (13–19) (d) Flying insects (20–23) (3) Contamination (a) Large quadrupeds—perissodactyla and hoofless mammals (24–28) (b) Land swarmers (29–38) (c) Quadrupeds—species permitted for consumption (39–40) (4) Prohibition Land swarmers (41–42) (5) Exhortation Land swarmers (43–45) (6) Summary (46–47) All animals: quadrupeds, flying creatures, water animals, land swarmers
differentiation of natural species as a conceptual basis for social differentiation as they were aware of their primordial closeness to the animal world (ibid., 101), is valid only with regard to animal species, not plants. 23. Lévi-Strauss, Totemism, 100–101. Apparently, a similar intuition underlies the midrash in Genesis Rabbah (17.4 on Gen 2:19), which views Adam’s naming of the animals as an act which establishes the subjugation of the animal world by humans. 24. Cf. above, n. 9.
Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
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Appendix II. Tables 1–3 Table 1. The Traditional Dichotomy (Deuteronomy 14) Pure (okay) Cow Canary Carp
Impure (not okay) Camel Cat Crow Crayfish Cockroach Cow (carcass)
Tables 2–3. The Alternative Classification System in Leviticus 11 Table 2 Consumption 1. Permitted
2. Prohibited
a. Pure Cow Canary Carp Crow Crayfish Crawling creatures (most)
b. Impure Cow (carcass)
Cat Camel Crawling creatures (eight)
Table 3 Contact 1. Permitted
2. Prohibited
a. Pure Crow Cow Crawling creatures (most) Crayfish
b. Impure Cow (carcass) Cat Crawling creatures (eight) Camel
DIRT AND DISGUST: BODY AND MORALITY IN BIBLICAL PURITY LAWS Thomas Kazen
Morality and Purity The relationship between ritual and morality in religion has been hotly debated, not least in studies of impurity in Judaism.1 Jacob Neusner suggested that the notion of sin in the sense of an ethical offence originated with acts that were generally thought to make people “unfit for the holy community.”2 If true, ritual impurity and moral deficiency would not necessarily have been differentiated at an early stage. The issue is sensitive for a number of reasons, evoking the old caricature of Judaism as a ritually obsessed cult as opposed to Christianity as a purportedly more spiritual religion. New Testament scholars have often been accused of confusing sin and impurity, or rather of misunderstanding Judaism as confusing these concepts.3 As a result, some have attempted to drive a wedge between the two, claiming that impurity in Judaism must not be understood as a moral category at all, but as without ethical value.4 This has proved difficult, however, since the two ideas overlap and at times are intertwined. Two early scholars to deal with this issue were David Z. Hoffmann and Adolf Büchler. In his commentary on Leviticus, Hoffmann explained defilement caused by sin as standing in opposition to holiness rather than to purity. This type of impurity included the dietary laws and should be regarded as concrete rather than symbolic.5 Büchler, on the other hand, while taking seriously sin as a 1. See, for instance, Jacob Neusner, The Idea of Purity in Ancient Judaism (Leiden: Brill, 1973); Hyam Maccoby, Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its Place in Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Jonathan Klawans, Impurity and Sin in Ancient Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000). 2. Neusner, Purity, 25. 3. E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: SCM, 1985), 182–85. Cf. Klawans’s critique of Malina, Neyrey, Rhoads, and Borg, in Impurity and Sin, 12, 137, 144–45. 4. Sanders (Jesus and Judaism, 183–84) argues that impurity was not sinful in general. The exceptions were a few particular acts, as well as ignoring purity laws intentionally. Neusner (Purity in Rabbinic Judaism: A Systematic Account [SFSHJ 95; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1994], 57–59) attacks Sanders on this point but seems to speak about the priestly legislation of the Hebrew Bible and Mishnaic Judaism, bracketing out the late Second Temple period. Maccoby (Ritual and Morality, 195, 204–5) goes further, claiming that differentiation is characteristic for Judaism of all periods. 5. David Z. Hoffmann, Das Buch Leviticus (2 vols.; Berlin: M. Poppelauer, 1905–6), 1:301–8, 340. To Hoffmann, it was rather bodily impurity that should be regarded as symbolic. Cf. the
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defiling force and a source of a “religious,” as distinct from “levitical,” impurity, regarded the former as metaphorical.6 For Büchler, sin in general was considered as defiling by ancient Jews.7 Jonathan Klawans has argued for moral impurity and ritual impurity as separate but interacting categories, on the one hand merging into a single concept of defilement in the sectarian writings from Qumran, on the other hand becoming completely “compartmentalized” by the Tannaim.8 Klawans has convincingly demonstrated how certain immoral acts were generally regarded as defiling in ancient Judaism, particularly the three grave sins referred to in the so-called Holiness Code, that is, Lev 17–26 (certain sexual sins; idolatry, especially child sacrifice; murder). These are thought to convey impurity to the sinner as well as to the land, although not in the sense of a removable contactcontagion.9 The idea of defiling sins was then expanded to include a broader category of misdeeds, leading up to the merging of moral and ritual impurity found in Qumran.10 Klawans’s clear distinction between ritual and moral impurity is nevertheless problematic. This is indicated by the dietary laws, which he (unlike Hoffmann, who assigned them to the category of defiling sins) wishes to place somehow in between the two systems, pointing out that the Mishnah does not deal with them in the Seder Toharot.11 This points to a basic problem. Overlaps are found not only with the dietary laws, but with all three “systems” of impurity, namely, clean and unclean animals, bodily transferable contact-contagion, and polluting grave sins. As I have pointed out elsewhere, the dietary laws in Lev 11 transmute into a discussion about animal carcasses and their defilement by contact, while the prohibition of sex during menstruation is found not only in Lev 15 but also in the Holiness Code (Lev 18; 20).12 The isolation of the “leper” and, according to Num 5, of the 3K as well, would have been stigmatizing also in a moral sense, which fits the observation that these diseases were regarded as punishments and related to moral failings.13 The E I sacrifice, translated by the LXX as B NBSUJB, was effective for removing ritual impurity as well as moral offence. opposition of “Wirklichkeit” and “symbolisch” with the discussion below, especially n. 16. For a comprehensive history of research, see Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 3–20. 6. Adolf Büchler, Studies in Sin and Atonement in the Rabbinic Literature of the First Century (London: Oxford University Press, 1928), 212–69. 7. See his treatment of post-biblical and rabbinic literature, in ibid., 270–374. Cf. the critique of Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 6. 8. Klawans, Impurity and Sin. See, for example, the convenient summaries at the end of each chapter, as well as pp. 158–62. 9. Lev 18–20; cf. Num 35:33–34. See ibid., 26–31. 10. Ibid., 43–60, 67–91. See, however, Martha Himmelfarb, “Impurity and Sin in 4QD, 1QS, and 4Q512,” Dead Sea Discoveries 8 (2001): 9–37, who considers the association of sin and impurity in Qumran as primarily evocative rather than halakhic. 11. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 31–32. 12. For further discussion, see Thomas Kazen, Jesus and Purity Halakhah: Was Jesus Indifferent to Impurity? (ConBNT 38; Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2002), 207–11. 13. Cf. Num 12:9–15; 2 Sam 3:29; 2 Chr 26:16–21. See ibid., 217–18.
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While there is a moral aspect to the idea of purity in ancient Judaism, 14 talking of moral vs. ritual purity becomes a problem, as if purity ceases to be a ritual category when applied to moral matters. The problem is further underscored by Klawans’s insistence that “moral purity” is no metaphor, but should be taken literally.15 I have elsewhere tried to show how this discussion results from a confusion of ontological categories (“real” and its opposites) with linguistic classifiers (“literal” vs. “metaphorical”).16 Hence, impurity language in regard to moral deficiencies is at times understood as metaphorical, but when referring to the three serious defiling sins or their derivatives it is deemed literal. I do not see, however, why impurity in Ps 106:34–41 or Ezek 36:16–18, 22–25 should be taken more literally than in Isa 1:15–17; 64:4–5 or Ps 51:4–5, 9, where, according to Klawans, it is metaphorical.17 The distinction often becomes artificial. Although “metaphorical” generally refers to the use of language in a secondary or transferred sense, while “literal” refers to a primary use, literal expressions can be metaphorized and metaphorical language at times literalized.18 At a deep level, human language and thought are metaphorical throughout, including our moral imagination.19 But even at a superficial level, assuming a conventional understanding of metaphor as secondary language, there are difficulties with Klawans’s distinctions. In the case of “impurity,” we would expect the concept to refer primarily to the besmirching of an item by some objectionable material substance, that is, “dirt.” In a sense, ritual impurity language is then secondary, just like moral language. This leads us to consider the possibility of morality as well as of purity originating with primary emotional bodily reactions. These can be explored from various angles: philosophy, psychology, neuroscience or evolutionary biology. I will therefore ask whether purity laws and moral rules in the priestly legislation could be interpreted as originally based on negative reactions to threatening stimuli, especially on the emotion of disgust, primarily towards objectionable substances, and secondarily to states associated with such substances or behavior evoking similar feelings.
14. Cf. ibid., 214–22. 15. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 32–36. 16. Kazen, Jesus, 204–7. Cf. G. B. Caird, The Language and Imagery of the Bible (London: Duckworth, 1980), 131. 17. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 28–31, 35–36. It could be argued that the sexual relationship between David and Bathsheba referred to in Ps 51 was understood as one of the three grave sins causing “moral impurity,” since she was not yet clean from her menstruation. If so, impurity in this psalm ought to be understood as “literal” according to Klawans’s scheme. 18. Eva Feder Kittay, Metaphor: Its Cognitive Force and Linguistic Structure (Oxford: Clarendon, 1987), 19–20. 19. Mark Johnson, Moral Imagination: Implications of Cognitive Science for Ethics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), 32–77; George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, Philosophy in the Flesh: The Embodied Mind and Its Challenge to Western Thought (New York: Basic, 1999), 45–73, 290–334.
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A Common Origin While concepts of what we would call ritual and moral defilement were variously integrated or kept apart in Judaism over time, morality and purity have never been conceived of as totally separated from one another, especially not in popular belief. The suggestion that the Pharisees at the end of the Second Temple period had already “compartmentalized” immoral acts, and bodily defilement, to the extent that appears in Tannaitic literature, is not corroborated by evidence. Neither priestly purity legislation nor Tannaitic discussion about purity is void of moral implications.20 Morality and purity seem to have a common origin. When the prophets challenge the people to behave righteously, cultic matters and purity issues are at times interwoven.21 It is not as evident where to draw the line between the moral and the ritual as a modern Westerner would assume, and we should perhaps do best in using other concepts.22 Such observations are compatible with what we find with Israel’s neighbors. Numerous Near Eastern and Egyptian examples from various periods give evidence for a lack of distinction between what we would call morality and purity. One is the well-known 125th chapter from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.23 Other examples are early Mesopotamian texts like the following: [NN, son of ] NN, whose god is NN, whose goddess is NN, [who is…], sick, in danger (of death), distraught, troubled, who has eaten what is tab[oo] to his god, who has eaten what is taboo to his goddess, who said “no” for “yes”, who said “yes” for “no”, who pointed (his) finger (accusingly) [behind the back of] his [fellow-man], [who calumniated], spoke what is not allowed to speak, … He entered his neighbor’s house, had intercourse with his neighbor’s wife, shed his neighbor’s blood, … omitted the name of his god in his incense-offering, made the purifications, (then) complained and withheld (it).24
20. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 92–117. The lack of evidence is actually admitted by Klawans himself (p. 150). Cf. Kazen, Jesus, 209–14, 216–18. Cf. m. Ker. 2.3; m. Neg. 12.6; t. Neg. 6.7; Sifre to Num 5.3; b. Arak. 16a; Lev. Rab. 17.3; 18.4; Num. Rab. 7.1, 10. 21. Cf. Ezek 18:5–9. 22. As for Second Temple Judaism, I have suggested “inner” and “outer” as corresponding more to contemporary thought. See Kazen, Jesus, 219–22. 23. “I have not…I have not…” “Ritual” issues, such as cultic transgressions or impurities (“what the gods abominate”) are included in enumerations of otherwise “ethical” transgressions. See E. A. Wallis Budge, The Book of the Dead: Papyrus of Ani, vol. 2 (London: Lee Warner, 1913), 568–96. 24. Tablet II, lines 3–8, 47–49, 75–76, in Erica Reiner, Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and Akkadian Incantations (Archiv für Orientforschung 11; Graz: Im Selbstverlage des Herausgebers, 1958), 13–15.
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Discussing morals in ancient Mesopotamia, W. G. Lambert noted that popular morality “consisted in not transgressing those customs which had come to be considered socially proper, and so morally right.”25 These included sexual morals and sacrificial rules alike, and magic rituals played an important role. From a modern point of view, morals and magic were inextricably confused. There was no distinction, such as we tend to make, between morally right and ritually proper. The god was just as angry with the eating of ritually impure food as with oppressing the widow and orphan. His anger would be appeased no less with the ritual offering than with a reformed life.26
At a later period we find, almost contemporary with several Qumran texts, the Egyptian Papyrus Jumilhac (second century B.C.E.), which lists twenty cardinal offences without attempting to sort them out or make any difference between purity and morality:27 Connaître les interdictions de ce district (ou: nome). 1. La bête ¨ztt de son dieu, c’est-à-dire le loup et le chien zm. 2. Le cri du chien iwiw. 3. Son horreur est aussi la femme en période de menstruation. 4. L’acte de faire un mensonge. 5. Le grognement du porc. 6. Le fait d’élever la voix en présence (du dieu). 7. Et, également, d’avoir une démarche fière (?) dans le temple. 8. Les violents de sa ville. 9. L’acte de diminuer la longueur de la corde d’arpentage de ses champs. 10. L’acte de fausser l’ouverture de la mesure à grain de ses greniers. 11. L’acte de voler le blé de ses champs. 12. L’acte de diminuer les offrandes divines / de son temple. 13. L’acte d’approcher (avec malveillance) le fils sur le trône de son père, dans sa maison. 14. L’acte de crever l’oeil d’un citoyen de sa ville. 15. L’acte de témoigner contre ses concitoyens. 16. L’acte de porter atteinte aux droits de la ville du dieu en sa présence(?). 17. Le violent qui ne respecte pas les frontières de ses champs. 18. L’acte de manger de la viande provenant de toute sorte de bêtes sacrifiées. 19. Le fait de s’approcher avec des intentions mauvaises de l’oeil oudjat. 20. L’acte d’éloigner les gens d’une semdet pour les placer dans un autre semdet.28 25. W. G. Lambert, “Morals in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Jaarbericht No 15 van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap Ex Oriente Lux 1957–1958 (Leiden: Brill, 1959), 184–96 (194). 26. Ibid., 194. 27. Robert Meyer, “Magical Ascesis and Moral Purity in Ancient Egypt,” in Transformations of the Inner Self in Ancient Religions (ed. Jan Assman and Guy G. Stroumsa; Studies in the History of Religions 83; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 45–64 (50–51). 28. P. Jumilhac XII.16–21, Jacques Vandier, Le Papyrus Jumilhac (Centre National de la recherche scientifique, 1962), 123–24. There is to my knowledge no scholarly English translation available, but I provide my own translation from the French (I am indebted to Dr. Erika MeyerDietrich for revising it against the Egyptian original): “Know the prohibitions of this district (or: nome).| 1. The animal h`ztt of his god, that is to say the wolf and the dog zm.| 2. The uttering of the dog iwiw.| 3. His abomination is also the woman during menstruation.| 4. The act of lying.| 5. The grunting of the pig.| 6. To raise the voice in the presence (of the god).| 7. And, likewise, to have a proud (?) bearing in his temple.| 8. The violent (ones) of his town.| 9. The act of diminishing the length of the measuring line for surveying his fields.| 10. The act of falsifying the opening of the
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As pointed out by Robert Meyer, this text, which probably applies to the population at large, not only to priests, “classifies all types of offences as bw.wt nr, that is, as ‘abominations of God’, a term otherwise used to designate cultic taboos.”29 There is no hint at any distinction between purity rules and moral obligations. We actually find something of an analogy in contemporary research in developmental psychology, with its lack of consensus on the relationship between the development of morality and convention in children. Building on Piaget’s cognitive developmental theory,30 Lawrence Kohlberg has worked out his influential stage theory of moral reasoning.31 Kohlberg suggests that genuine understanding of the idea of a moral obligation in children develops from a pre-conventional stage based on subjective feelings of the self, through a conventional stage focusing on consensus-based obligations. The idea that obligations are rooted in convention is taken to precede the idea that obligations are rooted in natural law. This is seen as a universal development related to the development of rational reasoning. Against Kohlberg stands Elliot Turiel’s social interactional theory, according to which moral understanding is understood as being present in children at an early age. Convention and morality are not seen as connected in development, but both are understood as universally present and differentiated from each other in early childhood. The idea of moral obligation is related to social experiences with events that have objective or intrinsic implications for justice, rights, harm, welfare, and so on, while conventional obligations are related to socially regulated events that lack objective or intrinsic implications for such crucial issues.32 It seems, however, that morality and convention (whether in the form of culture or ritual) are not so easily separable. Richard Shweder and colleagues have pointed out that children develop an idea of conventional obligation in cultures like ours, where the social order is separated ideologically from the measuring of grain at his granaries.| 11. The act of stealing the wheat from his fields.| 12. The act of diminishing the divine offerings / for his temple.| 13. The act of approaching (with malevolence) the son on his father’s throne, at his house.| 14. The act of putting out the eye of a citizen of his city.| 15. The act of testifying against his fellow-citizens.| 16. The act of derogating from the rights of the city of the god in his presence (?).| 17. The violent that does not respect the border of his fields.| 18. The act of eating meat originating from all sorts of sacrificial animals.| 19. The fact of approaching with bad intentions of the oudjat eye.| 20. The act of removing the people of a semdet in order to situate them in another semdet.” 29. Cf. Meyer, “Moral Purity,” 49–51. 30. Jean Piaget, The Moral Judgment of the Child (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1948), 1–103. 31. Lawrence Kohlberg, Charles Levine, and Alexandra Hewer, Moral Stages: A Current Formulation and a Response to Critics (Contributions to Moral Development 10; Basel: Karger, 1983). For a convenient summary, with a critique, see Richard A. Shweder, Manamohan Mahapatra, and Joan G. Miller, “Culture and Moral Development,” in The Emergence of Morality in Young Children (ed. Jerome Kagan and Sharon Lamb; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 1–83 (5–25). 32. Elliot Turiel, The Development of Social Knowledge: Morality and Convention (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), especially 33–49, 130–60. Cf. Shweder, Mahapatra, and Miller, “Development,” 2–3, 25–34.
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natural moral order, for example by morals being reduced to free contracts. This requires a culture where social arrangements are viewed as secondary formations.33 On the basis of cross-cultural research, Shweder suggests a “social communication” theory as more likely: The research suggests that it is not a universal idea that social practices are conventional formations, deriving their authority from a culture-bound consensus. According to the theory a culture’s ideology and worldview have a significant bearing on the ontogenesis of moral understandings in the child, and not all cultures have a place in their view of the world for the idea that social practices are conventions.34
He goes on to exemplify with cultural differences: not all cultural worldviews are like our own…and in many parts of the world, including orthodox Hindu India, customary practices (for example, menstrual seclusion, arranged marriage, food taboos, kin avoidance, naming practices) are viewed as part of the natural moral order. Society is not separated conceptually from nature. What is natural or moral has not been narrowed down to the idea of an individual, empowered and free to create relationships at will through contract. Forms of human association are thought to be found (natural law) not founded (conventionism).35
The results, supported by Shweder’s research, include the observation that there is no class of inherently non-moral events, and that many instances of what we call ritual events are considered as moral in other cultures. The idea of convention occurs primarily among American (i.e. Western) adults and older children.36 Examples of cross-cultural research in the area of developmental psychology should warn us of distinguishing too quickly between ritual and morality in ancient texts.37 They suggest that purity and morality might have common origins. They do not help us, however, in our quest for those origins. For that quest we have to move on from the ontogeny of morality to its phylogeny, that is, its evolutionary biology. On the way we must also note a few observations from the field of neuroscience.38 Basis in Body In the modern West, morality has been assumed to result from an objective evaluation of right and wrong in a rational process. Morality has thus been seen as a result of reasoning, a cognitive activity, mainly located in the head. In Descartes’ Error, Antonio Damasio reverses the Cartesian dictum underlying 33. Shweder, Mahapatra, and Miller, “Development,” 3. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., 3–4. 36. Ibid., 34–35. 37. The distinction is problematic from an ethical-philosophical perspective, too. Cf. Catherine Wilson’s discussion of the “demarcation problem” in Moral Animals: Ideals and Constraints in Moral Theory (Oxford: Clarendon, 2004), 8–16. 38. Cf. Peter Gärdenfors’ treatment of human cognition, emphasizing four sources of empirical support for reconstructing the cognitive development of the human species: phylogeny, neurophysiology, ontogeny, and archaeology. Peter Gärdenfors, Hur Homo blev Sapiens: Om tänkandets evolution (Nora: Nya Doxa, 2000), 22–23.
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such thinking, claiming: “We are, and then we think.”39 From an evolutionary perspective, beings existed before mind, and consciousness and thinking developed gradually. Damasio argues for the importance of bodily sensations and emotions for a functioning rationality. Their influence on the human brain is crucial; a disembodied mind cannot exist; human consciousness is dependent on constant interaction with the sense perceptions of the body. For the present purpose, the most interesting part of Damasio’s research relates to patients with prefrontal damages, who display deficits in secondary emotions, while on the surface rational capacity and primary emotions seem to remain intact.40 Such patients were able to reason logically, but their reduced emotional capacity seriously impaired their capacity actually to make rational decisions. They were able to figure out all possible alternative outcomes of various actions, endlessly enumerating advantages and disadvantages, but without emotions they did not know what to choose in the end.41 The constant interaction between the brain and the organism in its entirety makes it necessary to talk about an embodied mind and a minded body. “It does not seem sensible to leave emotions and feelings out of any overall concept of mind,” says Damasio, and “mind derives from the entire organism.”42 This means that bodily emotions are intimately involved in human processes of reasoning and moral judgment.43 Similar conclusions can be drawn from the research of J. D. Greene and colleagues, showing that responses to moral dilemmas involve activation of the same brain regions as in emotional experiences, rather than frontal cortical areas normally involved in reasoning.44 It becomes quite clear that neither morality nor identity are matters of the head only, but are “relative to our biological state.”45 39. Antonio R. Damasio, Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain (New York: Grosset/Putnam, 1994), 248. 40. Primary emotions are, for example, direct responses of fear or anger to sudden stimuli, while secondary emotions are conceived reactions to anticipated or imagined events. Cf. Damasio, Descartes’ Error, 129–39. 41. Damasio’s case studies include “Elliot” whose choices constantly led to detrimental results for his own person, in spite of being able to reason logically and foresee the outcome of various decisions in theory (Descartes’ Error, 44–51, 191–96). “The defect appeared to set in at the late stages of reasoning, close to or at the point at which choice making or response selection must occur… [T]he defect was accompanied by a reduction in emotional reactivity and feeling… Elliot’s reasoning prevented him from assigning different values to different options, and made his decisionmaking landscape hopelessly flat” (pp. 50–51). Compare the patient whose lack of emotional capacity was shown to be of great help in driving on an icy road (no panicking, just rational behavior), while it made it virtually impossible for him to decide between two alternative dates, weighing advantages, and disadvantages endlessly (pp. 193–94). 42. Ibid., 158, 225. 43. Ibid., 245–52; cf. John Kekes, “Disgust and Moral Taboos,” Philosophy 67 (1992): 431–46 (444). 44. J. D. Green et al., “An fMRI Investigation of Emotional Engagement in Moral Judgment,” Science 293 (2001): 2105–8. Cf. Heather Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality: Divinity, Identity, and Disgust,” Zygon 39 (2004): 219–35 (229). 45. Nancy Morrison and Sally K. Severino, “The Biology of Morality,” Zygon 38 (2003): 855–69 (860).
