Semeia 16: Perspectives on Mark's Gospel

an experimental journal for biblical criticism

Perspectives on Mark's Gospel

1979

SEMEIA 16

PERSPECTIVES ON MARK'S GOSPEL

Editor of this Issue: Norman R. Petersen

©

1980

by the Society of Biblical Literature

Distributed by SCHOLARS PRESS P. O. Box 5207 Missoula, MT 59806

Printed in the United States of America Printing Department University of Montana Missoula, MT 59812

CONTENTS ; Page INTRODUCTION ,

'. . . .

MARK AND ORAL TRADITION Werner H. Kelber<

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THE GOSPEL OF MARK AS NARRATIVE CHRISTOLOGY Robert C. Tannehill

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MYTHIC STRUCTURE AND MEANING IN MARK Elizabeth Struthers Malbon

97

TOWARD A STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS OF THE GOSPEL OF MARK Jean Calloud i

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133

CONTRIBUTORS TO THIS ISSUE Jean Calloud Faculté de théologie Université Catholique de Lyon Lyon, France Werner H. Kelber Department of Religious Studies Rice University Houston, TX 77001 Elizabeth Struthers Malbon Department of Religion Vassar College Poughkeepsie, NY 12601 Robert C. Tannehill Methodist Theological School in Ohio Delaware, OH 43015

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INTRODUCTION 0. The title given this issue of Semeia, Perspectives on Mark's Gospel, might well be expanded by the addition of four examples—collection, proclamation, narration, and transformation. These options do not directly correspond to the orientations of t;he four essays in this issue, but they do help to show how the essays are related to one another and to the previous and ongoing history of research. My introductory comments are focused on perspectives and their relations because the essays in this issue were all conceived independently of one another, and because, with one exception, their authors do not deal with the Fragestellungen of previous Markan studies. 1.1 Only Werner Kelber's essay on "Mark and Oral Tradition" is directly concerned with form and redaction criticism. His purpose, however, is to repudiate their theory of the emergence of Mark's text out of pre-Markan oral-traditional processes, and to demonstrate that the textuality of Mark's Gospel should be viewed independently of the orality of its sources. Indeed, Kelber seeks to show that Mark's Gospel opposes, in both form (i.e., as a text) and content (.i.e., in what the text says), oral tradition and its transmitters. For example, whereas Bultmann identified an evolutionary continuity between pre-Markan orality and Markan textuality, Kelber identifies a discontinuity and an opposition between orality and textuality. In terms of the four perspectival options listed above, Kelber rejects, or at least radically

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qualifies, the "established" view of Mark as a collection (Sammelwerk) hot off the presses of oral transmission. 1.2 If Kelber's task is to rescue the textuality of Mark's Gospel from the clutches of orality and collectivism, Robert Tannehill's task in his paper on "The Gospel of Mark as Narrative Christology" is to explore the narrative aspect of this text. Tannehill assumes that the text is a narrative, i.e., a narration, and focuses on the plotting in it of relations between its characters, finding in this plotting an index to the narrator's Christo logy. In so doing, however, Tannehill transforms another "established" notion in Markan criticism, namely that Mark's Gospel functions as a proclamation of Jesus (Bultmann, et al.). Whereas form critics saw Mark's Gospel as both a collection and, functionally, a proclamation, and whereas redaction critics saw this Gospel as a theologically motivated edition of traditions, Tannehill sees it as a narration in which theology and proclamation are functions of the textually internal poetics of characterization and its plotting. 1.3 Taken together, the essays by Kelber and Tannehill emphasize the intrinsic features of the text itself, whereas previous critics were more concerned with extrinsic matters like the evolutionary process that culminated in Mark's collection of material, like the authorial or communal theological motives reflected in the editing of that material, and like the proclamatory function of the collective end-product. Thus Kelber and Tannehill substitute the perspective on textual narration for the perspectives on collection and proclamation. 1.4 That Mark's Gospel is a narration is also assumed in both Elizabeth Struthers Malbon's "Mythic Structure and Meaning in Mark: Elements of a Lévi-Straussian Analysis" and Jean Calloud's "Toward a Structural Analysis of the Gospel of Mark." Although there are more differences than similarities between these two essays, with

Petersen: Introduction

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Malbon following Lévi-Strauss's approach to the text as a whole and Calloud following Greimas's approach to textual parts ("micro-narratives"), their common structuralist or semiotic perspectives on texts as transformations of underlying logical systems constitutes the last and most recent perspective on Mark (see also Güttgemanns). From such a perspective the coherence and meaning of a text is seen to be the product not (only?) of the editing of its pre-shaped parts, but (also?) of the transformational processes by which logical relations come to expression, whether in text-wide themes (Malbon treats geographical, calendrical, and theological themes) or in the semantic relations within and between narrative units (Calloud considers several stories in Mark 2). Whereas form and redaction critics viewed the work of Mark as an author in terms of his editorial transformation of traditions, both in the redaction of the traditions and in the interpretation of "historical traditions" with the aid of a "redeemer myth," structuralist/semiotic transformationalism seeks the logical relations underlying the narrative as we have it, and in this way tries to explain what the narrator "meant" in saying what he did and by saying it in the form in which he said it. 2.1 Our perspective on perspectives raises a final question, namely of whether the several perspectival options are of necessity mutually exclusive. Although this question is not addressed in the essays in this issue, it is one that cannot be avoided without risking an undue polarization between those who adopt different perspectives. What is more, such a polarization, which I believe now exists, has the further consequence of lending undue confusion to the discussions of Mark, whether in professional discourse or in the classroom. 2.2 In this light I would like to suggest that the several perspectives are oriented to different aspects of the text of Mark's Gospel—that, in effect, those who

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adopt any of the perspectives are looking at different things in or about that text. If this suggestion is valid, there is nothing necessarily exclusive about any of the options. Thus the perspective on Mark as a collection (and redaction, for the two go together in both form and redaction criticism) is concerned with the way Mark edited the material he used, and with those editorial motives that can be inferred from his editing. If we omit both the evolutionary theory of the emergence of Mark and the curious idea of collective "authorship," neither of which is necessary for viewing Mark redactionally, the focus on redaction and tradition is an undisputably valid one, regardless of how much it may or may not reveal. Similarly, the perspective on Mark as a proclamation is valid if we recognize that this is a functional rather than a formal notion. That is to say, the function of the text as a whole is to communicate between a writer and his audience, to "proclaim" or to say something to someone. Just what is "proclaimed" is what needs to be determined. Third, the perspective on Mark as a narration is also a valid one, as even Bultmann recognized although he did not spend much time with it. Indeed, the methodological next step beyond viewing Mark as a collection is to view it as a narration, and only after that perspective has been explored can we turn to look at it as a proclamation, for narrative analysis alone will reveal what the narrative is about. It is from what the narrative is about that we infer what its narrator was saying ("proclaiming") through it to his audience. By the same token, and last, it is only when the perspective on narration has been established that it makes sense to adopt the transformational perspective and inquire into the logical relations implied or manifested in the narration itself. 2.3 These relationships between the four perspectives and the corresponding aspects of Mark's Gospel both reflect the multidimensional character of that text and point to the methodological pluralism that is required if

Petersen: Introduction

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we are to deal with that text adequately. At the same time, however, these relationships indicate that there are also methodological priorities involved in the adoption of the perspectives. That Mark is a collection raises serious issues for those who would view it as a narration, and vice versa. Yet, the shift from collection to narration is also a necessary pre-requisite for the shift to proclamation or to transformation, since it is hard to conceive of a collection as "proclaiming" anything, or of a collection being a transformation of logical infrastructures. In the current status of Markan studies, the proclamatory and transformational perspectives will therefore make little sense if the narrative character of Mark's text is not fully appreciated. While some of us will be exploring other things, my own sense of the state of Markan studies is that it is the move from collection to narration that is the critical issue for most of us. Hopefully, the essays in this issue of Semeia will help to show why this is so. Norman R. Petersen Williams College

MARK AND ORAL TRADITION

Werner H. Kelber Rice University Abstract In contemporary linguistic terminology, this study is about oral poetics and generative poetics» and the need to keep these two semantic worlds apart. Specifically, this study discusses the Bultmannian concept of an evolutionary continuity between pre-Markan orality and Markan textuality. The central thesis states that the gospel is more in tension with than an extension of oral processes. The writing performance of Mark is subject to laws different from those that regulate pre-Markan oral drives. In the terminology of conventional biblical scholarship, this study is about form criticism and redaction criticism, and the need to keep the two methodologies apart. IÁ tfris regard, it continues a line of thought initiated by Erhardt Güttgemanns. who raised candid questions about form criticism. The central thesis states that form criticism in postulating an evolutionary oral process toward the gospel composition misapprehended both the nature of pre-Markan orality and that of Markan textuality. No pretension is made in this study to systematically develop a synoptic oral poetics or a Markan generative poetics. The modest purpose is to present a general model of synoptic oral processes and contrast it with Mark's chirographical performance. A more comprehensive work is presently in preparation which treats in greater detail synoptic orality, Markan textuality, and the dynamics entailed in the refraction of pre-Markan orality by the medium of Markan textuality. We always fail to take sufficient account of the free, oral transmission.

Koester, Synoptische

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Überlieferung

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Semeia For apart from a consideration of its social setting, no statements about the origin and function of oral tradition in early Christianity may be accepted as valid. Gager, Kingdom and Community

0. Since Rudolf Bultmann's History of the Synoptic Tradition /l/, perhaps the single most important advance in knowledge relevant to our perception of the early Christian transmission of traditions has come from students of oral communication. The noted works of Milman Parry (1930, 1932), Albert B. Lord (1960), Eric A. Havelock (1963), Walter J. Ong, S.J. (1967, 1977) and countless others, as well as a growing body of folklore studies, have enlarged our understanding of orality and raised our consciousness of oral structures underlying much of human culture. Biblical scholarship has as yet not profited in depth from the contemporary phenomenology of media consciousness and allied studies in orality. A noteworthy exception was provided by Semeia 5, edited by Robert C. Culley and exclusively devoted to oral studies in the Old Testament (1976b). Our concept of early Christian traditions, however, which by common consent were transmitted in predominantly oral fashion, has largely remained unaffected by current studies in orality. A critical reconstruction of Christianity's oral past is long overdue. 0.1 It is the purpose of the following reflections to initiate a revision of the conventional model of preMarkan orality, and to probe possible implications for an understanding of Mark as a written text. Initially, we shall revisit Bultmann's History of the Synoptic Tradition and review it from the perspective of current insights into oral culture. A revised model of oral transmission will then allow us to focus on the process of transition from the precanonical, synoptic tradition to the gospel of Mark, and on the dynamics entailed in the shift from orality to textuality.

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

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1.0 Its programmatic title notwithstanding, it is well to remember that The History of the Synoptic Tradition was conceived as something more than an analytic exercise in classifying literary forms. The study of forms and styles, the isolation of individual units of tradition, and the determination of their respective social settings combined in assisting the reconstruction of the formative stage of the synoptic history., This history emerged by exploring the changes undergone by "the original form" (7) of traditional material in the process of transmission. An observation of these changes disclosed to Bultmann specific characteristics, the laws or so-called tendencies of the synoptic tradition, which in turn suggested to him the overriding trend in mainstream orality. Although this larger perspective is frequently buried under a myriad of analytical data, it was Bultmann's intent to move beyond a study of individual tradition units toward a history of the tradition. 1.1 While not ruling out the possible existence of pre-Markan texts and Markan access to them (347), Bultmann fundamentally intended to recover oral history, the synoptic tradition before it took literary shape (4). His perception of the formal attributes of oral tradition was astoundingly close to the point of current perception of orality, more in need of elaboration today than of correction. In his view, the pre-literary material grew out of and remained bound to the anonymous and mysterious matrix of community, the "folk." Moreover, it was conditioned by the same stylized forms of expression and concurrent modes of experience which are characteristic of collective consciousness. By and large, the synoptic material was therefore the carrier of the typical experiences of common opinion, while lacking poetic imagination and the versatility of individual authorship. Anonymity, collectivity, and a nonliterary character were the formal attributes of the synoptic tradition, and together they epitomize Bultmann's concept of Kleinliteratur. The bulk of early Christian literature, which first and foremost includes the oral

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tradition, belongs to Kleinliteratur (4-5), i.e., it is not consciously and artistically reflective literature, but the exponent of communally shaped and shared knowledge. 1.2 Bultmann illustrated a considerable number and variety of tendencies operative in the synoptic tradition and transmission: dogmatic tendencies (307), novelistic motifs and tendencies (305-306, 340), the law of single perspective (204), the rule of scenic duality (335-336), an inclination toward differentiation and individualization (337-338), the transformation of indirect into direct discourse (340-341), the law of repetition (342-343), and many other proclivities. The chief impulse, however, which controls the movement from single sayings to the gospel complex is what might be termed a trend toward growth and expansion. Sayings grow together (86-88), multiply by analogous formation (88-91, 134-135), and undergo expansion by secondary additions (91-95). New sayings join the stream of tradition (105-113), develop into groups of sayings (348-351), and form catechisms (160) and speech complexes (348). Apophthegmatic controversy stories have a tendency to grow around dominical sayings (53), or, sayings exhibit generative powers to produce apophthegmatic narratives (49) . Miracle stories can develop out of sayings (246) and grow as a result of a tendency to elaborate the miraculous (243). Similitudes tend to be filled out by explanatory details, allegorical features, and moral applications (95-96, 183). One similitude is juxtaposed with another so as to produce a double similitude (210-211). The passion narrative undergoes successive stages of growth before Mark connects it with traditions relating to the life of Jesus (297-303) . There are, to be sure, countertendencies. Sayings need not always be framed by concrete scenes or evolve into chains of sayings; they can also remain unattached (48-49). Sayings may be abridged (88), and direct speech be turned into indirect speech (342) . But those are the exceptions to the rule. The bulk of the observed tendencies registers growth, and it is growth which is the overriding trend of

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

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the synoptic tradition / 2 / . Isolated units grow, accumulate, and cluster together. Materials in isolated and clustered form join the stream of traditions, are sustained by it, and in turn increase the momentum toward even larger and more complex formations. One can readily form a mental picture of Bultmann's model of the synoptic tradition as a steady process of aggregate growth. 1.3 If one presses the question as to the motivating causes of the gospel composition, Bultmann gives a twofold answer. On the one hand, the gospel results from forces inherent in the pre-canonical, synoptic stream of traditions. According to what can justly be called the principle of intrinsic causation, the tradition itself exerts pressure in the direction of ever more comprehensive presentations, so that Mark's "project can only be explained in terms of the gravity inherent in the tradition..." (373). As if decreed by natural law, "it is permissible to say that a coherent presentation of the life of Jesus based on the existent tradition of separate units and small collections was bound to come" (395). Propelled by their own gravity, the pre-Markan springs and streamlets had little choice but to flow into the gospel reservoir. Sayings, miracles, and apophthegms developed step by step along a generally predictable route. The units evolved into larger and ever more elaborate entities which were sooner or later destined to fall into the conventional pattern of linear, biographical narration. It is a process as natural as that of biological evolution: simplicity grows into complexity. 1.31 Bultmann's concept of intrinsic causation is closely linked with that of pure form. "The original form" determined the relative age of a literary unit, and the observed tendency, generally, was away from purity by expansion and addition. Together the concepts of pure form and intrinsic causation designate the evolutionary ascent of the synoptic tradition.

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1.4 On the other hand, the gospel was shaped by theological motifs which came from a type of Hellenistic Christianity to which both Paul and Mark belonged (372 n. 2). Specifically, it was the Hellenistic Christ myth of Pauline persuasion (1 Cor 11:23-26, 15:3-7; Phil 2:6-11; Rom 1:3-4, 3:24, 6:3-4, 10:9), represented also in the speeches of Luke-Acts (2:22-24, 3:13-15, 10:37-41, 13:2631), which imposed a kerygmatic framework upon the Palestinian Jesus traditions (372, 396). The motif of the Messianic Secret, related to Hellenistic Christianity, made an exceptional contribution to the gospel of Mark (371-372), thereby according the gospel the character of a "book of secret epiphanies" (397). The one essential feature of the Christ myth not yet adopted by Mark is that of préexistence (374). The specific dogmatic character of the gospel is thus caused extrinsically by a programmatic myth native to Hellenistic Christianity. The myth produces dogmatic coherence out of formerly heterogeneous Jesus traditions, which in turn serve to explain and illustrate this myth (396) . 1.5 Not unexpectedly, Mark's own role in the process of gospel composition was more of a formal, and less of a substantive kind. His principal performance consisted in merging the Palestinian traditions with the Hellenistic kerygma (372-373, 394). Since, however, both the Jesus traditions and the Christ kerygma were already full-grown religious phenomena prior to Mark, his achievement was limited to the unification of two tradition complexes to neither one of which he had made an essential contribution. As for the synoptic traditions, Mark for the most part merely brought to fruition what had already taken on a form of embryonic life. By the time the tradition had reached him, it required only minor redactional touches to bring it to natural completion: linking devices of time and place, the insertion of one story into another, introductions, postscripts, summaries, and more (363-365). In general, "Mark refrained from exercising major redactional influences on the transmitted material" (358). His efforts were of a technical, editorial, and not of a thoroughgoing

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

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systematic, literary nature. He remained beholden to oral tradition, exercizing little freedom vis-à-vis his oral heritage. As for the Hellenistic Christ myth, it was, of course, not of Markan making either. Mark, representative of Hellenistic Christianity (372 n. 2 ) , had appropriated it more by force of habit than by deliberate choice. By limiting Mark's achievement to the formal merger of two pre-Markan tradition complexes, Bultmann, metaphorically speaking, conceived of Mark as inheriting the conceptual house of the Hellenistic Christ myth and apart from it a set of furniture consisting of the Jesus traditions. Mark, according to this metaphor, moved the furniture into the house and refinished, dusted off, and arranged the individual pieces. 1.6 What allowed Bultmann to postulate an organic and logical connection between the pre-gospel stream of (largely) oral materials and the written gospel was his insistence on the irrelevance of a distinction between oral and written traditions: "there exists no difference in principle" between the two media (91; cf. 50, 347). For Bultmann, much more important than the distinction between oral and written is that between the Palestinian and the Hellenistic stages of the tradition (253-254). All synoptic traditions, whether in oral or in written form, are by virtue of their unliterary origin and nature subject to the same rules of transmission. By obviating the necessity for discriminating between oral and written processes, Bultmann was thus able to employ the laws regulating textual transactions as his basis for a reconstruction of what he himself considered to be a predominantly oral history. The regularities he observed in Matthew's and Luke's handling of Mark and Q allowed him to infer back to oral stages prior to Mark (7). Observations made on texts, i.e., texts which he had judged unliterary in nature, are declared equally valid as regards the pre-Markan oral phase. Thus granting the primacy of orality prior to Mark, Bultmann nevertheless assumed that oral forms passed into literary forms imperceptibly and without measurable

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complications. One must conclude that Bultmann has handled the issue of oral versus written in the synoptic tradition in such a way that it has served to strengthen the affinity between the gospel and its oral pre-history. 1.61 At rare instances Bultmann intimated a somewhat more complicated relationship between oral and written. In discussing the redaction of speech material, i.e., the complexification of logoi into speech units, he concedes that "in the oral tradition there exists a natural, albeit not exactly definable, limit to such cluster formations; this limit can only be superseded in the written tradition" (348). But he headed off possible deeper implications by denying the written speech complexes any systematic unity and thematic force: "Fortunately, that did not happen in the synoptic gospels" (348). At another -point, Bultmann appeared to discern a connection between oral atrophy and the need for gospel-type compositions: "As the wealth of oral tradition dried up, there was bound to be a need for collections as comprehensive and definitive as possible" (395). But these and other intimations of a possibly more involved situation arising out of a changeover from oral to written are never pursued. In principle, Bultmann held that the gospels extend and preserve a fundamentally oral outlook on life. Mark grew out of orality, but he never outgrew it. Apart from his commitment to the Hellenistic Christ myth, he shared the oral conceptualization of Jesus represented in the synoptic tradition. 1.7 There emerges from Bultmann's History of the Synoptic Tradition a perception of the pre-Markan oral history as a virtually irresistible movement toward the gospel composition. The gospel itself "has grown out of the immanent developmental drive which resides in the tradition, itself fashioned from diverse motives, and out of the Christ cult and the Christ myth of Hellenistic Christianity" (399) /3/. It is hardly an exaggeration to claim that the genetic code determining the final gospel product was embedded to a large extent in the gospel's oral

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

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pre-history and to some extent in the Hellenistic Christ myth. Since the composition of the gospel "offers nothing in principle new, but merely completes what was already begun in the earliest oral tradition, it [the gospel composition] must be considered in organic connection with the history of the pre-gospel material" (347). This assumption of an organic connection of oral and written phases of the tradition, founded as it is on the aversion to appreciate the integrity of oral culture versus written culture, caused Bultmann to misapprehend both the dynamic process of pre-Markan orality and the nature of Markan textuality. While his concept of the formal attributes of orality was close to the point, his model of oral transmission, of the transition toward written literature, and of gospel textuality requires critique and correction. 2.0 Probably the most useful service rendered by redaction criticism has been the exploration and advocacy of the genuinely literary nature of the gospels. While form criticism had isolated and exposed a plurality of vignettes for close examination, redaction criticism altered the angle of vision by looking at the total architecture and the position of single pictures within it. This shift in focus resulted in a dramatically new perception of the nature of the gospel. The holistic perspective shed fresh light on the gospel insofar as it was now understood as a controlled fusion of diverse genres, sources, and themes into a single literary body which in this fashion had not previously existed. Already at this point form and redaction criticism in their respective conceptions of the nature of the gospel appeared strained into opposite directions, although the differences could still be minimized. The form critic could still claim that the Markan novelty emphasized by the redaction critic amounted to nothing more than a new arrangement of the old furniture. 2.1 But redaction criticism saw more in the gospel of Mark (and the other gospels) than a new line-up of the old.

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It further observed that the material was shaped and arranged in such a way as to give expression to large-scale thematic developments: Jesus the figure of paradoxical obscurity, passion christology. Kingdom and eschatology, parousia and the crisis of time, Galilee versus Jerusalem and the issue of place, temple theology, anti-apparition theme, Petrine opposition, a circumspect handling of christological titles, and above all the overriding motif of the failure of discipleship. All these motifs and thematic developments combined in producing a single dramatic story which had a logic of its own. In short, it was shown that apophthegms, miracles, parables, logoi, and passion materials were controlled by a conception other than that embodied in any single pre-Markan unit, or in the sum total of the tradition's component parts, or in the Hellenistic Christ myth. In the light of this insight, Markan craftsmanship appeared to have exceeded the purely functional in the sense of adding one segment onto another. It could no longer be said that Mark had merely nursed the tradition to its natural stage of maturity. So deeply had the parts been integrated into the new logic, and so closely were they bound up with the total vision that redaction criticism, spurred on by the New Criticism, in a second stage of its development abandoned the hermeneutical procedure of separating tradition from redaction. The gospel text was now recognized as an autosemantic entity, and its interpretation depended on perceiving the interplay of all its parts. Mark was discovered as an author who had grasped the material with an artistic conception of his own, and had lifted heterogeneous traditions onto a new plane of perceptual integration. 2.11 To this the form critic might reply that redaction criticism has not really solved the issue of indebtedness to tradition versus artistic fiction. Mark, it could be claimed, remained beholden to the tradition without which he could not have produced the gospel. Yet there is no mistaking the fact that the view redaction criticism

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

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has developed of the gospel is not a natural consequence of form criticism. Precisely what redaction criticism claimed for the gospel, that it registered an artistically designed plot and character development, form criticism disclaimed. The moment one grants Mark the possibility of his very own vision of the life and death of Jesus, one will have to concede him more than a capacity for moving the furniture into the house, and for refinishing, dusting off, and arranging the individual pieces. In addition, he will have produced new, and discarded old furniture. This production and selection of material, not merely its rearrangement, logically derives from the principle of the whole dominating over the parts. Most importantly, if Mark devised his own masterplan, then it constitutes the conceptual house for which he selected, produced, and arranged the furniture. From the redaction criticism viewpoint, therefore, Mark appears as the architect and builder of the house of gospel for which he also chose the fitting furniture. Far from matching a ready-made Hellenistic myth with a full-blown Palestinian tradition, Mark has created the gospel in part out of traditional, and in part out of self-made material. 2.12 Form and redaction criticism are thus more deeply discontinuous phenomena than is ordinarily acknowledged. The perception of redaction criticism as a natural extension of form criticism, undertaking on a larger scale the kind of operations form criticism undertakes on miniature scale, is at best a half-truth. In gospel studies, what is involved in the methodological shift from form to redaction criticism is less importantly a change from smaller to larger literary units, as biblical scholars are prone to claim, but far more significantly a perceptual change, possibly advance, in our understanding of the nature of the gospels. 3.0 The discovery of the thoroughgoing Markan shaping of the gospel text prompted redaction criticism to scrutinize

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Bultmann's analytical observations regarding the tradition. By way of example, Bultmann cited Mark 8:34-37 as illustrating a distinct tendency in the tradition to combine a number of similar sayings (86). But redaction critical analysis showed that Mark 8:34-37 belongs to the most conspicuously editorial section of the gospel (Mark 8:22-10: 52). From the viewpoint of redaction criticism, the combination and placement of Mark 8:34-37 is to be considered Markan (Perrin, 1971:7-22). Bultmann called Mark 2:5b-10 a "secondary insertion" (12) traceable to the "Palestinian community" (13). In this case, what he had termed secondary is now defined as Markan. Mark's well-documented insertion technique accomplished the interpolation of an apophthegm (Mark 2:5b-10) into a miracle story (Mark 2: l-5a, 11-12 [Donahue: 81-82]). Bultmann described Mark 13:5-27 as "a Jewish apocalypse in Christian redaction" (132). Redaction criticism, on the other hand, demonstrated the thoroughly Markan design and execution of the eschatological speech (Pesch). Any attempt at recovering the traditional material and arrangement must remain a high-risk project. Bultmann identified Mark 8:31, 9:31, 10:33-34, 9:9,12b, and 14:21,44 as "secondary community compositions" (163). But the pre-Markan existence of most of these Son of Man sayings is questionable, and their position and specific formulation are the making of Mark (Perrin, 1968a:357-365, 1968b:l-23). Bultmann advocated the classic form critical thesis that the passion traditions had developed by successive stages of growth into a coherent passion narrative prior to Markan redaction (297303). Recent redaction critical investigations, however, prove the passion narrative to be as much a Markan construct as the remainder of the gospel (Achtemeier, 1975: 82-91; Kelber, 1976:156-159). These examples, which could be multiplied, are instructive because they demonstrate the fact that compositional decisions and constructive arrangements which Bultmann had identified as the work of tradition, under the scrutiny of redaction criticism.

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

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appear to be Markan. Bultmann had attributed powers and tendencies to the tradition which really were operating on the level of Markan textuality. 3.1 A good deal more is involved here than the relative compositional strengths of tradition versus redaction. Growing awareness of Mark's compositional sophistication and of the text as a redactional construct raise the question whether the bulk of Bultmann's observed tendencies was indeed that of the oral tradition. If data derived from the text apply to the textual level and belong to the history of textuality, these same data must not necessarily a PPly to oral history, as Bultmann had assumed. Thus redaction criticism, after correcting Bultmann's concept of the gospel text, sees itself compelled to cast doubt upon the very feasibility of equating oral with written history, and for this reason to suspect Bultmann's model of the oral synoptic tradition. The knowledge, increasingly provided by redaction criticism, of Mark's ability to aggregate and shape traditions into a composition of his own planning raises the fundamental issue whether a gravitational pull toward complexification belongs to the very nature of the pre-canonical tradition, or whether the center of gravity resides at a point outside. The question is whether there exists in the tradition an innate dynamism toward the gospel, or an integrative force apart from the flow of oral traditions. 3.2 In what up to this date constitutes the most comprehensive and perceptive critique of The History of the Synoptic Tradition, E. P. Sanders stated that Bultmann did not derive the tendencies of the synoptic tradition from an analysis of folk literature, as is widely assumed. Bultmann did not demonstrate, for example, that expansion of pure forms was an established tendency in folklore. "For the most part, students of folk-literature do not emphasize the kind of laws of transmission about which Bultmann spoke and which concern us here" (18 n. 4 ) . Indeed, they do not. For his own part, however, Sanders was

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reluctant to undertake what seemed the right step toward correction. Dissatisfied with Bultmann's principle of discerning laws of transmission on the basis of Matthean and Lukan changes of Mark and Q, and deploring his failure to consult folklore, Sanders refrained from inquiring into folklore and oral communication himself. Instead, he turned to the gospel's manuscript tradition, the early Fathers, and the apocryphal gospels for clues to the synoptic tendencies and those of the pre-canonical tradition (229-271) . This he could do because of the conviction he shared with Bultmann—and with a majority of New Testament scholars, one suspects—concerning the irrelevance of drawing a distinction between oral and written tradition: "...the tendencies of the one are presumably the tendencies of the other" (8). 4.0 If, however, one listens to the specialists of oral culture, a different perspective emerges. Those who derive a concept of orality from oral material, and not from written texts, appear to be virtually unanimous in emphasizing a perceptual difference between oral and literate culture. While the degree of difference is controversial, ranging from Lord's proposition that the two are "contradictory and mutually exclusive" (129) all the way to Finnegan's suggestion that in practice one has to envision complex interactions between oral and written cultures, there is a basic agreement to the effect that the oral medium, carrying communication from mouth to ear, is subject to processes which are different from those that handle the transfer from frozen words on surfaces to the discerning eye. In the broadest terms, the psychomental mechanism of employing resources of the unconscious to assist "memorization" and recall are a world apart from the writing procedure of organizing knowledge into linear, causal relationships. Moreover, the change from one medium to the other is not as unproblematic and casual as the form critical model would indicate. Havelock in his Preface to

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Plato has given us a classic example of the trials and traumas involved in such a shift from an oral-aural approach to reality to a largely visual mode of perception. In his view, Platonism with its drive toward the abstract and "the thing per se" arose out of the revolt of a mind informed by the new mentality of literacy against the oral hegemony of Homeric culture. 4.1 The communications world in which the early Christians lived and conversed was no stranger to literacy. It is a truism that one does not deal with a preliterate culture. While the beginnings of mostly pictographical mechanisms go back to the fourth millenium, Semitic writing systems had been in existence in the Near East during the second millenium, and a complete alphabetic script was introduced in Greece not long before 800 B.C.E. (Goody: 1-49). The historical roots of the Hebraic consonantal alphabet reach as far back as the twelfth century, and the Septuagint project, undertaken in the two or three centuries preceding the rise of the Christian movement, bespeaks a developed manuscript culture and the promotion of textual accuracy. The Christian movement thus sprang up in a cultural environment which both in its Jewish and Hellenistic loyalties had long set a high premium on the written word. 4.2 Overall, the communications world of the first century must have been one of considerable intricacy. The cultivation of literacy does not eo ipso extinguish orality. Most students of oral culture point out that oral forms of thought and expression persist long after the invention of script (Havelock: 292; Lord: 124-128; Ong, 1967:22, 54-55, passim). The oral medium is tenacious. Throughout antiquity the two media existed side by side, with the majority of people habituated to the spoken word, and only an educated elite trained to think in ways controlled by a reflectively appropriated and interiorized logic. By itself, literacy will not undermine the world of orality, unless written texts are consciously embraced

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as models of conceptual conduct. The two media not only co-existed in the first century, they will also have interacted with one another. Oral traditions can fixate into texts, while texts in turn may stimulate oral impulses. A case of the former would be the possible transfer of the sayings source Q into literary form, as most scholars assume. A case of the latter would be provided by a prophet spinning out sayings from OT scripture and re-presenting them in oral performance (Boring, 1972:516-518). The medium situation is thus a complex one in the first century, and we shall never know the precise shadings and degrees of interplay between the oral and the written medium. 4.3 Granted this complexity, form criticism rightly stressed and demonstrated the pre-eminently oral nature of the pre-canonical, synoptic tradition. Linguistically, the synoptic tradition is stamped with the hallmarks of oral patterning. Sociologically, it reflects a largely rural movement, which counted among its authoritative representatives wandering charismatic prophets (Theissen, 1978:47-58, passim). Orality, not literacy, we shall see, was the principal medium of these itinerant prophetic figures. This concept of a predominantly oral phase in early Christian history is difficult to conceive for the biblical scholar whose training in and dependency on texts easily seduces him and her into overrating the textcenteredness of early Christian culture. The burden, however, is on the skeptics of synoptic orality to present convincing evidence of pre-Markan textuality /4/. Instead of postulating a phase of substantial textual transmission prior to Mark, it may be both safer and more helpful to envisage differing degrees of orality. The pre-canonical, synoptic tradition may be called strongly, though probably not exclusively oral, while the synoptic tradition after Mark may be everything from strongly to moderately to residually oral. After Mark, much would depend on the dissemination of gospel texts and their media impact on various audiences.