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From a neurobiological perspective, human morality is thus a rational and an emotional development, linked to bodily experience. From an evolutionary perspective, too, the development of morality with the human species can be seen as based in the body, originating with basic emotions that developed to regulate and protect the more vulnerable life ascending from the sea to dry land (“a repertory of built-in survival strategies”).46 In his emphasis on individual organisms and their reproduction and genetic transmission, Darwin looked at morality as an evolutionary by-product. At the same time, he also emphasized the social aspects of human development. The origin of morality was seen as a result of love and sympathy, developing from primary emotions of pain and pleasure, ultimately leading to the golden rule. This development is not based on the principle of selfishness, but rather on social instincts reinforced or modified by community opinions.47 This line of reasoning was taken much further by Kropotkin, whose observations on the survival of species under extreme conditions highlighted the importance of cooperation rather than competition for biological evolution.48 Hence evolution must not necessarily be envisaged as a story about “selfish genes” aiming at replicating themselves, but as adaptable and evolvable creatures becoming self-conscious and morally aware.49 As humans evolved as a conscious, self-aware, adaptable, and markedly social species, the development of emotions was a necessary prerequisite. Our emotional nature is linked to the evolution of humans as morally responsible social beings.50 At this point, the distinction between primary and secondary emotions might be useful. While instant feelings of pain, hunger, anger, or fear aim at protecting the physical organism from damage and death, the same or more sophisticated emotions, involving anticipation, imagination, and planning, make sense in a social context. They are, in a sense, important for survival, too, but in the long perspective, involving interaction with others, and when impaired, may have disastrous consequences, as is clear from Damasio’s research. Most of what we call morality has to do with social interaction and is thus based on human capacity for secondary emotions, but this is all dependent on a primary emotional development based on bodily reactions to threatening or 46. William Hurlbut and Paul Kalanithi, “Evolutionary Theory and the Emergence of Moral Nature,” Journal of Psychology and Theology 29 (2001): 330–39 (334–37, quote from 335). 47. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex, part 1 (The Works of Charles Darwin 21; New York: University Press, 1989 [1877, 1st ed. 1874]), 101–31 [97–127]. Darwin is not totally clear as to what extent the later stages of the evolution of morality are genetically dependent—quite naturally, since genes were yet to be discovered when Darwin wrote. 48. Petr Kropotkin, Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (rev. ed.; London: Heinemann, 1904 [1902]). 49. Hurlbut and Kalanithi, “Moral Nature.” “Of course the genes must be preserved and life must be sustained; there can be nothing without these fundamental biological processes… Of course life must be preserved but that does not tell us where it came from, why it arose, or what it might be for” (p. 333). 50. John Teehan, “Kantian Ethics: After Darwin,” Zygon 38 (2003): 49–60 (57).
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promising stimuli, such as pleasure or pain. Moral development is intimately linked with human relationships.51 However, when morality is studied in living or historical societies, it is important not to forget its basic corporeal aspect. Whether morality is understood as developing from social conventions52 or whether the two are seen as universally present at an early stage and subsequently distinguished because of direct experiences,53 it is necessary to remember morality’s origin in the body. This is crucial when we discuss ancient societies in which our dichotomy between body and mind did not exist or at least had a different expression. Morality and Disgust The case for an emotional origin of morality is supported by psychosocial and neurobiological evidence, as well as by philosophical discussion.54 Darwin associated the moral sense with the development of sympathy in social animals—an ingredient in what we call love.55 In the process of natural selection, “those communities, which included the greatest number of the most sympathetic members, would flourish best, and rear the greatest number of offspring.”56 While important for the development of morality, sympathy or empathy is not our main focus here,57 since it does not explain the origin of human reaction to objectionable deeds or states. Of the emotions associated with morality,58 disgust has aroused prominent interest. Disgust is an emotional reaction against that which is experienced as revolting or objectionable and has been understood as originally relating to taste, as suggested by the etymology of the English word.59 This is an underlying 51. Cf. Morrison and Severino, “Biology,” 855–62. 52. That is, morality in a narrow sense (justice reasoning) as in Kohlberg’s theory. 53. Cf. Turiel’s model. 54. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 222–23; Teehan, “Kantian Ethics.” 55. Darwin, Descent of Man, 101–31 [97–127]. 56. Ibid., 111 [106/7]. 57. See Thomas Kazen, “Evolution, Emotion, and Exegesis: Disgust and Empathy in Biblical Texts on Moral and Ritual Issues,” in Proceedings from the Uppsala Conference on Linnaeus and Homo Religiosus (forthcoming), and “Empathy and Ethics: Bodily Emotion as Basis for Moral Admonition,” in Cognitive Science Approaches in Biblical Studies (ed. Risto Uro and István Czachesz, forthcoming). 58. Awe, elevation, fear, guilt, contempt, anger and disgust. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 223. 59. This is the case in two of the classic discussions of disgust by Darwin (1872) and Andras Angyal (1941). According to Darwin, disgust refers to “something revolting, primarily in relation to the sense of taste, as actually perceived or vividly imagined; and secondarily to anything which causes a similar feeling, through the sense of smell, touch and even of eyesight.” Charles Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (The Works of Charles Darwin 23; New York: University Press, 1989 [1890, 1st ed. 1872]), 195 [265/6]. Angyal understood disgust as “a specific reaction towards the waste products of the human and animal body,” but claimed that “[c]ontact with the mouth region and particularly the ingestion of disgusting material are the most feared,” and emphasized disgust reaction as “preventing the oral penetration of disgusting substances”; see
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supposition in the research of Paul Rozin and colleagues, and could be argued from facial expressions of disgust, which center around the mouth and the nose, as well as from the nausea that commonly accompanies this emotion. To Rozin, “core disgust” is dependent on three components: oral incorporation, offensiveness, and contamination potency.60 The close linking of disgust with taste has been questioned by William Miller. He claims that we are easily misled by the etymology, while disgust in effect is much broader than feeling an unpleasant taste. Miller considers smell and touch to be just as important in the experience of disgust.61 From an evolutionary point of view disgust developed as a primary reaction to protect an organism from oral incorporation of harmful substances,62 but inhaling and contacting should be subjected to similar considerations, since taste, smell, and touch do interact at a very basic level of human emotional capacity. All three cause instant recoiling from that which is experienced as objectionable; hence all three should be thought of as involved in “core disgust” as a primary emotion. As soon as sight and memory are added, however, a secondary aspect is added and disgust may be triggered by the mere thought of a number of situations, with neither taste, nor smell or touch actually being there.63 Disgust triggers can be defined as relating to nine different areas: “food, body products, animals, sexual behaviors, contact with death or corpses, violations of the exterior envelope of the body (including gore and deformity), poor hygiene, interpersonal contamination (contact with unsavory human beings), and certain moral offenses.”64 Whether all of these areas apply globally or just to those Western societies from which most of the researchers involved come is a matter for discussion. Most people agree, however, that disgust triggers are learned through socialization, and that “the specific objects, events, and behaviors within these categories that elicit disgust vary across cultural contexts.”65 As a primitive reaction to bitter taste, it is present in other mammals as well as in newborn children.66 But apart from this, disgust seems to be a distinctly human trait, intimately linked to cultural evolution and socialization. Rozin and colleagues Andras Angyal, “Disgust and Related Aversions,” Journal of Abnormal Psychology 36 (1941): 393– 412 (quotes from 395, 402, 411). See also Paul Rozin, Jonathan Haidt, and Clark McCauley, “Disgust,” in Handbook of Emotions (ed. Michael Lewis and Jeanette M. Haviland-Jones; 2d ed.; New York: Guildford, 2000), 637–53 (637). A third classic discussion of disgust gives more emphasis to smell than to taste, as it explains a broader range of disgust reactions; see Aurel Kolnai, On Disgust (ed. Barry Smith and Carolyn Korsmeyer; Chicago and La Salle, Ill.: Open Court, 2004 [1929]). 60. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 638–41. 61. William Ian Miller, The Anatomy of Disgust (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1997), 6, 12, 60–79. 62. Cf. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 639–40. 63. Cf. Miller, Anatomy, 60–88. 64. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 637. 65. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 223; cf. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 647–48. 66. Looy, “Embodied and Embedded Morality,” 223.
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provide a scheme for the development of disgust from distaste and core disgust through stages of animal-nature and interpersonal disgust to a reaction to moral offences.67 It is still very uncertain, however, to what extent mere distaste provides the (primary) springboard for the development of this emotion. Disgust is definitely involved in moral evaluation, to the point that it has often become a metaphor for a sense of what is morally inappropriate, even for issues or experiences that do not elicit the feeling itself.68 Disgust then becomes a way of phrasing a value judgment. Disgust proper, or “deep disgust” as John Kekes terms it,69 is more than a metaphor—“a general and natural feeling” that is “caused by general features of the human relationship to the rest of the world.”70 As a socially conditioned emotion, it is at times morally mistaken.71 Martha Nussbaum has emphasized the risks of utilizing disgust as a normative pointer; for such purposes it is quite useless.72 At its core, however, it is a bodily reaction, just like fear,73 against that which is understood as being dangerous for human life, regardless of whether triggered as a result of human choice or not.74 At a more developed stage, disgust is a reaction against that which is understood as threatening to throw society back to a world where basic order and human identity are absent.75 It causes humans to shun perceived threats associated with dirt, disorder, demons, decay, and death.76 With these insights in mind I will look at the three categories for which purity language is used in the priestly legislation: objectionable animals, objectionable bodily conditions, and objectionable acts. Disgust and Dietary Laws As we saw above, Hoffmann wanted to place the dietary laws of Lev 11 in the category of moral impurity, while Klawans regards them as falling somehow between two stools. However, if we avoid the dichotomy between ritual and moral and understand disgust as the common denominator, we will find that these laws are quite consistent. 67. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 644–47; cf. Paul Rozin et al., “Disgust: Preadaptation and the Cultural Evolution of a Food-Based Emotion,” in Food Preferences and Taste: Continuity and Change (ed. Helen Macbeth; Providence: Berghahn, 1997), 65–82. 68. Cf. Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 643. 69. Note that “deep disgust” should not be identified as a primary emotion only, but involves disgust felt as a result of reflection or anticipation as well. 70. Kekes, “Moral Taboos,” 436. 71. Kekes is quite clear on the fact that disgust’s involvement in moral evaluation does not mean that universal moral rules can be based on a universally felt deep disgust, or that disgust can be defended as an appropriate moral reaction (ibid., 438, 441). 72. Martha Nussbaum, Hiding from Humanity: Disgust, Shame, and the Law (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004), 13–15, 72–171. 73. Cf. Miller, Anatomy, 25–28. 74. Kekes, “Moral Taboos,” 445. 75. Ibid., 438–43; cf. the idea of disgust as a guardian of the human body against its animalnature, Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 644–45; cf. Miller, Anatomy, 40–50. 76. Kekes, “Moral Taboos,” 435; Rozin, Haidt, and McCauley, “Disgust,” 642.
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The prohibitions concern eating and touching the dead bodies of a number of animals. The structure of this chapter is puzzling, but explainable.77 Following an enumeration of various types of animals (quadrupeds, water animals, birds, and insects) not to be eaten (vv. 2–23), the text transmutes into a list of animals whose dead bodies transfer impurity to humans touching them, or to clothes, vessels, or seed (vv. 24–40). The section is concluded, however, with an additional prohibition against eating small, creeping animals (vv. 41–45). At first sight the structure may seem jumbled. There is, however, a logic to this chapter. The basic instruction (1) is found in 11:2–8, where a number of quadrupeds are forbidden as food, and thus called “unclean” ( >). The animals listed are those that could otherwise be expected to be used as main sources of food, in addition to cattle, sheep, and goats, which were regarded as clean.78 It should be noted that the basic instruction prohibits both eating and contact with dead bodies of unclean animals. Following this passage, we find three sections (2) dealing with water animals, birds, and insects respectively (11:9–12, 13–19, 20–23). Here, however, there is no mention of contact-contagion, but only of eating. The various animals are not called unclean, but rather “abominable” (#B). Only after this is the issue of contamination by contact with dead animals specified and discussed (3) (11:24–38). The animals mentioned are unclean quadrupeds and eight forbidden “ground swarmers” (#C), including weasels, rats, and lizards. These are called “unclean” and instructions for purification after contact are given, comparable to those found in Lev 12–15. This is complemented by a comment (4) applying such purification after contact even with animals allowed for food but which died naturally (11:39–40). Finally, all “ground swarmers” are branded as “abominable” (5) and hence not to be eaten (11:41–42). The chapter is rounded off (6) with a call to holiness (11:43–45) and a subscript or summary (7) that could possibly be divided in two (11:46–47). Jacob Milgrom suggests a structure based on the use of > and #B respectively. “Unclean” would then refer to the contamination of dead bodies, while “abominable” would apply to animals prohibited for food. 1, 2, 5 and 7a are assigned to the P1 stage, 3 and 7b to the P2 stage, 6 is seen as H redaction while 4 is an interpolation.79
77. For suggestions regarding the structure of this chapter, cf. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1991), 691–98; David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1987), 200–205; Naphtali Meshel, “Pure, Impure, Permitted, Prohibited: A Study of Classification Systems in P,” pp. 32–42 in the present volume. 78. As Baruch Schwartz has pointed out, this basic instruction (1) is needed to identify pure non-domestic quadrupeds, permitting only those wild quadrupeds that resemble the domestic sacrificeable ones. Baruch Schwartz, “ ‘Profane’ Slaughter and the Integrity of the Priestly Code,” HUCA 67 (1996): 15–42 (32–35). 79. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 643–98.
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However, a number of problems are involved in reserving > for contact-contagion and #B for food prohibition. First, the basic instruction (1) makes use of “unclean” for both eating and contamination, and the focus is on eating. Secondly, water animals (2) are not only “abominable” as food, but their dead bodies should be “abominated” (11:11 uses both the noun and the verb #B). Thirdly, the call to holiness (6) warns against “uncleanness” from “ground swarmers” but connects to (5), which prohibits eating them because they are “abominable.” Fourthly, (7) summarizes by presenting the opposites “unclean–clean” and “allowed for food–not allowed for food” in a typical parallelism.80 I find it easier to read this chapter as a basic instruction followed by specifics. First, animals that would otherwise most probably be used for food are discussed, both in regard to eating and contact with their dead bodies (1). This was followed by detailed specifications of what other animals may not be eaten (2, 5). As the material developed, the addition of (4) at the end of (3) is comprehensible; corpses of clean animals did not originally contaminate. The question is really why, at some stage, the elaboration on contact-contagion (3) was inserted before (5), since (5) naturally follows straight after (2), adding instructions on “land swarmers” to previous instructions on “water swarmers” and winged swarmers” (cf. the structure of v. 20 with v. 41). One possibility is that the call to holiness (6) was already attached to (5) when (3) was inserted, and since this call is adapted to (5), mentioning “ground swarmers,” this link was preserved. Whatever the explanation, the concept of impurity is difficult to restrict to contact-contagion only. At various levels of the text it is also associated with forbidden meat. For the present purpose, the most important observation is the terminology revealing an underlying emotional attitude of disgust. The term #B is applied especially to “swarmers” (#C ), whether aquatic, winged, or earthbound. While the precise meaning of #C is much discussed, the term probably refers to small, fast-moving, and/or fast-breeding beings, often thought to be self-generating from rotting substances, something that would make humans feel uneasy. In addition, #B is used to characterize larger water animals without fins and scales, such as mollusks and the slimiest of fish, as well as birds of prey. These are creatures that easily evoke feelings of revulsion, especially at the thought of eating them, but often at the mere idea of contact. Possibly, their association with deterioration reminds humans about their mortality and animal nature. This would represent what Rozin and colleagues call animal-nature disgust.81 Aversion to the dead bodies of such animals is likewise easy to understand. The extension of these prohibitions to corpses of clean animals, however, would originate rather with systemic reasoning than from emotional disgust. It is harder to explain the prohibitions of the basic instruction (1) as stemming from feelings of disgust. Pigs and camels can hardly be placed in the same 80. 81.
Against Milgrom, ibid., 690–91, who understands these as two distinct categories. Rozin, Haidt and McCauley, “Disgust,” 641–42.
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category as mice and lizards. Nor are they called “abominable” (#B) in the text of Lev 11. However, when we turn to the parallel in Deut 14:3–21, we find the material more systematized. Here the various categories not to be eaten are called “unclean” and they are all introduced (v. 3) by the injunction not to eat anything “abominable.” The term used here, however, is not #B but 93 HE, a prime example of a term expressing bodily disgust being used in many instances for denouncing objectionable practices, that is, “abominable” acts, whether we categorize them as ritual or moral.82 It is thus likely that the emotion of disgust lies behind a number of food regulations included within the concept of impurity, and that physical reactions against certain animals and animal corpses play a crucial role for the development of dietary rules. Disgust and Human Decay When we turn to the three basic types of bodily contact-contagion in the priestly legislation—skin disease, genital discharges, and corpse-impurity (Lev 12–15; Num 19)—the emotion of disgust can be traced here, too, although it is not discernible on the surface of the legal texts. Elsewhere these impurities are often associated with decomposition, rotting and decay. The disgust felt towards the skin conditions defined as E C4, traditionally translated as “leprosy,” probably had to do with scaliness,83 damage, and decay of the “body envelope,” which is one of the basic disgust triggers, according to Rozin and colleagues. This becomes clear in the narrative of Miriam’s punishment (Num 12), where she is likened to a half-decayed, stillborn fetus. The skin conditions covered by the word E C4 were experienced as repulsive, and one would guess that this applied also to the various kinds of molds on clothes and buildings, described in Lev 13 and 14. In the case of a corpse or a grave, the association with decaying matter is obvious. Although corpse-impurity was considered as the most serious type of impurity, contaminating persons and vessels for seven days not only by touch, but also by overhang, the biblical regulations (Num 5:1–3; 19:11–22; 31:19–24) are less detailed than in the case of “leprosy” or discharges. The concept of overhang was greatly expanded in later times.84 The biblical rules describing how corpse impurity is transmitted (Num 19:14–16) suggest that corpses were originally thought to ooze out some sort of quasi-physical substance, particularly threatening the sphere of the holy. Priests were only allowed to contract corpseimpurity at the death of close relatives, and for high priests there were no such exceptions (Lev 21:1–4, 11). In the Second Temple period, an extra-biblical first
82. Cf. H. D. Preuss, “937 H+E! tô!eƗh,” ThWAT 8:580–92. The use of 93 HE as an expression of disgust is further discussed below. 83. Cf. E. V. Hulse, “The Nature of Biblical ‘Leprosy’ and the Use of Alternative Medical Terms in Modern Translations of the Bible,” PEQ 107 (1975): 87–105 (96–100); Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 774–76, 816–17. 84. See 11Q19 49.5–19 as well as m. Ohalot.
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day ablution had developed in order to mitigate somewhat the strength of corpseimpurity, so as to make it possible for corpse-impure people to stay within cities.85 It is possible that we should look for the origin of corpse-impurity in the warcamp regulations of Num 31:19–24. Here, the slaughtering of enemies as well as touching them incurs a seven-day impurity, including washing of body, clothes, and wooden vessels, while metals must go through fire. This represents a situation when warriors and their attire have become literally impure, that is, filthied: smeared with blood and gore. If war-camp regulations lie at the bottom of an expanded concept of corpse-impurity, we could argue for disgust as a trigger in this case, too. When we consider genital discharges the evidence is clearer. In another study I discuss the discrepancies in Lev 12 and 15, arguing among other things for an early view of the discharges themselves as impure, although this view is made less visible in the final form of the text due to a systemic redaction of the various regulations.86 Remnants of such thinking can be found in Samaritan halakhah, where direct contact with menstrual blood causes a seven-day impurity. Other examples include detailed regulations implying that the flux or blood transmits a stronger impurity than the impurity bearer.87 Such considerations explain some of the discrepancies in the biblical legislation. This could also imply that blood, of a kind associated with decay, as well as gory or unnatural discharges, were experienced as disgusting and form the basis for the purity laws about discharges. The contempt with which dischargers are spoken of, together with “lepers” and the disabled, in 2 Sam 3:29, suggests that the aversion felt against such categories of people was based on primary feelings of disgust towards their bodily conditions. Ezekiel utilizes the primary disgust of his readers for menstrual blood in order to transfer their emotional indignation to the issue of gentile idolatry (Ezek 36:17). Reactions against menstrual blood are found almost worldwide,88 and Pliny’s superstitious comments regarding its effects breathe feelings of revulsion (Pliny, Nat. 7.64). Although the evidence is not conclusive, it seems likely that physical disgust is behind a number of rules dealing with impurity as a contact-contagion. At the root we find emotional reactions against decaying substances that emerge from the human body. 85. Cf. Num 5:1–3; 31:19–24 with actual practice, at least during the Second Temple period, which allowed the corpse-impure within towns. See Milgrom, “Studies in the Temple Scroll,” JBL 97 (1978): 512–18; Kazen, Jesus, 185–89. 86. Thomas Kazen, “Explaining Discrepancies in the Purity Laws about Discharges,” RB 114 (2007): 348–71; Kazen, Jesus, 144–46. 87. The impurity of the discharges themselves is implied by detailed regulations concerning items underneath the discharger. Fear of contact with menstrual blood could explain why touching the bed or anything the menstruant has sat upon requires laundering (Lev 15:21–22) while touching the menstruant herself does not (v. 19). The invisibility of male discharges on the other hand might explain why touching the zab necessitates laundering (v. 7). For further discussion, see Kazen, “Explaining Discrepancies.” 88. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 763–65.
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Disgust at Repulsive Behaviour What about the possibility that disgust lies behind those types of “immoral” behaviour for which purity terminology is used? Here, certain rules of the Holiness Code (Lev 17–26) give us some clues. These are particularly found in Lev 18 and 20. According to a growing tendency, following Milgrom and Knohl, a Holiness “source” (H, consisting of the Holiness Code and a number of insertions and redactions in the rest of the Pentateuch89) may be regarded as later than the Priestly source (P), and even responsible for the final redaction of the Pentateuch. Both sources are seen as processes, overlapping in time and extending through several centuries.90 It is, however, very difficult to claim, as does Knohl, that P’s legislation is devoid of ethical elements, so that sins against the Lord’s commandments (Lev 4:2; 5:17) only refer to cultic matters, and that “the interpenetration of ethical and cultic considerations” comes only later, with the Holiness School.91 Milgrom objects, pointing to the use of *H in an ethical sense (Lev 5:1, 17; Num 5:15, 31; 30:16), as well as ethical issues involved in the defilement of the sanctuary and the Day of Atonement ritual.92 Both agree, however, that H extends the sphere of God’s holiness to the whole land. To regard the usage of purity jargon for moral matters as a secondary development in relation to a purportedly primary usage for ritual matters in P does not hold water. This is especially clear from the way the E I sacrifice is applied in P, to remove both impurity and sin (see below). This seeming anomaly is only due to our categorizing. In the Holiness Code, a number of terms are used for repulsive behavior. This is especially apparent in sexual matters. At the end of the incest laws (Lev 18:6– 18), sexual relations with a woman and her offspring are called “shameful” (9>K, v. 17). The term is used to characterize the same relationship in 20:14, although it is phrased in the opposite direction. It is also used for making a daughter a prostitute (19:29). The term is used frequently in Ezekiel with a similar meaning, in comparing the faithlessness and idolatry of the people with sexual immorality. Another term is =3E, which describes sexual contacts with animals (Lev 18:23) and sexual relations between a man and his daughter-in-law (20:12). A notion of offensiveness probably lies in the word.
89. For Leviticus, Milgrom assigns the following parts to H (minor variations in Knohl): 3:16b–17; 6:12–18aB; 7:22–29a, 38b(?); 9:17b; 11:43–45; 12:8; 14:34–53(?), 54–57(?); 15:31; 16:2bC, 29–34a; chs. 17–27 (where Knohl assigns a few verses in ch. 23 not to H). See Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 61–63, also his Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3A; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 2000), 1322–44, and Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3B; Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 2000), 2054–56. 90. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 3–63; Leviticus 17–22, 1319–67; Leviticus 23–27, 2440–46; Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 199–224. 91. Knohl, Sanctuary, 225–30. 92. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 44; Leviticus 17–22, 1335–36, 1397–400.
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The most conspicuous term is “abomination” (93 HE), already mentioned, which is found more than one hundred times in the Hebrew Bible. This word, which seems to be absent in P, clearly expresses a feeling of disgust and is used in the Holiness Code for same-sex relations between males (Lev 18:22; 20:13), and as a blanket term for summarizing all the incest and sexual rules of Lev 18, including bans on sex with animals and with women during menstruation (18:26, 27, 29, 30).93 When we turn elsewhere (Deuteronomy, 1 and 2 Kings, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel), the term usually relates to idolatry, and in Proverbs it refers to serious sins in general.94 In Deuteronomy it is, however, also used about defective sacrifice, invalid offerers, false weights, and remarriage with a remarried divorcee, and in 14:3 it is used, as we have seen above, to characterize all categories of unclean food, as an equivalent to P’s #B. Rather than looking at 93 HE as a ritual term becoming metaphorized, we should regard it as a term for a primary physical and emotional reaction of disgust being used secondarily for what was understood as repulsive behavior, whether ritual or moral in our eyes.95 This argument is further strengthened by the context in Lev 18, where all these abominations are said to make the land unclean (v. 27) and cause it to spit or vomit ( JB) the people out (v. 28). Uncleanness and abominations are expressly paralleled (v. 30). The imagery is repeated in Lev 20:22, at the end of the corresponding list of sexual laws, where not only the land, but also God, is said to have felt disgust (#HB, cf. #B in ch. 11) at the repulsive behavior of the former inhabitants (v. 23). This obviously refers to the preceding list of sexual sins, but the conclusion (vv. 24–25) is that the Israelites, whom God has separated from other people and to whom he has given the land, must themselves separate between clean and unclean animals. Sexual “immorality” and “ritual” food taboos are thus combined and jointly seen as repulsive behavior causing divine disgust to such an extent that the people would be threatened. The final motivation (20:26) consists of the same phrase as in 11:44: the people should be holy as God is holy. The idea of God feeling disgust is also found in Lev 26, but the term used here is different (the verb = 8).96 The context is one of promise and threat associated with the keeping of the Holiness Code. Obedience will cause God never 93. Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1345, argues that since 93 HE in Lev 18 is used separately only to characterize one prohibition (18:22), while several times summarizing all the prohibitions in the closing exhortation, this points to the incorporation of an older list of sexual prohibitions (18:6–23) into two reworded exhortations (18:1–5, 24–30). 94. The term is also used twice in Genesis (43:32; 46:34) to convey the Egyptian view of Hebrews and shepherds as unclean. In Exod 8:26 the Egyptians are assumed to regard the sacrifice of the Hebrews as abominable. 95. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22, 1569, suggesting a root meaning of darken, contaminate or stain. The variability of the term is emphasized by Humbert, who argues that it cannot be restricted to a particular type of sacred language. Paul Humbert, “Le substantif to!ƝbƗ et le verbe t!b dans l’Ancien Testament,” ZAW 72 (1960): 217–37. 96. This verb is not used elsewhere in the Pentateuch, but occurs in Jeremiah and Ezekiel. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2301–2. The fact that the subject changes from God to the people suggests, however, that “expel” is not the best translation, but that a notion of physical disgust is present. In any case, it is inconsistent to swap between “expel” and “loathe.”
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to loathe the people (v. 11), but if the people loathe God’s commands (v. 15), God will loathe them (v. 30). If they are exiled, however, although the land will have to be compensated for its sabbaths by lying waste, God will not loathe the people and break the covenant, although they have loathed God’s commands (vv. 43, 44). There is nothing about the sexual sins of Lev 18–20, but the promises and threats rather seem to refer to the laws of worship, sabbaths, and land in Lev 23–25. It is doubtful whether the language used describes the immediate emotion of disgust that was found earlier. In any case, it is not the land that loathes the people, but rather God. The land is not portrayed as actively vomiting the people out, but passively as being laid waste by God (18:32–35). While the topos of exile is the same as in Lev 18:25–28 and 20:22–24, the imagery is quite different. There are good reasons for assigning this section of the Holiness Code to a fairly late stage.97 A different terminology is also used in Deut 23:14, where the idea is expressed of God feeling disgust at normal human defecation, which necessitates covering the excrement with the help of a stick carried in the belt for that very purpose. Although the verb = 8 is used in the preceding section dealing with attitudes to Edomites and Egyptians, and the noun is used in the subsequent rule about cultic prostitution, God’s revulsion at human excrement is not described by 93 HE but by C35 EHC .98 The reason may be that 93 HE is becoming almost a technical term, and since there are neither ritual nor moral connotations to defecating in ancient Judaism, it would not be the obvious word to use. At the same time, the immediate argument for not offending the divine sense of taste is God’s presence in the camp, which makes it necessary to keep the camp holy. The clear implication is that holiness requires the covering of human excrement. It thus has to be concluded that not only human, but also divine disgust were live issues in the social contexts reflected in these texts, and that divine holiness was thought of as no more compatible with unsavory sights than with offensive deeds. We also find that humans were supposed to share the same feelings and promote these attitudes. When feelings of disgust are understood as lying at the base of a number of purity rules as well as moral ideas for which purity language is occasionally used, their interrelationship is more easily understood. Dealing With the Objectionable I have suggested that basic morality as well as ideas of purity originate with bodily reactions and feelings of disgust, and that such an understanding can be traced in a number of legal texts, and inform our reading and interpretation of 97. Following Hoffmann, Milgrom (Leviticus 17–22, 1361; Leviticus 23–27, 2272–343) assigns 26:1–2, 33b–35 and 43–44 to HR, the post-exilic final redactor (H itself is considered pre-exilic). These sections talk about the Sabbath and presuppose the exile. However, in view of the use of the verb = 8 both within and outside of these passages, I think the discrepancies with preceding sections of the Holiness Code cannot be solved by the excision of a few verses. Rather, this chapter exhibits quite a different perspective. 98. The same expression is used in Deut 24:1 for the feeling of revulsion causing a man to divorce his wife.
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them. This would mean that ideas of morality, as well as of purity, arise from a primary, individual reaction of disgust, leading the individual to shun certain substances, items, or conditions, and in a more developed form, certain states, acts or types of behavior. However, such individual reaction must, in a society, be balanced by social concerns. As we have seen, there are good reasons to believe that human morality has developed not merely out of self-interest, whether on a genetic or a cognitive level, and that issues such as adaptability and cooperation are just as important. In the present study the focus has been on the role of disgust. Contrary emotions, such as empathy or love, should be considered, in explaining the mitigation of individual reactions by social concerns. There is, however, little room to deal with these emotions here. Because of such social concerns, a number of disgusting things must be accommodated within society, reduced, and handled in various ways. As a society is often understood as consisting of living individuals as well as of spirits and/or deities, rules and laws must accommodate and control that which is objectionable to both. A number of strategies may be conceived of for dealing with the objectionable: rejection, regulation, and removal. Examples of all three can be seen in the texts. The prohibition of unclean animals for food, the expulsion of “lepers” from the camp, or even of dischargers and the corpse-impure, as in the stricter tradition of Num 5:2–3, all illustrate rejection as a strategy. This is also the case with the karet penalty and the death penalty, or even the exile of the entire people, resulting from a number of transgressions of the Holiness Code. Regulation may be exemplified by rules about contact-contagion, defining the ways in which impurity contaminates, so as to make it possible for people to avoid it. Such rules are explicitly spelled out in the case of discharges, but were deduced and developed in regard to other types of impurity as well. The incest laws of the Holiness Code as well as Deuteronomy’s toilet law may be included in this category. As examples of removal strategies we should probably mention the scraping and sometimes removal of stones in “leprous” houses as well as the burning of “leprous” clothes or the destruction of vessels or ovens that were in contact with dead “swarmers.” In particular, this category includes purification rituals involving washing, laundering, sacrifices, and in the case of lepers and the corpse-impure, apotropaic rites involving a number of red substances.99 The same or similar rites and sacrifices are used for removing a number of sins, especially the E I and the Day of Atonement ritual, the latter involving elements reminiscent of the cleansing of the leper.100
99. For a discussion of similarities between the bird rite (Lev 14:1–7) and the red cow rite (Num 19:1–10), see Kazen, Jesus, 305–10; Joshua Schwartz, “On Birds, Rabbis and Skin Disease,” in Purity and Holiness: The Heritage of Leviticus (ed. M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill, 2000), 207–22. 100. Similarities between the two goats (Lev 16:15–22) and the two birds (Lev 14:1–7) are obvious: slaughtering one, sprinkling its blood seven times, and releasing the other, apparently to carry sin/impurity away from inhabited areas.
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It has long been observed that the E I is no mere “sin-offering,” but serves an important function as a purification rite.101 To claim that it has no role in removing sin is, however, an exaggeration, not the least when the result of this rite in the context of inadvertent sins is described as forgiveness (I=D?), just as its result in the context of impurity is purification (C9).102 One possible interpretation of the E I is that of Alfred Marx, suggesting that it should be understood as a sacrifice of separation. The E I separates the impure and the sinner from their former states. In the context of impurity, it does not purify by itself, but is applied after the period of purification usually ending with washing and laundering. It is used for separating priests, Levites, and altars (consecration), and even in the opposite direction when a nazir ends his period of separation (desecration). It thus constitutes a rite of passage, signifying change of status, time, or place. This is supported by the fact that it also belongs to the cultic calendar, being employed a number of times throughout the year, with neither sin nor impurity as its focus. The E I thus has a separating function, dissociating objects from their former state.103 In contexts of impurity or transgression it concludes the process of removing that which is considered objectionable. In all strategies, ritual means are employed in one sense or another and social concerns are involved. At one end of the scale, rejection is considered necessary, since that which is experienced as objectionable is thought to be so serious and threatening to the social body that very little room for mitigation is possible. The threat seems to concern the divine power as well, which might suggest some sort of link between the emotion of disgust and demon belief. At the other end of the scale, removal strategies not only mitigate feelings of disgust and avert demonic threat, getting rid of that which is experienced as objectionable by ritual means, but also manage to re-integrate the affected or offending person. While there is no room in the present context for elaborating on the demonic aspects of biblical purity law, the apotropaic and magical vestiges involved in removal rites should be noted. This is concomitant with my observation that various types of objectionable items, states, or deeds are thought of as offensive and a danger to individuals, to the society, and even to the deity.104
101. See Jacob Milgrom, “Sin-Offering or Purification-Offering,” VT 21 (1971): 237–39; Gary A. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings: Old Testament,” ABD 5:870–86 (879–80). There is no room for an elaborate discussion. For more details, and the relationship between E I and CA<, see Kazen, Jesus, 211–14. 102. Milgrom’s interpretation that the original offence is really forgiven by feeling guilt, while the E I deals with the defilement of the sanctuary, is somewhat strained. 103. Alfred Marx, “Sacrifice pour les péchés ou rite de passage? Quelques réflexions sur la fonction du h at>t>a t,” RB 96 (1989): 27–48, and Les systèmes sacrificiels de l’Ancien Testament: Formes et fonctions du culte sacrificiel à Yhwh (VTSup 105; Leiden: Brill, 2005), 157–88. According to Marx (“Sacrifice,” 46), the positive correspondent is the burnt offering, which functions as an offering of reintegration. This element is present, however, even when the E I is offered by itself, through the burning of the fatty parts on the altar. 104. I have discussed these apotropaic rites and demonic vestiges in Kazen, Jesus, 301–13.
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This offensiveness and danger is best explained as being based on physical emotions of disgust. The obvious alternative would be Mary Douglas’ classic idea of anomaly as the crucial factor behind notions of impurity.105 While violations of boundaries clearly play an important role, anomaly cannot by itself explain the evolution of the concept of impurity. Nor does it satisfactorily explain the strong links that we have observed between purity and morality. Dirt is to humans more than matter out of place. Danger stems from more than surprise. Fear of death, decay, and animality are important factors, too. Although conceptions of both purity and morality are context-sensitive and certainly develop in dependence on social factors, they most plausibly find their common origin in human primary emotions, notably in the individual emotion of disgust towards objectionable substances. This emotion is secondarily applied to items, states, and actions associated with such substances or evoking similar reactions, but it is also mitigated by social concerns. Thus not only rejection, but also regulation and removal become possible ways of dealing with the objectionable, whether understood as impurity or sin. From this perspective, too, we find that a number of biblical legal instructions for all three strategies make sense, not the least rituals such as the E I sacrifice. Conclusion The present study has discussed a number of biblical purity laws as well as moral rules for which purity language is used, or which border on the purity system in various ways, as well as ritual elements or practices used for dealing with impurity and sin alike. Using insights from other disciplines about the origin and development of human morality, I have suggested that a number of details, often regarded as anomalies that are difficult to explain, can be consistently interpreted. All three phenomena for which impurity language is used in Leviticus—dietary laws, contact-contagion, and certain types of immorality— share common traits that can be related to the primary emotion of human disgust at objectionable substances, being applied secondarily to these phenomena alike. Similar strategies for dealing with the objectionable can be observed at different levels and to varying degrees. Impurities as well as offensive behaviour understood as sin are variously dealt with by rejection, regulation, and removal, in order to avert their threat against individuals, the social body and the divine.
105. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. With a New Preface by the Author (London: Routledge, 2002 [1st ed. 1966]), 51–71. Douglas later retreated from this position, but it is uncertain whether her new stance is better, since she claims that abhorrence has nothing to do with purity laws, but that it is abominable to harm animals not used for sacrifice. Arguing from divine rationality, justice, and compassion as being incompatible with the creation of abominable animals is hardly convincing (pp. xiii–xvi).
DOES THE PRIESTLY PURITY CODE DOMESTICATE WOMEN? David Tabb Stewart
Introduction The Priestly Purity Code, or Lev 11–15, is not usually read as a women’s text.1 But it does address matters of concern to women. Leviticus 11 deals with the realm of food. That is, it deals with the question of what can be cooked and eaten. Chapter 12 continues with childbirth; ch. 13 with scale disease and women’s recovery from the species of scalls (vv. 29–30) and tetters (vv. 38– 39)—something of concern to Miriam (Num 12)—and mold on cloth, yarn, and leather (Lev 13:47–59); ch. 14, mold in houses (vv. 33–53); and ch. 15 with menstruation and hypermenorrhea. Indeed, at Lev 15:18, we actually have heterosexual intercourse topicalized under womanhood. Now, it is true that there are matters of particular concern to men in the Purity Code—seminal emissions, discharges, and baldness—but one could see these matters placed here by attraction. This is not to say that the Purity Code is fully an example of écriture féminine, but rather that here there are matters from women’s experience—pregnancy, mothering, health, menses, domestic work, and marriage. Thus I examine three passages asserting male control over women and women’s spaces: the law of scalls and tetters in women (13:29–39); the laws concerning mold in women’s work and workspace (13:47–59); and the laws for the zƗbâ (15:25–30). These represent an attempted domestication of women’s realms by men. A model of women’s culture proposes that women constitute a “muted group.” As Edwin Ardener develops this, the boundaries of the muted group are not wholly contained by the dominant male group. If one thinks of the communities of males and females in society as two intersecting circles, these mostly overlap, but leave small crescents of men’s space and women’s. The zone of women’s cultural space, that small crescent, Ardener calls the “wild zone”—that space which is outside of male control. “How does the symbolic weight of that other mass of persons express itself?” Ardener asks.2 This is a problem because 1. E.g. Judith Romney Wegner, “ ‘Coming Before the LORD’: The Exclusion of Women from the Public Domain of the Israelite Priestly Cult,” in The Book of Leviticus: Composition and Reception (ed. Rolf Rendtorff and Robert A. Kugler; VTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 451–65 (451–52). 2. Edwin Ardener, “Belief and the Problem of Women,” in Perceiving Women (ed. Shirley Ardener; New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1975), 1–27 (3).
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“all language is the language of the dominant order, and women, if they speak at all, must speak through it.” Ardener answers, through ritual and art. But there are other ways. Leviticus 13:29–39: Scalls and Tetters in Women In a book that notoriously has no named women characters there is a small surprise in the gendered and generic references to women in the laws related to the mpÑ¿rƗ!. Leviticus 13 falls into three sections: (1) diagnostic rules related to the skin system and ÑƗra!at (13:2–28, 38–39); (2) those related to the body’s hair system (13:29–37, 40–44); and (3) diagnostics concerning ÑƗra!at or mold and fungus in thread, cloth and leather (13:47–58). The section on haÑÑƗrûa! ends with a prescription and summation (vv. 45–46); and likewise the section on cloth (v. 59). Now as to the skin system (vv. 2–28, 38–39), there are five sections focused on eight species: vv. 2–8 focus on swellings, rashes, and discolorations (Ğp!Ɲt, sappaat, baheret); the second section on scale disease or ÑƗra!at proper (vv. 9–17); the third on inflammations (špîn, vv. 18–29); and the fourth on burns from fire (mikwat- Ɲš, vv. 24–28). The fifth section on scalls and tetters (neteq, bphir¿t)3 is an “outlier” found much later (vv. 38–39). So why did the editor organize the passage in this way? The answer points to the generic, gendered, and inclusive language used by the writer. And so “woman” emerges as a topic. The first diagnostic rule concerning swellings, rashes, and discoloring begins with ƗdƗm (v. 2), as does the second for scale disease proper (v. 9). Mayer Gruber observed some years ago that this was a neutral term for “person” similar to nepeš, and so functions as a kind of proto-inclusive language4—that is, anywhere we find it, we may take it to include women. Nevertheless, after the initial opening of these two diagnostics, all further referents use masculine-gendered pronouns in a generic way. The third and fourth diagnostic rules concerning inflammations and burns dispense with neutral language, again using generic pronouns. Women’s presence is effaced if not erased. So, it becomes all the more striking when the next section concerning head and hair begins with wp îš ô îššâ (v. 29). Why do women rise to consciousness here? Why does a women’s disability or disease emerge? Indeed, it is not just here but in the next section (vv. 38–39), returning to diagnostics for the skin 3. “Scall” and especially “tetter” are arbitrary translation choices for conditions that one cannot confidently identify. A scall is a scaly, scabby disease of the skin or a scurf (little dry scales shed by the skin, e.g., dandruff). A tetter is one of a number of skin diseases like eczema that are characterized by itching. The English terms carry an aura of specificity for the uninitiated—they are really generalities. See also the general discussion of ÑƗra !at in David P. Wright and Richard N. Jones, “Leprosy,” ABD 4:277–82. 4. One might read a woman’s action anywhere the term nepeš or ƗdƗm, “person,” is used as subject (cf. Num 5:5–7 for evidence that these terms are gender-neutral in Priestly literature). For a full discussion of the philology, cf. Mayer I. Gruber, “Women in the Cult According to the Priestly Code,” in Judaic Perspectives on Ancient Israel (ed. Jacob Neusner, Baruch A. Levine, and Ernest S. Frerichs; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1987), 35–48 (39–40, 45 n. 33). In sum, the Priestly Source (P) occasionally makes use of an inclusive language nepeš or ƗdƗm.
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system, that the text topicalizes women and men together (v. 38). This skin diagnostic rule does not simply repeat the earlier instructions but now includes both a reprised diagnosis, “white discolorations” (bphir¿t lpbƗn¿t; see Lev 13:4), and one brand new, “tetter” (b¿haq). A further anomaly: this skin rule actually separates the two passages on head and hair (vv. 29–37 and 40–44), a seeming inefficiency. Verse 40 shows a topic change when it opens with wp îš. Verses 40–44 do, after all, take up crown and male-pattern baldness (two “disabilities” that are not “impure”5) and beard hair. As if to wrap the topic by an inclusion, v. 44 mentions îš ÑƗrûa! when it diagnoses him ÓƗmƝ hû . Interestingly, iššâÑprûa! is the unmarked term. The topic changes once again at the start of v. 45 with haÑÑƗrûa!, a neutral term introducing the behavioral laws for the person with scale disease diagnosed in all the foregoing material. So, why do these anomalies exist, these bumps in the fabric of the text? Ibn Ezra provides a possible motivation for the topical shift from “man or woman” to “man” alone by observing that the beard issue applies only to males, and that the writer must also distinguish “man” from ƗdƗm, already used neutrally for “person.”6 But this explanation does not explain the shift from “person” to “man or woman” in the first place. And also, why the offsetting of vv. 38 and 39 on skin? Why not place this with other passages about the skin system, as between vv. 28 and 29? And more, why didn’t the writer lump facial hair impurities (vv. 42–44) with all the other impurities of the chapter (vv. 2–39), instead of digressing to baldness (vv. 40–41), which is neither a blemish (mûm) nor impure (ÓƗmƝ )? The Keter Torah answers, concerning the latter, that the text is simply keeping male subject matter together.7 We have two textual “bumps” in a row (vv. 38–39 and vv. 40–41): the topic shifts from the hair system (v. 37) back to the skin system (vv. 38–39), and then to the hair system again (v. 40); the implicit topic shifts from things impure (v. 39) to those pure (vv. 40–41), and then back to impurities (v. 42). In both instances the topic shifts are correlated with gender as we can see: A = Hair (vv. 29–37); Aƍ = Skin (vv. 38–39)
|| A = Hair (vv. 40–44)
B = Impurity (vv. 29–39)
|| Bƍ = Purity (vv. 40–41); B = Impurity (vv. 42–44)
C = Man or Woman (vv. 29–39)
|| Cƍ = Man alone (vv. 40–44)
So, ABC o AƍBC o ABƍCƍ o ABCƍ. If the writer has gone to such pains, then we readers ought to take it seriously. Indeed, it is an example of an “inverted hinge,” as per Parunak.8 5. David Tabb Stewart, “Deaf and Blind in Leviticus 19:14 and the Emergence of Disability Law” (unpublished paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Philadelphia, November 19, 2005). 6. Jacob Milgrom Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 792. 7. Aaron ben Elijah, Keter Torah: Sefer Va-yikra (repr. ed.; Ramleh, Israel: Ramleh, 1972); cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 799. 8. See more on this below. Cf. H. van Dyke Parunak, “Transitional Techniques in the Bible,” JBL 102 (1983): 525–48.
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Now, it could be that the changes in gender representation throughout Lev 13 represent the trail of redaction history—the editor has added the sections that speak directly to gender (vv. 29–44), and has had to sew it all together at v. 45 with the inclusive neutral term, haÑÑƗrûa!. But such an explanation only accounts for the literary surface of the text. Let me push it a bit further: Why did this tradent of the Priestly Source (P) have a gender-consciousness that left a visible space for women? I do not say that “his” consciousness was not framed by male concerns, as taking up the topics of baldness and beard reveal. And perhaps he—I use “he” deliberately—felt a need to clarify the “inclusive” language of ƗdƗm (vv. 2, 9), so offering a lexical commentary with wp îš ô îššâ (vv. 29, 38). It is just here that Miriam hovers as a ghost over the passage—for she has scales white as snow (mpÑ¿r!at kaššƗleg in Num 12:10). But her presence must then hang over all the diagnostic rules governing ÑƗra!at, and not just those of ch. 13, vv. 38 and 39. This is because of the color specification: “snow-white” is neither “dull white” nor “striated” as in Leviticus. So, we may think of her presence, but not by direct reference. This is why we must take the Priestly writer’s gender notice of women seriously: if women are not mentioned specifically, if they are subsumed in masculine, or even neutral language, then one might ask as a male scholar did recently, “Do women have disabilities or diseases in the Bible? Do they have any disabling conditions worth notice?”9 The P-tradent’s language suggests they do, and so inadvertently reveals their prior erasure. Leviticus 13:47–59: Mold and Women’s Work If male readers have left unweighed places where women are addressed, it is also true that they have neglected texts with a cast of a women’s milieu. A further section of Leviticus (13:47–59) covers the case of a moldy or fungal affection of fabrics, skins, and leather utensils and furniture. At the tail end of the long section on aÑÑƗrûa! commentators’ interest tends to flag. Wright gives the pericope two pages,10 Elliger a page,11 and both Maccoby12 and Hulse13 a paragraph. As a generally neglected section of “P,” it is a candidate passage for closer attention because of its ostensible connection with women. Hoffner argues that the quintessential ancient Near Eastern symbols of womanhood are
9. A comment made as an oral aside to his paper: Thomas Hentrich, “Masculinity and Disability in the Bible” (paper presented at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature, Philadelphia, 19 November 2005). 10. David P. Wright, The Disposal of Impurity: Elimination Rites in the Bible and in Hittite and Mesopotamian Literature (SBLDS 101; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986), 90–91. See also Wright and Jones, “Leprosy,” 4:277–82. 11. Karl Elliger, Leviticus (HAT 4; Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1966), 185. 12. Hyam Maccoby, Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its Place in Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 127. 13. E. V. Hulse, “The Nature of Biblical ‘Leprosy’ and the Use of Alternative Medical Terms in Modern Translations of the Bible,” PEQ 107 (1975): 87–105 (94).