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5.0 It is tempting to trace the very phenomenon of early synoptic orality to Jesus himself. Like Socrates, he moved and discoursed in the oral medium, without—as far as is known—ever committing a word to writing. Insofar as the gospels depict Jesus as prophetic, eschatological teacher, moving from one place to another and surrounded by listeners and engaged in debate, they will have retained a genuine feature of the oral performer. The specifically scribal, rabbinic model of Jesus the authoritative interpreter of the Torah, on the other hand, was clearly shaped by the scribal interests of Matthew and the Matthean school tradition. 5.1 It could be said that the impact Jesus made on followers and foes alike was to no small extent conditioned by his medium choice. The spoken word is the living word which carries a sense of immediacy and presence which the written word cannot convey with like intensity. The spoken word not merely communicates information, it also engages the audience directly into what is being said (Ong, 1967: 128-130). So closely do the spoken words interact with human affairs that they may be considered "as being of the same order of reality as the matters and events to which they refer" (Carothers: 312). The word, i.e., the spoken word, is an event. It is because of this power of the living word to become effective in the act of speaking that it has since preliterate time been considered magic. If Jesus was indeed at home in the oral medium, his utterances were not made with a conscious regard for literary fixation. The oral performer has no need for texts and does not speak with an eye toward verbal conservation (Lord: 22). The thesis, repeated time and again, that Jesus taught for the benefit of the disciples' retention and a posthumous literary preservation /5/, is unlikely when measured against the standards of oral culture. Together with all oral performers he shared the risk that his words would not only be misunderstood or distorted, but vanish the moment they were uttered. The climactic

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spontaneity of the spoken words exacted the price of an immediate loss—unless a social mechanism existed which facilitated continuity. 5.2 Unlike Socrates, Jesus did not have a single literary heir to preserve and collect the master's words. There is no evidence that any of his personal followers confined the living words to parchment. This is not to revive the romantic notion of the illiterate Galilean fishermen, but it means that although many disciples may well have been literate, their mental habits were nevertheless controlled by oral culture. The model of a school tradition which implies a "preoccupation with teaching, learning, studying, and writing" (Culpepper: 259) may well apply to Matthew in the 80s (Stendahl) and to John in the 90s (Culpepper: 261-290), but not to the beginnings of the movement in the 30s. It is a commonplace that the theory of apostolic eye-witnesses explains neither the dynamic process of the synoptic tradition nor the genesis of Mark. It is a late first century C.E. theologoumenon, and one of its first architects was Luke, the author of Acts (1:1-4). What amounted to a modern revision of the apostolic eyewitness theory, the thesis advanced by Gerhardsson (1961, 1964) and Riesenfeld (1959, 1970) to the effect that Jesus made his disciples memorize his words according to the model of rabbinic transmission, has met with massive resistance. Fundamentally, Gerhardsson's and Riesenfeld's version of oral transmission betrays a heavy Chirograph!cal bias, thus paying lip service to the authentic processes of orality. 6.0 To say that the process of oral transmission is one of conscious learning by heart is to misapprehend the ground rules of oral culture. As words are carried by people and spoken to people, an interaction develops between the words, the carriers of the words, and the hearers of the words. Continuity and survival of the words is contingent on the nature of this interaction. If sayings

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of Jesus struck a responsive chord in the hearts of his followers, these followers—relishing the truth of the sayings—may not only remember these sayings, but may transmit them to others. Thus was set into motion the process of oral transmission. If, furthermore, these followers of Jesus, who had turned into speakers of his words, carried them to a new audience and managed to captivate their listeners, then the survival--at least for the time being—of the words was guaranteed. Such were the beginnings of oral tradition. The existence and continuation of an oral tradition was thus intimately connected with its social relevance and social acceptance. Success, or more exactly, continuation of oral tradition depended on the existential intensity with which the message articulated and consolidated the experiences of those who conveyed and heard the words. Primarily those sayings, parables, miracles, and apophthegms had a chance of survival which could become a focus of identification for transmitters and hearers alike /6/. In short, oral tradition is controlled by the law of social identification, rather than by the technique of verbatim memorization. 6.1 The scope of our reflections will not permit but two examples to illustrate the rule of social identification in oral transmission. The first example adopts and carries further the insights developed by Theissen in his by now famous article on "Itinerant Radicalism" (1973:245271) /7/. Theissen's study focused on sayings—mostly from Q, or Q and Mark—which offend man's deeply rooted sense of belonging to place and home (Matt 8:20/Luke 9:58), the spirit of conventional family piety (Matt 10:37/Luke 14:26; Matt 8:22/Luke 9:60), and natural feelings of respect for and pride in property and wealth (Matt 19:24/ Luke 18:25/Mark 10:25; Matt 10:10/Luke 10:4). As Theissen properly perceived, sayings which counsel hatred toward father, mother, wife, and children, and the abandonment of home, place, fields, and possessions raise for the student of early Christian theological history the question of

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their continued believability and social survival. Why were they passed on over a period of decades until their reception into the gospels? Who could take seriously an ethic in praise of homelessness and in favor of the disruption of family life? What was the social setting for this antisocial message? 6.11 According to the rule of social identification, these antisocial sayings must have been adopted and cultivated by people for whom they rang true. Theissen argued that those who advocated this ethical radicalism could do so because it verified their own disestablished, migratory style of life. "Only on the periphery of society does this ethos have a chance, only there does it have a 'setting in life.' More to the point, it does not have a 'setting in life,' but must lead what from the outside appears to be a questionable existence on the periphery of normal life" (Theissen, 1973:252). This forces the conclusion that one has to do with early Christian itinerant prophetic personalities /8/, charismatics of homelessness, who considered themselves the loyal followers of Jesus. They had adopted Jesus' vagrant mode of living together with the very words which gave support to such a life. Consequently, they could identify with Jesus in a manner such that their voice was that of Jesus', and Jesus was present in their words: "He who hears you hears me, and he who rejects you rejects me" (Luke 10:16). As Jesus, so did they suffer the consequences of a rootless life. They were suspect in the eyes of settled society, taken for beggars and vagabonds, exposed to hunger and thirst, enduring loneliness and persecution. Plainly, the cultivation of writing and the production of texts was a world apart from the lifestyle of these prophetic transmitters of synoptic sayings. They needed no aids in writing, because they practiced the message they preached. 6.12 Their antisocial message will have found its most enthusiastic sympathizers among people who were themselves living on the periphery of society, i.e., those

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economically and socially disenfranchised and representative largely of the rebellious attitude of the country population (Theissen, 1973:264). "The synoptic transmission of antisocial sayings belongs undoubtedly to the few ancient traditions in which those groups found a voice which normally remained silent" (264) . These were the people predisposed by their very experience as outsiders to perceive and accept the ethical radicalism of poverty, homelessness, rejection, and break with family ties. The "setting in life" of the antisocial sayings will therefore have been the unsettled and—for established society— unsettling fringe, the marginal people. They will have remembered and passed on these sayings, not because they studied and memorized them, but because the message was true to their lives. 6.13 Theissen's study is impressive because it combines characteristic sayings of the synoptic tradition, a model of oral transmission, and a plausible social milieu into a grand thesis which accounts for oral transmission according to the rule of social identification. 6.2 The antisocial sayings survive mainly under extreme social circumstances. If, however, the movement is to grow, its oral representatives must seek to win over a wider and more stable audience. Because oral tradition thrives on group expectations, a more durable success hinges on oral ability to represent and appeal to collective interests. A shift from social marginality toward mainstream society will therefore involve a transfer from the extreme toward the more generally acceptable. The more typical the experience, the greater its chance of social toleration. Not only does the typical facilitate social identification, it also eases the process of oral transmission. Being accessible to the economy of mental storage, the typical lends itself to habitual memorization. Compositions in definable and relatively predictable form are therefore a well-known feature of oral culture. Orality and social world cooperate ideally through the vehicle of a formulaic mode of communication.

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6.21 Our second example illustrates the role of social identification with respect to a formulaically devised miracle story. Among the predictable traits of a synoptic miracle story the following may be listed (Bultmann: 233-260; Dibelius: 70-103; Theissen, 1974:57-81): arrival of the miracle worker, arrival of the crowds, arrival of the sick, arrival of the opponents, dramatic depiction of the sickness, prostration of the sick person and cry for help, skepticism of the bystanders, opponents' contemptuous treatment of the healer, touching or grasping by hand, utterance of a healing formula, affirmation of the miracle, dismissal of the healed person, choral acclamation. As a result of this stereotyped literary form of the miracle story, Jesus the miracle worker has become a typecast figure. He functions as a clearly identifiable, widely recognizable, and orally operable model. Jesus the miracle worker is a heroic figure who conforms to the stylized conceptualization of oral rhetoric. 6.22 The impact miracle stories have upon their audience differs from that of the antisocial sayings. As a rule, thé healed person is either released to his or her family, or encouraged to spread the good news. If he or she follows Jesus after the healing, it is a voluntary act and not burdened with the extreme injunction to abandon one's previous mode of living. Generally, miracles function so as to reintegrate the physically abnormal into mainstream society. While the antisocial sayings reinforce social marginality/ the miracles tend to remove the label of social deviancy. The miracles embrace a social world broad enough for both physical deviants and physically normal people to find social identification. It is precisely because they are acceptable to a wider stratum of the society that we cannot pinpoint their social setting with the same precision as was possible with the ' antisocial sayings. Contrary to modern conception, the miracles have a low social threshold and a high degree of social mobility.

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6.3 The formulaic quality of oral style must not suggest mechanized learning processes, for oral clichés are themselves—according to the rule of social identification—adjustable to audiences. The commonplace tradition of oral culture is not to be confused with literal consistency, because literalness "which has almost become a fetish with literary scholars" (Lord: 4) is foreign to the oral medium. No single trait or formula is sacrosanct. There are virtually limitless possibilities for the oral performer to improvise the basic pattern of any given form or genre. He can maximize the use of stock features, fill in the intervening space with ornamental and thematic material, add introductions and conclusions. "New information and new experiences are continually grafted on inherited models" (Havelock: 122). The net result can indeed be a penchant for the copious, a tendency in favor of expansion (175). Moreover, traditions of like kind tend to enter into cluster formations (180, 185). Variations on a genre and variations even on clusters of genres are a hallmark of oral style. From this perspective, it is significant that the very material which is most likely to come from pre-Markan tradition appears in collections of genres: miracles (Kuhn: 191-213), parables (Kuhn: 99-146; Marxsen, 1955:255-271), apophthegmatic controversy stories (Albertz: 53-98), and logoi (Bultmann: 73-179). To find two cycles of miracle stories in the background of Mark, each following a sequence of similar yet different stories (Achtemeier, 1970, 1972), is precisely what one would expect from oral techniques of storing and transmitting knowledge. This clustering technique results from the oral habit of analogical or associative thinking (Ong, 1967:84-85; Havelock: 183-185; Lord: 159). Strung together by thematic association, the stories form a succession of single impressions or "pluralized instances" (Havelock: 218). In the absence of a sense of continuous causality, the clustering constitutes the oral equivalent of plot. This oral logic for like to attract like is ill-equipped

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to form the gospel sequence. A perceptual chasm separates the oral, associative thinking from Mark's causal thinking as it is expressed in his gospel's sequential pattern. 7.0 If one assumes a process of oral transmission controlled by professionals schooled in the art of verbal memorization, the line of oral succession will remain intact irrespective of social repercussions. If, however, one acknowledges the peculiar dialectics of oral culture and social realities, the rejection of a tradition is as much to be expected as its acceptance. Granted that all oral life is exposed to and implicated in the caprices of social dynamics, discontinuity will as much be the rule as continuity. Not all the words of Jesus will have met with full enthusiasm among his followers. Mark, the writer of a text, has given us a penetrating insight into the hazards of oral transmission by his portrayal of the disciples. Peter and the disciples in Mark hear only what they are capable of hearing and what conforms to their social-eschatological expectations. Whatever Mark's own sources and authorities, he cannot and does not claim to depend on the disciples' testimony. This Markan sensitivity to failing discipleship—the failure, that is, to hear and appropriate what is being said—dramatizes the second law of oral tradition, the rule of social rejection or preventive censorship /9/. If a message is entirely alien to the audience, or a matter of indifference, or socially unacceptable, it will not be continued in its original form. It will either have to be altered, i.e., adjusted to prevailing social expectations, or eliminated altogether. This fundamental oral phenomenon of forgetting or amnesia has not been adequately taken into account by NT scholars whose predisposition was and still is to focus on the survival and continuity of oral traditions. The rule of social rejection or preventive censorship, if taken seriously, demands that a, tradition which does not overcome the social threshold leading to communal

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acceptance is doomed to extinction. While it may be more difficult by the nature of the case to document this ebbing of a tradition, loss and discontinuity are undeniably as much a part of oral life as development and continuity. 7.1 While the oral repertoire is capable of growth and expansion, it is fully as susceptible to motions in the opposite direction, to condensation and shrinking. In the latter case, the oral performer minimizes his use of stock features, shuns all frills and flourishes, and prunes the story of anything that exceeds its elementary character. This "selective retention of information" (Abel: 272) is a datum derived from psychological studies of oral transmission (Allport and Postman). A story may be told with a flair for detail, frequent repetitions and digressions. But the hearer may want to protect himself from forgetting by holding on to the "bare bones" of the story. He or she will remember only its essential features, and in this way grasp the message unencumbered by surplus weight. One can well imagine a prophetic figure maximizing his oral performance in relatively ornate style, and his audience, hitherto unacquainted with the news, reducing the prophetic message to its most common denominator. Precisely for the purpose of assuring a tradition's continuity, "the general form or outline of a story remains intact, but fewer words and fewer original details are preserved" (Abel: 276). 7.2 Apart from the two oral trends of growth and loss, expansion and compression, a multiplicity of tendencies exists which do not strictly move in either direction. Stock features are combined and reshuffled in endless variations, one theme is substituted for another, the order of sequence is changed, features are adopted from related or unrelated materials, variant compositions are forever in the making (Lord). Taken as a whole, the oral medium shows many faces and betrays multilateral inclinations. It exhibits "an insistent, conservative urge" (120) for

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preservation of essential knowledge. It can border on carelessness in its predisposition to abandon ideas that are not met with social approval. Or it can show infinite flexibility in its ability to shape the form and content of a message so as to make it compatible with social needs. It can also exercise powers of innovation by creating and attracting fresh material. Last but not least, it appears unpredictable in the manner in which it alters the directions of its course. 7.3 We have sketched out the oral profile and social engagement of only two forms of the synoptic tradition, the antisocial sayings and the miracles. According to a ground rule of form criticism, each form, and in many cases each subsidiary form, manifests its distinct behavior. This polymorphism of oral histories corresponds to a diversity of social settings and experiences. Despite the obvious complexity of orality in general and synoptic orality in particular, historians of early Christian traditions have been prone to operate with the model of a tightly formed community of people living at one spot in virtual social isolation. This view was recently revived by Ellis who spoke of "three decades" of a "closely knit religious community" (306). Awareness of the nature of oral tradition and of the function of prophetic figures as carriers of early Christian traditions has rendered this model of single place and single mind unworkable. Itinerant prophets who promoted the clustering of collective memories around Jesus were primarily responsible for the speeding up of the process of religious and geographical proliferation. Unbound by place and authorized by the Spirit, rather than by local authorities, they facilitated a rapid if irregular spread of traditions. 7.4 From the start, these traditions were subject to the rules which govern all oral commerce with social life. Some came to an abrupt halt at one place only to be revived at another, while others may have gently coasted into oblivion never to be recollected again. Some traditions

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arrived in relatively unbroken fashion in the gospels, while many made it only after undergoing more or less drastic metamorphoses. The oral history prior to Mark is a pulsating phenomenon, expanding and contracting, waxing and waning, progressing and regressing. Its general behavior is not unlike that of the stock market, rising and subsiding at more or less unpredictable intervals and curiously interwoven with social and political realities. Or, to use a different metaphor, the oral synoptic traditions represent proliferating tracks going into different directions, some intersecting, some running together and apart again, some fading, some fading and resurging, but altogether not an inevitable forward march controlled by the law of intrinsic causality. This multilateral concept of pre-Markan orality was, interestingly enough, grasped by the very scholar who pioneered the redaction critical study of the gospel of Mark, W. Marxsen. His understanding of Markan theology and Markan textuality led him to challenge the form critical model of pre-Markan orality and to insist that "the traditional material scatters into every direction" (1969:17). Precisely in every direction, diffusive more than narrowly evolutionary. 7.5 Overall, a paradigm of the pre-canonical, synoptic tradition emerges which is at variance with Bultmann's model of persistent growth toward the gospel formation. Not only is it not possible to recover the pure or original oral form amidst the ebbing and flowing of oral tides, but the very concept of an "original form" contradicts the facts of oral life. Variability and fluidity, evanescence and unpredictability—despite a formulaic mode of expression—characterizes the pattern of oral transmission. With a multidirectional bearing constituting the major trend of the tradition, a veering away from simplicity toward complexity can at most be considered but one of many tendencies. To view the oral mainstream of pre-Markan history as an unbroken trajectory toward textuality betrays the logic of hindsight, giving credit to Mark's oral ancestors that is due more to Mark himself.

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7.51 The principal regulatory mechanism governing the synoptic tradition is something very different from promoting moves in the direction toward textuality. What characterizes orality, in distinction from textuality, is its intimate and creative association with social life. Oral words are ratified, censured, or forgotten in a succession of concrete situations. This give-and-take between orality and audience responses and pressures produces a homeostatic balance (Goody: 28-34), an equilibrium that is between language and communal experiences, semantic and social realities. To sustain this equilibrium is the chief regulatory mechanism of all oral life, including that of the synoptic tradition. But it has nothing to do with an immanent, evolutionary drive from oral simplicity toward textual complexity. 8.0 That Mark owes much to his oral past is evident. No one wholly escapes one's early past. Oral deposits are most conspicuous in the first thirteen chapters of the gospel, but less so in the passion narrative which constitutes a more densely constructed textuality /10/. Many of the gospel's individual forms and genres are recognizable as orally fixed and manageable compositions. We have already adverted to the existence in the gospel of controversy stories (Mark 2), parables (Mark 4), miracles (Mark 4-6), apophthegms (Mark 10), and logoi (Mark 13). Their presence in cluster-like density betrays Markan indebtedness to the oral habit of hoarding like experiences. The simple linking together of sentences by kai parataxis, the habitual use of euthys, the preference for direct speech, the predominance of the historical present, the lack of an artistically reflected prose, an incomplete characterization of the Jesus figure, the gospel's exposition as a series of events, and little enthusiasm for the abstract—these and many other features indicate Markan allegiance to the vitality of the spoken word.

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8.1 Recognizing this heavy oral substratum underlying Mark and the synoptic gospels, Theissen suggested that they be assigned a place halfway between orality and literacy (1974:189-196). He preferred to define the gospel medium as written (or literate) orality, "verschriftlichte mündliche Überlieferung" (195), i.e., participating in the oral and written world alike. The very existence, and indeed accumulation, of oral features in a text, however, does not necessarily justify a concept of cultural intermediacy which seems closely related to that of Kleinliteratur. In the history of the transformation of the word—not unlike that of personality development—"each succeeding stage does not destroy but builds on and thereby reorganizes and reinforces the preceding stage" (Ong, 1967:104). The new developmental stage of Markan textuality absorbed oral forms and features into a medium which itself is no longer governed by oral drives. That a literary mentality has taken control over and restructured oral mentality is what redaction and literary criticism of the gospels attempt to demonstrate. If, on the one hand, it must be said that oral patterns have survived into the Markan text, it must, on the other hand, likewise be stated that Mark has lifted them onto a new conceptual level. 9.0 Mark's vast assemblage of literary forms, dramatic characters, and human experiences, unprecedented—as far as is known—among pre-Markan synoptic traditions, enlarges the vision of what is possible and what is permissible. The Jesus figure, built up of a series of more or less typical traits, comprises an altogether complex character, transcending the typical and bordering on the unique. Such diverse attributes have been united in him that he appears to embrace contradiction almost as a principle (Kelber, 1976:112-113 [= Dewey], 175-176, 179-180). Perhaps the most artistically contrived characters are the disciples whose persistent misconception of Jesus' mission

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and message features prominently in the gospel. Increasingly, redaction and literary critical studies of the gospel suggest that it is this discipleship motif which gives dramatic coherence and unity to Mark's amassment of heterogeneous materials (Weeden: 20-51; Kelber, 1974: 82-84, 132-147; Bilezikian:_79-106; Tannehill: 391-405; Petersen: 49-80). 9.01 Mark intoned the Kingdom leitmotif at Jesus' opening address (1:14-15), offering thematic guidance from the outset. He threaded a journey which drew hitherto unrelated experiences onto the path of a single life. To further reinforce a sense of linear causality, he punctuated the gospel's mid-section, the way from Caesarea Philippi to Jerusalem, with gestures of spatial orientation (8:27; 9:30, 33; 10:1, 17, 52) and passion sayings (8:31, 9:31, 10:33-34) which point forward like arrows to cross and resurrection. Although Mark does not entertain speculative interests in space and time as such, he has ordered items along a line of temporal sequentiality and into a spatial configuration which allows for an extension of cognitive powers into areas formerly not or only partially occupied by orality. 9.1 All aspects of oral culture undergo transformation as they are enlisted in the service of the gospel text. The Markan meaning of the miracles is no longer limited to their oral function as divine man demonstrations of power. In the gospel they have come to stand within a broad frame of spatial references. Located on either side of the lake of Galilee, and distributed over Jewish and Gentile territory, the miracles divinize the land and unify its Jewish-Gentile population (Kelber, 1974:45-^65). Jesus' sayings do not operate in the gospel text as orally living words, efficaciously and instantaneously. Deprived of direct audience participation and shorn of their power of immediacy, they have ceased to be of the same order of reality as the matters to which they refer. Their meaning

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is controlled by the narrative context, and they find a way to the public's heart only through the medium of the gospel's textuality. 9.2 The correlation between the assimilation of heterogeneous materials into gospel textuality and a strengthening of authorial individuality is evident. Having synthesized diverse collective interests, Mark has ceased to be the spokesman of any single collective interest group. In the words of Ong, "writing and print isolate the individual or, if you prefer, liberate him from the tribe" (1967:88). With writing Mark's direct loyalties to social interest have decreased, and his ability to escape and disregard social censorship has increased. The absorbing and transcending quality of the written medium has enabled him to "detribalize" (135) himself. Writing, in short, has allowed him to disrupt the precarious balance between spoken and social realities, or, more accurately, we shall see, to exploit an already disrupted homeostatic balance. Released from direct audience control, he has taken a stand outside or above it, operating from a literary distance. He hides behind his composition whose relation to his own concrete situation is difficult to assess. Less dependent on shared knowledge, he can draw more on his own resources. This is, however, nothing less than saying that with Mark we witness a breakthrough from collectivity toward individual authorship in the synoptic tradition. 9.3 Mark, builder of the house of gospel, is no mere custodian guarding the collective memories of the past. What is remarkable about his dealings with traditions is not the limit they impose upon him, but the license he takes with them. They are treated less as authorities to be obeyed, and more as witnesses to be interrogated. The past functions as a source of opportunities, usable and convertible, and not as an evolutionary force ordaining the present. Facing his traditions with discrimination.

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Mark's composition is thus more in conflict than in continuity with his oral past. While prior to Mark the oral drives were multidirectional, Mark has bent them into a single direction. Redirecting and controlling the natural proclivities of orality, Mark has arrived at a systematic achievement which the pre-canonical synoptic traditions were not able to produce out of their multiple oral wills. 9.4 With writing comes permanence. Those values and styles and experiences which are woven into the gospel text are destined to survive, but in a medium environment removed from oral life. The evanescent nature of the spoken word is voided by "the secret of making the word immortal" (Havelock: 140). A particular perspective of the life and death of Jesus is made "safe," fortified against oral decay, variability, and amnesia, rescued from homeostatic adjustments, and fixed to be studied, copied, and disseminated. This heralds the beginning of a manuscript mentality which deals with original form, copies, and textual accuracy—all notions foreign to the oral medium. 9.5 But the permanence of the gospel text, as all permanence, is bought at a high price. To achieve the state of written immortality, Mark has had to forfeit oral life and agility. His sympathy with sundry forms and values is deceptive, since his ulterior motive aims at binding oral plurality into a single purpose, his purpose. It is precisely this single-minded textual performance which puts him out of touch with the multiplicity of individual interests attended to by the oral medium. For this reason, the gospel is unable to serve in the manner of orality, and cannot be a substitute for it. 9.51 It comes as no surprise, therefore, that Mark, and Matthew, and Luke do little to stem the oral flow of synoptic folk memories. The ongoing existence of synoptic orality was documented by Koester in his study of the synoptic tradition in the Apostolic Fathers (1957).

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Koester found literal synoptic quotations to be rare in the Apostolic Fathers (95-150 C E . ) . As a rule, one encounters variants which are explicable as "freie Oberlieferung," i.e., oral transmission, rather than as textual derivatives. Indeed, Koester showed in case after case that the synoptic material in the Apostolic Fathers harks back to and links up with the pre-Markan, oral phase of the tradition. During the first half of the second century the gospels have not yet risen to the status of authority empowered to challenge, let alone stem, the tide of synoptic orality. It is not until the middle of the second century, beginning with Justin Martyr, that the synoptic gospels, especially Matthew and Luke, become "scriptural" authorities consciously vying with oral transmission. 10.0 In summing up, one will first have to state that Mark as a written text is grounded in and surrounded by oral traditions. Synoptic oral traditions precede the gospel, bypass the gospel, and continue long after its composition. The gospel itself is to be located in relation to oral culture neither at the summit of oral drives, nor at the point of oral exhaustion, but in the midst of oral life. By and large, the pre-Markan oral traditions diverge into a multiplicity of forms and directions. The laws which govern the transmission of oral traditions do not allow for a consistent process of accretion toward the single goal of gospel composition. The diffusive, multidirectional nature of oral history suggests that it is only by hindsight that the gospel appears the logical outcome of oral processes. While the gospel is linked with oral life by a network of connections, the past states of synoptic orality cannot account *for the present state of gospel textuality. It is from a point beyond oral processes that oral drives are selected, directed, and induced to converge into the new medium of textuality and to form a stable interior organization. The center of causation and the agent of gospel production is thus extraneous

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to, and indeed in tension with, the waxing and waning of oral life. The clues to the gospel must therefore be sought more with Mark, Markan textuality, and Mark's social milieu and mental horizon, than with the gospel's oral precursors. 11.0 There are clues to the effect that the Markan gospel registers strains and tension in relation to authoritative carriers of oral tradition. We have already adverted to Mark's disenchantment with the disciples' performance as hearers of Jesus' words. According to Markan logic, the disciples can have no part in the process of passing on words of Jesus. It is possible, from this perspective, to interpret the evangelist's dissociation with the disciples as a way of breaking the flow of oral transmission at its crucial inception. 11.1 Apart from the disciples, who stand at the outset of oral transmission, Mark repudiates representatives of the living word who are much closer to his own situation. In chapter thirteen of the gospel, christs and prophets are singled out for repudiation by the Markan Jesus. Analysis of this chapter has shown that the full identity of these messianic, prophetic personalities is to be derived from 13:5b-6, 21-22, Markan framing verses which describe one and the same group of personalities (Pesch: 107-118). These messianic prophets perform eschatological signs and miracles (13:22), but they are also proclaimers, men with a message who make pronouncements in the name of Jesus (13:6). Their prophetic ego eimi style discloses that they stress identification with Jesus to such a degree that he is re-presented in their message as the living Lord. It is for this reason primarily that Mark opposes these prophets as false christs, men who erroneously effected the presence of Christ in the community. It is safe to assume that in their particular belief, anyone who rejected them and their message ran the risk of rejecting the living Lord.