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the spindle or distaff—tools associated with spinning and weaving.14 The pericope on ÑƗra!at in fabrics mentions not only wool and linen, but also the warp and woof of fabric on the loom, and that repeatedly. We are in a technical sphere that is often, if not always, the sphere of ancient Near Eastern women. Milgrom, who in his characteristic way has given this passage more attention than anyone else among modern writers,15 finds it riddled with anomalies. Of course, the biggest anomaly is: “Why is it here?” The passage has its own “separate summation (v. 59)” and “interrupts and jars the flow of chaps. 13 and 14” such that “it is clearly an editorial interpolation.”16 The only answer he offers, following Wenham,17 is that it deals with the similar symptomology of “abnormal surface conditions.” By this theory, the pericope was independent and placed here by topical attraction. The clustering of technical language represents a second anomaly. “In the warp,” bišptî, with the sense of “vertical” or “length,” and among its Semitic cognates, “weave,” is “a technical term that spread over the ancient world.”18 “In the woof,” be!Ɲreb, speaks to “the horizontal action of the shuttle by which the thread weaves in and out of the threads of the warp.”19 For both of these terms the etymology is unknown. It is in the diagnostic terms that we find even more obscurity: mam eret, “malignant” (v. 51); ppetet, a hapax legomenon translated “fret” (v. 55); and p¿raat, “wild growth” (v. 57).20 These three mold conditions can appear on the warp or woof threads on the loom or off in their coils of yarn. Lines of fungus would likely run along threads of the same sort and not contaminate other threads as each has a unique thickness, dye, and spin—and so different pH factors—that would potentially attract particular molds.21 Thus, it is not redundant for the author to mention both wool and linen fabric and warp and woof threads. The expressions speak to a life-setting where the technical language, and knowledge embodied in it, are used comfortably by weavers and cloth-makers—most likely women.22 14. Harry A. Hoffner, Jr., “Symbols for Masculinity and Femininity: Their Use in Ancient Near Eastern Sympathetic Magic Rituals,” JBL 85 (1966): 326–34 (329). There is room to critique his analysis: he depends heavily on the Hittite and Greek evidence (which is convincing), and cursorily on the Ugaritic, Mesopotamian, and biblical evidence. Indeed, he adduces only two biblical passages, Prov 31:13 and 2 Sam 3:29, to demonstrate his point. 15. That is, ten pages of two thousand eight hundred (Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 771, 808–16). 16. Ibid., 808. 17. Gordon J. Wenham, The Book of Leviticus (New York: Doubleday, 1979). 18. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 809. 19. Ibid. 20. “Wild growth” in the New Jewish Publication Society translation (NJPS) and not “scaly eruption” as at Lev 13:42 in the context of scale disease on a bald head. 21. Jane Merritt, Causes, Detection, and Prevention of Mold and Mildew on Textiles (rev. ed.; Conserve-O-Gram 16/1; Washington, D.C.: Superintendent of Documents, U.S. Government Printing Office, 1993); cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 810. 22. Elizabeth Wayland Barber, Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years. Women, Cloth, and Society in Early Times (New York: W. W. Norton, 1994), 29–41; and Philip J. King and Lawrence E. Stager, Life in Biblical Israel (Library of Ancient Israel; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 152. Pages 146–62 of King and Stager’s work offer a nice background discussion of textiles in ancient Israel.
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A morphosemantic surprise constitutes the third anomaly. Milgrom notes that there is an “unexpected use of the second person singular” tiĞrppennû, “you shall destroy them [by fire]” (in vv. 55, 57), and tpkabbƝs, “you will wash” (in v. 58).23 “Who is the subject?” Milgrom asks. “The subject of this verb [at v. 57]…cannot be explained.”24 Not the priest. He has already been referenced by third-person masculine singular verb forms (vv. 55c, 56a). Not the people as a whole, because the chapter is addressed to Moses and Aaron alone (v. 1). One might say, “Moses and Aaron,” then (who could be concerned for furnishing covers and wall panels in the sanctuary). Yet this (i.e. using a singular form) is an awkward way to address both. One could conclude that these forms are an artifact of the pericope’s earlier, contextual, and independent existence. Who might be addressed there? Why, a woman; the second-person masculine singular imperfectives have the same form as third-person singular feminine imperfectives, of course. This possibility would generally not be thought of because of our predisposition not to see women actors in the Priestly work, but it commends itself further by the observation that the text would then show a consistent use of third person when referring to ritual actors: third-person masculine singular for the purification priest; third-person feminine singular for the female technician. Another concern is v. 59 of ch. 13. The summary of scaly affections in fabrics and leather items found here is summarized again in ch. 14, vv. 54–56. Milgrom asks: “Why is there a need for this repetitious and, ostensibly, superfluous subscript for fabrics?”25 He offers several reasons: it sets off this pericope from ch. 14 (otherwise, one might think the purification rituals of ch. 14 applied to fabrics); and, there is no subscript for the sections covering people with scale disease in ch. 13.26 Perhaps originally the text in ch. 13 (v. 46) connected directly to the ritual prescriptions of ch. 14. One might further motivate the fabric subscript by noticing that the fabrics’ pericope is positioned in parallel with ch. 14’s section on fungus in buildings (vv. 33–53). Both sections may represent a concern for fungus in sanctuaries—those portable and permanent—but the surprise of the subscript reminds us of this section’s apparent independence before the editorial project that now includes it for whatever sacerdotal reasons. A final anomaly, though not mentioned as such by Milgrom, is the care of the passage not precipitously to destroy the fabric or leather items. After seven days of being set aside, if the moldy striations have not spread, it is quarantined for a second term of seven days and washed. If the affection has faded, the priest tears out the spot (v. 56). Milgrom and others have noted the economic motivation for this thrifty approach. Who has the most economic interest here? The worker, the female weaver, who has put so many hours into making the cloth, or spinning the yarn, so that its disposal represents a hardship. Only that which is truly spoiled is destroyed. 23. 24. 25. 26.
Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 813, 815. Ibid., 814. Ibid., 815. Nevertheless, the use of haÑÑarûa! in 13:45 has a summarizing feel.
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Thus I would argue: while this pericope is not obviously an example of écriture féminine, it shows evidence of a women’s milieu, or Sitz im Leben, and its technical language. It contains threads from Ardener’s “wild zone” of women’s culture, now redeployed and brought under male priestly control. Leviticus 15:18: Woman as Heterosexual Subject (Sort of) One surprise, by way of a small example, is in the organization of Lev 15. The several pericopae begin as follows: v. 2b v. 16 v. 18 v. 19 v. 25
îš îš kî…zƗb wp îš kî…šikbat-zera wp îššâ išer yiškab îš ¿tâh wp îššâ kî…niddâ wp îššâ kî…zibâ
A B X Bƍ Aƍ
The first and last section form a topical ring, zƗb and zƗbâ; the first and second sections address concerns of men; the fourth and fifth, concerns of women. The center section topicalizes women through a circumlocution that shifts to the front of the sentence wp îššâ.27 This is not clear in translations like the NJPS, which reads: “And if a man has carnal relations with a woman…” It should read something like: “Now as to a woman, if a man has sexual relations with her…” This topicalization puts the focus on women. That is, heterosexual relations are placed under the rubric of womanhood. It is gyno-centric, yes, and central. The topic shift stands at the center of the chiastic structure ABXBƍAƍ and so underlines what is important. Now Whitekettle took notice of this structure, but not its implications.28 Likewise Milgrom, following his student R. Scott,29 sees it as an instantiation of Parunak’s literary device of the “inverted hinge,” a way of pivoting between topics.30 He does not discuss it further. Nevertheless, placing the topicalization of women at the center of a chiastic structure suggests that the (male) editor or writer thought women’s pollution concerns the more important matter—something confirmed by the greater weight given to the zƗbâ’s pollution over all others in this chapter. While problematizing vaginal flows, the writer may yet absorb a women’s point-of-view by placing heterosexual intercourse under the rubric of “woman.” Leviticus 15:19, 25–30: ZƗbâ Both the niddâ (‘menstruant’) and the zƗbâ (‘dysmenorrheal woman’) are referred to under the rubric of zôb or “discharge”: the niddâ is a zƗbâ dƗm 27. Talmy Givón, Topic Continuity in Discourse: A Quantitative Cross-Language Study (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1983), 17, 19, 33–34. 28. Richard Whitekettle, “Leviticus 15:18 Reconsidered: Chiasm, Spatial Structure and the Body,” JSOT 49 (1991): 31–45 (35). 29. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 905, 931. 30. Parunak, “Transitional Techniques,” 541.
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(“woman with a discharge of blood,” v. 19); the zƗbâ proper is an îššâ kî yƗzûb zôb dƗmƗh yƗmîm rabbîm (“woman who discharges her blood for many days,” v. 25). Note that this is also a discharge of blood—not apparently a gonorrheal flow or vaginal secretion. And just to make it perfectly clear, the dysmenorrheal discharge is a zôb Ónjm Ɨtâ (“unclean discharge,” v. 30) that calls for expiation. As Milgrom noticed, this is a condition that is more severe than that of the zƗb or niddâ.31 This is seen in two ways. First, one who sits on the seat of the zƗb must bathe, launder, and wait till evening to be clean (Lev 15:6); but anyone who touches the seat of the zƗbâ must do the same (15:26–27).32 Though the text invites us to read about the zƗbâ in the light of the niddâ (kî-tƗzûb !al-niddƗtƗh, 15:25), and the structure of her account parallels that of the niddâ, her pollution is more severe. The zƗbâ’s ritual for purification is as complex as that of the zƗb (vv. 13–15 || vv. 28–30), but much more demanding than that of the niddâ (there are expiatory sacrifices besides the bathing, laundering, and waiting till evening). Thus, among all of the leakages from orifices, that of the zƗbâ is the most extreme. While Milgrom mostly argues for severity from rabbinic literature and prior deduction about how to read silences,33 these two signs of “weight” (touching the seat and the relative complexity of ritual for the zƗbâ over the niddâ) are plainly in the text. Milgrom argues, by extension from the conclusion that the zƗbâ here experiences the most severe pollution, that a fortiori she must be able to impart impurity by her intentional touching. Does this not give her a sort of power, one made much of by rabbinic folklore? Women’s Power The strength of a woman’s “pollution”34 gives her a special power over her sexual partner: “As for the woman in her menstrual impurity [niddâ, zƗbâ, and first stage parturient]: Do not encroach on (her) to uncover her nakedness” (Lev 18:19, my translation). Although the Holiness Code gives menses and dysmenorrhea an apparently negative valence, the P-source accidentally discloses its power. A menstruant, or niddâ, becomes “impure” for seven days, confining her to her tent (15:19); a zƗbâ, until she recovers (15:25). But the condition has the power to subvert the male-dominated social order. Anyone who touches her is unclean until evening. Anything she lies on, or sits on, becomes unclean. Anyone who touches her bed is unclean till evening (15:20–23; and v. 27 reading bƗh with the LXX35). Her liminal status gives the zƗbâ rest from labor, (male) touch, and conjugal “duties.” Now both the Priestly and Holiness writers 31. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 942. 32. The zƗbâ generally follows the rules for the niddâ, as Lev 15:25 indicates, and Milgrom argues (ibid., 942–43). I differ slightly from David P. Wright and Richard N. Jones, “Discharge,” ABD 2:206. They suggest that “a zƗbâ pollutes exactly like a zƗb” (my emphasis). 33. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 942–43. 34. Thomas Buckley and Alma Gottlieb, Blood Magic: The Anthropology of Menstruation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 34–36. 35. Pace Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 943.
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constrain this power by labeling it “impurity.” But “the common fact of menstruation”—and menstrual disorders—“challenges the social order of a maledominated society and defines and bounds a female subgroup within the society, thereby creating a new and dangerous order.”36 What if we were to ask if the “problem” here is one of power? That is, what if the woman is “dangerous” and must pass through rituals because her bleeding is a “powerful” event? I am reminded here that in the Mishnah touching the scroll of a canonical book “pollutes” the hands. That is, the inadvertence creates a need for ritual resolution, not because the text is polluted, but because of its perceived sacred power (m. Yad. 3:2, 5). When Maccoby writes that “[s]ome things may be polluting in proportion to their awesomeness,”37 he suggests something similar. “[T]he whole cycle of mortality,” he argues, “provides the basis for an alternative spirituality… The female, more than the male, is involved in the birth–death cycle, and is therefore a greater focus of impurity.” I have been contemplating leakages of fluids associated with reproduction. Women’s association with birth, using Maccoby’s language, ultimately “represents a potentiality for a different religious orientation,”38 a potential wild zone of independent spiritual action.39 Summary and Conclusion The four short examples above—gender shifts in Lev 13 and the particular mention of women, the women’s technical milieu of weaving and spinning, the topicalization of heterosexual relations under womanhood, and dysmenorrhea— unveil simultaneously women’s space and its male control. That women are addressed, that women have technical realms, that women may be a topic, and that they may have power are all notions that the text partially domesticates. The text mutes women’s voices, yet the technical language of their sphere emerges. The text tries to absorb women’s space—the weaving workshop—yet women retain a residuum where no man will come during normal or dysfunctional menstruation or while bearing scale disease. Women may speak the language of the dominant using generic pronouns, yet their own gendered referents appear; their own verb forms slip through. Indeed, even while the text absorbs women’s concerns about reproductive health and presents heterosexual relations as a women’s topic, the text places all in a frame of ritual purity. And why? Because what may speak to women’s reproductive power, and perhaps to her spirituality, the text evaluates as an endangering impurity. There is a worm trail in the apple here: all traces of women’s lives are not erased, but they are effaced. And our readings that miss the trace lines efface them again. 36. Buckley and Gottlieb, Blood Magic, 28–29. 37. Maccoby, Ritual and Morality, 48. 38. Ibid., 50. 39. I develop this notion further in David Tabb Stewart, “The Parturient’s Ritual for a Girl: The Puzzle of Double Pollution,” in Feminist Hermeneutics, Gender and Biblical Law (ed. Athalya Brenner and Rachel Magdalene; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, forthcoming).
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Part II
METHOD
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BLOOD AS PURIFICANT IN PRIESTLY TORAH: WHAT DO WE KNOW AND HOW DO WE KNOW IT? William K. Gilders
What do texts of Priestly Torah (P) say about the power of sacrificial blood as a purifying agent, a purificant? Addressing this question in this study, my primary concern will not be to break new interpretive ground, but to pause and look back over the ground that has so far been covered. What do we know and how do we know it? To provide a focus for reflection on these questions, I will center the discussion on one unit of Priestly textual material, Lev 14, which sets out the rites for the purification of a person whose impurity-generating skin disease has healed, and for a house that has suffered from an analogous disease, probably to be identified as a growth of mold.1 The Bird Rite (Leviticus 14:4–7, 49–53) For the person who has been healed of a skin disease, the purification process begins with a rite in which two birds play a crucial role. For a house that has suffered from an analogous disease, the purification process consists solely of this rite. Let us look first at the rite as it is carried out upon the person healed of a skin disease (14:4–7). In this unit, the identification of the recipient of the ritual actions as “the one being cleansed” (C9 2!>:!9,2 v. 4) suggests the purpose of the ritual performance, cleansing. However, it may be asked whether the text makes explicit the effect of the ritual complex. Does H+C9;:H (v. 7) mean “he makes him clean,” referring directly to the effect of the sprinkling with the bird’s blood, or does it mean “he declares him clean”?2 Since the blood is sprinkled on the individual, it is apparently the thing that effects the purification, the purificant. But, note that our text does not tell us this explicitly. What interpreters suggest is 1. My treatment of Lev 14 here builds on and supplements brief treatments of the chapter in my book, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible: Meaning and Power (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 105–6, 183. In particular, the present study adds an examination of the bird ritual, which I did not include in the book. 2. NRSV renders H+C9;:H as “then he shall pronounce him clean,” while NJPSV has “and cleanse him.” Jacob Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991], 827, 839) supports the NJPSV rendering. Cf. Lev 14:48, where the meaning of C9 7H is similarly ambiguous.
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based on deduction from the effect attributed to the ritual action. Moreover, if H+C9;:H does mean “he declares him clean,” we may wonder if the blood manipulation itself accomplishes the cleansing, or if it is in fact the priest’s verbal declaration that does so. Let us now examine the same basic performance directed at a house (14:49– 53). Here (vv. 49, 52), we have the Piel form of the root I, which is not in the other passage. This verb clearly refers to an effect on the house. The various ritual elements are taken to achieve that effect. This textual version of the rite clarifies an ambiguity in the earlier prescriptions. While the bird was slaughtered over living water, the former prescriptions referred only to dipping in the blood. Here the text specifies that the live bird and the other elements are dipped in both blood and water. Thus, it is clear that the house is sprinkled not only with blood but also with water. We are explicitly told the purpose of this act of sprinkling (v. 52): the priest “purifies the house” (EJ39E ! I:H) . Note that here all of the ritual elements are identified as instruments by which the purification is effected. The instrumental bet appears with each element, so that while the blood is explicitly identified as a purificant, it is not alone in this role. The blood is foregrounded, as it heads the list. However, the identification of all of the elements as instruments of purification makes it unclear just what the ritual tradents believed the blood itself to do. Up to this juncture, I have been translating ! I: as “purify.” However, it is possible to question this understanding of the meaning of the verb.3 To what extent should etymological consideration direct our understanding of the verb in this context? The etymological meaning of the verb is “de-sin” and this has been insisted upon by some interpreters. In contrast, we may ignore etymological considerations and engage in purely contextual determination of the meaning. Contextually, the basic rendering, “purify,” seems to fit quite well.4 Another significant question concerns the role of the living bird. In the prescriptions for the rite performed on a person, the statement about cleansing appears before the reference to the release of the bird. Note, too, that nothing is said there about the significance of this act. It is natural enough, perhaps, to draw on the source-internal analogy of the scapegoat (Lev 16:20–22), which bears away sins.5 It is also possible to refer to various rites of riddance and
3. For discussion of questions about the meaning of the Piel of I and the related nominal form, E !7I,2 see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 29–32. 4. Some recent attempts have been made to argue against both “purify” and “de-sin,” but these have been unconvincing. See Noam Zohar, “Repentance and Purification: The Significance and Semantics of E I in the Pentateuch,” JBL 107 (1988): 609–18; N. Kiuchi, A Study of ÐƗÓƗ and ÐaÓÓƗ in Leviticus 4–5 (FAT 2. Reihe 2; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2003). Both scholars ignore a large amount of contextual evidence and rest their arguments on ambiguous usage. 5. Note, however, that the scapegoat bears away sins, not physical impurities. On this point, see the discussion in Baruch J. Schwartz, “The Bearing of Sin in the Priestly Literature,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (ed. David P. Wright et al.; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 17–19.
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disposal in historically and geographically contiguous cultures.6 But it must be emphasized that the text itself tells us nothing about the effect of the bird’s release. What clearly we would be most happy to have is an explicit textual statement that the released bird carries away impurity! What is missing here, then, is an explanation of how the various elements contribute to the effect the text attributes to the whole ritual complex. The parallel rite for the house complicates matters. In this context, the purpose of the sprinkling rite is explicitly identified with the verb ! I,: which does not appear in connection with the rite for the person. The text then refers to the release of the bird, apparently separating this act from the effect indicated with ! I:. Following this reference, there is what appears to be a summary statement of the effect of the full ritual complex, inclusive of the release of the bird: “He makes expiation for the house and it becomes clean” (C9 7H EJ&32!92= 2 CA!6<:H , v. 53). Therefore, another significant difference between the two units is the use of the verb CA!6
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thoroughly interprets the rite. Can we assume that the tradents who composed and transmitted the textual formulation of the bird ritual for a person would necessarily have agreed with the explanation found in the later passage? We are becoming increasingly aware that H differs from P in some striking ways. Is it not possible that this included the interpretation of ritual actions? The Rites at the Tent of Meeting (Leviticus 14:10–32) Whereas the ritual complex involving the birds is prescribed for both the person and the house, and this is all that is performed for the purification of the house, the person being purified is required to participate in a further ritual complex at the Tent of Meeting. This takes place after a seven-day period during which the person going through purification launders his clothing, shaves his hair and bathes, and moves back into the encampment (14:8–9). On the eighth day the person being purified comes to the Tent of Meeting. Prescriptions are given both for the primary form of the rite (vv. 10–20), and for a reduced form for those too poor to bring the standard offerings (vv. 21–32). The first part of the ritual complex is the same in both cases. Everyone is required to bring one male lamb as a “reparation offering” ()7 )7 . The priest takes some of the blood of this offering and daubs it on the lobe of the right ear, the thumb of the right hand, and the big toe of the right foot of the person being cleansed (C9 !2>:!9,2 vv. 14, 25). This is a surprising and unique use of the blood of this sacrifice.10 However, this manipulation is identical with what is done with the blood of the ordination ram in the priestly ordination rite (Exod 29:19–20; Lev 8:22–24). Neither of the blood manipulations is explained in its context, and interpreters have offered many divergent explanations.11 All fill a conceptual gap. It is possible that the blood application purifies, but the text does not tell us this explicitly. Does the person still need purification at this juncture? Does C9 !2>!:92 mean “the one who is being purified” or could it also mean “the purified one”? The blood manipulation is followed by manipulation of oil (vv. 15–18a, 26– 29a), some of which is daubed over the blood on the earlobe, thumb, and toe (vv. 17, 28). At the end of the prescriptions for the oil ritual, we are told: CA
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) , including—or even focusing on—the elevation rite. At the end of this unit (v. 29a), the statement, ƍ9 J?A= HJ= CA<= (“to make expiation for him before YHWH”) clearly indicates the effect and purpose of what has just been described, either the whole complex, or possibly only the oil manipulation.13 After the rituals with the ) , those with the E I offering(s) are carried out (v. 19a, 30–31a). The ritual actions performed are here only implied. One must fill in the details from Lev 4–5, where we find the instructions for the E I ritual complex in its various forms.14 We are told what the priest accomplishes with the implied actions: “so the priest shall effect expiation for the one being purified because of his impurity” (HE >> C9>9= *9<9 CA9 = *9<9 CA
13. With Milgrom (Leviticus 1–16, 862), I take the statement to sum up the effect of the whole ritual complex with the ) and the oil. It must be noted, however, that the referent of the statement is somewhat ambiguous, and it could be read as identifying only the effect of the oil manipulation. 14. Presumably, we are to fill in the blood manipulation prescribed when an individual Israelite brings a E I—either the daubing of blood of a flock animal onto the horns of the altar of burnt offering (Lev 4:30, 34) or the sprinkling of the blood of a bird onto the side of the altar (Lev 5:9), with residual blood drained out to the base of the altar. On these blood manipulations, see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 117–20. 15. For further discussion on this point, see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 127, 135–38; see also Christian Eberhart, Studien zur Bedeutung der Opfer im Alten Testament: Die Signifikanz von Blutund Verbrennungsriten im kultischen Rahmen (Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener, 2002), 135–36, 241–43. 16. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 857.
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The texts are relatively rich on what is to be done, especially when setting out details on ritual practices not previously prescribed, but significantly silent on what the individual ritual acts accomplish and how they accomplish it. Their clear concern is with ritual praxis, not with the explication of the meaning of this praxis. Blood as Purificant: Some General Reflections From specific observations and conclusions related to the ritual actions represented in Lev 14, I turn now to some more general observations and reflections. According to Jacob Milgrom and others, the blood of the E I functions as a ritual detergent.17 From his perspective, that understanding should be read into the implied reference to the E !I blood in Lev 14. The argument for this understanding of the blood rite, however, is supported, naturally, by reference to other passages. I have examined these texts in some detail in my book Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible, and offer here a brief summary of the arguments and conclusions reached there.18 There are only a very few instances where the verb ! I: refers to the effect of the E I blood manipulation. One verse is particularly decisive, Lev 8:15. Much hinges, therefore, on the understanding of the verb there. Does it mean “purify”? Most scholars would affirm that it does, based on contextual usage. But it is worth noting, again, that the basic etymological sense of the verb is “de-sin.” If blood, as purificant, is a “ritual detergent,” what does it do to the impurity it removes? Milgrom suggests, somewhat contradictorily, that the blood both absorbs impurity and transfers it to the carcass of the victim on a pars pro toto basis. Milgrom argues from analogy with elimination rites in other cultures, but there are, in fact, no exact parallels that truly illuminate.19 He sees the ritual instructions of Lev 6:20 as providing evidence to support this view, as well as the practice of burning those victims whose blood was taken into the Tent. However, there is a problem with this evidence. If the blood absorbs impurity, and all of the victim somehow becomes implicated in this impurity, how is it that the usual internal organs and fat can go to the altar, and more significantly, that the blood that remains is poured at the base of the altar? Are we really to imagine impurity-laden blood being poured out on a sanctum? My questions here are not so much intended to refute Milgrom’s position. I do not wish to substitute one form of problematic certainty for another. Rather, my intention is to highlight the not insignificant gaps in our understanding of what is going on in the rituals represented in Priestly texts. We are told far more about what to do than about why it is done. 17. Jacob Milgrom, “The Modus Operandi of the E I: A Rejoinder,” JBL 109 (1990): 111–13 (112); Wright, Disposal, 129–31; Frank H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual: Space, Time and Status in the Priestly Theology (JSOTSup 91; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 81, 87. 18. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41 (129–39). 19. Ibid., 129–30.