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

41

11.11 The prophets' application of the oral medium for the purpose of materializing the real presence of Christ conforms with what is generally known about the hermeneutical principle of the genre of logoi. The authority of the logoi rested on the assumption "that the teacher is present in the word which he has spoken" (Koester, 1971: 138-139). If, as in the case of Mark 13:5b-6, 21-22, the speakers identify with Jesus, then Jesus himself is incarnated in their words. Moreover, Theissen's study on itinerant charismatics (1973) has demonstrated that it is prophets who can use logoi to just this effect /ll/. It is possible to conclude, therefore, that the prophets in the background of Mark 13:5b-6, 21-22 maximize the powers of the oral medium to effect the presence of Jesus, the living Christ. 11.12 More than any other part in the gospel, chapter thirteen, the Markan apocalypse, constitutes the neuralgic point which touches most directly on the author's life situation. The prophetically announced realization of the presence of Jesus provided a crucial negative stimulus for the gospel composition. From the viewpoint of Mark, the crisis triggered by the Christ prophets appeared under at least two aspects. 11.2 The prophets over-represented Jesus and thereby discredited his status as the living Lord. In the view of Mark, the full presence of Jesus was brutally disconfirmed by the spectacle of war and persecution (13:7-13), the destruction of the temple (13:2, 14), and the dispersion of the people (13:15-20). In the first part of the apocalypse, Mark defused a historical consciousness pregnant with eschatological hopes (13:7b, 8c, 13b), thereby exposing the prophetic message as false. Having taken the concept of realized eschatology out of the mouth of the prophets, Mark in the second part (13:24-27) announced the presence of Jesus as an event of the future. In the third part (.13:28-37), he protected the reconstructed future against prophetic errors by assuring the unpredictability of future fulfillment.

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11.21 While chapter thirteen articulates the specific refutation of the "plenipotentiaries of Christ" (Weeden: 80), the gospel as a whole seems to take an evasive posture toward the real presence of Jesus. As is well known, the risen Lord does not appear in the gospel, let alone proclaim his presence in the word. He is "not only absent, he is silent" (Boring, 1977:7). That the absence of a resurrection appearance story is not fortuituous, but connected with the purpose of the Markan composition, has recently been pointed out in a number of Markan studies (Weeden: 83-90; Kelber, 1976:135-152 [= Crossan]; Boring, 1977:6-7). The connection is between the prophets' orally induced presence of Jesus and Mark's desire to protect the present from a prematurely contrived presence of Jesus. There is a deep sense in which the resurrected Jesus must not make an appearance in the gospel. 11.3 The second aspect of the crisis triggered by the Christ prophets concerns their concept and use of the spoken word. From the viewpoint of Mark, they had discredited the status of logoi. In rejecting the prophets, Mark, composer of written words, will have rejected their use of oral words. If indeed he was in tension with what he conceived as abuses of the spoken logoi, one might expect him to select and treat the genre of logoi with caution, perhaps with reserve. This is what has recently been suggested by Boring (1977). The author proceeded from the well-known fact of the paucity of sayings in Mark. By his own count, the Markan sayings material comprises 27.5%, the Matthaean sayings 55.2%, and the Lukan sayings 48.5% of the totals of their respective gospels. From the view of source criticism, this relative paucity of logoi in Mark has long been one of the obstacles to full acceptance of the classic two-source hypothesis and the complementary theses of Markan priority and a pre-Markan dating of Q as an autonomous logoi source. Indeed, if Mark is the oldest gospel, and Q, in whatever form, existed prior to Mark, why this scarcity of logoi in Mark? According to Boring,

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

43

the relative scarcity of Jesus logoi in the gospel results from its author's deliberately reserved attitude toward the sayings genre and the religious posture represented by it. "Mark has so few sayings of Jesus because he is suspicious of Christian prophecy as it is present in his community and expressed in his sayings tradition" (Boring, 1977:4). 11.31 It is remarkable that in the two instances where Mark collected logoi into full-blown speech complexes (4:1-34, 13:5-37), his Jesus speaks of eschatology, indicating a sensitivity toward the issue of logoi and their power to effect fullness of time. But it is even more astounding that both speeches function so as to disallow any immediate sense of fulfillment. The Galilean speech (4:1-34) articulates the massive failure of the logoi in the present /12/ and promises fulfillment in the future realization of the Kingdom. The Jerusalem speech (13:537), as we observed, extricates false Kingdom hopes from past and present involvement, and projects the presence of the Son of Man into the future. In both instances, therefore, where Mark comes closest to employing the prophetic medium of logoi in full, these logoi operate contrary to their original prophetic function: instead of maximizing, they minimize the fullness of time. This further suggests an awareness on the part of Mark of the—for him—problematic sounding of words for the purpose of effecting full time. 11.32 That there is a sense in which Jesus is present in the Markan community is suggested by such verses as 8:35 and 10:29. The clause "for my (Jesus') sake and for the sake of the gospel" indicates continuity from the Jesus of the past through the gospel into the Markan present. And yet, this extension of Jesus into the present is accomplished not by oral transmission, but through the gospel text. Jesus is no longer fully understood, let alone represented, by the direct speaking of words and the

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instantaneous hearing of words. He is mediated indirectly through the textual medium. The logoi have to function within the new genre of euaggelion. There is no indication in this euaggelion that the logoi would be allowed to perform their authentic oral role. Perhaps the clearest evidence for the presence of Jesus is provided by Mark 9:37: "Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me." Social ethics more than the oral medium has become an effective carrier of the presence of Jesus. 11.4 In the perspectives we have been developing, the conflict between the gospel's author and early Christian prophets is intelligible in depth as one between the written and the oral medium. Spoken words attained their highest level of oral efficaciousness in the form of prophetic ego eimi proclamations. At the moment of their utterance, these words became a Jesus event happening in the midst of their hearers. Yet it was precisely this maximal performance of prophetic orality which stretched social identification to the breaking point. As social experiences under the impact of the war years grew further and further apart from the prophets' oral deeds, a crisis in confidence was inevitable /13/. The prophets' failure to adjust to deteriorating circumstances, finally, undermined both their credibility and faith in the power of their words. Orality could no longer deal with the crisis because orality had shown itself to be a major part of the problem. Mark's very choice of the textual medium may thus be seen in connection with the crisis of the living words. It is the word in a new medium key, transformed into the permanence of writing, which responds to the collapse of the homeostatic balance. 11.5 In the face of anxiety and destruction of faith, the gospel text reconstitutes stability and reliability. The text as text assures a degree of permanence wholly unattainable in the world of oral uncertainties. Furthermore, it is one of the essential functions of the gospel

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

45

that it facilitates a return to the arche tou euaggeliou tou lesou Christou (1:1). This return to the beginning treats the oral failure to assure the presence of Jesus by restoring the authority of Jesus as one essentially belonging to the past /14/. The gospel text recaptures the past of Jesus as his authentic presence. It was then, in Galilee and in Jerusalem, that he lived, walked, spoke, performed deeds of power, suffered, died and rose. The text further allows Mark to distance himself from the oral trauma and to escape the immediacy of the crisis. By writing about the crisis, he can incorporate it into the larger literary arrangement; this broadening of the vision in turn invites a reading of the crisis in perspective. The immediacy of the dilemma is thereby checked and the oral trauma mitigated. At the same time, the written text weakens the sense of Jesus' presence, an effect desired by Mark and reinforced by the absence of a resurrection appearance story. The Jesus logoi, divested of their power of spontaneity, have become integral parts of the story line. They function contextually within a developing narrative, and have thereby ceased to be living words */15/. The story's sequentiality, finally, points a way out of the present crisis to hope and futurity. 11.6 There exists a deep connection between the Markan text and the crisis of the spoken word touched off by the prophets. The textually facilitated return to the past, the reconstruction of Jesus' past authority, Mark's distancing himself from the immediacy of the crisis, the deflation of aspects of realized eschatology, the absence of a resurrection appearance story, Mark's reservation toward logoi, the de-eschatologizing function of the two speech complexes, Mark's dismissal of the disciples and the prophets, the personal and charismatic heirs of Jesus, as legitimate representatives of oral transmission—these and other features combine to offset the dilemma created by Jesus' oral over-representation and the ensuing crisis in confidence. Together these features appear to provide

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internal Markan evidence in support of the principal thesis of this study that the gospel is to be perceived not as the natural outcome of oral developments, but as a critical alternative to the powers of orality.

Kelber: Mark and Oral Tradition

47

NOTES /!/ In view of the commonly known difficulties per­ taining to the standard English translation of Bultmann's History of the Synoptic Tradition, all quotations are offered in our own translation. The page citations refer the reader to the 8th edition of the German original. /2/ In describing the productive power of controversy dialogues, Bultmann defined this tendency as "the flexible motivational pattern regulating the propagation of tradi­ tion" (53 η. 6 ) . In detailing the expansion of and addi­ tion to sayings, he stated: "The more or less [of a pro­ clivity toward expansion] is debatable, but the general tendency of the tradition is in my judgment beyond ques­ tion" (97). /3/ The standard translation of this sentence is entirely erroneous. Bultmann wrote that the gospel "ist erwachsen aus dem immanenten [sic] Entwicklungstriebe" (399) . The standard translation reads: "It has grown out of the imminent [sic] urge to development" (1963:373). /4/ Güttgemanns judged the possibility of pre-Markan textuality "an unprovable hypothesis" (89 n. 4 5a). /5/ Most recently, E. Earle Ellis reiterated the thesis of a more or less continuous literary tradition from the start. Jesus "instructed his followers in his new understanding of Scripture" (314), and his own teachings were designed for the disciples' retention (303). The author rejected the entire thesis of an "oral period" prior to Mark, arguing that "an extensive complex of written Gospel material must be assumed for the pre-Markan period" (302). /6/ The possibility is not to be dismissed that a group retains materials precisely because it cannot identify with them. The general rule of oral transmission, however, will have been social identification, not the lack of it. /I/ Because of the abridged (footnotes) and—in our judgment—deficient nature of the English translation, we offer our own translation. The citations refer the reader to the German original. /8/ Amos Wilder, among others, had envisioned "the strong possibility that the earliest years of the primitive community were dominated by the Christian prophets and by charismatic authority" (5). A systematic study of early Christian prophecy is being presently undertaken by Eugene M. Boring (1972, 1973, 1976, 1977).

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/9/ The technical term "Präventivzensur" is quoted by Theissen (1973:247η. 8). It was coined by P. Bogatyrev and R. Jakobson: "The study of folklore must always keep in mind the basic concept of the preventive censorship of the community" ,(903) . /10/ Conventionally, the textual density of Mark 14-16 was explained in terms of a pre-Markan textual tradition. Recent insights into the thoroughly redactional nature of the Markan passion narrative refute the conventional ex­ planation, but raise a new question: Why is Mark more con­ spicuously dependent on oral tradition in his literary appropriation of the life of Jesus (Mark 1-13) than in that of the death of Jesus (Mark 14-16)? /Il/ We do not assume a sociological, or even theo­ logical, identification of Theissen's itinerant prophets with the prophetic figures in the background of Mark's gospel. We do assume, however, that both types of prophets were oral performers who incarnated the presence of Jesus in their logoi. /12/ Eight of the fifteen Markan references to ho logos in the absolute sense occur in the interpretation of the parable of the sower, Mark 4:14-20. /13/ On a connection between a crisis in confidence and a communication change from oral to written, see Nielsen (60-61). /14/ Käsemann perceived the gospel composition as a return to and retrieval of the past in view of a presentoriented enthusiasm (41). /15/ Trocmé observed a connection between Mark's reserve toward the sayings genre and his gospel enterprise: "In order to break the hold of 'the sayings of Jesus,' the author of Mark resorted to a semi-biographical presentation of Jesus and his real intentions" (85).

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WORKS CONSULTED Abel, Ernest L. 1971

"The Psychology of Memory and Rumor Transmission and their Bearing on Theories of Oral Transmission in Early Christianity." JR 51: 270-281.

Achtemeier, Paul J. "Toward the Isolation of Pre-Markan 1970 Miracle Catenae." JBL 89: 265-291. 1972

"The Origin and Function of the PreMarcan Miracle Catenae." JBL 91: 198-221.

1975

Mark. Proclamation Commentaries. Philadelphia: Fortress.

Albertz, Martin 1921

Die synoptischen Ein Beitrag zur Urchristentums.

Allport, Gordon, and Leo Postman 1947 The Psychology Henry Holt.

Streitgespräche. Formgeschichte des Berlin: Trowitzsch. of

Rumor.

New York:

Bilezikian, Gilbert G. The Liberated Gospel. A Comparison of 1977 the Gospel of Mark and Greek Tragedy. Grand Rapids: Baker Book House. Bogatyrev, P., and R. Jakobson "Die Folklore als eine besondere Form 1929 des Schaffens." Pp. 900-913 in Donum Natalicium Schrijnen. Nijmegen/ Utrecht: N. V. Dekker & Van de Vegt. Boring, Eugene M. 1972

"How may we identify Oracles of Christian Prophets in the Synoptic Tradition? Mark 3:28-29 as a Test Case." JBL 91: 501-521.

1973

"'What are we looking for?' Toward a Definition of the Term 'Christian Prophet.»" Pp. 142-151 in SBL 1973 Proceedings 2. Missoula, MT: Scholars Press.

1976

"Christian Prophecy and Matthew 10:23: A Test Case." Pp. 127-133 in SBL 1976 Proceedings. Missoula, MT: Scholars Press.

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Boring, Eugene M. 1977

Bultmann, Rudolf 1970

Carothers, J. C. 1959 Cuiley, Robert C. 1976a

1976b (ed.)

Culpepper, R. Alan 1975

Dibelius, Martin n.d. Donahue, John R. 1973

Ellis, E. Earle 1975

"The Paucity of Sayings in Mark: A Hypothesis." Unpublished manuscript presented at Regional Southwestern Conference of SBL, Spring. Vie Geschichte der synoptischen Tradi­ tion. 8th ed. FRLANT 29, Ν.F. 12 (Eng. trans.. The History of the Synoptic Tradition, New York: Harper, 1963) . "Culture, Psychiatry, and the Written Word." Psychiatry 22: 307-320. Studies in the Structure of Hebrew Narrative. Semeia Supplements 3. Missoula: Scholars Press. Semeia 5: Oral Tradition and Old Testament Studies. Missoula: Scholars Press. The Johannine School: An Evaluation of the Johannine-School Hypothesis Based on an Investigation of the Nature of Ancient Schools. SBLDS 26, Missoula: Scholars Press. From Tradition Scribner's.

to

Gospel,

New York:

Are You the Christ? The Trial Narra­ tive in the Gospel of Mark. SBLDS 10. Missoula: Scholars Press. "New Directions in Form Criticism." Pp. 299-315 in Jesus Christus in Historie und Geschichte. Neutestamentliche Festschrift für Hans Conzelmann zum 60. Geburtstag. Ed. Georg Strecker. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck).

Fascher, Erich Oie formgesòhichtliche Methode. Eine Darstellung und Kritik. BZNW 2. Giessen: Alfred Töpelmann.

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Finnegan, Ruth 1977

Gager, John G. 1975

51

Oral Poetry. Its Nature, Significance and Social Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Kingdom and Community. The Social World of Early Christianity. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall.

Gerhardsson, Birger 1961 Memory and Manuscript. Oral Tradition and Written Transmission in Rabbinic Judaism and Early Christianity. Acta Seminarli Neotestamentici Upsaliensis XXII. Lund: C.W.K. Gleerup/Copenhagen : Ejnar Munksgaard. 1964

Goody, Jack, ed. 1968

Tradition and Transmission in Early Christianity. Coniectanea Neotestamentica XX. Lund: C.W.K. Gleerup. Literacy in Traditional Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge University.

Güttgemanns, Erhardt 1971 Offene Fragen zur Formgeschichte des Evangeliums. Eine methodologische Skizze der Grundlagenproblematik der Form- und Redaktions geschieht e. Beiträge zur evangelischen Theologie 54. 2nd ed., rev. Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag. Havelock, Eric A. 1963 Käsemann, Ernst 1969

Kelber, Werner H. 1974 1976 (ed.) Kirk, G. S. 1962

Preface to Plato, Belknap Press.

Cambridge, MA:

"Blind Alleys in the 'Jesus of History' Controversy." Pp. 23-65 in New Testament Questions of Today. Philadelphia: Fortress. The Kingdom in Mark. A New Place and a New Time. Philadelphia: Fortress. The Passion in Mark. Studies on Mark 14-16. Philadelphia: Fortress. The Songs of Homer. Cambridge: Cambridge University.

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52 Kirk, G. S. 1976 Kline, Leslie L. 1975

Koester, Helmut 1957

1971

Homer and the Oral Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University. The Sayings of Jesus in the PseudoClementine Homilies. SBLDS 14. Missoula: Scholars Press. Synoptische Überlieferung bei den Apostolischen Vätern. Texte und Untersuchungen 65. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. "GNOMAI DIAPHOROI: The Origin and Nature of Diversification in the History of Early Christianity." Pp. 114157 in Trajectories through Early Christianity. J. M. Robinson and Helmut Koester. Philadelphia: Fortress.

Kuhn, Heinz-Wolfgang 1971 Ältere Sammlungen im Markus ev an g e Hum. Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments 8. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Lord, Albert B. 1960

Marxsen, Willi 1955

1969

Myres, J. L. 1926 Neusner, Jacob 1972

Nielsen, Eduard 1954

The Singer of Tales. Harvard Studies in Comparative Literature 24. Cambridge: Harvard University. "Religionsgeschichtliche Erklärung der sogenannten Parabeltheorie des Markus.' ZTK 52: 255-271. Mark the Evangelist. Eng. trans., Roy A. Harrisville et al. Nashville: Abingdon. "Folkmemory.

Folklore

37: 12-34.

"The Rabbinic Traditions about the Pharisees before 70 A.D.: The Problem of Oral Tradition." Kairos 14: 57-70. Oral Tradition: Old Testament London: SCM.

A Modern Problem in Introduction. SBT 11.

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"Parataxis in Homer."

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and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 80: 1-23.

Ong, Walter J., S.J. The Presence 1967

of the Word. Some Prolegomena for Cultural and Religious

History. New Haven/London: Yale University. 1977

Interfaces of the Word. Studies in the Evolution of Consciousness and

Culture. Ithaca/London: Cornell University. Parry, MiIman 1930

1932

"Studies in the Epic Technique of Oral Verse-Making, I: Homer and Homeric Style."

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41: 73-147.

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"Studies in the Epic Technique of Oral Verse-Making, II: The Homeric Language as the Language of Oral Poetry." Harvard Studies

in Classical

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43: 1-50. Perrin, Norman 1968a

"The Creative Use of the Son of Man Traditions by Mark." USQR 23: 357-365.

1968b

"The Son of Man in the Synoptic Tradition." Biblical Research 13: 1-23.

1971

"Towards an Interpretation of the Gospel of Mark." Pp. 1-78 in Christology

and a Modern Pilgrimage.

Ed.

Hans Dieter Betz. Claremont, CA: New Testament Colloquium. Pesch, Rudolf 1968

Naherwartungen. Tradition und Redaktion in Mk 13. Düsseldorf:

Patmos-Verlag. Petersen, Norman R. Literary 1978 Critics. Riesenfeld, Harald 1959

1970

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New Testament

Philadelphia: Fortress.

"The Gospel Tradition and its Beginnings." Pp. 43-65 in Texte und Untersuchungen 73. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. The Gospel Tradition.

Fortress.

Philadelphia:

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54 Sanders, Ε. P. 1969

The Tendencies of the Tradition. SNTSMS 9. Cambridge University.

Synoptic Cambridge:

Schmidt, Karl Ludwig "Die Stellung der Evangelien in der 1923 allgemeinen Literaturgeschichte." Pp. 50-134 in EUCHARISTERION, Gunkel Festschrift. Ed. Hans Schmidt. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Smith, Morton 1963

Sontag, Susan 1978 Stendahl, Krister 1968

"A Comparison of Early Christian and Early Rabbinic Tradition." JBL 82: 169-176. On Photography. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. The School of St. Matthew and its Use of the Old Testament. Philadelphia: Fortress.

Tannehill, Robert C. 1977 "The Disciples in Mark: The Function of a Narrative Role." JR 57: 386-405. Theissen, Gerd 1973

"Wanderradikalismus. Literatursoziologische Aspekte der Oberlieferung von Worten Jesu im Urchristentum." ZTK 70: 245-271. (Eng. trans., "Itinerant Radicalism: The Tradition of Jesus Sayings from the Perspective of the Sociology of Literature," Radical Religion 2 [1975] 84-93.)

1974

Urchristliche Wundergeschieht en. Ein Beitrag zur formgeschichtlichen Erforschung der synoptischen Evangelien. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Gerd Mohn.

1978

Sociology of Early Palestinian Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress.

Trocmé, Etienne 1975 Vansina, Jan 1965

The Formation of the Gospel According to Mark. Philadelphia: Westminster. Oral Tradition. Methodology.

A Study in Historical Chicago: Aldine.

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Weeden, Theodore J. Mark-Traditi on s in Conflict. 1971 Philadelphia: Fortress. Wendland, Paul 1912 Wilder, Amos N. 1962

Die Urchristlichen Literaturformen. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck) "Form-History and the Oldest Tradition." Pp. 3-13 in Neotestamentica et Patristica, Festschrift for 0. Cullmann. Ed. W. C. Unnik. NovTSup 6. Leiden: Brill.

55

THE GOSPEL OF MARK AS NARRATIVE CHRISTOLOGY

Methodist

Robert C. Theological

Tannehill School in

Ohio

Abstract This essay investigates the narrative composition of the Gospel of Mark, especially those aspects of composition which make it a continuous, developing story and shape this story so as to influence the anticipated readers. The significance of these aspects of composition for the Gospel's presentation of Jesus Christ is emphasized. The importance of the commissions given to Jesus and the disciples is brought out, and the role relationships of Jesus to four significant groups are investigated. These relationships are developed in Mark through reiterative enrichment or through new, sometimes surprising developments. Attention is given to patterns of related scenes and to other compositional techniques which indicate emphasis and evaluation of characters and events. This includes study of the patterned use of paradox, irony, and enticement to false hope in connection with the passion announcements and passion story. There are suggestions as to the possible function of these compositional features in the author's communication with his readers. 0.1 Jesus is the central figure in the Gospel of Mark, and the author is centrally concerned to present (or re-present) Jesus to his readers so that his significance for their lives becomes clear. He does this in the form of a story. Since this is the case, we need to take seriously the narrative form of Mark in discussing this Gospel's presentation of Jesus Christ. In other words, we need ways of understanding and appreciating Mark as narrative Christology. But what should we look for? What aspects of the Gospel's narrative composition significantly shape its

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presentation of Jesus? Discerning some of the more important of these aspects is the task of this essay. 0.2 In the Gospel of Mark there is little description of the inner states of the story characters. Instead, characterization takes place through the narration of action. We learn who Jesus is through what he says and does in the context of the action of others. Therefore, the study of character (not in the sense of inner qualities but in the sense of defining characteristics as presented in the story) can only be approached through the study of plot. We must pay special attention to the main story lines which unify the Gospel, for it is not only the continuing centrality of Jesus which makes Mark a single story but also the fact that certain events can be understood as the realization or frustration of goals or tasks which are suggested early in the story. These goals or tasks (later I will use the word "commission") enable us to understand key developments as meaningful within the context of the story as a developing whole. We must also study features of composition which control the "rhetorical" dimension of the story. These features show that the story has been shaped in order to influence the readers in particular ways. 0.3 This essay is not primarily concerned with the use of Christological titles in Mark. Valuable work has already been done in this area, and I do not intend to repeat it. However, an understanding of the narrative composition of Mark may allow us to make some observations about the function of particular titles in relation to the developing narrative. For instance, the title "Son of God" does seem to have a special function in relation to Jesus' commission, as will be indicated below. 0.4 I prefer to speak of narrative composition rather than narrative structure because the latter term is increasingly associated with the methods of structuralism. While I have learned some things from structuralist analysis, this is not an essay in structuralism. Instead, I am

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59

following a path which began with the study of forceful and imaginative language in the synoptic sayings (see Tannehill, 1975). Careful study of the literary composition of the sayings, including their rhetorical and poetic features, enables the interpreter to clarify the kind of impact which particular sayings were designed to have on the hearer. Literary composition provides clues to the nature of the act of communication which the words are to make possible. It may provide clues to the speaker's purpose, the conception of the hearers and their needs, and the anticipations of response held by the speaker. It provides clues to the type of influence which the speaker wishes to exercise with regard to the hearer. And this influence may sometimes be at a deep level, challenging the hearer to radical change, so that it is appropriate to speak of a "depth rhetoric" whose goals and methods are partly akin to poetry (see Tannehill, 1975:18-19). This approach can also be applied to the Gospels as narratives, if we find appropriate ways of analyzing narrative composition and of understanding the results in the context of communication between writer and reader, which includes the (conscious or unconscious) intention to influence the reader in particular ways. The importance and danger of stories which exercise such influence becomes clear when we recognize that we understand our own lives and the lives of others by shaping them into stories, and the shapes of our life stories can be influenced by stories which we read or hear. This process is especially important because stories are uniquely able to reflect and give meaning to significant features of our experience (see Crites). My study of narrative composition in light of these concerns began with an essay on the disciples in Mark (Tannehill, 1977), which sought to show the author's careful control of emphasis and evaluation, guiding the readers' judgments about the disciples, with possible repercussions for the readers' judgments about themselves. The present essay is an extension of that work, seeking to do greater

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justice to the fact that Jesus is the central character in the Gospel, through whom the Gospel1s influence is most fully felt. This requireë clarification of the roles of Jesus within the Markan narrative. 0.5 The original readers (or hearers, if we think in terms of a public reading) were, of course, people of the first century. Their problems and possible responses must be understood in terms of the first century world. Therefore, the approach taken here is not opposed to historical research. Its newness consists in the use of certain literary perspectives to sharpen our understanding of what is central to the story and of the way in which the story has been shaped in order to challenge the readers. This can give us a clearer view of the interaction between the author and his first readers. It can also deepen our understanding of what it would mean for a modern reader to read this Gospel well, with full appreciation of its power to challenge. 1.

Mark 1:1-8:26

1.1 If we are to understand how the author of Mark wished to present Jesus Christ to his readers, we must apprehend the statements and events recorded there as parts of a unified narrative. Mark is a unified narrative because, in spite of clear division into episodes, there are connecting threads of purpose and development which bind the story together. These appear when we clarify the dominant commissions in the story. 1.11 In my usage, the term "commission" will have a meaning similar to the term "mandate" in recent structural analysis of narrative /!/. The latter term could be used, but, since I will not be appropriating the full system that goes with it, it may be better to keep terminology distinct. For my purposes, the most important observation is that a unified narrative sequence results from the communication of a commission to a person and the acceptance

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of this commission. The narrative sequence will then relate the fulfillment or nonfulfillment of the commission. The events of the narrative sequence are meaningful parts of the same sequence because they relate a movement toward the fulfillment of the commission or narrate encounters with obstacles which frustrate fulfillment. The commission provides an overarching purpose and goal which unifies the sequence and gives meaning to the parts. The sequence is over when the commission is fulfilled or is finally abandoned. The term "commission" is most appropriate when this purpose and goal are communicated from one person to another. This is not always indicated in the narrative. When it is not indicated, it may be better to speak simply of a "task." Such a task can have the same narrative function of determining the extent of a narrative sequence and bringing the events of that sequence into meaningful unity. 1.12 The Gospel of Mark is the story of the commission which Jesus received from God and of what Jesus has done (and will do) to fulfill his commission. We are probably to understand the baptism scene as the communication of this commission, for here we have a rare type of story, one in which God speaks directly to Jesus and declares who Jesus is (i.e., declares what his role is to be). Furthermore, the stories which follow show Jesus acting in ways that are meaningful in light of God1s commission. It is true that the commission is not expressed as a series of instructions for action but simply by designating Jesus as "my beloved Son." However, action results: Jesus sets out on a mission /2/. If the words "You are my beloved Son" announce the commission which Jesus received from God, this should be taken into account in the interpretation of the meaning of this title in Mark. We will see that the special connection of the title Son of God with Jesus' commission from God is reinforced by later scenes in the Gospel (see 2.23 and 3.61) . Since this title does serve especially to announce Jesus' commission.