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A variation on Milgrom’s explanation has been offered by Baruch Schwartz, who suggests that the blood does not itself absorb impurity; instead it removes and eradicates it.20 This explanation is, to me, more attractive, as it eliminates the problem of impure blood being kept in holy space. However, the explanation remains speculative. It, too, fills a conceptual gap. I turn now to a fundamental question. If blood does purify, however that effect occurs, why does blood purify? That is, why does it have the power to purify? The identification with “life” (A6?6) has, for many interpreters, provided the essential conceptual element.21 However, it is significant that P identifies blood with “life” only once (Gen 9:4), and never explicitly relates this identification with blood’s purifying effect. Thus, we must recognize that the explanation of blood’s purifying effect by reference to “life” is conceptual gap-filling. We “know” that blood purifies because it is the locus of life by recreating a Priestly explanation that may have been assumed by the authors of the ritual texts, but which those texts never actually made explicit. Thus, we must acknowledge that no Priestly text ever explicitly explains the purifying effect of blood manipulation with reference to blood’s identification with life.22 To conclude: While there is significant evidence that blood was understood as a purificant, and that Priestly tradents understood it to function as some kind of ritual “disinfectant” or “detergent,” and while it does not seem unreasonable to connect the identification of blood with life to its role as a purificant, I cannot escape a strong awareness of just how many significant gaps there really are in our knowledge of what the tradents who composed the Priestly materials actually believed about blood and its cultic roles.
20. Schwartz, “Bearing of Sin in the Priestly Literature,” 17–18. Note that Schwartz allows that the blood itself may not eradicate the impurity; instead it is possible that “the impurity, or its residue, is retro-absorbed by the carcass of the slain animal and eradicated by its eventual disposal” (17 n. 55). In my view it is just as possible to see the blood as itself eradicating the impurity—as a “detergent” would. 21. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 46. 22. Lev 17:11 does explain cultic blood manipulation with reference to the conceptual identification of blood with life. However, this verse employs the verb CA!6
METHODOLOGY AND IDEOLOGY IN THE STUDY OF PRIESTLY RITUAL Jonathan Klawans
There is nothing novel to the claim that ideological stances—Christian, Jewish, and other—impact the ways in which scholars study the Pentateuch. Lest I be misunderstood, I want to begin by stating one claim that will not be made here. Methodology, however understood (and I will speak below about “approaches” more generally), is not an antidote to ideology (again, however understood).1 Far from understanding any particular approach as the way to avoid stances aligned with ideologies, I will try to elucidate some ways in which methodological choices can reflect ideological stances. And this is where there is much more analytic work to be done. James Barr has paved the way as perhaps no one else but he could in his History and Ideology in the Old Testament. But this work— as its title suggests—remains focused on issues pertaining to historiographic work on the Hebrew Bible. A full account of the ways in which various contemporary ideologies impact on the understandings of ancient Israelite religion in general (and its priestly cult in particular) remains to be written, and it remains a desideratum. Because description is the first step of any sound analysis, it is not enough to claim that ideologies affect scholarship; the specific interrelationships between approaches and perspectives must be explained and assessed. I would like to examine three questions relating to the understanding of cultic matters, and spell out the ways in which—as I see it—approaches to these questions can be understood as aligned with one ideological stance or another.2 The three general questions I would like to examine here are these: (1) Are the
1. The claim that methodological rigor serves to counter ideological stances is made, for instance, by Philip R. Davies, “Method and Madness: Some Remarks on Doing History with the Bible,” JBL 114 (1995): 699–705 (700). For a critical discussion of this particular claim—and of the revisionist approach to history (and ideology) in general—see James Barr, History and Ideology in the Old Testament: Biblical Studies at the end of a Millennium (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 59–101 (69–70). 2. Obviously, the present analysis cannot be comprehensive, either in terms of topics or ideologies covered. Some fuller analysis of certain themes—especially with regard to the typically inverse relationships between symbolic approaches and supersessionist ones—can be found in my Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple: Symbolism and Supersessionism in the Study of Ancient Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005). The present analysis interfaces with—but does not represent a summary of—the arguments of this book.
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central ritual structures of the priestly cult—purity and sacrifice—symbolic systems? (2) What is the relationship between ethics and ritual in the priestly corpus in particular, and in biblical religion more generally? And (3) how do we go about dating the priestly strands in relation to each other and in relation to other priestly texts? I will conclude with some preliminary suggestions for avoiding some of the pitfalls in this nexus between ideology and methodology. Symbolism and Priestly Ritual The question of symbolism as it pertains to priestly ritual is as good a place as any to begin a discussion of the relationship between methodology and ideology. Indeed, just identifying the topic introduces a host of loaded terms— symbolism, ritual, priestly—that could keep us occupied for some time. For the sake of making some descriptive progress, I suggest we can describe three overall approaches to this issue. One approach—which I will refer to as “ubiquitous symbolism”—is modeled most famously by Mary Douglas. This approach argues—and, to be honest, assumes—that symbolism is to be found practically everywhere. Not only is symbolism ubiquitous, it is also unified. While Douglas has modified and revisited her take on the dietary and purity laws over the years, the fundamental tenet that we can speak of a single symbolic system here remains the same.3 As anyone who reads more of Purity and Danger than its third chapter knows, Douglas’s arguments were addressed against a very specific target: the long history of Protestant anti-ritualism, as evidenced especially (but not exclusively) in the works of James Frazer and William Robertson Smith.4 The Protestant biases of these and other classic works on religion in general and biblical ritual in particular have been sufficiently established (not only by Douglas, but notably also by Jonathan Z. Smith5), that we need not argue her case against the nineteenth-century giants once again. But it must be said that Purity and Danger is not an unaligned critique. It is an apologetic defense of ritual systems, one that is explicitly in sympathy with Jewish, Catholic, and Hindu ritual practices.6 Indeed, as far as the broader field of ritual studies is concerned, the jury is still out on Douglas’s ubiquitous symbolism. Her critics’ arsenal includes the
3. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), 29–57 (Chapters 2 and 3), 114–28 (Chapter 7); compare, more recently, the broad thrust of Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). On these works, see my Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, esp. 17–20, 45–46, and “Rethinking Leviticus and Rereading Purity and Danger: A Review Essay,” AJS Review 27 (2003): 89–101. 4. Douglas, Purity and Danger, 7–28 (Chapter 1), 58–72 (Chapter 4); see esp. 18–19, 62–63; see also Douglas, Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (Routledge Classics ed., with a new introduction; London: Routledge, 2003), esp. 1–38 (Chapters 1 and 2) and 152–67 (Chapter 9). 5. Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christians and the Religions of Late Antiquity (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 1–34. 6. See, for instance, Douglas’s comments regarding the ritual observances of M. N. Srinivas and Franz Steiner in the acknowledgments (p. vii) to Purity and Danger.
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charges of inadequate evidence and predisposition toward a Catholic viewpoint.7 Clifford Geertz’s symbolic anthropology is similarly criticized in the field as being both apologetic and insufficiently analytic.8 Anyone who has ever used Purity and Danger Chapter 3 in an undergraduate Hebrew Bible class in the service of defending the meaning of biblical dietary laws would have to admit that the charge of pro-ritualist apology is not one that can be dismissed lightly. If we speak of Douglas’s approach as one of “ubiquitous symbolism,” a second approach taken in biblical studies toward priestly rituals is one of “selective symbolism.” As I have argued more fully elsewhere, the works of Jacob Milgrom in particular exhibit this kind of selectivity.9 In his case, a sympathetic and symbolic interpretation of rituals concerning purity and diet is balanced by a rather dismissive approach to matters sacrificial, one that sees various integral aspects of priestly practice (including the shew bread and the sacrificial act itself) as fossilized vestiges.10 In exhibiting selective symbolism, Milgrom is neither alone nor in bad company. The classic work of William Robertson Smith too exhibits precisely the same disparity. In his case, however, the disdain is directed toward purity rites (“taboos” in his parlance), which are seen as meaningless survivals from primitive times. At the same time, Robertson Smith respected sacrifice: for him it was social, symbolic, and appropriate; it even possessed a “sacramental efficacy.”11 So, ironically, Milgrom’s take on 7. For a classic statement of the former critique, see Melford E. Spiro, review of Purity and Danger, American Anthropologist, NS 70 (1968): 391–93; for a classic statement of the latter critique, see Edmund Leach, “Mythical Inequalities” (review of Natural Symbols), New York Review of Books 16 (January 28, 1971): 44–45. For a fuller discussion of Mary Douglas’s life and work— including the impact of her Catholic upbringing—see Richard Fardon, Mary Douglas: An Intellectual Biography (London: Routledge, 1999); see esp. 75–101 (on Purity and Danger) and 102–24 (on Natural Symbols). 8. Nancy K. Frankenberry and Hans H. Penner, “Clifford Geertz’s Long-Lasting Moods, Motivations, and Metaphysical Conceptions,” Journal of Religion 79 (1999): 617–40. 9. See my “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity, and Sacrifice in Jacob Milgrom’s Leviticus,” Religious Studies Review 29 (2003): 19–28; for a fuller discussion of the context of Milgrom’s work, see my Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 17–41. For Milgrom’s (partial) response, see his “Systemic Differences in the Priestly Corpus: A Response to Jonathan Klawans,” RB 112 (2005): 321–29. 10. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1992), esp. 440, 1003; see also Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3B; New York: Doubleday, 2001), 2091–93. Compare the comments of Menahem Haran, Temples and Temple-Service in Ancient Israel: An Inquiry into Biblical Cult Phenomena and the Historical Setting of the Priestly School (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1985), 17, 221–25, and Roland de Vaux, Studies in Old Testament Sacrifice (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1964), 38–42. In his response to my criticism (“Systemic Distinctions”), Milgrom reiterates his view that various elements of Israel’s cult are indeed vestiges (pp. 322–24). Hyam Maccoby also speaks of various sacrificial practices (including the red-cow and scapegoat rituals) as vestiges throughout his Ritual and Morality: The Ritual Purity System and Its Place in Judaism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); see esp. ix, 93, 102, 114, 123, 125, 139–40. 11. William Robertson Smith, Lectures on the Religion of the Semites: The Fundamental Institutions (3d ed., with an introduction and additional notes by Stanley A. Cook; New York:
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sacrifice today looks a lot like Robertson Smith’s disdainful take on taboo offered a century earlier; and Milgrom’s approach to purity looks a lot like Robertson Smith’s approach to sacrifice. The common denominator here is selective symbolism, and in both cases, the selectivity is all too easily diagnosed. Robertson Smith’s conservative Protestantism combines with Victorian prudery and yields a disdain for taboo and a valorization of sacrifice. Milgrom’s work is sympathetic to practices concerning diet and purity that are still maintained by traditional and modern Jews; it is less sympathetic to those aspects of the cult that are seemingly unethical or outdated, such as animal sacrifice. It must be said that there is nothing inherently wrong with a selective approach to symbolism: why, after all, should symbolism be found everywhere? Moreover, it is quite possible that some rituals do survive as poorly understood survivals, performed simply by the force of tradition more than the power of symbolism: the Sabbath practices of Marrano Jews may be one telling example. Still, we have to tone down the rhetoric here. I am all for academic freedom, but we might do well to ban phrases such as “fossilized vestige” from our scholarly lexicon. A more serious problem concerns the lack of analytical criteria for determining what is and what is not a survival. The contemporary descriptions of sacrificial practices as fossilized vestiges—just like Robertson Smith’s dismissal of biblical taboos—are rhetorical, not analytic: they stand and are accepted simply on the force of their assertion. There is rarely an argument presented, or evidence collected. If a selective approach to symbolism is to continue, analytical criteria for the establishment of survivals must be developed and employed. And ideally the selections then made might not so obviously cohere with contemporary religious and cultural biases. A third approach to biblical rituals denies that biblical rituals are symbolic altogether. This type of approach has been taken most recently by Ithamar Gruenwald, who defends his view in part by noting—as I have above—that advocates of ubiquitous symbolism may be engaged in an apologetic activity.12 In his view, symbolic approaches to symbolism are theological ones. Gruenwald may be correct in his diagnosis here. Moreover, Gruenwald has allies in the field of religious studies, in figures such as Jonathan Z. Smith (who asserts the arbitrary nature of Israelite cultic practices in particular)13 and Frits Staal (who speaks of the “meaninglessness of ritual,” in general).14
Macmillan, 1927), esp. 269 and 312; for his very different take on purity (taboos) see 446–54. For a fuller discussion of Robertson Smith’s selective approach, see Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 18–19, 32–34. 12. Ithamar Gruenwald, Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel (Leiden: Brill, 2003), esp. 1, 5–6, 34–35, 200–201. See also my review of this book in AJS Review 29 (2005): 163–65. 13. Jonathan Z. Smith, To Take Place: Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987), 83–86, 96–117. 14. Frits Staal, “The Meaninglessness of Ritual,” Numen 26 (1979): 2–22; Gruenwald rightly steps back from Staal’s extreme position in this regard (Rituals and Ritual Theory, 198). For a general discussion on ritual and symbolism, see Catherine Bell, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 61–89.
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The problem for Gruenwald’s position is that denying that ritual is symbolic can also be a theological move. Indeed, all our problems here result from the fact that there is not a theological or religious approach to symbolism. For centuries—indeed, for millennia—the question of whether one can take a symbolic (or allegorical) approach to ritual has been questioned by some, and defended by others. Figures like Philo, Josephus, and Pseudo-Aristeas defended ritual practices against various calumnies by asserting their symbolic significance.15 But others have feared that symbolic understandings would lead to the abandonment of the letter in favor of the spirit. That is why later religious figures such as Moses Maimonides and Moses Mendelssohn—with certain rabbinic traditions behind them—argued in favor of the arbitrary nature of practices such as the dietary laws.16 Denying symbolism can be as much of a theological move as asserting it. Another problem here is that the general conversation is just that: all too general. Staal’s examples come primarily (if not exclusively) from the rituals of India. Assuming for a moment that we accept Staal’s interpretation of Hindu rites, does that mean that biblical rites are necessarily similar in their essential non-symbolic nature? The case for the symbolic or non-symbolic nature of rituals needs to be made on a case-by-case basis. Moreover, the claim that rituals are non-symbolic in essence is a claim pertaining to origins—it cannot be denied that, at the very least, some rituals are infused with symbolic meanings in certain religious traditions, at least according to some religious authorities (e.g. Philo). Even if some cultures’ rituals remain free of symbolic explanation, that fact does not eliminate the possibility that symbolism looms large in others. Even if it could be established that rituals were originally arbitrary, that does not preclude the possibility that developed ritual systems infuse rituals with symbolism. Since we are interested here in a developed ritual system, it matters little that symbolism may be secondary, and it matters even less that symbolism may be absent elsewhere. I think we can find a way out of this impasse, if we put the general questions of origins and comparison aside, and try to determine what we can with regard to the role of symbolism in ancient Israel. Perhaps the strongest argument in 15. On symbolic approaches to cultic rituals among second temple Jews, see Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 111–44. 16. Moses Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed (trans. with an introduction and notes by Shlomo Pines; 2 vols.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), 2:502–10, 612–13 (= Guide 3.25–26, 49); Moses Mendelssohn, Jerusalem: Or On Religious Power and Judaism (trans. Alan Arkush, with introduction and commentary by Alexander Altmann; Waltham, Mass.: Brandeis University Press, 1983), 117–18, 133–34. See the discussion of rabbinic sources in Ephraim E. Urbach, The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs (trans. Israel Abrahams; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1987), 365–99. One rather famous tradition attributes to the late first-century sage Yohanan Ben Zakkai the view that the red heifer ritual of Num 19 has no known symbolic or rational basis (Pesikta de Rav Kahana, Parah 7). On the latter source, see Bernard Mandelbaum, ed., Pesikta de Rav Kahana: According to an Oxford Manuscript, with Variants from All Known Manuscripts and Genizoth Fragments and Parallel Passages, with Commentary and Introduction (2 vols.; New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1987), 1:74.
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favor of the symbolic nature of ancient Israel’s cultic rituals comes, in my view, from a rather unlikely place: the biblical prophets.17 Progress on the question of the symbolic nature of ancient Israel’s cult requires that we recognize the problematic and biased nature of some of the scholarly terminology frequently used with reference to our themes. Of course, many thematic discussions of prophecy in biblical Israel point out that the prophets were wont to perform “symbolic acts” in order to dramatize and illustrate their message to the Israelite people.18 It suffices for our concerns to note only a few of the more famous actions: Hosea’s marrying a prostitute to symbolize Israel’s infidelity (Hos 1:2); Isaiah’s walking barefoot and naked to symbolize Egypt’s impending doom (Isa 20:1–6); Jeremiah’s wearing a yoke to symbolize God’s desire for the nations to submit to Babylon (Jer 27:1–15). What is seldom appreciated in the context of the present theme is that the very existence of this phenomenon proves that the prophets were aware of and sympathetic to symbolic behavior. By referring to the prophets’ behavior as “symbolic action,” while dryly describing cultic behavior as “ritual,” scholars force a divide between, and prevent a comparison of, two phenomena that are not altogether different, and ought in truth to be mutually informative. But surely, Max Weber might object, there is a difference between a passionate, spontaneous, individual, symbolic act and a communal, cultic ritual.19 To that argument one must remember that Hosea married a prostitute (Hos 1:2)— possibly two (Hos 3:1–3)—and remained so married for some time. Isaiah, it is said, walked naked and barefoot for three years (Isa 20:3). Jeremiah must have worn that yoke for some time as well (Jer 27:1–2; 28:1, 10). The historicity of such claims is not our concern; I simply call attention to the fact that one can safely wonder whether all prophetic “symbolic actions” were conceived as fully spontaneous or free of regulation.20 A repeated, patterned, symbolic action is hardly all that different from a ritual. The suggestion—still made in some quarters21—that the prophets opposed sacrifice because they denied the efficacy of ritual really makes them out to be 17. For a fuller treatment of the relationship between priests and prophets (as well as ritual and ethics), see Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 75–100. 18. E.g. Joseph Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel (rev. and enlarged ed.; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 146, 157, 167; J. Lindblom, Prophecy in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Blackwell, 1962), 165–73; H. Ringgren, Israelite Religion (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966), 214– 15, 256–57, and 284; Alexander Rofé, Introduction to the Prophetic Literature (trans. Judith H. Seeligmann; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1997), 71–73; Marvin A. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39: With an Introduction to Prophetic Literature (FOTL 16; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 19–20. 19. For the classic articulation of Max Weber’s contrasting “ideal types” of the priest and prophet, see his The Sociology of Religion (Boston: Beacon, 1963), 20–31, 46–59. 20. For a recent assertion of the difference between symbolic acts and rituals, see Ronald S. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests, and the Efficacy of Ritual,” in Pomegranates and Golden Bells: Studies in Biblical, Jewish, and Near Eastern Ritual, Law, and Literature in Honor of Jacob Milgrom (ed. David P. Wright, David Noel Freedman, and Avi Hurvitz; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1995), 185–98. See esp. 188–89, where Hendel contrasts symbolic actions with ritual. 21. E.g. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests.”
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the hypocrites that the priests are commonly assumed to have been: how could the prophets believe in the efficacy of their own symbolic behavior but deny efficacy to ritual? Indeed, the phenomenon of prophetic symbolic action demonstrates the fact that symbolic action was part of the culture of ancient Israel. This, in my view, is the most compelling argument that various aspects of the priestly cult (sacrifice included) ought to be understood as symbolic. Indeed, if biblical and ritual studies emerged in a non-Protestant context, I highly doubt we would even have two different terms here at all. We would, rather, be accustomed to speaking of either the symbolic actions of Israel’s priests, or the ritual actions of Israel’s prophets. Ritual and Ethics Reconsidering the relationship between priestly rituals and prophetic symbolic action leads us to our second question, concerning the relationship between ritual and ethics. The importance of this distinction—historically—for the understanding of priestly matters need hardly be stated; the figures of Julius Wellhausen and Max Weber easily come to mind. It is well known that Wellhausen and Weber were aligned with their religious and cultural biases. Peter Berger perhaps put it most clearly: Developed by 19th-century Protestant scholarship, an image of the Old Testament prophets has so successfully filtered down to the religiously interested laity that it is quite difficult for anyone ever subjected to a Protestant Sunday school to think in other terms. One of the stereotypes connected with this image is the notion of the prophets as opponents of the priests, brave individualists defying the religious authorities of their time. It does not require great sophistication in the sociology of knowledge to guess why this image was developed by Protestant scholars (though perhaps psychological gifts too may be needed to interpret the rather strange affinity of German university professors, mostly teaching in theological faculties of established churches, for prophets as against priests!). In any case, during the period that the Wellhausen school dominated Old Testament scholarship, the notion that priests and prophets were fundamentally opposed attained almost axiomatic status.22
The Wellhausen school no longer dominates biblical studies; but the views Peter Berger argues against here are not entirely of the past. Ronald Hendel23—following, in part, William McKane24—has recently called for a return to Weber’s dichotomy when understanding the prophets—and, presumably, the priests as well. Also, curiously, the image of the closeted, elite, and morally indifferent priesthood has been resurrected by some members of the Kaufmann school. Yehezkel Kaufmann himself moved in this direction,25 and 22. Peter L. Berger, “Charisma and Religious Innovation: The Social Location of Israelite Prophecy,” American Sociological Review 26 (1963): 940–50 (942). 23. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests.” 24. William McKane, “Prophet and Institution,” ZAW 94 (1982): 251–66; cf. also James G. Williams, “The Social Location of Israelite Prophecy,” JAAR 37 (1969): 153–65. 25. See, e.g., Yehezkel Kaufmann, Toledot ha-Emunah ha-Yisreelit (8 vols.; Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1937–58), 2:532–88; cf. Kaufmann, Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian
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Israel Knohl has landed there most decidedly26 (a move that Milgrom has criticized27). To be sure, Knohl’s Divine Symphony does begin with an assertion that the priestly tradition itself makes a notable advance over its pre-Israelite, pre-monotheistic predecessors. By abandoning myth and adopting an abstract notion of God, the priests “attained an astounding level of abstraction and sublimity.”28 But this applies to their theology. According to Knohl, the “elitist Priestly circles…generated the ideology of a faith that is completely detached from social, national, or material needs.”29 Marvin Sweeney is correct to see this as a turn back to Wellhausen.30 Mary Douglas is correct to accuse such approaches of “P-baiting.”31 As to why such moves would be made by Jewish scholars—I will consider that shortly. So what happens if we try to smoothen the contrast between ritual and ethics, between priests and prophets? Indeed, this is precisely what many biblicists have been doing for years. Perhaps the most common approach is to suggest in some way that the prophets are not objecting to sacrifice per se, but to cultic abuse. One form of the argument is stated succinctly by Roland de Vaux: “The prophets are opposed to the formalism of exterior worship when it has no corresponding interior dispositions (Isa 29:13).”32 Another form is stated with equal economy by Abraham Joshua Heschel: “when immorality prevails, worship is detestable.”33 The common denominator here is that proper worship presupposes moral righteousness.
Exile (trans. Moshe Greenberg; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 101–21; Haran, Temples and Temple-Service, 1–12, 132–48; Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 179–90; cf. Joseph Blenkinsopp, “An Assessment of the Alleged Pre-Exilic Date of the Priestly Material of the Pentateuch,” ZAW 108 (1996): 495–518 (496–99). 26. Israel Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence: The Priestly Torah and the Holiness School (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), esp. 138–39; cf. also 175–80, 214–16, and 222–24. See now also The Divine Symphony: The Bible’s Many Voices (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America), esp. 9–11, 60–69. To be sure, Knohl struggles in his more recent work to describe P as being less interested in ethics while still treating P with some sympathy. The ritual structures of P are symbolic (ibid., 19, 24), and he asserts that the priests were not struck with “moral apathy” (ibid., 22). Still, on the whole, Knohl’s rhetoric speaks of a “closed, elitist Priestly class” (ibid., 11) whose literary failings lead to a “schism between morality and ritual,” left to be addressed by the prophets (ibid., 61). The Holiness Code’s breaking of this schism is viewed by Knohl—using classic evolutionist language—as a revolutionary moral advance, “traced to the religious and spiritual development of Israel” (ibid., 69). 27. E.g. Milgrom, Leviticus 23–27, 2440–46. 28. Knohl, Divine Symphony, 9. 29. Ibid., 11. 30. Sweeney, review of Knohl, Divine Symphony, AJS Review 29 (2004): 162–63. 31. Douglas, Leviticus as Literature, 33–34, 128–31; term used on p. 129. 32. Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel (New York: McGraw–Hill, 1961), 454–56; cf. also, e.g., Harry M. Orlinsky, Ancient Israel (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1960), 128–30, and H. H. Rowley, From Moses to Qumran (New York: Association Press, 1963), 83–87. 33. Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1962), 195.