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its full meaning for the author can only be understood in light of the complete Markan narrative, for it is here that we are shown the content of the commission which Jesus received. 1.13 Although Jesus' commission is central in Mark, many other commissions and tasks are suggested. For each person who acts with purpose a commission or task can be assumed. Of course, many of the story characters in Mark appear only in a single episode, so it is not obvious that their commissions and tasks contribute to the unity of the Gospel as a whole. However, another commission and another task are indicated early in the Gospel and establish narrative sequences which persist until the passion story or beyond. In 1:16-20 Jesus calls four fishermen to follow him. This establishes the disciples1 commission and begins a sequence of events which clarify this commission and tell the reader whether it is being fulfilled. This commission, as it is gradually clarified, will provide a norm by which the disciples1 subsequent behavior can be judged. The narrative sequence which begins with the disciples' call is quite important in Mark. Furthermore, in 3:6 we are told that a group intends to destroy Jesus. This is an ongoing task in the Gospel narrative, for this intention reappears in 11:18, and Jewish leaders finally bring Jesus to the cross. These three commissions or tasks, then, have a scope which enables them to bind Mark together as a single narrative. As we shall see, each of these narrative sequences contains significant development, and the interaction between them is an important part of Mark's Gospel. 1.14 There is another task or purpose of even greater scope which stands in the background of the events which Mark narrates. The opening of Mark, with its Old Testament quotation indicating that God is sending his messenger, suggests that God also has a purpose and that his purpose lies behind the central events of the story. It is to realize God's purpose and mission that Jesus is given his

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mission. From that point on, Jesus is viewed as the central actor in the fulfillment of God's purpose, and so attention centers upon him /3/. 1.2 In fulfilling his commission, Jesus assumes certain roles in relation to other persons in the narrative, and our understanding of Mark's narrative Christology will be advanced by considering these role relationships. In addition to Jesus' relation to God, from whom he receives his commission, four relationships seem most important because they involve either developing roles or prominent repeated roles. These are Jesus' relationships to his disciples, to the scribes, Pharisees, and Jerusalem leaders, to the supplicants who ask for healing, and to the demons. The narrative development of Mark's Christology begins to appear as we consider what Jesus does and who he is in relation to these important groups. We must give some attention to each of these four role relationships, but the former two, which involve significant developments affecting the story as a whole, will be studied more carefully, with attention focusing on these developments. 1.21 It is accurate to express Jesus' basic role as that of eschatological salvation bringer. In the more abstract language of narrative analysis, with religious connotations removed, we may speak of his basic role as that of ameliorator (see Bremond, 1973:282-285). However, Jesus' narrative roles in Mark are more complex than this statement reveals. Jesus is not salvation bringer or ameliorator for all groups in the story, not, for instance, for the demons. And his saving action is often not simple and direct. To a surprising degree Jesus' action, rather than replacing the action of others, calls forth the action of others. Jesus becomes the ameliorator of others in that he incites them to become ameliorators for themselves and others. In other words, Jesus functions frequently as an influencer, one who moves others to action

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(see Bremond, 1970 and 1973:242-281). Jesus as influencer is closely related to Jesus as preacher and teacher. Nevertheless, there is some value in using the term influencer because (1) this calls attention to the relation of what Jesus says to action within the story, to the succesful or unsuccessful results of Jesus' words upon the narrated action, and (2) it opens the possibility that Jesus may exercise influence not only by what he says but by what he does and suffers. The readers as well as persons in the story are objects of Jesus' influence. However, it is in relation to persons in the story that the author suggests the possible results of Jesus' influence. 1.3 The scenes at the beginning of Jesus' public ministry establish the basic role relationships which will be important in the Gospel. These scenes begin to clarify Jesus' commission, for what he has been commissioned to do is shown to us by what he actually does. The importance of Jesus as influencer is clear in the first two scenes, the announcement of the kingdom in Galilee (1:1415) and the call of the first disciples (1:16-20). In the first of these Jesus seeks to move others to action by disclosing the opportunity to share in the kingdom's benefits. The recipients of these words are not specified, and the present participles suggest that the proclaiming and saying is repetitive. The influence is general. It is meant to encompass disciples, crowds, and readers. It takes place through disclosing the approach of God in his ruling power. This scene relates the whole mission of Jesus to the coming of God's kingdom. 1.31 In 1:16-20 the intended relationship between Jesus and the disciples is established. Here, in light of the kingdom's coming, the first disciples are called to their continuing task. This scene is not complete in itself but is the beginning of a story line. The commission here given and accepted is gradually clarified in following scenes (see 3:13-19, 6:7-13, 8:34-38), and the author will give clear guidance to his readers in evaluating the

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disciples' behavior in relation to their commission (see Tannehill, 1977). The author emphasizes the parallel between Jesus' commission and the disciples' commission. The disciples should share in Jesus' mission and fate. They are meant to be co-ameliorators and co-influencers, subordinate to Jesus but sharing in his work /4/. In part Jesus fulfills his commission by sharing it with others. The communication of a commission to the disciples allows another story line to unfold, which becomes the locus of important negative developments within the story of Jesus and a means by which the Christian reader's complacency is challenged. 1.32 In 1:21-28 we are told for the first time of an encounter between Jesus and an unclean spirit. Several aspects of this scene indicate a concern not only to institute Jesus' role in relation to the demons but also to relate this to other aspects of Jesus' commission. The unclean spirit asks, "Have you come to destroy us?" (note the plural: the question concerns Jesus' general role in relation to the demons), and the exorcisms which follow indicate that the answer is yes. In order to be the one who brings salvation to people, Jesus must be the destroyer of the powers that oppress them. But this exorcism story is also used to underline the authority of Jesus' teaching (1:22, 27), and Jesus' authoritative teaching is contrasted with that of the scribes. This points forward to the series of controversies in 2:1-3:6. 1.33 This series of controversies strongly suggests that the scribes and Pharisees are to be understood as opponents of Jesus as he seeks to fulfill his commission. The Jewish leaders in Mark do intend to oppose Jesus' work. However, the reader's initial impression that they will present the main obstacle to the fulfillment of Jesus' mission will prove false (see 3.21). As a reminder of this, I will refer to the Jewish objectors and plotters in Mark as "opponents," using quotation marks. In the controversies

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in 2:1-3:6 Jesus again acts as influencer, for these stories emphasize Jesus1 forceful words. The influence centers on key points in understanding Jesus' own role: his mission and authority to forgive sinners (2:10, 17), the eschatological joy and freedom for new action which he brings (2:19-22), the priority of human need over the sabbath commandment and Jesus1 authority to set aside sabbath observance (2:27-28, 3:4-5). The effect of Jesus' forceful words is not limited to those who have raised objections; indeed, the (negative) reaction of the Pharisees is not made clear until 3:6. Jesus' influence is meant to reach the readers. Here the readers discover what was meant when they were told that Jesus taught with authority and not as the scribes. The series of controversies ends in 3:6 with the statement that the Pharisees wished to destroy Jesus. This immediately raises the question of whether and how this intention will be realized. We now have three commissions or tasks operating in the text which are not restricted to single episodes but which stretch across Mark's Gospel and come to resolution only with the passion story or beyond. These are the commission received by Jesus from God, the commission received by the disciples from Jesus, and the task of destroying Jesus which Jesus' "opponents" have undertaken for themselves. However, the last of these does not lead to immediate action. Although there are controversies following 3:6, the desire to destroy Jesus is not repeated until 11:18, and even then the "opponents" have great difficulty in finding a way to accomplish their purpose. The author introduces the death plot early in his narrative, but he wishes to develop the other narrative lines before continuing this one. 1.34 Between the report of the exorcism in 1:21-28 and the series of controversies in 2:1-3:6, the author reports two healings in response to requests (1:29-31, 1:40-45) and summarizes Jesus' healing and exorcising

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ministry (1:32-34). The relation of Jesus to supplicants is logically distinct from the relation of Jesus to the demons. Jesus helps the supplicant in response to a request, but he destroys or breaks the power of the demon. Hence, the relation of Jesus to supplicants institutes another role relationship. Nevertheless, these two relationships may appear in a single story, as when a father requests help for his demon-possessed son (9:14-27), and the author speaks of Jesus' healing and exorcising work together (1:34) /5/. 1.4 Although the healing and exorcism stories make up an important part of Mark, they have a different status from material that emphasizes the disciples and those who try to oppose Jesus. The disciple and "opponent" material is part of developing narrative lines which come to a climax in the passion story. The healing and exorcism stories do not lead anywhere, for each is complete in itself. The need finds its resolution within a single episode. While the disciple and "opponent" material fits into progressive sequences which begin early in the Gospel and continue to its end, the healing and exorcism stories do not. They are not progressive but reiterative. Since they do not form a sequence leading toward the passion story, the narrative climax of the Gospel, they are subordinate to the material which does. Nevertheless, the repetition of similar stories emphasizes Jesus' roles as helper of supplicants and conqueror of demons. Furthermore, reiteration makes possible a different kind of development. Reiteration of a basic pattern allows and encourages variation of details. Points of emphasis can vary and various possibilities for filling the roles can be used. Thus the story of the Gerasene demoniac depicts a situation of desperate alienation with vivid detail, while the following story of the woman with a hemorrhage not only focuses on a woman instead of a man but also emphasizes her faith. Thus the reader's understanding of

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the possibilities inherent in a basic pattern of roles is enriched through providing a varied sampling of the same type of story. 1.41 Enrichment through reiteration with variation also takes place in Jesus' relation to "opponents" and to the disciples. In 2:1-3:6 we find a series of controversy scenes, each of which could be complete in itself. It is only 3:6 which makes a reiterative collection part of a progressive sequence. There are also patterns of similar scenes in the narratives about the disciples, such as the three boat scenes (4:35-41, 6:45-52, 8:14-21), with their increasingly clear negative judgments, and the three passion predictions (8:31, 9:31, 10:32-34), with the teaching which follows them. However, the patterns of disciple scenes also show climactic emphasis in the final scene of the pattern. Since similar action in similar situations gives us a sense of knowing a person's "character" (that is, his or her defining characteristics), the roles of Jesus in these reiterative scenes provide stable features for the picture of Jesus which the Gospel presents. 1.42 The importance of Jesus' relationship to each of the groups discussed is indicated by the fact that the author repeatedly reminds us of each relationship throughout the first half of the Gospel (to 8:26) /6/. By 3:6 we have been introduced to the disciples, the demons, the supplicants, and Jesus' "opponents" with their plan to destroy him. Thus an important function of this first section of the Gospel is to establish the role relationships which are basic to the rest of the story. Scenes in which Jesus is related to each of these groups are repeated up through 8:26 in a rough pattern of rotation. In 3:7-12 the author returns to Jesus1 ministry of healing and exorcism. This is followed by a scene in which the twelve are named and their task is specified, developing the narrative line which began with the call of the first disciples. Then there is a major controversy scene in 3:20-30. This rotation continues although it is not always

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possible to classify the scenes simply and neatly. Combinations are useful to the author. Thus the controversy in 3:20-30 involves the scribes from Jerusalem, but it is a controversy about Jesus' exorcisms and contributes to our understanding of their meaning. The situation of Jesus1 followers is indicated by suggesting contrast (see 4:11-12 after 3:21-35) or similarity (see 8:14-21 after 4:11-12 and 8:11-12) between them and the blind "opponents." However, none of the role relationships which have been discussed is allowed to disappear or recede in the first half of Mark. Through this rotation of scenes, developments are taking place. Although no action is taken to further the plan to destroy Jesus, successive scenes make clear the extent of the conflict and the points at issue. And significant development takes place in Jesus' relation to the disciples. 1.5 The relation of Jesus to the disciples passes through a development of considerable complexity. The author gives clear indications of how the disciples' behavior is to be evaluated at different stages of the narrative. The disciples' intended role is made clear by a series of three related scenes in the early part of Mark: the call of the first disciples (1:16-20), the choice of the twelve (3:13-19), and the sending out of the twelve (6:7-13). The nature of the disciples' commission is partly clarified in these scenes. It involves sharing in Jesus' work of preaching and exorcism. More generally, it means that they must "follow" or "come after" Jesus (1: 17-18) and "be with" him (3:14). Jesus is the one who gives the disciples their commission and the one who continues to instruct them in its meaning. The author intends us to evaluate the disciples' behavior in light of what Jesus says and does. When the disciples are in harmony with Jesus, the author intends them to be viewed with approval; when they are not, with disapproval. On this basis, the three scenes just mentioned give us a positive impression of the chief followers of Jesus (with the

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exception of 3:19). To this must be added the strong positive evaluation in 4:10-12. This initial positive evaluation has an important function: it encourages the natural tendency of Christian readers to identify with Jesus' followers in the story /7/. 1.51 However, a shift takes place in the relation between the disciples and Jesus. Within the first half of Mark this is most clearly seen in the three boat scenes in which Jesus is alone with his disciples (4:35-41, 6:45-52, 8:14-21). While the disciples1 fear and lack of faith in the first of these scenes might appear to be a temporary lapse, the succeeding scenes suggest a consistent pattern of anxious self-concern is blinding the disciples to Jesus' power and mission. Thus the fulfillment of the disciples' commission is put in question. The anticipated and desired development has become blocked. This causes tension, and the reader naturally hopes for and expects some resolution of the problem in the rest of the narrative. It is now likely that the initial easy identification of the reader with the disciples has become a problem. The tendency to identify remains, but this now conflicts with the negative judgments which must be made about the disciples. While the disciples were called to "follow" Jesus and "be with" him, a chasm is beginning to open between Jesus and the disciples, which requires the reader to choose where he or she will stand. Perhaps the reader would like to stand with Jesus, rather than admitting a similarity with the blind and fearful disciples, but this will become increasingly difficult in the light of Jesus' demands. The implied criticism of the disciples threatens to become criticism of the reader /8/. 1.52 Jesus, on occasion, is the protector of the disciples when they get into trouble (as in 2:18-22 and 2:23-28), but when the disciples show clear signs of failing to follow Jesus, Jesus increasingly becomes their corrector. He exercises powerful influence in order to

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call the disciples back to perceptive faith. This influence can be felt by the reader. We would also expect it to have an effect upon the disciples. However, the problem is not easily overcome. 1.6 In all of this the author of Mark is telling us the story of Jesus and of the commission which was given to him. The commission which Jesus received from God remains central and gives to the story its human and religious significance. But fulfilling this commission involves a struggle. Men have been called to share Jesus' work, but it is becoming doubtful whether they will fulfill the commission given them. "Opponents" not only criticize Jesus but wish to destroy him. Although nothing comes of this for the present, the intention can be revived and lead to action. The success of such an intention would seem to mean the failure of Jesus1 work. Even in the miracle stories there seems to be some problem, for while Jesus demonstrates his power, the miracles are repeatedly accompanied by commands to silence, directed to the demons or to those healed. These commands to silence do not determine the actual course of events, for the author tells us that Jesus was not obeyed /9/. However, they do express Jesus1 intention. Jesus does not want to be known primarily on the basis of the miracles. Why this is so is not clear in the first half of the Gospel, but the emphasis placed on Jesus1 disclosure in 8:31 suggests that Jesus cannot be proclaimed until the proclaimer comes to terms with Jesus1 rejection and death. This does not mean that the miracles have no importance in the author's presentation of Jesus. They are emphasized through repetition and dramatic detail. Furthermore, through much of the Gospel, as Jesus' demand becomes increasingly strong and difficult for the disciples, it is primarily in the miracle stories that Jesus appears with grace and power to save, rather than with a condemning demand.

72 2.

Semeia Mark 8:27-10:52

2.1 In 8: 27-10:52, Jesus' role in relation to his disciples becomes the dominant concern. There are only two miracle stories in this section, and even they have discipleship themes attached to them (9:14-29—the disciples fail to heal the boy and want to know why; 10:46-52— Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way to Jerusalem). Jesus responds to hostile questioning in 10:1-9, but the principal references to the "opponents" in this section relate to the future. For Jesus speaks of his coming rejection and death in Jerusalem. So here we can expect to learn more about what Jesus means for the disciples (and for the church which they represent). This must be understood in light of the problem which has already appeared in the relationship between Jesus and the disciples. The strong but vague indications of the disciples' anxious selfconcern and blindness in the previous section of the Gospel become concrete points of conflict between Jesus and the disciples. 2.2 Although the author regards Peter's confession as appropriate (see 1:1, 14:61-62), so that the problem caused by the disciples' lack of perception might seem to be solved, the narrative sequence makes clear that a major problem remains. For the confession is immediately followed by a new statement of Jesus' commission, declaring that Jesus must suffer, be rejected, be killed, and rise again, and this announcement is rejected by Peter. The repetition of this announcement in following chapters, the fear and conflict which it causes, and its close connection to the climactic events in Jerusalem show this to be the key element in 8:27-10:52. 2.21 As I indicated, this is a new statement of Jesus' commission. It announces a program of action which will be carried out in the rest of the narrative. Like the announcement in the baptism scene, it is to be understood as a commission from God, as the "must" of 8:31

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suggests and as the transfiguration scene will confirm. It is remarkable that the Gospel delays the disclosure of Jesus' full commission. Information has been withheld from the readers. The readers have been allowed to form an understanding of the author's view of Jesus in which suffering and death have had no part. But this was so that the suffering and death might be emphasized more strongly and placed in tension with the attitudes of the disciples and the church. There is no indication that the words of 8:31 contain new information for Jesus. However, this is new information for the reader of Mark. Thus there is a certain surprise value to the announcement, which emphasizes it. Emphasis is also conveyed by the conflict which immediately arises through Peter's rejection of this statement, and by the repetitive pattern of three passion announcements (8:31, 9:31, 10:33-34) connected with similar reactions from the disciples and similar corrective teaching by Jesus. Furthermore, this is a prospect or anticipation of events still to come /10/, which provides a succinct summary of what is central in the story. A reader's natural interest in the outcome of the story focuses attention on this anticipation. 2.22 Jesus' commission from God at his baptism was quickly followed by the commission which the first disciples received from Jesus in their call. The new statement of Jesus' commission is quickly followed by a new statement of the disciples' commission. After Peter's objection to the passion announcement and Jesus' strong rebuke, Jesus speaks of what is required of anyone who "wishes to come after me" and of how one must "follow me" (8:34). Almost the same language was used in the call of the first disciples. Just as the work of the disciples was patterned after the work of Jesus in the first half of the Gospel, so now their commission is reformulated to conform to the new understanding of Jesus' commission. This is made clear not only in 8:34-38 but also in Jesus' teaching following the other passion announcements. The disciples

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must be willing to lose their lives as Jesus will lose his and like him become self-giving servants /11/. Jesus1 role as influencer and corrector of reluctant and fearful disciples is dominant in 8:31-10:45. Each passion announcement is followed by an episode in which disciples reject what Jesus has said (8:32-33) or act in a way which conflicts with the path which Jesus has chosen (9:33-34, 10:35-41). This, in turn, is followed in each case by Jesus' corrective teaching. This teaching is formulated in forceful language. The full power of Jesus' verbal influence is used, and this power is reinforced by the threefold pattern of the narrative, coming to a climax in the extended scene in 10:32-45. The pattern ends at 10:45 with Jesus' teaching, leaving open the question of whether the disciples will finally accept this teaching and follow him. This teaching provides the standard by which the reader can judge the subsequent actions of the disciples in the passion story. 2.23 Jesus' commission comes from God and the commission which Jesus gives the disciples is also divinely authorized. Since there is a struggle between Jesus and the disciples over these commissions, it is not surprising that the author chooses to emphasize their divine origin. This is done in the transfiguration scene. The divine commission which Jesus received at his baptism is now disclosed to the disciples, using the same words: "my beloved Son." This underscores Jesus' divine authority for the disciples. Therefore, the disciples must "hear him" (9:7). While this may be an allusion to Deut 18:15, we must ask why the author places these words at this point in his narrative. They must have special reference to words of Jesus in the immediate context, that is, to the teaching in 8:31 and 8:34-9:1 in which Jesus has just disclosed something new about his commission and the commission of his disciples /12/. The baptism and transfiguration scenes show that the title Son of God is the preferred title in Mark

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when the author wishes to stress Jesus' commission from God. This will be confirmed by the confession of the centurion at the cross, which is a retrospective reflection upon Jesus' commission (see 3.61). Thus in key scenes at the beginning, middle, and end of the Gospel the title Son of God has the special function of emphasizing Jesus' divine commission. Since this title is so closely associated with important scenes which report or confirm Jesus' commissioning, its meaning in Mark is influenced by the narrative which unfolds from that commissioning. That Jesus is Son of God means that he has been chosen and authorized by God to do what he is doing and thereby accomplish God's saving purpose. This is not to deny that current usage of the title in the surrounding world would influence its meaning, but the fine tuning of the title's meaning takes place through the understanding of Jesus' commission which appears in the narrative as that commission is announced and fulfilled. It therefore encompasses Jesus' conquest of demons, healing of supplicants, call to the disciples, death in Jerusalem, etc. The two scenes in Mark which speak of a voice from heaven or from a cloud (1:11, 9:7) are both connected with Jesus' commission from God. It is not usual for the Gospels to depict God speaking or acting directly. However, there is a point at which God cannot be represented by Jesus. That is where the author wishes to make clear that Jesus received his commission from God, as in the baptism and transfiguration scenes. 2.3 Within a narrative there may be points at which a major theme of the writing is succinctly expressed. We find such points in Jesus' teaching following the three passion predictions. This is particularly true of a group of sayings which are linked by form and meaning. Beginning with ho s ean (or an) or ei tie, these sayings set forth a fundamental rule of life which applies both to Jesus and the disciples (see 8:35, 9:35, 10:42-45). Rhetorically they are antithetical aphorisms. An antithetical

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aphorism is a brief but sweeping statement containing a sharp contrast which is emphasized by using antithetical terms /13/. The antithesis contained in each of these three sayings is sharpened to the point of paradox, for they assert a necessary connection between opposite terms. The attempt to save one's life will lead to the opposite; the goal of being first can only be achieved by its opposite. The clash of words in each of these antithetical aphorisms emphasizes the conflict between this vision of life and the normal view, in which people assume that they can directly achieve the goals which their anxious selfconcern sets for them. These paradoxical words intend to shake the assumptions which normally control our thinking and planning /14/. 2.31 These words are part of Jesus' new statement of the disciples' commission. However, they also reflect the commission which Jesus has accepted for himself. This is clear from the parallel drawn between Jesus' way and the way of the disciple in 8:34 and 10:45. Furthermore, the same paradox is dramatized in the mocking scenes of the passion story, where Jesus is presented as king while mocked by the soldiers (15:16-20) and as the savior who cannot save himself (15:31; note the connection with 8:35). The passion announcements make clear the external course of events and speak of the passion as rejection by the leaders of Israel. The inner meaning of Jesus' path for the one who follows it is suggested by the paradoxical sayings being discussed. Jesus, renouncing all concern for life and power, goes to the cross in service of others. Strangely, this death brings life. This is the meaning of the death of Jesus most strongly emphasized in Mark /15/. 3.

Mark 11:1-16:8

3.1 Martin Kahler's famous footnote in which he speaks of the Gospels as "passion narratives with extended introductions" (80) is both insightful and misleading when applied to Mark as narrative. To speak of the first

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thirteen chapters as an introduction is inadequate, not only because of the wealth of material there but also because it is these chapters which establish and develop the commissions and task which come to a climax in the passion story. Mark is a single, unified story because of its progressive narrative lines. Events in the first thirteen chapters are necessary parts of the main lines of action, rather than being preliminary to them. However, the passion is the natural point of emphasis within Mark because it is the climax of the three major narrative lines based on the commissions of Jesus and the disciples, and the task of the "opponents." Here these commissions and task lead to critical action, in which the commission is accepted or refused at high risk, and we discover the results. The three narrative lines are closely intertwined, we reach a high point of tension, and we discover the ending with which the author chooses to leave us. 3.2 The intention of the "opponents," inactive since 3:6, is repeated in 11:18. From that point on it is kept alive by a series of controversies, together with repeated reference to the threatening presence of Jesus' enemies and their destructive intent (see especially 12:12, 14:1). At the beginning of the series of controversies, the "opponents" are listed as "the chief priests and the scribes and the elders" (11:27). This group continues to be active at least through 12:13, and again in chapter 14. The list is the same as in Jesus' passion announcement in 8:31. Although Mark suggests that there is continuity between this group and Jesus' previous "opponents" (see the references to scribes "from Jerusalem" in 3:22 and 7:1), the appearance of the specific group of which Jesus spoke suggests the possibility of the fulfillment of his prophecy. However, the "opponents'" intention still leads nowhere, for they are frustrated by Jesus' powerful words (see 12: 34) and the crowd's support of Jesus (11:18, 12:12, 12:37). It is only at 14:10-11 that a way is found to move forward with their plan. In chapters 11-12 Jesus appears to be beyond their power.

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3.21 In Mark the high priests, scribes, and elders (and earlier the Pharisees) plot against Jesus and oppose him in controversy scenes, indicating that they view Jesus as an opponent of their essential purposes. However, while the author of Mark has firmly established the view that this group intends to oppose Jesus, he has also told us that Jesus has accepted a commission to be rejected and die in Jerusalem. This group has an essential role in fulfilling Jesus1 commission. One of the interesting features of the plot of Mark is that the role relationships are not symmetrical. If Jesus is being opposed by the high priests, scribes, and elders, we would expect the relation to be reciprocal, so that Jesus must become opponent to his opponents, resisting their efforts in order to fulfill his commission. However, this is not the case with the specific commission which Jesus announced in 8:31, for the group which intends to oppose Jesus has a necessary role in the fulfillment of this commission /16/. This not only points to the strangeness of the commission which Jesus has accepted. It also reflects an ambiguity which characterizes the passion story as a whole, not only on the level of role relationships but also on the level of the reader's response to the text. For while the supporter of Jesus would naturally hope that Jesus will triumph over his enemies by escaping their plot, a hope repeatedly encouraged by the author (see 3.5-3.51), Jesus himself has chosen a different way. Thus every step toward Jesus1 death is likely to have both negative and positive value for the reader, as two ways of judging struggle within. There is a strong tendency for the reader to make the opposition symmetrical, but Jesus' words and actions repeatedly conflict with this. 3.3 The congruence of Jesus' commission with their own plans is not seen by those who intend to oppose him. The result is dramatic irony. The effect of the actions of the Jerusalem leaders conflicts with their purpose. They intend to bring Jesus and his mission to an end, but

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their actions have a place within Jesus' mission, and his work does not end. To be sure, rejection and death retain their strongly negative connotations in Mark. This appears most prominently in the struggle in Gethsemane and the word from the cross (15:34). In Gethsemane Jesus accepts the necessity of suffering; it is not good in itself. The way which Jesus goes is deeply unsettling, and this appears in the portrait of Jesus himself. But the author of Mark believes that the evil of death has been incorporated by Jesus into his victorious mission. 3.31 The irony of dramatic action which I have just mentioned could easily be missed. However, there is a series of scenes in the passion story which highlight the ironic relationship between Jesus and those who reject him /17/. It seems to be important to the author of Mark that unwitting confessions of Jesus appear in the very acts by which he is rejected. The rejection and scorning of Jesus, prominent in the passion announcements in chapters 8-10, are dramatized in the passion story by scenes of mocking. These scenes are systematically placed, one following each of the main events after the arrest (the trial before the Jewish council, the trial before Pilate, the crucifixion). The last two of the three scenes are vivid and emphatic. All three are ironic and suggest to the reader important affirmations about Jesus. This is easily recognized in the second of the three scenes, in which Christ is mocked by the soldiers (15:16-20). The irony here actually has two levels. The soldiers act and speak ironically; outwardly they proclaim Jesus King of the Jews but actually they are rejecting his kingship. However, the reader is meant to take the soldiers' irony ironically, i.e., as pointing to a hidden truth. This reading is supported by the repeated references to Jesus as Christ and king in the passion story /18/. 3.32 The other two mocking scenes also contain irony. In 14:65 Jesus is mistreated and commanded to prophesy. The mistreatment makes clear that the request is not meant

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seriously but is intended to degrade Jesus. But again ironic truth is suggested, for the reader knows that a whole series of prophecies by Jesus is coming to fulfillment in the passion story. The prophesied rejection by the chief priests, scribes, and elders has just taken place; the prophesied denial by Peter is about to take place. The reader is intended to recognize Jesus the prophet as he is mocked. The tendency in Mark's passion story to broaden and emphasize the mocking of Jesus appears in 15:29-32, for the mockers include not only the high priests and scribes but also the passers-by and those crucified with Jesus. Again the words are ironic. The reference to the destruction and building of the temple may contain an affirmation about Jesus which the author accepts /19/. The command "Save yourself" is meant ironically, for the speaker intends to highlight Jesus1 powerlessness. The thought is continued by the statement in 15:31: "Others he saved, himself he cannot save." Although intended as mockery, this statement summarizes so well Jesusf story as told in Mark that it must be regarded as one of the points at which key elements of the total development come to expression. Jesus' power to heal and rescue has been demonstrated. But the rule proclaimed to the disciples in 8:35 applies to Jesus also: "Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it." Hence, "the Christ, the King of Israel" (again ironic confession) has power to save others but no power to save himself. So the mocking scenes in Mark's passion story are Christological. They covertly proclaim Jesus as prophet, king, and powerful savior who does not use his power for himself. In each scene this is tied to the experience of rejection and death. The truth proclaimed by irony is that Jesus fills these roles as he suffers. Thus the paradoxical sayings which speak of life through death (8:35) and greatness through lowliness (9:35, 10:42-45) become drama in the passion narrative.

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3.4 Jesus has been the chief actor and speaker in Mark. At the arrest, however, he shifts to a passive role. He is the victim of the destructive action of others. To be sure, Jesus' commission is being fulfilled through these events, and Jesus' passivity expresses his basic acceptance of this commission. Although the action originates outside himself, Jesus is moving toward his goal, and this is called to the reader's attention by reminders of the passion announcements (see the Son of Man sayings in 14:21, 41) and by references or allusions to the fulfillment of scripture. 3.41 More striking is the fact that Jesus becomes almost silent after the arrest. Perhaps this portrays Jesus' acceptance of his role of suffering. However, Jesus' powerful words, emphasized by their forceful style, have been the means by which Jesus has influenced others, and the role of influencer, moving others to action, has been important in Mark's portrait of Jesus. However, Jesus' words are, for the most part, no longer necessary. Jesus' teaching in 8:31-10:45 has already made clear the meaning of the passion events. This teaching included a call to follow Jesus to suffering and death (8:34-38). This call of Jesus is all the stronger because Jesus no longer speaks about accepting death and giving oneself in service but does these things himself. Here Jesus shifts from teacher to powerful paradigm. Thus the role of Jesus as influencer vis-à-vis the readers of the Gospel is probably increased rather than reduced as the author presents this passive, silent Jesus. 3.42 The teaching in 8:34-38 was given to the disciples, as well as others, and 8:31-10:45 showed a struggle taking place between Jesus and the disciples over the proper understanding of Jesus' and the disciples' commissions. At 10:45 the conflict is still unresolved. There is hope but no assurance that the disciples will see the light. The narrative line constituted by the disciples' commission is the third narrative line which comes to a

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climax in the passion story. However, in this case the outcome is negative. In chapter 14 we find repeated and dramatic emphasis on the failure of the disciples to follow Jesus in suffering. The composition of the story highlights Judas' betrayal, the flight of the disciples, and Peter's denial by the fact that Jesus predicts each of these events. Thus the reader's attention is focused on these events before they happen in the narrative line. And the author guides his readers to a strongly negative evaluation of the disciples' behavior. In 14:31 the disciples reject Jesus' prophecy of their desertion and denial and explicitly promise faithfulness to death. So the actions which follow must be evaluated not only in light of Jesus' requirements in 8:34-38 but also as a clear betrayal of an explicit promise. We are also told of the disciples' repeated failure to watch in Gethsemane (see Kelber: 47-60), and Peter's denial is juxtaposed with Jesus' confession at his trial, highlighting the contrast, and is emphasized by repetition (Peter denies Jesus three times) with a strong climax (the last denial involves a curse). The disciples' story line stops at this point of failure. Christian readers must struggle with the fact that their heroes and representatives, those who share with them the call to follow Jesus, have failed the test. A clear choice is placed before the readers, represented by Jesus, on the one hand, and the faithless disciples, on the other. Choosing to stand with Jesus means accepting Jesus' words in 8:31-10:45 and living them out as Jesus does in the passion story. 3.43 The powerful effect of this is undermined if readers are allowed to fully distinguish themselves from the disciples, regarding them as heretics with whom the readers have nothing in common. It is important, then, that it is precisely the honored leaders of the church who have this role and that Mark's account initially presents them in a very positive light (see 1:16-20, 3:13-18, 4:10-12, 6:7-13), helping the reader to view them as

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representatives of the church, its calling and privileges. Furthermore, the author is not content to condemn the faithless disciples but clearly anticipates a possibility beyond failure. This can be seen in the passage which most clearly speaks of the post-resurrection situation, Mark 13. When Jesus says, "They will deliver you up to councils" and "You will stand before governors and kings for my sake" (13:9), he is speaking of what he endured and the disciples rejected in the passion story. Yet Jesus is speaking to Peter, James, John, and Andrew (13:3) about their future role. This does not mean that these once faithless disciples are securely faithful after the resurrection. They are also warned against being led astray. But this does show that the author of Mark believes in the power of Jesus1 words and witness to create faithful disciples among the first followers and the church which they represent. This anticipation of faithfulness in suffering is confirmed by Jesus1 statement to James and John in 10:39. I think that we should interpret 14:28 and 16:7 in light of this anticipated shift from failure to possible faithfulness. Jesus1 statement in 14:28 must be understood in relation to the preceding verse. After speaking of the disciples as scattered sheep, Jesus says, "But (alia) after I have been raised...." This statement anticipates a shift in the disciples1 situation as scattered sheep following the resurrection. Furthermore, the related message of a future meeting with Jesus in 16:7 is meant precisely for the disciples "and Peter," i.e., those who proved faithless in the preceding story. Thus the primary function of this meeting, as indicated by these verses, is to make possible the restoration of a relationship broken by the disciples' failure. To regard these verses as references to the parousia conflicts with this function and leaves unclear how Peter, James, John, and Andrew, who proved faithless at Jesus' passion, could be the ones who will suffer and preach the gospel, as indicated in Mark 13. To suppose that they could simply

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continue on as disciples as if nothing had happened mitigates the seriousness of the failure emphasized so strongly in Mark 14 /20/. Nevertheless, it is significant that the author stopped short of narrating the meeting of the risen Jesus with his disciples. Restoration of faithful discipleship is opened to the reader as gracious possibility but it is not narrated as accomplished fact. And it is a possibility which faces continuing obstacles from faithless people in the post-resurrection church (see 16:8) /21/. But the words of Jesus have been trustworthy in the past, and the author wants us to believe that the words of Jesus in 14:28, repeated and clarified in 16:7, will also prove true in spite of fear and failure. The situation with which the Gospel ends is relevant to the author's audience. It is the situation between failure and possibility, a possibility not yet understood and believed. The author may know that some of the first disciples did respond to this possibility and became faithful followers of Jesus in suffering (see 10:39, 13:9). But many of those to whom the Gospel speaks still stand between failure and unrealized possibility. 3.44 The drama of the passion story is heightened by unexpected developments in the role relationships. The opponents are both opponents and (in terms of Jesus1 commission in 8:31) helpers. The disciples prove to be false helpers. However, their failure increases the impact of Mark's portrait of Jesus. Since Jesus' and the disciples' commissions are parallel, the disciples' failure makes them contrasting figures to Jesus. The choice is dramatized by showing both alternatives in action. The way of Jesus stands out starkly against the contrasting background of the disciples. 3.45 The passion story presents somewhat ambiguous evidence on the clarity of Jesus' vision and the firmness of his resolution as he approaches death. On the one hand.