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There is some substance to these approaches. Nonetheless one must recognize that Hendel, McKane, Robert Caroll, and Meir Weiss have a point when they suggest that contemporary ideas of religious piety have impacted the discussion.34 If Weber and Wellhausen articulated an approach to prophecy that was too close for our comfort to their conservative Protestant backgrounds and biases, then we must be equally on guard against the possibility that scholars such as Heschel, de Vaux, and H. H. Rowley (to name only three) have articulated positions that are in line with contemporary Jewish, Catholic, or Protestant perspectives. Part of what we find here—especially when the question is phrased in terms of individual, internal dispositions—is that the scholarly dispute on Israelite ritual has become the arena for contemporary theological disputes of the place of ritual and morality. In all too many cases, one finds that scholars understand the prophets to say precisely what one can easily recognize as a contemporary religious attitude to the question of ethics and ritual.35 I part with McKane and Hendel, however, in their call for a turn back to Wellhausen and Weber.36 Perhaps I just like the priests too much. But I think the real problem here is not disagreement over the values of the priestly tradition. The real problem here is the lack of disagreement over the religious or ethical value of the prophetic tradition. Scholarship has given the prophets the monopoly on biblical ethics. We take the prophets at their word, and we take the priests at the prophets’ word too. That is not a balanced approach, but a selective one; a selection in line with an all-too religious Jewish and Christian reverence for Israel’s prophets. Yes, we who have read Heschel are inclined to compare the prophets to the best of our own social reformers—like Dr. Martin Luther King. And there is, to be sure, some truth to this comparison. But the comparison is imbalanced. If we take a dispassionate stance (and that, after all, is our task), we would have to grant that there is an element of Senator Joseph R. McCarthy in our prophets as well: Can we not find instances of exaggerated claims of widespread guilt,37 or the refusal to see any shades of gray between the black and the white? The priests were all about gray—differentiating between more significant and less significant transgressions, taking into account questions of intention—and that is not always a bad thing, morally speaking.
34. Hendel, “Prophets, Priests,” 190–91; McKane, “Prophet and Institution,” 252–53; Robert P. Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant: Prophecy in the Book of Jeremiah (New York: Crossroad, 1981), 96–106; Weiss, “Concerning Amos’ Repudiation of the Cult,” in Wright, et al., eds., Pomegranates, esp. 213–14. 35. See, e.g., Carroll, From Chaos to Covenant, 96–106, and the literature cited in previous note. 36. For a fuller attempt to rethink the divide between priests and prophets, see Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 75–100. 37. Yes, ancient Israel did have its suffering poor, and its share of indifferent wealthy people. And there were communist spies in various levels of the U.S. government in the McCarthy era.
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The History of Priestly Traditions The ethical evaluation of the priesthood is not just an abstract question. For both Wellhausen and Kaufmann—and the schools that follow them—the relationship of priests to ethics is the key for placing them in a historical trajectory. We understand why Wellhausen placed the priests in the later period—as a key step in the devolution of Judaism. But why would, of all people, Jewish Kaufmannians resurrect Wellhausen’s and Weber’s image of a detached priesthood? Truth be told, modernist Judaism—in its various non-Orthodox guises—can be just as evolutionist and supersessionistic as Wellhausen’s Protestantism.38 And supersessionism needs a foil—preferably a couple of them. Kaufmannian evolutionism—in line with modernist Jewish supersessionism—conceives of an amoral and theologically challenged Canaanite religion.39 This is succeeded first by a theologically astute but still somewhat morally challenged priesthood. Then we get the prophets, who set things aright. So Wellhausen’s and Weber’s image of the closeted, morally indifferent priesthood—originally conceived in Protestant terms—is put to the service of a Jewish myth of ethical advance.40 The difference is that Wellhausen’s supersessionism offends living, religiously observant Jews who consider themselves to be heirs of the Pharisees; Jewish supersessionism is considered less remarkable because, I think, those who could be offended by it—Canaanites primarily, temple priests secondarily—are long gone. But worse than offending the dead, the myth of ethical advance involves an all-too-religious unquestioning of prophetic ethics. As I have already indicated, one thing I would like to see is more critical reflection on the precise nature of the prophetic ethical advance. But turning to history, it is also important to think critically about when—or if—such an advance ever took place. Considering the fact that Third Isaiah (58:1–5) was complaining about some of the same issues as Amos (2:6–8), how can we be so sure that some substantive ethical advance was made in the eighth or seventh century B.C.E.? The problem with such reconstructions of Israel’s history is that the evolutionist model is inherently flawed. Just as Wellhausen had his reasons for supposing that second temple Judaism was in a state of moral decline, so too Kaufmannians have their reasons for arguing that first temple Israelite tradition exhibited a linear, positive, ethical development over the same period. Of course, their arguments are not purely evolutionist: on the whole, Knohl’s careful identification of H-sounding redactional material in various P texts is compelling, and Milgrom too gathers much evidence to the effect that H is a
38. This is one of the central theses of Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple; see esp. 7–10. 39. Cf. Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), 109–11, and Levenson, “Is There a Counterpart in the Hebrew Bible to New Testament Anti-Semitism,” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 22 (1985): 242–60. 40. Consider, for instance, Knohl’s comments in Divine Symphony, 68–69 and 84–85.
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later textual layer than P.41 But this can only tell us about the relative placement of P and H; their absolute dates—vis-à-vis the prophets—are still up for grabs. Moreover, the textual arguments are put to evolutionist ends: their historical reconstructions are based on the assumption that what is more ethical must be later, and what is earlier is deemed subject to due criticism. So how then are we to proceed? In my view the fact that so much of the discussion of the priority of P vs. H (or vice versa) is evolutionist in nature should give sufficient cause to be wary. Instead, we should follow the model proposed by Rolf Rendtorff and Joseph Blenkinsopp—and recently put to service by Douglas—that the priestly traditions (both within and without Leviticus) ought to be interpreted as we have them, and as integral parts of the Pentateuch as a whole: After working through the writings of what may be called the Kaufmann school, one is tempted to suggest that it would be more profitable to put one’s time and energy into a positive and unprejudicial assessment of P as a religious text, an assessment based on a synchronic reading without reference to the circumstances of its composition and reception, rather than attempting to refute Wellhausen’s arguments by means of chronological displacement.42
In order to make progress in the understanding of Israelite religion, the priestly traditions of the Pentateuch need to be studied as a whole, regardless of the history of their component parts. The priestly traditions—to say nothing of the priests who were responsible even for the earliest of these traditions—deserve a sympathetic hearing. If we must have a reconstruction of the textual history, can it be done without imagining a period of time when the priests were closeted and indifferent to the moral challenges of their day? Concluding Reflections There is no single method or approach that will lead us out of this morass. I would, however, like to offer some suggestions. First, I think it behooves us to reflect critically now and then on the key terms of debate. Our terms—even the dryer ones such as “ritual,” “symbol,” and 41. See Knohl, Sanctuary of Silence, 1–7 and 199–224; cf. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 3A; New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1319– 64. 42. Blenkinsopp, “An Assessment,” 497. Compare Douglas, Leviticus as Literature, 1; Rendtorff, “How to Approach Leviticus,” in Proceedings of the 10th World Congress of Jewish Studies, Division A: The Bible and Its World (Jerusalem: World Union of Jewish Studies, 1990), 13– 20, and Rolf Rendtorff, “Is it Possible to Read Leviticus as a Separate Book?,” in Reading Leviticus: A Conversation with Mary Douglas (ed. John F. A. Sawyer; JSOTSup 227; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1996), 22–35. An earlier articulation of this approach can be found in Herbert Chanan Brichto, “On Slaughter and Sacrifice, Blood and Atonement,” HUCA 48 (1976): 19–55 (43, 47, and 50–55). See also the comments of Howard Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism: An Anthropology of Israelite Religion and Ancient Judaism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), 124, and Stephen A. Geller, Sacred Enigmas: Literary Religion in the Hebrew Bible (London: Routledge, 1996), 62–64.
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“ethic,” (to say nothing of “survival”)—are not neutral terms. Our distinctions (cult vs. ethics; ritual vs. symbolic acts) are not neutral distinctions. They are defined and colored by centuries of religious and philosophical dispute. Second, it behooves us to try not to take sides in the ancient disputes. If we sympathize with the prophets, we should try too to sympathize with the priests; if we criticize the priests, why not try on a critique of the prophets for size? Third, we may do well to put history of religion on the back-burner and focus for a while on the meanings of our texts. If we must do history, we should shun linear trajectories. Fourth, we may do well to think critically and publicly now and then about how the various sides of scholarly debate regarding method and approach could be aligned with known contemporary ideologies. Fifth, I think we would do well on an individual basis to ask ourselves if our methodological choices, terminological decisions, and historical reconstructions may be too closely aligned with our own ideologies.43 We may do well to identify and bracket those issues that we feel we cannot deal with dispassionately. Like a good judge, we may need to recuse ourselves now and then. I want to make clear one thing I am not calling for. I do not think the field (or the SBL conferences) needs public soul-searching by individuals. And I would caution against this on both aesthetic and ethical grounds. We have the right to keep our religious commitments and convictions to ourselves; and we have the right not to hear about other scholars’ personal struggles. Besides—methodologically—autobiographical information is, by definition, unverifiable and therefore of little use. I would suggest, however, that we each ask ourselves—and I have been asking myself this—whether we are reaching our conclusions because they match our convictions, or whether we are able to reach conclusions despite commitments we may have. Advances will come not by our defending our positions, but by our questioning of them. Biblical studies is probably destined to be populated in part by scholars who hold religious views toward the Bible, and even adhere to a large or small degree to biblical commands. It would be hypocritical of me to decry this phenomenon, for I cannot rightfully wish things were otherwise without wishing myself out of work. Moreover, it has also long been known that atheistic and secularist biases can produce their own distortions of religious phenomena—the figures of James Frazer and Sigmund Freud may come to mind.44 Still, I think those who approach the study of the Pentateuch from within religious perspectives can do a bit better than has been done heretofore. I have tried to do my part here—and in other recent work as well45—and I hope that the efforts are well received and appreciated. 43. In seeking to address the allegation that methodological choices reflect ideological stances, we scholars of the Pentateuch may be well advised not so much to select one particular methodology over another, but to implement our methodologies in a more careful and balanced manner. 44. See E. E. Evans-Pritchard, Theories of Primitive Religion (Oxford: Clarendon, 1965), 14– 17. 45. See especially Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple.
PAGANS AND PRIESTS: CRITICAL REFLECTIONS ON METHOD Frank H. Gorman
Introduction The present study emerged from reflections on method and interpretation in relation to critical analysis of the ritual associated with the jealous husband (Num 5:11–31) and the ritual of the red cow (Num 19:1–22). These texts led me to the purification of the formerly skin defiled (Lev 14:1–20) and the ritual for the day of “atonement” (Lev 16:1–34), texts that have several similarities as well as significant differences. The rituals depicted in these texts are often thought to contain elements of a “pagan” or “primitive” past. Biblical interpreters have generally sought to demonstrate how the priests drew on and adapted common ritual traditions of the ancient Near East to generate their own ritual system. The focus of my reflections will be the work of Jacob Milgrom. The reasons are two: (1) his work is well known, substantive, and influential in the discipline and (2) his work has been particularly influential in my own work. Although my initial reflections focus on the relationship of pagans and priests, they broaden to include questions, methodological and theoretical, critical for the ongoing analysis of the priestly traditions. Comparing Pagans and Priests Comparison of priestly rituals with other religions of the ancient Near East has been, and often remains, a value-laden enterprise, informed by cultural and religious values and ideologies.1 Delitzsch2, for example, applauded Babylon’s 1. G. W. Van Beek, “Archaeology,” IDB 1:195–207; W. G. Dever, “The Patriarchal Traditions 1,” in Israelite and Judean History (ed. J. H. Hayes and J. M. Miller; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977), 70–79; idem, “Archaeology, Syro-Palestinian and Biblical,” ABD 1:354–67; D. P. Wright, “The Disposal of Impurity in the Priestly Writings of the Bible with Reference to Similar Phenomena in Hittite and Mesopotamian Cultures” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1982), 1–12; H. Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism (Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1990), 87–102; M. Malul, The Comparative Method in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Legal Studies (Neukirchen–Vluyn: Neukirchener, 1990); G. A. Klingbeil, A Comparative Study of the Ritual of Ordination as Found in Leviticus 8 and Emar 369 (Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen, 1998), 325–40. 2. F. Delitzsch, Babel and Bible (trans. J. T. McCormack, W. H. Carruth, and L. G. Robinson; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1906); J. J. Finkelstein, “Bible and Babel: A Comparative
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superiority over Israel, whereas Kaufmann3 emphasized the unique and superior elements of Israelite religion. Biblical scholarship has generally used comparative materials to illuminate biblical texts and Israelite practices so as to demonstrate Israel’s superiority and/or distinctive beliefs and ritual practices.4 Milgrom, in the tradition of Kaufmann, seeks to demonstrate that priestly theology was superior to the religious practices of other nations.5 In discussing “Priestly theology,” he identifies three basic premises of “pagan religion”: (1) the deities are subject to a metadivine realm; (2) this realm spawns both malevolent and benevolent entities; (3) humans are able to use magic to acquire power from this realm and coerce the gods.6 Priestly theology seeks to negate these premises so as “to sever impurity from the demonic and to reinterpret it as a symbolic system reminding Israel of the divine imperative to reject death and choose life.”7 I want to raise four critical questions concerning Milgrom’s “comparative” analysis. First, is “pagan religion” so easily reduced to a homogeneous reality with a common “essence?”8 Are the similarities of “pagan” religions, reduced to a common message, more important than the concrete differences? What is the primary focus of comparison: the “essence” of the religions, their practices, their messages, or their texts? Is the identification of “similarities” based on concrete details or cognitive essences? Does an examination of the parts (rites) lead to the essence of a religion (its meanings), or does the (assumed) essence guide the interpretation of the details?9 Second, is his discussion of pagan practices in the context of priestly theology value-free?10 In such a comparison, “theology” is clearly valued more highly than “practice.”11 Such dualisms are, as suggested by Bell, more an Study of the Hebrew and Babylonian Religious Spirit,” Commentary 26 (1958): 431–44; H. B. Huffmon, “Babel und Bibel: The Encounter between Babylon and the Bible,” in Backgrounds for the Bible (ed. M. P. O’Connor and D. N. Freedman; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1987), 125–36. 3. Y. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel: From Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile (trans. M. Greenberg; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960), 60 (and throughout). 4. In addition to n. 1, see J. Milgrom, Leviticus (CC; Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2004), 11–14. For helpful discussions of the comparative method, see Wright, Disposal of Impurity, 1–12; M. S. Smith, The Early History of God (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1990), xix–xxxiv (and examples throughout); Eilberg-Schwartz, Savage in Judaism, 87–102; T. Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake of the Goddesses (New York: Ballentine, 1992), 1–6 (and examples throughout); B. Lang, The Hebrew God (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), vii–x (and examples throughout). 5. Milgrom, Leviticus, 9; Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, 60–121. 6. Milgrom, Leviticus, 8, cites Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, 21–59. See also J. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (AB 3; New York: Doubleday, 1991), 42–51. 7. Milgrom, Leviticus, 13; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 42–52. 8. See Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 325–40. 9. This reflects problems associated with the hermeneutical circle. 10. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 42–51; idem, Leviticus, 8; idem, Numbers (JPS Torah Commentary; Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1990), 353. 11. For dualisms in the interpretation of biblical rituals and human experience, see F. H. Gorman, “Ritual Studies and Biblical Studies: Assessment of the Past; Prospects for the Future,” Semeia 67 (1994): 13–36; C. Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), 13–66; idem, Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 23–89.
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element of scholarly thinking and discourse than of actual ritual practices.12 Milgrom’s position suggests that priestly “rituals” are better “to think” than “to do.” Thus, the “meaning” of a ritual is more important than its “enactment.” The result is that analysis focuses more on discursive theology than ritual enactment.13 Third, does the priestly cult actually operate without magic? Kaufmann identifies two basic types of magic, both of which are, in his estimation, alien to Israelite practice: (1) acts that coerce the gods and (2) acts that are inherently effective.14 As Knohl notes, however, the statement of “forgiveness” associated with the E I and ) is not specifically said to have God as its subject (see, for the E I, Lev 4:20, 26, 31, 35; Num 15:28; for the ) , Lev 5:10, 13, 16, 18, 26; 19:22).15 Forgiveness is the guaranteed result of enactment, that is, ritual is inherently effective, and is not based on an existential decision of Yahweh— to forgive or not to forgive—at the moment of enactment.16 The priest effects expiation through the formal enactment of the ritual and the one presenting a sacrifice is forgiven through participation in the ritual enactment (Lev 4:35b). Fourth, are pagan rituals less symbolic than those of the priests (both known only through texts)? I am not aware of a sustained argument by Milgrom that pagan religion is empty of symbolism, but his argument that the priests constructed a symbolic system to negate pagan beliefs and practices suggests this. A 12. Bell, Ritual Theory, 49–54; idem, Ritual, 61–89. 13. For discussions of this issue, see F. H. Gorman, The Ideology of Ritual, (JSOTSup 91; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1990), 13–38; N. Jay, Throughout Your Generations Forever (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), 1–29; W. K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 1–11; R. Gane, Cult and Character: Purification Offerings, Day of Atonement, and Theodicy (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2005), 3–24; I. Gruenwald, Rituals and Ritual Theory in Ancient Israel (BRLJ 10; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 1–39; D. Janzen, The Social Meanings of Sacrifice in the Hebrew Bible (BZAW 344; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 1–35. From the perspective of ritual studies, see R. L. Grimes, Beginnings in Ritual Studies (New York: University Press of America, 1982), 53–69; Bell, Ritual Theory, 1–93. 14. Kaufmann, Religion of Israel, 40–42. The definition of “magic” remains problematic, especially in relationship to theology and ritual. See B. A. Levine, In the Presence of the Lord (Leiden: Brill, 1974), 77–91; M. Douglas, Purity and Danger (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966), 7–28. The following discussions are helpful and represent a variety of perspectives: W. J. Goode, “Magic and Religion: A Continuum,” Ethnos 14 (1949): 172–82; E. Leach, Culture and Communication (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976), 29–32; Grimes, Beginnings in Ritual Studies, 45–47; J. Middleton, “MAGIC: Theories of Magic,” in The Encyclopedia of Religion (New York: Macmillan, 1987), 9:82–89; D. R. Hill, “MAGIC: Magic in Primitive Societies,” in Encyclopedia of Religion 9:89–92; S. J. Tambiah, Magic, Science, Religion, and the Scope of Rationality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 1–31; T. F. Driver, The Magic of Ritual (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1991), 166–91; J. K. Kuemmerlin-McLean, “Magic: Old Testament,” ABD 4:468–71; J. A. Scurlock, “Magic: Ancient Near East,” ABD 4:464–68; Bell, Ritual, 46–52; P. Boyer, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thoughts (New York: Basic, 2001), 229–63. 15. I. Knohl, The Sanctuary of Silence (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994), 88, 135 n. 42. 16. This also true of the sacrificial smoke that provides “a soothing aroma” for Yahweh and is inherently efficacious. Consideration must be given to the possibility that the cult establishes limits and boundaries for Yahweh as well as for Israel.
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symbolic approach to culture, however, would view “religion” as symbolic by definition.17 Were Babylonian rituals empty of symbolism and, therefore, empty of meaning?18 The question is critical in that the search for symbolic meaning provides a hermeneutical directive for interpretation. Milgrom draws on Babylonian (as well as Hittite) purgation texts to argue that the priests also constructed purgation rituals, but emphasizes that Babylonian rituals drove away demonic forces whereas priestly rituals purged symbolic impurity from the sanctuary.19 Is the Israelite ritual more symbolic than the pagan ritual? How significant is the difference between “malevolent demonic powers” and “malefic symbolic impurity” generated by (demonized) humans?20 Equally important, both rituals reflect superstitious beliefs in the efficacy of ritual actions, as well as the removal or elimination of unseen but powerful forces that are destructively operative in the realm of sacred space. Interpretation and Symbolic Systems Milgrom employs a hermeneutics of symbolism to interpret the priestly materials.21 He states, “the ritual complexes of Lev 1–16 make sense only as aspects of a symbolic system.”22 This includes both the sacrificial and the purity/impurity rulings.23 Central to this system is the divine tent, the place of Yahweh’s symbolic presence.24 When sacred space is made unclean (by symbolic impurity), the blood of a E I symbolically cleanses it.25 Milgrom fails to clarify four critical issues relating to symbolism. (1) What constitutes a symbol? (2) How does the interpreter consistently determine symbolic meaning? (3) What are the ways in which a symbol is related to and generative of its symbolic meaning? (4) What sort of symbolism is present in the 17. See V. Turner, The Ritual Process (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1977 [originally 1969]), 14; idem, From Ritual to Theatre (New York: Performing Arts Journal, 1982), 20–60; C. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures (New York: Basic, 1973), 3–30; Douglas, Purity and Danger, 65. For important criticisms of this approach, see Bell, Ritual Theory, 182–96; idem, Ritual, 61–89; T. Asad, Genealogies of Religion (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), 27–79. 18. Are we to believe, for example, that “pagan” cultic meals in Babylon were less symbolic than those in Israel? D. C. Dennett’s comments, from outside the field, are interesting (Breaking the Spell [New York: Viking, 2006], 164–65). 19. Milgrom, Leviticus, 163–67; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 1067–70, 1071–84. See also K. van der Toorn, Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1984), 1–9, 56–93. 20. Milgrom discusses his view of the differences in Leviticus 1–16, 42–51, and Leviticus, 8–16. 21. On symbolism, see R. Firth, Symbols: Public and Private (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press), 1973; D. Sperber, Rethinking Symbolism (trans. A. L. Morton; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975); E. M. Zuesse, Ritual Cosmos (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1979); F. W. Dillistone, The Power of Symbols in Religion and Culture (New York: Crossroad, 1986). 22. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 45; idem, Leviticus, 11; idem, “Confusing the Sacred and the Impure: A Rejoinder,” VT 44 (1994): 557. 23. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 42–51; idem, Leviticus, 8–16. 24. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 43; idem, Leviticus, 9. 25. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 46; idem, Leviticus, 12.