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the passion predictions and the related sayings in 14:21, 41, and 49 lead us to believe that Jesus is perfectly clear as to his path and firmly resolved to take it. The Gethsemane scene and the cry from the cross give a different impression. These passages significantly deepen the portrait of Jesus, helping the reader to recognize the reality of Jesus' suffering and to share in it. Gethsemane is also a point of crisis in the Gospel's story of Jesus. For a moment the outcome hangs in the balance, and the previous impression of firm resolution could prove to., be false. However, the struggle of Jesus not only introduces suspense and helps the reader to recognize the reality of Jesus' suffering; it may also be relevant to situations that Mark's first readers would face. The three disciples play an important role in Mark's Gethsemane story, and the story, while indicating the disciples' failure, also indicates what they should do in such a situation: watch and pray. Christians faced with suffering or death must face their own fears and come to terms with them. Otherwise their promises will carry no more weight than those of the disciples (see 14:31). The struggle of Jesus in Gethsemane, which the disciples were meant to share, would help such readers to identify with Jesus' way and to recognize the importance of their own spiritual struggle. 3.5 The author also has another way of leading his readers to recognize their selfish hopes and fears. Christian readers in Mark's church would, of course, expect the story to lead to Jesus' death because they had heard the story before. Nevertheless, one can imagine a different outcome. The author helps his readers imagine a different outcome by repeatedly suggesting the possibility that Jesus will escape. Such possibilities are appealing in light of the powerful desire for a way around the cross rather than through it. But the story continually calls the reader back from false hope to the reality of the crucifixion.

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3.51 In Gethsemane Jesus suggests that it may not be necessary to die, since all things are possible for God (14:35-36) /22/. However, this suggestion, involving a changed understanding of God's commission, is rejected, and Jesus remains committed to God's will as announced at 8:31. One avenue of escape is closed. At the arrest one person begins armed resistance (14:47). The comment of Jesus which follows is not a reprimand of this act but a protest of the manner in which he is being treated by the arresting party. Such a protest against injustice can easily lead to a call for resistance, and the preceding event suggests that some are ready to respond to such a call. But both resistance and protest are cut short by Jesus' final words: "But (this is happening) that the scriptures may be fulfilled." The possibility of escape through resistance ends as Jesus submits /23/. In the trial before the Jewish council the author builds up suspense by repeatedly referring to attempts and failures to find testimony on which to condemn Jesus. The "opponents" of Jesus have run into trouble, for they have no legal case. Even the use of false witnesses does not produce the desired result. So it appears that Jesus will have to be released. But then the high priest asks Jesus, "Are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed?" At this point Jesus need only remain silent, as he has been doing, and as he commanded the disciples to do when they recognized him as the Christ (8:30). But in seeming conflict with the whole Messianic secret theme, just at the most disadvantageous time, Jesus openly acknowledges his Messianic office. The result is his condemnation to death. Jesus himself provides the crucial testimony by which he is condemned. The possibility of escape by concealment is rejected. At the trial before Pilate the crowd requests the release of one prisoner, as was customary. Pilate himself proposes that he release Jesus (15:9). The Gospel writer has repeatedly indicated that the crowd supports Jesus. That is the reason why the "opponents" have not been able

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to act. Now the crowd need only agree with Pilate's proposal. But the crowd chooses Barabbas and calls for Jesus' crucifixion. A clear possibility of release is suggested but again it comes to nothing. Once more false hopes are aroused and then crushed. Finally, the possibility of escape is again suggested when Jesus is on the cross. The mockers challenge Jesus to save himself by coming down from the cross (15:30-32). This, of course, is mockery, but, as the story moves on, it plays with the idea of a last minute, miraculous rescue. This can be seen in the response to Jesus' cry of forsakenness. The cry is misunderstood as a call to Elijah for rescue from the cross (15:35-36). The listeners wait with excitement to see if the rescuer will come. But Jesus dies without a rescuer. Jesus has followed his path to the end, while a whole series of avenues of escape, representing most of the conceivable possibilities for Jesus and his followers, have been eliminated one by one. Hopes for a way around the cross for Jesus (and, by implication, for the believer) have been aroused sufficiently to be recognized and then have been crushed. This narrative pattern takes on meaning in light of the author's concern to purge the church of its desire for triumph without suffering. 3.6 The previous discussion suggests that the author intends this story of Jesus' acceptance of death for the sake of his mission to deeply color the readers' understanding of Jesus. This affects the significance of the titles applied to him in key scenes. The reservation of public announcement of Jesus' Messianic status until 14:61-62 makes the Sanhédrin trial a climactic Christological scene (see Donahue: 88-95, and Perrin). Three Christological titles which are of central importance in Mark are publicly appropriated by Jesus in his answer to the high priest. Jesus lays claim to the titles Christ, Son of the Blessed (that is. Son of God), and Son of Man as he goes to his death. Indeed, the public acknowledgment of his claim brings about his death. While previous

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use of the titles Christ and Son of God occur in private or are followed by commands to silence /24/, secrecy is no longer necessary when the titles are applied to the Christ of the passion, for then they are properly used. The narrative situation in which the titles are appropriated helps to define their meaning. 3.61 The centurion's confession at the cross (15:39) must be understood in light of the narrative line which comes to a climax in the passion. We have seen that the title Son of God has special importance in the scenes which establish or confirm Jesus' commission as a commission from God (see 1:11, 9:7). That commission led Jesus to the cross. A principal function of the centurion's confession is to remind the reader that Jesus through his death has fulfilled God's commission. The reoccurrence of the title Son of God is appropriate for this purpose. This function also explains the phrasing of the centurion's confession: "Truly this man was God's Son." The past tense indicates that this is a retrospective statement. It is a comment on the story narrated to this point, declaring that Jesus has fulfilled the commission given to him by God. The use of "truly" fits with this, for the statement is an affirmation or confirmation of something previously stated in the commission scenes. Again it is apparent that the narrative development with its climax in the passion is important for understanding the meaning and function of Christological titles in important scenes in Mark. 4. The study of Mark as narrative reveals more unity and art in this Gospel than is commonly recognized. These appear as we consider the narrative lines which flow from the commissions or tasks of major characters and groups in the Gospel. Our understanding of these matters is enriched by study of the role relationships among Jesus and others in the story, which sometimes involve reiterative enrichment and sometimes unexpected development. The

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author guides his readers• response to the story by narrative patterns which control emphasis and the evaluation of events and characters. Among the compositional techniques considered in this study were the delayed disclosure of Jesus' and the disciples' full commissions, and the repeated use of irony, paradox, and enticement to false hope. In these and other ways the author communicates with his anticipated readers concerning their life situation by means of the story of Jesus which he is telling. Studying Mark as narrative Christology provides a deeper understanding of the meaning and function of Mark's presentation of Jesus Christ.

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/l/ See Calloud (17, 25, 27) and Patte (37-44). The term "contract" is also used. /2/ Even if we assume that the commission was given at some earlier time, the narrative function of the baptism scene would be the same: it is the point at which Jesus' commission from God is brought to the reader's attention so that the reader can understand the following events in light of it. /3/ Structural analysis would distinguish here between a correlated sequence which has become blocked (God's purpose as revealed in the Old Testament) and a topical sequence, involving a task accepted by Jesus, which has the function of making possible the fulfillment of God's purpose announced in scripture; see Patte (37-38). /4/ Note the parallel between the description of Jesus' ministry of preaching and exorcism in 1:38-39 and the task of the twelve as described in 3:14-15 and 6:12-13. /5/ A supplicant comes to Jesus with a clear intention to improve his own or another's lot. Therefore, we may say (to use Bremond's language) that the supplicant is an ameliorator and Jesus is the helper or (following Patte) that the supplicant is a subject with a mandate and Jesus is the helper. However, it is important to note that rhetorically Jesus remains the dominant figure in the story. Jesus' act is presented as crucial to the realization of the goal. So the "helper" is not necessarily secondary in importance and interest in the "surface structure" of the story. /6/ This is still true of 8:27-10:52, but to a lesser extent. /!/ Those who, like Weeden, interpret the disciples as representatives of the writer's theological opponents face the difficulty of explaining why the first part of the Gospel emphasizes that the twelve have been specially chosen to share Jesus' work and have been given "the mystery of the Kingdom"; see Tannehill (1977:393-394). It is possible that Jesus' relatives represent theological opponents (see 3:21, 31-35; 6:1-6), but the disciples should not be lumped together with the relatives (see Crossan: 146), for the writer's attitude toward the disciples is much more complex. /8/ For more complete discussion of the disciples in Mark and of methods by which the significance of this narrative role can be understood, see Tannehill (1977).

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/9/ See 1:44-45, 7:36-37. demonstrates such disobedience.

I think 5:19-20 also

/IO/ One important aspect of the author's shaping of his work appears when we note the difference between the order in which events are recounted or evoked and the chronological order of the events themselves. The author may suggest the special significance of certain events through the use of prospect or retrospect; see Genette (77-121). /Il/ In 8:31-10:45 Jesus' call to accept suffering and to renounce the desire for status and domination is most strongly emphasized, but there are also other specific causes of tension between Jesus and the disciples; see Tannehill (1977:401-402). /12/ Note that the teaching of Jesus on the way down from the mountain reemphasizes the passion and resurrection announcement (9:9, 12). /13/ For discussion of this rhetorical form and Gospel examples, see Tannehill (1975:88-101). Mark 10: 42-45 is an expanded antithetical aphorism; see Tannehill (1975:102-107). /14/ On the importance of not dissolving the paradox in interpretation, see Tannehill (1975:99-101). /15/ Mark 10:45 is a climactic statement, but the reference to Jesus' death as a ransom for many is a subsidiary element in that statement. Jesus' death as ransom is used to explain the nature of Jesus' self-giving service—by his death as ransom he is giving himself in service—, but it is the fact of his serving which is important to the forceful teaching in 10:42-45. The idea of Jesus' death as ransom does not appear elsewhere in Mark. Even 14:24 uses rather different language. On the other hand, the emphasis on self-renunciation is reinforced by the threefold pattern of sayings which we have been discussing. /16/ To be sure, the parable of the murderous tenants (12:1-12) assumes that the intended opposition deserves punishment. /17/ Donald Juel (47) calls irony "the most prominent literary feature of the passion story" in Mark. /18/ "Christ" is explained by "King of Israel" in 15:32. "Christ" is accepted by Jesus in 14:61-62 and used by the author in 1:1. Thus the context in Mark provides a guide for understanding the irony. It is often said that in irony the actual meaning is the opposite of what is expressed. However, the relation between expression and

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meaning can be more subtle and complex. Wayne C. Booth (10-12) speaks of the process of "reconstruction" required by irony. Because of some incongruity the reader must reject the surface meaning and seek an alternative interpretation, which will to some degree be in conflict with the surface meaning. /19/ This is the view of Donald Juel (206) who says, "Jesus is the destroyer of the temple in a figurative and in an ironic sense: its destruction is a result of his death, brought about by those in charge of the temple worship"; see also Donahue (103-138). /20/ For other arguments against the parousia interpretation of 14:28 and 16:7, see Stein. To assert, as Crossan (146) does, that Mark's empty tomb story was created to oppose the idea of resurrection appearances to Peter and the apostles requires us to declare the author of Mark to be inept. When the announcement of Jesus1 resurrection is followed by a statement about Peter seeing him and this is conveyed in writing to a church which already told stories about the risen Jesus1 appearance to Peter (1 Cor 15:5), the reader can hardly be blamed for taking it as a reference to a resurrection appearance. /21/ If the women at the tomb include the mother of Jesus (see 15:40, 47; 16:1 with 6:3) and if the scenes which give a negative picture of Jesus1 relatives (3:21, 31-35; 6:1-6) are criticizing a group in the writer's historical situation, 16:8 may be a part of that criticism, indicating that Jesus' family, or the Jerusalem church, has become an obstacle to God's purpose for the disciples. In any case, it is the women, not the disciples, who cause the problem at this point. /22/ That all things are possible with God or for the believer is a repeated Markan theme, which heightens the plausibility of Jesus' request; see 9:23, 10:27. /23/ Here I follow the interpretation of Boomershine. He argues, "The function of the final sentence in both speeches [14:36 and 14:48b-49] is to break unexpectedly the line of reasoning established in the rest of the speech. The use of the strongly adversative conjunction alia is one sign of the discontinuity of thought.... In the arrest speech, therefore, the final sentence has an adversative relationship to the first part of the speech. The possibility of resisting arrest is rejected in a climactic acceptance of God's will" (165). Furthermore, "the function of the speech is inextricably tied to its structure and context.... Its context is determined by the hostile reaction to Jesus' arrest by one of those standing by. Jesus' initial response is in direct¿continuity with that action. The function of the speech is, therefore.

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to call forth a sympathetic reaction to expressions of hostility toward those who have arrested him and to raise the hope that Jesus may resist arrest. Jesus1 sudden acceptance of arrest...destroys that hope" (166). Most of the comments on texts of the passion story in 3.51 parallel points made by Boomershine. /24/ The voice at the baptism is a private communication to Jesus. The conversation in 5:7 may be private. In any case, it is followed by a restriction on communication in 5:19, which is disobeyed.

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WORKS CONSULTED Boomershine, Thomas Mark, The Storyteller: A Rhetorical1974 Critical Investigation of Mark 's Passion and Resurrection Narrative. Dissertation, Union Theological Seminary, New York. Booth, Wayne 1974 Bremond, Claude 1970 1973 Calloud, Jean 1976

Crites, Stephen 1971

A Rhetoric of Irony. Chicago: University of Chicago. "Le rôle d1influenceur. tions 16: 60-69. Logique

du récit.

Communica-

Paris: Seuil.

Structural Analysis of Narrative. Trans. Daniel Patte. Philadelphia: Fortress/Missoula: Scholars Press. "The Narrative Quality of Experience." JAAR 39: 291-311.

Crossan, John Dominic "Empty Tomb and Absent Lord (Mark 16: 1976 1-8)." Pp. 135-152 in The Passion in Mark. Ed. Werner H. Kelber. Philadelphia: Fortress. Donahue, John R. 1973

Genette, Gérard 1972 Juel, Donald 1977

Kahler, Martin 1964

Are You the Christ? tive in the Gospel Scholars Press. Figures

III.

The Trial Narraof Mark. Missoula:

Paris: Seuil.

Messiah and Temple: The Trial of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. Missoula: Scholars Press. The So-Called Historical Jesus and the Historic, Biblical Christ. Trans. Carl E. Braaten. Philadelphia: Fortress.

Tannehill: Narrative Christology Kelber, Werner 1976

Patte, Daniel 1976 Perrin, Norman 1976

Stein, R. H. 1974 Tannehill, Robert 1975

1977

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"The Hour of the Son of Man and the Temptation of the Disciples (Mark 14: 32-42)." In The Passion in Mark. Ed. Werner H. Kelber. Philadelphia: Fortress. What is Structural Exegesis? Philadelphia: Fortress. "The High Priest's Question and Jesus* Answer (Mark 14:61-62)." In The Passion in Mark. Ed. Werner H. Kelber, Philadelphia: Fortress. "A Short Note on Mark xiv. 28 and xvi. 7." NTS 20: 445-452. The Sword of His Mouth: Forceful and Imaginative Language in Synoptic Sayings. Philadelphia: Fortress/Missoula: Scholars Press. "The Disciples in Mark: The Function of a Narrative Role." JR 57: 386-405.

Weeden, Theodore J. Mark--Traditions in Conflict, 1971 Philadelphia: Fortress.

MYTHIC STRUCTURE AND MEANING IN MARK: ELEMENTS OF A LEVI-STRAUSSIAN ANALYSIS

Elizabeth Struthere Malbon Vasear College Abstract Structural anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss in investigating the myths of a number of cultures, has come to understand the mythic process of meaning as the mediation of irreconcilable opposites by their successive replacement by opposites which do permit mediation. This paper assumes that such a mythic structure may also be operative in texts which are not, strictly speaking, myths and seeks to elucidate the mythic structure or structures underlying the Gospel of Mark as a literary and theological whole. The -method of investigation has been synthesized from Lévi-Strauss1 "The Structural Study of Myth" and "The Story of Asdiwal" and involves four steps: (1) isolating the relations or narrative facts and gathering these into bundles of relations or orders, (2) considering both the chronological sequence and the theoretical schema of each order, (3) integrating the orders to clarify the fundamental opposition, (4) applying the formula of mythic structure to the integration. In this introductory overview, three orders of the Markan narrative are sequentially and schematically outlined: geographical, calendrical, theological. The significance of the "latent content" of each order is considered before the "global integration" is sketched. An application of Lévi-Strauss1 formula suggests that in Mark's gospel two central conflicts moving toward mediation are chaos vs. order and expectation vs. surprise. 1.

Introduction

1.1 Structuralist criticism is a way of approaching not so much the meaning of individual works of literature as 97

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the meaning of meaning, that is, the presuppositions which enable literature to be written and to be read. Structuralism seeks not so much to tell the meaning as to recreate the process of meaning. Structural anthropologist Claude LéviStrauss, in investigating the myths of a number of cultures, has come to understand the mythic process of meaning as the mediation of irreconcilable opposites by their successive replacement by opposites which do permit mediation. In other words, myth is a way of thinking involving the progressive mediation of a fundamental opposition. 1.2 Such a process of meaning is of course clearly at work in the traditional mythic texts which Lévi-Strauss analyzes. However, this process of meaning, this mythic structure, may also be operative in texts which are not, strictly speaking, myths. The mythic structure as LéviStrauss has formulated it has been researched not only in the narratives of Genesis (Leach) but also in selected parables of Jesus (Patte, 1975, 1976a, 1976b:76-83) and in portions of the letters of Paul (Patte, 1976b:59-76) with resultant new insights for biblical exegesis. I am involved in an attempt to elucidate the mythic structure or structures underlying the Gospel of Mark as a literary and theological whole /l/. 2.

Methodology

2.0 Before turning to the Markan gospel, the method of investigation to be employed must first be sketched. Although I have found the analyses of Lévi-Strauss powerfully suggestive, I have found his own description of his method not always as full, clear, and consistent as could be hoped. Nevertheless, this approach to mythic structure, as synthesized from Lévi-Straussf "The Structural Study of Myth" (1955) and "The Story of Asdiwal" (1967), may be outlined as follows.

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2.1 Initially the text must be reduced to its smallest, essential and complete units, its "gross constituent units" as Lévi-Strauss terms them. Each of these units is not a thing but a relation, a relation comprised of a "function" and a "subject," or, as it were, a "doing" and a "doer." Relations of the same type are then gathered into "bundles of relations," and "it is only as bundles that these relations can be put to use and combined so as to produce a meaning" (1955:431). In alternate terminology Lévi-Strauss refers to narrative "facts" (paralleling relations) which are presented in various "orders" (paralleling bundles) / 2 / . 2.2 Secondly, the narrative as analyzed into facts and orders must be considered in terms of both the sequence of the facts and the schemata of the orders. The sequence of the facts is simply the chronological order in which events happen. The sequences of the facts of all the orders taken together form the "apparent content" of the narrative. The schema of each order is the formal, theoretical organization of its facts. Taken together, the schemata point to the fundamental opposition the myth seeks to mediate. Thus, to "tell" the narrative we would read all the relations in the order of their occurrence in the narrative; to "understand" the narrative we would turn our attention to the internal organization of the bundles of relations. A simple example may prove helpful. If the narrative reads: The hero traveled south; then she traveled west; then she traveled east the sequence of the facts of the geographical order would be: south, west, east and the schema of the geographical order would be: North West

East South

100 North need not this schema to diachronically synchronically

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manifest in the narrative sequence for obvious. Accordingly, each order is read terms of its chronological sequence and terms of its theoretical schema.

2.3 Thirdly, the various orders through which the narrative evolves must be compared and integrated. This "global integration," as Lévi-Strauss terms it, is possible because each order, "together with the symbolism proper to it" (1967:1), is understood as a transformation of an underlying logical structure common to all the orders. Thus two schemata may be integrated into a third schema, consisting of several binary oppositions, and this process may be repeated until the narrative is reduced to "two extreme propositions, the initial state of affairs and the final, which together summarize its operational function" (1967:21). That is, the process of global integration of the various schemata gives us, as it were, the schema of the schemata, a statement of the fundamental opposition the mythic narrative seeks to mediate. 2.4 Finally, we may apply to this schema of the schemata, and thus to the narrative as a whole, LéviStrauss1 formula for describing the structure of a myth. According to Lévi-Strauss a myth must be considered as the collection of all its variants, each of which represents a transformation of the fundamental structure, that is, the structure described by the formula. Since each order within a narrative represents a transformation of the fundamental structure of that narrative, orders relate to the narrative as a whole as variants of a myth relate to the myth as a whole. Thus it seems appropriate to apply LéviStrauss1 formula for describing the structure of a complete myth to the structure of a narrative as a whole. In this case the formula serves as the figuration of the schema of the schemata, that is, as a shorthand way of expressing the global integration of the schemata of the various orders.

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Application

3.01 I now turn to the Gospel of Mark and to the application of this briefly sketched method of investigation. Careful reading and rereading of the text are the preconditions for the initial step of isolating the relations or narrative facts. Several of the hundreds of relations isolated are: Jesus goes up to Jerusalem; Jesus performs a certain action on the Sabbath; Jesus argues with the scribes; persons are astonished at Jesus; Jesus heals a blind man; Jesus is called the Son of God. Relations like these six occur and recur frequently in the Markan gospel and may thus be grouped into bundles of relations, the significant units of the narrative. For purposes of further analysis I have labeled these bundles of relations, these orders of the Markan narrative, as geographical, calendrical, sociological, epistemological, cosmological, and theological /3/. 3.011 Let us look more carefully at the types of facts which make up each of these six orders. The facts of the geographical order are references to Jesus" movement through Galilee, Judea, the Tetrarchy of Philip, Syria, and the Decapolis /4/. The facts of the calendrical order to which the Markan narrative refers are the occurrences of certain actions and/or events on the Sabbath or during Passover /5/. References to the actions of individuals or groups according to social category constitute the sociological order; quite a variety of social categories is represented in the Markan gospel: spirits and demons, Galileans, synagogue leaders, and various crowds, the high priest and Pilate, and others. 3.012 The cosmological order requires, perhaps, a fuller explanation. In analyzing "The Story of Asdiwal," Lévi-Strauss isolates a cosmological order as that order which "has nothing to do with" reality (13). I find this distinction not only inadequate but inappropriate /6/. In general, I understand a cosmology as a cultural model or

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picture of the world or universe with certain assumptions concerning the constitution of its reality, extent, and composition, its operation and expression, and humankind's place within it. Thus facts of the cosmological order would include, among others, references to the interactions of persons in terms of the various forces of the universe and references to an individualf s role in the universal drama. Therefore, the cosmological facts of the Markan narrative include references to Jesusf manifestations of power and authority—from walking on the sea, to teaching with authority, to healing the sick—and references to Jesus' suffering in fulfillment of a larger role. 3.013 The epistemological order, the order of the origin, nature, methods, and limits of knowledge, is here comprised of various standpoints in relation to knowing, including questioning, answering, denial, trust/faith, silence, proclamation, and astonishment. For my present analysis of the Gospel of Mark, the theological order is constituted by narrative references to two key theological titles, "Son of man" and "Son of God," and two "kingdoms" understood within religious traditions, the "kingdom of David" and the "kingdom of God" / 7 / . 3.02 Several, if not all, of these six orders of the Markan narrative may be further analyzed into suborders. For example, the many geographical facts of the type "Jesus is in Judea" may be subdivided into "Jesus is at the River Jordan," "Jesus is on the road to Jerusalem," "...in Gethsemane," "...at Golgotha," etc. Or the many cosmological facts of the type "Jesus acts with power" may be subdivided into direct manifestations of authority, healings, and teaching. Again, each of these three may be subdivided; for example, the Markan narrative refers to casting out unclean spirits, healing movement disorders, healing communicative disorders, and resuscitation. I have found the careful examination of the suborders according to sequence

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helpful in understanding the narrative in greater suggestive exegetically. However, because of the of that analysis and because much work remains to will concentrate here on the major orders.

3.03 As outlined above, each of the six orders is to be examined diachronically in terms of its sequence and synchronically in terms of its schema. Following LéviStrauss, I have recorded the sequence of each order in the form of a chart. The sequence of the geographical order is given in figure 1. Fig. 1.

Sequence of Geographical Order

Jesus is or will be in Galilee. 1:9a 1:14 1:21 1:28 1:39 2:1

Jesus is in Judea.

Jesus is on the sea.

1:9b

4:1 4:36-41 5:21 6:32 6:48-52 6:53

14:28 16:7

5:1

7:24 7:31 8:10a 8:13-21

8:10b 9:30 9:33

Jesus is in a foreign land.

10:1a 10:32-33 10:46 11:1 11:11 11:12 11:15 11:27 13:3 14:3 14:26 14:32 15:22

8:22 8:27 10:1b

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Each Markan citation, for example, 1:9a, represents a fact, a relation. The story may be retold in terms of each order by reading the rows from left to right and from top to bottom. Such retelling is the articulation of the sequence of the order. For example, the sequence of the geographical order of the Gospel of Mark opens as follows: "Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee" (1:9a), Jesus went to the River Jordan [in Judea] (1:9b), and then Jesus "came into Galilee" (1:14) again. 3.04 Each column of the charts represents a bundle of relations. A column heading reflects a kind or type of fact, or relation, within an order. The narrative may be understood in terms of each order by disregarding the horizontal rows and reading the vertical columns, each column being considered as a unit. These units, the narrative realities represented by the column headings, are the elements of the schema of an order. Within the schema these elements are arranged abstractly, theoretically. While the sequence presents the "apparent content" of the narrative, the schema represents its "latent content." The schema suggests the latent, nonmanifest, fundamental opposition which underlies the manifest oppositions as they move toward mediation. In my schematic diagrams the terms in parentheses represent the nonmanifest, fundamental oppositions. The other terms represent the oppositions manifest in the narrative. Thus, in examining the various schemata we begin to observe the movement from awareness of oppositions toward their progressive mediation which Lévi-Strauss considers one of the main processes of mythic thought. 3.05 The schema of the geographical order, figure 2, may serve as our initial example. This schema may be read: The fundamental, perhaps less than fully conscious, opposition chaos vs. order is manifest in the Markan gospel by the opposition sea vs. land which is replaced by foreign land vs. Jewish homeland which is in turn replaced by Judea vs.

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Galilee. The movement toward mediation is seen in the progressive weakening of the oppositions from the antithetical chaos vs. order to the distinctive but related Judea vs. Galilee /8/. Fig. 2.

Schema of Geographical Order

(chaos) sea foreign land Judea Galilee Jewish homeland land (order) 3.06 Observations about the sequence and schema of each order point toward the meaning of that order. The significance of each order must be understood to a certain degree before the various orders may be integrated. Thus we must consider the sequence and schema of each order in turn. In this present essay three orders must serve as examples of the fuller treatment of all six orders. 3.1

Geographical Order

3.11 Figure 1 illustrates the sequence of the geographical order. Jesus' dominant sphere of activity is Galilee, although Judea is dominant in the final third of the narrative. Voyages on the sea and journeys into foreign regions all occur in the context of Galilean dominance. The sequence ends with a reference to Galilee where it began. (The final fact, 16:7, is a promise: "he is going before you to Galilee.") In fact, action always returns to Galilee (especially 1:14 and 16:7; also 6:53, 8:10b, 9:30). Thus we have the pattern of a spiral: action returns to its beginning point but continues on. At the level of the apparent content, the geographical order tells the story of an individual, Jesus, whose actions have more than a local

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significance and whose Galilean actions are both dominant and definitive. 3.12 To consider the latent content we turn from the sequence to the schema. As we examine the geographical schema in figure 2, we observe that to the column headings of Figure 1 have been added the terms "land," the opposite of sea which is implied in foreign land, Judea, and Galilee combined, and "Jewish homeland," the opposite of foreign land and the union of Galilee and Judea. The opposed pair foreign land vs. Jewish homeland is understood as less antithetical than sea vs. land since both poles do represent land. Jewish homeland, the place of residence of the central characters of the story, is related to foreign land, a temporary place of travel for the central characters, as land, the familiar environment of human beings, is related to sea, a temporary place of travel for human beings. Both within and beyond the Markan narrative, sea and foreign land have the connotation of unfamiliarity, strangeness, and thus of a threat to what is normal, that is, chaos. On the other hand, land and Jewish homeland have in this context the connotation of familiarity, normalcy, order. Since the main character, Jesus, is from Galilee, "Galilee," the homeland within the homeland, replaces "Jewish homeland" as the opposites move toward mediation. Thus Judea, foreign to Jesus in comparison with Galilee, replaces foreign land. 3.13 Here our approach to the latent content through the schema begins to bear exegetical fruit. The reader would have expected Judea, the region of Jerusalem— religious center of the Jewish people, home of the temple which ordered their worship and of the Tables of the Law which ordered their very lives—to be the center of order. And would not Galilee, in contradistinction to the home of the religious establishment, Galilee surrounded by foreign lands and their influence, have been anticipated as a

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manifestation of chaos? But within the Markan narrative, Galilee, the base of Jesus' ministry, is the center of order, the center of a new and authentic order demanded and proclaimed by Jesus of Nazareth. Chaos breaks loose when Jesus arrives in Jerusalem in Judea. The chaos of the trial, in which the Markan chief priests and elders appear to ignore their own required order, leads to the chaos of the crucifixion, complete with darkness when there should be light (15:33) and the rending of the temple curtain (15:38) which makes chaos of the rigid demarcation of sacred and profane within the religious structure. Thus, Judea is linked with the chaos pole of the fundamental opposition, and Galilee with order. The resultant significance of this arrangement, the meaning of the geographical order, may perhaps be phrased as follows: The established religious order is seen as chaos and called into question; authentic order is to be found outside the religious establishment /10/. 3.2

Calendrical Order

3.21 We turn now to the calendrical order. The important distinctions among the relations of this order are whether an event takes place on the Sabbath or on a weekday and whether an event takes place during Passover or during an ordinary week. Since the sequence of the calendrical order of the Gospel of Mark is rather simple and thus clear to readers of Mark, no chart of the sequence is given. The narrative action opens on a weekday during an ordinary week and moves through an appropriate rhythm of Sabbaths and weekdays to a Passover week. This Passover week includes, of course, a Sabbath and weekdays. The narrative action closes on a weekday, the first day of the week, of a Passover week. Thus, at the level of the apparent content, as illustrated by the sequence, the calendrical order repeats the pattern of a normal Jewish year.

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3.22 We turn to the schema of the calendrical order (figure 3) for conclusions concerning the latent content of the narrative. The pairs of opposites of the logical schema are Passover week vs. ordinary weeks and Sabbath day vs. weekdays. The distance between the Sabbath and weekdays, a difference manifested fifty-two times a year, appears to be less great and less intense than the distance between ordinary weeks and the annual Passover. Although each Sabbath brings about changes in attitude and behavior for a period of twenty-four hours, each Passover brings about changes in attitude and behavior for a period of seven days. Thus the movement toward mediation is from Passover week vs. ordinary weeks to Sabbath day vs. weekdays. Both Passover and the Sabbath have clear religious denotations as well as connotations. Thus Passover and the Sabbath are understood as narrative manifestations of the fundamental idea of "the religious" or "the sacred." On the other hand, ordinary weeks and weekdays carry denotations and connotations pointing to the fundamental idea of "the worldly" or "the secular." Thus the fundamental opposition which the calendrical order manifests and seeks to mediate is sacred vs. secular. Fig. 3.

Schema of Calendrical Order

(sacred) Passover week Sabbath day weekdays ordinary weeks (secular) 3.23 The attempt at mediation is illustrated in comparing the opening and the final situation of the narrative. The Markan narrative opens on a weekday during an ordinary week, a situation clearly secular in its connotation. Throughout the development of the narrative the connotation shifts between secular and sacred. However, the narrative

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closes on a weekday (secular in connotation) during a Passover week (sacred in connotation). Weekday and Passover are not, of course, logical opposites, but they are manifestations of opposite poles of the fundamental, nonmanifest opposition. By combining weekday and Passover, the closing situation of Mark breaks the bonds of the fundamental opposition sacred vs. secular by fusing the poles into a new thing, a "worldly sacred" or a "religiously secular" /ll/. The meaning or significance of the calendrical order of the Markan gospel, as drawn out by its sequence and schema, may thus be phrased as follows: The story of Jesus Christ breaks down and breaks open the traditional categories of sacred and secular, or religious and worldly, so that the two interpenetrate in a new way. 3.24 Thus both the geographical order and the calendrical order have theological significance for the Markan gospel /12/. This is not a surprising conclusion since the Gospel of Mark is a theological work, theological in the sense of a story told within and for a religious community. In Levi-Straussian terminology, it is as if the orders were "provided with different codes, each being used according to the needs of the moment, and according to its particular capacity, to transmit the same message" (1967:14). The geographical order and the calendrical order present the theological message implicitly in their own codes. In addition, the Markan gospel includes a theological order with an explicit theological code. 3.3

Theological Order

3.31 The last order to be considered is the theological order. This order involves quite a number and variety of relations which may be grouped into several suborders. However, for this present analysis I will concern myself with only the major order and with but four types of relations: Jesus is recognized as Son of God; Jesus speaks of

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(or someone is looking for) the kingdom of God; Jesus speaks of the Son of man; someone expects the kingdom of David. Figure 4 presents the sequence of these relations. Fig. 4.

Sequence of Theological Order

Jesus is recognized as Son of God. 1:1 1:11 3:11

Jesus speaks of (or someone is looking for) the kingdom of God. 1:15

Jesus speaks of the Son of man.

Someone expects the kingdom of David.

2:10 2:28

4:11 4:26 4:30 8:31 8:38

5:7 9:1

9:9 9:12 9:31

9:7 9:47 10:14 10:15 10:23 10:24 10:25 12:34

14:61 15:39

14:25 15:43

10:33 10:45 13:26 14:21a 14:21b 14:41 14:62

11:10

3.32 The affirmation by others of Jesus as the Son of God forms a general framework for the narrative. The phrase "Son of God" occurs three times in Mark: in the introduction (1:1), that is, the recognition by the gospel writer; at 3:11, a recognition by spirits; and at the crucifixion (15: 39), a recognition by a human being, the centurion. The designation Son of God in an elaborated or adapted (involving a circumlocution of the divine name) form occurs twice

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in Mark: at 5:7 ("Son of the Most High God"), a second recognition by spirits; and at 14:61 ("Son of the Blessed"), a human recognition in interrogative form (the high priest's question) /13/. Twice the word "Son" is spoken by a voice assumed to be that of God: at the baptism (1:11) and at the transfiguration (9:7). However, within this framework of "Son of God" statements by others, the teaching about the kingdom of God and the Son of man by Jesus are dominant. The kingdom of David is mentioned but once, embedded in about the center of this context /14/. 3.33 Again, the beginning and the end of the sequence are significant. The story which opens with an affirmation of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (1:1), closes with a quest for the kingdom of God (15:43). At the level of the apparent content, the level to which the sequence refers, the theological order suggests that the story of Jesus Christ as the Son of God serves as the background for the larger story of the Son of man and the continuing story of the kingdom of God. 3.34 The schema of the theological order is presented in Figure 5. Linguistic parallelisms aid in establishing the opposing pairs: Son of God vs. Son of man and kingdom of God vs. kingdom of David. It is not easy to establish logically either the two "kingdoms" or the two "sons" as closer to mediation. However, in the Markan narrative, Jesus Christ fills the role of both the Son of God and the Son of man and thus mediates them. Therefore, the movement toward mediation may be understood as the movement from kingdom of David vs. kingdom of God to Son of man vs. Son of God. Fig. 5.

Schema of Theological Order

(surprising) kingdom of God Son of God Son of man kingdom of David (expected)

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3.35 What do these pairs of theological terms connote? In regard to "Son of man," whether it is understood as a title, an apocalyptic concept of "a heavenly redeemer figure whose coming to earth as judge would be a feature of the drama of the End time" (see Perrin, 1974b:25) /15/, or as an image, a symbol of long and vital history, with a variety of uses in Jewish apocalyptic and the New Testament (Perrin, 1974b), "Son of man" is recognized as operative within the sphere of apocalyptic expectations. In applying to Jesus the title or image "Son of man," the Markan narrative places Jesus within a pattern of expectation of the end time. On the other hand, the phrase "kingdom of David" appears to refer to definite expectations of a political nature, involving the overthrow of the political enemies of Israel and the establishment of the chosen people in a new and perfect kingdom of David. The common element between Son of man and kingdom of David is a definite expectation. At the level of the latent content both share the connotation of "the expected." 3.36 In contradistinction, "Son of God" and "kingdom of God" share the connotation of "the surprising." Son of God was not a title or image of an expected figure in the sense that Son of man was, but rather a more general designation, within Hebrew scripture, or some individual (especially the king) or some group (Israel) "legitimated" by God, that is, specially elected and comissioned by God (Fohrer: 349-35 3) /16/. That God so elected Jesus of Nazareth, calling him "my beloved Son" (1:11), is the surprising theme of the Markan baptism scene. In the Markan transfiguration scene Peter hears the voice (of God) call Jesus "my beloved Son" and is surprised (9:6-7). Both the spirits who witness Jesus1 exorcisms and the centurion who witnesses Jesus1 crucifixion express surprise as they recognize Jesus as the Son of God. The Markan Jesus seeks in his parables to elucidate the nature of the kingdom of God and to witness

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to its present reality. But the parables are often misunderstood; the kingdom of God surprises. Thus the fundamental opposition of the theological schema, the nonmanifest opposition underlying the opposing terms manifest in the Markan narrative, is the surprising vs. the expected. 3.37 In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus refers to himself as the Son of man, and others refer to him as the Son of God. Jesus1 life and death combine an expected power and a surprising obedience to suffering /17/ in a way that fuses the roles of Son of man and Son of God. In the Gospel of Mark, the kingdom of David is proclaimed to be "coming" (11:10), and the kingdom of God is proclaimed to be "at hand" (1:15). Thus, in terms of the latent content, in Jesus Christ both the expected and the surprising occur; expectations are overfilled. The surprising contradicts the expected not so much by denying it as by fulfilling it overwhelmingly. 3.4 I have analyzed the sociological, epistemologica!, and cosmological orders in this same fashion: isolating, then grouping, the relations; examining the sequence and the schema; and attempting to clarify the significance of each order. It is not possible in this introductory overview to present my tentative conclusions regarding these orders. May I merely suggest that my findings have been consistent with those I have sketched here and have contributed significantly to my overall understanding of Mark. 3.5

Global Integration and the Formula

3.51 Examining the narrative one order at a time in an analytical way leaves the reader with a fragmented view of the Gospel of Mark. However, in their contexts, mythic narratives are generally read or heard holistically; in fact, anthropologist Lévi-Strauss posits, the orders "cannot be separated out by the native mind" (1967:13-14). Our synthetic task involves, in the terms of Lévi-Strauss, the

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"global integration" of the schemata. I have employed the terms of the fundamental oppositions of each order in my global integration. This process gives us new schemata with new opposed pairs moving toward mediation and new underlying, fundamental oppositions—all at a higher level of abstraction. The geographical, calendrical, and theological orders may be integrated in three ways as illustrated in figure 6: geographical with calendrical, calendrical with theological, theological with geographical. Because each of these three integrated schemata points back to the same fundamental opposition, I will discuss only the third. Fig. 6.

geo

Global Integration: Geographical, Calendrical, and Theological Orders

graphical/calendrical

(dynamism) secular Chaos non-ordering Secular sacred Chaos sacred Order (rigidity)

ealendrical/théologieal (dynamism) secular Surprise non-expected Secularity sacred Surprise sacred Expectation (rigidity)

theologioal/geographical (dynamism) surprising Chaos non-ordering Surprise expected Chaos expected Order (rigidity) 3.52 When the fundamental oppositions of the theological and the geographical schemata are integrated, the resulting schema consists of three binary oppositions:

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a fundamental opposition of rigidity vs. dynamism, replaced by an opposition of expected Order vs. surprising Chaos, in turn replaced by an opposition of expected Chaos vs. nonordering Surprise. In the Gospel of Mark, "expected Order" is represented by the Jewish religious leaders who are opposed to the "surprising Chaos" caused by Jesus' healing and teaching. The conflict between those on the side of "expected Order" and Jesus as the bearer of "surprising Chaos" is forcefully introduced in the Markan controversy stories and is faced head-on by Jesus as he goes up to Jerusalem to the final confrontation. Chapters 1 through 12 of Mark detail the development of the opposition "expected Order" vs. "surprising Chaos" as it is narrativized in Jesus' public ministry. 3.53 The Markan gospel offers two separate but related narrative manifestations of "expected Chaos": Jesus' present death and future eschatological crises, or the passion of Jesus (chaps. 14-16) and the passion of the community (chap. 13) /18/. Each example of "expected Chaos" has both a personal (or communal) dimension and a cosmic dimension. Jesus' death is occasioned by strange darkness (15:33) and by the rending of the temple curtain (15:38); the inbreaking of the end time is to be occasioned by all manner of tribulations for those experiencing it (13:14-20) and by the darkness of the heavenly bodies (13:24-25). Thus the two Markan forms of "expected Chaos" inform one another; in addition, they open onto two manifestations of "nonordering Surprise." 3.54 The major conflict of Mark has a dual ending. The "expected Chaos" of the eschatological crises will be overcome by "the Son of man coming in clouds with great glory" to "gather his elect...from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven" (13:26-27), truly a Surprise which will invert the normal order of things. The "expected Chaos" of Jesus' death, which confirmed the Jewish religious

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leaders1 suspicions of the disruptive Jesus, is overcome in the experience of his followers: "Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified...is going before [them] to Galilee" (16:6-7). The followers of Jesus may see, as the religious establishment failed to perceive, that the Chaos of Jesus1 death is not an end but a beginning; the "non-ordering Surprise" of the experience of the empty tomb and the "you will see him, as he told you" statement gives a totally new dimension to the narrative. Thus the "non-ordering Surprise" of the resurrection experience overreaches the "expected Chaos" of the crucifixion, just as the "surprising Chaos" of Jesus1 life goes beyond the "expected Order" of the Jewish religious community. The rigidity of the religious establishment is challenged by dynamism, challenged to renew itself through the power of the non-ordering, the flexible, the surprising. 3.55 May I simply suggest, without illustrating, that when the epistemological and sociological schemata are integrated the fundamental opposition underlying the new opposing pairs is communication vs. alienation, and when the theological and cosmological schemata are integrated the fundamental opposition suggested is freedom vs. necessity. Furthermore, communication vs. alienation, dynamism vs. rigidity, and freedom vs. necessity may be understood as transformations on the interpersonal, societal, and cosmic levels of the elementary opposition on the personal level, life vs. death. 3.56 At this high level of abstraction, we are considering, as it were, the schema of the schemata of the narrative. This schema suggests the fundamental structure of the narrative as a whole which underlies the transformations manifested by the orders. Thus this schema is describable by Lévi-Strauss' formula for the description of the structure of a myth considered as the collection of all its variants. In sketching briefly the application of this

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formula to the integrated theological/geographical

schema

of the Gospel of Mark, I accept the double risk of confusing readers for whom this type of investigation is new and of oversimplifying for readers who are themselves structural exegetes. 3.57

Lévi-Strauss himself has published little in

explicit explanation of his formula since the brief, and almost cryptic, introduction in 1955 (442-443) /19/.

Con-

sequently I have found the explication and adaptation by Maranda and Maranda helpful in my own application / 2 0 / . Lévi-Strauss* formula begins with a binary opposition

(see

Two opposed tendencies, χ and y, in the opening

fig. 7 ) .

of a narrative actualize the deep opposition of two terms, (a) and Fig. 7.

(b), so that a conflict or problem results. Application of Lévi-Strauss 1 Formula for Myth

f x (a)

:

f (b) y (a) = Order (b) = Chaos

expected Order

:

religious establishment

:

fx(b)

f

a-l M

x = expected y = surprising

surprising Chaos

expected Chaos

non-ordering Surprise

Jesus' life

Jesus' death/ eschatological catastrophes

resurrection experience

The first two members of the formula, f (a) and f (b), refer χ y to the setting up of the conflict. The third member of the formula, f x ( b ) , refers to the mediation of the conflict, (b), first specified by f , becomes specified by f and thus mediates opposites. A permutation of functions and terms is made manifest in the last member of the formula. (a), first given as a term, is inverted and becomes a sign of a func­ tion, 1. y, first given as a sign of a function, becomes a— (y), a term. While the third member of the formula refers

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to the turning point of the plot, the fourth, f ι(y), rea— fers to the final solution or situation. Thus the first three members express a dynamic process whose final out­ come is the result or a state, that is, the end of the pro­ cess of mediation. The formula illustrates the equivalence of two relationships. The relationship of opposition be­ tween f (a) and f (b) is equivalent to the relationship of χ

y

opposition between f (b) and f χ

η (y) /21/.

a™*"*"

3.58 The application of this formula to the integrated theological/geographical schema of the Gospel of Mark is given in figure 7. The terms, or symbols as the Marandas call them, (a) and (b), are Order and Chaos. The functions, or roles, χ and y, are expected and surprising. From this information we may determine the first three members of the formula by simple substitution. Determining the fourth member is more complex. The sign of the fourth function is a- , the inverse of a. Inverse is a mathematical metaphor which is not always so easily applied to narrative realities. If a = 4, the multiplicative inverse of a = 1/4 /22/. But if a = Order, what does the inverse of a equal? Perhaps it equals Order turned upside-down! Lévi-Strauss provides neither explanation nor clear example, but it may be that he uses both "inverted" and "contradictory" loosely and synonymously /23/. Daniel Patte has interpreted a- , the inverse of a, as non-a, a, and has rewritten the formula accordingly (1975:243ff., 1976b:77ff.) /24/. However, in the light of Lévi-Strauss1 less stringent concern with the logical categories that are crucial to Greimas, there is also good reason to continue with Lévi-Strauss1 more ambiguous, but more flexible, metaphor of inverse in the general sense of opposite /25/. Since in this Markan analysis, (a) is Order, a- would be something like "Order turned upside-down," involving perhaps something of both non-order and re-order. But whereas (a) is expressed as a term. Order, a- , the inverse of a, is expressed as a function, inversed ordering or non-ordering. Thus the fourth member of the

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formula expresses the fact that in a narrative with a mythic structure, a symbol is transformed into a role, and a role is hypostatized as a symbol. The symbol "Order" is transformed into the role "non-ordering," and the role "surprising" is hypostatized as the symbol "Surprise." 3.59 Considering the theological and geographical orders of the Markan gospel in light of this formula we read: expected Order is to surprising Chaos as expected Chaos is to non-ordering Surprise. We must remember that it is the relationships which are being compared here. The relationship between parts three and four of the formula is comparable to the relationship between parts one and two. Thus, in the present example, we may conclude that as the impact of Jesus' life goes beyond that of the Jewish religious establishment so the impact of the resurrection experience (analogous to the experience of the coming of the Son of man) goes beyond that of Jesus' death (analogous to that of the eschatological crises). The fundamental opposition of Order and Chaos is overcome in Surprise. 4.

Conclusion

4.1 The Gospel of Mark is dynamic. It is a strength of Lévi-Strauss' approach that it recognizes "there is no inertia in myth" (1973:249). Lévi-Strauss' methodology assumes that mythic narratives deal with crucial and difficult issues in the lives of human beings and of human societies. Lévi-Strauss' formula for describing the structure of myth is a mathematical metaphor which should be greeted not with fright but with welcome, since some things about myth are only told metaphorically. However, LéviStrauss' methodology has its weaknesses. His own explanation and examples are not always clear and consistent. And, more importantly, problems remain in relating the two dimensions of myth: the diachronic, often slighted by LéviStrauss, and the synchronic /26/. The equation is too easily

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made between diachrony and surface structure (that is, telling the myth) as opposed to synchronicity and deep structure (understanding the myth). My structural exegesis of the Gospel of Mark suggests that the chronological order of the telling is also important to the mythological patterns we are seeking to understand. 4.2 Relations and bundles of relations, facts and orders, sequences and schemata, global integration and a formula for mythic structure—all are ways of approaching anew the significance of Mark's gospel. Structural exegesis is sometimes criticized for taking us too far afield, for replacing the text itself with neatly organized charts and abstract diagrams! Of course this danger is a real one. But it is not a danger unique to structural exegesis, and it may and must be combated by frequent returning to the text with openness. I judge the risk worth taking in order to gain a new and renewing understanding of the Gospel of Mark, not only as a historical narrative but also as a religious text with mythic structure and meaning /27/.

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NOTES /l/ This paper stems from my doctoral research now in progress at Florida State university and revises a presentation to the Consultation on Structuralism and Exegesis at the annual meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature in San Francisco, December 1977. I am pleased to express my appreciation for the helpful comments offered by several readers of this paper and/or earlier versions: Dr. Robert Spivey, Florida State University; Dr. Daniel Patte, Dr. John Donahue, and John Jones, Vanderbilt University; Dr. Glendon Bryce, College of the Holy Cross. /2/ Lévi-Strauss made no effort to reconcile these two sets of terms; however, both discussions move in the same direction, and I have tried to make clear when possible the equivalence between the two sets of terms and processes of analysis. In addition, some problems of terminology exist within each article. Within the terminology of "The Story of Asdiwal" (facts/orders), "levels" and "orders" serve synonymously. Within the terminology of "The Structural Study of Myth" (relations/bundles), some confusion is possible concerning the meaning of "constituent units." On the one hand, "each gross constituent unit will consist in a relation," but on the other hand, "the true constituent units of a myth are not isolated relations but bundles of such relations" (431) . Thus a relation is a gross constituent unit of myth, but a bundle of relations, or a bundle of gross constituent units, is the true constituent unit of myth. In other words, when analyzing the meaning of the myth, the bundles of relations are the important elements. /3/ No specific orders and no set number of orders are "given" prior to analysis of the narrative facts. In analyzing "The Story of Asdiwal," Lévi-Strauss isolated four orders: geographic, techno-economic, sociological, and cosmological. /4/ To describe fully a "spatial" rather than a geographical order, attention would also have to be paid to the manifestations of these oppositions: isolated areas (mountain/desert)/road/populated areas (city/viliege) house/synagoge/temple

In addition, note would have to be made not only of Jesus1 movements in space but also of the movements in space of all the Markan characters. /5/ To describe fully a "temporal" rather than a calendrical order, attention would also have to be paid to references to the time of day (morning/evening, the third hour, etc.) and references to relative time (now/the age to come, etc.).

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Semeia

/β/ Another anthropologist interested in understand­ ing myth takes an opposite tack. Clifford Geertz under­ stands cosmology, or world view, in its intellectual, emo­ tional, and moral formulations, as part of the religious perspective which rests upon the "really real" (1957, 1966). /I/ To describe fully the theological order of the Markan gospel, all christological titles (including Christ, Son of David, Holy One of God, as well as Son of God and Son of man) must be considered, together with references to God and to the (Holy) Spirit. /8/ We may perhaps separate a logical arrangement of the underlying cultural code from the abstract, but mytho­ logical, arrangement of the schema. For example, the geo­ graphical code underlying Mark might be sketched as: rsea | -land

[-foreign land 1 -Jewish homeland

Judec r Judea

t

Galil Llee

And the calendrical code might be diagramed as : p- Sabbath day rPassover week

ordinary weeks

L

weekdays Sabbath days -weekdays

However, the schemata of these two orders are as presented in figures 2 and 3. These cultural codes may be arranged hierarchically. On the other hand, the schemata are ar­ ranged according to opposition and mediation within the mythic narrative. The graphic representation of the integrated schema in the English translation of "The Story of Asdiwal" (19) differs in a significant way from that in Anthropologie Structurale Deux (196). Could it be that the changed dia­ gram in the English text is an attempt to illustrate simul­ taneously both the logic of the cultural code and the "mytho-logic" of the schema? My schematic diagrams are consistent with the diagram of the French edition. /9/ Only those relations or narrative facts which, in the Greek text published by the United Bible Societies, specifically mark the present or future spatial location of the Markan Jesus in Galilee (Galilee, Nazareth, Capernaum, Dalmanutha, Gennesaret) or in Judea (Judea, River Jordan,

Malbon: Mythic Structure and Meaning

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Jericho, Bethphage, Bethany, Mount of Olives, Jerusalem, Gethsemane, Golgotha) or in a foreign region (the country of the Gerasenes, Tyre and Sidon, Bethsaida, Caesarea Philippi, beyond the Jordan) with a place name (proper noun) or specifically locate the Markan Jesus on the sea (either in a boat or walking on the sea) are represented in figure 1. /10/ The key mediation of the overall spatial order of Mark (see note / 4 / above) is signaled by the term road or way (hodos) or by its implication in other terms. Fuller explanation is not possible here, but we may at least note that the road from Capernaum (9:33, 10:1, 10:17) up to Jerusalem (10:32) does link Galilee and Judea, does lead the main character from one region to the other—and back (1:14, 14:28, 16:7), and in that sense does mediate the two geographical terms. From the opening cry, "Prepare the way (hodon) of the Lord" (1:3), to the closing promise, "he is going before you to Galilee" (16:7), being "on the road" bears weighty theological significance in Mark's gospel. /Il/ Thus the mediation operates by the inclusion in the mediator of some aspect from each of the opposed terms or opposed groups of terms. Here the final "weekday during Passover week" of Mark manifests an aspect of the secular (weekday) and an aspect of the sacred (Passover). This Markan example is complex because the specific elements included in the mediator are not strict logical opposites but manifestations of opposite poles of the fundamental opposition. A simpler example is given in Lévi-Strauss1 analysis of native North American myths in which scavengers are mediators between herbivores and predators, since scavengers eat meat, like predators, but, like herbivores, they do not kill their food (1955:440). /12/ Both redaction critics and structural exegetes have recognized the significance of the geographical references to the overall theological meaning of Mark or of the Gospels, for example: Marxsen, "Study Two: The Geographical Outline" (54-116), Mauser, Kelber, Marin. Less attention has been paid to temporal references; Kelber1s book, despite its subtitle, is only a partial exception, as it considers only Markan relationships to apocalyptic expectations and to the fall of Jerusalem and not the broader span of temporal references of the Markan narrative. Non-biblical examples of structuralist attention to narrative location in space and/or time include not only Lévi-Strauss1 "The Story of Asdiwal" but also Greimas' Maupassant, where a spatial-temporal isotopy is isolated (66). /13/ The recognition of Jesus as "the Holy One of God" by the spirit(s) at 1:24 is a related case, but it is omitted here because it does not include the significant word "Son."