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priestly materials: literary (textual analysis), social (an analysis of practice), or cognitive (analysis of a cognitive system)? Note the different types of symbolic meanings in the following four examples. First, in discussing the E I and the priestly understanding of collective responsibility and sin, Milgrom argues that good people suffered along with brazen sinners because the former allowed the latter to flourish: “Thus, in the Priestly scheme, the sanctuary is polluted (read: society is corrupted) by brazen sins (read: the rapacity of the leaders) and also by inadvertent sins (read: the acquiescence of the ‘silent majority’), with the result that God is driven out of his sanctuary (read: the nation is destroyed).”26 The sanctuary is a symbol of society and (symbolic) pollution is a symbol (or metaphor) of corruption. God is a symbol for the nation and the departure of God from the sanctuary is a symbol for the destruction of the nation. Second, the ascending smoke of a sacrifice may be seen as “a physical symbol of personal prayers and wishes rising to God.”27 In this view, the smoke is associated with the prayers of the people rather than the “fragrant aroma” that calms and soothes Yahweh (see, e.g., Lev 1:9, 13; 2:2; 3:5, 16; 4:31). Third, the purity and impurity rulings are symbols that “reveal deeper, basically ethical values that remain relevant to this day.”28 The purity rulings are symbolic statements of ethical values that retain value in the contemporary context. Fourth, the blood prohibition reflects a rational formulation designed to oppose the practices of Israel’s neighbors.29 This explanation is anything but symbolic. Further, he states that the dietary system rests on rationally constructed ethical foundations designed to teach the inviolability of life.30 Symbolic interpretation seems to mean little more than that one word or idea stands for or refers to something else. How does one determine the “true meaning” of symbols? Is there a method to inform and guide the interpretation? From a ritual perspective, the emphasis on ritual as a form of symbolic communication runs the risk of emptying ritual enactment of intrinsic value. Must the rituals be enacted in order for their message to be communicated? Although Milgrom states that the priests answered questions—he does not indicate whose questions or what questions—in rituals rather than in words, his approach suggests that words are necessary for understanding meaning.31 Certainly, he believes the messages are (most?) clearly and effectively communicated through (rational) scholarly analysis and discourse. “Ritual” is, however, first and foremost the act of “doing something” through structured activity.32 The enactment 26. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 50; idem, Leviticus, 15. 27. Milgrom, Leviticus, 17; idem, “Systemic Differences in the Priestly Corpus: A Response to Jonathan Klawans,” RB 112 (2005): 321–29. 28. Milgrom, Leviticus, 101; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 704–42, 763–68, 816–20, 948–53. 29. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 704–42; idem, Leviticus, 105. 30. Milgrom, Leviticus, 106; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 704–42. 31. Milgrom, Leviticus, 32. I see Milgrom’s priestly “system” as a linguistic construct that may or may not have anything to do with actual ritual enactment. 32. Although obvious, the study of priestly materials often proceeds as if it is not. From a variety of perspectives, see, for example, R. A. Rappaport, Ecology, Meaning, and Religion (Richmond,
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of priestly rituals accomplished what the structured activity set out to accomplish, for example, purification, transformation, passage, or forgiveness.33 Finally, would the common people have understood the symbolic meaning of priestly rituals (assuming the rituals were enacted)?34 Did they participate in the cult in order to communicate a (symbolic) message? If so, to whom were they speaking: themselves, the priests, the community, or God? Did priests and laypersons share a common understanding of ritual? If, as Milgrom correctly notes, the priestly duties included instruction (see Lev 10:10),35 would not such instruction include an effort to correct incorrect beliefs and practices? Milgrom argues that the priests maintained pagan practices because of the demands of the people, although this clearly raises questions concerning the nature of priestly power, authority, and pedagogy.36 This becomes more significant if, indeed, the priests (and the people) viewed the cult as the revealed will of Yahweh. A Consistent System? Milgrom states, “the entire complex of the priestly impurity rules is only a symbolic system…[and] [t]he symbolism of the hat>t>a t and, indeed, of the entire impurity system operates consistently throughout.”37 Thus, the priestly materials reflect a consistent, coherent, symbolic system of meaning.38 Milgrom shifts the question of consistency, however, from the enactments themselves to the Calif.: North Atlantic Books, 1979), 173–221; Grimes, Beginnings, 54–55; S. F. Moore and B. G. Myerhoff, “Introduction: Secular Ritual: Forms and Meanings,” in Secular Ritual (ed. S. F. Moore and B. G. Myerhoff; Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1975), 3–24; P. Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice (trans. R. Nice; Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990), 80–97; Bell, Ritual, 138–69; Boyer, Religion Explained, 229–63. 33. F. Staal, “The Meaninglessness of Ritual,” Numen (1979): 2–22; P. Smith, “Aspects of the Organization of Rites,” in Between Belief and Transgression (ed. M. Izard and P. Smith; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 103–28; O. Herrenschmidt, “Sacrifice: Symbolic or Effective?,” in Isard and Smith, eds., Between Belief and Transgression, 24–41; Bourdieu, The Logic of Practice, 52–65; Boyer, Religion Explained, 229–63; W. K. Gilders, Blood Ritual in the Hebrew Bible (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004), 1–11. 34. Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel, 60–121; Milgrom, “Systemic Differences,” 323–24; I. Knohl, The Divine Symphony (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 2003), 1–8. Cf. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 52–57. 35. Milgrom, Leviticus, 32. 36. Milgrom often explains the continued existence of pagan practices in priestly rituals as a demand of the people that the priests could not or would not change. See Milgrom, “The Paradox of the Red Cow (Num XIX),” VT 31 (1981): 68–69; idem, Numbers, 353, 441. For criticism, see J. Klawans, “Pure Violence: Sacrifices and Defilement in Ancient Israel,” HTR 94 (2001): 133–40 (see n. 14); idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity, and Sacrifice in Jacob Milgrom’s Leviticus,” RSR 29 (2003): 19–28. 37. Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred,” 557–58; idem, Leviticus, 12–18. 38. Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred,” 558. Both M. Douglas, Natural Symbols (London: Cresset, 1970), 72–73, and Geertz, Interpretation, 33–54 discuss culture in terms of systemic order and meaning. See Klawans’s discussions in Impurity and Sin in Ancient Israel (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 21–42; idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 17–73.
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messages they communicate. In this way, a collection of diverse ritual enactments (or textual rituals) and purity rulings are turned into a unified theological and ethical system. The belief in a “consistent system” functions as a methodological presupposition that guides the interpretive process (the “systemic fallacy”). The interpreter’s ability to produce a coherent system on the basis of the priestly texts, however, does not provide proof that the system is in the texts themselves (or behind them or underneath them).39 In such an approach, the interpreter assumes that the priestly writers wanted (or “intended”) to write a significant number of texts that were based on and reflected a consistent system of meaning (“the intentional fallacy”).40 The texts, however, do not indicate clearly that a specific type of sacrifice functions in the same way in every instance. For example, does a E I offered according to the requirements of the calendrical ritual cycle (a community ritual) function in the same way(s) as a E I required for a specific occasion of sin and impurity (generated by an individual or the community)?41 Does a E I in a ritual of founding (Lev 8 and the inauguration of the priesthood) function in the same way as a E I in a maintenance ritual (the regularly prescribed sacrifices based on the calendar) or in a ritual of restoration (Lev 14)?42 If ritual processes have distinct reasons for being enacted (i.e. they effect different and distinct outcomes), is it not possible, or even probable that the same sacrifice in name may function differently in distinctively different types of rituals?43 The priests may have been more context sensitive than system oriented. 39. Douglas would not necessarily agree with this. See Implicit Meanings (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975), 276–314. 40. The problematic relationship between “the intentional fallacy” and “the systemic fallacy” runs throughout Milgrom’s work. The assumption of a system in the materials reflects an assumption that the priestly writers intended to create such an underlying system. Milgrom’s discussion of the dietary rulings and ethics is an excellent example. See Milgrom, “The Biblical Diet Laws as an Ethical System,” Interpretation 17 (1963): 288–301; idem, “Ethics and Ritual: The Foundations of the Biblical Dietary Laws,” in Religion and Law: Biblical-Judaic and Islamic Perspectives (ed. E. B. Firmage, B. G. Weiss, and J. W. Welch; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 160–91; idem, Leviticus 1–16, 643–1009 (704–42); idem, Leviticus, 101–61 (103–10). Wright (“Observations on the Ethical Foundations of the Biblical Dietary Laws: A Response to Jacob Milgrom,” in Firmage, Weiss, and Welch, eds., Religion and Law, 193–98) makes helpful observations on Milgrom’s work. On the same issue, see E. Firmage, “The Biblical Dietary Laws and the Concept of Holiness,” in Studies in the Pentateuch (ed. J. A. Emerton; VTSup 41; Leiden: Brill, 1990), 177– 208; W. J. Houston, Purity and Monotheism (JSOTSup 140; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 68–123; idem, “Towards an Integrated Reading of the Dietary Laws of Leviticus,” in The Book of Leviticus (ed. R. Rendtorff and R. A. Kugler; VTSup 93; Leiden: Brill, 2003), 142–61. 41. J. Gammie, Holiness in Israel (OBT; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989); Gane, Cult and Character, 129–43; Gorman, Ideology, 215–27. 42. On distinct types of rituals, see Gorman, Ideology, 52–55; idem, “Priestly Rituals of Founding: Time, Space, and Status,” in History and Interpretation (ed. M. P. Graham, W. P. Brown, and J. K. Kuan; JSOTSup 173; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 47–64; G. A. Anderson, “Sacrifice and Sacrificial Offerings (Old Testament),” ABD 5:875–77; Gruenwald, Rituals, 25–26. 43. S. M. Olyan, “What Do Shaving Rites Accomplish and What Do They Signal in Biblical Ritual Contexts?,” JBL 117 (1998): 611–22; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 86–87; Levine, In the Presence, 1–8.
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The following chart demonstrates one way of recognizing important similarities and differences in three ritual texts: Lev 14:1–32; Lev 16:1–28; and Num 19:1–13.44 Text Ritual process
Lev 14:1–32 Purification and restoration of individual to camp
Occasion Temporal focus
Situational First day of eight-day ritual Outside the camp to inside the camp
Location and movement
Lev 16:1–28 Purification and removal of sin on behalf of the community Calendrical One day, once a year Purification inside camp and removal of sin to a place outside the camp (to Azazel) Two goats E I sacrifice
Animals Status of animals in the ritual Blood sprinkling
Two birds Not identified as a sacrifice Seven times on Seven times in holy person being cleansed place and on altar
Additional materials
Cedar, crimson material, hyssop (used to sprinkle person)
Ritual washing and cleansing
Launder clothes, shave, bathe (on day one and day seven)
—
Bathe (twice) change clothes (twice) (only the high priest)
Num 19:1–13 Purification of individuals; available for anyone in the community Situational Third and seventh days of seven-day process Preparation outside camp; sprinkling of unclean inside camp Red cow Ashes of the red cow are mixed with water Seven times toward the front of the tent, mixture of water and ashes placed on person Cedar wood, hyssop, and crimson material (burned with the cow and sprinkled on person) Launder, bathe, wait until evening on day of sprinkling
I would argue that the sevenfold sprinkling of blood in these rituals reflects distinct functions within distinct types of ritual (see C9 in Lev 14:7; CA< in 16:11, 16, 17, 18, and C9 in 16:19; and C9 in Num 19:4, 11–13).45 They are not easily grouped into a single system of enactment and/or meaning. In Lev 14:7, blood from a non-sacrificial bird is sprinkled on a person for cleansing (C9) from a previously defiling skin condition. In Num 19:4, the sevenfold sprinkling of the red cow’s blood (a E I)46 toward the tent47 takes place outside the camp. The action is not explained and, importantly, its blood is not placed on 44. See the discussions of Milgrom, Numbers, 438–43; idem, Leviticus, 39–41; N. Kiuchi, The Purification Offering in the Priestly Literature (JSOTSup 56; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1987), 111–59; Gorman, Ideology, 61–102, 151–79, 191–214; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41; M. Douglas, “The Go-Away Goat in the Book of Leviticus,” in Rendtorff and Kugler, eds., The Book of Leviticus, 121–41; Gane, Cult and Character, 45–284. 45. See Th. C. Vriezen, “The Term hizza: Lustration and Consecration,” OTS 7 (1950): 201–35; Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41. 46. Milgrom (Numbers, 160) translates E I in v. 9 as “purification offering.” 47. Milgrom argues the sprinkling consecrates the blood and makes it sacrificial (Numbers, 440, and Leviticus, 40). Cf. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 109–41.
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the altar. In Lev 16:11–19, the annual day of purification, the blood of a bull and a goat, both termed a E I, is sprinkled seven times inside the holy of holies and seven times on the outer altar to purify (CA<) them (cf. Lev 4:6, 17, the E I for the anointed priest or the community). The rite and the gesture both appear to have distinct purposes in these rituals. Does not the use of the same ritual gesture for three different purposes in three different rituals call for an explanation that accounts for the differences rather than for a common “essence” of (practice and) meaning? The ritual of the “red cow” in Num 19 generates problems for the argument of a consistent system of practice and meaning.48 Milgrom recognizes that identifying the red cow in Num 19 as a E I, requires several special explanations if a consistent system is to be maintained.49 First, the use of the red cow sets this E I apart from others (see Lev 4): a bull (for the anointed priest or community), a male goat (for a chieftain), or a female goat or sheep (for an individual). Milgrom’s explanation is that a bovine is used to create the maximum amount of ashes, while a female is used because the final mixture is placed on individuals.50 The first statement is a functional or practical explanation and assumes that a pragmatic concern is able to explain a symbolic process. If symbolic, would not a single drop of blood or a small bit of ash function to communicate the message?51 Although the final mixture will be sprinkled on individuals, the text clearly states that the community is responsible to supply the animal. Which is more important for explanation and understanding: that the mixture is sprinkled on an individual or that the community provides the cow that will generate the ashes to be used by the whole community? Second, contrary to the normal E I, the cow is slaughtered outside the camp and its blood is not placed on the altar. Milgrom understands this to be a “burnt purification offering” (see v. 9) that, on the basis of Lev 4:6–7, 11–12, must be burned outside the camp.52 In his view, the sevenfold sprinkling toward the front of the tent consecrates the blood and makes the rite a sacrifice.53 The 48. On the ritual of the “red cow,” see, in addition to Milgrom’s work, J. L. Blau, “The Red Heifer: A Biblical Purification Rite in Rabbinic Literature,” Numen 14 (1967): 70–78; S. Wefing, “Beobachtung zum Rituals mit der rotten Kuh (Num 19, 1–10a),” ZAW 93 (1981): 342–59; Kiuchi, Purification Offering, 123–41; D. P. Wright, “Heifer, Red,” ABD 3:115–16; A. I. Baumgarten, “The Paradox of the Red Heifer,” VT 43 (1993): 442–51; F. S. Frick, “Ritual and Social Regulation in Israel: The Importance of the Social Context for Ritual Studies and a Case Study—The Ritual of the Red Heifer,” in “Imagining” Biblical Worlds (ed. D. M. Gunn and P. M. McNutt; JSOTSup 359; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), 219–31. 49. Milgrom, Numbers, 438–43; idem, Leviticus, 39–41. 50. Milgrom, “Paradox of Red Cow,” 65; idem, Leviticus, 39; idem, Numbers, 439–40. 51. The text makes no statement concerning this matter. All suggestions are hypothetical and require information (apparently) considered unnecessary by the writers of the text. The priests may have assumed this information, but that is either an assumption or a matter of “gap-filling” (on “gapfilling,” see Gilders, Blood Ritual, 113, 125, 132–33). The red cow may have been used in this instance because this specific ritual required a “red cow” and was understood to be fundamentally different. 52. Milgrom, Leviticus, 40–41; idem, Numbers, 439. 53. Milgrom, Leviticus, 40; idem, Numbers, 440.
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blood is not placed on the altar, he argues, to infuse the ashes with the maximum amount of blood.54 This again is a functional explanation that is generated primarily by the need to locate this ritual in a pre-existing theoretical system constructed by the interpreter. Third, the ashes containing the blood of the red cow are mixed with water and sprinkled on the corpse-contaminated person.55 The E I blood is generally placed on the outer altar (or some object or space associated with the tent) rather than a person. Milgrom argues that the altar need not be cleansed in this ritual because the priests have reduced the power of corpse impurity to such an extent that it does not defile the altar (as noted in the previous paragraph, however, he also argues the blood is not placed on the altar in order to include the maximum amount of blood in the ashes, a pragmatic argument).56 The details, complexity, and length of this ritual process, however, do not support this view.57 Fourth, the ashes defile those who prepare them before the sacrificial blood, which is believed to absorb impurities, is placed on a corpse contaminated person. Following Wright, Milgrom states the blood-infused ashes defile “prospectively.”58 Neither Wright nor Milgrom, to my knowledge, provide another example of such “prospective” defilement in the priestly materials. Would this “new” type of impurity be necessary if the interpretive process were not guided by the assumption of a completely consistent system? How many special explanations are required before we recognize that a given text or ritual simply does not fit the cognitive system assumed by or constructed by the interpreter? Why not recognize and accept that this ritual is most easily explained by recognizing that it does not fit into a supposed abstract and theological system? This text may reflect a “thrown-together” composition, an act of ritualizing (or textualizing), that pulls together bits and pieces of known rites and gestures, and constitutes a unique configuration designed to address the concerns associated specifically with corpse contamination. Milgrom argues that a consistent and comprehensive system underlies the purity and impurity rulings.59 The priestly traditions identify three sources of impurity: corpse/carcass contamination, scale disease, and genital discharges. He states, “There must be a comprehensive theory that can explain all of the cases.”60 That such a system “must” exist clearly functions as an assumption. Milgrom argues that “death” is the common element shared by these impurities 54. Milgrom, Leviticus, 40; idem, Numbers, 439. 55. The purgative effect of E I blood on materials rather than humans, with this exception, is one of Milgrom’s central arguments. See Leviticus 1–16, 226–318, 1079–84. 56. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 42–51; idem, Leviticus, 9–15; idem, Numbers, 442–43. 57. B. Levine, Numbers 1–20 (AB 4A; New York: Doubleday, 1993), 468–79; E. S. Gerstenberger, Leviticus (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996), 309–12; H. Maccoby, Ritual and Morality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 94–117. Note Milgrom’s statement that “corpse contamination evoked an obsessive, irrational fear in individuals,” and that this fear extended into rabbinic times (Leviticus, 36). 58. Wright, “Heifer, Red,” 114–15; Milgrom, “Confusing the Sacred,” 558. 59. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 643–1009; idem, Leviticus, 101–61. 60. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 46; idem, Leviticus, 12.
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and, therefore, the struggle between death and life is at the heart of the purity rulings. The message is clear and consistent: choose life over death.61 The reduction of purity and impurity to a common concern for “life and death” does not do justice to the rulings.62 Impurity associated with genital flows and flaking skin, for example, may reflect a concern for the erosion of the boundaries of the body without necessarily pointing to death as the reality underlying these experiences.63 The multiple dynamics involved in impurity rulings concerned with genital flows may reflect cultural or theological struggles associated with sexual concerns.64 Together these two concerns suggest that humans are caught between the divine blessing to procreate and the desire to maintain the integrity of the boundaries of the human body. Further, the dietary rulings are not easily reduced to a single system of organization or theology; they reflect both a history of development and a variety of perspectives.65 Rather than arguing that the limited nature of the purity/impurity rulings points to and demands a comprehensive (and closed) system of explanation, we might view their limited nature as the presentation of representative cases that provide a framework for the creation and addition of categories as appropriate and/or necessary. Or, they may serve as an invitation for readers and/or hearers to reflect on the nature of impurity as experienced in their own very real and very concrete bodily (biological) experiences and, at the same time, to allow textual possibilities to inform their reflections. Finally, Klawans has been critical of Milgrom’s efforts to identify a system that holds together the sacrificial rulings, ritual purity, and moral impurity.66 He emphasizes that Milgrom has discussed the system underlying the purity rulings most completely and sympathetically, but argues that Milgrom’s treatment of moral impurity has been unsystematic and, at times, inconsistent.67 Finally, 61. Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16, 46–47; idem, Leviticus, 12–13. 62. Eilberg-Schwartz, The Savage in Judaism, 177–94 (and throughout); Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 21–42; idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, and the Temple, 17–48. 63. See Douglas, Purity and Danger, 114–39; Eilberg-Schwartz, Savage in Judaism, 177–94 (and throughout); T. Frymer-Kensky, “Pollution, Purification, and Purgation in Biblical Israel,” in The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth (ed. C. L. Myers and M. O’Connor; Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1983), 399–410; idem, Wake of the Goddesses, 45–57, 108–43, 187–212; D. P. Wright, “Unclean and Clean (Old Testament),” ABD 6:729–41; Klawans, “Pure Violence,” 133–55. 64. See previous note. 65. Douglas has published several articles on the dietary rulings. Her approach focuses on the search for order and system. Examples include Purity and Danger, 41–57; “The Forbidden Animals in Leviticus,” JSOT 59 (1993): 3–23; “Impurity of Land Animals,” in Purity and Holiness (ed. M. J. H. M. Poorthuis and J. Schwartz; Leiden: Brill, 1999), 35–45; “Deciphering a Meal,” and “Selfevidence,” in Implicit Meanings, 249–75 and 276–318, respectively; Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 134–75, 218–40; Jacob’s Tears (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 159–75. Difficulties have been pointed out by Firmage, “Biblical Dietary Laws,” 177–208; Houston, Purity and Monotheism, 68–123; idem, “Towards an Integrated Reading,” 142–61. 66. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 14–15; idem, “Pure Violence,” 133–40; idem, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, 17–48 (27–32). Milgrom responds in “Systemic Differences,” 321–29. 67. Klawans, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, 27–32.
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Klawans argues that Milgrom seeks to understand sacrifice primarily in terms of its origins and too easily views it as a vestigial remnant from Israel’s more primitive past.68 Klawans attributes the problems primarily to Milgrom’s use of different methods and assumptions,69 although Klawans does not think that systemic analysis is misguided.70 Indeed, he seeks to identify systemic elements in the priestly purity system as well as in the sacrificial system.71 Texts or Enactments? What is the focus of scholarly analysis of priestly ritual materials: rituals or texts?72 This is not a reference to the hermeneutical suggestion that we “read” rituals as “texts.”73 The concern has to do with what we believe we are interpreting, not how we are interpreting it.74 Discussion of priestly rituals all too often assumes that the texts are fairly transparent reflections of and accurate pointers to actual ritual enactments. This is similar to reading pentateuchal narratives as history because they “read like history.”75 Does such easy movement between text and enactment have theoretical and methodological support or is it a methodological assumption? Milgrom’s discussion of Num 5:11–31, the ritual of the jealous husband, provides an example.76 Following Fishbane77 and Brichto,78 Milgrom views the text as “a logical and unified composition,” although he views vv. 21 and 31 as interpolations.79 In addition, the text reflects an introverted (chiastic) structure of five parts.80 The oath-imprecation in vv. 19–24 constitutes the structural and meaningful center of the text. Although his discussion moves back and forth 68. Klawans, Purity, Sacrifice, 30–32. 69. Klawans, “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 19–28. 70. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 36–38. 71. Klawans, Impurity and Sin, 21–42; idem, Purity, Sacrifice, 46–73. 72. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 1–11; Gorman, Ideology, 13–38; Gane, Cult and Character, 3–24; Klingbeil, Comparative Study, 5–52. 73. C. Geertz, “Blurred Genres: The Refiguration of Social Thought,” AmerSch 49 (1980): 165– 79. See the comments by Gilders (Blood Ritual, 8–11) that ritual may be read as a narrative. 74. On the Bible as a constructed object of analysis, see Gorman, “Ritual Studies and Biblical Studies,” 13–36. 75. See H. W. Frei, The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974). 76. Milgrom, Numbers, 37–43, 350–54 (all references will be to this book). See also, Milgrom, “The Case of the Suspected Adulteress, Numbers 5:11–31: Redaction and Meaning,” in The Creation of Sacred Literature (ed. R. F. Friedman; Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), 69–75; idem, “On the Suspected Adulteress,” VT 35 (1985): 368–69. 77. M. Fishbane, “Accusations of Adultery: A Study of Law and Scribal Practice in Numbers 5:11–31,” HUCA 45 (1974): 25–45. 78. H. C. Brichto, “The Case of the SOTA and a Reconsideration of Biblical ‘Law’,” HUCA 46 (1975): 55–70. See also T. Frymer-Kensky, “The Strange Case of the Suspected Sotah (Numbers V 13–31),” VT 34 (1984): 11–26. 79. Milgrom, Numbers, 351. 80. Ibid. See Fishbane, “Accusations of Adultery,” 27–36; Brichto, “The Case of the SOTA,” 56–63; and Frymer-Kensky, “The Strange Case,” 12–17.
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between textual analysis and analysis of ritual enactment, his comments concerning v. 18a are of particular interest. The author of the text used a repetitive resumptive to indicate that the priest, in the ritual enactment, prepared the waters before placing the woman before the altar.81 A linguistic form is used to determine ritual procedure, a form generally understood to be a literary and/or compositional feature of a text. Is the structure of the text a compositional and literary concern or is it a pointer to actual ritual enactments? Is discussion of “textual structure” the same as discussion of “ritual procedure?” Is the necessary social, cultural, cultic, and historical information available to reconstruct ritual enactments?82 As is widely recognized, interpreters must engage in a significant amount of “gap filling.”83 Generally, interpreters use other priestly texts to fill in the gaps, assuming a systemic and coherent consistency in the texts.84 The priestly writers, however, apparently felt no need to supply the missing pieces and they left no clear statement that they anticipated readers to do so. Even if we assume that the priestly texts reflect a coherent and consistent system, we cannot be certain that they tell us everything we need to know in order to reconstruct or understand that system. The number of informational gaps in these texts might indicate that the texts provide only bits and pieces of information and do not seek to construct a coherent, consistent, and complete system. Is the information lacking precisely because no consistent system exists? Does the assumption that the priestly texts reflect a consistent system provide a better hermeneutical assumption than the assumption that no such system exists? What is the methodological and theoretical basis to answer the question? The priestly texts envision and depict ritual processes that achieve specific goals, for example, forgiveness, purification, founding, or passage. This does not necessarily mean, however, that the texts were written as prescriptive or descriptive instructions for enactment.85 The informational gaps in the texts might be an indication that the texts were written for reading and hearing, not for enactment. If true, interpretation must seek to understand how reading, hearing, and reflection accomplish, for example, forgiveness and purification. The reality of cultic transformation is discovered in the reading and/or hearing 81. Milgrom, Numbers, 352. 82. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 1–11; Gorman, Ideology, 31; J. W. Rogerson, “Sacrifice in the Old Testament: Problems of Method and Approach,” in Sacrifice (ed. M. F. C. Bourdillon and M. Fortes; New York: Academic Press, 1980), 45–47; Geertz, Interpretation of Culture, 5–10. 83. Gilders, Blood Ritual, 113, 125, 132–33. 84. Several charts appear in Milgrom, Leviticus 1–16 (825–26, 854–968, 986–91) that seek to “fill in the gaps” by deductions based on other priestly texts. The deductions are made on the assumption that a complete and consistent system exists in the texts. See Klawans’s comments in “Ritual Purity, Moral Purity,” 20–21. 85. On “prescriptive” and “descriptive” texts, see B. Levine, “The Descriptive Tabernacle Texts of the Pentateuch,” JAOS 85 (1965): 307–18; idem, “The Descriptive Ritual Texts from Ugarit: Some Formal and Functional Features of the Genre,” in Myers and O’Connor, eds., The Word of the Lord Shall Go Forth, 467–75; M. Haran, “The Complex of Ritual Acts Performed Inside the Tabernacle,” SH 7 (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961), 272–302; Anderson, “Sacrifice,” 876–77.
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of the texts, not in some supposed reality or system outside, above, under, or behind the texts. In such a view, reading and hearing (and writing?) become ritual practices, acts of textual ritualizing, critical to the experiential engagement with the cultic reality of the texts.86 The discussion raises the possibility that the priests wrote these texts primarily to be read and heard. This view takes seriously the literary location of the ritual and purity texts of the Pentateuch. The rulings/instructions form a critical part of the narrative that is read and heard. Does Leviticus invite the reader to go to the sanctuary and offer a sacrifice in an officially and completely prescribed fashion, or does Leviticus, located within the larger pentateuchal story, invite the reader to continue to read, hear, and reflect? Conclusion Presuppositions, assumptions, religious values, cultural values, and ideologies continue to play a critical role in the interpretation of priestly materials. Many of the results of an analysis are already determined by what the interpreter brings to the task. Although historical, rational, logical, linguistic, and comparative aspects of interpretation may contribute to a more systematic analysis, they also function as part of an ideological approach to ancient texts. These “objective” modes are not free from assumptions, presuppositions, and values that inform, guide, and direct the analytical task. The problem is not that we bring these preinterpretive understandings to the analysis of texts, but that we fail to recognize their role in interpretation. In the case of the priestly ritual materials, an initial statement that makes clear whether texts or rituals are being interpreted is critical. All too often our discourse on priestly ritual and purity rulings reflects a confused and confusing combination of historical, literary, and ritual methods. The problem is generally left unaddressed because the discipline has been content to assume that “texts” are realistic and accurate representations of “rituals.” The problem is not the use of multiple methods, but the failure to clarify what it is that is being interpreted: texts, enactments, cognitive structures (i.e. the “mind” of the priests), or ritual systems. What is being interpreted will in many ways determine the questions that are asked, or the methods that are employed. For example, if the priestly materials constitute a textual construct found fully in the biblical texts, then a symbolic analysis that seeks to identify the conceptual system that underlies the texts and 86. Gerstenberger, Leviticus, 1–19 (and throughout). The analysis of the reading and hearing of scripture by J. W. Watts is critical. See “Rhetorical Strategy in the Composition of the Pentateuch,” JSOT 68 (1995): 3–22; “Public Readings and Pentateuchal Law,” VT 45 (1995): 540–57; Reading Law: The Rhetorical Shaping of the Pentateuch (The Biblical Seminar 59; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1999); “The Rhetoric of Ritual Instruction in Leviticus 1–7,” in Rendtorff and Kugler, eds., The Book of Leviticus, 79–100; “Ritual Legitimacy and Scriptural Authority,” JBL 124 (2005): 401–17. G. A. Anderson begins to move in this direction in his discussion of “The Scripturalization of the Cult,” ABD 5:882–85.
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holds them together in a coherent and consistent fashion may well be appropriate. If, however, the texts are clear and transparent pointers to enactments, and interpretation focuses on rituals, a more functional and less symbolic approach may make more sense. We must recognize that rituals are enacted one way as opposed to another because, to put it in terms of the participants, “this is the way we do it, this is the way we have always done it, and this will be the way we will always do it.” This view could be equally true for priests and laypersons. Such an explanation for enacting rituals is not “meaningless,” although the “meaning” may not be a symbolic statement of either theological or ethical ideas. Is the interpreter in a position to dictate the type of meaning that rituals may have in the process of their enactment based on contemporary sensibilities of what constitutes meaning? I am not convinced that the priests wanted to produce a singularly consistent system of thinking and theology. The ability of an interpreter to generate such a system does not constitute definitive evidence that this is what the “writer” had in mind. Is the insistence on order and coherence of thought a true reflection of the priests or is it an effort to create the priests in our own image? Obviously, we must remain open to the possibility, even probability, that our concerns are not identical with the concerns of the priests. Finally, what are we to make of the many similarities and differences between Israel and its neighbors? Is the distinction between “pagan” and “Israelite” priest a legitimate starting point for comparative analysis? This may be the way Israel’s priests viewed their neighbors, but the interpreter must be cautious when “siding with Israel” in order to demonstrate Israel’s theological and ethical superiority over its neighbors. Values are clearly at work, critically directing the interpretive process. The assumption seems to be that we think in the same ways that they thought (and vice versa). Thus, we are able to think their thoughts with them. The failure to recognize one’s own historical location is, at the same time, a failure to recognize that “our” ways of thinking are not necessarily “their” ways of thinking. All too often, historical reality gives way to “timeless values.” The priestly “past” and the contemporary “present” have collapsed and become one. I must believe that priests with bloodstained hands, the smell of burning animal flesh in their nostrils, and the divine directive to maintain order through separation (Lev 10:10–11) thought in a radically different fashion than the contemporary academic community. A final statement concerning the historical reality of the present will bring these reflections to a close. We live in the context of a global communication system, a global economy, and a global crisis related to the environment. How then do we “compare” ourselves with “the others?” Comparison is a tricky business in the present, and it is equally tricky when we turn the comparative gaze on the past. Is comparison possible without values? This is a critical question in the contemporary world. At the same time, it is a question that is equally critical for our analysis of the past. Whose perspective guides the interpretive process and does it matter?
INDEXES INDEX OF REFERENCES HEBREW BIBLE/ OLD TESTAMENT Genesis 1:28 18 7:2 34 7:8 34 9:4 83 9:6 29 20:9 24 20:17–18 24 40:19 39 43:32 60 46:34 60 Exodus 8:26 21:12–14 21:28–32 21:30 22:30 28:35 28:36 28:41 28:43 29 29:2–3 29:6–7 29:7 29:9 29:10–14 29:19–28 29:19–20 29:23–25 29:29 29:31–34 29:32 29:33 29:34
60 29 20, 31 20, 30 34, 39 24 13 12, 15 24 10, 13, 16 13 13 12 15 12 15 80 13 15 15 13 15 13
29:35 29:36–37 30:10 30:11–16 30:12–16 30:12 30:13 30:15–16 30:16 30:17–21 30:20–21 30:30 30:33 30:38 31:12–17 31:14–15 31:14 31:17 35:2 39:30 40:13 40:15 Leviticus 1–16 1–7 1–3 1:9 1:13 1:16 2:2 3:5 3:16–17 3:16 4–5 4
15 16 16 20, 29, 31 30 29 29 28 30 17 24 12 24 24 40 24 24, 40 40 24 13 12 12
99 4 13 100 100 14 100 100 59 100 22, 28–30, 81 4, 25, 29, 104
4:1–5:13 4:2 4:3 4:6–7 4:6 4:11–12 4:12 4:13–14 4:13 4:17 4:20 4:21 4:22–23 4:26 4:27–28 4:30 4:31 4:34 4:35 5 5:1 5:2 5:4–5 5:6 5:9 5:10 5:13 5:16 5:17 5:18 5:26 6:7 Eng 6:12–18 6:20 6:21 6:23
9, 25 59 24 104 104 104 15 10 24 104 21, 28, 79, 98 15 10 21, 79, 98 10 81 21, 79, 98, 100 81 21, 79, 98 25, 29 59 36, 37 10 79 81 21, 79, 98 21, 79, 98 21, 98 59 21, 98 21, 98 21 59 82 11 15
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Leviticus (cont.) 6:28 Eng 11 6:30 Eng 15 7:2 80 7:12–15 13 7:15–21 15 7:17 15 7:18 24 7:19 15 7:20 24, 25 7:21 24, 35 7:22–29 59 7:24 36 7:38 59 8–9 10, 13 8 13, 14, 16, 102 8:2 13 8:6–9 14 8:9 13 8:12 12–14 8:13 14 8:14–17 12, 14, 16 8:14 16 8:15 16, 25–28, 82 8:18 16 8:22–32 15 8:22–28 11 8:22–24 80 8:22 16 8:23–24 14 8:26–28 13 8:30 12, 14 8:31–32 13 8:33–35 14 8:33 15 8:35 24 9 13 9:8–11 13 9:8 16 9:17 59 10:6 24 10:9 13 10:10–11 110 10:10 101 11–15 2, 4, 65 11 1, 2, 33,
11:1–2 11:1 11:2–23 11:2–20 11:2–8 11:3 11:4–8 11:4 11:5 11:6 11:8 11:9–12 11:10–11 11:11 11:13–19 11:20–23 11:20 11:24–40 11:24–38 11:24–28 11:24–25 11:24 11:25 11:27 11:29–38 11:31 11:39–40 11:39 11:40 11:41–45 11:41–42 11:41 11:43–45 11:44 11:46–47 12–15 12 12:6–8 12:8 13
35, 37, 39–42, 44, 54, 57, 60, 65 41 39 55 33 37, 38, 41, 55 37 37 40 40 40 37–40 41, 55 39 38–40, 56 41, 55 41, 55 56 55 55 26, 38, 41 37 26, 38 39 26 41 37 36, 37 37 39 36, 55 41, 55 35, 56 35, 36, 41, 55, 59 60 41, 55 55, 57 2, 18, 58, 65 9 22, 28, 59 57, 65, 66, 68–70, 73
13:1 13:2–39 13:2–28 13:2 13:4 13:9–17 13:9 13:18–29 13:24–28 13:28 13:29–44 13:29–39 13:29–37 13:29–30 13:29 13:37 13:38–39 13:38 13:39 13:40–44 13:40–41 13:40 13:42–44 13:42 13:44 13:45 13:46 13:47–59 13:47–58 13:51 13:55 13:56 13:57 13:58 13:59 14
14:1–32 14:1–20 14:1–7 14:4–7 14:4–6 14:4 14:7 14:8–9 14:10–32 14:10–20
70 67 66 66, 68 67 66 66, 68 66 66 67 68 2, 65–67 66, 67 65 66–68 67 65, 66 67, 68 67, 68 66, 67 67 67 67 67, 69 67 67, 68, 70 70 2, 65, 68 66 69 69, 70 70 69, 70 70 66, 70 2, 57, 65, 69, 70, 77, 82, 102 103 96 62 77 5 77 77, 103 80 80 80
Index of References 14:14 14:15–18 14:18 14:19 14:20 14:21–32 14:21 14:25 14:26–29 14:29 14:30–31 14:31 14:33–53 14:34–53 14:46–47 14:48–53 14:48 14:49–53 14:49–51 14:49 14:52–53 14:52 14:53 14:54–57 14:54–56 15 15:2 15:6 15:7 15:13–15 15:16 15:18 15:19 15:20–23 15:21–22 15:25–30 15:25 15:26–27 15:27 15:28–30 15:30 15:31 16 16:1–34 16:1–28 16:2
80 80 80 9, 81 22, 81 80 80 80 80 81 81 81 65, 70 59 26 79 78 77, 78 5 78 22 78 22, 79 59 70 2, 4, 44, 58, 65, 71 71 72 58 72 71 26, 37, 65, 71 58, 71, 72 72 58 65, 71 71, 72 72 72 72 72 27, 59 39 96 103 59
16:11–19 16:11 16:15–22 16:16 16:17 16:18–20 16:18–19 16:18 16:19 16:20–22 16:20 16:23–24 16:29–34 16:30 16:33 17–27 17–26 17:4 17:9 17:11 17:15–16 17:16 18–20 18 18:1–5 18:6–23 18:6–18 18:17 18:19 18:22 18:23 18:24–30 18:24–25 18:25–28 18:26 18:27 18:28 18:29 18:30 18:32–35 19:17 19:20 19:22 19:29
104 103 62 16, 24, 25, 27, 103 103 16 26 103 25, 28, 103 78 22 11 59 22, 24, 25 16, 22, 23, 25 59 44, 59 24 24 24, 28–30, 83 37 24 44, 61 44, 60 60 60 59 59 72 60 59 60 24, 25 61 60 60 60 24, 60 60 61 24 24 21, 98 59
113 20 20:3 20:12 20:13 20:14 20:20 20:22–24 20:22 20:23 20:24–25 20:25–26 20:26 21:1 21:2–3 21:3 21:4 21:11 21:12 21:14 22:1–9 22:3 22:5 22:8 22:9 23–25 23 24:12 24:15 26 26:1–2 26:11 26:15 26:30 26:33–35 26:43–44 26:43 26:44 27:1–8 27:11 27:21 27:27
44 24, 25 59 60 59 24 61 60 60 60 35 60 38 37 38 38 13, 57 13 57 17 27 38 34, 36, 37 27 61 59 29 24 60 61 61 61 61 61 61 61 61 14 34 11 34
Numbers 3:10 5 5:1–3 5:2–3 5:5–7
27 44 57, 58 62 66
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Numbers (cont.) 5:11–31 96, 107 5:15 59 5:18 108 5:19–24 107 5:21 107 5:31 59, 107 6 10, 12–14 6:2 14 6:3–4 13 6:6–7 13 6:7–9 13 6:8 10 6:9–11 27 6:10–12 11 6:11–12 9, 13 6:11 27 6:13–20 9 6:13 11, 13 6:14 9, 11, 16 6:15 13 6:16–17 9 6:16 9, 11, 12, 16 6:17 11–13, 15 6:18–19 13 6:18 12, 14, 15 6:19–20 13 6:19 15 6:20 15 6:21 15 8 10 8:8 16 8:19 27 9:6–7 38 9:13 24 12 57, 65 12:9–15 44 12:10 68 13–14 21 14 21 14:1–10 21 14:11–25 21 14:11–12 21 14:19 21 14:20 21 14:21–23 21 14:23 21
14:29–39 15:25 15:26 15:28 18:3–5 18:7 18:15 18:22 19 19:1–22 19:1–13 19:1–10 19:4 19:6 19:9 19:11–22 19:11–13 19:14–16 19:22 25:22–25 25:25 25:28 25:30 25:32–33 25:32 28–29 28:15 28:22 29:5 29:11 29:16 30:5 Eng 30:5–15 Eng 30:6–16 30:6 30:8 Eng 30:9 30:12 30:12 Eng 30:13 30:15 Eng 30:15–16 30:16 31:19–24 31:21–24 31:50 35
21 21 21 21, 98 27 27 34 27 104 96 103 62 103 14 103, 104 57 103 57 26 29 29 29 29 29 29 16 10 10 10 10 10 21 21 21 21 21 21 28 21 21 21 28 21, 59 57, 58 26 28, 30 18, 23, 29, 30
35:9–29 35:25 35:28 35:30–34 35:31–33 35:31 35:32 35:33–34 35:33 35:34
29 30 30 20, 29 23, 30 23, 29 23 25, 30, 44 23, 29–31 23
Deuteronomy 7:26 14 14:3–21 14:3 14:4–5 14:7–8 14:8 14:9 14:10 14:11 14:18 14:19 14:20 14:21 23:14 24:1 28:26
38 33, 35, 42 34, 57 57, 60 34 34 35, 37 34 34 34 34 34 34 34 61 61 39
Judges 16 16:28–30
12 15
1 Samuel 12:1–5
20
2 Samuel 3:29 21:1–9 21:1 21:3–6 21:3 21:4 21:6
44, 58, 69 29 29 31 29 29 29
1 Kings 8:33–34
21
Index of References 8:35–36 8:37–39 8:46–50
21 21 21
2 Kings 9:36
39
2 Chronicles 7:13–14 26:16–21
21 44
Job 33:24 Psalms 49:7–8 Eng 49:8–9 51 51:4–5 51:9 106:34–41
14 45 58 45 16 22 14 22
Daniel 9:19
21
20
20 20 45 45 45 45
Hosea 1:2 3:1–3 Amos 2:6–8 5:12
89 89
93 20
QUMRAN 11Q19 49:5–19 57
Proverbs 6:20–35 31:13
20 69
Isaiah 1:15–17 20:1–6 20:3 29:13 43:3–4 47:11 58:1–5 64:4–5
45 89 89 91 20 20 93 45
Jeremiah 27:1–15 27:1–2 28:1 28:10
Ezekiel 5:4 36:16–18 36:17 36:22–25 43:18–27 43:20 43:24 43:26
89 89 89 89
MISHNAH Keritot 2:3
46
Nazir 6:7
12
Nega im 12:6
46
Yadayim 3:2 3:5
73 73
TALMUDS Babylonian Talmud Arakhin 16a 46
115 Nazir 3a 19a
10 10
Tosefta Talmud Nega im 6:7 46 MIDRASH Genesis Rabbah 17:4 41 Leviticus Rabbah 17:3 46 18:4 46 Numbers Rabbah 7:1 46 7:10 46 Sifre to Numbers 5:3 46 CLASSICAL Pliny Natural History 7:64 58 INSCRIPTIONS Papyri Jumilhac XII:16–21 47 Egyptian Book of the Dead Chapter 125 46 MESOPOTAMIAN TEXTS Tablet II lines 3–8 46 lines 47–49 46 lines 75–76 46
INDEX OF AUTHORS Amorim, N. 10 Anderson, G. A. 63, 108, 109 Angyal, A. 53 Ardener, E. 65 Asad, T. 99 Ashley, T. 9 Barber, E. W. 69 Barr, J. 84 Baumgarten, A. 12, 104 Bell, C. 87, 97–99, 101 Berger, P. L. 90 Blau, J. L. 104 Blenkinsopp, J. 89, 91, 94 Bourdieu, P. 101 Boyer, P. 98, 101 Brichto, H. J. 20, 94, 107 Büchler, A. 44 Buckley, T. 72, 73 Budd, P. J. 9, 25 Budge, E. A. W. 46 Buitenhuis, H. 39 Caird, G. B. 45 Carroll, R. P. 92 Cartledge, T. 10, 15 Clason, A. T. 39 Coats, G. 10 Cohen, C. 39 Cole, R. D. 9 Damasio, A. R. 50 Darwin, C. 51, 52 Davies, P. R. 84 Delitzsch, F. 9, 96 Dennett, D. C. 99 Dever, W. G. 96 Diamond, E. 14 Dillistone, F. W. 99
Douglas, M. 32, 64, 85, 91, 94, 98, 99, 101– 3, 106 Driver, T. F. 98 Durkheim, E. 32 Eberhart, C. 81 Eilberg-Schwartz, H. 94, 96, 97, 106 Elija, A. ben 67 Elliger, K. 19, 68 Evans-Pritchard, E. E. 95 Fardon, R. 86 Finkelstein, J. J. 96, 97 Firmage, E. 102, 106 Firth, R. 99 Fishbane, M. 107 Frankenberry, N. K. 86 Frei, H. W. 107 Frick, F. S. 104 Frymer-Kensky, T. 37, 97, 106, 107 Gammie, J. 102 Gane, R. 9–12, 14, 16, 17, 31, 98, 102, 103, 107 Gärdenfors, P. 49 Geertz, C. 99, 101, 107, 108 Geller, S. A. 94 Gerleman, G. 22 Gerstenberger, E. S. 105, 109 Gilders, W. K. 77–81, 83, 98, 101–4, 107, 108 Givón, T. 71 Goode, W. J. 98 Gorman, F. H. 82, 97, 98, 102, 103, 107, 108 Gottlieb, A. 72, 73 Gray, G. B. 14, 22 Green, J. D. 50 Grimes, R. L. 98, 101
Index of Authors Gruber, M. I. 66 Gruenewald, I. 87, 98 Haidt, J. 53, 54, 56 Haran, M. 39, 86, 91, 108 Harris, M. 40 Hartley, J. 12 Hendel, R. S. 89, 90, 92 Hentrich, T. 68 Herrenschmidt, O. 101 Herrmann, J. 19, 20 Heschel, A. J. 91 Hewer, A. 48 Hill, D. R. 98 Himmelfarb, M. 44 Hoffmann, D. Z. 36, 43 Hoffner, H. A., Jr. 69 Houston, W. 39, 106 Houston, W. J. 102 Huffmon, H. B. 97 Hulse, E. V. 57, 68 Humbert, P. 60 Hurlbut, W. 51 Janowski, B. 18–20, 22 Janzen, D. 98 Jay, N. 98 Jenson, P. 10, 13, 16, 26 Johnson, M. 45 Jones, R. N. 66, 68, 72 Kalanithi, P. 51 Kaufmann, Y. 90, 91, 97, 98, 101 Kazen, T. 44–46, 52, 58, 62, 63 Keil, C. F. 9 Kekes, J. 50, 54 King, P. J. 69 Kittay, E. F. 45 Kiuchi, N. 12, 13, 15, 16, 19, 78, 103, 104 Klawans, J. 23, 24, 37, 43–46, 84–89, 92, 93, 95, 101, 106–8 Klingbeil, G. 16, 96, 97, 107 Knohl, I. 34, 35, 59, 91, 93, 94, 98, 101 Kohlberg, L. 48 Kolnai, A. 53 Kropotkin, P. 51 Kuemmerlin-McLean, J. K. 98
117
Kurtz, J. H. 19 Lakoff, G. 45 Lambert, W. G. 47 Lang, B. 97 Lévi-Strauss, C. 32, 33, 40, 41 Leach, E. 32, 33, 86, 98 Lemardelé, C. 12 Levenson, J. D. 93 Levine, B. 9, 20, 22, 23, 25, 98, 102, 105, 108 Levine, C. 48 Lindblom, J. 89 Looy, H. 50, 52, 53 Maccoby, H. 43, 68, 73, 86, 105 Mahapatra, M. 48 Maimonides, M. 88 Malinowski, B. 32 Malul, M. 96 Mandelbaum, B. 88 Marx, A. 11, 63 Mauss, M. 32 McCauley, C. 53, 54, 56 McKane, W. 90, 92 Mendelssohn, M. 88 Merritt, J. 69 Meshel, N. S. 33, 55 Meyer, F. B. 9 Meyer, R. 47, 48 Middleton, J. 98 Milgrom, J. 10–14, 16, 20, 22–25, 27, 28, 30, 33, 35–37, 39, 55–61, 63, 67, 69–72, 77, 79–83, 86, 91, 94, 97, 99–108 Miller, J. G. 48 Miller, W. I. 53, 54 Moore, S. F. 101 Moran, W. L. 33 Morrison, N. 50, 52 Myerhoff, B. G. 101 Neusner, J. 43 Noordtzij, A. 9, 13 Noth, M. 14 Nussbaum, M. 54 Olyan, S. M. 102 Orlinsky, H. M. 91
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Perspectives on Purity and Purification in the Bible
Paran, M. 33 Parunak, H. van D. 67, 71 Penner, H. H. 86 Piaget, J. 48 Preuss, H. D. 57 Radcliffe-Brown, A. R. 32 Ramban 10 Rappaport, R. A. 100, 101 Reiner, E. 46 Rendtorff, R. 94 Ringgren, H. 89 Rodriguez, A. 10, 11 Rofé, A. 89 Rogerson, J. W. 108 Rowley, H. H. 91 Rozin, P. 53, 54, 56 Sakenfeld, K. D. 21 Sanders, E. P. 43 Schenker, A. 20 Schwartz, B. J. 19, 25, 30, 34, 55, 83 Schwartz, J. 62 Scurlock, J. A. 98 Severino, S. K. 50, 52 Shweder, R. A. 48, 49 Sklar, J. 18–20, 22–31 Smith, J. Z. 85, 87 Smith, M. S. 97 Smith, P. 101 Smith, R. S. 86, 87 Sperber, D. 99 Spiro, M. E. 86 Staal, F. 87, 101
Stager, L. E. 69 Stamm, J. J. 19, 21 Stewart, D. T. 67, 73 Sweeney, M. A. 89, 91 Tambiah, S. J. 40, 98 Teehan, J. 51, 52 Toorn, K. van der 99 Turiel, E. 48 Turner, V. 99 Urbach, E. E. 88 Van Beek, G. W. 96 Vandier, J. 47 Vaux, R. de 86, 91 Vriezen, Th. C. 103 Watts, J. W. 109 Weber, M. 89 Wefing, S. 104 Wegner, J. R. 65 Weinberg, Z. 10 Weinfeld, M. 34, 91 Wenham, G. 10, 13, 21, 23, 25, 69 Whitekettle, R. 71 Williams, J. G. 90 Wilson, C. 49 Wright, D. 11, 35–37, 55, 66, 68, 72, 79, 82, 96, 97, 102, 104–6 Zohar, N. 78, 80 Zuesse, E. M. 99