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Semema

/14/ Of course, no one order may be totally understood in isolation. The opposition of the kingdom of God and the kingdom of David is further elucidated by the oppositions of the epistemological schema which manifests the fundamental opposition understanding vs. misunderstanding. Continued expectation of the kingdom of David in a strict sense may signify misunderstanding of the kingdom of God. In a fuller investigation, this narrative fact (11:10) would also be considered in the context of other Markan references to David, particularly the surrounding references to the "son of David" (10:47, 48; 12:35). /15/ Perrin offered this definition as the one point of agreement among the differing viewpoints of H. E. Tödt, A. J. B. Higgins, F. C. Hahn, R. H. Fuller, Eberhard Jüngel, Philip Vielhauer, Eduard Schweizer, Matthew Black, and Carsten Colpe (23-24 and 23 n. 1 ) . /16/ Of course, some argue for understanding "Son of God" within the Hellenistic concept of the "divine man"; in this case, the connotation of its Markan use would be "divinity." Others argue that "Son of man" is to be understood, at least in part, as an Aramaism meaning simply "man"; in this case, the connotation of its Markan use would be "humanity." Again the Markan Jesus, as both Son of God and Son of man, mediates a fundamental opposition, divinity vs. humanity. That is, Jesus as the (divine) Son of God dies a very human death (15:39), but as the (human) Son of man, Jesus will come "in clouds with great power and glory" (13:26). The fundamental opposition humanity vs. divinity is further manifest in the sociological order of the Gospel of Mark. Obviously the Markan use of the two phrases Son of God and Son of man is extremely rich and its significance is only hinted at here. /17/ The fundamental opposition power vs. obedience is further manifest in the cosmological order of the Gospel of Mark. The interpénétration of the theological and cosmological orders is seen in Mark's reinterpretation of both Son of man and Son of God in ways which stress the mediation of power and obedience through Jesus' acceptance of opposing roles (powerful miracle-worker, obedient sufferer). Mark's gospel offers statements of both the power of the Son of man now (2:10, 28) and in the future (8:38, 13:26, 14:62) and the suffering of the Son of man (8:31; 9:9, 12, 31; 10:33, 45; 14:21, 41). The power of the Son of God is sensed in the Markan baptism, exorcism, and transfiguration scenes (1:11, 3:11, 5:7, 9:7), but the centurion recognizes Jesus as "Son of God" as Jesus suffers and dies (15:39). /18/ Perrin (1974a) has suggested that Mark 13 and Mark 14-16 are "parallel" (148), that "the passion and the parousia of Jesus stand in a certain tension with each other" (148), that Mark's gospel draws to a close with a

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"twin climax of the apocalyptic discourse...and the passion narrative" (159). This idea has been further developed by John R. Donahue, from whose lectures at the Vanderbilt Divinity School, Fall 1977, I have borrowed the phrase "the passion of Jesus and the passion of the community." The positions of Perrin and Donahue represent developments, based on more detailed literary analysis, of the more historically oriented positions of Etienne Trocmé and Rudolf Pesch. Trocmé holds that Mark 1-13 comprised the earliest form of the gospel, and that later this work was editorially combined with an independent document which we might call the "Passion according to Saint Mark" (Mark 14-16) to form the canonical Mark. Thus our Gospel of Mark may be understood as "the 'second edition, revised and supplemented by a long appendix1 of an earlier Gospel" (240). Pesch, on the other hand, posits in Naherwartungen that Mark 13 was added after the gospel was complete in order to counter a false eschatology. /19/ In From Honey to Ashes, Lévi-Strauss does represent the formula and state: "I have never ceased to be guided by it since that time" (249). /20/ Robert M. Polzin has also found Maranda and Maranda's explication helpful. His clear explanation of their adaptation and his application of it to the Book of Job are presented on pages 76-83. /21/ One might ask whether it is possible to be more specific about the nature of the relations of opposition given in Lévi-Strauss1 formula. A. J. Greimas, following Aristotle's square of opposition, distinguishes contradictory relations and contrary relations. Greimas' "elementary structure of signification," the logical square, is represented graphically as: S

lf

tS2

S

2«

>S1

where S]_ means non-S^ and S*2 means non-S2 and where the diagonal arrows indicate contradictory relations and the horizontal arrows indicate contrary relations. Lévi-Strauss does occasionally employ the terms "contradictory" and "contrary" in his arguments. In "The Structural Study of Myth" Lévi-Strauss states, concerning the four columns of the analysis of the Oedipus myth, "contradictory relationships are identical inasmuch as they are both self-contradictory in a similar way" (434). Because the relations among the four members of the formula parallel the relations among

126

Semeia

the four columns, one might assume that Lévi-Strauss defines the opposition of fx(a) and fy(b), and the opposition of f (b) and f _i(y), as relations of contradiction, a*™

Such an assumption is made and extended by Greimas in interpreting Lévi-Strauss1 formula. Greimas defines Lévi-Strauss1 formula as "the establishing of a correlation of coupled contradictory terms" (1977:26) and continues: "It is easy to see that such a model [LéviStrauss1 formula] is in every respect comparable to the constitutional model to which we have already referred [Greimas1 elementary structure of signification], and that it may be interpreted by application of the same relational categories" (1977:26). Greimas1 view of Lévi-Strauss" formula might be represented graphically as: fx(aU

*f,-l(Y>

f x (b);

?fy(b)

where the diagonal arrows indicate contradictory relations and the horizontal arrows indicate contrary relations. Such a Greimasian presentation of Lévi-Strauss1 formula is intriguing but problematic. That fx(a) and fy(b), and fx(b) and fa„i(y) are contradictories might be supported by Lévi-Strauss1 statement quoted above. Perhaps fx(b) and fy(b) could be said to be in contrary relation because of the opposition of f x and fy. But can the complex relation between fx(a) and f i(y) be categorized as simple contrariety? Nowhere in Lévi-Straussf explanation do I find a suggestion of relations of contrariety among the four members of the formula. In fact, the whole point of Lévi-Strauss1 formula is not a comparison of the possible relations among the four elements of the formula as if they were separable, but a comparison of two relationships between complex terms, two equivalent oppositions. The nature of the relations of the elements within the members of the formula may also be considered. That (a) and (b) are considered by Lévi-Strauss as contraries might be inferred from the following statement: .it seems that every myth (considered as the w^llection of all its variants) corresponds to a co formula of the following type: fx(a) : fy(b) - fx(b) : f &-1 (y) where, two terms being given as well as two functions of these terms, it is stated that a relation of equivalence still exists between two

Malbon: Mythic Structure and Meaning

127

situations when terms and relations are inverted, under two conditions: 1. that one term be re­ placed by its contrary; 2. that an inversion be made between the function and the term value of two elements. (1955:442-443) The first condition stipulates that the term (a) in fx(a) be replaced by its contrary, (b), yielding f χ (b). The contrary relation of (a) and (b) is assumed by Daniel Patte (1975:236) who then extends the discussion in two ways: (1) by distinguishing a second relation of contrariety between χ and y and (2) by identifying a' 1 , the inverse of a, with I, non-a, the contradiction of a within the logical square (see §3.58 below). However, Patte de­ duces that (a) vs. (b) and χ vs. y are oppositions of con­ traries from the observation that "Fx(a) vs. F v (b) is an opposition of contraries" (1975:236). This observation, of course, opposes Greimas' interpretation of fx(a) and fy(b) as contradictories. Yet isolated statements from Lévi-Strauss1 explanations seem to lend support to both views! On the whole, Lévi-Strauss seems to prefer terms such as "opposite" or "inverted" over "contradictory" and "contrary." When he does employ the latter terms, he appears to apply them in a general sense rather than in the strict sense of Aristotle's square of opposition as utilized by Greimas and his followers. In "The Structural Study of Myth," for example, Lévi-Strauss1 use of the term "contradictory" contradicts its strict, traditional application. At one point Lévi-Strauss gives life vs. death as a "contradiction" (438); at another point he lists good and bad as "contradictory" (442). Each of these pairs is a classic example of contraries according to the logical square of opposition.

χ

life*

•death

χ

good*

•bad

non-death * * non-life non-bad < • non-good Nor does the term "contrary" in its technical sense fare much better. Although (a) and (b) are implied as contrary terms (443) and the notion of one true version of a myth is presented as contrary to the notion of myth as consisting of all its versions (435)—both examples consistent with the technical use of the term "contrary"—the conception of myth as non-translatable (like poetry) is given as the con­ trary of the conception of myth as translatable (unlike poetry) (430) though it appears to contradict it. Some of these instances of Lévi-Strauss' use of the terms "contrary" or "contradictory" are merely incidental; others are more formal. But nowhere do the terms receive the technical respect offered by Greimas.

128

Seme-la

Lévi-Strauss is asking different questions and sharing different insights from Greimas and, though a dialogue is healthy, we ought not be too quick to accomodate one system of analysis to the other. /22/ "Inverse," however, is used in other mathematical contexts (the additive inverse, the inverse element in a group, the inverse function) as well as in logic (the inverse of an implication). It is not clear which, if any, of these various uses served as the root of Lévi-Strauss1 employment of the designation "inverse" in his formula. It would seem that the inverse function would provide the key, but Lévi-Strauss1 formula does not clearly follow the mathematical conventions for dealing with functions. Perhaps Maranda and Maranda best illustrate the proper attitude toward such calculation: "Lévi-Strauss1 formula borrows its symbolism from the alphabet of function theory but the connection with this mathematical field should not be carried further" (28). /23/ See note /21/ above on the use of the term "contradictory." In the analysis of the Oedipus myth, overrating blood relations and underrating blood relations are said to "express the same thing, but inverted" (LéviStrauss, 1955:433), and then they are said to be in a contradictory relationship (434) . /24/ Does Lévi-Strauss1 formula remain unchanged by 1 Patte s adaptation? I raised this question in a conversation with Dr. Patte who responded that he had raised this question in a conversation with Lévi-Strauss who would not explicitly respond! /25/ Polzin follows this path in his analysis of the Book of Job. For example: "Just as a is material affliction so its opposite, a-1, is spiritual gain..." (78). To assume that a-1 is equivalent to ä is to mix metaphors—and to open up the problems discussed in note /21/ above. In trying to express an analysis of mythic narrative in mathematical metaphors, it may be helpful to consider the connotations of both metaphors. But we must guard against losing one insight by reducing it to another. /26/ Maranda and Maranda, in adapting and expanding Lévi-Strauss' formula for describing the structure of myth for application to folkloristic materials, interpreted his insights concerning synchronic relationships diachronically. They applied his paradigmatic formula syntagmatically. The phrases in §3.57 above, following Maranda and Maranda, illustrate this shift: "setting up of the conflict," "turning point of the plot," "final solution." Polzin (80) makes the same observation concerning the Marandas• work and also utilizes their

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adaptation. While this approach does counterbalance LéviStrauss1 synchronic bias, it does not resolve the complex problem of the relationship between the diachronic and synchronic dimensions of mythic narratives. Nor does the subtle, but not articulated, influence of the sequence on the schema as suggested by Lévi-Strauss' schematic diagrams in "The Story of Asdiwal" (18-21) resolve this problem. /27/ Perrin develops the ideas of "myth as the interpretation of history" and "history itself functioning as myth" in relation to the New Testament as a whole (1974a: 26-34) .

130

Semeta

WORKS CONSULTED Fohrer, Georg 1972

"huios

(in the) Old Testament." Pp.

340-353 in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Vol. 8. Ed. G.

Friedrich. Geertz, Clifford 1957

Grand Rapids: Eerdmans.

"Ethos, World-View and the Analysis of Sacred Symbols."

The Antioch

Review

17: 421-437. 1966

"Religion as a Cultural System." Pp. 1-46 in Anthropological the Study of Religion.

Approaches to Ed. M. Banton.

London: Tavistock. Greimas, A. J. 1976 1977 Kelber, Werner H. 1974

Maupassant. La sêmiotique de texte: exercices pratiques. Paris: Seuil,

"Elements of a Narrative Grammar." Diacritics (March): 23-40. The Kingdom in Mark: A New Place and a

New Time. Leach, Edmund R. 1961

Philadelphia: Fortress.

"Lévi-Strauss in the Garden of Eden: An Examination of Some Recent Developments in the Analysis of Myth." Transactions of the New York Academy of Sciences, Series II, 23/4: 386-396. Reprinted as pp. 47-60 in Claude LéviStrauss:

The Anthropologist

as Hero.

Ed. E. N. Hayes and T. Hayes. Cambridge, MA/London, England: MIT Press, 1970. Lévi-Strauss, Claude 1955 "The Structural Study of Myth." Journal

of American Folklore

68: 428-

444. Reprinted as pp. 50-66 in Myth: A Symposium. Ed. T. A. Sebeok. Philadelphia: American Folklore Society, 1955. Also reprinted with slight modifications as pp. 206-231 in Claude Lévi-Strauss, Structural

Anthropology

York: Basic Books, 1963.

[Vol. 1].

New

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Lévi-Strauss, Claude "The Story of Asdiwal." Pp. 1-47 in 1967 The Structural Study of Myth and Totemism. Ed. E. Leach. Trans. N. Mann. London: Tavistock. Reprinted as chapter 9 of Lévi-Strauss, Structural Anthropology, Vol. 2. New York: Basic Books, 1976. 1973a

Anthropologie Pion.

Structurale

Deux·

1973b

From Honey to Ashes: Introduction to a Science of Mythology. Vol. 2. New York: Harper and Row.

Paris:

Maranda, Elli Köngäs and Pierre Maranda 1971 Structural Models in Folklore and Transformational Essays. The Hague/ Paris: Mouton. Marin, Louis 1971 Marxsen, Willi 1969 Mauser, Ulrich W. 1963

Patte, Daniel 1975

Sêmiotique de la Passion. Figures. Paris: Cerf. Mark the Evangelist. Nashville: Abingdon.

Topiques et

New York/

Christ in the Wilderness : The Wilderness Theme in the Second Gospel and its Basis in the Biblical Tradition. Naperville, IL: Allenson. "Structural Network in Narrative: The Good Samaritan." Soundings 63/2: 221242.

1976a

"Structural Analysis of the Parable of the Prodigal Son: Toward a Method." Pp. 71-149 in Semiology and Parables. Ed. D. Patte. Pittsburgh: Pickwick.

1976b

What Is Structural Exegesis? Philadelphia: Fortress.

Perrin, Norman 1974a

The New Testament : An Introduction. New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich.

132 Perrin, Norman 1974b

Pesch, Rudolf 1968 Polzin, Robert M. 1977

Trocmê, Etienne 1975

Semeia

"The Son of Man in Ancient Judaism and Primitive Christianity: A Suggestion." Pp. 23-40 in Norman Perrin, A Modern Pilgrimage in New Testament Christology. Philadelphia: Fortress. Naherwartungen: Tradition und Redaktion in Mk 13. Düsseldorf: Patmos. Biblical Structuralism : Method and Subjectivity in the Study of Ancient Texts. Philadelphia: Fortress/ Missoula: Scholars. The Formation of the Gospel According to Mark. Philadelphia: Westminster.

TOWARD A STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS OF THE GOSPEL OF MARK

Catholic

Jean Calloud University (Lyon,

France)

Abstract Following a summary of the course of research on Mark

undertaken at the Center for

the Analysis

of

Religious

Discourse at Lyon, France, the essay provides samples of research in connection with episodes in Mark 2. The method consists of an application to the individual episodes (pericopes; micro-narratives) of some elementary categories of signification, and of a progressive extension of the network of semantic relations disclosed in that first step to the series of episodes considered. This method restores to the Gospel text a level of coherence and continuity useful to its decoding because as the elementary units of signification emerge, the pericopes take a place in the structured totality of the Gospel. The textual features make sense when viewed in terms of the correlations into which they can enter. [Editor's abstract] 0.1 The first experiments in structuralist analysis have been made upon texts in which narrative plotting was very clearly manifested. This is the case with folktales, which demand from the listener or the reader the perception, without ambiguity and delay, of its global meaning and of the interaction of its sequential parts. The more complex narratives of literary works often present the same property which we may designate "syntagmatic continuity." The fixity or the regular variation of the characters, the places, the times, the objects, and the more or less explicit correlation of situations and transformations produce an effect of chainlike continuity and of narrative coherence. The

134

Semeia

autonomy of the successive episodes and of the various textual features is reduced to aid their integration into the overall signifying organization. The length of the text in this case is not a major obstacle to the analysis. The narrative logic emerges in the linguistic manifestation and the construction of the algorithm of the operations is helped by the ease with which one can identify this organization. We could say that in this type of text the "narrative" dominates and the "discourse" is subordinate:* "Narrative" analysis has no difficulty describing the continuity. It can therefore be used to elucidate the organizing principle as a first analytical step preparing directly for the "discursive" analysis. In this case there is a minimal distance between reading and analysis. 0.2 By contrast, in other cases the autonomy of the sequences asserts itself more distinctly and the unifying principle is kept in the background of the linguistic manifestation. The reader then tends to treat each episode separately and more or less to forget the overall perspective of the text. This change of level in the perception of the signifying phenomenon has repercussions upon its analysis: the narrative model, applicable without too much difficulty to each micro-narrative, becomes more problematic for the description of the whole, whereas the discursive model, associated with the thematic dimension of the text, is often more effective. This inversion is frequently more

•Translators Note: Calloud, together with the Group of Entrevernes and Greimas, make a distinction between the narrative dimension of a text and its discursive dimension. The latter is the symbolic and semantic dimension of a text and is characterized by a paradigmatic organization. By contrast the narrative dimension of the text is characterized by a syntagmatic organization (cf.: Group of Entrevernes, Signs and Parables: Semiotics and Gospel Text, trans. Gary Phillips, Pittsburgh: Pickwick, 1978). [Editor's Note: For further discussion of Calloud1s terminology and method, see J. Calloud, Structural Analysis of Narrative (trans. Daniel Patte, Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976).]

Calloud: Toward a Structural Analysis

135

pragmatic than strictly methodological. At the very least it contributes a methodological tool, and the possibility of success, to the quest for the unifying organization and principle. For indeed, such a quest is often difficult, and its difficulty is usually proportionate to the length of the text. 0.3 The Gospels belong to this second category. The structural description of each of their elements is relatively easy, but the elaboration of a descriptive model of the whole remains more problematic. It is well known that the usual reading of these texts proceeds through a consideration of each pericope or each group of pericopes on its own and according to an order which does not always respect the sequence proposed by the Gospel text. One also knows how difficult it is to establish a plan which makes explicit in a satisfactory manner an organization of the sequential parts about which various readers could agree as the one account for the progression of the text. Uncertainty concerning textual segmentation always signals the interference of several principles of organization and the absence of a dominant narrative criterion. Thus, we may ask what sort of constraints do these texts obey? Which semantic laws regulate the distribution of their units and of their smaller features? What is the point of view that one must adopt in order to perceive its continuity, its unfolding, and its connectedness? 0.4 This kind of question led the Center for the Analysis of Religious discourse (CADIR) at Lyon, France, to undertake a sustained collective research project on the Gospel of Mark /l/. Various hypotheses have been proposed both from the narrative point of view and from the discursive point of view. We intend here to summarize the course of this research, to point out the paths opened in the course of these more or less fruitful explorations, and to present then at greater length a sample of the results obtained from a series of pericopes.

136 1.

Semeia The Problem: Values and Semantic Operations

1.1 The first task and the first risk of structural analysis consists in proposing for analysis not the description of the texts themselves but of a level other than that of the linguistic manifestation. This is not to say that the manifestation is secondary or unimportant. But it is only the translation into the lexematic order (i.e., in the order used in reading) of semantic operations performed upon the elementary units of signification. The words, or lexemes, and their combinations in sentences, paragraphs, and textual sequences represent only a "cover" (sometimes uncertain or fantastic, often approximate at least in certain of its details, but always debatable) for a signifying organization whose operation and performances must be defined with precision. This lexematic "cover," fitting the demands of perception and of communication, does not contain meaning as a fixed substance which would be enclosed in each word as in a container. Rather it provides a means of access to the text1s universe of signification by representing the semantic values /2/, their insertion, their combination and their transformation on the stage and with the resources of specific (natural) languages. Because there is a variable distance between the level of manifestation and the signifying organization, the substitution of the descriptive metalanguage for the natural language is more or less difficult. 1.2 When the organizing and unifying principle is not easily located at the lexematic level, or when it cannot be deduced rapidly, one understands that the description of the text demands a patient reconstruction of the level of values and of the semantic operations. This is the approach we ultimately attempted to apply to the Gospel of Mark. This procedure seems to provide a new point of view for the evaluation of the deep continuity and of the deep interactions characterizing the Gospel narrative. Furthermore, it permits the establishment and the

Calloud: Toward a Structural Analysis

137

justification of specific comparisons and correspondences which could not be demonstrated by an argument remaining upon a purely lexical plane. Our research has unfolded in two directions: One was seeking to establish the "narrative" characteristics of the Gospel narrative; the other was exploring its "discursive" component. For indeed, even if one does not wish any longer to establish a narrative algorithm of the whole Gospel of Mark, it is necessary to compare this kind of text with the canonic narrative model. As will be shown below, when carrying on this type of analysis it is often easier to unravel the maze of the operations performed upon the semantic values. 2.

The Gospel of Mark: A Discourse of "Sanction"

2.1 The Gospel narrative presents an interesting case of the interaction of "somatic doing" and of "cognitive doing" /3/. The identity and the value of the actors is not entirely nor evenly disclosed to all the characters. The relations of cognition and recognition are complicated by a number of factors: by a certain reserve and a longing for "secrecy" / 4 / on the part of Jesus, who is also fully aware of hostile thoughts, intentions, and motivations, despite the cunning, the duplicity, and the more or less conscious lies of his adversaries; by a sudden and suspicious lucidity on the part of the demons; and by both the ignorance and the lack of awareness of certain witnesses and of the crowd. Jesus is at the center of this cognitive space and his identity is the object of contrary operations on the part of the other characters. One can follow the lines of opposed transformations which from episode to episode lead to recognition of his identity by certain people and to the lack of recognition by others. This would be a valuable perspective for the establishment of a narrative model on the scale of the complete Gospel narrative. Yet this model would exclusively apply to the cognitive space. We have not followed it in our analysis /5/.

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2.2 Another aspect merits attention. The circulation of knowledge also takes place upon the axis of the enunciation under the form of a cognitive object circulating between the enunciator and the enunciatee. It turns out that, in the Gospel narrative, the content of this knowledge does not concern solely the relations, somatic or cognitive, among the actors of the utterance, but also the truth of the personnages, of the narrative programs, and of the organization of the values. The Gospel of Mark is not an exception even if it seems to be less "theological." At the same time that the actions and the situations are recalled in virtue of a knowledge belonging to the category of "appearing," the true signification is proposed in virtue of a knowledge belonging to the category of "being" /6/. Thus, even though the narrative is descriptive, its aim is interpretative or explicative. Rather than being postponed until the final phase, the truth about the subject and about the values is already manifested at the beginning of the text and is distributed by a kind of epistemic authority (i.e., by a kind of sender) coextensive to the narrative. By comparison with the syntagmatic model of narrativity which organizes in four phases the manifestation of a narrative trajectory, it appears that the Gospel narrative belongs to the level of the "sanction" /7/. It is not then merely a matter of telling but rather of recalling in order to make understood, or better of retelling the whole narrative in the light of the effected sanction. By contrast to the folktale which organizes syntagmatically the four subspaces of narrativity into four successive moments of a trajectory, the Gospels use them in a more paradigmatic manner. The relations between the subject of the "making-do" and the subject of "doing," the considerations about the competence, and the description of the performance are integrated into the perspective of the recognition and are constantly reintroduced in the form of either a narrative-discourse or a discourse-narrative. As

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can be expected, it is always difficult to reconstruct the narrative logic of such texts. This explains why the subject-hero is represented at one and the same time as subject of the performance (above all in the passionresurrection but also in what precedes it) and as subject to be recognized, arriving incognito among his people in order to perform the "difficult task" which will manifest his true identity. Perhaps one should not choose either one of these two actantial roles so as to register them together. Similarly one should not seek to localize here or there in the Gospel text such and such a "test" which in the folktale has a distinctly sequential character. After having worked for some time in this direction we have finally adopted an hypothesis primarily focused upon the superimposing of the four dimensions of narrativity rather than upon their succession. The description of the Gospel narrative requires that one take account at the same time of the narrative organization and the interpretative organization / 8 / . 2.3 As discourse of sanction, the Gospel text excludes all "suspense." Already in the first sentence, 1:1, the identity of the subject and the values are proclaimed: "The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God...." Consequently a circular effect can be observed when in 16:15 we read: "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to the whole creation." What is proposed as a mission is accomplished as a performance in the narrative itself. The Gospel discourse is more a discourse about an already acquired knowledge than a discourse about a quest for knowledge. Nevertheless, one finds in it an actual narrative in which the "being" of the subject and of the values is represented by means of the "appearing" of the behaviors, confrontations, and the attributions of objects. The persuasive dimension / 9 / of the Gospel text does not dismiss its representative function. That is why we said above that it was an interesting case of the interaction of

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somatic doing with cognitive doing. Indeed, in each micronarrative true knowledge about the values is derived by reference to the accomplished performance. 2.4 If it is true that the reference to the previous narrative developments is made here according to a model which is more paradigmatic than syntagmatic, it becomes difficult to call upon the narrative model in order to account for the relative unity and progression of the text. That is why our present hypothesis tends to prefer a discursive model of the operations performed upon the elementary values. Yet one model does not and indeed must not exclude the other as will be seen in the following example of analysis. 3.

The Coherence of the Semantic Universe: Analytical Essay on a Series of Pericopes (Mark 2)

3.01 The narrative unity of the Gospel story is provided by the fact that it is set in the order of recognition and of veridiction. The elucidation of the thematic level, of the semantic values, and of the organizational process which takes place in the depth level accordingly becomes more important and more interesting. The correspondences, the correlations and the continuities that we may discover will offer us a principle of organization more adequate than a narrative model closer to the textual surface. Thus, it is in the form of a semic and semanticological invariance joined to a great representative variability of manifestation that the principle of unity and the condition of the overall readability of the Gospel of Mark will be established. 3.02 This analytical example is carried out upon a series of pericopes which have in common the context of a controversy between Jesus and his opponents. However, the first pericope includes a miracle story (the paralytic of Capernaum), while the following pericopes do not involve

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miraculous elements. We would like to show the specific correspondences which are much more emphasized in the signifying organization than one could expect at first. 3.1

Forgiveness, Healing, Meal, Call to the Sinners (Mark 2:1-12 and 13-16)

The two pericopes begin by presenting a gathering of the crowd around Jesus, "at the house" on the one hand and "by the sea" on the other. In the two cases Jesus teaches. This role is presented very often in the Gospel either in lengthy development as in chapter 4 (parables) or in simple allusions as here. It emphasizes the relation of Jesus to the crowd by means of word. The crowd is the recipient of this object-knowledge. Yet the crowd plays a complementary role in the Capernaum narrative: By the very fact that it is gathered together in such a way that "there was no longer room for them, not even about the door" it represents what occupies the space and hinders free movement. This "traffie-jam" will constitute the obstacle to the normal way to approach Jesus. It will necessitate the detour through the roof. In the following pericope the crowd is not designated as an obstacle. Yet there is a similar shift of focus in the direction of the publican seated at his tax desk. One notes at the beginning of chapter 4 the presence of a crowd so numerous "that he got into a boat and sat in it on the sea." In 5:21-24 a comparable crowd obstructs and "crushes" Jesus. Its presence permits the anonymity of the cure obtained by a woman who by insistent questioning will be established as an individual interlocutor /IO/. A little further on in the text, 5:38-40, a new crowd-obstacle must be dispersed from the dead girl in order that the "nominative word" may produce its life-giving effect with an extraordinary economy of words and of cognitive content. One could prolong this summary of the thematic role of the crowd as an obstacle by mentioning 6:31-34: "For many were coming and going...," an agitated and disorderly crowd from which Jesus first sought

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to separate himself and which he will have to organize and to count in the desert before feeding them. The quite close relationship between crowd and house or crowd and sea would also merit some explanation. But it is sufficient to have registered this collective and problematic function of the speech before a recipient occupying the space in an excessive manner. By contrast with it the relation to the individual interlocutor acquires more prominence. The introduction of the first specific case is effected by means of a passive movement of the beneficiary: "a paralytic carried by four men." In the following episode, it is Jesus who moves: "as he passed on, he saw Levi...." The two encounters take place in circumstances which are a little exceptional. It is necessary to unroof the top of the house, and through this opening to lower the paralytic resting upon his pallet to Jesus. In the case of Levi, Jesus sees him, "sitting at the tax-office" "as he passed on." Was he teaching while passing on? It does not matter. What is important is that an individual interlocutor is substituted for a group of hearers. Jesus1 speech is still the subject-matter, but it will have a new effect and different consequences. 3.11

Jesus1 First Word

Let us consider the first word of Jesus in each of the two pericopes. "My son, your sins are forgiven." If one understands the laborious arrival of the paralytic as a request for healing (and this seems to be the correct understanding), one cannot but be surprised by Jesus1 response. At the very least it does not fit the request. Consequently it is unexpected and perceived by certain readers as deceptive. Instead of bestowing the object that is lacking, he substitutes for it an object not desired. The conjunction of these two effects sets the narrative on the course of an unexpected complementary performance. We will return to this point.

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The word addressed to Levi is directly comparable with the preceding from the point of view of its general form. It is an unexpected command not prepared for by a previous conversation. It is not a response either to a question or to a request. It does not expect a verbal response. The authority manifested in the declaration about forgiveness corresponds to the imperative character of the injunction addressed to the publican. Despite these first observations we should not forget that the command "follow me" is in stricter symmetry, from the point of view of its content, with "rise, take up your pallet and go home." But let us note already that the thematic role of Jesus as teacher or spokesman entails not solely to choose when to initiate the dialogue but also to choose what we may call the "target" of the speech. It is Jesus who chooses to speak and to aim his speech at such and such aspect of his interlocutor. 3.12

The Second Word of Jesus

In the two pericopes being considered Jesus speaks a second time: in order to prepare and to give the command to the paralytic, "Rise...and go home" (2:8-11), and to declare, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I came not to call the righteous, but sinners" (2:17). It is easy to see now that the speeches correspond to each other with an inversion. 1st Word Healing "My son, your sins are forgiven" (word addressed to the paralytic). Controversy "Follow me" (word addressed to Levi).

2nd Word "Rise, take your pallet and go home" (word addressed to paralytic and to opponents). "I came not to call the righteous but sinners" (word addressed to the opponents).

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Two complementary correspondences reapportion differently the organization: the allusion to the sick who have need of a physician in 2:17 reintroduces the isotopy of the healing underlying the end of the first narrative. The designation of the paralytic by the title "My son..." presupposes a relation of proximity translated in the spatial code by the invitation to "follow." It remains to be said that the paralytic is at first forgiven as sinner and then is healed as sick, whereas Levi is at first invited to get up and follow Jesus, and then the mission to call sinners is proclaimed. This inversion entails others. More exactly, it signals a more elementary inversion which reverberates on other details. First, the paralytic is called upon to separate himself from Jesus in order to go home. Levi is called upon to follow Jesus; and it is Jesus who goes to his home where the assembly of publicans, of sinners, and of the crowd takes place. Jesus has therefore moved from one location to another: beginning by the sea, the second performance is completed in the home of Levi. Note also that the command addressed to the paralytic contains a mention of the pallet on which he was placed: "...take your pallet...," whereas "follow me" involves abandoning the tax office where Levi was found sitting. But the effect of the inversion in the signifying organization effects above all the way in which the opponents will be introduced and will perform their anti-performances. 3.13

Reactions of Jesus1 Opponents

In the first narrative we read that "some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, 'Why does this man speak thus? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?1" They have understood and judged to be excessive and "daring" the declaration of Jesus. They do not oppose him openly but they "question in their hearts," an intransitive expression of condemnation. In the second narrative we read that the scribes of the Pharisees, "when they saw that he was eating with sinners

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and tax collectors, said to his disciples, 'Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?1" They have seen Jesus1 behavior and judged it to be inadequate and "misplaced." While his speech in the first narrative manifested a condemnable claim in their eyes because it situated him at too close a distance from God /ll/, his behavior in the second narrative suggests a forgetfulness of legal obligations which entails too great a distance from the locus of holiness. Here also their accusation is indirect: it is expressed clearly but addressed to the disciples rather than to Jesus. From the accusation of blasphemy concerning the wrong use of speech the opponents have passed to an indignation provoked by a dietary practice which they condemn. In the two cases the focus is on the mouth and on its twofold function, expressive and nutritive /12/: "Why does this man speak thus?"; "Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?" From the point of view of narrative description, it is necessary to specify that the opponents' intervention, which manifests an anti-program, is not able to neutralize directly Jesus' performance. Their interpretative doing is alone at stake here: they oppose him by means of an unfavorable interpretation which will have a pragmatic or somatic manifestation only much later and as a consequence of this ignorance or of this error. This is a constant feature of the opposition between Jesus and his opponents. Beyond this remark one can consider the matter of the competence which is the basis of this devaluating interpretative performance. The text provides two representations of it: "questioning in their hearts" and "when they saw that he was eating with sinners...." Heart and gaze are the two instruments of knowing (an ability-to-know or an abilityto-interpret), and both are negative. This negativity is brought to light by two contrasting qualifications of Jesus' behavior: "Perceiving in his spirit" (2:8) signals the instrument of true knowledge and permits the neutralization of

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the adverse accusations, while the reference to the eyes in "seeing their faith..." is very characteristic. Jesus sees what is not given directly to see. His eyes are in the service of purification and of healing. Even in the case when one gives a little versimilitude to this utterance by connecting it to the strategy utilized by the bearers of the sick man, it remains surprising. Faith is not an object of vision, at any rate, as long as the function of the eye is not reorientated and redefined. Moreover, the text has not beforehand mentioned the faith of these people. On the contrary, Jesus' opponents do not see except what is given to be seen in a most direct and most material manner: they see that he eats. The somatic character of what is here appropriated by sight contrasts with the cognitive character of that which Jesus1 gaze registers. Jesus sees the deep desire and he identifies in the unformulated petition the genuine request. In the unfolding of the performance of the call to salvation his opponents see nothing but an illegal meal. This twofold orientation of the eye, toward life in the one case, toward condemnation in the other, begins the separation of the positive narrative program from the anti-program. Note that the structuration of the functions of the eye is closely interrelated with the structuration of the functions of the mouth. In this way, thus, the system of elementary signifying oppositions is progressively constructed. 3.14

Jesus1 Response to His Opponents

By comparison with the circumstances of the meal in the house of Levi, the circumstances which Jesus must confront in Capernaum are both different and similar. The accusation is inverted: taking the place of God by pretending to speak as He does versus taking a place among sinners by eating with them. Yet it is still a matter of interrelating correctly a speech and behavior (a role as "speaking" person and a role as "acting" person). At Capernaum

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Jesus spoke first. The setting of the performance abruptly refers both the origin (i.e., the competence or the ability to speak) and the purpose (i.e., the effect, the object transmitted, the forgiveness) of the word to the realm of the implicit and secret. The implicit and secret character of the manifestation of the subject will be the basis upon which the scribes and pharisees1 hostile reaction will unfold: they deny the existence of the competence, denounce it as untrue, and designate him as a traitor. To this negative sanction Jesus is going to oppose the performance, the so-called "difficult task," which will manifest without equivocation his power in the order of speech by inscribing its effect in physical space. The word reaches the body in order to restore it to mobility, to communication, and to organized space. Therefore it is true. Thus, the somatic effect intervenes as the affirmation of a source and as the confirmation of a target. Jesus has the power to speak in order to perform the forgiving of sins. Because of his close relation to the word, he has the authority of the law. In the following episode, Jesus first acts by calling Levi and by participating in the gathering in the house. His word has shown its effectiveness: "he rose and followed him." But the scope of this effect remains uncertain. Is it simply in order to go to eat with him that Jesus has taken Levi away from his tax office? It is necessary therefore to affirm here that in so doing Jesus exercises the true ministry of the word: he calls and the impact of his calling is felt where the opposition "righteous" vs. "sinners" becomes meaningful. In the presence of the paralytic Jesus needed to show that by speaking he was acting. In the midst of sinners he needs to affirm that by acting he is speaking. In both cases the isotopy of the sickness and of the healing participates in the interrelation of the two planes. Let us go back over some details displayed by each of these two declarations.

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By submitting to the law of difficulty, Jesus shows that his role in the realm of the word is exercised under the sign of involvement and of risk. Instead of taking some precautions and of keeping open some "emergency exit" the word ventures into the body and, according to the context, risks the body in which this performance originates. We recognize here the figure of the "handicap" which runs through the entire narrative. In the physiological code, it produces sickness, paralysis (the sick person is a "handicapped" person). In the spatial code of movement, it produces the impossibility of entering the house by the door. In the ethical code, it produces sin. In the referential code, it produces suspicion and the demand to demonstrate one's qualities in unfavorable conditions /13/. All these handicaps are set in the realm of positive values, in virtue of a rejection of the "ease" which is exclusively associated with the emptiness and the illusion of an anti-word to which scribes and pharisees intend to reduce Jesus. 3.142

The Sick and the Healthy

When Jesus wants to affirm that the word, coming from God and aimed at the sinners, is engaged in the banal circumstances of a meal or even of a gathering of ambiguous character in the eyes of the scribes, he upholds a relation between the interior effect of the word and its somatic effect. He compares the sinners and the sick. In order that his speech about forgiveness be recognized as true, he cured the paralytic. So that his behavior with the publicans (which manifests directly his efficacy since they come and gather around him) be recognized as a word summoning sinners, he recalls that his behavior confirms the principle ruling the relation between the physician and the sick. In other words, after having assumed the handicap of the "law of sickness," he assumes also the "law of the physician."

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This is another way of risking the body in the adventure of the word, by voluntarily accepting a tactic of proximity which can present some danger but which responds to the need and is therefore adapted to the situation. 3.143

The Authority of the Son of Man

There is no doubt that this is a matter of competence: i.e., both of being able to do and of having to do. It is not necessary to insist on this again. Let us simply emphasize two points: the place of the performance, the earth, and the title designating Jesus1 competence. Son of Man. The earth is the only element of the cosmological code which is actually referred to. One of its habitual correlates appears in 2:13: "He (Jesus) went out again beside the sea...." Heaven is indirectly connoted by the mention of God in 2:7 and 2:12: "they...glorified God." This glorification, which is also a word addressed to the one who, without being found on the very scene of the healing, is also concerned by the event, confirms that the relation heaven-earth is pertinent. We can even say that this relation is manifested here as a conjunction. A trajectory of values is established on this cosmic axis (heaven-earth). Jesus is at the point of conjunction. This is why his opponents contest the conjunction heaven-earth by attempting to separate Jesus from God. His response contains a twofold negation of this disjunction: the forgiveness of sin (which belongs to the divine and heavenly order) is effective on earth. He who has the power to forgive uses it in this place. And he exercises it as Son, that is to say, because of his relation to the Father, and the son of man, that is in a radical solidarity with man. "Father" is correlated to God and to heaven. "Man" is correlated to humanity and to earth. The ambivalence of the title, often noted, finds here its complete signification. If Jesus exercises the forgiveness by the word in virtue of being Son,

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one is not surprised that in order to address the paralytic he uses a term of family vocabulary—"My son...(teknon), your sins are forgiven." He does it in order to enter into a system of relations where his status is redefined. The sick man when cured can return to his home; he circulates freely there; he lives there in virtue of his new identity /14/. The following text makes use of the same categories in a different way. The emphasis is put on the proximity between somebody representing the celestial pole and people representing the most extreme part of the earthly pole. As is well known, one can derive from the pair Heaven vs. Earth the more complex opposition: Heaven vs. (Land and Sea). The sea connotes the extreme opposite of heaven. It is there that Jesus is going to bring the word. This remoteness, represented at first in the cosmic code, can also be registered in the ethical code where it produces the figures of "publican" and "sinners." The "righteous" should then be halfway between heaven and sea, yet in an illusory way, since it is the place where the word does not apply. "I came from on high," Jesus declared in substance at Capernaum, "and one should not disjoin the earth from heaven." "I have come to the depths," he said in the house of Levi, "and one should not disjoin heaven and earth from the sea" /15/. 3.144

The House Opening upon Heaven

Let us come back to one detail which might seem purely anecdotal: "They removed the roof above him; and when they had made an opening, they let down the pallet on which the paralytic lay." There are three houses in the texts which concern us here: that of the healing, that of the paralytic, that of the dinner with sinners. Only the first and the third are places of performance and of transformation. The door of the third is widely open. It is centered on the welcoming table, and the word there does its work of summons because Jesus is on the inside. It is a kind of

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bottom point ("down there") from which is accomplished an upward motion. The first house is crowded, its door no longer guarantees free passage between exterior and interior. It is necessary to make there an opening toward "on high," not in order that the occupants can move out of it, but in order that the movement can be established from "on high" to "down there." The paralytic who is lowered toward Jesus enters the place of the word along its proper axis: he arrives, to to speak, at the "tribunal of God" or to use a more biblical formula, at the "throne of God." This is indeed what amazes the scribes—that the throne of God be so low. They forget that the house without a roof communicates freely with "on high." It is a sort of high-point from which the encounter of God and of man can be accomplished, an encounter realized in the Son of Man. It is thanks to a passage into this house without a roof that the man can freely reintegrate his own house. He carries away from there the pallet on which he was laid as a remembrance of his immobile and paralyzed body /16/. 3.2

The Dinner with Levi, Fasting, the Garment, the Wine, the Wineskins

Before concluding this sample analysis, we would like to expand it rapidly so as to include the following pericope in order to illustrate further the procedure which we have adopted. Note 16 began to put us on the track of a new extension of the network of correlations. If the relation to the pallet can serve as a support for the manifestation of the transformations effected in the miracle narrative, one may wonder if a similar organization is not to be found in the following narrative. The observation that the inversion of values has been devised on the basis of a relation between "container" and "content" shows the solidity of this hypothesis. The pallet contains, supports, and holds the paralytic in so narrow and total a way that the mention of the first as container suffices to designate the second as content: "they let down the pallet on which the

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paralytic lay." Jesus' word, "Take up your pallet and go home," shows therefore a change of place as well as a change of relation to the place: home is substituted for the pallet. And the man enters there on his own. He is no longer either a mere "content" or one contained in his space. The pallet which he took with him when he "went out before them all" has lost its value of necessary "container" in order to become a kind of "token," portable and supportable, designating for all the witnesses the subject-receiver of the values. The "glorifying" test (properly termed here) can unfold. And, once more, it is the eye and its functions which are emphasized: "We never saw anything like this." The verb "to see" in the Greek text is the last lexeme of the micro-narrative. One can say therefore that the miracle, despite the fact that it is defined in terms of the paralysis and of the restitution of the body's overall ability to move, inaugurates a new manner of seeing, a radically new "spectacle": a man carrying his pallet at the very place where earlier one could see only a pallet carrying a paralyzed body. On the basis of these observations there would be many things to say concerning the various healing narratives in the Gospel of Mark /17/. We have to limit our remarks here to a study of the role in related pericopes of the elementary units of signification which we have identified so far. 3.21

The Physician Among the Sick

The call of Levi shows the relation of man with the place where he carries on his profession, which turns out to be also the mark of his social and religious identity. "Tax collector," "publican," "sinner": all the commentaries on the biblical texts are in agreement in emphasizing the close tie which connects these diverse qualifications. Yet they do not emphasize so much what is presupposed by these different evaluations, namely the strict, constraining, and definitive connection between a man and his professional role. The almost total identification with

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one's role, the fact of being enclosed in a role, and the impossibility of escaping from it, have as a twofold consequence the exclusion of any other possibility of identifying oneself with something else, and the exclusion of any possibility of cohabitation with any other men than one's "fellow men" in the most narrow sense of the term. These "sinners" are locked up in their sin and locked up with each other. One can see how the pair container/content functions here. When Jesus draws Levi out of his tax office, he performs the same separation and the same inversion as when he commanded the paralytic to take up his pallet. He does it outside, before entering into the house where the publicans and the sinners are gathered, a house which is also very crowded ("there were many..."). Beyond the fact that Jesus has been able to enter it with his disciples, it seems that this house was first open for him. Rather than a house without a roof it is then a house without a door. In this way Jesus could enter the house in spite of criticisms and oppositions just as the paralytic could be brought to him in spite of the hindrance of the crowd. The result is equivalent: he accomplishes there what has never yet been seen—the place of the performance, this house, is an intermediary locus between the office of the publican and the new place to which Jesus calls Levi: "Follow me" /18/. It is at that place that the bondage is broken and that the relation of content to container is inversed into a privilege, i.e., into a law of the greatest necessity. Indeed Jesus, by his simple presence in the group closed upon itself, breaks its boundary. And by his statement about the need for healing, he substitutes another qualification for the one that the scribes of the pharisees used as the unique and definitive label: "Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?" "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick." If the very actors who were designated by the thematic role of sinners (and Jesus does not deny that they were sinners) can now be designated by means of another

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thematic role, it is because their identification is not inevitably attached to a role and a qualification. And if, in passing from one order to another, the competence of the subject-receiver is inverted, it is because there is a means for the transformation of the situations. A certain "free play" is established in what seemed an irreversible fate or a blind mechanism. The title of "sinners" can reappear: "I came not to call the righteous but sinners. " It is the very title that the scribes of the pharisees used to express their condemnation. But now it identifies those who are in the best position to hear the call of Jesus. Being a sinner is no longer an identity, the fact of belonging exclusively and definitively to a category which can be pinpointed. The "sinners" are opposed to the "righteous." Certainly they lack some things. They are "sick" who need healing. But the very thing they are lacking can open in them an access to the word which is ignored by those who have rightly adjusted everything in their space—a well-adjusted roof, a closed door. The proof that it is so does not need to be given. By contrast to the situation created by the granting of forgiveness to the paralytic, he has not said "...in order that you might know...," since Levi, the first publican, had already arisen at the call of Jesus and the others had followed. It is enough to reaffirm that the transforming trajectory was not presupposing a quest for food. It is not the desire to eat which motivated the subject in virtue of a reflexive wanting-to-do. Another law, a transitive law, presided over the performance. So, the episode which had begun under the sign of "glance" ("As he passed on he saw Levi...") ends under the sign of a redefinition of the functions of the mouth: not eating but "calling." To those who would be dubious of the applicability of these descriptive considerations to the Gospel text or who would question their verifiability, we propose now a last rapid analytical course through the following episode.

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"Why do Your Disciples not Fast?"

The question thus raised concerns without ambiguity the nutritive function of the mouth: eating vs. non-eating. Therefore, the semantic operations unfold normally in the same domain as formerly. What is less clear is the actual value of these two contradictory behaviors. For indeed, two elements of the discussion complicate the semantic interaction. The first such element is the clear value attributed to fasting by Jesus1 interlocutors: "Why do John's disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees fast but your disciples...." By that, therefore, one can recognize them. But when considering the matter more closely, one wonders what becomes, in this discourse, of the actual distinctive value of fasting. If everyone fasts at the same time and in the same manner, where is the difference and the specific "work" of the subject? Would it be necessary to fast to do as everyone else? And would it be necessary to eliminate the difference by a practice which, on principle, should establish it? One sees the ambiguity of the position assumed by a group which is itself composite, "John's disciples and the Pharisees." The dismissal in the actor-locutor of commonly-recognized differences reflects at the actantial level of the subject the ambiguity manifested in the performance. And one very quickly understands that Jesus is asked to account not merely for a facultative practice but also for a relation to the difference. The second element which complicates the semantic interaction is the nuanced response of Jesus: it is not a matter of fasting or of not fasting, but of eating or fasting at the proper time. The introduction of a temporal framework modifies the basis of the discussion. Jesus' disciples cannot fast now (no ability-to-do). They will certainly fast later (having-to-do). Two practices, and not a single one, distinguish them from all the others in terms of a certain rhythm related to the bridegroom's

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presence and absence. The question raised about the nutritive function of the mouth is therefore considerably displaced: one needs to strive to fast at the proper time and in a significative manner. A sound practice of fasting is commanded by one's relation to the bridegroom and by the alternation of his presence and absence, rather than by one's relation to material food. Curiously, at least if one is not too much accustomed to received ideas, fasting coincides with the absence; it reiterates the "removal" of the bridegroom /19/. The lack or the void created by the deprivation of his presence does not need to be filled. It must be symbolized by the privative dietary practice. There is no foreseeable consolation for the absence of the bridegroom. Fasting will be a way of maintaining the physical proximity of the bridegroom and the wedding time. The redefinition of fasting is therefore symmetrical to the redefinition of the meal in the preceding pericope. In both cases one needs to pull back somewhat to shift attention from the materiality of the given behavior (either the meal or fasting), and from its value as directly providing an identity in order to focus one's attention on the relation to a subject. The introduction of history, i.e., of a temporal succession, into the discussion corresponds therefore to the introduction of a semantic framework centered around a personal relation. It is because of the fact that one is invited to the wedding feast (as "sons of the wedding hall") that one can be identified as a disciple of Jesus and not because of one's behavior. Fasting and eating are behaviors which are chosen according to the signs (or marks) of the bridegroom's time and space. Here also the alimentary function is regulated and subjected to a law. But the distinctive character of the situation is that eating has as much meaning as fasting provided that the one or the other activity is related to the bridegroom. If the disciples of Jesus make themselves conspicuous, it is not by neglecting the fast; rather it is by relating it to the feast as a

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specific moment of the signifying alimentary process. Jesus does not lock them up in one or the other behavior. One can better see now how the semantic categories pointed out above remain pertinent in this pericope. Here also a space is involved: no longer properly speaking a house, but a wedding hall. The guests are the "sons" /20/. They inhabit it as their proper place. But everything there depends upon the bridegroom. Eating or fasting are two ways of occupying this space by virtue of one's relation to the bridegroom /21/. As the house without a roof and the house without a door, the wedding hall is a space of transformation. 3.23

The Old and the New

Although the relation between container and content was somewhat reduced in the discussion of fasting precisely because the relation to the bridegroom was predominant, it comes back to the fore at the end of Jesus' statement. The undeniable return of this pair contributes somewhat to the manifestation in this text of an in-depth continuity that the simple reading had more difficulty establishing. The two comparisons used by Jesus, that of the garment and that of the wineskins, are in agreement on three points. First, the problem is that of the conjunction of a received element with a receiver element (in the second comparison, received=content and receiver=container). Second, the element received, or content, is qualified as "new" and stronger; the element-receiver or container is qualified as "old" and more fragile. Third, the conjunction of new and old is deceptive; it is necessary to maintain a disjunction between the old and the new. We are in a position to make a somewhat repetitive reading of these statements because we know how the pair content/container functions in all the preceding pericopes. We know that content and container do not correspond directly to each other except, perhaps, in the category of the anti-values. What is manifested as content, in the initial situation, the

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paralyzed man for example, will be manifested as "master" and autonomous subject-bearer of a mark recalling this initial situation. This is also true of the sinner called to follow Jesus. The transformation is not therefore merely an inversion of the pair content/container, accord­ ing to which a content would become container and viceversa. It consists rather in the neutralization of the relation of content to container, opening the possibility of a new relation, the relation of represented to repre­ senting. That is what we have termed, following Vladimir Propp, the relation of subject to the "branding." [Ed. note: The reference here is to the "function" Propp desig­ nated as J, branding or marking, in his Morphology of the Folktale.} φ From the intermediate debate about fasting, we have learned that this relation between represented and representing had to be interrelated with the still more fundamental relation between the subject and another sub­ ject, here the disciple and the master, the guest and the bridegroom. This relation is always mediated by a repre­ sentative element or by a set of alternating representative elements. The principle underlying these developments is affirmed in the final statements: changing the content without changing the relation between content and container is an operation both useless and dangerous. It leads to a worse situation than the situation one wanted to remedy and to the destruction of the two elements improperly conjoined. Let us translate this into figures of the narrative. There is no point in changing a sick person for another or a sickness for another. There is no point in changing the paralytic on the pallet; this would endanger the one and the other. There is no point in moving the publican from one desk to another. The "old" and the "new" are not defined upon the same axis. Both must keep their role. First they must be distinguished, separated from each other, then interrelated. They do not belong to the same order. The

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"new" is not in any way a patch for the repairing of what is worn out or an object for the filling up of what is empty. Old and new must never be assembled in the same space. To each its own space. One, the "new," belongs to the order of the subject (i.e., of identity), while the other, the "old," belongs to the order of the "branding" of the subject, i.e., to the order of the representation. This being said, the particularity of each of the comparisons would deserve to be studied in greater detail at further length than we can do here. The garment recalls the body of the miracle narrative; the wine evokes the dinner and the wedding feast mentioned in the two controversies. We should not try to hide the worn-out character nor the fragility of the tear in the old garment. The old garment will remain the old garment. But it can play its role in a signifying system emphasizing the differences, as the pallet, the tax office, the sin, on the condition, however, that the subject of the call be first disjoined from it and be established in a new space. The same is true of the wineskins. As for the new wine, it is necessary to find for it a new place, another location, a "house" that it might inhabit in its newness and singularity. We interrupt this exercise of comparative structural analysis at the moment where the Gospel text returns to the problem of nourishment and introduces in 2:23 and 28 a new temporal framework: the sabbath. It will be used again in the narrative of the healing of the man with a withered hand. It is clear that when we continue this research, we will show at once the continuity of the manifested semantic universe and its progressive transformation. 4.

Conclusion

We have lingered over a quite limited part of the Gospel text in order to show the mechanism of the analysis that we have chosen to apply /22/. It consists essentially in trying out on a micro-narrative some elementary categories

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of signification, in verifying their descriptive value, then in progressively extending the network of semantic relations related to the same categories or to similar categories. This kind of procedure is not without analogy to an archeological technique according to which the archeologist proposes a general hypothesis on the basis of the meticulous study of a localized excavation. In so doing, we have shown the very complexity and time-consuming character of such an analysis. The reader will readily understand that everything has not been said: on the one hand because of the strict limits of this essay, and on the other because everything has not been seen or perceived. One of the characteristics of a valid structural analysis is that it can be prolonged by others than those first authors and that it does subject itself to the trajectory that the analyst would have eventually liked to impose on it. Let each reader carry further the analysis! It seems established, however, that the method used here has succeeded in restoring to the Gospel text a level of coherence and of continuity useful to its decoding. Step by step, as the elementary units of signification emerge, the pericopes take a place in the structured totality of the Gospel. The textual features make sense when viewed in terms of the correlations into which they can enter. The overall picture which appears in this way seems preferable to that which it is possible to obtain from a purely syntagmatic analysis. The results that we reached about a series of pericopes /23/ will be sufficiently validated only when the intermediate texts will also have been treated. The link between the partial studies will pose some difficult but important problems. We did not want to wait for the conclusion of this long-term project before submitting some of our first results to the critical review of other scholars.

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NOTES /!/ Some results of this research have been used particularly in chapter two of the collective work Signs and Parables by the Group of Entrevernes (Editions du Seuil, 1977; English trans, by Gary Phillips, Pickwick Press, 1978). There it is shown how the analysis can be made of a series of autonomous but interrelated micronarratives. Other chapters of this book propose an analogous methodological approach applied to some texts from the Gospel of Luke. /2/ These values are more "thematic" than "lexematic"; they can be decomposed into minimal units or "semes." The semiotic objects are constituted by such semes. The transfer of these objects is itself organized on the basis of the semes. When the semantic values are defined at this truly elementary level, they are arranged and connected according to a quasi-logical model which permits us to account for the way in which the text manipulates the contents. Thus, the semiotic square, a model of relations and operations, can also serve to present the values and to calculate their variations. /3/ Following A. J. Greimas, we speak of "somatic doing" to designate the interactions between personages in the "physical" order through the medium of objects defined as "things." We speak of "cognitive doing" to designate the interactions between personages in the order of knowledge; e.g., the knowledge that the actors have of each other and the knowledge of what is at stake in their adventure. The variations of this knowledge and the exchanges of information define a "cognitive" space which is juxtaposed to the somatic space by reproducing its outline with all the hazards characteristic of knowledge: deformation, error, illusion, ignorance but also exactitude and truth. /4/ As is well known, the "secrecy" with which Jesus desires to surround certain of his miracles constitutes a characteristic feature of the Gospel of Mark. This figure of the veridiction is most interesting for semiotic research. But the limits of this article will not permit us to treat the problem. /5/ The question of the identity of Jesus is alluded to several times in the course of Mark's narrative in several ways: proclamations by the voice at the baptism and the transfiguration, the recognition by the demons, the exchange at Caesarea, the declaration of the centurion. One can therefore observe some variations and some cognitive operations which follow relatively well the unfolding of the narrative. Pursuing this line of research could be fruitful. The importance of this question brings back to mind the

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function of the "glorifying test" in the folktale and the manifestation of the identity of the hero in the course of the "difficult task" which constitutes its principal object. But one should avoid overemphasizing this parallel. The question of the identity of Jesus as a problem posed to the personages of the narrative is only one of the elements of the Gospel text. At any rate we did not believe we should give preference here to this aspect by making it the essential means of the narrative progression. It is better to register this type of cognitive transformation as one of the signifying phenomena to be explained by a more fundamental organization than to consider it as a principle of explication. /6/ Greimas denotes the aspect characterized by "appearing" as the "phenomenal" plane and the aspect characterized by "being" the "noumenal" plane. /I/ Let us keep in mind the four-phase schematization of narrativity in its canonic form, corresponding therefore to a succession of operations. Manxpulatxon

Competence

Performance

Sanction

Knowledge (about values)

Knowing-how-to-do

Duty

Recognition

Wanting-to-do

Being-able-to-do

Veridiction (Knowledge)

Having-to-do Virtual Subject

Actualized Subject

Realized Subject

Recognized Subject

Causing-to-do

Being-of-the-domg

Causmg-to-be

Being-of-the-being

Prospective cognitive space

Retrospective cognitive space

/8/ We know that neither purely narrative texts nor purely interpretative texts exist. Every text takes advantage of the twofold organization, but one of them can be predominant, giving rise to more-or-less marked types of text. The originality of the Gospel text seems to us to consist less in the equilibrium of the two poles than in the constant distribution of the two aspects. Instead of producing a prospective knowledge at the beginning and then a retrospective knowledge at the end, it seems rather to establish the epistemic authority in the very duration of the narrative. That is why we have spoken of a "discourse of sanction." Do not forget in this regard the "manipulative" dimension of a text which aims at investing its reader with a mission. /9/ This "persuasive" dimension corresponds to the "making believe," itself related to the "interpretative doing" or "believing." One should not purely and simply identify this "believing" (which is defined semiotically) with faith as defined in a religious discourse.

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/10/ T h e twofold nature o f this m i r a c l e , w h i c h i n v o l v e s a "healing" followed b y a "saving" b y faith, recalls the twofold intervention, in a n inverse o r d e r , o n behalf of t h e paralytic of C a p e r n a u m : first forgiveness of sins, then h e a l i n g . Thus t h e m i r a c l e narratives a r e interrelated among themselves d e s p i t e their d i s t a n c e in t h e text at the level of their structure even if t h e c o r r e s p o n d e n c e s a r e attenuated by t h e p a r t i c u l a r i t i e s of e a c h text. /Il/ O n e c a n legitimately b e surprised b y t h e fact that t h e o p p o n e n t s o f Jesus d o n o t o b j e c t t o h i s responding beside t h e question, that is to say, by forgiving t h e sins of someone w h o w a s requesting a c u r e . They a r e n o t scandalized by t h e fact that J e s u s ' intervention m i g h t be i n sufficient b u t that it m i g h t b e e x c e s s i v e . /12/ O n e already p e r c e i v e s that t h e registering of this implicit actor, t h e m o u t h (which speaks and w h i c h e a t s ) , w i l l p r o v i d e a m e a n s o f e n t r a n c e into the signifying o r g a n i z a t i o n o f t h e following c o n t r o v e r s i e s , the o n e r e f e r ing to fasting, the other to t h e search for nourishment o n the sabbath. F u r t h e r o n , t h e n a r r a t i v e about t h e lengthy teaching and the feeding o f t h e five thousand is also r e lated to this twofold function of t h e m o u t h . /13/ These e l e m e n t a r y categories c a n b e used in order to construct a semiotic square o f t h e relations and of the o p e r a t i o n s in this n a r r a t i v e . /ease/ v^ Anti-word ^ ^ (without effect ^ s . s' on the body) /difficulty/

'

s^

^ /difficulty/ Word effective on the body

/ease/ = handicap

/14/ The coupling or conjunction of heaven and earth is found not only in the title "Son of Man" but also in: Authority on earth Word about the body Forgiveness and Healing The sinners and the sick /15/ The cosmic code often provides a means of entrance into the system of signifying oppositions. Thus it is necessary always to be attentive to the mention of earth, sea, heaven, stars, atmosphere ... and to the laws which organize their relations. A single example in the Gospel of Mark shall suffice: Chapter 4 (Parables) which unfolds alternatively "on the sea" and in "the remote places" marks a very subtle use of the potentialities of the cosmic code, e.g., the birds of the sky, the sun, the thorns, the good

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earth. It is centered, at least at first, on the problem of the relation of the favorable distance between the seed-word and the earth. /16/ The question of the pallet is more important than one might expect. In John 5:10 it will provide for the Jews the motivation for criticizing another paralytic who was healed. One needs to understand that the command to take up the pallet underscores the inversion of the relation between the man and his crippled body. The pallet bore the man. The man bears the pallet. In both cases it is a representation of the infirmity; but it has changed signs. Instead of being the space to which the man was bound, immobile and laid low, the pallet becomes the distinctive sign and the reminder of the sickness that has been overcome. Something similar takes place in the story of Levi who was also tied down to his tax desk. /17/ The narrative about healing on the sabbath poses in another way the same problem of what is at stake in the words of Jesus (Mark 3:1-6). The man has a paralyzed hand. Jesus evaluates differently the evil to be eliminated and the good to be done: "Is it lawful on the sabbath to save life or to kill?" The relation to the sabbath, already found in the controversy concerning the ears of corn, corresponds to a transposition in the temporal code of that which we have shown here from the spatial viewpoint. The relation to time must be controlled as well as the relation to space; cf. "The sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath," which recalls the inversion not formulated but implied in the miracle narrative: "The pallet is for man, not man for the pallet." In the one case, however, the word is pronounced in order to justify a behavior criticized by the opponents: It is a response to the anti-word (controversy) . In the other case, the word would be said in order to explain an effective behavior and a somatic performance of Jesus as initiated by the word (miracle story). The question of the sabbath would merit a further treatment in a less allusive and more complete way. /18/ "Follow me" is a clause of movement like "go home." It designates the place where one should go, i.e., the space proposed for a new or renewed subject. /19/ "...(The days will come when) the bridegroom is taken away from them": the absence will result from a kind of violence, of deprivation by an agent exterior to the group. /20/ The "sons of the wedding hall": the fact that this is a typical Semitic expression does not prevent us from registering the mention of the familial code, above all in a controversy which involves the question of marriage and in a context where the family roles appear.

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/21/ It will be useful to note in the following pericopes (the plucked ears of grain and the debate about the sabbath) how Jesus evokes another "house"; "...how he (David) entered the house of God, when Abaithar was high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence...and also gave it to those who were with him." Thus it is a house in which a meaningful performance (from the present point of view) has been likewise carried out. It would be interesting to study what happens in the Gospel narrative when this particular figure of the space of transformation disappears, what substitution occurs or what compensation is provided. /22/ The set of pericopes studied here involved quite varied micro-narratives: a miracle story and some controversies centered on different problems. This diversity constituted a difficulty for the analysis. It represented also an advantage in testing more seriously the proposed procedure. /23/ We have worked in a comparable way on Mark 4, 5, part of Mark 6 (cf. Signs and Parables), Mark 11, 13, and the Passion narratives.